* you look like you’ve seen a ghost — survivescure. a writing blog dedicated to elena 'kensi' monroe kennedy, my resident evil original character. ( established in may of 2022 . ) a healthy mixture of headcanon based and my own ideas … mutuals only. casted with daniela ruah and isola vale from 007 : FIRST LIGHT. crossover friendly, single ship and original character friendly. only daughter of selene monroe and james marcus. a fighter. a sister figure. the dso's sniper. cold. very reserved about her past. does have her own agenda and do things her own way. is a mystery to both USSTRATCOM and DSO. is a badass. loves her black leather jacket and her motorcycle. is leon kennedy’s wife. this blog will contain dark and mature themes. 21+ / MINORS DNI.
intro : hi ! my name is kensi and I’m twenty three living around bst timezone , and have been a fan of resident evil since I was a kid when my dad would show me the live action films, even though they were terrible and then I got into the game’s and fell in love with them especially the remake’s that capcom are doing, and it got me thinking about my own oc and six years later , here we still are with my mystery girl aka elena monroe. I do have a full time job, so please understand the low / slow activity. please do NOT steal any of my ideas as l've worked on elena for six years now and she means a lot to me. there will be major spoilers for all of the resident evil games that have elena’s story within it including requiem.
“ WHO IS SHE ? ”
“ SOMEONE HAS GONE TO GREAT LENGTHS TO MAKE HER WHAT SHE IS , AND COVER THEIR TRACKS … ”
i , slow activity + low effort . ROLE-PLAY IS SUPPOSED TO BE FUN AND CREATIVITY , which needs to be talked about more. this blog is also drama free / will not follow anyone who causes drama as writing is such a comfort space for me. and no ai generated content / images will be included here.
ii , my writing style . my writing style is advanced literate which means that I will write quite a lot for my character + her story , and her feelings towards sudden situations. some of my starters are sometimes 3+ paragraphs or longer as I like to analyze and deep dive / understand elena because she’s my baby. oh and also don’t be racist as well, or follow me if you use a zionest faceclaim.
iii , shipping . my elena is currently single and available BUT she is very cold to people because of the experiences that have defined her life so far ( Raccoon city and her losing her family that night , to her finding out the truth … ) and the trauma that she still feels to this day, she’s bold, she’s brash, she pushes people away , she doesn’t let anyone in , she’s cold. she’s a lone wolf , prefers to do things her own personal way , her file is redacted beyond her control. she’s a mystery to both USSTRATCOM & DSO. but she’s loyal and protective of the people closest to her IF you get to know elena. my favorite ship for her is with our favorite rookie cop aka leon kennedy and I have their story all planned out till requiem.
iv , original + multi muse friendly , ships are welcomed , ( adult admins only !! ) and I hope that everyone loves her as much as I do , and that we can start on developing and exploring here on here with other’s !
SPARRING/TRAINING SESSIONS WITH A DASH OF TENSION. all these sentences and prompts are made about training sessions or sparring partners that can develop into tension, be it antagonistic or sexual. These quotes explore dynamics like rivalry, mentorship, flirtation, intensity, grudges, and emotional undertones. please change pronouns, locations and more as you see fit.
“You’re holding back. Are you afraid of hurting me—or of what happens if you don’t?”
“Every scar on my body started as a lesson. Let’s see what you’ll teach me today.”
“This isn’t dancing. Stop smiling and try to hit me.”
“You fight with your heart. That’s why you lose your breath first.”
“That sword’s too heavy for your pride to carry.”
“If you flinch again, I’ll hit you for real.”
“I’m not your enemy. Not today. But train like I might be tomorrow.”
“Careful. You’re starting to enjoy this a little too much.”
“You think you can beat me? Prove it.”
“You learn fast. But I hit faster.”
“No talking. Just blades.”
“Each strike tells me more about you than your words ever could.”
“Are we sparring or settling something?”
“I said train, not try to kill me.”
“Your stance is perfect. Shame about the hesitation.”
“You’re bleeding. Still want to keep going?”
“This isn’t over. We just paused it.”
“Getting close doesn’t mean winning.”
“The floor loves you today. How many times will you kiss it?”
“Pain is just honesty from your body.”
“Try that move again. Slower. I want to see why it failed.”
“You hide behind form. Real fighters bleed.”
“I’m not impressed by technique. Only survival.”
“Your anger makes you predictable.”
“Don’t flirt with your opponent unless you can block while blushing.”
“Oh, you meant to fall like that?”
“We’re not done until someone can’t stand.”
“Training with you is like dancing on the edge of a blade.”
“Is that a sword or an extension of your ego?”
“You hesitate before every strike. Why?”
“Your hands shake. That fear’s still in you.”
“The closer you get, the less you see. Keep your distance.”
“You’ve improved. But I still see the boy behind the blade.”
“One day, you’ll beat me. Just not today.”
“You strike like you want to be seen. Real warriors strike like shadows.”
"You keep getting this close… is it my blade you’re after, or my breath?"
"You're flushed. Is it the fight, or the way I look at you between strikes?"
"Careful—if you keep pinning me like that, I might start to enjoy losing."
"Every time we touch steel, you shiver. Admit it—you crave this."
"Your grip faltered. Did my voice distract you again?"
"Harder. Or are you saving your strength for something else tonight?"
"I can hear your heartbeat. Fast. Wild. Not from fear, though… is it?"
"You breathe like we’ve already tangled in the dark—and not just with swords."
"Keep whispering in my ear during combat and I might forget which weapon I’m holding."
"If you want me on my knees, just say so. You don’t have to disarm me first."
PROMPTS.
Two rivals are forced to spar alone for the first time since a bitter argument.
One fighter begins to pull punches—until the other calls them a coward.
A training match gets interrupted when one draws real blood on accident... or was it?
The master and student swap roles mid-spar, revealing secrets.
A sarcastic remark mid-fight sparks a dangerous escalation.
They lock swords—too close, breathing fast, tension crackling between them.
One fighter is injured but refuses to stop. The other hesitates.
Training in the rain turns messy, slippery—and harder to resist each other.
During drills, one whispers something distracting, causing a mistake.
The match ends when someone is disarmed and ends up pinned.
After a harsh blow, the silence between them is louder than the impact.
A bet is placed: if one wins, the other must do something embarrassing.
One fighter keeps losing on purpose—for a reason they won’t say.
A bystander watches the match, clearly affecting one fighter's confidence.
The match was meant to be a formality—but neither pulls punches.
One grabs the other’s wrist mid-strike and doesn’t let go.
Training weapons get swapped mid-match—testing adaptability.
They practice close-combat, and the proximity flusters one of them.
A mistake leads to an awkward fall—someone lands on top of the other.
Someone uses an unexpected move that only a specific teacher would have taught.
They mimic each other’s movements, until one gets frustrated.
Sparring becomes a silent argument—no words, just strikes.
A third person comments from the sidelines, stirring jealousy.
A fighter wins with a trick, and the loser storms off—pride wounded.
One fighter keeps using a move the other dislikes—on purpose.
The match is over, but they keep going.
After sparring, neither speaks, but both keep glancing back.
A sudden shift—sparring turns into a real fight.
The tension finally snaps, and a kiss replaces the next blow.
They train late at night, when no one’s watching.
One accuses the other of holding back feelings during sparring.
Their blades clash repeatedly in rhythm—like a dance they’ve done before.
Sweat drips, bruises bloom—but neither yields.
One drops their weapon and dares the other to continue unarmed.
Sparring ends with someone flat on the ground, laughing instead of angry.
you seem pretty sad for a girl so in love
↳ lines taken from olivia rodrigo's third studio album, you seem pretty sad for a girl so in love. some edited for clarity and flow.
drop dead
i know that the bar closes at 11, but i hope you never finish that beer
you know all the words to "just like heaven", and I know why he wrote them now that you're standing right here.
one night I was bored in bed and stalked you on the internet.
i'm the most alive i've ever been, but kiss me and I might drop dead.
i feel like i might throw up.
you're so, so pretty boy, i'm paranoid i made you up.
i've been droppin' hints all night, that i'd love if you held my hand, goddamn.
let's go steady, let's go out.
stupid song
new york city's never looked so blue.
my friends are smoking blunts in the bathroom.
they say that honest love is a cage that makes you feel free.
all the girls at this party are so cool.
but i can't help but imagine what you say when you speak about me.
you're a spark in the dark, in my clothes, i caught aflame.
you should feel how i feel when somebody says your name.
i'm the car speeding down the boulevard without a brake, and i want you more than any stupid song could ever say.
i want you more than any stupid song could ever say.
my heart made of wax and i'm melting in the sun.
i'm the thread on your shirt and it's coming undone.
i feel right, i feel wrong, i feel totally insane.
honeybee
so i guess that it's true, time can heal even the worst of wounds.
the clichés i knew seem so commonplace when i saw you.
let's just walk in the dark, hop the fence in the park, baby boy, honeybee, god, i love the way you look at me.
and it's too hard to describe this in a way that feels honest, but even when i'm quiet, i love you, baby, i promise.
and i hope i never see what your face looks like going, a face i swear that i could spend my whole life knowing, here's to hoping.
pick me up, walk me home, man, it feels like god threw me a bone.
sticky sweet, tangerine, would you sit and keep me company?
in the dark, i'm not scared, i just reach and you're right there.
shooting stars, racing cars, everything i own just feels like ours.
maggots for brains
my day is so mundane, i don't think i left the house.
drank a pot of coffee, tried to write, nothing came out.
somehow, it's the weekend, i'm still bored out of my skull, and i went to the party but only on principle.
empty, who can leave?
i'm a zombie in my body, i'm a train off of the track.
i feel dirty, i feel rotten, and the colors are all flat.
i'm a sad shell of a woman, and i've got maggots for brains, but that's just a thing that happens in my brain, he goes away.
everything feels moldy like the fruit that's in my fridge.
everything that's funny, i wish i could tell to him.
sometimes, at a low point, i even wish for tragedy, 'cause i know he'd come over and take real good care of me.
what can i do but think of you?
u+me=<3
i think that you're killer with your floppy hair.
take me out to dinner, you know you can take me anywhere.
all of my girlfriends roll their eyes and tell me to take it slow this time.
i got a feeling, wounds are healing, talking on the phone.
i know everybody changes but i hope that we don't.
carve our names into the car seat leather, you plus me equals a heart forever.
i like your big sister, she has your same face.
i try to win her over with my cynical humor and yacht rock music taste
all my ex-boyfriends have heard these lines, but i like you better by a million times.
if you buy me silver jewelry and all my favorite cadbury and tell me it again 'bout how we met and that you thought of me.
sometimes i get overwhelmed and way too far, i hurt myself, i often get the feeling that i'll never want somebody else.
they say modern love's a cruel endeavor and to that i say, "fuck it, whatever".
my way
it's a little hard to to stomach all your amateur moves
you're loose with me, like obviously, but you lingering on the edge just like a bad perfume.
it's getting to me, embarrassingly.
here's the part where the girl gets pissed, and the girl is me, did you get that hint?
you're in my way now.
don't go where you don't belong.
think i can make out how hard you hang on.
kind of insane how you keep calling, but you never get the message.
it goes my way now.
man, i wonder what you think.
you're sending another poem and think that'll let me go.
maybe you're just tryna to get me riled up now, you're posting another pic, in clothes that i know are his.
well, here's a map of the lines i drew, and some girl steps over and the girl is you.
so, where'd you get that confidence from?
last time that i checked, i won.
let me be direct, "just stop", you're being fucking weird.
maybe I'm a petty bitch, but you made me resort to this, that's it, i win.
purple
it's funny when your mom shows pictures of you in your school clothes, your buzzcut, and scrapes on your knees change, but those eyes, still no.
it's crazy how i used to visit your town like a touris now i got a local grocery store and a favorite florist.
you kiss my neck, may our paths intersect 'til the two lines formed a circle.
i melt with you, you're red and I'm blue, now i see the world in purple.
now a toothbrush, a coat, and pair of shoes all come in double.
we fight over who i'm hanging out with like a real couple.
it's a small world, on and on again, revolve around us two.
it's crazy, i had big dreams 'til i tied myself to you, now I'm all-consumed in.
melt with you 'til it all turns black. are we so in love? are we too attached?
melt with you 'til it all turns black, when you smooth it out, but it feels too flat.
melt with you 'til it all turns black. when you get so close and you can't go back.
melt with you 'til it all turns black, melt with you 'til it just feels sad.
the cure
all the pretty girls in the foreground of my mind.
i thought i'd done enough, but they keep moving the line.
i thought I found the antidote this time.
all the nights i spend fighting bad thoughts in my room, feeling so alone, might as well be on the moon.
my head is full of poison and my heart is full of doubt.
i got toxins in my bloodstream; you tried hard to suck them out.
it feels like medication and it's good for me, i'm sure, but it don't matter how your love feels anymore, it'll never be the cure.
it'll never be the cure.
used to play a game in my head when I'd date a guy, tally up the girls that he fucked till i start to cry.
why can't you come stitch me up?
why can't it ever be enough?
it's not enough.
begged
all that i want is to know undoubtedly that you just have eyes for me.
could you make it clear?
all that i want is to sit here silently and watch movies on tv.
what a shame, you're not here to witness my devotion, and my endless well of needs.
i'm an anchor in the ocean, you know i could never leave.
so, i'm patient, you're learning, pretend it's not hurting.
they say it's a virtue to not let good love slip away.
so, i'm cool and forgiving, i'll take what you're giving, but nothing's quite enough, when i know that to get it, i begged.
and i have this thought when i lay in bed at night that i feel trapped inside my life.
is that a normal thing to fight back the waves of a static lover's dread?
i'm overwhelmed, i'm underfed, and yet I still cling to hope like snow on mountains.
careless words melt it away.
i'm a penny in a fountain, just waiting on my luck to change.
what's wrong with me
i'm just staring at the ceiling, can't describe this feeling ii've got in my head.
i'm out of body in my bed and i'm just searching up my symptoms, desperate to fix 'em.
i'll do anything, 'cause lately i've been spiraling.
i'm not feeling like myself and nothing ever seems to help.
went to the doctor and she said i was fine, but every movie that i see makes me cry.
it's like somebody put a weight on my chest.
i should talk to a friend but i can't get out of bed.
my head is spinning and my stomach is sick, say i'm in love, so it's hard to admit.
i can't eat, i can't sleep, i think you're what's wrong with me.
i keep looking for distractions, hope the feeling passes.
i've got to say, it's getting harder every day.
i can't seem to get around it, head just keeps on pounding with the simple thought "what if this isn't what i want?".
i'm not feeling like myself, all amber lights and warning bells.
i'm not feeling like myself and i'm not hiding it well.
less
i feel it again, edge of the bed.
body and head protesting, my stomach's in knots.
i don't wanna talk, let's just go to bed or something.
maybe it'll fix itself tomorrow, but i've been saying that like every night.
you say you can't stand to watch me cry a minute more, so you do the noble thing and open up the door.
if loving me means letting go and wishing me the best then i guess i wish you loved me less.
i wish you loved me less.
we tried to recreate our favorite date, ut we didn't laugh much this time.
our trip to Big Sur only confirmed this isn't what it should feel like.
maybe i'm a stubborn overthinker but i've been thinking over this a lot.
i could try convincing you they're just intrusive thoughts, but you've seen me truly happy, so you know right now i'm not.
if loving me means crying on the curb at lax, well, then i guess i wish you loved me less.
if loving me means saying "babe, i think this is the end", i guess i wish you loved me less.
expectations
i met him at a party, i think he was on drugs.
he wasn't smart or funny, i convinced myself he was.
he had a great apartment, and a car his parents bought, i thought that he was perfect, and now his number's blocked.
took a couple months but now i am secure, i am so evolved, now i ask for more, and more, and more, and more, and more.
i won't settle for a guy with a fake job.
he seems so desperate for loving, but, baby, i'm not.
gave my heart with zero stipulations, now, i take careful consideration.
i'm not kissin' any boy that is passive.
your indecision is painfully unattractive.
past mistakes are just new information.
these days, i've got expectations.
so i hit the new year like a single girl at a vegas bar.
rocking my mini dress with a vodka cran and an open heart.
yeah, i've got hope, yeah, i've got drive, i will not lose my faith.
don't think my future husband is in this bar in Silver Lake
but in a couple months, a man will be the cure, he will be evolved, and i will be adored.
cigarette smoke
it's a cigarette smoke, it's a smell that i know, it clings to my clothes, seeps into my bones.
it's a real quiet house with the shower left on.
five beers in the fridge and the second car's gone.
i regret you, how long i stayed.
i resent you for not being brave.
tell me something honest so the memories turn dark.
you said that i made loving look easy 'til i made it hard.
give me back my time and i will give you back your heart.
i thought that we played the perfect couple 'til you didn't want the part.
some nights can be so fucking lonely, but it's better than begging for you to stand up for me, honeybee.
i regret you, what i let slide.
i resent you taking her side.
it's bone dry, bitter, and hollow, you'll be miles away tomorrow.
ROMANCE, LOVE, & THINGS UNSPOKEN. a collection of quotes from various media and ships, as well as concepts inspired by them. change verbiage and pronouns as needed. (send + reverse if desired.)
dialogue.
i never knew what it was like to want to be with someone forever til i fell in love with you.
i think about you, too.
you're the one freaky thing in my freak world that still makes sense to me.
ours is a forever love.
sometimes when you love someone, you do crazy things.
i love you. i try not to, but i can't stop.
to me, you're the whole damn world.
i would rather have hope with you than certainty with anyone else.
no matter what happens, you are my light.
i have loved you desperately. i cannot breathe when you're not near.
how's forever? does forever work for you?
i believe we'll be together again.
the truth is, i stay away because you consume me.
i will brave the oceans and sail past the sirens to find my way back to you.
will you marry me?
love like ours doesn't just disappear. not completely. there is always an ember remaining.
i will always choose you.
the smallest chance of a perfect life with you is infinitely better than an immortal one without you.
i love you and i will love you until i take my lasy breath on this earth.
i'm in the arms of my first love, the first person i ever loved.
when i kissed you, you held your breath.
i don’t need you to save me. i just need you to stand by me. to hold me. to kiss me.
if we could live without passion, maybe we'd truly know some kind of peace.
if you stay, i'm afraid i may not be able to hold it together.
all i find myself thinking about, all i find myself being able to breathe for . . . is you.
you are the bane of my existence and the object of all my desires.
but you must know it in your heart.
i cannot stop thinking of you. from the mornings you ease to the evenings you quiet, to the dreams you inhabit.
do you think there is a corner of this earth far enough away to free me from this torment?
i want to fight with you! fight with me! fight for me!
do not leave me. do not leave me again.
you gave me back my life, now let me save yours.
you are all i want!
concepts.
run away love. sender proposes that they and receiver run away together so they can be together at last, since their current situation keeps them apart.
dancing in the rain. sender and receiver are having an dancing out in the open when it begins to rain. the initial shock turns to laughter and a soft moment in which they choose to continue their dance rather than let it end.
love letter. sender leaves a handwritten letter for receiver, professing their true feelings for receiver once and for all.
4 am. receiver wakes up to the sent of something baking in the oven at 4 am. by the time they reach the kitchen and see what sender is up to, they realize sender could use some help finishing their baking project and the pair take it on together.
sweater weather. sender notices receiver is wearing something too light for the current temperature and removes their sweater just to wrap receiver carefully and provide them warmth.
₊˚⊹ ㅤa collection of character analysis/headcanon questions to learn more about your character and your partners'! writing/headcanon prompts requested by anonymous. feel free to edit these as you see fit.
[ 🖐️ ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat do their hands feel like: soft, calloused, trembling ?
[ ☂️ ]ㅤ.ㅤdo they crave touch or fear it ?
[ 🎐 ]ㅤ.ㅤdo they have a sound, like a song or voice, that they associate with peace ?
[ 🕊️ ]ㅤ.ㅤwhen did they feel the safest ?
[ 💤 ]ㅤ.ㅤhow do they sleep ? curled up, sprawled, holding onto something ?
[ 🦇 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat is a fear they never talk about ?
[ 🔒 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat is a secret they’ve sworn never to tell ?
[ 🪢 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhen was the last time they broke a promise ?
[ 🫳 ]ㅤ.ㅤwho do they feel they owe, but never paid back ?
[ 💼 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat do they always carry with them ?
[ 🧨 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat’s the quickest way to set them off, even if they hide it well ?
[ ⛓️ ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat does guilt feel like to them ?
[ 💢 ]ㅤ.ㅤwho have they never forgiven and never will ?
[ 🩸 ]ㅤ.ㅤis there something or someone that, if lost, would break them ?
[ 🌧️ ]ㅤ.ㅤis there a pain they refuse to heal from ?
[ 🪞 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhen have they looked at their reflection and hated what they saw ?
[ 📿 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat superstition or ritual do they cling to ?
[ 🌊 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhen was the last time they cried ?
[ 🐾 ]ㅤ.ㅤdo animals like them instinctively ?
[ 🪶 ]ㅤ.ㅤhow do they laugh ?
[ 🫀 ]ㅤ.ㅤwho taught them what love is ? did it hurt ?
[ 💭 ]ㅤ.ㅤdo they believe they’re worthy of being loved ?
[ 🎀 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat is their main love language ?
[ 🔦 ]ㅤ.ㅤwho do they search for ?
[ 📜 ]ㅤ.ㅤis there a story they love sharing with others ?
[ 🌒 ]ㅤ.ㅤdo they have a dream or goal they have given up on ?
[ 🕯️ ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat memory do they replay when they’re alone ?
[ 🌪️ ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat’s the one choice they regret (not) making ?
[ 🧩 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat’s a truth about themselves they refuse to admit ?
[ 🍻 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat kind of drunk are they ?
[ ✉️ ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat kind of letter would they write but never send ?
[ 🗡️ ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat is a scar that they have but never talk about ?
[ 🕸️ ]ㅤ.ㅤdo they have a favourite lie they like to hear ?
[ 🪦 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat would they want on their gravestone but never admit aloud ?
[ 🎱 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat kind of future do they crave, and who’s in it ?
[ 🌀 ]ㅤ.ㅤdo they have a recurring dream or nightmare ?
[ 🍃 ]ㅤ.ㅤdo they feel like they belong ?
[ ⚓ ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat does “home” mean to them ?
[ 🧭 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhere would they go if they could disappear tomorrow ?
✶ leon kennedy isn’t the jealous type. that is until a unique mission shows you otherwise. (f!reader x any post-re2!leon)
a/n: felt inspired to do an anon request in between exam chaos: mission partner things, protective/jealous leon + some quickie smut. hope this delivers!
cw: minor moment of unwelcome touching by target (not graphic); NSFW (18+), explicit descriptions of sex, oral (both receiving), p/v penetration.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
You swipe condensation from the mirror, hotel bathroom still relentlessly foggy from your shower half an hour ago, to finish applying your final coat of mascara. With a squeak, your hand slips from its grip at the edge of the sink and you nearly drop the wand, catching it clumsily, black streaking your fingers. You pause, eyes closed, and inhale deeply.
Everything will be fine.
Your eyelids flutter open and you step back, taking in your reflection. Bare skin, a draped, loose cocktail dress that cuts so deeply there’s no imagination necessary. A stranger staring back at you, looking wholly uncomfortable.
You blow air through your lips with such force that they vibrate.
Leon’s voice greets you before you see him, back to you, speaking low into his phone, when you finally emerge. “Are you sure she has to do this? I can—,” he pauses, cut off.
Silence, then: “Yeah. I get it. Discreet. But this was the best you had?”
You’re close enough now to hear the voice on the other end. “—too much at stake if there’s even the smallest suspicion. Intel was clear that this is the way forward, morality aside.”
Face lined with irritation, looking ready to retort, he turns when he hears you rummaging through what will be your bag for the night.
You notice him only when the tinny, distant voice pipes up again. “Leon? You there?”
He’s blinking at you, slowly, deliberately, eyes on your bare legs, your hips, the plunging fabric adorning your chest.
“Yeah,” he trails. Then, clearer, with an almost imperceptible shake of his head. “Yeah, I’m here.” He averts his gaze. “We’ll get comms set up.”
Bag set, you face him fully as he hangs up. “Thanks for looking out, but I agreed to this.”
He nods, busying himself with looking anywhere but at you. “I know. Just doesn’t feel right sending you in alone.”
You snort and reach for your heels. “It’s not like I’m bait, just undercover. Two different things.” You drift to the bed closest to the door and begin fastening the straps up your ankles. “I can handle myself.”
Hands up, he sucks his cheek, turning his attention to the equipment spread across the room’s small desk.
---
Goosebumps dot your flesh where it meets the cold leather of his Porsche, knees locked together, eyes straight ahead to take in the neon facade of the club looming ever closer.
Leon reaches for the console to switch on your heated seat, and you meet him with a small smile. “Thanks.”
“Sure.” He glances sidelong at you, then forward. “Got everything down?”
“I do.” You’d run through the plan a hundred times in your mind already. Target: Maxwell Hirsch, bioweapons trader and avid collector of women—what a mix. Hence your presence here, barely dressed, heading into a club he’d been known to frequent. Recon confirmed tonight was no different.
“Just his facility badge. You don’t have to do anything crazy, yeah?”
You frown at him, then turn to look out the passenger window. “This ‘I’m worried’ thing you have going on is getting offensive.”
He huffs, barely a laugh. “We read the same file. He’s nasty.”
“Most of them are,” you murmur, focused absently on the blurred buildings sliding by.
Leon pulls a block away from the club’s entrance, offering a clear line of sight from your end but obstructed from the other. You breathe deeply, collecting yourself, then grab the door handle.
“Wait.”
His fingers brush the smooth skin of your neck, reaching to adjust the knot of the halter that had somehow loosened in the rush. He lingers at the goosebumps in the wake of his touch for a breath, two, eyes pausing where your pulse is visibly pounding in your throat.
He meets your gaze, then, and try as you do, you can’t ignore the subtle heat beneath the intensity. “If anything goes south, I’ll be right behind you.”
You nod, pressing the skin-colored, barely-there internal earpiece you wear in confirmation and assurance. “I’ll see you soon.”
He mock salutes as you exit, closing the car door behind you.
---
A few patrons shoot you appreciative glances as you approach and bypass the line. Even the bouncer gives you a once over as you flash your ID, an indulgent smirk tugging his lips. You return it, arching a brow, and he waves you into the booming, flashing abyss.
Leon’s voice crackles in your earpiece. ”Well, that was easy.”
“Is this an emergency? If not, quiet,” you whisper under your breath, lips barely moving. You hear him chuckle before the line goes silent again.
When you finally locate Hirsch, he’s at the bar, alone, nursing a glass of dark, rich liquid. A sharp intake of breath—a confidence booster—and you’re moving, training kicking in, morphing into the persona created for this to succeed.
You maneuver next to him, flagging the bartender down to order. You let your eyes travel slowly, lazily, around the bar, mildly uninterested, and you can feel him already drinking you in, sipping his bourbon.
The bartender returns to ask about payment. He interrupts. “She’s on my tab.”
Your eyes flit to him, curious. A serene smile splits your lips. “Thank you.”
The bar stool next to him squeaks as he tugs it. “You shouldn’t be paying for anything tonight.”
You oblige, sliding into the seat. “Drinking alone?”
“Protecting my peace,” he smirks, lifting his glass to his lips.
You laugh lightly. “In a club?”
He sips, eyes alight, then amends, “Different ideas of peace.” He casts his gaze outward over the crowd, distant. “There’s something about sitting in a crowded room, surrounded by chaos, just observing it all.” A deep breath and his eyes fall back to you.
“You’re alone tonight?”
You sip, then run your teeth over the corner of your bottom lip. “We have a similar idea of peace.”
He makes a noise low in his throat, intrigue plain on his face.
The conversation continues, drinks and subtle touches exchanged, a brush of his leg against yours, a hand on his thigh. When he turns to order another, your eyes dart to his pocket, a clear rectangular outline there, exposed just enough to see the familiar blue and green markings along the upper edge. So obvious, so stupid, that you have to reign in your laugh.
You edge your hand to his knee, fingers trailing upward. “Do you dance?”
---
Your hips move with the heavy thud of the bass, back to him where he’s pressed against you. His hands are on you, trailing down your bare sides, over your stomach. Swallowing the revulsion building in your chest, you turn to him, hands coming to his hips. He’s fully enamored now, sweat gleaming on his brow, and you lean close, nearly brushing his lips as your fingers slip against the plastic rectangle in his pocket, gently edging it out under the guise of brushed touches. You turn quickly, your back to him, and, left with nowhere safe to place the stolen badge, subtly slip it into the elastic of your underwear through the plunging fabric of your dress.
There’s a lull in the overwhelming thrum of the speakers as the music transitions, and you turn back to him, bringing your lips to his ear. “Bathroom,” you murmur, carrying his hand away until you step out of reach.
You wait until you’re safely down the dark hall. Out of sight and certain you weren’t followed, you speak into your earpiece. “I have it.”
Leon’s response is immediate, almost relieved. “Good. Get outta there. Can't listen to that bastard much longer."
You dip into the bathroom, ensuring it’s empty before replying. “I’ll meet you out front.”
---
Your ears ring in the sudden quiet as you're led out nearly 30 minutes later, Hirsch's arm tight and possessive around your waist. When he pauses, you indicate the Porsche sitting idle nearby.
He makes an appreciative noise in the back of his throat. “Nice car for a rideshare.”
An amused laugh. “I splurge.”
“Of course you do.” He slides his fingers down your back in an overly familiar gesture as you reach the rear passenger door, and you half turn to him, tamping down the urge to step out of his touch. “Well, this was fun.”
He smirks, pressing into you such that you’re backed into the car door, his hand squeezing your ass, low enough to tuck between your legs. The suddenness forces you to exhale slowly, fighting to maintain your controlled calm. “I’ll see you soon?”
The subtle click of a door opening—clearly not yours—sounds behind you.
“We’ll see.” The tang of the alcohol on his breath stings your nose as he gets close but no further—an attempt at a tease. Then he’s pressing away from you, backtracking and returning to the club without a look back. You watch him, playing your part until the moment he disappears, before you turn and open the door, slipping into the backseat.
A second slam echoes your own and you look up to see Leon watching you in the rearview, blue eyes sharp, hand still on his door handle.
Brow creased, frustration peaking, you look away. “I had it.”
His clipped laugh is low, dangerous. “Looked like it.”
---
The door has barely closed before you’re tossing your shoes to the side, half limping to the full-length mirror in the hall. Your dress clings to you, hair tousled, cheeks rosy, red marks imprinted into your skin from the straps of your heels.
Well, you certainly looked your part.
Resigned, you reach into your bag and turn to hold the badge, transferred during the journey back, up to Leon between your middle and pointer finger. “The fruits of our labor.”
The joking smile playing on your lips fades when you take him in, his eyes dark but soft where they touch you. He takes the badge, surveying it for only a moment before tossing it onto the foyer table beside you.
Heat, quick and heavy, settles in your core as his calloused hands come to rest on the bare skin of your waist. “You did good.” His voice is nearly a whisper. Gruff.
You inhale audibly, eyes searching his face as he trails gentle fingers up your bare back. “Can’t say I like how he touched you, though.”
Silence stretches, a yawning pause. And whether it’s the drinks, the lingering adrenaline, or both, quiet challenge laces your hoarse reply.
“Are you going to do something about it?”
Before you can regret it, a second thought barely formed, the corner of his lip twitches and he’s sinking to his knees, hands lowering to your hips. He gazes up at you now, decisive in a way that’s familiar but foreign in context.
You inhale again, just barely, mouth slightly parted, and he’s moving, edging the hem of your dress upward with slow, practiced hands. A finger hooks into the elastic of your underwear as he drags them down, lower, off. Your back comes to rest against the mirror, and he tucks his arm underneath your thigh, hoisting your leg up and over his shoulder.
His breath, steady and warm, tickles you, and he looks up in a final, silent question. The barest dip of your chin is all the confirmation he needs before his mouth, his tongue, begin their gentle exploration.
Your hand comes to rest at the base of his neck, the other in his hair, and his name escapes your lips on a breathy exhale. He sighs against you in turn, a groan, pressure increasing against the throbbing between your legs as he skillfully adapts to your needs.
The deft work of his tongue, your arousal, his eyes on you as you writhe in his hands—it’s all too much, and when release finally crashes into you, it’s quiet, physical, fingers tugging his hair, a violent roll of your hips while he holds you through it, unrelenting.
The moment he feels you relax, he’s rising, and you meet him, crushing your mouth to his. A simple pull of the knotted halter straps behind your neck is enough for your dress to fall, pooling around your ankles.
Then he’s lifting you and you’re straddling him as he carries you to the bed, mouths hot, tongues searching. He lays you back, taking a moment to pause and admire you with a reverence that makes you squirm.
You push up on one arm and pull him down with the other in a smooth exchange of position. A gentle shove to his chest and he’s leaning back onto the bed, humor wrought in his eyes. You go for his zipper, stripping his pants down his thighs, over his calves, and away.
The full length of him on display elicits an appreciative click of your tongue, and your hand meets his base as you lean in, running your fist upward while you take his tip between your lips. His hips twitch, pulling your gaze to him with resolute intent, then you’re plunging down, cheeks flexed as the edge of your tongue follows the motion.
You learn very quickly that despite his steady, dry demeanor, Leon isn’t quiet. And his ragged groans, his soft swearing are enough for your heart to thunder in your chest, your ache building once again.
When his noises change, become more guttural, you know it’s time to move.
You rise, climbing him and tugging his shirt up along with you. He discards it in a single swift motion, leaning up to claim your mouth with his. He’s slick where he meets the heat of your sex, and you try but fail to stifle your moan at the sensation, hips rocking, ready for him. With a grunt, he takes you by the waist and moves you with him further up the bed to rest against the headboard.
Here, you sink steadily onto him, rising and falling once, acclimating, and then you’re riding him, increasingly frantic, lost in the pleasure of him inside of you. His eyes are hungry, eager like you’ve never seen him before, taking in your flushed cheeks, your breasts, lips parted.
He clutches your hips with a soft “fuck,” fingers imprinting into your supple skin, and forces you slower, arms flexing with the effort. You whine in protest and he croons, voice a deep hum. “I know—that’s it. Let’s slow it down a bit.” He sucks two of his fingers and reaches for your clit, stroking soft circles, his other hand maintaining its heel on your pace.
You gasp, head tipped back, unable to help the tightening of your grip on his shoulders as the sensation of him, your mounting release, overwhelms you.
There’s no warning when he smoothly lifts you up and off, flipping you to your stomach, his chest toward your back. You arch, raising your hips to him, then rough hands seize your waist for the leverage to slide into you, pushing into a relentless rhythm that leaves you moaning, desperate, as he meets the most sensitive parts of you.
He stutters only for a moment to lean forward and cup the underside of your chin, pulling your face to him. “Gonna fuck him right off of you,” he pants between thrusts, words near slurring as he claims your mouth. You whimper into his parted lips, his name a song you can’t contain, and he keeps you here, pace quickening, breath sawing from his chest.
You feel him tighten and he releases you, forehead coming to the crook of your neck. A moment of bated breath, then he’s pulling out with a grunt, waves of sudden warmth on your back, his satisfaction uttered on a sluggish exhale.
You clutch the sheets on either side of your head, your own orgasm shattering through you, and his hands come to rest atop them, breath sending chills down your spine where he trails hot, urgent kisses.
It’s here you remain as you both shake from exertion, Leon’s hands over yours, slowly coming back into yourselves.
Seconds or minutes pass before you feel the mattress move beneath you as his weight leaves it, and you look up in time to watch his return, towel in hand. He brushes it gently along your back, then discards it, and you bounce from the force of him plopping back down chest-first beside you, arm thrown over the small of your back.
You’re the first to recover, slowly propping up on your elbows, eyes warm as you brush his tousled hair out of his face. His lips tug at the corners, lazy and content, and he closes his eyes, fingers stroking your opposite side where his hand meets your ribs.
“You looked gorgeous tonight, by the way.”
The words are a muffled garble where the side of his face pushes into the sheets, and you laugh, flicking him on the forehead.
