#britty writes stuff

[brittywritesstuff]

your fingers foxtrot on my skin and i'm going under this time

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Word Count: 16K Warnings: Explicit Sex Pairing: Leon Kennedy/Original Female Character

Death hasn’t gotten any easier. In the beginning, she was told she’d get used to it; that the deaths would be easier to move on from. They haven’t, she hasn’t, it hasn’t. 

The lobby door creaks when it opens and whines as it closes, and she almost laughs. The personification of it is ridiculous, she knows — and things are going to creak and whine in a building that’s well over a hundred years old, but the door is vocalizing exactly how she feels right now. 

In the elevator, she closes her eyes, resting her temple against the cool glass as it lurches upward. After four straight days of nearly fifteen-hour shifts, she’s far too exhausted for the stairs. All she wants to do is get home, drop her scrubs in the wash, and crash for the next three days. Hell, she might even turn her phone off. Shower, couch, tv, no pants, and no one to bother her sounds like heaven. 

All thoughts of her heavenly time off come to a screeching halt when she turns the corner (her sneakers actually screech against the marble floor). A man is lingering outside the door across from hers at the end of the hallway. He’s hunched over, fumbling with his keys. At first, she wonders if he’s drunk. It’s inching toward midnight, and drunken escapades aren’t uncommon. 

Then she sees the blood when his hand reaches for the lock. Fuck. 

She moves slowly, all but pressing herself to the wall on her side of the hallway as she approaches. She wants to ignore it. She wants to pretend she doesn’t see him and slip inside unnoticed. Shower. Couch. TV. No pants. But… the Hippocratic Oath is nagging at her. Gnawing away at her hopes for peace. 

“Damn it,” she whispers. She takes a breath to steady herself as she approaches. “Hey. Sir? Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine.” His voice is deep and gravely, but he doesn’t turn to look at her. He’s focused on pushing his key into the lock. It slips with the blood on his hand, but he finally manages. 

“Well, you’re bleeding all over the door, so I don’t know if ‘fine’ is really the right word. Are you… can I help?”

“No.” He pushes the key in and turns it, then grunts and drops his forehead against the door, swearing under his breath. 

When he slumps, she rushes to steady him. He mutters something she can’t make out but drapes his arm around her shoulders anyway and lets her push open his door. She wonders if she’s about to step into her own murder, but she can’t just let him bleed out in the hallway. Maybe it’s an unfair trade, but if she can offset one death today, maybe it will be worth it. 

The apartment is dark, but it smells nice. That’s a good sign — she hopes. He’s not storing women’s bodies in the spare bedroom (or he’s just really good at covering his tracks). “Here—” She fumbles for the light switch (thankfully located in the same spot as her own) and helps him to the couch. The apartment is furnished — another good sign. It’s minimal and masculine, but furnished, at least. The couch is nice; dark leather that creaks with the weight of the man when she deposits him and steps back to shrug off her backpack. 

“I’m good, thanks,” he says, and she studies him, watching where his hand goes; where the blood’s coming from. 

“You’re not.” She steps closer, sinking to her knees in front of him. “I’m a doctor and you’re bleeding. A lot. Can I please look?” He tries to pull himself away, but sighs and lets his hand fall. She tugs up his shirt, eying the wound on his side. “What the hell happened? Get into a fight on the Metro?” 

The man huffs, but it’s humorless. “Somethin’ like that.” 

She hums in acknowledgment, then reaches for his hand, pressing it hard against the wound. “Hold pressure. I need to get some supplies. I’ll be right back.” 

“I have ‘em.” 

Lifting her eyes to his in surprise, her brows creep up her forehead. It’s not lost on her how handsome this man is, but his looks not her concern right now. Her concern is not letting him bleed to death on his most-likely-expensive leather couch. “You have a suture kit?” 

“Yes.” He closes his eyes for a second, tipping his head toward the little hallway that, if exactly like her own layout, leads to both bedrooms and both bathrooms. “Bathroom,” he grunts, answering her unspoken question. 

“Don’t move.” She yanks open the door of the built-in medicine cabinet in the bathroom to rummage for the suture kit. It’s there, on the bottom shelf, behind a bottle of prescription painkillers and some Ibuprofen. There’s a First Aid kit and bottle of saline on the shelf below, so she gathers all the accoutrement and hurries back to the living room, happy to find the man hasn’t passed out from blood loss. Yet. 

She dumps everything on the couch next to him, then hurries to the kitchen to wash her hands and grab the roll of paper towels next to the sink. Thankfully, the First Aid kit has gloves, so she pulls them on. They’re a little too big, but not unmanageable. 

“It doesn’t look too deep,” she says once she’s pushed his hand out of the way. She presses at his abdomen, her brows drawn together in concentration. “I think your vital organs are safe, but you should probably get checked out at a hospital just to be safe.”

“I’m good,” he grunts. 

She sighs. This guy’s stubborn… and he’ll probably cry when she stitches him up without numbing, but she’s too tired to give a shit about the Tough Guy Attitude. “Fine. Bite down on something.” He doesn’t, and she rolls her eyes. She irrigates with the saline, then threads the needle. It’s not going to be a clean stitch; the lighting is terrible and it’s not ideal placement, but it’ll do for Mr. Tough Guy. 

He grunts when the needle pierces his skin, but he remains stoic. She realizes he’s watching her when she glances up briefly to check on him. 

When the stitches are finished, she bandages the wound and pulls off the gloves as she sits back, watching him shift and lower his torn, blood-soaked shirt. “It’s gonna scar. It wasn’t a clean cut, and it,” she gestured around them, indicating the lighting, “isn’t really conducive to pretty stitching.” 

“Don’t need pretty,” he grumbles, “just need the insides to stay in there.”

She crosses to the kitchen, carrying the paper towels with her, and washes her hands again. Her shower and couch are calling even louder now. “Keep it clean and dry for at least forty-eight hours,” she picks up her backpack and slips it on, “then clean it carefully with soap and water. Anti-bacterial, preferably. Use some ointment if you have it. If it starts to look infected, if it gets hot or really red… please go to the hospital.” 

“Thanks,” he grunts and sits up. 

“Yeah, no problem.” It’s very much a problem, but she very much wants to get out of there. Standing back, she studies him for a moment. She’s seen him before, once or twice. Only ever in passing. They’ve never shared an elevator nor a single word until tonight. “Are you new here?” She has no idea why she’s starting a conversation. She just wants to go home. 

“No.” He’s pushing to his feet and she sucks in a breath as she takes another step back. “Just not really the neighborly type.”

She snorts. “No? You seem like a real gem.” Probably not a good idea to get smart with the large scary man with a stab wound in his apartment, she realizes. But he chuckles at it; a low, grumble of a laugh. It’s startling that she finds it attractive. 

“Thank you,” he says, finally lifting his eyes to hers. Despite his appearance, his eyes seem kind. It’s hard to tell in the low light of his apartment, but she thinks they’re blue. Maybe green. Either way, they’re pretty. “I… appreciate your help.”

She shrugs and takes another step toward the door. “I wouldn’t be much of a doctor if I let my neighbor bleed out in the hallway. Have a g— have a better night.” Adjusting her bag, she nods and turns to reach for the door handle. 

“I’m Leon,” he says. 

She stops and turns back to look at him. “I thought you weren’t the neighborly type? Introducing yourself is step one.” 

“Didn’t realize there was a handbook.”

She laughs, maybe a little louder than intended. She’s too exhausted to care. “You were too busy getting stabbed.” Sighing, she adjusts her bag again. “Sophie. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve had a long fucking day and I need to go crash.” 

When she’s finally locking her own door, Sophie breathes out slowly and drops the backpack next to the door. What the fuck was that? Who the fuck is that guy? She’s certain she doesn’t want to know, nor did she want to get involved… even if he was gorgeous to look at. She saw handsome men come through the Emergency Department almost every day. At no point has she ever considered anything else about their lives — only that they’re delightful to look at. 

Scary Stabby Man across the hall is no different. 

Sophie wakes to the sound of knocking. 

Grunting, she pushes off her eye mask and squints at the clock. It’s almost ten o’clock, and the sun streaming through her window is bright. Almost blinding. It takes her a minute to sit up, rubbing her face with both hands and she hears the knocking again. 

She throws off the covers and shuffles to the door, struggling to get it unlocked. In her defense, she was fully unconscious just moments ago — it usually takes her a while to be fully with it. And when she opens it, she wonders if she’s actually still unconscious. 

“Hi.” Leon is standing on the other side, holding a large to-go cup of what she can only assume is coffee. She recognizes the logo — it’s the cafe on the corner. 

“Hi…” It comes out more like a question than an actual greeting.

In response, he holds the cup out to her. “Just wanted to say thank you for last night. And I’ve seen you with coffee from this place before. Figured I would… return the favor.”

Sophie eyes the coffee cup, still in his outstretched hand. “So you’ve been watching me?” She takes the cup from him, just to get him to pull his hand back.

“What?” He scoffs, his strong brows drawing together. In the light of day, she realizes his eyes are blue. Like the sky on a summer day — ew! She chastises herself for waxing poetically about Scary Stabby Man’s eyes. “No, of course not. I just mean — look, we live across the hall from each other. I’ve seen you around. I’ve seen you with the coffee. I’m not watching you.” 

She hums in acknowledgment and fiddles with the lid stopper. “Okay, well, thank you.” Licking her lips, she raises an eyebrow, her gaze falling to his side. He looks cleaner than he did last night, and thankfully he’s changed his clothes. There’s no blood on his dark blue shirt, at least. “How’s the wound?”

“Fine,” he says. “Following doc’s orders.” 

When she looks up at him, he has a lopsided smirk. She hates that it’s attractive. That he’s attractive. “Well… good. But stay out of fights with people on the metro.” 

He grunts, the lopsided smirk turning to a full smile. Damn it. “I’ll do my best, but not makin’ any promises.” 

Sophie watches him for a moment, still fiddling with the lid stopper. “You didn’t get it in a fight on the metro, did you?”

“Nope.”

She presses her lips together and nods. “And you’re not gonna tell me how you got it, are you?”

“Nope.” 

She nods again. “Are you in the mob or something?”

He laughs at that. It’s deep and grumbly and oddly soothing. Like a cat purring. “No, not in the mob.”

“But you can’t tell me what you do.” He shakes his head solemnly and she sighs. 

It’s par for the course in this town. It was like the government agency gauntlet. If she had a dollar for every disastrous first date she’d been on with a guy who ‘would tell you but then I’d have to kill you,’ she’d have enough money to have retired five years ago and never look back. Leon, it seems, is no different. Except he’s the first one she’s ever had to stitch up while he bled out on his couch. “Okay. Fine. Fair enough.”  She shifts her weight, watching him shove his hands into his pockets. With his sleeves at his elbows, she watches the way the muscles in his forearms move. “Well, thank you for the coffee.”

“Thanks for saving me,” Leon says. There’s a sincerity in his gruff voice. There’s a lot he’s not saying, either, buried under the grumbly sincerity. It’s not her place to ask, so she doesn’t. 

Sophie shrugs, wrapping both hands around the cup. “Glad I was able to.” There’s a lot she’s not saying, too. She’s glad she could actually save someone yesterday. It doesn’t negate the anguish over losing patients, but it helps soothe the sting a little. 

She steps back, ready to thank him and close the door, but he speaks again. “You said you’re a doctor?”

Sophie raises her eyebrows at that, then dragged her eyes over him. Assessing him. “Why, you need some more emergency stitching?”

Leon huffs, and she can’t tell if he’s annoyed with himself or her response. “Uh, no. No, sorry, I was just—“

“Yeah. Yes, I’m a doctor. Emergency department.”

He nods. “Ah. Makes sense.”

“Does it?” She scrunches her nose, tilting her head. “Not finding a lot of dermatologists to stitch you up when you’re bleeding out in the hallway, huh?”

Leon laughs again, and she wonders how rare that is. “No, can’t say I’ve found a lot of ‘em.”

“I figured,” Sophie says, taking pity and throwing him a smile. “If you need any late-night stitches, I’d prefer you go to the hospital, but I guess you know where to find me.” 

“Yeah,” Leon huffs. “Yeah, I guess I do.” 

She takes a sip of the coffee and sighs. “Good choice. This one’s my favorite.” She feels his eyes on her as she turns and closes the door, but she doesn’t stop to look back or dwell on it. 

Sophie pauses, watching Leon’s door for a split second when she leaves that evening. She doesn’t intend to (leave her apartment or look at his door), but she catches a glimpse of a shadow on her way to the grocery store and she looks. She whines to herself in the elevator, dropping her head back against the wall. She does not need to develop a crush on Scary Stabby Man who lives across the hall. Even if he is gorgeous. 

She’s running late for work the next time she sees him. 

“Ooh! Wait! Wait!” She’s scrambling to reach the elevator in time, praying whoever’s in it is kind enough to hold it for her. 

Her sneakers squeak on the floor when she reaches it, and she’s out of breath when she steps in, closing her eyes as she leans against the wall. “Fuck,” she breathes. “Thank you.” 

“No problem.” 

Sophie’s eyes fly open when she recognizes that voice. Leon. Jesus, why can’t he ever see her when she’s not a mess? “Oh. Hi.”

His lips turn up with a lopsided smirk. “Hi.”

She swallows and stands upright, adjusting her backpack on her shoulders. “How’s the wound?” She asks. 

“Great.” When he smiles and lifts the hem of his shirt to show her his abdomen, Sophie feels hot all over. She keeps her composure but takes a breath, eying the gash. She leans a little closer and bends down to examine it. He smells so good and part of her wants to reach out and touch him, but she doesn’t. Instead, she chastises herself for the very thought. 

“Yeah, looks like it’s healing nicely. Good.” She stands upright again, dragging her eyes away as he lowers his shirt. The elevator dings before she can say anything else, and the doors slide open. She’s running too far behind this morning to stand around and pine, so she flashes a smile and dashes out into the lobby, calling over her shoulder with a wave. “Have a good day! Try not to get stabbed!”

She doesn’t see him again. She looks toward his door when she comes home, but there’s no movement. She doesn’t see him when she leaves for work, either. It’s disappointing. 

On Friday, she catches a glimpse of the back of him before his door closes when she reaches her apartment, arms loaded with groceries. She took longer than intended at the store, but she’s still got time before her date. She starts the sauce before she heads for the shower. 

It feels a little wrong to be thinking about Leon when she’s meant to be getting ready for a date with someone else, but she can’t help it. There’s something about him that’s so captivating. Even if it’s a little concerning that he comes home with stab wounds in the middle of the night… There’s just something about him. 

She checks her phone when she gets out of the shower, frowning at the lack of texts from Grant. She’d texted hours ago to confirm their dinner date, but he hasn’t responded. 

Busy, she assumes. It’s fine. 

She checks again when she finishes her hair and makeup. No response. 

She checks again when the sauce is simmering and she’s dressed. No response. 

She waits, pouring a glass of wine. He was supposed to be here ten minutes ago, but he hasn’t shown nor has she heard from him. 

She sends a text, but it goes undelivered. She’s been blocked. 

“Shit,” she sighs, sinking into the chair closest to her at the table. She sits, staring at the plates and candles for a moment, once again thinking how stupid she’d been. Grant was charming and handsome, if a little distant from the get-go, but he’d seemed interested in her. “Guess not anymore,” she mutters. 

Thank god she didn’t sleep with him.

Sophie eyes the pots on the stove and groans. She’s going to have leftovers for a week. Unless…  Her eyes shift to the front door and she chews her lip. She’s just being neighborly, but maybe he’ll be interested in the food. It doesn’t hurt that, for once, she’s not in scrubs or her pajamas. In fact, she feels pretty. 

“Fuck it,” she whispers, taking a gulp of her wine. She pushes away from the table and checks her hair in the mirror beside the door on her way out. She smooths the front of her green sundress and hesitates only a second before reaching up to knock.

She hears rustling and heavy footsteps before the door finally opens. Her heart flutters when she watches Leon’s face soften when he realizes it’s her. And she feels heat rush through her when she watches Leon’s eyes drag over her and take in her appearance. “H-hi.”

“Hi.” His voice is gruff, but his tone is gentle.

“Hi,” she says again, and he laughs. Sophie presses her lips together and swallows. “Do you want dinner? I have too much and I hate leftovers after the second day.” His brow furrows and she shrugs. “I got ghosted,” she adds, by way of explanation. 

His eyes shift past her to her door, then find her again. “Sure.” His lips turn up in that lopsided grin, and she answers with a smile of her own. “Yeah, I’d like that.” 

“Great!” She turns on her heel and marches back across the hall. He follows obediently and carefully closes her door behind him. She makes a beeline for the kitchen, glancing over her shoulder while he stands awkwardly in the entryway, taking in his surroundings. His very romantic surroundings. She’d lit some candles on the island and in the center of the table; a few sat flickering on the coffee table and she’d lit the electric fireplace. It looks like she’s trying to seduce him. Had she really thought this through? 

“Ghosted, huh?” he huffs. When she turns to look at him, she meets his intense gaze. She can’t tell if he’s fazed by his surroundings.

“Ghosted,” she confirms, carrying both plates back to the table. The romantic, candlelit table. “Do you want some wine?” She pours another glass for herself and holds up the bottle. 

He nods. “Uh, sure. Not much of a wine-drinker but yeah. Sounds good.” He clears his throat and looks around. “I feel a little… under dressed.” He gestures to himself, in his jeans and charcoal shirt. She looks him over, appreciating the way the soft fabric seems to hug his muscles in every possible way. 

“No, no, it’s fine. You look— You’re fine. I mean you’re not.”

Sophie presses her lips together and fills his glass, then gestures for him to sit. Her stomach flips when he does — the candlelight flickering in his pale blue eyes is a sight to behold. Okay, maybe tonight wasn’t going to turn out so bad. Sure, she wasn’t getting laid. Sure, she’d been stood up. But she got to look at him over dinner. That’s not a terrible compromise. 

She watches him take a bite of the pasta, then nod. “His loss,” he says. He’s quiet for a moment, then looks up at her. He looks like he’s unsure of what to say, then reaches for his wine glass. “I don’t date much, but… seems like ghosting a girl is the cowardly way out.”

Sophie laughs and shrugs. “I probably dodged a bullet. He’s probably married or something. He’s an orthopedic surgeon. Met him like a month ago at this retirement gathering for a colleague. We’ve only had a couple dates, but… yeah, I don’t know. He never seemed super into me to begin with.”

Leon’s face is serious, his jaw set tight when she meets his gaze. “His loss,” he says again, and heat floods her body. 

“I don’t even know your last name,” Sophie says. It comes out more like a breathless whisper, but she can’t correct herself now. 

He’s holding her gaze and she has to force herself not to look away. This man is intense. This man also casually got stabbed and acted like she slapped a bandaid on a scraped knee, so the intensity seems on-brand. “Kennedy. Leon Kennedy.”

Sophie reaches for her wine and takes a sip, watching him over the rim of the glass. When she sets it down, she holds her hand out to him to shake. “Nice to meet you, Leon Kennedy. Sophie Whitford.” 

Leon eyes her hand, then takes it and she sucks in a breath, lifting her eyes to his. “Nice to meet you, Dr. Whitford.” 

She smiles, chewing her lip. “It’s just Sophie.” 

“Nice to meet you, Just Sophie,” he says softly. He holds her hand for a beat longer, then she pulls back to reach for her glass again. 

“So you’re still not gonna tell me what you do for a living, Leon Kennedy?” 

Leon shakes his head, his dark blonde hair swishing with the movement. It’s endearing somehow. “Government work.” He shakes his hair away from his face. Not much to talk about.”

“Ahh. One of those. Crunching numbers for Big Brother?”

Leon grunts. “Somethin’ like that.” 

“And crunching numbers gets you stabbed?”

He smirks. Damn it, he’s gorgeous. How is that fair? “Somethin’ like that.” She studies him for a moment, tilting her head. He looks down, shifting his weight in the chair. “I can’t really talk about my work, but I… I‘ve only ever wanted to help people. I try to help people.” 

There’s something behind his eyes she can’t quite place. There’s pain there. Pain she can see she shouldn’t poke at. But she can’t place the rest of it. 

“I get it,” Sophie says softly. When his eyes find hers, she sucks in a breath at the vulnerability in them. “I’ve always wanted to help people. It’s… It never gets easier when I lose a patient. People always told me it would; said I’d get used to it, but it hasn’t gotten any easier and I haven’t gotten used to it, y’know? And I feel really guilty every time. Like there’s something I should’ve done differently. Something I missed. I always blame myself.”

Leon reaches for her hand and she swallows hard at the feeling of his fingers on her skin. They’re a little calloused, but they’re warm and his touch is gentle. “You helped me. Saved me.”

Sophie licks her lips and takes a slow breath. She watches his chest rise and fall as he does the same before he pulls his hand back and crosses his arms atop the table. She watches the muscles moving under tan skin, his sleeves at his elbows again. It’s nice to watch. He’s nice to watch. 

“I, uh—” He clears his throat and looks down for a moment. “I don’t get to do this often. It’s nice.”

“What, save a girl from a sad, lonely dinner after being ghosted?”

He chuckles, and she watches his lips turn up in a grin. “Have dinner like this,” he explains. “Have dinner with someone.” His gaze finds hers and though it’s intense, there’s a softness behind it. There’s a softness to him. 

Sophie smiles and she feels warmth flood her chest when he returns it in kind. “All you have to do is ask.” 

Leon’s not chatty, but they fall into comfortable conversation. He listens intently. He asks questions. She tells him about her work; tells him her favorite stories from the emergency department. She sticks to the funny ones; the light-hearted ones. The ones that make him smile when he listens. He seems like he could use a little bit of light. 

Their plates have long been empty — their glasses, too. Too caught up in the conversation, in him, she hadn’t even realized. She can’t remember the last time she enjoyed someone’s company like this. 

She pushes back from the table and reaches for his empty plate, but he grabs her wrist to stop her. “Please,” he says, lifting his eyes to hers when she stares at him in confusion. “Let me. It’s the least I can do.” She wants to argue, but she lets go of the plate and he lets go of her wrist. 

“Thank you.” He nods and she watches him gather the dishes from the table, carrying them to the sink. Her apartment isn’t very big; it’s not a very far walk, but she follows him with the now-empty wine bottle to toss it in the recycling. 

“Do you want more wine?” She asks, examining the choices nestled into the built-in wine rack. 

“Oh.” He sounds surprised, like he thought she’d kick him out right after dinner. “Yeah, sure. If you do.” She drags one of the barstools around the island toward her, chewing her lip as she uses it to climb up on the counter to retrieve the bottle she wants. “Whoa, what are you doing?” Leon exclaims.

She looks down at him, holding up her spoils. “Wine. I can’t reach the top shelf.”

“Sophie,” he sighs, “you’re gonna get hurt.” She meets his gaze and shrugs but her heart flutters when he reaches up for her. His massive arm winds around her thighs and her hand settles on his shoulder as he pulls her off the counter. “I got you.” He slides her down his chest slowly and she drapes her arm over his shoulder, the wine bottle inadvertently smacking him in the back. Neither of them seem to notice because their gazes are locked. 

This close, she can see all the shades that make up the breathtaking blue of his eyes. Fuck, he’s gorgeous. She can see that breathtaking gaze drift down to her mouth and her lips part in answer. He hasn’t put her on her feet yet, so she slips her free hand from his shoulder to the back of his neck and her fingers brush through the ends of his hair. It’s as soft as it looks. 

When he sucks in a breath, so does she, and her gaze falls to his lips. He’s still holding her, so she leans in and his breath is warm on her face. He’s holding her thighs with one arm (impressive) and he lifts the other to cradle her jaw and she watches the way his tongue wets his lips. Fuck.

Sophie leans closer and he tips his face up, his nose brushing hers. She doesn’t know if she closes the distance or he does but his lips are warm and soft; his kiss is slow and gentle. Tentative. Exploratory. 

It makes her want more. He seems to agree because he sighs and his thumb brushes her chin as she deepens the kiss. Her tongue sweeps along his bottom lip until he opens up to her and she swallows his groan when their tongues brush. 

He sits her on the counter and steps between her legs while she sets down the bottle, freeing up both hands to brush over his broad chest and up his shoulders to grasp his neck. His hands slide up her thighs, his palms like fire on her bare skin. His fingers brush the hem of the dress that’s bunched up around her hips. His hands smooth up the curve of her hips, over her waist and down to her ass, pulling her closer to the edge of the counter.

When he breaks the kiss, he doesn’t go far, letting his forehead rest against hers. His lips brush hers when he speaks. “Tell me to stop,” he whispers. 

“Why?” she breathes, her fingers slipping up into his hair. She swears she hears something akin to a whine, and the heat coursing through her rushes between her legs. 

“I wouldn’t…” Leon sighs and she chews her lip. “I’m not good news, Sophie. I’m not good for anyone.”

He’s wrong, she’s sure of it. Whatever pain she saw in him earlier is the catalyst for his words, she can tell. Whatever he’s keeping to himself; keeping buried; holding back… she knows that’s why. But she’s not a porcelain doll. She wants this. She wants this so badly it hurts.

Sophie presses her knee to his hip and grasps the back of his head as she tips her face up to capture his beautiful lips slowly. “Let me be the judge of that,” she murmurs, her words dying in his mouth. “Don’t stop.” 

Leon’s groan is breathy and strangled and his hands are like fire as they slip up under the hem of her dress. He kisses her deeper, harder, more desperate. There’s tension in his muscles and it feels like he’s holding himself back, but she wants him to let go. 

His mouth finds her jaw and marks a path down her neck. His stubble scrapes across her skin and it’s glorious. The strap of her dress has slipped down, so he takes advantage and nips at the juncture of her shoulder. Her eyes roll back as they flutter closed and she tips her head to give him better access. It sends a shiver down her spine, and her skin prickles with goosebumps. 

She slips her hand up into his hair, her nails lightly scraping his scalp as she curls her fingers in it, and he moans against her skin. The sound is heavenly. She wants to hear it again. 

She doesn’t have to wait very long. His lips travel across the swell of her breasts and he tugs her dress down and swears under his breath, groaning when he realizes she’s not wearing a bra. It wasn’t really necessary with the dress, and she’s so happy she made the right choice. Her skin tingles with the cool air and the heat of his gaze, and he mumbles something about ‘beautiful’ as his hand cups one breast. His thumb brushes her nipple and she whimpers, arching her back to press herself against him. 

He lifts his eyes to hers like he’s asking silent permission. The way he looks at her makes her stomach flip; makes her heart ache. He looks so desperate for her. Like he needs this. Needs her. She chews her lip, breathless as she pulls him closer, giving him the unspoken permission he’s looking for. His tongue is warm on her nipple and she gasps, her fingers tightening in his hair. 

Fuck, her panties are soaked and she wants to feel the scrape of his stubble; wants to feel his tongue everywhere. 

His lips trail across her chest to lavish attention on her other nipple and she moans softly, pressing against him. His fingers slip under her dress and she whimpers when they brush her panties. He swears against her skin when he discovers how soaked she is for him and she can’t wait for the barrier to be gone. She wants to feel his fingers on her; wants his skin against hers. 

Deciding to remedy part of that, she drops her hands, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt to pull at it. He takes the hint and lets go of her to reach behind him and gather the collar of his shirt to yank it over his head. It drops to the floor forgotten and her eyes drag over him. 

Fuck. Holy fuck. 

Fully clothed, she had seen how fit he is. It was obvious. It was obvious in the way his muscles moved beneath his clothes; in the little glimpses she’d caught when looking at his wound. But this? Good god, he’s a work of art. She’s fairly certain she’s never seen anyone or anything more beautiful than him. 

His gaze is fixed on hers when his hands sweep back up her thighs and he grips her ass to lift her off the counter. He kisses her, hard and heated as she wraps her legs around his waist and he carries her toward the hallway. 

“Left,” she instructs against his lips when he pauses at the split, and he obeys immediately, turning to carry her into her bedroom. 

Leon sits her on the edge of her bed and sinks to his knees in front of her. The city lights stream in through the windows, bathing him in a golden glow and she reaches out to cradle his jaw. He closes his eyes, leaning into her touch, and her heart aches. 

He opens his eyes and she watches his massive chest rise and fall with a shaky breath as he leans in, pressing slow, hot kisses along the inside of her thigh. She was right: the scrape of his stubble on her skin is glorious. 

Sophie moans, parting her legs at his insistence, and she threads her fingers through his hair when he turns his attention to the other leg. His breath is hot as it ghosts over where she wants to feel him the most. She whines without meaning to, her brows scrunching together. The anticipation is killing her. 

With a groan, nips at her through the lace of her panties (she’s thankful she decided on the sexy ones tonight, or this could’ve been embarrassing), and she moans, leaning back on one hand. His eyes lift to hers and her mouth falls open at the sight of it, of him, between her legs. 

He hooks his fingers in the waistband and tugs them down, tossing them away when he finally gets them off. He presses her thighs apart and she watches his face as he hungrily admires the sight of her; his eyes drinking her in. Her clit is throbbing and she wouldn’t be surprised if the bed was soaked where she sits, because fuck the way he looks at her…

The slow drag of his tongue makes her gasp and she lifts her hips off the bed. His hands gently press her back down, holding her in place while his tongue explores. She chews her bottom lip, panting when his lips close around her clit. “Fuck,” she gasps, and she swears she feels him smile. 

He presses a finger inside, and then another, and she swears she sees stars when he curls them while his tongue traces her clit. Oh, she’s so close. So… so close. She whimpers his name, her fingers tightening in his hair as she rocks her hips. He groans and the vibration of it absolutely destroys her. 

She cries out as the wave of pleasure knocks her over and she’s panting as her body trembles. He pulls his hand away and his tongue laps at her like he’s determined to taste every drop. She feels his lips on her thighs, her hip, and then her belly as he tugs her dress all the way off finally. 

The bed dips when he crawls over her and she smiles, welcoming him with a kiss. She moans softly, her tongue licking into his mouth. She can still taste herself on him, and it’s glorious. 

Her hands slip down his chest, her fingers taking their time to explore all the hills and valleys of his muscles; delighting in the dusting of hair brushing her fingertips on their way to his jeans. It’s not fair that she’s naked and he’s still wearing pants. She wants to feel all of him. 

So she pops the button and shoves down the zipper, whining at the loss of warmth when he pulls away to shed the rest of his clothes. She watches him, standing beside the bed, and she drinks him in as she pushes herself up on her elbows. 

He truly is the most beautiful man she’s ever seen. 

“Fuck.” She doesn’t mean to say it out loud, but she does. And he chuckles, shaking his head. She watches the movement of his hand when he wraps it around the base of his cock and she chews her lip. She wants to do that. She wants to touch him. “Come here,” she whispers, and he willingly obeys. 

He crawls over her and his kiss is intense as they fall into the mattress together. She bends her knees and lifts her hips, whimpering as his cock ruts through her slick folds. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, and she smiles at that, but the smile falls away when he rocks against her again and she whimpers, closing her eyes. 

“C-condom,” she pants. “Condom.” She pushes at his chest and he shifts to sit back on his knees while she rolls over to yank open the drawer of her nightstand. His hand smooths over her ass and she chews her lip. God, she loves the feeling of his hands on her. Part of her desperately hopes this isn’t a one-night-stand, but that’s a thought for later. 

Right now, she has the world’s most beautiful man naked in her bed, wanting to fuck her after giving her what was likely the most intense orgasm she’s ever had. She’s not going to argue that. 

Yanking a condom from the box, she turns to her back and holds it out to him, watching the movement of his hands as he opens  the package and rolls it on. 

His eyes are dark when they meet hers and he crawls over her again. His hand takes its time, sweeping up her thigh, her belly, her breast, until he cradles her face. His gaze roams her face, his thumb brushing her cheek. He looks at her like he’s admiring artwork, which is ironic because he is art. 

She can’t remember a time a man looked at her like this. Admired her like this. 

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he whispers as he closes the distance to kiss her slowly. His tongue glides against hers and he groans into her mouth. The sound, the feeling, makes her sigh and she lifts her hips to brush against him. 

“Leon,” she breathes, gripping his shoulder; slipping one hand down his side. God, she wants him. She can’t handle any more anticipation. She needs to feel him. “Please.”

He breathes out shakily and rocks against her one more time before he reaches between them to guide his cock. She swallows his groan when he pushes into her and she gasps, pressing her head into the mattress. 

Fuck, he feels incredible. The way he fills her, stretching her so perfectly… fuck. A decade of prestigious education has gone out the window. She can’t think straight. 

His thrusts are slow and steady at first, and he kisses her like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. His fingers dig into her thigh as he tugs it up, holding it to his hip. It opens her up to him and she moans at the sensation. She wraps her legs around his waist, wanting to feel him closer. She grips at him, her nails digging into his back and he thrust harder, snapping his hips into her. 

His lips graze her jaw and he nips at her earlobe before pressing his face into her neck, panting against her skin. “Fuck,” he whispers and she whimpers, turning her face to press against his head. He drops her thigh to slip his hand under her palming her ass to move her how he wants, to press against him, giving her the perfect friction she needs. 

“Oh my god,” she gasps, he lips against his ear. 

“‘M close.” She feels his gravely voice rumbling in his chest, pressed flush against hers, and she whines. Rocking her hips to meet his thrusts. He swears under his breath and his fingers tighten on her ass like he can’t pull her close enough. “Fuck, Sophie.”

Hearing her name on his lips, panting against her skin as he nears the precipice of an orgasm is just about all she needs to come again. And when he thrusts harder, she falls apart completely. Crying out, her thighs tighten around his waist, the beautiful euphoria washing over her while he chases his own. 

His mouth finds hers again and she swallows his groan as he comes. 

Neither move for a while. Sophie holds him close and they breathe together while they come down from the high until finally he lifts his head, pressing soft, gentle kisses to her neck, her jaw, and finally her lips. 

She bites down on her lip to stop herself from whimpering when he pulls out and shifts to his side. She suddenly feels cold. She enjoyed the weight of him on top of her. The feeling of him inside of her. Some of the warmth returns when his hand finds her thigh and she turns her head to find him looking at her. 

“You okay?” His voice is quiet. Reverent. 

She smiles and he returns it. His smile, Sophie decides, feels like a sunrise. “I’m great,” she whispers. 

He leans over to kiss her shoulder then sits up, announcing he needs to take care of the condom, and she watches him leave the room. For a moment, she’s unsure of what to do with herself. The heat of the moment is one thing. The awkward time right after is another.

Pressing her lips together, she shifts back against the pillows and grabs one to clutch against her chest. Just in case. Awkward conversations are so much worse when they’re had while naked. 

But Leon steps back into her bedroom and the instant he looks at her, her doubt melts away. He looks at her like she’s the sunrise. 

She drinks him in as he makes his way back to the bed; drinks in the way the impressive muscle moves. The way he moves. 

He lounges beside her, leaning on his elbow. He kisses her shoulder, then looks up at her with another warm smile. His messy hair falls across his forehead and she can’t stop herself from lifting her hand to brush it away from his face. He leans into her touch. 

Goddamnit… she doesn’t want this to be a one-time thing. And she hates the feeling. 

“Just so you know,” she says softly, “this isn’t in the neighborly handbook.”

“Good,” he huffs, his lips turning up with a smirk, “I don’t think I have the energy to get to know all my neighbors like this.”

“No?” Sophie loosens the grip on her pillow and shifts closer to him to lay back, letting him lean over her. He nudges the pillow out of the way to settle his hand on her hip, his thumb brushing slow circles. “I’ve unlocked VIP neighborly bonding?”

Leon makes a sound of acknowledgement and kisses her. It’s slow and gentle like he’s savoring it. It makes her heart flutter and she lifts her hand to cradle his face, then lets it fall to his chest. 

“Stay,” she whispers as they part for air. But she kisses him before he can respond. She shifts, pressing closer to him and his arms slide around her, her head laying on his bicep. 

“I don’t wanna impose,” he murmurs, sighing when she kisses him again. 

“Not an imposition.” She pulls back enough to look up at him and she wonders if he’s just being polite. If she’s overstepping. But he’s looking at her like that again; like she’s a sunrise, and the worries start to dissipate. They disappear entirely when he kisses her.

Leon stays the night.

The sun wakes Sophie the next morning. She can’t be sure exactly how much sleep she actually got, but she’s certain it’s not a lot. Despite that, she feels good. She feels rested. She feels happy. 

Then she shifts and realizes she’s alone in bed. Sighing, she sits up and squints at the clock, then scans the room. Leon’s clothes are gone and her apartment is quiet. Maybe she was a little too overzealous. Maybe asking him to stay was too much. 

“Fuck,” she sighs, throwing back the covers to climb out of bed. She grabs her robe and heads for the bathroom, deciding she’s in desperate need of a shower. 

Emerging from the bathroom, her body, hair, and teeth freshly scrubbed, she shuffles toward the kitchen for coffee but startles, astonished by the shriek that escapes her when she spots movement from the corner of her eye. Her heart’s still racing when she realizes Leon is sitting on a stool, two to-go cups from the corner cafe sitting on the island in front of him. 

Leon frowns, holding up his hands like he’s surrendering as he pushes to his feet. “Shit, I’m sorry,” he says. He doesn’t move closer. “I thought— you were still sleeping and I figured you might want coffee, so I let myself back in. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

“O-oh.” The fright starts to wear off and she’s touched by the endearing gesture. She smiles and he blows out a breath, lowering his hands. “It’s okay. Thank you. That’s… that’s really sweet.”

He shrugs and she moves toward him. “Least I could do. You fed me. Figured I’d return the favor.” She watches the path his tongue takes as he licks his lips and to her delight, he reaches for her hips when she’s close enough, yanking her in. She catches herself with her hands on his chest and stretches to meet his kiss. It’s surprising how comfortable this feels. 

“So,” he murmurs against her lips, “I was thinking—“ His phone buzzes and he sighs, standing upright to fish it out of his pocket. He frowns at the screen, then meets her eyes. “Sorry, hang on. I gotta take this.” He releases his grip on her and swipes at the screen. “Yeah?” She watches the door close behind him and can faintly hear his voice in the hall, but can’t make out what’s being said. 

She busies herself with the coffee awaiting her and is delighted to find he’d also brought muffins. 

When the door opens, Leon looks frustrated. Maybe a little angry. “Everything okay?” She asks.

His sigh is heavy. Full of burden. “I gotta deal with a work thing.” He sounds mournful as he makes his way toward her again. 

“Right now?”

He nods. “I’ll be gone for a few days.”

“Oh,” Sophie sighs. “That sucks.” He’s reaching for her again and she lets him pull her in by her hips. She takes a sip of her coffee, then sets it on the island. 

“Yeah.” His eyes go unfocused for a moment before he finds her again. “I’m sorry, this isn’t how I wanted today to go.”

Sophie slips her hands up his chest and sighs. “It’s okay. I’d be a hypocrite for being mad — I’m on call a lot. I get it. You have secret government number crunching to do.”

He chuckles. “Somethin’ like that.”

“Well, just try not to pick any more metro fights while you’re out crunching numbers.”

“No promises.” Leon kisses away her smile and her fingers slip up into his hair. When they part, he takes a breath, leaning his forehead against hers. “Don’t have any dates.”

“What?” Sophie pulls back to look at him quixotically. 

“While I’m gone…” he glances away, then, as if forcing his resolve, meets her eyes again. “Don’t… don’t go on any dates with anyone else. Please.”

Sophie’s breath catches. He doesn’t want her to see anyone else. Definitely not a one-night stand, then. “Okay,” she breathes. She leans up, brushing her nose against his. “I won’t.” He makes a sound of acknowledgement, something akin to a growl if she thinks about it, and kisses her, lifting a hand to cradle the back of her head. His fingers curl in her shower-damp hair and the hand on her hip slips to her lower back to pull her closer. 

“I gotta go,” he grumbles. He doesn’t pull away yet. In fact, he holds onto her tighter. Kisses her longer. Kisses her harder. Like he’s using her as an anchor. She lets him; in fact, she leans into it. She cradles his jaw, letting her thumb rasp against his stubble. 

When he finally pulls back, she sees the weight in his shoulders. She sees it in his eyes. Maybe one day she’ll understand what it means. Maybe one day he’ll let her in. 

“See you soon.” His voice is quiet and forlorn, but he leans in to kiss her one last time and she watches the door close behind him. 

She doesn’t see him again for a week.

It’s late, and Sophie’s exhausted when she steps off the elevator. She shifts her backpack on her shoulder and sighs, brushing away the strands of hair that have slipped out of her bun at some point in the last grueling fifteen hours. All she wants to do is get in the shower, scrub away the hellish day, and crash in bed. 

Her steps falter when she approaches her door. Leon is sitting against her door. His knee is bent, one arm draped over it; his head is resting back against the wood. 

“Hi,” she whispers, like she’s afraid of disturbing him. Although he is blocking her door. 

When he opens his eyes and lifts his head to look up at her, her stomach flips. “Hey, you.” 

Swallowing hard, Sophie steps closer, her brows scrunching together while she assesses him. He doesn’t look like he’s bleeding anywhere, but even in the low light of the hallway, she sees bruising under one eye. “Are you okay?”

He smiles and she melts a little. “Better now.” He grunts when he climbs to his feet and she watches the way he moves, like he took a brutal beating. 

“How long have you been sitting here?” She steps closer again and when he reaches for her, her heart flutters. 

“No idea. A while, maybe.”

“Oh. Sorry. Today was crazy and my shift ran long.” 

Leon shakes his head. “It’s okay. I’m just happy to see you.” He slips his arm around her waist and pulls her against him, breathing out like touching her is the ultimate relief. 

“I am, too,” she says softly, “but I’m disgusting. I really need to shower.” Licking her lips, she tips her head back to look up at him. Studying him. He looks as tired as she feels. But she really is happy to see him. She reaches up, gently brushing his hair away from his forehead. It’s hard to believe they’ve only really had one date; spent one night together. This feels so intimate, but it feels… right. “Wanna join me?”

His lips turn up in a lopsided smile. It’s warm and soft and she wants to wrap herself in it. “Absolutely.” 

She pulls away to slide her key into the lock and lets them inside. She turns on the lamp on the entry table and drops her backpack. There’s a sense of excitement and anticipation tugging at her belly and she glances at him, suddenly feeling shy. But when she sees the way he’s looking at her, watching her like he’s found the Holy Grail, her shyness begins to melt away. 

Sophie reaches for his hand, leading him to the bathroom. She lets go of him to lean into the shower and flip on the small water-proof lamp she has nestled in the alcove, then turns on the water before turning toward him. He’s watching her with such reverence it makes her heart ache, and she holds his gaze while she pulls off her shirt. Her sports bra is less than sexy, but Leon doesn’t seem to care. She drops the shirt and lets her hair down while he strips out of his own clothes. When they’re both naked, she takes a breath and takes his hand, pulling him into the spray. 

Her eyes drag over him, frowning at the bruises blooming across his ribs; at the scrapes on his arms and his chest. She gently runs her fingers over the bruises, her brows furrowed. 

“The numbers really gave me a hard time,” he murmurs. 

She huffs, shaking her head. She knows he won’t tell her what he really does for a living, but she knows it’s dangerous. It scares her how much it scares her, knowing he’s putting his life on the line. For what, she has no idea, but it’s clearly extremely dangerous.  

He grasps her jaw and lifts her face to his. “I’m okay,” he whispers, warm and steady. He searches her eyes as she searches his and she takes a shuddering breath when he leans in to kiss her. It’s slow and gentle, just as their first kiss had been. She wants to ask him if he’s really okay. She wants to ask him about this silent burden he seems to carry. But the way he holds her, the way he kisses her, drowns out her thoughts. She’s struck again by the intimacy of it all; struck by the rightness of it all. 

He’s still cradling her face when they part, his forehead resting against hers. They breathe together for a moment before she pulls back to look up at him. He drops his hands to her waist and turns her, pulling her back against his chest. And if she thought it was intimate before… The feeling that floods her while he washes her hair is unfathomable. His fingers are gentle as they massage her scalp; as they smooth over her hair to wash away the shampoo. They’re gentle as they drag her loofah over her body, lathering her slowly. It’s simultaneously the single most wholesome and most erotic thing she’s ever experienced. No man she’s ever dated has washed her hair for her. Even if they had, no man she’s ever dated could have done it with the tenderness Leon has. It’s astounding. 

When she tips her head back against his shoulder to look up at him, he ducks his head to kiss her, his arms wrapped firmly around her. She knows, without asking, he’d catch her if she just let go. If her legs buckled, she wouldn’t budge. 

But she doesn’t buckle. She turns in his arms and takes the loofah, hellbent on giving him the same treatment. He deserves it as much as she; if not more. He protests gently, but gives in quickly. It seems to soothe him, and she watches the way his eyes close and his lips part with a slow breath. 

She hangs the loofah then slides her hands over his stomach, feeling the way he tenses, then relaxes, under her touch. Leaning up, she presses her lips to his neck and he breathes out against her ear. She licks at the hollow of his throat, then trails slow kisses across his chest and down his stomach as she sinks to her knees. She sees more bruises on his hip and the outside of his thigh, and she frowns, wondering if he’s in a lot of pain.

Licking her lips, she lifts her eyes to find him watching her. “Soph—” He reaches for her head, fingers slipping into her head. “You don’t— I don’t need this.”

“I know,” she whispers, wrapping her hand around his cock, feeling it harden with her touch despite his insistence he doesn’t need it. “I want to.” His breath is shaky when her tongue brushes the head, moaning at the taste of him. She licks him from base to tip then swallows him down. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, his fingers tightening in her hair. He groans and she hears a soft thud when his head drops back against the shower wall. But when she lifts her eyes to him again, he’s watching her, rhapsodic and intense. His jaw clenches and she watches his muscles tense. He pushes her hair away from her face and cups her jaw. He’s watching with fascination as his cock slips in and out of her; watches the way it fills her mouth. “Close,” he gasps, his brows furrowed deep, “fuck, I’m so close.” 

Sophie hums in acknowledgment but doesn’t pull back. She wants him to let go. To come undone. She wants to feel him; wants to taste him. And when he finally does let go, groaning her name, she moans and swallows every drop before pulling off to lick him clean. He reaches for her and yanks her to her feet, his lips crashing into hers. He licks into her mouth and groans at the slide of her tongue. 

She decides she doesn’t want to stall any more, and when she turns off the water, they hasten to dry themselves. She squeals in surprise when he picks her up, her legs around his waist, and carries her to her bedroom. She thinks of the bruises on his ribs, on his hips, on his thighs, and she worries that she might be hurting him. But he looks at her like he’s exactly where he wants to be. 

Leon lays her back, his kiss hot and languid and he’s pressing himself as close to her as possible. He shifts to his side, sliding her leg over his hip. She winces, thinking of the bruises, but he tugs her closer and she can feel him getting hard again, his cock trapped between them. But he isn’t insistent. He kisses her, holds her, until she’s needy and desperate, and by the time he rolls on a condom and pushes into her, they’re both on edge and more than ready. 

It’s slow and lazy, her leg draped over his hip while he grips at her, holds her flush against him. His thrusts are soft pulses, never quite pulling all the way out. The orgasm builds so slowly, she doesn’t even think about it. It tugs at her, pulling her toward the precipice. 

“Leon,” she whimpers, their foreheads pressed together, breathing each other in. 

“I know, baby,” he whispers, and heat floods her stomach at the term of endearment. “I know. Let go, I got you.” She clings to him as she falls apart, her body trembling as waves of pleasure wash over her and he follows her into the sea, his fingers tightening on her thigh. 

They don’t move for a while. They hold each other, breathing together until their heartbeats slow, and Sophie’s sure she’s never experienced anything like it.

Sophie convinces him to stay, and after they’ve cleaned up and she’s offered him an extra toothbrush, they climb back into her bed together. She’s exhausted, and she’s certain he is, too. She can see it in his face. In his eyes. In the way he carries himself. Still, he wraps his arm around her and pulls her into his chest. She listens to his heartbeat and listens as his breathing slows, lulling her into sleep. 

Something jostles Sophie, harshly yanking her out of her peaceful sleep. She rubs her eyes, realizing Leon jerked away from her. She hears him whimper and she frowns, pushing up on her elbow to look at him. His brows are furrowed deep as he turns his head, muttering something unintelligible. 

“Leon,” she whispers, reaching for his shoulder. He gasps and turns away from her but doesn’t wake. His skin glistens with sweat and he thrashes, crying out. “Leon!” She grabs his shoulder and shakes him hard. He gasps and pulls out of her hand as he sits up, his chest heaving with shallow breaths. “Hey… hey…” She holds the sheet to her chest with one hand and holds up the other like she’s surrendering; like she worries if she touches him again, it will make it worse. “It’s okay, it’s just me. It’s Sophie.” Her own heart is hammering in her chest. 

He blinks like he’s finally coming to. His eyes sweep the room before finding her face, but his brows are still knitted together. “Shit,” he grunts, letting his gaze fall. “I— fuck, I’m sorry.” He bends his knees and rests his elbows on them, scrubbing his hands over his face. “Fuck,” he lowers his hands, but the furrow for his brow is still deep. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” she says, her own brows drawing together. “Hey,” she tentatively reaches for his knee and he sucks in a breath when she touches it, “no, you didn’t hurt me. You—you were screaming.” He nods, but says nothing. 

He’s quiet for a moment. Then two. Finally, he sucks in a breath and shifts toward the edge of the bed and reaches for his boxers. “I should go.” His voice is quiet. Strangled.

“What?” Sophie stares at his back, incredulous. “No, you should stay.”

“It’s not a good idea. This wasn’t a good idea.” 

That stings. No, that fucking hurts. But she can’t have imagined it. She can’t have imagined what they shared. He can’t truly think this was a mistake, can he? “Please don’t go.” She shifts to her knees behind him and he flinches when she touches his back, but she doesn’t pull away. She glides it gently up to his shoulder, then drapes herself over his back, her arms winding across his chest. “Talk to me,” she whispers. “Whatever it is, I’ll listen. Whatever it is… I’m here.” 

She feels his sharp intake of breath and he lifts his hand to grasp her forearm. She thinks for a second he’s going to pull her arms away so he can stand, but he doesn’t. He just holds it. So she holds him. “I held someone’s severed leg yesterday. Lost a teenager on my table from a gunshot to the chest. Drilled a hole in someone’s skull. Nothing you say is going to scare me, Leon.” 

He’s quiet for another moment. Then another. Then another. His thumb brushes over her forearm and he takes a deep, slow breath. “I was in Raccoon City… in ninety-eight. I was a rookie officer.” 

Sophie sucks in a breath. She was a teenager when it happened, but she remembered hearing about it at school. She remembers her parents talking about what they’d heard on the news. They were both doctors, and all they could talk about was the virus and the outbreak. They’d been fascinated by it. She remembers being shocked by the bombing. She can’t imagine what someone had gone through being there.

“Jesus, Leon,” she breathes. 

“Yeah,” he huffs. He lets go of her arm and shifts, leaning back against her headboard. She clutches the sheet to her chest and settles beside him. “The day of the outbreak was my first day.” Her heart aches for him and she wants to console him, but he keeps talking. “I dream about it sometimes. I think about all the people I couldn’t save. All the things I could’ve done differently. It’s never changed. Every fucking mission I’m sent on. Everything I've seen since. All the people I can’t save. All the people I’ve failed.”

“Leon.” Sophie reaches for him, cradling her jaw to turn his face toward hers. “You didn’t fail them. You didn’t fail. Look, I know I don’t know the details. I understand I’ll never know the details, and that’s okay. But I know this feeling. I know it’s hard. But you tried, didn’t you? You tried to save them?” He nods. “We can’t save everyone, but at least we try.” 

When he blinks and looks up at her, there’s tears in his eyes and her heart clenches. She crawls into his lap and he drops his forehead to her shoulder, his arms winding around her waist. She holds the back of his head, gently stroking his hair. “I don’t want you to go,” she whispers, kissing his head. “I don’t want you to think this was a mistake.” 

He lifts his head to find her gaze. “I don’t,” he says softly. “I don’t. I’m sorry, please don’t think that.”

“Then stay.” 

Leon studies her face then lifts his eyes to hers before he leans in to kiss her. “Okay.” 

Sophie’s alarm is loud and jarring. She whines, fumbling around her nightstand to turn it off. Leon’s arms are tight around her, holding her back against his chest with his face buried in her hair. Fuck, she doesn’t want to get up. If only she could call in sick to work, just to stay in bed with him all day. A lovely thought, but not feasible at all. 

She smooths her hand over his arm and tugs, trying to get him to loosen his grip. If anything, he hugs her tighter and she giggles softly. “I gotta go to work,” she whispers. 

He nuzzles his nose against her neck. “Stay,” he grumbles.

“Wish I could,” she sighs. He doesn’t let go. “I promise I’ll come see you after my shift.” He relents and loosens his grip and she smiles as she slips out of his embrace. She instantly feels cold; she misses the weight and warmth and comfort of his arms around her. 

He’s sitting up when she comes back from the bathroom and she feels his eyes on her as she gets dressed. She wishes it was a sexier outcome than a tank top and jeans, but she’ll be in scrubs as soon as she gets to the hospital. There’s no reason to be fancy about it. 

She sweeps her hair up into a ponytail and sinks onto the edge of the bed to pull on her shoes. She feels movement behind her and Leon settles beside her. “You didn’t have to get up,” she tells him, tying her laces. “You can sleep as long as you need.” 

“Nah, it’s okay,” he says, and god, she can’t get enough of his voice in the morning. 

“Okay, well…” When her shoes are tied, she sits up, brushing away a strand of hair that’s already slipped free of her pony tail. “Good morning.” She leans over and kisses him, laying her hand on his chest for a moment before she pulls back to stand.

“Hey.” She’s halfway into the hall when she stops and turns back. He stands and follows her into the hall outside her bedroom. “Seems a little silly to ask now, but… can I get your number?” 

Sophie laughs at that. “Better late than never, I guess.” 

Her shift is only two hours too long for once, and she feels silly for how excited she is to see Leon. He’s not waiting outside her door, so she slips inside and discards her backpack as she makes a beeline for the shower. She wants to see him, but she feels disgusting. A shower is always her first order of business when she gets home from work. She can’t imagine not washing away the things she deals with in a day. 

She scrubs her teeth and tames her hair, then contemplates her attire. She decides to go for it and pull on a pajama set — a little grey cotton set her best friend had convinced her to buy. The fabric is soft, but the cropped tank and the split up the side of the shorts really sells the sexiness, she hopes. She foregoes wearing panties with them. 

Giving herself a onceover, she spritzes a little perfume and takes a breath. After she retrieves her phone from her backpack, she pads her way across the hall. She wishes she could’ve been home earlier, but there was nothing she could’ve done. She glances at the time on her phone and winces. Maybe it’s too late. 

She chews her lip and lifts her hand to knock before she can talk herself out of it. She sucks in a breath when the door opens and Leon greets her in nothing but a well-worn pair of sweatpants, slung low on his hips. His hair is damp like he’s just showered and the sight of him like this is heavenly. 

“Hi,” she says softly. 

He smiles. “Hi.” She watches his eyes drag over her, his gaze pausing at her thighs before making his way back up. 

“I’m sorry, I know it’s late… My shift ran long again and I really needed a shower, and I wasn’t sure if you still—” 

Leon reaches for her hip and pulls her against him. She stumbles, bracing herself on his bare chest. When she’s close enough, his lips capture hers and she moans softly, sliding her hand up into his shower-damp hair. He steps back, still holding her against him, and pushes the door shut. 

“Guess that answers that,” she murmurs and he smiles against her lips. 

When he pulls back, he meets her eyes, his hands sliding over her hips. His fingertips find the slits in her shorts and she swears she hears him groan a little. “Do you want to tell me about your day?” he asks. 

Sophie chews her lip, slipping her arms around his neck. “Maybe later. I think I’d rather see your bedroom right now.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He scoops her up, his hands gripping her ass as he carries her to his bedroom. Much like his living room, it’s simple and clean. It smells like him. She doesn’t spend much time dwelling on his interior decorating, though. Not when he’s kissing her neck and pressing her into the mattress. 

After, Leon pulls her close and she nuzzles her face against his neck, her hand smoothing over his chest. “Do you work tomorrow?” he asks, his thumb stroking her shoulder. 

“No,” Sophie mumbles, her voice muffled against his neck. Sighing, she shifted her head on his shoulder to look up at him. “I ended up working four twelves this week, which really turned into, like, fifteens, so I’m off for the next four days.” He didn’t ask for such a long explanation; she could’ve just said no. But he doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he looks encouraged. 

“So no alarm.” He lifts his hand to grasp her chin and leans down to kiss her. “No plans?”

“Not yet,” she murmurs. 

“Good. Don’t make any.” He kisses away any response; any thoughts she could have on the matter. He’s good at that. She loves that he’s good at that. 

Sophie wakes alone in Leon’s bed. She lifts her head to squint at his clock but can’t quite make out the time. The sun’s streaming through the windows, so she knows it’s not early. She just wishes she wasn’t alone. 

She sits up and rubs her eyes, and as the cobwebs of sleep start to dissipate she hears movement in the kitchen. Then she smells the coffee and she smiles. 

Leaning over the edge of the bed, she finds her shorts and tank top and shuffles to the bathroom to brush her teeth. 

When she steps out of the hallway, her heart flutters at the sight of him. He’s still shirtless (thank god), leaning back against the counter as he takes a sip from his mug while he reads something on his phone, his brow furrowed in concentration. Or maybe frustration. She can’t tell which. 

“Everything okay?” she says as she approaches. 

Leon looks up from his phone, and she melts at his smile when he sees her. “Hey. Yeah, I’m fine.” She doesn’t believe he means it, but she can tell he doesn’t want to talk about it. He sets his phone and mug down before pushing off the counter to make his way toward her. He reaches for her hips when he’s close enough and she sighs, slipping her hands up his chest to wrap her arms around his neck. “Mornin’. I made coffee,” he murmurs, just before he kisses her. 

“Hottest thing a man’s ever said to me.”

He chuckles at that. It’s such a nice sound. She wants to hear more of it. “Guess I gotta step up my game.”

Sophie sighs, toying with the back of his hair. “I promise, your game is just fine.” Tilting her head, she studies his face. 

“Is it?” He bends to grip her thighs and lifts her up, turning to sit her on his counter. He steps between her legs, pressing against her when she drapes her arms around his shoulders. He kisses away her giggle and she melts into him. 

This is dangerous territory… he’s not making it difficult to fall for him. She needs to be careful, she knows. His job and his secrecy around it is enough of a red flag, and they don’t know each other that well yet, but she feels a connection with him. She feels something with him. And the night he came back… he seemed to have opened up to her. She feels like falling is the end game here, and though it’s a terrifying thought… it’s exhilarating. 

“It is,” she confirms, tipping her head back to look up at him with a smile. “If you feed me breakfast.” As much as she loves being playful with him, she realizes she’s starving. 

He huffs, a wry smile turning one corner of his mouth. “I think I can manage.” 

Leon makes her breakfast, and to her surprise, it’s delicious. It’s not hard to mess up eggs, but she’d been surprised by incompetence once or twice. 

“Can I ask you something?” Their plates are empty, but they linger at the table. Sophie leans back, bending her knee to perch her foot on the chair. She wraps her hands around her coffee and takes a sip, watching him over the rim. 

He clenches his jaw and avoids her gaze but grunts softly and nods. 

Sophie takes a breath and studies him for a moment. “Are you happy?” His eyes snap to hers in surprise and confusion. She licks her lips and tips her head. “Your job. The work you do. It,” she lets her eyes drag over him, hesitating on the bruises on his ribs. “It seems to take a toll on you. I just… you don’t seem all that happy.” Maybe she’s overstepping. But she can’t help herself. 

Leon’s quiet for a while. So long that she starts to panic. She overstepped. She definitely overstepped. But then he speaks, and everything goes quiet. “I’m happy when I’m with you.” He speaks so gently; his eyes look so earnest, she can’t find it in her not to believe him. “I…” He shakes his head, looking down at his hands. “I have no choice in what I do, and I’ve kept myself closed off for a long time because of it. It’s easier not to get attached. But you… Jesus, Sophie,” he chuckles ironically when he lifts his eyes to hers, shaking his head again. “I don’t know where the fuck you came from.”

“Across the hall.”

Leon huffs. “I can’t help myself with you. I’m not… I’m not good at this. At relationships. Hell, before you, I would’ve spent most nights drowning in a bottle of whiskey. But you make me want more. Being with you is the scariest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever done, and it’s the happiest I’ve ever fuckin’ been.” 

Sophie’s breath catches and she drops her foot, their gazes locked. She sets down her coffee and pushes out of her chair to climb onto his lap. She kisses him tenderly, her hands cradling his beautiful face as his arms slide around her waist. She drops her forehead against his, breathing with him for a moment, her eyes closed. “You make me happy, too,” she whispers, and he sucks in a breath like he doesn’t expect her to feel that way. “And I don’t want you to drown.” She pulls back to look at him, her thumb brushing along his bottom lip; brushing his chin. “I don’t want you to drown because I want more, too.” 

~

Leon’s whole body aches as he pushes the key into the lock. His bones, his muscles… his heart.

He should’ve been home days ago, but his mission went to shit. And instead of making it home in time to spend Christmas Eve with the woman he loves, he was chasing mutated zombies through a monastery in the Carpathian Mountains with no way to contact her.

His mission was a success; the team had successfully contained the possibility of an outbreak. Doesn’t mean it didn’t go to shit. At least, he tells himself, he made it out without any major injuries. A few scrapes and bruises, but nothing that’s gonna set off alarm bells.

He drops his duffel just inside the door and toes off his boots on his way to the bathroom. He showers quickly, brushes his teeth, then heads for the bedroom. He stops in the doorway, his heart aching at the sight.

Sophie’s in the middle of the bed, her arms wrapped tight around a pillow. Usually she clings to him like that in her sleep. He hates that he left her alone. When he steps closer, he sees the city lights spill across her and he smiles a little. She’s wearing one of his old t-shirts. He always pretends to be annoyed, but it looks better on her.

Slipping into bed behind her, he slides his hand over her side; wraps his arm around her as he presses against her back. He closes his eyes, nuzzling his face into her hair, breathing her in. Fuck, he missed her so goddamn much.

“Leon?” Her voice is so soft and hopeful and it fucking wrecks him.

He slips his hand under her shirt, splaying his hand out across her belly as he pulls her closer, brushing his nose against her ear. She’s so warm and soft and it makes his heart ache. “Yeah,” he whispers, kissing the hinge of her jaw. “I’m here, baby.” He pulls her tighter and she shifts so he slips an arm under her to envelop her completely and she nuzzles her face into his bicep.

Then she turns in his arms and he sees her beautiful face in the moonlight and he thinks he might cry. Her hand finds his jaw and he pulls her flush against him, watching her as she studies him. He loses himself in those warm, golden pools of honey. “Are you okay?”

“I am now,” he says. He’s always okay when he’s with her. Sometimes it feels like he’s only okay when he’s with her. She grounds him. Centers him. She gives him a kind of peace he never even thought was humanly possible. She is his bright, shining light in the midst of decades of darkness. He feels like he only ever knew darkness until he met her.

Her thumb brushes along his jaw, rasping against the week’s worth of stubble. “I was so scared,” she whispers.

His heart clenches. He hates that. He hates knowing she was scared. He hates knowing he scared her. “I know. I know, I’m sorry.” He presses his lips to her forehead and closes his eyes for a second before pulling back to meet her gaze again. His brows knit together and he sighs. “Everything went sideways and our comms were knocked out. I tried, baby, I tried. I’m sorry.”

She studies him again, her thumb brushing his cheek in slow strokes. He leans into it. He’s missed it so fucking much. “Are you hurt?”

“No. No, I’m okay. I made it out with a coupla scratches and a few bruises. Promise.” He knows what’s coming next. She’ll insist on making sure. She’ll insist on assessing his injuries. And he’ll let her. He always lets her. So he loosens his grip and she leans back, stretching to turn on the lamp on her nightstand.

“Leon,” she breathes, her fingers trailing the bruises on his ribs. He’s not mortally wounded, but he’s never gonna walk out of a fight like that unscathed. These particular bruises are the result of getting thrown into the iron railing of a staircase before he was slammed into a wall. There’s no broken bones. There’s no stab wounds. He’s okay.

But Sophie’s hand falls away and she drops her head with a sob, and his stomach lurches. Nothing hurts more than seeing her cry; seeing her upset. “Hey,” he says softly, gathering her in his arms to pull across his lap. He cradles the back of her head, his fingers gently curling in her hair as he lets his forehead rest against hers. “It’s okay. I’m okay. I’m right here, baby.” He pulls her back to meet her eyes, his brows furrowed deep. He wants to give her the same comfort and peace she gives him. He wants to reassure her. “I’m so sorry, Sophie, I didn’t want to be gone that long. I didn’t want this to be our Christmas.”

He wipes her tears with his thumb, but they’re free-flowing now. It’s a fruitless gesture, but he doesn’t care. “I’m just scared of losing you,” she whispers through her tears. “I’m scared of something happening to you, and I’d never know.”

Leon cradles her face then, his thumbs smoothing over her cheeks. She swallows, then lifts her tearful eyes to his. It breaks his heart. “I’ll always make it back to you, Soph. I don’t care what it takes.” His brows knit together and he shakes his head. “I love you too much not to.”

Sophie is everything to him. She’s the reason he keeps going. She’s the reason he’s not drowning in the bottom of a bottle or walking headfirst into a fight he knows he’ll lose. Without Sophie, he’s a dead man walking. With Sophie, he has a life. He has a home. He has a reason.

He kisses her then, hoping he can convey everything she means to him. He hopes he can show her in ways he can’t find in words. She grips at him, her hands burying in his hair when she deepens the kiss and shifts to straddle his thighs. “Promise me,” she whispers against his lips.

“I promise.” Leon shifts and flips her to her back, kneeling over her. At this angle, the moonlight cuts so perfectly across her beautiful face and she looks like an angel. She is one, he’s certain. She’s his angel.

He turns his head to kiss her palm then reaches for her hand to kiss her knuckles. He threads their fingers together, pressing it into the mattress. He bends, brushing his nose along hers. “Look at me, baby,” he whispers, then pulls back. His brow is furrowed when she finally meets his gaze. “I promise.”

Sophie leans up to kiss him then, and he leans into it. He deepens it. He lets go of her hand and she grips at him, her fingers gently trailing down his side to slip beneath the waistband of his boxers. She pushes at them, trying to get them down his hips and he smirks as he shifts to get them all the way off.

She pulls off her shirt while he’s occupied and they fall back into the mattress together in a desperate, needy kiss. Fuck, it feels like it’s been an eternity. He slips his hand between them to tug her panties down her thighs and she kicks them away before bending her knees and pulling him closer.

His cock brushes against her and he groans when he realizes she’s already wet for him. There’s no foreplay needed; there’s no slow, gentle caresses or working up to it. It’s both of them needing each other so desperately; both of them needing to feel that connection in the most intimate way possible. Because when they’re together, the world falls away.

He expects her to reach for a condom, but she rocks her hips up and he groans as he meets her, sliding through her slick folds. “Please,” she gasps, searching his eyes as she holds him close. Her grip is tight and her gaze is so desperate, he has no choice but to give her everything she asks for. Because it’s everything he wants, too.

When he pushes into her, she gasps and his kiss swallows her moan. Fuck, he’s missed that sound. He’s missed this. The feel of her. The feel of her fingers gripping at his back. The feel of her kiss and the taste of her tongue. He’s missed her.

He tries to steady himself. He tries to draw it out. Make it last. But she feels too good; the sounds she’s making are too much; he’s missed her too much. He grips her thigh, hitching it up against his side and she wraps her legs around him, pulling him deeper. “Oh, god,” he breathes. He slips his arm under her and shifts to turn them and sit up, leaning back against the headboard while she straddles him. He slides one hand down to her ass, gripping a handful of it to guide her while the other slides up her back to bury in her hair and hold her as close to him as he can physically manage.

Their kisses fall away to heavy breaths against each other’s lips and he grips her tighter. “Leon,” she whines, her fingers digging into his shoulder. There’s a bruise there, but he can’t bring himself to care. Not when she’s touching him. Not when he can feel how close she is. And he’s following right behind.

He should move them. He should reach for a condom. But even as he tries to loosen his grip on her, she grips him tighter. She rolls her hips faster. “Baby—”

“Don’t stop,” she pants. “Please, Leon. I need to feel you.” Fuck. He’ll give her anything she asks for. Always. And this is no exception. So he tightens his grip again, angling her just right, knowing he can give her the friction she needs. And when she comes gasping his name into his mouth, he has no hope in holding on.

“Fuck, Sophie,” he groans, feeling the tension snap. He spills into her and the wave of pleasure nearly knocks him over. He’s panting when he drops his forehead to her shoulder and she holds him closer, stroking his hair. “I love you,” he murmurs into her skin. “I love you so fuckin’ much.”

“I love you,” she whispers, pressing her lips to his ear. “More than anything.”

Leon wakes with the sun and slips out of bed long enough to slide her gift under the tree she’s decorated so beautifully. He starts a pot of coffee and heads back to bed, just wanting to hold her. To watch her sleep. To feel the warmth and comfort and safety he always feels with her. Especially laying in bed together.

In all the things he’s seen in his life, in all the places he’s traveled, he’s certain he’s never seen anything as beautiful as Sophie. She looks like a painting. Like he can’t believe an actual human is this beautiful. He can’t believe a human this beautiful (inside and out) is in love with him. He’s a mess of a human. A disaster, even. But she loves him in spite of it.

Resting his head against his hand, his gaze wanders her face as the warm, early-morning sunlight spills in through the windows. His gaze traces the slope of her nose and the freckles dusted across it; dusted across her cheeks. It traces the fan of her lashes (the ones she complains she hates; she says they’re too light even though they match her hair he loves so much). He brushes a wave of strawberry blonde away from her sweet face and his eyes fall to the curve of her full lips. His heart aches with how fucking much he loves her. It almost doesn’t seem real. She almost doesn’t seem real.

Then her lashes flutter and he smiles when she opens her eyes and the sun illuminates them. The pools of golden honey look even warmer in the sunlight. It’s one of his favorite things to ever exist. Her eyes are the first thing he noticed about her; the kindness in them and the beauty of them. And now, seeing the love for him in them… He can’t even put it into words.

Most days, he doesn’t feel worthy of her love. But it’s the thing he cherishes most in the world.

“Mornin’,” he mumbles, leaning in to kiss her forehead.

“Morning,” she whispers, her voice soft and sleepy. It never fails to make him smile. She rolls to her side, snuggling into his side to bury her face in the crook of his neck. He slips his arm around her, kissing the top of her head. This is what he fights to come back for. He could never imagine giving this up. Not now. Not ever.

“I made coffee,” he says, knowing it’ll be the first thing she asks for. “And, you have presents to open.”

Sophie pulls back, looking up at him in surprise. “You bought presents?”

He shrugs. “It’s Christmas. You love Christmas. How could I not?”

Her face lights up and he feels warmth in his chest. She kisses him, cradling his jaw before pulling back. She smiles at him again, then slips out of bed and he pushes himself up on his elbow to admire the view while she pulls on her panties and his discarded old shirt before disappearing into the bathroom.

He follows, pulling on his briefs and grabbing a t-shirt on his way to the kitchen to pour coffee for them both while he waits.

Coffee in hand, they settle on the floor in the living room and he feels his hand shaking a little when he reaches for the box he’d slipped under the tree. She takes a sip of her coffee then sets it on the table behind her to take the box from him. He smiles, watching her face as he lays his hand on her thigh, squeezing it gently. His heart is pounding.

Sophie unwraps the ribbon (thankfully it was wrapped by the sales person; it would’ve looked like something had run over it if he’d tried himself) and pulls off the lid to reveal a smaller velvet box inside. She pauses, lifting her eyes to his for a moment, and he wonders if she already knows. He watches her carefully take out the velvet box and lift open the hinges.

His gaze is fixed on her face as she gasps, her beautiful eyes filling with tears. Tears he hopes are happy.

“Sophie,” he says, his voice rough. He swallows against the dryness in his throat and shifts, reaching for her trembling hand. He has no idea what he’s doing, but this seems right. “I know life with me isn’t easy. I know my job doesn’t make it easy, and I wish I could change that. But you… you saved me. You’ve given me a soft place to land, no matter how bad the fall is. You are my home. You are my whole world. You are everything. I’ve never loved anyone or anyone as much as I love you. I want… I… ” His brows draw together and he takes a shuddering breath. He watches her blink and tears spill over. “Marry me,” he whispers.

She sobs quietly and he lets out a breath when she nods. “Yes,” she gasps, reaching for his face. She climbs onto his lap and kisses him, her arms wrapped around his neck. “Of course, yes.” Dropping her forehead against his, he smiles and lifts a hand to brush away her tears.

He kisses her slowly, savoring the moment. She wants to marry him. She wants to be with him forever. And as he slides the ring onto her finger, he feels like he could sob. A few tears slip past his lashes. He can’t help it.

It’s everything. She is everything he would never let himself imagine having. Everything he never dreamed would even be possible. And now, she’s going to be his wife. To get to have this at all is a feat, but to have it with Sophie is a dream.

When she pulls back to examine the ring, she laughs through her tears and shakes her head.

“What?” Leon asks, chuckling at her laughter.

“My gift for you seems so insignificant now.” She turns her hand, watching the way the light catches on the diamond and he smiles at how happy it seems to make her.

He’d had no idea what he was doing when he walked into that store. The salesgirl had taken pity on him. Coached him. She’d asked him to describe Sophie, and he’d smiled at the question. ‘Classy,’ he’d said. ‘Intelligent. Beautiful. Kind.’ While it’s hard as hell to open up to people about himself, when she’d asked him to tell her about Sophie, he felt like he couldn’t stop talking.

Hours after he walked into the store, he walked out with the ring that now sits on Sophie’s hand. His fiancee’s hand.

He scoffed at her comment. “That’s ridiculous. Everything you give me is significant.”

When she tips her head back to look up at him, his heart feels like it could burst. She looks like she’s glowing. She leans up to kiss him and he happily meets her half way, tucking his fingers under her chin.

She pulls away and shifts to her knees, leaning over to retrieve a small wrapped box from under the tree. He resists the urge to grab her ass and pull her into his lap, though he does enjoy the view while he has it. She settles beside him again, draping her legs over his lap when she holds up the box for him.

He smooths his hand over her thigh before taking it, sliding off the lid to find a second box nestled inside. He lifts the hinges of the black box and his jaw drops in surprise. Nestled in the center of the box is one of the most beautiful watches he’d ever seen.

“I, um, I had it custom made,” Sophie explains and when he lifts his eyes, he sees the worry on her face. He smiles and she relaxes, her eyes softening. “It’s stainless steel and the band is supposed to be tactical so you can… so you can wear it when you’re working.” He reaches for her chin with his free hand and pulls her in to kiss her. “I love it,” he murmurs, kissing her again. “I love you.”

Sophie giggles and pulls back to look at him, her hand on his chest. When he looks down at the watch again, she leans in, laying her head on his shoulder, eying the watch; its intricate designs etched into the all-black face. The black woven band looks sturdy and, as she said, tactical. It looks like it would withstand his missions, and the thought overjoyed him. To know he’ll have a piece of her with him when he’s gone. It makes him all the more excited to marry her. To know he’ll have a wedding ring for the rest of his life, reminding him of what’s waiting at home.

Leon marries Sophie on the first Saturday in May.

Crowds make him anxious, but he offered on numerous occasions to wait it out and let her plan a huge wedding. A wedding she deserved, with her family and coworkers and friends. But all along, she insisted she didn’t want it. ‘I’ve never been a big wedding girl,’ she’d told him.

As much as he hated crowds, he’d do it for her… but knowing she didn’t want it brought him so much relief he almost felt guilty.

But when he sees her step out of the bedroom in that dress, Leon’s soul nearly leaves his body. The satin hugs every soft line of her body in the most beautiful way imaginable, and Leon has half a mind to say ‘fuck it’ and carry her back to bed.

But she gives him that shy smile and brushes a lock of hair out of her eyes and he melts. The lust can wait. Right now, he needs to make her his wife.

“My god,” he huffs, shaking his head. “You’re beautiful.”

Sophie blushes and ducks her head for a second. When she looks up, she tilts her head and steps toward him, reaching for his tie. “Me?” she sighs, brushing her fingers over his lapel. “You look amazing.”

His hands find her hips and he wants to groan at how soft the satin is under his fingers. “We should go soon,” he whispers, ducking his head to kiss her. She sighs, lifting her hand to his jaw before pulling back, pressing her hand to his chest. “Don’t do that,” she orders, trying for sternness, “if you do that, we’ll never leave the damn apartment.” When he doesn’t let go of her hips, she laughs and shoves at his chest. “Stop!” she laughs.

He chuckles, following her to the kitchen and watches while she retrieves her bouquet from the fridge. When she turns back to him, he reaches for her hand and pulls her in close. “I can’t wait to marry you.”

Sophie grins, brushing her lips against his lips. “Then let’s go, Mr. Kennedy.”

Leon’s pretty sure his heart stops the instant the clerk announces them husband and wife. He grabs her face and kisses her deeply. Kisses her with everything he has. Because she is everything to him. His wife.

The instant her fingers touched him that first night they met, he knew he was going under. He knew he was lost to her then, and now, she’s his forever.

[brittywritesstuff]

Ah, shit. Here we go again. Did I fall in love with another tall, dark-haired, emotionally broken sad boi who may or may not have committed varying degrees of mass murder?

You’re goddamn right I did.

Am I gonna fic about it?

You’re goddamn right I am.

[brittywritesstuff]

colors

Read on AO3

Word Count: 3565

Warnings: Implied Spice and some signature pirate swearing

Everything is gray

His hair, his smoke, his dreams

And now he's so devoid of color

He don't know what it means

The grief is too loud, too overwhelming, too much.  Stede had so gently and lovingly placed Ed’s heart back in his chest like a silk pocket square… only to violently rip it out again and let the tattered pieces drift away in the wind.  There was nothing after that.  Only the agony of the gaping wound left behind, and the anger that fills it.  

He has no idea how long it’s been since Stede left -- abandoned -- him.  He feels paralyzed by the time that’s passed.  It feels like just moments ago.  It feels like an eternity.  Time marching inexorably forward while Ed desperately clings to those fleeting moments of the past. 

The door flies open; it slams against the wall.  He can’t be bothered to wonder if it cracks the ornate crown molding wall panel behind it.  “The-- the fuck d’you want, Izzy, I told you--”

“Hello, Ed.” That’s funny, Ed thinks.  He’s so certain his heart was no longer a part of his anatomy.  And yet, at the sound of that voice, he feels it lurch and stop completely.   He turns his head slowly, his unruly, unkempt hair sticking to his tear-stained cheeks as he moves.  It can’t be.  This can’t be.  After everything, after all of that, Stede surely isn’t standing in the doorway, looking like a wide-eyed puppy who had made it home after accidentally straying a bit too far from the garden.  That wide-eyed gaze shifts, taking in their surroundings.  “Oh!  You’ve changed a few things.”

Ed grabs the bottle of brandy perched precariously on the mattress beside him and knocks back a long swig.  He doesn’t bother to wipe away the drops that roll down his chin.  “You’re not real,” he grumbles, climbing off the bed -- his long limbs clumsy and haphazard. 

“What?  Oh, Ed -- of course I’m real!” 

Stede takes a step toward him, and Ed holds up his hand, the amber liquid sloshing in its fine crystal decanter.  

“We--” Ed inhales sharply, like he feels a knife through the chest.  God, he wishes there was actually a knife in his chest.  Being stabbed is so much easier than this.  “No.  No.  We had a plan.  Stede made Ed happy, ‘n’ Ed made Stede happy.  Then Stede--” He pauses, downing another swallow of brandy.  “Stede was gone.  Stede wouldn’t’ve--”

“Ed, I’m sorry.  I’m so very sorry.  If you’d just let me explain--” 

“Nah, mate.  We’re pirates, right?  That’s-- you wanted to be a pirate, yeah?  We’re all just in various stages of fuckin’ each other over.”  He strides toward Stede, stumbling only once before he reaches him.  Ed claps him on the shoulder and tries not to crumble just touching him again.  Tries not to remember what it felt like to hold Stede’s face in his hand; the press of his lips.  “Congrats, man, you’re a pirate.”

He lumbers past Stede, slams the door shut behind him and squeezes his eyes shut, a fresh wave of tears spilling past his lashes.  The charcoal smudged beneath his eyes runs with the tears, mixing with the charcoal darkening his stubble.  He makes no effort to wipe the tears.  Why should he? 

“Fuck,” he whispers.  He chugs the last of the brandy and pushes off, pausing only briefly to launch the decanter at the door and feels no satisfaction whatsoever as it shatters against the wood.  He takes a stumbling step backward when the door opens, and Stede is staring at him imploringly.

“Ed, please--”

Through the whole of Ed’s life, he can’t remember feeling this hurt, this broken, this angry.  And every second that passes in Stede’s newly-returned presence feels like a knife slowly carving away pieces of his heart.  He can’t stand it.  So, instead of addressing what Stede is begging of him, he changes course.  He takes a step closer, holding steady to his menacing facade -- a difficult feat being so close; seeing the flecks of green and brown and gold that make up Stede’s hazel eyes; that goddamn dimple in his left cheek when he presses his lips together -- the one that made him swoon every time the endearing buffoon had smiled at him.  Focus, Ed. 

“You abandoned the ship, Bonnet.  It’s mine now.  You wanna be back here, you wanna be on board, you work for me.”

“Ed--”

“It’s Blackbeard,” he growls.  It takes everything in him not to let tears spill over again.  In an effort to combat the tears, and in true Blackbeard fashion, he resorts to violence.  He snatches his knife from its holster and lunges forward, jamming it into the doorframe beside Stede’s head.  “You wanna be on my ship, you’re in my crew then.  You live by my hand, you die by my hand.  Otherwise, fuck off.”

He tries and fails to ignore the tears and pure, utter heartbreak in Stede’s eyes.  He can’t.  He can’t dwell on it.  Stede made this choice -- he did this to them.  Stede doesn’t get to be the one who mourns.  

Before he allows himself to give in, he yanks the knife from the wood and storms away.  There are only so many places to go on a ship, but anywhere else is better than right fucking here.  And despite stepping out onto the deck in the open air, he feels the grip of the Kraken at his throat, and he can’t breathe. 

“Blackbeard--”  His knife is out again, and it takes him a beat to realize it’s pressed to Izzy’s throat.  “Bonnet’s brought his little pets with him.  I’ll handle it, but--”

“They can stay.” Ed lowers the knife and shoves it haphazardly back into its holster. It amazes him he doesn’t slice himself in the process.

“Like fuck they can!  I told you--”

Ed’s fist moves faster than his thoughts, but the crack as it connects with Izzy’s cheekbone is deeply satisfying.  “You told me?”  He grabs at Izzy’s hair, gripping it tight in his fingers as he yanks him up.  “I’m the bloody captain, mate!  You don’t fuckin’ tell me a thing! Know your place, dog, or you’ll be eating another toe for dinner.”  He tosses Izzy away like a ragdoll and turns away to look out over the stern.  “Give them all a job.  And keep your fuckin’ mouth shut.” 

The water is grey and choppy, churning up frothy white caps.  Ed narrows his eyes at the looming dark clouds on the horizon, his jaw clenching.  There’s a storm brewing, and it’s going to be bad.  He swears to himself at the blatant, cliched metaphor. 

+

The storm sets in at dusk, and Ed hides away in the cabin as the ship rocks violently.  The waves and wind and rain lash at the window, but they’re nothing compared to his storm of tears as he curls up on his side, clinging to the fuschia robe.  He lets his tears and a bottle of brandy lull him to sleep, tormented by dreams of what could have been. 

In the days that follow, Ed makes every effort to avoid Stede. He all but locks himself away in the cabin, fearful of the emotions any interaction may bring.  He’s all too aware, however, of the time Stede spends outside the door.  He hears the footsteps; the gentle brush of his hand against the door… the soft gasps of his sobs.  

He hears the muffled voices of Stede and the crew -- the latter rowdy and cheerful despite their ordeal.  Once, laughter erupted on the deck below, and Ed smashed a candelabra against the mantle.  Any joy he had found himself capable of feeling had absconded with Stede.  

+

“Blackbeard!” The door swings open as Izzy barrels through it, his angry eyes set firmly on Ed -- stewing in the silence of the cabin while stretched out across the sofa.  “Nearly a fortnight you’ve been holed up in ‘ere, and it fuckin’ ends tonight.”

The muscle in Ed’s cheek twitches, his jaw clenching so tight he thinks he might break a tooth.  The last thing he needs, or wants, is Izzy demanding anything of him.  He’s the bloody captain.  He demands things of people.  

Scrambling to his feet, he scoffs.  “Careful with your tone, Iz--”

“We haven’t time for your bloody feelings, Edward.  We’re crossing paths with another vessel soon.  Likely Spanish traders.”

Ed rolls his eyes and scoffs.  “Bloody Spaniards.  Big deal.” 

Izzy pays him no mind.  “It’ll be a large vessel with a sizable crew.  Fight won’t be pretty.  And we’ll need our bloody Captain.”  His gaze drags over Ed with palpable disdain.  “So if he’s done crying into his tea, we’d like his company on deck.”  

Izzy turns to leave, but stops when Ed speaks.  “And where-- what about St-- Bonnet?  Is the crew prepared for this?”

“Bonnet’s been playing swordsman day ‘n’ night.”  Izzy scoffs and looks away, like speaking of Stede makes him nauseous. “He thinks he’s prepared.  Though I’m quite certain the Spanish’ll have another sharp blade with his name on it.”  As he passes through the threshold, Izzy shakes his head, and Ed hears him mutter, “should fuckin’ hope so anyway.” 

Sucking his bottom lip between his teeth, Ed crosses to the window at the stern, his chocolate eyes scanning the horizon.  They had hit a deeply unlucky spell of late, storms nearly every day.  This evening seems no different -- black, inky clouds descending on the murky water.  The wind is still, but that stillness begets dread. 

He tries to ignore it all; fills up with rum to drown it all out.  But the commotion is too loud.  The rain and waves are nothing compared to the fighting below that’s rocking the ship.  “Ah, fuck,” he grumbles.  He pushes off the couch, holstering his gun and knife.  He knocks back one last swig of rum for good measure and throws open the door.  When he steps out into the hall, the sound of battle is nearly deafening.  

His hair is soaked the instant he emerges onto deck.  The wind whips at the rain; it feels like a thousand tiny cuts across his face.  He squints, surveying the carnage as he looks for any sign of Stede.  Despite himself, he can’t help it.  

A brazen Spaniard has the guts to lunge at him, aggressively shaking him from his thoughts.  Despite half a bottle of rum sloshing around in his stomach, the poor bloke is almost no match for Ed.  Too easy, he thinks as he slashes the man’s cheek with his knife before planting his foot firmly against his chest and kicking him overboard. 

Ed leans over the railing, watching as the man disappears into the darkness.  He stays there a moment, letting the rain sting his face. It’s quite nice, actually, feeling something other than the deep ache in his chest and the bitter agony of being left. 

A scream pierces his thoughts and he turns, his brows drawing together. He knows that scream.  

He crosses to the top of the stairs and grips tightly at the ornate newel post. He watches in horror as one of the Spaniards pins Stede to the ground; a knife poised to slit his throat. Through the rain, he can see blood on Stede’s face. It must be a fresh cut, and a deep one at that, as the blood continues to flow despite the rain washing it away. 

He tells himself it’s fine.  He tells himself Stede can handle it.  The bitterness tells him Stede probably deserves it.  

He watches the man press the knife harder against Stede’s throat, and the blood that mixes in the rainwater.  Stede screams again, struggling beneath his attacker to get free, but every move he makes brings him perilously closer to the end.  Ed feels his stomach churning the rum, and bile rises in his throat.  His heart hammers against his chest, but this time, there is no Act of Grace.  

The fear takes over, and his hand moves of its own accord.  It draws the gun from the holster on Ed’s hip.  It cocks back the hammer.  It pulls the trigger.  

The man looming over Stede goes limp, falling lifeless atop him.  Through the crash of the waves, the clinking of swords, and pounding rain, Ed hears the knife clatter to the ground. He hears Stede’s shuddering cry of confusion and relief as he shoves the attacker off. 

The few remaining Spaniards retreat and the crew of the Revenge gather to evaluate their own wounds and the bounty they’ve acquired.  Ed makes his way down the stairs to Stede, still lying stunned on the deck, his blood washing away through the floorboards.  Ed extends his hand to Stede, who hesitantly takes it and climbs to his feet.  Stede doesn’t let go just yet, and the feel of his fingers against Ed’s is like fire.  

He turns away after a moment and all but runs back to the cabin.  He knows Stede is at his heels.  Ed pushes his dripping hair away from his face and snatches the abandoned bottle of rum from the table and takes a long swig.  He hears the door close, but he can still feel Stede’s presence behind him.  

“Look at me.  Please.”  Ed doesn’t respond, and the silence in the cabin is heavy -- like the weight of the sea just beyond the windows.  “Please.”  Stede’s whispered plea cuts through again, and Ed finally turns, lifting his eyes.  

He hasn’t allowed his gaze to linger more than a second since Stede’s return.  He couldn’t.  It hurt too much, remembering the joy he’d felt before the world came crashing down around him when Stede left.  When Stede left him.

“Thank you.”

Ed realizes he’d been staring.  When he blinks, a tear spills over.  “Wh--”

“For saving me down there.  You didn’t have to!  But you did.  And for that, I am grateful.”

Ed shrugs, trying for nonchalance.  “Yeah, well. Whatever.” He looks to the window, a rogue strand of hair slipping forward in his face.  He swipes at it, but it falls right back into place, so he gives up, his hand falling to the butt of the gun at his hip.  Though his gaze is averted, he hears Stede take a step closer, and then another, and Ed swears he can smell the sweet citrus and cinnamon of the tea he always drinks.  He closes his eyes and draws a deep breath in an effort to calm himself, but all it does is intensify that sense of yearning that had only been reignited by the grasp of Stede’s hand on deck.  

Swallowing hard, Ed turns to Stede again, eyeing the gash on his cheek.  “You’re hurt.”

Stede tilts his head, and warmth floods Ed’s chest at the reverence in his eyes.  “Not as badly as you.”  Ed gasps and looks down.  He hadn’t expected that wave of emotion crashing into him.  Stede moves closer still.  “Seems I’ve wrongly stabbed you again, though this time I didn’t avoid all the important bits.”  Stede’s hand presses to his chest, covering his heart, and Ed loses his composure with a sob. 

“Why’d you do it, man? Wh-why-” He chokes on his words as Stede moves in, his hands grasping at Ed’s face.  It takes everything in him not to crumble.  “Why’d you leave?” 

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Ed.  I’d never want to hurt you. I was wrong.  I was so very wrong.  I thought I’d ruined everything.  My family, my crew, the Badmintons… and worst of all, you.  I’d ruined you.” 

Ed can’t help himself.  He grips at the front of Stede’s rain-soaked shirt.  

“I’ve never wanted anything more than a life with you, Ed.  I tried to fix everything, but I only made it worse.  ‘Cause I’ve only got stupid ideas.”  Stede’s thumbs brush across Ed’s cheeks, and Ed lifts his eyes through the tears on his lashes.  “I’ve sewn up all the other wounds, but you’re still bleeding out, and I can’t have that.  Please, Ed.  I… I love you.  Give me another chance.” 

He wants so badly to make Stede hurt the same way he had been hurting.  He wants to rail against his apology.  He wants to go back to boredom and loneliness -- it was easier then.  It was easier before the fucking Gentleman Pirate stormed into his life.  

But goddamnit.  

Standing here so close, breathing him in, feeling the warmth of his hands on his face… Ed can’t.  He can’t push Stede away.  His life was wholly and irrevocably changed the moment they met, and he can’t go back.  Because he is deeply, madly, completely in love with Stede.  He never understood it before, that bullshit idea of love… and then this ridiculous man in his fancy silks waltzed his way in and showed him what being treated with kindness meant.  Showed him what belonging felt like.  Stede had shown him what a gentle man really was, in every sense of the word.  

And now, this gentle, bizarre, beautiful man is standing in front of him proclaiming his love for him.  And he means it.  The only other person in his long, miserable life who had meant their love for him was his mother.  If not for Stede holding his face; if not for him grasping Stede’s shirt, Ed feels like he might collapse. 

“I--” He can’t find the words. Not that Ed has ever been much of a words man, but in that moment… they are nowhere to be found. Any attempt to speak is stuck, unable to slip past his heart in his throat. And so, in lieu of words, he pulls Stede in and kisses him hard. It’s not his best work. It’s sloppy at best, but it’s all he has. It’s the only way he can express his desperation; his heartache; his love. He melts at the sound of Stede sighing against his lips, and as he drops one hand to Stede’s waist, he lifts the other to his face. 

When Stede hisses in pain and pulls back, Ed’s heart drops. This is it, he thinks. Stede has changed his mind. He’s leaving again. But when he opens his eyes to look at Stede, he remembers the gash across his cheek. Oh. “Oh, shit.” He licks his lips, his brows drawing together. He runs his thumb over Stede’s jaw beneath the cut. “‘M sorry. Gotta get that cleaned up, man.” Despite the injury, Stede is smiling at him, his eyes full of warmth. That same warmth floods Ed’s chest. 

“C’mon.” He guides Stede to the couch and pushes him down before stepping away to grab a shirt strewn haphazardly across the back of a chair. He sniffs it quickly to confirm its cleanliness, then digs a small leather pouch from the desk drawer. “Gonna have to sew you up,” he explains, holding up the pouch for Stede to see. 

“Occupational hazards, I s’pose.” Stede laughs nervously and shifts in his seat. Ed is keenly aware of the intensity of Stede’s gaze, but does his best to focus on the task at hand. 

Settling on the footstool, he shifts closer, nudging Stede’s legs apart to settle neatly between them. He reaches for the bottle of rum and mutters an apology before pouring it across Stede’s cheek. When Stede yelps, Ed shrugs. “Never said it wasn’t gonna hurt.” 

He’s surprised by the steadiness of his hands as he sews the gash. Between the rum, the rush of emotions swirling inside of him, and the intensity of Stede’s eyes on his face as he works, he impresses himself with his work. He’s done it on himself more times than he can count, but this is Stede. He wants to do it right. He tries to do it right. 

Ed rips a strip from the shirt and douses it in rum to clean the wound one last time. His eyes roam Stede’s face, his fingers lingering longer than necessary. “Gonna have a bit of a scar with that one,” he murmurs. 

“I don’t mind,” Stede says softly. “Thank you, Ed.” 

Ed pushes his hair away from his face and lifts his eyes to Stede’s, his heart aching. All the boiling anger he had felt was evaporating with every second that passed in Stede’s presence. With every second of the way Stede is looking at him, watching him imploringly, his messy, rain-soaked hair falling forward over his eyes. He reaches up, brushing his fingertips over the blonde stubble along his jaw.  “Fuck, Stede,” he breathes, shaking his head. 

With renewed intensity, he grasps at Stede’s face and leans in, their lips crashing into each other’s. His fingers push further, burying in the soft waves of Stede’s hair. He pulls Stede to his feet, and they stumble their way to the bed, the window fogging as they tear each other’s clothes away. 

Outside, the storm still rages. But in the sanctity of that bed, beneath those fine silk sheets, Ed and Stede found their calm again. And when Ed woke with the sun on his face, and Stede’s warmth pressed against him, he found he could once again see the beautiful, vibrant colors Stede brought into his life. 

You were a vision in the morning

When the light came through

I know I've only felt religion when I've lied with you

[brittywritesstuff]

let me tell you no one ever got my soul right like she could

Read on AO3

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: Mild spice (implied sexytimes)

The cool evening breeze blows in through the window in the hall as Rick passes, and though he’d killed the bastard himself, he wonders if he’ll ever not be on alert again. What with the creep’s magical ability to waltz in through the window and whisk away himself -- and anyone of his choosing -- in a flurry of sand. What the hell is this life?

Rick shakes his head to clear his thoughts, his hair falling in his eyes. He stops outside the door and clears his throat, haphazardly pushing his hair away from his face. The action is futile; it only flops right back over his forehead.

He pauses a moment, then lifts his hand and knocks. When the door opens, he forgets to breathe. She looks so goddamn beautiful. The ends of her hair are damp, and her cheeks are flushed — she must have just stepped out of the bath. As his gaze falls lower, he sees the sheen of water glistening on her neck and chest. “Hi. Hello.” He snaps his mouth shut and forces his eyes back to hers.

“Hello,” Evelyn says softly. She’s smiling, and tilts her head. A curl slips loose from her braid, and Rick wants to reach out to touch it.

“I just—“ he hesitates, shifting his weight to the other foot. “I wanted to see how you were. How you’re doing. Y’know. After all that. So are you good? You’re good?”

Evelyn’s smile widens, and she pulls the door open further, stepping back to gesture inside. “I am. Would you like a drink?”

Rick takes a breath and nods, stepping past her. He waits as she closes the door, then catches her hand on her way to the drink cart. She meets his eyes, and he pulls her in, slipping his free arm around her waist. He can feel the warmth of her skin through her thin nightgown, and he tightens his grip on her. He lifts her hand, settling it on his chest before brushing his fingers along her jaw. She’s so goddamn beautiful; so goddamn perfect, he can’t stop the worry that she’s going to come to her senses and realize she’s made a terrible mistake. That she shouldn’t be associating with the likes of him -- a scoundrel. Perhaps she’ll chock it up to the heat of the desert and the adrenaline of near-death. But now, safely back in Cairo, she’ll come to her senses.

“What is it?”

Rick blinks, her gentle voice pulling him from his thoughts. He realizes she’s staring up at him, watching closely, the line between her delicate brows furrowed. “I’m just counting my blessings, is all.” His thumb brushes her cheek, and her fingers curl around his shirt. He leans down, brushing his lips against hers before capturing them in a slow kiss. She sighs into his mouth, and he pulls her closer, his fingers slipping back into her hair to cradle her head. His tongue begs entrance, and he groans quietly when she allows him.

They part, breathless, and he rests his forehead against Evelyn’s. “I should let you get some rest,” he whispers, though he pulls her closer.

Evelyn’s hand slips up his chest, grasping the back of his neck. “I’m not at all tired, Mr. O’Connell.”

His eyes are closed, but he can hear the smile in her voice. Even so, he feels that fear rising in his throat. Terror is more like it. “No, I know, I just-- I don’t--” He’s not unfamiliar with the feeling: his whole life has been one terror after another. Trauma, fighting, loss… But for the first time, he feels like he’s finally found something worth holding onto. He feels like if he lost Evelyn, he might finally perish. It is with astonishing clarity and horror that he realizes he is wholly, deeply, and irrevocably in love with her.

“Rick,” she whispers, and her lithe fingers trail his jaw. Rick opens his eyes to meet hers, and he sucks in a breath. He loves the sound of his name on her lips, and he never wants to go a day without hearing it. “What is it?”

Finally, he opens his eyes, pulling back just enough to look down at her and meet her gaze. He licks his lips and sighs, losing himself for a moment in her freckles; in the swirls of green and honey that make up her eyes. She is breathtakingly beautiful, and he can’t bring himself to understand why someone as beautiful and astonishingly intelligent wants someone like him. “I don’t wanna push you,” he says finally. He surprises himself -- it’s not what he intends to say. He intends to keep it to himself, but once the words are out, it’s like a floodgate. “I don’t want you to change your mind or think you made a mistake ‘cause I’m crazy about you, ‘n’ you’re way outta my league--”

Evelyn presses a finger to his lips, and he stops. Her gaze is intense and intent. “Stay with me tonight.”

Rick’s eyebrows disappear behind his hair. “Evy, I--”

“There’s nothing that could change my mind about you. You can’t scare me off or push me too far. I would expect you’ve figured out by now, I’m not a girl who’s easily frightened.”

At that, Rick smiles. It’s quite possibly one of the things he loves most about her -- her absolute unbridled bravery in the face of horror. “You’ve got a point there.” For the time being, he suppresses his worries and drops both hands to her thighs to lift her up. Her nightgown bunches at her hips, and his fingers brush her skin. He kisses her, slow and heated as he makes his way to the bed, laying her back gently. He toes out of his boots and climbs over her, careful not to crush her; his weight braced on an elbow beside her head.

Evelyn’s fingers work at the buttons of his shirt, and Rick gasps against her lips when her fingers slip beneath it. “Are you sure about this?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” she murmurs between kisses, “than I am of how much I want you.” Despite her words, he can feel her heart racing; hammering against her chest. And more than ever, he wants to do everything he can to show her how much he cares about her. To make it special.

He lets her work open the rest of his buttons, and he shifts his weight to shrug out of his shirt, tossing it to the floor. Smirking, he watches as she drinks him in, her fingers delicately brushing over his broad chest. God, he never wants to lose this feeling. He never wants to let go of the way she’s looking at him; the feeling of her fingertips against his skin.

Slipping his hand under her nightgown, he caresses the soft skin of her thigh gently, pushing the silky fabric upward as he ducks his head, pressing slow, soft kisses to her neck, along her collar bone. He’s encouraged by the sound she makes; by the way her fingers grip his shoulders. Breaking away, he sits back on his knees and pulls her up with him, holding her gaze. Slowly, he gathers her nightgown in his hands and tugs it upward; she lifts her arms above her head, allowing him to pull it off. It flutters forgotten to the floor with his discarded shirt. “My god, Evy,” he breathes, shaking his head.

Her hands clasp over her chest as her cheeks flush crimson, and he shakes his head again. He reaches out, gently taking her hands in one of his to pull them away; his other cradles her jaw. “No, sweetheart,” he whispers, licking his lips, “I’ve never seen anything as beautiful as you.” He seals his sentiment with a languid kiss, and he swallows her sigh.

+

The cool evening breeze gives way to the chill of the night, floating in through the white chiffon curtains adorning Evelyn’s windows. Rick sprawls on his back, gripping Evelyn tight against him, her head settling on his chest as the sweat dries on their skin. As her fingers trace invisible patterns on his abdomen, he trails his finger along her shoulder, still reveling in her soft skin, warm against his own. He lifts his free hand to cover hers, stilling it on his stomach.

“I’m in love with you, Evy,” he whispers. He draws in a shaky breath, his heart pounding in his chest. She shifts, lifting herself to her elbow to look down at him. Her dark curls tumble forward, and as his eyes are fixed on hers, he pushes them over her shoulder. “You were never just a contract. Matter of fact, since the moment I met you, I realized you’re the most important thing -- the most precious thing I’ve ever held, ‘n’ I… I couldn’t stop it even if I wanted to.”

“Rick--”

“I don’t have much. I know I don’t have much to give you. But I want you. I want to be--”

“O’Connell--”

“--with you. I realized some things out there, and I--” Rick’s cut off by Evelyn’s lips against his own; her small, lithe hand on his jaw. He wraps his arm around her and pulls her closer, lifting his hand to her face.

“I love you,” she whispers when they part, and Rick’s face lights up. “I haven’t the slightest care what you do or do not have, Rick. I care about you.” Her eyes fall to his chest, and she smiles, bashful. The sight makes Rick’s heart swell. She’s so unbelievably beautiful; so perfectly adorable. Though he speaks a couple of languages (enough to get by, thank you very much), there aren’t proper words for how he feels about her. He hopes that maybe one day he can find them. “I care about this. Us.”

Rick bends his knee, pulling Evelyn closer. His fingers trail down her spine as he tucks her hair behind her ear. “I don’t care what plagues you unleash next, as long as I get to hear that, I’m a happy man,” he teases. Before she can protest, he pulls her in for a kiss, smiling against her lips.

It’s then that he realizes how long it’s been since he was happy. Rather, he realizes that he had never truly found happiness. There had been women along the way to ease the sting of loneliness, of course. But no one had ever done what Evelyn had; he had never felt for anyone the way he feels for her. He handed his heart to her in that desert, and he never wants it back.

[brittywritesstuff]

oh girl it’s you that I lie with as the world caves in

Read on AO3

Word count: 544

Warning: Implied spice

“Forgive me.”

Millie turns to him and grasps his chin, and in that moment, he’s taken back. Taken back to the last time it was good. To the last time he felt that true happiness. The happiness that he only ever found with her.

~

“Forgive me,” she whispers, “for I have sinned.”

John’s fingertips trail the dip of her spine, smirking at the goosebumps on her skin. She’s draped across his chest, and she’s so warm and soft. As the moonlight filters in through the window, pouring over her alabaster skin, she almost looks like she’s glowing. He smiles at that. This, above all else, is his favorite place to be. And perhaps there is sin in that, but he can’t seem to find it. “No,” he says softly, and she lifts his head to look at him. His hand cradles her jaw as he admires her beautiful face. “Nothing about you is sinful, my love.”

Millie smiles warmly, though John can see a hint of sadness behind it. He pulls her in and tries to kiss it away. He’s always been able to kiss it away… and he hopes he always can. “Above all,” he murmurs, “love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins.”

John shifts, turning Millie to her back as he leans over her; her soft giggles melding with the quiet crackling of the candle’s flames; the wind against the old clapboard siding. Her hands skim his sides and she’s moaning under his touch; her breaths heavy against his ear. He wishes he could make a recording of those sounds. It’s a symphony to him. A masterpiece.

“I love you,” she gasps as they break together, and he buries his face against her neck, breathing her in.

John presses his lips beneath her ear, along her jaw, across her cheek. He presses his forehead to hers and closes his eyes. “Oh, I love you, Millie.” He transfers his weight to his forearm, burying his fingers in her soft hair. “I love you more than anything in the world.”

He kisses her again, deep and languid, like she’s an oasis in the desert. He rolls to his side, his hand smoothing over her hip; gently squeezing her thigh as she presses against him.

“I wish,” Millie says softly, her nose brushing his, “I wish we could stay here forever.” Her hand is on his chest, her lithe fingertips tracing slowly over his skin.

And oh how he wishes they could. He would stay in this bed with her forever. He would forsake all things for her. Only for her. He has never known love and completion the way he has with her. “I do, too.”

“For tonight, let’s just pretend.”

His hand closes around her jaw, and she lifts her eyes to him. God, they’re beautiful. She is so beautiful. “For tonight, it’s only you, my love. It’s only us. For tonight, this is forever.”

Millie lifts her fingers to his chin, leaning in to kiss him, and the earth around them burns.

And here it is, our final night alive… as the earth burns to the ground…

Their daughter lay in his lap, peaceful in death, and together they go quietly into the sunrise. Into their forever.

[brittywritesstuff]

“He told me he loved me.” Dean leans back against the wall, pushing his hands through his hair. He keeps his head down; keeps his hands in his hair like hiding his face will protect him from the soul-deep pain.

Beside him, he hears Sam shift. “You— loves you? Like in love?” Dean nods silently. “Well... I mean, what did you say?”

Dean drags in a trembling breath as he shakes his head and drops his hand. He stares at the floor, his eyes unfocused as he replays that moment again and again. “I asked him if this was goodbye.” His voice breaks and he swallows hard. He can feel Sam’s eyes on him.

Sam’s silent for a moment. Dean hears the bunker’s ancient air system chugging to life like the goddamn Little Engine That Could.

“Do you love him?”

Dean can’t breathe. The instant Sam’s question leaves his lips, Dean chokes on his tears and drops his face into his hands as he sobs. Sam has no idea. Dean’s never loved anyone or anything more completely than he loves Cas. He never thought himself worthy of an angel’s friendship, let alone his love. But he has it. Cas loved him without abandon.

And the worst part of this entire heart-breaking affair? Cas will never know what he truly meant to Dean. And they will never have a chance to find their way with each other.

Dean hates goodbyes. But nothing feels worse to him than the feeling of being incomplete. Because without Cas and his unyielding love... the pieces of Dean’s soul had scattered to the wind, never able to be repaired in full.

[brittywritesstuff]

“Why do I gotta keep telling you this?”

“Dean—“

“I ain’t finished, Cas. Stop it. Stop making deals. Stop dying. I’m tired of losing you, man!”

“I tried to—“

“You’re wrong.”

Cas stops, tipping his head to the side. “Wrong ab—“

“You think you can’t have me. You’re wrong, Cas. You couldn’t be more wrong.”

“Dean, I—“

Cas is cut off by Dean’s hands grasping his face. They’re close; breath warm on their skin. “You got me, Cas. Stop tryin’ to leave me.”

[brittywritesstuff]

Can we take a moment to appreciate that my husband is one of the biggest DeanCas shippers around and rage tweets at the CW at 6:19 am? 😂😂😂