“Uh-uhm, hi.” Grace peeks her head into your office with a gentle flick of her hand, holding a file of something all too important to be playing around with you right now. There’s only one thing on your mind as she stumbles upon her destination. Sure eyes bore into the back of you as you scribble something irrelevant down in a notebook.
Grace, the best technical analyst (allegedly), is always in your office for something small. Nothing important— just wanting to take up your space. You always let her in anyway, enjoying the small talk. However, the timid girl always comes with an energy that makes you blush every time she leaves. You can feel the sprite-like warmth fill the room every time she tries to make you laugh or talk about something that takes your mind off the heavy hitting assignments you take on. There’s nothing she needs from you, generally, but you two cross paths after you work on her case. Watching her so shaken up when coming back home inclines you to keep in contact with her in case she needs someone to talk to. Or maybe someone to spend time with. The latter (sadly) never happened. But when she comes to visit you, there’s this bubbling urge to push the boundary.
She hardly ever saw you before, and shame on her for not paying attention. But leading up to her mission, you two were able to interact more. Watching you, watching you work, and interacting with others, she peeps this social maturity that keeps you in her frame of mind.
You never rush when you have places to be; everything you do has a sense of control. To her, you look like you know exactly what you’re doing. Far more than she feels about herself. When you start working on her investigation at her side, it’s like the horrors she faces feel like an everyday experience for you. On multiple occasions, you are able to showcase a certain stillness that twenty two year olds hardly ever have downpacked.
Whether it’s watching agents call you ‘miss,’ retreat at your tone, or simply react to you with respect, the question mark above Grace’s head keeps getting louder, brighter, bigger. Sometimes you raise your voice. Sometimes you don’t need to. You just know how to bring the conversation back to you. And she thinks about that often.
She is always attentive, maybe too attentive. You can always tell she is looking for you when she passes your office, olive colored eyes trying to spy without being caught. You always catch her.
And again, like any other day, you look at her— messy bob, glasses high on her nose, and a fandom pin she carries proudly on her blazer.
“Hi, Grace,” you welcome her warmly, giving her the space to walk into your office freely. She takes her chance, sitting down on a small file cabinet of yours. The way you lean back in your chair when she takes her first few steps into your office makes her feel like this is more of an appointment than a chance to flirt with you, but it doesn’t stop her.
Her eyes catch your hunger. She’s no dummy. Your eyes are low, tired, and laced with bags. But there lingers a hunt in them that she feels you’re suppressing. If you can handle a room of male field agents, no way you couldn’t take her.
She knows there is an age difference between the both of you; she can hear it when the other agents speak about you, the stories you mention and don’t even bother to explain. But when she looks at you, her mind doesn’t just see you as an older co-worker. The alarm bells go off. Her heart pounds in her ears and she feels like there’s something about you that drives her toward this new feeling that reads ‘danger’ in bold red letters. The kind that makes her want to lift the yellow tape and examine you anyway.
Your eyes, however, are low, daunting, and mischievous. She peers at you through her glasses, taking a mental image of your predatory look while her face burns hot. Having your time to flirt with Grace always makes you feel a little proud. She is so receptive to your words every time. Every time. But, in her mind, she dies for those words to actually mean something other than workplace banter.
Grace replays your words when you’re not around; she always does. She knows you like to flirt with her, but she yet can’t confirm why. And neither can you. You know you probably shouldn’t start something you can’t finish, but you also don’t know if you can’t finish it.
“Most times, people would at least knock first before staring at me.”
Grace widens her eyes, clearing her throat. She didn’t even know she was out of it. “Was I?”
Drawing back from the topic at hand with a smile you’re trying to hide, the blonde can see you trying to shake it off and change the subject. As your fingers graze over some final papers, “you used a gun called ‘Requiem,’ right?” Grace sighs as you stand to your feet; she devours everything about you in her mind.
Before she came in, you did need to speak with your SAC and time with them is limited. While you enjoy her company, you do have to get a move on.
But Grace is just so adorable as a puddle hanging over your work. “I- I did,” you really did read her file.
Her temperature bounced between hot and cold, thoughts about you spinning. “Leon Kennedy gave it to me. It’s uh, DSO weapon.” She makes it her mission to relish the little bit of time with you before she lets herself out to get back to the stacking projects on her desk.
“Do you still have it?”
“Yes. It’s framed on my wall.”
Snorting, your feet carry you to the younger woman, formulating a way to coax her out of your office with promises that she could come back, but you can see in the shuffle of her eyes that she doesn’t want to leave. At least not yet. “You know, I never asked you,” Grace speaks up, hand raising to reach for your wrist before retreating. “How old are you?”
Grace’s eyes follow yours when she realizes the question stills you. She watches your brows raise; you’re older than you’d like to admit. Surely you’re not too much older than Grace, but you’re at the age where it makes you shiver telling others how old you are. “What’s the best technical analyst doing here in my office… again?”
“You’re avoiding my question,” Grace shifts in her position, wanting clarity.
“You’re in the big leagues now!” Your tease is dark but playful. “Getting gratification early isn’t allowed here.” She hears your words, slow and intentional when looking at her, watching her head lower a bit.
“B-best?” Grace chirps, shimmying off the abrupt darkness in your tone. Lifting her head again in shock, she knows that no one else in this damn building is calling her that. “I mean, it’s out of my realm of expertise. I do what I can.” Plush cheeks flush a soft pink in contrast to her naturally pale tone.
Turning back to your computer, she sees you rip a file off your desk. That’s her file. “Your report is public now. You did what a lot of agents couldn’t do. And your job shouldn’t have left you so… disheveled.” You saw the pictures; the ones when she came back on a chopper, torn clothes, bloodied and scarred.
“I didn’t have to do it,” Grace brake-checks you quickly. “I just— conflict of interest? I needed answers.”
Grace watches you look over her file, absorbing your look. You look so invested in her work, it makes her bite her bottom lip. “I’m not judging you, Grace.” You turn back to her, tossing her report back on your desk. She makes sure to fix that lip before your eyes catch contact once more.
With a quiet, “oh,” she nods.
“You did what you needed to do. I carry a gun on my hip every day and still couldn’t do what you did. I probably would’ve died.” Hearing you chuckle disrupts the awkwardness that begins to brew in the air after Grace stumbles over her words.
“I wouldn’t have let that happen,” Grace releases a breathy, unsure laugh, tucking her locks behind her hair.
Oh, she definitely would have thought she could keep you safer. She may not be the FBI’s best, but she knows how to stay by Leon’s side; surely you wouldn’t have been any different if it were you on the field. Save you, though? Well, you admire her thoughts about you. However, a corny flirt sure can get into your heart, and Grace feels like she’s chipping away at some of the stone around yours.
“Wouldn’t be too caught up staring at me?”
“I made it out twice, I can make it out again.” Grace’s confidence shines through this time, beaming a smile and patting the gun on her hip. “This time I’d have a proper motive…”
In slight victory, you feed into her just a bit. “Why do you want to know how old I am? How old do you think I am?” You peer down at your feet, a flash of insecurity behind your eyes.
Grace hastily tries to change the look on your face back into something that exposes interest. “Old enough for me.“
“Grace—” her attempt makes your armor fall with a laugh pushed out of an exhale. She beams at the heat rising to your ears, proudly grinning and exhaling a satisfied chortle. “If there’s something that you’re planning on doing with that information, you better come correct, Ashcroft.”
It’s only a small matter of seconds that she needs to process your desire to withhold such a number, which only makes her question why. She doesn’t say anything just yet, but as you watch her stand with her own work cradled in her arm, she swallows.
It isn’t the fact that she is younger than you that makes you drive this idea home in such a way that intends to keep her at a semi-professional distance, but it’s the worry that she could possibly outgrow you. The things that you’re doing right now come with a responsibility that is every day. Grace has so much more to see and experience before even meeting you at your age. Someone who can meet her where she is something that you wish for her, not to make advances on a woman who’s had too much and somehow, not as much experience as her.
Grace has stopped pretending she doesn’t come by your office on purpose.
At first, it is easy to justify with work questions, file clarifications, reports that technically need a signature. But eventually even she knows those excuses are getting tired.
She adores being around you.
Your office is always a disaster, stacks of papers leaning messily against each other and half written notes scattered across the desk. Grace rests on suspicion you understand where everything is anyway.
When she leaves Raccoon City, the souvenir isn’t planned. She only means to walk past the silly item on the street among the chaos. But then she sees it and immediately thinks of you. Now it sits somewhere in your office, probably buried under paperwork, and the thought makes her smile every time she stops by.
Even if she only stays long enough to watch you work.
Honestly, every reason you come up with to not dive deeper with Grace only makes you feel superficial. Shallow even. It’s as if the attention she gives you is a double-edged sword. She looks at you like you’re something worth chasing on your own time, at your own pace. Though you know better, or think you know better. There‘s a silence that lingers in the air just a little bit longer than either one of you would like, but you don’t move. Instead, you watch her approach you, clutching her work in both of her arms before giving you a quick glance, “I can find a way to get your age.”
Her tenacity makes you snicker, palming her waist while she stutters on her feet out of the door, “Right. I will be looking forward to what you can find out about me, Grace.”
· ─ ·· ⪩⭒⪨ ·· ─ ·
And oh, does Grace stop at nothing to figure out how old you are. She will never tell you, but her tone with her peers when asking about you is straightforward, as if she’s asking for work-related reasons. She even takes part in harmless employee searches. Coworkers don’t have enough conversation history with you to know, and personal information is clearly classified. It’s worth a shot though. The moment she leaves your desk, there are two things on her mind: you and your age. No way you would make it a big deal if it weren’t something to worry about. Maybe you look younger than you are. In Grace’s mind, she doesn’t care at all about how old you are.
Even her own boss finds her scrambling through her work here and there after realizing she’s out of focus even for a brief moment. He doesn’t address it, but gives her a look that puts her back in tow for the rest of her shift.
“Miss?” It sends a shock through your core to hear such a familiar voice speak so formally with you. There you sit with your back turned toward the woman, extreme focus on your work. Grace has only ever seen you like this when passing your office and you couldn’t bother to speak to anyone. Turning back in your chair to find Grace there once more, your brow perks up at her arrival. Though her usual anxious stance is meshed with something a little more sinister and much more mischievous.
Standing tall, Grace spots you looking at her before taking a peek outside. “It’s pretty late. Are you on your way out?” Grace holds a hefty bag on her shoulder, feet curled at the entrance of your workspace, hoping to get out of her flats as soon as possible.
“Uhm,” your eyes glare at your phone, tapping it to activate your home screen and taking a look at the time. The last time you looked at your phone was four hours ago. Did you really miss that much daylight? As you sigh, you lean back in your seat. “It’s late, I guess I should.” You situate yourself to stand, only then remembering your little conversation from earlier. “Find out how old I was?” A small smile dances across your widening lips, shaking your head at the earlier conversation.
There’s a quiet shuffle and thud behind you as you snag your belongings into your grasp, finding her closer to you with a jolly, comfortable smile. “Not like I spent the whole day trying to figure it out,” the inside of her cheek is bitten between her teeth, but her smirk is still prevalent. “But I guess the fun part about that is, maybe you’ll let me guess until I get it right.”
“You thought about it that much?” Grace relishes in your confusion, padding her feet deeper into your space, eyes expertly searching for things that could clue in on your age. “How are you gonna do that?”
Grace smirks, placing a finger to her face that shows she is absolutely planning something. The digit taps against the apple of her cheek, bending over to take a look at all of your (mess) belongings. Then she finds it; an old nineties nu-metal album sitting on one of the shelves near your computer. Snagging it, the woman feels like she grabbed the golden ticket at the chocolate factory. “This wouldn’t happen to be an indication, would it?”
“Yes and no.” You reply simply, feeling the glory run off the rascal’s body. Grace rests on your desk, dropping her bag. There is no way she wants to leave– and she knows at that point you have no intention of doing so either. “Yes, I’m about that old, but not old enough to be alive for the release date.”
“So it’s safe to say you like metal,” the blonde nods. She doesn’t watch you confirm with a nod of your own, but she opens the CD case and looks at the artwork, fascinated. “I like older women,” she blurts.
There’s silence that bleeds into the room, washing the space of anything professional between the both of you as you slip into a state of sudden understanding. It feels like a horn blares across your face as she says it, eyes meeting hers.
“Professionally– of course.”
“Grace?”
The woman realizes what she’s done, dropping her smile only a bit when setting the album back where it was among the mess, “Yes?”
“That made it so much worse.” In all honesty, Grace can’t see how telling you this is bad at all. Of course, Grace is generally nervous, but under the right amount of pressure she always knows how to make the room shake. The room is filled with heat, confrontation, and a little sleepiness. “Ashcroft… you’re young. Don’t you want to find someone closer to your age?”
Hearing you push at her makes her cock her head back in disapproval; “you’re a couple years older than me, tops. It’s not like you live in a retirement home.”
You say nothing, giving Grace room to keep going.
“Well, now that I know your age… kinda,” the younger woman creeps back up closer to you with a hopeful smile, only growing when watching your lips turn in the same direction as hers. She knows she’s got you when you roll your eyes. Grace bares full teeth in a crooked grin. “Maybe I can get to know the actual number at dinner?”
“Grace…”
“Professionally!” Her hands lift in a lighthearted defense.
“We will see, Ashcroft.” Grace’s face is burning hot; your hand tucks a lock behind her ear. “I suppose I can give you a ride home if you just can’t get away from me,” she catches your tease, leaping for her things once more to follow you out.
Your two friends seem to take too much interest in your dad...
Abii: This was supposed to be posted yesterday, but I had a Saturday class, so I didn't have time to finish it. This idea was sudden, because imagine having Leon as your dad 😔. THIS IS PURELY PLATONIC AND FLUFF
NOT PROOF READ!
-- 1.7k words
Having an elite government agent for a dad sounds like a major flex until you actually live it.
Everyone sees the mansion and the paycheck, but they don't see the part where you're constantly holding your breath, wondering if he’s okay or if this mission is the one that goes sideways.
It’s this weird, heavy feeling that’s basically become your "normal." You miss him constantly, and yeah, you even miss the cringey dad jokes he tells when he’s actually home.
His pre-mission texts are always the same: “don’t stay up late,” “finish your homework,” “did you eat yet?” and then… radio silence. That’s the hardest part. Luckily, the “aunts and uncles” (aka Chris, Jill, and Claire) usually swing by to check in, mostly because they know Leon would absolutely lose his mind if anything happened to you while he was gone.
So, it’s Saturday night, and you’re in the living room with Chyler and Lexy. They claimed they wanted to study for your group project on the Cold War, but let’s be real, they mostly just wanted to hang out in the big house and maybe catch a glimpse of your dad.
You’re mid-sentence when your phone buzzes.
3 new messages:
mission’s done
I’m coming home.
about 30 minutes.
literally felt the weight lift off your chest right then and there. You looked over at your friends, Chyler was basically asleep, and Lexyy was doom scrolling. The audacity of them being the ones who insisted on "locking in" to study was not lost on you.
“Guys, the deadline is next week, and we haven’t even finished the intro—”
you were cut off by the low rumble of the garage door opening. You immediately bolted toward the window.
Chyler woke up in a panic, and Lexyy actually dropped her phone.
“Uh, are you expecting someone?” Lexy asked, squinting at you.
“Ooh, is it a boyfriend??” Chyler teased with a huge grin.
“Why is he early?” You muttered to yourself, you were nervous and excited at the same time.
Outside, the Porsche engine cut out, and you watched through the glass as he stepped out, looking every bit the exhausted. You scrambled to the front door, positioning yourself. Chyler and Lexy were confused in the background; they shared a “what is happening” look before scrambling to the windows themselves.
“A Porsche?” they whispered in unison.
The heavy thud of hhis boots on the porch felt like a countdown. Leon was about to reach for the handle when you swung the door open, nearly catching him off guard. You didn’t even say anything at first, you just scanned him… Looking for a limp, a hidden bandage or a scar.
“Hey, sweetie–”
He barely got the words out before you tackled him into a hug. He let out a soft oomph. You pressed your ear to his chest, the steady sound of his heart.
“You’re…home…” you breathed into his tactical jacket, the smell of his expensive cologne made you calm instantly.
Behind you, your friends were frozen in plaze. Then looked at each other. Shrugging their shoulders.
“Yeah… I am.” he murmured, his large hand giving your back a pat before you finally let go.
Leon stepped fully into the foyer. He paused, his gaze shifting over your shoulder to where Chyler and Lexy were practically watching with a mix of aw and pure intimidation. He raised an eyebrow, looking back at you with a serious expression.
“You never told me you had your friends invited over?” he asked, though there was no real bite to it. Hi sighed, rolling his shoulder as he shrugged of his heavy jacket and hooked it onto the coat hanger.
“Oh yea- we were just-” you started, but you didnt even get the chance to finish.
“Hello, Mister Kennedy!” Chyler chirped,
Lexy, on the other hand, just stood there, her eyes darting between Leon’s holsters and his very expensive car parked outside.
Leon gave them a tired but polite nod,
“Mister Kennedy, huh? Makes me sound like I’m about to give you both a lecture,” he joked, his voice low. He then looked at the mess of the notebooks scattered across the living room.
He then turned back to you, a soft glint in his eyes. “I’m going to get cleaned up and maybe take a nap after that”
"I'll cook something for you... That's the least i could do for you." you said softy.
He shot you a tired, melty sort of smile. “Thanks, kid... just try not to burn the house down while I'm in the shower,” he teased, that smirk playing on his lips before he turned and headed up the stairs, disappearing into the upper hallway.
You sighed, rubbing your temples as you turned back to the living room "Sorry, guys. I seriously didn't think he'd come home early… otherwise I would've given you a heads-up-"
"Okay, but... he’s actually fine though?" Lexy whispered-shouted, her brain clearly short-circuiting as she clutched a pillow.
"Huweerwew!" Chyler let out a weird noise, fanning herself with a history textbook and giggling.
You just stared at them, blinking in pure, unadulterated horror. "What-THAT’S MY DAD-" you shouting-whispered, looking at them like they had both just confessed to a crime.
Chyler and Lexy didn't even look ashamed. They just exchanged a very slow, very synchronized look that said everything.
"We know," they said in deadpan unison.
You let out a soul-crushing groan, dragging your hands over your face. "Can you both just... please start on the next slide while I go cook something before I lose my mind?" You sighed, spinning on your heels and walk toward the kitchen before they could say anything else traumatizing about your own father.
As you started pulling ingredients out of the fridge, you could hear the muffled sounds of the shower running upstairs and the frantic, hushed giggling of your friends as they "worked" on the Cold War.
The kitchen soon filled with the scent of seasoned chicken and sides, the kind of "welcome home" meal that usually makes Leon forget he spent the last seventy-two hours eating protein bars in a damp warehouse.
Meanwhile, you kept one ear turned toward your friends. It was a cycle, they’d actually focus for a solid twenty minutes, typing furiously and arguing over the Cuban Missile Crisis, only to completely derail for the next hour.
You heard snippets of intense gossip about who was dating who in the drama department, a ten-minute debate on the best local boba spot, and Chyler’s very loud opinion on the school’s new dress code. Every time you thought they were finally finishing the "Space Race" slide, someone would bring up a TikTok trend.
Honestly, it was a miracle they’d even finished the introduction.
You were just plating the food when you heard the heavy,thud of footsteps coming back down the stairs, much slower this time. The shower had clearly worked its magic, but he still sounded exhausted.
In the living room, their giggles died down instantly. One second they were debating which filter to use on their selfie, and the the next moment they heard Leon’s heavy footsteps hitting the stairs,
"And that is why the fall of the Berlin Wall was such a pivotal moment in late 20th-century diplomacy," Lexy said, her voice suddenly became confident of someone who definitely didn't just spend forty minutes looking at "get ready with me" videos.
Chyler nodded aggressively, typing random gibberish into a Google Slide just to make the keyboard click. "Exactly! The geopolitical tensions were just... so tense. Truly a Cold War."
Leon rounded the corner, looking significantly more human after a hot shower. He’d traded the tactical gear for a pair of gray sweatpants and a t-shirt that had seen better days. He stopped at the edge of the living room, leaning against the doorframe with a look that said he knew exactly what they were doing.
"Riveting stuff, girls," he said, his voice still a bit raspy. He looked over at the kitchen where you were finishing up the plates. "Smells like you actually listened when I told you to learn how to sear chicken."
He started walking toward the kitchen, passing right behind the sofa. Chyler and Lexy both went rigid, staring straight ahead at the TV screen like their lives depended on it, though you could see their eyes tracking his reflection.
"Thanks, sweetie," he murmured, giving you that tired smile.
"Mhm," you nodded. You set a glass of water down next to his plate before going back to the living room and continue working.
You let out a massive sigh, dropping onto the carpet. "Okay, for real this time... let’s actually finish. I hope you guys at least put the maps on the third slide-"
You stopped mid-sentence. You looked up, and both Chyler and Lexy were staring intensely at a spot directly behind you. You slowly turned, following their gaze, and realized they were basically tracing every muscle on Leon’s back through his t-shirt while he stood at the counter eating.
You groaned, snapping your head back toward them and waving your hands to break their trance. "I swear to god, you guys are actually hopeless-"
"I’m literally trying to focus on the Truman Doctrine, but the view is... distracting," Lexy whispered, her eyes still glazed over.
"He’s literally just eating chicken!" you shouted-whispered, feeling your face heat up. "Can we please just look at the PowerPoint? Please?"
From the kitchen, you heard a low, amused huff. "If the 'view' is that bad, I can go eat in my office," Leon called out, not even turning around, though you could hear the smirk in his voice.
Chyler actually squeaked and buried her face in her laptop. "No! No, sir! The view-I mean, the lighting! The lighting is great! Please stay!"
Your face was literally a shade of red. "STOP! Actually stop!" you begged, covering your eyes as if that would somehow make the situation less mortifying.
You stood up and clapped your hands together, "You know what? No. We’re done. Let’s just... continue this tomorrow at the library. Or a coffee shop. Or literally anywhere else."
"Will your dad be here tomorro—" Lexy started, her eyes hopeful as she began packing her bag with the slowest movements humanly possible.
"Out!" you pointed toward the door, not even letting her finish that sentence.
Chyler tripped over her own feet trying to give Leon a final wave. "Bye, Mister Kennedy!”
As soon as the front door clicked shut, you leaned your forehead against the wood and let out a long, pained groan.
"What was that about?" he asked, his voice dropping into that low, "Did I do something?"
you and leon sharing one drive back home. you in the passenger seat, trying to stay awake even it's almost midnight. seeing you like this, leon tried to not drive too fast in the empty black road, only being light up to his porsche's lights. "Hm, you know.. you can tell me anything. anything at all, princess," he commented while making glances at your figure and focus on the road. The drive was quiet, only the road noises hitting at the background or mindless soft melody from the radio. "I'm fine, don't worry," you murmur, you can't really talk much due to tiredness. Leon just chuckled a little, following a small yawn from him. You expect him to comment anything, making your eyes look at his figure while driving. "Alright.." that's what he just said following a small smile with his matching reassuring eyes. You know that he knows you're not really in good condition but him reading the room to take in your pace made it much better. "We can talk in home then."
The sirens seemed to blur into the background, the fire blazing high and mighty was nothing but a whisper in my ear. The last two days flashed behind my eyes as I looked toward the sky.
And I found myself laughing at the stars. “Chris saves the day yet again.”
As we sat together, surrounded by the chaos of our own making, the depth of my despair and devastation felt unfathomable. We were helpless and there was nothing I could do about it. The exhausted state of my body prevented me from being able to teleport us to safety.
I had failed to protect him.
The one thing I had allowed myself to selfishly promise Sherry that I’d always accomplish—no matter if death itself had its cold, austere hands around my neck.
I glanced behind me, the evidence of the world’s cruelty bathed in hues of gold and crimson, and caught the end of Grace and Leon talking. I smiled despite myself as he walked away and turned back around. “So, he finally told her Emily is alive. What a truly heroic man.”
“Heroic…?” His encroaching footsteps didn’t surprise me, his tired voice hadn’t either, but his arm wrapping around my waistline and his head resting on my shoulder caused a shiver to jolt down my spine. “Who’s heroic?”
I run my thumb over his knuckle. It was the first time I’d seen his hands bare in years. No scars, no disease eating away at his skin. I turned to look at him, the smell of his shampoo wafting up my nose. It smelled of sweet cashmere and teakwood.
“Oh, no one in particular…just some pretty wonder boy who has a bad habit of helping those in need…even at his own expense. He’s quite the stupid man, you see.”
His deep chuckle reverberates through my back but he doesn’t say anything. I looked down to the hand at his side and stared at the ring on his finger. Then, my eyes moved to the identical one on my left pointer finger.
“You remember what these rings mean, don’t you, Leon? The matching ones you, Sherry and I wear?”
I feel him nod. “Yeah…a promise to protect each other, how could I forget? Sherry used to constantly remind me.”
I turn in his grasp, wrapping my arms around his neck and my hand comes to rest in his hair. “That vow we made…it’s precious to me.” I smile against his shoulder, “I’m sorry that I failed to protect you. In the end, it was Grace and Chris who were the ones to save you.”
Leon’s free hand abruptly rests on the back of my head before he begins to run his fingers through my braids. We stayed like that for a while, as if he were trying to comfort me.
“Y’know…every time I see you, you’re wearing a different hairstyle. An afro, straight hair, that one time you cut it all off and it grew back a new hair texture….”
“Leon, what—?”
“And these are box braids, right? You get them every October for your birthday. See, I remember everything you tell me. And I even remember when you told me what you fear most in this world.” He pulls away from me, taking my hand into his own, and his piercing gaze down at me was intense with so many emotions I couldn’t tell love from hate.
“Trouble seems to follow me everywhere. I can’t even count how many times you’ve saved my ass,” he laughs, “But, even with my shitty luck, you still choose to stay.”
In his glistening eyes were tears that began to fall one by one like beautiful rainfall.
I reached up to cradle his head between my palms. “Leon…?”
I hadn’t seen him cry in almost twenty years. I suppose being freed of the burden that he’s shouldered for so long and facing the root of all of his regrets by coming to Raccoon City must have unleashed the pain and suffering and fear he’d buried deep into a place even he couldn’t find.
“You love me, don’t you?” His voice is gruff and hoarse, his words spoken so softly as if they’d break being said too loudly.
“Of course I do,” I chuckled, “Everyone loves Leon S. Kennedy.”
“But Leon S. Kennedy doesn’t love everyone, just one girl who insists on protecting him before saving herself.”
My face falls at the slow realization of his meaning. “Leon…no. Please.” As I tried to pull away he throws his hands over mine, forcing me to hold his tear-streaked face.
“Please, Leon, you said you remembered what I feared most…you can’t possibly be asking me to face it.”
His tears had yet to stop but continued to become more sparse as he spoke.
“No, I’d never ask that of you, Azalea,” he gulped between his words, “I’ve been talking to Sherry and…there’s no way to make you human again. You’ve been a bio-weapon for too long. But your blood you gave me to stall the progress of the T-virus…injecting it caused some short of side effect.”
My eyebrows furrowed together. What side effect could possibly grant him such a peaceful look in his eye?
I, Azalea Fitch, am the daughter of a scientist and Umbrella’s first and most successful bio-engineered weapon to still be half human and maintain my humanity. The treatment of which I faced within those frigid walls was such a grotesque thing that I couldn’t even make up in my worst nightmares. A fate I wouldn’t wish upon my enemies.
I had escaped Umbrella’s shackles the night Raccoon City fell.
Barefoot, confused and alone Leon and Claire had found me curled up behind a couch in an abandoned house. Leon saved my life by not leaving me behind.
As an enhanced B.O.W I age far slower than a normal human. At the age of fifty I physically presented half my age. Once I had realized my feelings for Leon I couldn’t bring myself to tell him. To burden him with the thought of leaving me behind. I resigned to remain a close friend. I suppose my façade failed to trick the most perceptive man I know.
“Side effect? What are you saying? What side effect did my blood give you? Is Sherry okay? She was injected with my blood, too.”
“Azalea…those transfusions have regressed and changed the way our bodies age. Due to the virus the effects were slowed. They cancelled each other out.”
I knew my shock was evident as he stared down at me.
That same unwavering hopefulness and peace he held was a stark contrast to the gut wrenching feeling in the pit of my stomach. “You mean I’ve passed my curse on to you both…?”
I shake my head pathetically. “Is this meant to be good news? I didn’t want this for either of you! Watching as the people you love die while you can’t grow old even after they’ve all left you. Why didn’t the antivirus heal you?”
Leon’s eyebrows furrow in displeasure. “You’re not a curse; I can’t say this is something either of us wanted…but this is the one thing I don’t regret happening. I don’t want to be healed of you.”
His words hit me like a truck and I feel my lips twitch upwards ever so slightly.
“Leon, you are so corny.” I pull him in close again. “You sure do know how to make a lady feel better, wonder boy.”
“Not really. I just know what to say to make you feel better.”
“Are you sure this is what you and Sherry want? In those labs I was told two hundred years was the minimum of my lifespan.”
In a moment that felt like a dream Leon’s lips were on mine. His kiss was short and chaste and his yearning was evident by the way he kissed so desperately. He pulls away slow, it took me everything to not pull him back down. I bit down on my bottom lip trying not to beg for more but, it was proving quite difficult with the pleading look in Leon’s eyes.
“I’d live one thousand lives with you if it meant you weren’t alone.”
I smile at him and nod.
“We should go,” I whispered, “I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to hold myself back.”
His soft blush colored his face a pretty pink. And, as he dragged me back to his car, I waved goodbye to Grace. She winked at me with a knowing look. It was then that I realized Leon’s confession was nudged on by her. Despite her meek demeanor Grace was quite clever. I stifled a laugh behind my hand and looked up to the stars twinkling, as if they were laughing with me.
After making sure Chris’ rescue team knew of Emily and her whereabouts, Leon and I drove down the desolate roads leading out of Raccoon City until we reached the nearest city alive with blinding lights and people walking through the pouring rain.
That night spent in a fairly nice hotel was filled with his moans and pleas and tears of pleasure. His vulnerability was a trust that I kissed up and down his torso and neck. He had become like putty in my hands, a mess of my doing, allowing himself to be taken care of. And I cherished that trust just as much as I cherished our promise.
We spent hours like that. Pouring into each other the feelings we kept hidden under our tongues for years. Once we’d grown tired he rested his head against my chest.
And that same question from earlier slipped through his lips. “You love me, don’t you?”
And, honestly, did I have to say it?
“Yes, Leon; of course I love you. Even if I live far after you’re gone, it’ll always be you.”
cw: nightmare (leon), cuddling, hand holding, a simple kith, re9 violence, some angst, LOTS of fluff, a lil jealousy, happy ending, you comfort leon, he comforts you, what can i say
wc: like 5.3k lol thats my bad idk why its so long
The first time you hold Leons hand, he doesn't know what to do. You were his current mission objective, and his purpose was to keep you safe and bring you to the extraction point. Hand holding was not and is not something ever requested or required of him. Sure, sometimes he would hold a kids hand when he was extracting them, but it was more of a mechanism for protection and safety than it was for their comfort, though Leon knew that often, holding the kids hands helped them feel safer. He didn't mind that, but it wasn't ever the reason he did it. He just found that it was easier to keep track of kids that way, and only did it when he couldn't just carry the children.
Protection had never meant affection in any way. At least not usually. And besides, you weren't a kid. So hand holding or carrying would be, generally speaking, extremely unusual. But he liked you. Your conversations, the way you would lean into him when scared, how you looked to him for protection while also being a strong, grounded adult.
You don't even think about it when you shove your hand into his, crouched down next to him, peeking around the corner, both of you staring intently at the two blisterheads, the first of these kinds of zombies that you'd seen, with their jerky, erratic movements, their soft, sinister growls, and their unnnaturally blown up, cranium heavy heads. Your hand just simply- finds his, heart pounding and muscles tense with anxiety. You do it automatically, like you'd always held his hand, like your hand belonged in his, like it was the right place to be. Granted, you'd probably hold your enemies hand if they were next to you too, but it wouldn't feel as safe.
When your hands interlace, Leon doesn't flinch or move. He simply adjusts. He is far too tactically trained for a behavior like that, especially in a situation where he's dealing with flinch-happy creatures like these monsters. But boy is he surprised. He glances at you out of the periphery of his vision. "you okay?" he murmurs, his voice a gentle rumble. Most of his attention stays focused on the blisterheads, who haven't yet noticed either of you. Both of you are doing your best to keep it that way.
You nodded, not trusting your voice, your hand squeezing onto his even tighter.
Using his free hand, Leon pulls Requiem quietly from its holster, and aims the gun carefully. His hand moves with practiced confidence, the lines of his muscles flexing as he straightens it and points, lining both creatures up in the line of fire. When he's happy with his aim, he shoots once, the bullet slicing through both of their heads as if made of tofu. A spray of blood paints the rubble around the now twice-dead blisters. Leon lip twitches, a small smile flickering there. "Heh. Two blisters, one bullet." He does not let go of your hand as he holsters his gun once more, his eyes sweeping the perimeter of the building, checking to see if the noise would attract more creatures or if that was it. You stay quiet as he does so, keeping your eyes peeled as well.
"I think we're okay. For now at least." He says, his other hand grabbing your elbow to help you as you stand up.
"Thank fuck." You say, dusting some of the powdery cement that had landed on your cargo pants. "Those things were scary."
Leon can't resist a smile when you say that, checking his comms for the to figure out the best place to. "The blisters? Nah. They're just irritating. Like hemmoroids. Can't get off my ass."
You let out a little snort of laughter, your residual fear slowly disapearing. Agent Ashrcroft's voice flickers through the comm as Leon asks for an update. "Leon, theres a safe house a couple blocks down from where you two are located. You can rest there for the night. I've sent the details to your device. Over. Will communicate more when you reach the safe house."
Leon nods. "Lets go." He says to you. He glances down at your intertwined hands once but doesn't say anything more. He doesn't let go, just starts to walk, his comm shoved back in his pocket, clearly knowing his way around here. It was Raccoon City, after all, and he had said, in one of the brief moments where you got him to talk about himself, that he was from here. You glance around. Not a single building here was still fully intact. Roofs slopped, caving in. Clothing dirty and tossed. Cars abandoned, full of supplies rotting and useless.
It must be hard, you mused. Seeing the place he knew so torn up. You squeeze his hand, almost as if to comfort him, and he squeezes back on autopilot, his focus on ensuring that you get through the rubble and buildings to a safe place without dying. Leon is constantly on alert, his eyes always scanning the area. He was good at his job, you'll give him that. And you would miss him when this job was over, which was odd to say because these had literally been some of the worst days of your life.
The two of you make it to the safe house with no serious trouble, and you finally let go of his hand, almost regretfully, missing the warmth and comfort immeadiately as you guys set up camp.
"Time to rest." Leon says. He takes some of his guns and weapons off, resting them to his sides. But Requiem, he keeps on him. His hatchet, which he takes care to sharpen and clean, wiping flakes of dried blood off. You watch him cleaning methodically, the motion repetitive and soothing, finding yourself staring at his hands. It had been awful nice to hold them. You find yourself wishing you had another excuse to hold his hand.
As the two of you dig into some canned tuna and stale saltines, a comfortable silence fills the air. You finally allow yourself to take a breath, knowing that in this area, you were at least safe for the night. Or that was the hope, anyways. You felt calm, with the little lamp buzzing softly, the two sleeping bags rolled out, yours on the small twin bed, Leons on the floor, despite your numerous offers to let him have the twin bed instead.
No no, ever the gentlemen, he simply says. "take the bed. i prefer the floor anyways. harder to sneak up on." you want to argue with his logic, but then decide that its not worth your time, and simply accept his offer of kindness.
You look up from your sad meal of tuna flakes to see him staring at you, his gaze burning a hole in your skin. It shocks you, the intensity of his gaze. You can't help but wonder what he's thinking when he stares like that. He glances away once he notices your gaze, and the moment passes as he stands up to check that the place is secure one more time before its time to sleep.
After the food and a simple washing up, you curl into your sleeping bag. it is nice to sleep on top of a bed again, you have to admit, the softness feeling foriegn after your abduction. Even though you can feel the springs hidden in the thin mattress, a twin bed has never felt more comforting and beautiful in your entire life.
"Thanks for letting me have the bed, Leon." You murmur, voice thick from tiredness.
"Glad you're comfortable." Is is simple reply, as he unzips his sleeping bag and settles in himself.
"Good night." You murmur, already drifting off. Leon turns off the little lamp with a soft click.
"Good night." He replies back. "Sleep well."
__
As the two of you are walking down the city streets the next morning, you actually find it quite peaceful. You really shouldn't, you suppose, but its been a couple of mornings like this and knock on wood, nothing too terrifying had happened in the mornings. The cold seemed to make the creatures go mildly dormant. Or perhaps they were more nocturnal than anything. You weren't sure. But whatever it was, mornings had always been relatively peaceful.
"Leon," You say, as the two of you walk over a bridge that feels like it may soon collapse beneath your feet, creaking and groaning. "Do you like what you do?"
"What I do?" He repeats, sparing you a quick glance, before it returns to scanning the horizon for dangers. He kicks a crushed soda can, the label long deteriorated.
"It seems like such a tough job. Mentally and physically." You say simply. "And so dangerous."
"It helps people." He replies back. "And I have more personal reasons as well." His eyes flick down to his gloved hand.
"I see." You reply. You don't want to pry.
"I've lost people." He continues quietly. "Seen people lost. Seen people gone. Watched people turn. It is a mercy, to take these people out of their misery. They're in pain, you know. They're supposed to be dead but they aren't, not fully, not yet. It is a mercy. A kindness."
He still refers to them as people sometimes, you note. Interesting for someone who has been at the hand of so many of their deaths.
"And, if I can save one more person whose alive? It's worth it. All the shit i deal with. I can't save em all." His face tenses at that, and he actually stops for a second, his gaze far off in the distance, lost in a memory.
"But I can try."
"Can't make killing some of these people easier though. Even if you save a few."
Leon shrugs at that. "Maybe not. But I've always been confident that what I've done has been the right thing. Even back when I was a starry-eyed recruit for the Raccoon City Police Department."
Leon actually laughs for a second, taking your hand and helping you over a large pile of rocks. "Technically this is breaking client confidentiality, but I don't think she'd care. I helped this kid: Sherri. A long time ago. She helped me too, more than she knew then. More than she knows now."
He reaches into his back pocket, behind his hatchet, and pulls out a sleek black wallet, which he flips open. You see a blonde girl, dressed in blue graduation regalia, her smile bright and sunny.
"This was her high school graduation. She sent me this picture." Leons smile softens as he looks at Sherri. "She got to graduate because of me."
"I don't always know how the people I save turn out. But I never regret it. Even saving one person."
"Oh man," You say softly. "Thats so beautiful. I kind of thought you just liked beating zombies up."
Leon lets out a huff of laughter. "It is satisfying in it's own way."
You squeeze his hand lightly. He blinks in surprise, glancing down at your hand, which has once again found his. "Thanks for sharing."
He doesn't say anything, but he does squeeze your hand in return. And if your heart fluttered the tiniest bit at that, that was no ones buisness.
--
A couple days later, the two of you are walking to the next safehouse, later than you'd usually be out. There had been more zombies than usual out crawling, and Agent Ashcroft had insisted that you move now, even though it was late at night.
Leon had been more open with you than usual, talking more, sharing more, and you can't help but think that you were going to miss him when this was over. A plant rustles menacingly and you can't help but grab his arm.
He glances over, hand coming to rest more securely in yours. "You scared?"
You nod. He pulls out his gun with his free hand. "I'll keep you safe." He says. "You can trust me."
"I know."" You reply, without a single thought, already feeling better with your arm wrapped around his. Its softer than you'd thought, less muscled almost. "I trust you."
The barest hint of a smile makes its way to his face. "Good. You should."
He guides you through the rest of the way to the safe house with one hand, the lamp secured to the strap on his breastpocket, lighting the way. Although you hadn't laced your hands together, he does it for you, grabbing your hand and meshing them together, your arm tucked still in the crook of his elbow. He squeezes your hand absentmindedly sometimes, as he continues to walk, almost as if to check in, make sure you knew that he was still there, still protecting you, still your safe space in this dark night.
He smells good, you realize. Even though he really shouldn't, not after all the days you've spent with barely any ability to stay hygenic. But he does. Not in cologne kind of way, though sometimes a faint trace of whatever colonge he usually wears drifts through the air, but more in the human kind of way, the natural scent each individual human has, indescribable in its uniqueness. It's soothing. You have to resist the urge to tell him this, even though he probably wouldn't care. Maybe, just maybe you have the tiniest crush on him, and you feel like saying that might make it very obvious.
Regretfully, the two of you do in fact reach the safe house, and, no longer having an excuse to hold on to him, you release him from your grip, immeadiately missing the comfort of holding onto him. He almost seems reluctant for you to let go, looking down at your hands as you pull your arm away.
But neither of you say anything.
--
Today, you are blessed with a can of spaghetti bolognese. Or, you think more honestly, a can of something that vaugely resembles that. It's got tomatoes in it, and perhaps it smells a little bit like beef, but it's not exactly...well. But it is a meal, and you are appreciative.
Leon sits across from you. You're lucky enough that this safe house has two beds, so hes placed most of his stuff down on one bed, the one nearer to windows and doors, and yours is more inside.
"You know," You say. "I'm going to miss this after its over."
Leon drags his metal fork through the can of gummy spaghetti. "Miss this." He huffs out a small laugh. "Now thats not one I've heard before. Want to explain?"
"Well..." And the rest of the words exit your mouth before you can stop it. "I'm going to miss spending time with you."
"With me?" He says, his smile twisting upward a little as he makes eye contact. "Really?"
"Kind." You land on. "And also really cool." Heat rushes to your cheeks, and you hope he can't see it in the golden glow of the lamp.
"You think I'm cool?" He asks, and you see Leon Kennedys face light up for the first time as he teases you a little.
You can't help the smile that comes to your face. "Don't let it get to your head."
He takes a bite of potential spaghetti. "You're...cool too." He pauses. "And sweet."
The two of you stare at each other, the lamp flickering and buzzing softly in the background, illuminating you with a warm glow. A tension, a good tension is flowing, ebbing, reaching a breakingp point, sparking sharply in your veins and you think its going to burst, and he opens his mouth to say something when his comm buzzes and you startle.
He pulls his comm out, a little short when he replies, his mouth set in a tightline, irritated at having to do anything but talk to you.
"A little busy, Grace. Is it urgent?"
Graces voice crackles through the comm. "Adas on the line. She wants to talk." Leons eyebrows raise.
"Ada wants to talk, huh?" He smiles a little. "Alright, give me a second."
He walks to the makeshift bathroom to get a little privacy, but you can still hear the muffled sounds of a conversation. He sounds surprisingly animated and your heart sinks a little bit. Of course he would have a girl back home. It made a lot of sense. He was handsome, thoughtful, kind. You'd sort of thought the two of you were having a moment back there, but clearly you'd been reading the situation wrong.
Leon laughs from the other room, and you can't help but feel a little rejected. You know its not this womans fault, that she was probably awesome and amazing and wonderful, but you really liked Leon.
And fine, you did have a crush on him. Could anyone blame you?
But, you decide, as he comes back, it was his life to live. And you hoped that he lived it well.
You are in your sleeping bag, on the bed and ready to sleep by the time he comes back from the conversation. You'd give yourself a day to lick your wounds, and then accept things as they were. You had already curled up.
Leon pauses at your "sleeping figure" turned away from him, whispering your name softly. You don't reply. Pretending to sleep was your new plan, not just to be in bed already. You can hear his footsteps approach where you are sleeping, and with gentle, gentle hands, he takes the hair that has fallen in your face and brushes it carefully behind the curve of your ear, leaving a trail of shivers going down your spine, the pads of his fingers rough and callous, but the touch itself impossibly soft. He says your name again. When you don't reply, he sighs and flicks off the light.
"Sleep well." He says, and you hear him settle into his sleeping bag.
Your eyes open in the pitch black darkness, his touch lingering on your skin, burning a hole in your stomach. You weren't sleeping tonight.
--
Only one more day to the extraction. You take solace in this, even if it means traveling at night again, and even if it means saying goodbye to Leon after this mission. After he sends you back to safety, even though honestly, you've found so much safety in his company that you'll miss him no matter what. Even if he did have a thing with an amazing girl named Ada.
So tonight, you are going to brave the streets alone. No holding his hand. No grabbing his arm. Not that you should have been, but by the end, maybe you had thought of it as a sort of cute, romantic thing to do. Yes, you did do it because you were scared, but also because you liked holding his hand. It felt warm and calloused, but so so comforting.
For the first 30 minutes out after dark, this works out just fine. You just had to make it to the safe house, you encourage yourself. Just the safe house, then traveling to the nearby helipad and you would be on your way back home, to your safe, warm bed, and your lovely lovely little dog. You hoped your roommate was taking care of Engel.
But then Leons flashlight casts a suspcious shadow, and you jump twenty miles into the air, a squeal far too loud for a situation like this escaping your mouth. Your hand reaches out to grab Leons, but at the last second you curve it back to cover your mouth instead. You could do this.
"Sorry," You whisper, trying to keep your voice down.
"Happens." Leon says, scanning your surroundings, his hand hovering over Requiem. He glances over at your hand casually, but you don't reach to grab his. Honestly, you feel a little awkward after what had gone on, what with Ada, and as much as you would like to grab his hand, you were very stubborn and very embarassed, and it was a potent combination that prevented you from doing anything else.
The two of you continue your journey, but you are much more on alert, and very regretful at your promise to yourself to not hold his hand, which you desperately wanted to do. You walk in the dark, quietly.
A couple minutes later, Leon holds his hand up, indicating for you to stop. Hand signals were far safer than speaking at this time of night, and you stop immeadiatley, waiting to see what he's going to do. He takes out his gun, holding it in his right hand and then pauses, seeming to be in debate about something. Were you coming up on some very unsafe underpass? You weren't sure but you were also very confident that even if you were, Leon would be able to keep you safe. In some way shape or form. It would just double suck to not be able to hold his hand.
You are in your little deliberations so long that Leon has to cough lightly to get your attention. You look up, mildly startled, and see that hes been holding his free hand out to you.
You blink at him, almost confused. Does he want you to hold his hand? Why? You were scare happy but still, before you had started to grasp onto his hand, he had never offered to hold yours.
"You don't have to," You say, feeling a little awkward, almost as if you'd been too seen, like he'd know that you liked holding his hand, not just cause it was protection, but that you liked the feel of his hand in yours, liked walking beside him. All of those things. It almost felt like you bared your soul a little bit, and then found out about Ada, which was just embarassing, honestly.
He sighs, shifting his weight back and forth. "I know that." He says back, making eye contact with you. You feel his gaze on you, something akin to desire in them.
"Oh." You say softly. And hes won. You reach your hand out to put in his. They mesh together, and you breath an unconious sigh of relief. A little smile flickers on his face.
"You find me that safe?" He asks quietly, his voice barely a murmur as you start to walk.
"I'm not dignyfining that with an anwnser." You breathe back, deliberatley focusing your eyes on the road.
"Alright." He says back, but theres a smugness in his voice that makes you want to punch him, just the tiniest bit. Or perhaps kiss him. It was really up for debate.
--
Dinner that night is very quiet. Tonight you get to eat beef stew, with chunks of what might have once been potatoes and carrots mixed in as well.
Both of you are thinking about this ending. About having to say goodbye. It's not a pleasant thought, and that is some how insane to you.
After all, you'd been abducted, held hostage, and then verbally harassed for days on end with little food or water. And then Leon had come in, and within a couple minutes, you'd been untied, seen your captors beaten up, and been on your way home. Or, you guessed, it did make sense that you'd like Leon. But for him, it was just a normal tuesday. It just also majorly sucked that you liked Leon. What could you possibly say to him at the end of this?
Hey, just in case you aren't majorly in love with Ada, would you like to go out with the hostage you saved? We've already lived with one another, so I think we might be pretty well suited for each other. Anyways let me know what you think. I'd give you my number but I think its in my case file, along with other information that I think you probably shouldn't know about me. But hey, who's counting, amirite?
Anyhow. That was sort of all you could think of and it really wasn't great. So... it was quiet. He was such an interesting person too. The kind of person you'd simply love to know more about.
But all you could simply hope for in this case was that he did have someone lovely waiting for him back home. You'd not seen a ring, but that didn't mean he wasn't promised to someone.
You finish washing up, getting ready to go to bed. There were two beds today, and you had the more interior one, as usual. You curl up in your bed as Leon comes back from washing up as well, his hair slightly damp in an undecently handsome way.
"Good night Leon," You say as he flicks off the lamp. "I'll miss you." You add quieter.
"You too." He replies, his voice uncharateristically soft.
--
A loud noise jolts you out of your sleep, and you are immediately on edge. Its too dark to be morning, so you quickly roll out of your sleeping bag and rumage around for the lamplight, flicking it on with fumbling hands.
It's Leon. He's covered in cold sweat, his face beaded with little droplets and scrunched up against some unknown fear. You tap his shoulder lightly, shake him, and yell his name, but nothing seems to pull him out of this dream that has gotten a hold of him.
Feeling desperate and a little delirous, you reach out and grab one of his hands, lacing your fingers together, very aware that he could accidentally through a punch that would absolutely break your nose the closer you got to him. If you couldn't wake him up, maybe you could calm him down? Hopefully. Dear god.
His breathing slows a little as you hold his hand. You sit down on the edge of his sleeping bag that has been shoved off with movement, holding his hand and staring at the gun he has stored on the floor next to him.
Figuring this couldn't hurt, you edge closer to him, now sitting on the bed with him. His breathing is still heavy, and he seems to be in distress. You weren't going to push any boundaries by getting any closer, however.
Leon has other plans. In his sleep, his hand farther from you ends up flopping over your stomach as he sort of curls into you. His breathing is deepening though, so despite this being the most awkward position you've ever been in, for a multitude of reasons, you let it slide. Besides, it was almost like cuddling with him. Almost. Just a little bit.
You tap gently him one more time, testing his lucidity. Still asleep. There is no reaction to your tap, though you suppose with Leon there never would be. He was too good at managing his reactions for safety reasons. Besides, you think mildly, shifting your body so that you were very clearly just sitting next to him despite one of his arms being wrapped around you.
You sit there with him as he sleeps, not wanting him to become distressed again. What the fuck is happening?
"Leon. Leon!" You whisper.
Finally he lets out a small, sleepy moan. "Mmm. What?"
Well...at least he was awake, even if he wasn't entirely concious.
"You doing okay now?"
"From-what?" And you have a sudden realization that hits you like a truck. Hes- hes allowing himself to be sleepy around you. Must be allowing himself to, because he's so aware. So so aware. Had to be, for his job.
"Don't worry about it." You murmur. And as much as you don't want to, you realize that its probably just about time to go back to your own sleeping bag. "Alright. Goodnight."
You peel his hand off of you as gently as you could, trying not to distress him, while simultaneously not letting go of the hand you were still holding.
As you slowly remove his hand, it suddenly tightens imperceptibly, and he's pulling you in by the waist. Your breath catches, and you are wide awake now, finding yourself curled up against Leon Kennedy,
"Stay." He murmurs, his voice thick and soft. "Please."
"Okay." You whisper. His eyes stay shut, his breathing even and slow. It deepens out eventually, and you reach over to turn off the lamp, but not before you stare at him with unfiltered ache. His flaxen hair, messed up and flopped everywhere. His face so young and unstrained in sleep. His eyelashes, blonde in colour. You could stare at him for ages and you weren't sure you'd ever get another chance. He was so beautiful, so gentle, so kind, and you could feel your self falling for him. Just a little.
Your eyes start to feel heavy, and you know you are going to fall into the thick, warm recesses of sleep soon. Your head droops onto his shoulder and you curl into him a little, abandoning all pretenses. His arms go to wrap around you, enveloping you in his strong, warm embrace.
It's the best night of sleep you've gotten in a while.
--
The next day, things move too fast. Too fast. Leon is gone by the time you wake up. You are glad for this, honestly. Breakfast is quiet, though he does say thanks once, to which you nod and say of course. Its not as awkward as you'd think. Almost as if you'd always been like this, the two of you. It's a terribly domestic thought at you force yourself to push it away. It's a short walk in the cool morning to where the helicopter is waiting. Leon lifts you into it without a second thought.
Ada ends up being the one whose piloting the helicopter, and my god, you can't even blame Leon for being in love with her. Shes gorgeous, she can pilot, and shes got amazing style? Who wouldn't fall in love with her? She was also terribly nice to you, giving you her coat, which smelled expensive, and a small kiss on the cheek. Leons face brightens when he sees her, and she holds her hand out.
You look away, refusing to admit that it was a little painful to see, but also point blank refusing to look as Leon probably kissed her hand.
"Never thought I'd see the day." Leon says.
Ada just laughs. "Neither did I. But we can talk about this later. Lets get her home."
You were glad for the little time you had gotten with Leon.
You cant hear anything with the blades whirring above your head, and you can't stop thinking about last night. The way his hand tightened around you. The way his breathing blew softly against your neck, the warmth of his body against yours. The feeling of resting your head against another's shoulder, the knowledge that you were being held, that he had wanted you to help him sleep. What had all of it meant? Was it really nothing?
And then its over. You're back home. In your native country. Leon helps you, his hands grasping your waist and making sure you don't fall off the helicopter. You open your mouth to say something. Thanks seems too small, and I will miss you horrendously seems too big in the light of day.
And unfortunately, barring a better thing to say, your brain decides on: "Thanks, miss." Combining the two potential statements into an equally terrible sentence.
Leons lips quirk up into a little half smile. "Miss?"
You wince. "Sorry, I was trying to say thanks and I'll miss you a lot all at the same time. I fucked it."
"Why...would you miss me?" He asks, sounding confused. Now you're the one whose confused.
"Well- this is the last I'm gonna see of you, isn't it?"
"It is?" Leon asks back, surprised. He runs a hand through his hair, a nasty thing to do to you. "I don't really have a next mission planned, and I kind of thought we hit it off. Just a little."
You laugh, a little exasperated.
"Well...you've got Ada, and I cant-"
Leons face scrunches up and he looks even more confused. "What do you mean I've got Ada?"
"Cmon, Leon, you took her call and then you took her hand earlier and-"
"Ada's a lesbian. She's marrying our coworker, Claire Redfield. I was congratulating her both times. She's a very dear friend."
Oh! Oh.
"You thought we were- no. In the best way possible, Ada and I are meant to be friends. I was actually going to- uh- if you wanted to, ask you to be my plus one to her wedding."
"Oh! I mean-yes! I mean sorry- I assumed- should-"
"And then, I was going to do this." He pulls you closer to him by your waist, one hand coming to rest in your hair, the other on your jaw, rubbing a gentle pattern.
He kisses you gently, your mouths fitting together and melding like they had always been meant to find each other. It is soft, simple and sweet.
Both of you are dirty, tired, and honestly, could smell better.
And it is still the best moment of your life.
working on writing fluff, asks are appreciated but never obligated
someone hold my hand, question mark?
im working on characterizing him pls be nice. its my first leon peice kay
i hope no one read the title and thought this was gonna be freaky
will make a part two idk i dont think it needs it.
You're an idol and Victor is your bodyguard; you have a forbidden-ish romance, since he's supposed to be protecting you.
Every time you're done performing, you rush backstage into his open arms knowing he's waiting for you not as your bodyguard but as your bf too AAHHHHHHHH!!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️
Staff around you can kinda tell (I mean every time you're done performing you run into his arms like he's a giant plush bear) but no one says anything, just giggling and ooo'ing at y'all's cute relationship.
Your agency does not care as long as the public doesn't find out plus he's huge lmao, when they heard he's like 7ft and buff they were like HECK YEAH YOU'RE HIRED
But maybe for a yandere/possessive element... he gets super touchy toward anyone that comes near you, fan or not (especially at airports where fans can get a bit weird...) - but you notice his protection isn't like a normal bodyguard protecting a client, it has a deeper, rougher intensity...
A fan wants a autograph? Victor hits em with the 👁️👁️ while you say "Oh don't mind him, he's just like that. 😊" the fan IMMEDIATELY scatters off after you hand their album back after signing it; yeah nah, Victor doesn't care, it's his job to keep you protected at all times. And he loves you deeply, so there's that too. He isn't going to let anything hurt you. ❤️
Many, many moments of stolen hugs, squeezes, and kisses when no one is looking. ❤️
Or maybe he's been a fan of yours for a while? And one day he sees a job posting from your agency for a bodyguard for an unknown idol (I mean, he was looking for something new anyways! Being a club bouncer was starting to wear on him, he didn't like the nightlife, nor the riff raff that came with it. He's a calm and peaceful man, He Don't Need All That™️)
But he didn't expect it to be a real listing, much less the idol to be you... and he couldn't be any happier that it was you. ❤️
“I wanna ask you something,” you whisper underneath her ear, pushing her against the counter of the bathroom. The plush of your lips graze against her neck, the tip of your nose dancing behind the curve of the woman’s ear. “If I ask this question and you don’t like it, you can shoot me,” chuckling, you feel her head turn, nervous olive colored eyes not once meeting yours, but you take it upon yourself to take advantage of her facing you, placing a gentle peck at the corner of her lip.
You can feel the heat radiating off of Grace, the sheen along her forehead and the rouge on her cheek making her look more like a rose than a woman. “Has anyone eaten you out before?”
The pair of you are trapped in the bathroom by your own doing. It was Grace that accidentally spills that beans that she thought others experiences are much more valid than her own. That sex isn’t anything too exciting to anticipate. She wish she can eat her words now, but now she has to face the music and you were one for confrontation. If she told you (or anyone) the truth, her life was just far too serious to indulge in bedroom games. How can she really enjoy it knowing she has responsibilities that don’t allow her to live in pleasure for long?
Grace in all twenty two years of her life has never thought that she would have an encounter so intimate, or intense until she had met you. You’re someone who is devoted to being a consistent lover in her life. You want to belong to her, just like she tries to give herself to you. Everything you did for her only exuded passion, care and a little something else that you couldn’t bring yourself to acknowledge just yet. Maybe you’d call it yearning if your ego let you breathe, for now, you’d call it an extreme care for her.
And gosh, does she adore you just as much. Her life practically revolves around you despite you being there or not. Confronting her feelings head on never felt so freeing until she met you. Now, she takes the leap with a little extra faith. With you, she’s a Grace you both can be proud of.
The lights are low and the apartment is far too silent for the both of you. It’s late and the city is sleeping. The after hours approach you steadily, only hearing the rumble of cars or the croak of nearby birds from outside of the window.
The question alone makes the blonde hum in an attempt to maintain composure. Her chest rises and falls, shifting in her stance only slightly as one of her hands grip the rim of the sink. The other is loosely clung to your belt loop. You watch Grace's eyes shut, shaking her head.
Checking in, you of course see through on your word, seeking consent to continue, “was that okay to ask?”
“Yes,” she immediately nods, ripping her hand from the sink to wrap behind your neck. With her lack of experience, the only thing she wants to feel is your lips on hers again, finding your kiss swiftly. “And no,” she whispers against your mouth. “No one ever did.”
Her eagerness fuels your lust; lowering your body at an achingly slow pace. Swollen lips miss yours the moment your kiss trails down her chin and down to her jaw, peppering her neck with your mouth. “That’s a shame isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
With a quiet laugh, your hands run down her torso, fingertips running over her top, feeling the bra underneath her shirt to the quick breath through her abdomen. The second your fingertips meet the band of her bottoms, you tug at them for a moment to help lower yourself to your knees. The whole time, Grace’s hand never abandon you, seeking refuge in your hair as you leave her mouth lonely.
Heavy breaths fill the thick atmosphere and they’re all hers. She thought that this would go a completely different way. A way that carried more structure and less carnal desire. But maybe that wouldn’t have been half as enjoyable. She has so much that she wants to say but her throat stops her from getting the words out every time. Grace will never admit that she is a virgin, but when you watch her clam up at intimacy and need a bit of a boost for physical connection, you figure her romantic prospects have been limited in the past, but it didn’t deter you from becoming her girlfriend after you confessed your feelings to her. It clearly bothers her since she can’t even tell you. In fact, her timidness invites you to be in her life more because you want to be the one to expose her to all of her firsts. You want to be her first kiss, the one who figures out how she wants to be touched and the one she craves when her temperature begins to rise.
“Such a shame,” she hears you coo, finally snapping out of her train of thought to realize the only thing she has to do is kick off her pants. It’s enough for her to do so, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Can I eat you out?”
There the woman stands in a simple t-shirt, her grip slamming over her mouth, wanting to remain quiet as she possibly could in a moment like this. Seething, she gives you a nod lacking confidence, but not consent. “Y-y-yes,” she mutters quietly like your apartment is filled with company and you had to keep hush. Grace nods without a proper pace. She’s eager to see what you have in store for her, but her heart races a mile a minute, feeling like she could either throw up or cry. Was Grace standing there going to be enough for you? She didn’t know if she should stand a specific way, try to say something sexy or maybe even pose.
“Wanna hold my hand?” you try to ease the anxiety in her heart, holding out a palm for the hand she’s got on her face.
With trust, the woman reaches for your hold, observing you closely. Your grip is firm, but comforting and your smile is just as warm. “Just breathe, if you want me to stop, I will. You just need to tell me.”
“I don’t want that, you haven’t even touched me yet,” the analyst blushes from your concern, turning her head away after hearing you chuckle. But it doesn’t last long when the tips of your fingers began to dance and curl round the lace of her panties. She honestly wasn’t the one to reach for underwear so scandalous until she saw yours. Panties and bras were comparable to any secret, fantasy lingerie store when hers are rather plain. Now, she relishes in the gentle feeling of the damp warmth of your tongue leaving a stripe over the fabric of her hips, happy to be in a set that makes her feel good.
“Put your leg on my shoulder,” you direct comfortably, adjusting for her do exactly as you ask, getting the right amount of room to work with.
Quickly, you take it upon yourself to use a thumb to pull her panties to the side, breathing in the scent of her and to much to your amazement, it damn near intoxicates you. Your tongue is careful, running down the inside of her thigh and licking up and in between her flesh. The woman above you holds your hand tighter, resting both of your hands on her thigh, whimpering without any inhibitions. “Fuck,” her hips roll in shock, jolting agaisnt your face that causes you to work on her body. “I’m sorry,” she apologizes, but with no time to entertain her insecurities, you feed her impending orgasm.
Your face dives in her, keeping her panties away from your goal. Grace’s taste on your tongue is something you devour all day, and in a perfect world with a lot of time, that is what you would rather be doing. You salivate at the pulse of her core, hungry to latch onto her swelling bud.
Grace shudders at your expertise, feeling your tongue massage against her. She wishes she can be louder, be needier, greedier. Whatever she wants she knows all she has to do is ask, but considering you can’t properly respond, there’s a weak pull at your head. Looking up to find Grace looking directly at you, lips parted and begging for air. She gasps, pushing herself deeper between your lips. “Fuck,” she cries, grinding her teeth at the feeling.
Her body is trembling, but you continue your task. She’s not shaking as much as you thought she would, but you know it’s not because you’re not doing your job. Sweet girl. And while you know she’s aches to be quiet, there’s something deviant in you that desires for her to get a little loud without care for consequences. You continue to work on her with a fond devotion that makes her feel like it’s just you and her for miles.
Squeezing her hand in yours, you use it as a way to check in on her, but she is not immediately responsive. She feels it all; the tenseness is her stomach growing larger, you working on her and not letting up. Grace usually has an assortment of toys that she used to get her to where she needs to be until she climaxes and can continue with her day. Though with you attached to her like this, it felt much more different than batteries could give and there is no way in hell that she would ask for it to end.
As the time passes, you hum at her taste. She soaks your face more than you anticipated, but it drives you to keep going. The analyst pulses against your face, tongue trapping her bud against your top lip; suckling mischievously. It’s as though she’s even scared to move. If you lost your place on her, you would’ve found it again, but you don’t blame a girl over her nerves.
“Ah– shit!” hissing, the woman doubles over, glasses falling off of her face and onto the ground, luckily not breaking in the process. Grace on the other hand is too out of it to care, lips apart, her gasping for air turning more into groans. “Please, please keep going.”
Her wish? Your command and with you more than willing to oblige, her body losing its posture. “Please…”
You don’t let up on her. Not when the hand she has in yours shakes, not when her hips shiver against you and especially not when she seizes against the bathroom sink, throwing her head back and calling out your name in relief. When Grace finishes, it’s uneven, loud and messy. Your mouth has nothing left to do after you devour her clean, but your hands hold out for her when she sinks onto her knees in front of you.
“Fuck– Grace?” you ask, holding her body close to you, kissing the top of her head as her body relaxes into your chest. “Grace,” you demand, hoping to get a word out of her.
“I’m okay,” she promises, “I’m fine.”
Sighing out, fall to your bottom, resting your back against the tub as you hold her. “I told you that it was better to get it instead of reading about it,” teasing her, your head falls back. All of that work you put in made you tired. Your eyes shut with only a few seconds passing until your girlfriend’s lips press against yours. Her body is limp in your hold, lazily climbing into your lap.
“Thank you,” Grace chuckles. “You’re right.” she admires your tired face, smiling though you don’t spare Grace a glance. “Oh!” reaching over for her lenses, she pops them on once more. “So…” she waits for you to look at her, kissing you one more time before speaking again. “I want to learn– how to do that to you.”
Chuckling, you shake your head. “You can do whatever you want to me when I'm done wearing you out.”
Your voice has been ringing in her ears since she’s gotten home. Over small things; Grace is always receptive to conversation with her favorite girl. But since you're whipping up something over the stove, she’s the most involved spectator in history. Grace could eat anything you make and not complain. At this point, she’s just there. She stopped hearing what you said maybe not even a whole five minutes ago. What was supposed to be a sweet evening between the both of you turns into you rambling about something she stopped caring about before the world around her turned red.
“Grace?” you call for her, but she’s silent.
Tired eyes, smudged with mascara violate your body. They rip your clothes off every limb just to see every curve, contour and mark that makes her pick you from a crowd. She doesn’t hear you when you call her again, but she does jump when you spin around with a spatula in your hand. There's a playful threat in your stance. Her eyes blink, clearing her throat and sending you a soft smile.
She’s knelt on one of the stools in the kitchen, (trying) to keep you company. “H-uh?” A look that says ‘I hope I didn’t get caught’ flashes on her eyes and before she can fix it, she catches a smirk on your lips. Her breath catches before she inhales again, clenching her fists in her bent over position, leaning over the counter.
“What did I say?” She can see the flustered look in your eye. Upset is not an emotion she can see on you, so hopefully that means she’s still in the clear. Through her silence, your face falls flat, "I don't know what you’re thinking about Grace, but it must be very serious. I would hate to tell that story all over again.”
Despite the mental fog, she did pick up on some things. Work has been hell for you. In fact, it's all Grace had been (willingly) hearing about all week. “You… were talking about work,” she attempts to shoot in the ballpark. After she watches you turn back around, the red in her eyes begins to falter. The energy radiating off you is something flustered but she can’t pinpoint it.
“You’ve been distracted a lot Grace,” you pose the chance for her to say why, egging on a proper response, “especially recently and you haven’t told me why.” That heat, so warm in her skin, comes back to burn. If she tells you why, it would put her in a position to act. And this act is daring. Still, with not a word from the woman, Grace slowly stands up without you sparing her a glance.
“I’m sorry,” the woman apologizes with genuineness that breeds your shoulders falling. It’s as if she can see the smile on your lips without even seeing it. And when her feet bring her close to you, the pulsing in her ears grows louder, but she won’t back down, “there’s been a lot on my mind.”
It comes out more like a question, observant eyes looking for your gaze, hoping you'd turn around. A shaky hand of hers lifts to reach for your jaw, but before Grace can get her hands on you, you see the attempt at affection that stops her dead in her tracks. You say nothing; eyes flicking between her hand and her eyes, but you let her have it. You don’t move it, and as her fingers shakily wrap underneath your face, her breath steadies. Slightly.
“Like what?” Grace’s lips part when you lean into her hold, dropping your task to live in her palm. Through knit brows, her nose guided her face to yours, ghosting her lips over yours. A smile glitches on her mouth before she exhales against your skin, feeling you grip the waist of her top.
“You,” she whispers.
“Nervous?”
“N-no,” the analyst breathes out, even shaking her head in uncertainty. Not uncertain of you, but uncertain of her ability. “I just– shit. I want you.” Her fingers tremble against your face. “I’m sorry I wasn’t listening. Th-there’s something I… wanna do before you tell me.”
This time it’s you who doesn't answer her, instead shaking your head. The touch you give her spare hand shakes the woman, placing it on your hip, feeling Grace wrap her fingers into the band of your pants.
Your lips keep a hungry distance, wanting to mesh but only capable of brushing against each other. You didn’t push for her to move; in fact, you let her have all the power she wants. In your mind, it’s to alleviate the anxiety buzzing in her feet. Green observes you lazily under hooded eyes, hidden behind thick, black framed glasses. Almost as if she’s begging for permission, she holds out for a few seconds. It feels like a break in time before the shift in Grace alters into something darker, dominant. It’s easy to see her swallowing her emotions, decision clear in her mind. She doesn’t need to beg when you look at her so expectantly.
Her tongue dangerously laps a kiss from you, closing the gap.
When you fall into her grip, pushing you into the counter becomes an easy task. “Don’t– don’t move,” Grace mumbles under your ear. There’s a steadiness in her voice that makes your legs go weak. However, a moment later, “please?”
You nod, winded from her kiss. Trapped against the counter, the blonde keeps you upright and against her chest. “Here,” she beckons, shifting your position so you're resting against her body as she’s the one leaning against the countertop– all too close to the stove.
Grace doesn’t care.
She watches your body breathe; up and down the rise and fall of your chest makes her body throb. There was no way in hell that she would try to stop now when she has you right where she wants you. She can feel your hands drag down her thighs, your breath quake on her. It drives her.
“I- I–” there’s a pause in the air.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
She’s got this. She’s made it this far. She can keep going. And though you can’t read minds, when your fingers grip at her flesh over her jeans, the woman relaxes completely.
Grace knows she doesn’t have it under control. With every wiggle, writhe and whimper against her body, she feels like she’s the one giving her body to you. But she remains strong. The hand she has on your jaw falls, using her other arm to wrap underneath your bosom, clutching your ribcage with a sense of protection rather than intimidation.
Her other hand snakes down your torso, fingers jumping at the ragged rhythm in your breath, her arm feeling the goosebumps on yours. There’s heat that lingers on your skin when her fingers plunge into your pants, shifting past panties and a shock under your girlfriend’s skin when your hand wraps over her arm.
“Grace,” you whimper.
“Yes?” She's attentive, analyzing your every move, feeling your body arch off of her as she toys with your heat slowly.
It’s hot. And not because of the stove. Grace can’t even think straight; she’s too busy keeping an eye on your chest breathing heavier, lips parted against your jaw, leaving sloppy, messy kisses along your neck.
Nothing matters to her other than making you finish on her hands. It’s genuinely the only thing she has been thinking about for the longest time. Your toes curl, back falling back into her torso with a low grunt from the woman behind you. There’s a heavy, choked cry from you that sends a wave through her body. If you had anything to say, now you don’t.
“I’ve got you,” the analyst’s voice cracks in your ear, holding onto you tighter. Her fingers work along your flesh quicker, never minding the fabric of your denim fighting back with her strength. But Grace is stronger. The tip of her nose plants into the apple of your cheek, using hushed whispers to keep you quiet though if she didn’t give a fuck about your neighbors, she would’ve found away to get you loud just for her.
She doesn’t even have to feel it happening to her because she can feel it through her. Your electrifying moans, hands getting antsy as they pull and prod at your girlfriend the needier you become.
“You do?” you breathe out, now filling the air both for your breaths and the sound of something wet.
“Yes.”
Underneath all of that work, there’s an equal match of intensity that both of you feel. And as she spends her time working on the heat between your thighs, she loses track time. It took her days to build the courage up to do this– without anything holding her back. Respectfully, everything that was racing in her mind up until she had the courage to do this made everything outside of her irrelevant.
She didn’t care about the mundane tasks at work.
She didn’t care about silly little chores at home unless you needed them done.
She didn’t mind small talk, but she wasn’t one for full blown conversations either with people who weren’t you.
She just wanted to please you.
And as you falter under her touch, quietly begging in a high pitched whisper, she takes it upon herself to tighten the grip she has on your body. Grace sits in the lust with you, keeping you upright when your body seizes in her hold.
The woman gasps at the mess you make in your pants, cooing you back to reality, slowing down her pace.
“Fuck,” your mind finally is able to use words again, taking it upon yourself to turn your head, feeling your girlfriend peck your lips.
“Satisfied?” you question, chuckling out quietly.
“Now I can hear about your job,” Grace teases with a smile. That’s not what’s on your mind exactly. Not yet.
“Okay,” you start. “But since you disrupted me making you something to eat, would you like to shower with me and then help me?” you ask, but she knows that there isn’t really an option. Grace giggles a small laugh, hiding her face in the curve of your neck.
