Chapter Summary: The lie collapses in front of everyone, and the fallout is immediate, brutal, and impossible to undo. As the camp turns on its leader and the cost of the truth becomes horrifyingly clear, Y/N finds out exactly who’s still willing to stand beside her when there’s nothing left to protect.
Warnings: Dystopian Au, Maze Runner AU,Slow Burn, Public Confrontation/Betrayal, Character Death, Graphic Violence , Blood, Grief, Mob Mentality, Panic Attack, Nightmare/Trauma Dream Sequence, Body Horror (implied, non-explicit), Estrangement in a Relationship, Morally Grey Protagonist.
[ENCLOSURE]
The morning sun beats down on the Enclosure, washing the central agricultural plots in a bath of brilliant, unforgiving gold. The air is thick, humid, and rich with the scent of damp topsoil and crushed tomato vines. It is a perfect, idyllic morning. It is the kind of morning that almost makes you believe the lie you have so painstakingly woven into the fabric of this camp.You are kneeling in the dark, loamy dirt, the knees of your canvas trousers soaked through with morning dew. The rough, green vines of the tomato plants scratch at your forearms as you carefully untangle them from their wooden trellises. Your hands are coated in dirt, the soil packed tightly beneath your fingernails. It feels grounding. It feels like life.Sitting on an overturned wooden crate a few feet away is Silas. The youngest member of your ragged family has a large woven basket resting in his lap, catching the bright red, heavy fruit you toss his way. He is wearing that same oversized, knitted sweater, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looks peaceful.And balancing precariously on the top rail of the wooden fence surrounding the plot is Ni-ki.
The Lead Runner is practically buzzing with excess energy, his long limbs kicking out as he attempts to walk the narrow edge of the fence like a tightrope. He has a half-eaten wild apple in one hand, gesturing wildly with it as he speaks.“I’m just saying,” Ni-ki announces loudly, pausing his tightrope walk to point the apple core directly at you, “if Sunghoon glared at the tomatoes the way he glares at anyone who walks within ten feet of your tent, these things would grow twice as fast just out of pure fear.” Silas erupts into a fit of high-pitched, genuine giggles, nearly dropping a tomato out of the basket. “He doesn’t glare at everyone, Ni-ki.”
“Oh, please,” Ni-ki scoffs, hopping down from the fence and landing in the dirt with a soft thud. He puffs out his chest, pulling his features into an exaggerated, brooding scowl, dropping his voice into a hilariously deep register. “‘Stay away from the Pioneer. The Pioneer requires a five-foot perimeter of absolute silence at all times. If you breathe on her, I will sever your vocal cords.’” You can’t help it. The sound that escapes your throat is a bright, uninhibited laugh. It feels entirely alien in your chest, a sudden burst of genuine joy cutting through the suffocating layer of dread you wear every other hour of the day. You rock back on your heels, wiping a forearm across your sweaty brow, leaving a streak of dark mud across your skin. “He does not sound like that,” you protest, though you are still smiling, the corners of your eyes crinkling. “And he is just taking his job as Protector seriously. We need that kind of vigilance.”
“Vigilance, sure,” Ni-ki snorts, tossing the apple core over his shoulder into the compost pile. He steps closer, a wicked, teasing glint in his eye. “But yesterday, I saw you trip over a tree root, and before you even hit the ground, the guy materialized out of thin air and caught you. I’m telling you, Y/N, the man is obsessed. If you told him to fight a Nightcrawler barehanded, he’d ask you which one.”
“He just cares about the camp,” Silas chimes in softly, though his eyes are dancing with amusement. “But… he does look at you differently than he looks at us.”
“See? Even the kid sees it!” Ni-ki crows triumphantly. He crouches down beside you, bumping his shoulder gently against yours. “It’s gross. But it’s also kind of sweet. The big, scary Protector is completely wrapped around your little finger.” You shake your head, looking down at the dark soil to hide the sudden, painful flush of heat rising in your cheeks. The teasing is innocent, typical of any normal group of young people. They are just kids. Cool, vibrant, beautiful kids who look at you with such absolute trust and affection. This is exactly what you sacrificed your soul to protect. This moment right here—the laughter, the teasing, the feeling of the warm sun on your back. “Just put the tomatoes in the basket, Ni-ki,” you say, your voice softening with profound affection. “Before Jay comes out here and yells at all of us for bruising the harvest.” Ni-ki rolls his eyes playfully, reaching for a cluster of fruit. “Fine, fine. But I’m telling you, next time he stares at me, I’m going to ask him if he needs a hug.”
You laugh again, the sound mingling with Silas’s giggles, floating up into the bright morning air. The Enclosure is at peace. The illusion is flawless.
And then, the world ends.
It does not end with the grinding of gears or the screech of the monsters outside. It ends with the sound of heavy, rapid footsteps tearing through the center of the camp. The ambient, peaceful noise of the Enclosure—the distant hammering, the crackle of the cooking fires, the low hum of conversation—evaporates in an instant. The sudden, unnatural silence is heavy, carrying the distinct, metallic tang of an impending disaster.You freeze, your hand hovering over a tomato vine. The smile falls from your face, replaced immediately by the cold, rigid mask of the Pioneer. You stand up, brushing the dirt from your knees, and turn toward the center of the clearing.
Jungwon is marching through the camp.
He is not walking with his usual, calculated grace. He is storming. His pristine canvas clothes are disheveled, his jaw is clenched so tightly the muscles tick violently beneath his skin, and his eyes are burning with an uncontained fury. He looks like a force of nature, a hurricane tearing through the fragile paper walls of your sanctuary.In his right hand, he is clutching a massive roll of cured animal skin parchment—Heeseung’s master maps. In his left hand, he holds the small slate board. Trailing several paces behind him is Heeseung. The Lead Navigator looks like a walking corpse. He is stumbling, his face completely devoid of color, his eyes fixed firmly on the dirt. He is weeping silently, his shoulders shaking with the sheer, crushing weight of what is about to happen.
Jungwon doesn’t look at the fire pit. He doesn’t look at Jay, who has stepped out of the supply tent with his heavy knife drawn. He doesn’t look at Jake or Lyra or Sunoo.
Jungwon marches directly toward the agricultural plots. He marches directly toward you. “Y/N!” Jungwon’s voice booms across the clearing. It isn’t the smooth, polite cadence he has used since he arrived. It is a roar. It is the sound of glass shattering.Instantly, a massive, dark shadow materializes at your side. Sunghoon. The Protector steps in front of you, his broad shoulders completely shielding you from Jungwon’s path. Sunghoon’s hand is locked in a white-knuckle grip around the hilt of his drawn blade, the heavy steel catching the morning light. Sunghoon doesn’t know what is happening, but he reads the lethal intent radiating from the new arrival, and his prime directive engages instantly. “Take another step, Jungwon,” Sunghoon snarls, his voice a low, guttural warning that vibrates through the air, “and I will drop you where you stand.”
Jungwon stops exactly five feet away from Sunghoon’s blade. He doesn’t even look at the weapon. His furious eyes cut right through the Protector, locking directly onto your pale face.The commotion has drawn the entire camp. Thirty boys and girls abandon their chores, forming a loose, bewildered circle around the confrontation. Kael drops his hammer. Ren steps out from the tree line. Silas clutches the basket of tomatoes to his chest, his eyes wide with sudden terror. They are all watching. “Move, Sunghoon,” Jungwon says, his voice dropping into a deadly, vibrating register. “This isn’t about you. You’re just another pawn on her board. Step aside.”
“I said, back off,” Sunghoon repeats, raising the blade an inch higher, his entire body coiled to strike.
“Sunghoon. Stop.”
Your voice is barely a whisper, but it carries. You step out from behind his broad back, gently pushing his sword arm down. Sunghoon looks back at you, his eyes frantic, utterly confused. Why are you letting him near you? his gaze asks. But you cannot hide behind him anymore. The executioner has arrived, and you must face the axe. You stand in the dirt, your chin held high, staring into the fury of Jungwon’s eyes. “What is this, Jungwon?” you ask, forcing your voice to remain steady, projecting the illusion of control for just a few seconds longer. Jungwon doesn’t speak immediately. He lifts his arms and violently throws the roll of parchment and the slate board. They hit the dirt at your feet with a heavy, final thud. The maps unroll slightly, revealing the meticulously drawn, shrinking borders of the Enclosure. “You lied,” Jungwon states, his voice carrying clearly to every single person in the circle.
The word hangs in the air, heavy and venomous.“I don’t know what you think you found—” you start to say, the lie instinctively jumping to your tongue. “Don’t!” Jungwon roars, pointing a finger directly at your chest. “Do not stand there and insult my intelligence, and do not insult theirs! The game is over, Y/N. I have the numbers. I have the proof. And I have your Lead Navigator’s confession.”
A murmur of confusion ripples through the camp. Jay steps forward, his scowl deepening into a look of severe apprehension. “What proof? What is he talking about, Y/N?”
Jungwon turns his back to you for a fraction of a second, addressing the circle of thirty confused, terrified campers. “She told you this was a sanctuary,” Jungwon projects, his voice ringing with damning clarity. “She told you the walls were a static defense. She told you we were anchored to the bedrock and that we could live out our days here in peace.”
Jungwon points down at the maps in the dirt.
“The distance from the center Lift to the eastern wall is currently four hundred and twelve feet,” Jungwon recites, looking directly at Lyra and Ni-ki. “You helped me measure it. But a month ago, according to these maps, it was four hundred and twenty. The walls are not static.”
Ni-ki’s face goes entirely slack. The apple core he had been playing with drops from his fingers. “What?”
“Ren,” Jungwon calls out, his eyes finding the tracker in the crowd. “Tell them about the soil samples you took yesterday. Tell them about the micro-fissures at the perimeter.” Ren steps back, looking horrified, her eyes darting between Jungwon and you. “I… I said the soil was churning. It was experiencing lateral compression. Like… like something was pushing it inward.” The realization hits the camp like a physical shockwave. You can see the exact moment the math clicks in their heads. Jake stumbles backward a step, his hand covering his mouth. Sunoo lets out a sharp, breathless gasp, his hands flying to his hair. “The Enclosure is shrinking,” Jungwon yells, turning back to face you, his chest heaving. “The walls are grinding forward on a mechanical track. Every few weeks, they push inward. They are closing in on us. We aren’t in a sanctuary, Y/N! We are in a trash compactor! And in a few months, those colossal stone walls are going to reach the center of this camp and crush every single one of us into dust!”
The silence that follows is apocalyptic.
It is the sound of thirty distinct realities shattering simultaneously.Silas’s hands begin to tremble violently. The woven basket slips from his grip. It hits the ground, and dozens of bright red, perfectly ripe tomatoes spill out into the dirt, their skins splitting and bruising against the rough earth. The sound of the fruit hitting the ground is deafening.“No,” Sunoo whimpers, tears instantly spilling over his cheeks. He looks at you, his eyes begging you to fix it. “No, Y/N, tell him he’s wrong. You said it was safe. You promised us it was safe.” You stand perfectly still. The blood has completely drained from your face. You look at Sunoo, at Silas, at Jake. You look at the family you loved so fiercely you were willing to damn your own soul to protect them. You open your mouth, but no words come out.
“Tell them, Y/N!” Jungwon demands, his voice cracking with fury. “Tell them the truth! Heeseung already confessed in the map hut last night! He told me you knew. You discovered it months ago, and you ordered him to keep it a secret. You watched them build houses, you watched them plant crops, knowing they were going to be crushed before the snow fell!” Every eye in the camp shifts from Jungwon to you. They are waiting for the denial. They are waiting for the Pioneer to laugh and explain how the new boy has completely misunderstood the data. But you don’t laugh. You look down at the maps in the dirt.
“It’s true,” you whisper.
The words are barely audible, but they carry the weight of a collapsing star. The reaction is visceral. Kael lets out a raw, guttural cry of fury, kicking a wooden bucket so hard it shatters against a tree. Sunoo collapses to his knees in the dirt, sobbing hysterically into his hands. Lyra starts hyperventilating, backing away from the center of the camp as if the ground itself had turned to acid. But the most devastating reaction is right beside you.Sunghoon’s sword drops. The heavy steel hits the earth with a dull thud.The Protector steps back from you, as if the radiant heat of your presence has suddenly turned to ice. You turn your head to look at him, and the expression on his face completely stops your heart. The unshakeable devotion in his eyes has fractured. He looks at you as if he has never seen you before in his life.
“You knew?” Sunghoon asks, his voice hollow, stripped of all its strength. “You let me stand guard every night… you let me swear to protect this camp… knowing the walls were going to kill us anyway? You lied to me?”
“Sunghoon, please,” you choke out, reaching a trembling hand toward him. He flinches away from your touch. The physical rejection is a knife twisting directly into your gut. He doesn’t look angry; he looks completely, utterly destroyed. He steps away from you, putting distance between himself and the architect of his doom.
You are entirely alone in the center of the circle.
Jungwon steps forward, invading your space, his eyes blazing. “Why? Give me one logical, sane reason why you would play God with our lives. Why would you pacify us while the blade was dropping?!” The sheer, overwhelming hatred in his voice finally breaks the paralysis holding you. The mask of the Pioneer is dead, but the fierce, maternal desperation that built it flares to life. You snap your head up, meeting Jungwon’s furious gaze with a tear-streaked, blazing intensity of your own. “Because there is no way out!” you scream, your voice tearing painfully at your vocal cords. The sheer volume of your shout startles the camp, halting their panic for a fraction of a second. You step toward Jungwon, kicking the maps out of the way, pointing a shaking finger out toward the towering stone walls.
“Do you think I wanted this?!” you yell, tears streaming hot and fast down your cheeks. “Do you think I didn’t spend weeks staring at those walls, calculating every angle, trying to find a fracture?! I sent the first group out there before you even arrived! I sent my friends out into the dark to map the outer sectors to find an exit!” You grab the collar of your canvas shirt, yanking it as if you are suffocating.
“And I watched them die!” you sob, your voice breaking, the horrific memories bleeding out into the daylight. “I stood at the gates and listened to the Nightcrawlers tear them limb from limb! I found pieces of them hanging on the gears! The Labyrinth is a meat grinder! It is designed to butcher anyone who steps foot in it! There are no doors, Jungwon! There is no exit!” You turn, addressing the weeping, horrified camp. “If I told you,” you plead, your voice dropping into a desperate, agonizing pitch, “if I told you the walls were closing in, what would you have done? You would have spent the last six months of your lives paralyzed by pure terror! You would have starved. You would have thrown yourselves at the stone until your hands bled! You would have died screaming!” You turn back to Jungwon, your chest heaving, wiping the tears from your face with a violent, dirty hand.
“I gave them a home!” you declare fiercely, a desperate justification of your own sin. “I gave them full bellies. I gave them sunlight. I let Silas laugh! I let Sunoo plant his garden! I chose to carry the weight of that crushing secret so that my family could live in peace until the very last second. I protected them from the fear!”
You stand there, breathless, trembling, waiting for the logic of your love to penetrate his cold, calculating mind. You wait for him to understand the terrible sacrifice of your leadership. Jungwon looks at you. The fury in his eyes hasn’t dimmed a single fraction. It has only crystallized into something harder, something infinitely more unforgiving. “You didn’t protect us, Y/N,” Jungwon says, his voice a low, vibrating blade that slices cleanly through your emotional defense. “You sedated us.”
He steps closer, forcing you to look up at him. The dimple is completely gone.
“You think you are a savior because you gave us full bellies and a patch of grass to die on,” Jungwon spits, his tone dripping with venomous disgust. “But you aren’t a savior. You are a warden. You decided that a comfortable death was better than a brutal fight, and you made that decision for every single person in this camp without their consent.”
“It’s a slaughterhouse out there!” you cry out. “Fighting means dying!”
“Then let us die fighting!” Jungwon roars, his voice echoing off the colossal walls. “Let us bleed! Let us die with our weapons in our hands, trying to tear this mechanical hell apart! That is our right as human beings! The creators of this Labyrinth stripped us of our memories, they stripped us of our past, but you… you stripped us of our fundamental right to fight for our own lives!”
He points an accusatory finger directly in your face.
“You didn’t want to save them from the fear, Y/N,” Jungwon snarls, delivering the final, devastating blow to your psyche. “You wanted to save yourself from having to watch them be afraid. You played God because you couldn’t handle the reality of our situation. You pacified us like sheep for the slaughter so you could pretend you were a good leader.” The words hit you with the concussive force of a physical impact. You stagger backward, your knees giving out. You collapse into the dirt, right beside the bruised, ruined tomatoes Silas had dropped.
You look around the circle.
The camp is fractured beyond repair. Jay is staring at you with a look of pragmatic betrayal. Jake is holding a sobbing Lyra, shaking his head at you in slow, crushing disappointment. Kael is pacing like a caged animal, glaring at the towering walls as if he wants to punch through the stone with his bare hands. And Sunghoon is still standing exactly where he retreated to, his eyes empty, staring at the ground. He does not look at you. He does not step forward to comfort you. The Protector has realized there is nothing left to protect.
The beautiful, sunlit illusion is dead.
Jungwon stands over you, looking down at your crumbling, devastated form in the dirt. He has won the ideological war. He has shattered the false sanctuary.
“Get your gear,” Jungwon commands, turning his back on you and addressing the broken, terrified camp with chilling authority. “Pack the food. Sharpen your blades. We are not waiting in this garden to be crushed. Tomorrow morning, we are opening the gates, and we are going into the dark.”
The silence that descends upon the Enclosure in the wake of Jungwon’s decree is not empty. It is a dense, physical weight, heavy and suffocating like wet ash settling over a burned city. It rings in your ears, a high-pitched tinnitus born of shattered illusions and apocalyptic revelations. You remain on your knees in the dark, loamy soil of the agricultural plot. The damp earth, which only an hour ago felt like the very essence of life and growth beneath your fingernails, now feels like the dirt of an open grave. Right beside your knee, the woven basket lies overturned. The bright red tomatoes Silas had been so carefully catching are scattered across the ground, their skins split from the impact, bleeding pale, watery juice into the mud. They look like open wounds. Jungwon has turned his back on you, already moving toward the weapon cache with the brisk, clinical efficiency of a general preparing for a siege. The decree has been issued: We are going into the dark. But the camp does not immediately follow him. They are frozen, caught in the agonizing purgatory between the beautiful, sunlit lie they have lived for months, and the terrifying, mechanized death sentence that awaits them outside the walls. Slowly, as if moving through deep water, thirty heads turn back toward the center of the dirt plot. Thirty pairs of eyes lock onto you.
You have spent your entire time in the Labyrinth craving their gaze. You drew strength from the way they looked at you—with absolute trust, with profound relief, with the innocent reverence of children who believe their mother can hold back the night. Now, looking at them, you realize you would give anything to be invisible.
The Pioneer is dead. The mantle of the savior has been violently stripped from your shoulders, and in its place, the heavy, suffocating cloak of the villain is draped over your trembling frame. Your eyes, burning with unshed, agonizing tears, find Silas first. The youngest boy is standing near the edge of the wooden fence. The oversized knitted sweater that usually makes him look so endearing now just emphasizes how painfully small, how heartbreakingly fragile he is. His face is bone-white, completely drained of blood. He is staring at you, his chest heaving with rapid, shallow breaths. “Silas,” you whisper, your voice a broken, hollow rasp. You reach a trembling hand out toward him, your palm coated in dark mud. “Silas, please. I just… I wanted you to be happy.” Silas flinches. It is a microscopic, involuntary jerk of his shoulders, but it strikes you with the concussive force of a physical blow. He takes a step backward, his oversized boots dragging in the dirt. He looks at your outstretched hand, and then up to your face. There is no love left in his wide, dark eyes. There is only raw, unadulterated terror. He isn’t looking at the girl who told him stories by the fire to chase away the nightmares. He is looking at the monster who locked the door and threw away the key while the room filled with smoke. He shrinks away from you, hiding himself half-behind Kael’s scarred arm.
The rejection tears a ragged, breathless sob from your throat. You drop your hand, your arm falling uselessly to your side. You look to Ni-ki. The youngest runner is standing near the center of the clearing, his jaw clenched so tightly the muscles tick furiously against his skin. His hands are balled into tight fists at his sides, his knuckles stark white. Ni-ki’s entire identity was built on speed, on freedom, on the belief that he was charting a path to their salvation. “You used me,” Ni-ki whispers, his voice shaking with a potent cocktail of grief and profound humiliation. “You let me run out there. You let me map the inner corridors, pretending it mattered. And then… you let Jungwon use me to measure the trap. You let us all play house while we were sitting on death row.”
“Ni-ki, if you had gone deeper into the outer sectors, they would have killed you!” you cry out, your voice cracking, desperate for him to understand the lethal mathematics of your choice. “The Nightcrawlers are too fast! I couldn’t let you run into a slaughterhouse!”
“I am a runner!” Ni-ki suddenly roars, the anger finally eclipsing the shock. He kicks the dirt violently, sending a spray of dust into the air. “It was my choice to make! My life to risk! You didn’t save me, Y/N! You just clipped my wings and shoved me in a cage!”
He turns his head away, utterly disgusted, spitting into the dirt before stalking off toward the tents to gather his gear. The dominoes continue to fall. You look to Sunoo, the bright, radiant core of the Enclosure’s morale. He is still on his knees in the dirt a few yards away, his hands buried in his hair, weeping with a quiet, devastating despair. His garden—the vibrant, beautiful testament to life that you encouraged him to build—is nothing but a morbid waiting room now. “All those seeds,” Sunoo chokes out between sobs, staring blankly at the lush green vines surrounding him. “I talked to them. I told them they were safe here. I planted them right on top of our graves.”
“Sunoo,” you plead, crawling a few inches forward in the dirt, desperate to bridge the chasm that has opened between you. “The garden gave us life. It gave us a summer. We lived, Sunoo. We actually lived.” Sunoo slowly raises his head. The relentless optimism that defined him has been entirely extinguished, leaving behind hollow, dark ruins. “We didn’t live, Y/N. We just hallucinated. And now we have to wake up and die.” He uses the wooden fence to pull himself up, his legs shaking. He doesn’t look at you again as he limps away toward the medical tent, completely shattered. Every face you look at is a mirror reflecting a monster. Jay’s pragmatic scowl has deepened into a look of rigid betrayal, his mind undoubtedly spinning through the agonizing realization that his meticulous rationing was a farce. Jake, the empathetic peacemaker, cannot even bring himself to meet your eyes. He keeps his gaze firmly fixed on the ground, his arm wrapped protectively around a hyperventilating Lyra, leading her away from you as if you are radiating a lethal contagion. They walk around you. They give you a wide berth, the physical distance a manifestation of their absolute revulsion. You are the Pioneer, the architect of their peace, and suddenly, you are entirely alone.
No, not entirely.
There is one person left in the circle. Sunghoon is standing exactly where he retreated to when Jungwon first threw the maps into the dirt. The Protector has not moved a single inch. His heavy steel blade still lies abandoned in the mud at his feet, catching the harsh midday sun. You look up at him through a blurred, watery haze. Your heart, already fractured into a thousand jagged pieces, beats a frantic, desperate rhythm against your ribs. Please, you think, the prayer echoing in the hollow cavern of your chest. Please, Sunghoon. You know me. You know my heart. You know I only did it to keep you safe. You force your trembling legs to obey you, pushing yourself up from the dirt. Your knees shake so violently you almost collapse again, but you manage to stand. Your canvas trousers are ruined with mud and crushed tomato skins. You look like a casualty of war.
You take a slow, agonizing step toward him.
“Sunghoon,” you whisper. His name tastes like ash on your tongue. He doesn’t look at you. His dark eyes are fixed on the blade in the dirt. The man who has spent every waking second of the last six months tracking your movements, anticipating your needs, and standing as an impenetrable shield between you and the dark, refuses to even acknowledge your presence. “Please look at me,” you beg, your voice breaking into a wretched, pathetic sob. You take another step, closing the distance until you are mere inches away from his broad chest. You reach out, your dirt-stained fingers hovering just above the heavy leather of his tactical harness. You are terrified to touch him, terrified that the physical contact will confirm the absolute zero temperature of his rejection. Slowly, agonizingly, Sunghoon raises his head.
The breath is punched out of your lungs.
If there had been anger in his eyes, you could have handled it. If there had been fury, or even hatred, you could have engaged with it. You could have fought back. You could have screamed and cried and begged until he understood the crushing, impossible weight of the choice you had to make.
But there is no anger. There is absolutely nothing.
His dark eyes, which only this morning were soft with sleep and unconditional devotion, are completely empty. The fire is gone. The territorial, possessive spark that flared whenever Jungwon looked at you has been entirely extinguished. He looks at you with the profound, chilling detachment of a stranger observing a ghost. “You let me stand at the edge of the woods every night,” Sunghoon says. His voice is a low, hollow vibration, completely stripped of its usual warmth. “I stayed awake for days at a time. I sharpened my blades until my hands bled. I watched the shadows, thinking that if I was just vigilant enough, if I was just strong enough, I could keep the monsters away from you.”
“You did,” you sob, the tears flowing freely down your face, carving clean tracks through the dirt on your cheeks. “You kept us safe, Sunghoon. You kept me safe.”
“I was guarding a tomb,” he corrects, his voice deadening further. He doesn’t raise his voice; he doesn’t need to. The quiet realization is infinitely more devastating than a shout. “I was standing guard over a box that was slowly crushing us to death. And you watched me do it. You watched me swear my life to you, knowing that my life was already forfeit. You let me believe I had a purpose.”
“Your purpose was to live!” you cry out, finally closing the agonizing distance and pressing your palms flat against his chest. You grip the leather harness with desperate, white-knuckled fingers, trying to anchor him to you, trying to physically force him to feel the desperate rhythm of your broken heart. “I wanted you to have a life! Even if it was just a few months! If I told you the truth, you would have thrown yourself at the walls! You would have died trying to fight a machine that cannot be fought! I couldn’t lose you, Sunghoon! I couldn’t watch the Labyrinth tear you apart!” You are openly weeping now, your forehead resting against the hard muscle of his chest, your tears soaking into the dark fabric of his shirt. “I love you. I loved all of them. I just… I just wanted to give you a summer. I just wanted you to know what peace felt like before the end.” You wait for the familiar, grounding weight of his arms to wrap around you. You wait for him to bury his face in your hair, to tell you that he understands, that he forgives you, that he will carry the burden with you just like he promised in the tent.
But his arms remain rigidly at his sides.
He does not hold you. He does not touch you. “Love,” Sunghoon repeats the word as if it is a foreign concept, a language he no longer speaks. “You don’t know what that word means, Y/N. Love isn’t locking someone in a burning room so you don’t have to watch them fight the fire.” He reaches up. His large, calloused hands—the hands that have mapped the contours of your face in the dark, the hands that have wiped away your tears—wrap around your wrists. His grip is not cruel, but it is absolute. With a steady, unyielding pressure, he pries your desperate fingers off his harness. He physically removes you from his space, stepping backward, severing the tether between you with a terrifying finality. “Sunghoon, no,” you gasp, reaching for him again, stumbling forward in the dirt. “Please. Don’t leave me. Please.”
Sunghoon looks down at the heavy steel blade lying in the mud between you. It is the weapon he claimed from the very first day, the sword he swore to use to protect the Pioneer and her dream. He doesn’t pick it up. He leaves the blade in the dirt, a silent, damning resignation of his commission. He turns his back on you. You watch, completely paralyzed, as the Protector walks away. His broad shoulders, which you have relied on to carry the weight of your entire world, disappear into the chaotic, terrified bustle of the camp. He walks toward the weapon racks, where Jungwon is already distributing iron pipes and scavenged blades to the older kids, preparing them for the suicide mission you tried so desperately to prevent.
You are entirely alone.
The afternoon sun continues to beat down on the Enclosure, entirely indifferent to the catastrophic collapse of the human world beneath it. The air is still humid, still smelling of crushed tomatoes and damp earth, but it feels freezing against your skin. You wrap your arms around your own torso, sinking slowly to your knees in the center of the ruined agricultural plot.You pull your knees to your chest, curling into a tight, trembling ball.The physical pain of your grief is agonizing. It feels as though someone has driven a rusted, jagged piece of metal directly through your sternum, twisting it with every shallow breath you take. Your throat burns with the acid of unshed screams. You rock back and forth in the dirt, a silent, wretched phantom haunting the ruins of her own kingdom.You replay the memories in your mind, a torturous loop of the days following your awakening in the Labyrinth.
You remember the cold, paralyzing terror of the stone. You remember the agonizing weeks of starvation before you found the clearing. But mostly, you remember the screams. You remember the sound of the first group—the brave ones, the fast ones—who volunteered to map the outer sectors before you fully understood the mechanics of the Nightcrawlers. You remember standing near the massive iron doors, clutching Heeseung’s hand in the dark, listening to the wet, tearing sounds echoing down the corridor. You remember the absolute, soul-destroying realization that the Labyrinth was not a puzzle to be solved; it was an abattoir designed to butcher them.You made the choice that night. You looked at the traumatized, starving children huddled around a meager fire in the clearing, and you made an executive decision. You would not let the Labyrinth break them. You would not let them spend their final months shivering in the dark, waiting for the metallic shriek of the predators. You would build a wall of lies so thick, so beautiful, that it would completely block out the horrors of the truth.
You became a monster so they wouldn’t have to face the real ones.
And now, they hate you for it.
Hours pass. The sun begins to bleed out across the western wall, casting long, suffocating shadows over the Enclosure. The ambient noise of the camp has fundamentally shifted. Gone is the acoustic strumming of the guitar. Gone is the bright laughter and the easy banter.
The camp sounds like an armory.
You sit perfectly still in the dirt, a ghost in your own home, listening to the sounds of preparation. You hear the rhythmic, metallic shing of whetstones sliding over dull steel as Kael and Vance sharpen every piece of scavenged metal they can find. You hear the heavy thud of Jay throwing provisions into canvas sacks, rationing the food not for a long winter, but for a short, brutal march. You hear Jake tearing linen into bandages, his voice a low, urgent murmur as he instructs Lyra on how to apply tourniquets.They are preparing for a war they cannot possibly win. Jungwon has convinced them that a bloody, screaming death in the dark is superior to a peaceful passing in the light. He has weaponized their despair, turning their terror into a suicidal rage. And as they move through the camp, gathering supplies, they completely ignore you. When Jay walks past the agricultural plot to fetch more water, his eyes slide right over you as if you are nothing more than a discarded piece of timber. When Ren jogs by with a bundle of dried medicinal moss, she averts her gaze, her posture stiff and deeply uncomfortable.
You are an exile within the walls you built.
As dusk finally settles over the Enclosure, the colossal, rusted gears deep within the walls begin their nightly, rhythmic grind. The subsonic vibration hums against the soles of your boots, a terrifying reminder of the mechanical beast that is slowly swallowing you whole. The first screech of a Nightcrawler echoes over the stone.Usually, this is the time you would stand at the head of the long wooden table. You would project absolute confidence. You would smile, and your smile would banish the fear from their hearts.Tonight, the central fire is lit, but there are no tables set. There is no communal stew. The roaring blaze is being used to heat metal, to forge makeshift spearheads.Jungwon stands near the flames, his eyes reflecting the dancing firelight. He is issuing commands, organizing the runners into vanguard formations, assigning the younger kids to the center of the pack. He operates with a cold, terrifying efficiency. He is the new general, leading his army into the meat grinder.You watch Sunghoon approach Jungwon. The former Protector, the man who once swore to kill anyone who threatened your peace, accepts a heavy iron pipe from the new leader. Sunghoon nods once, his face set in grim, fatalistic determination. He does not look back at the dirt plot where you sit.The absolute finality of your isolation crushes the last remnants of breath from your lungs.
You did not do this out of malice. You did not lie to them for power. You loved them with a ferocity that defied the mechanical hell you were trapped in. You loved them so much that you willingly chose to carry the apocalyptic weight of the contracting walls entirely alone, just so their shoulders wouldn’t have to bow under the burden. You gave them a summer of laughter, of full bellies, of sweet, oblivious sleep.But as you sit alone in the ruined dirt, watching the family you saved prepare to march into a slaughterhouse, the devastating truth finally takes root in your shattered heart.
Jungwon was right.
You didn’t save them. You only delayed the scream. And in your desperate, suffocating need to protect them, you became the very architect of their ultimate betrayal. You pull your knees tighter to your chest, burying your face in your muddy arms, and finally, completely, break under the weight of the villain’s mantle.
The sun begins its final, agonizing descent behind the jagged teeth of the western wall, bleeding out over the colossal grey stone in bruised streaks of violet, crimson, and a deep, suffocating indigo. With the dying of the light comes the awakening of the true world.The Enclosure, once a vibrant sanctuary of laughter and lush greenery, has been transformed into a ragged, desperate war camp. The thirty boys and girls are gathered near the southern perimeter, fifty yards from the massive, open iron gates that lead out into the mechanical bowels of the Labyrinth. They are armed with whatever they could scavenge or forge in the few hours since Jungwon shattered their reality. Iron pipes, heavy branches stripped of bark and sharpened to lethal points, scavenged kitchen knives bound to sturdy wooden poles with Lyra’s indestructible copper wire.They stand shoulder-to-shoulder, a localized rebellion against the inevitable. Jungwon stands at the front, his pristine canvas shirt now smudged with soot from the forge, a heavy iron crowbar resting against his shoulder. He looks every bit the revolutionary general, his eyes sharp and focused, his mind undoubtedly calculating patrol routes and tactical formations.
But as the shadows lengthen, stretching across the dirt like grasping, skeletal fingers, the bravado begins to crack.
Deep within the Labyrinth, the evening sequence initiates. It starts as a subsonic vibration, a low, bone-rattling hum that travels up through the soles of their boots and settles in their teeth. Then comes the grinding. Massive, rusted cogs the size of houses turning in the dark, the horrific, echoing shriek of metal scraping against unyielding stone as the outer corridors begin to actively shift and reconfigure.And then, echoing over the top of the walls, comes the sound that strips the revolutionary fire from their veins—the piercing, synthetic, metallic screech of the Nightcrawlers waking up to hunt.
It is a sound that touches the most primal, ancient part of the human brain. It is the sound of absolute, apex predation. You watch from your exile in the dirt of the ruined agricultural plots. You haven’t moved. The mud has dried on your trousers, stiff and heavy. You sit with your knees pulled to your chest, a silent ghost observing the collapse of the army.
You can see the exact moment the reality of the dark hits them.bSunoo, who had bravely picked up a heavy wooden mallet, suddenly lowers the weapon. His hands are shaking so violently he can barely grip the handle. He looks out through the open iron gates into the yawning, pitch-black maw of Sector 1, and his breathing hitches into a ragged, high-pitched wheeze. He is not a soldier. He is the boy who sang to the tomatoes.Jake stands near the rear of the formation, a satchel of rolled linen bandages and medicinal moss slung over his shoulder. He looks down at a sharpened piece of rebar in his hands, and then looks toward the screeching darkness. You can see the empathetic peacemaker running the grim calculus in his head. He knows how to set a broken bone. He knows how to stitch a deep laceration. But looking out at the Labyrinth, Jake realizes with sickening clarity that a Nightcrawler doesn’t leave lacerations. It leaves scattered pieces. His bandages are utterly useless against a machine designed for butchery.
The heavy, suffocating weight of their mortality crashes down upon the camp. The adrenaline of Jungwon’s revelation is wearing off, leaving behind nothing but cold, paralyzing terror. “We can’t,” Ren whispers. Her voice is barely audible, but in the tense silence of the perimeter, it carries like a gunshot. The Environmental Tracker drops her spear, the wood clattering loudly against a rock. “Jungwon… we can’t go out there. Listen to them.” Another mechanical screech tears through the twilight, closer this time, followed by the heavy, rhythmic thud of massive metallic limbs striking stone. “Hold your ground,” Jungwon commands, his voice smooth, authoritative, and desperately trying to maintain the structural integrity of his rebellion. He turns to face the wavering crowd. “Fear is the intended psychological response. The Labyrinth is designed to intimidate. We do not march tonight. We hold the perimeter, we rest, and we launch the expedition at first light when the predators are dormant.”
“Dormant?” Jay snaps, stepping out from the ranks, his pragmatic scowl twisted into an expression of sheer panic. He gestures wildly with his heavy cooking blade toward the open gates. “They aren’t just out there, Jungwon! They’re moving closer! And the walls are closing in behind us! We’re trapped in a vise! We aren’t fighters! Look at us! We’re going to be slaughtered!”
“Panic is a waste of caloric energy, Jay,” Jungwon retorts, a cold, calculated attempt to assert dominance. “We have the numbers. We have the element of surprise if we hit the outer fracture points—”
“Shut up!” The voice that interrupts the new leader is raw, furious, and shaking with an explosive, uncontainable energy.
Ni-ki pushes his way through the cluster of terrified teenagers, stepping into the space between Jungwon and the open gates. The Lead Runner looks feral. His dark eyes are wide, manic, completely consumed by the betrayal he suffered at your hands. He grips two scavenged hunting knives, his knuckles bone-white.
“Stop talking about numbers, newbie!” Ni-ki snarls, pointing one of the blades directly at Jungwon’s chest. “You think you have this all figured out because you did some math with a piece of string? You don’t know the Maze! I do! I’ve run those corridors!”
“During the day, Ni-ki,” Jungwon corrects smoothly, entirely unfazed by the blade pointed at him. “You ran the static sectors. The evening sequence is entirely different.”
“Because she told me it was!” Ni-ki roars, pivoting to point his knife furiously across the clearing, directly at you. The entire camp follows his gaze. You flinch, burying your face deeper into your knees, but you cannot hide from the absolute venom in his voice. “She lied about everything!” Ni-ki screams, his chest heaving, the tears of betrayal shining in his manic eyes. “She lied about the walls! She lied about our home! She told us there was no exit just so she could keep us locked up in her sick little terrarium! If she lied about the doors… she lied about the Maze. There is a way out. There has to be. She just didn’t want us to find it!”
“Ni-ki, the structural integrity of the outer perimeter—” Jungwon begins, trying to apply logic to a boy who is currently running on pure, unadulterated heartbreak and adrenaline.
“I’m not waiting for morning!” Ni-ki cuts him off, his voice cracking. “I’m not sitting in this cage for one more night waiting to be crushed! I’m a runner! I find the paths! That’s who I am!”
Ni-ki turns away from Jungwon, his eyes frantically scanning the terrified faces of his peers until they land on Silas.The youngest boy is trembling like a leaf in a hurricane, clutching a heavy, rusted pipe that he can barely lift. Silas is entirely lost. His Pioneer, his surrogate mother, has been exposed as a monster, and the new leader is speaking a cold, mechanical language of war that the fragile boy cannot comprehend. Ni-ki steps toward him, his manic energy softening just a fraction, twisting into a desperate, intense plea. He grabs Silas by the shoulders. “Silas, look at me,” Ni-ki whispers fiercely, shaking the smaller boy. “She lied to us. But we don’t have to die here. I know the first three sectors like the back of my hand. I can navigate the shifts. We can find the exit before it gets completely dark. We can prove she’s a liar. We can be free.” Silas stares up at the older boy, tears tracking clean lines through the dirt on his pale cheeks. He looks at the dark, yawning gates. He looks at you, still huddled in the dirt, a broken, defeated thing. Silas is a child desperate for salvation, desperate for someone to tell him that there is a way out of the nightmare. If Y/N is the villain, then Ni-ki must be the hero.
“Okay,” Silas whispers, his voice trembling, his small fingers tightening around the rusted pipe. “Okay, Ni-ki. I trust you.” Before anyone can react, before Jungwon can issue another command, the twilight air is split by a deafening, mechanical siren.
It is a horrific, blaring klaxon that vibrates the very air in their lungs. The warning sequence. The Enclosure is preparing for the night oddly early. The massive, towering iron doors that separate the sanctuary from the Labyrinth—doors that are fifty feet high and several feet thick—begin to shudder. With an apocalyptic groan of rusted hinges and grinding stone, the doors begin their slow, agonizing trajectory inward. They are closing. “The gates!” Kael shouts over the blaring siren, dropping his spear and covering his ears. “They’re locking down!”
“Everyone fall back!” Jungwon roars, finally abandoning his calm demeanor, recognizing the immediate physical threat. “Get back to the center of the camp! Clear the perimeter!” The camp breaks. The fragile militia shatters into thirty terrified individuals, scrambling backward, stumbling over one another to get away from the colossal iron doors as they begin to grind shut, the gap narrowing with every passing second.
But Ni-ki doesn’t fall back.
The Lead Runner looks at the closing gap. He looks at the darkness beyond. He looks at you one last time, a look of pure, defiant hatred. He will not be caged. “Run!” Ni-ki screams, his voice tearing at his vocal cords. He grabs Silas by the wrist with a vice-like grip and bolts. The sheer, explosive speed of the Lead Runner is terrifying. He practically flies over the dirt, dragging the smaller, stumbling boy behind him, sprinting directly toward the narrowing gap between the massive iron doors. It happens so fast, a blur of motion in the dying light. You snap your head up. The breath vanishes from your lungs. The paralysis of your grief is instantly annihilated by a spike of pure, maternal terror so intense it feels like a physical detonation in your chest. “NO!” you scream. It is a primal, feral sound, tearing from your throat as you scramble up from the mud. “NI-KI, NO! STOP!”
You run. You ignore the heavy, sucking mud of the agricultural plot, you ignore the exhaustion in your bones. You sprint toward the gates, your boots pounding against the earth, but the distance is too great. “Ni-ki, stop!” Jungwon yells, lunging forward, reaching out to grab the back of Ni-ki’s shirt, but his fingers only brush empty air. The new leader stumbles, realizing with cold horror that he cannot control the primal, desperate actions of a panicked animal. From the edge of the fleeing crowd, Sunghoon moves. The Protector snaps out of his hollow, devastated stupor. The sight of the youngest boys sprinting toward certain death overrides his shattered heart. Sunghoon breaks into a dead sprint, abandoning his sword, moving with the terrifying, lethal speed that made him the shield of the camp.
“Silas!” Sunghoon roars, his deep voice cutting through the siren. But Ni-ki is the fastest thing in the Enclosure. He hits the stone threshold of the gates, his boots skidding slightly on the moss. He yanks Silas forward. The gap between the colossal doors is shrinking rapidly, less than ten feet wide, then eight, then five.
Ni-ki slips through the gap, diving into the shadows of Sector 1. Silas stumbles on the heavy iron track of the door. He trips, falling hard to his knees on the cold stone. The rusted pipe clatters away into the dark. “Silas!” you scream, your lungs burning, pushing your legs harder, the mud flying up behind you. You are thirty yards away. Twenty.Silas looks back over his shoulder. He sees you running toward him, your face twisted in absolute agony. For a split second, the anger and betrayal vanish from his young eyes, replaced by pure, unadulterated fear. He is just a little boy who fell down in the dark. “Y/N!” Silas cries out, reaching a small, trembling hand back through the narrowing gap toward you. Ni-ki turns in the shadows. He grabs the collar of Silas’s oversized sweater and yanks backward with all his desperate strength. Silas is pulled violently through the gap, his small hand disappearing into the black. Sunghoon hits the threshold a fraction of a second later, throwing his massive shoulder forward to wedge himself between the closing iron doors, desperate to force them back open. But the doors are not made to be stopped by flesh and bone. The momentum of thousands of tons of metal and stone continues its grinding arc. Sunghoon lets out a grunt of intense pain as the heavy doors crush against his shoulder, threatening to snap his collarbone like a dry twig.
“Sunghoon, let go!” Jay screams, running up and grabbing the back of the Protector’s tactical harness, hauling him backward with all his might.
Sunghoon is ripped away from the gap, tumbling backward onto the dirt just as the colossal iron doors meet in the center.
BOOM.
The impact of the doors slamming shut is a concussive shockwave that physically knocks you off your feet. You hit the dirt hard, sliding on your knees, tearing the skin through your canvas trousers. A massive cloud of dust and ancient, dried moss billows out from the seal, washing over you, choking the air. The klaxon siren abruptly cuts off. The silence inside the Enclosure is absolute, ringing with the phantom echo of the slammed doors. You are on your knees, mere feet from the impenetrable iron barrier, staring at the seamless seal where the two doors meet.
They are gone.
The two youngest, most vibrant lives in your family are locked on the outside.
“No,” you whisper, crawling forward in the dirt until your hands touch the freezing, rusted metal of the doors. “No, no, no, please.”
You slam your fists against the iron. “Silas! Ni-ki!” you scream, pressing your ear to the cold metal, your tears leaving wet streaks in the dust on the door. “Open the doors! Open them!”
You turn, looking frantically back at the camp. “Heeseung! The mechanism! How do we open them?!”
Heeseung is standing in the crowd, his face ashen, tears streaming down his cheeks. He shakes his head slowly, brokenly. “You know we can’t, Y/N. They’re locked from the outside. They don’t open again until dawn.” You turn back to the iron, slamming your bleeding knuckles against the unyielding surface. “Ni-ki! Silas! Hide! Run up the walls, hide in the gears, please!” Sunghoon is kneeling in the dirt a few feet away, clutching his bruised shoulder. He stares at the heavy iron doors, his dark eyes wide with a horrified, impotent rage. He failed. The Protector failed to shield the flock.
Jungwon stands slowly, brushing the dirt from his knees. The new general looks at the sealed gates, the cold, calculating mask completely shattered. He had the numbers. He had the logic. But he failed to account for the unpredictable, chaotic variable of human desperation. He led a rebellion, and in doing so, he cracked the very foundation of the camp’s discipline. For ten agonizing, breathless seconds, the Enclosure is dead silent. You press your forehead against the freezing iron, praying to a god you no longer believe in, begging for the boys to find a crevice, a hiding spot, anything. And then, through the thick, impenetrable metal of the doors, you hear it. It is muffled, echoed, distorted by the iron, but it is unmistakable.
It begins with the heavy, rapid thud of Ni-ki’s boots sprinting on the stone, followed immediately by the wet, metallic shriek of a Nightcrawler lunging from the shadows.
Then comes the scream. It is a sound that will be permanently burned into the architecture of your soul. It is high-pitched, raw, and tearing with absolute, unimaginable agony. It is the sound of a human being being physically dismantled in the dark. It is Silas.
“Y/N!”
The muffled, desperate cry of your name bleeds through the iron doors, a final, terrified plea to the mother who failed him, before it is violently cut short by the sickening, wet crunch of metal teeth severing bone and tissue. A collective, horrified gasp rips through the Enclosure. Lyra drops to her knees, clapping her hands over her ears, screaming hysterically to drown out the noise. Jake turns away, violently vomiting into the dirt. Kael falls back against a tree, sliding down the trunk until he hits the ground, his scarred face buried in his trembling hands. The terrible, tearing sounds continue on the other side of the door. The Nightcrawlers do not eat; they simply destroy. You can hear the heavy, frantic scrambling of Ni-ki trying to fight back, the clang of a hunting knife against impenetrable armor, followed by another horrific, guttural scream that abruptly gurgles into silence.
You do not scream. You do not cry.
You remain pressed against the iron doors, your bleeding knuckles resting on the rust. Your eyes are wide, staring blankly at the dark metal. The sounds of your children being butchered vibrate directly against your cheek, transferring the kinetic energy of their death into your own bones. The devastating truth Jungwon had weaponized against you was correct: the Labyrinth is a slaughterhouse. But your truth was also correct: this was the exact nightmare you had sacrificed your soul to protect them from. You slide slowly down the massive iron doors, your body entirely devoid of strength, until you are sitting in the dirt at the threshold. You wrap your arms around your knees, staring blankly out at the horrified, weeping remnants of the camp. Jungwon is standing perfectly still, staring at the doors. The brilliant, uncompromising boy who demanded the right to fight looks absolutely sickened by the reality of his own ideology. He realizes, in the chilling aftermath of the massacre, that the truth he so desperately sought did not set them free. It only got them killed.
Sunghoon looks at you. The hollow detachment in his eyes is gone, replaced by a deep, agonizing, shared trauma. He takes a hesitant step toward you, his hand twitching, instinctively wanting to pull you away from the doors, to shield you from the horror. But he stops. The chasm between you is too wide, filled with the blood of the lie you forced him to guard.
The sounds on the other side of the doors finally cease, leaving only the distant, rhythmic grinding of the shifting Maze. The night has fallen over the Enclosure. The walls are still closing in, inch by inch, day by day. But looking at the shattered, weeping faces of the family you tried to save, you realize that the sanctuary is already dead. The mechanical monsters outside the gates only finished the job that you and Jungwon started.
The night is a sensory deprivation chamber, suffocating and endless. For the first time since you built this false Eden, the camp is completely dark. No communal fires have been lit. No one is playing the guitar. The Enclosure is utterly silent, save for the phantom, rhythmic grinding of the colossal stone walls inching closer, and the distant, metallic shrieks of the Nightcrawlers tearing through the corridors beyond the sealed iron gates.You sit alone in your canvas tent, the damp chill of the earth seeping through the thin rug and settling deep into your marrow. You are freezing. For months, Sunghoon’s radiating heat had anchored you to the present, his heavy arm a physical shield against the encroaching dark. Tonight, the empty space on the cot beside you is a cavernous, gaping wound. He is gone. They are all gone. You are an exile in the kingdom you built, utterly despised by the people you sacrificed your soul to protect.You try to keep your eyes open, terrified of what waits for you in the dark behind your eyelids, but human endurance has its limits. The sheer, concussive exhaustion of your grief eventually pulls you under. Your chin drops to your chest, your breathing shallows, and you slip into a fitful, feverish sleep.
The dream is waiting for you.
It is the same dream that haunted your first weeks in the Enclosure, the fragmented, suppressed memory of the world before the Lift. But tonight, it is agonizingly vivid.The environment is a jarring, violent contrast to the mud and rusted iron of the Labyrinth. You are sitting in a massive, sprawling cafeteria. The room is blindingly bright, illuminated by rows of harsh, humming fluorescent lights that cast no shadows. Everything is a sterile, immaculate white—the sleek tables, the smooth, seamless floors, the spotless walls. The air is entirely devoid of the scent of pine or woodsmoke. Instead, it smells sharply of antiseptic, ozone, and the faint, metallic tang of cold electricity.You look down at your hands. They are clean. The dirt is gone from beneath your fingernails. You are wearing a pristine, stark white uniform.
And sitting across the table from you are Ni-ki and Silas.They are so much younger here. Ni-ki’s face lacks the sharp, angular definition of the hardened runner he would become, and Silas looks like a mere child, his cheeks round and flush with health. They are not wearing the oversized, patched knitted sweaters or the dirt-stained canvas trousers of the Enclosure. They are dressed in the same immaculate white uniforms as you.They are laughing. Ni-ki is leaning over the table, stealing a piece of synthetic fruit from Silas’s tray, his eyes dancing with bright, innocent mischief. Silas is giggling, a high-pitched, carefree sound that rings clearly over the ambient hum of the cafeteria, playfully swatting at the older boy’s hand. You watch them, a profound, heavy ache blooming in the center of your chest. In this sterile, white world, they are happy. They are safe. They are whole. You reach a hand across the sleek table, wanting to touch them, wanting to anchor yourself to their bright, living smiles.
But as your fingertips graze the smooth surface of the table, the fluorescent lights violently flicker.The sterile white of the cafeteria is instantly swallowed by a pulsing, demonic crimson. A deafening, mechanical klaxon begins to blare from hidden speakers in the ceiling, a sound identical to the warning sirens of the Labyrinth’s gates.The laughter across the table abruptly cuts off, warping into high-pitched, ragged screams of pure, unadulterated terror.You look back at the boys, but they are no longer sitting at the table. They are being dragged backward into the flashing red dark. Their hands are reaching out for you, their fingers grasping desperately at the empty air. Y/N! Silas screams, his young face twisted in absolute agony. Help us! Please! You lunge across the table, your hand outstretched, your fingers straining to catch them. “Silas! Ni-ki!” you scream, your voice tearing at your throat.
Before you can reach them, a heavy, crushing weight slams into your back. You are tackled to the immaculate floor by faceless figures clad in heavy tactical gear, their visors black and impenetrable. Heavy, gloved hands pin your arms to the tile. You thrash wildly, screaming, fighting like a feral animal, but you are completely immobilized. You are forced to watch as the pristine white walls of the cafeteria suddenly dissolve, replaced by the colossal, towering, rusted gears of the Labyrinth. The grinding sound is deafening. You see Silas and Ni-ki caught in the teeth of the massive iron cogs. You see the blood spraying across the rusted metal, a horrific, vibrant crimson against the decay. You hear the wet, tearing crunch of bone and tissue, followed by Silas’s final, gurgling cry for a leader who failed him.
You wake up with a violent, gasping shriek.
Your eyes snap open, your chest heaving frantically as you thrash against the heavy woolen blankets of your cot. You are drenched in a cold, icy sweat, your heart hammering against your ribs with such concussive force it feels like it might crack your sternum. The smell of antiseptic vanishes, replaced immediately by the damp, loamy scent of the Enclosure.
You are awake. But the nightmare hasn’t ended.
The sound that woke you was not just the echo of the dream. It is real. A deafening, mechanical klaxon is blaring across the Enclosure, shaking the morning mist from the canopy of the oaks.Dawn has broken. The morning sequence is initiating. The gates are opening. A jolt of pure, blinding adrenaline floods your veins, instantly burning away the exhaustion. You throw the heavy blankets off your shivering body, your boots hitting the dirt floor of the tent. You don’t bother to fix your disheveled hair or wipe the dried mud from your face. You reach blindly for your heavy leather combat harness, your fingers trembling so violently you can barely work the cold iron buckles. You strap it over your shoulders, securing the scavenged blade to your thigh purely out of muscle memory.
You have to get to the gates. You have to be there. There is a foolish, desperately fragile hope fluttering in the darkest corner of your mind—the impossible prayer that they somehow found a crevice, a blind spot in the gears, a hidden alcove where the Nightcrawlers couldn’t reach them. You burst through the flap of your tent and sprint toward the southern perimeter. The morning air is thick with a heavy, pearlescent fog that rolls off the colossal grey stone walls, creeping across the damp grass. The camp is already awake, drawn by the blaring siren. The thirty survivors are gathered fifty yards back from the massive iron doors, huddled together in a loose, terrified semicircle. The atmosphere is completely suffocating. It is the heavy, agonizing silence of a vigil. No one is holding weapons. Jungwon’s grand militia of the evening before has entirely evaporated, leaving behind only traumatized, terrified children staring into the abyss. You push your way through the crowd. Jake sees you coming and steps aside, his eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot, completely empty of their usual empathetic warmth. Jay doesn’t even look at you, his jaw clenched, staring fixedly at the rusted iron. Sunghoon is standing near the front, his arms crossed rigidly over his chest, his posture radiating a cold, impenetrable distance.
You reach the very edge of the threshold just as the deafening klaxon abruptly cuts off. The Enclosure shudders. With a horrific, groaning screech of rusted hinges and ancient, shifting stone, the massive iron doors begin their slow, agonizing trajectory outward, breaking the seal. A thick, acrid cloud of mist and dust billows out from the widening gap, carrying the sharp, nauseating scent of ozone, dried grease, and the unmistakable, metallic tang of fresh copper. The smell of blood. The doors grind to a halt, locking into their daytime configuration. The Labyrinth is open. The yawning maw of Sector 1 is a corridor of towering, jagged stone and rusted metal plating, plunging deep into the suffocating fog. The camp holds its collective breath, thirty pairs of eyes straining desperately to pierce the gloom. For an agonizing, suspended minute, there is nothing but the silence of the shifting gears in the distance. The foolish hope in your chest begins to wither and die, turning to cold, heavy ash. They are gone.
Then, a shape emerges from the fog.
A collective gasp ripples through the camp. Sunoo covers his mouth with both hands, a choked sob escaping his throat. Kael takes a tentative step forward, his scarred face drawn tight. It is Ni-ki. The Lead Runner stumbles out of the suffocating grey mist, crossing the threshold of the iron gates, and the sight of him completely paralyzes your lungs. He is unrecognizable. The vibrant, endlessly energetic boy who walked the wooden fences like a tightrope just yesterday is gone. His clothes are torn to absolute shreds, soaked through with thick, black machine oil and dark, drying blood. He is limping heavily, his left leg dragging uselessly behind him, leaving a smeared trail of crimson on the moss-covered stone. His dark hair is matted to his forehead, and his face is a mask of catatonic trauma. His eyes are wide, unblinking, and entirely empty, staring a thousand miles past the tree line of the Enclosure.
He is alive, but he is fundamentally broken.
And he is dragging something behind him.
The camp goes perfectly, horrifically still as Ni-ki pulls his heavy, agonizing burden fully out of the fog and into the pale morning light of the Enclosure. He is clutching the tattered, blood-soaked collar of an oversized knitted sweater.
Silas is dead.
The youngest member of your family, the boy you had sworn to protect, the child whose laughter had anchored you to your humanity, is nothing more than a ruined, lifeless husk dragging across the cold stone. You cannot see the extent of the fatal injuries, and you don’t want to. You see the unnatural, grotesque angle of his small legs. You see the horrific, ragged tears in the knitted fabric across his chest, the edges black with dried blood. You see his pale, lifeless face, his eyes closed, his cheek scraping against the moss as Ni-ki pulls him back into the sanctuary he died trying to escape. A sound tears through the silent camp. It takes you a fraction of a second to realize the sound is coming from you. It is a feral, agonizing wail, a sound ripped from the deepest, most primal core of your soul. Your knees buckle, giving out completely. You collapse onto the damp earth at the threshold of the gates, your hands clawing desperately at the dirt as if you could dig a hole deep enough to bury your grief.
“Silas,” you sob, the name tearing your throat to ribbons. “Silas, no, please. No.”
The camp erupts into absolute chaos. The fragile dam of their shock completely shatters. Lyra falls to her knees, screaming hysterically, burying her face in the dirt. Jake rushes forward, the medic’s instinct overriding his terror, but he stops a few feet from the body, his hands hovering uselessly in the air, realizing with a sickening finality that there is nothing left to fix. Sunoo collapses against Kael, wailing loudly, inconsolably, into the older boy’s chest. Ni-ki stops walking. He doesn’t look at the weeping camp. He doesn’t look at the medical bags Jake drops in the dirt. The Lead Runner simply releases his white-knuckled grip on Silas’s collar. The small, broken body slumps heavily against the stone.
Ni-ki falls to his knees beside his friend, his bloody hands resting limply in his lap. He stares at the dirt, completely unresponsive to the chaos around him, trapped forever in the horrific, screaming dark of Sector 1.
You crawl forward through the mud, entirely uncaring of the blood that smears against the knees of your trousers. You reach Silas’s body. Your trembling, dirt-stained hands hover over his pale face. You gently brush the matted hair away from his forehead, your tears falling hot and fast, splashing against his cold skin. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, rocking back and forth, a broken, wretched chant. “I’m so sorry, Silas. I’m sorry.” You look up through the blurred, watery haze of your tears. Through the weeping, devastated crowd, your eyes lock onto Jungwon.The new leader is standing a few yards away, near the edge of the tree line. His pristine canvas shirt is still smudged with soot from the forge. He is staring at Silas’s broken body, his posture rigidly straight, but his face is bone-white. The dimple is completely gone. The cold, calculating mask of the revolutionary general has severely fractured. He is staring at the visceral, bloody consequence of his absolute truth.
The overwhelming, crushing tide of your grief suddenly recedes, pulled back by a riptide of pure, searing, blinding rage.You don’t just feel anger. You feel a venomous, white-hot fury that burns the tears from your eyes and sets the blood in your veins completely on fire.You stand up. You don’t stumble. The fury gives you a terrifying, fluid grace. Your heavy boots hit the dirt with a loud, rhythmic thud as you march directly through the center of the weeping camp. You don’t look at Sunghoon as you pass him. You don’t look at Jay. Your eyes are locked entirely on Jungwon.Jungwon sees you coming. He stiffens, his eyes narrowing, bracing himself for the physical impact of your grief.You stop less than a foot away from him. You are radiating a lethal, uncontainable heat. You raise a trembling, blood-stained hand and point it directly back toward the iron gates, toward the ruined, lifeless body of the youngest boy in your family.
“Look at him,” you command, your voice dropping into a deadly, vibrating hiss that carries clearly over the sounds of the weeping camp. It is not a request. It is an executioner’s order.
Jungwon’s jaw clenches. He slowly shifts his gaze, looking past your shoulder, forcing himself to look at Silas. A microscopic tremor runs through his chest, a fleeting betrayal of his guilt, but he locks it down instantly, returning his cold gaze to your face. “I see him,” Jungwon replies, his voice tight, defensive, but desperately trying to maintain its smooth cadence. “This is your truth,” you snarl, stepping closer, closing the distance until you are breathing the exact same air. “This is the brilliant, ideological freedom you demanded. You stood by that fire and you told them I was a monster for keeping them in a cage. You told them that fighting was their fundamental right. You weaponized their terror!”
“I told them the reality of their situation!” Jungwon fires back, his voice rising, a sharp, defensive snap. He refuses to back down, anchoring himself to his logic even as the blood pools on the stone behind him. “You lied to them, Y/N! You built a house of cards and expected it to hold up the sky! They had the right to know the walls were closing in!”
“And what did that knowledge give him, Jungwon?!” you scream, the raw volume of your voice echoing violently off the colossal stone walls, forcing the weeping camp to look up. You step into his space, grabbing the lapels of his canvas shirt with your bloody hands, shaking him violently. “What did your absolute truth give Silas?! Did it give him wings?! Did it build him a door in the dark?!” Jungwon grabs your wrists, his fingers digging into your skin, trying to pry your hands away, but your grip is locked with the hysterical strength of a grieving mother. “It gave him a choice!” Jungwon roars back, the pristine mask finally slipping completely, his own eyes burning with a desperate, defensive fury. “It gave him the agency you stripped from him!”
“It gave him a butcher!” you scream right in his face, tears of absolute rage spilling over your cheeks. “You think you’re a savior because you didn’t lie?! You sent a terrified child into a meat grinder because you couldn’t handle the philosophical impurity of a peaceful death! You look at his body, Jungwon! You look at what the Nightcrawlers did to him, and you tell me he died a free man!” You shove him backward with all your might. Jungwon stumbles, his boots slipping slightly in the dirt, before he catches his balance. He stands there, his chest heaving, staring at the bloody handprints you left on his pristine shirt. “He didn’t die glorious, Jungwon,” you say, your voice dropping back into a ragged, venomous whisper that is infinitely more devastating than the screams. “He didn’t die fighting for his freedom. He died screaming in the pitch black, terrified, ripped to shreds by machines, begging for a mother who couldn’t reach him. That is what your truth accomplished. That blood is on your hands.”
Jungwon stands rigidly in the dirt, the morning fog swirling around his boots. His eyes dart to Silas’s body, then to the broken, catatonic form of Ni-ki, and finally back to you. The intellectual superiority, the cold, calculating logic that he used to dissect your sanctuary, is useless here in the face of raw, visceral butchery. But Jungwon is not a coward. He is a fanatic to his own ideology. He refuses to break, even as his own heart screams at him. Jungwon straightens his posture, pulling his shoulders back, forcing the cold, unyielding mask back onto his face. His voice trembles slightly—a microscopic fracture in his armor—but his words are absolute iron. “I mourn him, Y/N,” Jungwon says softly, the dimple completely absent. “I mourn the loss of his life. But I do not regret dismantling your lie. Silas died a horrific death. But he died fighting a reality he understood, instead of waiting like a pacified sheep for the walls to crush him in his sleep.” He takes a step closer to you, his eyes locking onto yours with a terrifying, absolute conviction. “A comfortable death born of a lie is still a slaughterhouse,” Jungwon whispers coldly. “I gave them back their right to bleed on their own terms. And if the price of that freedom is panic… then we pay the price.” You stare at the beautiful, ruthless boy standing in front of you. You look at the utter conviction in his eyes, and you realize with a sickening, hollow finality that the Enclosure is truly dead. There is no going back to the gardens. There is no going back to the acoustic guitars and the communal stews. Jungwon has infected them with the virus of hope and the absolute terror of the truth, and there is no cure.
You look past him, your eyes meeting Sunghoon’s across the clearing.
The Protector is watching the confrontation. He sees the bloody handprints on Jungwon’s shirt. He sees the absolute devastation on your face. But Sunghoon does not step forward. He does not draw his blade to defend your honor or silence the boy who is tearing you apart. He stands rooted in the dirt, a silent monument to the trust you shattered.nYou turn away from Jungwon, the fire of your rage entirely burned out, leaving nothing but cold, heavy ash in your veins. You walk slowly back toward the iron gates, your heavy boots dragging in the dirt, ignoring the terrified, weeping stares of the camp you can no longer protect. You kneel back down in the mud beside Silas’s broken body. You gently pull the torn, blood-soaked knitted sweater over his ruined chest, trying desperately to afford him some small dignity in death. You do not look at the looming, open maw of the Labyrinth, nor do you look at the colossal stone walls behind you. The execution has begun. The sanctuary has fallen. And as the distant grinding of the gears echoes through the morning mist, you realize that the only thing left to do now is wait for the dark to consume the rest of them.
The dirt that covers Silas is not the rich, loamy soil of the agricultural plots. It is the hard, unforgiving earth near the southern perimeter, dug out with rusted shovels and bleeding hands.You do not lead the burial. You do not speak. You stand at the absolute periphery of the gathered circle, a phantom haunting your own life. The morning air is bone-chilling, a damp, heavy mist clinging to the roots of the ancient oaks, as if the Enclosure itself is weeping for the boy the Labyrinth consumed.Jungwon stands at the head of the grave. The new leader looks exhausted, the pristine canvas of his shirt permanently stained with soot and dirt, the burden of the crown already bowing his shoulders. He speaks words of defiance, words of harsh realities and the necessary price of freedom. He tells the weeping camp that Silas did not die a victim of a lie, but as a casualty of a war they must now fight.
It rings utterly hollow.
You look across the freshly turned earth at the twenty-nine survivors. They are a shattered mosaic of the family you built. Sunoo is practically catatonic, leaning heavily against Kael, his eyes swollen and completely vacant. Jake stares at the ground, his jaw clamped shut, a medical bag slung over his shoulder that he knows is useless against the crushing stone. And then there is Ni-ki. The Lead Runner sits in the dirt a few feet from the grave, staring at the stone slab Kael had carved Silas’s name into and set over the fresh earth. Ni-ki has not spoken a single word since he dragged Silas’s ruined body out of the dark. He has not eaten. He has not slept. The boy who was defined by his kinetic, boundless energy has been reduced to a hollow, shivering shell. His dark eyes are fixed on the stone, reliving the mechanical butchery in an endless, agonizing loop. When the dirt is finally patted down, the camp begins to slowly disperse, moving like sleepwalkers back to their tents. Jungwon turns, his eyes cutting through the mist to lock onto you. There is no triumph in his gaze. He won the ideological war, he shattered your beautiful illusion, but he is looking at the bloody, visceral cost of his victory.
You do not fight him. You do not argue. The fierce, maternal fire that allowed you to stand against him yesterday has been completely extinguished, leaving nothing but cold, gray ash in your veins. You step forward, stopping a few feet away from him. “They are yours,” you whisper. Your voice is a dead, flat monotone, entirely devoid of the rich, comforting timbre of the Pioneer. “You wanted the truth for them. You wanted the right to lead them into the dark. Take it. I step down.” Jungwon’s jaw tightens. He looks at your hollow eyes, at the ruined, blood-stained canvas of your trousers, and he realizes that you are not surrendering out of spite. You are surrendering because the core of your soul has been ripped out.
“I will prepare them,” Jungwon says, his voice rigid, clinging desperately to his pragmatic logic. “We will find the fracture in the outer wall.”
“I hope you do,” you reply, the words slipping from your lips like a final exhale. “I truly hope your math saves them, Jungwon. Because my love couldn’t.” You turn your back on the new general and walk away, officially entering your exile. The days that follow are a masterclass in psychological torture. The Enclosure, once a vibrant sanctuary of shared labor and communal laughter, becomes a purgatory of silence and dread. The agricultural plots begin to wither. Sunoo no longer sings to the tomatoes; he barely waters them, his relentless optimism buried in the dirt alongside Silas. Jay cooks the rations mechanically, doling out the thin, tasteless tuber stew without his usual gruff affection.
And the walls keep moving.
Now that the secret is out, the camp is hyper-aware of the shifting stone. Every time the deep, subsonic grinding echoes from the perimeter, you see them flinch. You see Lyra cover her ears, whimpering. You see Kael stare at the towering grey rock with a look of impotent, trapped fury. The acceleration Heeseung mapped is real. The space is visibly shrinking, the ancient oaks near the edges beginning to crack and splinter under the immense lateral pressure of the contracting cage. You exist in this decaying world as a pariah. When you walk to the water barrels, the younger kids avert their eyes, stepping quickly out of your path as if your proximity might infect them with your sins. When you sit near the dying embers of the fire pit to warm your freezing hands, the space around you magically clears, leaving you in a desolate, ten-foot bubble of absolute isolation.
They do not just hate you for the lie. They hate you because every time they look at you, they are reminded that they are going to die. You have become the living embodiment of their encroaching doom. You shut down entirely. You stop wearing the heavy leather combat harness. You leave the scavenged blade under your cot. There is no point in wearing the armor of a Protector when there is no one left who wants your protection. You spend your days sitting on a fallen log near the edge of the camp, watching the leaves turn brown and fall to the damp earth, waiting for the walls to finally close the distance and end the suffocating agony in your chest.
And every day, just as the sun begins to bleed out over the western wall, you walk to the southern perimeter. You walk to the fresh mound of earth. The twilight is heavy and bruised, the air smelling faintly of rain and crushed pine. You kneel in the dirt beside Silas’s grave. You don’t care that the damp cold seeps through your canvas trousers, chilling your knees to the bone. The physical discomfort is a welcome distraction from the agonizing, twisting knife in your heart.
You rest your hand on the rough carved stone. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, the words tumbling from your lips in a broken, desperate litany. It is the same apology you offer every single day, hoping that somehow, somewhere in the dark, he can hear you. “I’m so sorry, Silas. I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought… I thought if I just carried the terror for you, you could have a summer. I just wanted you to have a summer.” The wind rustles through the dying canopy above, offering no absolution.
Tears, hot and blinding, spill over your lashes, cutting clean tracks through the permanent layer of dust on your cheeks. Your chest heaves with a wretched, tearing sob. “They hate me,” you choke out, bowing your head until your forehead rests against the cold dirt of the grave. “They all hate me, Silas. Ni-ki won’t even look at me. Sunoo is broken. I spent every waking second of my life in this hell trying to build a heaven for them, and I just ended up building your coffin. I’m a monster. Jungwon was right. I’m just a monster who played God.” You cry until your throat is raw, until your lungs burn for oxygen. You cry for the boy buried beneath you, for the boy paralyzed by trauma in his tent, and for the family that looked at you with absolute revulsion. You are so consumed by the sheer, crushing gravity of your grief that you do not hear the quiet, deliberate crunch of heavy boots on the dirt behind you. You do not hear him approach until the ambient chill of the evening is suddenly, miraculously banished by a wall of radiating, living heat at your back.
You freeze, your breath hitching in your throat. A large, warm hand settles gently onto your trembling shoulder. The touch is so profoundly tender, so achingly familiar, that it sends a violent, electric shock straight down your spine. The scent of crushed pine, clean sweat, and the faint metallic tang of sharpened steel washes over you, momentarily drowning out the smell of the damp earth. “You aren’t a monster,” a low, gravelly voice rumbles in the quiet air. You scramble backward, slipping in the dirt, your wide, tear-streaked eyes snapping up to look at him.
Sunghoon is standing over you.
The Protector is not wearing his heavy tactical harness. He is dressed simply in a dark canvas shirt and trousers, his broad shoulders relaxed, stripping away the lethal, hyper-vigilant aura he usually projects. But it is his face that stops your heart completely. The absolute, chilling emptiness that had gutted you on the day of Jungwon’s revelation is gone. The dark, violent anger of betrayal has burned itself out. In its place is a profound, encompassing exhaustion, layered with an unconditional, oceanic depth of understanding. He looks at you, taking in your ruined clothes, your hollowed-out cheeks, and the absolute devastation swimming in your eyes. He sees the girl who broke her own spine trying to hold up the sky for thirty people. “Sunghoon,” you breathe, his name tasting like a forgotten prayer on your tongue. You instinctively pull your knees to your chest, shrinking away from him, terrified that this is a hallucination born of your desperate isolation. “What are you doing here? You… you shouldn’t be near me. They’ll see you.” Sunghoon doesn’t look back at the camp. His dark eyes remain fixed entirely on you. The delicate scatter of moles across his nose and high cheekbones—the constellations you used to map your way back to sanity—catch the fading evening light.
He drops heavily to his knees in the dirt right in front of you, completely uncaring of the mud staining his clothes. “I took a few days,” Sunghoon says, his voice a quiet, steady anchor in the storm of your panic. “I needed to step back. When Jungwon threw those maps in the dirt… when I realized you had been lying to my face for months, letting me guard a wall that was designed to crush us… it broke something inside me, Y/N. It broke my pride. It broke my trust.” You squeeze your eyes shut, turning your face away, unable to bear the verbal confirmation of the damage you inflicted on the one person you loved most. “I know. I know I broke you. I’m sorry. Just… please go away, Sunghoon. I can’t bear it if you look at me with that disgust again.”
“Look at me,” Sunghoon commands softly.
When you refuse, keeping your eyes squeezed shut against the tears, he reaches out. His large, calloused hands—the hands that have gripped heavy steel and shattered bone to protect this camp—gently cup your face. His thumbs brush away the wet tracks of your tears with an agonizing, meticulous tenderness. The physical contact shatters the last remaining barrier of your composure. A broken, wretched whine escapes your throat, and you lean into the warmth of his palms like a freezing animal. “Look at me, Y/N,” he repeats, his thumbs stroking your cheekbones. You slowly flutter your eyes open, meeting his dark, intense gaze. There is no disgust there. There is only a fierce, unyielding devotion that takes your breath away. “I sat in the dark for three days,” Sunghoon murmurs, leaning closer, his breath warm against your tear-stained skin. “I was so angry. I was furious that you didn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth. But then… I watched Jungwon take over. I watched him tell everyone the absolute, unfiltered truth.” Sunghoon’s jaw ticks, his eyes flicking for a fraction of a second to the stone marking Silas’s grave, before locking back onto your face. “I watched the truth rip this camp to shreds,” Sunghoon continues, his voice thick with a heavy, mournful realization. “I watched it turn Ni-ki reckless. I watched it drive Silas into the dark. I watched it completely destroy Sunoo’s spirit. Jungwon gave them the truth, and it did exactly what you said it would do. It paralyzed them with terror. It got them killed.”
He shifts his weight, closing the final few inches of space between you, his knees pressing against yours in the dirt.
“I realized,” Sunghoon whispers, his dark eyes searching yours, pleading with you to understand his epiphany, “that you didn’t lie to us because you thought we were weak. You lied because you knew exactly how cruel this world is, and you wanted to absorb all of that cruelty into yourself so we wouldn’t have to feel it. You looked at a ticking clock, and you decided to give us a summer instead of a death sentence.”
“But it was wrong,” you sob, your hands coming up to grip his wrists, your fingers digging desperately into his skin. “I took away their right to fight. Jungwon was right. I pacified them. I’m a coward, Sunghoon.”
“You are the bravest person I have ever known,” Sunghoon says fiercely, his voice a sudden, vibrating rumble of absolute conviction. His grip on your face tightens slightly, anchoring you. “You carried the apocalypse on your shoulders for months, completely alone, and you still managed to smile at them every morning. You built a home in the middle of a slaughterhouse. I don’t agree with the lie, Y/N. If you had told me, I would have fought the walls with my bare hands until my bones broke. But I understand why you did it.” He slides one hand to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of your neck, pulling you impossibly closer. “You did it out of love,” Sunghoon breathes, his forehead coming to rest against yours. “You did it because your heart is so massive, so desperately kind, that you were willing to let them hate you in the end, as long as they got to sleep peacefully in the meantime.” The words act as a physical release valve for the agonizing, suffocating pressure in your chest. The absolute validation, the profound understanding from the man you love, completely breaks you. You let out a loud, ragged sob, your hands sliding from his wrists to wrap desperately around his neck. You bury your face in the crook of his shoulder, clinging to him as if he is the only solid object in a universe that is rapidly collapsing inward.
Sunghoon’s arms encircle your waist, crushing you flush against his broad chest. He buries his face in your hair, holding you with a fierce, possessive strength that banishes the cold completely. “I’m here,” he murmurs against your ear, rocking you gently in the dirt beside the grave. “I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere. Let them hate you. Let Jungwon lead his doomed army. I am your Protector. I am your shield. And I am never walking away from you again.” You weep. You weep for the children who are broken, you weep for the boy buried beneath the dirt, and you weep for the sheer, overwhelming relief of being held by someone who sees the darkest, most twisted parts of your soul and chooses to love you anyway. You cry until you are entirely empty, your breath hitching in your chest in small, exhausted hiccups. You loosen your grip on his neck slightly, leaning back just enough to look at his face. The evening has fully surrendered to the night, but in the ambient light of the moon bleeding through the dying canopy, Sunghoon’s face is devastatingly clear. He looks down at you, his thumb brushing a final, lingering tear from the corner of your eye.
He doesn’t ask for permission. He doesn’t hesitate.
Sunghoon leans in, tilting your chin up slightly, and captures your lips with his.
The kiss is not urgent or desperate. It is slow, deep, and impossibly grounding. It is a physical manifestation of his absolute forgiveness, a branding of his unconditional devotion. The warmth of his mouth, the slide of his lips against yours, completely short-circuits the lingering panic in your veins. It tastes of salt from your tears, of the damp evening air, and of a love so profound it makes the shrinking walls of the Enclosure feel entirely irrelevant. You melt against him, your hands sliding up into his dark hair, parting your lips on a soft, broken sigh. He deepens the kiss, his arm tightening around your waist, pulling you up slightly from the dirt so you are entirely enveloped in his heat and his strength. For a suspended, infinite moment, the Labyrinth does not exist. The Nightcrawlers do not exist. There is only the steady, powerful thrum of his heartbeat against your chest, anchoring you to the earth. When he finally pulls back, resting his forehead against yours once again, you are both breathing heavily, the air pluming in small, white clouds in the cold air. “We are going to die in here,” you whisper, the reality of the contracting walls creeping back into the periphery of your mind, though it no longer carries the paralyzing terror it once did.
Sunghoon looks at you, his dark eyes completely fearless. He brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch infinitely tender.
“I know,” Sunghoon replies, his voice a low, steady promise in the dark. “But you aren’t going to die alone, Y/N. And you aren’t going to die a villain. When the walls finally reach us… I’ll be holding you.” He pulls you back into his chest, wrapping his heavy arms around you, shielding you from the cold, from the camp, from the inevitability of the stone. And as you sit there in the dirt, held tightly in the absolute safety of his embrace, you close your eyes and finally, for the first time since Jungwon tore your world apart, you find a small, quiet piece of peace.
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As assistant managers at one of the most popular luxury hotels, you and jungwon have been put through the wringer. It is no secret that the two of you harbour deeper feelings for each other, and yet, even after so many years of working together, nothing has happened. Perhaps this cycle things will finally change…
Lost On You | Pt.1 Pt.2
Call it delusion, but you have always believed that there was something between you and Jungwon. Or, you mistake friendliness for feelings and spend your last semester of university learning the difference.
SUMMARY: Call it delusion, but you have always believed that there was something between you and Jungwon. Or, you mistake friendliness for feelings and spend your last semester of university learning the difference.
A/N: enjoy reading! i rly tried my best to convey the feelings accurately bc we've all been there amirite (⓿_⓿)
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The lecture hall is stuffy.
Winter has finally given up its hold, the last patches of snow melting into the grass outside as spring slowly settles over campus and temperatures climb well above freezing. You adjust the sleeves of your shirt, already too warm, and scan the rows of seats before sighing. Clearly you are the only person who has caught on to the fact that big, puffy jackets are no longer necessary. Everyone else seems intent on carrying winter with them a little longer.
Around you is a blur of muted colours and somewhat familiar faces, the other students wearing thick coats and wool scarves and yet, amongst them all, you’re always able to pick out your favourite. It’s nothing special– a black bomber– but it has never been the jacket that catches your eye, not necessarily; it’s the person wearing it.
You’ve known Yang Jungwon since the first semester of your first year at university.
Back then, a boy named Jake was nothing more than your assigned partner for a chemistry lab, but slowly, he became one of your closest friends. And unlike most other first-years, he’d opted out of rooming in the university residence, choosing instead to rent a small three-bedroom apartment just off campus with two guys he’d known since high school. When he invited you over for the first time, you were expecting nothing more than a quiet evening spent studying for a midterm together.
What you had absolutely no idea would happen, however, was that you would end up meeting the person who would completely occupy your every thought for the next three years.
Your phone buzzes in your lap.
jungwon: where are you??? i saved you a seat
you: look behind you silly
You watch as Jungwon tilts his head back, eyes sweeping across the lecture hall for a few seconds before finally landing on you. The moment he sees you, a smirk pulls at his lips, and he nods toward the empty seat to his side.
It’s almost embarrassing, you think, the way your body moves on its own, already gathering your lecture notebooks and shoving your pens back into your bag. You make your way down the steps two at a time, stumbling over backpacks and outstretched legs, trying to rein in the eager expression tugging at your face, but to no avail.
“Finally,” he whispers, nudging his knee against yours softly. “I thought you abandoned me.”
There’s a teasing glint in your eyes as you glance over at him and feign thoughtfulness. “Well, I was thinking about it.”
He lets out a chuckle, shaking his head as he focuses back to the front of the room, where the professor is getting ready to start the lesson. “Liar,” he mumbles under his breath.
You grin. He’s right, you’d never do that. And even though you should turn to the front too, you let your gaze linger on his features for a moment longer. The curve of his nose, the sparkle in his eyes, the small birthmark at the bottom of his jaw... You’ve memorized these details, traced them so many times in your mind that they feel permanently etched there.
But if you were smarter, you’d realize that just because you can predict the way his smile will form before it reaches his lips, it doesn’t guarantee that he can do the same for you.
—
“And then he nudged my knee! when I tell you–”
A squeal cuts you off. “He what?!” Yunjin practically launches herself upright on the couch, eyes widening. “I’ve been saying that he likes you.”
As your roommate and best friend, she has been by your side throughout what you guys have jokingly started calling the Jungwon Saga since day one. She was there when you got back to your dorm in first year, rambling about the cute boy Jake lives with, and she was there when you embarrassingly spent an entire evening analyzing the meaning behind a good luck text before your first final exam. Yet perhaps most importantly, she’s always there to tell you that you aren’t imagining things.
Not that you need much convincing. You pride yourself on the fact that you’re pretty good at reading body language and gauging the signs someone might give off. After all, you can always tell when one of your friends has a crush. You notice how their eyes track the person a little too long, the way their voice changes when they talk about them, how they somehow always end up bringing them into every conversation despite there being zero correlation.
It’s obvious because it's almost exactly what you do with Jungwon.
“I’m serious,” she insists, watching the flush on your cheeks grow. “You cannot tell me you don’t see it after all this time.”
You laugh as you tuck your legs beneath you on the couch. “I mean... I’d like to think he likes me too,” you give her a pointed look, “but it’s not like he’s actually done anything about it.”
Though humbling to admit, not once has Jungwon actually made a move on you. And as much as you can sit here and list every little thing he’s done that makes you believe there are underlying feelings, you know there is one thing you don’t have. A confirmation, in words. What was that famous phrase going around on social media? If he wanted to, he would? Something like that. So far, he hasn’t done the ‘would’ part, which is a bummer, but there are still so many other hints that point to some sort of romantic inclination that you choose to ignore what the relationship gurus on TikTok say.
“Okay, but still,” your friend says, waving her hand dismissively. “The year isn’t over.”
“Hm?” You raise an eyebrow.
“I’m mean,” leaning forward, her hands coming to rest on your shoulders. “Maybe he’s just waiting for the right moment.”
“The right moment?”
“Yeah! Think about it: you’re in the final semester of your final year, lots of work and studying to do. He’s probably aware of the fact that you are stressed and wants to make sure he doesn’t add to it.”
“I bet,” she continues, raising a finger, “maybe he’ll ask you out after graduation. You know, when things calm down.”
You tilt your head, considering it.
One thing you’ve noticed about Jungwon is that he is extremely thoughtful, always taking his time to consider how his actions might affect other people. So perhaps Yunjin is right, to some degree. Then, because there’s only so long you can spend dissecting your (lack of) love life before remembering you have actual responsibilities, you glance toward the kitchen. “Anyway,” you say, pushing yourself off the couch, “what do you want for dinner?”
Yunjin blinks. “What do we have?”
“Well…I kinda forgot to go grocery shopping, so our options are pretty slim pickings right now.”
Grabbing her phone, she opens the local food delivery app. “Order in?”
-
So after consuming an amount of pizza that must not be voiced aloud, you eventually decide that moving to your bed is a battle you are no longer willing to fight. By the time you’ve showered, changed into your pyjamas, and completed your nightly routine, the apartment has gone quiet. Settling into your bedsheets, you scroll on your phone, catching up on missed messages you’d forgotten to reply to throughout the day.
You’re halfway through watching an Instagram reel your friend Sunghoon sent when your phone vibrates in your hand; a new notification blooming at the top of your screen. Your eyes flick up toward the same of the sender, and your heart does a heavy, traitorous thud in your chest.
jungwon: hey, i think you’d like this song!
Quickly, you click the link to the song, and within seconds, you’re smiling and rolling around your bed in giddy excitement. The minute it ends, you replay the song from the beginning, letting the melody fill the quiet of your room as you stare at the little message bubble above it.
He heard this and thought of you! Out of everyone he could have sent it to, he chose to send it to you!
As cringe as it may be, you take a screenshot of the text and open your chat with Yunjin. She may be in the room next to yours, and definitely awake, but you’re so comfortable there’s no way you’re getting up. Just as you’re about to press send, your phone buzzes again, and it’s another message from Jungwon, but this time, it’s not a private message. Rather, it’s sent to the group chat you have with him and Jake, and some more university friends.
jungwon: guys this song is a banger and a half
Below that is the exact song he sent you.
Okay… so you guess it isn’t the cute shared moment between the two of you that you thought it was, but he sent it to you first, so that should mean something at the very least. You try not to let the disappointment lodge itself in your throat as you switch back to your private chat with him, and like the message.
—
You might honestly have a heart attack.
Seated across from you, Jungwon has his head buried in a textbook, one hand lazily playing with the edge of the page while the other scribbles notes into the margin. He’s wearing a black beanie pulled low over his forehead, a plain black t-shirt, and grey sweatpants. Altogether, it might just be, and this is objectively speaking, the single most lethal clothing combination a man can put together, and it takes everything in you not to spend the whole studying session checking him out— a Herculean task, really.
To your left, Jake is meticulously making flashcards for the upcoming midterm, mumbling definitions under his breath (you know he’ll ask you to quiz him on them later), and on your right, Jay is asleep, to nobody’s surprise. This is how your afternoons usually go: after dying of boredom in a lecture, the four of you, or whoever else you share a class with, move to the campus library to do extra reading and review any new information.
“Yo,” Jake says suddenly, not bothering to look up from the stack of flashcards in his hands. “Y’all going to that party on Saturday? I think it’s at Yeonjun’s.”
You'd already been invited by the man himself the last time you ran into him, though you hadn't exactly been counting down the days. Loud music, sticky floors, and squeezing through a house shoulder to shoulder with strangers weren’t usually included in your idea of a good time. Still, Yunjin had made it abundantly clear that she intended to go, and after nearly four years of knowing each other, you'd learned a very important lesson: What Yunjin wants, Yunjin gets.
“Yeah,” you shrug. “I’ll probably be there.”
At that, Jungwon’s head lifts as he looks at you. “You’re going?”
“Mhm.”
He hums once, absentmindedly, then looks back down at his notes. “I’ll go too.”
Biting the inside of your cheek, you force yourself to look anywhere but him to avoid getting caught cheesing. You totally influenced his decision! It’s times like this when you’re 100% convinced he likes you. Like who would say that if they weren’t interested? You’re not complaining. Plus, if he wasn’t going to go, your already non-existent motivation would have dropped tenfold. Perhaps with a little bit of alcohol in the system...
The right end of the table wobbles as Jay stirs, peeling his cheek off the textbook he'd been using as a pillow. There's a deep, blotchy imprint pressed into his skin where the pages had folded beneath him.
You burst out laughing before you can stop yourself, slapping a hand over your mouth, eyes wide as you try to smother the noise (rookie mistakes). A few heads turn from nearby tables, searching for the source of the disruption.
“Are you going to go?” You whisper once you've composed yourself.
From the corner of your eye, you see Jake’s cheeks puff up with air as he, too, tries his very best to hold in his laughter.
“I’m too tired to make a decision right now,” Jay grumbles back, dragging his hands through his hair. It makes you roll your eyes. That’s code for ‘No, unless there is weed.’
From under the table, you feel something pushing against the front of your calf, and your gaze flits over to Jungwon, who’s leaning a bit further back in his chair, peering at you with one eyebrow raised. Wordlessly, he looks at Jay and gives you a look, and you know immediately that he’s thinking exactly what you are.
“I’m pretty sure Yeonjun’s plug will be making an appearance.” He coughs behind a fist, and Jay sits up so quickly you’d think he’s been possessed.
“Heeseung? No way. I thought he transferred.” The fact that that is what gets Jay to be the most alert he’s been since entering the library…
“He did, but he’ll never turn down a party.”
—
Said party is already well underway when you step through the front door of Yeonjun’s place.
It has been propped open to let in the cool spring air, though it does very little to combat the heat trapped inside, and it makes you feel bad for the neighbours, who are undoubtedly debating whether or not they should call the cops with a noise complaint. Music spills out from somewhere deeper in the house, loud enough that the bass rattles faintly beneath your feet as you step over the piles of abandoned shoes and get past clusters of people gathered in the entryway. The living room is stuffed full of students from every faculty imaginable, many of whom you vaguely recognize just from walking around campus, or the dining hall from first year.
"I told you we'd be late," Yunjin yells back to you as she catches your wrist, weaving the two of you through the crowd before you lose each other. "If we'd left forty minutes earlier, we wouldn't have to fight for our lives like this just to get inside."
You laugh, nearly bumping into someone. "This is your fault. You wanted to pre-game for an hour before coming.”
“Yeah, yeah, but imagine arriving here sober? I’d probably turn right back around.”
A fake scoff escapes you, and she lets go of your hand, looping her arm through yours as the two of you finally emerge into a slightly less crowded corner of the room. The drinks table has already been picked over by the time you reach it, with only a few bottles of cheap liquor and beer sitting scattered amongst half-empty bags of chips and melting ice. You settle for a random bottle of gin and what’s left of the tonic.
"There you are!"
You turn to find Kazuha and Chaewon making their way through the crowd, each carrying drinks of their own, and it takes no time to get comfortable with them. Along with Yunjin, they round out your closest friend group. The four of you quickly fall into conversation, joking about the horrific midterms and about the potential ‘prospects’ at the party. Chaewon is eyeing some guy in a wifebeater, and you suppress the urge to gag at his outfit choice.
Every few minutes, someone new comes by to say hi and hug you all before going back to their little party group, and despite originally not wanting to come that much, you can’t deny that you’re having a good time.
Yet, your eyes seem to have a mind of their own, because they keep drifting toward the direction of the entrance, hoping to catch sight of Jungwon or at least one of the other guys, since you know that once you see one of them, the rest aren’t far behind. Before your focus shifts back to your friends, a wave of loud cheering rolls through the room. Even from another part of the house, you can easily pick out his laugh first.
Not long after, the boys filter in, Jake animatedly telling some story that has Sunghoon and Riki cackling, while Jay trails behind with his hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie. Following him is Sunoo, and beside him is, of course, Jungwon.
It takes him less than a second to spot you and your friends, his face brightening immediately as he pushes through some students to greet you.
"There she is," he says warmly as he reaches you, slinging an arm around your shoulders, and pulling you briefly into his side. “You made it.”
Your heart flutters so violently it almost distracts you from the fact that, a moment later, he lets you go and turns to Kazuha, greeting her with the same easy side hug. Then Chaewon. Then Yunjin, his smile never changing. After him, Jake, Sunghoon and Niki come and give you hugs of their own, while Sunoo waves and Jay, well, Jay has already vanished, presumably in search of Heeseung.
"Good to see you guys," Jungwon says, looking between all of you. "I'm gonna go steal some drinks before they're all gone."
“Pretty sure they already are,” Chaewon snorts. He laughs, disappearing back into the crowd, and the second he’s out of sight, three pairs of eyes swivel and land on you. You give them a warning look as their eyebrows wiggle in unison, trying your best to wordlessly point out the very important fact that his friends are still standing with you.
Choosing not to indulge them, you deliberately turn your body to the left, starting up a conversation with Sunoo and Sunghoon. Before long, you're laughing again, the conversation having drifted between upcoming finals, summer plans, and the general excitement of graduating. At this point, ten or so minutes have passed, and you secretly wonder where your favourite boy is. Luckily for you, the next time you glance away, you spot him.
Jungwon has a cup in one hand and appears to be making his way back when someone reaches out, fingers wrapping gently around his forearm to stop him. A girl you don’t think you’ve ever seen before stands on the tips of her toes, and she leans in to say something you can't quite make out from where you’re standing. He pauses immediately, turning his body downward and moving his face close to hers. Oh?
Knowing it’s probably nothing, your own attention returns to whatever ridiculous story Sunoo has now moved on to. He’ll be back soon.
But time passes faster than you realize. "We're gonna move to the sunroom," Kazuha announces suddenly, gesturing toward the hallway. "It's impossible to hear anyone in here."
And as your group makes their way to the new spot, your movements pause for a brief second when you see Jungwon is still talking to the same girl. She’s speaking, both hands moving as she speaks, and he’s listening attentively. They look completely absorbed in each other, standing very close to each other as they converse. And although you may like him, you would never stoop so low as to interrupt or join them, as much as the urge is there. It isn’t your place to swoop in and attempt to mark your territory, so you continue on.
A few hours later, it's clear everyone has hit their limit. Between the dancing, the socializing, and getting dragged into games you barely understand the rules of, your social battery is well and truly dead. So it's no surprise that the second someone floats the idea of leaving, it's met with unanimous approval. "I am starving," Riki groans dramatically, clutching his stomach.
"Nah," Jay counters. He came and found you guys a while ago, having wandered off to find Heeseung, and if his eyes are anything to go by, he definitely found more than just his friend. "Ice cream."
"It's three in the morning."
"I’m high."
Nobody can really argue with that. Within the next few minutes, everyone has managed to find their shoes and sweaters, put them on, and exit onto the street. Even Jungwon, who had been AWOL practically the entire night, appears. The difference in temperature from when you arrived versus now hits you right away, and you instinctively pull your sleeves over your hands as you step onto the sidewalk.
The walk to the convenience store isn't long, though it takes nearly twice the time as it probably should, due to the collective effect of the night's… substances. Jungwon remains a few paces behind the rest of the group as you make your way over.
His head is tilted toward his phone, thumbs moving quickly across the screen as the glow of a notification lights up his face every few seconds. He doesn't seem to notice that the distance between himself and everyone else has slowly grown when he smiles faintly at whatever he’s reading before typing something else, and you wonder who he's texting. Whoever it is, he manages to catch up again by the time everyone reaches the convenience store.
Twenty minutes later, you’ve migrated to the small park a block away, planting yourselves around a weathered wooden bench. Riki, Sunghoon and Jake sit on the grass despite the cold, while the rest of you perch on the backrest or sit properly. Wrappers begin stacking up in the middle as everyone steals bites from one another's snacks. You barely notice Jungwon has gone quiet until Riki suddenly points at him with a mouthful of chips. “Dude. Who are you texting?”
Looking up, and maybe shy from the sudden attention, the other boy quickly shuts off his phone, turning the screen over against his thigh before slipping it into the pocket of his hoodie. “No one.”
The younger one’s eyes narrow. “I’m calling cap.”
“Whatever, bro.”
He doesn't touch his phone for the rest of the night, but you can tell he wants to.
—
The weeks continue on much the same, except something feels... different.
Initially, you can't quite put your finger on it. After all, nothing has changed in any obvious way. You still see Jungwon at group hangouts, you still exchange the occasional text, and he still talks and jokes around the way he always does. But at the same time, you’re no idiot. You’ve been in love with the guy for quite a while now, over-analyzing his every move, so it would be stupid for you, of all people, to not notice even the slightest shift in behaviour.
Evidence #1: He’s begun skipping lectures.
Now, Jungwon isn’t exactly the type to colour code his notes or chase extra credit opportunities, but he does take his studies seriously. He stays on top of assignments, shows up to class, and rarely falls behind. He wouldn't miss a lecture unless he was genuinely sick or something important had come up. Which is why seeing the seat beside you remain empty for an entire hour and a half without receiving a single text, makes zero sense. It’s just one time, though, so you don’t need to worry about it too much.
But when it happens again, just one week later, you begin to question things. You don’t know if it’s your place to text him, or not. Unfortunately, one of the things that comes along with liking someone is the inability to be casual about literally anything. With him, you tend to overthink even sending a quick message, because what if he doesn’t reply? Or what if he does reply, but it’s super dry? Either way, you’d feel bad. Ultimately, you choose not to text him.
If he wanted to keep you in the loop, he’d do it himself.
"You know where Jungwon's been lately?" you ask Jake one afternoon as the two of you walk out of your advanced analytical chemistry lab together, your backpacks slung over one shoulder.
He shrugs. "Not really. I think he's just been hanging out with some other friends recently."
“Oh.” There's a brief pause before you nudge his arm. "Well, tell him he can't disappear forever. We have one of our last miderms coming up and it's worth like thirty percent of our final grade."
“Trust me,” your friend says, “he knows. I’ve been on his ass about it for ages.”
Evidence #2: He no longer keeps his word.
And that evening, after putting it off for nearly an hour because you don't want to seem like a desperate loser, you finally cave and open your messages.
you: heyyy wanna study together tomorrow?
It doesn't take long for his reply to come through.
jungwon: yes i would love to :)) let's do our usual spot at 3pm
You blow out a breath of relief, a soft smile gracing your features. Maybe you were truly going crazy. He has a life, and though you’d love to be privy to more parts of it, you aren’t, but at least you have this.
The next afternoon, you arrive at your usual table in the library ten minutes early.
In first year, the two of you found it, tucked into the far corner beside the windows, hidden just enough from the rest of the floor that nobody else ever seems to claim it, and ever since then, it’s become the study location. You spread your notes across the surface and take your laptop out of your bag, arranging everything exactly how you like it, and while you wait, you start studying.
Truthfully, you don't even realize he hasn't shown up until nearly thirty minutes have passed. You've been too busy reconstructing proteins on Py-Mol to bother checking the time, your fingers typing away on the keyboard as you add more beta sheets. It's only when you finally glance at the clock hanging on the wall that your stomach sinks.
Huh. That’s… unlike him.
You expect him to show up soon, stumbling in, apologizing for his tardiness, anything, really. You don’t expect for an entire hour to pass, then another, and another. With each minute that slips by, the knot in your chest ties itself a little tighter. The rational thing would be to send another message, like hey, are you still coming? But the longer you wait, the more humiliating the idea becomes. If he forgot, reminding him would only make you feel worse, since you wouldn't want him to rush over, and if he didn't, well, then you'll have your answer anyway.
Drowning in the embarrassment for having been stood up on a study session of all things, your thumb presses his contact until the mute notifications option appears. You don’t know why you do it. Perhaps the only explanation is to help silence your growing anxiety, your growing dread.
You flip your phone over, set it down beside your pencil case, and compel yourself to look back down at your notes.
Evidence #3: When you do interact, he gives you nothing.
You’re trying your hardest to give Jungwon the benefit of the doubt, since it’s only fair. People get busy, plans can change, you know that. You aren't some unreasonable person who expects Jungwon to drop everything the second you ask to spend time together. It’s not like you need to be his first priority– you don't even need to be close to the top of the list– but a small part of you thinks that if he cared even the slightest amount about your feelings, then he would try.
The next time you see him is a few days later in the Enzyme Chemistry & Biocatalysis course. Like always, as you’ve been finding lately, you notice him before he does you. Regardless of the fact that he ditched you in the library, you refuse to be petty, save him the seat beside you, and when he sits down next to you, you smile. “Hey.”
“Hi,” he replies, pulling out his notebook. You brace yourself for his apology, ready to wave it off and move past it, but then, to your shock, neither of you speak. In fact, minutes pass without a single word exchanged. You’ve never felt so awkward around him before.
“So…” you begin in an effort to break the weird atmosphere, shifting in your place, “you never came to the library the other day.”
“Oh, oops”
Breathing out, “Yeah, I waited for a while."
Jungwon exhales, leaning back slightly in his chair. "yeah, sorry. Something came up."
Your nose scrunches at how thin that sounds, at how much more you feel like you deserve. "Okay.” The word comes out slowly, although you do your best to keep your voice light. "I get that. I just wish you had texted me or something."
He looks like you from the corner of his eye, not even bothering to turn his head fully. Then, “alright, my bad.”
You force yourself to nod, just to end the conversation, before turning back toward the front of the classroom just as the professor begins setting up the lecture slides. The words on the screen blur together as you attempt to focus, but your mind keeps replaying the interaction over and over again. Was it too much to expect a proper apology? You can’t help but think that the Jungwon of five months ago would've handled this differently.
The rest of the lecture passes in silence.
Usually, you and Jungwon walk out together afterward to go to the library or cafe. Today, you pack your bag and leave without sparing him a glance.
At night, you lie awake staring at the ceiling, hating how much power one person has over your emotions. It makes you want to shake yourself. You’re about to graduate from university, for crying out loud! You’re not some high schooler anymore; shit like this shouldn’t get to you, but it does.
When you interact with him, your entire day brightens. The bare minimum, like one joke, one smile, or one small gesture, and suddenly you feel euphoric. But when he feels distant or doesn’t seem to pay you any attention, it ruins everything. Today, your entire mood hinged on a conversation that lasted less than ten seconds.
Less than ten seconds!
You turn onto your side, pulling your blanket closer, your phone sitting untouched on your nightstand as your mind wanders off to a place it’s never dared to explore. Have you just been imagining it all, him pulling away and acting differently? It’s as if something between the two of you has shifted. Or it could be that there was nothing there to begin with.
The thought is painful enough that you instantly try to push it away, but once it appears, you can't seem to get rid of it.
Did Jungwon ever actually like you? Because when you like someone, you want to spend time with them, you look for excuses to talk to them, you notice when they're gone, you make an effort.
You have spent years convincing yourself that there was this thing between the two of you. The shared moments, lingering glances, casual touches, inside jokes. You have replayed conversations so many times that you could probably recite his own words back to him. It couldn't all have been nothing, right? There's no way.
A realization settles somewhere deep in your chest, heavy and uncomfortable.
Frustratingly, your eyes begin to burn. You squeeze them shut, willing the tears away before they have the chance to fall.
—
Along with the last weeks of the semester, comes a resolve. A resolve to get over him. To enjoy the little time you have left of university and allow yourself to exist without Yang Jungwon taking up so much space in your life.
At first, it's liberating. You hadn't realized how much energy you'd been pouring into thinking about him until you finally stopped. Now, you can hang out with your friends without being that one person who can't stop bringing up some guy, and your friendships are better for it. The version of you from first, second, or even third year would never have believed you could go nearly a month without talking to Jungwon. And yet here you are, deep in your fourth-year glory, proving it's possible after all.
For a while, you believe that this is it, that getting over him wouldn’t be nearly as hard as you anticipated it would be. Except, faintly, in a hidden corner in the deepest, darkest crevices of your heart, you note that he hasn’t even tried on his end of the friendship. He hasn’t cared to reach out to you, only interacting in the shared group chat. And while you do see him attending group hangouts, he’s really only there physically, and even then, sometimes he’ll leave early or just stay to the side, too busy being preoccupied with his phone. Has he always been like this, and you just chose not to see it? Were you always the one initiating things? You'd like to think not, but honestly, you don't know anymore.
The only two times his name appears on your phone for the rest of the school year are when he needs something.
jungwon: hey do you have the notes from yesterday's lecture? couldn’t make it to class today
And because old habits die hard, you send them over. The second time, however, you find yourself hesitating.
jungwon: missed another lecture sry. notes??
His audacity should be studied, you surmise. You don’t owe him anything!
you: no sorry, come to class next time
jungwon: alr i’ll just ask jake then
you: kk
As hapless as it may be, not a single ounce of guilt courses through your veins. You’re past the point of deluding yourself that he likes you based on some arbitrary interactions, and you’re no longer going to try to get him to like you by doing random tasks that, in any other world, he wouldn’t need help with.
During the last group get-together of the semester before finals, your friends notice the change. Yunjin’s eyes flick between you and Jungwon as she takes a sip of her drink, brows furrowed in confusion. “Are you seriously not even going to say hi?”
Shaking your head, you look around the room “Nah, we’ve already waved eachother.”
That earns you a suspicious look. "Okay...?"
You chuckle, bringing your hand up to pat her shoulder. "Yunjin, I'm fine."
She doesn't look completely convinced, and neither do Chaewon and Kazuha once they clock it too. Throughout the night, they keep trying, doing things like trying to casually suggest getting another drink from the kitchen when Jungwon is there, or steering the conversation toward wherever he’s sitting. You’re on the receiving end of increasingly unsubtle looks every time he walks past, your friends essentially begging you to make a move, though to no success.
—
The final nail in the coffin is the night before graduation, on a walk down the same streets you’ve walked thousands of times.
There is something oddly comforting in it, knowing that soon enough these familiar paths will no longer be part of your daily routine, that the late night visits to the convenience store and the early morning gym sessions before campus grows crowded will fade into memory. Everything feels a little more sentimental now, pulled down by the knowledge that tomorrow marks the end of this particular chapter of your life.
Jake walks beside you as the two of you take your last late night walk as university students, reminiscing about the memories made over the years: some of them silly, some surprisingly tender. He has always been your safe space, a friend who has never once judged you for anything, and maybe that's why the confession slips out so easily.
“Jake?”
“Hm?”
You stare below at the pavement beneath your feet, watching your shoes move with each step. "You know I've had the biggest crush on Jungwon for the longest time, right?"
After a small pause, "yeah," he says quietly, "I know."
"Ugh, I honestly thought something was going to happen this year."
"I don't know why,” you continue, “I think I had some wild delusion that after all these years of knowing each other, something would eventually change." You laugh self-deprecatingly, "Obviously not."
To you right, Jake doesn’t laugh. Instead, he looks ahead, his expression thoughtful. "For a while I thought he liked you too.”
Your steps falter. “What?”
He scratches the back of his neck, suddenly looking uncomfortable. "Like, there were moments where I was pretty sure. The way he acted around you sometimes..."
You kick lightly at a loose pebble on the sidewalk; it skitters ahead. "Yeah, well, whatever he felt for me wasn't romantic."
It is at this moment that Jake turns to face you fully, and the expression that paints his features has your lips pursing in immediate suspicion. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Hearing him say your name so gently is enough to send your stomach twisting into nervous knots. With the hesitation lacing his voice and his obvious refusal to meet your eyes, you feel as though you already know what's to come. “I’m sorry I’m the one telling you this.”
“Telling me what?”
Jake looks genuinely upset. “Jungwon has a girlfriend now.”
At first you don’t react, not because you don't understand what he means, but because your brain seems to reject the information before it can fully settle. You had spent this entire semester slowly coming to terms with the fact that Jungwon probably didn't see you the way you saw him, and that was fine. You were able to accept that him not returning your feelings wasn’t going to ruin your life, and that once you let go of any expectations, the ache would eventually fade. But this is different.
Knowing he doesn't like you is one thing. Knowing he likes someone else is another.
The world around you continues moving, completely unaware that something inside you just broke. You hope it’s not your heart.
“Who?” Your voice cracks.
Hesitating again, Jake watches you carefully, reluctant to cause you any more pain. "I think they met at Yeonjun's party."
Ah.
He doesn’t need to explain any further; your mind has already filled in the blanks. She’s the girl who grabbed Jungwon's arm when he came back with drinks, the one he was talking to for the rest of the night while you waited for him to come back to your group. The girl he had been texting when everyone went out for snacks after the party, who somehow became more important than the lectures he stopped showing up to, more important than spending quality time with his friends, and evidently, you.
All of a sudden, everything makes sense.
You feel the familiar sting growing behind your eyes and let out a small, broken laugh that doesn't sound like you at all. "This is so embarrassing," you whisper, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk to bury your face in both hands.
The tears come quickly after that, and you hate how easily they fall, hate that after all this time, after convincing yourself you were finally moving on, you were just lying to yourself. You don't want Jake to see you like this, not over something that feels so foolish and immature, but you're only human, and you wear your emotions like a badge.
"Hey," he says tenderly from beside you. Your friend’s hand settle against your back, rubbing slowly as he tries to offer as much comfort as he can. His voice is soft when he speaks again. "It's not embarrassing, okay? I promise it's not."
Still, the reassurance only serves to tighten your throat more. Your voice is muffled behind your hands when you choke out, "It just hurts so much.”
And Jungwon having a girlfriend somehow isn’t even the worst part of this revelation. It is the realization that for almost four whole years, you carried around this hope that maybe one day he’d finally make a move, and yeah, he was making moves, just not on you.
You can’t stop your thoughts as they spiral, searching through every possible version of events, every moment where you wonder if you could have done something differently. What if you had told him in first year? What if you had been more obvious? What if you met him at that party, instead of her? What if, what if, what if.
"I'm so stupid," you rasp, shaking.
Jake immediately shakes his head, squeezing your shoulder. "No, you're not."
Out of all the emotions crowding your chest right now, you’re surprised to find that anger isnt one of them. It couldnt be. Jungwon never promised you anything, or intentionally gave you false hope.
He was kind to you, he cared about you, and he treated you like a friend. The problem was that you took every small act of kindness and every moment of platonic intimacy and built them into something bigger because you wanted them to mean more, despite them not having that deeper message you were looking for. And when you broke through that façade and saw his actions for what they really were, you didn’t know what to think. He didn’t start hating you or ignoring you on purpose; he just got a girlfriend.
You wish you could go back to first year and tell yourself not to bother, because now, with graduation only a day away, all you can think about is how much time you lost on him.
---
A/N: there will be a part two!! i split it bc there will be a time skip, and i didn't feel it meshed well all in one fic. i will keep the taglist the same for pt2 but please comment if you want to be added! comments & reblogs are always appreciated :)
You took a four-month hiatus to save your career after your breakup with Riki caused a huge scandal. When you finally return, the company has the two of you record a dance video together.
pairing: idol!exbf!riki x idol!reader ⭑
contains: fluff skinship kissing light angst cyber bullying rumors hate comments kpop scandal breakup arguing riki's a flirt 🎧
⊹
@ idolsdaily
🚨 ENHYPEN's Ni-ki and REPLAY's Y/n caught fighting outside HYBE.
The two idols were seen having a heated argument outside the HYBE building today before Y/n appeared to push Ni-ki in the chest. Witnesses say the argument lasted several minutes before they walked away separately.
[🎥 Video attached]
You take a deep breath before pushing open the door of the practice room.
Music hums quietly from the speakers, Riki's phone is charging in the corner, water bottles are scattered across the floor. The moment the door clicks shut behind you, Riki looks up.
His footsteps are heavy against the wooden floor as he walks straight toward you. One hand drags through his hair, pushing it back out of his face, bracelets sliding down his wrist and clinking softly with every step.
He's dressed exactly how you'd expect him to be, oversized sweatpants hanging low on his hips, a black hoodie with the zipper halfway down over a white tank top, silver jewellery around his neck, on his wrists and in his ears.
A smile spreads across his face before he's even reached you.
"There she is."
Without thinking twice, he opens his arms for a hug.
You hesitate for half a second. Then you step forward just enough to give him a quick side hug, one arm patting his back once before immediately pulling away.
"Hi."
The smile leaves his face almost as quickly as it came.
"...Hey."
You don't linger, you walk past him toward the corner of the room where his black duffel bag is already thrown on the floor. You quietly set yours beside it, unzip it to grab your water bottle, then sit down on the floor, keeping a comfortable amount of distance between the chair he was on and yourself.
Riki slowly walks back too. He drops into the chair with a sigh, legs spread, leaning back so far it almost looks ridiculous. One arm hangs over the backrest while the other absentmindedly taps against his thigh.
The silence feels unfamiliar, there used to be a time when the two of you couldn't stop talking. Now even finding the first sentence feels awkward.
He clears his throat. "So..."
His eyes flick toward you. "How've you been?"
You look up from unscrewing your water bottle. "Good."
"...Good?"
"Yeah ...You?"
"I'm alright."
—
Four months ago, this room would've sounded completely different.
You would've stolen his chair before he got to it. He would've complained while trying to pull you onto his lap anyway. You would've argued over which song to warm up with, flirted your way through practice, shared snacks during breaks, and left to his dorm after.
You had dated for a year.
A year full of arguments about stupid things.
Who forgot to text back, who cancelled plans because of practice, who was too lazy, who didn't listen. The little fights started happening so much they stopped feeling little.
When you finally broke up with him, the company immediately stepped in.
"Due to increasingly busy schedules, the idols have decided to end their relationship by mutual agreement and focus on their personal careers.”
It would've worked if nobody had seen the argument.
Someone had filmed the two of you outside the HYBE building after a rehearsal. The video only lasted twelve seconds, but it changed everything.
You raising your voice, Riki slamming the door in frustration. You giving his chest one small shove to get past him. It wasn't violent, it barely moved him.
But online, rumours and theories spread faster than ever.
"She hit him!"
"He's controlling."
"Ew they're so toxic."
“Get rid of both of them!”
"Enhypen and Replay definitely hate each other."
Every livestream they’d bring it up. Every airport appearance they’d call you out.
Your anxiety got so bad you stopped sleeping.
Eventually, you were completely removed from the schedules by the company. Mostly for your mental health, but it was also to let the scandal die before it dragged down not only you, but Replay, Enhypen, and HYBE itself.
—
For Riki, the past four months had been strange.
Not nearly as hard as they were for you, but nowhere near as easy as they should've been either.
The first few weeks after the breakup, he was just angry. Angry that you'd broken up with him. Angry that one stupid argument had somehow turned into the biggest scandal either of your groups had ever dealt with. Angry that everything had spiraled over something that should've stayed between the two of you.
So he did what every stubborn twenty-year-old guy does when his heart gets broken.
He blocked you. Your number, your private Instagram, he blocked Replay on Spotify and removed you from all your shared playlists. Anything that had your name attached to it disappeared from his phone within minutes.
If someone mentioned your group backstage, he'd quietly leave the conversation. Whenever your name somehow came up during interviews or variety content, he'd pretend not to hear it.
He was convinced the easiest way to get over you was to act like you didn't exist.
It didn't work.
Then the company announced your hiatus.
At first he thought it'd only be for a week or two, maybe until things calmed down online. But you disappeared completely.
During those long, quiet months, his anger slowly started fading. Because the more he replayed that argument in his head, the more he realized he couldn't keep blaming only you.
Yeah, you pushed his chest. Barely.
But he was the one who kept following you outside, he was the one who wouldn't let the argument end. He kept provoking you, throwing little comments your way because he was frustrated and wanted the last word.
Neither of you had noticed someone recording. Neither of you wanted the internet to twist twelve seconds into an entire theory.
It wasn't your fault that someone happened to have their phone pointed at you two. And it definitely wasn't your fault that millions of people decided they knew exactly what your relationship had was like.
The anger turned into guilt quickly. Especially every time he made the mistake of opening comments.
"Kick Y/N out of Replay."
"She pushed him. I don't care if it was 'lightly.'"
"Poor Ni-ki deserves better."
"She's only crying because she got caught."
"Hope her hiatus becomes permanent."
"Blink twice if HYBE is forcing you to defend her."
He hated reading it. One afternoon he'd gotten so frustrated that he marched straight to his manager.
"People need to stop this."
The manager looked up from his laptop. "We're handling it."
"No, you're not. She barely touched me."
"We know."
"Then why aren't you saying anything?"
"Because responding will only make the situation bigger."
His jaw clenched. "They're tearing her apart."
"We understand."
The room fell quiet, the manager sighed. "Ni-ki."
He already knew he wasn't going to like whatever came next.
"Do not say anything publicly. Not on Weverse. Not on live. Not during interviews. Nowhere."
He stared at him in disbelief. "She's getting hated every single day."
"And if you speak up, people will start talking again."
"But she doesn't deserve—"
"I know. But the best thing you can do for y/n right now... is let the situation die."
He hated that answer. He wanted to tell everyone that you'd never hurt him and that the fight had been both of your faults.
But all he could do was wait. Wait for the hate to die down, or for the day he'd finally get to see you again, he even wasn’t sure what he was waiting for.
Finally, around the third month, something slowly started to change.
People got bored. New scandals happened, new rumors started, people actually began looking back at the original clip instead of just repeating what everyone else had been saying. The comments slowly became less hateful.
"That's the push everyone's talking about? She literally barely touched him."
"We don't even know what happened before."
"Ni-ki was yelling at her too."
"This was obviously just a couple arguing. Why is everyone acting like she's some criminal?
"Y'all ruined a girl's career over THIS?"
Edits started appearing, slowing the video down, circling details people hadn't noticed before.
"Ni-ki’s still walking towards her after she pushes him."
"She looks more upset than angry."
"We judged Y/N way too quickly."
"Bring her back already."
"She served a four month hiatus over a tiny shove??"
"Free Y/N."
"Replay doesn't feel complete without her. We miss our main dancer :("
The company went back and forth behind closed doors.
Managers from met with Riki several times to discuss how contact between you and him should go if you came back.
Emails were constantly being exchanged with Replay’s management. Rules were made. No interviews about the breakup, no public interaction unless approved, no mentioning the scandal. No dating rumors. Just move on.
Four months of no performances, no interviews, no seeing Riki.
And now, only a week after your return, management had decided the best possible way to prove to the public that there were no hard feelings… was to lock the two of you in a dance practice room and have you film a dance collaboration.
"Show the public you two are fine."
—
You walk over to one side of the mirrored wall, setting your phone and water bottle on the floor before sitting down to stretch. One leg folded underneath you while the other extends out, your fingertips reaching toward your shoe.
Then Riki clears his throat. He isn’t looking at you anymore, his elbows rest on his knees as he stares at the floor.
"...I'm really sorry about everything. You didn't deserve any of th-“
You stop stretching for a second and cut him off.
"Don't worry about it."
He looks up. “I’m serious y/n… I wish we h-”
You offer him a small smile. "I'm back now. I'm fine."
"...Mhm." That’s all he manages to say. "Okay."
The silence immediately returns and it feels painfully awkward, so you decide to fill it.
"You changed your hair."
He instinctively runs a hand through it, the bracelets around his wrist softly clinking together.
"Oh." A small grin appeared. "Yeah."
The last time you saw him it was long and blonde, now its shorter and darker, kind of brown-ish.
He ruffles it again before looking back at you and his smile becomes a little more nervous.
"You like it?"
You look at him for a second. Then simply shrug one shoulder and give him a small nod, nothing too much.
"...Yeah."
He smiles. "Thank you."
Before the conversation could awkwardly die again, you push yourself off the floor, dust off your sweatpants and walk towards the center of the practice room. You glance at the huge mirror in front of you before looking over your shoulder at him.
You clapped your hands together once.
"Shall we start?"
The first hour of practice was very quiet. The only thing filling the room was the song over and over. The same thirty seconds replayed until you got every single step perfect.
Neither of you talked unless it was necessary.
"Five, six, seven, eight."
"Again."
"You were half a count late."
"My bad."
"Let's go."
That was it. Just mirrors, sweat, music and counting.
The choreography itself wasn't difficult, it was just precise. Every step had to land at exactly the same moment. You were both main dancers for a reason.
After almost an hour, Riki suddenly stops moving.
"Nah..."
He exhales sharply, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead. "It's hot as hell in here."
He walks toward the chair in the corner. His hoodie comes off in one smooth motion before he throws it over the backrest, leaving only the black tank top underneath. Silver chains rest against his collarbones, his hair already sticking slightly to his forehead from sweat.
He walks over to the air conditioning unit on the wall and presses the temperature down a few degrees.
"There." He sighed in satisfaction. "Way better."
Walking back toward the speaker, he presses play again and looks at you through the mirror.
"Ready?"
You nod and he counts. "Five... six... seven... eight."
You both move at the exact same time. Your bodies slip into the choreography automatically. Muscle memory, years of training.
You catch your own reflection, then his. Your eyes stay there longer than they should.
It feels strange. Four months without seeing each other, pure silence, convincing yourself everything between you had changed.
Yet somehow, the moment the music starts, your bodies still move together like they always had. Every turn and step matched. The realization made something tighten in your chest.
You miss a count, your eyes still on his reflection instead of your own.
"...Wait."
You stop dancing.
"Can we stop for a sec?"
Riki immediately reaches over and pauses the music.
"What happened?"
You rub the back of your neck.
"This part..." You look at your feet. "I can't get the footwork right."
He looked down for a second before nodding.
"Oh. It's..."
He steps into position and demonstrates it slowly.
"This foot first. And then your weight goes here."
He repeats it again.
"You keep putting your weight on the wrong leg."
You watch carefully. "Oh..."
"See?"
He does it one last time. "It's easier if you don't think about your upper body yet."
You copy him. "...Like this?"
"Almost."
He steps closer and points at your foot. “No, this one.”
You adjust it.
"Yeah." He smiled. "That's it."
“Okay.” You laughed quietly. “Thank you.”
He nods and walks back to his spot.
"Again?"
The music starts. This time you made it a little further. Then—
"Wait. Sorry." You frowned. "Again."
Riki didn't complain. "Okay."
You got through the first half, then stumbled.
"...Stop for a sec."
Click. The music stops.
"My bad."
Again, and again, and again. By the fifth restart, you let out a frustrated groan.
"Can we do it one more time?"
Riki clicks his tongue. "Y/N. You were fine."
"I wasn't."
"You were."
"I messed up."
"It wasn't noticeable."
"It was to me."
He sighed through his nose. "Just keep going."
"We're filming this."
"I know."
"So I want it right."
"It is right."
You roll your eyes before walking straight past him towards the speaker and stop the music.
Riki closes his eyes for a second, dragging a hand down his face before rubbing the back of his neck.
"...Seriously?"
"I wanna try again."
He looks at you for a long second before letting out another sigh.
"Y/N."
You don't look at him. He lets out a small sigh. "You're stressing yourself out too much."
Your hand stays on the speaker, waiting for him to continue.
"It's just a dance challenge."
The words hit a nerve instantly. You slowly turn around.
"…To you, maybe."
Riki frowns.
You laugh once. "To you, it's just a dance challenge."
"For me?" You gesture around the practice room. "This is my first appearance after disappearing for months. My first time people are gonna see me again."
You shake your head. "If I mess this up once, they'll tear me apart again. They'll say I lost my skills, and that I shouldn't have come back."
You look him straight in the eyes.
"So no, it’s not just a dance challenge. I have to do this perfectly."
Then you quietly add,
"And it doesn't exactly help that they paired me up with you."
His eyebrows pull together immediately.
"...What's that supposed to mean?"
You scoff. "Come on, seriously? You wanna act like nothing happened?"
His jaw tightens. "Oh, i’m not the one acting, y/n."
"No?"
"No." He takes a step closer. "You're the one acting. And a great fucking actress you are."
Your jaw drops and you scoff, ready to fire something back but he cuts you off before you can.
"I literally apologized the second you walked in, but you cut me off. I tried talking about it, you cut me off again."
You fold your arms. "I don't need your apology. It's not like you gave a shit before."
His head snaps up. "Don't say that."
"Why?"
"Because it's not true."
You scoff. "You don't know half the shit I've been through these past months."
"I know enough."
"No, you don't."
"I do." He runs an irritated hand through his hair. "I talked to the managers."
You let out a sarcastic laugh. "Sure."
"I did. They wouldn't let me contact you."
"Oh please. Don’t lie to me. You blocked me on everything!" The words echo through the room.
Riki exhales sharply.
"Come on y/n. I blocked you right after we broke up, i was angry. I know it was childish, but I was pissed."
You shake your head in disbelief. "And after that? You could've unblocked me? You could've texted, you could've asked if I was okay."
"I wasn't allowed."
"Bullshit."
His voice rises. "I argued with management! I told them you didn't deserve the hate, I told them you barely even fucking touched me! They told me to stay out of it because it'd make everything worse!"
You stare at him. You hesitate, then you look away again.
"Whatever, Ni-ki."
His expression changes immediately. "Don't."
You frown. "What?"
"Don't call me that."
His voice is lower now. "It's Riki to you."
You raise an eyebrow. "Is it?"
He says nothing. You give a bitter little smile. "We're coworkers now. You said it yourself."
"This is work. So professionally..." You shrug. "You're Ni-ki."
He clenches his jaw. "I hate it when you call me that."
You give him one last glance. "Let's just get this over with."
Five, six, seven, eight.
You start again. The choreography you've already repeated dozens of times, but everything is off.
Your heart isn't in it anymore. Your mind keeps replaying the argument. The counts blur together, you miss another step, ignore it, keep going.
Riki notices you're a fraction behind, but he doesn't say anything. He just adjusts without thinking, like he always used to.
You reach the chorus. Turn, step— A sharp pain suddenly shoots through your calf.
"Ah!"
You immediately stop moving, grabbing the back of your leg. You sink down onto the wooden floor with a groan.
"Shit..."
The music is off instantly, Riki is already halfway across the room.
"What happened?" He crouches down in front of you. "You okay?"
You squeeze your eyes shut, both hands gripping your calf.
"...Yeah." A pained exhale leaves you. "I'm fine."
Another cramp shoots through the muscle. "...Fuck."
He watches you rubbing desperately at the back of your leg. "I told you you're stressing yourself out too much. We should've taken a break."
You shake your head. "It's just..." You wince again. "...a cramp."
He nods toward your leg. "Can you stand?"
"I think so." You plant one foot on the floor, but the second you put weight on it—
"...Ow." You wince.
Riki immediately reaches toward you. He slips one arm around your back and another underneath your arm. "Lean on me."
You hesitate, then reluctantly let him help you up. The moment your foot touches the floor again, another sting shoots through your calf.
You hiss through your teeth. "I think... I think I strained something."
"Easy." His hand automatically settles against your waist to steady you. "Don't rush."
The two of you slowly make your way toward the corner of the practice room.
He helps you lower yourself onto the floor before sitting beside you with a quiet sigh. You keep kneading your calf with both hands in silence, hoping the muscle will finally relax.
Beside you, Riki twists open his water bottle and the plastic crackles. He takes a long drink before glancing sideways at you.
"...Want me to massage it?"
You don't even look up. "No. It’s just a cramp."
"I know."
"I'll be fine."
He shakes his head and chuckles quietly. "C’mon.. I'm not asking to kiss you or something."
The joke slips out suddenly.
Your hands stop moving and your eyes immediately lift to his. Neither of you says anything, you just look at each other.
You quickly clear your throat and look back at your leg.
"...Fine." A quiet sigh leaves you. "Go ahead."
He puts his water bottle down.
"Give me your leg."
You slide it a little closer. Carefully, he rolls your grey sweatpants up to just below your knee, exposing your calf.
His fingers wrap gently around the muscle. "Tell me if it hurts."
"It already hurts."
Then he starts slowly massaging the tight muscle between both his hands. His hands are warm and soft on your skin, and it feels stupidly familiar.
He continues massaging your calf in silence, the music paused, the only sounds coming from the air conditioner humming above you and Riki's hands slowly working the tension out of your calf.
The pain has already eased a little. You watch his hands for a moment before quietly speaking.
"...I'm sorry."
He looks up. "Hm?"
"For earlier."
You fiddle with the ring on your middle finger. "I kinda snapped at you."
A small, awkward laugh leaves you. "I... didn't know you actually tried talking to the managers."
Riki’s hands don't stop moving. He shakes his head. "It's okay."
He smiles faintly. "You couldn't have known."
He shrugs one shoulder. "I wasn't exactly able to tell you."
You let out a slow breath. "I still shouldn't have said all that."
He looks at you for a second before returning his attention to your calf.
"I said things too."
"Yeah, you did."
"...I’m sorry."
You smile despite yourself and the tension between you eases just a little.
Neither of you notices that his massage has slowly changed. He’s not massaging anymore, his fingertips drift lazily over your leg instead, tracing slow lines against your skin while the conversation continues. He's not even thinking about it, neither are you.
His eyes stay on your leg for a second before quietly saying,
"...I never wanted our relationship to end."
Your smile fades a little.
He lets out a breathy laugh. "You really broke my heart."
He says it almost jokingly, smiling as he looks up at you. You meet his eyes. You smile, but guilt still sneaks onto your face.
"I'm sorry… I think." You look down at your hands with a faint smile.
He watches you for a moment before giving a small shrug.
"Learned our lesson."
You nod slowly. You look at each other for a little, Riki is the first to break the silence.
He gives your leg two light pats.
"There. You good now?"
You gently flex your ankle. The pain is almost gone.
"...Mostly."
You lean back against the mirror with a sigh.
"I wanna sit for another few minutes, okay?"
He nods. "No problem."
Pushing himself up from the floor, he grabs his water bottle and takes another sip.
"I'll keep practicing."
Still smiling to himself, he walks back toward the center of the practice room. You stay seated on the floor when he walks away.
Your calf still aches a little, so you keep absent-mindedly rubbing circles into the muscle while scrolling through your phone with your other hand. Every now and then you take another bite of your protein bar.
The room fills with music again. Your eyes keep drifting away from your phone, to Riki. At first it's just quick glances, checking how far he is into the choreography.
Eventually you stop pretending he’s not all you want to look at. Your phone rests forgotten in your lap, you simply watch him. He hasn't changed, he's still ridiculously good.
Every movement is so clean it looks effortless. His shoulders roll smoothly, the muscles in his arms flex every time he throws them through the air. His footwork is still stupidly precise, and the little expressions he makes while dancing, his brows pulling together, the tiny smirk whenever he nails something, the way he'd mouth the lyrics without realizing it.
You recognize it all. You had just forgotten how much fun he was to watch.
Riki notices just in the corner of his eye. His heart immediately starts beating a little faster.
Without meaning to, He puts more energy into every detail. Because a part of him still wants to impress you, maybe then you’ll remember why you liked him.
When the song finishes, he lets out an exaggerated groan.
"Fuck..."
He bends over dramatically, hands on his knees, breathing way louder than necessary.
"This shit’s exhausting."
You don't even look up from your phone this time.
"Mhm."
He shoots you a look. He sighs like the world is ending before standing back up.
"I'm dying over here."
"You'll survive."
"I don't know..."
He says before grabbing the hem of his tank top.
"So hot."
He wipes the sweat from his forehead with the bottom of it, lifting the fabric high enough to reveal toned abs, the dark tattoo stretching along his side… and just above the waistband of his sweatpants, the tiny kiss tattoo, your lips, sitting on his V-line.
You see it. Riki glances down before looking back at you with the tiniest grin.
You grab your empty water bottle.
"You're embarrassing yourself." You say, then you throw the bottle at him.
He catches it against his chest with both hands.
"But you gotta admit…"
He tilts his head.
"…you missed seeing this a little"
You look at him with a stale face for a second before looking back at your phone. You’re not admitting that.
Riki shakes his head to himself, still smiling, before tossing your water bottle into the bin beside the mirror.
"Come on."
He walks over to you with that stupid smug grin that always means he's about to annoy you.
Stopping right in front of where you're sitting, he holds both hands out toward you.
"Ready?"
You glance up at him.
"Last run." He wiggles his fingers. "Let's go."
You stare at his hands for a second before waving them away.
"I can get up myself."
He clicks his tongue. He motions with his fingers again.
You look up at him with the most stubborn expression you can manage. He stares right back. You sigh loudly and place your hands in his.
The second your fingers wrap around his, he pulls. He pulls harder than neccesary which makes you lose your balance immediately. Stumbling forward, bumping straight into his chest. He catches you by your forearms to stop you from falling against completely.
His grin is impossible to ignore.
"My bad."
He doesn't sound sorry whatsoever. You narrow your eyes.
"I slightly underestimated my strength."
"Mhm."
You poke a finger against the middle of his chest. He looks down at your finger and then back at you.
"I know what you’re doing Riki, you’re not slick. And it’s time to stop."
You walk past him toward the center of the room. He follows, and the music starts. The choreography goes amazingly well now that you’ve taken a break, and the tension between you has eased up.
When music finally cuts off you both stay where you are for a few seconds, breathing hard, hands on your hips.
You wipe the sweat from your forehead before looking at him. "...We did it."
Riki lets out a breathy laugh. He lifts both hands and you slap both palms against his.
Instead of letting go, though, his fingers immediately slide between yours. He interlocks your fingers and gently pulls you a step closer.
You're close enough now that you can see the sweat clinging to the strands of hair on his forehead.
He smiles. "You did really good." He sounds genuine this time.
You can't help smiling back. "So did you."
His grin grows.
"So..." He tilts his head. "Can I get a kiss as a reward?"
You immediately giggle. "No."
He doesn't let go.
"Hm. How about..." He pretends to think. "...an 'I missed you' kiss?"
"No."
"'Welcome back' kiss?"
You shake your head, still smiling. "Nope."
"You sure?"
"Mhm."
"You don't even wanna think about it?"
"No. Ni-ki.”
He chuckles under his breath. “Don’t call me that.”
You gently press a hand against his chest and push him back to break the moment.
"Greedy."
"I had to try."
You shake your head with another laugh before turning away.
"I'm getting my bag."
He watches you walk toward the corner of the room.
He smiles to himself. He walks over to his own bag, stuffing his charger, water bottle and headphones inside before pulling his hoodie back over his head. You zip up your duffel bag at the same time.
The two of you walk toward the door together.
You grab the handle first and pull it open. Then... you stop. Riki almost walks into your back.
You glance into the hallway and hesitate. Without saying anything, you slowly pull the door shut again.
Riki raises an eyebrow. "What?"
"You should come out after me."
"...Why?"
"So people don't start talking."
He looks at you for a second before giving a tiny shrug.
"They're gonna know we did the collab anyway."
"I know."
"So?"
"I just..." You sigh. "I don't want people making up stuff again."
He studies your face, then quietly says, "...I don't really care."
"I do."
You point at him.
"At least put your hood up."
He lets out a small laugh. "Y/n.. It’ll be okay."
You slowly open the door again and you both step into the hallway.
For a few seconds you walk side by side in silence. Then you glance over and his hood is still down.
You let out an annoyed sigh. "Riki, just..."
You reach up and fingers catch the edge of his hood and gently pull it over his hair.
Riki looks down at you and a quiet chuckle escapes him. He leaves the hood on.
You reach the lobby and the evening sun shines through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows. A few staff members walk past outside, and a security guard stands near the doors, barely paying attention.
You're only a few steps away from the exit when Riki suddenly catches your wrist.
"Y/n."
Before you can react, he gently tugs you sideways.
"What are you doing?"
He guides you around the corner beside the entrance, where one of the concrete pillars blocks you from most of the lobby.
"Riki," you whisper, laughing nervously. "What are you doing?"
He plants one hand against the wall beside your head, then he peeks around the corner toward the glass doors like he's checking something.
His lips slowly curl into a smile. You immediately recognize that smile.
"Riki we’re-"
He chuckles. "Kiss me."
You stare at him. "What?"
"Just one." He shrugs like he's asking for a sip of your drink. "One kiss."
You immediately start laughing, but panic creeps into your voice too.
"Are you serious? There’s windows everywhere."
"I know."
He reaches up and pulls his hood down himself, fixing his hair with one hand.
You stare at him, he just smiles.
"Come on."
"No."
"Y/n."
"Riki, seriously—"
"One."
"Riki…”
He tilts his head.
"Please."
You sigh, smile and stop protesting. He takes it as a yes.
He immediately cups your face with one hand. His thumb brushes your cheek once and then he leans in.
The kiss only lasts a few seconds. Quick enough that anyone looking away for a moment would miss it, but knowing your fans, they won’t miss something like this.
And it’s exactly what he wants.
He wants people to see. He wants someone across the street to recognize him, he wants the blurry slowed down videos. He wants the dating rumors, the reporters asking about you, wondering if you're together again.
He wants a chance to have you back.
@ idolsdaily
🚨 ENHYPEN's Ni-ki and REPLAY's Y/n caught kissing inside HYBE after her hiatus.
Just one week after REPLAY's Y/n returned from her four-month hiatus, fans claim they spotted Ni-ki (ENHYPEN) and Y/n sharing what looked like a kiss inside the HYBE building.
The sighting comes shortly after HYBE announced a dance collaboration between the two idols.
Neither HYBE, BELIFT LAB, nor REPLAY's management has commented.
୨ৎ Summary : Two people. One bar. One really, really bad night to be alone. Y/n just caught her fiancé of two years in bed with her best friend. Jungwon just found out his girlfriend of six years has been cheating for god knows how long. Neither of them planned on ending up in a hotel room with a stranger — they just both really, really didn't want to be alone that night. No names. No numbers. Just two broken people borrowing comfort from each other for one night, then going their separate ways like it never happened. Except a month later, y/n's staring at two pink lines on a bathroom floor, and there's only one person it could possibly be. She makes her choice fast, she's keeping the baby, and she's doing it alone. no ring, no husband, no one's permission required. So she books her first prenatal appointment at some random clinic near campus, ready to start this chapter solo like she planned—and her doctor walks in. It's him. Yang Jungwon.
୨ৎ Pairing : obgyn! Jungwon x college lecturer! reader
୨ৎ Wordcount : 10k
୨ৎ Warning : ANGST (i warned you) , aged-up Jungwon (he's 28 here), stranger to.... (still figuring out but there's something promising chat), one night stand, unprotected sex, cheating (not Jungwon or y/n), unprotected sex (BIG NO NO, PLEASE WRAP YOUR WILLY), pregnancy.
୨ৎ Song : Maroon 5 - MAPS
PART I
So, I'm following the map that leads to you
You’d both silently decided the bar didn’t count. It belonged to some emergency exit version of yourself, the one who shows up when everything falls apart and then sensibly disappears by morning. Two strangers, one terrible night, and then back to real life, like it never happened. That was supposed to be the whole story.
For weeks you’d told yourself he didn’t exist. No last name, no number, just a blurry memory getting less real by the day. And then there he was. Not imaginary, not gone, just three feet away in a room that smelled like antiseptic instead of whisky, looking at you like he was doing the same impossible math you were.
It still didn’t add up.
You didn’t move. You didn’t speak. The chart in his hand had gone slack, like whatever clinical purpose it once held had dissolved the second recognition hit his face. You watched him swallow. Watched his jaw work, like he was searching for some professional footing and coming up with nothing.
You weren’t doing any better. Your pulse was in your throat, your fingertips, that strange hollow drop in your stomach that had nothing to do with the pregnancy and everything to do with him. A month of telling yourself this was impossible, and here it was anyway, undoing every careful assumption you’d built your new life on.
When he finally spoke, the composure was gone from his voice. He took a slow breath, like he needed it just to stay upright.
“Is the baby mine?”
This time it was quieter. Just him, stripped back down to the same person who’d sat beside you in that bar a month ago, asking a question he already knew the answer to but needed to hear anyway, like saying it out loud might keep the ground steady under him.
You closed your eyes for a moment. “Yes,” you said. The word barely made it past your throat, smaller than you meant it to be.
He didn’t say anything right away. When you opened your eyes, he was still watching you, something delicate moving behind his expression. Not quite fear, not quite relief, but some confused tangle of both, like a man standing at the edge of a life he hadn’t planned for and couldn’t make himself walk away from.
“Okay,” he said, so quietly the hum of the lights above almost swallowed it.
You recognised that it was precisely the same word you had muttered to your bathroom mirror a month prior. You both had no idea how much that one tiny syllable was going to demand of you.
For a brief moment, his hands just hovered in the space where the chart had been, uncertain, as if every professional instinct he had spent years honing had suddenly stopped responding. He set the chart down hard enough that it slid slightly across the counter.
“I can’t examine you.” What remained sounded jagged and unsteady.
“What?”
“Conflict of interest.” He said it like the words hurt on the way out.
You went very still. You already knew. You’d known before he said it, really, but hearing it made it land differently.
He ran a hand through his hair, and for the first time, you saw his composure completely crumble. It was not the cautious, contained way it had earlier cracked, but rather clearly and painfully, as if he were witnessing the disintegration of every assurance he had relied upon throughout his adult life.
"I don't know what to do," he said in a rough voice.
You just stared at him for a second. Then something inside you quietly folded in on itself.
Sure.
Why did you expect anything else?
You’d told yourself you didn’t need to know the father. You’d cried over the impossibility of it before it was even real, before there was anything to be impossible about. You’d accepted that you’d raise this child alone, because that was just how it was going to be. Strangers didn’t become families. One extraordinary night didn’t rewrite an ordinary life
You'd come to terms with it. Or at least you thought you did. But here he stood now, and he saw the doubt in his face, and that studied acceptance began to crack. Not because he actually rejected you, but because your heart already decided what his hesitation meant.
"Right," you said, speaking in a more flattering tone than you meant to, and you were already grabbing the armour you had developed over the previous month. "There is nothing for you to figure out. I told you that I had nothing to ask of you.”
He scowled.
"What?"
"I said there's nothing for you to figure out."
You could no longer bring yourself to look at him. Rather, you occupied yourself with smoothing out imperceptible wrinkles on the paper that was spread out on your lap.
"I wasn't looking for you." You took a swallow. "I wasn't trying to find you."
The words had a false flavour. Everything was different. Saying it out loud hurt more than you expected. You hated that some part of you had already filed Jungwon under the same heading, hated how quickly and completely your body had braced for the same ending, as though you had never once been given a reason to expect anything else from anyone.
Jungwon was watching you. He'd seen patients recoil before. The woman who had stopped crying because she had made up her mind it was no good. The overly polite husband after receiving a terminal diagnosis. The parents who resorted to talking about parking validation because to face reality would destroy them. Some people didn't fall apart loudly. Sometimes they were unbearably controlled. That's what you were doing.
“You think I’m trying to go?"
The sentence slipped out before he'd fully decided to say it. Your fingers paused. For the first time since you'd looked away, you met his eyes.
The words hit home visibly. You saw something flicker behind his eyes, not defensiveness, something more like recognition, as though he knew precisely which wound he'd just stepped on without meaning to. You didn't expect that from him. This wasn't something he had asked for. Even if he wanted nothing to do with you or the baby, you told yourself that made sense.
The bar surfaced again, whether you wanted it to or not. That ring around your glass. The way you’d kept twisting it on your finger instead of just taking it off, because taking it off would have made it final in a way you weren’t ready for. You remembered what you’d said that night, loose enough with drink to be honest, past caring who might overhear.
"I think he stopped choosing me long before he ever said it out loud.”
You looked away first this time, blinking hard at the poster on the wall, the one you'd deliberately avoided studying earlier. Your throat had gone tight enough that breathing normally took actual effort. You pressed your lips together, willing yourself to hold it.
That did not work.
One single tear escaped before you could stop it. Hot and humiliating, sliding down your cheek at the worst possible moment, in front of the worst possible person. You wiped it away quickly, angry at your body for betraying you in this way.
“I have to go,” you said, your voice cracking halfway through the sentence. You slid off the exam table too quickly, the paper crinkling loudly in the small room, and reached for the door before you could change your mind, before you could let yourself fall apart any further in front of him.
You didn’t get far. His fingers wrapped loosely around your wrist, warm, hesitant, like he wasn’t sure he had any right to hold on but couldn’t quite make himself let go either. Just enough to stop you. You went cold.
“Don’t,” he said quietly. “Please. Don’t walk out like this.”
“I—” Your voice gave out completely, and the tears came without permission.
His hand hovered between the chart, the exam table, and finally settled against his own chest.
"You don't have to say anything," you continued, quieter now, the bitterness folding into something more tired than sharp. "I wasn't going to ask you for anything. I didn't come here looking for you."
He opened his mouth, then closed it. Whatever he'd been about to say didn't survive that.
"I'll get someone else to take my file," you said, before he could. "You don't have to be involved in any of it. Really. It'll be easier that way. For both of us."
"That's not what I want," he said quietly.
"You don't know what you want yet," you said, not unkindly, just certain. "That's okay. You don't have to. I stopped expecting anyone to figure that out on my timeline a long time ago."
You picked up your bag from the chair, not looking at him now, because looking at him made it harder to keep the walls up, and the walls were the only thing keeping you standing.
"I can manage this myself," you said, quieter. "I've been managing everything myself. This isn't any different."
He didn't say anything as you walked past him, though you felt his eyes on you the whole way to the door, uncertain and unresolved in a way that you told yourself, firmly, was not your problem to fix.
The hallway outside the exam room felt longer than it had on the way in.
You kept your eyes forward, one foot in front of the other, the way you'd taught yourself to walk out of rooms that had just quietly ended something. It would've been easier if he'd been cruel about it. If he'd looked at you the way you'd braced yourself for.
But he hadn't been cruel. He'd looked lost. Standing there in his white coat with a stethoscope around his neck and no idea what to do with his own hands. And somehow that was worse. Because lost meant he hadn't decided yet. Lost meant there was still a version of this where he tried, and failed, and you had to watch it happen up close instead of guessing at it from a distance.
You couldn't do that again. You didn't have it in you to hope for something and then watch it quietly dissolve a second time in the same year. So you'd decided for him before he could make it for himself. It felt almost merciful, in a strange, aching way. If you didn't let yourself need him, there was nothing left for him to take away.
You didn't need him. You'd meant that.
But walking away from a room where someone had, for one brief second, looked like he might actually want to stay. That took more out of you than you let yourself admit. Because some small, foolish part of you, had wanted to be wrong about him. Just once, for someone to prove your worst assumptions weren't the safest bet.
You got in your car, hands steady on the wheel the way they'd been steady the night everything else fell apart, and you didn't cry until you were three streets away, safely out of sight of anyone who might feel obligated to ask if you were alright.
.
.
.
Jungwon didn't move for a long moment after the door clicked shut.
The room felt too quiet without you in it. He was still holding a pen he didn't remember picking up, and when he looked down at his own hand, it took a second longer than it should have for the object to register as familiar.
A baby.
The word sat in his chest like something he'd swallowed wrong, lodged and unmoving. He'd delivered dozens of them. He knew what the next nine months would look like on a chart. He did not know what it meant that one of them might have his name attached to it.
He sat down heavily on the stool you'd left empty, the vinyl still faintly warm, and stared at the door like it might open again and make the last ten minutes make sense. It didn't.
He realised, that he didn't even know your first name. Not really, he'd seen it on the chart, glanced at it in that first frozen second before recognition hit, but it hadn't stuck, buried under everything else crashing through him at once. He didn't know where you lived. What you did for a living, though, something about you had felt like you spent your days around people who needed patience. He remembered that much from the bar, vaguely, the way you remember the shape of a feeling more than the words that caused it. He didn't know if you had family nearby. Friends. Anyone who'd sit with you through this the way he clearly wasn't being let anywhere near it.
He didn't know a single real thing about the woman who had just told him, flatly, that she was carrying his child and didn't expect anything from him because of it. That last part kept snagging on something in his chest, sharp and unpleasant, like a wire he kept running his thumb over without meaning to.
He didn't know what that meant, not exactly, but he knew enough to recognize the shape of it. The practiced ease of someone who'd said some version of that sentence before, to someone else, about something else. You hadn't sounded angry when you said it. That was the part that unsettled him most. Angry, he could have argued with. Anger gave him something to push against. But you'd sounded certain, the way people sound when they've simply stopped being surprised by disappointment, when they've built their whole footing around expecting less so the ground never has anywhere lower left to drop.
A knock at the door pulled him upright before he could sit with it any longer. Nurse Park leaned her head in, brow raised at the empty room, the abandoned chart, him sitting there like he'd forgotten how exam rooms worked.
"Dr. Yang? Your two o'clock is—"
"I need you to reassign a patient," he said, before she could finish. His voice came out steadier than he felt, which surprised him almost as much as everything else today had. "Transfer her file to Dr. Kim. Today, if you can."
Nurse Park's brow rose further, curiosity plain on her face, but she didn't ask. That was one mercy, at least. "Sure. Everything okay?"
"Fine," he said, too quickly. "Just a conflict of interest."
She left it at that, ducking back out, and he was alone again with the abandoned chart and the too quiet room and the sound of his own pulse suddenly very loud in his ears.
He didn't go find you. He told himself it was because you'd asked him not to, because chasing you down the hallway would have looked exactly like the kind of scene neither of you needed in a hospital full of patients. He told himself a lot of things in the next several minutes, none of which made the unease in his chest sit any easier.
He didn't know you. You'd made that painfully, deliberately clear, like it was a wall you needed built between the two of you before either of you said something you couldn't walk back. But you were going to have his child. And he was going to spend the rest of the day, and probably several after it, turning over the unbearable fact that a woman whose last name he'd only just learned had already decided, quietly and completely, that he wasn't someone worth hoping for.
He picked the pen back up. Set it back down.
Somewhere down the hall, his next patient was waiting, and he had absolutely no idea how he was supposed to walk in there and be anyone's calm, steady doctor when his own life had just come apart at a seam he hadn't known was there.
.
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Three days.
That was all it had been since you walked out of that exam room, and already your body seemed determined to make you regret every ounce of composure you'd held onto in front of him. It was as if some cruel switch had been flipped the moment you'd said the word yes out loud, made it real to someone other than yourself. Like your body had been waiting for a witness.
You woke Wednesday morning already nauseous, the ceiling swimming faintly overhead before you'd even tried to sit up. You'd read that morning sickness typically started later, that this was early even by the worst case scenario timelines, but apparently your pregnancy hadn't read the same pamphlets you had.
By the time you managed to get upright, the room tilted sharply enough that you had to grip the headboard and breathe through it, slow and deliberate, before attempting the short, treacherous walk to the bathroom.
You didn't make it in time to feel dignified about it. Afterward, you sat on the bathroom floor with your back against the cold tub, forehead damp, waiting for your stomach to stop staging its rebellion. This was becoming routine faster than you wanted to admit. Not once, but twice already this week you'd called your department to push back your morning lecture, voice pitched carefully steady, blaming a stomach bug going around campus. You'd never missed lectures before. Not once. It unsettled you more than you let yourself dwell on.
The apartment was silent except for the tap still running in the sink. No one to hand you water. No one to notice you'd barely eaten since yesterday, that the crackers on your nightstand had gone untouched because even the smell of them turned your stomach some hours. You'd gotten good at being invisible to everyone, including yourself.
You didn't know if this was normal. You didn't know if you should be worried, if this level of sick warranted a call to whoever your new doctor was going to be, or if this was simply what your body intended to do to you for the better part of the coming months. You had no one to ask. No one who'd sit on the edge of your bed and tell you this part was supposed to be hard, that it would pass, that you weren't failing at this before it had even really begun.
You pulled yourself back onto your feet using the edge of the sink, rinsed your mouth, and studied your reflection for a moment. Pale, hollow around the eyes, nothing like the woman who used to stand in front of a lecture hall like she had her whole life figured out.
"You're fine," you told her, quietly, the way you'd told yourself countless small lies over the past month that had somehow, collectively, kept you upright. "You've done harder than this alone."
You believed it most days. Today, curled back into bed twenty minutes later with a bucket close enough to reach without standing, the blanket pulled up to your chin against a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room, you weren't entirely sure you believed it at all.
But there was no one there to notice the difference. So you closed your eyes, and let the silence hold you instead, and waited, the way you always did, for the worst of it to pass on its own.
You should have called in sick. You knew that the moment you stepped out of the car, the parking lot tilting faintly at the edges in a way that had nothing to do with the morning sun.
But you'd already missed two lectures this week, and a third would mean questions you didn't have answers for, sympathetic looks from your department head that you didn't think you could survive without your composure cracking down the middle. So you'd taken two crackers and a sip of ginger tea you couldn't taste, told yourself you'd manage, and gone in anyway.
You almost did.
The lecture hall was half full, forty some students scattered across the tiered seats, laptops open, the low hum of a Thursday morning. You'd made it through the attendance. Through the first ten minutes on developmental milestones in early childhood, your voice steady even as your stomach had begun its slow, familiar climb somewhere around slide four.
You kept going.
"—and by eighteen months, most children can typically identify two to three body parts when asked, which becomes important later when we discuss—"
The room tilted.
The front row of desks sliding sideways in your vision like the whole hall had been picked up and set back down at a slight angle. You gripped the edge of the podium, hard, waiting for it to right itself the way it usually did if you just breathed through it, counted to ten, kept your face neutral.
It didn't right itself. Cold sweat prickled along your hairline. Your vision narrowed at the edges, the way it did right before things went dark, a sensation you recognized now with a distant, clinical horror even as your body refused to respond to anything you told it to do. You heard your own voice trail off mid sentence. You saw, as if from very far away, several students look up from their laptops.
"Professor?"
You tried to say I'm fine. Give me a second. The words didn't make it out. The podium seemed to tilt away from your hand, or your hand slid off it, you couldn't tell which, and the last clear thought you had was a strange, absurd flicker of worry that you were about to fall in front of forty students and there'd be no graceful way to explain any of this afterward.
Then the floor came up to meet you, and everything went white, then gray, then nothing at all.
You came back to fluorescent light and unfamiliar voices, the particular antiseptic smell that your body had apparently decided to associate with catastrophe now. Someone's hand was wrapped around your wrist, fingers pressed lightly, counting.
"Ma'am? Can you hear me?"
You blinked, the ceiling swimming into slow focus, a stranger's face hovering above you, kind and unfamiliar. Not him. You didn't know why some small, useless part of you had braced for it to be him.
"You fainted," the nurse said gently, once she saw your eyes track her properly. "You're in the ER. One of your students called it in. You went down pretty hard in the middle of a lecture."
Fainted. In front of your entire class. You closed your eyes again, mortification arriving even before you'd fully processed the rest of it, a hot wave of embarrassment layering itself over the nausea that hadn't actually gone anywhere.
"I'm fine," you said, or tried to. Your voice came out cracked, thinner than you meant it to. "I just need to go home. I have another class at—"
"You're not teaching anything today," the nurse said, not unkindly, but with the particular firmness of someone who dealt with stubborn patients for a living. "You're pregnant and dehydrated and you haven't been keeping food down. We're keeping you a few hours at least, getting fluids into you."
There was someone whose opinion mattered now, whether you liked it or not, and he worked three floors up in this exact building.
A resident you didn't recognize came by twenty minutes later to check your IV line, young, unfamiliar, entirely uninterested in anything beyond your vitals and your chart. You almost laughed at the relief that gave you.
By the time they discharged you late that afternoon, an IV bruise blooming faintly on the inside of your elbow, a stack of printed pamphlets about hyperemesis gravidarum tucked under your arm. You called a cab instead of your own car, since you didn't trust your hands on a wheel yet, and sat in the back seat with your forehead against the cool window, watching the hospital shrink behind you.
You told yourself that was fine. You told yourself that a lot, lately. It didn't make the ride home feel any less quiet.
The cab dropped you off just as the sky was starting to dim, and by the time you'd climbed the two flights of stairs to your apartment. The elevator was broken again, of course it was. Your legs were shaking badly enough that you had to stop twice, palm flat against the wall, waiting for the stairwell to stop tilting.
You made it inside. You didn't make it much further than that. The pamphlets slid out of your grip and scattered across the entryway floor as your knees gave out, not dramatically, just a slow, graceless folding, your back sliding down the front door until you were sitting on the cold tile with your knees drawn up and your whole body trembling like something had come loose inside it.
The nausea came back within the hour, worse than it had been that morning, worse than it had been at all this week. It didn't announce itself gently. It arrived in one violent lurch that had you crawling toward the bathroom, not trusting your legs to carry you upright.
You didn't make it to the toilet in time. You barely made it to the bathroom at all, retching over the edge of the tub instead, your whole body seizing with the force of it long after there was anything left to bring up, dry, wrenching heaves that left your ribs aching and your throat raw and scraped, tears streaming down your face less from sadness than from the sheer physical violence of it.
You stayed like that for a long time, forehead pressed against the cool porcelain, saliva and bile stringing from your lips, your hands braced shaking against the tub's edge. Your stomach cramped hard, a deep muscular ache that radiated up into your ribs and down into your pelvis, and for one sharp, terrified second you pressed a hand low against your abdomen, holding your breath, waiting to feel something wrong.
Nothing. No blood. No new pain beyond the exhaustion of your body trying to turn itself inside out. You allowed yourself a single shuddering breath of relief before the next wave hit and you were retching again, nothing left to give it, just your body insisting anyway.
By the time it finally, mercifully passed, you were slumped sideways against the bathtub, cheek against cold tile, drenched in a cold sweat that had soaked through your shirt. Your pulse fluttered too fast and too thin at your wrist when you pressed two fingers there, checking, the way you'd learned to over the past week. Your mouth tasted of bile and copper. Your lips had gone dry and cracked at the corners.
You should call someone. The thought arrived distantly, muted, the way thoughts did when your body had spent everything it had. You'd just been hospitalized for exactly this, hours ago, and here you were on your bathroom floor doing it again, alone, with no one so much as aware it was happening.
Your hand found your phone in your pocket, more out of habit than intention. The screen lit the dim bathroom, too bright, and you had to squint against it. You didn't call anyone. You didn't have the strength to hold the phone to your ear, let alone explain, let alone hear the worry in someone's voice and have to manage that too, on top of everything else.
You set the phone down on the tile beside you instead, and simply lay there, curled loosely on your side, waiting for enough strength to return to your limbs that you could drag yourself the six feet to your own bed.
It took nearly twenty minutes. You slept in your clothes that night, on top of the covers instead of under them, too exhausted to manage even that small effort, a glass of water you couldn't bring yourself to drink from sitting untouched on the nightstand, condensation sliding slowly down its side in the dark, and no one in the world aware that you'd spent your evening on a bathroom floor, alone, quietly and privately falling apart.
.
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Karina almost didn't come by that morning.
She'd meant to call first, the way she usually did, but you hadn't answered your last two texts, and something about the silence. Three days of it now, uncharacteristic even for you at your most withdrawn, had sat wrong in her chest all week. She'd told herself she was being paranoid. She came anyway.
She still had the spare key, back when you'd both lived two buildings apart and traded keys the way close friends did. She let herself in calling your name, expecting to find you buried in lesson planning, embarrassed to have worried.
She found you on the bedroom floor instead, half collapsed beside the bed like you'd tried to stand and simply hadn't made it, your skin gray pale, lips cracked, one hand still curled weakly against the carpet like you'd been reaching for something.
"Oh my god— hey. Hey!" Karina dropped to her knees beside you, hands shaking as she checked for breath, for pulse, for anything. You stirred faintly at her voice, eyes fluttering half open, unfocused. "Stay with me, okay? I'm calling an ambulance."
"I'm fine," you managed, barely a whisper, the words slurring together. "Just need—"
"You are not fine." Her voice cracked, fear bleeding through the command in it as she fumbled her phone out of her pocket, thumb shaking too hard to hit the numbers cleanly the first time. "You look like you're about to die on your bedroom floor, so don't you dare tell me you're fine."
She got the address out between breaths she didn't remember taking, one hand still gripping yours the entire time, too tight, like letting go might mean losing you to whatever this was.
She rode in the ambulance with you, refusing to be left behind when a paramedic suggested she follow in her own car. She sat in the hospital waiting room for forty five minutes that felt like four hours, knee bouncing, phone clutched uselessly in her lap because she didn't know who else to call, didn't know if there was anyone else to call, and that realization alone made something in her chest ache almost as much as the fear did.
When a nurse finally came to update her, Karina was on her feet before the woman had finished her sentence.
"Family?" the nurse asked, glancing at her chart.
"Might as well be," Karina said, voice tight. "She doesn't have anyone else listed, does she."
The nurse's hesitation was answer enough.
"She's stable," the nurse said instead, gently. "Severe dehydration, malnutrition. She's been dealing with hyperemesis, it looks like, and it seems like she's been managing it alone for weeks. We're keeping her a few days to get her properly stabilized."
Karina pressed a hand over her mouth, equal parts relief and fury rising in her chest. Relief that you were breathing, steady, alive, and fury that you'd let it get this bad without telling a single soul, without telling her, after everything the two of you had been through together.
She sat by your bed for the rest of that afternoon, watching the slow rise and fall of your chest, IV fluid dripping steadily into the back of your hand, and made a silent, furious promise that the moment you were lucid enough to argue with her, she was going to give you an earful about doing this alone.
You stirred sometime near evening, eyes fluttering open slowly, disoriented, focusing first on the ceiling and then, gradually, on her.
"Karina?" Your voice came out cracked, confused.
"Yeah." She leaned forward, gripping your hand, blinking back tears she refused to let fall in front of you. "Yeah, it's me. You scared the absolute hell out of me."
You blinked at her, at the IV in your hand, at the hospital room slowly coming into focus around you, and something in your face crumpled, the exhausted collapse of someone who'd been holding a wall up for too long and had finally, involuntarily, let it fall.
"I didn't want to bother anyone," you whispered.
"You're pregnant and you were dying on your bedroom floor," Karina said, voice thick, somewhere between a sob and a laugh. "I don't care how much you didn't want to bother me. You're stuck with me now. No more doing this by yourself."
You didn't have the strength to argue. For once, some small, exhausted part of you was almost grateful you didn't have to.
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Jungwon told himself it would fade. That was the whole premise he'd been operating on for two and a half weeks now. That time would do what time was supposed to do, sand the edges off something sharp until it became just another fact of his life instead of the thing that occupied every quiet moment he wasn't actively filling with something else.
It hadn't worked. He caught himself doing it again during a lull between patients, staring at a blank spot on the wall of the break room, coffee going cold in his hand, his mind somewhere else entirely.
He'd requested her file be transferred to Dr. Kim, exactly as he'd promised. He hadn't looked at it since. He told himself that was the responsible thing to do. He told himself that every time his hand hovered a half second too long over the patient database before he made himself close it, unopened.
He didn't know if she'd made it to her next appointment, if the nausea she'd looked faintly gray with even standing in that exam room had gotten better or worse, if she was eating, sleeping, managing any of it the way she'd insisted, with such brittle certainty, that she would.
He hated that he thought about it as much as he did. Hated it, and couldn't stop.
“You've been doing it for weeks." Sunoo took a sip, watching him over the rim of the cup. "Still thinking about the peach dream? Told you it meant something."
"It's nothing," Jungwon said, too quickly, and made himself take a sip of his own coffee just to have something to do with his mouth besides say anything further. "Just tired. Long week."
"It's been a long week for three weeks running, then." Sunoo didn't look convinced, but he let it sit for a moment, watching him with the kind of patience that usually meant he was waiting for a crack to widen on its own rather than trying to force one. "You'd tell me if something was actually going on, right?"
"There's nothing going on." The lie came easier than Jungwon expected it to, flat and practiced, though it sat wrong in his chest the second it left his mouth. "I'm fine."
Sunoo studied him a beat longer, clearly unconvinced, but he shrugged eventually and let it go, the way he usually did when Jungwon's tone made it clear a door had been shut. "Alright. Suit yourself."
The conversation moved on to something else and he was grateful for it, grateful that Sunoo hadn't pushed harder, because he didn't know what he would have said if he had. There wasn't a version of the truth he could hand over that didn't sound absurd out loud.
He didn't know how to explain that he'd meant to let it go, and instead had spent nearly three weeks failing to stop thinking about a woman whose last name he'd had to read off a chart to remember, whose entire life outside of that one night and that one appointment remained a complete blank to him.
He didn't know how to explain, least of all to himself, why some part of him refused to accept that blank as permanent. He finished his coffee in silence, and when his pager went off a few minutes later, he was almost relieved for the excuse to leave the thought behind, if only for the length of his next shift.
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The consult request landed in his queue a little after four. It was one of a dozen routine notifications that came through on any given shift. He almost skimmed past it. He didn't work in obstetrics anymore, not since he'd handed his own patient list over to Dr. Kim weeks ago. He'd made an effort to stop looking at those cases.
But this one came through internal medicine, not OB. It was flagged as severe dehydration and malnutrition, possible hyperemesis. They wanted a second opinion on fluid management before admitting the patient properly.
He opened the summary out of habit more than curiosity.
Female, thirty two years old. About eleven weeks pregnant. She'd been found unconscious by a friend. Severe dehydration. She'd lost eight percent of her body weight in two weeks. Her heart rate had been dangerously high on admission. There was no record of any follow-up appointment since her first OB visit three weeks earlier.
He frowned at that last part. Three weeks was a long time to go without monitoring, especially with symptoms this severe. Someone had fallen through the cracks. It bothered him, the same way it always did when a patient's file showed the system failing someone who should have been caught sooner.
He looked for the name of the doctor overseeing her care. He found only Dr. Kim listed, with no other notes attached besides an old transfer memo from a few weeks back. He didn't think twice about that memo. He'd written it himself, but his mind was somewhere else, moving through the facts the way he always did, quickly and clinically.
The patient's name was cut off in the quick view screen, an old glitch in the hospital's software that had annoyed him for years. He never thought to be grateful for it before.
He typed up his recommendation. Slow rehydration. Anti nausea medication. Closer monitoring, given the gap in her care. He added a note asking social work to check in, since it looked like she didn't have much support. It was clinical and short, the way he wrote every consult note, and he sent it back through the system without a second thought.
Something caught at the back of his mind for a moment. Eleven weeks. The number surfaced, then sank again before he could think about why it mattered. There was another patient waiting.
He didn't open her full chart. There was no reason to. It wasn't his case anymore, and nothing in the short summary gave him any reason to connect this exhausted, malnourished woman to the one who still, somehow, took up more space in his thoughts than she had any right to.
He moved on to the next consult. But the uneasy feeling stayed with him for the rest of his shift, quiet and shapeless, like a name he almost remembered but couldn't quite reach.
.
.
.
.
Jungwon didn't remember falling asleep. He remembered lying in the dark for a long time, staring at his ceiling, exhaustion finally pulling him under sometime past midnight.
And then he was dreaming.
The garden came back to him, the same one from weeks ago, though he knew almost immediately that something about it was wrong.
The trees were still there, heavy branched, familiar in shape. But the leaves had gone brittle at the edges, curling inward like paper too close to a flame. Some had already fallen, scattered thin and brown across ground that should have been soft with grass and instead felt dry and cracked underfoot, like it hadn't seen rain in a long time.
He walked through it the way he had before, searching without knowing exactly what he was searching for. The fruit trees that had once bent low with ripeness now held branches that looked stripped and empty, a few withered pieces of fruit still clinging on that looked more rotten than ripe.
The woman was there again. He still couldn't see her face clearly, the way dreams sometimes blurred the details that should have mattered most, but he recognized her outline, the same as before, standing beneath the same tree where she'd once handed him a peach warm with sunlight.
This time she wasn't holding anything out to him. She was kneeling at the base of the tree instead, one hand pressed against the trunk like she needed it to stay upright. Her shoulders looked thin. Her head was bowed low enough that he couldn't see any of her expression, only the slow, careful way she was breathing, like even that took effort.
"Wait," he said, or tried to. His voice didn't seem to carry the way it should have.
He moved toward her, and the ground beneath his feet seemed to stretch further with every step, the way distances do in dreams, refusing to close no matter how fast he moved. The leaves kept falling around them, one after another, drifting down slow and silent, until the branches above her were bare.
He reached her at last, or thought he did, and knelt down in front of her, and reached out to touch her shoulder. She looked up at him then. He still couldn't make out her face. But he could feel, somehow, in the strange logic dreams operated by, that she was exhausted. Depleted. Something in her had been quietly draining away, day after day, and no one had noticed in time to stop it.
She simply closed her eyes again, her hand still pressed to the trunk of the dying tree, and the last of the leaves let go overhead, falling around both of them like something quietly ending.
He woke with a start, heart pounding, sheets damp beneath him, the ceiling of his own bedroom swimming slowly into focus in the dark.
It took him a long moment to remember where he was. Longer still to shake the feeling that had settled deep in his chest, heavy and wrong, like his body understood something his mind hadn't caught up to yet.
He sat up, pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, and told himself it was only a dream. Stress, probably, or guilt finding a strange shape to wear while he slept. But he didn't fall back asleep for a long time after that. He lay in the dark instead, staring at the ceiling, turning the image over and over, the garden gone bare, her kneeling beneath it, exhausted in a way that had felt far too real to belong only to a dream.
He was distracted the whole next day, in a way that didn't sit well with him at all.
It started small. He mixed up the order of two consults, something he never did, and had to double back and apologize to a nurse who'd been waiting on him. He found himself staring too long at a patient's chart during rounds, words on the page not quite registering, his mind circling back again and again to a garden that didn't exist and a woman whose face he couldn't see.
He told himself it was just a dream. He'd told himself that all morning, on repeat, like saying it enough times might finally make it true. It didn't help. The image kept surfacing anyway, uninvited, in the quiet spaces between tasks. The leaves falling. Her shoulders, thin and bowed. The way she hadn't answered him.
And underneath the dream, tangled up with it so tightly he couldn't separate the two anymore, was her. The real her. The woman from the exam room, weeks ago now, sitting there in a paper gown telling him flatly that she didn't need anything from him.
He hadn't seen her since. He didn't know if she was alright. That fact, which he'd been quietly carrying around for weeks, suddenly felt heavier today, pressing somewhere behind his ribs in a way he couldn't explain and didn't like.
He caught himself, twice, opening the hospital directory with every intention of searching her name, only to close it again before he could type more than a letter or two. He had no reason to look. No professional reason, and telling himself there might be a personal one felt like admitting to something he wasn't ready to say out loud, not even to himself.
His chest felt tight in a way that had nothing to do with his own health. It was an uncomfortable, restless feeling, like something was wrong and he didn't have enough information to know what, or where, or how to fix it. He hated not knowing. He'd built his whole career around being someone who found answers, who didn't let uncertainty sit for long before chasing it down. And here he was, useless, sitting with a feeling he couldn't name and no way to act on it.
By the time his shift ended, he'd barely eaten, his coffee long since gone cold and forgotten on his desk. He sat in his car in the hospital parking lot for a while before starting the engine, hands resting on the wheel, staring out at nothing in particular.
"It's just a dream," he said out loud, to the empty car, like hearing it might finally settle something.
It didn't. If anything, saying it out loud only made the discomfort in his chest more obvious, more real, refusing to be reasoned away just because he didn't have a name to put to it, or a face, or any real claim to worrying about her at all.
He drove home in silence, the radio off, the same restless unease sitting with him the whole way, quiet and persistent, like it had no intention of leaving until he did something about it.
He got as far as his apartment door before he stopped fighting it.
He stood there for a moment, keys still in hand, and then, almost against his own better judgment, pulled out his phone instead of going inside. He told himself it was just to check. Just to see that she was fine, that the dream had been nothing, that the tight feeling behind his ribs was simply exhaustion wearing a strange shape. Just this once, and then he'd stop.
He let himself back into his own hallway, sat down heavily on the bottom step of the stairwell instead of climbing them, and opened the hospital's internal system on his phone. His thumb hovered over the search bar longer than it should have. He typed her name.
The system took a second to load, longer than he wanted, his knee bouncing while he waited, and then a list of results filled the screen. Not many. It was an uncommon enough name that there was really only one match that mattered.
He tapped it before he could talk himself out of it. The file loaded slowly, and for a moment his eyes just skimmed without absorbing anything, too much information arriving too fast. Then it started to land, piece by piece, and his stomach dropped further with each line.
Admitted three weeks ago. Severe dehydration and malnutrition. Discharged same day, no documented follow up. Readmitted two days ago. Hyperemesis gravidarum, ketones present, found unconscious by a third party.
Found unconscious. He read it twice, like the words might rearrange themselves into something less alarming the second time. They didn't. He scrolled further, hands not quite steady now, and found the consult note attached to the more recent admission. His own name was on it. His own handwriting, in a sense, typed out clinically weeks ago, recommending fluid management for a patient he hadn't realized was her, flagging her case for social work because something in the chart had told him, even then, that no one was checking in on her.
He'd been right there. He'd read her chart and not known it was her. He'd written notes about her condition and closed the file without a second thought, because the software had cut off her name and he hadn't looked hard enough to notice.
Eleven weeks. The number that had been surfacing in his mind for days finally made sense, horribly, completely, and he felt something in his chest cave in around it.
She'd been sick. Really sick. Alone in an apartment somewhere, collapsing, hospitalized twice, and he hadn't known. He'd been having dreams about dying gardens while she was on a bathroom floor somewhere, or worse, and he'd told himself it was nothing, told himself it wasn't his place to look.
He was on his feet before he'd fully decided to move, keys still in his other hand, phone still lit with her chart, his pulse loud enough in his ears that it drowned out every reasonable argument his own mind tried to raise about boundaries, about what she'd asked for, about whether he had any right at all to show up.
None of it mattered right now. He needed to see her. He needed to know, with his own eyes, that she was alright. He was already moving toward the door before he'd let himself think through what he'd even say when he got there.
.
.
.
.
The room had gone dim sometime after the nurses' evening rounds, the overhead lights dimmed low, the machines beside your bed humming their steady, indifferent rhythm into the quiet. Karina had left an hour ago, only after you'd insisted, only after you'd promised you'd call if you needed anything, a promise you both knew you probably wouldn't keep.
You lay there now, IV taped to the back of your hand, the thin blanket pulled up to your chest, and let yourself, finally, stop pretending you were fine.
It came slowly at first. A tightness in your throat you tried to swallow down out of habit. Then your eyes stinging, then blurring, until the ceiling above you dissolved into a soft, watery smear of white. You pressed the back of your free hand against your mouth, an old reflex, quiet, don't let anyone hear.
There was no one to hear. That was the whole problem, wasn't it.
You thought about the last two weeks. About crawling to the bathroom in the dark. About lying on your own bedroom floor, alone, until your body simply gave out and someone else had to find you before it was too late. You thought about how close that had actually been, closer than you'd let yourself admit even to Karina, who'd cried in the waiting room while you were unconscious and hadn't fully stopped being afraid since.
You thought about the tiny, stubborn thing growing inside you that you hadn't even properly begun to plan for, that you were supposed to be strong enough to carry through all of this alone, and some exhausted, honest part of you finally admitted, in the dark, in the quiet, that you didn't know if you could.
"I don't know if I can do this," you whispered, to no one, to the empty room, your voice cracking apart on the last word.
The admission scared you more than anything else had in weeks. You'd built your whole life, especially these last two months, around the belief that you could handle anything alone if you just gritted your teeth hard enough. You'd told Jungwon that, practically to his face. You'd told yourself that every single day since. And here you were, hooked to fluids in a hospital bed for the second time in a month, and the belief was cracking right down the center, and you didn't know how to hold it together anymore.
The tears came harder after that, silent at first, then not silent at all, your shoulders shaking with the effort of trying to keep it quiet even though there was no one there to disturb. You curled onto your side as much as the IV line would allow, one hand drifting to rest low against your stomach, the way it always did now without your permission.
"I'm sorry," you whispered, to the tiny life you couldn't see or feel yet, only imagine. "I'm trying. I promise I'm trying."
It didn't answer, of course. There was only the quiet hum of the machines, and the faint hallway light bleeding in under the door, and the terrible, hollow ache of being so completely alone with something this big.
You cried until you didn't have much left to cry with, until your eyes burned and your chest ached and exhaustion finally started pulling you down toward sleep despite everything. You didn't wipe your face before you let your eyes close. There was no one there to see it anyway.
That was what you told yourself, right up until the moment sleep finally took you under, and you never heard the soft, hesitant knock that came at your door several minutes later, too tentative to wake you, from someone who'd been standing in the hallway for a long moment before he found the nerve to lift his hand at all.
Somewhere between the crying and the exhaustion pulling you under, one thought kept circling back, quiet and unanswerable.
Is it supposed to be this hard?
You didn't know. That was the worst part of it, in a strange way. You'd spent years around children, around the after of pregnancy, the finished product of it, toddlers with sticky hands and easy laughter, and never once had you stopped to ask their mothers what the nine months before had actually cost them. You'd assumed, vaguely, the way people assume things they've never had to live through, that it was hard but survivable, uncomfortable but manageable, something women simply got through with the right amount of patience and ginger tea.
You hadn't expected this. The bathroom floors. The fainting. Two hospital admissions in less than a month, your body seeming to fight the thing growing inside you rather than simply carry it. You wondered, in the dim, half formed way exhaustion allowed for, whether other women went through this too, quietly, alone, and never talked about it because talking about it felt like admitting they weren't handling something that was supposed to come naturally.
You thought of your own mother, briefly, the offhand thing she used to say. Hardest thing I ever did alone. You'd always assumed that meant the raising, the late nights, the years after. You were starting to wonder if she'd meant this part too, the very beginning, the part nobody warned you about because by the time you were far enough along to tell anyone, you were already too deep in it to turn back.
You didn't know if this was normal. You didn't know if other women lay awake at night wondering if their body had simply chosen the wrong person to do this to, someone without the reserves for it, someone already worn thin from everything that came before. You didn't have anyone to ask. Not really. Karina had been wonderful, had sat by your bed for hours, but Karina didn't know what this felt like from the inside, the particular loneliness of a body doing something enormous while the rest of your life went on expecting you to be fine.
You pressed a hand lightly against your stomach again, feeling nothing yet, no movement, no proof beyond the exhaustion and the IV and the doctor's clipped, worried tone from earlier that day. Just an idea of a person, still. A hope, and a fear, tangled together so tightly you couldn't separate them anymore.
Is it supposed to be this hard?
You didn't have an answer. You only had the ache in your chest, and the too-quiet room, and the slow pull of sleep finally dragging your thoughts apart before you could find one.
.
.
.
.
Jungwon didn't remember most of the walk from the parking garage. He remembered running at some point, badge bouncing against his chest, breath tearing ragged in his throat by the time he hit the stairwell instead of waiting for the elevator, two steps at a time, his pulse louder in his ears than anything else around him.
He found your room number on the floor directory and moved toward it without slowing, weaving past a cart, muttering an apology to a nurse he nearly collided with. He didn't bother knocking. He pushed the door open, chest still heaving, and froze.
You were still awake.
You'd curled onto your side, one hand pressed against your mouth, shoulders shaking with the effort of crying quietly in a room that had no reason to expect anyone would walk in on it. Your eyes were red, your cheeks wet, the IV line taped awkwardly to the back of your free hand. You looked up at the sound of the door, startled, and every part of you went rigid.
Disbelief bleeding through the exhaustion. You pushed yourself up slightly against the pillows, swiping a hand roughly across your face, some old reflex to hide what he'd just walked in on, even though it was far too late for that. "What are you— how did you—"
He didn't answer right away. He was too busy staring at you, chest still rising and falling too fast, his own shock plain on his face. He hadn't let himself picture this, not really, not the reality of it. How small you looked. How hollowed out. How clearly you'd been crying alone for a while before he arrived.
"I read your chart," he admitted, voice rough, still catching his breath. "I didn't know it was you until an hour ago."
"You shouldn't be here," you said, though it came out weaker than you meant it to, your voice still thick with tears.
"I know." He didn't move toward you yet, like he was afraid of doing the wrong thing, afraid of taking up space you hadn't offered him. "I know I shouldn't. You told me you didn't need me. I heard you. I've been trying to respect that for weeks, and I have no right to walk in here and undo it just because I'm scared."
"Then why did you come?" Your voice broke on the question, quieter than you meant it, more honest than you meant it too.
He took a step closer, slow, like he was asking permission with every inch. "Because I've been dreaming about you for weeks and I didn't even understand what I was dreaming about," he said, voice unsteady now, none of his usual composure left in it. "Because I read a chart today and didn't know it was yours until it was almost too late to know at all. Because the thought of you lying somewhere alone, going through this by yourself, is unbearable to me. I can't explain why. I've tried to talk myself out of caring this much about someone I barely know, and I can't do it. I've tried for weeks."
You stared at him, tears still slipping down your face, unable to find any words to answer that with.
"I'm not asking you to let me fix this," he went on, quieter now, closer, close enough that you could see how badly his hands were shaking at his sides. "I'm not asking you to trust me, or to need me, or to believe I'll be different from whoever taught you to expect nothing. I know I haven't earned any of that yet." His voice cracked, raw and unguarded in a way you'd never heard from him. "I'm just asking you to let me sit here. Just for tonight. Please. I don't want you to be alone in this room anymore."
You pressed the back of your hand against your mouth, a fresh wave of tears rising, not entirely sure anymore if they were from exhaustion or grief or something dangerously close to relief.
"I don't know… I… ," you admitted, voice cracking apart.
"One night. That's all I'm asking for right now. Just let me stay."
He reached out, slow and hesitant, and rested his hand near yours on the blanket, not quite touching, close enough that you could close the distance if you wanted to. You did. Your fingers curled weakly around his, and for the first time in weeks, neither of you were entirely, completely alone.
Leon's terrible, horrible, no good, very bad vacation to rural Spain only gets worse and weirder when he meets a woman with more secrets than he can shake a stick at and a vocabulary that would make Chris Redfield blush.
Ch.4: David Attenborough
Ch.1, Ch.2, Ch.3
Pairing: Leon Kennedy x F!Reader
Warnings: MDNI
Word Count: 21.3k... whoops.
A/N: sorry i died for like, three months. i got into a masters programme so i've been scrambling to prepare for that but i'm back in the swing of things now so hopefully it won't be another 3 months until the next chapter but also i won't be making any promises...
It wasn't as awkward as you thought it was going to be. Or rather, it wasn't as awkward as it should have been. After you'd marched away from him — in the wrong direction — things had more or less gone back to normal. Whatever normal was for you and Leon. You'd continued singing under your breath, answered his quips with some of your own, watched his six when he took point. You'd fallen into a rhythm. A comfortable one. Maybe that really was all you needed. One kiss, to figure out what the hell you were both feeling. And now that was over… All seemed to be well.
Until you touched him.
Or got near him in any kind of capacity.
Or saw his smile or his little laugh or his smirk or his face.
In which case, you were screwed.
You could still feel his arm beneath your palm. The soft strands of his hair through your fingers. Still hear that stupid little fucking groan he breathed. The one that was playing on repeat. The one that made you fight the urge to strip the rest of his clothes from his body and devour him. Whole. Or maybe in a few bites. Into the side of his neck. His shoulder. His chest. Okay, many bites. You wanted to devour him in many bites. Was that so bad?
YES.
Still, you took his hand when he stretched it down for you, helping you clamber out of the well. The ladder was enough. You weren't the injured one. But he still clasped his hand around yours to help you up.
You nodded in thanks. Keeping things professional.
Sliding the key home into the locked village hall door, your heart did a little jump when it actually opened. Because holy shit, it was impossible to deny now. You were actually making progress. Progress was being made! Thank fuck for that. Hopefully this would all be over in another hour or so, and you could go your separate ways, and you'd never have to think about his ridiculously good-looking face ever again. Well, maybe only when the long nights felt a little too lonely.
Checking his gun, Leon glanced back to where you were standing a respectable distance from him. And he could feel every centimetre. Or rather, not feel it. He wasn't feeling your proximity at all. No hum of anticipation when you were this far from him. It was colder than he was expecting. Colder than the rest of the air around him.
"Ready?" He asked, mainly for an excuse to talk to you. He knew you were ready. It was rare you weren't. And you answered him with a shrug.
"Sure, why not?"
Leon raised his brows. Fair enough.
Pushing open the door, his gun was instantly raised, pointing towards the unknown. He hadn't heard anything coming from inside, but that didn't mean nothing was there. You, too, had your gun in your hand, though you were mainly looking behind you, brows furrowed.
"Something wrong?" Leon's head tilted to the side, his hair swinging slightly. Though you shook your head, your expression didn't change, and your gaze didn't move.
"You ever feel like someone's watchin' you?" You'd felt it for a while now. Like a pair of eyes stalking your every movement. Sharp. Assessing. That prick at the back of your neck felt almost familiar. Or maybe it was just the eyes of the village.
"Think we're being followed?" Leon stepped back to your side, following your line of sight into the trees. He trusted your instincts. More than he probably should. There was just something about you that made him think you were more in tune to your surroundings than he was. Like you would be really good at a spot-the-difference.
"Dunno. Hard to say. It just feels… off."
"This whole place feels off," Leon agreed, though he couldn't spot whatever you were looking at.
"Mm, not wrong there," you murmured, before exhaling a loosening breath. "Nothing. Probably just a crow or something."
Leon wasn't convinced.
"Maybe. Keep an eye on it though, yeah?"
"Yes sir," you grinned, offering him a lazy, two-fingered salute before turning back to step into the hall. "Hooooly shit. Now we know where the budget was blown," you gestured to the mist filtering across the floor, the creepy choice of human skull decor. One huge one caught your eye on the other side of the room. "Looks like some freaky cult rave in here."
"What kinda raves have you been to?" Leon asked in amused accusation, brushing past your shoulder to search for anything that could suggest Ashley was dragged through here deeper in the hall. He could imagine it, actually. You. Loud music. Flashing lights. A grin bright as the sun. Chaos. Just — chaos.
He watched you mentally catalogue everything on the various tables, once again running your fingers along the grime and dust. It was almost… sorrowful. But the look was gone the second he registered it. Like you'd just shut it away. Like you didn't want to entertain it. Fair enough. Compartmentalise. He understood more than most.
"Oh, I didn't mention I'm part of a cult?" You looked over your shoulder to where he'd crouched to open a cupboard, your tone saccharine sweet. "Virgin sacrifices, cannibalism, blood rituals, the works."
"Kinda low-hanging fruit, don'tcha think?" He responded dryly, comparing the herb he'd found in the cupboard with his own, making sure it was the same before pocketing it in the pouch at the back of his belt. "Though—" he stood "—it would make sense."
"I don't— what's that supposed to mean?" You turned fully now, hands on your hips. And framed by the various flickering candles, piles of human skulls and smoke curling around your ankles, you looked like some kind of demonic vision. Maybe you were part of a cult.
Leon shook his head. Whether it was fondly or not, you couldn't tell.
"Just an observation," he noted, shining his flashlight in your direction pointedly before turning away to keep looking.
"Just an observation," you mocked, clicking your tongue in disapproval, stepping through the candle-lit room towards the painting you'd seen back in the Chief's house back atop the hill. Saddler… right? Lord Saddler? Something like that.
Crossing your arms against your chest, you continued to take stock of the room. It felt almost gothic, though that could be more to do with the freaky-cult-rave vibes they had going on. Solid wood structure, support beams; could come down fairly easily with a strike to the load-bearing ones.
You were mid-thought when the earpiece in your ear started to ring, almost scaring the life out of you. Reaching up, you pressed it once, already bracing yourself for Nyx's irritating voice.
"Aye, Alecto, Nyx here!"
Leon turned as he heard you sigh heavily, eyes narrowing at the fingers on your ear.
"Reading you loud n' clear, Nyx, whatcha got for me?" You responded, reaching out to inspect the wooden doors framing the painting, briefly inspecting behind them.
"Soooooo, I did some digging — I know, you're welcome — and found some shit out," he paused, and you pinched the bridge of your nose.
"Yeeees? And?" You prompted, trying your best to keep your shit together whilst Leon smirked at you. You made a face that promised death, turning your back to him deliberately as you waited for Nyx to finish his drink of soda or whatever the fuck he was doing.
"Diva, give me a moment. Sending it over now." You heard the clacking of Nyx's keyboard before the communication unit in your pocket lit up, and you fished it out. Leaning against the support beam next to you, your brows furrowed as you scrolled through the file.
Until you stopped.
Dead.
The blood in your veins turned to ice.
"Nyx, what the fuck is this?" Leon turned back to you again; this time he wasn't smirking. Because that wasn't a smirking tone. That was a 'something is very, very wrong' tone.
"Additional neutralisation target. Apparently this fucker is a real thorn in someone's side. Paid half up front, by the way. Same guy that hired you for this gig," Nyx offered like you'd asked him for outfit choices depending on how cold it was outside.
"And that was?" You tried, though already knowing the answer.
"Nuh-uh. Sorry, babes, no-can-do. You know the rules," he responded, and the sing-song tone made you want to commit several felonies. Taking a moment to settle the bubbling rage in your gut, you waved Leon off as he came into your field of vision, that stupid concern pinching his brows.
"Right. So I'm halfway through a gig an' now he's throwing in extra bullshit?"
"He's already paid—"
"Yeah, half, Nyx. He's paid half. Send it back, I'm not doing it."
"So you don't wanna find them?"
That stopped you. Because how dare he? How dare he bring that up right now?
"You're on thin fucking ice." Your voice dropped dangerously low, a calm-before-the-storm type thing. And Leon subconsciously backed up a step. What the fuck was going on?
"I'm on your side here. I want to find them as much as you do," he defended himself, and you could almost hear the way he sat back in his chair and waved his hand.
"No. You don't. You have no fucking idea, Nyx. Those people — took everything. They took—"
"Meg and Tiss? That was you, Alec. Remember? You started that fire. You took off. You left them to burn."
You stayed silent, biting back every single scathing response with the restraint you barely possessed. Because he was right. He was right. But you also knew some escaped the inferno. Some made it out. And you wouldn't have made it this far without Nyx's help, despite his infuriating personality.
"Look, I've got another lead I'm looking into," Nyx continued. "But we need the cash. Plane tickets aren't cheap, babes." He'd changed his tone into something softer. A tad more understanding. No less sass-filled, but with gentler edges.
"I know. Fuck, I know. Alright, fine. I'll — I'll handle it," you breathed, bracing your face in your hand, pocketing your communication unit once again.
"Alec…"
"I said I'll fucking handle it, Nyx. Keep looking into the lead you got," you paused, throwing your head back to inhale a deep breath. "Oh, and do some diggin' into something called Los Iluminados. Found some kinda weird scripture type thing earlier, that was the title."
"'S like a book or something?" Nyx asked, and for once you didn't hear the crinkling of a crisp packet when you asked him to do something.
"Dunno. That's why I'm asking you to look into it," you managed to spit through gated teeth. You didn't know when you started pacing, but it must have been at some point after Nyx brought up your goal. He knew that would get to you. Asshole.
"A'ight babes, I'll let you get back to it. Toodles!"
Before you could bark at him to stop calling you babes, Nyx disconnected, and you felt like a puppet with its strings cut. Your shoulders sagged, your chest loosened, your arms fell by your sides. There was a moment where you were just happy to be off the call again, basking in the Nyx-less environment.
Before the substance of the conversation bubbled back to the surface, as well as your good friend: rage.
With a furious shout, you sent your foot through the closest barrel to you, letting the satisfying crunch of wood dampen the flames in your chest ever so slightly. But hidden within the splinter of planks was the perturbed hiss of a disturbed snake, yellowish patterns blending in almost seamlessly with the spilt paint on the side of the now broken barrel. You only noticed it when a sharp pain throbbed in your shin, and you looked down to see the fucker's fangs stuck in your leg.
Well… fuck. This was going to be an interesting experiment.
Reaching down, you ripped it from your leg and tossed it aside. And whether the dizziness you suddenly felt was brought on by whatever shit these freaks had put in your blood, the sudden surge of venom in your veins, or something else entirely, it didn't matter when you stumbled slightly, bracing your arm on a shelving unit, your hand flying to the side of your head as it felt like it was splitting.
Flashes of memory carved through your skull. Snakes. Snakes. Hissing. Biting. Fuck. You couldn't do anything. You couldn't run. You couldn't run. Meg and Tiss couldn't run. None of you could run. The table beneath you is cold. Steel. Shiny. Stainless. Snakes. Snakes. You wanted to run. You had to run. You—
"Hey…"
You gasped, entire body jolting when warmth invaded the cool of the steel table in your mind. A hand on your arm. Grounding. Keeping. A voice you found a tether in and used to haul yourself back. An anchor.
Emotional anchor recommended. Sisters advised.
Motherfuckers.
"I'm — I'm okay. I'm fine. I just — I'm good," you tried, shaking your head of the images and hopefully the pain. It was getting difficult to tell what was yours and what wasn't. Were those visuals yours? Or were they whatever you were injected with? "Just — Nyx being an asshole. I'm good," you tried to wave him off. Tried to pull from his grip. But he was having none of it.
"Yeah, not what I'm worried about," Leon breathed, eyes raking over the visible veins beneath your skin. Two-toned. Black and orange. The same orange that he could see in your eyes sometimes. Though what worried him more was the way you leaned into him. Heavily. Leon knew you well enough by now that everything you said, everything you did, was largely with meaning. You did things deliberately. You used humour and flirty comments to deflect. You chose your moments: when to touch him, when to show you were comfortable with him and when to pull back. So when he took most of your weight in his arms, panic flared in his chest. Because this didn't feel like there was a reason behind it. "Okay, okay. Gonna sit you down. There you go, you're okay," he murmured, half guiding, half dragging you to one of the wooden chairs scattered around the room and lowering you into it.
"'m fine," you tried again, bracing your forearms on your knees and leaning forward to focus on your breathing.
"Christ, I really did sound like you didn't I?" Leon huffed, straightening your leg with one hand around your knee and the other below the snake-bite. He clenched his jaw when his hand came away sticky and red. "Need to have a look at it, okay?"
You sat back with an irritated sound, your rifle clattering against the back of the chair.
"No. Not okay. It was a snake, Leon. Not a fucking lion. I'm fine. Venom doesn't work this quickly anyway, if it even was venomous—" it was, but you weren't about to tell him that "—we can't stop every time one of us stubs our toe for fuck's sake. I just needed a minute to get my shit together. And now consider my shit; got," your hiss was almost as snappy as the snake's. At least your vision had stopped swimming again for the time being, which helped as you pulled your leg from his hold and pushed to your feet.
Leon sighed, head falling with a huff of disbelief.
"Just trying to help."
You stopped. Because you knew. You knew that. You were being unfair. But who could blame you? You weren't used to being saved. You weren't used to being looked after like this. You'd just been tasked with an additional target, one you didn't even want to think about right now, and you could feel everything slipping through your fingers. You knew snapping at him wasn't fair.
"I know," you sighed, tension draining. "I know. I'm sorry. I didn't mean—fuck. I'm just sorry, okay?" A shit apology, but it was the best you could do. Even if you did sound annoyed that you were even saying it.
Leon exhaled, pushing heavily to his feet.
"It's fine."
For some reason, that just pissed you off again. Maybe it was because he was far more understanding than he had any right to be in his situation.
"Seriously? Christ, do I need to actually kill a puppy to get a reaction out of you?” You gestured wildly, not caring that your voice had raised in volume. If any more of those fucking Ganados wanted to find you, they were welcome to. You could use the distraction. And rage output.
Leon just fixed you with a hard stare.
“First’ve all, you couldn’t, even if you wanted to. You couldn’t even leave that wolf. An' second, why’re you trying to get a reaction out of me?” He asked as if it weren’t obvious. As if your guilt didn’t flicker across your face and twist in your stomach every time he looked at you with anything other than what you were used to. And it pissed you off. Because you didn’t know what to do with that. Disgust you could handle. Hatred. Hunger. Rage. You knew these things.
“Because you keep looking at me like I’m worth understanding. Like if you just keep trying I’ll crack open and spill all my tragic little secrets. There’s nothing to understand. I’m a mercenary. I’m here for money. I’m not a sad little orphan girl looking for someone to understand her. Ashley is a gig. You are an ally. That’s it.” Your breath heaved through your lungs, chest rising and falling, inhaling mist and dirt and the distinct smell of mildew. And you genuinely thought for a minute you’d finally shut him up. Genuinely thought that he didn’t have an answer for this. Who would?
Until his eyes narrowed a fraction.
“That’s why you kissed me, yeah? Because I’m an ally?” There was more hurt behind it than he wanted there to be, but he supposed that was to be expected. Two missions. Two mercenaries. Both getting involved for their personal gain. And he watched shock tighten your shoulders and slacken your features, fury bleeding dry.
There were differences. Ones he knew existed but was too focused on what you were saying to remember them. Because you’d just admitted to him everything he was convincing himself wasn’t true. “Here I was thinking there was something more to you. Thinking that it meant something when you told me your name,” he continued, gesturing just as fiercely as you did. ”Do you even trust me?”
This wasn’t a part of your script. When you ignited with fury, people stepped back. People gave in. They stopped pretending they weren’t afraid of you. They didn’t argue back. And they sure as shit didn’t bring up anything you’d said or done in the past to contradict what you were saying now. You were lost.
And your silence spoke volumes. It gave him a moment to compose himself, to remind himself of the underlying tender nature that lay beneath the rage. Beneath the lashing out and the pushing away. But before he could blow out a breath and apologise, he watched you shut down. Watched those walls he'd been so carefully breaking down rebuild brick by brick, until there was nothing in your eyes but cold professionalism. He couldn't even say the first syllable of your name before you interrupted him.
Not with your words. With your actions. With the way you secured your rifle on your shoulder, a certain finality punctuating your movements. The kind of movements that screamed "this conversation is over" without you having to utter a single word. And you were careful not to limp when you pushed past him, though you could now feel the two puncture wounds in your leg. You were no stranger to pushing through pain.
And Leon saw how tightly you were clenching your jaw in the little tremor beneath the scarring. You didn't look at him as you pushed through the door, welcoming the fresh — well, fresher — air from outside. Only to stop cold in your tracks.
"How the fuck…?"
Leon followed you through the doorway, head tilting to the side in mild bafflement. Purple flames, an assortment of gear on a wooden table before him, stood the same merchant from before.
"Oop— break's over, I s'pose," he muttered, standing when he noticed the two of you gawking.
"You've got to be shitting me…" Leon sighed.
Neither of you bothered to ask where the merchant acquired all of this gear. Honestly? Neither of you wanted to know. But the atmosphere was once again frosty. Something Leon was getting increasingly sick of. He liked listening to your odd comments here and there. Liked hearing you hum whatever tune had popped into your head whenever you felt unsteady. He actively enjoyed your company when you weren't, well, like this.
Forging ahead, you hadn't once looked back to make sure he was following. He hadn't once heard you utter or sing or huff an irritated breath. Even those he missed. You were silent. Like he'd been the one to snap at you. Any villagers you'd come across were taken care of without so much as a whisper. Until finally, finally, you'd made it to the church.
The atmosphere was eerie to say the least. The yard was littered with dusk-lit graves, crows picking at whatever carrion they'd found, cawing sporadically into the evening. And atop the hill, proudly overlooking the graveyard stood the church. Like something straight out of a Bram Stoker novel. Not that there was much time to admire the architecture, as before Leon could even take in a breath of relief that he was finally making progress, you'd already pushed your knife into the throat of an unsuspecting Ganados, using the soft ground to muffle your footsteps.
Leon glanced to the little tool shed towards the treeline, and you followed his gaze. But when he looked back for your silent input, you just shrugged. Like you didn't really care whether he investigated or not. Like it wasn't important to you what he did anymore. And for some reason, that hurt a little more than he was expecting it to. But he pushed it down. If he was going to feel that little stab every time you didn't give a fuck about him, this was going to be a long mission.
You stood, deliberately turning away from whatever decision he made. You'd given up all and any hopes of actually being a team about this. Once Ashley was safe, you were more than happy to hand her over to him and leave the both of them in the past. Whatever gig you were specifically hired to do when it came to her was over. You were done with this. Nyx was right. You needed to focus on your goals. And you'd spent the last however many years looking after a fucking college student only to have her kidnapped anyway. Waste of your fucking talents, honestly.
The church only got more imposing as you climbed the hill to it, though you couldn't help being a little relieved you were finally here. And you only knew Leon was following because you heard his footfalls in the leaves. Guess he decided to leave the shed as is. Not that it mattered. And you only knew he'd stopped next to you because you felt your left side tingle with the proximity. Something that kept fucking happening, irritatingly.
You didn't know how to explain yourself to him. Fuck, you didn't even know what needed explaining. Well, you did, but you couldn't wrap your head around it. Didn't know why you react the way you do. Well, you did. Kind of. Your past hadn't exactly shaped you into a family-friendly cuddle monster. A monster, sure. Just a different kind.
"I trust you," was all you could say for the moment. And the moment those words left your mouth, you regretted them. Not because you didn't mean them, but because of the way he looked at you. Like he was the one feeling guilty about the argument. Like he was the one who'd pushed you away. And you fucking hated it. Because he didn't deserve this. From what you could tell, he was a good man. And he was stuck here with you, of all people. You felt bad for the guy.
And Leon's expression softened almost instantly. He shouldn't have weaponised what happened between you. He knew that. He shouldn't have thrown it in your face the way he did. But honestly? He was just glad you were talking to him again.
"Y'know," you continued, now shifting from foot to foot. "You asked. Earlier. Do I even trust you? I do. I just—"
"Don't know how to do this, right?" Leon offered, offering his assistance before quickly covering his tracks. "Working with someone, I mean. I just uh, get the feeling this isn't exactly what you're used to," he gestured vaguely to your shared situation, and you huffed a humourless chuckle.
"What gave me away?" You asked, the slightest smile pulling at the corner of your lips.
Leon flattened you with a look. "You want a list?"
You snorted a laugh. "Yeah, actually you're right, don't answer that."
"I'm right? Can I get that in writing? Gonna hang it on my fridge," he quipped, before leaning to the side slightly when you shoved at him weakly.
"Bite me," you glare had no real heat in it.
A glare that was promptly wiped clean when he responded: "Don't tempt me," with half a grin and a wink.
You blinked for a few moments after as he stepped past you to the gates of the church. Because it was your turn to experience whiplash. Sure, the two of you had flirted every now and then, but not since he'd kissed you. Or you'd kissed him. Still unsure of the details there. And unfortunately, it did nothing to ease the attraction you felt towards him. You'd hoped and prayed it would fade, and it did slightly. Until he said that. And now you wanted to feel him beneath your palms all over again. Mold your lips to his, drag little groans and grunts from his chest. Fuck, you wanted him to bite you. Down the side of your neck, preferably. Wanted to feel his teeth nip lower over your collarbone. Wanted him to latch onto your breast with his mouth, and pinch the other between his fingers. Wanted those fingers inside you, curling and pulsing until he made you scream.
Well shit, now you were worked up. Fuck's sake.
"Fuck's sake…" Leon hissed, and you almost jumped with the fear that he was reading your mind for a moment, until your eyes caught up with your brain and you realised it was because he couldn't open the gate.
Wait, he couldn't open the gate.
"Oh, this is getting real old now…" You huffed, putting your depraved thoughts to one side as the reality of your situation settled. So much for getting Ashley and going. Looks like you had to explore this stupid fucking village a little more. You groaned in frustration, both sexual and otherwise.
And Leon gave you a look. Though in that moment, you really didn't care. Whether he knew what you were thinking or not, you were too annoyed to give it the time of day.
"That bad being stuck with me, huh?" He asked, and though he sounded lighthearted, you could hear the little insecurity threaded through his words. If only he knew.
"That depends, you gonna continue to irritate me?" You asked, placing a hand on your hip. And Leon rolled his eyes with the slightest smile before turning away and placing two fingers to his earpiece. Guess that settled that then.
"Condor One to Roost. The church is sealed up," he reported, and you barely suppressed a snort at his call-sign. Honestly, Condor One? Who came up with these names? Though you guessed Alecto wasn't much better. Most of the time, people thought that was your actual name and that your parents were just super into Greek mythology.
Someone certainly was.
Leon watched as you wandered around the corner to look for another entrance before Hunnigan answered over his coms.
"And Baby Eagle?"
Leon shook his head, despite Hunnigan not being able to see him.
"Negative, nothing yet. But they sure do have this place locked up tight," he answered, knocking on the bars a couple times, as if testing the durability of the iron.
"I see. Well, I can think of one reason why they'd want to do so," Ingrid replied, irony lacing her tone.
And Leon couldn't agree more. "Oh, she's here, that's for sure. I'll find a way in," he glanced back to where you'd disappeared around the corner. "Condor One out."
And not a second later—
"Oi Birdie, come look at this!" From around the same corner you'd disappeared down. Leon fought a smile. Because clearly you were back on good enough terms for you to be calling him stupid nicknames again. He followed the sound of your voice into a side door you'd found, pushing through to see you staring at a map pinned to the wall.
"'Birdie'? Seriously?"
You shrugged, looking over your shoulder with a sharp grin.
"Seems fitting, no? Condor One," you responded pointedly, before Leon's heart sank as he watched a wicked thought cross your mind. "Wait, if you're Condor One, who's Condor Two? And does that mean there's a Condor Three? Who're the other Condors, Leon? What're you hiding?"
He folded his arms across his broad chest, raising a brow. "You wanna talk about hiding things?"
The silence was deafening, dragging on for several long minutes. Several long minutes where Leon was certain you were debating stabbing him in the neck for bringing it up.
"…Touché." you answered, almost impressed he had the nerve, before turning back to the map. "They called you a pest, by the way."
"Say what now?"
You nodded to the map pinned to the board, reading the note aloud in a creepy, awful Spanish accent that had him failing to bite back a smile.
"A pest fro- de outside has -ome for thee -irl. There's letters missing, by the way," you interrupted yourself as Leon joined you by the board, still fighting a smile.
"Yeah, I gathered. Also, drop the accent, it's offensive," he glanced to you out the corner of his eye just in time to see your own roll skywards.
"You're right, we should be respectful to the people trying to kill us at every turn," you nodded in faux solemnity, and he elbowed you lightly. This is what he missed when neither of you were speaking to each other. These little moments. Where the two of you could even be considered friends. Or at the very least, friendly. Deliberately excluding the images that flash in his mind's eye whenever you groan in frustration, like you did earlier by the church. He could have sworn that was not an irritated sound. You sounded like you'd been fucking edged for hours. He had to think of the least sexy things he could conjure because he was not doing the rest of this mission hard. Not only would that be humiliating, but also just fucking inconvenient. Yet sometimes, you really didn't make it easy.
He wondered if you knew how good you looked in those pants…?
Leon concentrated as much as he could on the rest of the note, having to read it a few times over for the contents to actually sink in. The key will be held in the cave on the other side of the lake. The monster will deal with the foolish intruder. Bit rude.
"The lake," Leon wondered aloud. "Let's hope for no more surprises."
"I wouldn't hold your breath…" You responded instantly, examining the map a little closer to memorise the route marked in red ink. Or what you hoped was red ink. "Oh, they also called you foolish."
"Mhm? How'd you know they're talking about me?" Leon asked, taking a step back to look at you properly.
You stared at him for a moment, just about resisting the urge to rake your eyes up and down his frame. Fuck, that stupid fucking compression shirt. Slightly too tight around his arms. Even torn and blood-soaked, it looked fucking good. Or perhaps it was because it was slightly torn and blood-soaked. You didn't particularly want to unpack the psychological implications of finding that attractive.
"Intuition," you shrugged, whirling around with such velocity that your hair shifted with the movement. Leon shook his head, his eyes flinging skyward in a way that could have been perceived as fond. And he opened his mouth to respond before he noticed you'd fallen still, your gaze trained on something on the table he couldn't see from this angle.
Stepping to your side, Leon first saw your face. Saw that stubborn flame of determined hope change shape. The way your brows had pinched slightly, the way you jaw sat a little tighter, the way your eyes flickered with an emotion he knew all too well.
Guilt.
And when he followed your gaze, he saw why. He didn't need to know what Ashley looked like to work out the photograph on the table was of her, her hands bound at the wrists behind her back, lying on her side, unconscious. He didn't think you heartless. Far from it. But he wasn't expecting you to suddenly grind to a halt. And he was sure you wouldn't react like this if the photo was of some random woman.
Or maybe you would.
His fingers twitched by your hand, subconsciously reaching for you. Or maybe even consciously. Because he wanted to. He wanted to reach for you. To put a palm on your shoulder. To interlace his fingers with yours. To run his hands through your hair and tell you that you aren't alone anymore. You didn't have to be. If you would just talk to him. If you would just tell him who you are.
Leon didn't do any of this. Instead, he reached for the photo on the table and picked it up, tilting it away from the lamplight glare to read the writing scrawled on the front. Hopefully the ink was simply red. He didn't like the implications otherwise. Your eyes narrowed as you tilted your head to the side ever so slightly, most likely because you couldn't read the language.
"It's just the same instructions as on the map," he explained softly when he noticed your expression. "'Keep her locked in the church until the appointed time'."
You nodded in response, unable to trust your voice not to shake slightly. Fuck, it hurt so much more than you thought it was going to. Obviously there was going to be a time where you found Ashley, but seeing her like this — not even her, a fucking picture of her, like someone had taken the time to crack out the fucking camera and snap a family photo — genuinely made you sick to the stomach.
You exhaled a breath, failing to keep it steady.
"This is my fault." You weren't even sure why you said it. Weren't even sure why, now of all times, you felt safe enough to bare your soul. And you weren't sure why you didn't want to stop. "I was supposed to protect her. That was my fucking job. For three years. That's what I was employed to do. And I did. Not that she needed much protecting, but — I kept tabs on her, y'know? When her security weren't around. I made sure she made it back home after a night out. I made sure she didn't get into cars with strangers, or went on any blind dates alone. I was supposed to keep her safe—"
Your throat closed up suddenly, and you found yourself unable to speak without the threat of breaking down. Fuck, you honestly thought you didn't care all that much. You thought it would be easy. This would be easy. But fuck. You cared so much more than you thought you did. Or rather, you cared so much more than you let yourself know. The realisation was terrifying.
Something heavy twisted in Leon's chest when you cut yourself off. He'd largely kept his silence, letting you offload whilst he just listened. He guessed this was quite literally what he'd been asking you to do this whole time, and he had the distinct feeling that interrupting you would result in you shutting down once again. But when your voice trembled slightly, and you sucked in an uncomfortable breath, he set the picture back down onto the table and finally gave in to the urge to reach for you.
The contact between his palm and your forearm almost crackled beneath your skin, and it was enough to drag your gaze from the photograph up to his face, confused about what could have possibly led him to touch you. And you were still warm. Even beneath the leather of his glove, he could feel your body heat.
"We're gonna find her," Leon murmured, pouring every ounce of conviction he had into his voice, setting aside his own self-doubts. "We're gonna find her, and she's gonna be just fine. We're gonna get her out of here, 'kay? Just gotta find that stupid fucking key," he tried to drag a smile from you by using your own phrases, but when that failed, he inhaled a breath and tried a different tactic.
"I get it. Trust me, I get it. The whole letting people down thing? I get it. Raccoon City, I—" he paused, swallowing the memories of muted screaming. "I couldn't save anyone. I couldn't even help them. I promised I would, an'—" fuck. It had been a long time since he'd spoken about Raccoon City to anyone. "The point is, dwelling on what you couldn't do isn't gonna help the things you can do. And honestly? Someone who's just here for the money wouldn't have looked at that picture like that."
You tried to protest, shaking your head and moving to pull from his grip. But Leon was getting remarkably good at spotting your tells. And before you could move away, he caught your chin in his hand, forcing you to look at him.
"Deny it if you want," he continued, pushing through your comfort zone. "Tell me I'm seeing things. Lash out at me, shut me out, give me the silent treatment again. I'm just tellin' you what I'm seeing."
You were so close to him now he could feel your trembling breaths fanning his chin. He could taste the mint of the herb on your breath. But you weren't pulling away. A fact Leon was clinging onto for dear life. Your hand gripped his bicep, but you weren't pushing him off. If anything, you were using him to steady yourself.
"And what, exactly, are you seeing?" You asked, your voice barely above a whisper. Those words themselves would have been snarky if it weren't for the fact that he'd never heard you sound so vulnerable, voice unsteady.
And you would replay the way his eyes softened in your head over and over again for years to come.
"Someone trying to make up for a mistake they made. Someone so terrified of caring she'd rather die than admit to it. Someone who'd rather keep everyone at arm's length because she's scared of being hurt again," he didn't care that you'd lashed out at him last time. He needed you to realise he knew you were scared, and it didn't make a lick of difference to him. He didn't see you any differently. "And it's like looking in a damn mirror," he finished, watching you absorb his words and weigh up your reactions. He half expected you to shove him away. Respond how you responded before. But you didn't.
Because you were at a crossroads. You wanted to step back. Pull from his hold. Slam on the brakes. Rebuild the walls. Fuck it, man the barricade! Anything to make him stop looking at you like that. You thought you'd done such a good job at throwing him off the scent. Of confusing him in your whirlwind of moods and emotions. Keeping him guessing at all times, never letting him know what you were ever really thinking. And yet here he was, reading you like a damn book someone left open for so long the sun bleached pages don't even close properly anymore.
And shit, you craved being seen like this. Beneath the walls and the armour and the barbed wire that wrapped your heart, you craved for someone to pull it apart and see who you were beneath it all. But you couldn't let him. You couldn't let him see all of it. All of who you are. Of what you are. Not now. Probably not ever. Because at some point between waking up in his lap and him taking your chin thirty seconds ago, you'd started valuing his thoughts. His opinions. His company. And you'd started wishing. If only.
Yet it seemed like he wasn't about to let this go.
"Tell me I'm wrong," he provoked, shaking his head and guiding your face back to his when you tried to avert your gaze. "No, no, look at me. Tell me I'm wrong."
"Leon—" you tried, though you hadn't really thought about what you were going to say past his name. And he just said yours right back, startling you slightly because every time he said it you'd forgotten you'd told him. And honestly? You liked how it sounded from his lips.
His thumb gently swiped along your chin, an almost encouraging gesture as he held your eyes captive.
"Tell me I'm wrong," about this. About you. About feeling like this. Tell me I'm wrong. Please.
"I can't," you managed after a while, and whether you could hear the subtext in his voice, Leon didn't know. "I can't," do this. Let you in. I want to. I can't. I'm sorry.
His eyes flickered between your own, down to your lips, and back again. Repeating the pattern once. Twice. The hand on your chin shifted to cup your jaw, the minimal space between you almost static, charged with everything neither of you were saying. His heart stuttered when you absently leaned into the touch, like you'd been craving it. It was the push he needed.
"Fuck it," he exhaled, and before you could process what exactly he meant by this, both his hands cupped the sides of your neck, and his lips crashed into yours in a feverish kiss. And you answered instantly. Tilting your head to the side, your hands fed through his hair, pulling at the soft strands in much the same way you had before, only this time it wasn't experimental. This time, when you felt him groan against your tongue, you pulled again, raking blunt nails across his scalp.
Fuck, you still tasted like mint. Mint and eucalyptus and something distinctly smoky he couldn't pinpoint. His eyes rolled back behind closed lids when you tugged on the hair just above the nape of his neck, prompting his hands to slide from the sides of your neck, down your waist, over your hips to your thighs. He crouched slightly before lifting you into his arms like you weighed nothing. Which, to him, you kind of didn't. Like he'd said before, you were much lighter than he thought you would be. Or rather, much lighter than you should have been.
Leon swallowed your pitched gasp of surprise, delighting in the first noise he'd pulled from you, his arms wrapping around your middle as your legs locked around his waist. Fuck, you were so worked up. So worked up from your own imagination and the first kiss you'd shared hours ago. He felt so fucking good, moving beneath you. You could feel the muscles in his torso shift as he crossed the room, your back hitting the wall with force that should have been medically concerning, and absolutely should not have turned you on as much as it did.
But hell, you'd suffer the broken back in exchange for feeling his lips leave yours with a brief, chaste kiss before trailing along your jaw and up to your ear. He shucked the rifle from your shoulder, placing it with surprising delicacy against the wall next to you, before continuing. His hot breaths only fanned the flames of your desire, causing you to grind your hips against his tactical belt, the clasp catching slightly where the crotch of your pants pressed into your cunt.
"Fuck… Leon!" You exhaled when his teeth nipped at your ear. Your legs tightened around him instinctively when his arms stopped supporting you, choosing to instead to undo the knot of your shirt you'd tied at the start of this whole nightmare. The loose strands came free, and somehow Leon still had the mind to be careful with the healing wound at your side when he ran his hands up beneath the black fabric. The scars he remembered tracing with his eyes he now felt beneath his fingertips. Fuck, you were so hot. Both figuratively and literally. He felt you shudder beneath his touch when his lips lightly grazed the scar along your cheek. Odd, for a "burn scar" to be so sensitive, but he didn't dwell. Not when you were grinding so deliciously against his hardening cock.
Pushing his hand beneath the tight elastic of your bralette, you arched your back into his leather-clad palm, hands falling to clasp his shoulders. Lightning danced beneath his touch, your lips pulled thin in a vain attempt to silence your pitched whines when he pinched and squeezed your pebbled nipple.
Honestly? This was starting to feel a little one-sided, something you had every intention of evening up when you almost mimicked his movements, shoving one hand beneath the clinging fabric of his shirt to paw and scratch at the hard muscle of his uninjured shoulder. The other one raked down his front, bypassing the plains and valleys of his abdomen in favour of going straight for the tent in his pants.
Leon bucked into you the moment your hands grazed his cock, exhaling a gravelly groan into the side of your neck as the lightest touch sent shivers down his spine. He nipped at the space below your jaw in retaliation, pinching your now sensitive bud between his fingers at the same time. He wanted to see you. Fuck, he wanted to strip you bare and catalogue every sound he could pull from you. Every whine, every groan, every airy gasp. He wanted a file in his head dedicated to you.
But the moment he tried to pull your turtleneck down for his mouth to explore further, the hand at his shoulder promptly moved to pull him back by his hair. Not rough. Well, not rough enough to actually hurt him. And the hiss that escaped his teeth had nothing to do with pain, and everything to do with the fact that you pulling his hair made him throb in his pants.
Boundary set. Understood. He took a moment to pull back and look at you. Because yes, this is absolutely a 'caught up in the moment and didn't really think about the consequences' kind of decision, but he still wanted you to be on the same page as him. With your bitten lips and heavy-lidded eyes. He wanted to give you the opportunity to say no. To push him off. To stop him.
And you did the exact opposite. You saw what he was doing. It made something in your chest tighten. And instead of confronting that feeling, the hand in his hair shifted to the side of his face, cupping his jaw with a tenderness that seemed to have been absent thus far. He was beautiful. Kind eyes blown dark, still soft in their gaze. Brows threaded in anticipated heat. And when you drew him in again, hesitating just shy of his lips for one teasing second, Leon felt you grinning against his mouth in masked triumph when he was the one who closed the rest of the distance.
Sure, you may be the one pinned to the wall, but he had a sneaking suspicion you were still the one with all the power in this situation. And fuck if that didn't turn him on. Not that he needed much more turning on. You were positively killing him. A death he would have gladly accepted had circumstances been different.
A firm squeeze to his clothed cock brought him back into the present, stealing a cracked gasp from his chest that you devoured with your tongue lapping stroked against his own. And for a moment, he believed your hiss was one of pleasure, a byproduct of his fingers still playing your taut bud beneath the fabric of your bralette.
That was until the hand on his jaw, and the other from his cock flew back to his shoulder, your blunt nails sinking hard into his skin. Hard enough that it finally registered in his pleasure-addled mind that this might not be pleasure at all.
Leon pulled back from you, looking as if you'd just electrocuted him, though it was tricky to notice through the sudden splitting pain pulling through your head and down your back. A lot less hot than the mild thud when he shoved you against the wall. Your eyes screwed tight as a wave of hot agony surged through your blood, and there was no passion in the cry that escaped your gated teeth.
"Shit — shit, look at me," setting you back down, Leon cupped both hands either side of your face as you struggled to open your eyes, once again having to lean into him to hold yourself up. He urged your name, tilting your head back up when it dropped. And when your eyes finally met your through the sliver of lashes, that same burning glow flickered within the expanse of your pupils. "Hey, hey, it's okay. I've got you, I've got you," he repeated, your name delicate on his lips as you rode out the trembling pain, the fires in your blood battling for dominion over your body. His eyes fell to your arms, stomach hollowing at the dark veins pulsing beneath the surface of your skin. Ash and searing orange, flow and counter-flow. What the fuck had they done to you?
"I'm fine," you winced, sucking in a deep, shuddering breath through the last pulse of pressure behind your eyes. "I'm good, I'm good. We're good. Let's keep—"
"Hell no. Call me old-fashioned, but I'm not the kinda guy who has sex with a woman when she's in that much pain." The heat from before had been extinguished, replaced by pure concern. It made you want to rip your own heart out and offer it to him.
"Hasn't stopped me before," you managed, trying to get closer to him to continue where you left off before his hands fell from framing your face to gripping both your arms, keeping you at a distance.
"Yeah, well, it's stopping me. Running the risk of making it worse? Hurting you more? Yeah, I'm good." Leon released your arms, taking a step back to smooth down the shoulders of his compression shirt.
"Way to make a girl feel desirable, Kennedy," you muttered, throwing your eyes skyward before exhaling an extremely heavy, defeated sigh, dusting off your own clothes and readjusting your harness. If only to give your hands something to do.
Leon paused, watching your movements carefully before dropping his shoulders and running a hand through his hair.
"I didn't say I don't want to. I'm just saying that there's probably a better time and place. Preferably when you're not in pain, and we're not trying to save the president's daughter," he reasoned, placing a hand on his hip to try and distract from the awkward way he was standing. Which, to be honest, just drew attention to it. "What about any've that screams 'I don't want you', hm?" He asked, gesturing to the wall.
"Maybe the moment you fuckin' stopped?" You grumbled, avoiding his gaze by stooping to pick up your rifle and swinging the strap back around your shoulder before turning back to him."You gonna continue traipsing around this hell hole with a raging hard-on?" You asked flatly, fully expecting him to do a one-eighty and kiss you again now that you'd brought it up, but he simply clicked his tongue, his lips pulling into a flat line.
"Hasn't stopped me before," he parroted, and though you knew he was just playing the game you'd both become familiar with, you couldn't help but snort at the insinuation. "Not my first rodeo with a merc, let's put it that way." Leon continued with that sly, boyish grin that made you want to drop to your knees and suck the soul from him. Nonetheless, you gaped in mock horror.
"Well fuck, here I was thinking I was special! And on missions as well! I have some serious concerns about your HR department." You re-tied the loose strips of your shirt back into the knot you'd made seemingly weeks ago, glancing at him to gauge his reaction. But he was too busy doing literally anything to make even standing more comfortable for himself. You managed to repress a laugh.
Honestly, you hadn't even thought about the things he'd said to you before he'd kissed you. Hadn't really had the capacity to do much but kiss him back. But the conversation was coming back to you now, and it made you want to crawl into the nearest hole and die. How had he read you so fucking easily? Sure, he'd said it was like looking in a mirror, but surely he didn't know enough about you to come to that conclusion. You knew he was government trained, but even that was a bit of a stretch.
Leon sensed the slight shift in you. Watched as you withdrew ever so slightly.
"Are you—"
"Did you—"
You both stopped, waiting for the other to speak first after colliding with your words. It was only when the silence dragged a little bit did he gesture for you to talk. And you chose your words carefully.
"It was your first day, right?"
Leon stilled. Of all the things he's said to you, that's what you wanted to talk about?
You continued. "You said Raccoon City was your first day. As a cop. I just—" you paused, giving yourself time to find what you were looking to say. "You carry a lot of guilt for someone who hadn't even issued his first speeding ticket."
Well. That wasn't what he was expecting. And Leon found himself unable to answer you for a good long time. He had no idea what to say to that. Yes? No? Stop psychoanalysing me? Though, that last one would have been a bit rich coming from him and the things he'd just said to you.
So he just folded his arms across his chest, perhaps a little childishly, and turned his head away from you.
"I'd helped give out a speeding ticket…" he all but pouted, and you barked out a laugh before you could stop yourself, covering your mouth when he shot you a look.
"Well, excuse me, Commissioner Gordon, my mistake." You held your hands up in surrender, an amused smirk playing on your lips. A smirk that Leon had to physically fight himself not to kiss.
"You know that makes you The Joker, right?"
You paused, tilting your head to the side in mock thought.
"Did I miss the issue where Commissioner Gordon and The Joker had sex?"
"Hey, we didn't have sex."
You glanced pointedly to the still evident print in his pants.
"Yeah, I can tell."
Leon once again flattened you with a look, and your shrug was clearly intended to plead innocent. He didn't reward you with an answer to that one; instead, he turned to adjust the strap of his combat harness, much like you had moments ago.
"You know, for someone who grew up in an orphanage, you have a lot of pop culture references." It was another one of his prodding statements he framed like jokes. You'd come to recognise them pretty quickly now, which just meant you knew how to dodge them all the better.
"And for someone who works for the government, you have a sense of humour," you paused again. "Not a very good one, but it's certainly a sense of humour!"
"What's wrong with my sense of humour?!" He asked, brows furrowed in mild offence. Personally, he thought he had a great sense of humour. Even if his one-liners were for the same reason as your humming. They made him feel steadier. Like the situation wasn't as grave as reality was suggesting.
He waved you off when you only responded with a slow raise of your brow. 'You carry a lot of guilt for someone who hadn't even issued their first speeding ticket.' No matter how well you managed to mask the sincerity of your words, he felt them nestle somewhere in his chest. Maybe you were just as used to hearing the words 'it wasn't your fault' yourself, enough to know that they'd lost all meaning by this point. Survivor's guilt doesn't care about petty words. But he appreciated how you'd approached the subject, even if it did make him feel a little like a rookie all over again.
"C'mon, Pretty Boy. We've got a princess to rescue," you announced almost cheerfully, patting his cheek twice when you strode past him to clamber down the trapdoor ladder. Leon blinked a few times, processing what you'd just called him and swiftly dismissing how it did nothing to help the already problematic situation in his pants.
"Pretty Boy?" He asked at the risk of making things worse for himself.
Reaching the base of the ladder, you put your hands on your hips, peering up into the light. The image was achingly similar to when you'd woken up in his lap, the lamplight casting his muddy blonde locks in a golden halo.
And he expected you to have some kind of witty explanation like you usually would. But instead you just peered up at him for a moment, your head tilting to the side ever so slightly, before you nodded in affirmation.
"Yep. Pretty Boy," you shrugged, before decisively turning away to follow the tunnel back out into the open. Leon stayed looking into the dark for far longer than he probably should have done, the smile pulling at the corners of his lips feeling wonderfully disobedient. He won't say he's falling in love. Far from it. There were still way too many unanswered questions clouding your name in his mind, but he didn't regret what just almost happened. He didn't regret kissing you, nor did he regret pinning you against the wall. And he didn't regret stopping, either. Because Leon got the distinct feeling you weren't used to being cared for like that, though perhaps through self-fulfilling prophecy rather than forced situations.
He wasn't falling in love.
Not yet anyway.
"How's your leg, by the way?"
Pushing onwards proved significantly easier than it had thus far. Sure, you'd run into a few Ganados roaming around the scaffolding platforms that made up the path ahead, which did nothing to help your acrophobia because those platforms were high, but you'd disposed of them pretty quickly. You and Leon made a better team than either of you would care to admit.
The air was cooler here; huge quarry stones made up an almost maze-like system for you to navigate down, and you savoured every breeze that lifted through the tall walls. You weren't feeling any worse, but you most definitely weren't getting any better.
"Hm? Oh, yeah s'fine. Guess it wasn't venomous after all." You shook your leg for emphasis, trying to keep your voice light. Because you were lying. But he didn't need to know that. Not about being fine, but about the snake's venom.
"Huh. Coulda sworn it looked like an adder or somethin'," Leon mused, flicking his hair from his face as another gust of wind blew through the tunnel. The movement made you smile a little.
"Probably one've those warning patterns. Like poisonous dart frogs."
Leon paused, because your argument made no sense.
"Okay, but poisonous dart frogs are still poisonous. It's right there in the name…" He pointed out, taking his gun from his holster and checking the magazine compartment. It was more of a habit than for any practical reason, like running his hand through his hair or making stupid jokes.
"Fine, then like a corn snake," you huffed.
"Corn snakes don't have fangs," he countered, and you rolled your eyes so hard Leon was surprised when they didn't get stuck at the back of your head.
You made an exasperated face. "Who are you, David Attenborough?"
"Who?"
Well, that stopped you in your tracks. In one fluid movement, you whirled on him, eyes wide with incredulous shock. It was perfect, you thought absently. A perfect distraction from having to dodge his questions.
"You don't know who David Attenborough is?"
Leon scrunched his nose. "Should I?"
"The nature documentary guy?! You know, he narrates over penguins falling off cliffs and baby turtles doing that death race thing. 'And here we see a wild Leon Kennedy, in his natural habitat, quipping his way through pigshit and—'"
You couldn't get much further in your truly awful British impression because Leon clamped his hand over your mouth, leather palm silencing you. Though his expression was stern, his eyes were alight with mirth.
"One more bad accent out of you, I swear—" he began, though the threat had no heat. Especially not when you'd managed to bite his hand through the leather of his glove. He pulled back like you'd just stung him, shaking his hand violently. "Ow! What the fuck?"
You couldn't have looked more pleased with yourself if you tried.
"Don't try to silence me, Kennedy. I do bite." You grinned with a wink before turning around to continue through the quarry.
"No shit," he muttered, giving his hand one last shake before catching up to walk beside you as the narrow stone hallway opened up. "You got a favourite animal?"
You almost stumbled, snorting a surprised laugh. You'd just bitten him, and now he was asking about your favourite animal?
"If you're that bored, count the steps we're taking."
"Just makin' conversation," he shrugged, and you huffed another laugh.
"That's a bottom of the barrel question," you deflected, doing a double take as you both passed a pickaxe large enough to bring down a whole damn mountain. How the fuck would anyone even use that thing?
"How is it bottom of the barrel?" Leon asked defensively, his gaze lingering on the tool that seemed ten times its usual scale, pushing the sinking feeling he got to one side. Surely if something that big were coming towards you both, you'd hear it.
"It's along the same vein as 'what's your favourite colour?' Like some twenty-questions bullshit." You explained, stooping down to snatch up a decent-sized rock to toss into the middle of a particularly ominous-looking murder of crows gathered in the centre of the quarry clearing. And without you having to say anything, Leon stopped by your side as you waited for the cacophony of perturbed cries to fade into the distance, along with the flapping of wings.
"What is your favourite colour?" He asked, and you glared at him out of your peripheral, choosing to ignore the wicked smirk on his lips when he met your glare.
"Don't have a favourite animal, don't have a favourite colour." You responded bluntly, moving forward to cross the clearing.
"Gonna file that answer under the bullshit column," he retorted, as quick as ever, and you barely managed to resist the urge to smack him. Who the hell did he think he was?! Having a whole bullshit column dedicated to the lies you'd told him. Admittedly, there was enough to have a whole column dedicated to the various shit you'd spit through gritted teeth, but still! Maybe that's why his arms were so big, because where else would he be storing all the audacity?
Though, somewhere else did come to mind…
"And what else do you have under the bullshit column?" You asked, though you don't really know why you did, in all honesty. You didn't particularly want to know everything he thought was a lie. Mainly because you got the feeling that he could see through a lot of what you told him.
"That you stopped a bunch of wine-drunk freshmen from turning their dad's ski lodge into a crime scene; that you actually have more than one sister—"
"Hey, I debunked that one!" You interjected, only for him to hold up the fingers he was counting on to silence you. Which worked more effectively than you would have liked to admit.
"Still in the bullshit column. I don't think those scars are from a burn, and I'm starting to think you didn't grow up in an orphanage," he eyed your reactions to those last two. He hadn't explicitly said that he thought you were lying about your past yet, but since you'd already lied about parts of it, it was a little tricky to take your word for it. And he had been thinking this for a while now.
"Oh yeah?" You goaded, more interested in what he did think, rather than what he didn't believe. "Where'd ya think I grew up?"
He shrugged, trying to think of the absurd. Something that wouldn't be too close to home and make you rebuild that distance. "Some kind of school? Definitely didn't have parents growing up, so maybe some kind of like, orphanage-school hybrid situation. But, I think it was definitely a front of some kind. You blew it up for a reason, right?"
"Interesting. You still believe I blew it up?"
Leon turned to you then, sincerity bleeding through his tone. "I saw the look you gave me when I asked. You started that fire." He nodded without a single doubt in his mind. Though, infuriatingly, you simply shrugged.
"Fair enough. So, you think it was a front?" You continued, once again with your airy, questioning tone. Leon decided to go along with it, and maybe, if he kept a close enough eye on your reactions, he might learn something about you.
"Somethin' like that. Drugs? Trafficking? Arms dealing?"
You held your hands up in surrender, like you weren't the one holding all the answers. "You're the puzzle guy, you figure it out!"
"This 'puzzle guy' is only as good as the clues you give him. Aren't you supposed to answer the questions when playing twenty-questions?" He countered, and you gave him a look.
"What are we? Five?"
Leon folded his arms across his chest, raising a brow. "You were the one who said we barely know each other. I'm just the guy trying to change that."
"By playing a game invented by teenagers for teenagers?"
"By trying to get a straight fucking answer from you about anything." Leon surprised himself with how venomous his tone was when he snapped at you. Clearly you were also caught off guard. He watched you blink a few times, processing what he'd just said. But instead of snapping back at him, your smile dipped a little dangerously.
"Oooh, pretty and insane? Just my type." Jesus, it was so hard to know whether you were messing with him or whether you were moments from slicing his throat open. He'd thought that — in the last four or five hours — you'd come further and further from wanting to kill him, but there were times, like right now, where he really felt like he was walking a knife's edge.
But in the slight lull of conversation — if it could even be called that — something interrupted the charged silence. Something heavy. Like giant wings beating. Or like huge, laboured breaths. You watched Leon open his mouth to respond to you, and launched across the space before you could think better of it, slapping your hand over his mouth. Perhaps a little rougher than what he'd done to you, but honestly? What did he expect?
You watched his eyes widen and brows furrow in indignation, before you placed a finger to your lips, turning your head slightly towards the sound. It was coming from behind the large gate to your left. How had you got so caught up in conversation that you'd missed it when you first entered the quarry floor? The thought was a little scary, and your eyes tracked the realisation dawn on Leon slowly, his brows slackening slightly as he heard the same laboured breathing.
Slowly, he brought your hand down from his mouth with a gentle hold on your wrist. But instead of letting go, he laced his fingers with your own and quietly pulled you away from the gate, walking backwards just to make sure whatever the fuck was on the other side didn't try anything. And only when it became too faint to hear properly did you let yourselves breathe.
"The fuck was that…?" You whispered, still conscious of making too much noise and drawing giant, unwanted attention.
"My guess? They found somethin' big enough to use that pickaxe," Leon looked past you down where he'd just pulled you, as if he could see through walls.
"You clocked that too, huh?" The corner of your mouth lifted in a half smile, and it was enough to bring his gaze back to you.
"Kinda hard to miss…"
You shrugged. Yeah, fair enough.
Neither of you knew where this path would lead. Though the rudimentary map was pretty clear in your mind's eye, it was difficult to draw comparisons to the scenery around you. Still, you'd rather press on further into the unknown than risk waking whatever was sleeping soundly behind the gate.
So you followed the track, the high walls closing in on you once again, feeling a little too tomb-like when they connected overhead for your liking. Until the stone was traded for wooden slats, and you headed down a set of wooden stairs, hearing the lapping of water behind two wooden doors. The lake? Already? You thought it was a little further on.
Leon glanced at you for a split second, gauging your read on the situation and whether you thought that whatever was behind these doors was going to kill you or not. It didn't look too promising, in all honesty. Not with the animal skull hanging above the door like some ominous warning. He sincerely hoped that wasn't a sign of things to come. But when you had no physical reaction beyond a confused, distasteful lift of your lip, he pushed against the wood, the doors swinging wide.
The doors yawned open into an expansive cave system, a wooden dock hidden on the lower level, your footsteps echoing ever so slightly in the space, the lapping of water now ten times louder. Various boxes, crates and barrels had been stacked on top of one another for effective use of the storage space. To your left, another set of stairs leading up. Ahead of you, a ladder heading down to the docks. But both you and Leon stopped in your tracks when you glanced to the right.
The resulting, stunned silence was deafening.
"Ain't no fucking way," you breathed, completely stuck on the scene before you. Because this simply didn't seem possible at this point. Were there secret tunnels around this fuckass village? Were there easier ways of getting places that didn't involve three-hour detours to find stupid keys in ridiculous places?
Because standing before you, surrounded by what looked like an entire armoury's worth of weapons, in the robe and mask you knew so well by this point, was the Merchant.
Even Leon seemed a little dumbstruck.
"Welcome! I was startin' to think you'd got yourselves killed out there," he cackled like a cockney chimney sweep, beckoning you both forward to have a look at his wares.
"How did you…?" you couldn't even finish your question, turning to look back behind you as if you'd missed something. Seriously, how the fuck did he get here before you? How did he get here without either of you noticing?!
"Now, I don't sell 'n tell," you assumed he was grinning beneath the purple mask as he tapped his nose twice. "I've got some new wares that might interest ya. Come 'ave a look." He stretched his arm out to the table before him, where various boxes of ammunition had been laid out.
It was indeed quite the collection. A rudimentary-looking rifle, a shotgun not dissimilar to the one Leon had already procured, some kind of bolt launcher, a fucking RPG. You wondered how useful such a thing would be whilst looking for Ashley. Hopefully you weren't about to run into anything that would warrant the use of a goddamn rocket launcher, but then again, you were watching the dead writhe and spasm before coming back to life. And those breaths you heard behind those gates were fucking deep.
Though you'd admit, the bolt launcher had caught your eye…
"Enough weapons here to get a party going," Leon mused, clearly eyeing the RPG in a much different way. Whereas you were wondering what situations would be useful, he was clearly listing them in his head. You vaguely wondered just what the hell he would exchange a weapon like that for. It couldn't be for the scuffed gems and muddy rocks you'd been finding around the place.
"Well, gun rhymes with fun for a reason, stranger!" The Merchant replied, happy as ever, and you snorted a laugh.
"Man's got a point," you chimed, leaning over the table to get a better look at the ammunition, mainly the white boxes with stags on the front. You hadn't modified your rifle to the point where it wouldn't take standard ammo; you weren't insane.
"Woman after me own heart." The Merchant muttered wistfully, and you looked up to see his eyes glittering with mirth in the lamplight. Or maybe it was the idea of a deal well struck.
"You don't say… hand over that crossbow, and we can see where this goes," you offered sweetly, leaning a little further across the table, though with no desire to look at the spread.
Leon looked between the two of you. The way you were leaning fucking seductively across the table. The way he watched you bat your lashes and push your breasts together despite the fact that you were wearing a turtleneck. His jaw ticked when he noticed you bend your knee, as if you were moments away from crawling across the damn stall. It irritated him. The way you flirted and teased so fucking easily. It pissed him off. He wasn't jealous. After all, he was the one making out with you against the wall. It was his name you gasped all airily into his ear. His cock you were palming through his combats. Not that it mattered. It didn't. It was just the reality of the situation.
"Sorry darlin'. Married to the work."
Your shoulders slumped like a marionette cut from her strings when he bluntly rejected you. Rolling your eyes, you straightened up, folding your arms across your chest. Though you swore you heard Leon exhale a breath from behind you.
"What d'ya want for the stupid bolt thrower thing?" You asked a little savagely, clearly irritated by the lack of reciprocation. Not that you would have done anything. Well, maybe you would. Honestly, it was kinda hard to know. You did have a thing for masks…
"Couple've gems? Anythin' valuable 'n shiny, really." He responded. Straight back to business. Wow, he really was married to the work.
Both you and Leon ended up stocking up on ammunition mostly, considering Leon had pumped most of his shells into those freaky fucking dogs from earlier and you'd used up a lot of your rifle rounds on the Ganados. He also managed to fix up Leon's knife, which had definitely seen better days.
"You really do flirt with everyone, huh?" Leon commented whilst waiting for his knife to be sharpened. You looked over from where you were inspecting the bolt thrower on the shelf, your head tilting to the side.
"Whaddya mean?"
He nodded to where you'd been leaning across the table moments ago, trying to keep his voice light.
"Looked like you were about to launch yourself at the guy," he said carefully, internally wincing at the way he thought he sounded like some kind of obsessive ex. Something you'd caught onto, your lips quirking into a sly smirk.
"You jealous?" Your tone did nothing to quell the knot in his chest. Because he was being ridiculous. He knew he was being ridiculous. He had no claim on you. Had no stake in the matter. He'd kissed you twice, almost had sex with you once. It meant nothing. Well, not nothing, but it clearly wasn't as deep as his head was making it out to be.
"Did I say I was jealous?" he asked, definitely defensively. "Just an observation."
Your hum echoed throughout the cave, bouncing off stone walls and stalagmites as you sauntered over, placing both hands on his shoulder and resting your chin atop them, so you were centimetres away from his face.
"Leon…" you murmured, voice silky smooth against his ear, sending a shiver down his spine and stealing his breath. "You have nothing to be jealous of. Just wanted a free weapon, 's all."
The way you purred against his neck made him clench his jaw, his cock twitching back to life in his pants. Just when he thought he'd dealt with his hard-on from earlier. Fuck's sake.
"Told you. I wasn't jealous," he protested through gated teeth, turning his head to look at you properly, trying and failing to raise a disinterested brow. You with your full lashes and pursed lips. Lips he wanted to capture all over again. Lips he wanted to bite softly. Fuck he wanted to feel you again. Wanted to hear what his name sounded like from those pretty lips when you came on his fingers. His tongue. His cock.
"Mm? Good. Because I don't remember this guy making me moan the way you did," you teased, leaning closer until your lips he'd been fixated on brushed against the shell of his ear. "Leon…"
"Fuck," he hissed, his hand moving to grip your waist to steady himself as his eyes closed involuntarily, a dull throbbing igniting within the confines of his combats. He knew you were doing this deliberately, but for some reason he didn't want you to stop. Maybe if you kept this up he could just cum in his pants and move on from this.
You watched him battle with himself, glad his eyes were closed so he didn't see you clamp your lips at the feeling of his hand gripping your waist. As much as you were enjoying this, you weren't completely unaffected by your own words, and you knew the gusset of your underwear was already soaked. You could feel it pooling between the crease of your thighs. Shit, you wished he hadn't stopped earlier. This constant back and forth edging was going to be the death of you.
"Do you want me to stop, Leon?" You had to stop saying his name like that. Every single time you said it, he wanted to shove you back up against the wall, rip off his glove with his teeth and plunge his fingers into your cunt. And the way you smiled at him when he cracked his eyes open to look at you, all dark and wicked and full of heated promise, was almost enough to undo him there and then.
"If you don't, we're gonna have an audience," he hummed back, finally regaining enough composure to reciprocate your flirting. And he knew you weren't expecting it when you blinked at him a few times, too shocked to school your expression. So he took full advantage. Skirting his hand up from your waist, careful to graze over the bandaged wound at your side, he gently brushed his knuckles along the side of your breast, earning himself one of those gasps he's been playing on repeat in his head. Fuck, you were still sensitive from being so worked up earlier. "Though — I like the acoustics in here. All the better to hear you scream my name."
Leon knew he had you when you didn't respond immediately. Knew you were processing exactly what he'd just said and how much it turned you on. He could see it in the way your pupils dilated, and you swallowed thickly. He flashed a smirk. "Two can play at that game, sweetheart."
Holy shit. Holy shit. Well, if you weren't already wet, you most definitely are now. Jesus Christ. Was he always this good? Or were you just insanely horny? Though who could blame you? Your near miss earlier was still playing on your mind. And your cunt. And you were too busy trying to sort your own thoughts out to notice him raise his other hand and fix a few strands of your hair that had fallen out of place.
Damn him. Damn him for turning something so sweet and tender and intimate into something that had your pussy weeping for him. Tucking your hair back? Who fucking does that? What kind of sick, twisted animal uses that as a flirting technique? And what kind of insane madman makes it work?
"There y'are mate, good as new! Shouldn't cause you much more problems," the Merchant called from the little side room, and you and Leon separated like you were charged from the same sides of a magnet. You stepped from his hold, almost gasping for breath as you turned away to look out into the cave beyond the docks.
Leon was no better, putting his back to you as he fixed his combats again, hoping the flush on his cheeks wasn't too noticeable as he pushed his fingers through his hair. It definitely wasn't this hot in here when you both first arrived. And now he was in the same damn situation as he was before.
Fan-fucking-tastic.
"Right. Yeah. Thanks," Leon nodded a little briskly, taking back his combat knife and sliding it into the sheath at his shoulder with a practised hand. "Couldn't point us in the direction of the lake, could you?" He asked. Anything to drag the attention away from how he was feeling too hot in his own skin right now.
The Merchant pointed to the other double doors to the far side of the cavern. "Through them doors there and you'll be lookin' at it." He said, and Leon watched in mild horror as he seemed to notice you looking in any direction other than the two of them. Shit, had he really wound you up that much?
All's fair in flirt and war, he guessed.
Now feeling a little more prepared for what lay ahead of you, the two of you made your way through the double doors, waving a goodbye to the only friendly face in this whole goddamn village. Though you didn't doubt you'd see him again at some point soon. He seemed to crop up more than humanly possible.
He wasn't lying when he said the lake was right through the doors. You opened them expecting to walk a little before you even caught sight of it, but it was quite literally on the doorstep. The view was pretty spectacular, actually. This beautiful overlook of a serene lake in the swirling pink of sunset. A serene vista, with a castle on one side, forested cliffs on the other. It truly was a vision. There was even a little boat on the water!
Wait—
There was a boat on the water.
Leon stepped up next to you, binoculars already in hand, angled down towards the two pinpricks of people bobbing around on the lake's surface. You squinted, as if that would make your vision any better. Either it worked, and you had built-in binoculars, or your eyes had adjusted to focusing at a distance, but you could have sworn you were watching two people dump something in the lake. And sure enough, thanks to the evening light casting the lake in fire, the dark shape of a body was left floating in the water as the boat sped off back to the lakeside, a crimson cloud saturating the glittering waters.
You felt Leon tense beside you. He'd mentioned briefly about the two cops that drove him up here, and were supposed to be acting as his guides. He watched one burn at the stake when he first got here; the haunted look in his eye told you he'd probably be thinking about that poor cop for years to come.
And when he swore under his breath, you guessed that was the fate of the other officer. You fought the urge to reach for his hand.
An urge that was quickly dispelled by the giant, monstrous jaws of whatever experiment-gone-wrong now resided in the lake surging from the depths. Your eyes flew wide, the sunset glow catching on rows upon rows of huge teeth nestled inside a mouth wide enough to swallow an eighteen-wheeler whole. Whisker-like tendrils coiled and snapped from around that colossal mouth, and you wondered why it even had teeth at all with a jaw that large. The floating corpse was engulfed instantly, before a sleek, oily back descended once again into the lake, leaving the once peaceful lake view vista now haunted by the creature lurking in the depths.
"The hell was that?" Leon breathed, and you were honestly grateful you weren't the only one feeling a little out of your depth, no pun intended. Though you had no answer for him. No witty comment. Nothing that could explain away what you'd just witnessed. You'd already seen what this village was suffering from. You'd seen it affect the people and the dogs, so it stood to reason that the surrounding wildlife would also feel the impact. Not exactly reassuring, but it was an explanation nonetheless.
"So much for no more surprises, huh?" You sighed, knowing full well that not heading to the lake wasn't an option. Self-preservation instincts were a luxury in this field, and though you absolutely felt like the two of you were going to die if you even dipped a toe in the black waters, there was no other way. Because Ashley was the priority, and this was the best lead you had to finding her.
Leon continued scanning the scene, increasing the magnification when the castle blurred into view. It was impressive, he had to admit. The whole image was. Perhaps giant lake monster aside. And the castle was big. Bigger than it looked from where the two of you were standing. Hopefully, it would stay in the distance and he wouldn't have to worry about it. Giving the lake one last sweep, he paused at a little run-down hut on the water's edge.
"Looks like something's over there," he murmured to you, and you followed his line of sight.
"Where?" You asked further, taking a small step behind him to look over his shoulder, hoping to give yourself a better angle at whatever the hell he'd found.
Glancing back at you, Leon handed you the binoculars, moving so he could put both hands on your own shoulders and position you where he was standing. When you didn't make any kind of noise of confirmation, he assumed you still hadn't quite caught what he was looking at. So he stepped up closer to you, his chest pressing against your back, and he brushed his fingers beneath your jaw, taking it lightly in his grasp and tilting it to where he'd spotted the hut.
His eyes fell to the side of your face, and the scars that raked across your skin. Broad. Jagged. Like your cheek had been torn open again and again. And looking at it so closely, it wasn't all one scar. Layers upon layers of thin, mottled tissue; the kind of embossment left behind by a repeatedly erased mistake. He genuinely didn't know how he'd missed it when he first met you. It seemed so obvious now he'd seen it. So much scarring — he would have thought your skin would be almost numb, yet it seemed so sensitive to the touch. Like an exposed nerve or live wire. You reacted the same way to him gently grazing his fingers across it as when he kissed and nipped down the side of your neck.
Turning your head to him, you lowered the binoculars slightly. Your gaze focused on his lips, then the cupid's bow above, up the slope of his nose and finally settling on his storm-blue eyes, almost violet in the way they reflected the sky.
"Blue," you whispered, having to look away from his intense, searching stare.
"What?"
"You asked my favourite colour. Earlier. It's blue," it never used to be. But I like your eyes. I like the shades and the hues and the way they look at me.
Those same eyes lit up, a delighted smile igniting his features.
"Yeah?"
You nodded.
"Yeah. And—" you paused, looking back across the lake briefly. "My favourite animals are birds," you admitted just as quietly, and Leon immediately felt his heart stutter ever so slightly. Because you'd listened. Sure, it had taken you a while to get here, and a whole lot more unnecessary flirting, but you'd listened.
"Birds?" Your answer surprised him too, considering your fear of heights.
"Yeah… they, uh, they're the only animal that have sole dominion of their environment. Y'know — fish share the water with molluscs and mammals'n stuff. All kinds've animals have mastery over land and — most insects share underground with moles and worms. But no other animal has mastery of the skies like birds do. They're free. Some don't even land for months. Have you ever seen a condor?"
Leon didn't realise for a moment that you'd asked him a question, being so caught up in the way you were speaking. The way your eyes glimmered and had grown wistful. As beautiful as a tragedy, you truly were. So it took him a moment before he shook his head a little dumbly, not daring to say anything in case it brought you back to reality.
"They're remarkable. Huge things. Wingspan up to three metres. But they're so effortless in flight. They actually travel in families. Looking out for each other, securing the best feeding spots. Most people think they're ugly, but honestly? I think they're kinda beautiful. The French actually have a word for it. Jolie-laide." There was no bad accent to be seen, just surprisingly flawless pronunciation. "Something that's beautiful but unconventionally so. And they are. Soaring thousands of feet in the sky, they don't give a fuck about what's going on below them. They're just… free. Never alone. Even so far removed from everything else, they're never alone."
There was something about the way you said it that made his chest constrict painfully. Something about the way you looked almost mournful. He knew you didn't want to become a mercenary. That much was obvious when you told him the snippets of your past. You didn't have a lot of choices. It was why his judgment of you had slowly softened. But there was something about hearing you almost yearn for that kind of freedom that really hit home for him.
He understood. He wouldn't be here now, having gone through everything he had, if the fucking government hadn't "asked" him to join as a recruit. If he felt trapped, he could only imagine how you felt.
"Anyway—" the sudden energy in your voice almost startled him, "the fuck're we doing? Standing on a cliffside talking about birds, we've got shit to do," you took a step back from him, sucking in a deep breath, assuming that would be the end of that.
Until his hand clasped your arm, and he pulled you back into his chest, your hand braced against his collarbone in surprise. A shiver rippled across your skin as his hand settled against your bare waist, the breath you'd just taken stolen from you when he leaned down to capture your lips with his own in a searing kiss in the evening glow. Your eyes flared wide, before fluttering closed when you melted into him, gathering enough of your bearings to slide your hand into his hair.
There was purpose behind this. You could feel it. Feel it in the way his tongue swiped across your bottom lip before caressing your own. You could feel it in the way his arm looped and tightened around your waist, the other now bracing the side of your jaw, angling your head to more comfortably meet his own.
And though you didn't know it, Leon was sealing a promise in his own head. You were alone. Trapped. Scared, though you refused to admit it. A feral, wounded thing. Fighting nonetheless. He wanted to help you out of this. He wanted you to be as free as the birds you envy so much. So he kissed you with silent conviction, making that promise. If you both survived this, he wasn't going to abandon you. He wouldn't leave you. Not like he suspected so many others had before.
When he pulled back slightly, you kept your eyes closed for a moment, trying to process what the fuck just happened. Because the first time was curiosity. The second time was lust. What the fuck was this for? You struggled to believe you'd just really turned him on by talking about birds.
And when you opened your eyes, you found him looking down at you. Softly. A little breathless from pouring so much of himself into you. His thumb gently caressed the scar along your cheek, his gaze flickering across your expression when you leaned into the touch, trying desperately to read you. Searching for something, anything that would either confirm or deny his fears. Though honestly? You were just a little dazed.
"What…?" You couldn't even finish the question, still stuck trying to make sense of whatever this was. "Why—"
"You're not alone," he murmured, and you felt your whole world come to a grinding halt. You hoped he thought the tears suddenly lining your eyes were from not blinking for too long, though you had a sneaking suspicion he knew better than that, because when he whispered your name, you had to close them against the surge of emotion you couldn't identify. "You're not alone anymore."
You wanted that to be true. Fuck, you wanted that to be true so badly. But he didn't get it. He didn't understand. How could he, when you'd only told him less than half the story? The thought was almost enough to loosen your tongue. The guilt finally clawing its way from your gut to your vocal cords. You wanted to tell him. For the first time in your life, you were feeling seen, and yet he knew so damn little. And for the first time in your life, you wanted to share who you were.
You withdrew a shaky breath, the truth you live on the tip of your tongue—
Then you opened your eyes. And your teeth clamped together. Because you couldn't face it. The disgust. The rejection. The hatred. Not from him. Not from him.
And Leon watched the battle behind your eyes, and watched you lose again. "Please…" he tried, knowing nothing would come of him just asking. Still, he said your name in that same tone, as if he could gently pull your words from you himself. "Let me help you."
Things were different between the two of you now. He knew because you didn't shut down when he said that. You didn't push him away. Didn't create that distance you'd had for the first few hours. Instead, your fingers drifted through the strands of his hair in front of his face, knuckles brushing against his brow. A bittersweet smile laced your features when you watched his hair fall back, much like how you did before you'd kissed him for the first time.
"You don't want my bullshit, Leon. Trust me," you utter, unable to meet his soft blue gaze as you tried to subtly push him away. Not in the same way as before. You didn't have it in you anymore to keep pulling him in and shoving him back so viciously. You couldn't stand the look on his face nor the guilt in your heart. Guilt. Guilt would always plague you. No matter what you did. No matter what choice you made. Because you were in too deep now. And telling him the truth would risk this.
His features softened painfully, as he could suddenly feel every awful hand you'd been dealt in your life. Like he was sharing the depths of your grief with you. Leon felt you pull away, though there was no real force behind it. He still held you a little tighter. Not punishing. Not possessing. Just demonstrating. Maybe he didn't want your bullshit. Maybe he didn't want whatever had damaged you in your past. But how would he ever know if you didn't let him at least try to hold it? How would you know if you never let him in? If you never let him see the uglier parts of yourself. He wasn't an idiot. You're a mercenary. He knows the type of shit you've done. He's met mercs before. He didn't know why you thought you were so beyond saving, or beyond deserving to be saved. He didn't know, and would likely never understand. Because yes, you were brutal and rude and scary and unstable at the best of times. You looked at him like you could kill him one second and fuck him the next. You flirted when you wanted to get your way, and you constantly took advantage of his attraction towards you. You were terrifying in fights and sometimes your eyes did that weird thing where they looked like they were holding the very molten core of the earth—
But here? Now? Looking at you? Watching you try to make yourself smaller so he wouldn't see through all the walls you'd built; the layers and layers of barbed wire you'd wrapped around your already bleeding heart? He didn't see the stone-cold merc you wanted the rest of the world to see. He just sees you.
"No offence," he began gently, tilting your head to bring your gaze back to his own. A practised movement, at this point. "But I don't think you're in a position to judge what I want."
You tried to pull away again, though it was more performative than anything else. You didn't have the strength in you to fight him on this. Yet still, he guided you back to him like a lighthouse. "And so far, feel like I've dealt with your bullshit pretty damn well."
Huffing a small laugh, you gave up on trying to pull away completely. Because he had a point. You hadn't exactly been the easiest of companions. And yet he was still right here, by your side, doing stupid shit like kissing you in front of evening lakeside vistas and calling you ridiculous nicknames like Holmes and sweetheart. The second one you still weren't really over.
"Okay," you exhaled quietly, leaning into his touch once again when his thumb softly swiped against the scar at your cheek. You'd give him what you could. "You were right —" Leon stilled, "— about the orphanage. And the scars. The orphanage was a front. Weapons development… in a way. Underground projects. Stuff that would make grown men shit themselves if faced with. Posing as an orphanage got them government funding. We were, uh, guinea pigs, I guess. Cheap labour. That's how I got the scarring. Par for the course," you shrugged. It wasn't the straight answer he was looking for. You knew that. You knew he wanted more from you, and you knew you had just raised more questions in his head, but Leon knew better by now than to press you for information. But it wasn't a lie. None of what you had just said was a lie. The bare bones of the truth, perhaps, but the truth nonetheless. A truth stripped bare of context.
Leon stayed silent, taking this in. He'd been right. Fuck. He didn't want to be right. He wanted to err on the side of the ridiculous and unlikely. Slowly, things were starting to click in his head. Because what orphanage just burns down and there's no whisper of it anywhere? Surely that would have at least made national news?
Unless, it did make national news…
Just not American national news.
"Where did you say this orphanage was?" He asked carefully, knowing he was treading on mighty thin ice. And your smile was just as thin as the ice he was treading on.
"I didn't," you paused, and he thought you were going to leave it there for a moment. Before you sucked in a breath. "Abruzzo."
Leon's eyes widened, his head tilting to the side the way it often did when he found something he didn't quite understand.
"Abruzzo as in Italy?"
"Yup."
"You grew up in Italy?"
"Yup."
It was a lot to process in such a short amount of time. You weren't American. Or maybe you were. You sounded American. He supposed if the orphanage was a front, maybe kids were shipped there from all around the world? Some kind of huge trafficking system? Shit, no wonder you found it hard to trust people. Just what the fuck had they done to you? What the fuck had they been working on that made you feel like you had to burn it all to the ground? Condemning your sisters to death.
You could see he had questions. Questions you couldn't answer right at this moment. Of course he did. But you could also see that he was holding them back. You'd given him everything you could for now, so you shifted the subject. "I — I know you have your opinions on people like me. Mercs. Guns for hire. But I — I never took a job that was corrupt. I always did my research; sometimes that was half the gig. Most of my work is investigating whoever the target is. And the people I took out were people nobody would miss. Warlords. Traffickers. Arms dealers. Druglords. I — I never accepted a gig to take an innocent life. That doesn't mean I haven't fucked up before. 'Course I have. But I have never knowingly killed—"
"I know." He interrupted, and the look on your face was adorable. All wide-eyed and disbelieving.
"Wh— how? How could you possibly—"
"Didn't I tell you that lookin' at you was like lookin' in a mirror?" He asked, removing his arm from around your waist to cup both sides of your face, gently attacking both scars on your cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. "Yeah, I have my reservations about mercs. It wouldn't be the first time I've been fucked over by one," Leon admitted, trying to keep the bitterness from his voice. You weren't Ada. You didn't deserve that. "But I've just spent the last five hours with you. You tried to convince me Ashley doesn't matter to you, and I saw your face when you found that picture. I don't think you're corrupt. Far from it," he murmured your name, and your brows pinched slightly. "So I'm not asking you to explain this one. Because I already know."
You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak without your voice breaking. Fuck. Fuck. What the hell were you supposed to do with this? This level of patient understanding. This feeling of being so seen. You didn't know how he did it. In all honesty, if the roles had been reversed, you'd have gone your own way a while ago. This would be far too frustrating for you. You were aware of the hypocrisy of that. You'd be the first to hold your hands up and admit you were a hypocrite. And you had the sneaking suspicion Leon would understand that too.
"You would have made a really good cop," you murmured, hearing his breath stutter in his chest. He didn't know he needed to hear that until you said it. He was still mourning his life before Raccoon City, and honestly? He would be for a while. But for some reason, hearing you say that struck a chord deep within him. He often wonders — though he tries not to — what his life would have been like without Umbrella. Without viruses and fucking bioweapons plaguing every minute of every damn day. And though he didn't exactly choose this life either, he was sometimes glad he was in this field. Glad he was the one tasked with saving the world. Because if not him, then who?
"Yeah?"
You smiled again, tracing purple beneath his eye with your thumb before your hand rested against the side of his face in mimicry of his own. "Yeah."
Inhaling sharply through his nose, Leon tilted his head forward to press his brow to yours, a wildly intimate gesture to make with someone he had met only hours ago. This felt more intimate than pinning you against the wall, and yet he felt comfortable enough to do so.
You both stayed like that for a while, simply basking in the unspoken, unacknowledged affection that was slowly blossoming like a waterlily in sunlight. Until you had to pull away from him. Because if you didn't, you would start entering extremely dangerous territory. And right now, you could still gaslight yourself into believing this was nothing but lustful attraction.
Silently mourning the loss of your touch, Leon let you go when he felt you shift in his grip. Far from it for him to be the one to keep your freedom from you. Still, that didn't mean he liked letting you go. If he had things his way, first of all he wouldn't be in this stupid fucking village, and second of all—
He wouldn't let you go.
"Why did you wanna become a cop?" You asked, your voice switching from emotional weight to conversational like a gymnast, taking a few steps down the path and waiting for him to follow.
Moment over, then.
Brushing his hand through his hair, he stepped up beside you as the two of you continued your journey onwards.
"It's uh — kind've a long story," he admitted a little awkwardly, and you rolled your eyes.
"We literally have nothing but time. You wanted to make conversation, here you go. That's my question. And I was just insanely honest with you, giving you two straight answers, so I think—"
"Alright, alright, I get it," he sighed heavily, keeping his eyes fixed ahead of him and emotionally distancing himself from the story he was about to tell. "My parents, basically. They were, well, criminals. Probably the kinds've people you'd be paid to take out, actually," if you noticed how forced the humour was in his voice, you didn't comment. "They were killed in some kind of turf war. I don't really know the details, but an officer saved my life. Don't even know his name, but he's the reason I applied for the academy," Leon paused whilst he hopped down the short drop towards the docks, making his way to the boat bobbing on the water's surface. "I'd heard about the weird unsolved murders in the mountains around Raccoon City and requested a transfer. Got a message telling me to stay away, but then I broke up with my girlfriend at the time and went down anyway. Got drunk as hell the night before, woke up with the worst hangover of my life, and the rest you already know."
Following him down, you landed deftly, straightening up before looking at him a little bewildered.
"You did that whole day hungover?"
Leon nodded with a shrug, and you grimaced. "Yeah, you definitely win worst first day award."
"Yeah, well, my prize was bein' asked to join this government programme." You looked at him when he emphasised the word asked, wondering just what exactly he meant by that. But judging by the way he avoided your gaze, you guessed he was done explaining. It made you feel a little sad. He had such a promising future. Completed his academy training, on his way to his first proper job. If only it hadn't been Raccoon City. You wonder what kind of man he would have become. Hopefully someone not too dissimilar from the man standing before you. Perhaps just less haunted.
Looking towards the little boat tied to the dock, you let your gaze fall to the lake beyond, gut twisting at what you'd seen from the overlook. You really didn't want to get on this water knowing what was lurking beneath the calm waves. So as Leon started down the pier, you ducked into the little side cabin to see what you could find. Maybe a more detailed map of the lake. One that told you the swim patterns of the resident creature, perhaps. Though you knew the likelihood of that happening was about as likely as the two of you crossing said lake unscathed.
And, of course, you found nothing of the sort. Just more shelving stacked with miscellaneous cooking pots and wooden buckets like someone was desperate to make themselves look useful whilst unpacking, throwing absolutely anything anywhere and calling it a day.
"Come on," Leon's frustrated voice drifted from further down the dock, and you poked your head out the doorway to peer at him standing with his hands on his hips like a disappointed dad. "Fill the tank after you're done." He sighed, and you huffed a smile. He looked cute like this. Bloodstains and weapons aside. You really could see him as some suburban dad, maybe standing behind a barbecue with that exact stance and expression when the burgers weren't cooking properly.
Not that you'd had much experience with backyard cookouts — or indeed, dads — but it just felt like an accurate description.
"No fuel?" You called out, and Leon turned to spot your head poking out the door, your hair falling to one side. He bit back a smile, resisting the urge to compare you to a cartoon character.
"No fuel. You found anythin'?" He asked, wandering back up the dock, leaning to the side when his gaze caught on a piece of paper stapled to the wooden wall.
"Well, I know the shack to go to if we ever need to make a soup," you responded, casting one last look to the shelving unit behind you before stepping out, only to be met with Leon's confused face.
"What?"
"Nothin'. What you got there?" You nodded to the paper in his hands, and he held it up for you to read.
"The solution to at least one of our problems."
Your eyes lit up, a theatrical gasp flying from your lips.
"You developed a better sense of humour?!"
Leon's face fell comically, and he snatched the note away from you to instead flick your forehead. Your grin didn't falter, even when you tried halfheartedly bat his hand away.
"So rude," he chastised, and you cackled a wicked little laugh, clearly finding yourself hilarious. "Boat fuel, you — stop laughing it wasn't that funny." It truly didn't matter what he said with his words, because the smile on his face was contradicting everything. Truly, he didn't want you to stop laughing. At his expense or not. As stereotypically evil as it sounded, he couldn't stop himself from huffing a disobedient chuckle alongside you. Fuck, that laugh was infectious.
"Sorry, sorry. God, I'm funny. Anyway, you were saying?" You asked, performatively wiping a tear from your eye that absolutely wasn't there.
"Funny and humble? My pants are already down," he quipped dryly, and you barked another laugh.
"See! That was funny!"
"I am funny!" He argued emphatically, gesturing to the parts of the village you'd already come from as if it would remind you of all his jokes and quips.
"A pity laugh isn't actually a laugh, Pretty Boy," you retorted, and he gaped at you as if you'd just shot his dog.
"That's the meanest thing you've said to me." He wasn't actually hurt. He'd heard you try to suppress laughter at some of the things he said. He knew you found him funny. But he would play your little game.
"I softened it with a Pretty Boy!"
"In the same tone someone would say no offence after saying the most offensive shit ever," he pointed out, and you pursed your lips to stop yourself from laughing again. Leon turned away, stuffing the note into his pocket as he started back up the dock. You darted after him, slowing to match his pace. You didn't look away from his side profile, your grin still shit-eating, and Leon barely glanced at you. "I don't even wanna look at you. If I wore glasses I'd have taken them off by now."
You rolled your eyes playfully, hopping ahead a few steps before turning to walk backwards in front of him. He stubbornly turned his head to the side, still walking.
"You wanna look at me." You provoked.
Leon raised his brows in complete disinterest, as if he'd seen something that required his attention off in the distance. "I really don't."
"Yeeeeeaaaaah you do. Who wouldn't? I'm sexy as fuck."
"You're like a six at best," Leon shrugged, and it was your turn to gape at him in ultimate offence.
"A six?!" You squeaked, and he finally glanced at you out the corner of his eye, that stupid, boyish smirk curling from the corner of his lips. A boyish smirk that widened slightly when he looked past you to the wall you didn't know was there.
"Seven on a good day."
"You have three seconds to take that back before I start biting."
"Mhm?" He seemed completely unfazed, like he'd been waiting for this.
"Three," you began, narrowing your eyes.
Leon just shrugged again.
"Two," you elongated the vowel, as if giving him more time.
He did nothing. Just kept walking.
"One. Don't say I didn't — oomph!" Your back collided with the wall behind you, and Leon took his chance instantly. Closing the distance between you, he rested his arm above your head against the wall behind you, his other hand braced on the stone next to your shoulder, completely caging you in.
Suddenly your mouth went dry as you were drenched in his shadow, his face looming centimetres from yours. Every thought fled your head, your mind falling blissfully silent, your mouth hanging open, eyes wide.
God, you wished you could ask him what the fuck he thought he was doing, but it was like you'd forgotten how to speak or construct sentences. All you could do was stare dumbly up at him, something which would irritate you for hours to come.
"For someone who talks so much," he murmured, voice gravelly as he brushed his knuckles against the underside of your jaw, pushing your mouth close and leaning closer. "You're very easy to silence."
His words shot straight to your core, and you tensed your thighs together in a vain attempt to relieve some of the pressure. You'd have to throw this pair of underwear away after this. Because with how much you'd soaked them, you don't think they'd ever recover. There was something about this more dominant side to him. Sure, you loved it when he was flustered and blushing and visibly affected by your actions and words, but fuck, there was something about the way he commanded the space, the way he could flip so suddenly and easily that had you throbbing.
It took you a moment to recover, and Leon noticed the exact moment your expression shifted, and you raised a sharp brow. His abs tensed when your fingertips danced around the hem of his shirt, skirting around to his waist, keeping your touches feather-light.
"All this because I said you weren't funny?" You murmured, dark eyes scanning his face curiously, lingering on his lips in a way you'd noticed made him feral. Though it didn't have the expected effect. At least, now outwardly.
Leon had learned by now how you played your games. He'd learned the moves you'd make to rile him up, to slip beneath his composure and crack it open from the inside. You were devilish like that. But now he knew the play, he could counter it.
Ducking his head to your ear, he felt you shiver beneath him when he whispered against you. "All this? This is nothing."
Your lashes fluttered slightly at the promise in his breathy voice, your fingers slipping between the hem of his shirt and his tactical belt, feeling the way his skin prickled at your touch.
"Oh really?" You responded in that same silky tone you'd used with him before, pushing the fabric of his compression shirt up slightly as your hands explored the hard plains of his body. "Show me the rest then."
His lips ghosted down the side of your neck, and though his arm remained fixed on the wall above your head, his other hand skittered around your bare waist, his thumb pressing firmly into your hip bone, massaging little circles against your skin. You shivered again, your brows pinching when the soft plush of his lips brushed your ear.
"No."
He was gone from you before you could even process what he'd said, pulling your hands from his shirt by your wrists and pushing off the wall with his arm. The warm shadow of his body looming over yours was replaced by the hollow nothing of his absence in a matter of seconds. And though you couldn't see his face when he turned to climb the ladder next to you, he was smirking something wicked. Holy shit, did it feel good to leave you as high and dry as you often left him.
You didn't know whether you wanted to fuck him or kill him. Probably both. In that order. Pushing off from the wall, you stepped out a little before peering up at the ledge he'd just clambered up, your hands on your hips.
Leon looked back down at you, that sly smirk still dancing across his features. "Something wrong?"
Oh, never mind; you just wanted to kill him.
Clenching your jaw so tight you heard your own teeth grind together, you started up the same ladder, pausing when he offered his hand down to help you up the rest of the way. A large part of you was tempted to tug him off the side, but you didn't particularly want the American Government hunting you down because you killed one of their secret agents.
So you neither took his hand nor pulled him off the side. Instead, you just batted it away from you, and scaled the rest of the ladder yourself. Straightening up at the top, you dusted yourself down and secured your rifle as if giving yourself a little time to compose yourself. Schooling your expression, you raised your eyes to meet his intrigued gaze.
"Well played," you said with a nod of acknowledgement. Because as irritating as he was, it was indeed very well played. Leon's smirk shifted slightly from sly to satisfaction, almost pride.
"Yeah, well. Learned from the best." He shrugged with a vague gesture in your direction.
"Damn right."
A chuckle fluttered from his chest, and Leon sucked in a deep breath, preparing himself. "Look. There's attraction here, right? We'd be idiots if we claimed otherwise," he began, and your head tilted to the side, slightly amused. Where was he going with this? "But I — uh — can't keep this up. This whole rilin' each other up thing," holy shit he was calling it out. Damn, brave guy. "It's — uhm — becoming a problem…" Leon shifted a little awkwardly from foot to foot; a far cry from the same guy that just caged you against the wall and drove you crazy. Your chest eased with a sudden release of tension, your shoulders dropping. Guess it wasn't working out great for you either.
Still, you couldn't help but tease him just a little further.
"Thought this wasn't your first rodeo with a merc? What did you say? 'Hasn't stopped me before'." Your voice dipped into yet another terrible impression, one that you hoped would ease his evident discomfort. And when he blew out a breath with a roll of his eyes, you knew your little ploy had worked.
"That was when I still thought I could control myself," he confessed a little quietly, and your eyes flew wide. Oh. Holy shit. He can't have been raging hard this whole time, right? Could guys even do flying roundhouse kicks with hard-ons? You actually had no idea.
Well now you just felt bad. Even knowing what you were doing. Even deliberately messing with him. It was different now he'd actually brought it up. Because honestly? You didn't think it was that effective.
Leon watched you process this information with dawning horror. "Shit, I don't mean that, y'know, I'm gonna fuckin' force anything on you. Jesus, I'm not — I'm not like that. I'd never—"
"Leon," you interrupted him with his name, something you would rarely say, favouring instead to use whatever ridiculous nickname came to you at the time. "I know. If you were like that, we would have had sex by now," your smile softened at the edges. "But I know you're not. You're — you're a good guy," far too good for me. "So, you don't gotta worry, 'kay?"
He nodded a little heavily, relief dropping his head.
"Yeah, thanks."
You spat in the centre of your palm, holding it out for him to shake. "Truce?"
Looking between your outstretched hand and your expectant gaze, Leon exhaled another heavy breath, repeating the same gesture in the leather covering his own and clasping your hands together.
"Truce." He repeated. "Strictly professional. No riling each other up."
"No dramatically kissing me on the side of cliffs."
Leon fixed you with a look. "No moaning my name in my ear."
You pursed your lips. Yeah, you did do that. "No caging me against walls."
Leon had the good sense to look a little guilty. "No—"
This was starting to feel a little like some kind of celibate vow ceremony.
"Okay yeah got it," you rolled your eyes. "Strictly professional."
Looking satisfied with the arrangement, Leon withdrew his hand from yours, the touch lingering as if it would be the last one. You hoped not. Contrary to the vows and — well, everything about you — you actually liked his hands on your body. This was going to be rough, especially considering the last few hours, but you would also do well to remember you weren't here to flirt and fuck the government agent you happened to be stuck with.
"Where're we off to then, Pretty Boy?" You asked, and Leon turned to you with a long-suffering, withering look.
"Surely that counts in the agreement?"
"Hey, that's not flirty, it's just factual," you shrugged, placing a hand on your hip and waiting patiently for his answer. "So?"
Trust you to push the limits on a deal you struck twenty seconds ago. Leon fought the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose against the headache that was forming behind his eyes, a different one to the oddly constant thumping he seemed to have developed over the last hour or so.
"Fish farm. Should be some in the processing building," he nodded to the pathway that branched off from the docks down a little tunnel, a brazier blazing bright in the low evening light.
"Lead on, Macduff," you secured your rifle once again, glancing at the weapon almost to make sure it was okay, like one would a child, before turning back to Leon when you noticed he was still staring at you. "What?"
"I'm gonna start making a list."
"A list?"
"Of the references you make." He clarified, heading towards the tunnel with you in tow.
"Mm, Shakespeare. Very niche." You nodded solemnly, ducking a little to avoid the lower ceiling even though you really didn't need to. Not at your height. Leon didn't need to either and he was taller than you. Habits are odd like that.
The further you walked, the quieter the two of you became. Instinct took over from the constant back and forth, because it seemed highly unlikely the fish farm was going to be empty. Especially since you'd watched those two villagers dump that body into the lake and you hadn't seen them since. It stands to reason they were most likely in the fish farm.
As the tunnel opened onto another wooden platform overlooking the little farm, both you and Leon crouched low behind the planks, and you shouldered your rifle into your hands, peering through the scope as Leon removed his handgun from the holster at his thigh, checking the magazine.
What worried you wasn't what you could see. It was what you couldn't. The layout was as you expected for a fish farm. Half submerged in water with little huts and structures dotted about on raised wooden platforms, not dissimilar from the dock behind you. Though you saw very few of the suspected residents. One older woman, pitchfork in hand; clearly one of the village's weapons of choice. That and hatchets. Slowly scanning the area below, you noted another two Ganados just over a bridge from one hut to the next. And one more that had just wandered behind a wooden wall. Not nearly enough for what you were expecting, information you then relayed to Leon.
"There's too much cover. Can barely see anything," you explained further when he gave you a confused look. Looking beyond him and along the platform slightly, you wondered if you could get any more visuals if you simply changed positions. There was more room as well, though no obvious way down. That was fine. You preferred to pop heads from a distance anyway.
It wasn't too high, thank fuck. But surely it was high enough to see more than four shambling villagers? Right?
You didn't get to find out.
Slipping past Leon, the planks groaned beneath you with your first few steps, and you froze instantly. Perhaps this wasn't a good idea after all. And just as you turned to step back, that groan was the only warning you received before the planks gave way completely.
A fraction of a second too late, Leon's arm snapped out to grab you, fingers grazing your shoulder as you fell through, your name tearing from his lips as he could do nothing but watch as you were dropped into the water below, heart catching in his throat.
Because he knew this was the one thing you were afraid of. He'd watched you disappear into your own head before, panic replacing rational thought.
And when you didn't rise immediately, he launched himself down after you.
Leon's terrible, horrible, no good, very bad vacation to rural Spain only gets worse and weirder when he meets a woman with more secrets than he can shake a stick at and a vocabulary that would make Chris Redfield blush.
Ch.3: Trust
Ch.1, Ch.2 <-
Pairing: Leon Kennedy x F!Reader
Warnings: MDNI!!!!!!
Word Count: 11.6K
A/N: this took way too long im so sorry pleek forgive me ;-; this whole chapter is like, only half an hour in-world-time so like hhhhhhhhhhhh also to clarify, this is an x reader fic. i know there's been some confusion over that, but there is no specific name or identity other than backstory given to the mc, so imagine to your heart's content <3
Taglist: @plan3t-plut0 @meowieees @gfksz @deo-data (comment or yeet me an ask if u wanna be tagged :3)
You felt… odd. Which, by itself, wasn't exactly uncommon in your body. But taking into account the day you were having and your circumstances, it didn't exactly inspire confidence. This was more than the occasional missing memory from the night before. More than the hazy images of actions you don't remember. Your body had started to ache. Not enough to impede your progress, but enough for you to notice. And notice that it wasn't right.
It had been a couple of hours since you were stabbed with a needle against your will. Again, by itself, not exactly uncommon for your body. Though it goes without saying, you fought tooth and nail against the hands that bound you. Every time.
If you concentrated enough, you could still taste the blood from where you'd bitten through a thumb.
Evening light bled across the sky, a kaleidoscope of orange, pinks, and purples. The kind of sunset that people try extremely hard to describe, and yet can never quite nail the imagery. You were thankful for the softer lighting; however, looking into anything brighter than a small candle flame made your head hurt.
Definitely not normal.
Then those moments would fade. Like they were never there. Like it had lost a battle to something sturdier. More present. Now that you were far more familiar with.
Leon had been uncharacteristically quiet. That was to say, you hadn't heard some kind of stupid quip or lame joke out of him since you left the Chief's house a little while ago. Since you'd let that infernal vulnerability shine through and actually fucking cried.
The thought made you want to throw up.
You found yourself missing the sound of his voice. Found yourself waiting for the next witty line when you passed a string of obviously set clamps, or when you unclipped the tripwire of a C4 trap.
And yet… nothing. He largely stayed quiet. Fuck, you wished you knew what he was thinking. Wished you'd been somehow cursed with telepathy.
In reality, perhaps it was rather lucky you couldn't read his thoughts. Leon's head was a mess.
He didn't know what to think. Not of you, not of these circumstances, not of this village nor it's residents. He'd chosen to stay silent and focus on the mission because it was so much easier than trying to sort through whatever the fuck kind of mess his mind was tangled in.
Because he would have kissed you.
If you hadn't backed away. If he hadn't said something that crossed a line for you. He would have sealed the hair's breadth gap between you and given in to the gravitational pull that constantly seemed to be tugging him closer to you, and he would have kissed you.
Fuck, if you both weren't so pressed for time, he likely would have taken you there on the bed. If Ashley's life wasn't at stake, if he'd met you somewhere other than some shitty little Spanish village, if every single variable was different—
None of that mattered. Leon had spent enough of his time waging war on the what-ifs in his life; he didn't need to add another to the list. Because the fact of the matter was, he hadn't met you under those circumstances. He hadn't met you in some back-alley bar or independent coffee shop. He'd met you here. Whilst you'd taken a gig for someone you didn't know because it paid well.
Leon sighed heavily. Fucking mercs.
The village square was quiet. Suspiciously so. You had no doubt that whoever was orchestrating this whole thing knew you were free, and you found it difficult to believe they would just let the two of you walk around, armed to the teeth and taking out anybody who stood in your way.
Guns drawn, walking shoulder to shoulder, you stayed vigilant of your surroundings, half-expecting the bell tower to fucking explode or something.
Then the bell tower exploded.
With a detonation that shook the very earth itself, the tower collapsed partway through, brick and mortar raining down on the mud-slick square as the structure came crashing to the ground. Leon reached out on instinct, his hand catching your arm to tug you closer, his other shielding his eyes from the resulting cloud of dust.
You told yourself you turned toward him to avoid the debris. Told yourself it was because you would rather he get hurt than you. You worked alone. You worked alone for fuck's sake. You told yourself these things because the reality of feeling safe when you were close to him was nauseating.
Even if they were blatant lies.
As the last bricks clattered to the ground and the dust slowly settled, both you and Leon looked up to see your way now blocked, the entrance to the hall now barred with splintered foundations.
You sucked in a breath.
"I—"
"Hate this village?" He interrupted with a side-eye and a smirk, lowering his arm. Though his other hand remained on your elbow. Intentionally, now. This wasn't like he'd just forgotten he was touching you. No, this was something deliberate. You said you didn't know if you could trust him, so Leon would just have to show you that you can. Pressure light and sturdy, his eyes glanced down to the bruises on your neck, no doubt a mirror to his own.
He wouldn't let that happen again.
"How'd you know?" A wry, knowing smile played on your lips, and Leon shrugged.
"Lucky guess. Starting to think they don't want us going that way."
"An astute observation, Watson." You could feel it. The hand on your elbow. And you could feel the part of yourself fighting to let it stay there. You could gaslight yourself later. Tell yourself it meant nothing, or that it was some kind of tactical advantage. For now, you'd let it be. You'd listen to how it made you feel like that was the only warm part of your body, like his touch produced some kind of soothing balm. Like you wanted to feel it everywhere.
The softer, warmer lighting highlighted the lighter blonde in his hair, the shadows across his face exaggerated, the soft angle of his jaw. Your gaze swept lower, across the expanse of his throat, the purple petals of twin bruising. The breath in your chest stilled with the overwhelming urge to press your lips to the little mole left of his Adam's apple.
It was becoming unbearable at this point. The constant urge to be near him. The tenacious fucking yearning. You didn't yearn. You were a ruthless mercenary. Ruthless mercenaries don't yearn. Yet here you were, forcing yourself to look away so you didn't suck on his throat like some kind of lovesick vampire.
What was wrong with you?
The low grumble of a snarl had both your heads whipping to the side, contact forgotten, proximity less of an issue and more of an advantage as a salivating black wolf stalked out from behind one of the few homes in the village square. Eyes as red as the blood you coughed up, a growl as hungry like the wo—
Wait, no, that was a song.
In the blink of an eye, maybe less, your gun was in your hand, and Leon's in his. Hesitation wasn't an option, not even when it came to the animals. And with coordination you definitely shouldn't have had without actually communicating, two cracks split the air, overlapping as you fired at the same time.
Though you did wince when it yelped and fell to the ground, both bullets hitting their marks. Oddly enough, Leon's accuracy was better than your own. Something he'd put in the back of his mind for now, opting instead to stride over and sink his knife into the beast's neck as it started to twitch, waiting until it lay still to remove his blade.
Various other howls and snarls echoed about the village pathways, unseen and hunting. Adrenaline spiked through your system. "Ain't no rest for the wicked, huh?" You muttered as Leon came back to cover your flank, facing the opposite way.
"Good name for a song," Leon responded as he stood with you, shoulder to shoulder, back to back, scanning the environment as those snarls and growls seemed to jump around. Until his eyes lingered on a wooden balcony. A perfect place for you to pick off whoever, or whatever, came his way.
And you'd be out of danger…
"Wanna vantage point?" He asked, looking at you out of the corner of his eye, smirking slightly as you raised a brow.
"I'm not getting on your shoulders." You responded flatly, head snapping to the side as yet another impossible snarl echoed against the cabins and lodges.
Huffing an amused breath, Leon tapped your side before running over to position himself below the balcony, nodding up to the platform above him when your head tilted to the side. But it was all worth it when your expression cracked into a wicked grin, holstering your gun.
"You know, this is almost smart," you called, ignoring the ragged panting and low, wet snaps of saliva-flecked maws that rippled behind you as Leon pressed his back to the wall. There was a wild, reckless spark in your eye he could see even from this far away. The kind of defiance that dared the universe to just try. Like you were moments away from spitting in it's eye and asking it "That all you got?"
"And that was almost a compliment," he called back.
"Don't get used to it!" And with that, you started to run toward him just as one of the beasts surged from a window, snapping at the space you used to be. Teeth clacked, saliva sprayed, you left the hound behind as your boot hit the earth with one definitive crunch before you stepped onto his laced hands. A moment later, you were airborne.
Leon—perhaps unsurprisingly, considering your previous displays of strength—had severely overestimated how heavy you would be. Putting most of his strength into vaulting you up and onto the balcony, it was like picking up a heavy-looking satchel only to find it had been filled with feathers.
Nonetheless, though your trajectory was a little uncontrolled, you landed onto the balcony with a deft roll, steadying yourself with a hand on the wood. And the moment your foot left his hands, Leon turned with the momentum, dragged the shotgun from between his shoulder blades, and fired a shell into the beast that was following you just as it lunged to take a chunk from his neck.
"Jesus Christ Kennedy, what the fuck was that?" You called, coming up onto one knee and fixing your rifle into the gap between your chest and shoulder, your finger feathering on the trigger, pulling it until you felt the first click of resistance. Adding a little more pressure, you fired into the skull of another leaping beast, leading the shot slightly and exhaling in satisfaction as it collapsed to the side.
"You're lighter than you look!" Leon responded as he sidestepped past another, turning and pumping another shell into the creature's body, giving himself a little more time to back up.
"That's really rude!" Repositioning yourself, you aimed towards the narrow pathway you could have used as a choke point if he hadn't thought of a better plan. Steadying your breath, you once again pulled the trigger until you felt that telltale wall of resistance. The part of the mechanism that asks if you really want to do this. If whatever it is you were about to shoot was worth taking the life. You'd already made your peace with the questions. And so had your rifle.
But what came down the path wasn't another hound. A Ganados shambled into view, and you didn't hesitate when her head lumbered into your crosshairs, and fired the moment your reticle was perfectly in line between her eyes.
Leon's head whipped to the side as a thick, wet explosion sprayed against the wall, only to see the headless body of what was once someone coming to decapitate him fall to her knees and land in the mud.
"Guess I'll have to make it up to you." He had no idea if you could hear him anymore, his words no more than contemplative murmuring as he stared at the dead, headless woman. What he hadn't told you was that he could speak Spanish. He knew what these people were saying. They weren't mindless monsters like back in Raccoon City. They'd retained some of their consciousness, even if they were calling the two of you idiot pigs more often than not.
It was easier when they didn't talk…
A searing pain in his shoulder caught him off-guard, knees buckling as the hound pulled him to the ground. Dropping his shotgun, Leon slid his knife from the sheath at his shoulder and plunged it into the beast's side, barely managing to prevent a pained cry slipping through his gritted teeth as it writhed, canines still firmly lodged in the muscle of his shoulder.
He stabbed again, trying to twist away from its grip and only succeeding in tearing open the wound further. You were busying yourself with the onslaught of new Ganados shambling your way from homes and pathways you'd previously missed. Another bullet, another body dropped. It was only when you paused to reload that you heard the commotion below you.
And it wasn't a choice.
Acting on pure instinct, you shouldered the rifle and dropped from your perch, knives already gripped in both hands. You'd barely settled into your crouch before you lunged forward, hatred searing through your veins. You couldn't see much through the red in your vision, but you saw enough to slice your blade through the hound's spine, severing the connection to its back legs. The snapped whimper didn't faze you this time, not as you grabbed its jaws in both hands and wrenched it from Leon's shoulder, feeling the satisfying crack of bones beneath your now bloodied palms before you tossed it to the side.
A snarl similar to the hound's rippled from your throat. Low and animalistic and feral. Silver glinted in your palm, your knife back in your hand as if it never left, your sole focus on the dying, writhing hound before you. Hatred. Rage. Fury. That's all you knew. That's all you'd ever known.
Leon started to think—to his own muted horror—the blood from your smouldering-coal eyes wasn't coming from any kind of wound you kept reopening. Not when you stalked forward with predatory grace, kneeling and sinking your blade into the hound's throat, letting the cries die from its broken jaw before ripping it free in a savage spray of blood.
Dragging himself to his feet, Leon groaned as the wound in his shoulder flared angrily, his own pulse beating hardest in the torn flesh. The moment you whirled on him, something like recognition flashed in your eyes. And when you blinked, the phantom lantern winked out, and the blood down the sides of your face started to dry.
You watched his gaze not quite meet yours, his eyes stuck on the two lines down your cheeks. You hastily smeared them away with the back of your hand, pushing past the discomfort in your gut as the truth was becoming harder and harder to hide. But you had more pressing matters at hand. Namely, the wound in his shoulder.
"Fuck, Leon, your—"
"I'm fine." He cut you off, trying to roll the joint in emphasis, only to realise he was a lot less fine than he wanted to be.
Your eyes narrowed in evident disbelief. "Christ, you sound like me," stooping to snatch up the shotgun he'd dropped, you shouldered into the house with the balcony you were just using, confident you'd finished the last of the Ganados before setting the gun on what was once a dining table. It was dark and dusty and smelled of decay, but it was good enough. Pulling out one of the chairs, you hadn't even noticed he hadn't followed you in. Turning back, you peeked your head around the door. "You coming?"
Leon had, once again, been caught in your hurricane and rendered immobile by it. He'd just watched you break one of those beasts' jaws with your bare hands. He'd seen that weird, smouldering glow in your eyes, and he hadn't seen a physical wound that would have explained the blood down your face.
You weren't normal. He knew that the moment he locked eyes with you back in the abandoned factory. But this? This was another level of not normal.
And now you want to play nurse?!
Staring at you through the doorway, he watched your face flicker with conflict. Uncertainty came out on top, your eyes finding the ground when he didn't answer. Like that was proof of his rejection of whatever he'd just seen. Like you were expecting it. Like whatever reasons you had not to trust him had just manifested.
And he hated it. Seeing you so… dejected. Fuck, he hated it.
With a sigh he had to wince at, Leon nodded; accepting that whatever he'd just seen, he wasn't going to get answers anytime soon.
"Yeah… okay."
Your gaze lifted from the ground, relief replacing uncertainty. For a moment there, you really thought you'd fucked up. Not that you'd blame him. At all. Hell, if you were seeing what he was likely seeing, you'd run for the hills. Not for the same reasons, but you'd still run nonetheless.
Dragging another chair next to the one you'd already pulled out for him, you started searching for something, anything, that could held stop the bleeding. Or maybe a sewing kit. If nothing else, you could break off a table leg and tell him to bite on it as you sewed the wounds shut.
"What're you looking for?" Leon asked, and he hated how forced his voice sounded. Because as much as he could act like he was okay, his shoulder really fucking hurt.
"Something to dress it with or sew it with or anything," you huffed, as if the question had offended you.
"You don't carry first aid with you?" Leon asked as he sank down into one of the chairs.
"Oh yeah, of course, how could I forget? Let me just pull my first aid kit from my ass!" You hissed back, yanking open drawers and rifling through them, ignoring the mild hurt when you sliced the back of your hand on a kitchen knife.
Leon managed to refrain from making another joke about your ass as he reached into the back pouch of his belt with a wince, pulling out the same three things he used to patch up your own wound.
He vaguely wondered how it was faring.
"Use these."
You paused your search, turning and stopping dead when you saw what he'd placed on the table.
"A weed, a roll of bandages and a can of deodorant?" You asked flatly, raising a brow as he reached out and turned the can so the little cross was facing you. "Ah. Medical deodorant. That'll do it."
Your sarcasm wasn't lost on him. "It's a numbing spray. The herb has—fuck, healing properties. Acts as an antiseptic agent and increases the rate of recovery. Same things I used for you"
You fell silent for a moment.
"You healed up an axe wound to my side with a fucking plant? Thought you said you didn't do any voodoo shit?"
"Nothin' voodoo about it."
"He says, asking me to heal a substantial laceration with one herb and a dream."
"Don't mean to rush you, but I am bleeding out."
"Fuck, fine, okay, I'll use your stupid plant. Take your shirt off."
Leon paused.
"What?"
"I'm binding your wound, not sewing a tear. Off. Now."
"Bedside manner could use some work," he muttered, working the tight fabric up his waist with the use of just one hand. You, however, had taken great interest in reading the phantom label of the numbing spray. "Little help?" Leon asked through gritted teeth.
"Take your own damn shirt off," you shot back, once again sounding offended he'd even asked.
"I can't." He snapped, and that seemed to make you pause.
Silently, you placed the spray back onto the table and rounded to take a knee before him. And Leon really hadn't thought this through, because the moment your hand bat his own away and your fingers brushed his skin, he sucked in a breath. One that had nothing to do with the pain in his shoulder.
That was mostly all you were concerning yourself with now. After realising that asking for help may be as difficult for him as it was for you, you stopped being so hard on him and chose instead to focus on what you were doing. Slowly, you inched the tight fabric up his torso, your gaze flicking from your task up to his face to make sure nothing was hurting too badly. Your chest constricted at the various scars smattered across his body, decorating the hard plains of his abs, jagged lines shining beneath the blood on his chest. When you checked back in, he wasn't looking at you.
"Can you get your arm through?" Gone was the sharp, witty tone you used to verbally dance with him. The edges to your voice had softened, almost trembling. And Leon finally turned his face back towards you. The dry, sarcastic comment died on his tongue when he drank in the pinch in your brows, the earnest concern in your eyes, the slight parting of your lips. His words weren't the only thing that ceased.
He was sure his heart had to jump-start itself.
"Yeah, I uh—I think so," he nodded, and your hand moved to hold the fabric just below the wound so it wouldn't be irritated by the stretch of him feeding his arm through. Your other hand moved the sleeve around his bicep down as he folded his elbow through it, hissing as the movements jolted through his other shoulder. You paused his movements with a hand on his forearm, silently asking him to wait for the pain to settle before finally pulling the hem of the shirt up and over his uninjured shoulder.
"Duck," you instructed gently, and Leon ducked his head as you pulled up the neckline, shaking out his hair when the shirt rested at his other shoulder. The injured one. He noticed you'd done this in such a way that he wouldn't have to move his arm, which did something bittersweet to his chest. "This is gonna suck," you warned him lowly, and Leon huffed a smile.
"I'm sure I'll live," he murmured so softly you had to glance back at him to make sure he wasn't half-asleep. But he wasn't. He was looking at you now. In the same way he had in the house. The same way he had in the valley. With that same tenderness that drew you in and caught you like a willing moth. Because you didn't struggle away from his eyes. Rather, they made you want to accept your fate.
So when you dragged your eyes back to his shoulder, it was out of pure necessity.
Pulling the fabric, you stopped every time he hissed or grunted, once again letting the pain settle before moving again. You could see the tension in his jaw—the way his eyes screwed shut, the way he gripped the edge of the table like it owed him rent—and you inhaled a steadying breath. There was a part of you that wanted to, quite literally, rip off the band-aid and be done with it. But you also didn't want to cause him that much pain.
Until you got to the first major laceration, and you couldn't move a fraction before he stamped his foot with a low, strained growl. You tried to move the fabric again, but he hissed before you could even apply pressure, eyes screwed tight, teeth bared. You knew you only had one option, really. Still, it shocked you when he said it out loud.
"Just rip it off," he hissed, the wood of the table creaking from his white-knuckle grip.
"You sure?" You asked, searching his face, finding his eyes when they opened a sliver.
"Yeah."
"Do you want me to count down or—"
"Just do it."
You nodded, taking the fabric in both hands securely. And despite the fact that Leon didn't want a countdown, you still felt the need to do it in your head. Maybe to prepare yourself for how much this would hurt him.
Three, two, one—
You pulled the shirt down his arm. Hard. Your gut twisted when he cried out before he could swallow it, lurching forward before falling back against the chair, sweat beading along his brow.
"It's done, it's okay, it's done, it's off now," you soothed, placing the shirt on the table and reaching for the numbing spray, moving to now sit on the extra chair you'd placed next to his. Shaking it vigorously, you popped off the cap and pressed on the atomiser, having no idea if this was how it worked or not.
The moment the cooling numbing agent hit his skin, it started to take effect. Leon's head fell back as he exhaled a low "Fuck," before finally opening his eyes, blinking through the blurriness from where he'd had them screwed shut for so long. "What're you doing?"
You froze, looking from the wound back to him.
"I—you said it was a numbing agent! Should I not have—" you panicked slightly, and Leon's heart softened.
"You haven't used the herb yet," he responded calmly, hoping it would be infectious.
It wasn't.
"I don't know! Does it matter?" You asked, looking between the can in your hand and the herb on the table as if either one had any indication which should be used first.
Leon thought for a moment. "Actually, I don't think it does. I just use the plant first, normally. Hurts like a bitch though, which I associate with something working."
You exhaled the tension you'd just gathered, shaking the can again before applying more.
"Don't fucking scare me like that," you muttered, as if saying it louder would somehow make you even more vulnerable. Leon's small huff of amusement fanned the side of your face, and you barely managed to suppress a shiver. Now that the worst was over, it was difficult to ignore the situation. It wasn't like the compression shirt left much to the imagination, but it was definitely different seeing him without it. He was in good shape. Which was perhaps an understatement. But you couldn't confirm or deny without openly staring at his body, and you really didn't want to do that. At least, not in this context.
"Sorry," he breathed, his hand finding your knee. Leon picked up on the slight hitch in your breath and smiled inwardly to himself. You were kind of cute, when you weren't being murderous.
Setting the can aside, you didn't move to pull your knee away from him. You didn't move it closer either, even though you wanted to. Honestly, you didn't really know how. You didn't know how to chase a feeling you didn't think you were allowed, or wasn't yours to want. So instead, you reached for the herb, looking at it a little sceptically.
"You're gonna have to talk me through this. Never healed someone with leaves before," you admitted, raising a brow as you looked between Leon and the herb, trying to ignore the way his thumb smoothed your knee.
"Chew it til it's kinda mushy, then just kinda—press it into the wound," he explained, though when you looked at him a little uncertain, he squeezed your knee slightly. "Trust me?"
"We just had a whole conversation about that," you muttered, but went to pluck the plant from the table anyway. You had no evidence this was what he used on your own wound, but then again, you had no evidence he didn't. It could be some remarkably clever plan to kill you, if the plant was poisonous, and the thought did cross your mind. But he would be in a much worse position if you were dead. So, keeping an eye on his reactions to watch for anything that could indicate deception, you picked off a leaf and placed it in your mouth.
Minty. Surprisingly so. Your brows shot up at the surprisingly pleasant taste. It was like fibrous toothpaste. You swore you could taste a little eucalyptus as well.
"Not bad, right?" Leon asked, watching with what could only be described as fond amusement, remembering the first time he was pleasantly surprised by the plant's flavour. Though that was in very different circumstances.
Covering your mouth with your hand, you nodded.
"Better than I was expecting," you managed, before all of a sudden feeling extremely self-conscious. Which was a new feeling for you. You couldn't remember the last time anyone made you feel self-conscious, but for some reason, the idea of spitting out this stupid plant whilst Leon watched you made you want to die. What if you got it on your chin? What if a string of saliva snapped back into your face? What if—
What the fuck were you talking about?! Since when did you care?!
Since right now, apparently.
Leon tilted his head to the side as you turned away, still covering your mouth with one hand and spitting as delicately as you could into the other. His earlier thought rang true in his head. Cute.
He wondered if you'd be this shy spitting into your hand if it was for his co—
Woah. Okay…
When you turned back, you paused as you registered his expression. The brow raise. The slightly smug smirk. You wiped the corner of your mouth with your finger for good measure. "What?"
"I'm sitting here shirtless, and you're the self-conscious one?" He asked, and you finally had a real excuse to look down properly, without having to concentrate on anything else. Which—though hindsight was always 20/20—was a terrible idea. Because it was a struggle to tear your eyes away from the carved marble of his chest, the trained valleys and plains of his abs, the smattering of hair dipping low below his waistline.
You inhaled a long, calming breath that accomplished exactly nothing.
"Nothing to be self-conscious about." You managed, though your words were strained.
"That so?" Leon provoked lightly, and you became hyper-aware of his hand on your knee. Not that you weren't already. But honestly? You'd rather this casual flirt than the moments where you felt like he was staring through you. Like he could see into your very soul. Like he could peel apart the layers and layers encasing your heart and make a home there.
An idiotic ideal.
Tearing your gaze from his, you dipped your fingers into the green paste and gently applied the herb to the first laceration, ignoring his words. Now you were actively working on the wounds, you could see how deep they were. How used to wounds like this was he? To be able to even try and play it off like he was fine, even for a second.
You stopped when his hand on your knee tightened, and he inhaled a deep breath.
"Does it hurt?"
Leon paused for a moment. Because it should. It should be screaming agony for a wound like this. But it was nothing more than a small itch.
"No… I was expecting it too, but uh—no, it doesn't hurt…" He responded, now starting to suspect you of voodoo.
"Probably because I put the numbing spray on before, rather than after." You said it like it was obvious. Which it probably was.
"Never thought've doing that," Leon admitted in subdued wonder, watching you work now that he wasn't in searing pain.
"It's a good job you're pretty…" You muttered, your lips quirking into a half-smile as you concentrated, amused with yourself.
Leon blinked, not expecting such a blatant compliment from you.
"Thanks…? I—" then it hit him. What you really meant. "Hey!"
You laughed quietly, and he realised he would let you do whatever you wanted, insult him however you saw fit, if he got to hear that sound again. And when you glanced back to him out of instinct, your fingers paused on his shoulder.
There it was again. That look. That look. The one that made you want to fold into him and turn tail and run at the same time. The one that made you want to kiss him until the rest of the world melted away and cross the world so you couldn't touch him.
You wanted him to stop. But if he stopped, you were certain you'd die.
So you broke the silence.
"You've got scars to rival mine." That did it. He looked away then. Withdrew. Completely. The hand on your knee nothing but a cold ghost now. You glanced to where it now rested on his thigh, before starting your work again, packing more of the salve into the wounds.
It was Leon's turn to feel self-conscious, which he already did a little when he first took his shirt off. But you didn't seem bothered by anything you were seeing, so that feeling faded into the back of his mind. Only to be thrust forward. Because yeah, he did. He had a lot of scars. Some through training, some through missions, most of them from Krauser, if he was being honest. When sparring got a little too real, he'd nick him with a blade. Pain makes people stronger. Apparently.
He shifted beneath your touch, and you felt like the world's biggest asshole. You should have known that would have been a sensitive subject. Fuck, you didn't like showing your scars either. At least not the ones on your neck. Or your wrists. But that was a story for another time. The ones you'd sustained through various gigs you didn't really mind.
"They're not ugly…" You added quietly, and Leon peered at you out the corner of his eye, suspicious. Waiting for confirmation. "They're proof. That you're alive, I mean. That's how I see mine, anyway. Proof I'm still me. Proof that I survived," just about, you wanted to add, but you thought better of it. Not here. Not now. Not yet.
Not yet.
"Pain makes you stronger. Something my mentor used to say," he shrugged as if it were no big deal. As if the proof of Krauser's methods weren't forever branded into his skin.
"Sounds like we had similar mentors," you hummed, dabbing the final bits of salve into the wound before taking the plant and popping another couple of leaves into your mouth.
"Why'd you kill him?" Leon asked softly, and you sighed through your nose. He'd trusted you thus far. Maybe you should do the same. Taking a moment to grind the leaves into the same paste, you turned away again to spit them out.
"It was my first assignment. He—lean forward—told me that if I couldn't kill him, I couldn't accomplish anything. If I couldn't kill him, I may as well quit now," you explained, taking the can and spraying the wounds on the back of his shoulder. "I broke down. Told him I couldn't do it. Told him I wasn't strong enough. And when he held me and said to me that it was okay, said he was sorry—" you paused. "I stuck a knife in his back. Quick. Efficient. Severed the spinal cord. Just like he'd taught me. Fucker even had the audacity to look proud before he died." You finished, letting the silence linger before it became a little too thick. "Leon?"
"I'm just uh—processing," he murmured, and you nodded, even though he couldn't see you. That was fair enough. It was a lot to take in. Probably put a few things into perspective for him. As it should. That wasn't a bad thing. It shouldn't be a bad thing. So why did it feel like you'd just chewed up and spat out what kindling companionship was growing between you?
He wasn't wrong about you being complicated. A story like that should have warned him off. It should have told him all he needed to know about who you were. Someone waiting for the opportune moment to strike. Capable of putting your feelings aside to accomplish a task, no matter the implications or consequences. But it didn't. For some unknown, godforsaken reason, it didn't.
"How old were you?" He asked finally, almost making you jump, having half-expected to continue in silence. You thought about lying. About telling him a much younger age. Maybe that you were twelve. Or fifteen. Fifteen seemed like the border age where your decisions still didn't hold much weight. But you didn't want to lie to him. Not again.
"Nineteen," you declared, straightening your back to prepare for whatever disgust was coming your way.
It didn't come.
"You were a kid," Leon offered, and you snorted a dismissive laugh.
"I was legally an adult."
"No, I meant—when you started. Training. Skills like yours don't manifest overnight. I would know. It takes years of training. So, what, you were fourteen? Fifteen?" He asked, turning to look over his shoulder at you.
"Yeah… I was fourteen," you answered, surprised he was taking this so well.
"Where were you before that?"
It dawned on you what he was doing, and how cleverly he was doing it. And despite the fact that you knew he was fishing for information, you didn't mind giving it in little bits and pieces.
"Some shitty orphanage," you shrugged, avoiding his gaze by applying more salve. Your gut twisted as the silence turned into something understanding.
"The fire…" Leon breathed. "You burned it down, didn't you?"
Your expression flickered.
"Yeah. I did."
"Why?"
Leon wasn't prepared for just how completely his heart would break when you looked at him again. A pain he had only glimpsed at now swirled in your glassy irises. Every answer he was looking for was right there for him. You'd burned down your past, buried it under ash and soot. At the price of your own sisters.
You held your silence, letting Leon come to his own conclusion. Despite what you'd joked about, he was smart. Smart enough to figure it out. Smart enough to look at you and understand. Because you'd never experienced more pain and more fear than you had in that god-awful place. And when you razed it to the ground, you swore you never would again.
He didn't have any words for you. None that would comfort. None that would make it feel any less heavy. No, I'm sorry's. No, it'll get easier's. They were reserved for people he didn't really care about but felt as if he had to say something anyway.
Finishing up the wounds on his back, you reached for the roll of bandages and started to bind the wound, scooting the chair back to its original position next to him. He seemed a little reluctant to let you work, raising the arm that wasn't even injured with considerable effort. When you fixed him with a look, he rolled his eyes, leaning forward slightly to let you wrap the bandages around his torso and up over his shoulder. It was a bitch of a wound to bind; in one of the most awkward places it could have possibly been for a roll of gauze to fix. But you managed it whilst still giving him as much freedom of movement as you could.
"There. How's it feel?" You asked, waiting for his response before cutting off the end. Leon rolled his shoulder, making a face at the stiffness before stretching it out. He knew the effects of both the herb and the spray, yet it amazed him every time.
"Yeah, pretty good," he nodded, and you slid a knife from your boot to sever the fabric as close to his chest as you dared. You'd wrapped it in such a way that the pressure would ensure it didn't come loose, which made Leon think you'd definitely done this before. "Thanks."
"Eh, you patch me up, I patch you up. This makes us even," you gestured to the work you just did, and Leon quirked a grin.
"Pretty sure it's still 2-1 on the life-saving scoreboard."
You gaped in mock offence.
"How didn't this count towards me saving your life?!" You asked, aghast at the idea.
"I wouldn't've died," he responded with a shrug, eyes alight with amusement.
"'Wouldn't've died'?! Are you alright?!? Did you hit your head on the way down?!? Shall I just leave you to be torn apart next time?" Your eyes widened and your brows furrowed in increased bafflement. You thought he was just messing with you. Now you were starting to think he was being serious.
"I had it," he continued in that same, nonchalant manner as if he hadn't just been used as a chew toy.
"Oh, you had it, did you? What did you have, exactly? Because if it wasn't brain damage, I don't—" you paused, noticing the way his expression hadn't changed. He was still looking at you with that little smirk you hated and adored. "You're fucking with me, aren't you?"
"Hugely."
"Motherfucker!" You weakly punched him in the shoulder, before slapping a hand across your mouth as you realised it was the same shoulder you'd just been working on. "Oh shit I'm so sorry I forgot—"
"It's numb, I didn't feel it," he interrupted.
"Okay then I'll do it again."
"Let's not get carried away, I'll still feel it later," Leon reasoned, leaning away from you as if that would do anything to stop you from thwacking him again. His eyes flickered down to the bandages around your abdomen and the gash that lay beneath them. "Speaking of which, how does yours feel?"
You blinked for a moment before following his gaze down to your side.
"Oh, honestly, I forgot it was there. It's fine," you twisted at the waist to demonstrate. "See? No pain."
"Good." How could a single word completely stall your brain? He said it like he meant it. Like he was genuinely relieved you weren't hurting, despite the fact it hasn't—and wouldn't—make any difference to him if you were.
He said it like your pain mattered.
You were stuck staring. Trying to make sense of it all. Trying to understand what this meant. What this should mean. Trying to unravel how you felt around him and why you felt that way. It was becoming a theme for your body to act with a will of its own. For your hands to seek his warmth without permission. So you weren't surprised when you felt the hard muscle of his bicep beneath your palm; yet you still glanced down to check. Lips parted, breath shallow, your eyes rose to meet his. Silently asking. You didn't want to overstep.
There was no hesitation in his eyes, the low lighting turning his blue-sky irises stormy. Though perhaps it also had something to do with how dilated his pupils were. The arm your hand rested on raised, albeit a little stiffly, and you went to pull away, mistaking the movement for discomfort. But when Leon's other hand held yours against him, encompassing it. Steadying it. Keeping it. You took a breath.
He was apprehensive in his movements. So sure of yours, but so hesitant in his own. His hand hovered just shy of your cheek. Waiting. You were already close enough that he could feel the warmth of your skin, see the racing of your pulse beneath the surface of your neck. You stole the breath from his aching lungs when you leaned into his touch. Your eyes that had held his gaze drifted closed, brows pinching.
Leon grazed his thumb down the dried blood on your cheek, smoothing away little flakes of crimson. Fuck, you were pretty. Gorgeous, even. He wished he knew your name. Because breathing your call sign felt wrong. Like it didn't hold the same intimacy your eyes did when you opened them again.
Your fingers drifted through the strands of his hair decorating his brow, smiling slightly when they drifted back like a reluctant curtain. Your fingers continued to graze down the side of his face, palm settling at his jaw. Drinking in his features. Leon's eyes flicked to your lips. Soft. Slightly bitten from a habit he hadn't noticed yet. And tempting. Oh, so very tempting.
He guided your gaze back to his, a silent question hanging in the air.
It would be devastating.
The unsteady breath you exhaled fanned his chin.
Truly and utterly devastating.
Leon leaned in to you, keeping your gaze, ever making certain he wasn't misreading.
Your hand tightened on his arm—not to stop him—but to make sure he didn't move away.
The first brush of your lips on his was electric. That first phantom touch. The one asking permission.
And you answered. Your eyes fluttered closed, your hand guiding him closer as you kissed him.
Leon inhaled sharply through his nose, feeling like his chest might burst apart. Everything about you was so wrong. So wrong for him. But feeling you on his lips, your hand on his cheek, his own skirting down to cup the side of your neck and jaw. Everything about this felt so right.
He wanted to pull you closer. To tug you into his lap. To run his hands up and down your body and listen to the soft sighs and little whimpers he could pull from you. But it was he who groaned lightly when he felt your tongue swipe across his lips, and he devoured your airy gasp when he responded in kind, smiling into you as he tasted the mint of the herb you'd chewed. For him.
Your fingers thread through his hair as you let yourself go. Let yourself give in to the feeling. You'd wanted this. But it hadn't satisfied the want. If anything, it had made it worse. Because now you didn't just want to kiss him. Now you wanted all of him. You wanted to drag your nails down the front of his chest. You wanted to feel him tense and relax beneath you.
And just as you had found when talking to him, it was easy to lose yourself in his touch. To submit to the drag of his tongue, his hand angling your head just so. Fuck, he was good. Skilled. He didn't push you beyond what you were giving. Didn't take freely. And when he pulled away from you, leaving you breathless and wanting, he coerced you back your body with a gentle swipe of his thumb along the scar on your cheek. If he could do all that by just kissing you, it made you lightheaded to think what he could have done if you weren't in the middle of some shitty Spanish village.
"Tell me your name," Leon murmured against your lips, grazing them with tantalising softness.
Those words.
Those words brought you back to your body more than his touch ever could. Like being doused with a bucket of cold water, your lidded eyes snapped wide. Calculating. Sharp. You scanned his face like he'd just admitted to killing your sisters himself. Brows furrowed, lips parted, but no longer in reverence, more like you had a thousand things to say and none of them seemed to be right, you pulled back from him.
Well, less pulled back and more jolted out of his touch, your hand hovering when you pulled it from his hair, like you didn't know what to do with it. Like it was toxic. Or clean. You still didn't know which was worse.
You stood with enough force to knock the chair over behind you, the clattering making you jump. Staring desperately at the chair like it somehow held the answers, your mind started to race. You kissed. Shit, you'd kissed him. Or he'd kissed you. Whichever way around it was. It didn't really matter. Except you could be mad at him for kissing you. You couldn't really be mad at him for you kissing him. But as good as you were at gaslighting yourself about the things you'd done, this wasn't one of them.
"I—"
"Al—" Leon went to say your call sign. The only thing he had close to a name for you. Only, it felt wrong. Of course, it felt wrong. He didn't even know your name and he'd kissed you. What the fuck was he thinking?
"I just—I should—" you tried, gesturing to anything and everything in the room to keep from looking at him as you slowly backed up towards the door. "I'm gonna see if there's uh—some way around. The tower. To the church. Thing. Hall. Village hall. Yeah. I'm gonna—go do that," you managed, dragging a hand through your hair, head whipping to the side when your knee knocked into a counter. "Stay. Here. Stay here. I'll be… back. I'll be back. Yeah. I'll—bye."
Leon wasn't able to get a word in edgeways before you'd made your swift exit. This didn't feel like a hurricane anymore. This felt like getting sucked into the jaws of Charybdis herself, drowning in a maelstrom before being swallowed whole. He wanted to talk you down. To apologise. To explain that he didn't know what he was thinking. He didn't know why he did that. Which was a lie, but maybe it would help you. Because of course he knew why he did that. It was the same reason he kept asking about you. He kept peppering you with questions. The same reason his hands always lingered on your body a beat longer than necessary, why his gaze always fell to you when he wasn't concentrating on anything.
He'd kissed you because he wanted to. Because you were a storm he wanted to get lost in, if you'd have him. Kissing you hadn't satisfied some benign curiosity. It had made it so much worse. And as good as it felt, as fucking good as it felt—
It was, indeed, devastating.
What the fuck? Oh what the fuck? What the fuck what the fuck whatthefuckwhatthefuck?!
Why? Why did you think that was a good idea? Did you have brain damage? Why did you all of a sudden have the whimsy of a five-year-old girl experiencing her first crush on the cool kid who could run really fast? Not that you had any idea what that felt like, admittedly. But all you could think about was how stupid you'd just been, and how fucking good it felt. You'd hoped the fresh air—well, "fresh" air—would do something to clear your head. But instead, it felt like you were breathing wrong.
Nonetheless, you did need to find a way around this rubble. There was no way Leon could climb through this in his condition, no matter how well those herbs work. You didn't know this area very well, since this was the place you'd met Luis and were almost instantly left for dead by the man. Slung over a broad shoulder like some helpless maiden. Or perhaps a sack of potatoes would be better. A maidenly sack of potatoes.
Fuck. You were losing it.
Keeping your centre of gravity close to the ground, you pushed open a door to one of the houses in the square. You'd left your rifle with Leon, thinking it would probably serve him better than it would serve you right now. Which was absolutely your justification for leaving it behind in your desperation to leave that room.
So, handgun it was.
The door creaked faintly as you pushed, palm flat against the splintering wood, revealing the dimly lit interior. It broke your heart a little to see what used to be so lived in. Dusted bookshelves, upturned chairs, cutlery and crockery still out on tables. Abandoned. Like someone suddenly pulled the strings on the puppets.
In the quiet, you could hear footsteps upstairs, as well as a faint beeping. The same beeping you'd heard earlier, when Leon had signalled to you. C4. Who the fuck had taken time out of their day to place C4 traps over the place? How did they even—
You stopped yourself. Whilst the hypothetical questions were doing wonders to distract your brain from thinking about what you'd just done, it wasn't doing great for your concentration. Though neither was getting lost in your own mind, the feeling of his lips on yours, his hand at your jaw, his breathy groan when—
Stop it.
Exhaling a quiet huff, you stood up straight, holstering your gun before moving through the ground floor. A few windows had been shattered in some kind of scuffle, and drawers had been left open from where they'd been yanked free. You only knew one person who kept leaving rooms like he was a thieving fanatic. Your disobedient lips pulled into an equally disobedient smile.
He'd been through here. Clearly.
Quietly crossing to the window, you dusted a few shards of glass from the empty frame, stilling as they softly clinked to the ground outside. Turning your head to the stairs, you listened for the continuous sound of footsteps above you, keeping your breathing deep and silent. Your shoulders relaxed slightly at the next creak of floorboards. Were they lying in wait? Just in case somebody came through this way? You guessed it was a good place to wait, since you were, indeed, coming this way.
Leaning out the window slightly, you saw that it led to… absolutely fucking nowhere. Back to the square you'd just come from. In fact, you were pretty sure Leon was in the next house over. Some progress you'd made.
Before you could stop it, your breath dragged painfully through your lungs, like something had reached out and snatched it from within your chest. Catching yourself on the sharp shards of the shattered window, you doubled over as you hacked a cough, both hands now stained red from your own blood. You tasted iron on your tongue, staring at your hand in mild horror. The first time, you thought it was because you'd just been choked out by the resident pope. Now you were starting to think something was seriously wrong with you. Whatever your blood was accepting. Or fighting. What was it he'd said?
Another wave of pain coursed through your body, and you doubled over again, coughing up sprays of blood, your hand clenching painfully against the glass fragments on the window, cutting the mildly calloused skin of your palms.
Those footsteps above you stopped for a moment, and you thought that perhaps, by some miracle, you'd gotten away with it. That was until various Spanish phrases filled the floor above you. Swearing lowly, you shook your head against the dizziness skewing your vision, ripping your handgun from the holster at your thigh.
At the first gunshot, Leon sat up like a meerkat. He'd been leaning against the table, mentally hitting himself for not catching you before you darted out the door. But when the first shot cracked through the silence, panic flared through his system.
It was much less of a battle to get his shirt on than it was to get off, shrugging it down his chest and turning to feed his arms through the leather straps of his harness. It took him less than a minute to clip the belt back around his waist, each prattle of gunfire adding an extra layer of urgency to his movements. He slipped the shotgun through the back of his harness, hooked your rifle over his shoulder, and quickly checked the magazine in his handgun before he shouldered out the door.
Because those shots were uneven. And he didn't like the pauses between them.
You leaned heavily against the wall behind you, gun raised in one hand up the stairs towards the advancing few, the other braced against your side, fingers splayed against the bandaged wound as if that were the source of your pain.
Another Ganados went down, tumbling dangerously close to the tripwire across the stairs, his arm missing it by a hair's breadth. You really didn't want that explosive to be set off. Despite the fact that it would likely clear the stairs of the villagers, you were already having a truly terrible time, and honestly didn't feel like fighting through some kind of PTSD trigger flashback whilst fighting for your life.
Your hand shook where you pointed your handgun, blood flecked teeth bared in defiance of your death. Wood exploded into splinters where your shot missed and hit the stairs, your arm finally running out of strength. And through your swimming vision, you swore you could make out black spiderwebs running beneath the surface of your skin.
Dropping your gun, your hand braced against your head as you hissed in pain, a dull, burning throb pulsing behind your eyes.
You didn't know how or when he arrived. You only knew he had when an arm wrapped around your waist and tugged you back, turning and forcing you into a crouch.
Leon moved his arm from your waist to tuck around your head, bringing you close into his chest as he turned his back to the stairs. Extending his arm behind him, he pointed his gun at the source of the beeping, waiting a fraction of a second for the Ganados to be within range before pulling the trigger. And the moment he did, he curled around you, shielding you from the heat and smoke of the resulting explosion.
His arms tightened when he felt you flinch, his brow resting on the crown of your head. And for someone who'd spent the last however many hours in this shitty village, your hair smelled remarkably good.
When the dust settled, Leon turned back to look at the result. The structural integrity of the stairs had been somewhat compromised, but not beyond use. He'd succeeded, however, in ridding the rest of the Ganados. Releasing a breath, he turned back to you when you shifted, a hand still clutched against the side of your head.
"Good thinking, Batman," you managed, though not without effort. Leon refrained from huffing a laugh, his attention caught by the way your features scrunched in pain.
"Hey, look at me,"
"Don't—"
"Look at me."
It was the first time you'd heard him use that tone since he'd held you at knife point. Clipped. No-nonsense. Abrupt. A tone that commanded you to listen to him, as much as you didn't want to.
Forcing your eyes open, you winced slightly at the candlelight, letting his hand on your chin guide your gaze up to his.
Leon's brows furrowed in concerned bafflement, and he reached for the torch in his belt. Because they were flickering. Your eyes. Not in the way he'd seen. But rather like they were fighting something. Smouldering embers flashed bright and dim within your pupils, as if it were fighting to burn. Or something was fighting to put it out.
"Ow—fucker," you hissed savagely, pulling away from his grip when he shone the flashlight into one of your eyes. Only to have your face stubbornly brought back to him, his fingers squeezing your chin in mild reprimand.
"Quit moving," he ordered, and you could almost laugh.
"A warning would've been nice," you fired back, though listening to his instruction and making a considerable effort not to move.
"Okay, bright light. Better?" He brought the beam back up to your eye, and though you hissed again, you didn't pull away.
"Do you even know what you're looking for?" You asked with no small degree of impatience, wanting the light to be out of your eye and for your head to stop pounding like a bass drum.
"That… church freak, looked us both in the eye and said something about our blood," he explained absently, his fingers loosening at your chin as he catalogued the details. With your pupil now nothing but a pinprick, he could see much clearer that darker lines infecting the colour, like bolts of black lightning through the whites of your sclera he hadn't seen before. "Other one," he murmured, turning your head to the side.
It was the same for both. Though when he looked back after flicking the torch off, those flickering embers had stopped their fight. Either they'd won or lost, it was difficult to tell.
Your limbs still felt heavy, and the pulsing in your head had reduced to a low, constant hum, but it wasn't as bad as it was moments ago. Magic plants, magic flashlight… You wonder what else Leon was hiding up his sleeve.
No. Kissing him was bad enough.
And just like that, all the overthinking that had momentarily left your brain came flooding back, seizing your breath and dragging your eyes to anywhere but his own gaze. Your nails bit into the flesh of your palm in an attempt to stop the hand on your chin from feeling so soft.
"Give it to me straight, doc? How long've I got?" You attempted to deflect, raising a brow and quirking your lips into a carefully crafted, crooked grin. Unfortunately for you, Leon perhaps invented the tactic of humour-based deflections. So when his eyes softened, and his thumb gently swiped along your jaw, you sort of knew he wasn't buying it…
"You don't need to do that."
"Do what?"
"Deflect. With humour."
"Aha, so you think I'm funny?" You provoked, wiggling your brow and earning yourself a soft huff of laughter.
"I think you're r—" whatever he was going to say died in Leon's throat. His jaw clenched, eyes searching your face for what looked like the last time before he released the hold on your chin.
The breath you sucked in wasn't from relief.
So your hand flew to his wrist before he could step away, stopping him in his tracks. And Leon was getting a little sick of your constant pushing and pulling. "I don't know wh—"
Once again, he was cut off. Not by himself. But by you. The phantom of a whisper leaving your lips. Your eyes had found great intrigue in the details of his shirt, glancing around the room as if you could somehow find a way out of this hole you'd dug yourself. Fuck, this felt like you were offering yourself up for sacrifice.
Leon leaned a little closer, and you pursed your lips reluctantly before saying it again. A name. "Who?"
You paused.
"Me. You asked for my name. That's it," you shrugged, saying it one more time. Leon's features slackened in shock before he could catch himself, his heart skipping a beat. Or maybe two. You'd told him your name. Your name. For some reason, it felt like being trusted with the secrets to the universe. You'd shared with him your name. And it couldn't be more fitting.
Hesitantly, your gaze lifted, testing the waters. Honestly, you weren't really sure what you were expecting. Your name had been used for ownership. A possession to keep you in line. Alecto had set you free from that. And now here you were, sharing it with a man you'd known for less than three hours. And you could honestly say, when your gaze finally settled on his face, you weren't expecting him to be smiling. Not grinning. Not smirking. Smiling.
Fuck, it was a good smile.
Leon repeated your name, tasting the vowels and intricacies on his tongue. Testing how it felt. How it sounded. He whispered it into the minimal space between you, tilting his head when your grip on his wrist tightened.
"Yeah, yeah. Don't wear it out," you muttered, feeling more seen than you'd ever been in your life. It didn't necessarily feel bad, you just felt… exposed. That same odd feeling of vulnerability when people think they've forgotten to put on underwear. Worst of all, it did send something a-flutter in your chest. Something you hadn't prepared for at all.
Leon hummed something noncommittal, and you could still feel his eyes on you. Checking. Gauging. And perhaps—ever so slightly—pushing. You released his wrist with a huff when he said it again, weakly shoving his shoulder with no real heat. "Ugh, enough."
He chuckled when he absorbed the shove with a small step back; the first proper laugh you'd heard from him. More full-bodied than you were expecting. The kind of laugh you would be able to feel through his chest if you were touching him. If your head was tucked in close, and his hand traced directionless patterns on your bare shoulder, a bed-sheet just about covering your waist, the hum of an afterglow sitting sweetly in your veins, lazily running your fingers down his chest—
Jesus fucking Christ.
"Why now?" Leon asked, letting the moment linger when you once again fell silent. Though not avoidant. More thoughtful.
"Trust…" you said after a while, watching for how the weight of the word sat on his shoulders, your breath falling silent in anticipation; with the instinct to run. Run from this. Pretend it never happened. Because trust was dangerous. Even if you trusted him more than you wanted to admit.
But the weight never came. If anything, he looked looser. Calmer. Like a weight had lifted rather than settled.
"Trust." He repeated, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes.
"Feel like I'm talkin' to a parrot with you repeating everything."
"Feel like I'm talkin' to—"
You shot him a look.
"Stop it."
There was that smirk. The one that often accompanied—yep, his hands raising in defence.
"Yes Ma'am," he raised a brow, and there was no winning the battle against your lips when they split into a smile. Like a thread being pulled loose, not even biting them could stop the inevitable. And short of turning around completely, there was nowhere to hide it but behind your hand as you pretended to wipe away a phantom streak of blood from your mouth.
Only for a very real red streak to stain your palm, and ground you back into your humbling reality, having forgotten you were coughing up blood not minutes ago. Right. Yeah.
Fuck.
"Oh, here. Think she belongs to you." Leon handed you your rifle from where it sat behind his shoulder, furrowing his brows as he watched you check it over like he'd check you for injuries. Or anyone, for that matter. "You were gone five minutes, didn't even get to use it."
Your head shot up, offended. Straight back to business then.
"Get to use it? Ex-fucking-scuse you?! I didn't leave her behind so you could use her like some three-dollar fleshlight!"—Leon choked on his own saliva, eyes flinging wide because never in his life did he think that's what you were going to say—"She wouldn't work for you anyway. Needs a special touch."
"Just to be clear, we're still talking about the rifle, right?" Honestly, he wasn't so sure anymore.
"What else would I be talking about?" Your eyes narrowed, holding the rifle a little too protectively to be perceived as sane.
Leon didn't dare answer that question. He liked having use of his hands, and he was a little worried you'd break them over any answer he'd supply.
"So why did you leave it?" He asked, only understanding the weight of the question when your mouth opened, and nothing came out. Because—he realised—you didn't mean to leave it behind. You'd left in quite the chaotic rush, and you'd forgotten your own rifle.
You felt like a fish, opening and closing your mouth in the hopes that if you did it enough, the clacking of your teeth would form some kind of answer.
The silence spoke volumes.
And, perhaps surprisingly, Leon didn't savour it. Because now the topic hung in the air like a swarm of bees. Humming and imposing and incredibly difficult to ignore. His hand reached up to try to ease some of the tension in his neck. This was not going to be a comfortable conversation. "Do you—uh, wanna—talk? About it?"
You froze momentarily.
"About what?"
Leon's brows raised.
"Seriously?"
Inhaling a deep breath, you smoothed the soft line of your brow. There were no exits now. No excuses to leave the conversation. Nowhere to run and no way out. You hated the way your gut twisted into knots. But it was better to shut it down now, right?
"It's fine. I was curious, you were curious, now we're not. We're good." Keeping your tone light and matter-of-fact, you managed to steel enough courage to place a hand on your hip. Despite the fact that your entire body was screaming at you to curl up and die.
"Really? That's it?" Leon asked, clearly sceptical that, for all of your chaos, that's all you had to say on the matter. Honestly, he was a little underwhelmed. And, perhaps, a little disappointed.
"That's it." You shrugged, crouching to retrieve your handgun from where you'd dropped it earlier, hoping that the movement would ease the tension in your muscles.
"Nothing else?"
"Nothing—" you paused, looking back at him over your shoulder. "Why? What're you looking for?"
"Hey, 'm not looking for anything." Leon stepped back, suddenly feeling like he had to defend himself. And not in the jokey, unserious way he had been with you. For some reason, he really didn't want you thinking he was looking for anything else. Because he wasn't. He was looking for Ashley. That's why he was here. To find Ashley. Not to make out with mercs.
That was becoming a bad habit…
"Good." You straightened.
"Good." He folded his arms across his chest.
You shot him another look, making it clear you wanted the last word.
"Yes, good."
"Great, even." Like hell he was giving you the last word.
"Fantastic." Why, even now, were you not genuinely irritated by him? Because that's what he was doing. Being deliberately jarring. So why, oh why, were you almost enjoying the verbal spar?
"Shall we?" Leon gestured to the door as you flung the strap of your rifle over your shoulder definitively, tugging on it a little too hard to be considered calm.
"Let's." You didn't wait for him to go first before striding out the door, keeping your chin held high. Maybe you wanted him to be looking for something else. Maybe you wanted him to insist on talking about it. Though maybe this didn't mean nearly as much to him as it did to you. And that, for some reason, with all the headaches and the body aches and the hacking up blood every now and then, that was what hurt the most.
Leon's terrible, horrible, no good, very bad vacation to rural Spain only gets worse and weirder when he meets a woman with more secrets than he can shake a stick at and a vocabulary that would make Chris Redfield blush.
Ch.2: Pig Shit, Gun Smoke and a Rubik's Cube
Ch.1 <-
Pairing: Leon Kennedy x F!Reader
Warnings: MDNI !!!!!
Word count: 14k (hooooo boy...)
A/N: here we go, it's startiiiiiiing :) lowk any typos r between u, me and god atp im tired
Taglist: @plan3t-plut0 @meowieees @gfksz (comment or ask if u wanna be tagged <3)
You hated this village. This village and its Ganados, as you'd heard them called. Well, it was something you'd heard the villagers say, and you didn't speak a lick of Spanish, so it worked well enough.
After a back-and-forth about where the hell you'd both ended up, the argument was settled by the exhausted Merchant telling you that neither pathway led closer to the church and you'd need to head through the doors—yes, the doors that wouldn't open. You'd huffed in perturbed defeat.
And having thoroughly inspected the doors you apparently needed to head through, Leon had helpfully concluded that you needed some kind of embossed medallion or emblem to slot into the oddly bird-looking dent. You thought he was being ridiculous, but since it was your only lead and you were sick of arguing, you shrugged and went along with it. Nyx sure as shit wasn't going to pick up the phone.
Though this had led you into a somewhat precarious situation.
Slowly and quietly, you removed your recently reunited sniper rifle from around your shoulder, positioning it atop the crate you were crouched behind. Leon had taken up position opposite you on the other side of the haphazardly built wooden scaffolding, handgun at the ready and recently acquired shotgun strapped to his back. He'd spent far too long bartering with your new best friend over it, and they'd finally settled on a handful of other shit he'd found just lying around. Honestly, you hadn't pegged him for the petty thief kind.
Looking through the scope, you enhanced your magnifier a few times, rotating it with a click. Bodies lay in the path behind you, each with a knife wound in their throat and their head, just to be safe. You hadn't seen one reanimate properly yet, and honestly, you would love for it to stay that way.
You held up a finger for each hostile you counted. Four in the scaffolding above you, three along the platforms at surface level, and another two you could just about see within a small shed or stockroom. It was difficult to tell. Zooming out once, you turned your attention to the upper levels, scanning across the platforms for anything that could look like some kind of medallion or at least plate-looking.
And you couldn't quite believe what you were seeing. At the top, resting on the side of an old chimney-looking structure, was a large, hexagonal plate that looked as if it would be right at home in a palace display.
"Can't believe I'm saying this," you murmured, loud enough for Leon and only Leon to hear you. "But you were right."
"Is that so hard to believe?" He responded in equal quiet, and he sounded so earnest you almost responded genuinely. Before you pulled back from the scope and glanced at his wicked smirk.
"Not gonna be easy, at least nine I could see, but who knows who's hiding where," you whispered, threading the rifle back across your shoulder. "Got a plan?"
Leon fell silent, and for a moment, you thought he didn't hear you. "Cover me."
You gaped. "Cover you? That's your plan?"
"You're the one with the scope. Get somewhere high, take out whoever's in your path, quietly if you can. Once you're in position, fire the first shot. That's my signal. They're drawn to you. I'm in and out before you fire a second." He watched as you digested his plan, noting the way your brows dipped when he told you to get somewhere high and out of sight. He supposed you had to be some kind of adrenaline junkie in order to be a mercenary.
"Right, and whilst they're chewing on my ass, you're skippin' away scot free, right?"
"Should take 'em a while, there's a lot to chew on."
It was by some miracle you didn't bark out a surprised laugh at that, having to turn your head away from him and silently cackle. You couldn't even pretend to be offended, because holy shit was he quick. When was the last time you found someone with a decent sense of humour?
Leon felt a little cheated out of your smile when you turned away.
"Shit, we can't giggle that's so fucked up," you managed through steadying breaths, somewhat more at ease now knowing you were at that level where he knew you wouldn't take something like that to heart. "Okay—fuck, okay. You better not leave me here to die like that shit-weasel Luis did," you meant it as a lighthearted joke, but Leon's face softened into something less amusing and more heartfelt.
"I won't."
For some reason, you believed him.
"Okay…" you breathed, creeping out from behind the crate. But before you could, Leon caught your shoulder in his hand, stopping you in your tracks.
"Hey," he paused, peering at you through strands of dirty blonde hair. "This is gonna work, 'kay?" He gave you a determined nod, and all of a sudden, you were struggling to find doubt in the plan. Silvery, cloud-spotted light highlighted the blue in his irises, the sharp angle of his jaw, the strong bridge of his nose. He was pretty, you thought. Softer than the harsh lines of his face would suggest. You'd seen it in the small smiles he'd pull, like he didn't have permission to express anything larger. Like he was afraid of it.
You understood that. More than you should. You understood how scary it was to leave yourself unguarded. You'd turned it into a weapon. Leon had shut it out completely.
Before you could second-guess yourself, you reached up to squeeze his hand on your shoulder, hopefully saying what words couldn't. I'm choosing to trust you on this. You won't leave me behind. This will go to plan.
Perhaps you were being naïve. Perhaps Leon had given you some unspoken reason to trust again. But whatever the case, when you backed out of his grip, it wasn't from wanting space between you.
Edging forward, you picked a spot on the upper levels where you'd get a good vantage point of the little cabin you were certain held the key to the chimney—and whilst the wooden planks didn't look all that sturdy, most of them held well enough as you clambered up the side, swearing to yourself as your grip tightened with each foot you climbed. You'd never been so thankful to be on something somewhat solid as you reached the top, keeping low to the ground to avoid detection.
Leon watched as you ducked beneath the wooden slats lining the upper level, only noting your progress when you popped up to stab a villager in the neck from behind, a hand over their mouth to muffle any screams or pained gurgles. At least, he thought they felt pain. The earlier one with the chainsaw seemed to feel absolutely nothing, no matter how many shotgun shells he pumped into its chest.
With another one dropping, you slithered up onto another raised platform, taking your rifle from around your shoulders and dropping to one knee. Leon squinted against the sun, shielding his eyes as he watched your silhouette unfold the stock and place it against the dip between your shoulder and chest, your elbow resting on your knee.
As the crack of a gunshot split the moaning silence, Leon kept tabs on the Ganados, making sure they were all distracted by your position before he made his move. Creeping along the boards, he stalked up behind one and stabbed them in the throat, not dissimilar to the way you'd just done, slowly dropping them onto the ground.
Another shot cracked through the air, and another man hit the ground just in front of him. Holy shit, you were a good shot. Leon's breath caught as he saw the clean wound enter one side of the man's head and exit the other. Suddenly, he was very glad you were on the same team.
Shot after shot you fired, your feet littered with empty cases as you counted each one, squeezing the trigger like a lover rather than someone ordering it around. Like you were merely suggesting firing a round, and the rifle answered in kind. Removing the empty magazine after the seventh shot, you quickly clicked in place a fresh one, once again snapping the bolt back to slide another round into place. You'd been so focused on keeping the way clear for Leon, tracking his progress as he threw caution to the wind and drew his handgun, you'd failed to notice a gathering horde behind you.
This was taking too long, Leon realised as he fired into the leg of an older woman hellbent on gutting him with a rusty pitchfork. With a harsh kick, she flew backwards into the advancing few. You were doing more than a good job of keeping them back and also having his back. A wet crunch followed by the crumpling of a body behind him told him that much, and he glanced up with a nod of thanks.
But as he did, his heart stopped.
"Behind you!" He shouted, knowing it would just draw more attention to him. But that didn't matter. Not when he couldn't even count how many of these fuckers were advancing toward you. Your head popped up from the rifle, tilting to the side before you turned.
"Fuck!" Your voice carried slight panic across the air, and Leon turned his attention to shooting as many of them as he could, firing until his handgun clicked in anticlimactic silence.
Shit. Shit shit shit. Having discarded your rifle to the side in favour of your own handgun, you fired into the mob. You'd been watching how Leon dealt with them closely, picking up on how he fired into their legs or head first, then delivered a solid kick to them whilst they tried to recover—because apparently, these people could recover from bullets to the head. As a younger man with a large kitchen knife came racing toward you, you decided now was as good a time as any to see if your kicks were anywhere near as powerful as Leon's. You'd been mostly trained in kick-based martial arts, most prevalently Muay Thai, a martial art your guardian had been proficient in. So if your own sweeps couldn't measure up to Leon's, all your training had been for nothing.
Squeezing the trigger of your handgun, you fired between his eyes, watching as he staggered back rather than dropping instantly, something you were becoming accustomed to. And you snatched the opportunity by the throat. Taking a measured step forward on the balls of your feet, you aimed a harsh kick up into the man's nose, bouncing back as splinters of his jaw shattered through his flesh. Looks like you still had it.
But where one fell, another simply took his place. A snarling mob of blood red eyes and gurgled Spanish that you didn't understand. Inching backwards, you kept firing into the mass of shambling limbs, the toe of your boot brushing where you'd tossed your rifle. They'd already pushed you back that far? Heart in your throat, you kept firing until the mechanism clicked uselessly and you holstered it in favour of drawing two knives from your boots, jumping up only to duck back down, narrowly avoiding a spinning axe thrown in your direction.
If they all decided to charge at you, you were dead. Your vision tunnelled as you looked at the drop behind you, heart plummeting from your throat into a well in your stomach, a dizziness invading your head that you managed to shake off long enough to spin around the sharp prongs of a pitchfork, grasp the back of the woman's head, and bring her face into your knee one, two, three times, before shoving her off the platform.
Leon was running now. Racing along the planks, leaping across gaps that he really shouldn't be able to clear, taking the ladder two rungs at a time. The plan forgotten, he lunged onto the cabin rooftop and pulled the pin of a hand grenade—the one he was saving for a moment such as this—and tossed it into the centre of the mob.
"JUMP!" He roared, knowing you had mere moments before the platform would come crashing down. But you didn't move.
No, it wasn't that.
You couldn't move.
You were solely focused on what was in front of you, like you couldn't fathom the drop behind. Surely you would have seen the grenade amongst the impressive display of martial arts he really should have expected at this point. "ALECTO JUMP!" He shouted again, voice raw, skidding to a halt at the edge of the roof a fair way below you.
And when you looked down at him, it wasn't out of fury or thrill. It was fear. A true, paralysing fear in your eyes. One you couldn't mask in the moment. One that made his heart crack and his lungs pause.
Time seemed to slow.
He promised.
He promised he wouldn't leave you here to die. He's already lost so fucking many. He didn't want to lose you, too. He couldn't.
"I've got you," he fought to get through to you, both arms stretched out as if he could reach up and carry you to safety. "I've got you," he repeated, softer this time—gentle—like he was speaking to a wild animal. A feral, wounded thing…
You could feel every single nerve in your body. Flashes of steel cracked through your mind's eye. Agony ricocheted through your legs. The raw, bloodcurdling screams of pain. Bones cracking. Skin splitting. Spine snapping. Not again. Not again.
The hiss of the grenade behind you snapped you from your own head, and you glanced back.
A split second.
That was all it took.
A split second and you were running, stooping low to snatch up your rifle, and on legs that refused to give up on you, you leapt as the grenade detonated.
The heat of flame seared your back, and you were lost again, mind elsewhere as you collided into Leon. Sturdy arms wrapped around your frame as you both went down, a hand at the back of your head protected it from the resulting tumbling, his own body shielding you from the explosion that wouldn't have reached the two of you anyway.
Sharp nails he hadn't noticed before sank into his side as you clung to him, your breath uneven and shaky against his collar. Guilt slowly bled into his gut like an infection, making it difficult to breathe. That frown earlier—you weren't irritated by being away from the conflict.
You didn't want to be so high up.
Leon held you tight, long after the thumping of falling limbs had stopped. He held you until he felt your breathing calm and your fingers flexed into fists at his side. Only then did he pull back from you a fraction, just enough to read your face. And fuck, you were miles away. Staring wide-eyed and blank into his chest as though you'd seen a ghost.
"Hey…" he murmured, gently bringing you back, fixing a strand of your hair back beside your face. He paused when you flinched. Watched you swallow, eyes closing for a moment, collecting yourself. "Shoulda told me you're afraid of heights," he hummed softly as you exhaled a breath, your lip trembling ever so slightly.
"Not heights but uh, fallin' from them? Jumping from them? Not my kinda thrill. Don't get me wrong, I'm as much of an adrenaline junkie as the next devastatingly good-looking merc. But that shit ain't for me." Leon knew what you were doing. Knew you were playing it off, the way you had before. He knew the strategy intimately. Play off the fear, don't let it become something worth a reaction. "That's twice now."
He cocked his head to the side as you opened your eyes, your gaze instantly drinking in the valleys and plains of his face.
"You saved my life. Twice, now. Pretty fuckin' embarrassing for a merc, gotta say," you admitted with a sheepish half-smile, refusing to admit to yourself how uncharacteristically good his hand feels smoothing across your hairline.
"I won't tell. Scout's honour." His heart skipped for a completely different reason when you rolled your eyes playfully, that half-smile shifting into something a little fuller.
"Of course you were a scout." Your huff of laughter brushed against his jaw, and before he was conscious of it, his eyes flicked to your lips. You noticed only when his gaze returned to yours, and you suddenly felt tight. Coiled. A rogue tension slipping into your muscles, hyper aware of the press of his body on yours, of the hand in your hair.
Would it be so wrong to kiss him?
Despite the circumstances, you felt good beneath him. You really did run warm. Leon could feel the heat from your body through the fabric of his shirt. He barely suppressed a shiver when your fingers curled out from the clenched fists, splaying along his back. He surrendered to your wandering gaze, letting your eyes drag along his features. You were beautiful. He'd be blind to deny it. Pretty, like shards of light reflected through shattered glass. Elegant like the curved, serrated edge of a blade. And when you hesitated before brushing a few strands of hair from his face, it took every ounce of his self-control not to lean down and close the gap between you.
A gap, he remembered, that was there for an extremely good reason.
You didn't miss the flicker in his features, and the sensible part of your brain agreed. This was extremely dangerous territory you were entering, and you couldn't go around making out with every agent you found mildly attractive.
Would it be so wrong to kiss him?
Yes. It would be devastating.
When you pulled back with a deep inhale, Leon wordlessly understood. You were right. He was right. Both of you were right. This was incredibly poor decision-making on both your ends. But fuck, if he didn't miss the press of your body against his when he rose to his feet.
You took his outstretched hand as he pulled you up, dusting yourself off as if you could somehow shoo away the drastic thoughts plaguing your mind.
"Where did you go? Just now? You, uh, were kinda vacant for a moment," Leon asked a little awkwardly, he too brushing himself down.
'You mean the moment before I almost kissed the shit out of you?' you wanted to respond, but you thought that, perhaps, the less you spoke about it, the better. "I lost someone. In a fire. Stupid accident, but uh—doesn't stop me from being dragged back to that moment whenever something explodes," you paused, before shaking your head and stretching your neck with a satisfying pop. "Usually I'm pretty good at turnin' it off. Guess the whole jumping from heights thing was already fucking with my head, huh?" You smiled, easy as a breeze, something Leon was slowly learning that you used as your armour.
"Who did you lose?" He asked quietly, like he wasn't sure if this was the space for the question. And he thought for a moment that maybe this wasn't the space for the question as your eyes grew distant.
"My sister," you answered finally, with a long, calming blink. "Like I said. Stupid accident. Shit happens." That easy smile left as quickly as it arrived, replaced by an irritated scowl, like you were annoyed at the topic.
Leon considered that offering his condolences was a bad move. He didn't know your sister. He didn't know your relationship with her. He knew that when people offered their sympathies after Raccoon City, he wanted to crack their jaws. He had the distinct feeling you'd feel the same way. So he stood in silent understanding until you brushed off the topic.
"Anyway, that stupid fucking plate should be here somewhere." Predictably, your voice lightened as you breezed past him, stretching out your arms as if you'd just done a gentle workout rather than narrowly escape the jaws of death. And whatever else could have happened after.
Leon shook his head in slight fond disbelief at how quickly your moods could switch up, before following you back across the rooftop to the platform with the little chimney. "Seems kinda counterintuitive to have a chimney on a wooden cabin, dontcha think?" You asked, hopping across a little gap in the rooftop to where the footing was a little more solid.
Leon shrugged. "Maybe they're the homely type?" He offered, and you snorted a laugh, reaching out to pluck the emblem from where it looked to have been haphazardly hidden amongst rubble and ruin.
"There, the stupid fucking key for the stupid fucking door," you handed it to him, not wanting to hold it and be reminded by how convoluted this all was, because honestly.
"I think it's kinda creative," Leon muttered, taking the emblem from you to secure it in his tactical harness. You stared at him in bafflement before it hit you.
And oh, did it hit you. Your lips sliced into a wry smirk.
"Holy shit, you're a puzzles guy."
Leon blinked.
"A what?"
"Bet you have a Rubik's Cube on your desk or your bedside table. I'm right, aren't I?" You beamed as he looked away, thrilled at your own detective skills. "Please don't tell me you're into escape rooms, that would be a little much."
Leon's jaw clenched as he fought to look away from you. "Never been to one, so I dunno." He mumbled. However, he was certain not to mention the fact that he did have a puzzle cube next to his bed. There was something so calculating about them that helped to calm his mind and clear his head because there was always some kind of solution. Always a way out, around or through.
"If we both survive this, I'm takin' you to an escape room," you poked his side, and he could only hope you didn't see the way his ears had turned a little pink, letting his hair fall in front of his face a little more.
"Yeah, yeah, let's just get Ashley outta here first," he bargained with a huff, hoping that if he reminded you of your current objective, you'd drop the subject. But your grin only widened, if that was even possible.
And how could he say no to that?
Leon was getting dangerously used to having you around. The two of you trudged side by side back to the only other somewhat friendly face in this godforsaken village. He was getting comfortable with the occasional brush of your shoulder, learning to almost appreciate your disgruntled muttering, usually around the topic of convoluted village layouts.
He still had questions for you. A whole book of them, rivalling the length of War and Peace. You were trained. Not just in precision shooting. He'd felt firsthand your combat. Witnessed it secondhand in the fight just now. He saw the way the toe of your boot essentially detonated that Ganados' head, as if you were sticking your foot through a watermelon. As quick on your feet as you were with your wits, Leon had concluded that the almost earlier was definitely due to fascination.
But what really caught him off guard were your softer moments. When you'd frown slightly at the state of your clothes, as if they mattered to you. When your brows pinched every time you walked past a villager lying lifeless in the path. When you muttered Spanish phrases to yourself, like you could translate them, or at least commit them to memory and translate them later.
And when you airily hummed a tune under your breath, like you were using the melody to steady yourself. Most of the songs he actually knew. Clearly, you were somewhat of a Guns N' Roses fan, because you'd been humming the chorus to Sweet Child O' Mine over and over again, nodding your head slightly to phantom drums.
"Know anymore lyrics? Or just 'Oh sweet child o' mine'?" Leon asked casually, a brow raised. He was prodding, really. You hadn't taken offence to his quip earlier—at least he didn't think you had. It was a risky one. Honestly, at a baseline level, he just wanted to know you a little better. Knowledge breeds trust, or whatever. Actually, he was pretty sure that wasn't a phrase. Though it totally should be.
"Don't like it, sing your own damn song," you responded with a huff, and he supposed he could have predicted that response. The silence lingered for a moment, a crow cawing awkwardly in some unseen nest as Leon fixed the medallion into the slot, turning the newly revealed mechanism to open the way.
"Now and then when I see her face, she somethin' a-something to that—place—" Leon kept cranking the mechanism as he carried on the song quietly from where you left off. Well, sort of. He carried on from a point in the song he half knew. Guess he didn't know many more lyrics than you did.
"And if I stay there too long, I'd probably break down and cry," you continued, an infuriatingly disobedient smile trying to fight its way out of your tight expression. This was so stupid. This whole situation was stupid. Here you were, a mercenary and federal agent, unlikely allies through a common goal in the world's most inconveniently structured village, singing a Guns N' Roses song like it was Tuesday Karaoke Night down the local bar after the scheduled 45-minute set from an amateur folk band. And yet, you found your expression softening as he mimicked the way your head was nodding earlier, that tenacious smile slipping through the cracks.
When he glanced back at you, only for a split second, a kind of blooming satisfaction welled in his chest. In all honesty, he just wanted you to sing again, because the silence was choking. That and he liked the sound of your voice. And the way you were blissfully unaware you'd just sung the wrong lyrics. Truly, only positives here.
"Woah, oh-oh, sweet child o' mine," he continued, now moving the crank to the beat of the song.
"Woah, oh-oh-oh sweet child of mine." Again, you sang the wrong lyrics, but Leon barely noticed. Because when he turned back to you—the doors stayed open with a thick clunk— you were shaking your head with each oh, your hair whipping to each side. Looking at you like this, torn up, bloodied, wild, Leon couldn't help but think you'd be right at home in an underground rave.
"So you do know more lyrics," he observed after the song faded from your lips, his own quirking into a small smirk, confirming that you really were singing along to the chorus to steady yourself. "Any other songs on the playlist?"
You thought for a moment, certainly not knowing him well enough to rattle off all of your music tastes, but the 80's felt like a safe decade. "Nothin' too niche. Welcome to the Jungle, Summer of '69, Hungry Like the Wolf," you listed off the songs that had been stuck in your head recently, to Leon's growing amusement.
"Christ, were you even alive to enjoy the 80's?" He asked, leaning against the side of the door. "You look kinda young to know these songs."
"Mhm? Pretty rich coming from Baby-Face McGee himself. This is just what a killer skincare routine looks like," you shot back, folding your arms across your chest, trying desperately to ignore whatever was fluttering in your stomach when he held up his hands in surrender, taking a moment to nod at your surroundings.
"Pig shit and gun-smoke. Shoulda known it'd be something like that," he sighed in faux defeat, and it was in moments like these where you could forget your surroundings and feel like you'd just met him in a café or bar somewhere, seconds before you'd ask for his number.
"How about you?" You asked, moving to head through the doorway. Because as much as you were enjoying this conversation, unfortunately, you weren't in a café or bar, and Ashley's life was still very much in danger.
"You asking about my skincare routine?" Leon asked with that same charmingly cheeky smirk still plastered on his face as he fell into step beside you.
"Unfortunately for the women of the world, I think you just have good genes," you sighed, and Leon filed the comment away in his head. "I meant a playlist. Songs. What would you be singing to yourself if you were all alone in rural Spain?"
Leon didn't want to say that he likely wouldn't be singing anything to himself, though you were definitely better for conversation than his own thoughts. He thought back to what he would listen to mainly in the gym, since he didn't really have the time to indulge in music all that often. And even when he did, it was mostly hits from his tumultuous childhood.
"Dunno. Wouldn't be too different to your own music, honestly. Maybe some Def Leppard and Mötley Crüe?"
"Huh… didn't take you for a glam rock fan," you glanced at him, at the deep valleys of his face, the darker shadows beneath his eyes. Shadows that held the echoes of plentiful sleepless nights spent tossing and turning, trying to burn images out of his mind. Trying to drown the white noise of self-doubt with loud, electric guitar solos.
Somewhere in the back of your mind, your subconscious registered a faint beeping from your surroundings, filing it under the 'might come up later' folder in your mind.
It was easy to get lost, you realised. Not geographically, you'd already settled that debate long ago. No, it was easy to get lost in the way he spoke. In the way his face changed slightly when you said something that bordered on the amusing. In the way he frowned when you mentioned something he hadn't thought of or wasn't expecting. And that fucking smirk. The one you wanted to paint onto a blank canvas and then burn it.
"Anything with a drum solo loud enough to shake walls, I'm down for," he shrugged. "I like—"
"Watch your step LEON!" Your voice rose in volume as you finally looked ahead of you, and he barely had time to look down before you were barrelling into him, knocking him to the side as metal shrieked against metal, followed by a bone-crunching clang. His back collided with wood, the wall behind him unforgiving as he steadied himself against it with one hand. Though what the other was doing was pure instinct. Somehow, in the small panic, it had found its way to your shoulder, the tips of his fingers denting the black fabric of your turtleneck.
But you weren't looking at him. Your head was turned back to the bear trap with a glare that was sure to make grown men cry. He could feel your shoulders rise and fall with each heavy breath in a way that reminded him of a furious animal. Maybe some kind of territorial alligator? You certainly had the strength of one. Fuck, you didn't look all that strong, not in a way you should, whilst having the strength of a bodybuilder.
"2-1," he said, raising a brow when you finally turned your head to look at him, your expression perplexed.
"Huh?"
It took a moment for the meaning to dawn on you, but when it did, your expression softened into something less murderous and a lot more playful. Was this a thing now? Were you keeping score of how many times you saved one another? You did have to admit, it made you feel a little better, even if it was only his leg you would have saved. The trap didn't look too new, and it likely wouldn't have done any serious, lasting damage. But that hadn't mattered in the moment. Nor the few moments after. Because if that thing had been flesh and bone, you were reeling from the desire to tear it apart.
Anger wasn't a stranger to you. If anything, it was your closest companion, perhaps second to your rifle. You kept it close. Used it as and when you needed it. As proof, you were still alive. As a weapon, when someone pissed you off enough to harness it into a cold, calculating force. As the drive to keep yourself moving, and keep up the search, even after Umbrella shut down.
But Leon could bleed it out of you like an open wound. That's not to say he couldn't irritate you as well, but in a way that had you fighting a smile and pretending you weren't interested in whatever he was saying because he'd say stupid shit like asking if you knew anymore lyrics, only to sing the song himself. The world had carved him into something sturdy and brutal and efficient. You knew that—for him—choosing to be soft was a risk. You knew this because it was the same risk you were taking.
And you didn't know why.
"You're keeping score?"
"Hey, you brought it up, not me," he defended lightly, and you missed the hand on your shoulder once again when he raised them both.
And all of a sudden, the proximity was electric. You stepped back before he could shock you, looking like he already had for a tenth of a second, before you rolled your eyes and relaxed back into that lazy grin you'd spent years carefully crafting.
"Come on, Bon Jovi," you tapped his shoulder, if only to prove that he wasn't actually made of electricity. "Ash ain't gonna save herself." It was starting to sound like more and more of an excuse. The threat was very real, and you felt a little bad every time you used it, but it was the perfect excuse to turn away from him and keep moving when your body felt like it was going to vibrate itself out of existence.
The moment was shattered by the telltale groans and grumbled Spanish of the village residents, and you both ducked into a crouch, knives in hand. You just about refrained from commenting on sizing, noticing the difference in blade length between his and yours. However, you did keep it in mind.
Glancing at one another, Leon noticed the way your breathing steadied and softened like some well-trained assassin. Which, he supposed, you likely had been at one point. You mentioned you'd only been employed to protect Ashley roughly two years ago, and contrary to your killer skincare routine face, you had the skill set of a seasoned mercenary.
Leon peered around the corner, picking up on the shuffle of feet through gravel and mud, as well as a faint beeping from the other side of the cover you'd both ducked behind. Through loose strands of his hair he really needed to cut, three Ganados shuffled around aimlessly. One woman gripped a pitchfork, the other wielded hatchets. But he knew, despite appearances, the one to take down first was the woman.
Looking back at you, clenching his jaw when your knee brushed his thigh, he held up three fingers, flicking his head to their general positions. You nodded, joking tone from earlier replaced by statuesque professionalism. Reaching into your boot, Leon watched as you withdrew another, much smaller knife. Smooth, rounded edges and no clear definition between the blade and hilt. He gathered that this meant you wanted to take down the other two whilst he took care of Mama Pitchfork.
He wasn't happy with the idea of letting you take on two alone, but there wasn't the time, nor the space to argue. So he edged around the rubble whilst you crept to the other side.
Though Leon didn't get very far. Much like you had, he too had heard the faint beeping coming from an unseen device somewhere in the area. Though it was a mystery no more, as he stopped just short of a thin wire connected to a flashing red light. Explosives. Who the fuck had set up explosives in this area? How did they have access to C4? How did they know how to rig a trap like this? All questions for another time. Though he was certain you'd have some kind of irritated remark to make on the matter. Ducking low, he extended a leg beneath the wire and manoeuvred himself with the dexterity of a muscular cat.
He only had a moment to relax now he'd cleared the trap, steadying himself with a hand on an abandoned wardrobe, one door hanging from the hinges. This whole village reminded him of a garbage dump. Random household objects scattered beneath rubble and foul-smelling trash. Although he didn't remember garbage dumps having this many gutted animals lying around.
Stealing a glance at your position, he whipped his head back as his brain registered you staring at him with an almost offended expression, as if he'd just done something annoyingly perplexing. Your head tilted to the side, and he could just about interpret what your face was saying. Or rather, asking. 'What the fuck are you doing?'
Keeping an eye on the wandering Ganados, he held up his hand in a curve followed by four fingers. 'C4.' And he knew you understood the moment your face shifted from confusion to downright indignation.
'What?!' You mouthed, and he knew you weren't asking for him to repeat. But rather, you couldn't believe the audacity of this village to have tripwire-triggered explosives. Leon felt a little grateful that you were so expressive.
Gritting your teeth so hard you heard them crack slightly, you continued creeping forward, silently hopping up onto a log shelter and using it to elevate yourself onto the low rooftop of a small cabin. With one of your targets beneath you and the other a few feet away, you flipped your knife in your hand with that apprehensive energy you always felt before a kill. You could see Leon take up position dangerously close to the woman with the pitchfork, and you knew you only had moments before either one of you was spotted.
But mere moments were all you needed.
Dropping down like a slender Grim Reaper, you slid your combat knife home into the Ganados' neck, silencing a short cry of surprise. It was enough to make the second one turn, but as you rose from a shoulder roll, the second knife shot from your grip in a bullet-like trajectory straight into his eye, the hatchet falling from his grip before he struck the ground, twitching slightly in death.
Leon had already disposed of the woman, setting her down quietly, eyes now flicking between your still outstretched arm and the knife protruding from the Ganados' eye socket, a thin trail of blood leaking from the wound and down into the mud. Sliding his knife back into the sheath, he huffed a singular laugh of something dangerously similar to wonder when you shrugged like it was no big deal. Now he understood the purpose of your wearable armoury. The blades you kept on you. They were throwing knives.
Brushing yourself off as you stood, you strode over to the body with the confidence of someone who had just taken down twenty men rather than two. Bending down, you slid your knife from the body's eye, wondering vaguely when those twitches would stop, and he would simply lie still in death. Though something seemed different. Your eyes narrowed as black veins climbed up his neck, and those twitches slowly became more like some kind of seizure.
Leon realised a fraction too late.
"Alec get back!" He shouted, drawing his gun from his thigh just as the body's neck fractured and snapped to the side with a wet crack, and it lunged up to grab you by the throat.
Startled by the sudden use of a nickname and—admittedly—watching the dead rise again, your hands instantly wrapped around its wrists, and you lost your footing as it collided into you with more force than should have been possible. Landing flat on your back, your breath left you in short bursts, and you fought to loosen the Ganados' grip around your throat and arch away from gnashing teeth wanting to tear out your jugular.
Leon fired three rounds into the reanimated corpse's back, but to no avail. It didn't spare a thought, if it had any. So he holstered the handgun and withdrew his knife. It was too much of a risk to shoot it in the head. He could easily miss and hit you in the struggle, or the bullet could go straight through and hit you anyway. So he lunged—
Only to slide to a stop when you overpowered the corpse, shoving it to the side with a knee to its ribs as your grip on its wrists snapped the bones back. With speed you must have trained to an art form, your blade plunged into the Ganados' head. Once, twice, three times, before the body went still.
You didn't stop.
A vicious ferocity took over your movements, your teeth bared in a feral snarl, something between a hiss and a growl wormed its way through the gates of your teeth. That fury you knew so well guided your hands until they were slick with blood, and the grip on your knife was slippery.
"Okay—it's—Alecto, it's dead. It's—Jesus Christ it's dead!" Leon tried placing a hand on your shoulder, only for that ferocity to turn on him. With the light of a lantern behind him reflecting in your eyes, they looked like they were smouldering, blood from the long-dead Ganados leaving a trail down your face from where it had fallen next to your eye. Or—in your eye? It was difficult to tell. That heavy breathing from earlier had returned, the one that seemed to rattle through your whole diaphragm, more like a warning than for functionality.
There was a split second where he thought he was going to have to defend himself from you, before you visibly relaxed, shoulders slumping. Exhaling a breath, you only blinked when a light breeze blew through the space between you. It must have extinguished the lantern behind him, because when you opened your eyes again, the reflection was gone. "Think you got him," Leon muttered, admittedly a little taken aback by your brutal display.
Looking from your hands to the now unrecognisable face of the Ganados, you wiped the blood from your palms onto your cargo pants.
"Just making sure," you breathed, this time not hesitating to shrug his hand from your shoulder as you stood. His touch felt toxic. Or pure. You couldn't decide, but you didn't want either right now. Rolling your arm in a wide circle as if to loosen up whatever had just taken over your senses, you cast one last look at the body, lip curling in disgust. "The dead should fucking stay that way," you hissed with enough venom that made Leon blink. He couldn't agree more, but he had a plethora of reasons as to why. It made him consider that maybe you had seen something like this before.
Leon watched as you stalked away, cleaning the face of your blade in the crook of your elbow before sliding it back into the sheath. You were becoming more and more complicated as you went. Whatever lay beneath the surface of your sharp and witty demeanour clearly had some influence over your actions. After all, it did take some fucked up childhood to become what you were. He'd never known a mercenary with a normal upbringing. And although he wasn't a mercenary, he, too, didn't have the calmest of starts in life.
With a soft sigh through his nose, Leon rose to his feet, another breeze kicking up brown leaves, making the foliage whisper and shudder. He glanced behind him at the lantern, idly wondering how it was faring in such winds.
Only to freeze to the spot.
Because no lantern hung in the trees. Not a single light source flickered behind him. Nothing that could have been reflected in your eyes.
And you just became a whole lot more complicated.
The silence was thick as you both continued up the path, a respectable distance now held between the two of you. Leon hated it. Hated the silence. The absence of your voice. Whether you were making comments about the real estate of this place or quietly singing to yourself, it didn't matter. He came to realise he hated the quiet more than he pretended to be annoyed by you.
He couldn't ask you outright. He was certain you'd shut down, and maybe never talk to him again. The way you'd stalked off, jaw tight, muscles tense, reminded him of the way he'd walk away from conversations about Raccoon City. How he'd be left after someone prodded and poked a little too much into his past, asked too many questions about topics he'd rather forget about. Even throughout his military training, being referred to as The Raccoon City Survivor made his jaw hurt from clenching it too tightly.
So the silence lingered, only interrupted by the rhythmic thud of boots on the ground, and the clack of your rifle as you adjusted it on your shoulder every few paces like a bad habit.
A house, much larger than the others he'd already come across, loomed up the hill ahead. Bear traps littered the ground, the same ones you'd saved his leg from before. Had he thanked you for that? He didn't think he had. At least, not properly.
You tried the door, even though he could have predicted that it would be locked when the wood refused to budge. Leon could see the restraint it took for you not to try to kick it down, even if that would alleviate some of the tension you were carrying. He wished he knew what you were thinking. Wished he knew who you were, more than he currently did.
But he let the choking silence linger as you both searched around the side of the house. You weren't so irritated that you tried to separate from him, but you did keep that distance between you as he shouldered through the side door, handgun drawn and ready. Pausing in the doorway to listen for any rogue sounds, he motioned for you to follow when only silence answered. That same, choking, stifling, thick silence that had plagued his chest since the reanimated Ganados.
At least it felt more at home indoors. It didn't seem so all-consuming when there was only a certain amount of space for it to devour. Still, it was getting far too much to bear.
"Huh… not too shabby," he commented lowly, taking in the grander decor. "Someone's showing up their neighbours."
"You a fan? Didn't see any For Sale signs out front, so you might be shit outta luck trying to move here." Leon was mildly surprised when you responded, albeit a little more reserved than you usually were.
It took all of two seconds for Leon to mentally kick himself. More reserved than you usually were? Who the fuck was he? He didn't even know how you usually were. He'd known you for a grand total of two hours; he didn't know what usually even meant when it came to you. Perhaps you were usually this reserved, and you'd just been putting on an act. Another one. Different to the one when you woke up. A different act.
Was he spiralling? Yes, he was.
Running your fingers along the surface of a table, you chose to ignore the slight crimson tint beneath your fingernails, the patches of dried blood on your hands you hadn't managed to wipe away.
Strongest emotional volatility.
You blocked the words from your head.
"Dunno if I could put up with the bear traps everywhere," Leon continued, picking up a picture from the same tabletop you were running your fingers along. It was the closest the two of you had been in the last half an hour. And when you stepped to the side—not away from him, but toward him—he held his breath for fear of spooking you like some wild horse.
"Take it up with the neighbours," you responded, leaning over his shoulder slightly to get a good look at the photo. An older man with a young boy, grainy and monochrome, stared back at you, the edges crinkled and faded with age.
Leon looked at you out of the corner of his eye, cataloguing the way your brows pinched as you concentrated, as if it were possible to discern the house's secrets from one photograph. He was so close he could see the faint trail of faded blood down your face from the corner of your eye. Could see the effects of that killer skincare routine in the phantom marks of scars. His gaze caught on the jagged ghost of what must have been a wound that tore your cheek open—a jagged, brutal line from the corner of your lip all the way to the hinge of your jaw, like someone had pulled the skin apart and haphazardly stitched it back together. It was faded enough that it was easy to miss unless someone was actively looking for it. Or—like he was—standing at just the right angle for the light to catch on the textural difference.
"A burn," you murmured, having been aware of his attention for some time now. Turning your head slightly, you were met with his unashamed gaze. Blue eyes so tragically perceptive, that same point in your chest twisted beneath them.
"From the same fire?" He asked softly, and something in your expression flickered as you nodded. Something he couldn't quite place in the way you looked away for a split second. You were impossible to read, though perhaps it was deliberate.
You couldn't recall a time in your adult life when someone looked at you like this. Not as someone to be feared or employed or used in any way. He looked at you like you were worth knowing. Not the flirty jokes and bantering back-and-forth. He looked at you as if the person you were beneath the surface was someone deserving of time. Like you were someone worth figuring out.
Guilt gnawed at your insides.
And once again, you stepped away, inhaling a deep breath of that shit-smelling air you were coming to desperately need after breathing the same air as him.
"I'm gonna check upstairs. Who knows, there might be a bedroom." You recovered quickly, sending him a wink before turning away, leaving Leon stuck in the aftermath of your hurricane.
Exhaling a long breath the moment your form disappeared up the stairs, Leon ran a hand through his hair. He needed to get his shit together, and fast. If he kept getting distracted every five fucking minutes—well, that wouldn't do Ashley any good, that's for sure.
Fuck.
Fuck.
You were intoxicating. Like the purple flowers of a Belladonna plant. What was it with him and finding the complicated, black widow women of the world attractive?
There weren't any answers in the dining hall of this house, he was certain of that. A trait of his to ruminate over when he wasn't in the middle of a mission, perhaps.
Keeping his senses alert, Leon moved through the house, ducking beneath a bead curtain and into a little side alcove. He pulled open drawers, cupboards, the stove; anything that might be hiding something useful. Despite your comment about the brittle knives of this village, he did pocket a kitchen knife for a just-in-case scenario. Some kind of cabinet at the end of the alcove caught his eye, locked shut with some kind of rotating padlock. Holstering his gun, he turned the slats slowly, looking at the images one by one. Not any kind of number combination, which he could have found on the back of one of those photographs on the table, no doubt.
The stairs creaked softly, and he turned back to poke his head around the corner, seeing you take in the new, borderline ransacked state of the living and dining rooms and whistling lowly.
Your thumb kept a page of a book you weren't holding when you went to search the upper floor.
"Didn't you say you were a cop? Lootin' these houses like a common thief," you peered into a now-empty drawer, wondering what could have possibly been in there he found useful enough to pocket.
"I said, in a way. Lasted for about a day," he responded, dropping the padlock back against the cabinet door in favour of looking at whatever book you had in your hands.
You made a face. "Yeesh, that bad, huh?"
"Well, the city blew up, so yeah, that bad."
He waited for the realisation to settle as he peered at the book, the words upside down from this angle.
"That was your first day?!" You choked with the tact of someone who was used to being on the receiving end of these conversations. His first day on the job, and the city was detonated off the map.
And you thought your first day was tough.
"Yup." The syllable popped from his lips, and you got the feeling this wasn't something he was willing to discuss, which you felt was a little unfair. He had been the one to bring it up, after all. Or had you brought it up by saying he was a cop? It was getting a little tricky to keep track.
"Well shit, you got me beat. Killed the only father figure I'd ever had when I graduated from Merc School. Guess we're bonded in real shitty first days on the job." Leon was coming to both love and hate that easy smile of yours. It was so carefully crafted. He could see that now. The deliberate crinkling of your eyes, the pull of your lips, the raise of your brow. It was an expression stitched together from parts of yourself like some fucked up patchwork quilt. It was pretty. Disarming, even. But it wasn't real.
He was starting to wonder how much of you was real. Your words. They were real. He had no doubt you killed your father figure on your first day. Interesting how you hadn't said father. He filed that information under the increasingly growing pile of questions to ask you.
Leon hummed a noncommittal sound, tilting his head as if the angle would help him see the backwards page in your hands. "What you got there?"
You blink as if you'd forgotten you were holding it, still half expecting some witty comeback. "Huh? Oh, dunno. Found it upstairs. Some of the words are underlined, though. Thought you could figure out what it means, since you like puzzles and stuff," you shrugged, handing the book off to him and dusting your hands after. "Kinda reads like a scripture, right?" Were you… fishing? You peered at him as you leaned back against the table, almost hopeful he'd agree with you.
Scanning the page, he found that you weren't wrong. It did read like some kind of religious text or mythological recounting. Iluminados, 4:3 seemed to be some kind of tale about worship, a short story detailing the village people's offerings to their master. Something about the underlined words struck a chord with him. Honestly, he thought you were being a little enthusiastic about this whole puzzle-solving thing, but you were actually on to something. You just didn't know it.
"Yeah… it does. Hold on, I might have something." With renewed urgency, Leon went striding back around the corner into the little alcove hallway, leaving you confused and a little pleased with yourself. "Well, whaddaya know?" He called from behind the wall, a clunk swiftly following as he clearly succeeded in whatever he was doing. You waited with patience you didn't possess, toe tapping rapidly until he came back around the corner, tossing something your way.
It was a good job you were looking at him. That could have been a little humiliating.
The object was cool to the touch when you caught it, and deceptively heavy. A glass orb of some kind. Turning it over in your hands, you held it up to the light, looking at the little bubbles inside. It was oddly pretty. Useless, but pretty nonetheless.
"Wow. A circle. Regular Holmes and Watson over here," you remarked flatly, before a realisation hit you like a lightning bolt. "Wait… there was a door I couldn't get into upstairs. No regular lock I could pick,"—of course you pick locks, Leon thought—"but it had a spherical indent in the central panel…" you trailed off as you continued to turn the orb in your hands, and a surprising wave of delight surged through your system. Those little air bubbles weren't random. "No fucking way."
"Wanna share with the class?" Leon asked, his arms folded across his chest, watching you inspect a glass orb like it held the answer to one of life's greatest questions. You tossed him a halfhearted glare before shoving the sphere up to his face with such sudden force he had to duck back in fear you would actually hit him with it.
Admittedly, he was impressed. For someone who, not an hour ago, remarked on how much she hated this village and its obnoxious locking systems, your face really lit up something bright. Because when you rotated the sphere to the side, those little pockets of air formed the image of a key he'd seen a few times. Most notably on the door to the church in the village square.
"Elementary, my dead Watson." With a smile that should be downright illegal, you dropped the sphere from his face. Infected by it, Leon huffed a smile of his own, gesturing to the stairs.
"Lead on, Holmes."
You were so much lighter like this. A laughter unburdened by what little you'd spoken about of your past shook your shoulders. An airy sound. Wholly unbecoming of your surroundings. Out of place around a man like him. Leon was getting to know the telltale signs of your authenticity. When you were being honest with your emotions and when you were schooling them. This? This—like your words—was real. He found himself wanting to hear it more. See it more. To learn the boundaries of your humour and exploit his findings.
Fuck.
Heading up the stairs felt like it took a lifetime, with Leon stuck in his own head. It was an odd deviation from his usual spirals, and anytime he found himself complacent in his wondering, the image of you savagely plunging that knife over and over again, a fire in your eyes he couldn't find the source to, he felt a violent punch to his gut. These little interactions with you. These little moments, where he contemplated doing something extremely stupid, were tricking him into thinking he knew you. Tricking him into blindly trusting you when that was an implicitly stupid thing to do.
"Oh fuck yeah! Got it!" You crowed, a thick clunk stealing him from his thoughts as the door pushed open.
"Next you'll be buying puzzle books." He grinned as you turned to him in triumph, arms outstretched towards the doorway.
"Ah, the merc to decoder pipeline. I'm familiar," you nodded in faux sincerity. "Well, age before beauty."
"We back to that?"
"Don't look at me, you said I didn't look old enough to have lived through the 80s. Which you clearly have," your features scrunched as you followed him through the doorway and into, low and behold, a bedroom.
"Oh, I clearly have, huh? What did you call me? Mr Baby-face?" He looked at you over his shoulder, standing opposite a portrait of some robed man holding a snake-covered sceptre. Or at least, they looked like snakes.
"Baby-Face McGee?" You offered sweetly, and he rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to the display case, hoping for something useful. You did have a point about his beliefs around ownership. Leon firmly believed in the whole mi casa es su casa philosophy, especially when the casa wasn't his, and neither was the stuff.
Besides, it wasn't like anything was being used here.
You'd moved from the painting, though not without one last glance. The figure wasn't familiar, but that kind of imposing presence was. Barely suppressing a shudder—and a snicker because Leon was opening a drawer again—you crossed to the chest of drawers and the open book atop them.
Village records. Some kind of diary, then. Starting on October 10th. Scanning the first page, your eyes lingered on a name. Saddler. Lord Saddler. Was that the fucker who snatched you from before? The tall man with the stupid hat? He looked imposing enough to be some kind of lord, but it didn't sit quite right. Your eyes flickered back to the painting. Now that was a Lord Saddler if ever you've seen one.
A pit formed in your gut as you turned the page. It was no longer documentation of the village's state, but rather how many had been 'chosen' for this Lord Saddler. 8,4,11. Chosen for what? That was your main question. And did this place have any ties to Umbrella? Did the reanimation of the dead have something to do with a virus? Well, it sure as shit wasn't naturally occurring…
The pull of yet another drawer being opened grabbed your attention, and you turned back to Leon to make some kind of comment before you saw the key in his hand with a sigil you very much did recognise.
"Is that—"
"The key to the church? Looks like it." He tossed it up before snatching it again.
"Finally makin' progress," you exhaled like the key was the solution to about 99% of your problems. Which it very much wasn't, but it was the solution to at least 3.
There was a moment where you looked like you were going to say something. Your expression flickered, and your eyes snapped to the ground for a fraction of a second as if you couldn't quite look at him. But instead, you just turned on your heel and headed back for the door.
Unrest coiled in your stomach, guilt gnawing at your gut like a parasite. You didn't work with people for a reason. For this reason. Because getting attached was a curse. A curse you thought you'd broken long ago. Before Ashley. Before whatever the hell this was with an agent you barely knew and yet felt like you'd known your whole life.
He should know. The basics, at least.
Leon could only follow you a few steps before you stopped abruptly. "Leon," you began, turning to face him, though you still couldn't quite look him in the eye. "About—before. When I—"
You didn't get to finish. Before you could, a figure towered over you from the doorway, and pain detonated into your side as you were swatted away, your wound screaming in response to such a severe impact. Your shoulder struck the wall with enough force to hear a surefire crack, and you were on the ground in the next moment.
Leon didn't even have time to call your name, instantly backing up a few steps and firing three rounds into the man's chest. The same fucking man who'd knocked him out before.
He didn't even stagger.
Barely even acknowledged the bullets in his chest.
He strode forward with heavy steps that instantly spiked his adrenaline, a familiar flashback fighting to distract him.
It was just enough.
A foot caught him square in the chest, and there was no wonder you'd gone flying after being swatted. Leon stumbled back, his gun falling from his grip as he lost his footing. Landing on his back, he reached for his gun, fingertips grazing the grip, before that same boot stamped on his wrist.
The room spun as you fought to gather yourself, white noise slowly fading back into the room, enough so you could hear Leon's gritted cry of pain before it was cut short as he was lifted from the ground by his throat and held there, a choked gurgle forced from his lips. A lick of fury whipped the inside of your chest as you struggled to sit up, rasping a low "Leon."
"Your blood has accepted the gift," the clergyman said, accent thick. But it was enough for you to focus on and use to clear your head long enough to slide your handgun from the holster and fire into the back of his skull.
The clergyman stiffened before slowly turning his head to you like a priestly puppet, tossing Leon from his choking grasp. Relief washed over you before the realisation that you were likely royally fucked now that his attention was on you.
Breathing, Leon had decided, was severely underrated. He could feel the bruises on his neck pulse from where you'd choked him out before, now only made worse by this monster of a man's grip.
"You, however…" the man continued to you as it was Leon's turn to fight for recovery, his vision swimming.
Still scrambling against the wall to push you up onto your feet, you sent a weak kick into the side of the man's knee, which he looked down at as if it were nothing more than a gnat bite. You had, however, earned yourself a membership to the choked-out club. A broad hand wrapped around your throat in exactly the same manner as he did to Leon. Your neck pulled as he lifted you, windpipe crushing. Your legs thrashed, fingers clawing at his wrist. His face. Anything. "Your blood is tainted. Wrong. Yet—" he paused, bringing you closer. "It accepts. Undisturbed. Our Lord will be most interested in you."
It seemed that no matter what you did, he didn't let go. He must not be able to feel the way your nails were clawing at his flesh, your vision spotting as his grip tightened.
Before it was completely released at the crack of another gunshot and the crash of the window shattering. You dropped unceremoniously from his grasp, inhaling a scratchy gasp of breath. Feeling around your throat, you knew you would likely have marks, and vaguely reminded yourself not to look into any mirrors until they were gone.
Clawing at raspy, desperate breaths, you pushed up onto your elbows, your body convulsing as you coughed and hacked up a spray of blood, dying the floorboards a few shades darker.
That certainly wasn't a good sign, as far as your limited medical knowledge could tell.
Wordlessly, your assailant turned to the window, eyes narrowing in growing suspicion, before he turned on his heels and stalked back out the way he came, leaving both you and Leon reeling and gasping, prodding at your throats with unsteady hands.
"You okay?" You managed, voice thick and grating as you managed to sit up against the wall, your leg bent at the knee.
And being wholly unused to receiving this specific question, Leon blinked at you for a moment, taking in the way you casually sat back against the wall behind you, forearm resting atop your knee. You looked at him through a sliver of your eye, peering through lashes.
"Never better," he echoed your own response from earlier, earning himself a reluctant smile and a roll of your eyes. Sitting up, Leon mirrored your stance, his back resting against the bed frame behind him. "You?"
"Still got all my insides, so I call that a win," you muttered, wincing as you cracked your neck on both sides. "Guess we're a part've the same freaky blood club, huh? 'cept yours is a gift and mine's gross, apparently."
Leon eyed you a little warily, mildly thankful he didn't have to bring the topic up himself. "Yeah… about that; any ideas on what he meant?" He asked, eyes catching on the way a muscle feathered in your jaw as you clenched it tight.
"No clue. Thought I was O negative, so I'm kind've insulted. It's like, half of my personality," you breathed a deflective laugh, and a kernel of irritation flickered in Leon's chest. Because you were lying to him. He knew you were. Just about. You covered it extraordinarily well, but the signs were there. You didn't look into his eyes, your fingers flexed and relaxed, your shoulders tensed.
Though, why would you tell him the truth? He was only working with you because your chances of finding Ashley together were better than his finding her alone. He didn't have the right to know your personal life, unless you had any kind of demons you were running from that would jeopardise Ashley's safety or his own before he could save her. He guessed that some part of him hoped you would trust him enough to tell him the truth. About what happened earlier, about why your blood was tainted.
"Universal donor. Handy," he muttered instead, pulling to his feet and retrieving his gun. If you didn't want to tell him, fine. He wouldn't press. Even though he really felt like he should.
The ringtone of his earpiece sounded in his left ear, and with one last wary glance at you, he pressed his finger to the receiver.
"Roost to Condor one. I've got that intel you requested on Luis Serra. Looks like he was some kind of researcher for Umbrella—"
A cocktail of furious disgust surged in his blood. "Umbrella?! Shoulda left him in that bag to rot," he seethed, instinct guiding him to the window to keep an eye on any incoming threats. Though when you rose to your feet, he couldn't help but look your way once again, scanning your body for any further injury.
On instinct, he rationalised.
In reality, your interest had piqued when you heard the mention of Umbrella. A name you'd only heard in whispered taboo, like nobody wanted to get involved by merely mentioning it.
"Sending over the details," Hunnigan continued. "Take a look, but Baby Eagle is still the priority."
As if that wasn't obvious.
"Copy that, we're on our way to the church. Condor One out." Leon hung up before Hunnigan could question what he meant by we, though he heard her start to ask before he cut the line.
"What was that all about?" You asked, running a check on your rifle to make sure it wasn't damaged in the struggle or when you were tossed against the wall like some toddler's doll. Your voice sounded casual enough that Leon truly debated whether or not you were just genuinely curious.
"Got some intel on that Luis guy," he began, pretending like he wasn't acutely aware of your reactions as he pulled out his phone to scroll through the document Roost had sent over. You stilled for less than a second before pulling the rifle over your shoulder and crossing to peer over his shoulder.
"Anything interesting?" You continued your seemingly innocent line of questioning, and Leon spared you a glance, noting the way your eyes scanned over the first page of the file with remarkable efficiency. Though he caught something he hadn't noticed earlier. The exact same kind of scar on the other side of your face. Identical, save for the outline. But it was the same, brutal tearing shape from your lip to the hinge of your jaw, highlighted by the early evening light.
So much for a burn scar.
"Nothin' much. Just a bunch of shit that doesn't add up, Umbrella style," he responded, though he felt like he was no longer talking about Luis.
"Well, your caller's got good instincts. Got a feeling he wasn't making beauty creams either. The fuck is he doing here?" You wondered aloud, whilst anticipation bubbled in your gut. It had been a while since you'd come across an Umbrella lead as promising as this.
Leon's breath caught slightly as your eyes shone in the low light, watching you devour the file like it was your first meal in days. He really shouldn't be finding you this alluring, but those eyes almost shimmered with intelligence.
"Who are you?" The question was nothing but a whisper on a phantom breeze, as if he hadn't meant to ask it out loud. Yet it still made you pause. It still dragged you away from analysing the document and instead trapped you in his gaze once again.
"I told you who I am," you responded, wanting to both back away from him and close the distance at the same time.
Leon shook his head slightly, the first time he hadn't accepted an answer from you. "You've told me you're a mercenary working for a 'government insider' who hired you to protect the President's daughter from the inside. You've told me that on your first day as a mercenary, you killed the man who'd raised you. You've told me your sister died in a fire, which I'm starting to think isn't the whole truth. And I'm willing to bet Alecto isn't your name, is it?" His words were harsh, but his tone was soft. The contradiction of which didn't let you settle, not for a moment. It thrilled you in one way, and terrified you in another.
"It's no more my name than Condor One is yours." Something in his face flickered, and you resisted the urge to look away.
"Do I get to know your name?"
You paused.
"Maybe. Some day." It was all you could offer as you went to take a step back—only to be caught by his hand on your forearm, holding you firm. Not enough to hurt. Never enough to hurt. You flinched nonetheless, before hiding it in a furious snarl. "Let go." You ordered, and anything soft in your tone was promptly cut.
"Do you trust me?" He asked, and you couldn't help but huff a laugh at the irony.
"Do you trust me?" You countered, turning the question back on him. He was sturdy, stone-faced in a way you'd only seen covered in moss and lichen.
"I want to. But I need you to tell me the truth." He answered, the hand on your forearm tightening ever so slightly. "Do you trust me?" He asked again, and this time you didn't counter him.
"I don't know yet," you offered honestly, your eyes flicking from the grip around your arm to the striking blue of his gaze. "But I didn't lie. I did kill the man who raised me. And I—I did lose my sister to a fire. I just… lost both of them," you paused, feeling the grasp on your forearm lessen, noticing the way his brows pinched slightly. "To the fire I started."
Just like that, the pressure on your arm was gone. The questions he had clearly remained; you could see them in his eyes, but he'd let go of you.
" What happened?" Leon prompted, though you looked away in stoic silence. He waited a beat to see if you would respond before acknowledging the fact that you likely wouldn't. "And the scars?" His voice was a little softer than before, but when you didn't answer again, his head dropped with a defeated sigh. "Well, it's a start."
This was the most information you'd spoken aloud about yourself—possibly ever. Truths you'd never had to admit. In all honesty, you were terrified. You liked this fragile companionship you'd found with him. For someone who would rather die than work with another, you really didn't want to break this delicate bond with the shattering reality of who you were.
"I really do like Guns N' Roses, too." You admitted quietly, and Leon felt something loosen in his chest.
"Think I knew that one was true, from the way you wouldn't stop singing the chorus. Nobody could fake that." His tone lilted on the side of slight teasing, and you were thankful for the shift from the oddly gentle accusations.
"I just—need to know I can trust you. First. Before… all that," you gestured to the metaphorical baggage you were carrying behind you. Leon understood, more than most, what that felt like.
"Yeah, well, likewise," he shrugged with a half-smile, and your eyes raised from the ground a little hesitantly. You hadn't really considered that this was a two-way street. Yes, there were certain things he had avoided with you, primarily the topic of Raccoon City, but you sort of decided in your head that it was a topic he just didn't want to talk about, rather than one he needed to trust you more to divulge.
Blowing out a long, steadying breath, you finally realised how close you were. You hadn't stepped back since he released your arm, and you were close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body. Close enough that the hum of anticipation thrummed through your blood. You didn't trust him enough to tell him everything. Not yet. But he had saved your life twice. That had to count for something.
The incident in the valley returned to your mind. The way he'd held you long after the danger had passed. You were out of it, you knew that much, but you remembered the vague memory of his arms around you. It didn't make you cringe. It didn't make you want to scrub yourself raw in a scorching shower, as so many other memories did.
The urge to rest his hand on your waist was almost strong enough to overpower any rational thought Leon fought to retain. He wanted to feel the warmth of your skin beneath his palm. Count your breaths through his fingertips. He wanted to hear you breathe his name, just to know what it would sound like on your lips. Lips he wanted to taste. It was ridiculous. Bordering on insanity.
A feral, wounded thing you were. Wild and reckless. Complicated and beautiful as a tragedy.
He was hooked.
He hadn't permitted his hand to rise to the side of your face. Nor had he permitted his fingers to lightly trace the line of your scar across your cheek, knuckles grazing against soft skin. You flinched only slightly, and he paused, resuming when your head turned almost imperceptibly into the touch. Feathering his fingers along the underside of your jaw, he tilted your head up, wanting to get a good look at what that devout creep had done to your neck so he could pay him back in kind the next time he ran into him. With a care he thought lost, his knuckles softly brushed the fabric of your turtleneck down, revealing more of the freshly blooming bruises along your throat. Bruises and more scarring. When he went to pull it down further, you stilled, eyes flicking between his arm and his face, silently asking for a boundary. No further. He nodded, letting his fingers drift back up to the scar on your cheek.
Frighteningly intimate, your breath had stalled in your lungs, stolen from you. This wasn't some colleague-style crush where you were only interested because of the forced proximity and time spent together. Not what you were trying to desperately convince yourself it was. He was charming in a cheeky, boyish fashion. Refreshing in the way he looked at you. He had a wit that matched your own and used it in the same way.
And he was devastatingly good-looking. A rugged in-between, a man bearing the shadows of his past beneath his eyes. Eyes that were piercing. A lake in winter. Storm-grey in the dark, open skies in the light. You wanted to peel them back layer by layer, wind yourself into his head. Into his soul.
"You can trust me," he murmured, in a way one would to a lover, wrapped in a quilted blanket and softened by silk pillows.
"If only you knew,"—you began, a sad smile pinching your brows and pulling at your lips—"how many times I've heard that."
Leon's heart twisted, hand resting on the side of your jaw. "You're scared I'll hurt you?"
And just like that, something snapped back into place. That soft vulnerability in your eyes withdrew behind a wall of steel and stone. You took a deliberate step away from him, almost yanking your head back from his touch.
"I'm not—scared—of anything," you spat the word like it was venomous. "You couldn't hurt me if you tried." There it was. The distance. The barrier. The lie that this meant nothing. That he meant nothing. As familiar as fury and as reassuring as death. The lie that nothing scared you. That if you were angry enough at the world, it would leave you in peace. Your demons would stop their incessant chase.
As complicated as a tragedy. The lie landed ugly. Wrong. That's what hurt more. Leon knew you were lying to yourself. You were afraid. Terrified, even. You didn't trust him because of it. He'd seen it in your eyes in the valley. A paralysing fear. The kind that came with experience. The scars, the defences, the deflections. Something happened to you. Something the world could never take back.
Another feeling he knew all too well.
"We've got the key. Let's just find Ash and get the fuck outta here," you muttered, turning away from him with your shoulders squared. Because you couldn't look at him anymore. You weren't blind. That flicker of hurt in his eye had done so much more than he would ever know. Guilt made a permanent home in your stomach, coiling and writhing like snakes. Or was that just whatever was flowing through your veins?
Leon watched you disappear through the doorway, heard your steps receding back down the stairs, the hinges of the door creaking before it slammed behind you. He got it. Understood. Fear was a weapon. So was anger. You'd combined the two. Offence and defence.
When he followed you out and couldn't see you anywhere, he was worried that you'd taken the opportunity and gone. That you'd convinced yourself you'd find another way to help Ash without him. But before he could start missing the sound of your voice, he heard it just around the corner. Soothing. Cooing. Accompanied by a series of pained whimpers.
He chased the sound, rounding the corner to see you crouched next to a large, white wolf, its head nudging into your hand as you tried to both soothe the animal and loosen the cause of its pain. A bear-trap bit deep into its back leg, crimson blood staining the stark white fur. The whines grew more agitated the more it moved, only pausing when you soothed it again, hands burying in the fur around its ears.
You didn't want to leave it to panic, but you couldn't get a good grip without standing from its side, trapping yourself in an obvious choice for most, but an impossible decision for you. Leon wordlessly crouched by the trap, taking both sides in each hand, and wrenched it open, the spring-lock mechanism contesting against his strength. You didn't move from your position. Didn't even look at him, choosing to focus your efforts on hushing the beast with reassuring words.
Rusted iron creaked in restraint as Leon pulled the teeth apart far enough for the wolf to pull its leg free, limping a few steps before shaking itself off. Your hand lingered in the air for a moment, where the beast was no longer within reach, and you watched as it scampered off into the undergrowth.
"Take care, buddy," Leon murmured, more to himself than to you; he too watched the leaves and bushes rustle as it slunk out of sight.
His head turned to you, body stilling as he looked at the side of your face.
Leon's terrible, horrible, no good, very bad vacation to rural Spain only gets worse and weirder when he meets a woman with more secrets than he can shake a stick at and a vocabulary that would make Chris Redfield blush.
Ch.1: The Other Señorita
Pairing: Leon Kennedy x F!Reader
Warnings: y'all know the drill, if ur a minor interacting with my content, don't :) that's all. my blog and content are all 18+, so expect smut, gore, horror, trauma, the works :3 also the POV does switch to second person dw, it is an x reader fic <3
Word Count: 10.7K (welcome back Phobophobia...)
A/N: trust that there is a vision here ok? just—trust the process. real talk tho this will hopefully be part of a much larger series i have planned and i also did absolutely spend two hours researching random weapon shit my FBI agent is having a field day with this search history pleek i promise im not about to bomb parliament... unless provoked :)
Taglist: @plan3t-plut0 (comment or ask if u wanna be tagged :3)
Leon seemed to find himself in a lot of these situations. More than, say, the average special agent. Everywhere he wound up, something would happen that meant he would either pass out or be knocked out. Or choked out. In this case, it was the second option. He knew this village wasn't anything like the ones back home. He, quite literally, wasn't in Kansas anymore. But something wasn't right, even by European standards. A village that was, for some reason, the hiding place for whoever kidnapped Baby Eagle, which also seemed to have strangely nostalgic rules for the dead coming back to life and roaming around. That, paired with the ugly son've a bitch who tossed him around like a ragdoll, and it seemed Raccoon City was coming back to haunt him, just with an aggressive, Spanish flair.
Speaking of which…
Coming to, Leon glanced at his surroundings, taking stock like a well-trained bartender. Some kind of storeroom? The various farming tools on the wall, combined with the surgical trolleys littered with bloodstained instruments, made it a little hard to tell. Chains jangled above him as he tried to move, his hands bound in iron clasps. With a little more force, he yanked them down, only to receive an irritated hiss from a voice he just barely recognised from before he was catapulted through a wall. Or whatever it was that clergyman threw him through.
"Oi, sleeping beauty, stop it!" The man from before muttered lowly, tugging back on the restraints to exaggerate the situation they were in.
"What the fuck…?" Leon huffed, as if this were simply an unlucky day. Which, he supposed, it was. The mission was supposed to be somewhat simple. Get in, get the girl, get out. No questions asked. Everything that's happened so far in between the get in and get the girl segments of this plan had been purely bad luck. Or the result of yet another corrupt organisation trying to harness bio-weapons for yet another money-making scheme. Hard to say.
"Aye, you got a name?" Leon was half-tempted to ignore the man as he rose to his feet, dusting off his combats with bound hands. But if this guy had been here longer than him, maybe he would know a little more about what the fuck was going on here.
"Leon," he responded, already mildly irritated by this guy. What the hell was he doing here? Was he one of the people who were kidnapped? One of the unlucky few his escorts were talking about? Something heavy twisted in his chest, as if just thinking of their fate was enough to ground him in determination; another two he couldn't save.
The silence lingered for a moment, only the chains rattling above breaking it, and the faint sound of screaming from beyond the walls. Which seemed to be the village ambience. The stranger perceived him for a moment, as if waiting for him to elaborate a little further, before metaphorically brushing his stoic response off.
"Ah, the quiet type, eh? I'm Luis. Luis Serra," he introduced himself with as elaborate a bow as one could with one's hands tied. "Guess we picked the wrong vacation spot, eh? You—me?" He tried, and something in Leon felt almost bad for not responding. A few years ago, he would have taken the joke and run with it. Before, well, everything.
Without much care for anything he said, Leon continued looking for a way out of this conundrum. Because there was always some way out. Some loose hinge or spare crank somewhere he could exploit. But his movements only agitated his new companion further.
"Would you stop that? You move, I move. I'm beat up enough as it is. That clergyman— his hands aren't as soft as, well, other hands that've held me like that," once again, Luis tried to lighten the moment with something comedic, and Leon started to wonder if his tired attempts were a coping mechanism of some kind. None of which mattered, not when he'd spotted the spool at the top hanging loose. And not when he could hear that screaming getting louder and almost discernible. Tugging on the chain a few times, something loosened in his body as the spool jangled further from the bolts in the beam above.
"I can see you're thinking. Must've been in spots like the before, eh?" Luis prodded slightly, gripping onto the chain with both hands as Leon braced it over his shoulder, the metal biting against his skin in a way he grit his teeth to ignore. With a grunt of effort, he took a heaving step forward, pulling the chain with him as Luis held it fast on his end. "My guess," he continued, "Is that you're here looking for someone."
Leon didn't stop his efforts; he only started actively listening rather than trying to tune out the man's voice. Those screeches were getting louder, and they really didn't have much time to spare now. He deliberately didn't give any indication that what Luis had said piqued his interest.
"Okay, one more guess. Maybe… some missing señorita?"
Now that got his attention. How the fuck did this guy know why he was here? Whipping his head back to stare at the man, Leon gave him roughly two seconds of grace time before wrapping the chain around his fist and pulling. Hard. Hard enough that Luis was forced closer, arms strung up above his head. He was lighter than Leon expected.
"Talk. Now." He didn't have time for niceties, nor did he have the mental space for being polite. He needed as much information as he could get. Essentially, he'd been thrown into the ocean and told to swim. He had no fucking clue what was going on here, and if this guy knew where Ashley was, there was very little he wouldn't do to make him talk.
A commotion beyond the walls only added to the urgency, and if he wasn't so intent on listening to Luis, he probably could make out various words.
"All right, all right. Caught word, they moving the señorita," he began, which was enough for Leon to loosen the proverbial leash and let Luis down a little.
"Where?" He pressed, his attention flickering from the conversation to the now very human screaming. What the fuck was going on? Honestly, he didn't particularly fancy finding out, and so whilst listening to Luis talk, he started working on the loose spool again, this time with the man's help.
"Eh, who knows? But, I may've seen some of those men dragging someone to the old church. Could be your señorita, aye?"
With a particularly hard tug, the spool finally broke free from the wooden beam, chain clattering to the ground along with Luis, who'd fallen backwards with the lack of counterweight. Hissing a word Leon didn't quite catch, he couldn't help noticing the karma.
"The fu— he— t'me? Motherf— ers! I— fucking k— you!"
That voice was definitely human. Though whoever it was didn't sound like one of the villagers. For one, the accent wasn't Spanish. Though they sounded just as wild. As Luis clambered to his feet, Leon watched as he seemed to freeze in place, the colour draining from his tanned face.
"Oh no…"
"Oh no? The fuck is oh no?" Leon urged, grappling with the chain in his hands.
"There is ah, more than one señorita in this village…" Luis shrugged, as if that could in any way explain the clamouring heading straight for the room. And before Leon could respond, something was tossed through the hanging plastic along the doorway, landing with an unceremonious clatter. However, it was less of a something and more of a someone. A woman, to be exact. The clattering had come from the smashed glass bottle in her hand, the jagged edges tipped crimson.
And moments after her, a man wielding a hatchet came stumbling in, blood leaking from one eye where the glass had clearly made a home. She staggered to her feet, spitting a crimson globule onto the concrete floor, looking like she'd just lost a fight with a hedgerow; alive through sheer spite and undiluted rage alone. A feral thing, cornered and snarling. Wounded and fighting nonetheless.
"I ain't askin' you again. The fuck did he do to me?" The woman spat, bearing bloodstained teeth. Luis backed away from the exchange, clearly uninterested in getting involved. Hatchet man, however, simply roared in response, swinging wildly in her direction.
"Watch out!" Leon called instinctively, and the woman stumbled back against a crate to evade, a pained cry flying from her lips as she braced against the wood, the bottle neck falling from her hand and shattering onto the floor. A crack echoed off the walls as Leon used the chain to whip at the man's head, his nose crunching like wet cereal as he staggered back a few steps.
Taking advantage of the precious few moments that bought them, both he and Luis wrapped the chain around the man's neck, pulling it taut. Though Leon's attention was briefly caught by the woman dragging herself to her feet, a fire in her eyes that he hadn't seen in anyone for a long, long time. Though he got the distinct feeling she was about to do something extremely stupid. Nipping the thought in the bud, Leon turned his attention back to the villager and his wild swinging, ducking to avoid a wide slice before deciding enough was enough.
Dragging the chain low, he hooked it under his kneecap and brought it down with enough force to snap the villager's neck. His arms went limp, the hatchet falling from his hand before his entire body crumpled to the floor, bringing Luis stumbling forward with him. The man really wasn't used to any of this, was he?
With the threat eliminated, the woman stared at the body, wide-eyed. But not with fear. With rage. With an almost divine fury. Her chest heaving with adrenaline-fuelled breaths, a hand braced against her side as if splayed fingers could do anything against the steady flow of blood oozing through a nasty wound. Something must have caught her face, too, blood leaking from what must have been a small wound by her eye. It looked like she was crying crimson.
Slowly, like the tension was ebbing away with the blood flow, her expression relaxed, and her eyes rose to meet his. And it wasn't often that Leon was met with a stare as intense as his own. One that could be seen more as a scorching challenge than a greeting. As if she was wondering if he was the next poor sod she'd have to take down to meet her end goal. Sizing him up. But something in her assessment must have changed as she looked at him. Something softer creased her brows. Curiosity, perhaps? Intrigue? Her head cocked to the side as she struggled to place him. Until her eyes moved from him to Luis, and that expression of fury was back in full force.
"You?!" She seethed, taking a stumbling step forward towards the man, which somehow still seemed to look threatening despite the fact that she was barely standing. "Motherfucker you left me for dead."
So that was why Luis was so shaken when he heard her voice. If Leon was being completely honest with himself, he would want to be on the receiving end of that look, either.
"Looks like you got better," Luis shrugged with a guilty smile, slowly standing from where he'd been crouched. Leon hadn't noticed until he tossed the key by the woman's feet. "Later, amigos." That guilty smile shifted into a cocky grin as he turned and fled.
"We're not done here!" The woman's voice joined his own as they shouted in unison, but she didn't seem to have it in her to acknowledge the moment. Taking a few stumbling steps to the side, a hiss flew from her lips as she braced a hand heavily against the wall, leaving a smear of blood behind.
"Fuck…" she breathed, looking down at the gash in her side. The one that wouldn't stop bleeding. Her head tipped back, almost as if she were accepting her fate as Leon stepped towards the key, kneeling to unlock his chains.
"You alright?" He asked hesitantly, before realising how fucking stupid a question that was. But instead of biting his head off, like he was sort of expecting, she looked at him from the corner of her eye and smiled.
"Never better." The words were strained, and Leon had just enough time to throw the chains from his wrists as her knees buckled. He lunged forward to catch her before her skull cracked against the ground, his arms bracing around her back.
"I gotcha, you're okay, I gotcha," he found himself muttering, bringing her down slowly. He rested her head on his thigh, swiping blood-matted hair from her face. She was still conscious. For now.
He couldn't resist.
"Not even a first date and you're already falling for me, huh?"
She huffed something that could have been interpreted as a laugh. Or dismissal. It was difficult to tell.
"God, you're one've those," she smiled slightly, and Leon took her earlier reaction as a laugh. Though it had dimmed somewhat, he could still see that spark of defiance in her eyes as she cracked them open. "Hopin' you're trained in something other than cheesy pickup lines." She was trying to sound casual, but the strain in her voice was anything but, and blood was still pooling from the wound onto the floor.
"Guess it's your lucky day," he responded, readjusting her slightly to analyse just how much pain she was in right now. The blood loss should be numbing her system, and when he could move her without her screaming, he wouldn't have long to find his gear and patch her up.
Her features scrunched slightly. "Yeah, you an' I have very different definitions of luck," the woman hissed as he tucked his arm beneath her knees. Hissed, but didn't scream. And she didn't so much as make a sound as he lifted her against his chest. "Well… aren't you romantic," she managed to rasp, though her energy was quickly fading. He needed to move. Now.
"Yeah? Meet me when you're not bleedin' out," he responded with a half smile, one he tailored specifically to shadow the growing urgency.
"Ha… that a promise?" She responded wearily, her head dipping against his shoulder where she'd lost the strength to hold it up. And glancing down, he could see her eyes fluttering as she fought tooth and nail to stay conscious. Wounded and still fighting…
Turning sideways to shoulder through the doorway, he jolted her softly with his arm. "Hey, gotta stay with me. You got a name?" He asked, eyes scanning for any sign of his gear or where they would have stashed it. When she didn't respond, he jolted her again, ignoring the pain in his chest at the idea of losing anyone else. "C'mon, don't make me talk to myself. What's your name?"
She mumbled something against his shoulder that he just about caught, turning again to open a grated door, only to find it didn't budge. But through the iron bars, he could see his knife, his gun, and a collection of other weapons he didn't recognise. They hadn't even bothered to hide it. Just thrown it on a crate with the confidence of people who didn't think he'd escape.
Kicking against the door once in barely disguised frustration, he turned to find another way around. "Alecto? Huh... quite the name you got there. Can't die now you've told me," he tried, honestly just talking to keep her awake.
And to his surprise, Alecto stirred in his arms. "Dunno— if that's a r— a rule," she managed, breath hitching as she moved her head slightly against his shoulder. Was she trying to reassure him she was still alive? Well, shit, that just made him want to save her life even more.
Fuck, he wished he had his torch. Then at least he could see whether or not death was approaching them. At this point, he was just following the humming of barely flickering lights and hoping for the best. Only pausing when he almost walked headfirst into a wheel-mounted mechanism next to yet another locked door. Seriously, who the fuck was locking all of these doors behind them?
But he found himself on the other side of the same room with his gear. He'd been around long enough to guess how this was supposed to happen. And after clambering through the ruined remains of windows with a barely conscious woman in his arms, he knew roughly the route he needed to take.
"Hey, still with me?" He asked, surprising himself with how soft he sounded. His heart stopped for a moment when she didn't respond, only to resume beating a moment later when she nodded faintly. "Good. Gonna set you down, okay? Gotta grab my gear. I'll be right through that door, yeah?" Her breath stuttered again, faintly this time, as he slowly set her down onto the ground, mindful of the wound. "You're gonna be okay, you hear me? You're gonna be fine." It was hard to tell who he was trying to reassure at this point, as he smoothed over her hair, watching her brows crease slightly in fatigued discomfort.
And it was surprisingly difficult to tear himself away from her, even if it was to save her life. But, just as he thought, the moment he stepped around her and turned that wheel, the door on the opposite side started to open with each turn incrementally. And, as he also predicted, the moment he let go, the mechanism started slowly closing. With one final glance at the woman on the ground, he paused as slivers of her irises met his. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed with some effort, but the trust in those eyes, the blind trust of someone who didn't have another choice, did something to him.
So, holding the wheel at its peak for a moment, Leon took a breath—
And ran like hell.
It must have been mere moments. Seconds, at the longest, before he was racing flat out towards the rapidly closing door. Sinking to his knees and keeping his momentum, Leon slid beneath the spiked base, ducking back to narrowly avoid getting his throat slashed open, before rolling to his feet.
"Alecto? Still here?" He called out, just about making out her body on the ground on the other side of the door. But the deafening silence in response had his blood running cold. "Hey, hey! You still with me?" He called out again, fixing his harness back around his shoulders and chest and clipping the utility belt around his waist before ducking into the back pouch, unlocking the door with his other hand. "Shit— shit. C'mon, you, no ducking out now," he muttered, setting down the first-aid spray and herbs before placing two fingers to her neck. A pulse. Weak, faint, but unmistakable.
Using his knife, Leon sliced through the fabric of her black shirt. There was no possible way she'd biked through the same beaten tracks he'd been taken down to get here, yet if he was to judge from the heavy-looking boots, fitted cargo pants and skin-tight turtleneck, he could only assume. But what stunned him was what he saw beneath the slick layers of blood and grime. Scars. More scars than any civilian had any right to have. "Who are you…?" He muttered absently before turning his attention to the much more pressing matter of the gaping wound in her side. Ripping leaves from the plant, he shoved them into his mouth, chewing rapidly as he simultaneously retrieved a roll of bandages from that same pouch and shook the spray in his other hand. Eucalyptus and mint enveloped the smell of blood and dirt as the plant turned to a rough paste in his mouth. With what little clean water he had, he used to clean the wound.
A part of him was thankful she wasn't awake for this. Because as nice as these plants tasted and smelled, they fucking hurt when placed onto open wounds. He always assumed that when medicines like this stung, it just meant it was working. The pain meant it was healing. Though he wasn't entirely sure where this line of thinking came from.
Spitting the green paste into his palm, Leon used his thumb to gently work it into the wound, hissing to himself as he felt the phantom burn in his own side. He'd had similar wounds on similar parts of his body treated in similar ways. Though he realised as he smeared more of the makeshift salve onto the gash, that so had she. This clearly wasn't her first rodeo, if the faint scars were anything to go by.
Checking her pulse every few minutes, Leon wanted to make sure she didn't die on him whilst he worked, as he convinced himself he would for anyone. Which he would! Just… perhaps not to a level that bordered on the obsessive. He didn't know why. Maybe it was because his closet was already full of the skeletons of people he couldn't save, and he really didn't want to add another. Maybe it was because he saw a defiant flame in her that reminded him of a younger version of himself. Maybe it was just the way she forced a smile through what must have been agony.
Whatever the case, he took extra care when coating the freshly treated wound in numbing, first-aid spray, even coating a strip of bandage to act as a slow-release anaesthetic to patch over the wound before binding it properly. All the while glancing at her face. At her neck. Her pulse still weak beneath his fingers. He had so many questions. Who was she? What was she doing here? Did she have any relation to Baby Eagle? She didn't look like special forces, so what's with the scars?
She was hot. In the ways of appearance, yes, but what concerned him more was her temperature. She was warm to the touch. Every time his fingers pressed into her pulse, they would come away tingling. Leon was no stranger to running warm; he himself could stave off cold better than most, but this was something else. Was she running a fever? It was possible, though not really with blood loss. An infection already? She didn't seem to have sustained this wound long enough for an infection to set in.
All he could do was wait. Time was of the essence, with both this woman and Baby Eagle. He just had to trust that whoever took the president's daughter had plans to keep her alive long enough for Leon to find her.
And yet, he stayed by the woman's side, keeping her head cushioned in his lap as he waited. Back against the wall, hand smoothing through her hair.
He waited.
Everything hurt. Well… not exactly. Everything echoed with a dull ache. Head, side, neck. Like pain was trying to break through a barrier made of solid cotton, thumping against it rhythmically, as if waiting for a gap in the defences.
That was the first thing you noticed. The second was how fucking cold your back felt against what you assumed was the ground. And how warm your head was by comparison.
The third? A thumb kept smoothing across your hairline in a way that made you question whether or not you were actually dead, and some kind of spiritual guardian was slowly waking you up to take you across to the other side. Although if you were dead, surely it wouldn't feel like you'd been hit by a heavily padded bus. As if the thought alone made you curious, you tried to move. Only to be punished for your curiosity with a sharp stab through the side of your abdomen. A hiss flew from your lips, and the thumb in your hair disappeared. You mourned it for a moment before trying to crack your eyes open.
"Easy." A voice you vaguely recognised from feverish memory eased you back to the land of the living. Though with the overhead lighting giving the man above you a somewhat blonde-ish halo, you started to second-guess yourself.
"Dead?" You managed to croak, instantly regretting using your voice without any water first. The man huffed something that could have been interpreted as a laugh. Or dismissal. It was difficult to tell.
"Not quite. Gave it your best shot, though," he responded, and you decided it was, indeed, a laugh. Steadily, your awareness returned. Though the lights were still too bright, and the breeze was still too cold, you started to register your surroundings. Wind blowing through loose plastic and hole-speckled walls. The slight gravelly texture of the ground beneath you. The taut pull at your side, the one that punished you for trying to move too quickly.
"I aim to please," you managed, eyes finally adjusting to the shift in lighting to settle on the face of either your saviour or your ruin. You couldn't quite tell yet. But something in his features did register. A hazy memory. "Oh, hey, cheesy pick-up line guy. I remember you," you weakly punched at the thigh your head was resting on, earning yourself another amused huff.
"I tend to go by Leon, nowadays—hey, easy, you're just recovering," he braced a hand on your shoulder as you fought to rise into a sit, pushing up on a shaky elbow. His concern was endearing; nonetheless, you waved him off, just about rising to slump over your own knee, breathing slowly through your nose and out your mouth to manage the dull pain.
"Leon. Gotcha. I'm—"
"I know."
You paused, blinking for a moment before settling on a wry smile. "What? You a telepath as well as paramedic and professional lady-killer?" You asked, hoping the comedy would mask how uneasy you felt about this man knowing your name and having no memory of telling him. That unease, however, was soothed ever so slightly by the way his hair shifted as he laughed, something so distinctly human in the reaction.
"Among other things," he retorted, before softening slightly. Reading people was part of his training, and although he was struggling to get a good read on who, or what exactly you were, he could tell you were shaken more than you were letting on. "I asked. When you were out of it. You told me. No voodoo involved," he held up his hands in earnest surrender, and something in you wanted to trust him. Which was objectively stupid. You'd learned young that trust wasn't an option for you.
So you nodded, waving another lazy hand over your shoulder because in truth, it was all you could manage right now. "Got it," you breathed, jumping slightly as a hand settled on your shoulder.
Leon was, for lack of a better word, baffled. This woman leapt into his situation, quite literally kicking and screaming. With no signs of any weaponry, combat skills, or experience in this kind of thing, the only thing you really had going for you was your apparent nerves of fucking steel and impressive acting chops.
"Quite the entrance you made back there. Dunno many people who'd choose the bottle shiv over a knife," he didn't know why he rested his hand atop your shoulder. Maybe it was a security thing. If you tried anything, he'd likely feel the tension in your muscles before anything else.
You peered at him from the corner of your eye. If only he knew. "Yeah? Find me a knife that doesn't shatter in a light breeze, then we'll talk." A subdued mirth danced in his surprisingly pretty irises, and you couldn't help feeling a sliver of disobedient pride.
Gritting your teeth stubbornly, you slowly pushed up onto your feet, taking full advantage of Leon's assistance and using him to stabilise yourself. He seemed less likely to crumble than the closest wall. That and you weren't mad about the feeling of his hand at your waist, nor yours on his shoulder.
"Thanks," you smiled again, as easy as a summer breeze. Almost uncanny. Maybe if you both weren't in a life-or-death situation, Leon would think differently, but you were smiling like this was just another Tuesday for you. "So, you come here often?"
"And you called me the lady-killer?" He asked wryly, making sure you were steady on your feet before crouching down to retrieve what remnants of his first-aid he could salvage. "Actually, I was gonna ask you the same thing. Can't be for the locals."
"But they're so welcoming and friendly!" You gaped in faux shock before looking down at the mess on your front in dismay. Shirt half ripped, half sliced open, bandages stained slightly crimson, neatly wrapped around your abdomen. You'd be surprised if you survived this without an infection, but then again, you didn't know what Leon had at his disposal. "Heard about the cuisine through TripAdvisor. Couldn't help myself. I'd give the whole experience a solid three stars. Definitely room for improvement." Once again, you smiled like this was nothing to you, trying to figure out what to do with the torn strips of your shirt.
Leon watched with confused resignation as you tied your ruined shirt into a knot at the front. He couldn't figure you out. He really couldn't. But when you beamed in triumph at your shirt-related achievement, he realised that you really didn't belong here.
"Okay, real talk," you continued, folding your arms across your chest, but not without a snarl of pain from your side. "A friend of mine went missing here. We're friends from Uni—" that made Leon narrow his eyes slightly, "and when she never made it to our seminar, I got some cryptic text about her going to this weird little village in Spain. This was a few days ago. Something just felt super weird, so I followed her here. Bumped into that little shit Luis running from whatever the fuck is going on here. Asshole left me for dead whilst he bolted, and that freaky guy with the hat injected me with something. Findin' it hard to believe they're just really hot on immunity shots here."
Leon felt like he didn't need clarification on who you were looking for, but he thought to ask anyway. "The friend you're looking for. Her name Ashley?" And the way your eyes lit up was confirmation enough.
"Holy shit, yes! It is! You here for her, too?" You asked, hoping you weren't coming across as too eager. But when Leon nodded once, something in you relaxed. Only slightly, but relaxed nonetheless. "Well, you might be better at this than I am. Are you like, police or something?"
"Wouldn't say that. You did a number on that other guy with a bottle," he responded smoothly, before pausing when you asked what he was. "In a way. Government special agent."
"I'm gonna pretend like I know what that means," you responded deliberately blankly, growing suspicion rising in your chest. You'd keep this up. For now.
With only a half-smile to explain further, Leon stepped away from you for a moment, pressing a finger to his earpiece until the tone stopped ringing.
"Condor One to Roost, do you read me?" He asked, glancing back to where you were watching with intrigue.
"Go for Roost Condor One, what's your sit rep?" Ingrid responded over his coms.
"Got a lead on Baby Eagle. Something about keeping her at an old church? Need you to do a sweep of the area, see what you can find."
"Copy that. I'll let you know if anything comes up." A soft clacking over the reception told him she was already pulling up village schematics.
"And I need you to run a couple of background checks. Student named Alecto, university friend of Baby Eagle," he felt bad for even asking, but he'd rather be safe than sorry when it came to strange, out-of-place women met on missions like these
Distracted, you looked up from where you'd been inspecting his handiwork across your abdomen at the mention of your name. "Mhm? Oh, you're still on the phone. Sorry," you tossed him an apologetic wave before heading off around the corner.
"I can pull up the university records now if you've got a moment?" Ingrid offered, and as much as Leon hated doing this, he needed to. Just to be sure.
"Yeah, great, thanks. The other is for a guy named Luis Serra. Just met him. Tipped me off about the church, but I don't trust him further than I can throw him." He nodded, even though Cunningham couldn't see him. Glancing around the corner, he watched you looking around with mild disgust, a hand braced against your side. He left you to it, pacing back around the corner. Thinking about why you were here, he wondered what it was like to have such a blindingly loyal friend. One that would cross the country to come looking after receiving a slightly odd text. Plane tickets were expensive as it was. He wondered how you could afford it. And in that wondering, another question formed in his head. If Ashley had sent a text, how was this the first time he was hearing about it? Surely, intelligence would have recovered something as crucial as that.
And just like that, doubts started to creep in. This was some remote, widely unknown village in Spain. Leon doubted even Ashley knew where she was. And she was kidnapped on her way home from her university, not in her university.
"Leon…?" Ingrid's voice cut through his thoughts, and Leon hoped it was to put his worries to bed. "There's no record of that name here. At least, not in recent years. Whoever this woman is… she doesn't study here."
And Leon had just let you out of his sight. Fuck. He briefly wondered if there was a time in his life where he didn't get played by gorgeous women. If there was a version of him that saw through their acts and just cut the bullshit. He didn't regret saving your life. But he did regret letting you roam around without him.
"Of course she doesn't," he muttered to himself, as if Hunnigan wasn't still connected. "Be in touch." He ended the call before Roost could question what was going on, and instead withdrew his knife from the sheath on his chest, gripping it in reverse as he peered down the hallway. And, predictably, you were nowhere to be seen. So he kept his steps light and his senses sharp, creeping through the dimly lit ruins inch by inch, registering every stray flap of tarp, every squeaking scurry of a rat.
Keeping his blade drawn and eyes high, Leon edged into another abandoned room, this one much like the others. Red emergency lighting, crates, farming tools, lockers, the works. And after everything he'd been through since Raccoon City, all the missions, the gruelling training with Krauser, he was hard pressed to find anyone faster than him who didn't have some kind of bio-weapon in their bloodstream. And yet he barely saw your movements.
You'd been waiting. After overhearing some of his conversation with whoever was over his earpiece, you knew it wouldn't be too long until he figured it out, especially if whoever he was working with could pull up university records. So you'd slipped around the corner and waited.
You moved. Fast. Ducking beneath his instinctive swipe arc, your hand caught his wrist with strength you knew would catch him off guard. To his credit, he only seemed to be surprised for a fraction of a second before he tossed the blade into his other hand, something you hadn't predicted. So you lunged forward whilst pulling him toward you, throwing off his momentum and forcing his arm up away from you as you hooked your elbow around the side of his neck, securing it by gripping your own wrist at the base of his skull.
So much for lack of combat skills. Leon barely had time to react before you'd kicked his outer leg up from under him, your grip holding fast and sending both of you to the floor. A grunt of pain barked through his gritted teeth as he tossed the knife in favour of trying to pry your elbow from around his throat. This wasn't the desperate tussle of somebody cornered. This was a genuine technique. A knee at his hip stopped him from pivoting and flipping the tables, and the angle gave you a lot more leverage to choke him out; your wound seemingly forgotten.
"Let's start over, shall we?" You hissed, releasing the pressure just enough to make sure you didn't kill him. At least, not too quickly. Honestly, you could do this with or without him, but he did save your life. "Cut the shit. Who are you?"
Leon's eyes met yours as you pulled back a fraction, your own irises shadowed in loose, damp strands of your hair. "Told you," he managed through the constriction around his neck. "Work for the Government. President sent me. For his daughter," the fewer words he used, the better. Especially since you didn't seem satisfied with that answer, and your arm tightened around his neck once again.
"Bullshit. One've 'em would've told me they were sending an agent, so this shit didn't happen. Not fuckin' around, Leon. Tell me who you are, or I snap your neck. Wouldn't take much, just a little more pressure, right here," as if you exaggerate your point, you applied exactly that to his throat, trying to ignore the hiss sliding between his teeth. You pulled back again to ask one more time. "Who. The fuck. Are you?"
"So im—polite," he choked as you tightened your grip, his fingers struggling to worm their way in between your elbow and his throat.
"Tell me who you are, or I snap your neck, please," you hissed in return.
"'m not lying," he managed, and your conviction wavered as you looked into his eyes again. You could tell the measure of a man in a single look. Half of it came from training, the other half from simply being a woman in the world. So when you couldn't find any hint of a lie in his irises, you lessened the pressure slightly, moving your knee from the side of his hip.
"Shit, you're serious?" You asked, and Leon felt the pressure ease from his neck, as if it were slowly dawning on you. "Someone's gettin' fuckin' fired, I swear to—" you automatically tensed as a slight crackle returned to your right ear, loud enough that when Leon turned, he could see a perfectly hidden earpiece, identical to your skin tone. "Oh, now you wanna chime in? Where the fuck've you been?"
With you now distracted, Leon seized his opportunity. Swiping the knife from where he'd dropped it, he shoved your elbow from around his neck and surged forward, barrelling into you. Placing a knee against your sternum, his other caged at your waist, Leon pinned you to the ground, your wrists held in a single palm.
Cold steel touched your throat as his expression, once twisted in discomfort, now blazed in silent fury as he crowded your space. "Your turn, Alecto," he seethed, though he could see that same defiant fire raging in your eyes as he'd seen earlier. "You ain't one of ours. Fight like you've been trained, and you got the scars to prove it," he glanced down at where your abdomen had been left uncovered, though he adjusted his knee as he saw how close it was to the wound in your side. "So? Who're you?"
For one, desperately stupid moment, you debated not answering him. But the knife at your throat pressed just that little bit harder, and you decided your silence wasn't worth your life. Testing his strength by trying to free your hands, you realised you likely overpowered him earlier because you caught him off guard. So you relented, loosening his grip.
"Government insider hired me to befriend and protect Ash some two–three years ago. Covert op. Nobody knew, not even her own father," you explained flatly, and Leon blew out a disapproving breath. Now it made sense.
"Merc," Leon muttered gruffly, removing the knife from your neck and freeing your wrists. "Why?" He asked, sitting back with more care than he would ever admit to not jostle your side any further.
If you noticed, you said nothing.
"So shit like this didn't happen," you shrugged, sitting up and rubbing your wrists as if that was the most painful thing on your body right now.
"Hell've a job you're doing," he muttered, idly testing the inevitable bruising of his neck and ignoring a pointed glare from you.
"Oh yeah? You try stoppin' a group of wine-drunk freshmen from turnin' their dad's ski lodge into a crime scene. I used to be respected," you huffed, earning yourself a reluctantly amused smile which Leon quickly covered.
You opened your mouth to try and drag that smile further from him, before your ear crackled again, and your mood turned sour.
"Uh, Nyx to Alecto? You read me?" Your unofficial "calls handler" asked in your ear, and a headache already started to pulse between your brows in pure irritation.
"Loud'n clear, Nyx. Impeccable timing. Hope you got your car insurance sorted or whatever the fuck you've been doin' for the last six hours," you hissed, and Leon took the moment to heave onto his feet, keeping well within earshot as he not-so-subtly listened to your conversation.
"You went dark. What am I supposed to do? Lost your location, nothing through coms—honestly, we all thought you were dead," Nyx explained, and you just managed to curb your fury as you heard the unmistakable crackle of a crisp packet down the line.
Taking a steadying breath, you did the complete opposite of Leon and collapsed back onto the floor with an oomph, drawing a startled gaze from him. "The fuck you mean what're you supposed to do?! Jesus Christ Nyx, how about check in from time to time?"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm checking in now, aren't I?"
You rolled your eyes, flashing Leon a look of apologetic inconvenience, as if to say, "Callers, right?"
"Run a check on my location. Should be a second signal, not one've our systems. Think you can get anything from it?" You asked, not even bothering to hide the fact that you were looking for information to confirm his story. You just wanted to be sure, as he no doubt wanted the same reassurance about you.
"Check on your location—oh, yeah, look at that," you winced as you heard the crunch of a crisp, followed by wet chewing. "Second signal. Let's see here… gotcha. Well, shit, Alec, you're in the presence of USSOCOM Agent Leon S. Kennedy himself," Nyx laughed as if he hadn't just left you to die for six hours. But the name rang a bell.
"Kennedy? Kennedy…" you hummed in thought, wracking your memories for where you'd heard that name before.
Leon, meanwhile, had doubled back to where his weapons had been stashed to retrieve the ones he hadn't recognised, and now realised must be yours. A heavily modified semi-automatic handgun, a black steel combat knife that he couldn't help comparing to his own, only to scoff when he saw it was bigger than his, a harness not dissimilar to his own, and various straps and pouches. You must have been stripped of your weapons in the same way he had when they found you. Though he was surprised you could move at all with just how many hidden blades he kept finding. You were a walking armoury. Either that or you'd robbed a Ren Faire on your way here.
Despite the circumstances of your introduction to one another, Leon felt slightly less alone. The thing with mercenaries is that all they care about is the pay, to the point where they'd do almost anything to ensure they achieve their mission. He didn't have to worry about you stabbing him in the back because you had more of a chance at being paid if you worked with him. Especially since your goal was the same.
Sighing heavily and wondering how his day had already taken such an unexpected turn, Leon returned to where you were still on the ground, though looking a little more exhausted than you did when he'd left.
"Nyx, I beg you stop eatin' in my fucking ear. Yep, I—don't talk with your mouth full! No, I need—aaaaand he's gone. Son've a bitch," you swore viciously under your breath, eyes raising as Leon pretended he just got back, arms full of your gear. "Never told me your last name was Kennedy," you mentioned breezily, standing as he unceremoniously dumped it on the ground in a clattering heap.
"That a problem?" He asked flatly, truly not caring if it was or wasn't. And you shrugged as though you shared the sentiment, though it was evident you didn't.
"More've a point of interest. You're that Raccoon City survivor, aren'tcha?" You continued your line of hopefully lighthearted-sounding questioning as you started to assemble your gear about your body, threading the straps of your harness through your arms with a subdued wince.
When he didn't respond, you feared you'd been a little too forward. You were interested in the incident and Umbrella's involvement. Since the company was shut down, so had your mild intrigue. At least, that's what you described it as. Just a vague interest in what they were trying to accomplish, how many projects they had completed, where they all were now—that kind of thing. Your chest twisted slightly as the silence continued. "Right. Probably a rough topic."
"Somethin' like that," Leon responded quietly, making himself look busy by inspecting his gun in an effort to stave off the screaming memories that always jumped into his mind at the mention of Raccoon City. Every time, without fail, he'd see Marvin's face. His tattered future lying in the ruins of a police department. He'd hear the ever-present footsteps of that Tyrant hunting him down.
Ada's face. Her lips on his. Her hand slipping through his blood-slick palm.
You'd paused your movements, peering at him with something you were dangerously close to naming. You understood, more than you were willing to let on, what it was like to lose people. Perhaps not to the extent of Raccoon City, but you knew the burn of flame on your cheek and the sounds of your name screamed in an inferno.
Subtly, you undid the buckle above your wound, letting the leather straps hang loose before you hissed loud enough to catch his attention. "Help a girl out?" You asked, turning slightly to show him what was giving you grief. Whether he knew it was a deliberate plan to snap him from his mind or not, he didn't let on as he reluctantly stepped around your remaining gear.
You wondered if he was deliberately avoiding eye contact with you, his fingers lightly brushing your side as he threaded the leather back through the buckle you'd just undone. But just because he wasn't looking at you, that didn't stop you from looking at him. Up close, you could see it. A deep, resonating sadness. A hollow haunting in his eyes. A constant tension in his shoulders that you knew was down to always having to watch his own back.
"Leon," you began, only to be silenced when those eyes flicked up to yours. A gaze that had you questioning if whatever you were about to say was worth it. There was no common ground you could find with him. Not right now. And there were some things you refused to talk about, no matter how deeply it would bond the two of you in trauma. "Thanks." You settled on, and he seemed to accept that.
"No problem." He knew you were reading him. If your training was half as rounded as his own was, he knew you were gathering as much as you could from any microexpressions he wasn't immune to making. And he let you. If you knew about Raccoon City, there wasn't much worth hiding anyway. He knew that day had damaged him beyond repair, and he lost parts of himself he would never get back.
Leon didn't know why he held onto that leather buckle long after he'd done it up for you. Maybe it was because he felt seen by you, in a way he never thought possible. Which seemed impossible, since he'd known you less than a couple of hours and you'd spent the majority of that time unconscious. Maybe it was because he found fragments of himself mirrored in your own eyes. Those parts of himself he thought lost. The hope. The belief. Both were dangerous. And yet here you were, with both blazing bright as day.
Something no mercenary had any right to possess.
"We should get moving," he muttered finally, though stepping away from you was like wading through mud. His words seemed to snap you out of your own thoughts, and you nodded in agreement, finally stooping down to clip the rest of your gear to your body, sliding blades into pockets he hadn't even seen when he was fixing you up. Two into each boot, another into the sheaths at each thigh. Your gun slipped into the holster at your side, and yet even as a walking steel factory, you felt naked.
"Fuck—uh, my rifle didn't happen to be there, did it?" You asked, turning in a circle as if you'd just misplaced it. Leon almost laughed at the idea.
"You want more weapons?" He asked incredulously, looking at you up and down, cataloguing everything in your arsenal. Until he landed on your face and you raised a smug brow, a smirk cocking your lips to the side.
"You just give me an up-down?" You asked brazenly, placing a hand on your hip before cursing lowly as your fingers dug into the wound on your side. Wrong hip. Though Leon was thankful for the distraction to give himself a minute to compose himself. Flirting, he was good at. Even when it was reciprocated and especially when it didn't matter. But this? He had the distinct feeling you weren't leaving anytime soon, and for some reason, that mattered to him.
So he just shook his head in disbelief to avoid having to awkwardly stand whilst he thought of a comeback. Turning away, he instead set his focus on finding an exit to this wretched place, having no idea how he got here. But he felt a little better with a gun in his hand and his knife at his shoulder. And, admittedly, an ally on his side.
You accepted that you'd likely ruined the moment; not that there was a moment, but if there had been, you'd ruined it. Breathing a sigh, you followed behind him as you both searched for an exit, seemingly in vain.
The door you had found to the outside world was, almost predictably, barred from the other side, and though you'd tried to slip your arm between the top bars and reach down, you weren't tall enough. And your arm simply didn't bend that way.
"This is ridiculous," you seethed, partly from the embarrassment of trying to twist your arm a way it wouldn't, and partly from the insanity of the situation because you'd tried this three times already. You were glad the emergency lights were red—hopefully, it would hide the humiliated flush of your cheeks.
"You're doing great," Leon quipped, leaning against the wall with his arms folded, content to simply watch you in your fruitless endeavours as if he were just made of time.
"Hey, remember when I almost snapped your neck?" You asked, your voice saccharine sweet as you looked back at him with a look that was anything but innocent.
"Mhm. Remember when I almost slit your throat?" He responded in kind, and you wondered how you managed to get stuck with the world's most irritating agent. He talked to himself most of the time. Nothing of importance. More just little comments here and there. Only to then ask why you were looking at him so egregiously.
With a savage grunt of frustration that reminded Leon of a wild animal, you kicked the door after feeding your arm back through. He blinked when he saw the dent left behind. How fucking strong were you? Though it didn't seem to matter to the door, which was still stubbornly stuck in place.
With the petulance of a perturbed cat, you stomped back over to the opposite wall and, mirroring the stubbornness of the door, settled for simply glaring at it, as if you could open it with your mind.
"Aren't you s'posed to—"
"Need some help there, stranger?"
One moment, you were looking at him with that irritated scowl he'd come to almost appreciate in the hour or so you'd been stuck together, the next, he'd blinked, and your gun was in your hand, aiming through the bars of the door to the hooded newcomer, aiming between the only visible parts of their face; the eyes.
"Don't!" Leon shouted, lunging to grasp your forearm and tear your aim from the potential aid. This could be your only shot at getting out of here, and you were about to put a bullet through their brain. "Just—wait a sec," he breathed, your arm warm beneath his palm. He could see the resolve in your bright eyes waver, hear the breath stutter slightly in your chest. You looked as if you were waking from some kind of daydream, only just coming to.
And before he could analyse further, you both turned at the sound of the bolt sliding free, the hinges creaking like they'd been cast in a horror film. Despite being so against shooting the stranger instantly, Leon still drew his gun from his thigh, keeping it close and ready as you lowered your own to a more relaxed position.
"Friend've yours?" You asked as you both paused to assess the situation, though he was so close to you that you could feel the charged proximity, your shoulders brushing slightly, and you forced yourself to lean away slightly so it wouldn't happen again.
"You think that's the kinda guy I'd be friends with?" Leon asked, curbing his grin when you snorted a laugh with your hand in front of your lips. It was no secret that Leon liked to make people laugh. He liked making people feel comfortable around him, and what better way to do that than with humour? However, something in the way you smiled made him want to see it more often. Not the forced, shit-eating grin he'd seen. The softer, more genuine smile. The one you had when you were forced to trust him with your life. A smile that understood the gravity of what he was doing. You understood what it was like to have lives in your hands.
"I dunno?! I barely know you!" Despite this being the hard truth, it felt like a lie on your tongue.
"Whose fault is that?"
"Uh, I was unconscious—what's your excuse?"
Leon brushed past you, and there was a moment when he was silhouetted against the bright light of early afternoon beyond the doors, and you got a good look at the shape he was in. Irritatingly, it was a fantastic view. That tactical shirt left no curve or sinew to the imagination, and a part of your mind you were trying desperately to shove into the corner wanted to sink your teeth into the tapered dip of his waist. His hair shifted as he looked back at you over his shoulder, and you suddenly felt very small beneath his gaze.
"You were unconscious."
It took your brain a moment to catch up with your ears; the meaning of his words was lost on you before you realised it was just another stupid retort. At least, you decided it was, because trying to assign meaning to anything he said was like trying to force an elephant through a pinhole. You'd be stupid to even try.
Without anything to fire back with, you began to trudge after him, shielding your eyes from the light as they adjusted and you looked around. The stench of rotting flesh and cow shit had returned even stronger, and you forced an inhale purely out of necessity.
"Welcome, welcome! See anythin' you fancy?" Turning to the right, you gaped as you saw the same figure who'd come to your aid with their robed arms outstretched behind a wooden table laden with various wares. One in particular caught your eye, and you clenched your jaw.
"That my rifle?" You asked, tone clipped, and Leon's eyes followed your gaze to the sleek-looking, bolt-action sniper rifle sitting neatly atop a stand. Where the fuck would you even put that thing?
"Yours? No, miss, but it could be, for the right price."
"How about in exchange for not shooting you in the head?" You asked coolly, only for the figure to bark an ugly cackle. Leon rolled his eyes, dipping into a pouch in his side and tossing a clean-cut sapphire onto the table.
"This cover it?"
You blinked. "What the fuck?"
"Found it back in the square. Turns out these people have quite the treasury," he shrugged, looking back to the figure. "So? That enough?"
Reaching out, the figure plucked the stone from the table and held it up to their eye, peering through the blue hues and into the sky above. You watched curiously, but not without suspicion, waiting anxiously for the figure's verdict. You had so many questions. Mainly, 'who the fuck are you?', but you decided you'd wait until you got your rifle back. Or until after he said a huge fuck-off sapphire wasn't a fair exchange and you'd shoot him in the head anyway.
"Well, would ya look at that. Right beauty you've brought me there, mate. S'pose that's a fair exchange. The rifle's all yours, miss." He gestured again to the gun on display, and you didn't even wait for him to finish before marching over and snatching it from the shelf, instantly setting about inspecting it for any damage.
Leon managed to bite back a quick 'careful' as he watched you run your fingers along the black chassis, looking for any scrapes or scratches that would suggest the rifle had been mishandled in any way. You worked like you had learned how the rifle breathed, how it thought, despite the fact that every piece looked brand new. With a click, you pulled the magazine free, inspecting both the interior of the rifle and the rounds within until they were to your satisfaction, and you pushed it back in firmly. Pulling back the bolt, you let the empty case of your last fired round clatter to the ground, feeling a lot more confident now you'd given it a once-over, though you adjusted the scope as more of a force of habit than out of necessity.
For some reason, watching you treat the rifle with the care one would a newborn did something to Leon's chest. Something inconvenient. You weren't somebody he had to look out for. That didn't mean he wouldn't, it just meant that you could handle yourself if anything went wrong.
Glancing up, you caught him staring at you with something in his eye you couldn't quite name. This time, you didn't feel the same smug satisfaction as you did when he looked you up and down before. This time, you squirmed beneath in gaze, folding the stock forward flat against the bolt, you held the rifle a little tighter.
"Christ, take a fuckin' picture, Kennedy. It'll last longer," your muttered attempt at brazenness fell at the first hurdle, and instead, you turned to secure the rifle at your back, feeding your arm through the strap, though not without a wince.
Leon hadn't noticed he was staring; only when you called him out for it did he blink a few times to get the image of your fingers delicately running along the length of the barrel out of his mind. He had to remind himself, rather unkindly, that you were a fucking mercenary. And he famously didn't trust them. Not in matters of the heart, anyway.
Fascination. That's what this was. He was fascinated by you and your sharp looks and fire-lit eyes. Fascinated by the slope of your neck and the curves of your hips. By the dig of the straps into your thigh, the slender length of your legs that he knew had various knives hidden here, there and everywhere. He was haunted by the weight of you in his arms, the soft, scarred skin beneath his fingers, as warm as a hearth, the way you grasped at his shoulder as you stood.
Your body hovering atop his, elbow around his throat, one knee at his hip, the other straddling his ribs. Your wrists pinned above your head, blood at your neck. Breathless. Dangerous.
That's what you were. You were dangerous. You were beautiful and bloodied and dangerous.
"You, uh, really know your way around that thing," he gestured to the rifle now strapped across your back, and you smiled in relief, grateful for this change of subject.
"My oldest friend. Sure, she's had some parts swapped out here an' there, and I've modified the fuck out of her, but she's always there for me when I need her. Well, except when freaky, out-of-place merchants steal her and try to flog her on the literal black market." Leon huffed a laugh as you raised your voice obnoxiously loud, making sure the robed figure could hear what you were saying, even though he was only three feet behind you. You really didn't care what people thought, did you? He was surprised your weapon of choice was a sniper rifle, considering how wild and untamed you seemed to be. Discipline wasn't something he would associate you with.
"Kept it in good nick," he gestured again to the rifle, and you shrugged off the compliment, ignoring how it felt in your chest in favour of hoping that, at some point, it'll go away.
"We should get going—wouldn't want Ash to die of old age before we get there," you took a step back from the surprising proximity, wondering how and when you'd been lured in towards him by some invisible gravitational pull. Though you winced as Leon's expression twisted slightly, as if he remembered something ugly.
Which he had. Your differences. He was here to rescue Ashley because it was the right thing to do, and he was working towards a greater cause, even if he was forced into it. You were here to rescue Ashley because the job paid well. It must do, if you were able to afford that kind of gear and replace parts of that rifle semi-regularly.
"Right. Yeah. Heading to the church. Reckon I'm due for confession anyway," he quipped quietly, glancing at you before meeting your incredulous stare. "What?"
"They just keep coming, huh?" You remarked on the constant one-liners that seem to plague any form of silence, wondering if there was a reason he felt the need to fill the quiet, or whether he thought he sounded cool.
"Huh?" His head tilted to the side, brows pinched in confusion, and you smiled to yourself as he reminded you of a dog trying to understand fundamental human speech.
"Never mind," you waved him off, dismissing the topic. "Which way?"
"Through that door, the one…" he trailed off, and you turned to follow his gaze.
"The one that doesn't open, right?" You asked flatly, pinching the bridge of your nose between your thumb and forefinger.
"Yeah. That one." He gestured to it a little awkwardly, watching your hands move to the side of your face, as if you were trying to rub away a headache.
Summary: It has been nearly a week since you last saw your boyfriend, Leon Kennedy. What was supposed to be an innocent date turns into something more when neither of you can seem to keep your hands to yourself.
RE2 Leon Kennedy x Reader ; No Outbreak AU (in which Leon actually gets to work at the RPD)
Read on AO3 here.
Words: 3k
You glanced nervously at the clock. Leon should be here any minute. And there you stood in just a t-shirt and panties, unable to decide between skinny jeans and a short skirt. You'd barely seen your boyfriend this week. Between flu season causing Leon to have to cover shifts and all your coursework piling up, there had barely even been time for phone calls, let alone dates. Which means it had been well over a week since you and Leon had fooled around. You sighed heavily. You were dying for it at this point. You would have been fine with skipping the date and heading straight to bed as soon as he got here. But you knew he really wanted to see this movie. And being the gentleman that he is, he liked to romance you before you got dirty.
A knock on your apartment door snapped you out of your thoughts. Smiling ear to ear, you darted from your bedroom to greet him. You threw open the door and practically launched yourself into his arms. Though taken by surprise, he caught you with ease, warm hands gripping the underside of your thighs as your legs wrapped around his waist. "That's a nice way to say hello," Leon said. You couldn't see his face seeing as yours was currently nuzzled into his neck, but you could hear the smile in voice.
"I missed you this week," you said, lifting your head to pepper his face with kisses.
"I missed you too," he grinned, stepping inside and kicking the door shut behind him. He deposited you gently on your kitchen counter. You both fell silent a moment, taking each other in. Leon glanced down and a faint blush spread across his cheeks. "Are you, um… are you almost ready?"
You tilted your head, confused at his sudden bashfulness. You followed his gaze and… oh, right. You had been so excited to see him that you never actually put your pants on. You found it incredibly endearing that despite the months you two had been together, you could still make him blush so easily.
You hopped off the counter, giving him another peck on the cheek before sauntering off to finish getting ready. "I'll be right back," you said, then added playfully, "unless you want to come help me." You watched him turn an even deeper shade of scarlet. "Kidding. I know we're already running late." Not that you would have said no.
Okay. Skirt or jeans, you thought. It was pretty cold outside, but… well, you knew how crazy your little skirts drove Leon. You grinned mischievously. Skirt and tights it is.
You sat in the passenger seat of Leon's Jeep, the movie on the drive-in screen long forgotten. The date Leon had planned was really nice. He'd gotten you both takeout from your favorite place to bring to the movie. He brought bags of candy to eat after dinner. He even thought to bring blankets to insulate you from the winter chill. Leon Kennedy was by far the most thoughtful guy you had ever dated. It made your heart ache with fondness.
But the ache that was far more intense at the moment was the one between your legs. It had started as just a simple touch; Leon's hands had gone from absentmindedly playing with your fingers to laying on your thigh. Then his fingers started ghosting over your skin, feather-light touches rising higher and higher up your leg. Your breath hitched and you stifled a moan, covering it up with a cough.
"You okay, baby?" he whispered.
"Yeah," you lied, voice cracking slightly.
He ceased his strokes and brought his hand up to your face, giving you a quick peck on the lips. "Let me go get you something to drink."
You sighed as he left the car for the concession stand. He could be so oblivious at times. It was like he had no clue what he did to you. Or how hot he was. Or how good his hands felt, the way he just intuitively knew the exact way to rub your clit to make you cum in record time… He might have this blushing awkwardness at times, but he really knew how to please.
You rubbed your thighs together desperately. You needed any relief you could get. It's not like you could touch yourself right here with all these other cars around you… or could you? Remembering the blankets Leon had brought, an idea formed in your head. You spread the blanket over your lap, hand sliding underneath. Just enough to take the edge off, you told yourself. You hiked your skirt up under the blanket and pushed your already damp panties to the side. A sigh of relief escaped your lips as your middle finger came to your clit, eyes fluttering shut-
The car door opened and you nearly jumped out of your skin, hand immediately retracting from under the blanket. "Thank you, honey," you said, feigning innocence and taking the drink from Leon.
He chuckled softly as he slid back inside. "Did I scare you?"
"A little. Didn't think you'd be so fast," you said.
Leon immediately picked up on the slight tremble in your voice and frowned. He brought the back of his hand up to your forehead. "Baby, you're sweating. Are you sure you feel okay?" he said, brow furrowing in concern.
You groaned internally. This was getting embarrassing. How could you tell him you were so turned on by him barely touching you? You settled for a lie. "It's nothing, Leon."
His hand moved again to your thigh to rub it comfortingly. This time, you couldn't hold back the sigh. Your face went hot as you watched the realization hit him. He laughed in soft surprise, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "Is that what's wrong, baby? You missed me that bad?" he murmured into your ear. The feeling of his warm breath tickling your neck sent shivers down your spine.
You whined and nodded, gasping when his lips brushed the sensitive spot just below your ear. He continued like that for a minute, lips trailing oh so gently down your neck. You squirmed in your seat as you grew wetter and wetter. He pulled away from your neck, only to turn your face gently toward his and capture your lips instead.
You pulled on his bottom lip, eliciting a soft moan from him. Hands came up to tangle in his hair. His own came to rest on the back of your neck, pulling you in even closer. He swept his tongue across your lip, and you responded in kind, your own tongue slipping into his mouth. Desperate for more, your hand drifted down from his hair to his chest, then down to his waistband. Just as your hand was about to slip down his pants, he gripped your wrist and tugged you away gently.
"Baby," he said with breathy chuckle, "we can't. There are people."
You shrugged carelessly. "That's what the blanket is for."
He rested his forehead against yours, laughing again. "Anyone who looks over here is going to know what's happening," he said.
You slumped back against the seat and pouted. He was right, of course. It was a bad idea. But that didn't help temper your desire at all. If anything, it made the idea even more intoxicating.
"Though… the movie is pretty boring. Maybe we could slip out of here early."
You perked up at that. "Yes," you breathed.
Leon smiled and settled back into the driver's seat, readjusting himself in his pants as he did so. You could see the outline of his dick prominently in his well-fitting jeans. He looked rock hard. All that and you hadn't even truly touched him yet. Not that you were in any better shape; if you were damp before, you were absolutely soaked now. Thank goodness you guys had gotten to the movie a little late and were parked in the back. It made for a quick getaway.
Leon pulled onto the main road. The air in the car was thick with anticipation. You sighed and rolled your hips in the seat. It was at least a twenty minute drive to either of your places. Normally a perfectly acceptable distance, but an eternity when you were this desperate. You spotted a turn off down some back roads and a light-bulb went off in your head. A very dirty, very mischievous light-bulb.
"Turn right here," you said.
Leon looked at you skeptically. "Thought you were in a hurry to get home?"
"It's a shortcut. Trust me."
He complied and turned down the dark road. You waited a minute until you were sure the street was empty. Once you were far enough down the road and you hadn't passed anyone, you twisted in your seat toward Leon. Leaning over the center console, you brought your lips to his neck and began to kiss him gently. He took in a shuddering breath. Emboldened, you reached down to palm his dick through his jeans. His breath hitched dramatically. You smirked against his neck. He really was hard.
"Honey," he gasped, "that's not… safe. I- I can't drive like that." One of his hands came to rest on top of yours as you continued your slow strokes, but he made no real attempt to stop you.
"Then pull over," you whispered in his ear, voice low. He let out a breath and gripped the steering wheel harder, considering your suggestion. Then, after just a few short seconds, the car slowed and moved over to the grassy shoulder. "Good boy." He let out a real moan this time, one that went straight to your core. "Back seat, now," you said.
He nodded vigorously, already undoing his seatbelt and opening his door to move to the back. "Yes ma'am," he breathed. You climbed eagerly over the center to meet him there.
No time was wasted before your lips were colliding messily once more. Leon laid you down gently, his mouth never leaving yours. His knee came up to push your legs apart as he moved his kisses to the underside of your jaw with the perfect amount of teeth and tongue. A gasp of pleasure escaped you as his knee pressed against your clothed pussy. You fumbled to undo his belt and zipper while you ground yourself on his knee, desperate for the extra friction. Your hand finally slipped under his pants and found his dick, thick and warm and already leaking precum. Your thumb traced his weeping tip, spreading the warm fluid as you began to stroke him slowly. He moaned into your mouth, and his knee pressed more firmly into you.
"Leon," you gasped.
"I know, baby," he groaned back. His dick twitched in your hand. "Stop," he panted. "I'm too close. Don't…don't want to finish yet."
In a swift movement that you left you dazed, Leon scooped you up and repositioned himself to be sitting upright, putting you in his lap to straddle him. His hand reached down to hike up your skirt, and he slowly slid his hand under the waistband of your panties. His longer fingers traced a delicate line from your pussy to your clit, gathering the wetness that had pooled there.
"So wet, baby," he sighed. He continued teasing, fingers barely ghosting over your swollen clit.
And you couldn't take it anymore. "Leon, please," you begged.
"Please what? What do you need, beautiful?"
You let out a shaky breath, walls clenching around nothing. This was the Leon no one else knew. The one only you got to see. The one who knew how to take control in bed and make you see stars. He might be a blushing mess when you teased him, but he knew how to give it right back.
"Please. Make me cum, Leon, please."
His bright blue eyes bore into yours as he obliged your request. Deft fingers worked on your clit, drawing circles with just enough pressure to have you throwing your head back in pleasure. "Oh god, don't stop," you moaned.
"Wouldn't dream of it," Leon smirked.
The coil in your stomach tightened rapidly. "Leon," you moaned his name again.
He leaned forward until his mouth was right by your ear. "Do you want my fingers inside you?" he muttered.
You nodded your head quickly. "Y-yes. Yes, Leon, please," you stammered.
His fingers withdrew from your clit, and you whined at the momentary loss of contact. Then your pleasure doubled as two fingers slid easily into you. They curled inside you, hitting the spot Leon knew drove you wild. All the while, the heel of his hand continued to press against your clit. Your hips rolled against his hand, sending a shockwave of pleasure through your body. The tightness in your abdomen continued to grow as your hips rocked against his hand faster and harder.
"Let go, baby," he said. The gentle encouragement was enough to send you over the edge. The coil snapped and you came with a cry, walls clenching around thick fingers.
Dizzy with pleasure, your head came forward to rest against his shoulder as his hand withdrew from your center. He stroked your hair as you waited for your breathing to even out.
"You liked that?" he teased.
You let out a small laugh. "Very much."
You could still feel how hard he was underneath you. You rolled your hips ever so slightly. He let out a small breath. Eager to give him the same satisfaction he had just given you, you continued your movements, moving yourself up and down his length. The friction of your wet underwear against his jeans was enough to get you worked up again. You could tell it was the same for him by the way his breath was growing ragged; you picked up the pace, one hand gripping his shoulder while the other made its way back to your clit. His head tipped back in pleasure, the sound of his moans filling the car.
"I think I - I'm gonna cum again," you panted.
His hands gripped your hips, pushing you down to grind against him even more firmly. His own hips bucked against yours, his breath coming out in pants. He let out a broken moan as you leaned down to attack his neck once more; the sound and feeling of him desperately grinding his clothed dick against your core was enough to send you spiraling into your second orgasm of the night.
He followed immediately after, his firm grip stilling your hips. You watched in excitement as he spilled into his pants, hot release leaving a sticky wet spot on his jeans. The tips of his ears turned pink as he realized what he had just done. A wicked grin spread across your face. "You liked that?" you cooed, repeating his own words back to him.
He threw an arm over his face to hide from you. "Clearly," he muttered in embarrassment.
Still smiling, you pulled his arm away, moving to kiss his cheek sweetly. "Don't be embarrassed," you whispered. "I loved it."
"I know," he said as he regained some composure. His lips pulled upward into a teasing smile. "You came twice."
Unashamed, you captured his lips in a sensual kiss. "Want to see if we can make it three?"
He laughed softly against your lips. "I'll take that challenge."
He deepened the kiss, rubbing his hands up and down your back. You stayed like this for several minutes, enjoying the slower pace. The only two people in the world right now were you and him. Bodies pressed together, sweat clinging to your skin despite the frigid air outside the car.
That illusion shattered when a firm knock on the window sent you both springing apart. It was only then you noticed the flash of red and blue lights. Your heart dropped and you looked at Leon with wide eyes. "Fuck," he sighed as he ran a hand over his face. You made quick work of moving your skirt back down to cover yourself, sliding away to sit as far from Leon as you could. He zipped up his pants and rolled the window down. The officer beamed his flashlight into the backseat.
"Lieutenant Branagh," he greeted his superior, the shame evident in his voice. You glanced over at your boyfriend. His face burned red, and his hands were folded in his lap in a feeble attempt to conceal damp patch on his jeans… and the tent in his pants where his erection had already started to grow again from your little make-out session.
The lieutenant's face was blank as he looked back and forth between the two of you. "Everything alright here?"
Leon looked like a deer in the headlights. "Um…"
"We were just… hanging out," you said. You cringed internally. No way he was buying that.
Marvin sighed and shook his head. "Of course. Why don't you guys… finish 'hanging out' at home?"
"Yes, sir," you both mumbled sheepishly.
"And Rookie," he said, "don't let this happen again." His voice was stern, but you could see the amusement in his eyes. He returned to his vehicle, flipping the lights off and pulling away. Your shoulders sagged in relief.
"That could have been worse."
Leon buried his face in his hands. "Are you kidding me? He's never going to let me live this down."
You shrugged and exited the backseat to move back into the front. Leon started the car back up and pulled back onto the road. "At least it wasn't Chris."
He barked out a laugh. "Yeah, I guess that would have been worse."
Comfortable silence settled in the car as you both relaxed. His hand reached out to intertwine with yours. "So," he began, glancing at you out of the corner if his eye, "when we get home… how about that next round?"
You looked over at him in surprise. "Absolutely," you breathed.
𑣲𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 ─── Far from the village and from the world that once sought to shape your fate, you find peace in the arms of the ancient wolf who saved you. You begin to discover a life neither of you ever thought possible. Now, love becomes something beautifully ordinary.
𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ᣟ𐚁˳ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : WEREWOLF ! LEON KENNEDY x fem!reader, afab! reader, gothic fairytale AU kind of, gothic horror elements, age gap ( leon is literally hundreds of years old), ABO basically, fluff, unprotected p in v, fingering ( f receiving ), lots of talking, if there's something else lmk !!!
݁ᲝAIᲘ ᲝEᲘU | ˖Ი𐑼⋆ 𝐓𝐎𝐊𝐊𝐈 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 🎮 . ᐟ.ᐟ hello everybunny! i'm sosososo glad you all enjoyed the first part of this little series and the world i built. :3 besides this one, there's only one more part left before the story comes to an end, so please keep an eye out for it! i know some of the wording might feel a little unusual, but i did my best to give it that old-timey, gothic fairytale feel. teehee ♡ enjoy !!!
Men have always believed themselves capable of dividing the world.
They drew borders where rivers once wandered freely, they built temples upon sacred ground and named themselves the voices of gods they had never met, they wrote laws on parchment and believed the forest ought to obey them.
Yet the earth has never learned the language of men. The moon does not ask whom it may love before it rises, the river does not turn away the wolf because it has already embraced the lake. Spring does not bloom only for the worthy.
Love, perhaps, is the oldest rebellion of all. Somewhere beyond the reach of church bells and gilded hands, where no map dared stay for long, the river continued its endless song. It did not know of treaties. It did not care for crowns, nor temples, or the names men gave themselves in hopes of feeling important. It knew only the mountains from which it had been born and the sea to which it would one day return.
Perhaps that was freedom. Or maybe freedom was something else entirely. Perhaps it was the feeling of cold water embracing bare skin, of drawing breath without waiting for permission, of loving without asking whether the world would approve.
The forest had given you both that much.
Morning had only just begun. Mist drifted above the surface, soft as breath, while birds hidden somewhere beyond the willows greeted the day with lovely melody.
The current curled around your ankles as you stepped carefully over smooth stones, your dress long abandoned on the grassy bank alongside Leon's torn clothes. The water stole a quiet gasp from your lips, cool enough to make every inch of you shiver before the warmth of the morning sun settled over your shoulders once more.
You smiled to yourself. Leon stood farther, sunlight scattered over the rippling surface, breaking against the broad planes of his shoulders and the countless pale scars that crossed his skin, old stories carved into bark. Some were thin enough to disappear whenever the light shifted, others were jagged, silvered with age. You wondered how many lives they carried.
"It is colder than I imagined." you spoke, laughing softly to yourself.
Behind you, the river hardly seemed to notice another body entering. Leon walked into the current without haste. Water climbed the long lines of his legs as though reluctant to let him pass. His hair, unbound this morning, rested against his shoulders in pale strands that caught the light filtering through the leaves.
He looked less like a man than something the river itself had remembered.
His golden eyes found you almost immediately.
"You will grow used to it."
"I am beginning to believe you say that about everything."
A smile touched the corner of his mouth. "Because it is often true."
You shook your head, though your own smile betrayed you. The current reached your waist now, carrying little ribbons of sunlight around your body. You dipped your hands beneath the surface before splashing cool water over your shoulders.
Leon watched yet not greedily as though every morning he still expected to wake and find the forest had dreamed you into existence.
"What?"
"You are smiling."
Your cheeks warmed. "So are you."
"I rarely smiled before you." You lowered your eyes to the rippling water. "I find that difficult to believe."
"It is no less true."
Silence settled again, but it never asked anything of either of you. The river spoke enough.
You crouched until the water reached your shoulders, sighing as the chill finally became pleasant. When you rose again, your hair clung to your neck in heavy strands. Leon had moved closer without your noticing.
Only an arm length separated you now.
He reached toward you and his fingers brushed a leaf tangled in your damp hair. "It followed you."
You blinked. "A leaf?"
"It appears the forest is unwilling to surrender you, even for a bath."
A laugh escaped before you could stop it. "You tease me."
"I speak only what I witness."
"You are.. impossible."
"So I have been told." He held the little green leaf between two fingers before letting the current steal it away.
"Well—" You watched it drift downstream. "It will find another home.."
"As everything should." His voice was quiet.
You looked up, eyes wide as the noon star. "I think.." You hesitated. "I spent so long believing I belonged nowhere." the confession slipped out "The village never wanted us, the church wished only to use us. Even my own home never truly felt—" You searched for the word. "Safe."
Leon listened without interruption. Now he stepped closer, the water barely reaching the middle of his chest. "It grieves me.." he said softly "That you learned loneliness before you learned peace."
You swallowed. His hand rose to your face, rough fingers brushing a strand of wet hair behind your ear. "But the forest knew." You looked into those impossible golden eyes. "And I knew." Something inside your chest tightened.
"I wish I had known it was you."
"I am glad you did not."
"You are?"
"You spoke freely." His thumb rested lightly against your cheek. "You never feared my judgment. You told me every sorrow your heart carried."
A watery laugh escaped you. "I told you my secrets."
"You entrusted them to a wolf."
Your smile grew. "Perhaps I always trusted you."
His expression softened into something so unbearably gentle it almost hurt to witness.
"I believe–" he murmured "That part of your soul remembered mine long before your mind could."
The water curled around your bodies, carrying away the last traces of dried blood that still lingered beneath your nails even after all these days.
You looked down as the water washed over your hands. "So much has happened."
"It has."
"It almost feels.." You searched again. "As though I have lived two lives." Leon lifted your hand from the river as droplets fell between your joined fingers.
"You have." He turned your palm over then pressed his lips against the center of it. "This one shall be kinder."
You could think of nothing to say as your forehead rested against his chest. The river flowed around you both without complaint, it had been waiting years to carry the reflection of two souls standing where once there had only ever been one.
The forest had begun to remember your footsteps. Where once every thorn had seemed eager to catch your ankles and every branch had an adoration to tangling into your hair they now greeted you with the familiarity reserved for creatures that belonged. The animals no longer startled at your scent and birds resumed their songs long before you had passed. Even the wind had ceased testing you, weaving through your hair with the affection of an old fried.
Maybe the forest had accepted you. Or perhaps it had only followed its king's example.
The days passed without measure and you had stopped counting them after the first week. There seemed little purpose in it now for the world beyond the trees still existed.
That afternoon, rain lingered somewhere beyond the hills, carried upon a breeze that smelled of wet earth long before the clouds themselves arrived like a sleepy prince. Leon walked ahead of you, his broad shoulders parting ferns that slowly rose again after he passed.
You had long since learned that he never wandered without reason. When he stepped away from the familiar trail, you followed without question at first, though before long curiosity overtook your silence. "This is not the way."
"No." His answer came simply.
"We are going elsewhere?" You glanced toward the trees surrounding you. "Have you hunted something?"
A faint smile on rosy lips "No."
He offered nothing more. You sighed softly through your nose, a childish pout on your face. "You are terribly fond of secrets."
"They are only secrets until we arrive."
The climb grew steeper beneath your feet. Moss covered stones emerged from the earth like bones and ivy climbed the trunks so thickly it became difficult to tell where bark ended and vine began.
Then the trees opened and nestled beneath the shelter of the hillside stood a small cabin.
It seemed almost grown rather than built, as though the forest had slowly wrapped its arms around it through the years. One of its wooden shutters hung crooked, stirring gently each time the breeze wandered through the clearing.
"There is... a house?" Leon stopped beside you. "There is."
Your eyes stayed on it. No smoke drifted from the chimney and no footprints disturbed the gravel leading to the door. Even the windows reflected only trees.
"It has been empty for many years."
You approached almost scared, your fingertips brushing across weathered timber worn smooth by rain and countless winters. The wood felt cool beneath your skin. "It doesn't feel abandoned.."
"No." He watched you rather than the cabin itself. "It remembers."
You turned toward him. "What does?"
"The people who once laughed inside it."
You found yourself imagining things that were no longer there. Boots drying beside the hearth, a kettle humming over the angry fire, a little girl humming to herself while snow settled outside.
Ghosts, yes, gentle ones.
Leon pushed the door open. Its hinges protested softly, though not enough to disturb the peace sleeping inside. Dust floated lazily through ribbons of afternoon light. A rough hewn table rested near the hearth, one corner polished smoother than the rest by years of patient hands. A single bed stood beneath the window, covered by a thick wool blanket that time had faded but never stolen. Bundles of dried herbs still hung from the rafters, their fragrance only barely surviving the passing seasons.
Your gaze wandered slowly through the room until it settled upon Leon once more.
"It is beautiful.."
"It is old."
"So are you."
Silence followed, then unexpectedly, Leon laughed. "You have become bold, my dear."
Heat climbed into your cheeks, red as pansies. "I have lived with a wolf for weeks.."
"Ah, a poor influence."
"The worst."
His smile lingered longer this time. You walked farther inside, trailing your fingers across the edge of the table before pausing beside the window. Beyond the glass, the forest stretched endlessly, untouched by walls or roads or church spires.
It was only then that you noticed what Leon had been carrying over one shoulder. A bundle wrapped carefully in linen. He set it upon the table with surprising care before unfolding the cloth. Inside lay simple things. A wooden comb, a warm wool cloak dyed the deep green of pine needles, a pair of sturdy leather boots scarcely worn, a small iron kettle, a basket filled with dried herbs, mushrooms, and berries gathered that very morning.
You stared at them, blushed. "Leon.."
"I thought—" he said quietly "That the forest is home to me because I was born beneath its sky."
His fingers rested lightly against the back of the chair. "But you were not, my brave fawn." You looked up to him. "You deserve more than stones beneath your back every night."
The words settled somewhere deep behind your wild heart. He had thought of it all before you ever had. He had understood that loving the forest did not mean you ceased being human.
Without thinking, you crossed the room, your arms slipping around his waist. For a second he remained completely still, almost startled by the suddenness of it, then his own arms closed around you with a gentleness that belied their strength.
He rested his cheek against the crown of your head, his embrace tightening ever so slightly, as though he feared the wind itself might think to steal you away.
"It is not much."
A quiet laugh escaped you, though it caught somewhere behind the tears gathering in your eyes.
"No..." Your fingers curled into the coarse fabric at his back, holding him just a little tighter. "It is everything." You lifted your gaze around the little cabin once more. It was humble, forgotten by the world. Yet no palace built by kings could ever have felt half as precious. "I love it."
Your voice was scarcely louder than the rain stirring beyond the walls. Leon looked at you for a long while before one of his rough hands rose to cradle your face. His thumb brushed away the tear that had escaped despite your smile.
"You still cry so easily, sweet little girl."
A sheepish laugh slipped from your lips. "These are happy tears.."
"I know." Joy upon your face remained a miracle he had not yet grown accustomed to witnessing. "It suits you far better than sorrow."
His forehead came to rest gently against yours.
"If I spend the rest of my days giving you reasons to smile like this..." he murmured "Then I shall think my long life was finally spent well."
Your heart swelled so painfully you thought it might burst. "I love you.." you whispered. The corners of his mouth softened into that smile which belonged only to you. "I know."
His lips found your forehead in a kiss so tender. "And there is nothing beneath this moon that I cherish more than you."
The cabin door scraped softly against the floor as it opened. You barely looked up from the loaf beneath your hands. "You've taken your time."
Rain answered before he did. A few cold drops found the wooden floorboards, followed by the unmistakable weight of heavy paws crossing the threshold. The scent of damp earth drifted through the little cabin, wrapping itself around the warmth of fresh bread and burning cedar.
"You've been all over the mountain today, haven't you?" you asked, dusting flour from your fingers before glancing over your shoulder.
The words died halfway to your lips as dark pawprints wandered lazily across the floorboards, beginning at the door and disappearing farther into the cabin, as though some woodland spirit had decided to leave its mark upon every plank you'd spent the morning scrubbing.
"Leon—" He had nearly reached the hearth before your voice found him.
The great wolf slowed, turning his head just enough for one golden eye to settle on you. Your gaze dropped to the floor then back to him. "You cannot expect me to believe you did not notice."
For a long moment, nothing happened. The fire cracked behind him, rain hit against the roof then, with complete composure, he resumed walking.
"You truly mean to ignore me?"
You crossed the room, stepping around the muddy prints as though afraid making more of them would somehow make the offence worse.
When you reached him, you planted yourself squarely in his path. "You know..." you began, folding your arms beneath your chest "I was rather pleased with this floor." The wolf looked past you toward the table.
"You are listening?" His ears gave the smallest twitch. "I swept beneath the bed. I moved the table... I even found one of your stockings."
That earned you a little glance from the wolf. "There!" You pointed triumphantly. "So you do hear me!"
Another minute passed before the familiar ripple moved through his body. The broad frame of the wolf gave way to the man you'd come to love, rainwater still clinging to pale hair and broad shoulders alike.
He followed your finger toward the floor, studying the muddy trail with thoughtful seriousness.
"I see."
"You see?"
"I may have left... a few."
"Wh— A few?"
He considered it. "Several."
You let out a laugh that was meant to sound exasperated. "You are— impossible!"
"So you tell me."
"I mean it!"
"I know."
You stooped to reach for the bucket resting beside the hearth. "I suppose I shall fetch more water."
Before your fingers could touch the handle, another hand closed gently around your wrist. "Leave it."
His expression held none of the amusement that had been there only moments before. Instead he studied you with that same impossible tenderness that still managed to leave you breathless, as though every ordinary little thing you did remained a wonder to him.
"I have done something dreadful.." Leon spoke.
"You have.." A frown threads your brows together.
"I ought to make amends."
"I-I should think so.."
He stepped closer, tilting his head. "So stern."
"You have earned it!"
"I believe I have."
You tried to hold his gaze, determined not to surrender so easily. It lasted only until his thumb brushed the dusting of flour from your cheek.
"You have flour.." he said softly, almost to himself.
"I know.." You tut.
"No." His smile was faint. "I do not think you do." His thumb lingered against your hot skin. "It suits you."
"You sly wolf.. You are changing the subject."
"I am."
"And it will not save you."
"No?"
"No!"
He closed the last inch between you. "I fear—" he whispered "I have neglected something more important than your floor."
Your brows lifted. "And what might that be?"
"You." Before you could think of something clever enough to answer, he bent his head and kissed you slowly and his lips were still cool from the rain.
His lips lingered against yours for one lingering heartbeat before he drew away, though not by much.
"Will you permit me to make amends now?"
You looked at him through narrowed eyes, though there was hardly any annoyance left in them. "That depends."
"Upon what?"
"How sincere your apology proves to be."
A thoughtful hum escaped him. "Then I fear words alone shall not suffice."
"No.." you agreed, far too pleased with yourself. "I do not believe they will."
His thumb idly traced the inside of your wrist.
"Then... Will you finally allow me to relieve you of these troublesome skirts?"
"Leon..."
"Or would you sooner keep them on, so that they might remind me of my crimes?"
A laugh threatened to escape before you stopped it.
"Must I get upon my knees and beg your forgiveness, my dear?"
You pretended to consider it. "Perhaps." His brow lifted. "Though not to scrub the floor."
"No?"
You shook your head, unable to stop smiling now. "Leon! You are only teasing me."
"A little."
"Far more than a little!"
His smile remained small, almost secret. "Can you blame me? You are a lovely sight when you are cross."
"I am not cross!"
"No?"
"Not terribly.."
"Ah." His fingers brushed another streak of flour from your cheek. "Then I have already begun to earn my pardon."
"Do not grow so confident."
"I would not dare."
"You are doing it this very moment."
A quiet chuckle escaped him. You looked at him for another long moment before sighing in theatrical defeat. "Do you truly believe you need to ask anything of me?"
Something softened in his expression. "No." Leon admitted quietly. "But I should like to all the same."
"Why?"
"Because what is freely given is a far greater gift than anything taken."
Your heart melted. "I suppose.." lowering your eyes with a smile you could not hide. "I shall allow you the chance to apologize."
Leon's own smile deepened, warm enough to banish the last of the rain from the room.
"Then apologize.." he said softly, taking your hand and bringing it to his lips. "I shall, my sweetest girl."
The easy amusement had gone quiet, replaced by that familiar hunger which always seemed to surface whenever the two of you found yourselves alone. It reminded you, for the briefest of moments, that before he had ever been the man who gave you a home, he had belonged to the forest, the beast many feared.
"Come here." he said softly.
You smiled. "I am already here."
"Clever little thing.." The corner of his mouth lifted. "Closer."
Leon's fingers slipped higher, tracing the length of your arm until they settled at your shoulder. "May I?"
You answered by leaning into him.
"My sweet doe..." His fingertips found the fastening at your shoulder. They lingered there only for a bit before easing it free with patience, never taking his eyes from yours. The fabric loosened beneath his hands, falling ever so slightly, and he paused again, watching you as he pulled on it lower, lower, until your chest lay fully bare before him.
"There you are.." he whispered. You laughed quietly, your face warm beneath his gaze.
"You look at me as though you've never seen me before.."
"That is because.." He bent his head then, pressing a lingering kiss to the hollow of your collarbone before another found the warm skin between your breasts. "I fear I shall never grow accustomed to the privilege." His forehead rested there for a brief moment, as though he wished to remember the sound of your heartbeat, before his arms gathered you gently against him.
"The moon has been generous to me already." he said quietly, leading you toward the warmth of the little bed. "Yet I find myself growing greedy." His smile was small, almost sheepish. "If spring should find you carrying our little ones..." His eyes searched yours "I will count myself the richest soul these woods have ever known." before his mouth latched onto one of your pebbled nipples.
"Oh, Leon.."
"Would your heart welcome such a gift, my dear girl?" He continues, both of you now fully on the bed. "Full of my child.."
"Yes.. I– ah!" Your answer dissolved into a trembling breath as the last of your garments slipped away beneath his rough claws. Leon's gaze lingered.
"You are altogether too pure for me.." he murmured, his voice roughened "It is a cruel thing.. for the thoughts that fill my head are anything but innocent." His kisses wandered lower, lingering over and beneath your ribs before settling against your tummy.
"I do not mind it—" you whispered, fingers disappearing into his pale hair. "You know I do not.."
"Oh, I know." He laughs mean as two thick fingers brushed your lips. "Open."
You opened for him without hesitation. His eyes never left yours as your lips closed around them, your tongue tracing the rough calluses earned from centuries of hunting. Satisfaction flickered across his face before he slowly withdrew them.
Those same fingers drifted lower. He gathered the slick warmth waiting between your folds with slow strokes, spreading it over his hand before gently parting you.
"My lovely girl.."
One finger eased inside. Your breath caught instantly, no matter how many times he'd done it, the feeling always left you breathless.
A second soon followed. "There... Still so tight."
"Oh, my— Leon.."
His thumb stroked the inside of your thigh while his fingers moved, stretching you little by little. His tongue swept hurried across your swollen bud, hungry, impatient. He lapped up thirsty everything you were willing to give.
"I don't think I shall ever get tired of tasting you.." Leon huffs against your glistening cunt while his fingers plunge deep. Your juices coated his fingers and the stubble of his face, soft growls escaping him as he devoured. Your walls squeezed around his thick fingers and he knew you were close. The melody that were your moans while your whole body was writhing urged him on, and in no time you came over the edge, that familiar feeling washing away any and all thoughts.
"That's it.."
Leon withdrew his fingers slowly before lifting them to his swollen lips. Without breaking eye contact, he dragged his tongue across them. His free hand wandered lazily over your body, settling around the softness of your breast before twisting one nipple until you yelped from the pain.
"Leon–" You reached for him, hands catching at his waist, trying to pull him closer.
"So... I have earned your forgiveness?" he laughed beneath his breath and you nod your head. "Please, please.. I forgave you long ago– do not make me wait."
He smiled to himself, quiet and terribly pleased. "Is that so?"
"Yes, yes— it is."
"So I shouldn't keep you waiting any longer.." as he reaches to free his painfully hard cock. "Please don't.." You're already teary eyed.
His length slid against your sopping entrance, teasing and pressing against it but not entering. Your breath stopped for a bit, thighs trembling as you tried to pull him closer, show him how much you needed it, him.
"When have you become this greedy?" and with that he eases himself within your flower, and your whole body vibrates as a sting spreads through it, the sheer size of him still something you have yet to grow accustomed to. Your walls squeeze around him once, twice and he moans a shy sound before plunging straight into you. Your mouth fell open, a trembling cry spilling free as tears shimmered at the corners of your eyes. Shame would have found you, had it not been for the way Leon looked at you, as though you were the finest wonder ever created beneath the heavens.
"I shall never weary of this.." Leon breathed, his voice rough as his hips snapped up, up into you, hitting your cervix dead on. "Never shall I tire of filling you up with my cock, sweet, sweet girl of the moon."
With each relentless thrust, he drew your legs higher upon the broad span of his shoulders, rough hands holding you there effortlessly. Leon's brows knit in concentration, every measured movement guided by an instinct that knew your body almost as well as his own, the tip of his cock perfectly kissing that spongy spot that made your head spin and fill with stars. He was persistent, yes, determined to have you fall apart as many times as your mortal body would allow. One broad hand settled low against your belly, guiding you nearer still, fucking deeper than you had thought possible. The change in your expression did not escape him. Your eyes flew open at once finding his, wide with astonishment.
"L-Leon, I— Mnh!" The words dissolved into a helpless cry as your back arched from the mattress, your fingers twisting helplessly into the soft woollen sheets beneath you.
Wonder softened every line of his face, as though, after all the centuries he had wandered this earth, nothing had ever compared to the sight before him.
"Sweet heavens..." he breathed, scarcely above a whisper. "How has the moon seen fit to bless me so?"
"P-Please do not stop, hah, my—" Whatever words you had meant to speak were lost to breathless fragments, warmth and wonder robbing you of every coherent thought. Whatever enchantment he had woven over your body had claimed you entirely.
"I will not." he breathed, giving the faintest shake of his head. "I could not, even if I were to try, your cunt is— oh, my dear, it is bliss."
With those words, the last of his restraint deserted him. His movements grew desperate, driven by something maybe older than reason itself. A great wave swept through you, stealing the very strength from your already weak limbs.
You trembled beneath him, scarcely able to draw breath, while Leon gathered you against him as though afraid you might come apart entirely. His hands roamed over your shaking frame, soothing what only moments before he had so mercilessly unraveled. His hips did not stop, oh no, for the thought of spring, of the future he had whispered into your ear, had stirred something within him. His movements grew instinctive, untamed, each one punctuated by a rough growl torn from deep in his chest. The sound surrounded you, wild, the language of a creature far older than anything you've known. You barely knew where your own breath ended and his began, your body yielding as he filled you up completely and those animal sounds kept you somewhat awake.
"I pray it takes. May the moon grant it.." he rasped. "No— she will. I know she will. You will bear me strong little ones. I can smell it upon you." He buried his face against your neck, drawing a slow breath before another quiet rumble escaped him.
"This is where you belong. In my arms... filled by me, loved by me, beneath my care."
"Yes, yes.." you nodded helplessly.
His lips found your temple, but there was nothing delicate about the way he held you now. Instinct had claimed him entirely. His arms locked around you, drawing you tight against his body as his movements faltered at last. He buried his face against your throat, breathing you in with famished, uneven breaths, another feral growl vibrating against your skin as he painted your velvet walls with warm spurts, the base of his cock swelling more, more as he pulled you there, allowing you to feel him, well, in your guts.
You lay against him, merely able to keep your eyes open. Every breath came slow, your limbs wonderfully heavy, your cheek tucked beneath his chin where you could hear the steady beat of his heart.
Leon did not move, he only held you. "Too much again?" he asked at last, his voice quieter. You managed the smallest shake of your head. "No..."
The word came little more like a sleepy murmur.
His hand wandered gently through your hair. "Tell me if I have ever asked more of you than you could bear."
"Never, Leon.."
He lowered his head, pressing a lingering kiss against your forehead. Your eyes fluttered open just enough to find his, your breathing evening beneath the shelter of his arms.
"Sleep now, dearest girl." he smiled against your hair. "The forest may wait until morning."
in the year since heeseung first rejected your love confession, you've tried everything to get over him. a trip to europe makes you realize you miss your former best friend more than anything, and it makes heeseung realize he's got it all wrong. (yes this is me but it’s on my old blog.)
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heeseung has been your best friend for as long as you can remember. so begs the question: is there anything wrong with giving your best friend a blowjob on New Year’s Day?
𝔧𝔬𝔫𝔤𝔰𝔢𝔬𝔫𝔤:
KISS IT BETTER — 23.8K
park jongseong is the kind of guy who likes to put his back against the wall to observe everybody before him and he likes the calm high only marijuana can provide when jake forces him out of his bedroom to socialize. enter you: a beautiful enigma in a black mini skirt and the only person who could get him higher than his favorite drug.
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park jongseong has one regret and he's spent his entire life atoning for the pain he caused you. when you walk into office under the premise of working together, he's only got one shot to make things right before it's too late.
𝔧𝔞𝔢𝔶𝔲𝔫:
hard thought: you’re the only exception to jake’s hatred for group work because you get your shit done and he gets to fuck you too.
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Jake Sim is perfect in every way, except for the fact that he hates Christmas. The crush you harbor for your best friend’s roommate intensifies when the rest of your friends ditch you two at the annual holiday carnival and when the big day arrives, you learn that the best present of all has been hiding right under your nose.
𝔰𝔲𝔫𝔤𝔥𝔬𝔬𝔫:
hard thoughts
GO FIGURE
park sunghoon is a never ending reminder that you will never achieve anything he hasn't already. he walks like the sea will part for him and you watch people fall at his feet like he's got all the power in the world ready at his fingertips. the sunghoon you once knew has melted down into an empty shell you can't recognize, taunting you into madness every time you step onto the ice. sunghoon gets on your nerve just as much as you get on his, and the unbridled tension turns from frustration into something neither of you can ignore. you'll be damned if you'd ever let him get in the way of your dream to win an olympic gold medal and you'll do anything it takes to stand on that podium in first place, even if that means your life intertwines with his. go figure.
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For the last six years, you’ve dedicated your career to ensuring Park Sunghoon never misses a day of work in his life. But you’re tired of endless days that seem to blend together, and seeing him living his fun, luxurious lifestyle makes you think about what else you might be missing out on. When Sunghoon finds your resignation letter on his desk, he does everything in his power to convince you to stay.
GROCERY STORE RECEIPTS — 31.5K
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FIXED COMFORT — 4.4K
typically, sunghoon’s the one who takes care of you when you’ve had one too many. but once in a blue moon, he lets his guard down and allows you to care for him the way he does for you.
warnings: mdni! sexual content, dacryphilia, slight dumbification, obsessive love, gentle sex to rough sex, a lot of crying, condescending praise, slight degradation, passionate sex, p in v, unprotected sex (you already know), overstimulation, dom!heeseung.
note: this is a request ! i don’t know why i decided to do this one before all the other ones. i guess i just wanted to write for heeseung and that’s it 🙂↕️🙂↕️ enjoy !!
⋆.˚˖࿔ ࣪
it starts long before he ever lays a hand on you. it starts in the quiet moments where you are just watching him, feeling this terrifying ache in your chest because you realize you would let him completely ruin your life if he asked.
loving heeseung isn’t exactly gentle. it is a sickness, a suffocating obsession that swallowed you whole months ago until there was nothing left of you that didn't belong to him. you track the line of his jaw, the slow rise and fall of his chest when he sleeps, the exact tone of his voice when he calls you baby. every single detail feels like a weight pressing down on your lungs.
you don't just love him. you crave him with a desperation that makes you sick to your stomach. you want to pull him under your skin, to fuse your bones with his so there is no physical space left between you. it is terrifying how much power he has over you without even trying.
and heeseung knows it.
he sees the way your eyes track his every move, the way your breath hitches when he steps into your personal space, the way you practically vibrate with the need to be touched by him. he doesn't pull away from it — he feeds on it. he loves how utterly undone you are for him, how easily he can bring you to the edge with just a heavy glance or a lingering touch. he holds your entire world in his hands and squeezes just tight enough to make you ache, knowing you will only cling to him harder for it.
it is toxic in the sweetest, most inescapable way possible. you are so consumed by the sheer magnitude of what you feel that even when things are peaceful — when his arms are wrapped around your waist and his face is buried in your neck — you are on the verge of breaking. the love is simply too big, too heavy for your body to hold.
and that emotional weight — that sickening devotion — is exactly what bleeds into the way he takes you.
sex between you two was never just physical. it is always a total undoing. a desperate collision where neither of you can ever get deep enough, close enough, or fast enough to satisfy the hunger.
heeseung has learned every single trigger in your body, but more than that, he knows your mind. he knows that the second his hands press into your waist and his weight settles over you, the dam breaks. you cry almost every single time — not from sadness or pain, but because your body literally cannot contain the sheer volume of what you feel when he is touching you. the moment he looks into your eyes, dark and entirely focused on you, the first tear always spills over.
and heeseung is completely addicted to it.
he doesn't pull back when you cry, he thrives on it. the sight of your face flushed, wet with tears, whimpering just because he is loving you, turns him into something ravenous. he treats your tears like proof of your complete surrender. he will pause mid-thrust just to catch a wet trail down your cheek with his tongue, tasting the salt on your skin, whispering sweet, possessive things against your lips.
"look at what i do to you." he would murmur, his voice low and dark, drinking in the sound of your hitched breaths. "you’re so beautiful when you weep for me, y/n."
it is passionate to the point of being suffocating. every kiss feels like he is trying to steal the air straight out of your lungs, every roll of his hips a quiet demand for you to sink deeper into him. he takes his time pulling the tears out of you, worshipping the mess you become until you are sobbing his name into his neck, completely unravelled by his touch.
and tonight is no different.
the air in the bedroom feels thick, almost oppressive, heavy with the unsaid weight of everything you are keeping inside. the only light comes from the faint orange glow filtering through the blinds, casting dark shadows across the mattress where heeseung sits.
he is leaning back against the headboard, just looking at you. he hasn't even touched you yet, but his dark gaze is anchored to your face, tracking the slight tremble in your hands as you sit across from him on the bed.
you feel that familiar tug in your chest — the sickeningly sweet urge to crawl over and beg for his hands on you. your throat feels tight, eyes already burning with unshed tears just from the sheer force of him looking at you like you are the only thing that exists in his world.
he tilts his head, a knowing smirk pulling at the corner of his lips as he notices the faint sheen of wetness in your eyes before a single touch has even been exchanged.
"come here, y/n." he whispers, his voice low and raspy in the quiet room, extending a long-fingered hand toward you. "aw baby… are you already crying for me?"
you don't even hesitate. you crawl across the mattress on your hands and knees, your legs trembling so badly you almost lose your balance. the moment you reach him, heeseung’s long fingers wind around your wrist, tugging you gently up into his lap. you sink into him, burying your face in the crook of his neck, a quiet sob hitching in your throat before he has even slid a hand under your shirt.
"shhh, look at me." he murmurs, his hands warm against your waist as he tilts your chin up. his thumb strokes across your cheek, smearing the fresh tear line. "look at my girl. why are you crying, hmm? i haven't even touched you yet."
"heeseung..." you whimper, your brain completely misfiring. the way he looks at you — so heavy, so focused — makes every coherent thought melt right out of your head. you can't even remember what you wanted to say. all you know is his hands, his scent, his eyes.
"use your words, baby." he coaxes softly, his voice dripping with affection. he presses a melting kiss to the corner of your eye, tasting the salt on your lashes. "tell me what you want."
"i- i don't... i just need you." you stammer out, your voice small and ruined. your hands clutch uselessly at his shoulders, fingers knotting into the fabric of his shirt. "heeseung, please..."
he chuckles, a low rumble against your chest that makes you shiver. "you don't even know what you want? your brain is already turning to mush just looking at me, mmh?"
you nod frantically, resting your forehead against his jaw. "yes... yes, please, heeseung..."
"such a helpless mess for me." he whispers, kissing your cheek, your nose, the corner of your mouth. "i love when you get like this. so soft. so completely out of it."
he moves slowly, excruciatingly so. his hands trace the curve of your sides, pulling you closer until there isn't a single millimeter of air between your bodies. he captures your lips in a kiss that feels too deep — slow and lazy, stealing what little breath you have left.
every stroke of his tongue against yours makes your mind blur even further. you are practically melting in his lap, reduced to nothing but whines and pathetic little noises.
"heeseung, i love you... i love you so much." you sob against his lips, another wave of tears spilling down your cheeks.
"i know, baby." he mutters, pulling back just enough to look at your wrecked face. his eyes burn with a satisfied light as he traces your trembling lower lip with his thumb. "i know you do. you're so full of it, it's making you stupid, isn't it? you can't even think about anything else."
"no..." you whimper, shaking your head, your hands weakly squeezing his arms. "can't think..."
"good." he hums, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath hot against your face. "don't think. just feel me, y/n. just let me fill up your head until there's nothing else left."
he gently shifts you, guiding you back onto the mattress. he settles his weight over you, slow and deliberate, resting his body against yours with a grounding pressure. his hands bracket your head, fingers tangling in your hair as he gazes down at you with that suffocating intensity.
"look at me." he commands softly. you force your tear-blurred eyes open to meet his. "you're mine, right?" he asks, his thumb softly tracing your jawline down to your throat. "tell me who you belong to."
"you." you gasp out, a fresh sob bubbling up from your chest because of how much it hurts to love him this much. "you, heeseung... only you..."
"that's it." he whispers, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to your trembling lips. "that's my sweet girl. so empty, so pretty crying for me..."
he doesn't hurry to take off his clothes. instead, his long fingers slip under the hem of your shorts, sliding slowly up your inner thigh. the touch makes you shudder so hard your hips lift off the bed automatically, a soft gasp hitching in your throat.
"shhh, stay still for me." he murmurs, his thumb catching a slow tear that spills over your lash line. he brings his thumb to his lips, licking the wet salt off his skin right in front of you.
"heeseung..." you whimper, shaking your head against the pillow. your brain feels like thick syrup, completely bogged down by the heat in his eyes.
"tell me what's happening in that pretty little head." he coaxes, his hand finally reaching the soaked cotton of your underwear. he doesn't pull them down yet, he just presses his palm flat against your core, rubbing in slow circles over your wet fabric. "can you even hold a thought right now, baby?"
"no..." you sob, a high noise escaping your lips as the pressure makes your thighs twitch. "can't..."
"such a stupid girl for me." he praises condescendingly, a fond smirk pulling at his lips. "you get so dumb the second i touch you."
he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your shorts, dragging them down your legs along with your underwear, leaving you completely exposed under his hungry gaze. you try to bring your knees together out of reflex, but his broad hand immediately catches the inside of your thigh, pressing it firmly back down against the mattress.
"don't hide from me." he instructs softly, his voice leaving no room for argument. "i want to see how wet you get just crying for me."
his fingers slide down into your warmth, slicking two fingers in your wetness before sliding them agonizingly slow inside you. you arch off the bed instantly, a loud sob tearing from your throat as your hands frantically claw at his arms.
"oh, wow..." he hums, watching your face twist in overwhelmed pleasure. he curls his fingers inside you, hitting that sensitive spot until your vision goes completely blurry with tears. "you’re soaking wet just from loving me so much."
he leans down, taking his time to tongue away the heavy tears running down your jawline and neck while his hand keeps a relentless rhythm inside you. every curl of his fingers pulls another pathetic whine out of you, your body trembling so hard your muscles feel like liquid.
"heeseung- please, it's too much-" you cry out, hands weakly pulling at his shoulders.
"too much?" he hums against your wet cheek, sounding thoroughly amused. "we haven't even started, baby. you can't handle anything, can you?"
he slides his fingers out, leaving you cold and aching for a split second, before he shifts down between your thighs. you gasp, trying to lift your head, but he places a broad hand on your stomach, holding you firmly in place as he leans down and buries his face between your legs.
the first sweep of his warm tongue against your clit makes you scream softly, your legs locking up as shockwaves rush straight up your spine. he licks you slowly, lapping up your slick like you are something sweet he has been dying to taste all day.
"heeseung! no, heeseung- oh god-" you sob, thrashing weakly under his weight, but his hand on your stomach keeps you completely pinned.
he pulls back just for a second, his mouth slick and shining in the dim light. "shhh... quiet down, baby. let me taste how much you love me. open up for me."
he goes back in, his tongue working over your clit in long strokes while he slides two fingers back inside you, pumping them in a rhythm that drives you straight off the deep end. it is too much sensation — the heat of his mouth, the stretch of his fingers, the overwhelming weight of loving him so fiercely that it feels like your heart is bursting. tears pour endlessly down your face, soaking into the pillow under your head.
your brain completely shuts down. there are no words left, no thoughts, just the blinding white heat of overstimulation threatening to snap your nervous system in half. every stroke of his tongue pulls another sob, another desperate plea from your lips that you don't even realize you are making.
"that's it." he mumbles against your folds, his voice muffled and deep. "get all ruined for me."
he works you until you are whimpering softly, your hips helplessly bucking against his mouth, entirely overwhelmed and clinging to the edge of an unbearable peak. just as your body starts to coil tight enough to break, he slowly pulls his fingers out and drags his tongue up your center one last time before sliding back up your body.
he hovers over you, his mouth glistening, his eyes dark and entirely satisfied as he looks down at your wrecked face. you are practically hyperventilating, your chest heaving, tears streaming down into your ears.
"look at my pretty girl." he whispers, petting your damp hair back from your forehead. "fuck baby… i’m getting so hard from watching you cry."
"heeseung..." you sob weakly, reaching up with trembling hands to touch his face, your mind completely turned to mush. "please... please fill me up... i need you..."
"i know you do." he hums, kissing your crying lips, letting you taste yourself on his mouth. "i'm going to take such good care of my sweet girl."
he shifts between your knees, and for all his mocking composure earlier, his hands are shaking against your thighs. he is just as ruined by this as you are — completely undone by the sight of your wrecked face, the wet sheen on your skin, and the bottomless depth of how much you worship him. his chest heaves against yours, his dark eyes wide and unhinged, burning with a desperation that matches the fever in your own blood.
"y/n..." he breathes out, a desperate rasp that vibrates straight into your chest. "look at what you’re doing to me."
he lines his tip up against your swollen entrance. he doesn't just push in, he sinks into you with excruciating slowness, his throat catching on a ragged groan as your body stretches around him. you arch your back, a strangled sob tearing through your lips because your nervous system is already so completely fried, so overstimulated from his tongue and fingers, that the sudden fullness of him feels almost unbearable.
"heeseung-" you choke out, fresh tears spilling out in hot streams. "heeseung, please, it hurts- i love you so much-"
"i love you too, baby." he stammers against your lips, kissing you with a frantic sweet intensity, drinking down your sobs like a dying man. his long fingers tangle into your hair, holding your head still as he slow rolls his hips, pushing all the way inside until there isn't a single breath of space left between you. "it hurts me too. it fucking kills me how much i love you."
he pauses deep inside you, buried to the hilt, just trembling against your body. his face drops into the crook of your neck, his mouth hot and wet against your skin as he keeps licking up every stray tear that trickles down your jawline. he is addicted to the salt, addicted to the sound of your whimpers, completely intoxicated by how easily he can turn your brain into complete white noise.
"you're so soft." he murmurs, his tone shifting into that condescending purr even while his own voice shakes with need. "such a stupid girl for me... look at how your mind just completely shuts off the second i put myself inside you. can you give me one single thought?"
"no... can't..." you whimper, clutching at the broad line of his back, your fingers digging into his warm skin like you are trying to anchor yourself in a storm. "just... just you..."
"mmh." he whispers, a dark smile pressing against your skin as he begins a slow, deep rhythm. every push is languid, thick, and heavy, making your hips twitch helplessly beneath him. "nothing in that pretty little head except me."
he pulls almost all the way out, letting you feel the cold void of his absence for a fleeting second, before sinking back in.
"heeseung, please- i'm dying, please-"
"you're not dying, sweet girl." he hums, his tone dripping with patronizing affection as his thumb reaches up to gently trace your wet lower lip. "you're just drowning in how much you love me."
he leans up, pinning your wrists to the mattress beside your head, his knuckles white with the force of his grip. his face is flushed, his dark eyes locked onto yours with a terrifyingly sharp devotion. he is breathing so heavily his chest slams against yours with every thrust, matching your frantic heartbeat.
"i need you to look at me while you cry." he commands, his voice dropping an octave, raspy and dark. "let me watch you fall apart. let me see how stupid i make you."
you force your tear-stained eyes open, your vision blurred and swimming with salt, but all you can see is him. heeseung. the center of your universe, the sickness swallowing you whole. a fresh sob bubbles up, racking your whole frame as he rolls his hips deep into that sensitive spot inside you.
"that's my girl." he groans, his own composure snapping just a little more as he sees the raw devotion in your eyes. "cry harder for me, y/n. show me how completely i've ruined you."
but even through the hazy fog of your overstimulated brain, you can feel the rigid tension vibrating through his entire frame. you can feel the way his thighs are locked, the way the muscles in his arms are straining against the mattress to keep from crushing you. he is holding back. even with his eyes looking so unhinged, so violently consumed by you, he is gripping your wrists to anchor himself, forcing his hips to maintain that torturously measured rhythm because he thinks you will break.
you look up at him through the heavy blur of tears, your chest heaving so violently it hurts. you don't want his restraint. you don't want him to be careful with you when your whole soul is screaming to be completely consumed by him.
"heeseung..." you choke out, your voice cracking on a pathetic sob. you twist your wrists in his grip, wanting him to feel how desperately you are chasing his touch. "don't... don't hold back. please. you can be rough... ruin me, heeseung. please."
he freezes for a fraction of a second, his breath hitching so sharply it sounds like a gasp. his dark eyes lock onto yours, wide and completely feral, his jaw clenching so hard the muscle feathers under his skin.
"rough?" he rasps out, his voice dropping into something terrifyingly dark, completely stripped of that gentle warmth. "baby, you're already crying like a fucking baby just from me moving slow."
"i don't care." you sob, your hips lifting off the bed in an uncoordinated tilt, begging for the fullness of him. "please... go harder... i want it. love me harder."
that is the final thread of his control snapping.
heeseung lets go of your wrists, his broad hands immediately flying down to your waist, his fingers digging so deep into your skin that it hurts. he drags his hips all the way back, pulling nearly completely out of your soaking warmth, before slamming back into you with punishing force.
a loud scream tears from your throat, completely muffled as heeseung drops his mouth onto yours, devouring the sound in a messy kiss. the pace snaps instantly. the agonizingly slow rolls are gone, replaced by a frantic rhythm that rattles right through your bones.
he drives into you hard and fast, his chest slamming against yours with a bruising weight. every single thrust forces a breathless sob from your chest, tears flooding out of your eyes so quickly they soak your entire face.
"fuck, y/n... look at you." he growls against your skin, his voice rough and breathless as he pulls back. his hair is completely messy, falling into his eyes, sweat dripping from his jaw onto your flushed chest. his composure is totally gone, replaced by a feral desperation. "you wanted this? you wanted me to fucking ruin you? look at how you're choking on it."
he hits you deep, hitting that breathless spot again and again until you are hyperventilating beneath him. his words get meaner, rougher, but the sheer passion in his voice is suffocating.
"you're so fucking tight. it’s ridiculous how good you feel." he pants, his hands sliding down to grip your thighs, pinning them wide against his hips as he rams into you without an ounce of mercy. "stretching you out so fucking deep... i'm going to make you lose your mind, y/n. you're mine. you don't belong to anyone else."
"heeseung- ah! heeseung, please-" you wail, your head shaking frantically against the pillow, your vision completely drowning in salt.
"i fucking love you." he snaps out, the words torn straight from his chest as he buries himself into you, making your whole body shudder. "i love you so much it makes me crazy, y/n. it fucking ruins me. tell me you love me too. sob it out for me, baby. let me hear how much you need me."
"i love you- i love you so much, heeseung, oh my god-" you scream out, your hands clawing blindly at his wet shoulders, completely overstimulated. the friction is blinding, your nervous system completely shorting out under the sheer speed and force of him. you can't think, you can't breathe, you are nothing but a shaking extension of his brutal rhythm.
"such a good little mess for me." he groans, a dark praise slipping from his lips as his rhythm gets even faster, meaner, pushing you straight over the edge. "cry harder for me, y/n. let me fuck you until you can't even remember your own name."
the words are barely out of his mouth before the final shift happens.
heeseung hitches your legs up high, pinning your knees almost to your chest to expose you completely, destroying any remaining distance between your bodies. the angle lets him drive in even deeper, bottoming out against you with an unrelenting speed that makes the bed creak violently against the wall. you are completely helpless under him, your hips forced to take every single bruising thrust.
"heeseung- i'm- i'm going to-" you scream out, your voice completely shattered, your fingers clawing weakly at the damp bedsheets as the white-hot tension inside you coils tight enough to snap.
"come for me, baby." he growls, his voice an unhinged command right against your ear. his breath is scorching hot, his chest soaking wet with sweat as it slams relentlessly into yours. "break for me. let me feel how much you fucking love me."
with one more brutal strike, your body completely gives out. the orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave, violent and blinding. your internal muscles clamp down around his cock in tight waves, and a high-pitched sob tears from your throat. you weep hysterically, the sheer physical and emotional overload fracturing what little sanity you had left. your vision goes totally black, tears pouring down your temples and soaking into the mattress as you shake uncontrollably.
but heeseung doesn't stop.
he groans out loud, his eyes widening in feral pleasure as your body squeezes him. instead of slowing down to let you breathe, he locks his jaw and drives right through your climax, his rhythm getting even meaner.
"heeseung, please! stop- i came! it's too much-" you wail, thrashing your head from side to side, your voice entirely ruined. your nerve endings are raw, and every single hard thrust against your hyper-sensitive core feels like an electric shock straight to your brain. it's pure overstimulation, a sensation so intense it makes your stomach flip.
"i can't, y/n, fuck... i can't stop." he pants, his voice desperate, entirely swallowed by his own unhinged obsession. he grips your waist so tight his knuckles turn white, forcing himself deep inside your spasming warmth over and over again. "you feel too fucking good. i know you can give me one more, baby."
he leans down, pressing his face into the wet mess of your neck, his mouth open as he devours your frantic sobs. heeseung is completely unraveled, his own release chasing him down, driven insane by the way you are weeping beneath him.
"i love you." he chokes out, the words sounding almost like a confession of pain, raw with a devotion that borders on terrifying. "i love you so much, y/n. look at what you do to me. i'm going to fill you up so deep you'll never forget how much you belong to me."
"please- heeseung-" you whimper, completely dumbfounded by the pleasure, your brain turned useless as he continues to wreck your overstimulated body. you can't form a thought, you can't even process the physical sensation anymore — all you know is the suffocating weight of his body, the brutal rhythm of his hips, and the absolute certainty that you would let him ruin you like this forever.
every trace of his usual control is officially gone, melted away by the sound of your hysterical sobbing and the tight pulsing of your walls around him. he lets out a loud moan against your neck, a sound so raw and uninhibited it makes your stomach drop. he is not just taking you anymore, he is drowning in you, driving himself into your sensitive core with a blind desperation. he hitches your thighs up high, draping your trembling legs over his broad shoulders so your hips are tilted back at an agonizing angle, exposing the slick heat of your core completely to his dark gaze.
he plunges back in, a devastating stroke that bottoms out so deep you can feel the blunt stretch of him in your gut. the sound of wet skin clapping against skin is loud and frantic, keeping perfect time with the violent rattle of the headboard against the wall.
"fuck... ah, y/n..." he moans out, the sound deep and completely uninhibited, escaping his throat in rough gasps as he drives into you again. his thighs are shuddering against yours, his entire body throwing its weight into a punishing pace. "you're so fucking tight... god, it's so hot inside you."
"heeseung- ah! heeseung, please!" you scream out, your voice completely shattered, your fingers clawing weakly at the damp bedsheets. the relentless friction of his pelvis grinding hard against your swollen clit with every deep plunge sends blinding white sparks behind your eyelids. you try to arch away, just to catch your breath, but heeseung’s broad hands clamp down onto your waist like iron vices, pinning you to the mattress.
"don't move away from me." he growls, his voice a raw command right against your ear. "take all of it. you asked for this, didn't you? tell me you wanted me to fuck you this hard."
"yes- yes, please, heeseung, i love you- oh god, i love you so much." you sob hysterically. the sheer physical and emotional overload is too much, your tears completely soaking your face, tracking down your neck and pooling onto the sheets.
"i fucking know, baby." he stammers against your skin, his voice cracking with a terrifyingly deep passion. he leans up, his face flushed a deep crimson, his eyes totally blown out with lust as he looks down at your wrecked face. "it drives me crazy how much you love me. it makes me want to completely tear you apart."
he drives inside you even faster, hitting that breathless spot until your internal walls clamp down around him, forcing a second orgasm to rip through your core. a broken wail tears from your throat, your whole body shaking uncontrollably.
but heeseung just lets out a loud groan, his jaw clenching so hard the veins in his neck bulge. your climax only makes him wilder once more, he refuses to slow down, driving right through your release with short thrusts that completely short-circuit your brain.
"heeseung, stop- i'm coming again! it's too much-" you whimper, completely dumbfounded by the sheer overstimulation.
"but you feel too fucking good." he groans out loudly, a dark chuckle hitching in his chest despite how completely unraveled he is. he grinds his pelvis hard against yours, rubbing relentlessly against every raw nerve until you are wailing. "squeeze me, baby. keep squeezing me just like that while you cry for me."
he leans down again, his mouth open as he devours your frantic sobs, tasting your salt and sweat.
"so helpless... crying so hard because you can't handle how much i love you. tell me who you belong to, y/n. tell me whose name is stuck in your head."
"god, yes... ah... god, y/n... yes..." he roars out loudly, his voice completely breaking as his entire body goes rigid.
he cocks his hips forward one last time, burying his length to the absolute hilt with a bruising force that leaves you entirely breathless. a long groan escapes his lips as he releases inside you, his thighs twitching violently as he spills his hot cum deep into your pulsing core, holding you pinned beneath him until you are both nothing but a tangled mess.
he stays collapsed on top of you for a long time, his chest rising and falling in ragged gasps against yours. the room is entirely silent except for the sound of your quiet whimpers and the wet friction of his skin against yours as he slowly slips out, leaving you instantly cold and completely empty.
your body is still twitching from the aftershocks, your nerve endings so fried that even the cool air of the bedroom feels like too much on your highly sensitized skin. tears are still leaking steadily from your swollen eyes, catching in the messy strands of hair stuck to your flushed cheeks.
heeseung shifts, rolling onto his side and pulling your trembling body right against his chest. his long fingers are surprisingly gentle now as they sweep the damp hair away from your forehead. he tilts your chin up, forcing you to look at him with your blurred vision.
"look at my baby." he whispers, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as he uses his thumb to smear a fresh tear across your cheek. his voice has returned to that low purr, full of absolute satisfaction. "still weeping for me. you can't even move."
you just nod weakly against his chest, clutching at his shoulder with fingers that have no strength left. you are completely exhausted, hollowed out by the sheer magnitude of how much you worship him.
"my messy girl." he murmurs, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your wet eyelid, tasting the last of your salt. he wraps his arms around you even tighter, burying his face in your hair and anchoring you to him so completely that you can barely breathe. "sleep now, y/n. i’ve got you. you don't need to think about anything else ever again."
*pairing: pervy wolf hybrid Jake x human student girl
*trope: popular playboy x nerdy girl-tutoring
*inspiration: off campus book 1
*synopsis: Jake only had one problem: History. He's always been good at any subject, especially since balancing being the captain of the football team and studying engineering is no walk in the park, but his lack of history could compromise everything, and when he saw a girl holding the text with the word 100 written on it, he realized that you could be his only chance of getting through that damned subject.
But what would it sweat if tutor sessions began to become moments where he could be himself, where you began to open up after a long time to a person and discover that jake wasn't as much of a womanizer and you weren't as broken as you thought you were?
*tags: Jake is a playboy at first but after a while you arouse his curiosity, Y/n at first is skeptical of letting Jake into her life, Y/n suffered violence in high school (I won't write anything about this act also because my stories have to be a fun) many kisses, Jake is a wolf hybrid and little by little he will become territorial but also clingy with Y/n, Y/n thinks she's broken but Jake will trust her both intimately and physically, visual masturbation, protected sex, unprotected sex (dont' horny ppl) knotting, jealousy, possession, sucking to claim Y/n, declaration, +18, little bit angst, pet names (jakey) (baby, sweetheart)
banner by: @eightnyn *wc: 37k
The Contemporary History classroom was packed with students, and Jake was there, neither at the front nor at the back, but right in the middle, where he could observe everyone.
His knee wouldn’t stop bouncing with anxiety, his wolf ears were perked up, and his tail, just like his knee, twitched with every breath he took and you’re probably wondering: ears and a tail? Well, yes—he was a hybrid, specifically a wolf hybrid. For decades now, humans had shared everything with hybrids: from everyday jobs to school lessons, from apartments to entire neighborhoods where humans and hybrids lived side by side without resistance. Mixed couples were even trendy by now—no, more than trendy, they were fully accepted in society, especially in big cities. You could see them everywhere: in malls, restaurants, or parks, with hybrid children, kids with rabbit ears or fox tails playing alongside human ones and that sight warmed Jake’s heart more than anything, because hybrids had endured so much racial discrimination and persecution but finally, things were changing, and he had played a small part in that revolution.
In that classroom, humans were still the majority, but that was normal, especially at the university, where hybrids like him had only been admitted a few years earlier. Jake, however, was an exception: about a year ago, he’d been elected captain of the soccer team, the first hybrid to ever hold that position. Thanks to him, the number of hybrids in both recreational and competitive sports had risen. One of his best friends, Heeseung a hamster hybrid had even followed in his footsteps and become captain of the basketball team.
But back to the present: Jake was in that half-anxious state because the professor was handing back the history exams. Let’s just say that, as an engineering student, he didn’t care much for the subject—especially since it was just an elective. But it carried a lot of credits, and the reason he disliked it was simple: his engineer’s mind thrived on logic, formulas, structural calculations, and precise physical dynamics things with no room for interpretation. History, with all its dates, nuanced socio-political contexts, and long texts to memorize, just felt like a waste of time to him… even if he did find the revolutions between humans and hybrids fascinating.
Still, he needed to pass all his classes to stay captain of the university team and to catch the attention of scouts from the big professional leagues, who didn’t tolerate academic slippage. He had to be the perfect student and the perfect player. So when the professor approached his desk, her expression was almost apologetic, as if she knew the potential of the young man in front of her. Jake did have excellent grades in every subject… except hers.
The test paper slid across the wooden desk, and at the top—circled in red marker (a color that, unfortunately for him, was not in his pendant) was a glaring 45 out of 100 and to make matters worse, it wasn’t even close to passing.
The professor peered at him over her glasses and said, “Jake, I hope for your sake that next time you at least manage a basic passing grade. Otherwise, I’ll have to report this to Coach, and we all know how strict Coach Smith is about academic performance.”
He nodded, and his tail suddenly stopped moving, drooping down and tucking itself under the chair. He nearly slumped over his desk, staring at that disastrous grade. His right hand fidgeted nervously through his soft hair, right at the base of his tense ears, as if trying to ease the tension. He sighed heavily, racking his brain for solutions but there were none. All his closest friends were in different majors, and if he didn’t find a fix fast, his soccer dream would be over before it even began.
Unbeknownst to him, just a few rows away sat a girl twirling her pen, completely unbothered about her history test grade. She watched the professor intently as she moved between the desks, papers in hand.
Suddenly, you felt a sharp elbow nudge from your best friend. “Stop staring at the professor!” Allie hissed. “She probably saved your test for last, one of the first three she’s handing out just so she can praise you in front of everyone. We all know you’re the biggest nerd in here.”
You rolled your eyes, exasperated but amused, as Allie sat there sipping her fruit smoothie her latest attempt at this “fructarian” diet, while her own test, a modest but honest 70, lay forgotten beside her. With absolute nonchalance, she scrolled through an online sexy shop store, browsing through undeniably sexy sets at prices that would make any other girl’s wallet tremble...but not hers.
“Stop looking at your phone,” you whispered back, giving her a light shove. “If the professor saw you scrolling through a sex shop right now, she’d have a heart attack. I bet she doesn’t even know the difference between a thong and a Brazilian.”
Allie let out a snort, nearly spitting her drink all over the guy in front of her. She slammed her phone down on the desk just in time, because the professor finally stopped in front of you, her face breaking into a full, thirty-two-tooth grin.
“Y/n, I’m not even surprised anymore,” she said. “But you know I struggle to give out perfect scores. Still, this last test of yours on the Cold War and the geopolitical dynamics of the Soviet bloc… it’s simply flawless. The knowledge you’ve shown, the historical interpretations, even the extra research you included on the Cuban Missile Crisis...it’s all perfect. I’m so proud to have you in my class. It’s a shame you’re not majoring in history, because if you were, you’d be unstoppable.”
You smiled, thinking about how everyone had always told you to study history or political science but your love for music was stronger. “Well, it’s my job to study, get good grades, and give it my all especially in history, since you know it’s one of my favorite subjects,” you said shyly, feeling the eyes of half the class turn toward you.
Then the paper slid onto your desk, revealing a bold, perfect 100 in red ink. Allie, ever the dramatic one, blurted out way too loudly: “Holy shit, you actually got a 100?! We studied together the whole time...how the hell did I only get a 70? Okay, I’m not complaining, but damn, Y/n!” She stared at you, eyes wide, lower lip jutting out like a wounded puppy. You shrugged, suddenly self-conscious under all the attention, and tried to cover the test with your hands but Allie was faster—she snatched it right out from under you, held it up to her face, and before you could protest, she’d already pulled out her phone, snapped a crystal-clear photo of the red 100, and sent it to your friend group chat, roasting you for being such a nerd.
Your phone buzzed nonstop with the incoming messages from your friends, all teasing you affectionately. Meanwhile, a few rows back, a pair of wolf ears suddenly perked up, drawn by the noise and the word “100.” Who the hell had gotten a 100? It was practically impossible in an elective class. His amber eyes locked onto your back, and in that moment, he realized he’d just found his only lifeline to passing Contemporary History.
Jake couldn’t look away. Not even when the bell rang, signaling freedom. His mind was consumed by a single thought: He had never seen anyone get a perfect score in his entire university career and when he saw you stand up, followed by the blonde girl he assumed was your best friend, his instincts flared to life. The wolf in him, the one that drove him to chase, to track down what was vital for his survival (or in this case, his scholarship) awoke with a jolt. Because let’s be real: in his life, there was only room for one thing: Soccer
And at the thought, a surge of adrenaline shot down his spine, making his ears snap forward and his tail muscles twitch back to life, swinging wildly with excitement at the idea of meeting you.
He shot to his feet, shoving his notebook haphazardly into his bag without even zipping it shut. Weaving through the maze of wooden desks, he spotted you stepping into the university’s main atrium. Jake quickened his pace, using his athlete’s stride, until he was just a few steps behind you, right in the middle of the chaos: students switching classes, others heading to the campus bars.
“Hey, Chloe!” he called out, loud enough to be heard, throwing out a random name he’d picked up somewhere in the classroom. The truth was, he had no idea what your name actually was and, honestly, he’d never seen you at one of his famous Friday night parties, nor cheering from the stands during league matches. That fact unsettled him a little… but it also piqued his curiosity.
Of course, you didn’t turn around, because, obviously, your name wasn’t Chloe. You just kept walking and talking to Allie. But Jake wasn’t about to give up. He took two quick steps forward and tried again, this time stretching out a hand to intercept you.
“Hey, Chloe! I’m talking to you!” he said, a little louder this time.
Finally, you spun around. And that was the moment Jake saw you up close for the first time, no filters, no distance of desks between you. A lightning-fast thought shot through his mind: Damn. Not only is she a terrifyingly smart nerd, but she’s also ridiculously cute. He took in your eyes, framed by a faint shadow of annoyance, as they swept over him from head to toe, far from impressed by the figure smiling at you.
“You mean me?” you asked, pointing at your chest with one finger, while Allie stopped beside you, staring at him in confusion.
“Yeah, you,” Jake confirmed.
You rolled your eyes. “Well, for starters, my name is Y/n. Not Chloe… you weren’t even close.” You looked at him bluntly, and at those words, Jake’s wolf ears drooped slightly, flattening against his soft hair in embarrassment. Before he could apologize or come up with one of his usual ready-made excuses, a sharp, ironic voice cut in from beside you.
“Jake Sim is seriously talking to Y/n? What’s this, did you come here to ask for more signatures to sponsor your precious soccer team? Or were you sent by your little basketball buddy, Heeseung, to do his dirty work? Because if you’re here for charity signatures, we’re not interested. The university’s already cutting tons of funding from both the theater and music majors because of you and your best friend,” Allie said, her expression dripping with disdain.
Jake’s head snapped toward the blonde, annoyed by the intrusion but forcing himself to keep his cool. “No,” he replied, straightening up and turning back to you, locking his eyes onto yours. “I’m here because I need to talk to Y/n. About something important.”
At his direct statement, you instinctively crossed your arms over your chest, pressing them tightly as if creating an invisible shield between you and him, a gesture born from deep insecurity and the trauma you still carried inside. The sudden movement didn’t go unnoticed by the hybrid in front of you.
Jake distinctly felt your heartbeat speed up. At the same time, his nose picked up the sudden shift in your scent: the clean aroma of your skin was abruptly overpowered by a sharp, acidic trail, the unmistakable feromone signature of discomfort, mixed with a warm, suffocating note of pure embarrassment. The unwanted attention and physical proximity of an alpha male, especially one like him, had triggered it.
He ran a hand through his brown hair, furrowing his brow deeply as he studied your reaction with a mix of perplexity and concern. His wolf side picked up on your distress like an alarm signal. Why does my mere presence make her feel so threatened or uncomfortable? He wondered. Usually, girls fell over themselves to get a word or a glance from him.
You looked first at Allie, then back at Jake, eager to end this situation as quickly as possible and head to the café for your caramel macchiato in peace.
“Allie, wait for me at the usual faculty café. This’ll take two minutes,” you said with a smile to your best friend. Allie eyed Jake with suspicion, weighing whether to leave you alone or not, then slowly nodded. “Fine, I’ll get your usual,” she said, but as she walked away, turning her back on you, she shot Jake a final, fierce warning glance, one that carried a crystal-clear message: Don’t be stupid, or this will end badly for you.
Left alone with him in the atrium, you immediately took two steps back, putting more distance between you and Jake. You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, clutching your books against your chest, and fixed your gaze on him.
“So, Jake Sim, you’ve got two minutes. Tell me what you want.”
Jake studied you carefully, analyzing every tiny movement. His tail gave a slight, excited wag from side to side at finally having your attention, but he stopped it instantly, not wanting to reveal even that small loss of composure. He cleared his throat and said:
“Yeah, well… sorry for calling you Chloe. I just didn’t remember your name.”
You merely responded with a sharp nod, and Jake realized he needed to get to the point before time ran out. So, he decided to pull out the big guns: he unleashed his full Playboy charm, squaring his muscular shoulders and tilting his head slightly to the side with a crooked, magnetic smile. Along with his posture, his hybrid nature did the rest—without realizing it, he released a subtle but intense trail of reassuring pheromones into the air around you. A warm, clean scent filled the space, a mix of citrus and something salty, blended with his natural hybrid scent. It was the kind of biological chemistry wolves used to charm people, lower their defenses, and make them instinctively feel safe and drawn to them, but he didn’t yet know that with you, it would be extremely difficult.
“I saw you got a 100 on that test earlier, and first of all, congratulations. Seriously… not everyone can pull off a score like that in an elective class,” he said, taking an almost imperceptible step closer to you. “And second… I was wondering if you’d be willing to tutor me. I know a lot of people do it for academic credits, but I figure you’ve probably got enough of those already, if you scored a 100, you’re probably acing all your major classes. Or maybe for money? So I was wondering if you’d give me private lessons. I desperately need to pass Contemporary History. Especially since it’s an extra-curricular subject for me, and it’s worth double the structural credits. If I don’t pass… I’m screwed.” He finished with a crooked little smile, but you didn’t take the bait.
The trauma you’d experienced in high school had made you completely immune to the shameless charm of popular guys, and your mind rigidly resisted even his wolf pheromones, pushing them away like a self-defense mechanism. You looked at him with no emotion at all. “Thanks for the compliment on my grade, but no. I don’t tutor anyone. And as you’ve already figured out, I’ve got all the credits I need, and even if we’re talking about money, which, sure, every student could use—I’ve got a ton of studying for my own classes. Plus, I’m in the university choir, and that takes up a lot of time because I’m studying music.” You said all this while keeping your gaze lowered, almost avoiding his face, focused instead on the colorful bookmarks invading your notes. This total indifference deeply unsettled him.
Jake was used to humans hanging on his every word, to girls who would pay just to spend an hour alone with the team captain. Being rejected like this without so much as a glance wounded his alpha male pride and confused him. Sensing that you might not even like his presence, he took a step back, furrowing his brow, and blurted out in one breath:
“Is it because I’m a hybrid that you don’t want to tutor me? Or because you think that, as the soccer team captain, I’m just another shallow idiot who can’t balance engineering studies with training?”
At those words, your eyes widened, struck by how suddenly vulnerable and frustrated his voice sounded as he looked at you. You responded with a flurry of gestures: “No, no! It’s not that at all!” you exclaimed sincerely. “Even if a human had asked me, I would’ve said no, Jake. I’m really sorry… especially because I know balancing engineering studies and being the soccer team captain comes with a lot of pressure ut if you check the bulletin board in the atrium or the university’s official forum, in the history section, I bet you’ll find a tutor way better than me…I…I’ve got to go now, yeah, I’m meeting Allie.”
You said this with slightly flushed cheeks, still not looking him in the face, and began walking quickly down the hallway, almost hunching your shoulders as if afraid he might follow you or reach out to stop you. His fully matured wolf instincts immediately picked up on something strange in your sudden flight. His nose caught that your scent was no longer just annoyed; now it carried a clear trail of fear, and maybe even something vulnerable, and Jake didn’t understand why.
They called him the golden boy of campus for a reason, no one had ever run away from him before. In fact, it was usually the opposite. He stood frozen, watching you disappear into the faculty crowd, his ears perked up, his mind racing at a hundred miles an hour. Your terrified reaction intrigued him, drove him wild. Because Jake Sim, when he wanted something, always got it and his wolf side had just decided that you, sooner or later, would be his tutor, no matter the cost and maybe, over time, something more than just a tutor. But that was something you’d both discover later… certainly not today.
The university campus’s main bar was nearly closing by that time, but you still had another half-hour left before your afternoon shift behind the counter ended. To pass the time and get ahead on your assignments, you’d set your laptop directly on the counter, trying to focus on your next project, studying music. You needed to dive deep into the acoustic composition of sounds and the various instrumental timbres to create balanced arrangements, ensuring the sound was perfect. Your dream was to become a singer, but you’d also love to work as a songwriter or composer. Your hearing was hyper-developed, and you’d already received requests from music agencies.
However, at that moment, music theory was the last thing on your mind. Your eyes kept wandering from the screen, drawn to the brightest corner of the bar, where Soobin was sitting. He was a Communication Sciences student specializing in Digital Media, and he played on the campus basketball team. Let’s just say you had a slight crush on him. Your head was lazily resting in the palm of your left hand, while your right hand sipped through a straw on a refreshing seasonal drink you’d made for yourself. You couldn’t help but admire how incredibly cute Soobin was: he was tall, over 185 cm which was probably why he was on the basketball team, you thought as you took in his lean, athletic build. His hair fell messily across his forehead, giving him a constantly sweet, approachable vibe and then, suddenly, his infectious laughter echoed through the bar, and an involuntary little pout formed on your face when you saw his famous dimples appear on his cheeks, giving him an irresistible puppy-like aura.
Seriously? Soobin?” Jake’s bright, ironic voice cut through the air. “What’s so charming about that guy? He’s always half-clumsy and doesn’t even know which way a door swings unless he’s on a basketball court.”
At those words, your drink nearly went down the wrong pipe. When you straightened up, there he was, Jake, standing right in front of you. His worn-out soccer bag was slung over one shoulder, his dark hair still slightly damp from his post-training shower, and that usual smirk of his that always got under your skin. Caught red-handed, you blushed furiously and stammered:
“Soobin? I...I have no idea who you’re talking about!” You pointed at yourself, then frantically looked around to divert attention, but Jake just flashed that crooked grin of his, his eyes sparkling with pure amusement.
“Oh, come on! I could help you get to know him, you know? And especially get noticed. Did you know he plays on the same team as my best friend Heeseung? He comes to almost all our weekend parties.” He turned to glance at Soobin, and you shot him a dirty look.
“Hard pass. Now… what drink or food would you like to order, Jake?” As you said it, your fingers pressed a little too hard on the bar’s computer keyboard.
“Easy: tutoring from you in history to pass the next two exams,” he said with nonchalance.
You stared at him, exasperated, and let out a long sigh. “You really don’t like hearing ‘no,’ do you?”
At that, his wolf tail, which was peeking out from under his sports hoodie gave a slight, rhythmic wag. You didn’t know much about hybrid anatomy or behavior, but to Jake, that involuntary movement meant one very clear thing: he was incredibly stimulated by your resistance toward him. It was almost like a challenge, and it excited him to no end. Jake loved competition, and right now, you were a very compelling one.
“Mmm, I knew you were a sharp girl, sweetheart,” he said with total nonchalance. Your cheeks burned, and you stammered, “Sweetheart?!”
He chuckled, thoroughly amused. “Well, yeah, it’s a cute nickname. Though, to be honest, there’s not much ‘sweet’ about you right now.” He gifted you one of his perfect smiles.
“Tell me what you want to drink or eat, or just leave,” you said sharply, crossing your arms over your chest, annoyed by the way his eyes had briefly flicked to the neckline of your shirt. Jake raised his hands in mock surrender, still grinning.
“Fine, fine. A hot caramel macchiato and a slice of Black Forest cake. You’ll bring it to my table, right? Especially since… I’ve decided I’ll go sit right across from Soobin.” He pointed at the guy you’d been admiring earlier. With that, he tapped his phone on the card reader, paying with a quick beep, leaving you standing there, stunned and speechless. You muttered a low curse under your breath: “I hope the cake chokes him.”
You watched as Jake sat down with absolute ease right at Soobin’s table, and you huffed in frustration. But before you could do anything, the two guys exchanged a quick, athletic handshake—a sign of brotherhood among teammates. You knew Jake could help you get closer to Soobin, who smiled at him. A moment later, Jake turned his head slightly toward the counter, catching your gaze, and shot you a smug, triumphant grin.
In just five minutes, Jake’s order was ready. With the tray clutched in your slightly trembling hands, you walked toward the table where Jake and Soobin were sitting. Trying to keep your voice as professional and detached as possible, you said:
“Hey, guys. Here’s the Blackforest cake and the caramel macchiato.” You set the plate and cup down in front of Jake, who watched you intently. “Thanks, Y/n,” he said.
You hoped to turn on your heel and flee as quickly as possible, but Jake, of course, spoke up immediately to keep you there, so Soobin would notice you and remember your name.
“Soobin, this is Y/n. We’re in the same Contemporary History class, and she’s a total genius. She scored a terrifying 100 on the last test,” Jake said, addressing not just Soobin but also the other basketball players sitting around the table, who proceeded to compliment you. Soobin’s eyes widened, clearly impressed, and he looked at you with that gentle, heart-melting way of his. “You seriously got a 100 in that extracurricular class? Wow… what’s your major? You know, I’ve been struggling with those geohistory exams too. We could study together sometime, you could give me some pointers, and we’d help each other out,” he said with a shy smile.
Your cheeks instantly turned a deep burgundy, embarrassed by the unexpected compliment from the guy you liked. You just managed a timid smile and a nod.
Jake, observing the scene with the precision of a predator, knew full well that Soobin had taken the bait. With total nonchalance, he interrupted the moment before Soobin could elaborate, speaking in a tone that was falsely apologetic but incredibly possessive:
“Soobin, I hate to disappoint you, but she’s already taken. You know I’m a disaster in history, and the team desperately needs me to be up to date with all my classes for the championship… so I’ve already asked Y/n to give me private tutoring. I couldn’t possibly pass up an opportunity like having the best tutor around.” He looked at you with that crooked grin of his, and you shot him a furious glare, clenching your fist so tightly against your apron that your knuckles turned white.
“I study music… but if you’re having trouble, Soobin, I could still find time to...”
But Soobin shook his hands and cut you off with a sincere smile. “No, no, don’t waste your precious time on me! I only play basketball for fun, to help the team. I’ll never be a professional athlete like Heeseung or Jake. You absolutely should tutor Jake. Guys, if he doesn’t have all his classes in order, the federation will exclude him from the university championship and right now, there are scouts from the national leagues watching him...they’re carefully evaluating whether his public and academic image is perfect before offering him a contract in a higher soccer league.”
At those words, you furrowed your brow, and your eyes widened slightly. You knew Jake was good at soccer, he was the captain, after all but you hadn’t realized how serious the situation was. There were actually professional scouts involved, and his entire future depended on those damn history tests?
Jake, as he nibbled on his slice of cake, savoring his victory, doubled down: “See, Y/n? Even Soobin’s asking you. I seriously need your help. And remember… if you ever wanted to ask me for anything in return, or needed some special help with someone, I’d be more than happy to return the favor.” As he said this, he gave you a knowing wink, subtly nodding his chin toward Soobin. You rolled your eyes, was he blackmailing you under the guise of helping?
Your shift at the café was finally over, and everyone had left—except, of course, Jake, who had stayed until the very end and even “helped” you clean up the tables, though he’d spent more time asking you questionable things, like what the weirdest drink mix you’d ever made was since you started working at the campus bar. Eventually, you both ended up outside as you locked the door. His tail, peeking out from under his hoodie, couldn’t seem to stop moving, swaying frantically from side to side in a rhythm that almost made you laugh. But you just furrowed your brow, exhausted after hours of work, and said:
“Is your tail always moving like that?” You pointed at it with one finger.
Jake’s mouth fell open in embarrassment, completely caught off guard, no one had ever asked him something so direct before, especially not a girl calling him out on an uncontrollable reflex tied to his hybrid nature. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Let’s just say my tail and generally, the tails of hybrids who have them reflects our emotions. We can’t control it. It’s an involuntary reflex of our nervous system,” he explained, trying to relax.
You looked at him, curious. “And what emotion are you feeling right now, Jake? We literally just left a bar and are walking toward campus. I don’t think you’re feeling some great emotion… especially not in my company,” you muttered under your breath, almost to yourself but his wolf ears picked up every single word, even the way you’d said it. Jake furrowed his brow but decided not to make a big deal out of the fact that he’d heard. He looked you straight in the eyes and said:
“Anxiety? Anxiety over your verdict. Sorry if I’m being pushy, but history is literally the only subject I’m bad at, and you’re my last hope… I already checked the university forums like you suggested, but no one has your grades, and honestly, none of them inspire much confidence. So my tail’s wagging like this because I’m anxious to know if you’ve changed your mind. Is that okay?”
You sighed deeply, clutching your books to your chest, and stayed silent for a few steps as you walked along the campus paths lit by streetlamps. You thought it over, weighing the importance of his future and the veiled blackmail about Soobin, until you finally said:
“I decide when and where the tutoring sessions happen. Obviously, we’ll have to work around our academic schedules. And I don’t want to be messed around: if you want to pass history, you actually have to commit. No excuses...neither about soccer nor anything else and I want you to be honest if you don’t understand something. In addition to our sessions, you need to study on your own at home. I’m not doing all the work for you. Just like in soccer, you have to put in the effort in this subject too.”
You said it all in one breath, setting down ironclad rules to protect your boundaries. Jake’s eyes widened, his ears snapping straight up in surprise. “Wait… does this mean… you’ll tutor me for the next few months?” he asked. This time, his tail moved differently, and you wondered if it meant he was happy.
You nodded resignedly, bringing a hand to your face. “I just hope it’s worth it… and that I don’t lose my patience with you by the first session,” you muttered.
At your confirmation, Jake, overwhelmed with relief and happiness, completely lost control of his human inhibitions. Without realizing it, he lunged forward and pulled you into a tight hug. He pressed you against his broad, warm chest, wrapping you completely in his strong, athletic arms. You froze, stiff as a block of ice, and your heart skipped a beat from the sudden physical contact.
Why was he hugging you? God, you hated physical contact, especially with people you didn’t know or trust. The memory of what you’d gone through in high school came rushing back like a slap. Your hands began to tremble slightly against your books, and you couldn’t bring yourself to place them on Jake’s back to reciprocate. You stayed motionless, breathless.
Jake, being a hybrid, immediately noticed how rigid you were in his arms. His body sensed your instant stiffness, but it was your scent that changed in a millisecond under his hyper-developed nose. The sweet, clean strawberry scent of your skin was literally overpowered by an intense, acidic trail, the unmistakable signature of negative emotions: primal panic, terror, and shock. It was the scent of someone who felt attacked, not just surprised by a hug. His wolf instinct, which never failed when it came to deciphering pheromones, picked up on that internal danger signal. It forced him to pull away from you immediately. Seeing you silent, your hands shaking, your expression blank, and your eyes wide and empty, Jake felt a pang of guilt, he was afraid he’d crossed a line with you.
Oh God, I’m sorry… I… I didn’t mean to,” he said, slightly embarrassed, running a hand through his hair and messing it up nervously as he saw you still standing completely stiff in front of him.
“I… I really like physical contact when I’m happy or relieved. It’s a hybrid thing...we tend to be pack-oriented… I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, gesturing with his hands. You swallowed hard, trying to regain control of your breathing, and gave a weak nod. “Yeah… well, I don’t know much about hybrids, but please… just don’t do it again with me, okay? No hugs.” You shifted even farther away from him.
Seeing how shaken you still were, he nodded seriously, his ears lowering in a sign of submission and respect toward you. “Okay, okay, no hugs. I’ll message you on Instagram later, alright? So we can exchange numbers and set up our first lesson.”
You nodded one last time with a quick motion and hurried toward your apartment, desperate only to close the door behind you and sink into a long, hot bath.
Jake stood frozen on the path, watching your figure disappear into the dim light. His ears were tense, motionless, and his tail was completely still. His predator and protective wolf instincts took over everything else because that drastic and terrifying shift in your scent wasn’t normal for a girl your age. As he furrowed his brow, the wolf inside him had just caught the scent of a painful secret you were trying to hide.
What are you hiding that’s so serious, sweetheart? he muttered under his breath. Who reduced you to this?
Without realizing it, Jake’s instinct had just vowed that he would uncover the truth and whoever had hurt you would be gone, long before you even saw it coming.
You had arranged everything with Jake down to the last detail in your messages: the library, west wing, at 4:00 PM sharp. He had replied with a thumbs-up, promising he’d be there. But now it was nearly 4:15, and there was still no sign of him. Curious, you’d even checked the official team schedule to see if he had practice but Monday was marked as a full rest day for the soccer players.
That excuse, then, couldn’t possibly justify his lateness. You sat there, nervously tapping your pen against the table, your laptop open to your notes and the heavy Contemporary History textbook splayed open to the chapter on World War I. You glanced around every three seconds, but there was still no trace of Jake. Finally, you huffed in frustration, running a hand through your hair.
“What the hell… why did I agree to this?” you muttered under your breath and just at that moment, you heard the study room door swing open with a little too much force. There he was: Jake, zigzagging hastily between the empty tables, his gym bag slung over one shoulder. His dark hair bounced against his forehead with every quick step, and his fluffy wolf ears swayed with the movement. When he finally reached you and leaned over the table to set down his bag, your senses immediately picked up on something that made you stiffen. Beyond his usual wild, warm scent, the air was filled with an unmistakably sweet, almost floral note...a girl’s perfume that was definitely not yours.
“Don’t tell me you’re 23 minutes late because you were hooking up with some girl,” you said, staring him straight in the eyes with a look that could have killed him. At those words, you watched his wolf ears drop instantly, flattening completely against the sides of his head in a clear sign of surrender and submission. Even his tail, peeking out from under his hoodie, dropped abruptly and went still between his legs. You caught a glimpse of his cheeks turning a deep red with embarrassment. His hybrid sense of smell must have already told him you were furious, and Jake swallowed hard, he knew he’d been caught red-handed.
“I...I… no, not a girl! It’s just… the elevator in the guys’ dorm got stuck, I swear! And, um, there just happened to be a girl in there with me… that’s why I smell like this…” he said, giving you his best puppy-dog eyes—but he knew instantly it wouldn’t work on you.
“I wasn’t born yesterday, Jake, and I know perfectly well you don’t have practice today,” you said, crossing your arms firmly over your chest. “I saw in the university’s official vlog that soccer players rest on Mondays. So why do you have your soccer bag?”
Backed into a corner, Jake tried to play it cool to lighten the mood, smirking as he curled his lips into that usual crooked smile that drove girls wild. “Oh, so you’ve been stalking me? I didn’t know you were already this interested in my routine, sweetheart.”
Your eyes widened, stunned by his audacity. You seriously wanted to slap him, but the only thing stopping you was the fact that you were in a public place.
“I haven’t been stalking you! I just wanted to know if you were late for a valid reason, like soccer. But apparently, that’s not the case,” you said, pointing with a sharp flick of your pen at his hair, which was far too disheveled to be the result of just running down a hallway.
He rolled his eyes slightly, then lowered his voice and stretched his hands across the table toward you. “Come on, Y/n, I’m sorry… I lost track of time, okay? It won’t happen again, I promise. Now let’s sit down and open the books. I’m all yours for the next few hours,” he said, winking at you. But you stopped him immediately, you were really angry, and even though your voice was a whisper to avoid getting kicked out of the library, your tone was unmistakably sharp.
“No, Jake. Listen carefully. This is exactly why I didn’t want to tutor anyone, especially not someone like you. You have zero respect for the time someone else is giving you, sacrificing their own studies to help you. If your absolute priority on this campus is to play the playboy, show up late to every lesson, and take my help for granted, then know this: this will be the first and last session we ever have. Consider this goodbye. You can say hello to failing that test, losing your captain’s armband, and kissing goodbye to every professional league scout watching you! I don’t waste my time on people who won’t commit to something they asked me for. I don’t recall chasing you down, begging to tutor you!”
For the first time in a long time, Jake felt cornered—not just by the harshness of your words, but by the fact that you weren’t like all the other girls who fell at his feet. For the first time, the team captain had found someone who wasn’t willing to let him off the hook for anything. Deep down, he knew he had to step up, and perhaps, beneath the surface, he felt the need to get his act together.
“I’m sorry, Y/n. From now on, I’ll always be on time. I promise,” he said seriously, extending his pinky finger to make a childish “pinky promise” in an attempt to lighten the mood. You studied his expression carefully to see if he was sincere, then said:
“I’ll let it slide this time, but it’s the last warning, Jake.”
Then you looked at his outstretched finger, and though reluctant, you wrapped your pinky around his. In that brief moment when your skin touched, you both felt something an adrenaline rush that stole your breath, while for Jake, it was yet another confirmation that his wolf side responded intensely to your presence. Deep down, he found himself wanting more.
“Today, we’ll start with the triggering causes of World War I and the European alliances of 1914. First, you’ll read the text on your own, and I’ll do the same. Then, I’ve prepared five questions here that will help you summarize the entire first chapter about ten pages, to help you understand it better.”
Jake nodded, carefully looking over the first chapter.
“Go ahead and read the chapter first, and if you don’t understand something, just ask. I’m here to help,” you said gently this time. You noticed his tail swaying slightly from side to side under the table, this time with slow, lifted movements.
“Got it, Professor!” he said, saluting like a captain. You sighed, shaking your head, it was maddening how he could act like such a kid.
So, you both began silently reading the first chapter. Thanks to your study habits, you finished in just ten minutes. When you looked up, you expected Jake to be done too, but you realized he was only halfway through the fifth page. You tried your best to look away so as not to stare and make him self-conscious, but Jake had that kind of magnetism anyone within his radius was almost forced to look at him and he was truly handsome, even that day, dressed in just a loose, dark hoodie and comfortable cargo jeans.
His face perfectly embodied the proud aura of a wolf: thick, black hair that created a stunning contrast with his soft, slightly dark gray ears, which occasionally twitched or moved at the slightest sounds in the library. His eyes still had a hint of puppy-like charm, framed by long, dark lashes, a large, pronounced nose that suited his facial features divinely, and slightly full but not overly so lips.
And then there were his hands: truly beautiful, large, and well-kept. Your eyes lingered a little too long on the prominent veins on the back of his hands, a testament to the physical strain of his training, adorned with several silver rings.
As you watched him, you saw Jake make a small pout that you found incredibly cute. He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair to mess it up nervously.
“Struggling?” you asked softly, and he didn’t even look up from the page, answering almost defeatedly: “A little.”
You asked if he’d underlined anything in the book, and he shook his head. “It’s really hard… mostly, I struggle to remember all these names of ministers, archdukes, and tsars, and which territories belong to each one,” he sighed. Moved by a sudden wave of understanding, you said something without even realizing it: “You could use colors as a visual aid, or associate historical dates with the jersey numbers of famous soccer players you know.”
At those words, Jake suddenly looked up, surprised and intrigued. “You’re telling me to try memorizing historical dates using soccer jersey numbers?”
“Yes, and you could also use a different color for each era or nation, so it sticks better in your mind. You can mentally link it to a team. Soccer teams all have different jersey colors, right? The German Empire could be the black jersey, Russia the red one, and so on…” you said, picking up the highlighters. His eyes widened slightly, and a genuine smile lit up his face.
“Wow… I never thought of that. In engineering, we never use colors, but it actually makes perfect sense for a subject like history!”
At that point, he started asking you a series of general questions to better understand how to apply the trick: he asked for explanations about the year of the Triple Alliance, the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand, and how the European balance had collapsed. You listened, and finally told him:
“Alright, now try to answer at least two of the five questions I prepared for you. But before you write, you need to highlight the parts of the text you find truly important, using the colors we decided on.”
After an hour and a half, you’d covered two chapters, and Jake seemed fully absorbed in his studies—thanks both to your help and your company. He’d finally found a rhythm with your color and soccer association method. Then you glanced at the time on your phone screen and sighed loudly. Jake immediately looked up, his ears perking up curiously.
“Everything okay?”
You nodded, starting to gather your things. When he saw you stand up, something inside him snapped he wanted to stay with you, but he didn’t understand why.
“Yeah, sorry, but I have to go to work. I would’ve stayed here studying a little longer, but not all of us have a scholarship secured thanks to soccer!” you said, slipping your laptop into your bag. Jake stretched in his chair, the muscles in his shoulders tensing under his loose hoodie, and curled his lips into a smirk.
“Was that a dig at me or at athletes in general?” he asked, pointing at himself. You shrugged. “Take it however you want.”
But Jake wasn’t the type to back down easily, and he loved having the last word. So he leaned forward on the table, looking at you intently: “Spoiler: I don’t have an athletic scholarship, sweetheart!”
You stared at him with wide eyes, freezing with your bag strap halfway over your shoulder, and stammered, clearly shocked—it was extremely impossible. “H-How’s that possible? You’re the team captain…”
He rocked slightly in his chair, and even from there, you could tell that despite being 23, he still acted like a kid. “I was just too good at both sports and school, even back in high school. I didn’t need an athletic scholarship, I got in on my grades,” he said smugly. Your mouth snapped shut, and you sighed, running a hand over your face, almost embarrassed.
“Right… I always forget you’re studying engineering, after all.” “Touché, Y/n,” he chuckled, then his expression turned a little more serious. “It’s just Contemporary History that I can’t seem to like or get into my head. Because believe me, if I liked it or found a logic in it, I would’ve gotten a 100 like you.”
You chuckled, amused by his excess of self-confidence, and gestured with your hands to tone it down. “Don’t be such a know-it-all egotist, Jake! But… take it as a personal challenge… who knows, maybe not for the next test, it’s too soonbut for the one after that, you might even beat me… if you start liking the subject,” you said, openly teasing him with a challenging smile you’d never given any other guy before. Jake lightly bit his lower lip and muttered under his breath: “Challenge accepted, sweetheart.”
You said goodbye with a quick wave and turned, walking briskly to exit the west wing of the library and rush to the bar for your shift, your heart beating suspiciously fast.
As you walked away, Jake’s hybrid instincts were literally rejoicing inside him. Under the table, his tail began to wag frantically, and his ears stretched forward to catch the sound of your footsteps. His wolf instinct was celebrating a double victory: not only had he managed to get you to give in and tutor him, but he’d just discovered that behind your cold, defensive armor, there was a girl capable of challenging him and holding her own with wit and that drove him wild. But what made him gloat the most was the scent you’d left in the air when you said goodbye: your smell of fear had faded, replaced by something sweeter and he couldn’t wait for the next lesson.
You and Jake had been studying together for two weeks now, and you would NEVER have imagined that, deep down, he wasn’t actually so bad. Sure, he was still a living jester...no lesson passed without him trying to tease you but there was one thing that had really stuck with you, something that had made your heart flutter more than once: he strictly respected physical distance. After that hug he’d given you, and after sensing how cold you’d been in returning it, Jake had never tried to touch you or get too close again. He’d limited himself to verbal provocations and to you, that meant a lot, because for so many guys, the word "no" simply didn’t exist in their vocabulary.
That morning, though, he’d sent you a WhatsApp message that had left you a little taken aback, though you understood why. The campus had erupted in chaos after the soccer team won an away game, and he’d asked if you could come to hisplace to study instead—he’d gotten back late last night and was completely wrecked.
At first, you’d been pretty reluctant, but he’d quickly reassured you, saying you wouldn’t be alone because there were six other people in the house, and at least one of his roommates would be there. So you’d agreed and now here you were, standing in front of… a house? No, this looked more like a villa. You thought you must’ve gotten the address wrong, but when you stepped closer to the intercom, you read the names of the seven guys who lived there: Heeseung, Jay, Jake, Sunghoon, Sunoo, Jungwon, Ni-ki.
So you rang the bell, expecting Jake to answer immediately, but instead, a stunning guy with chiseled features and an incredibly charming vibe opened the door. You immediately noticed his dark ears and sleek, glossy tail: he was a black cat hybrid.
“You’re Y/n, right? Come in, Jake’s upstairs,” he said with a smile. You nodded, but before you could even respond, you heard heavy footsteps coming down the stairs, a tall guy with brown hair and slightly almond-shaped eyes—unmistakable black panther ears—peered into the hallway.
You thought this place was less of a student house and more of a model recruitment center...
The panther hybrid looked at you and pouted like a child, sighing: “Oh, no… I was hoping my takeout had arrived.” You smiled timidly, a little intimidated by his size, but the panther’s eyes widened as soon as he met your gaze. Pointing at you, he said: “Oh my God, wait! Are you the famous Y/n? Jake’s tutor? Damn, lately he hasn’t stopped talking about....”
But before Ni-ki could finish, all three of you heard Jake’s loud voice call out: “Ni-ki!”
Like a bolt of lightning, Jake appeared at the top of the stairs and slid down the steps, stretching out a hand to yank Ni-ki’s shirt sleeve and silence him instantly. Ni-ki just laughed, completely unfazed, and said: “Oh, hyung! You’re here too, with us at home!”
Jake really wanted to strangle him, but he loved his little brother too much. When you finally looked up at Jake, you noticed he was dressed extremely comfortably: gray sweatpants, an oversized university T-shirt, his dark hair still damp from the shower, and a white towel draped over his shoulders, giving him a cozy, domestic vibe and at the same time, he looked at you and gave you a genuine smile, saying:
“Hey, Y/n. Don’t mind this bunch of lunatics. Follow me, we’ll study in my room so it’s quieter.”
But the second he said those words, you froze on the spot. Your mind went into overdrive:
His room? Alone?
Your brain short-circuited, and you stood completely still on the doormat, clutching your books to your chest like a protective shield. You did not want to go into a room alone...especially not with a guy.
Both Jay (the black cat hybrid) and Ni-ki turned to look at you strangely, since all three of them were predator hybrids, their senses instantly picked up on the drastic shift in the air, as well as the sudden change in your clean scent, which had just been overpowered by a sharp trail of embarrassment mixed with a strong, clear note of defensive fear and panic.
Hybrids had incredibly strong olfactory instincts, and Jake froze on the spot. His smile vanished, replaced by something he didn’t often feel or see. But with you, he’d smelled that scent before: the first time he’d spoken to you, and again when he’d hugged you. With an incredibly gentle and reassuring tone, he said:
“We’ll keep the bedroom door wide open, okay, Y/n? If that makes you feel more comfortable and you two… no nonsense from now on, got it?” He directed this mostly at Ni-ki, who rolled his eyes, while Jay, understanding the situation, gave a serious nod and walked toward the kitchen: “Don’t worry, I’ll go make a snack.”
Jake looked at you again, giving you a soft nod to invite you to follow him up the stairs. Before you moved, you took one last look at Ni-ki and Jay, who returned your gaze with warm, welcoming smiles. You let out a small sigh of relief—those guys didn’t seem dangerous at all… in fact, they seemed really nice and Jake… Jake was proving to be far more attentive and protective than you’d ever wanted to admit to yourself.
When you stepped into Jake’s room, you were immediately enveloped by a mix of warm, inviting scents: the fresh aroma of pine-scented body wash he’d just used, a rich note of cedarwood, and that signature musky scent unique to his hybrid nature—which, over time, had begun to make you feel strangely safe.
Your eyes landed on the center of the room, where a large, slightly unmade king-sized bed sat with its gray sheets tangled. Nearby, a desk was buried under stacks of calculation sheets and heavy structural engineering manuals. The shelves, on the other hand, were packed with frames, photos of Jake as a child, and you smiled at the sight of him with his wolf ears still too big for his head. There were pictures of him hugging the other six hybrids from the house, all grinning with mud-streaked jerseys, and beside the photos stood rows of gleaming trophies and medals. Your eyes widened, and you let out a quiet whistle at the sight of so many merit certificates for math Olympiads.
“Wow… I knew you were good, but not this good,” you said, picking up a certificate with his name printed in gold letters. Jake shrugged, but you noticed the smirk tugging at his lips, his ears perking up with pride he knew he was smart, and damn good at what he did.
“I told you I wasn’t bad. History’s just my one weak spot,” he said.
You nodded, setting the frame down. When you saw him move toward the bed and stretch out comfortably on his stomach, with history notes scattered in front of him, you couldn’t help but comment: “You know, normal people study sitting in a chair, facing a desk.”
But he just waved a hand dismissively, burying his face in the pillow for a second. “Overrated. If I can stretch out on my bed and study, why not?” Jake lifted his head to look at you, and in that moment, your scent: a delicate blend of fresh strawberries, cream, and a clean trail of vanilla filled the room, mingling perfectly with his hybrid scent. Jake went still for a second, breathing deeply, his expression shifting into something he didn’t let show. That scent… it’s heavenly, he thought before he could stop himself. Then he shook his head slightly, unsettled by the spontaneous thought.
Heavenly? Damn, Jake, what the hell are you saying? It’s… it’s just a nice smell, that’s all… focus.
Oblivious to his thoughts, you took the desk chair, turned it around, and sat sideways, balancing your notes on your knees. “Overrated or not, this is how I’m used to studying. If you want to stay there, fine, but I don’t want to find you snoring in five minutes,” you said with a half-smile. Jake chuckled, and you saw his tail, peeking out from under his hoodie thumping eagerly against the mattress, a clear sign he genuinely enjoyed your company.
“First of all, I don’t snore. Second, I’ve never fallen asleep during a study session and I bet that soon, even you’ll end up sitting on this bed… it’s amazing, sweetheart. Memory foam with built-in massage tech, you know, as a soccer player, I need the best for my body,” he said, shifting slightly onto his side, teasing you with a mischievous grin and a wink. “Everyone who tries it wants to come back to sleep in it… there’s plenty of space… and I’m an excellent human heating pad, you know as a wolf hybrid, my body heat is way higher than yours. Perfect if you get cold in the winter!” he added with another wink.
You wanted to smack him with the history book for his audacity, but instead, you just blushed and shot him a glare. “Stop talking nonsense and let’s start studying. We’ve got the first exam on Friday, and if you fail, I fail as a tutor.”
You and Jake had been studying for over two hours, and in that time, Jay had brought you delicious snacks to the room, and you’d even met Sunghoon, another one of the roommates. You’d already heard about him on campus: he was the famous captain of the hockey team, and he, too, was a hybrid, specifically a snow fox, as well as one of the most popular athletes at the university. He also worked as a model for brands like Adidas, and everyone talked about him.
After the intense review session, you stood up for a moment to stretch your back and arms. Your eyes kept wandering around Jake’s room, and he watched you carefully from the bed, noticing the tension in your body. “Come on, Y/n, I bet your back is killing you from sitting on that wooden chair. Just sit with me on the bed for five minutes, I promise I’ll keep my hands to myself,” he said.
To prove his intentions, he laced his fingers behind his back, looking up at you with a sweet, slightly reluctant smile. Knowing how wary you were, you finally gave in and sat on the edge of his bed. You immediately felt how incredibly soft it was.
Jake patted the large, dark fabric headboard, inviting you to get comfortable. So you settled in, half-sitting with your back resting against it, while he stayed stretched out beside you, his laptop and a pile of notes in front of him as he continued underlining according to your schemes.
After a little while, the exhaustion from the previous days caught up with you, and you yawned widely. Jake lifted his gaze from the papers. “Are you tired, sweetness?”
“A little,” you admitted, tilting your head back. He stretched slightly, letting out a sigh. Then, before you could predict it but driven irresistibly by his hybrid nature, which, in moments of tiredness or when wanting to make someone feel safe, instinctively sought contact with its “pack” to share warmth and relax, Jake turned onto his side and, with complete naturalness, rested his head on the upper part of your legs, using them as a soft pillow.
Your eyes widened because his face was so close to your stomach. You immediately felt the impressive warmth of his body against your skin through your jeans just like that time he’d hugged you. He radiated an almost feverish heat, typical of wolf hybrids. From this close position, you could perfectly see how long and dark his lashes were, how his ears had partially lowered backward and deep inside, you felt a sudden, almost uncontrollable urge to reach out and touch them, they looked so soft and fluffy at the same time, and you wanted to know if they felt like a normal dog’s or cat’s.
Jake’s body relaxed completely against you, and you, having no idea what to do and with your heart beating a mile a minute, said his name softly: “Jake…”
He just let out a low murmur, keeping his eyes half-closed because he liked feeling your body against his—until you spoke.
“Why did you rest your head on my legs?” you asked, slightly curious. He gave a light shrug against your thigh.
“I know you hate sudden physical contact… and I’m not squeezing or openly touching you with my hands, so you can see I don’t want to hurt you. You can trust me. It’s just for support,” he said as his eyes opened fully, and two amber pools looked up at you, smiling. As your head tilted toward him, in that moment of absolute closeness, Jake’s sharp sense of smell picked up on something that left him breathless: your strawberry and vanilla scent suddenly intensified in the air, growing sweeter. There was no trace of the acidic note of fear, nor the detachment of embarrassment—because you were starting to trust him.
Without even realizing it, you lifted a trembling hand, and your fingers barely brushed one of his fluffy ears, right where the fur transitioned from light gray to the super-dark shade at the tip.
You froze instantly at that sound, blushing all the way to the tips of your ears, and stammered:
“J-Jake… God, I’m sorry! Did I hurt you? I didn’t mean to… I didn’t know...” But Jake burst into genuine laughter, and you caught a glimpse of his dimples, thinking he looked damn cute.
“No, don’t worry, you didn’t hurt me, sweetness,” he said, slowly reopening his eyes. “It’s totally normal that I growled. I told you the other day, both our ears and tails are the most sensitive parts of our hybrid bodies. If they’re touched the right way, they stimulate a huge amount of pleasure, even strong excitement inside us… it’s just a biological reflex. We can’t help it.” He said this almost shyly, and at those words, you immediately pulled your hand away from his ears but Jake immediately pouted in protest, letting out a small, annoyed whine his sense of smell had instantly noticed the loss of your skin’s warmth. He looked up at you with an almost pleading expression.
“Can I take your hand, Y/n?”
You stared at him as you leaned over him, and though hesitant, you offered him your hand. Jake, however, was incredibly gentle. He didn’t interlace his fingers with yours but instead wrapped his large, warm fingers around your wrist, guiding your arm upward until your hand rested again at the base of his gray ears.
“We hybrids are very sensitive to both smells and touch,” he explained, watching you carefully. “And if someone becomes part of our circle, our life… well, we quickly become much more insistent with physical contact. Let’s just say we have an almost physical need for it. That’s why I stretched out with my head on your legs. My wolf just wanted to be close to you.”He said this without realizing it, but he didn’t say things like that to just anyone… in fact, he hoped you wouldn’t fully understand what he was implying. For your part, you just nodded.
“I… well, I don’t know much about hybrids. I’ve always attended all-human schools before university, so this is the first time I’ve been in close contact with one of you.”
Jake studied your reactions from below, sensing that you were relaxed, and said: “Well, there are many first times in life, and this is a new first for you. Don’t be shy about touching me, sweetness… I can sense it, your scent, your instinct, they tell me you want to.”
You rolled your eyes, trying to hide your embarrassment at being caught, and said: “Sometimes it bothers me, this thing. You sense and understand things through smells that we humans will never be able to comprehend.”
He chuckled but didn’t move, and when he felt your fingers—now moving with more confidence—begin to stroke the base of his ears again, Jake let out a long sigh of pure relief and closed his eyes. He felt so relaxed in that moment, a feeling he hadn’t experienced in years. Only his mom and grandmother could calm him with just a touch. He felt how his body was vibrating with total submission to your touch, but he quickly shook that thought from his mind. You smiled because you liked the idea of being able to relax someone as energetic and hyperactive as him. With the tips of your fingers, you moved from his ears to his thick, black hair, gently ruffling it, and asked, slightly shy:
“Why do you hybrids love physical contact so much? Is it something that comes from your puppy-like nature, or…?”
Jake opened his eyes, staring straight into yours. “Yes, it partly comes from when we’re pups. But actually, all hybrids need constant physical contact, both as kids and as adults, especially during heat. It can be suppressed with medication, of course, but doctors say it’s not good for our health or mental balance. And then… when a hybrid finds his mate, there are specific ways he uses to be with her.”
Curious, you tilted your head slightly to the side and asked: “And what are these ways?”
“Well… besides being touched by his mate, the hybrid loves to touch her in return. It’s a little embarrassing, but in the early stages of a relationship, it’s constant: holding her hand, hugging her, squeezing her… but the most important thing for us is to make sure our scent completely soaks into her. We want our chemistry to stay on her skin, on her clothes, so the whole pack and other males know who she belongs to.”
You were slightly shocked by this possessive and biological revelation, your eyes widening as you struggled to respond, unable to fully grasp the nature of hybrids. Jake, seeing your petrified face and sudden confusion, didn’t miss the chance to tease you.
“Oh God, you should see your face, sweetheart! What’s wrong? Are you afraid I’ll rub my wolf scent all over you any second so you’ll smell like me all over campus? Don’t worry… for today, I’ll settle for your legs as a pillow, but I won’t make any promises for our next lessons!”
You huffed, looking away to hide the heat still burning on your cheeks, and said: “I definitely don’t want your scent on me, especially if I want to have any chance with Soobin.”
At those words, Jake froze on your lap. His ears snapped backward, stiffening, and his tail’s movement stopped instantly, you’d almost forgotten about it. The only reason you’d accepted this compromise and were helping him with Contemporary History was his deal: using his influence to get Soobin’s attention. For a second, his possessive, territorial animal instinct pressed to emerge and growl at that name, but his human side quickly regained control. He slowly lifted himself from your legs, sitting on the edge of the bed, and looked at you intensely, saying:
“Relax, the only way a hybrid’s scent spreads to a girl is if they do sexual things—which means undressing and sniffing each other—or if the guy bites her. So don’t worry, you won’t run that risk with me, Y/n.”
You frowned at his answer, then checked the time on your phone and said it was getting late and that you absolutely had to go. Jake returned to being his usual carefree self, wearing a mask of indifference. He nodded and asked if you wanted a ride, but you refused, explaining that Allie would pick you up.
Just as you reached the entrance hall, the front door swung open, and Heeseung—the basketball team captain and an adorable hamster hybrid—burst in, beaming as he held dark streamers in his hands, shouting at the top of his lungs: “Friday, I want all six of you dressed up for Halloween because we’re throwing a legendary party here! No excuses!” He looked at all his friends, and a chorus of reactions immediately rose from the kitchen and living room:
Jungwon and Sunoo—a cat hybrid and a fox hybrid with huge ears—groaned at the idea of chaos in the house. Ni-ki enthusiastically exclaimed, “Awesome!” Jay muttered that he’d prepare amazing cocktails for the occasion, while Sunghoon, still sprawled on the couch, just rolled his eyes because he wasn’t a fan of parties at all.
As you watched the scene, you suddenly felt warm breath right next to your ear. Jake had leaned toward you, his lips just millimeters from your skin:
“This is the perfect excuse for us to be seen together by Soobin, sweetheart…” he whispered, sending shivers down your spine. “Tell me how you’ll dress for the party… because you are coming, right? He’ll definitely be there.”
You turned abruptly, finding his challenging smile just a centimeter from your face. And if there was one thing you hated, it was crowded parties—but the idea of finally talking to Soobin pushed you to do something crazy.
“Yes, I’ll be there… but only if Allie can come too.”
Jake nodded, widening his sly grin. You said goodbye to all the guys with a wave and finally left that villa. As soon as you got into Allie’s car, you told her everything in detail. But your best friend could tell deep down that you wanted to go to that party to be with Jake—because for the entire ride, you hadn’t even mentioned Soobin.
As soon as the door closed behind you, silence fell over the entire living room. Jake turned to go back upstairs but froze on the spot—all six of his friends were staring at him with their arms crossed, wearing smiles that were half-amused and half-suspiciously knowing. All six hybrids in that room were literally breathing in the pheromones Jake had unconsciously released over the past two hours.
Jake felt his cheeks heat more than they should, turning bright red. He wanted to deny everything, but then Heeseung, the oldest in the group, twitched his hamster ears with a mix of amusement and curiosity, shook his head, and dropped the final bombshell, looking at the others:
“Guys, I think the first one to find his lifemate is actually one of the two biggest playboys and frat boys in the entire university… Who would’ve ever thought that the great Jake Sim would fall at the feet of a nerd who didn’t even know he existed a few weeks ago?”
Jake’s blush deepened, spreading under the fur of his ears, which twitched nervously. He growled, baring a hint of fang to hide his panic: “Shut up, you don’t know what you’re talking about! She’s just my tutor, and I’m just keeping my end of the deal. At the party on Friday, you’ll see...she’s into Soobin.” Jake then bolted up the stairs, taking them two at a time.
But as he stormed up, his tail....always the traitor, began wagging frantically at the thought of seeing you dressed up for Halloween and his friends were absolutely right… the wolf inside him knew it all too well.
The house of the seven hybrids had been completely transformed for the Halloween party. Thick cobwebs hung from the ceiling corners, ghost-shaped sheets floated mid-air, and witch hats seemed to fly on their own thanks to invisible wires. The place looked like it had stepped straight out of a horror cartoon rather than a university party. Soft, rhythmic music played in the background as people from the campus began filling the hallways and living rooms of the villa.
You and Allie had arrived together. Allie was wearing a sexy pirate costume that suited her perfectly, while you had gone with the plan you’d agreed on with Jake: a lilac and purple dress inspired by Rapunzel. According to your friend, it looked divine on you, and to be honest, even you felt pretty looking at yourself in the mirror. However, you couldn’t help but notice that the corset was a little too tight, accentuating your curves in a way you usually disliked but tonight, it gave you an extra boost of self-confidence. Deep down, you were a beautiful girl, but the only thing that made you wrinkle your nose a little was the cleavage, which made you feel a bit uncomfortable under the gazes of the people you passed. The rest of the outfit, though, was perfect: your hair was gathered in a soft braid decorated with tiny fake flowers, and you held a lightweight plastic frying pan, artfully stained with fake blood. You seriously hoped Jake had kept his word about dressing as Flynn Rider.
When your eyes finally spotted him near the bar corner, a small, spontaneous smile appeared on your face. Allie, who had been watching you carefully out of the corner of her eye, noticed that spark in your eyes as you looked at Jake. Deep down, your friend had already figured it all out, but she chose to stay silent, driven by a strong protective instinct toward you.
Jake, for his part, looked simply perfect. He wore the typical blue vest over a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up past his elbows, showcasing his powerful biceps and the prominent veins of his athletic arms. Dark pants completed the look, but what truly took your breath away was his hairstyle: his dark hair was perfectly parted in the middle with Flynn’s signature rebellious tuft. You thought he should opt for that fluffy, middle-parted hair more often. On his cheeks and neck, he had drawn small, fake red scratches, as if he had just barely escaped the clutches of the law.
When Jake turned and saw you, he froze mid-step for what felt like an eternity. His wolf nose instantly picked up your scent in the air—a heavenly, thick aroma of fresh strawberries, powdered sugar, and a warm note of pure vanilla. At that olfactory contact, his tail twitched violently under his costume, swaying so hard from side to side that he had to restrain himself to keep it from breaking free of the fabric.
His wolf instinct gave a primal jolt: he thought you looked incredibly beautiful, and at the same time, he almost didn’t recognize you. He had never seen you so exposed, with your figure and curves so visibly on display. Jake swallowed hard at the sight of your shy smile and ran a hand through his hair, momentarily ruining the perfect part. His animal instinct was literally screaming at him to reach out, grab you by the waist, and carry you away from all those people to keep you close to him. But he knew he had to rein in that urge, you weren’t his, and besides, you were interested in another guy. Damn, you looked stunning, and his eyes couldn’t stop drinking you in.
He closed the distance between you with feline steps, leaning slightly toward you, and whispered directly into your ear in a low voice that sent shivers down your spine:
“Damn, sweetheart… I knew you were hiding something under those hoodies or sweaters, but I didn’t expect all this,” he said, unable to stop rambling because he couldn’t take his eyes off you, especially not from the line of your cleavage. You blushed violently, and in self-defense, you crossed your arms over your chest, clutching the frying pan to your side.
“In your dreams, Sim. I only came here because you asked me to, and because we have a deal. Otherwise, I’d be comfortably in my room right now trying to compose music for my class… but I’m here because you promised me something. You have to help me get to know Soobin… speaking of which, where is Soobin? You promised he’d be here.”
At the sound of that name, Jake’s smug smile vanished in a millisecond. His wolf ears twitched slightly backward, flattening almost imperceptibly against his hair—a clear sign of pure annoyance and territorial jealousy. His body stiffened for a moment, irritated by the fact that your first thought had gone to another guy just as he was devouring you with his eyes. He gave a vague nod toward the kitchen. “He’s in there, in the kitchen with Heeseung and the other basketball guys but don’t rush, sweetheart… first, you need to loosen up… and have a drink.”
Before you could tell Jake you had no intention of drinking alcohol, he turned and started walking toward the kitchen with confident steps. Following him inside, you were immediately greeted by three enormous glass bowls filled with rum punch and chopped fruit. At the sight, your instinct screamed at you to run out of the room...high school memories threatened to resurface, and you feared they’d ruin what could have been a fun night.
Jake, unaware of your internal struggle, grabbed a ladle and poured himself a glass of the reddish liquid. From the note pinned to the table, you read that it was a cocktail made with rum, prosecco, and berries. When he turned and held out the glass to you, you looked up at him and said in a thin voice: “Thanks, Jake, but… I don’t drink alcohol… I don’t like it.”You tried to hide it, but Jake wasn’t stupid. His hybrid sixth sense was far too sharp, and he saw the slight but unmistakable tremor in your hand as you refused the glass. He noticed how your posture had suddenly stiffened, and, intrigued, he tilted his head, studying your reaction.
“Mmm, okay. Wait here a second,” he said without teasing you or trying to pressure you. You simply nodded, clutching the plastic frying pan to your chest, and watched him disappear behind the door of a pantry at the back of the kitchen.
Left alone, you turned to look around. You saw Allie talking or maybe arguing with Heeseung, and your heart literally leapt into your throat when Soobin walked into the kitchen. He was dressed as Cullen from Twilight in a baseball game version—white and blue jersey, a backward cap, and even a baseball glove tucked into his left hand. You immediately thought he looked cute, especially when he noticed you, and his famous dimples deepened in his cheeks. Your eyes, however, instinctively searched for Jake’s figure.
Where the hell did he go? Soobin was walking straight toward you, and you thought, half-panicked: Where the hell has that wolf gotten himself? Why is he leaving me alone right now?!
But then a part of you forced yourself to reason after all, this was the plan, right? Jake was supposed to give you the chance to meet Soobin and make an impression. Yet deep down, you wanted him there with you so badly, and you didn’t understand why.
When Soobin reached you, he gave you a sweet smile. “Oh my God, Y/n? Is that you? Jake’s tutor, right? Damn… you look stunning tonight. The costume suits you perfectly,” he said, even stumbling slightly over the last word as his eyes lingered inevitably on the line of your braid and the lilac corset. Your cheeks burned, turning burgundy in a millisecond from compliments you weren’t used to hearing. You said:
“You… you don’t look bad either… I mean, you look really cute,” and a second later, you wanted to slap yourself in the face. You had no idea how to flirt, and having a decent conversation with the guy you liked felt like a titanic task.
But just at that moment, Jake reemerged from the pantry, holding both a sealed glass bottle of Coca-Cola and a bottle of water. The scene before him, however, made him freeze on the spot. Seeing you blush, smelling your strawberry scent grow more intense and vulnerable for another male, literally drove him wild—and he didn’t understand why.
Okay, you were cute. Many times, you drove him crazy. Many times, he’d sought you out in class but you weren’t his type....you were too… well, a little too shy. You usually gave as good as you got, but you preferred to keep to yourself or stick with a few people, while he loved being almost the center of attention. He didn’t understand why he felt so strange when he was with you.
A wave of pure, territorial jealousy burned in his chest. Under his costume, his tail tensed instantly, becoming as rigid as a poker, and his ears flattened. But when his eyes met yours, Jake read your silent plea for help and your embarrassment. He understood that this was the exact moment to step in and play his card.
Jake hurried over to you, and without touching you, you immediately felt his presence as he stood in front of you with a serious expression. “Hey, sweetheart, I got you a Coca-Cola and a sealed bottle of water, so you know exactly what you’re drinking,” he said, smiling warmly as he handed them to you. Once again, you were caught off guard by how well Jake could read you. It was incredible how this guy—who, just a few weeks ago, you’d considered nothing more than a shallow, heartbreaking athlete—could pick up on every subtle nuance of your discomfort and protect you in such a quiet, precise way.
You thanked him shyly, taking the cold glass bottle in your hands. It was at that moment that Jake turned toward the other guy.
“Oh, Soobin, you’re here too,” he said with a crooked grin. Soobin wasn’t intimidated by Jake’s predator-like aura and met the soccer captain’s gaze head-on. “Well, you know I’m here every weekend. And when I saw your tutor alone in the middle of this pack of hybrids, I came over right away to see how much sweetness and beauty she had as Rapunzel.”
Jake glared at Soobin, then shifted his gaze to you, as if expecting a reaction. Feeling caught in an invisible grip and wanting to ease the tension, you said: “Well… it was my idea to dress as Rapunzel and Flynn. Jake doesn’t look bad tonight either, to be honest.”
At those words, a wave of immense pride washed over the wolf hybrid. Jake chuckled, visibly pleased by your unexpected compliment. He drastically closed the distance between you, eliminating the personal space you’d established, and you watched as his large hand lowered and gently brushed against yours. You bowed your head for a moment, watching his fingers slowly spread across your palm, ready to welcome yours. Driven by a sudden, overwhelming sense of security from the fact that he’d thought to protect your drink and the primal warmth radiating from his presence—you interlaced your hand with his, fitting your fingers between his. It was a spontaneous gesture that made your heart race, because you’d never thought that this Jake—the one everyone talked about as a playboy or someone who only thought of himself—could be like this.
Jake tightened his grip around your hand—your fingers were ridiculously cute and small compared to his—and lifted his chin toward his rival. With a possessive tone that brooked no argument, he said: “It was a pleasure, Soobin. But Y/n is with me tonight, and I need to show her around the house.”
Without giving Soobin time to respond, Jake started walking toward the villa’s stairs, gently pulling you behind him. As you climbed the first wooden steps, you leaned toward him and whispered: “Do you think it’s right to leave him already? He seemed really into talking to me…” You felt bad for cutting short the only real conversation you’d started with the guy you had a crush on. But Jake couldn’t have cared less about what you thought in that moment or what Soobin might have been thinking. His only goal was to get you away from the other males’ gazes and claim you for himself, because damn, that night he wanted all your attention. So he took you to the very top of the stairs, to a raised and partially shadowed spot from which you could perfectly see the entire party below—the crowded living room and the music echoing off the walls.
“He’s still watching us, sweetheart,” he murmured against your ear, his warm breath on the bare skin of your neck making you shudder. Instinctively, you tried to turn your head downward, toward the kitchen, to look for Soobin’s figure. But Jake’s free hand shot lightning-fast to your face, his long, warm fingers caressing your cheek as he firmly held your face in place, preventing you from turning. You weren’t supposed to let Soobin see you flustered by the guy you liked.
“Don’t give him the satisfaction of having your eyes on him. Otherwise, he’ll realize you’re interested and that he has control over you,” he warned in a low voice, his gaze fixed on your lips. You swallowed hard at how well Jake could embody his character, and trapped between his hand on your face and the stair railing, you stammered in confusion: “A-and what the hell am I supposed to do, Jake? I… I’m not good at this stuff. It’s already a lot if I managed to talk to him for two minutes straight without making a fool of myself.” You said this with a half-smile, and Jake looked at you intensely, his ears lowering slightly in an unexpectedly tender shade of sweetness.
“But with me, you don’t have a problem talking, Y/n. You don’t freeze up. You hold your own, you answer back. Maybe… maybe you need to find someone you actually feel comfortable with, not someone your mind just thinks is cool, but who ultimately just makes you feel a little… constant anxiety?” Jake said this without fully realizing what he’d just admitted. For him, those words carried immense meaning—almost a declaration of intent tied to his biological nature. He wanted you to understand that love or attraction shouldn’t be a mental effort or an ideal of perfection to chase (like Soobin). Instead, it should be a natural chemistry based on loyalty, security, teasing, and a safe harbor where your body and soul felt protected and free to express themselves without fear. And those feelings? You definitely didn’t feel them with Soobin—but you did with him. He wanted you to understand that the wolf in front of you was the only one capable of naturally breaking down your protective barriers. He knew you were hiding something that had happened to you, and he couldn’t wait to see you lower your guard and let go with him.
But you didn’t have time to process the concept or respond, because Jake had closed the last millimeter of distance between you and pressed his lips firmly against yours, catching you completely off guard at the top of those stairs.
Jake’s full lips pressed against yours, and your brain completely short-circuited at the sensation of that physical contact between you and him.
What the hell was he doing? Why was he kissing you like this, in front of everyone, and especially under Soobin’s gaze? But before your mind could even formulate a protest or find the strength to push him away, the devastating warmth of his body enveloped you. As if by magic, the anxiety that had been gnawing at you since before you even entered their house vanished. After just a few seconds, almost as if moved by an involuntary reflex, you parted your lips slightly. Jake let out a warm, trembling sigh right against your mouth—a sound of pure relief—because you hadn’t slapped him in front of everyone, even though he knew you hated being touched. Damn, he’d been dreaming for a while now of knowing what it was like to kiss you. And he began to kiss you with a disarming gentleness.
It wasn’t the rough or arrogant kiss you would have expected from the soccer team captain. His lips moved against yours softly, as if he were afraid that at any moment, you might pull away. Jake gently sucked on your lower lip, savoring every single millimeter of your mouth, and you tasted the sweetness of the Coca-Cola mixed with the fruity flavor of his alcoholic aperitif. You would have never imagined that the campus playboy could kiss a girl with such care and reverence. Your cheeks burned as you felt his hand gently caress your cheek. Without realizing it, your hands—which had been timidly resting against his chest—slid upward, settling firmly on his broad shoulders, gripping the fabric of his white shirt. Jake leaned even closer into you, pressing you gently against the railing at the top of the stairs, isolating you from the rest of the world.
When your strawberry and vanilla scent suddenly became even sweeter and more intense than usual—a clear sign that your body had surrendered to him and that you no longer felt any fear—Jake broke the kiss for a millisecond. He growled in an incredibly rough, low voice: “Damn… you smell so good, Y/n. Stay like this… please.” He said this against your lips, and you didn’t understand the meaning of that comment. You tried to pull your head back to protest and ask for an explanation, but Jake, seeing your deliciously parted lips, didn’t waste time. He took advantage of that moment and slid his warm tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss against your lips, which were increasingly drawn to him.
At the same time, his hand slid down from your face, settling firmly around your waist, gripping the lilac fabric of your Rapunzel dress. In that moment, Jake held his breath—he was afraid that this contact might trigger your usual resistance. He hoped with all his heart that you wouldn’t pull your hand away or break free from him. But to his surprise, you kissed him back. And you did it in a way that left him completely stunned: your fingers tightened with more force on his shoulders, and your tongue responded to his with an initial shyness that quickly turned into a desperate, hungry rhythm, as if you had found a secret refuge in this guy you thought you couldn’t stand. You pressed yourself closer to his chest, forgetting about Soobin, the people below the stairs, and everything else.
Jake literally smiled against your lips, savoring your total surrender, while the wolf instinct inside him screamed at the top of its lungs that you were his mate, that he should never let you go, and that he should especially not let other guys have you.
Jake’s human side forcefully pushed back the animal instinct that wanted to take control. He didn’t want to scare you—he just wanted to savor this incredible moment with you. Your tongues continued to seek each other relentlessly, as if it were just the two of you in that house. And maybe it was, because from where you stood, only someone climbing the stairs could see what was happening.
Then, seized by a sudden boldness you didn’t even know you possessed, you lightly nibbled on his lower lip. Jake was completely caught off guard by such an intimate, unexpected, and boldly provocative gesture from you. He wanted more, and a low, rough moan escaped his lips. At that sound, you felt your cheeks burn damn, Jake was kissing you and moaning in the middle of a packed party!
This realization set off an alarm bell in your mind, jolting your rationality back to life. This was not part of the deal you’d made with him. Breathless, with your heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst, you pulled away from him by just a few millimeters, breaking the kiss. Even though, deep down, you wanted his lips against yours again, you quickly pushed that thought away. Both of you had glossy eyes, your lips visibly redder and fuller than usual.
Embarrassed and adrenaline-fueled, you lowered your gaze and started nervously fiddling with the lilac tulle of your Rapunzel dress, trying to compose yourself. Jake, on the other hand, simply couldn’t stop looking at you. His chest rose and fell rapidly under his Flynn Rider shirt. When you finally looked up again, your eyes locked once more, unable to pull away, as if they were always searching for each other. You stammered:
“I… I… why did you kiss me, Jake?”
Jake gave a small, crooked smile and repeated softly the same words from earlier: “He’s still watching us, sweetheart.”
This time, though, he didn’t bring his hand to your cheek to block your face, leaving you free to check if Soobin was indeed watching. When you slowly turned toward the living room below, your eyes immediately caught Soobin’s figure. He was standing at the end of the hallway, arms crossed, with a hint of obvious jealousy mixed with frustration in his gaze. Once again, Jake had won—because he hadn’t expected someone like Jake to claim you so boldly in front of everyone, especially since you weren’t his ideal type of girl.
As you spun back toward Jake, confused, he looked down at you, stretching his wolf ears with a proud air. Then he murmured:
“Give it less than a week… you’ll see, Soobin will come looking for you and ask you out. Because very soon, everyone here will know I kissed you. But they’ll also know you’re not my girlfriend. And you’ll officially be the girl who stood up to Jake Sim. And believe me, sweetheart… every guy on campus will become terribly curious to find out who you are.”
Was Jake Sim a fortune teller? Or maybe a genie? No, because ever since you’d set foot on campus that Monday morning after the Halloween weekend, his prophecy had come true 100%: people couldn’t stop staring at you. Every time you walked down the hallway, there were whispers as you passed. Classmates and even complete strangers looked at you differently now—all because they’d spotted you with the university’s golden boy.
At that exact moment, you rolled your eyes for the umpteenth time as you stood behind the café counter, preparing hot chocolates. Allie was leaning against the milk crates, staring at her phone screen with wide eyes. “I can’t believe it… my best friend, the person who spends the most time in bed writing sheet music or watching K-dramas, ended up on the university blog! There’s a photo of you and Jake at the top of the stairs while you were kissing, and I almost missed that scene because of his best friend. I never would’ve thought I’d see you in a situation like this!” she said, laughing excitedly as she waved her phone back and forth. You tried to lunge forward to snatch the phone from her, but with little success since Allie pulled it back, laughing.
“Come on, stop looking at that phot, it’s embarrassing, please!” you whispered, glancing sideways to make sure no customers heard you. But Allie couldn’t stop staring at the picture, and her tone suddenly turned more serious and dreamy as she looked at you and Jake: “But seriously… you and Jake look so good in that photo. In a way I never would’ve imagined: you, the down-to-earth girl who works double shifts to pay for university and build a future in music, kissing the campus golden boy, the soccer team captain with his path already paved to some famous club… It’s a perfect match. Admit it, just a few months ago, you never would’ve imagined ending up in a situation like this!” she concluded with a mischievous smile. But you scolded her immediately, slamming the coffee tamper on the counter and glaring at her: “Stop it right now, Allie! There’s no match, no romantic movie. It was just… a setup to get Soobin’s attention, and Jake just wanted to help. It’s a 50% help for both of us,” you said, trying to sound convincing. Yet your eyes couldn’t pull away from that photo on the screen.
Looking at it, you almost didn’t recognize yourself: pressed against his chest, your hands gripping his shirt, and the way Jake was looking at you as he held your waist radiated an energy that could give butterflies to even someone like Allie, who’d been in a relationship forever. Even though the photo wasn’t high quality, you could still see both you and Jake smiling at each other. And just the memory of his lips against yours made your stomach clench.
Your thoughts were abruptly interrupted by someone arriving at the counter. You heard a familiar voice, and when you looked up, you found Soobin standing there with his usual shy smile. That morning, he was in full “nerd mode”: he was wearing an oversized sweater that made him look even softer, round glasses with thin black frames, and his dark hair was slightly messy on his forehead. But it was strange—until that moment, you would’ve gone crazy at the sight of him. Now, you were happy, but you couldn’t understand why your mind kept drifting to Jake…
“Hey, Y/n…” he said in his usual shy way, and you gave him a timid smile. Soobin glanced quickly at Allie’s phone in her hand and then back at you. “Mmm… did you see the photo of you and Jake kissing too?” The question came out of his mouth with a slightly casual, almost detached tone, but his eyes were hungry for your reaction. You nodded, feeling the blood rush straight to your cheeks, and immediately tried to downplay it by waving your hands in the air: “Yes, I saw it… but I swear, Soobin, it’s nothing serious! Jake is just a show-off. We were just… joking. There was so much confusion at the party, and…” You tried to say something, as if you owed him an explanation, but he stopped you by raising a hand: “The other night, I was really shocked when I saw you dressed like that and I noticed right away how your cheeks turned red when you saw me next to you,” he said, looking down at you from his nearly two meters of height—Soobin was truly imposing, unlike Jake, who, despite being muscular, was only a couple of centimeters taller than you.
“Jake took you away, and… well, we all know him, he’s a show-off. But I bet that kiss was just for show, right?” And then, leaving you completely shocked, he leaned a little further forward, lowering his voice: “Would you like to go out for a serious coffee with me this afternoon? Just you and me, I promise.” He took a sip of his drink, and you stood there, literally paralyzed with the milk jug in your hand. Was he seriously asking you out? You’d wanted this moment for months. You’d spent entire nights hoping Soobin would notice you. But now… Jake’s image kept tormenting your mind. And with startling clarity, you remembered the warmth of his full lips, how he’d gently held you close, afraid you might pull away, and especially that damn moan that had escaped him when you’d bitten his lip and what scared you the most was the realization that, next to Jake, your body hadn’t felt the slightest bit of anxiety.
With Soobin, however, you felt like you were under examination, and your instinct told you to take it slow with him, not to rush. But a part of you wanted to seize the moment, to not waste this opportunity—you’d already wasted so many because of what happened to you as a teenager. Yet, accepting his invitation for that afternoon would mean canceling your study session with Jake. So you took a deep breath and, forcing a sweet smile, said:
“Soobin, I’d really like to… but as you know, I’m tutoring Jake. He has his Contemporary History test on Friday, and we absolutely need to meet at his place this afternoon to review the last chapters. But… this weekend, yes, we could go out for breakfast together, if you’d like.”
At your positive response, Soobin smiled sweetly, his dimples on full display. “The weekend works perfectly. Oh, by the way… I don’t know if you noticed, but I already followed you on Instagram a little while ago. I’ll message you after class so we can figure out the details.” He said, and you nodded, your heart racing as you watched him turn and leave the café with his easy, relaxed gait.
Allie, who had been silently pretending to clean a nearby table the whole time, rushed over as soon as Soobin was out of earshot. She looked you straight in the eyes, her usual playful demeanor gone, and said in a low voice:
“Y/n… if you really wanted to go out with him this afternoon, Jake can wait. Or he can study for the test on his own. But please, be honest with yourself—because you just turned down a date with the guy of your dreams to lock yourself in a house with a jock who, until recently, you claimed to detest, and who practically kissed you passionately in front of half the university. Are you sure Soobin is still the only one on your mind?”
She asked, watching you carefully and at those words, you honestly didn’t know what to say.
As you walked briskly toward Jake’s house, Allie’s words still echoed in your head. You tried to shake them off, Jake was just a… a "friend"? You didn’t even know how to define him, to be honest. You were his tutor, end of story. What happened at the Halloween party was just a staged scene to get Soobin’s attention and land a date and it had worked. That was all… right?
When you stood in front of the massive door of the seven hybrids’ villa, you typed in the code Jake had kindly given you a few days earlier so you wouldn’t have to wait in the cold. But out of politeness, you knocked anyway. No one answered, so you pushed the door open. The living room and large kitchen were completely empty. It was really strange, the place looked almost eerie compared to the chaos of the last time you’d been there, for the Halloween party. So you walked in and, reaching the bottom of the stairs, called out: “Jake! I’m here!”
But there was no answer. You assumed he was in his room, as usual when he wanted to avoid chores. So you climbed the wooden steps one by one, looking around. All the doors on the landing were closed except one. When you reached Jake’s door and saw it was half-open, you knocked lightly with your knuckles on the wood and said: “Sorry I’m late, Jake, but we really need to review three chapters of Contemporary History on the post-war period and the peace treaties…”
But the words died in your throat.
Jake was there but he wasn’t alone. He was leaning back against his messy desk, and between his legs stood a girl you recognized all too well: one of the most popular and beautiful girls on campus. She had her nails buried in Jake’s dark hair, kissing him passionately, her hips moving against his. And yet, you noticed immediately that Jake wasn’t touching her at all. His hands were lazily resting on the desk, as if he didn’t even have a girl kissing him in front of him. His ears were slightly lowered, and his tail, beneath his pants, was completely still—no twitch, no movement. It was strange because with you, Jake was always the opposite. The way they were kissing seemed almost mechanical, especially on Jake’s part… as if he were bored. There was none of that desperation to touch you like at Halloween, none of that devastating heat, none of that deep, rough moan he’d reserved for you at the top of the stairs just a few days earlier.
And yet, despite his obvious detachment, the sight of Jake wrapped around another girl hurt, badly. You suddenly felt stupid, like a total fool. But stupid for what? Jake wasn’t your type at all… and yet, watching him share his personal space and his lips with someone else filled you with a sharp, cutting disappointment that quickly turned into burning anger toward him.
In the shock of that vision, you abruptly took a step back to leave, but the sudden movement made your heavy backpack bump against the wooden doorframe. At such close range, Jake’s wolf hearing instantly picked up the noise but more than that, he caught your scent. He pulled away from the girl almost immediately, as if pushing her off, and his eyes widened when they landed on you in the doorway. His nose wrinkled instantly because he’d just caught your scent in the air—but your usual sweet strawberry fragrance was gone. It had turned sour, sharp, and not good—it reminded him of the early days when you couldn’t stand him being near you at all.
“Y/n! Wait!” Jake exclaimed, taking a decisive step toward you but you had no intention of staying there to be humiliated. You spun around on your heel, your cheeks literally burning with embarrassment.
Jake gently grabbed your wrist in an attempt to stop your rush down the stairs: “Hey! Stop for a second!” he exclaimed, looking at you but you spun around abruptly, yanking your wrist free from his grip especially from his touch and said:
“Let go of me, Jake! Don’t touch me! I knew you were irresponsible, but I didn’t think you’d go this far! We have a test in three days, and I rearranged all my plans today just to come here and help you pass the exam and what do you do? Not even train—which would make more sense—but kiss one of your many girls who throw themselves at you with a snap of their fingers?!” You glared at him, and Jake looked at you carefully, almost caught off guard by the vehemence of your words. His wolf ears lowered slightly, betraying a hint of regret or perhaps confusion about what was happening. His nose wrinkled imperceptibly as he sniffed the air around you, sensing how your scent was becoming sharper, more acidic as if every fiber of your body was screaming how much you disliked the situation. It reminded him of the scent you gave off when you couldn’t stand being near him.
Trying to take a step toward you to calm you down, Jake said in a low voice: “Y/n, we weren’t doing anything serious. She just came to return a hoodie to me and...”
But you didn’t care at all about his justifications. You cut him off abruptly with a wave of your hands: “I don’t care what you were doing! It just bothers me that I wasted my time with a guy who doesn’t have his head on straight, who only thinks about having fun and showing off! You know what? Figure it out yourself. I’ll send you the notes online from now on because I have no intention of setting foot in this house again to waste time with you!”
At those words, a spark flashed in his eyes—no way was he going to lose you. He… he wanted to be with you. Seeing you every day kept him mentally stable, and he always found an excuse to see you or be near you. So Jake took a decisive step closer to you because he didn’t rationally understand what was going through your mind at that moment but his animal nature—his primal wolf instinct—spoke to him, suggesting a fucking precise idea:
Could it be… that she’s jealous of seeing you with someone else?
In that moment of high tension, his animal side took over completely without him realizing it. His usual cocky smirk reappeared on his face, and tilting his head slightly toward you, he said in a rough, teasing tone: “Are you mad because I’m not studying, sweetheart… or because the lips on my mouth weren’t yours? Do you miss me that much already after the other night?”
At those words, your eyes widened. Did he seriously just say that out loud? You were completely shocked and wounded in your pride by what he’d just dared to say. Feeling your cheeks burn even redder, you forced yourself to laugh and, lifting your chin, looked him straight in the eyes with a shamelessly defiant air: “You’re completely crazy! I don’t care at all who you kiss, Jake Sim! In fact, I’m even happy you’re so busy with your ‘friends’ that way, you won’t interfere in my life this weekend when I go out with Soobin!” You said with a small smirk.
At the sound of Soobin’s name, Jake’s earlier smirk vanished completely. His ears snapped backward, almost stiffening, and his jaw tightened slightly at seeing you so bold with him. In a low voice, he said: “What did you say?”
You looked at him before leaving and said: “You heard me. He asked me out today at the bar, but I told him no to come here and study with you because I’m a responsible girl and stupid me, but we’ll see each other this weekend. So try to do well on the history test because I finally got what I wanted.”
With that, you pushed him slightly, taking advantage of his moment of shock, opened the villa’s door, and walked out, slamming it behind you. You left the university’s golden boy alone in the hallway, furious and jealous for the first time in his life.
After you left Jake, leaving your notes in plain sight on the table, the atmosphere inside that house had become literally suffocating—especially for Jake. When the other six members of the pack returned, they found Jake sulking, half-stretched out on the large, dark leather sofa in the living room. The younger ones almost laughed at the sight, but the older ones immediately understood that something had happened. Every second, Jake ran his fingers through his thick hair, ruffling it furiously, or hurled a stress ball against the wall in front of him, catching it mid-air with his reflexes before throwing it again.
Jay and Sunghoon exchanged an exasperated glance. Jay, the black cat hybrid, ran a hand over his neck, annoyed by the negative energy dominating the room.
“Can someone tell me what happened with your tutor? Why isn’t she here in a chair, making you memorize dates or the names of generals? God, this house stinks so much of your bad pheromones. There’s a sour, wet-dog smell coming from you that I haven’t smelled in I don’t know how long…” said the cat hybrid, wrinkling his nose. Sunghoon did the same, but Jake, at the mere word "tutor," jolted upright on the couch, hurling the ball onto the floor with such force that it bounced off the ceiling. He almost growled, nervously running his hands through his hair:
“Nothing! Nothing happened! She’s just a stubborn little girl who says she doesn’t want to come here anymore because… and she’s going out with that damn Soobin this weekend.”
Sunghoon coughed in a half-laugh, unable to hold it back, and a cynical, amused grin appeared on his lips. “Oh, so Choi is seriously interested in Y/n… who would’ve thought! He’s been practically chasing her for weeks. And well, on the other hand, you were busy getting kissed by one of your groupies five minutes before Y/n arrived, right? You don’t care if Y/n goes out with another guy...especially Soobin, do you? You know, we saw her on the path as she was leaving, and human girls don’t work like hybrids, who dream of finding their mate 90% of the time just to be knotted and not claimed. Human girls don’t have a pack instinct. They don’t accept sharing, and above all, you can’t have your foot in two shoes with them.”
Jake rolled his eyes because everyone had warned him not to play around, especially with human girls. He covered his face with his hands, resting his elbows on his knees. “I don’t know what bothers me more...that she doesn’t want to come here anymore to study with me… or that she’s going out with another guy. She’s not… she’s not my type at all, you know! She’s a simple, down-to-earth girl—all about home, work, and musical scores and what pisses me off the most is that she’s almost as much of a know-it-all as I am. But damn, if I even think for a second about her laughing, walking, or looking at Soobin with those sweet eyes… my wolf side goes completely blind with rage, and I don’t understand why. Me? Jake Sim only cares about getting signed by a national team and living for soccer, not romantic drama. But if I imagine her with another guy, I feel like something’s being ripped away from me something that, technically, isn’t even mine… I just want to go out there and make everyone understand that she’s mine.”
At those words, Jake’s eyes widened—because… because he shouldn’t be thinking those things. Those were things people said when they’d found or were with their mate, not with a simple girl who gave them tutoring. Jay and Sunghoon stopped laughing, and their expressions turned serious, almost severe, as they watched their roommate crumble under the weight of a feeling he refused to admit but had just confessed a few seconds earlier. They exchanged another glance and, almost in unison, took a step forward toward their best friend, placing their hands on Jake’s shoulders.
“We told you to be careful with her, Jake,” Sunghoon said, with a rare note of seriousness in his voice. “But above all, we warned you right away that she was the one… the one who could calm the beast inside you without you having to pretend to be the king of the campus.”
Jay nodded in agreement, gently stroking the lower part of Jake’s ears this time: “Your tutor isn’t playing hard to get, Jake. She saw what you always do: using people out of boredom, for sport, to confirm to yourself that you can have anyone. But this time, you chose the wrong person. Y/n isn’t one of your fans who hang on your every word and accept your leftovers. If your wolf feels sick and is howling inside your head, it’s because he knows perfectly well that you’ve ruined the only good, real thing you’ve encountered in years. The few times I’ve seen you together, she’s the only person who looks at you for who you are—not for the captain’s armband, your beauty, or your status.”
“So get your ass off that couch,” Sunghoon concluded. “Apologize to her and please, don’t let her get away, because the true ‘mate’ only comes once in your life… don’t make the mistake so many others do of not letting go.”
Jake had one clear mission: he never wanted to see you angry with him again, even if it meant swallowing his pride. So, between one soccer training session and another, he took his studies deadly seriously.
He locked himself in his room and spent hours poring over the pages of Contemporary History you’d worked on together. He started bombarding your phone: sending you photos of his summary diagrams late at night, voice messages over five minutes long (which were practically illegal in your book) answering the open-ended questions you’d left him as homework before your fight. And at the end of every voice message, he’d always try to make it personal, asking in a low voice: “Hey… how are you? What did you do after class today? Do you want to meet up before the test on Friday afternoon?”
But you were categorical: you never replied to those personal questions, leaving him brutally on read. And for the study messages, you responded with an icy coldness that wasn’t in your nature but deep down, you knew you were jealous of him, so you tried not to think about him, not to give in. You’d look at the photos or listen to the voice messages, and you’d respond simply by leaving a reaction: a thumbs-up 👍 if the answer was correct, or a thumbs-down 👎 if he’d messed up the dates. No written messages. No “Okay,” no “Good job, you got six out of ten right.” Just absolute silence from you. And this was literally driving Jake crazy because no one in his entire life as an alpha hybrid and soccer captain had ever treated him like he was invisible.
Since the messages weren’t working, he switched to a more direct—and obviously more visible—strategy with you. Every single morning, he’d show up at the faculty café and patiently wait in line among dozens of students, just to reach your counter. When it was finally his turn, he’d lean heavily on the counter with his elbows, stretching forward to watch you as you prepared the coffees. He didn’t look like a loser at all, in fact, with that team jacket draped over his broad shoulders, his messy hair, and his magnetic amber gaze following your every move, he looked like he was searching for even the smallest crumb of your attention. It was the most shameless approach you’d ever seen from a guy, and sometimes, while you worked, a small smile would tug at your lips seeing him like that.
As you stirred the coffees or steamed the milk, he wouldn’t stop teasing you for a second: tilting his head, barely moving the tips of his ears to catch your eyes, and whispering with a crooked smile: “Good morning, sweetheart. Did you know WhatsApp was created as a messaging app, not an app for one-word replies or simple 👍👎? I preferred it when you actually spoke to me when I got distracted… are you sure you don’t want to review together tonight?”
But you had become almost mute with him. You didn’t give in even a millimeter to his antics. You kept your gaze fixed on the coffee machine and, slamming his receipt on the counter with a sharp tap, you responded every day with the same detached chant: “That’s four dollars and fifty cents for the oat milk cappuccino, Sim. Move it, there’s a line behind you.”You’d point with one finger at the long line behind him, and Jake would almost always pout. The scene was so ridiculous that, a few tables away, his pack never missed an opportunity to enjoy the show—especially the younger members, like Sunoo, who would burst out laughing, covering his mouth with his hands, absolutely loving the drama between you and his hyung.
Next to him, Ni-ki would shoot Jake an amused glance and comment in the group chat that you’d refused to speak to Jake again. Even Jungwon, the cat hybrid who was usually the calmest, would chuckle under his whiskers, shaking his head—though it was nice to see Jake, for the first time, thinking hard and working seriously on something that wasn’t soccer.
The door in front of Jake was still closed, but his ears picked up the sound of the history professor arranging the tests on the desks inside. There were still five minutes until the exam started.
This was shaping up to be the most important weekend of his entire academic year: not only was there the Contemporary History exam weighing on his mind, but on Sunday, he had a crucial league match. In the stands, scouts from some of the country’s most famous soccer teams would be watching, and Jake was hoping with everything in him to be chosen by one of them—to finally take off toward a professional career. Yet, despite the pressure of the upcoming match, the thing that had made him relax his shoulders and feel genuinely better that morning was your message.
After endless days of receiving nothing but cold thumbs-up or thumbs-down, your message had lit up his phone screen as soon as he woke up, his eyes still heavy with sleep:
“Hi. Don’t mix up the peace treaties from the various international assemblies, especially between World War II and the Cold War (P.S. I know there will be at least 2 questions on this topic). Good luck, Jake. Show them what you’re worth. :)”
At the sight of it, a smile, his first in a long time, crept onto his lips. He had reread that message all morning, and he was still staring at it now, just outside the classroom.
His inner wolf, which had been curled up, dull and listless for days in a corner of his mind, suddenly woke up at the news. His tail began wagging incessantly all day, and his animal instinct spoke clearly or perhaps it seriously hoped he still had a chance with you and said:
“If she didn’t care about you at all, she wouldn’t have written… especially today, when she knows how important this day is for your future. There’s still hope, Sim Jaeyun. Embrace it.”
That’s exactly why, gripping his phone between his fingers, Jake decided not to reply to you right away. For once, he wanted to avoid making a wrong move. He didn’t want to ruin that tiny bit of closeness with one of his usual bold responses. He wanted actions to speak for him.
So when the door to the lecture hall finally swung open and the students began pouring in, Jake took a seat at one of the central desks. And as soon as the Contemporary History test paper was placed in front of him, with a determination his classmates had never seen on his face before, he began answering all the questions. He didn’t want to disappoint you. He couldn’t allow himself to waste all the hours you’d spent writing him summaries, explaining every single chapter in detail even when you were angry with him. Or the fact that, despite everything, you’d taken a minute to wish him good luck.
So he put his head down and focused for the full two hours of the test, isolating himself from the rest of the world and concentrating on the answers he had to give.
After two grueling hours of the exam, Jake could literally not wait to find out his score. He was hoping with all his heart that the electronic system or the professors would give him the result immediately—he wanted to know if all that crazy studying you and he had done together had paid off. But the professor had decided to grade the tests on the spot, and all the students, Jake included, were stuck in their seats. He rested his face against his arms, trying to calm himself and imagine how you would react if he’d passed.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity to his wolf, the professor stood up from the desk with a stack of papers in her hands and began handing them out. When she reached Jake’s desk, she stopped and looked at him with a sincere and slightly surprised smile: “I don’t know how Y/n managed to make you ‘like’ Contemporary History, Sim, but I’m truly happy and proud of you.”
The professor handed him his test, and Jake lowered his eyes. There, written at the top in bright green marker, was a 75/100, accompanied by a small smiling face. He was literally shocked—his tail began wagging, and his pheromones started filling the air with his scent. He had never gotten a grade this high in that subject before. Without wasting a second, he pulled out his phone, took a photo of the test, and sent it immediately to the WhatsApp group he had with the other six members of the villa. They all praised him, but all he wanted was to hear you or see you. So as he strode out of the classroom, he opened your private chat and was about to attach the photo of his 75 to brag to you too—until he froze halfway down the hallway.
His wolf senses suddenly kicked in, and he caught an unmistakable trail of your sweet, unmistakable strawberry and cotton candy scent in the air—the one he had loved discovering so much. Jake’s head snapped around twice until his eyes locked onto you. There you were, just a few meters away, leaning against the hallway wall as you waited for him outside the classroom. At the sight of you, his hybrid nature rejoiced: his gray ears perked up happily on his head, and his tail, beneath his tracksuit pants, began moving in a frantic, enthusiastic rhythm, thrilled that you were there for him—even though he hadn’t asked you to be.
You gave him a small, shy smile, and Jake closed the distance between you in a flash, almost running until you felt his strong, large arms wrap tightly around your waist. Before you could even realize what was happening, Jake lifted you off the ground, nearly taking you into his arms mid-air in the middle of the hallway.
“J-Jake! What are you doing?! Put me down, are you crazy?!” you stammered, your heart in your throat, as you instinctively clung to his broad back to avoid falling. But Jake ignored your protests and buried his head right near the hollow of your neck, breathing in your scent deeply. He whispered with a voice rough with emotion and adrenaline: “Y/n… I got a 75. I did it… thanks to you.”
Your smile widened involuntarily at hearing him so happy, and you gently caressed the back of his neck. “I knew you’d do great things, Jake. Remember, you told me that by the end of the course, you’d get a 100 if you applied yourself! But now put me back down, seriously!”
Jake chuckled, only then realizing that all the students left in the hallway were staring at you. With extreme slowness, he let you slide back down but when your feet touched the ground, he didn’t pull away instead, his face stayed just a few centimeters from yours, so close you could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin. You swallowed, feeling your cheeks turn red, and he loved seeing you so close to him again. He studied you with an intense gaze, lowering his eyes to your lips for a second before meeting your eyes again.
“And now… where’s my reward?” he asked in a provocative tone, watching you with a challenging look.
“Your reward is that the history box on the register finally has a green checkmark instead of a red one, and that maybe you won’t fail… that’s your reward, Sim,” you said, as if it were obvious.
Jake pouted cutely, shaking his head, and teased you by reaching out to give you a light tap on the tip of your nose: “Really, sweetheart? That’s it? You’re a ruthless tutor. I was hoping for something much more… this weekend… we haveto celebrate, Y/n. Tomorrow evening is one of the most important matches of my life....there will be scouts from national and global teams watching. Please come watch me play in the stands.” He said, almost pleading with his hands.
You immediately tried to shake your head and protest, crossing your arms: “Jake, no, I told you… I have plans this weekend… I mean, I have to meet Soobin for breakfast, and then I have to study for my exams. I can’t spend the evening in a pub…”
But he, being the skilled manipulator he was when he wanted something from you, took half a step closer, reducing the space between you even more. You felt his pheromones teasing your body, and he said: “Breakfast is Sunday morning. My match is tomorrow evening. You have to come to the stands to cheer me on, Y/n. You sent me that message this morning, tomorrow, you need to be there in person. You helped me get through the hardest part of the week… you don’t want to leave me alone right at the finish line, do you? I’m only asking you to come tomorrow, okay?”
Jake Sim was seriously a thorn in your side, and he knew exactly how to get a “yes” out of someone at any cost. You rolled your eyes, feigning fake exasperation, and started nervously fiddling with your backpack strap to avoid looking at him. “Okay, fine… I’ll come to the match with Allie,” you conceded in the end, hinting at a small smile. But then your tone turned more serious and low. “But… you know I don’t drink alcohol, Jake. So there won’t be much for me to do at the pub, and I want to leave at a decent time so I can be awake and on time Sunday morning.”
Jake immediately noticed that sudden shift in your mood. His wolf instinct picked up on a different nuance in your voice, and he desperately wanted to know what had happened to you in the past—what was the reason behind your total refusal of alcohol, or why you trusted people so little and disliked physical contact so much. But he knew he had to take it one step at a time.
He took a deep breath, looking at you with a rare seriousness, and said: “I know you’re still hesitant about me… and I’m sorry for the other day,” he said, almost mentally cursing himself for letting that third-year girl kiss him. “But we’ve known each other for a while now, and at the Halloween party, you trusted me. We worked as a team… so I thought that tomorrow evening, you could try drinking something with me and my friends. They might seem like a bunch of lunatics, but all six of them are curious to meet you, Y/n.”
You looked at him, stunned, your eyes wide, and opened your mouth to protest. But Jake immediately interrupted you, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder to reassure you. “I just want you to feel safe with me. When you’re with me, nothing bad will ever happen to you, I promise. If you’re afraid of drinking for some reason… well, you’ll tell me about it, when and if you want to. But tomorrow evening, I’ll stay right by your side, without drinking a single drop of alcohol, so I can stay 100% sober. You can have fun without touching a drink, obviously but I also want you to understand that you can trust me blindly and if you want to try drinking, you can do it in complete peace of mind, because after the party, I’ll pick you up, put you in my car, and take you home safe and sound, ready for your date with Soobin the next day,” Jake said, the last part reluctantly, running a hand through his thick hair and betraying a hint of jealousy at the innocent mention of your date. But he wanted, above all, to make you understand that he wasn’t selfish—he’d loved making people like him since his scout days, loved being known for who he truly was. But between his reputation as the golden boy of the soccer team and knowing he was a good-looking guy, many girls wanted him, and he had fun with it. Now, though, he wanted to see if things could work with you.
You stood still because you’d never heard a guy—let alone a fiery, popular hybrid like him—say something like that to you, or put himself completely at your disposal just to make you feel protected.
You lowered your gaze, feeling your cheeks burn, because deep down, you knew it was true: despite his flaws, his arrogance, and his distracted kisses with others, with Jake, you’d felt safe almost from the first day. And with him, the anxiety that usually clenched your stomach always disappeared. This had to make you realize that there was something more to Jake. When you looked up again, you said softly: “Thank you, Jake…”
He smiled at you and said: “I promise you, Y/n. If you want to drink something, I’ll always be by your side… and even if you decide not to drink, it’ll be the same for me—I’ll be there to protect you,” he thought the last part in his mind, while his inner wolf growled with pride at the idea of being your shield against the rest of the world. “Everything will be fine, I promise,” he said, reaching out his hand toward you, lifting his pinky finger in a solemn and slightly childish vow. You looked at him for a second, then smiled, and linked your pinky with his, squeezing it.
“Okay… I’ll come to your match… and maybe I’ll drink something at the party.”
At that contact and those words, Jake’s smile grew enormous. He pulled you close, even if only through that link between your pinkies, because he couldn’t wait for you to discover and get to know the real Jake.
The stands of the university soccer field were literally packed with people: some were leading the university chants, others were playing drums and trumpets, blasting the university anthem, and there were countless screams from fans cheering on all the players but one name echoed louder than all the others: number 5, Jake Sim.
You and Allie were sitting in a kind of covered VIP box, a reserved area where the other six hybrids from the villa were also watching the match. You were sitting right next to Jay, the black cat hybrid, who was watching the game with his arms crossed and his tail lazily swaying behind his back—he wasn’t part of any sports team, but for his best friends or hyungs, he would never miss a thing. To Allie’s left was Heeseung, the hamster hybrid, who, true to his sweet but incredibly magnetic nature, hadn’t stopped flirting with her for a second, making her giggle while she kept rolling her eyes.
At one point, Allie turned to you, her eyes wide, and pointed at the crowd below: “Wow, Y/n… I knew Jake was the ‘golden boy’ of the university and the soccer team, but look how many girls are wearing his jersey!” Looking down, you noticed that almost 90% of the female fans were wearing the number 5 jersey with Sim printed on the back. Out of pure spite, you had decided to leave the original jersey he’d given you the other day with a cocky smile in your closet but to avoid freezing from the evening wind, you had accepted wearing only his team scarf, which still smelled intensely of him. You weren’t entirely sure if it bothered you to see so many girls with his name on their backs. After all, you didn’t like Jake… right? And besides, the next morning, you had a special date at one of the best bakeries in the area with Soobin. So you didn’t understand that annoying itch that was creeping through your body at the sight of so many girls talking about Jake.
But those confused thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the booming voice of the university commentator over the speakers, who shouted: “…And there’s Anton with a perfect pass to Jake from the corner kick! Sim breaks free in the shooting zone… he jumps higher than everyone else and… HEADER! GOAL! IT’S A GOAL FOR OUR UNIVERSITY!”
A crazy roar spread across the entire field, and the stands almost trembled from the crowd of people screaming, jumping, and recording videos. Caught up in the adrenaline of the moment, both Jay and Heeseung leaned toward you. You felt Jay’s muscular arm wrap around your neck, pulling you into a brotherly hug while Heeseung did the same with Allie, jumping and cheering. You burst out laughing, infected by that insane energy you never thought you’d enjoy, exchanging an amused glance with Allie as you saw her lean into Heeseung.
Jay, noticing your laughter, looked down at you and gave you a light, teasing nudge with his elbow. “Look at you… You didn’t want to wear his jersey to play it cool, but you’re clutching his scarf around your neck, sniffing it every two seconds like you miss him. And you can’t stop rolling your eyes when some girl comments on Jake, yet you can’t take your eyes off him during any of his plays! I bet if Jake knew you were smelling his scent while he scores, he’d jump around like a puppy!” He said, observing you. You blushed instantly and retorted, giving him a playful shove to his chest: “Stop it, Jay! I’m only wearing it because it’s freezing up here, not because of… I only smell it because… because Jake has a nice scent.” Jay nodded, shaking his head with a smirk.
At that moment, your eyes returned to the field. Jake was running like crazy on the green pitch, but instead of heading toward the ultras’ curve, he ran straight under the VIP box where you were sitting. He slowed his pace, making a slight theatrical bow with his arms open to the crowd. And as soon as his eyes found you in the crowd, he winked at you and gave you a cocky smile. You felt your cheeks burn completely, and Allie immediately brought her hands to her chest, striking a totally dramatic pose like a true actress: “Ohh! Jake Sim winked at me! I’m about to faint!” Heeseung immediately interjected, leaning toward her ear with a half-smile: “I don’t think so, doll… I don’t think that wink was meant for you…” Allie, however, let out a small huff and said, “Oh, come on, let me dream!” before giving you a knowing nudge.
You watched Jake as he turned to run back and let himself be swallowed by the embraces of his teammates. But when you tried to turn away to hide your embarrassment, you realized that the atmosphere in the box had suddenly changed because all six hybrids left there were staring at you.
In their gazes, there wasn’t just happiness for the goal. Their eyes (feline, canine, or wild) shone with an intensity and a protective, almost possessive warmth in the way they looked at you. Because in a hybrid culture, the bond forming between you and Jake was terrifyingly similar to an imprinting, the sacred recognition of their “female. and in the pack, you were the first female even if you hadn’t yet been knotted or bitten by Jake.
The pub where the victory party was being held was literally packed with students who had been in the stands, all dancing and drinking. The space on the small sofa in the pub was so limited that you were half-stuck to Jake, his shoulder pressed against yours. You were leaning over, scrolling through the drink menu, while Jake was telling you which one he thought you’d like best but in reality, your eyes weren’t really looking at the names on the menu at all—they were completely captivated by him.
You observed his backward baseball cap, from which a few strands of dark hair escaped, falling rebelliously across his forehead. His cheeks were still slightly flushed from the physical exertion of the game, but also from the heat of the room. Jake was really too handsome—a lethal mix of hybrid charm with his large hands and ears that wouldn’t stop moving, but also a sweetness in the small dimples on his face or his tired eyes… not to mention his full lips, which he bit every now and then. You realized it was a tic—partly a nervous reflex, but also something personal, slightly explicit, directed at you.
Your thoughts dissolved instantly when you felt his warm voice against your ear, so close it sent shivers down your spine: “So, sweetheart? What are you getting?” he asked, watching your every reaction closely. Snapping out of your trance and having barely read anything, you pointed to the first combination that caught your eye: a cocktail with grapes, lime, currants, and a vodka base.
Jake added your drink to the order and then ordered a simple Coca-Cola for himself. Looking at him, you realized he was dead serious—he wouldn’t touch a drop of alcohol all night, giving up toasting to his own victory just to keep his promise of protecting you.
When the drink arrived at the table, Jake picked up the glass, adjusted the straw, and gently turned it toward you. You leaned slightly forward to take your first sip, and he whispered: “Don’t drink too much at once, okay? Take small sips, or your body won’t handle the impact.”
You looked up at him as you drank, watching him from below. At the sight of your lips wrapped around the straw and your bright eyes locked on his, every rational thought in Jake’s head vanished. His alpha hybrid instinct short-circuited at the realization of just how damn beautiful you were. His senses picked up the warmth spreading across your skin, and your strawberry scent, mixing with the fruity smell of the drink, created an intoxicating, addictive blend for a hybrid with such a developed alpha side as his.
After sliding that first drop of alcohol into your body for the first time in years, you pulled away from the straw and said with a fake challenging tone: “I’m not a child, Jake!”
He sighed, shaking his head with a crooked smile, and said: “I know you’re not a child… but you told me you’ve barely ever drunk in your life, and I just want this fear of alcohol to fade, even thanks to me and I want you to have a great night. So yes, I’ll keep an eye on you, Y/n.”
At those words, you bit your lip, playing with the straw, and leaned even closer to him. Slowly reaching out, you gently caressed the base of his wolf ears, feeling them soft and warm under your fingers knowing it would make him more sensitive. “I like this drink… but maybe there isn’t that much alcohol in it,” you whispered close to his face.
Jake sniffed your glass, his ears twitching pleasantly under your touch, and nodded: “Good. I certainly wouldn’t have started you off with aged gin or century-old grappa!” he said, smiling at you. You laughed and, leaning even closer to his cheek, whispered against his lips: “You’re such a good boy, Jake…”
Jake’s inner wolf couldn’t tolerate being called a "good boy" when every single fiber of his body was screaming the opposite. His breath suddenly became heavier, and he fixed his gaze directly into your eyes. For perhaps the first time, driven by something even you didn’t think you had, you were teasing him, rendering him more inert in his hybrid nature than his human one.
“Stop saying things like that, sweetheart… you have no idea what it does to a hybrid’s mind,” he hissed, his mouth a millimeter from your ear. You pouted slightly, openly challenging his gaze, and said with a tone dripping with fake innocence that shattered his self-control: “Why not, Sim? Are you afraid your bad-boy reputation might get tarnished by me? What would happen if I went around saying you’re not actually a show-off? That you love taking care of people, and that in your pack and on your team, you act more like a protective father figure rather than just an older brother?”
At that declaration, Jake realized you knew him better than some people he’d known for years. It was true—you saw through him, past the arrogant athlete mask he’d stitched onto himself. He was a good guy, always had been with the people he loved but in that precise moment, with you so terrifyingly close on the pub’s small sofa, the warmth of the vodka beginning to melt your anxieties, and the scent of your skin shifting to reveal a growing excitement that his predator nature picked up with millimeter precision, Jake was having thoughts far too obscene to be defined as a "good boy."
His inner wolf was wide awake. It wanted to spin you around and kiss you in front of the entire pub. It wanted to push your head back and drag his nose along your neck, lingering on the scent gland—the most sacred area for hybrids like him, where a female’s scent was most concentrated. He wanted every last hybrid on this earth to smell his scent on your body.
But his hybrid mind went even further, imagining much darker, wilder fantasies—definitely not the kind a "good boy" would have. In his head, he pictured you straddling him, completely naked, your breasts bouncing with every movement, gasping as you clenched your fingers in his dark hair and bent his ears backward with pleasure. He wanted to see you trembling with pleasure beneath or above him as he thrust deep inside you, claiming you not as a human, but as an animal claiming his mate he had finally found and the most depraved image of all was seeing you swollen with his knot. He imagined pushing all the way inside you, swelling in your belly to lock himself inside your body, forcing you to stay bound to him while his pheromones marked you from within. At the same time, he wanted to hear you cry and moan his name like a sick prayer, trapped in his knot.
So no… Jake was not a good boy in that moment but until he officially went into heat—that time of year when hybrids completely lost their minds or until you became his female in every sense, he would force himself to be good. He would keep the beast that had been pulsing inside him for months whenever he was near you on a tight leash.
The overwhelming beats of Scream & Shout blared at full volume, literally shaking the walls of the pub. You were in the middle of the dance floor, the alcohol coursing through you giving you the confidence to sing and dance with Allie, arms raised, hips swaying in rhythm, a few sweat-dampened strands of hair sticking to your forehead and face as you laughed and hopped but every so often, your eyes instinctively snapped toward the small sofa where Jake had stayed seated next to Heeseung.
He hadn’t danced or drunk, staying true to his promise to be your shield. He kept his large hand tightly wrapped around your third drink of the night—a deep pink Cosmopolitan and he hadn’t taken his eyes off you for even a second. That gaze, both sweet and magnetic, had sent shivers through you all evening. When the song ended, you pushed your way through the crowded, overheated bodies, and when you finally reached the table, you practically collapsed onto the sofa next to them, smiling radiantly especially at Jake.
You swept your hair behind your back with a fluid neck movement, and Jake couldn’t stop watching you. You leaned forward to grab the straw of your Cosmopolitan, and as the cool, alcoholic liquid slid down your throat, you gave him a sweet but incredibly sly smile. “It’s… it’s so good,” you slurred slightly, your cheeks flushed. “I… I definitely want another one!” you said, giggling.
Heeseung burst out laughing, turning to Jake and slapping him on the shoulder: “Wow, Sim… I think tonight you’ve awakened a completely new personality in Y/n! This party is going to cost you a lot if she keeps this up.”
Jake shook his head with a half-protective smile curving his lips. He leaned toward you and whispered in your ear: “You still have to finish this one, sweetheart. But the answer is no...no fourth drink. It’s already a lot that I let you get to this Cosmopolitan.”
You immediately pouted, disappointed by his refusal. Driven by a sudden, bold audacity you’d never have had while sober, you stretched toward him, wrapping your arms around his neck. You leaned forward, pressing your face right where his neck met his shoulder—exactly above his wolf scent gland.
At that contact, Jake froze instantly, stiffening as if he’d been hit by an electric shock. His breath caught because, without realizing it, by moving there against him and breathing in his skin, you were literally marking him with your strawberry and vodka scent. For a few seconds, your pheromones—less sharp because you were human—mixed with his, and for his wolf, that gesture was both ecstasy and exquisite torture.
“Please, Jake…?” you whispered against his neck. “You know… yeah, well, I’m really having so much fun tonight!” You raised your hands in the air to emphasize, giggling again. “And besides, you were… you were so good at soccer tonight. You’re a champion, so we have to celebrate big, right?”
Jay, who was sitting on the sofa across from you, watched the whole scene and put a hand on his face, shaking his head though with an amused smirk. “Jake, my friend, listen to me: maybe you should take her home now,” the black cat said. “Otherwise, tomorrow morning, when she wakes up, she’ll be mortified by everything she’s doing and saying with just three drinks in her!”
You turned toward Jay, exaggerating your pout: “No, Jake, don’t listen to him! I… I want to dance more, and I want another drink! We could… we could share it, what do you say? One sip each… there are so many drinks I’ve never tried.”
But Jake, struggling to regain control of his instincts after that close contact on his neck, slid his large hand down your back, steadying you, and looked you straight in the eyes. With a low, incredibly gentle tone, he said: “Y/n… earlier, you said I was a good boy, right?”
You looked at him for a few seconds, enchanted by his lips, and slowly nodded, almost hypnotized.
“Exactly,” he continued, gently rubbing your back. “Good boys always take their girls home safe and sound. It’s a promise I made you, and I’m not breaking it. So game over for tonight.” He said, standing up and gently pulling you up by your arm. “Put on your coat actually, take my team hoodie too. It’s freezing outside.”
As you weakly protested because you seriously wanted to go back to the dance floor and have fun, and most of all, you wanted his eyes glued to your body again, Jake helped you slip your arms into his enormous hoodie, which completely wrapped you in his scent
The notes of Into It filled the car, and you closed your eyes slightly, smiling. “I’d love to write a song like this… I love alternative R&B and synth-pop,” you said, leaning back against the seat. Jake smiled at the sight of you so relaxed in his car. He knew perfectly well that both you and he loved Chase Atlantic—they were one of the many things that connected you without needing too many words, something he’d discovered about you almost by accident.
“Well, who knows… maybe one day, at the Champions League final, you’ll be the one opening the ceremony with your own song, and I’ll be on the field with my team, walking down the tunnel,” he said, shooting you an amused glance but also offering encouragement—for both of you. He’d make a pact with the devil himself to become an elite soccer player, but at the same time, he wanted to see you fulfilled. At that statement, you almost shot upright, clapping your hands enthusiastically: “That would be amazing! Even if in three or four years, you’ll probably have even more girls wearing your jersey… You know, today at the stadium, almost all of them were wearing it, and I don’t blame them, because you’re…”
Jake furrowed his brows, not understanding where you were going with this, your cheeks still flushed from the alcohol. “I’m…?” he asked, turning the steering wheel. At the sight of his veined hands gripping it, you bit your lip slightly and giggled, shifting in your seat to trace a finger over his hand resting on the gear shift. With your cheeks incredibly red, you whispered: “You’re really gorgeous, Jake. But not in a… ‘sexual’ way. In the way that you’re gorgeous inside and out, and it kills me that you’re ashamed to let people see that, hiding behind your bad-boy mask.”
Jake smiled softly. “Well… I think that’s the most genuine and deep compliment anyone’s given me in years,” he said sincerely, squeezing your fingers for a second before putting his hand back on the wheel.
You clapped your hands again, happy, and started humming softly along with the rhythm of the music until the car turned onto the driveway of the hybrids’ big villa. Jake took you straight to his room to avoid waking the others who hadn’t come to the party. With infinite patience, he took care of you, as he’d promised, helping you take off your coat and his oversized hoodie, turning away respectfully when you unclasped your bra to be more comfortable. He handed you a clean T-shirt and a pair of soft sweatpants to wear as pajamas. Like a good boy, he waited outside the bathroom while you washed your face. When you came out, he’d changed too.
Without his team jacket and the daytime clothes that often made him look over the top, in his pajamas, he looked like the classic boy next door—just an ordinary, accessible, and incredibly sweet guy. But this wasn’t the real Jake you’d come to know, was it? With that question in mind, you sat on the edge of the padded headboard. When Jake sat down right next to you, you turned your face abruptly and stared at his profile under the soft light of the bedside lamp. Your eyes traced the perfect lines of his profile—Jake had a beautiful nose, straight and large, typical of his hybrid nature. Without even realizing it, guided by the alcohol and a sudden urge to touch him, you reached out, placing a finger on the bridge of his nose and gently traced its entire outline down to the tip.
Jake turned his head, letting you do it as his wolf ears twitched slightly and a small smile formed on his lips. “Earlier… I also wanted to tell you that you’re beautiful, Jake,” you said softly as you met his eyes, pulling your hand back and looking up at the ceiling with a small huff. “But I already knew that… every girl tells you that every single day of the week.”
At that, Jake rolled his eyes, and his hybrid nature kicked in instantly—because this was the second time you’d subtly let him know you were completely jealous of all those stupid number 5 jerseys the other girls wore in the stands. A small grin took over his lips. “Damn… If I’d known that with three drinks in you, you’d be this chatty and admit things like that, I would’ve taken you to every party this season, sweetheart,” Jake said with an amused tone.
In the strange euphoria of the alcohol, you almost knelt on the soft mattress, leaning over him as he lay partially stretched out on the bed. Neither of you could stop looking at each other, unfiltered and guided only by instinct. You whispered in a low voice: “I… Can I kiss you, Jake?”
Jake’s eyes widened, completely caught off guard by such a direct request. Where the hell had the girl who hated being touched—especially the one who was mad at him—gone? His tail began wagging frantically on the mattress, betraying his wild excitement. When he saw you leaning in even closer, he made a huge effort of willpower, lifting a finger and gently pressing it against your mouth. “Sweetheart… I’d pay gold to do it again and kiss you right now,” he said in a low voice. “But damn, as you said earlier, right now I’m a ‘good boy,’ and I can’t take advantage of you like this. You have to ask me when you’re sober, Y/n. When you’re sober, you can ask me for anything… anything. And if tomorrow morning you still want me, you can ask me for whatever you want...but not now.”
You made an adorable pout, visibly disappointed by the refusal—you’d never expected it. “Anything?” you murmured. Jake nodded slowly. “Anything.”
“Well… fine, then tomorrow morning,” you whispered, your fingers already lazily playing with his big wolf ears again. You continued, your voice shy and your eyes heavy with sleepiness: “I… I want to ask you something tomorrow, but I won’t spoil it now.”
Jake gently caressed your flushed cheek with the back of his hand, tender and dying of curiosity about what you might ask him. “You should try to sleep now, Y/n. The bed is all yours,” he said. You nodded weakly, exhausted from the day, and curled up against him, nestling on his side and resting your head on the pillow.
Jake reached over to turn off the bedside lamp. Despite the wolf inside him screaming with the impulse to pull you close, trap you under his body for the whole night, he forced himself to respect your space. He didn’t yet have the official right to hold you or keep you close as if you were his mate. So he settled for stroking the back of your hand with warm, protective fingers all night, letting you rest. As he felt your breathing become steady, Jake stayed awake in the dark, his heart pounding in his chest. He was so curious and impatient to find out what you intended to ask him the next morning.
In his hybrid mind, he wondered if that mysterious question had to do with your fear of being touched by others.
Jake woke up stretching, his nose catching your faint scent of strawberries and something sweet—maybe a hint of cotton candy, or perhaps a sugary note from one of the drinks you’d had the night before. As he stretched to see if you were still asleep, he placed a hand on the part of the bed where you should have been. It was still warm, but you weren’t there. His heart started pounding, and he sat up almost abruptly, lazily running a hand through his hair. When he opened his eyes, at that exact moment, he saw you entering his room, still wearing his clothes, with two steaming cups of coffee in your hands.
You smiled at him shyly, and he thought you were 100% back to the girl he’d met months ago—not the teasing version of you from last night, the one who had asked if you could kiss him or who had looked at him with eyes full of excitement. When you handed him the cup, he responded with a rough, small “Thanks,” and you sat down in front of him. As you sipped your coffee, you couldn’t stop looking at him, and Jake chuckled into his cup.
“Stop looking at me like that, sweetheart. Spit it out…tell me what you wanted to say last night,” he said. You opened your mouth to speak, but the words got stuck on the tip of your tongue, and your cheeks turned even redder. “You… you, forget it, Jake. It’s… it’s nothing, what I wanted to ask you. Please, just forget it,” you said.
Jake tilted his head, observing you, and he could sense how embarrassed your body was. Teasing you, he said: “No, no, beautiful. Now you tell me what you wanted to ask me. And I certainly can’t forget you begging to kiss me!” You opened your mouth to retort, rolled your eyes, and said: “Why are you always so shameless? It’s not even 8 in the morning.” Jake chuckled and replied, still in a low voice—it was in his nature. You pouted and said: “I’ll ask you this thing, but first, don’t laugh, don’t tease me, and don’t make a scene, okay? Don’t yell or act like a clown, okay?”
Jake was seriously curious about what you wanted to ask him. He stretched out his pinky finger as a promise, and you squeezed it tightly. “Okay, well, I won’t beat around the bush… you… do you want to have sex with me?”
Jake thought he was still asleep. Was he dreaming? Hallucinating? But when he spat out half the coffee in his mouth onto his pajama shirt, the burning contact of the liquid on his warm skin made him cough violently. You jumped up and started patting his back for a full minute. Neither of you said a word. Jake placed his coffee on the nightstand, and as he turned to you, he looked at you carefully and said, perhaps too loudly: “ARE YOU KIDDING ME? ARE YOU STILL DRUNK, OR… DID YOU GET A HIGH FEVER IN THE FEW HOURS YOU SLEPT?”
You glared at him and almost growled his name. He lowered his voice, but his hand pressed against your forehead—you were cold… damn. You were serious.
“I’m not feverish, and I’m not drunk. Damn, I wasn’t even drunk last night, Jake, and… and I’m not joking. But if you don’t want to… I understand,” you said, fiddling with the strings of your pajama. Jake was extremely restless at that moment. He ran his hands through his hair countless times, and after what felt like endless minutes, he said: “I want a reason, Y/n. I want a damn reason for why you asked me something like that. Where’s the girl who hated my physical contact? Where’s the girl who was even afraid to sit next to me? Where’s that girl? That girl wouldn’t have asked me to kiss her in the first place, let alone to have sex with me. So excuse me, but I want the fucking truth. And then we’ll consider it. But I want… the truth about why you were and still are afraid of being touched or drinking a drink with a little alcohol in it.”
You sighed because only your family and Allie knew the truth about what had happened to you in your last year of high school. You closed your eyes for a moment and tried not to relive all the pain that night had caused you, or the rumors that had spread about you and your parents. Then you said:
“Okay, I’ll tell you the truth. But please, this has to stay between you and me. It must not leave these four walls, and you… Please don’t say or do anything until I’ve finished telling you what happened.”
Jake nodded and shifted slightly closer, trying to calm you with his pheromones, but it didn’t work. When you started telling him that in your last year of high school, you were dating a guy from the soccer team, and you thought he was the right one for you, because he was the perfect guy: good grades, part of the best students’ club, and loved by your entire town because he did volunteer work. You had built a clear image of him in your mind. But everything changed one night… You and this guy had been together for a couple of months, and you went to a party together. He had drunk a little too much, and you weren’t completely sober either. Jake immediately understood what had happened to you: an assault.
His hybrid nature wanted to know who this guy was and make his life a living hell, especially when you started crying. He pulled you into his arms, and you buried your entire body against him. For endless minutes, he held you, gently stroking your hair and telling you it wasn’t your fault. But you didn’t stop crying and sobbing until you said:
“I… I’m broken, Jake. Every time someone tries to make me feel good, I freeze and go into this cold trance. That’s why I asked you… because it’s hard to admit, but I trust you. And you’ve made me realize that so many times these past few months.”You said this with tears in your eyes, and Jake gently wiped them away with his thumbs, closing his eyes for a moment because he never would have imagined finding himself in a situation like this.
Jake wanted to make you happy, so he gently shifted you away from him, lifted your chin, and looked deeply into your eyes. “You’re not broken, Y/n. You went through something horrible that no one in this world should ever experience. So it’s normal for your body to be afraid, for you to go into a negative, protective mode. Therefore… my answer is yes.”
You gave him a 32-tooth smile and hugged him even tighter than before. “You… you’re serious? You’ll help me overcome this?” Jake nodded and wiped away another tear sliding down your face. He whispered in a low voice: “I never want to see tears of sadness in you again, Y/n. These… these tears should only be of joy or excitement. So yes, I’ll help you. But on my conditions.”
You nodded and said, “What conditions will we adopt?”. Jake tried to show his most human side, not the dark hybrid one, and said: “
First, you need to start taking the anti-hybrid pill. I don’t want to accidentally knot and impregnate you when we… You know, have sex. And I’ll take it too, as long as this is safe.” You tried to speak, but a finger pressed against your lips. “Let me talk, Y/n. Second, we will not have sex right away. Before sex, there must absolutely be awareness and enjoyment of what we’re going to do—especially for you, since you’ve told me you can’t let yourself go or be touched by others. So there will be a lot of foreplay, both for me to discover your body and for you to discover mine. Third, you must tell me at any moment if you want to stop or if you don’t like something. There will be no safe word—if you tell me NO, it will be a NO. If you tell me you like it, I’ll continue. If you want to stop, I will stop. But if you beg me to continue, I will continue… because I have two natures, Y/n—both the human one and the animal one. These are my conditions, Y/n. If you’re up for it, we’ll do this together. But if you don’t agree with even one of these things, my answer will be a NO.”
You swallowed and nodded, still sitting on top of him, continuing to play with the strings of his pajama. After a while, you said, “These conditions are perfect for me. It’s clear that deep down, you’re a good guy!” You said this, trying to ease the tension that had built up. He gently caressed your side and, looking at you, said: “I’d like to suggest another condition. From the moment this starts… I’d like for you not to be with other girls, and obviously, the same will go for me. I know it might seem trivial to you, but I’d feel more comfortable. And when… well, if it ends, we could… yes, go back to our lives,” you said, a little embarrassed.
But in Jake’s mind, it was already settled that this wouldn’t end because you were his mate, and he would make you understand that in any way possible. You would never be with another guy except him, and the same went for him.
Were you a bad person for forgetting about your date with Soobin while crying in Jake’s arms, finally sharing what had happened to you? Maybe… but at the same time, after years of silence, you had finally told someone the truth. And perhaps, thanks to Jake’s words, his touch, and the growing realization that you might have found someone you could trust completely, you didn’t feel like a bad person at all.
You did like Soobin—maybe just physically, not for his personality, since you’d never really had the chance to get to know him deeply. And now here you were, giving him a slightly shy smile behind the campus café counter, apologizing for the hundredth time to the guy in front of you. You were making coffees, inventing excuses that, deep down, weren’t entirely false—but you’d twisted them to suit your needs.
“I’m really sorry I didn’t show up at the bakery. I woke up super late because the night before, I went to the soccer team’s party with Jake and his friends, and Allie wouldn’t leave me alone—she kept making me dance with her. Before I knew it, it was maybe 2 AM by the time I got home. And in the morning, when I woke up, I texted you right away,” you said, winking. Soobin, 99% convinced by your story, took a sip of the new winter recipe you’d added to the seasonal menu and nodded. But you heard him mutter under his breath: “Of course you were at Jake’s party.”
At the sound of that name, something inside you twitched. And as if on cue, your phone lit up. You saw Jake’s name at the top of your notifications. It wasn’t news that Jake and Allie usually topped your chat list. You glanced at the message:
-> Jake⚽️🐺: Come over at 6 PM. There won’t be anyone around for a good two hours, so you can relax! I’m heading to practice. See you later, sweetheart :)
You froze at those words. The day had arrived. Obviously, as he’d said, it wasn’t about sex...it was about… physically getting to know each other. Oh my God, what had you gotten yourself into? But he was the only man—besides your dad—who didn’t make you anxious. You’d thought and reasoned so much before asking him that question, and now the moment was here.
Two fingers snapped in front of your face, and you jumped. Soobin’s voice cut through your thoughts: “Seems like you just read a notification about a good grade or something amazing happening. Did something good happen?” he asked, looking at you. You quickly lied: “Yes, the music production company Hybe wrote to me… they want a meeting. You know I write music, and they want to get to know me and the drafts I have on my computer—there are over 100 of them.”
Soobin’s eyes widened. “Damn, Y/n, that’s huge news! I know Jay works under that label too, you could ask him about it…” You cut him off before he could finish, raising your hands. “I… please, don’t tell anyone. I don’t want to get contacts or opportunities because of someone else. I want them to want me, to like my lyrics and my melodies. So could you… not tell anyone? Only you, Allie, and my family know.”
Soobin’s ego swelled a little at the thought that you hadn’t even told Jake yet. “Don’t worry, my lips are sealed,” he said, miming a zipper over his mouth with his fingers. You thanked him.
Soobin wasn’t a bad friend, he was funny, seemed like a calm guy, and had his head on straight. But to your defense… he didn’t make you feel anything anymore. Or maybe you’d never really felt anything for him at all.
Your low-rise jeans hugged your legs perfectly, and your slightly snug sweater accentuated the curves you usually disliked but had started to appreciate as part of who you were. You had light makeup on, but your signature strawberry gloss never missed your lips, and your hair was softly wavy. You felt pretty, but anxiety was eating you up inside as you entered Jake’s house using the code you knew. This time, Jake rushed down the stairs, and when he saw you dressed so nicely to spend time with him, a small smile formed on his face.
“Hey, damn, sweetheart—if I’d known you’d dress this well, I would’ve spent a little more time on my outfit too!” he said, licking his lips slightly. You rolled your eyes, but when he offered his hand, you looked at it carefully before taking it. As he led you to his room, you felt a wave of anxiety, and Jake knew it. “Y/n, I don’t want to force you to do anything, okay? Before you got here, I thought maybe you could get comfortable in my clothes, and then we could listen to some music, do some Legos—I’ve got a ton or we could watch a movie. Whatever helps you relax is fine with me. I know you’ve never been with a hybrid before, but I can smell your scent notes, and right now, I can sense that sour, persistent note in you. So you choose what you want to do,” he said, giving you a small smile.
You lowered your head at the sight of his clothes because you knew you’d never meet another guy like Jake again. At first, you had to admit, you didn’t particularly like him. But as you got to know him over the months, you realized Jake was the kind of guy every mom would want as a partner for their daughter. Yes, he often acted like a show-off, but deep down, he had a huge heart and you knew, deep down, that he was opening it up to you.
“It’s a great idea to wear your clothes. I don’t even know why I dressed up so nicely. We’re just staying in your room, so yeah, I’ll put on your stuff, and then maybe we could… listen to some music? And what do you think about dancing?”Jake’s eyes widened slightly, and he said in a low voice: “Dancing?” You nodded, slightly amused, because you wanted to see if he’d get embarrassed. But Jake understood your gaze immediately and said: “You said that before doing anything, we need to get to know our bodies. I don’t want a dance-off, Jake. I just want some closeness between our bodies with the music, and yes… you can touch me, and obviously, I can touch you too,” you said. Jake nodded—if that’s what you wanted, it was fine with him.
When you came out of his bathroom, you were wearing one of Jake’s soccer jerseys, of course, with his number and last nam —and a simple pair of pajama pants. At that sight, something inside Jake clicked. He’d been disappointed on game day when he hadn’t seen you in his jersey, but now he thought it was a thousand times better to see you in his room, wearing his jersey, with only his eyes on you. In his hybrid nature, it was a beautiful victory.
He knew he was a little possessive by nature, but seeing you in his jersey, in his clothes, with his scent—the beast inside him rejoiced fiercely. He couldn’t wait to see you without them, at his mercy. But he had to push those thoughts away immediately. After what you’d confided in him, he wanted to give you all the time you needed. He wanted you to understand that only he could have you, desire you fiercely… because only he would listen to your body 100%.
You and Jake stared at the open Spotify screen on his laptop, scrolling through song options.
“What song could we listen to that we could both dance and sing to?” you asked, tilting your head as you read through various titles that were also in your own playlist. Jake made a small, thoughtful pout, running a finger over his chin until his eyes lit up. “How about ‘Dancing with Myself’? It’s super rhythmic, I used to listen to it all the time with my dad. It’s got that ‘80s rock beat that makes your feet, body, and head move all at once. What do you think?”
You beamed and hit play on the computer resting on his desk. Immediately, the iconic, overwhelming drum intro filled the room through the speakers. You didn’t need to be told twice—you started swaying your hips and bouncing on the rug, following your own rhythm. Meanwhile, Jake brought a hand to his face, perhaps out of embarrassment? His wolf ears bent slightly backward, betraying a hint of shy embarrassment at seeing you so unleashed—just for him. But at the same time, he was thrilled to see you so at ease in his company.
“Come on, Jake! Don’t tell me you’re embarrassed to dance a little with me!” you laughed, your hair swaying slightly with every movement. Seeing his gaze on you, you approached him—he was still sitting on the edge of the bed and teased him, holding up your pinky finger. “There’s no one else here. I won’t tell anyone!” Without thinking, you grabbed his wrists with your hands and playfully but firmly urged him to stand up and dance with you.
He closed his eyes for a second, sighing to compose himself in the situation he’d gotten himself into just to make you happy and help you understand he was the right one for you. When he opened them again, he saw your contagious laughter ringing out with the music, and a resigned but incredibly sweet smile spread across his lips. He, too, began to sway his body, following your movements, which were clumsy but magnetic to him, because in that moment, it was just you.
“Come on, Jake, loosen up a bit! Where’s the fearless campus bad boy who’s afraid of nothing?” you teased, pulling him even closer. “We’re just dancing and trying to… trust each other.” You swayed your hips, and at the mention of trust, Jake took a deep breath. He placed his large hands with extreme gentleness on your waist, moving to the rhythm of the song.
You laughed happily, and with a burst of joy, you did a little spin, gracefully slipping out of his grip and stepping a few paces toward the center of the room, perhaps on purpose, because you definitely wanted his attention and those eyes always on you.
Jake made a small, frustrated pout at being deprived of your touch and walked with feline grace to close the distance again. When he reached you, you threw your arms around his neck, stopping his advance but staying very close.
“Don’t try to touch me like you already own me, Jake,” you whispered, looking him straight in the eyes with a mix of challenge and vulnerability. “Try to let go… and touch me like I’m something completely new.”
At those words, Jake’s animal nature took over for a moment. The wolf inside him growled softly, eager to grab you tightly and press you against his chest, to show you that every single cell of your body already belonged to him. But he shook off that overpowering thought with a shake of his head and muttered in a low voice: “Easy for you to say… when you already own my entire body, Y/n.”
Jake prayed you hadn’t heard him and maybe you hadn’t. So he slowly slid a hand behind your back, caressing the fabric of the jersey right where the large number 5 was printed. You let him, returning to your gentle dancing in front of him, completely wrapped in his scent. But seeing him completely lost in you, you turned your back, still following the rhythm of the music. Your body inevitably pressed against his chest, and that’s when you clearly felt Jake losing patience with you… his self-control was crumbling because of you. You felt the warmth of his nose press directly against your exposed throat, inhaling your scent until it gave you shivers, while his hands tightened decisively around your waist, anchoring you to him.
As you continued to move against his warm body, Jake exhaled a trembling sigh against your skin, breathing in your sweet scent, which had finally softened and become extremely sweet—a sign that you were completely trusting him.
“Damn… they’ll have to make me a saint for how I’m holding back tonight, Y/n,” he said roughly against you in a low voice. You giggled, finding his frustration incredibly adorable, especially because you knew all the girls he’d been with had thrown themselves at him without a second thought. He’d never had to fight for anything when it came to girls. Seeing him so vulnerable sparked something in you. So you moved your hips even more against him.
But Jake, sensing his limit was almost reached, abruptly stepped back. When you turned to look at him, confused, he shook his head, his breath short and his ears lowered, trying to recover that last shred of “good boy” dignity he had left.
This time, you took a step forward. You walked toward him with determination as the first notes of Enrique Iglesias’ I Like It began to fill the dimly lit room. Driven by a sudden rush of adrenaline and the desire that had been building for weeks, you rose slightly onto your tiptoes, grabbed the collar of his T-shirt, and pulled him down forcefully, eliminating any remaining distance. You pressed your lips against his in a wet, sweet, and desperate kiss
Your lips tasted like strawberries—a sweet, sugary flavor that revealed your obsession with the fruit. Jake was completely hypnotized by it. It was only the second time you’d kissed, but his mind instantly registered how your lips fit and locked perfectly with his, as if they were made for that exact embrace.
In the room, lit only by the glow of the computer screen, the wet sound of your mouths meeting echoed clearly, amplifying the tension that had built up between you over weeks. When you slightly parted your lips to catch your breath, Jake took the opportunity. With extreme slowness, he used the sharp tip of one of his wolf canines to gently nibble on your lower lip. A weak, excited moan escaped your throat, making both Jake’s human and hybrid sides tremble.
“Ahh…” you moaned, and Jake smiled against your lips, pleased by your reaction. He moved on to gently sucking that spot while you began to sway and wiggle in his arms, pushing your hips against his body out of pure instinct—to get closer to him, to tease him in return. Not wanting to give him all the control, you slid your hands into his hair, reaching the base of his wolf ears, where you knew, from the beginning of your acquaintance—that ears and tails were the most sensitive parts for a hybrid. You began to caress that ultra-sensitive spot with your fingertips, and Jake let out a deep, almost growl-like moan that escaped as your lips were still just millimeters apart:
“Mmh… Y/n…”
In retaliation, this time you smiled between his lips, continuing to move your fingers over those soft, warm ears, making him shiver. Jake was restraining himself with every single cell of his body because his wolf nature was literally howling from the sensory overload of everything happening in just a few moments. His instinct screamed at him to pin your wrists above your head, to use his canines to mark your skin, and to take everything he desired. But before the beast could take over, you took two steps back, pulling him with you. You tripped over the edge of the bed, and you both tumbled together onto the soft mattress, with you lying on your back and him on top of you.
Jake quickly planted his forearms on either side of your head, using all the strength in his muscular arms to avoid crushing you with his weight. He lowered his gaze, and at that sight, he seriously thought he was a dead man. You were fuckingbeautiful lying there on his pillow, your hair messy and framing your face, your lips visibly swollen and glossy from the kisses, your cheeks flushed with excitement.
Damn. He never would have thought you, of all people, would be his mate, the human who would bring his wolf to its knees. He had to mentally admit that Jay, Heeseung, and all the other pack members had been right—they’d realized from the very first moment you’d stepped through the door of their house that you were his destined mate.
Your hands trembled slightly as they continued to caress his ears. Jake, noticing that tremor and seeing how your eyes kept searching for his, asked in a rough whisper: “What do you want to do, sweetheart?”
You stayed silent for a few seconds while his eyes continued to devour your body, careful not to cross that invisible line you’d drawn after telling him what had happened to you. “Could you… could you, I don’t know, kiss me again?” you finally murmured, looking away in embarrassment. “But… not on the lips. I don’t really know what to do, Jake… Honestly, I don’t want this to be embarrassing for you.” You tried not to feel at fault in that moment, and Jake released one hand from its grip on the mattress. He passed it with infinite gentleness over your cheek, lifting your face to force you to look at him. He whispered against your lips:
“Sweetheart… you can’t make anything embarrassing with me. It’s all in your head. Whatever we do tonight won’t be anywhere near embarrassing. You just have to tell me when you feel overwhelmed, just tell me to stop, and I’ll do it instantly… I promise.” You instinctively nuzzled into his warm hand, pressing your cheek against his palm, and closed your eyes.
“Please… please, kiss me, Jake.”
Jake didn’t need to be told twice. He leaned over you and kissed you again, but this time, it wasn’t a kiss charged with urgency like the previous one. Instead, it was an incredibly slow, wet, and protective contact to make you understand that you could trust him.
Then, he slowly slid downward, and his nose pressed directly against the hollow of your neck. He inhaled deeply, your sweet scent now even more intense with your heated skin. He wondered how he’d managed to survive 23 years without noticing that scent.
“Damn, Y/n…” he murmured against your skin, and those words sent shivers down your entire spine. “This scent is driving me literally crazy. You smell like warm strawberries, something like cotton candy, and clean skin… I swear I could spend the whole night just breathing you in here.”
You let out a weak giggle at that declaration because you knew those words came more from his animal nature. But your laughter died in your throat when Jake’s warm lips finally pressed against your bare skin, and the wolf began to place light, wet, slow kisses along the entire line of your neck, moving up to the base of your jaw and then back down toward your collarbone.
Small, muffled moans echoed in the room every time Jake’s mouth moved, placing wet kisses and light, gentle bites from your neck down to your chest, just above the hem of his T-shirt. His hybrid nature clearly sensed how his wild scent was covering your skin, marking you minute by minute beneath him. Feeling his scent blend so intimately with yours sent a wave of even denser, more primal excitement through him. He never thought it would feel so incredible to have his scent anchored to his mate, and this realization drove him wild.
Your eyes were slightly closed, your fingers still weakly tangled in his hair. Everything was going incredibly well—until Jake slightly pulled away from your neck and slid a hand under the hem of the T-shirt, caressing the bare skin of your stomach. Small shivers of pure pleasure bloomed on your skin as he continued to kiss you lightly and tease your throat. He asked in an incredibly sweet and rough whisper: “Is this okay, sweetheart? Do you like it?”
You simply nodded, but that wasn’t the answer you’d agreed on to maintain control. So Jake stopped a millimeter from your lips: “Words, sweetheart… use those beautiful, plump lips I’ve been kissing to answer me. I want to hear your voice,” he teased. So you lifted your eyes to his and murmured: “Yes… it’s all good, Jake. You can keep going.”
At that confirmation, a smile lit up his face, and he praised you shamelessly, making your blood rush: “That’s how a good girl behaves…” You rolled your eyes at that statement, but then his hand slid slowly lower, slipping out from under the T-shirt to gently press against the inside of your thigh. At that pressure, you swallowed hard, feeling your heart race. But you trusted Jake blindly, so as he kissed you again to distract you, you felt his hand slide under the sweatpants. He began with just one finger to brush against the thin fabric of your lace panties. But as soon as you felt even the slightest real pressure of that intimate contact, your body short-circuited. You froze instantly, stiffening like a piece of ice beneath him. You tried to speak, to say something, but your throat tightened as if blocked by a thread pulling tight—one of the things that had happened to you on that damn night.
Jake, whose hybrid senses were tuned to every millisecond of your reactions, immediately noticed the drastic change in your heartbeat and the tension in your muscles. He stopped instantly, pulling his hand back. As he lifted his gaze to you, he whispered your name: “Y/n…?”
You didn’t answer, but he saw how your wide, fixed eyes on the ceiling were beginning to fill with silent panic, making you feel vulnerable in front of him. Without a hint of hesitation, Jake completely moved away from you, shifting to the side to free you from his weight. “Hey, hey… little one, nothing’s happening. Look at me, it’s all okay,” he said in an incredibly gentle voice, opening his arms. You slowly sat up and immediately took refuge in his arms.
You hugged him as if he were your living shield, hiding your face in the hollow of his warm neck, breathing in his scent to at least ease all the bad thoughts resurfacing in your mind. For the second time in just a few days, you whispered against his skin, barely holding back tears of frustration: “See, Jake… I… I’m broken. I trust you, I really do… but I just can’t do it. And that’s the worst part… feeling like this.”
His large hands began to gently caress your back, tracing circles over your T-shirt to calm you. But inside him, the wolf was growling furiously because he had a mad desire to find whoever had hurt you in the past and punch them, leave them to rot somewhere. But his human, rational side took over because he knew he had to handle the situation with extreme delicacy.
After a few moments of silence, he caressed your hair and asked, with a slightly embarrassed but extremely serious tone: “When you’re alone… do you feel safe giving yourself pleasure? Or is it a situation that blocks you, whether you’re alone or with other people?”
You slightly widened your eyes, still with your chin resting on his shoulder, because the question caught you completely off guard. It was the kind of question your therapist asked, not a guy you’d known for only a few months. But you answered: “Sometimes… I feel safe alone, but other times, no,” you said in a low voice. Jake pulled back just enough to look at your face. “So, when you’re alone and feel safe… can you give yourself pleasure, or not?”
You lifted your chin slightly, feeling your cheeks burn with embarrassment at the conversation because you didn’t understand where he was going with this. “Are… are you asking if I can masturbate, Jake?”
Jake chuckled, and you saw his cheeks redden as he shrugged, running a hand through his thick hair. “Damn, sweetheart… you asked me to have sex with you a few days ago. I don’t think you’d be scandalized if I ask if you can give yourself pleasure! I just want to understand,” he said, trying to be the most serious guy in the world at that moment. You looked away and said: “Yes… I can give myself pleasure, but…”
You couldn’t finish the sentence, but Jake answered right away, anticipating the truth: “You can give yourself pleasure, but you can’t come, right? You block yourself at the last moment, right?” You nodded slowly, lowering your head. A deep, calm silence fell over the room, interrupted only by the sound of light rain beginning to patter against the window. Suddenly, you saw Jake get up from the bed.
A shiver of terror ran down your spine because you feared he wanted to end things there, that he was tired of your blocks and complexities, that you had to hurry up and figure it out on your own or with a good therapist: “Where are you going?” you asked in a thin voice. But Jake wasn’t running away. You watched him walk to the desk, grab the swivel chair, and place it against the desk. The distance wasn’t much, but at the same time, you felt alone sitting on that bed. You watched him sit down right in front of you, and you didn’t understand what he wanted to do.
“You can give yourself pleasure, but at the same time, you can’t reach orgasm. And it’s all in your head, Y/n. It’s a matter of trust—in yourself, but also in the other person who’s there with you in that moment,” he explained calmly. Then, with a slightly cheeky smile, the corners of his lips curled up—one of those smiles you’d started to recognize right away, and you didn’t know whether to trust it.
“So… here’s my idea: why don’t we pleasure ourselves together, but each on our own?”
You widened your eyes, struck by the proposal because you’d never thought of anything like that. “You try to make yourself come by yourself, touching yourself the way you usually do when you’re alone in your safe space… and I’ll try to make myself come by myself, but right here in front of you. It’ll be a test of total mutual trust, Y/n. We’ll both be vulnerable, both exposed, but without either of us touching the other or forcing anything. We’ll just watch each other. What do you think?”
You opened your mouth to protest, but no words came out for a full minute. Jake’s proposal had never crossed your mind in all these years it was definitely too intimate for two people who weren’t even officially together, yet it was also incredibly mature.
“Y/n? Are you there?” he asked as you tortured your lips, biting them. You looked at him carefully, searching his eyes for any trace of irony. “You’re not teasing me, are you, Jake?” you whispered. He shook his head decisively. “I’ve never been more serious in my life, Y/n.”
“It could work… I usually don’t do things like this...actually, I’ve never seen anyone masturbate in front of me,” you admitted, your cheeks literally burning. After all, you’d never even watched porn, so you had no idea what to expect.
“But I think we could try, like you said—it’ll be a test of self-trust. You’ll see me vulnerable, but I’ll also see you exposed, ‘inert’ in a way… and I think it’ll be an important step for when, one day, we have sex for real,” you said, convincing yourself that it was a good idea to see each other vulnerable. Jake nodded, and with a crooked, amused smile, he commented: “See? I’m not so bad… I told you I was smart, Y/n!”
You rolled your eyes but hinted at a smile: “Don’t count your chickens just yet, Jake. Let’s see if it works first,” you said as you both stared at each other for a moment. You felt the tension in the room start to rise again, and you bit your lip, embarrassed, asking: “Who… who takes their clothes off first?”
Jake shrugged with total nonchalance at your question and said: “I’ll go first. I’ve got nothing to hide… quite the opposite,” he teased. You closed your eyes slightly until you saw him stand up. With a fluid movement, he pulled his T-shirt over his head. Without that fabric covering him, you couldn’t help but count the ridges of his abs, sculpted and defined, four perfect muscular hills on his toned stomach until your gaze fell on the obvious V-line that descended symmetrically, disappearing into the waistband of his Calvin Klein boxers.
His arms, though not excessively massive, were marked by bulging veins that stood out under his skin, giving him an incredibly athletic appearance. Deep down, you understood why everyone said Jake was gorgeous, and you literally felt your mouth water as you watched him lazily grab the strings of his sweatpants. Jake noticed immediately how your eyes were practically worshipping him with a hint of mischief. He shot you a complicit look, feeling his hybrid nature rejoice with pleasure. “Can I take off my pants and boxers too, sweetheart?” he asked, and you murmured: “Yes…”
With a smirk on his face, he let his sweatpants slide down, revealing his muscular, athletic thighs. But it was when he completely dropped his boxers that your eyes widened, and a shiver ran down your spine. Jake had no issues with his body—in fact, he was extremely comfortable in his own skin. At the sight of his erect member slapping against his lower abs, you nearly lost your breath. You’d never seen anything like it before: it wasn’t excessively long, but it was incrediblythick, hard, marked by prominent veins, and already covered in a slight pearly sheen on the tip. You realized it was seriously wild and not entirely human.
Seeing you so captivated and curious, Jake enjoyed the show of your wide eyes and loved seeing you open-mouthed for him. “Do you like what you see, sweetheart?” he asked with a cheeky tone. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to lift your gaze to his face so you wouldn’t get too distracted by all that perfection just a few meters away. You desperately wanted to touch him, but you knew that first, you had to trust him completely.
“Wow… besides being beautiful on the inside, I have to admit you’re beautiful on the outside too, Jake. But you already know that—everyone tells you so,” you said.
He made a small, disappointed pout, as if that compliment wasn’t exclusive enough for him. To tease you, he took a slow step toward you, wrapping his hand around his shaft and moving it just slightly with a single, slow slide of skin just to show you how responsive he was to your gaze.
“They might say that to me, but I only care if you like it,” he whispered in a rough voice. Then, with a nod of his chin toward your clothes, he concluded: “But enough talking… Your turn, Y/n. Take your clothes off.”
At that command—which could’ve been interpreted in a way far different from how you saw it—Jake couldn’t wait to discover the beauty of your body, judging by the way he was looking at you. You felt your cheeks literally burn, and a sudden heat dyed your face a deep red, which he found adorable.
“I’ll… I’ll obviously take off my pants and the shirt, but I’d like to keep the bra on, if that’s okay with you,” you said in a barely audible voice, almost afraid of his objection. But Jake looked at you with his hands trembling slightly along his sides, betraying the immense effort he was making not to pounce on you and touch you, smell you.
“Do whatever makes you feel most comfortable, Y/n,” he replied in an incredibly gentle tone, though his tail couldn’t stay still for a second. His nose picked up every scent of yours, ranging from sweetness to something teasing due to your anxiety. “There’s absolutely no problem for me. Take all the time you need.”
Reassured by his words, you nodded. You weren’t sure what to take off first, feeling his eyes on you, not missing a single millimeter of your movements. You wanted to scream at him to close his eyes or turn away, but sooner or later, Jake would see you naked. So you slightly rose from the mattress, and with somewhat uncertain, maybe awkward—not entirely sexy—gestures, you let the sweatpants slide down your legs.
At the sight of your toned thighs and fair skin, Jake visibly swallowed, clenching his fists against his hips. When his eyes caught the purple lace trim of your panties peeking out from under the hem of his oversized T-shirt, a mix between a moan and a sigh escaped his lips, which he’d been torturing with his teeth. He wanted to touch you in that exact moment—it was a damn devastating temptation, the idea of getting up from the chair and crawling back onto the bed to trap you beneath him. But he forced himself to stay still because he didn’t want to ruin anything, especially seeing how your hands were trembling.
After minutes of staring at each other, you took a deep breath and murmured: “Okay… I’m taking off your shirt now.”
Jake nodded slowly, unable to tear his eyes away from your body. “Do it, sweetheart. You’re so damn beautiful… don’t be afraid to let me look at you. I bet there’s a body to worship under there, not one to hide from my eyes,” he said in a low voice. Those words gave you courage, and you crossed your arms, lifting the fabric over your head. In the exact moment you stood in front of him wearing only a damn purple Victoria’s Secret set, decorated with small embroidered flowers that framed your body like you were a work of art on a canvas, the hybrid inside him lost his mind completely.
Jake let out a low growl that came entirely from his animal instinct—a purely wild sound. It was the very first time you’d heard him growl like that, so wild and primal. That sound made your entire body tremble, but not out of fear—rather, it was a mix of physical and mental connection between you. You’d discovered that hybrids both purr and growl: they purr in acts of pure docility with their mate, while growls can serve as a warning of danger, a sign not to touch their mate or their pack, or in a sense of pure excitement. And that’s what Jake was feeling in that moment: he was growling at the sight of the bliss of your body just a few meters away from him, but he couldn’t even brush you with a finger.
His eyes widened at that sound because you hadn’t expected it, and Jake couldn’t stop staring at you, open-mouthed, devouring your body with his hungry eyes. He studied carefully how the curve of your breasts seemed to try to escape from the bra cups, pushed upward. He’d always known you had an abundant chest, but at that sight, his mind—which was currently running on purely animal and instinctive tracks—was flooded with dark, possessive thoughts. He thought about how much he wanted to grab that soft flesh in his hands, how he wanted to suck on those warm nipples until you screamed his name. He even thought about how beautiful it would be to see them swollen and full of milk, watching it gush out as he filled you with his seed to bring your pups to life.
He shook his head to chase away those intense fantasies, running a hand over his mouth before complimenting you in that typical hybrid tone of his—shameless and lewd: “Damn, Y/n… you’re a fucking work of art. That purple against your fair skin is driving me crazy. I knew you had perfect breasts, and I swear, if I weren’t confined to this chair, I’d have already consumed your skin with bites and kisses.” He said this while biting his lips, which were almost bleeding from how much he’d been nibbling on them in the last few minutes.
You sat back down on the edge of the bed with your legs curled up, trying to calm your racing heart. Now that you were both almost completely naked, you had to start what you’d agreed to do.
“Who… who starts this time?” you asked, looking at him with a mix of shyness and challenge, watching as he was already lightly touching his exposed shaft. But the Jake you’d known in the lecture halls or around the campus café wasn’t the one answering now. This time, it was his dominant, unfiltered wolf side speaking, with an incredibly rough and authoritative voice: “Let me see how you make yourself feel good, Y/n. Let me see how you slide those trembling fingers inside your wet folds… and I want to hear how my name sounds when it comes out of your lips while you touch yourself in front of me.”
At those words, you swallowed hard and closed your eyes for a moment. You’d never done anything like this before, and you wanted the earth to swallow you whole. But when you opened your eyes again, Jake was there, watching you intently. “You don’t have to be afraid right now, Y/n. It’s just you and me. Slide your panties aside gently if you don’t want to take them all the way off. Let me see how wet you are… I can smell it from here, you’re already soaked.”
Your cheeks burned at his words. With trembling hands, you slid your fingers toward your panties, already feeling the heat of your arousal. You pulled the edge down just enough to reveal your lips to Jake. At the sight, he groaned, and you instinctively closed your eyes but that wasn’t what he wanted.
“Open your eyes, sweetheart,” he said, his voice a mix of command and tenderness. “It’s not just me who gets to watch you pleasure yourself. You need to watch too.”
You obeyed, and what you saw took your breath away: his hands wrapped around his shaft, moving up and down in a slow, deliberate rhythm. The tip, flushed and glistening, grew thicker with every stroke, and a bead of pre-cum slid down the length. You crossed your legs, the desire burning inside you. “Please, Jake… Please talk to me. I feel… lost,” you mumbled, your eyes fixed on him.
Jake sighed, his patience stretched thin. “Slide your panties all the way down your legs,” he ordered, his voice a contained growl. “Use your middle finger on your clit and start rubbing. But don’t you dare close your eyes.”
You sighed in response and did as he said. Your panties slid off, and you shifted slightly higher on the bed, spreading your legs under his hungry gaze. Jake cursed under his breath—the sight of you naked and ready to touch yourself without needing his command pushed him to the edge. It was as if, little by little, you were starting to understand the situation you’d gotten yourselves into… and that you could trust the man in front of you.
Jake watched as your trembling finger found your clit, already swollen and sensitive. “Is this okay?” you asked softly. He nodded, his dark eyes filled with desire. “Rub. Slowly. Let me hear you moan.”
And so you did. Your clit was already hypersensitive, and the touch of your fingers made you let out a small moan. Little by little, you felt more at ease, more daring. “Don’t stroke your cock so much, Jake… or you’ll come first,” you stammered, your lips parted, your breath ragged. “I… I want to come with you.”
Jake’s eyes widened at your confession, but he nodded. You saw his abs clench as he slowed his rhythm, rubbing his cock slowly in the grip of his hand. It was an incredible sight, you’d never imagined how exciting it could be to see a guy like him, just sitting there, watching you, while at the same time pleasuring himself just to make you feel at ease.
He realized that without his guidance, you wouldn’t dare go further. And at the sight of your naked body at his mercy, he could have come at any moment like an inexperienced teenager. But that was exactly what you did to him—you made him weak, and that both frustrated and reassured him, confirming that you were his mate. He adjusted himself on the chair, spreading his thighs, and said in a rough voice: “Sweetheart, your clit is swollen and ready. Now, with your eyes on me, try sliding a finger inside you. Any finger is fine, as long as it goes into those beautiful lips of yours. Let me see… let me hear your sounds, little one. Otherwise… I won’t last much longer.”
At his confession, you bit your lip. This was the hardest part: letting go without thoughts, without fears. But the sight of Jake, his honesty, his vulnerability, pushed you to want to give yourself pleasure… and to give him something deeply intimate. You spread your legs a little wider, took a deep breath, and slid a finger between your wet folds. The intrusion was a new sensation, different from the solitary games you played under the covers. You moaned, surprised by the pleasure coursing through you, both mentally and physically.
The wet sound of your finger moving in and out of you made Jake groan your name. You felt completely at ease under his gaze, which never left you for a second. You saw how his cock grew thicker and thicker, how droplets of fluid escaped with every movement.
“Keep going… keep going like that, little one,” he urged, his voice a growl. “You’re doing so well. Now that you’re nice and stretched, try sliding another finger in. And at the same time, rub your clit. That way, you’ll come soon… and I’ll come with you.”
As Jake had instructed, you slid another finger inside yourself. A deep, throaty moan escaped your lips, and his name spilled out like a broken sigh: “Jaaake…” The way you said it was desperate, sweet, and raw—like he was the only lifeline in a sea of overwhelming sensations. At the sound of his name, Jake cursed under his breath, a guttural “Fuck…” rumbling from his chest as he watched you completely lost in pleasure. He couldn’t hold back anymore. His arm muscles tensed as he began stroking himself harder, his fist gliding up and down his thick, throbbing shaft.
The room was thick with the sounds of your muffled moans and ragged breaths. It echoed with the wet, rhythmic sounds of your fingers pumping in and out of you, the creak of the chair beneath Jake amplifying every tiny noise. The scent was intoxicating—musky, sweet, and sharp all at once. Jake’s heightened hybrid senses picked up on how your fragrance grew richer with every passing minute, a heady blend of strawberry, arousal, and a hint of sweat. “Damn, Y/n… you’re so fucking sexy,” he growled, his voice rough and low, his eyes glued to you as he watched you writhe, pleasure coiling tighter inside you. “Look at how wet you are… how perfect you look.”
You closed your eyes, and with your free hand, you clutched Jake’s blanket, gripping it tightly between your fingers. Your voice trembled as you stammered, “Jake… it’s too much…”
He paused for a moment, his hand still wrapped around his cock, and asked with a mix of concern and desire, “What’s too much, sweetheart?”
You moaned, breathless, and confessed, “Everything… it’s all too much… and I… I want to come.”
At those words, Jake smiled—a hungry, satisfied grin. “You will in a few minutes, trust me. Now, tease your clit more and let go. But open those fucking eyes and watch what you’re doing to me,” he commanded, his voice a contained growl.
Embarrassed, cheeks flushed and lips parted, you obeyed. You opened your eyes and saw Jake barely holding back, his muscles taut, his breath ragged. With a whisper, you dared to say to him, “Let go…”
His eyes darkened slightly at your boldness, as if he hadn’t expected you to take control. But he didn’t say a word. Deep down, that small act of defiance only turned him on even more.
Your walls began to tighten around your fingers, and your clit throbbed with pleasure as small, breathy moans escaped your lips. “I… I’m about to come,” you whispered, your eyes half-lidded and glistening. At the sight of you so lost in pleasure, Jake gripped his shaft tighter and pumped harder, his voice rough as he urged, “Come on, sweetheart… let me see you come.”
You cried out, pleasure crashing over you like a wave. A few moments later, shivers raced through your body. You clenched the sheets of his bed tightly, your fingers still pumping and teasing your clit as your orgasm tore through you first. At the sight, Jake’s abs clenched, and with a groan of your name, he came too. Thin streams of white cum spilled from the tip of his cock, and he moaned in pleasure at the release. But honestly, he didn’t care much about his own climax. His eyes were locked on you—sprawled out on his bed, your stomach rising and falling rapidly with each ragged breath, your lips parted in a perfect O, your hair wild, and your legs trembling.
Jake slowly stood up, wiping away the remnants of his release before pulling his boxers back on. At the sight of you lying there, relaxed and half-lidded, he asked, “Can I… can I come closer to you, little one?”
You opened your eyes and tried to sit up slightly, but the sticky wetness began to seep out of you, and you moaned at the sensation. At the sight, Jake’s smile returned, and he said, “See? I told you I could make you come without even touching you, sweetheart.”
You let out a weak, breathless giggle, still trembling from the last waves of pleasure. You watched Jake stretch his arm toward the nightstand to grab a tissue, then lean toward you on the bed with a naturalness and care that left you breathless. You felt his large, warm hands settle firmly but gently on your thigh to keep you still, and then he cleaned you slowly, with no rush or malice in his gaze, treating you as if you were the most precious thing in the world. Your eyes never left his, not even for a millisecond, captivated by the sweetness in his expression.
When he finished and tossed the tissue into the trash can beside the bed, you shyly tucked a few strands of hair behind your ear, your cheeks still warm from everything that had just happened. Seeing you so timid, Jake leaned toward you again, offering you the T-shirt you’d taken off earlier. He knew perfectly well that you’d just taken giant steps, having been half-naked and vulnerable in front of him, and he didn’t want to ruin the magic of the moment by rushing things.
“Lift your arms, sweetheart,” he said softly, and you did as he asked. He slid his oversized T-shirt down over your body, dressing you completely. As soon as the fabric covered you, moved by an impulse of gratitude and affection, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him forcefully toward you to kiss him.
Jake hadn’t expected you to kiss him of your own free will at all. He’d expected that, once the moment had passed, you might tease him or hide under the covers. Instead, you leaned forward and gently pulled his lower lip between your teeth, trapping it between your lips almost as a victory for everything that had happened.
Jake groaned against your lips a mix of a surprised grunt and a deep, pleasure-filled moan that vibrated in the back of his throat—as he instinctively placed his large hands on your hips to steady both of you on the mattress. Your mouths sought each other with a new urgency every time you had to pull apart to catch your breath. When you timidly slid your tongue against his, tasting him, you felt Jake smile against your mouth.
“Fuck, Y/n… you’re really driving me crazy tonight,” he whispered against your lips, unable to pull away from you. He’d become a full-on clingy boy with you. After a few seconds, Jake slowly pulled back to give you space, and you looked at him with infinite sweetness. “Thank you, Jake,” you said.
He smiled almost timidly, for the first time since you’d known him—and opened his arms on the bed in a silent invitation to hug you again. You didn’t need to be told twice. You nestled against his massive chest, inhaling his reassuring scent of pine, and pressed your head into the warm hollow of his neck.
Jake pulled you close, wrapping you completely in his strong, protective body. For long minutes, you both stayed there, still and embraced in the silence of the room, lulled only by the sound of your heartbeats slowly returning to normal and the patter of rain against the roof of the house. Eventually, you pulled back slightly from his chest and lifted your chin to look at him.
Jake was there, watching you from above, his ears relaxed and his gaze attentive. In that moment, he would have given anything for the ability to read your mind and know exactly what was going through that little head of yours.
Suddenly, though, he noticed your eyes growing glossy, filling with tears ready to spill down your cheeks. Jake’s heart literally skipped a beat, and his face painted an expression of pure panic, he thought he might have done or said something wrong.
“Hey, hey… little one, no, don’t cry!” he exclaimed, gently squeezing your shoulders. “Did I… was I too rough? Did I do or say something you didn’t like? I swear, I just wanted to...”
Before he could finish, you pressed a finger directly to his lips to silence him, cutting off the stream of anxious apologies.
“You… you made me realize that I need to talk to people, Jake. But most of all, you taught me that, after a while, I need to start tearing down my own protective walls… and that’s exactly what I managed to do tonight with you,” you said, looking him straight in the eyes. “I really don’t know how to thank you. You’ve been so patient with me, you never backed down from anything, and you’ve respected me from the very first moment I walked into this house. So… no, don’t be sad. These tears are just pure joy,” you concluded, weakly giggling as you wiped your face with the edge of his T-shirt sleeve.
Jake sighed deeply, feeling a knot of tension finally dissolve in his chest. A small smile formed on his lips as he lifted his hands to caress your face, using his thumbs with infinite gentleness to wipe away the last tears wetting your cheeks.
For days, since you’d confessed you wanted to have sex with him and shared everything that had happened to you, he’d feared he was too overbearing, too abrupt, or simply “wrong” for a sensitive girl like you. But in that moment, lulled by your strawberry scent, now free of any trace of fear, Jake finally felt like he was exactly where he was meant to be.
“I only did what any guy worthy of being by your side would have done, Y/n,” he murmured softly and sincerely, looking at you with a tenderness he rarely showed outside the walls of that room. He was only ever this sweet with his family and his pack… not even with his teammates, with whom he spent hours training, had he ever been this honest in his life. But you shook your head, pressing your cheek against his warm palm.
“No other guy would have done this…” you said quietly, meeting his gaze. Then, feeling embarrassment creep back in but determined not to lose that beautiful harmony, you continued with a clearly shy but resolute tone: “Now… yes, for next time, I’d like things to be less planned. I’d like them to flow more naturally between us. When they happen, they’ll happen… though, obviously, I expect it to happen again as soon as possible!” You said this while playing with the sleeve of his T-shirt, hoping he’d understand what you meant.
Jake’s eyes widened slightly, surprised by that sudden burst of boldness, and he burst into laughter as he watched you make yourself smaller. At the sight, he gently pinched your side, knowing you were ticklish, and said: “Damn… Where’s the shy, reserved girl who struggled to even look me in the eye gone? Don’t tell me I’ve created a creature who’s greedy for my touch, or that now you can’t do without me?”
You laughed heartily when his fingers started lightly tickling your sides, making you curl up against him on the mattress. To defend yourself, you rolled your eyes dramatically and teased him, playfully tapping his muscular chest: “Oh, please, Sim! Don’t get a big head. You’re the ‘golden boy’ of the team, the ‘frat boy’ everyone dreams about—I think that guy disappeared a while ago thanks to me. So before you talk, think about how you can’t stop finding excuses to touch me!”You laughed as Jake intensified the tickling.
Without stopping his smile, he leaned over you, pressed his soft lips to your forehead, and then moved up through your hair, leaving a reassuring kiss on you. When he pulled back slightly, his eyes shone with a hopeful light, finally making you understand that you could trust him.
“Will you stay tonight, Y/n?” he asked this time, stopping his teasing. You made a thoughtful pout and then slowly nodded, pulling him back to you by the shoulders, welcoming him into your embrace again.
But that happy ending hadn’t yet provided the right answers: What were you and Jake? How would he balance university, your constant presence in his routine, and being the captain of the soccer team, which was under the spotlight of scouts looking for the best striker for their teams? How would he balance his human nature with his hybrid one, with you getting closer and closer to him? And how would he get through his first heat as a hybrid, knowing you were his mate and that he wanted you for himself forever?
hey, I wanted to split this story into 2 parts, I know there's a lot of slow born and I didn't think so but I think it's better this way, now I will always post a story that connects with this one featuring one of the members (try to guess who!!) to thank you for the 3k.
For part 2 I think it will be released in August but I'm already writing it so always keep yourself on your toes, I hope you enjoyed it:)
warnings: smut (mdni), swearing, age gap (jungwon is 3 years younger than the reader), a mirror, the word noona makes an appearance again
note: Hesitation jungwon aka the gift that keeps on giving. This is very smutty very sweet VERY intimate and very, in my opinion, them. You can read this alone but the other parts add context! For the timeline, I’d say this comes after part 2 but before part 3 (aka they haven’t had the Relationship Talk yet). Enjoy!
masterlist | part one | part two | part three
⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖
As with most things in your life, when it comes to your morning routine, you’re rather particular. And that’s the nice way of putting it. If you weren’t being considerate, you’d label it something more along the lines of: obsessive. Type A to a fault.
You know exactly where all of your favorite products have been tucked away into their rightful places on your vanity. You’ve trialed three different lightbulb temperatures just to find the one that gives you the best morning glow, and now you keep a stock of spares just for the lamp you do your makeup under every morning.
You know the exact order of your skincare routine—morning and evening, because they are different—and the makeup that follows. Hell, you even have a rotation of playlists that match every possible mood you could wake up with.
Such attention to detail, such specificity, simply cannot be transported. After all, there’s only enough space in your travel bag for one shade of blush, and what if you decide the next day that plum would suit you better than the peach color you decided to pack? It’s just too risky. Which is why you always make sure you wake up at home.
Well, almost always. Whatever dark magic Jungwon can apparently wield with his eyes and a solid three minutes of begging is all it takes to crumble your resolve and your well kept routine, apparently.
At least, you suppose, he can entertain himself well enough while you debate lip gloss shades.
You’ve known guys before that got… weird whenever you got ready in their vicinity. As if mere proximity to mascara would threaten their thinly shielded masculinity or whatever they wanted to call it. As if something about you putting effort into your appearance rubbed them the wrong way.
Jungwon, for all his faults and flaws, just melts back against his pillows wordlessly, scrolling through his phone and casting occasional comments in your direction whenever something particularly absurd crosses his feed.
For the last twenty-odd minutes, he’s been happy to do it. Content. You’ve received exactly zero impatient huffs or snide comments about how long you’re taking.
In fact, the second he saw you covertly pull out your makeup bag after waking up on your side of his bed this morning, Jungwon didn’t say much of anything. He just swung his legs over the side of the bed and padded over to his desk across the room. You watched, brow furrowed in confusion, as he reached wordlessly into the bottom drawer.
“Here,” he turned to you, an easy smile like the gesture was nothing out of the ordinary. “I thought you might feel kind of awkward getting ready in the bathroom since Sunoo shares it, too.” His roommate isn’t here now, but that’s not the point. Jungwon nods back towards his desk, towards the object he’s just placed on it. Then, as if it explains everything, he adds, “This had good reviews.”
For a moment, all you can do is look at him, trying not to let your jaw fall open in shock. And then at the perfectly sized, round, tabletop mirror he’s just placed gently on the middle of his bedroom desk.
“Oh,” he adds a moment later, tone still casual. “I almost forgot.” All you can do is watch as he reaches around to the back, flipping a tiny switch that has the perimeter of the mirror lightning up with warm-toned LEDs. “You can change the light, too, if you don’t like this one.” He demonstrates by flicking the switch again, and the lights obey his command, shifting to a cooler shade. “I think there are maybe five or so options.”
You think of the last boy you let waste your time, the way he groaned every time you asked for five minutes to freshen up before heading out to dinner. You think of every other boy before that, all of which you’re sure would never even think to do something so considerate.
You’ve never said anything to Jungwon, after all, not about your morning routine or your dedication to it. You’ve never once mentioned your apprehension about waking up somewhere that isn’t your own apartment.
He just… noticed. Thought you might appreciate having your own little space in his room to call yours. A peaceful place to gather your thoughts and put yourself together for the day.
Like he knew there would come a day when waking up in his room became routine instead of a once-off. Like he hoped for it and made all the necessary arrangements.
“I…” you trail off, lost for words. The gesture, however simple it may seem to him, isn’t lost on you. “You bought that for me?”
“Yeah,” Jungwon shrugs. Smiles again like it’s easy, like reading your needs and anticipating your wants is all just second nature to him. But then, he frowns. “Why? Do you not like it? You can still use the bathroom if you want. I just thought—”
“Jungwon,” you interrupt, shaking your head. “It’s perfect. I… Thank you,” you finally tell him, because you’re not sure what else to say. Because you’re afraid that if you think about it too long, you might actually get emotional.
Ridiculous, you tell yourself. He’s probably just had other girlfriends that liked something similar, you think.
But the thought, the gratitude, the slight discomfort of realizing just how completely and fully you’ve been seen, lingers. Even now, twenty minutes later, after you’ve finished two thirds of your routine and have discovered that light setting number three is your favorite, the sentiment still rings true.
Jungwon’s thoughtfulness is something you don’t think you’ll ever be able to get used to. Even now, after almost two months of whatever the hell this is between the two of you, he finds new ways to catch you off guard.
What the hell have you gotten yourself into? You can’t help but sneak glances back at him through the mirror, just to make sure he’s really there. That all of this isn’t some wild, wine-induced stress dream you’ve been hallucinating since that day in the parking lot.
But every time you look back, he’s still there. More solid and real than any figment of your imagination could ever be.
You’re not quite sure when it happens—somewhere between concealer and setting powder, maybe—but eventually, Jungwon starts to lose interest in his algorithm. The next time you glance back at him, your eyes meet his in the mirror.
He’s still sprawled out across the sheets, propped up with his elbows against the pillows under him, but the sharpness in his gaze, the focus, is unmistakable where it lands right on you.
Doing your best to ignore the second set of eyes on you, you shift slightly against the solid surface of his desk chair. A mistake, and one that you pay for dearly.
Adjusting your hips again, you do your best to keep your expression neutral, your reaction tethered. But it’s nearly impossible.
You’re sore, sensitive. It might have taken him longer than you expected to touch you that handful of weeks ago, but now that the boundary has been crossed, it seems to be all you two do these days. In plain terms, Jungwon has decided that rearranging your guts on the regular is his new favorite hobby, and it’s like this every time. Every morning after. You swear you can still feel him, everywhere where he was inside of you, for days.
Behind you, Jungwon tilts his head, considering. His eyes narrow slightly, and it really shouldn’t have you squirming the way it does, but it isn’t your fault.
He’s wearing that same damn fitted black t-shirt he picked you up from your apartment in last night. The one that makes you think all the gym selfies he sends you aren’t just for show.
You hear the rustle of sheets as he sits up in bed behind you, eyes meeting yours in the reflection as you dust a thin layer of your favorite blush over your cheekbones. His gaze narrows in on the movement of your right hand.
He has that look in his eyes, the one he gets when you well and truly have his full focus. It makes you want to flush for reasons entirely unrelated to the makeup you’re currently applying.
Phone forgotten on the bed next to him, Jungwon just watches. Eyes focused, gaze open. For another long minute, until—
“That’s blush, right?” he finally asks.
Your eyes flicker to his in the mirror. You nod, return to your makeup. Pretend you don’t feel the weight of his stare.
Behind you, Jungwon hums. Leaning forward, his elbows come to rest on his knees, his chin in his palm. You can still feel his eyes on you in the reflection of the mirror.
“I like it,” he murmurs. “It’s pretty. Makes you look…” he trails off.
“Alive?” you offer, something slightly sarcastic and self-deprecating there, too. To lighten it, you add, teasing, “Radiant? Glowing?”
Despite the easy cadence in your tone, Jungwon’s gaze doesn’t soften. “You could call it that,” he concedes.
“What?” This time, the mirror isn’t enough. You turn back halfway, glancing at him, the real him, over your shoulder.
Jungwon just shakes his head. “I don’t think you want me to tell you,” he warns, something edging into his voice even as he treads with caution.
You don’t think he means anything by it, but the familiar shadow of insecurity begins to bite at your heels regardless. Does he think it’s too much? Has he, like every other boy, been annoyed this whole time? Is he waiting for you to finally finish so he can kick you out and move on to the rest of his day?
It’s a Saturday, so you’re sure he doesn’t have classes. But he could have plans, you suppose. Friends to meet. A girl, even. Maybe you’re imposing without even meaning to.
As if he can sense your spiraling, Jungwon offers you an out. “You really want to know?”
Do you? You haven’t entirely decided, but you watch from your periphery as your reflection nods anyway.
Jungwon exhales, eyes falling from yours to trace the curve of your cheekbone, the length of your neck. “You always get like that, all pretty and flushed, whenever we’re…”
He trails off, lets the silence and the slight smirk that tugs at his lips fill in all the blank spaces for you.
Oh. Oh.
He’s not trying to kick you out or insinuate anything about your makeup. Well, anything other than the fact that it reminds him of the previous night, that it.
You’re sure he’s right, too. Despite the chill in the air, the lingering remnants of winter, you had been positively sweltering last night.
It wasn’t your fault. It was just that by the time Jungwon’s hand started tracing patterns against the curve of your hip, already spent and slightly sticky in the afterglow of the previous two times he’d had his way with you, your skin was starting to warm.
Heat built and had nowhere to go but across your cheeks, down your neck, as he rolled you beneath him under the cover of his surprisingly soft duvet.
The third time in the span of hours, there was nothing frantic about the way he touched you, about the way he covered your body completely with his, scattering sweet nothings against your jaw while you sighed beneath him, hands pressed flush to his chest.
He was gentle inside you this time, a contrast to the rapid build from before when he had you on your stomach, chest pressed tight to your spine.
But it was deeper this time. Slower, warmer. Like he wanted to make sure you would still feel him on you, in you, the next morning. Both of you had been wrung dry from every earlier orgasm and he had nothing left to give you but the feeling of heated skin against yours.
He was quieter this time, too. As if the words had been stolen right from his mouth and the only thing left to drip from his swollen lips were sighs. Whines as he came close to his own undoing for the third time.
Above you, Jungwon was no better. The heat surrounded him too, consumed him as his nose brushed against yours, lips touching but only to trade whimpers that melted into lazy, wet kisses.
You could see it, when he finally found the words to beg you to open your eyes, to look at him, the deep, pink flush that had begun to spread across his familiar features, down the expanse of his broad chest.
You followed the color’s path as far as your eyes would take you, but there wasn’t much to give. His hand slipped into the space between your body and the bedsheets, where sweat had begun to gather at the base of your spine, as he pulled you closer to him. Suddenly, there was no room in your mind for anything but the way he started whining as the angle shifted. Deepened.
You had nowhere to look but his eyes, even when he brought you back to that familiar edge, shuddering around him as your body slackened in his grip.
Warm. It was so warm, too warm, and the water he offered you after felt like an oasis in the desert.
Now, the morning after, sat at his desk with your makeup brush limp in your hand, memory serves you well and has another spark of heat dancing under your skin.
“Jungwon,” you whine. To spur his actions or put them to rest, it’s difficult to be sure.
He doesn’t seem to mind either way. And now he’s thinking about it too. Expression unreadable, the only offered glimpse into his thoughts comes from the heat in his eyes as he stands from his seat on the bed.
As he walks, slowly but surely, until he’s standing just behind you.
“Come on,” he urges, one hand falling to your shoulder, fingers splaying over the collarbone that’s been left bare by the thin straps of your sleep shirt. Gentle, but commanding. “Up.”
You stand, and he takes advantage of the newly afforded space by sliding down into the chair you’d been occupying only moments ago.
Then, he pulls you back down, this time onto his lap. If you were squirming before on just the surface of his desk chair, you’re positively restless now.
Jungwon is warm beneath you, around you, another reminder of last night. His skin heats where it presses against yours. You sigh, relaxing back into his hold, his touch, even now.
One of his hands comes to curve around your chin. Angling it to his liking, he guides you to meet your own gaze in the mirror’s reflection.
“See?” He whispers, words lost somewhere along the shell of your ear. “So flushed already. So pretty.”
“That’s the makeup,” you try to defend.
“No, sweet girl,” Jungwon shakes his head. “That’s all you.” And then, because he hasn’t had his fill of you yet, not anywhere near it, he instructs, “Watch.”
Eyes locked on the mirror, you jolt in his hold as his other hand traces its way across your shoulder, skimming your bare arm, all the way until his fingertips brush against yours. He interlaces them, your hand in his.
Quietly, he presses a kiss to the side of your throat. And then he drags your joined hands across your upper thigh, all the way until they rest just between them.
There’s no pressure, no friction. Nothing but the promise of both that has you sighing a long exhale as you squirm in his lap again.
In the mirror, his eyes meet yours.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers. In the light of morning, the urgency of the evening stripped away, it feels rawer than ever. His nose drags along the column of your throat, the sensation sparking a shudder that spans the length of your spine. “And you smell so sweet.”
The truth of your own reflection suddenly feels like too much to bear. It’s so much, it’s too much, and you try to avert your gaze but Jungwon’s hand against your chin keeps it steady.
“Jungwon,” you whine. In protest or encouragement, you’re not entirely sure. But if his goal was to have you flushed, then he’s more than succeeded it.
He doesn’t take pity on you. Instead, he presses another kiss against you, this one to the top of your shoulder. Then, he gently disentangles your fingers. Free from restraint, his hand dips lower, searching, testing.
Finally, it comes to rest against you, just hovering. Hesitating.
“This okay?” he asks.
Already clenching around nothing but the reminders of last night and the promise of what will follow, all you can do is nod. Your own glassy, wide-eyed gaze follows the motion in the mirror.
“Good,” Jungwon hums in approval. Then, testing the waters, he tries, “good girl.” You shudder again, and this time it comes from even deeper. His smile sharpens. “Want you to watch.”
But Jungwon doesn’t direct your eyes to where his hands starts to work at you through layers of clothing. Instead, he keeps your chin angled towards the mirror, eyes on your own reflection.
You do as he requests. You watch, lips parting as he zeroes in on the right pressure almost immediately, the exact spot that gets you squirming even through your sleep shorts. It’s insane, how after only a couple of short months, a handful of nights like this, he’s already learned how to unravel you in the span of seconds.
Eyelids fluttering, your hips start to shift on their own accord in a rhythm that compliments his perfectly. Already lost to sensation, the next sound from your throat is a whimper. Long, drawn out, far too helpless for what he’s done so far. Jungwon zeroes in on it immediately.
“You’re sensitive,” he notes, something akin to wonder in his voice. Like he’s just discovered his new favorite thing. “I just started and you sound like that?” This time, it’s him that shudders against you. “Fuck.”
He’s right. You are sensitive. It’s different like this, sat in his lap, forced to watch your own expression twisting in the mirror. His touch from last night lingers like a promise and the more insistent his fingers become against you, the more antsy you get.
“Jungwon,” you whine again.
“Shh,” he hushes. “It’s okay.” And then, considering, “You’re not done yet, right?”
“Done?” You echo.
“With your makeup.”
You’re not. But sat in his lap, it’s the last thing on your mind. Perfect routine be damned, the only thing you’re thinking about now is having his hands on you. “I just have mascara left.”
Jungwon hums, fingers still working against you, but the pressure is different now. Slower, less deliberate. And then he stops completely, hand just resting where you want him most.
“Don’t let me stop you.”
“Jungwon,” you start, already thinking of a million excuses.
But he won’t hear them. “Come on,” he encourages, nose finding your throat again. In the mirror, you watch as he traces a line from the dip above your collarbone all the way to the hollow just beneath your jaw. Against your earlobe, he whispers, “Wanna watch.”
At this point, you’ve been in his bed more times than you could count on both hands, and he’s found his way into yours even more. But nothing, you think, has ever felt quite so intimate as the weight of his gaze when you acquiesce, reaching for the tube of mascara at the bottom of your makeup bag.
Jungwon’s hand leaves your jaw, brushes a strand of hair behind your ear before it comes to rest at the base of your throat, thumb stroking gentle patterns just over your pulse point.
His other hand leaves the space between your thighs completely as his fingers find your opposite hip, arm splayed low across your stomach.
The attention, the pure, unrestrained need in his gaze is evidence enough, but you can’t help but shift your hips slightly, just to be sure. The motion confirms your suspicions. He’s hard beneath you, painfully so. But the only response your movement gets is a heavy exhale.
With his arm low on your waist, Jungwon keeps you there, pressed against him. His chin comes to rest on your shoulder, eyes raking over your features in the mirror.
Pulling the wand from the tube, you lean forward slightly, craning your neck for a better angle. Pausing, you ask, “Why do you want me to finish my makeup? You’re just gonna ruin it, anyway.”
It’s almost instantaneous, the way you feel him twitch beneath you at your words.
“I’m not,” he shakes his head, even as his hips press more firmly against you. “I’ll be good, I promise.” And then, eyes locked on yours, he swears, “I’ll take care of you.”
You know better than to believe it, but resistance is a losing game where Jungwon is concerned. Cheeks warm, skin sensitive everywhere his touch lingers, you meet your own gaze in the mirror, eyelids fluttering as you swipe a generous layer of mascara through your lashes.
“There,” you tell him, replacing the wand in the tube and setting it back in your makeup bag. “All done.”
“What about that?” he asks, nodding towards the tube of lip gloss you’d set on his desk earlier.
“Lip gloss?” You frown. Even if he manages to leave your mascara intact, you’re sure there’s no way lip gloss will survive.
Jungwon doesn’t seem to have the same worries. Instead, he lets his hand fall away from your throat, reaching for the small, pink tube instead. Twisting it between his fingers for a moment, his eyes find yours in the mirror.
“Can I?” he asks.
The insinuation is obvious, but the question still catches you off guard. Has another flush of heat staining your cheeks.
Afraid words won’t quite come out the way you want them to, you nod your permission instead.
Jungwon smiles, presses another small kiss to the side of your throat. Then, he requests, “Turn around for me, angel.”
Slowly, reluctant to leave the warmth of his embrace for even a moment, you stand. Above him, your gaze locks on his eyes, his eyelids dropping, gaze heavy lidded as it rakes over your features again.
His hand wraps around you, finds the small of your back, fingers dipping dangerously low against the base of your spine.
“Come here,” he pleads, voice low as he pulls you back into his lap. This time, you’re facing him, legs splayed on either side as you sit across his thighs.
Hand reaching up, his fingers once again smooth hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ears.
Behind you, his hand finds the tiny strip of skin between the hem of your shirt and the waistband of your shorts. Thumb tracing it, he lingers for a moment before he starts to tease just beneath the fabric of your top. Skin against skin, as he traces the space around your spine.
Unwilling to break contact for even a moment, Jungwon uses his other hand to hold up your tube of lip gloss. “Help me?” he requests.
Taking it from him, you twist the wand away from the tube before placing it back in his outstretched hand.
With the focus of an artist and the touch of a lover, Jungwon leans forward, eyes narrowed in concentration as he brings the gloss to your lips. Slowly, he wipes a thin layer across your bottom lip. Pauses before doing the same to the top.
In his lap, you hold as still as possible, hardly daring even to breathe as he puts the finishing touches on his work.
Satisfied, Jungwon leans back again. Wordlessly, he hands you both pieces of your lip gloss again, quiet as you twist the lid back into place. Then, he reaches behind you to place it back on the desk.
“There,” he whispers, eyes finding yours. “There’s my pretty girl.”
You must be insane, must well and truly be under some kind of spell, because it feels only natural when you offer him a small smile and a quiet, “Only for you.”
Your confession seems to spark something in him, as if his affections need more encouragement. True to his word, he steers clear of the work you’ve just finished when he leans in once again.
Instead, his lips come back to your throat, this time with more insistence than the lazy, sparse kisses he pressed against you earlier.
“Yeah?” he asks, mouth still on your skin, tongue just beginning to trace the same path as his lips. There’s an edge to his voice now, a veiled layer of restraint that becomes thinner with each passing second. “My noona likes getting all pretty for me?”
You nod, suddenly shy even as his mouth moves against your neck with more insistence, teeth scraping over the skin he covers with wet kisses, sighing as your hands splay against his chest, tangle in the hair that falls just over his nape. “I like it when you call me that,” you admit. Bravery comes easier like this. In his lap, without the weight of his eyes on you. “When you tell me I’m pretty.”
“Yeah?” He hums against you, vibrations singing somewhere deep. In the mix of it all, your hips start to move again, encouraged by the hand on your back that’s begun to trail further up the length of your spine. “I’ll have to do it more, then,” he vows. “I’ll tell you every day. The prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. Fuck,” he swears as your hips find him again, just as hard and wanting as he was with your eyes on the mirror. “Still can’t believe you let me touch you like this.”
There’s wonder in his voice as he says it, like the way he unravels you down to your barest self is a gift, a blessing he’ll atone and beg and worship for as long as you’ll let him, in all the ways you ask for.
“Jungwon,” you whine, because you’re not sure what else to say, because the sensation of his lips on your neck and his body beneath you is enough to reduce you to little more than whimpers. Because you already know it won’t be enough.
He looks up at you then, hips moving with yours even as he tries to put all his attention on your words.
With his eyes on you, you know the battle is already half lost. Even if it’s hard to admit, even if you feel like you’ll never be able to say it out loud, you know exactly what you want from him.
For now, you’ll settle with one thing at a time.
So despite your earlier efforts and the mirror he bought just for you, you plead with him, “Kiss me.”
A flash of something agonized flashes through his gaze, brow slackening as he works you over his lap. He wants it, he does, but he’s trying so hard to be good. “But I promised—“
“Please,” you beg. You can’t tell where it comes from, but it sings with something honest when you admit, “I need it.”
I need you. You don’t say it, but the words linger in the air all the same.
That does it. Jungwon is a man of his word, but the sight of you, eyelids fluttering as your hips struggle to find a rhythm with his through your layers of clothing, sitting in his lap, flushed and begging, is enough to undo any remaining knots of resistance.
His hand finds your jaw, cradling it before he pulls you down to him, lips hungry against yours. His hips roll with you, catching against a spot that has you moaning into his mouth, the tiny sound half stuck in your throat.
He swallows it down like a man starved, his answering groan pulling from somewhere deep.
Breaking for air, Jungwon pulls away, gaze heavy lidded where it finds yours, the rise and fall of his chest rapid beneath your splayed palms.
His lips are covered with the sheer, sweet flavored sheen of your favorite lip gloss. Thumb coming to his mouth, you watch his lips part beneath your touch, pliant under you as you wipe away the excess.
His own eyes land on the evidence of ruin on your own lips, mouth messy in the aftermath of his actions.
Something in him flares, deep and possessive, at being the only one that gets to have you like this, see you like this. At being the only man allowed to put your lip gloss on for you and ruin it in the same breath.
He’s already hard, painfully so where he strains in his sweatpants beneath you. But the thoughts that rush through his mind—a more or less coherent chant of something that begins and ends with mine, mine, mine—is enough to have him desperate for more.
Lucky for him, you’re on the same page. Hand coming to curve around the back of his neck, threading through the thick, dark hair that lies just above it, you press your forehead to his. Your hips begin to move again, slower this time, with more intention.
Jungwon thinks you must be trying to send him to an early grave when you bend, press your forehead against him, and whisper, “I can still feel you inside me.”
“Fuck.” It’s hardly a response, but he doesn’t have any more dignified words to give you as he twitches in his boxers.
He must be the luckiest man on the planet, he’s sure, to have had you three times in the previous night alone. To hold you in his lap now, sensitive and swollen and begging for it all over again.
You’re so good, he thinks. So sweet, so fucking perfect. And he still can’t believe that it’s all for him, just for him.
He knows you’re sensitive, can feel it in the way you jolt in his hold when he finally gets you out of your sleep shorts. When his hand comes to press up beneath the front of your skimpy little top, curving around your chest and nearly losing his mind at the way you whine into his mouth when he rolls his thumb against you.
You’re so responsive. It sends his mind reeling.
Jungwon isn’t entirely sure about your past relationships or the extent of your experience. You haven’t brought it up and he hasn’t pushed even when his own masochistic curiosity threatens to get the best of him. Logically, he knows that it’s normal, that you're both adults and it’s expected, but the thought of anyone that isn't him ever getting to see you like this, touch you like this, lights a neon green flare of jealousy in him like nothing ever has.
He does his best not to make it your problem, but when he has you like this, part of him sets with the determination to erase any touch that’s ever come before him.
It flares now, as his fingers meet you where you're most sensitive. He’s rewarded as your lips go slack against his mouth, unable to keep up with the deep, slow pace he’s set as pleasure begins to wipe your mind.
A wave of self-satisfaction crests through him at your response, at the breathy little moan you sigh into his mouth.
But Jungwon’s the one who starts to lose his grip on coherent thought when he feels your hand start to trace the skin about his waistband, dipping beneath it.
“Want you,” you plead against his lips.
Jungwon screws his eyes shut, twitching against your touch.
“Have me,” he finally manages, thumb stroking along your jaw as his nose brushes yours. He means it. He’ll give you anything you ask for. He’ll hope, desperately, that it’s enough. “Take what you need.”
It’s warm, so fucking warm, just like it was last night. Jungwon’s box of condoms gathers dust in his bedside table, forgotten at this point. You whimper, exhale breathy as you sink down onto him, and he presses his forehead against yours.
It’s intense for you, he can tell as he feels you tense around him, even more so than usual. From a combination of things, he suspects—the angle, the moment, the lingering reminders of the previous night.
You’re so sensitive, so worked up already, practically shaking in his lap as he holds you still, flush to his chest as you adjust.
Pressing a kiss against your overly warm forehead, your eyelid, Jungwon asks, still trying to maintain a steady grip on his own sanity, “You okay?”
It takes a moment for your response to come, but when it does, you nod. “Yeah,” you assure him, voice airy, strained as your breath becomes shallow in your chest. “It just,” your brow creases and his jaw tightens, trying not to lose his last threads of coherence when he feels you clench around him, “feels different like this. I’ve never…”
You trail off, and Jungwon’s brain is still working a beat behind the rest of him. It takes him a moment, longer than it should, to put the pieces together.
“You’ve never…” he also loses his train of thought for a minute, trying to find words that don’t burn with vulgarity. Eventually, he settles with, “been on top?”
The flush is back, spreading rapidly across your cheekbones and threatening to spill down your throat, dip beneath your neckline. Jungwon wants to follow it with his eyes and then his touch. His mouth, even, if he’s lucky.
You’re so shy. He wants to coo at you, to pull you to his chest and baby you like a skittish kitten.
“No,” you eventually manage, voice small. You duck your chin like you want to hide from him. So sweet, he thinks. Buried to the hilt and you still won’t look him in the eye when you admit quietly, “Not like this.”
But then, the gravity, the implication, of your words well and truly settles.
This time, it’s Jungwon that twitches involuntarily inside you where you still sit motionless, flush to his lap. The sudden sensation has you shifting, whimpering in response.
And Jungwon… Jungwon is doing his very best not to let his thoughts play out across his features. He’s not sure what would happen if you knew, if you had any idea what knowing that he’s the first man to ever have you like this, is doing to him.
It’s archaic, it’s possessive, he feels fucking insane, but you’re sitting on his lap and he’s buried inside of you and you’ve just told him that you’ve never ridden a man before.
That he’s about to be the first man, the only man, to ever have you like this.
His hands come to settle on your hips. His thoughts are still hazy, words rough around the edges. “Can I,” he starts to ask, trying to make sure that he’s searching for your comfort, your pleasure, in all of this. That it doesn’t become something that’s just for him. “Can I help you?”
Eyes meeting his, you bite at the inside of your lip.
So shy, he thinks. So fucking sweet.
You nod slowly, and he does his best not to lose his mind right then and there.
Hands guiding gently, he starts to encourage motion. “You can move like this,” he whispers, eyes watching every micro expression that crosses your features. “Back and forth. Slowly.”
He hums when you start to find your rhythm, eyes fluttering shut as your brow creases, beginnings of pleasure starting to ebb.
“Yeah,” he encourages, watching the way your lips part, “just like that.”
His hands linger, more for contact than instruction as your confidence starts to grow, rhythm becoming stronger the longer you keep at it.
Hands still braced to his chest, Jungwon’s visions nearly whites out when you raise just a fraction of an inch before sitting down fully again. This time, it’s you that searches his face, watching the way Jungwon’s eyelids screw shut, expression almost pained as you repeat the motion.
“Fuck,” he groans, syllable ending in a whine that has you sure you want to earn it again.
Pace building, you ignore the burn in your thighs as his hands tighten around your hips again, guiding your motion as his brow starts to go slack. Jungwon is moving now too, motion building beneath you as his hips move with yours, rising to meet you every time you settle back down against him.
“Feels so good,” he whines on a particularly sharp uptake, and something deep within you shudders at the way his brow slackens.
You thought by now you’d had Jungwon in all the ways you could. It’s a range, but one that exists within a realm of set possibilities. There were nights where he talked you through it, lips brushing against your ear as he pressed his back flush to the length of your spine. You’ve also had him silent, nothing but a mix of lingering sighs and breathy exhales as his fingers interlaced with yours, gaze locked on you, begging silently for you to look at him as he worked you though it.
But you’ve never had him like this, begging, whining, whimpering beneath you as his hands help your hips find the perfect cadence.
It’s different for you too. The angle has him pressing deeper, pushing against places that make breathy little sounds spill from your throat every time your hips are flush to his again. Already sensitive, it doesn’t take long for a familiar pressure to build deep within you, pulling at your nerves.
“Jungwon,” you manage, his name hardly more than a breath. “I’m—I’m going to…”
He doesn’t need to hear you say it. Jungwon’s memorized you. He knows the way it feels when you're close, the way you start to pulse around him, muscles tightening in anticipation.
Always a considerate lover, the spur to action is immediate. One hand leaves your hip to dip between your thighs instead, just above the place where you’re connected.
The added pleasure makes you whimper, and he can’t help himself. Drunk on sensation, the words spill without gaining his full permission. “Yeah?” He can hardly believe it. “God, you’re fucking perfect. Just learned to ride me and you’re already gonna come from it.”
“Jungwon—“
“Do it.” He’s hardly coherent now. Rambling and half insane. “Wanna feel it. Wanna feel you come all over me. Please, baby.”
It doesn’t take much more than that, the sound of him practically begging for it. With the pressure of his thumb against you and one final push of your hips, you bury your face in his neck, sound muffled as you fall apart on top of him, pulsing around him.
Jungwon groans, and after another half voluntary press of his hips, follows you over the edge.
A minute passes, another, and he’s still buried inside you. It takes a moment for either of you to come back to yourselves, to regain coherent thought. Hands coming to your head, Jungwon smoothes hair away from your face as you lean back, meeting his eye.
You can feel the warmth on your cheeks again, and you know you must be terribly flushed. When you finally find it in yourself to sneak a glance at him, Jungwon is already looking at you, adoration plain and so potent it aches. Then, the longer the moment settles, it softens. Into a quiet kind of contentment, of true, deep satisfaction.
You wince when you do finally pull away from him fully, the sensitivity overshadowed only by the sudden, aching sensation of emptiness as you stand from his lap, fingers interlaced with his, legs slightly wobbly beneath you.
Moments later, you catch your own reflection in the mirror once again. A quick glance has you wanting to cover your face with your hands.
You look, in plain terms, exactly as you are. Fresh off of Jungwon’s lap, you’re just as flushed as you feared, and your lip gloss isn’t the only thing that’s been ruined.
Behind you, Jungwon’s reflection smirks, lips tugging upward in an entirely too self-satisfied manner as a flare of something possessive enters his gaze.
You sigh, a complaint on your lips that holds no real regret and even less blame. “I’m going to have to redo my makeup,” you whine.
“Mm,” Jungwon hums. But his hand is already wrapping around your upper thigh, lips pressing gently against your spine as he starts to scatter kisses down the length of it.
One last time, he catches your gaze in the mirror. There’s heat in his eyes, and despite it all, the way you feel yourself tighten in response is undeniable.
Holding your gaze with a promise in his, Jungwon has only one last suggestion. “Maybe wait a little longer.”
黑穗病 ─── "Did I distract you, Professor?" Sim Jaeyun is the professor everyone respects. you are the student who has him at your feet, who makes the mask of so much professionalism disappear.
ⳇ 𝓟 airing ╸ professor!jake (24) x student!f!reader (18)
ⳇ w/c: 9.8k
㰙꯭ؚۣۙۗ㰛꯭ؚؔ 𝓦arnings: MDNI, smut, unprotected sex (don't, pls), public sex, oral sex (m! & f!), fingerfucking, creampie, nipple teasing, boob sucking, light degradation/praise, dirty talk, rough sex, overstimulation, cum eating, marking, slut shaming, (ft. Giselle, Sunoo).. lmk if more
𝓡ina's note: im really dead... srry for that, idk what im gonna do next (plz give me ideas, i literally don't have any ;/ i would love reading yours if u have) reblog if u liked it and... that's all.. hope uliked it C:
总清单之家 check my ::⠀ ⠀، ⠀ ── 𝓜asterlist 𝓗ome
The air in the lecture hall always felt different when Professor Sim Jaeyun—or Jake, as you called him behind closed doors—stepped inside.
It was a thick, intoxicating cocktail of expensive cedarwood cologne, the scent of whiteboard markers, and a predatory tension that only you truly understood.
At twenty-four, he was the epitome of professionalism, never seen without a perfectly tailored suit, his dark hair swept back, and a gaze so sharp it could dissect a student's logic before they even finished a sentence.
He didn't have a public dating life. he was a ghost in the social scene, save for the rare, whispered sightings of him at exclusive, dimly lit jazz bars or underground clubs where the drinks cost more than your tuition.
He was the ultimate challenge. and little did the world know, you had already broken him.
Behind the closed doors of his luxury off-campus apartment, the "Professor" disappeared, replaced by a man whose hunger was huge.
The midday sun bled through the sheer curtains of your dorm.
You stood before the full-length mirror, evaluating what you had chosen to wear.
The outfit was a calculated provocation. a thin, black zip-up hoodie made of a thin fabric, its hood lined with a thick, plush trim of faux fur.
Below it, a denim mini-skirt, finished with a defiant leopard-print fur border. it was trashy-chic, a direct insult to the academic environment Jake tried to maintain.
it screamed for attention.
it screamed for his hands.
A sharp, rhythmic drumming on your door shattered your focus.
"If you're dead in there, i'm stealing your skin serum!" Sunoo's voice rang out, sharp and dripping with his trademark sass.
You swung the door open. Sunoo was leaning against the frame, he didn't wait for an invitation, stepping inside and flopping onto your unmade bed.
"i'm telling you, that buldak ramyeon from last night was a tactical error" Sunoo groaned, clutching his stomach dramatically.
"i woke up feeling like a bloated pufferfish. my skin? dull. my energy? sub-zero. and don't even get me started on Sunghoon.
he posted a gym selfie all sweaty, veins popping—and then had the audacity to ignore my text for three hours. i should block him. i should literally ruin his life."
You turned back to the mirror, adjusting the hoodie so the zipper sat dangerously low. "maybe he's just busy, Sunoo. not everyone lives on their phone."
"Please. he's obsessed with his own reflection; he's definitely seen my name on his screen" Sunoo retorted, sitting up and squinting at you. he went quiet for a second, his cat-like eyes scanning your outfit from the leopard trim to the sheer fabric of the hoodie.
A slow, knowing smirk spread across his face.
"Ugh, stop interrupting my food-trauma with your... whatever this is" he said, gesturing to your body.
"You look absolutely feral, girl. truly. like you're about to go hunting. who is the unlucky soul today? is this for Professor Sim?"
You felt a spike of adrenaline but kept your voice flat. "why do you always bring him up? can't i just want to look good for myself?"
Sunoo let out a loud, theatrical cackle, rolling off the bed. "For yourself? honey, you're wearing leopard print and a hoodie that's basically a spiderweb,
You look like you're trying to get a failing grade just so he'll keep you for detention. it's a bit much, don't you think? he's twenty-four, he's a genius, and he has the emotional range of a stone wall. he's never going to look at a student that way."
"God, Sunoo, drop the lecture" you sighed, grabbing your bag and checking your reflection one last time.
You had dabbed a heavy, musky vanilla perfume on your pulse points—the scent Jake once told you made him want to lose his mind. "i don't care about Jake. i just like his class. the man knows his science, okay?"
"Sure, babe. and i'm a straight man" Sunoo rolled his eyes, looping his arm through yours.
The air outside was thick with the scent of blooming jasmine and the hum of campus life. as you walked toward the main hall, Sunoo didn't stop talking, his voice a constant, comforting stream of gossip.
"i'm serious though" Sunoo said, his tone shifting slightly more serious but keeping that sassy edge. "i've seen girls much more... 'obvious' than you try to get a rise out of him, and he looks at them like they're a math error. don't hurt your own feelings trying to break a man who doesn't have a heart."
"Who said anything about breaking him?" you murmured, a secret smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.
"Your skirt did. it's screaming it" Sunoo replied, adjusting his sunglasses as you approached the massive oak doors of the science building.
You checked your watch. 12:45 PM. in fifteen minutes, you would be sitting in the front row.
In fifteen minutes, you would watch the way Professor Sim's eyes would darken as they landed on you.
You would watch the way his hands would tremble slightly as he adjusted his notes, and you would know—better than anyone in that room—exactly how it felt when that "stone wall" finally crumbled beneath you.
"Let's go" you said, your heart beginning to thunder in your chest. "i don't want to miss a single second of the new unit."
Giselle was already waiting by the glass doors.
She is a force of nature.
She is your best friend, a woman who lived for the thrill of the chase and the heat of a hookup.
She often joked that if she didn't have a new man to distract her every week, she'd lose her mind.
"Finally!" Giselle exclaimed, her eyes lighting up as she saw you. she was dressed in a sleek, tight dress, already vibrating with energy. "i've been standing here for ten minutes. why are you both late?"
"Blame her" Sunoo chimed in, crossing his arms and huffing.
"She spent twenty minutes in front of the mirror perfecting the 'i'm-definitely-not-wearing-a-bra' look. it's a miracle we made it here before the semester ended."
Giselle let out a throaty laugh, pulling you into a half-hug. "if you've got the goods, you sell them, Sunoo. don't be a hater just because your gym-crush hasn't texted you back.
You look incredible, babe. if Professor Sim has a pulse, he's going to be sweating through that designer suit by 1:15."
"He is a teacher, Gi" Sunoo muttered, falling into step as the three of you entered the auditorium. "maybe she should focus more on studying, it's practically a public service at this point."
"Oh, hush, Sun" Giselle teased, her voice dropping as you entered the hall. "we're going out for drinks the second this day is over anyway. We need to be in the right headspace."
The three of you claimed your usual spots—dead center, front row. you were so close to the professor's desk that you could smell the wood.
to your left, Sunoo and Giselle were already deep in a hushed, scandalous argument.
"I'm serious, Giselle! no condom? Again?" Sunoo hissed, his voice a sharp whisper. "in this economy? you're playing russian roulette with your health just because some guy has nice arms. have some respect for your own biology."
"He was hot, Sunoo! and he said he was clean" Giselle countered, rolling her eyes. "besides, it's not like i'm looking for a husband. i just wanted to feel something other than boredom for twenty minutes."
The side door creaked open, and the hall fell into an expectant, heavy silence. Jake walked in.
His suit was buttoned tight, his tie perfectly knotted, and his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose with a sharp, intellectual frostiness.
He didn't look at the class; he looked through them, his aura radiating a cold, untouchable authority. he placed his satchel on the desk.
"Good afternoon" he began, his voice a rich, vibrating baritone that seemed to settle directly in your lower abdomen. "today's session is practical. you have the prompts on your tablets. i expect a full analysis by the end of the next hour. if you find yourself... struggling, my desk is open for inquiries."
The room erupted into the soft sound of clicking keys. you didn't even look at your screen.
You knew this material better than he did some days. you waited five minutes, then stood up, making sure the faux-fur trim of your skirt caught the light.
You approached the desk, leaning over far enough that the zipper of your hoodie hung a bit open only for him to see, revealing a little of the fabric of your bra.
You could smell him—cedarwood, expensive paper, and a faint, masculine musk that made your head swim.
"Professor?" you murmured, your voice a silken thread. "i'm having a bit of trouble with the molecular bonding section. it's so... complex."
Jake didn't look up at first.
His jaw was set so tight you could see the muscle feathering in his cheek.
Slowly, he lifted his head. his dark eyes didn't go to your face; they landed squarely on the exposed skin of your chest. He stayed there for a beat too long, his pupils dilating until his eyes were almost entirely black.
"It shouldn't be complex for someone with your... aptitude, Miss" he rasped, his voice losing its professional sheen.
He reached out, his hand hovering near your own on the desk, his heat radiating through the air. "you need to focus on the core. stop looking for shortcuts."
"I find it very hard to focus when the atmosphere is so... tense" you whispered, looking at him through your lashes.
Jake's hand clenched into a fist on the desk. "back to your seat."
As you walked away, you felt his eyes on your hips, burning holes into the denim of your skirt.
When you sat down, Sunoo leaned over, his face a mask of disbelief. "You are such a liar. you literally tutored me on this last week. if you're going to be a slut for his attention, at least try to be the smart one."
"Sunoo, shut up" you hissed, your heart drumming against your ribs.
"She's being so defensive," Giselle whispered with a smirk. "let her play, Sunoo. look at him. he looks like he's about to explode anyway."
The last fifteen minutes were an exercise in psychological warfare. you sat there, chin in your hand, staring at Jake with a predatory stillness.
You slowly took your pencil into your mouth, your tongue swirling around the wood, your eyes never leaving his. then, you dragged a thumb over your bottom lip, pulling it down just enough to show the pink flesh inside.
Jake was trying to grade papers, but he was failing.
His pen hovered over a page, a drop of ink staining the paper as he stared back at you.
He looked exhausted, his tie slightly loosened now, his professional armor cracked and bleeding. He let out a long, heavy sigh, his gaze sweeping over your body with a mix of resentment and agonizing desire.
You felt stripped bare by that look—naked and claimed right there in the front row.
The bell rang. the students began to scatter, the sound of chairs scraping filling the air.
"Coming?" Giselle asked, packing her things.
"Go ahead" you said, your voice steady. "i have to hand in that extra credit assignment. i'll catch you at the cafeteria"
Sunoo opened his mouth to complain, but Giselle saw the look in your eyes.
She grabbed Sunoo by the arm, dragging him toward the exit. "let's go, Sun. she's busy being a 'dedicated student.'" she gave the heavy doors a firm push, and the click of the lock resonated like a heartbeat.
Silence reclaimed the room. Jake didn't move. he sat behind his desk, staring at the closed doors.
"Do you have something for me, Miss?" he asked, the words strained, his 'Professor' mask barely hanging on.
"God, Jake" you breathed, walking toward him and dropping the assignment on the floor. you leaned against the desk, your thighs brushing his knees. "act like a professional one more time and i'll scream. you were practically undressing me with your eyes for the last hour."
Jake finally snapped. he pushed his rolling chair back, his legs falling open in a wide, dominant V.
He looked up at you, his eyes raw. "i can't tarnish my resume."
He reached out, his hand sliding up your thigh, his palm hot against your skin. "but it is impossible for me to function when you walk in here looking like a total slut. that skirt... that hoodie... you knew exactly what you were doing to me."
"Did i distract you, Professor?" you teased, sliding your hands over his shoulders, feeling the tension in his muscles.
"You're a brat" he growled, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous simmer. "we have thirty minutes before the next hour."
"I can make you cum in ten" you countered, your voice dropping to a seductive purr, already sinking to your knees between his open legs.
"Not in my classroom... god" Jake's head fell back, his eyes fluttering shut as your hands found his belt.
"As if you can wait, you'll just end up in the faculty bathroom touching yourself while thinking about me anyway."
"I never should have told you that" Jake muttered, his head falling back against his chair.
"uhm.. why?" you whispered, unbuckling his leather belt with a sharp clack.
"Because you use it against me like a weapon."
"Because it works." you answered.
Jake let out a ragged breath, looking at the door one last time before sliding his chair forward, tucking you into the dark, private shadows beneath the heavy desk.
He reached down, his fingers tangling in your hair, pulling your head back so you had to look at him.
"Brat." he whispered, his thumb brushing over your lip with a sudden, aching tenderness. "i love you... now please... hurry up"
Jake's hand remained buried in your hair, his grip firm, forcing your head back so you had to look up at him.
From this angle, he didn't look like the prestigious Professor Sim anymore. his glasses were slightly askew, his tie was a mess of silk, and his eyes were dark with a predatory, hypersexual hunger that made your core throb.
"You've been begging for this since the moment you stepped into my lecture" he rasped, his voice vibrating through the desk you were leaning against. "the short skirt, every 'question' at my desk... you're a manipulative little slut, aren't you, my love?"
"I'm your slut, Jake" you whispered, the words acting like gasoline on a fire.
With a sharp hiss of a zipper, you released him.
He was already fully aroused, straining against the fine fabric of his underwear.
When you finally freed him, the sight of him—thick, pulsing, and already weeping with a bead of pre-cum—made your mouth water.
He was massive, a stark contrast to the refined, controlled man he pretended to be in the light.
"Do it" he commanded, his fingers tightening in your hair, not to hurt, but for you to feel the pressure "show me how much of a 'dedicated student' you really are."
You didn't need to be told twice.
You leaned forward, your tongue darting out to lick the length of him, tasting the salt and the heat.
Jake let out a jagged, broken moan, his hips twitching involuntarily toward your face. when you finally took him into your mouth, the heat was overwhelming.
You swirled your tongue around the sensitive head, suctioning him deep into your throat until you hit the back, your eyes watering from the depth.
"God... fuck" Jake hissed, his head thumping back against the leather of his chair. "that's it... use that pretty mouth. you've got so much to say in class, let's see how well you can stay still while you chock on it."
His hands guiding your head in a rhythmic, punishing motion.
Every time you tried to pull back for air, he held you there, forcing you to take every inch, to feel the way his pulse hammered against your tongue.
The sound of your wet, sloppy intake echoed in the hollow space under the desk, a rhythmic slap of skin against skin that made the risk of being caught feel electric.
"You like this, don't you?" Jake whispered, his voice thick "being down there like a good girl, hidden away while the rest of the world thinks i'm a saint. you're the only one who knows what a monster i am, aren't you?"
He reached down, his thumb finding your bottom lip, pulling it down to watch the way you struggled to breathe around him. The sight of your small face filled with him was too much.
He pulled out with a sharp pop, the friction making you gasp as cool air rushed into your mouth, drying the saliva on your lips.
You stayed on your knees, trembling, the shadows of the massive mahogany desk swallowing everything but the two of you. your lungs burned, searching for oxygen, but Jake didn't give you a moment to recover.
His hand, still tangled in your hair, tightened, tilting your head back even further until your spine arched.
His eyes were dark, fixated on your swollen lips and the way your chest heaved beneath the thin fabric of your hoodie.
"You're not done" he rasped, his voice a jagged edge in the silence of the auditorium. "i've spent the last twenty minutes watching you tease me from the front row. you don't get to stop until i've had every fucking bit of what you were promising."
With his free hand, he reached down and gripped the zipper of your black hoodie, dragging it down slowly.
The sound of the metal teeth uncoupling was loud, echoing against the underside of the desk. He pushed the fabric aside, exposing the pale, flushed skin of your chest and the lace of your bra.
He didn't stop there. he unclipped it, freeing your breasts, the cool air making your nipples harden instantly into tight, aching points.
"God, you're so beautiful" he whispered, a rare note of genuine sweetness breaking through his rough exterior. "a beautiful, manipulative little slut."
He didn't make you stand. instead, he leaned forward in his chair, forcing you to stay tucked in the cramped, dark space between his knees.
He grabbed both of your breasts, squeezing them together to create a deep, pillowy cleavage. the sight of his thick, throbbing cock pressed against the soft skin of your chest was a visual of pure sin—the ivory of your skin against the flushed, dark heat of him.
He began to slide himself between them.
The friction was incredible, the slickness of your own saliva and his pre-cum acting as a lubricant as he buried himself in the valley of your chest. every thrust made his cock slap against your chin, the scent of him—musk, salt, and raw desire—filling your senses until you couldn't think.
"Look at me" he commanded, his voice trembling with the effort of holding back. "i want you to see what you do to me."
He began to move faster, his hips pumping in a rhythmic, desperate pace. he moaned while his cock continued to friction against your skin.
You let out a muffled whimper, your hands clawing at his thighs, digging your nails into the expensive fabric of his suit. The overstimulation was staggering— the weight of him between your breasts, and the constant fear of the auditorium doors swinging open.
"Jake... please" you moaned, your head thumping against the underside of the desk.
"Call me Professor" he hissed, his movements becoming more frantic, his breathing a series of ragged, broken hitches. "Tell me how much you love being your Professor’s little secret."
He was close. you could feel the tension in his thighs, the way his muscles locked as he reached his limit. he pulled back from your chest, his eyes blown wide, searching your face for the same level of ruin he felt.
"Open your mouth" he ordered, his voice dropping to a low, primal growl. "take all of it. don't you dare waste a single drop."
He didn't wait. he guided himself back into your mouth, his hands holding your head steady as he delivered the final thrusts.
He bottomed out in your throat, and then he stiffened.
You felt the hot, thick pulse of his release—wave after wave of his heat hitting the back of your throat.
You took it all, your eyes watering, your throat working to swallow the viscous liquid as he filled you.
He groaned, a long, guttural sound that seemed to come from his very soul, his forehead dropping to rest against yours as his body finally went limp.
For a long minute, the only sound was the two of you breathing—heavy, jagged gasps in the dark.
"So good..." he whispered, his thumb swiping a stray drop of cum from the corner of your mouth and bringing it to his own lips. He tasted it, his eyes meeting yours with a dark, satisfied glint.
The shift was almost violent. as soon as the haze of the orgasm cleared, the "Professor" began to resurface. Jake checked his watch—twenty minutes until the doors would unlock for the next seminar.
He stood up, his movements efficient and clinical as he tucked himself back into his slacks.
You remained on the floor for a moment, your legs feeling like lead, the taste of him still coating your tongue.
"Get up, babe, we need to move," he said, though his voice was softer now. he reached down, helping you to your feet.
The next twenty minutes were a meticulous dance of restoration.
Jake stood in front of a small mirror he kept in his desk, re-knotting his tie with steady hands, smoothing the wrinkles in his charcoal jacket.
He looked like a man who had spent his lunch break studying research papers, not a man who had just been unraveled under his own desk.
You, meanwhile, were huddled in the corner of the auditorium, using a pack of wet wipes you kept in your bag to clean the stickiness from your lips.
You re-clipped your bra, zipped up your hoodie, and smoothed down your leopard-trimmed skirt. your face was flushed, your lips bitten and red, but with a bit of concealer and a heavy coat of lip gloss, the evidence was buried.
"Your hair" Jake remarked, stepping toward you. he reached out, his fingers gentle as he smoothed a stray strand back into place.
For a second, the mask slipped, and you saw the man who had whispered i love you amidst the filth. "You look... presentable. almost innocent."
"And you look like you didn't just call me a whore" you countered, a small, triumphant smile playing on your lips.
Jake let out a low, weary breath, the kind of sound a man makes when he knows he's completely at the mercy of the woman standing in front of him. his fingers trembling ever so slightly—the only lingering evidence of the chaos that had just unfolded beneath his desk.
"You really should head to the cafeteria with your friends" Jake said, his voice finally reclaiming that steady, authoritative pitch he used for his lectures.
He didn't look at you yet, busy organizing the scattered papers on his desk. "get something to eat. you have another hour of my lecture in a few minutes, and i don't want you passing out in the front row."
You leaned against the edge of the mahogany desk, a slow, predatory smirk spreading across your lips.
You reached out, tracing the gold nib of his fountain pen with a singular finger. "i don't think i'm very hungry, Jake" you whispered, your voice dripping with honeyed malice. "actually, i think i've already eaten quite enough for one afternoon. it was… a very filling snack."
Jake's hand froze over his leather satchel.
He let out a sharp, ragged sigh, his eyes closing for a brief second as he fought the urge to pull you back into the shadows. the reference to the taste still lingering on your tongue was enough to make the air in the room feel heavy again.
"You're impossible" he muttered, finally looking up. he sat back in his chair and flipped open his laptop, the blue light reflecting off his glasses.
You chuckled softly, pushing off the desk. you leaned down, pressing a lingering, soft kiss to his cheek—right on the jawline where you had left a faint, red mark only minutes before. "see you, Professor. try to focus on the slides, okay?"
He didn't answer, but you saw his jaw tighten as he began to type with a ferocity that suggested he was desperately trying to ignore the scent of your perfume still clinging to his skin.
At the end of the last class of the day, the final bell rang at 7:40 PM, the tension in the room was thick enough to choke on.
The campus was bathed in the amber glow of the streetlights as you, Sunoo, and Giselle stepped out of the main building.
The evening air was crisp, carrying the distant sound of city traffic and the excited chatter of students finally freed from their academic chains.
"God, i need a drink so bad i can taste the gin" Giselle groaned, stretching her arms above her head, her movements fluid and cat-like. "there's that new lounge near the station. they have a happy hour that lasts until midnight, and i heard the bartenders are actually competent for once."
Sunoo nodded, adjusting the strap of his designer tote bag. "i'm in. i need to wash away the memory of that lecture. i swear, Professor Sim was extra intense today. did you see the way he was glaring at the whiteboard? it was like he wanted to fight the equations."
He turned to you, his eyes scanning your face with a hint of concern. "come on, you look like you're in another world. let's go get wasted."
You bit your lip, glancing back at the building where you knew Jake was probably still packing up, likely waiting for the halls to clear before he headed to his car. "i… i can't tonight, guys. sorry."
Giselle paused, her eyebrows shooting up. "what? since when do you turn down a friday night drink? you were the one complaining about being bored this morning."
"i know, i know" you said, waving a hand dismissively as you pulled your hoodie closer around you. "but i have to go help my aunt with some stuff. she's moving some furniture and, well, she's been asking for weeks. i can't keep blowing her off."
Giselle stopped walking, her sharp eyes narrowing as she looked at you.
She saw the flush on your neck, the slight puffiness of your lips, and the way you kept glancing at the clock. a slow, knowing smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
She didn't say a word, but her silence was deafening. she knew the 'aunt' was a lie, but she also knew you weren't going to spill the truth.
"Your aunt?" Sunoo broke in, his voice rising in that characteristic sassy lilt.
He stopped dead in his tracks, looking at you like you had just suggested eating dirt. "are you serious? doesn't she have, like, a life? or a boyfriend? or a literal moving company?"
"come on, Sun" you laughed nervously.
"I'm being logical!" Sunoo retorted, rolling his eyes dramatically. "your aunt is twenty-seven. she's basically in her prime. she's young, she's fit, and she's perfectly capable of moving a coffee table without your help. why does she need you at 8:00 PM on a friday? is she incapable of functioning?"
Giselle reached over and gave Sunoo a sharp, playful smack on the arm. "shut up, you brat. if she says she has to go, she has to go. maybe her aunt is going through a breakup or something."
she turned back to you, her expression softening into a look of feigned annoyance. "but you're paying for the first round tomorrow, understand?"
"I promise" you said, feeling a wave of relief. "tomorrow, i'm all yours. i'll make it up to both of you, okay?"
"You better" Sunoo grumbled, though he finally started walking again. "twenty-seven years old and can't move a chair. unbelievable."
"See you tomorrow, Gi. Bye, Sun!" you called out, backing away toward the parking lot.
Giselle watched you go, a small, secretive wave following you. she didn't buy the story for a second, but she respected the hustle.
The parking lot was cold, the shadows stretching long and thin between the rows of cars.
The air had turned sharp with the evening chill, a stark contrast to the suffocating heat of the lecture hall you'd just escaped.
You walked with a quick, rhythmic stride, your boots clicking against the pavement, until you saw it—the sleek, predatory silhouette of the black Audi parked in the furthest corner.
As you approached, the car's led headlights flickered twice, cutting through the gloom to find you. the windows were heavily tinted.
You pulled the passenger door open and slipped inside, the scent of expensive leather and Jake's familiar cedarwood cologne immediately wrapping around you like a second skin.
Jake was sitting in the driver's seat, the dim glow from the dashboard illuminating the sharp lines of his jaw and the relaxed, yet guarded, posture he only held when he was with you.
"I have to pay for tomorrow's outing thanks to you" you grumbled, tossing your bag into the footwell.
You leaned back against the headrest, crossing your arms over your chest in a classic bratty pout. "Giselle and Sunoo are already suspicious, and now i'm the one who has to foot the bill for the 'aunt' excuse."
Jake let out a low, amused huff, his fingers tapping a slow rhythm against the steering wheel.
He turned his head to look at you, a small, indulgent smile playing on his lips. "if you want to go, you can go. i'm not exactly holding you hostage. and as for the bill… let me pay for it. consider it a convenience fee for my schedule."
"Hm, and in exchange for what?’" you asked, your voice dropping into a playful, knowing lilt. you shifted in your seat, the denim of your skirt riding up just a fraction more.
You knew exactly where this conversation usually led, and the thrill of it was already beginning to thrum in your veins.
Jake's smile faded slightly, replaced by a look that was uncharacteristically soft. "in exchange for nothing you don't want to do. you talk to me sometimes like i'm some predator taking advantage of you."
You softened, the bratty persona slipping away for a moment. you reached out, running a hand over the smooth dashboard. "i don't mean it like that, Jake. it's just… the secret of it all... it puts me in a weird headspace sometimes."
Jake sighed, his expression turning serious. he reached over, his hand hovering in the space between your seats before he finally spoke. "i know. but you know the stakes. if the board found out i started seeing a student in my very first year here… it wouldn't just be a scandal.
it would be the end of everything i've worked for. professors who get a reputation for 'indulging' in their students don't get tenure, love. they get blacklisted. i have to protect this—for both of us."
"I know, i know" you said, waving a hand to dismiss the heavy tension.
You didn't want to talk about careers or reputations; you wanted the sanctuary of his apartment. "i'm not complaining, i'm just reminding you. anyway… are we going to your place? i'm exhausted."
"Mh." Jake hummed in affirmation, his voice vibrating deep in his chest.
He paused, his hand finally moving to settle on your thigh, his palm warm and heavy. "unless you're hungry? we could stop somewhere quiet on the way out of the district."
"No" you replied, leaning your head back and closing your eyes. "i'm fine with just finishing off whatever ramyun you have in your place. i just want to watch a movie and cuddle for once without looking over my shoulder."
Jake's thumb traced a slow, deliberate circle on the skin of your thigh, right at the hem of your skirt.
For a second, his grip tightened, his fingers inching upward as if he were tempted to hike the fabric up right then and there in the parking lot. you held your breath, the familiar heat rising in your gut, but after a lingering moment of tension, he pulled back.
"Fine" he said, his voice a bit raspier than before. "ramyun and a movie it is."
He withdrew his hand and reached for the ignition.
The engine roared to life, a low, powerful purr that vibrated through the floorboards. as he shifted the car into gear and began to navigate out of the lot, the flickering lights of the campus faded into the rearview mirror. for the first time all day, the air felt like it belonged to you again.
"But just so we're clear" Jake added, his eyes fixed on the road but a mischievous glint returning to his gaze, "if we're watching a movie, i get to pick. and i'm not letting you fall asleep ten minutes in like last time."
"We'll see about that, Professor" you teased, finally relaxing as the Audi sped toward the city skyline.
The hum of the Audi's engine was a low, rhythmic vibration that seemed to settle directly into your bones. outside, the city was a blur of electric ambers and cold blues, the towering glass structures of the business district watching like silent sentinels as the car glided through the late-night traffic. inside, the atmosphere was suffocatingly quiet, save for the faint, atmospheric jazz bleeding through the speakers—a sound too elegant for the wreckage of your current state.
For fifteen minutes, you hadn't moved. your forehead was pressed against the cool glass of the window, but your eyes weren't focused on the neon lights.
They were trapped in the memory of the auditorium.
You could still feel the phantom sensation of his hands in your hair and the visceral, heavy weight of him. the problem was that the act had been entirely one-sided. you had been the giver, the submissive vessel for his release, and it had left you in a state of agonizing, physical suspension.
You were hyper-aware of everything. the way the lace of your panties felt like sandpaper against your swollen folds. the way the denim of your skirt was bunched up. you felt heavy, humming with a localized heat that Jake hadn't even bothered to address yet.
Jake's hand shifted from the gear stick, his fingers splaying across your mid-thigh. he didn't look at you; his eyes were fixed on the road, the red glow of the taillights ahead reflecting in his glasses.
"You're being very quiet" he noted, his voice a smooth, low-frequency rumble. "in what world are you right now?"
"Nowhere special" you whispered, your voice sounding thin and ragged even to your own ears. you bit your lip hard, your teeth sinking into the sensitive flesh you'd already punished earlier that day.
Jake flicked his gaze toward you for a fraction of a second—a sharp, clinical scan that seemed to peel back your skin.
He turned back to the road, a slow, dark smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth before he licked his lips—a habit that felt less like a tic and more like a predatory preparation.
"Are you sure? because you're practically vibrating" he said, his thumb beginning to trace slow, deliberate circles on your inner thigh, inching closer to the hem of your skirt. "you're so tense i can feel it through the leather."
"Do you want me to be honest, Jake?" you finally turned your head, staring at his profile—the sharp, aristocratic line of his nose, the way the passing streetlights hollowed out his cheeks.
He looked so collected, so professional, while you were a mess of unfulfilled nerves. "i feel empty. completely and utterly empty."
"Empty?" Jake let out a dry, amused huff. "oh, love... are you already trying to negotiate a new lesson before we've even reached the apartment?"
"I'm serious" you breathed, your legs parting just a fraction as his hand moved higher. "you got exactly what you wanted in that hall. and i'm still… i'm still waiting."
"Mh. i see."
Jake didn't pull over. he kept driving, his left hand steering with an effortless, one-handed grace while his right hand slid beneath the leopard-print trim of your skirt.
His palm was hot, a stark contrast to the air-conditioned cabin.
He didn't go for the skin immediately; instead, he let his middle finger hook into the edge of your lace panties, tracing the seam from front to back. He felt the dampness immediately—the evidence of how much the car ride had been affecting you.
"Look at this" he murmured, his voice dropping into a dark, textured register. "you haven't even been touched and you're already soaked. you've just been sitting here, behaving yourself, while you rot from the inside out thinking about me."
"Jake… please" you whimpered, your head falling back against the headrest.
"Shh. don't be so loud." he chided softly, though the glint in his eyes was anything but kind.
He didn't remove the underwear. he used the fabric as a tool, his fingers pressing the rough lace directly against your clit, circling it with a firm, punishing pressure.
The friction was jagged and intense.
You gasped, your hips bucking instinctively against his hand, but he held you down, his thumb pinning your thigh in place.
"You're so desperate for a little attention" he whispered, his eyes never leaving the road as he navigated a turn. "it's almost embarrassing how easy it is to break that bratty attitude of yours. a little neglect and you're begging for whatever i'm willing to give you."
"I'm not begging" you lied, your breath hitching as he increased the speed of his fingers.
"No? Then why are your legs shaking? why are you gripping my arm like you're drowning?"
He finally slipped two fingers beneath the elastic, diving into the heat of you.
The sudden shift from the dry lace to the blunt, wet intrusion of his fingers made your vision white out. he began to fuck you with a rhythmic, heavy pace, his fingers curling deep inside you, hitting that sensitive spot with every upward stroke.
The sound of it—the wet, rhythmic slap of his palm against your thigh—filled the quiet car, drowning out the radio.
"You're so tight" he growled, his jaw tightening. "and so messy. it's a good thing i have leather seats. i can't have you ruining the car before we even get home."
He was overstimulating you on purpose, his fingers moving with a clinical precision that felt like he was dissecting your pleasure.
Every time you reached the precipice, every time your breath caught in a way that suggested an orgasm, he slowed down, dragging his fingers out just enough to leave you cold and gasping before thrusting back in.
"Jake, i can't… i need to finish" you sobbed, your nails digging into the sleeve of his blazer.
"You'll finish when i decide you've learned some patience" he countered.
He pulled the Audi into the underground parking of his complex, the screech of tires on the polished concrete echoing like a scream.
He killed the engine, the sudden silence making the sounds of your frantic breathing and his wet fingers inside you feel deafeningly loud.
He withdrew his hand slowly, the suction making a sharp, wet pop. he didn't look at the mess; instead, he reached up and wiped his damp fingers across your bottom lip, smearing your own heat over your mouth like a brand.
"Get out of the car" he said, his voice returning to that terrifyingly calm, professional tone as he adjusted his glasses. "and don't you dare touch yourself in the elevator. i want you exactly this needy when I open that door."
The elevator ride was a form of psychological torture that Jake had engineered with clinical precision.
You stood in the corner, your knees shaking so violently you had to lean against the cold metal wall for support. every time you caught your reflection in the polished surface, you saw a stranger—a girl with blown-out pupils and lips swollen.
Next to you, Jake stood as if he were waiting for a faculty meeting to begin.
He hadn't touched you since the car. he didn't even look at you. he stood with his hands tucked into his trouser pockets, his gaze fixed on the glowing floor numbers above the door.
The contrast was agonizing; he looked untouched, a pillar of academic decorum, while you could feel the cold dampness of your own skin and the heavy, rhythmic throb between your legs that he had ignited and then abandoned.
"Jake" you whispered, the name a broken, desperate plea that cracked the silence.
He didn't turn his head. he only shifted his weight slightly. "i suggest you find a way to occupy your mind for the next thirty seconds."
"I can't... it hurts" you hissed, your fingers twitching at your sides, wanting nothing more than to reach for him, to tear that perfectly pressed blazer off his shoulders.
"Pain is just another form of focus" he replied, his voice devoid of empathy but thick with a suppressed, dark gravity. "Learn to sit with it."
The elevator chimed—a polite, sterile sound—and the doors slid open. the hallway of his floor was quiet, lined with plush carpeting that muffled the sound of your frantic footsteps as you followed him. he walked with an agonizingly steady pace, the jingle of his keys as he reached his door sounding like a death knell for your restraint.
He unlocked the door and stepped inside, holding it open for you with a politeness that felt like a slap in the face. you stumbled past him into the foyer, the scent of his home—expensive wood, clean laundry, and a hint of aged spirits—rushing to meet you.
The second the heavy door clicked shut and the deadbolt engaged, the "Professor" vanished.
Jake didn't say a word. he didn't even drop his keys on the console.
He simply turned and lunged, his body a solid wall of muscle that slammed you back against the door. the impact made the wood groan, and the air was knocked out of your lungs in a sharp gasp.
Before you could even blink, his mouth was on yours—not with the calculated heat of the car, but with a raw, desperate hunger that bordered on violent.
It wasn't a kiss of affection; it was a reclamation. his tongue forced its way past your teeth, tasting the remnants of himself on you, his hands tangling deep into your hair and pulling your head back to expose the line of your throat.
You groaned into his mouth, your hands frantically grasping at his waist, trying to pull him closer even though there wasn't a millimeter of space left between you.
"You've been a very loud distraction all day" he growled against your lips, his voice ragged and stripped of all composure. "do you have any idea how much i've wanted to do this since one o'clock this afternoon?"
He didn't wait for an answer.
He reached down, his large hands hooking under the backs of your thighs. with a grunt of effort, he hoisted you up.
Your legs wrapped instinctively around his waist, the denim of your skirt bunching up and leaving your damp skin exposed to the cool air of the apartment. he squeezed the flesh of your thighs, his thumbs digging into your muscles as he carried you through the darkened living room.
You buried your face in the crook of his neck, breathing him in, your teeth grazing the skin of his shoulder through his shirt. he was walking with a heavy, purposeful stride, his breathing sounding like a furnace in the quiet apartment.
He reached the bedroom, a space dominated by a large, minimalist bed and the faint glow of the city lights bleeding through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
He didn't set you down gently. he leaned forward and dropped you, your body bouncing against the high-thread-count sheets.
You landed on your back, your hair splayed across the pillows, your chest heaving as you looked up at him. Jake stood at the edge of the bed, his silhouette framed by the skyline, his hands moving to his tie.
He stared down at you with a look of absolute, terrifying intent—the look of a man who was finally done waiting.
Jake stood at the foot of the bed, his silhouette a sharp, jagged edge against the sprawling lights of Seoul beyond the window.
The "Professor Sim" facade didn't just crack; it disintegrated. he reached for his tie, pulling it straight down with a sharp tug that popped the top button of his shirt.
His eyes never left yours—they were dark, blown out, and swimming with a desperate, almost pathetic need that made his previous composure seem like a sick joke.
"You have no idea" he rasped, his voice breaking as he kicked off his shoes and shed his blazer, letting it fall unceremoniously to the floor. "i've been standing at that podium, smelling your perfume, watching you cross your legs... i've been going out of my mind."
He crawled onto the bed, a predatory but strangely vulnerable movement. he looked like a man starving, and you were the only meal he had ever wanted.
He pinned your wrists above your head, his weight settling between your thighs, and for a moment, he just breathed you in, his forehead resting against yours.
"You're so beautiful it makes me sick" he whispered against your lips. "my perfect little miss. you're the only thing i can think about. i'm a mess because of you."
He didn’t wait for an answer.
His mouth dropped to your chest, his teeth catching the fabric of your hoodie to drag it up and out of the way.
He didn't even bother taking it off; he just wanted access. his tongue lashed out, swirling around your nipple through the lace of your bra before he unclipped it with a frantic dexterity.
When he finally got your bare breast in his mouth, he made a sound—a loud, needy groan that vibrated deep in his chest.
He wasn't gentle. He sucked hard, his tongue rough against the sensitive peak, his other hand reaching down to squeeze and knead your other breast.
He was devouring you, his teeth grazing the pale skin, leaving small, blossoming bruises that would be impossible to hide under a collar the next day.
"Jake... please..." you sobbed, your back arching off the mattress.
He moved his hand down, his fingers diving into your soaking wet heat.
He didn't ease in. He shoved two fingers deep, his thumb finding your clit and grinding with a relentless, punishing rhythm.
He was overstimulating you on purpose, his fingers curling and hitting your G-spot with every jagged thrust.
"Look at you" he growled, his face hovering inches from yours, his eyes frantic. "soaking the sheets for me. you love that i can do this to you. you love that i own you in this room."
His actions were needy. he leaned down, burying his face in the crook of your neck, whining low in his throat like a wounded animal. "please... i need to be inside you. i can't take it... you're so good... so perfect for me..."
Jake's breath was a scorching gale against the sensitive column of your throat.
He sounded pathetic, a stark contrast to the man who commanded a lecture hall of two hundred people. the "Professor" was gone, replaced by a young man drowning in a sensory overload that only you provided.
"Please, i've been thinking about this since the moment i saw you walk in today" he whimpered, the sound vibrating against your skin.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and dilated, reflecting the flickering city lights. with a frantic, almost clumsy desperation, his fingers trembled as he fumbled with the metal fastening.
He shoved the fabric down his hips, the expensive material pooling around his ankles. he didn't even pause to kick them away, his hands immediately moving to his boxers, shedding them with a singular, fluid motion that left him entirely exposed to the cool air of the room.
The sight of him was staggering—thick, pulsing, and already weeping with a heavy bead of pre-cum that glistened in the dim light. He looked primal, his lean, athletic physique taut with the effort of holding back.
He needed more. He hooked your knees over his shoulders, a move that exposed you completely, leaving you feeling raw and vulnerable under his intense gaze.
He dipped his head again, his tongue finding your clit through the slickness he'd already created with his fingers. he lapped at you with a broad, thirsty stroke, his hands reaching up to capture your breasts, squeezing them together so he could watch the way your nipples peaked.
"You're so wet for me" he groaned, his voice muffled by your thighs. "you've been sitting in my class all day just producing this for me, haven't you?"
He slid two fingers back inside you, but this time they were joined by a third, stretching you open, preparing your tight heat for the girth of him.
You let out a broken cry, your hips bucking as he simulated the friction of what was to come.
"Jake... now. please, right now" you sobbed, your hands catching in his dark hair, pulling him closer.
"I've got you" he whispered, a strange, needy praise. "i've got you, my good girl."
He surged upward, his chest pressing against yours, skin-to-skin.
He positioned the head of his cock at your entrance, pausing for a single heartbeat to savor the heat radiating from you.
Then, with a heavy, unceremonious lunge, he buried himself to the hilt.
The air left your lungs in a silent, high-pitched gasp. he was massive, a solid, burning weight that filled every corner of you, bottoming out against your cervix with a dull, heavy thud. Jake let out a loud, guttural cry—a sound of pure, unadulterated relief—as his forehead crashed against your shoulder. He stayed still for a moment, his body shaking, his muscles coiling like a spring.
"God... you're so tight" he rasped into your ear, his voice breaking. "it feels like heaven. you feel like heaven."
He began to move. it wasn't the rhythmic, academic pace of a man in control. it was rough, jagged, and desperate.
Every thrust was deep and punishing, his hips slamming against yours with a wet, rhythmic clack that echoed through the quiet room.
The headboard hit the wall with a steady, violent force, punctuating the low, needy whines he made every time he pulled out to the very tip before plunging back in.
He reached up, latching his mouth onto your breast, his teeth grazing your nipple as he sucked. he was marking you everywhere—your neck, your chest, your thighs. he wanted you to wear the evidence of this night like a brand.
"Tell me" he panted, his eyes locking onto yours, his face flushed and sweat-slicked. "tell me you're mine. tell me nobody else gets to see you like this."
"I'm yours" you moaned, your voice lost in the friction of the sheets. "only yours, Jake..."
The praise seemed to ignite something even darker in him. he increased the pace, his thrusts becoming frantic.
His movements borderline obsessive as he searched for the exact angle that would break you.
"You love being used by me, don't you? taking everything i have to give" he growled.
The words were barely out of his mouth before the atmosphere in the room shifted from frantic to predatory.
Jake didn't wait for a response; he didn't need one. he could feel the answer in the way your pulse thrummed against his skin and the way your fingers remained locked in his hair.
He moved with a sudden, coordinated strength that reminded you he wasn't just a man of books and equations—he was a man who took care of his body with the same obsessive discipline he applied to his research.
He grabbed your waist, his large hands nearly meeting around your middle, and in one fluid motion, he flipped you over.
The transition was jarring. one second you were staring into his dark, dilated eyes, and the next, your face was pressed into the cool pillows.
"Get up" he commanded, his voice vibrating with a low, gravelly frequency that made your toes curl. "on your knees, i want to see how much of me you can actually take."
You obeyed, your muscles trembling from the overstimulation he'd already put you through.
You pushed yourself up, your palms sinking into the mattress, and as you arched your back, the cool air of the bedroom hit your skin.
Behind you, you heard the sharp, ragged sound of Jake's breathing. he didn't move immediately. he stood there for a heartbeat, his shadow looming over you, cast long and dark by the city lights filtering through the glass.
He reached out, his hands finding your hips again. he didn't just hold you; he staked his claim, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh of your waist, bruising the skin just enough to leave a memory.
"Look at you" he whispered, leaning down so his chest brushed against your back. "sprawled out in my bed, waiting for me like you don't have a single care in the world besides this.
If your classmates could see their 'diligent' peer right now... the girl who always has the right answer. would they recognize you like this? broken open and begging for her professor?"
"Jake..." you gasped, your head falling forward as his lips found the sensitive spot where your neck met your shoulder.
He didn't ease back into you. he positioned himself at your entrance, the broad, scorching head of his cock rubbing against the slickness that was already coating your thighs.
He stayed there for a second, teasing the opening, listening to the hitch in your breath. then, with a violent lunge, he drove himself back inside.
The force of it shoved you forward, your elbows nearly giving way as he bottomed out with a dull, heavy thud.
You let out a strangled moan, your vision blooming with white sparks. he was too deep, too large, and the angle of being on all fours allowed him to reach parts of you that felt like they were being permanently altered by his presence.
"God..." Jake groaned, the sound raw and unpolished, echoing off the minimalist walls of the room. "it's like you were made specifically to ruin me. every time i think i've had enough, you do this... you wrap around me and make me forget everything else."
He began to move, and it was nothing like one minute before. this was rhythmic, punishing, and relentless.
He pulled back until he was almost entirely out, the friction making you whimper in protest, before slamming back in with a wet, visceral clack of his hips hitting your backside.
Jake was loud. he wasn't the silent, brooding figure from the auditorium; he was a man unhinged. every thrust was accompanied by a guttural growl or a broken, needy whine that suggested he was just as overwhelmed as you were.
He reached forward, one hand sliding under your stomach to find your clit, his thumb grinding against you with a frantic speed that matched the pace of his hips.
His other hand stayed locked on your hip, steering you, keeping you pinned as he worked you from both sides.
You started to shake, your breath coming in short, panicked sobs as you felt the orgasm beginning to build like a tidal wave.
"Jake... i'm going to... i'm going to break" you sobbed, your fingers clawing at the sheets.
"Then break" he rasped, his teeth sinking into the meat of your shoulder, marking you deeply. "break for me. i want to feel your walls crushing me when you go. i want to know i'm the only one who can make you feel this much."
His thrusts becoming jagged and desperate. his body acting on a primal instinct that bypassed all logic.
He wasn't just fucking you; he was trying to merge with you, to disappear into the heat and the mess of the moment.
"I need you" he whispered, the words sounding more like a confession of a crime than a statement of love. "i need you more than anything i've ever wanted in my life. it's pathetic, isn't it? how much power you have over me?"
The confession hung in the air, thick and heavy as the humidity between your bodies.
Jake's hands, usually so steady when he was writing complex equations on a whiteboard, were trembling violently as they gripped your hips.
He leaned forward, his chest slamming against your back, his sweat-slicked skin sticking to yours. his breath coming in short, jagged hitches that sounded dangerously close to sobs.
The rhythm of his thrusts had lost its clinical edge. it was frantic, uncoordinated, and utterly desperate.
He was hitting your cervix with every deep, agonizing lunge, his body shaking with the effort of trying to crawl inside you.
"Please" he whimpered, a sound so raw and pathetic it made your heart ache. "please tell me you won't get bored of me. i'll give you anything... just don't stop looking at me like that."
He reached around, his fingers finding your face, forcing you to turn your head so he could see your eyes.
His hair was a chaotic nest, and his eyes were swimming with a terrifying, liquid vulnerability.
"Am i enough?" he pleaded, his voice breaking. "tell me i'm better than anyone else. tell me you want your professor to fill you up so much that you can't think of another man's name. please, baby... say it. i need to hear it."
"You're enough, Jake-" you gasped, your own voice fractured by the intensity of his movements. "you're more than enough... the only one."
The validation hit him like a physical blow. he let out a loud, strangled cry, his hips snapping forward with a renewed, violent urgency.
He was overstimulating himself now, his movements so fast and deep that the friction was bordering on painful, but he couldn't stop. he was chasing the end with a terrifying singular focus.
"I love you so much it's disgusting" he growled, his teeth sinking into your shoulder again, but this time he wasn't trying to mark you—he was trying to anchor himself. "don't ever leave me. i'll die, i swear to god i'll die if you leave me."
His muscles locking, his entire frame vibrating against yours.
He let go of your hip to reach down, his hand joining yours as you worked yourself, his fingers trembling as they helped guide you to the edge.
He wanted you to go first; he wanted to feel the exact moment you shattered so he could follow you into the dark.
"Cum for me" he whispered, his voice a frantic, begging prayer. "show me how much i've ruined you. break for me, please... let me see it."
As your walls began to clench around him in the first violent throes of your orgasm, Jake let out a sound that was barely human—a high-pitched, guttural wail of pure, unadulterated surrender.
He delivered three final, bone-deep thrusts, his pelvis grinding against yours with a desperate finality.
He stiffened, he buried his face in your hair, his hands clutching at the sheets, as he emptied himself deep inside you. the heat of his release was overwhelming—wave after wave of thick, pulsing liquid hitting your womb, filling you until you felt like you were overflowing.
He didn't pull away. he collapsed onto your back, his heavy, sweat-soaked body pinning you to the mattress.
He was gasping for air, his heart hammering against your spine like a trapped bird. he was still trembling, his fingers twitching against your skin, his entire being spent and broken in the wake of his own desperation.
for minutes, the only sound was the jagged, uneven rhythm of his breathing. he didn't move, didn't speak. he just stayed there, buried deep, clinging to you in the silence of the night, a man who had finally, completely, given himself away.
Slowly, almost reluctantly, he began to pull back. the sound of his exit was wet and visceral in the silence, a stark reminder of exactly how much he had just poured into you.
He didn't move away, though. he collapsed onto his side, immediately hooking an arm around your waist to drag you toward him, tucking your back against his chest.
"Don't move" he whispered, his voice so hoarse it was barely a thread of sound. "just... stay. please."
He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his nose brushing against the fresh, stinging marks he'd left there. he was still needy, still hovering on that edge of pathetic vulnerability that only ever came out behind these locked doors.
"You're going to have to wear a scarf on monday..." he noted, his fingers tracing the deep, purple bruises on your collarbone. he looked almost proud of them, a smug glint returning to his gaze. "i went too far, didn't i? i always go too far with you."
"You were desperate" you teased, turning in his arms to face him. "you were practically crying, Jake."
He flushed, a deep, handsome red creeping up his neck. he looked away for a second, then sighed, pulling you into a crushing hug. "i was. i am. it's pathetic, i know. i'm a grown man, a professional... and i'm reduced to this because you decided to wear a specific skirt to my lecture."
He squeezed you tighter, his heartbeat steadying against yours.
"But i don't care," he murmured into your hair. "as long as i'm the only one who gets to be this pathetic for you.
As long as you're the only one who knows that professor Sim is actually just a man who can't breathe unless he's inside you."
He stayed like that, refusing to let go, his arms a literal cage of warmth and obsession.
