A bet is classic. What could be more fun than targeting a sweet girl and making her fall in love with the reputable campus fuckboy? Surely he wouldn’t fall in love with you.
fratboy!gojo x f!reader
notes: I have seen sooooo many ideas and tiktoks about the trope of reader being a bet & it always hurts so good! wanted to try it out and ofc it had to be with fratboy gojo >:)))
warnings: angst obvi hehehe, drinking, cursing, reader is super sweet and a bet obvi, no comfort or happy ending (yet? who knows), mentions of vomiting but doesn’t, mentions of blood, reader is never someone’s first choice:(( ummmm, gojo is an asshole ofc
Credit to @uzmacchiato for the divider!!
Satoru knew he should've said no in the beginning, knew it wasn't worth it just to impress his friends- his stupid frat brothers who never took anything seriously. Never thought about the consequences of their actions.
Buuut the idea of the bet was just too good to turn down.
The effort, the build up, the dedication- it would all come together so perfectly, especially with you as the main star. With you being you, you were doomed from the start before the bet could even fully take shape.
Sweet little you. Shouldn't you have known better?
Going around, shamelessly wearing your heart on your sleeve, always spreading kindness on the darkest of days, looking and talking to people as if they genuinely mattered- and maybe to you, they actually did, even when they couldn't have cared less about returning the favor. Not that you ever expected anything in return.
And most importantly of it all? You were so understanding. Far too understanding for your own good. The debilitating type that had rooted itself early on as some sort of lousy defense mechanism and eventually morphed into something self destructive. Had you subconsciously constructing and molding subpar excuses to justify someone's behavior, especially when it was directed towards you.
Always being an overly empathetic thing, so willing to sacrifice and minimize your own feelings when it came to others, always softening their blow.
Were you desperate or something to get people to stay? So desperate that you had unintentionally turned yourself into a doormat that people could stomp all over?
Anybody could've told you that it was idiotic to try and see everyone at face value, to so naively believe the words people told you. But you could've argued the opposite.
It wasn't naivety. It was you, sweet and trusting you, determined to not let your past heartbreak change the way you viewed others, to not let it bias you, scare you, or haunt you. Despite having been constantly hurt, you refused to allow your past experiences make you question and doubt every. single. new. relationship.
Always trying to see the good in people.
It would have turned out great, perfectly actually. You had played your part with flying colors, just as expected, putting on the most spectacular, albeit unknown, performance. And Satoru? Well.
Things would have turned out great.
If he hadn't started falling in love with you.
But the show must go on.
“H-Hey, Satoru! Wait-wait a sec!” The words spilled from your lips in an unintentional desperate plea, the halls fully swarmed and packed with students squeezing past one another. Dozens of conversations mulled around you, voices mindlessly buzzing and bouncing off the walls as you paced towards the white haired man.
Satoru had been anything but clear as of recently, a new push pull dynamic he’d adopted that had you more confused and thrown off than ever. You thought you were going crazy.
One night he was taking you out, looking at you like you were his dream girl who hung the moon in his sky, and the next he was treating you like some clingy puppy that he had never even asked for in the first place. The hot and coldness of it all had given you whiplash trying to keep up with him.
But of course, of couuurrrse, you believed him when he said it was stress. That finals and exams had him so busy, but of course he liked you! He was just new at this whole communication thing and needed time but please Y/N, I like you so much please im trying.
You believed it all.
After all, why would you not? Especially when Satoru was Satoru and you were you.
Sure, you knew you could be a lot, knew you could have more than afforded to shut up every now and then and not chimed in with your over the top unnecessary eager commentary, but regardless, the point still stood. Satrou Gojo, one of the hottest most pined after frat boys on campus that everyone treated like a myth, like an untouchable legend, talked to you, was nice to you, even took you out and seemed happy to do so.
Maybe for once, the rumors could have been just rumors!
Plus, the last few times you remembered being taken out was high school, and they never showed you much interest past the first date once they learned they couldn't get in your pants. Gojo hadn't even tried!
“Sorry-excuse me,’cuse me, sorr- oops, my bad, imsosorry- Satoru!”
He'd been oddly silent the past few days, completely unresponsive to your texts. But with finals coming up, surely he must've been cramming and just far too busy to respond.
He hadn't sat next to you like usual in lecture, but he showed up late, so maybe he didn't want to bother you?
But he didn't wait for you after either, gone before you could even leave your seat. You couldn't deny how it stung, but always chalked it up to him being too busy or in a rush.
You could visibly see his shoulders tense from behind, the slight tilt of his head as it hung forward in what you could only assume was annoyance, a brief mental preparation to deal with you. A pang bloomed in your chest, unease pulsing through you.
He slowed down just enough for you to catch up, but didn't stop. Slightly out of breath, you fell into step next to him, cheeks flushing and heat creeping up your neck from his clear uneagerness to see or talk to you. You nervously swallowed. He could be intimidating when he wanted to be.
He didn't greet you, didn't look at you, just waited for you to speak.
You awkwardly cleared your throat to speak, a small and meek “hi,” being the only word to squeeze out.
“I’ve got class.” Short, quick, dismissive.
His blunt uninterested response sent doubt pummeling through you, the gifts in your pocket weighing heavier and heavier with the possibility of rejection more realistic than you initially thought.
He would draw you in, perfect words to butter you up and make you feel foolish for ever questioning him, and then he'd get like this. Not mean per se, but just so uninterested in you that you wondered if you had made it all up. You weren't dating (yet? So you were hoping) but he had kissed you on the most recent date. Didn't that mean something?
You'd been so ecstatic afterwards, but with no solid friends on campus, you had no one to tell or squeal to. You carried everything alone, both good and bad. Gojo knew that, the whole frat knew that. It's what made you the perfect choice.
“R-right, yeah! Um- can you stop just for a second- i wanted to-” and he loudly sighed, piercing blue eyes rolling into his head as he stopped to turn to you. He didn't say anything, just stared expectantly at you like you were completely wasting his time. His gaze on you was irritated.
The eye contact had you jittery. Not the usual nerves you'd get when you turned your head just to find him already looking at you, so anxious you’d somehow mess things up with the hottest guy ever, so desperate to be good enough for him. No. It was the on edge, antsy type that had you replaying every dumb thing you've ever said to him, the doubt pooling at the very bottom of your stomach that felt like a heavy black tar. It felt like a test you knew you’d fail when you had studied so hard to do good. You just wanted him to like you the way you liked him, and god, did you fucking like him.
Don't fuck this up, y/n, this is the best thing that has ever happened to you.
Nervously swallowing and cheeks blazing, you gave an uneasy awkward smile before rummaging through your tote bag and pocket, muttering a tiny but sincere “sorry,” when his foot started to impatiently tap against the floor.
A small pit formed in your stomach, feeling slightly mortified and very embarrassed. The feeling was similar to a child showing off their very mediocre work to an overly critical parent.
“Sorry,” you huffed a fake laugh, pulling out the small container from your bag and the keychain from your pocket.
“I-um, I made these for you, since you know, you said you loved cookies, uh on the date, they're um your favorite..” and your words trailed off as you held out the tin, slowly beginning to feel smaller and smaller as he kept his hands by his side, no show of trying to take it from you. A small sticky note on the top read, “Hope you like them! :D <3”
“Oh! A-and, hah, I saw this and, and I thought of you, especially since you said you really, um, really liked that show.” nothing. “J-Just as a um, thank you, for the other night. W-Was a lot, o-of fun.”
You held both hands out, praying he didn't see the slight tremble of your clammy hands holding the items as you stood there feeling like an idiot. The thumping of your heart picked up, eyes looking anywhere but at him, bowing your head just slightly so you wouldn't have to see him look so repulsed by you.
Had you somehow misread everything? Like actually? This entire interaction felt like some humiliation ritual.
“Um, if, if you want, o-of course, no.. no pressure,” You pathetically added, already trying to lessen his blow, already trying to minimize and justify his cold reaction towards you.
He let out a small snicker, hands finally coming up to grab the items from your unsteady hands. You hid the sigh of relief that you wanted to let out, so easy to please and already feeling happy again that he accepted your gifts, as if it was a nuisance for him to do so.
“Wow, thanks. You do too much,” he dully noted, a small closed lip smile gracing his pretty features before he turned on his feet to continue his trek to class.
The comment made you freeze, staring at the spot he stood in, a “thank you?” not even having the chance to leave your tongue. You didn't think he said it with mal intent, but the words ‘too much’ always seemed to find its way back to you.
“Oh wait!” Gojo's voice broke you from your thoughts, and you immediately turned to face him, eyes wide and excited like a dog hearing the word ‘walk.’ Maybe he'd talk to you some more, or want you to walk with him! Or maybe-
“Party this Friday night at the house. You should come by, all my friends will be there.” The words made you deflate. A party… at his frat house… the idea made your stomach twist with nerves. You knew no one, had no friends to go with, and you were absolutely horrified of embarrassing yourself around him- even more- than what you felt like you had already done.
“Oh! Um, haha, I don't think your friends like me- um- very much, haha,” you stated, hand coming up to push your fallen hair behind your ear, a small wince on your face as to not make it a big deal.
His friends, and Gojo at first too, had been relatively mean to you starting off, relentless teasing about your looks, your interests, hobbies, lack of knowledge you had despite trying so hard. You had been so caught off guard when he told you he liked you.
“Psh, they're just playing! See you at 10pm,” he yelled back, already walking away, arm coming up to carelessly wave. You sighed to yourself. You knew you would go. You really wanted to see gojo.
Friday night was a mess. A good mess at first, at least. Cars parked up and down the street, people packed in like sardines in and outside the house, music so loud all the neighboring dorms and frats could hear, and god did it reek like sweat and musk.
The two shots - okay maybe three - you took right before for liquid courage seemed to do the exact opposite as you maneuvered around a couple making out, small “excuse me’s” falling from your lips every second in a measly attempt to find gojo.
The small revealing outfit you had on, at least, seemed to match the vibe, relieved when you saw girls wearing far less. The only con was that your favorite knee high boots would most definitely get stepped on, but at least you were taller now as you searched for the stark white tufts of hair.
The house thrummed from the vibration of the speakers, bass so heavy your teeth rattled. It was dark, the only light illuminating the rooms were colorful shades of blues, purples, reds, and greens shining and flashing everywhere. The party felt like everything you weren't, but for a split second you were almost proud of yourself, going so far out of your comfort zone it felt like you were on a whole other planet. You imagined how fun these parties could be if you had any friends, and before you could let the thought get you down, you let your tipsy self imagine what it would be like to experience these with gojo by your side, excited that you were about to.
Like the rest of the house, the kitchen was packed. Unable to find Gojo had you seeking out another drink and the multitude of bottles of liquor that covered the surfaces were calling your name. You felt confident, wanting another drink to keep your courage and vibes up, grabbing a red solo cup and creating a concoction that would be far too strong, but you were here to let loose right? You were at a party!
Further encouraged and emboldened when a girl passing by stopped to compliment you, you smiled to yourself, feeling the tension roll off your back and a new found self-assurance bloom within you.
Bodies flowed and worked around you, not shoving into you or looking at you like you didn't belong, but moved in rhythm near you, like you had every right to be there and fit just fine. You relaxed into the music, earlier shots of vodka giving you a nice buzz that warmed your skin, made your cheeks tingle, and more importantly a soft happiness that weighed in your chest that comforted you like a safety blanket. Pouring the liquor into the cup with a mixer that admittedly was way too little, you knocked over a different cup, relieved there was barely any liquid that spilled over.
Quietly giggling to yourself, you spun to grab a roll of paper towels, quickly drying up the small mess you made, already sipping on your drink that made you wince in disgust. It was perfect. You hummed along to the music, hips swaying while lights blinded you, walking over to the metal garbage can to toss the wet material. Looking inside, you couldn't help but notice the tupperware that looked exactly like yours.
Furrowing your eyebrows, you leaned in a little closer, tiny fractures cutting into your heart as you realized it was yours, still packed to the brim with your cookies, sticky note still stuck to the top. Next to the cookies, the keychain you had bought him.
You froze, just a moment before scooting back, not wanting to get caught staring into the trashcan as you processed everything. There was a dull ache in your chest, energy immediately depleting and inklings of shame and embarrassment circulating through you. Your mind worked through the different possibilities, seeking out any excuse or reason as to why your items now lay forgotten in the trash.
You felt the build up of tears, blinking them back with a shaky breath as you chugged your mixture that was mainly liquor, a hopeless attempt at suppressing the sadness you felt. You shivered, turning your head to gag at the disgusting taste. Surely all the alcohol would calm your nerves.
Maybe one of the guys had done it? And not Gojo? You were positive this was all some sort of misunderstanding, no way he would just do that right? He told you he liked you- it wouldn't make any sense.
You began your trek around the sea of people, legs a little more unsteady now, eyes slightly glassy, contents of your stomach filled with a majority of alcohol and barely any food from your earlier nerves. All you wanted to do was find him, figure out an explanation that you were positive you'd be more than willing to accept, and spend the rest of the night by his side having a good time. The cookies weren't hard to bake and it's not like the keychain cost that much- it was fine, you were fine.
A little more intense this time, you made your way through the frat house, a sigh of relief when a glimpse of that notorious white fluffy hair came into view, a black backwards baseball cap sitting perfectly on his head. When your eyes finally landed on gojo, albeit still a little wobbly and throat tight, you couldn't help the smile that automatically formed on your face, hoping he'd feel the same. Why wouldn't he? He did invite you after all.
He was surrounded by his friends and then some, everyone dialed in on what he was saying. You anxiously stepped forward, waiting for the right time to get close to him and say hello. You wondered if he'd hug you and say ‘hi baby,’ like he sometimes did. The thought made your heart flutter inside its ribs like a bird in a cage.
Maybe he'd even compliment your outfit, or your hair and makeup. You eagerly bit your lip, too excited to be embarrassed at your spiraling thoughts of being somewhat wanted by him.
“Bro and then she gave me a fuck ass keychain, dude!!” he broke up his commentary with a laugh, a little too forced for it to be genuine, but a laugh nonetheless. “Said it reminded her of me, like, she just can't get any weirder bro. God and don't get me started on the cookies. She said it was her thanks for taking her out, but she doesnt know its all a bet to get into her pants- shes a fucking virgin for sureeee, threw that shit out as soon as i got back,” and he snickered and grinned like he had won the best prize. Like he had formed the best, most elaborate plan and you had played your part perfectly. You really, really had.
His friends, who you recognized as toji and maybe sukuna, chuckled, all chiming in with terms of agreement and encouragement, adding on all sorts of lies and theories about you, like maybe you were secretly a whore putting out, your innocent act a devious little facade. Geto, who had always been kind to you, was there too, perched against the side of a couch, not joining in, but silent and accepting.
You flinched, physically recoiling back when you heard them laugh about how you were too much, too pathetic to see right through anything at all, a fucking stupid girl for thinking someone like you could have a chance at him. Everything you had told yourself, every insecurity that had coursed through you, all confirmed. Others really did view you the way you saw yourself.
“Bro and when I kissed her, swear i almost gagged-”
You drowned his voice out, the music. There was a ringing in your ears that wasn't there before. Frozen in your spot, fingers beginning to shake, throat burning so badly you weren't sure if the alcohol you had downed was about to make a surprise appearance or not.
The bodies around you blurred as the pit in your stomach grew, humiliation washing over you as if you’d just been doused with a bucket full of ice water. You didn't run, couldn't, feet glued to the floor as you were forced to listen to the group of the hottest guys on campus who didn't even know you as a person, didn't take the time to learn you, ridicule you and make fun of you. You guessed it didn't matter, because Gojo had.
Each breath was labored and jagged, chest tightening and skin prickling with such an intense heat that you felt constricted in the already sparse clothes you wore. The way the fabric dug into you, a certain stitch that scratched you, the zipper that rubbed against your skin - it felt like you were suddenly aware of every unpleasant feeling in addition to the shattering of your heart.
You wanted to go home, wanted the floor to swallow you whole- felt so unbelievably silly standing there watching the guy you liked- fuck, the guy you had fallen in love with- paint you out to be some weird nasty creature who was undeserving of his attention. Sure, you had felt that way initially, but he had been so kind to you that you had been so blindsided, unknowingly setting yourself up to fall right back into your constant cycle of heartbreak and misery.
Built up tears finally broke the surface, some beginning to stream down your face and others just dropping from the sheer amount that had welled up. It wasn't until gojo turned his head, eyes landing directly on you and smile completely dropping that your legs became unstuck.
Your breath hitched, crackling sob breaking through as your saliva grew sticky. The extra drinks sure to make you vomit after this. You spun so fast you lost balance for a split second on your heels, immediately righting yourself and pushing through the sweaty bodies blocking you in. You didn't say sorry or excuse me, just pummeled through, desperate to get outside so that maybe you could finally breathe. You felt like a pig in makeup, and the thought made you cry harder. So beyond embarrassed, having dressed up and done your hair and makeup, mortified that everyone else thought you looked just as ugly and silly. You had to get out of here, the air was too thick and stuffy as the walls closed in on you.
Your name fell on deaf ears, sprinting out the front door and down the porch steps, surroundings a blur from not only how fast you were moving, but the alcohol that coursed through you. You knew the gifts were stupid, sure, but everything else? The kiss? He wanted to gag? All the times he called you pretty, beautiful, yes, it was more than plausible that it was a lie, but why did he say it all then? That's right, because you were supposedly just a fucking bet.
Who would willingly want to be with you?
Gojo called your name again, louder. You weren't the only one sick to your stomach. He cursed, heart dropping to his ass as the overwhelming suffocating feeling of guilt bloomed inside of his chest, heart quite literally constricting at how shitty, how fucking disgusting, he felt. It spread throughout him and he would've thought it was dramatic if it didn't feel like he could currently drop to his knees and heave. The entire situation was beyond fucked up, everything a misunderstanding and completely not at the same time.
“Fuck fuck fuck,” he repeated, hoarse and panicked as he immediately trailed after you, abruptly leaving the conversation mid sentence, not caring how he looked when all the guys stared at him in confusion. He lost sight of you for a moment but knew you'd only try to leave, escape the perfect hell he had just created for you.
Why the fuck did he do this? How the fuck was he gonna make this up to you, and why had he let himself get involved in this shitty idea anyway? He knew he should've called it off, he knew he had fallen for you.
Muttering insults as hands came out to grab at him, others trying to talk and some pulling him in for a dance. He didn't look, didn't care who they were, practically throwing and shoving their hands off him with only you in mind. He would explain everything to you, lay himself bare and expose the ugliness and insecurities that festered inside of him.
He had been projecting this entire time, exhausted from maintaining such an ugly facade of the frat fuckboy, desperately trying to fit in with everyone else that he stupidly agreed to the bet just to feel some type of belonging and companionship. All at the expense of you.
He didn't think, that was his issue. So caught up in this fake lifestyle that he knew the act wasn't just pretend anymore, his morals slipping by the day as he settled into this new once foreign character. They were all fucking assholes. All of them.
Fingers tightly clenching your almost dead phone, you bawled, frustration making you grit your teeth in additional annoyance when the sidewalk wouldn't stay straight. Accidentally stepping off the concrete, your heel caught on the edge, sending you falling onto all fours on the pavement, too drunk to care about the pain that shot up your wrists and knees. You let out a guttural infuriated noise, a mix between a squeal and growl, feeling so much more than just pissed and heartbroken. You furiously smashed your palm against the concrete as if it held the blame.
“Fuck, hey, shit, are you okay??”
Gojo's palm rested on your back and in the blink of an eye you stumbled up, whipping around to face him seething and disgusted as tears continued to stream down your cheeks.
“Don't fucking touch me,” you spat backing away from him as if he had physically struck you, and at this point you thought you would’ve almost preferred that over the gut wrenching feeling in your chest. There was a physical pain that tore throughout you, your heart feeling like sharp talons had ripped it out and stomped on it like an attempt at snuffing out a flame.
If you had it in you, you would’ve laughed at his expression, so devastated and hurt and torn as if he wasn't the one who caused all this, as if he wasn't the one who could've prevented everything. He had the audacity to stare at you like he was scared of losing you.
“Please, please y/n, i can explain, I am so sorry, please,” and it was as equally pathetic as it was infuriating. gojo pathetically begged, arms awkwardly reaching towards you as if you were the solution.
You paused, tongue loose and words slurred, staring at him bewildered as you threw your palms up. He wasn't who you thought he was. Or maybe he was exactly who everybody said he was and it was your fault for thinking otherwise.
“I thought you liked digimon??”
He swore, hands coming up to drag down his face. You saw. Saw your cookies and the keychain you bought him in the garbage.
“That wasn't me, I swear, please believe me, I swear- I-I got back from class, one of the guys saw and- and started laughing, they took it from me before I could even say anything. They tossed it, and I swear, please believe me, I was gonna grab it after, I-I love Digimon, I loved your gifts, please.”
He was breathless now, a fruitless panicked attempt at defending himself.
You scoffed. “Sure it wasn't too much?”
Gojo winced, hands curling. “I didn't mean it, I didn't mean it like that-” You cut him off, angrily sniffing and wiping your bloody gravel pricked hands against your black mini skirt. God you felt ridiculous.
“Yeah?? Which fucking part??” Your voice raised an octave, almost yelling but you didn't care as passerbyers turned their heads. You spewed the words, moving forward just to angrily shove at his chest, blood smearing his white shirt. Good, you wanted to stain his shit, wipe your blood all over it.
He took advantage of the proximity, quickly but lightly wrapping his large hands around your wrists to keep you close. You screeched, thrashing in his hold, weakly trying to hit him, shove him, and with his loose grip, he let you, your small fists pounding against his hard chest
“Im sorry, Im sorry, Im so fucking sorry, I like you- I like you so fucking much-”
A broken sob escaped you, a mix between a snarl and cry getting stuck in your throat.
“I didn't mean anything I said in there, I loved kissing you, you’re beautiful - fuck, you’re perfect, you’re so fucking perfect and- and you know me, the real me, I feel like I can be myself with you, please please please, im begging you, let me explain everything- from the start.” He was frantic, words rushing out so fast they blended into one. His eyes were glossy and rimmed red and you knew it wasn’t from whatever drugs he had done.
You stilled your hits, pausing in his hold. Rapid breaths mingling, chests quickly falling and rising, faded background music from the frat echoing into the night.
“Please.”
Gojo spoke it like a prayer, voiced with despair and a frenzied anguish that he knew deep down would do nothing. He would continue to beg, to plead with you, to reason, but deep down, he knew. Your chin dropped to your chest helplessly, a small hiccup squeezing itself out as you tried to catch your breath. Your eyes felt swollen from how much you had cried, but you had plenty left.
You could feel gojo guide your palms to rest against his chest, a new set of bloody hand prints against the stark white, heart thumping like he'd just ran a marathon. You slammed your eyes shut, new sobs threatening to break loose, the feeling of wanting to curl up and die had never been more prominent.
“y/n, I'll do anything, please- please, I don't-” and his voice cracked, fingers tightening around your wrists. “I don't want to lose you- Im so, Im so sorry, baby.”
Your breath hitched, lips curling and fingers twisting into his shirt to bunch the fabric beneath your fingers. The agony and discomfort in your chest was painfully overwhelming, silently wishing you'd wake up from this nightmare, wishing you never heard him, trying to wrap your mind around how and why he would do this to you. You’d never understand, would never gain pleasure from hurting anyone, let alone, him.
“What did I ever do to you?”
The words came out small, so small and fractured and so confused, seeking an explanation or reason that could maybe get the two of you past this- that maybe you must've done something to deserve it and the two of you could come back from this, but you knew it was all for nothing. For no reason at all.
Gojo's eyes flashed with guilt, anger, and shame. He wanted to recoil, wanted to throw his head into his hands and sob, but he didn't want to let you go. He knew it would be the last time. Your gaze didn't meet his.
He swallowed, throat stinging and eyes burning. He regretted everything, internally begging to take it all back like some upper power would hear him and turn back time.
“Nothing, you didn't deserve this- you did- did nothing.” The words caught as his voice wavered and you wondered if he was crying. You refused to look at those eyes. His fucking blue perfect eyes that bore into you like you mattered- it was all lies- he had lied to you for months- almost an entire semester. You dug your teeth into your bottom lip, attempting to stifle the wail you wanted to blubber out. It had been months.
Months of getting to know one another, of a build up, of a hope for something more. The silliest stupidest notion that for once someone found you valuable too and it wasn’t one sided.
A shallow gasp, an unintentional whimper, your shoulders shook as you wept.
“I wish I never met you, g-gojo. I would never-” a cry broke your words, tensing up as you angled your head down to hide your uncontrollable tears. He wanted to correct you and tell you to call him satoru or toru, but he stayed silent, let the sting burn. “Never hurt you like this.”
You shakily exhaled, not paying attention to his mindless small whimpers of “I know, I'm so sorry, I know, please.”
You gripped the fabric tighter, lifting your head to finally meet his eyes, hating how he was crying, how he genuinely looked heartbroken at hurting you, how you hated seeing him like this. His chin wobbled, breath coming out in unsteady pants and for once, he didn't look like the notorious frat boy who could conquer anything. He looked small, like a scared little boy.
Unsteady shaky hands lifted to gently cup your cheeks, gojo preparing himself for you to yank away from his touch like it burned. He sniffled when you didn’t, perfect lips shiny and slightly parted as he fully rested them against your soft skin.
“I never want to see you again.”
His composure shattered, immediately shaking his head murmuring “no’s”, thumbs rubbing back and forth over your skin and under your eyes as he repeated the same words over and over again. You pushed him back roughly with all your drunken force, which wasn't much, but enough to send him stumbling backwards to create distance.
He was alarmed, not at what you had done, but at watching you walk away, brain filling with nothing but no no no no no please, please stay, stay with me stay.
“Y/n, no please, baby, baby, y/n, please hear me out- please-” his voice was shredded, raw from drinking and yelling and begging, but he didn’t care. He’d beg and beg until he had no voice left, and when it was gone, he would find another way.
For a moment, you paused, and he thought that maybe, just maybe you would listen. But when you slowly turned to him, looking so fucking beautiful still as street lamps glistened in the reflection of your eyes, cheeks shiny and tinted pink from the tears that painted your cheeks, it all clicked. It was torturous.
“Fuck y/n, please, I-I love you. I’m so,” he swallowed to ease the scratchiness of his throat. It did nothing. “I’m so in love with you,” and he whispered the words, loud enough so you’d hear, but almost as if they weren’t meant for you, as if he was just talking to himself and unintentionally said the realization aloud.
He watched as a lone tear dropped down your cheek and it was cruel. He was cruel, you were cruel. Standing there so perfect and so beautiful while you broke his heart, and it was all his fault since he had done it first. The silence was thick as the two of you stood feet apart, wordlessly staring at each other, letting his words hang in the air. You opened your mouth and shut it, letting the process repeat as you mulled over the words in your head, wishing more than ever he hadn’t said them. Wishing more than ever you didn’t feel the same.
“I’d pick you, over and over again Satoru, every time, in a room full of people. Everyone would,” you huffed a fake laugh, blinking away your tears as you stared into his dumb perfect eyes. “I thought-” your lips quivered, chin wobbling at the humiliating admission. “I thought for once, someone had finally picked me.” The words slowly fell from your lips, laced with what one could only describe as pure heartbreak.
Gojo felt the final blow split his heart, not a clean cut, but a jagged uneven slash that cleaved it in two. He called your name, desperate and all, watching you spin on your heel and angrily walk away, your perfume hitting him as the wind blew.
He stepped forward- yelled your name again. But you didn't turn, didn't peek, didn't flinch as you sobbed, fingers constantly wiping your eyes to see where you were going as you drunkenly walked back to your apartment. Cried for yourself, mourned who you were becoming, who you were becoming with him. You had fallen in love with him too, of course you had. He was so easy to love.
Hi girly! how r u? Been missing ur zombie leon lately 🤭 do u plan on doing a part 5 or more?
hi sexy im good just so swamped im so SORRY! ugh and i miss him so much too, i have part 5 in the works but UGH im so stuck BC LIKE WHY DID I ADD ANOTHER GUYYYY like WHY DID I DO THAT so now im like do i off him?? :D anyways just a little stuck but after i post this one gojo thing i will post something for zombie leon! but i will def do more
How old is reader supposed to be in your re9 x reader series?
HMMMM good question!!! Okay so obvi since I’m me and it’s x reader I imagine myself right and I’m in my twenties, but I’d also like to think there’s not really an age gap or set age?
Like reader could be in her 30s or 40s or fuck it same age, and I really only have Leon call reader rookie a few times bc technically, she IS a rookie for field work- NOT office work or jobs okay☝🏼☝🏼 the main point is that she’s kinda just insecure and yk :/ idk, I def think it probably like infantilizes her in a way bc she’s not sUpEr BaDaSs but unforch, I just wanted reader like that for this series.
So not really a set age! :) unless I accidentally wrote something that hints she’s like young or age gap- bc like u can love pink and be sweet and innocent and rada rada at any age 🙂↕️ thank u for listening to my ted talk
Hi gabi🙂↕️🙂↕️ you are so kind checking in, I hope you’re doing so great!!!🥹
been super super busy I feel like I have no time to write unforch:( but I’m gonna post a gojo thing and then try to get out something for Leon soon:) maybe a zombie Leon blurb he’s just so cutie and easy to write for. Muah muah muah
︵ ೀ mdni. satoru is undoubtedly attractive but you still see him as the annoying little kid you babysat every weekend to earn some extra money during high school. little do you know that he wants to rail you bad ( pervert!satoru / reverse age-gap / dubcon )
satoru gojo used to be the annoying little kid you babysat every weekend to make extra money during high school.
he was your neighbor’s son—loud, spoiled, with those striking blue eyes that always followed you around the house like you hung the stars. you’d tuck him in, read him stories, and laugh when he threw tantrums about bedtime. “you’re like my big sister,” he used to say, clinging to your leg. you found it cute back then.
now he’s nineteen, tall, ridiculously handsome, and somehow even more trouble.
you still live next door, working part-time while finishing your degree. satoru has grown into something dangerous. six-foot-three of muscle, messy white hair, and that infuriating smirk that makes girls on campus lose their minds. but to you, he’s still little satoru. the kid you used to scold for eating too much sugar.
he wishes you’d stop seeing him that way. because every night when he’s alone in his room, it’s your face he sees. your soft smile, the way your hips sway when you walk, the curve of your breasts under those old t-shirts you wear when you come over to help his mom. he wraps his hand around his cock and strokes himself slow and desperate, imagining bending you over the same couch you used to read him stories on.
he cums hard every time, biting his lip to stay quiet.
seeing you now drives him insane.
you’re in his kitchen again, helping his mom with groceries like you always do. satoru leans against the doorway, arms crossed, watching you laugh at something his mother says. you’re wearing shorts that hug your thighs and a loose top that slips off one shoulder. he wants to rail you so badly it hurts. wants to push you against the counter, shove those shorts down, and fuck you until you finally see him as a man.
“hey,” he says, voice low and smooth as he walks in. he’s learned how to turn on the charm. “you look good today. new shorts?”
you glance down, then smile like he’s still ten years old. “these old things? thanks, satoru. you’re sweet.”
sweet. the word burns.
he steps closer, towering over you now. “i’m not a kid anymore, you know.”
you laugh softly, patting his arm like you used to when he threw tantrums. “of course you’re not. you’re all grown up. my little troublemaker became a heartthrob, huh?”
satoru’s jaw tightens. he wants to grab you, pin you to the wall, and show you exactly how grown up he is. instead he flashes that signature gojo grin, leaning in so his breath brushes your ear.
“you should let me take you out sometime. dinner. drinks. whatever you want.”
you blink, tilting your head with that innocent confusion that drives him crazy. “aww, that’s so nice of you! are you practicing your lines for the girls at school? you’re gonna break so many hearts.”
he nearly groans. “i’m not practicing. i mean it. i want to take you out. just us.”
you wave him off with a smile, completely missing the heat in his eyes. “you’re adorable. but i’m way too old for you, satoru. focus on college girls your age.”
adorable.
the word makes something snap inside him. he’s imagined you on your knees, lips wrapped around his cock. imagined folding you in half and pounding you until you scream his name. imagined filling you up while you moan about how big he is.
and you still call him adorable.
he steps even closer, backing you against the counter. his height makes it impossible for you to ignore how much he’s grown. “i’m not a little kid anymore,” he says, voice dropping. “i know what i want. and i want you.”
you laugh again, reaching up to ruffle his hair like you did when he was eight. “you’re so funny. always teasing your old babysitter.”
satoru catches your wrist gently but firmly, holding it against his chest so you can feel how fast his heart is racing. his blue eyes burn into yours.
“i’m not teasing.”
for a second you pause. but then you smile again. “you’ll find a nice girl soon. i promise.”
he lets you go, watching you walk away to help his mom again. his cock is half-hard in his pants just from being close to you. the frustration is driving him insane.
every time you treat him like the child he used to be, it only makes him want to ruin you more. to prove how much of a man he is by fucking you so deep you forget you ever saw him as anything but yours.
satoru leans against the counter, eyes dark and hungry as he watches you move around the kitchen. he stays there until he can’t take it anymore, then pushes off the counter and heads upstairs to his room without a word.
the second his door clicks shut, he’s already palming himself through his pants. he frees his aching cock and starts stroking, hoping that you’ll take the garden path home like you usually do so you’ll walk right past his window and hear the wet sound of his hand pumping his cock and the moans he doesn’t even try to hide because he wants you to know. he wants you to hear exactly what you do to him.
a few days later, satoru comes back from a late training session when he cuts through the side yard like he always does. your bedroom curtain is pulled mostly closed, but there’s a gap—just enough, and he stops dead. through the narrow opening he sees you.
you’re on top, completely naked, riding your stupid boyfriend with slow rolls of your hips. your head is tilted back, lips parted, hands braced on his chest. the moonlight catches the curve of your breasts, the way they bounce every time you sink down. your boyfriend’s hands are on your waist, guiding you, but his thrusts look lazy.
satoru’s mouth goes dry.
he should look away. he knows he should. but he can’t. his cock hardens instantly, straining against his pants as he watches you move. you look so pretty like this—flushed, glowing, lost in pleasure. but something ugly twists in his chest because it’s not him underneath you. he wants to be him so fucking bad.
before he can think, satoru slips behind the bushes, hidden in the shadows. his hand shoves into his pants, wrapping around his aching cock. he strokes himself in time with your movements, eyes locked on the way your body rises and falls. every soft moan that drifts through the cracked window makes him leak.
“fuck… you should be riding me,” he whispers. his fist moves faster, thumb swiping over the head as he imagines it’s your tight, wet heat instead. he pictures grabbing your hips, slamming you down on his much bigger cock, making you scream his name instead of whatever soft sounds you’re making now.
he cums hard, biting his lip to stay quiet, painting his hand while watching you chase your own pleasure. the sight of you cumming—back arching, mouth open in a silent cry—pushes him over the edge again. he milks himself through it, thick, messy spurts flooding into his boxers and soaking through his pants. after the orgasm fades and reality came back he stares down at the dark wet patch on the front of his sweatpants.
later that night he lies in bed, staring at the ceiling, still half-hard while his damp pants he cleaned in a hurry so his mom wouldn’t notice, dry on the back of his chair in his room. that loser didn’t even make you cum properly. satoru could tell.
your moans were pretty, but not desperate enough. your body moved like you were doing most of the work. he knows he would be so much better for you. he would flip you over, pin you down, and fuck you so deep and so good you’d forget any other man existed. he’d make you cum until you cried, until your legs shook, until you begged him to fill you up. he’d treat you like the goddess you are instead of some half-assed ride.
the jealousy burns hotter than the lust now. you still see him as the little kid you babysat. you have a boyfriend who can’t even make you cum right, and you smile at satoru like he’s harmless.
it makes him insane.
the next afternoon he sees you working in the garden.
you’re kneeling in the flowerbed next door, wearing those same old shorts that ride up your thighs and a loose tank top, hair tied back messily as you dig around the roses. the sun makes your skin glow. satoru leans against the wooden fence that separates your yards, arms crossed over his chest, watching you in silence for a long moment. his eyes trace the curve of your back, the way your shorts cling when you shift, the soft bounce of your breasts every time you reach forward.
his cock twitches at the memory of last night—you riding that loser, the way your body moved, the sounds you made. he still feels a little ashamed about cumming in his pants like a desperate pervert, but the hunger is stronger.
finally he speaks, voice casual but laced with something darker.
“had a good night?”
you look up, brushing dirt off your hands, and give him that same bright, innocent smile you always do. “oh, hey satoru. yeah, it was alright. why do you ask?”
he shrugs, but his blue eyes are intense behind his sunglasses. “just curious. you seemed… busy.”
you laugh softly, standing up and stretching. the hem of your tank top rides up, showing a sliver of skin, and satoru’s gaze drops there instantly.
“nothing special,” you say. “just hung out with my boyfriend. watched a movie, you know how it is.”
satoru’s jaw tightens. he wants to tell you that “hung out” clearly wasn’t enough if you weren’t even satisfied. instead he flashes his usual grin and leans further over the fence.
“movie, huh? sounds boring. you deserve better than boring.”
you tilt your head, amused. “are you offering to entertain me now, little satoru?”
there it is again. little satoru.
the nickname stings worse than usual after what he saw last night. he wants to vault over the fence, push you down into the dirt, and fuck you right there in the garden until you scream his name instead of calling him little anything.
“i could entertain you way better than a movie,” he says. “just say the word.”
you chuckle and wave him off, going back to your flowers like he’s still the kid you used to babysit. “you’re such a flirt these days. go find a girl your own age.”
satoru stays leaning against the fence, watching you work, heart pounding and cock half-hard again. the frustration coils tighter in his chest. one day you’ll stop seeing him as the little boy next door. one day he’ll make you see exactly how much he’s grown—preferably while he’s buried nine inches deep inside you.
as you lean down deeper to reach a stubborn weed, your loose tank top slips forward. satoru catches a clear view of your tits—soft, full, and perfect, nipples just barely hidden by the thin fabric. the sight hits him like a punch to the gut.
his cock instantly swells, painfully hard again in seconds.
he can’t tear his eyes away. he imagines pulling your top down completely, watching those pretty tits spill out into his hands. he wants to grope them, squeeze them, bury his face between them while he fucks you. he wants to suck on your nipples until they’re swollen and sensitive, until you’re whimpering and arching into his mouth.
the urge to take a picture is so strong it almost hurts. he wants to save this view forever—the way your tits hang and sway as you work, the soft curve of them, the way they move when you shift. his fingers twitch at his side, desperate to grab his phone, but he forces himself to stay still.
he can’t. not without risking everything.
instead, he just stares, breathing hard through his nose, cock throbbing angrily in his pants as fantasies flood his mind. he wants to cover them in his cum. he wants to watch them bounce while you ride him. he wants to mark them as his.
he can’t take it anymore. muttering a quick excuse, he turns and practically runs inside his house. he doesn’t even make it up the stairs to his bedroom this time. the second he’s inside the downstairs bathroom, he locks the door, yanks his pants down, and wraps his hand around his throbbing cock.
he strokes himself furiously, leaning against the sink, replaying the image of your tits spilling out of your top and the memory of you riding your boyfriend. it only takes him a minute before he cums hard again, biting his arm to stay quiet as thick ropes paint the sink.
panting, flushed, and still half-hard, satoru stares at his reflection. he knows he’s completely fucked. but he also knows he won’t stop until you finally see him the way he sees you. lucky him, it didn’t take long for the next opportunity to arise.
the next time you come over, it’s to help with groceries like always.
satoru’s mom is out running errands, leaving the two of you alone in the kitchen. you’re putting things away, humming softly, completely unaware of the way satoru is watching you. he’s done playing nice. the images from the garden and that night through the window have been burning in his brain for days. he’s tired of being “cute little satoru.”
you reach for the top shelf, standing on your tiptoes, trying to slide a heavy bag of rice into place and your shorts pull tight across your ass.
“here, let me help,” satoru says.
he steps right behind you before you can protest. his tall frame cages you against the counter, one arm reaching easily over your head to push the bag into place. but he doesn’t step back. instead, he presses forward, letting you feel every inch of his hard cock against your ass through his sweatpants.
you freeze. “satoru…?”
he doesn’t move away. if anything, he presses closer, rolling his hips just enough for you to feel how thick and heavy he is. his breath is hot against your ear.
“you feel that?” he murmurs. “that’s what you do to me. every time i see you. every time you smile at me like i’m still that little kid.”
his hands slide down to grip your waist, holding you in place as he grinds slowly against you. the hard line of his cock nestles perfectly between your cheeks, and he lets out a shaky breath.
“i’m not a kid anymore,” he continues, lips brushing your ear. “i’ve been jerking off to you for months. thinking about bending you over this counter and fucking you. thinking about how much better i’d be than that useless boyfriend of yours.”
you try to turn around, but he keeps you pinned, chest pressed to your back.
“satoru, this isn’t funny—”
“i’m not joking.” his voice drops even lower, more aggressive. one hand slides up your side, thumb brushing the underside of your breast. “i saw you riding him the other night. through your window. he couldn’t even make you cum properly, could he? i would. i’d fuck you so good.”
he rolls his hips again, letting you feel how hard he is, how big. his cock twitches against you, desperate and leaking.
“tell me to stop and i will,” he whispers, even as his grip tightens possessively. “but i think you feel it too. how much i want you. how much better i can make you feel.”
you’re breathing faster now, trapped between the counter and his tall, muscular body. satoru leans down, lips grazing your neck. “let me show you. just once. i’ll make you cum so many times you’ll be begging for more.”
you’re breathing faster now, trapped between the counter and his tall, muscular body. satoru doesn’t wait for a clear answer. he rolls his hips forward again, slower this time, deliberately dragging the thick ridge of his cock against your ass through your thin shorts.
a shaky breath escapes you and he feels it—the way your body tenses then softens just a little. encouraged, he does it again, pressing harder, grinding his clothed cock between your cheeks in slow rolls. the friction is maddening. even through two layers of fabric, you can feel how hot and heavy he is, how big.
“satoru…” your voice comes out breathless.
“shh,” he murmurs against your ear, lips brushing the sensitive skin. “just feel me.”
his hands tighten on your waist, holding you still as he starts dry humping you properly. long, deliberate thrusts that slide his hard length up and down between your ass cheeks. every roll makes your shorts ride up further, the fabric catching and pulling against your pussy. you can feel yourself getting wet, your body reacting even though your mind is still spinning.
satoru groans softly, forehead pressed to the back of your head. “fuck… you feel so good. been dreaming about this for so long.”
he picks up the pace a little, hips snapping forward with more urgency. the kitchen is quiet except for your shared heavy breathing and the faint rustle of clothes. you grip the edge of the counter, knuckles turning white, trying to steady yourself as heat pools low in your belly.
“you’re getting wet, aren’t you?” he whispers. one of his hands slides down your stomach, stopping just above the waistband of your shorts. “i can feel how warm you are. your body knows i’d be better.”
you bite your lip, a soft, involuntary whimper slipping out as he grinds particularly hard against you. the pressure on your clit through the fabric is driving you crazy. your breathing is turning faster, chest rising and falling quickly.
satoru notices immediately. a pleased sound rumbles in his chest.
“that’s it… getting breathless for me already?” he teases, but his voice is strained. he rolls his hips in a slow circle, pressing his cock right against your clothed entrance. “good girl. let me hear those pretty sounds.”
he keeps grinding harder, faster, like he’s trying to fuck you through your clothes. every thrust makes your tits bounce slightly and pulls another shaky breath from your lips. you’re starting to push back against him without thinking, chasing the friction.
satoru’s hand finally slips under your tank top, palm hot against your bare stomach.
“tell me to stop,” he rasps, lips against your neck, “or tell me to keep going. because if you don’t… i’m not gonna be able to hold back much longer.”
you’re panting now, head spinning, body burning under his aggressive touch. satoru keeps grinding against you like he’s possessed, cock throbbing against your ass, waiting for you to decide how far this is going to go.
“satoru… we can’t.” your fingers dig harder into the counter, knees feeling weak. “this is wrong… you’re—you’re basically still my—”
“we can,” he cuts you off. “we definitely can. and we’re going to.”
before you can protest again, his hand leaves your waist. you hear the metallic clink of his belt buckle, the sound of his zipper being dragged down. your heart hammers wildly as he frees his cock. it’s heavy and hot as it springs out, slapping against your ass cheek. he’s so hard it looks painful, the tip already leaking.
“feel what you do to me,” he murmurs, pressing the thick length against you again, this time with nothing but your thin shorts and panties between you.
his fingers hook into the side of your shorts and panties, tugging them just enough to the side. cool air hits your soaked pussy for a second before he slides his bare cock along your drenched folds. the hot, velvety length glides up and down your slick lips, parting them slightly with every slow stroke but never pushing inside.
you let out a broken whimper, forehead dropping against the cabinet door.
“fuck… you’re soaked,” satoru groans. he rocks his hips, sliding his cock repeatedly between your folds, coating himself in your wetness. the head catches on your clit with every pass, sending sparks shooting through you. “all this for me? and you still tried to say we can’t?”
he keeps the teasing motion going—long, deliberate slides from your entrance up to your clit and back down. every time the thick head nudges against your hole, you clench around nothing, aching to be filled. your breathing is ragged, little gasps and moans slipping out despite yourself.
satoru’s free hand comes back to your hip, holding you steady as he grinds his bare cock against your dripping pussy.
“see? we can. and it feels so fucking good, doesn’t it? just imagine how much better it’ll feel when i finally slide inside you.”
he presses forward a little harder, the head of his cock dipping just slightly against your entrance before sliding back up, teasing mercilessly. you’re trembling, breathless, torn between pushing him away and pushing back for more.
“tell me to stop… or tell me you want it. because i’m this close to bending you over and fucking you right here on the counter.”
finally, you break.
“…just the tip,” you whisper. “okay? just the tip, satoru. and don’t come inside me.”
the words barely leave your mouth before satoru groans like he’s been granted heaven. “fuck, yes. just the tip, baby. i promise.”
he lines himself up, the fat head of his cock pressing against your dripping entrance. he pushes forward slowly, and the stretch is immediate. only the tip slips inside you—just the swollen head breaching your tight walls. it’s enough to make both of you lose your minds.
“oh my god…” you gasp, fingers scrabbling against the counter. the feeling of him inside you, even just that little bit, is overwhelming. he’s so thick.
satoru’s forehead drops to your shoulder. “fuck… you’re so tight. so fucking warm. just the tip feels this good?”
he rocks his hips in tiny, shallow movements, fucking just the head in and out of you. every shallow thrust makes wet, obscene sounds echo in the quiet kitchen. he doesn’t push any deeper, but the way he’s teasing your entrance is driving you insane. the constant stretch and release has your walls fluttering around his tip, trying to pull him in further.
“satoru…” you whimper, pushing back against him despite yourself.
“i know, i know,” he pants. “just the tip. i’m being good. but fuck, baby… you’re sucking me in. your pussy wants more, doesn’t it?”
he keeps it like this—shallow little thrusts that only give you the head, never more. it’s torture. for both of you. satoru’s hands grip your hips so tightly you know you’ll have bruises. his breathing is harsh against your neck as he fights every instinct to slam all the way in.
“you feel so perfect,” he groans, circling his hips so the head rubs against that sensitive spot inside you. “i could cum just like this.”
you’re moaning softly now, completely breathless, knees shaking. the denial is making everything more intense. every shallow thrust sends sparks through your body, but it’s not enough. you need more, but you’re scared to ask.
satoru’s control is hanging by a thread. his cock twitches inside you, leaking precum, and he has to bite back a whine. then his hands slide up under your tank top, pushing it up until your breasts spill free. he immediately gropes them, one large hand squeezing and kneading your soft tits while his thumbs flick over your hardened nipples.
“mmh— satoru…” you moan, pushing back against him desperately.
he chuckles against your neck, pinching your nipples hard enough to make you gasp. “what’s wrong, baby? your loser boyfriend doesn’t play with these pretty tits like this? doesn’t know how sensitive you are here?” he rolls your nipples between his fingers, tugging them while still fucking you with only the tip of his cock. every shallow thrust makes you clench greedily around his head, but it’s never enough.
“bet he doesn’t even make you wet like this,” satoru says, voice dripping with arrogance as he squeezes your breasts harder. “bet he fucks you like a pathetic little boy and still can’t make you cum. that’s why you’re dripping down my cock right now, isn’t it?”
you whimper helplessly, forehead pressed against the cabinet, hips trying to push back to take more of him. but satoru keeps perfect control—only giving you the tip, no matter how much you beg with your body.
“say it,” he murmurs, biting your shoulder lightly while still playing with your tits. “tell me his dick isn’t enough for you. tell me you need mine.”
he punctuates his words with another shallow thrust, the head of his cock catching perfectly against that spot right at your entrance. your moan comes out broken and needy.
“satoru… please—”
“please what? please fuck you properly? or please keep teasing this desperate little pussy until you’re crying for me?” then, just to torture you more, satoru pushes in a little deeper—only an extra inch, but it’s enough.
you cry out sharply, the sudden stretch pulling a broken, needy sound from your throat. your body reacts on instinct, pushing back against him desperately, trying to take more of his thick cock.
“greedy girl… you said just the tip, but look at you pushing back like you want me to ruin you.”
he gives you another shallow thrust, still not going all the way in, but deeper than before. you whimper pathetically, hips rocking back against him again, chasing the feeling. your pussy clenches hard around him, dripping down his length.
“fuck, you really want it, don’t you?” he laughs breathlessly against your ear “you want your former babysitting kid to fuck you stupid—”
the front door suddenly swings open.
“satoru? i’m back early—”
his mom’s voice cuts through the air like ice water.
you both freeze.
satoru reacts instantly, pulling out of you and yanking your tank top back down to cover your chest. he quickly tucks himself back into his pants, heart hammering. you’re still pressed against the counter, legs shaking, face burning with embarrassment as you try to fix your shorts.
his mom stands in the doorway only seconds later, holding grocery bags, blinking at the two of you.
satoru clears his throat, somehow managing to sound almost normal. “hey mom. we were just… putting the groceries away.”
you nod quickly, too mortified to speak, cheeks flaming red. your thighs are still trembling, pussy aching from being left empty and dripping.
his mom narrows her eyes slightly, suspicious. “hm. well, don’t make a mess in here.”
she sets the bags down and walks further into the kitchen, completely unaware of how close she came to catching her son balls-deep inside you.
satoru glances at you, eyes still dark. he leans in close while his mom’s back is turned, whispering hotly against your ear: “this isn’t over. next time i’m not stopping until you’re creaming all over my cock.”
you shiver, pressing your thighs together as you try to calm your racing heart.
I need a fic with Gojo filled with angst, with tears I want Gojo to believe that reader is dying or that's she's already dead, I want that man to lose his mind I want him completely deteriorated by the guilt and by the grief, I want him sleepless, restless, tormented by nightmares and on the verge of death, I want him broken, I want his hands tightening at the empty space around him longing for the love of his life and I want him to finally find once again the opportunity to be reunited with reader finding out she's alive.
Then I want the both of them to have the most heart-wrenching sex in all existence, I want them to be CRYING and SOBBING each others name completely consumed by the presence of their love and finally reunited valuing more than ever their union knowing that they were on the verge of fulfilling a fated separation.
Lit love Zombie! Leon— I wanna kiss his cheekssss!🤞 Also imagine the fluff (and angst?? Kinda) of there being a little/teenager child instead of Jack. Parental Leon is just chefs kiss 💋
UGH so I DOOOO love this idea so much omg!! I love how quackysprouts drew sherry w Leon at first and she’s the sweetest with him and vice versa🥺🥹 it’s just a whole other ballgame if there’s someone that truly depends on him- like reader can get by ofc and defend herself but another innocent who HAS to rely on someone else? Ugh my heart<3
I so would’ve loved to include this in the series but lowkey I was like I can’t just ignore the kid if/when they escape😳
WARNINGS: angst angst angst, blood, gore, death, hurt no comfort, no happy ending <3
“Please. Please, wake up.” You whispered, a plea that could only be heard between the sky and the man that laid in your arms. The ground was wet beneath you, and you hated that you knew what it was. That the liquid was now lukewarm against your skin but once held an initial chill. That despite being outdoors, the faint aroma of iron still lingered all around you.
He felt so warm.
You didn’t move, arms wrapped around a built torso that was covered in lacerations, head tucked deeply into a neck that was now damp from the earlier blood and tears that had streamed down the sides of his cheeks.
He still felt so warm.
His scent blanketed you, faintly mixed in with all the rubble and smoke. You tried to ignore the coppery metallic tang that had unwelcomely woven itself in.
Fingers curled into his tight black shirt, chin trembling and lips wobbling. You panted into his neck, each breath a gasp for air. He was here, he was right here in your arms. He just needed to wake up.
“Please baby. Please, wake up- need you here, c-can’t go on without you. Please.”
The quiet was sickening. The lack of a response, the lack of anything except for the cries and insults and pleads that flowed from your torn lips. Each second passed so agonizingly slow, yet so fast all you could do was bury yourself deeper into his neck. Still, you tried.
Beg after beg after beg.
You weren’t sure how long you’d been there for, crying out to some unknown upper power to bring him back, to any god or creature that might’ve existed and took pity on you. You had screamed, cursed, tried bartering your own life and soul to just have him for a moment longer.
Sobs and wails turned into spurts of snarls and growls as if you were some ravaged animal, some crazed thing with a hunger for something that could only ever be satisfied by him. You dug your hands into the blood soaked soil, nails bleeding and tearing on rocks as you raked your fingers through, throwing dirt and hurling insults at the sky.
“I’ll do anything. Please!” The words tore from your throat, more of a demand than anything else.
When there was no response, you were forced to sit with your anger. Forced to sit in silence, save for your own cries that echoed around you.
Curling up next to him, just as you had always done, your hands traced softly over his abs, fingers running and tickling patterns on his skin as if the two of you were solely cuddling. You were careful not to dip too low, to not feel what wasn’t there.
Then they threaded through his hair. The beautiful stark white tufts, damp with sweat, now partially dyed a dark maroon as it seeped out onto the earth behind his head in a distorted halo. The pretty hair you’d tug on or massage and play with after he had a long grueling day, after he found his rightful place with his head in your lap, hair splaying out like he was some angel. He’d grin at you, eyes closed in content as he hummed along to whatever you blabbed on about. He’d make a comment that he felt at peace with you, that he could be himself. That you were his home.
Your nose ran along the side of his neck, lips grazing the skin, nuzzling as close as possible. The warmth was fading by the second.
“You’re okay, my love, I’ve got you. I’ve got you baby.” More whispers and lies that would go unanswered. More tears that rushed down the sides of your face. More love with nowhere to go.
“Did so good- so brave,” your nails gently scraped against his scalp, fingers weaving through the strands, waiting for the soft hum that always fell from his lips at the motion that he loved, that soothed him. Your other hand found his cheek. He was growing increasingly colder, a tell that you had laid there with him for hours. You would stay there with him forever if you could.
So softly, you caressed his skin, thumb carefully avoiding a small wound, unknowingly smearing the blood that had previously trailed down the sides of his mouth. ‘You’re okay’ repeatedly muttered into his neck, as if you murmured the words enough times, as if you treated him so gently and held him so closely, that they might come true. That your eyes would open and he’d be right there smiling at you, sharp piercing blue eyes teasing but flattered, glint of devious humor shining through like always. He’d laugh at you, poke and make fun of, then he’d pepper you in kisses all over. Tell you he’d love you, that you knew better, knew he’d never leave you.
He would come back. He had to.
“We’re gonna go home, ‘kay? G-gonna go home, and-and it’s gonna be fine, I can fix this, we can fix this, baby,” you sobbed. And it was cruel- such a cruel and ugly moment that had no right to be your last with him. Filled with nothing but lies and snot and blood, the smell of smoke somehow becoming more prominent while his began to vanish. The lies you swore only dealt more damage to you, heart thumping and mind screaming that it knew, that your body knew, but you refused to speak the words on your tongue.
A period of silence, of some mock makeshift semblance of comfort that would never come. Tears and wails had slowed to small gasps and soundless whimpers as you laid with him, trying to pretend that the two of you were home in your shared bed, wrapped lovingly in each other's arms- your usual nightly routine. Surely if you willed it enough, it would come true. He remained still in your arms. Frozen.
A new round of sobs made their way up your throat, already stinging and scratched raw from the supposedly endless supply you had. Your eyes burned, puffy and rimmed red while your lips grew swollen, teeth having gnawed them from your past failed attempts to bite back screams.
Agony was a paralyzing thing, a full force sensation that shook you yet rooted you still, that would make you remember this nightmare forever. You knew years down the road on a beautiful sunny day- if any could exist without him- you'd shut your eyes and this moment would find you. Haunting. Immobilizing. It would force you to relive it, force you to come back here. There would be no escaping him, this.
But you supposed this was the price you always knew you’d pay. Your curse for falling in love with the strongest.
You blubbered out a howl, cradling his head closer, shifting up so that now he lay tucked in the crook of your neck, hands pathetically making a faux display of protecting him, shielding him. As if you ever could. Your hands fisted into the root of his hair, desperately clutching him towards you, holding him like you couldn’t possibly fathom ever letting go.
You’d barter everything, switch places with him in the blink of an eye, anything to not be lying like this with him right now. Your legs were careful to not touch him, didn’t want the reality to hit you and remind you of what he lacked below. It didn’t matter, he could still come back.
Still, you tried to comfort him amongst the sputtering of your cries, absolutely shredded and strained from the complete and utter bloody murder you had screeched. The moment was hideous, flecks of blood now dry on your face, hair matted with his gore, snot you hadn’t bothered wiping away, face puffy and splotched. None of it mattered.
“S-Shoko, she, she will-” and you cut yourself off with a sharp inhale, painful and instant, as if your body and mind were finally accepting the fact that your words were useless and futile. That each lie dug a little deeper, took something from you that you’d never get back. Shoko wouldn’t be able to do anything. and you knew it.
“Please please please, come back. Please!”
The words twisted in your gut, a physical pain that punched so profound a hand left his cheek to cradle your stomach, to clutch at your chest. You writhed, stone and gravel hard against the side of your skull, trying to catch a breath you’d never get. It was overwhelming, devastating, the ultimate display of affection towards a loved one. You’d done it, you achieved it.
There was no amount of soul dealing you could do, no solution you could find, no turning back time. This was real, this was your new life.
Immediately, you shot up, temporarily abandoning him of your touch to grasp at the clothing near your chest and neck, anger and denial ebbing away and panic seeping in as reality finally took hold. It was like ice in your veins, a seer so hot it burned cold. There was a visceral fear, pure unadulterated hysteria that pummeled through you at the reality of having to go on without him- a soul tie between the two of you that had been severed far too early. There was no reparation for a loss so big. Nothing could ever fill the newly gaping hole in your chest. You would truly never be the same. You clawed at your throat, at your face, no amount of oxygen relieving the need for air that you lacked. But you knew that wasn’t what your body craved, wasn’t what your soul yearned for.
Naturally, you turned towards him- always to him, only to be met with the horrific sight all over again. The flat dullness of his eyes, bright electric blues completely fizzed out, replaced with a lifelessness that only confirmed the one thing you wouldn't accept. The gape of his mouth, now dried blood that had dribbled down the sides. White long luscious eyelashes that you’d always been jealous of, spattered with crimson.
But his arms- his torso.
A gut wrenching wail broke through, shoulders rolling with every vicious sob, lips curling and eyes squeezing shut. This was it. This would be the last of him.
You leaned over him, forehead resting on his unbeating too still chest, arms caging the sides of his head to rest in his blood.
“Please- if you w-wont come back- take me with you, take me with you, p-please, I can’t do this, I can’t do this,” you yelled, unsure to who. Maybe to him, maybe to the sky, maybe to no one. You wished you could crawl inside of him, tuck yourself right behind his ribcage and die there, rot with him, fester and become one with nature together.
Raising your head to gaze directly down at him, you knew. When all that reflected back in his now lifeless eyes, was a version of you you’d never seen before, you knew.
You willed yourself to die, rocking back and forth as the stomach churning nauseating grief rattled your bones, making it incapable to stay still, torn fingers clawing into the earth to try and grasp onto something. Tears dropped onto his blood stained face, skin paler than ever before, murky eyes staring right through you. This was it.
“Take me with you,” you begged, making eye contact as the coldness of it all began to settle in your bones. The weather was overcast, skies grey, thunder cracking as it began to softly drizzle. “Take me with you, Toru. Please.”
Notes: reader is washing her and her clothes! Just a little blurb or whateva of reader cleaning Leon :P No specific timeline tbh, but obvi would be after they get out of everything but not necessarily in order for anything:) I’m working on the next part, so I’m so sorry it’s taken so long, but here’s this in the meantime (as if it hasn’t been 10930292 days) also I have f!reader but no pronouns mentioned I don’t think!!
Warnings: not really anything I can think of, just fluff ( ◠‿◠ )
You couldn't help the string of giggles that left your lips as Leon huffed and puffed, clearly frustrated with the shirt that was now stuck over his head with his arms awkwardly caught in the holes. You doubled over laughing loudly now, Leon annoyingly grumbling but clearly needing the help.
"Im- Im sorry, Leon, j-just, you're so funny," you managed between broken laughs, slowly exhaling to gather yourself and resume removing his shirt. You righted your position, hands finding the hem of the tee to properly work it over his head and limbs, grinning ear to ear.
Once removed and thrown somewhere across your floor, now shirtless before you, Leon groaned, eyes narrowing the slightest bit at you not only finding amusement in his struggles, but at leaving the shirt on him like that to take a laughing break. You bit your lip, hand rising to cup his cheek, thumb automatically brushing back and forth over his soft skin, gleaming at him like he was the prettiest thing you’d ever seen. He was.
"You know I'm teasing, baby," you snickered tilting your head with faux innocence. "Im done now, okay? Had my laugh, now lets get you cleaned up!"
You were eager and determined, clapping your hands together like you had a large and important mission at hand. Well, he was a rather large built man, and he was most definitely more than important, so you weren't quite far off.
Hand grabbing onto his, you led him to your bathroom, flicking on the light to reveal the shower and your tub, eyes narrowing in concentration.
"Alright, Leon, it's clean up time. Come 'ere," and you yanked him closer, muttering a small apology when he stumbled and groaned, head lolling to the side.
"Sorrysorrysorrysorry, okay, im gonna, uh, pull your pants down now alright baby- no wait, actually-" and for a moment you really thought about it. Did Leon remember what a shower was? He hadn't seemed to mind the water in the sewer, but would he freak when it sprayed down at him? You guessed there was only one way to find out, praying that it didn't scare him.
Gently pulling him closer towards the tub, you bent down to turn on the faucet, running a free hand under the flowing stream to test the temperature ensuring it was okay. Or well, was it okay? Leon always ran cold, so did that mean he'd want it colder? Warmer? You mentally cursed to yourself, completely unsure of what you were doing when you only wanted to make him feel comfortable.
Turning your head to stare back up at Leon, you became almost overwhelmed with adoration and tenderness, a soft smile growing on your face as you observed the way his head tilted as he suspiciously eyed the heavy and loud flow of the water. He squinted his eyes, his free hand twitching for just a moment before hesitantly moving towards the water. He paused, then slowly with apprehension and features frozen, ran a finger under the stream, immediately flinching and yanking it back.
You bit back a wider smile, finding his curiosity cute. "it's water, honey, see," and you lightly touched his hand, guiding it back towards the stream. When your attention returned to Leons face, his eyes were already on you. Heat rushed to your face, quickly tugging the tub diverter to redirect the flow of water to the shower head before standing straight and clearing your throat, mentally preparing yourself to undress the rest of his toned body.
His gaze didn't leave you.
"Shower time, Leon."
The words came out as a whisper, scolding yourself for feeling so flustered when the situation should've been purely operational, step by step. But you couldn't help feeling shy and intimidated when you had to undress a very fit and good looking guy who you had undoubtedly wanted to date and kiss at a certain point. This was still the guy you had gone out with, still the zombie who had saved your life so many times in the sewers and lab, still your Leon. Right? The thought made you frown, but you shook it off, attention returning to the quest at hand.
"Okay, now, Im uh, just tell me to stop if you're uncomfy okay? Or well, just hit me, I guess- Um Okay, Im gonna undress you, Okay?" you rambled to yourself more than anything, Leon a solid piece of art who somehow while being a zombie still stood there cooly, nonchalantly and unbashful. Of course he did.
Directing your gaze anywhere but down- and sure as hell not making eye contact either- you undid his trousers, squatting to work them down his legs, hand going to his to steady him when you motioned him to shift his weight to worm it off his feet.
Gnawing on your lip, cheeks burning, and eyes wide, you returned to full height, closed lip smile to try and fake the calm and ease you were certainly not feeling. This is cool, you're cool, it's just a guy, but your internal thoughts did nothing to ease the hammering of your heart or the warmth in your face. Especially when he stared at you so intensely.
You cleared your throat again, suddenly finding interest in the shower tiles as you guided him right towards the tub, silently prompting him to step over and in. He didn't move.
"Okay, Leon, you can step in now," you urged, voice light as you refocused on the mission, dismissing your girlish immature thoughts. He just stared. Furrowing your eyebrows, you put a hand under the flowing water, waving it gently as if he’d know that the gesture meant it was fine for him to go in. “Come on, baby, just step in,” and you nodded your head to the shower, confused at why he wasn’t following.
“Leon, what’s-” but the words immediately died on your tongue, narrowing your eyes at him as he continued to just stare at you with his foggy white eyes. “You think you’re so clever, hm?” You teased, figuring out his little scheme, but the cheeky grin that grew on your face sold you away. “Zombie or not, still a guy huh?”
You sighed looking down at your clothes. A t-shirt and shorts would have to suffice. Playfully rolling your eyes at Leon, you reluctantly stepped over the edge of the tub, clothes sticking tightly to your now wet skin, hair plastering against your neck and back.
You stared at him, trying to play the part of an unamused and unwilling victim. “Now will you come in?” Without a word, hand in yours for balance, he stepped in the shower, water hot and steam already filling the space.
Like second nature to him, which you supposed it was, Leon automatically leaned his weight on your frame. You grunted, hands coming up to grip his small hard waist. God he was lazy and clingy and god did you love it.
His forehead dropped to your shoulder, grumbling into your neck as his muscular arms wrapped around your clothed middle, fingers starting to crawl under the damp material of your shirt. He groaned again, hot water pelting his back.
“Leon- oomph, heavy, baby- you’re-“ you grunted feeling him rest even more of his body weight on yours. There was no room to be embarrassed when you were a split second away from the both of you tumbling over and out of the tub. With a huff, he reluctantly supported himself, still keeping his head neatly tucked into its rightful place, his favorite spot.
The two of you stood there for several minutes. Steam filling the bathroom, water running over the both of you, his fingers dancing lightly over your back while your hands rubbed up and down his sides. You smiled. “Such a big baby,” and a small laugh echoed in the small space when he grumbled in response. Possibly in agreement.
You could feel his body melt into yours, tense shoulders finally relaxing, abs slightly jumping from the lightest brushes of your fingers against his obliques and despite it being so hot, you could feel goosebumps form under your touch. You didn’t tease him, warmth blooming in your heart at finally being able to see him so relaxed and at peace, so safe in your arms. Nothing could hurt you two here. Reluctantly, you broke the silence.
“Gonna wash your hair, okay buddy?” You gently tapped his side, signaling for him to stand to full height, to which he protested but slowly obliged. His hands moved from your back to now clutching the sopping wet fabric at the front, and whether it was for balance or just to keep close, you didn’t mind. His eyes followed your movements, tracking you as you squeezed a dollop of shampoo in your hands, watching you contemplate before you added more for yourself.
“Might as well…” you murmured under your breath, quickly working some into your hair before moving towards Leon’s. “Shampoo, Leon, it goes in your hair,” you explained having no clue of what he did and didn’t remember. Reaching your hands up towards his now dark brown hair that stuck all over his forehead, you choked down your giggle, massaging your fingers immediately into his skull, gently kneading.
Your eyes widened just a fraction when his eyes rolled back, eyelids falling and head drooping forward, small rumbling falling from his chest. He leaned into your touch, and it looked like he couldn’t get enough, switching from leaning into your left hand then your right, then your left again and all over again. With a small giggle, you removed a hand to half ass massage the shampoo in your own hair, not missing the small whine that left him at the loss of contact. “I know, I know, just a second.”
When your hand returned, you could’ve sworn he started purring. Eyes zoning out as you softly tugged and worked his hair, you couldn’t help but wonder if anyone had ever done this before for him. A past girlfriend maybe? Parents when he was a baby? Did he have parents? Did they know their son was a zombie? Before you could spiral more, Leon’s hands moved from their grip on your shirt to your bare waist, snapping you out of it. You didn’t want to ruin this tender moment with your sad theories, forcing yourself to remain present.
“Now we use conditioner,” and once again, he lowly muttered when you pulled your hands away.
The same ritual continued moving far slower than anticipated with Leon’s grunts and complaints anytime you moved your hands away from his head. You didn’t mind, still playfully rolling your eyes and calling him a diva whenever he whined. He couldn’t have you wrapped around his thumb too much (he did). Turning your head to face the items on your shelf, you eyed the face wash. Did zombies need face wash? Fuck it.
Another grin formed on your face, the two of you now facing each other with white foamy suds bubbling on your faces as you rubbed small circles on his cheek. You tried to ignore how he looked at you, the weight of his gaze carrying so much more than just a surface level look. If there was something you had truly known about Leon, it was that everything he did, was intentional. Quickly looking away to avoid the squeal you wanted to let out, you washed the suds off with one hand, the other grabbing a wash cloth.
“Body wash,” you noted to him, skin prickling with a heat that was not caused by the shower. Swallowing nervously, you began scrubbing his torso, muttering a small “oops, sorry sorry,” when he stumbled back a few steps. Looking at his face, you found his eyes still piercing yours, white irises rimmed with a slight red from the water. You looked away, chewing on your lip while you resumed cleaning him.
His head was tilted down at yours, following your motions and hands as they scrubbed over his abs, up his arms and biceps, around his neck and bite mark. He still stared at you when you shut your eyes and looked at the wall, washing him everywhere. You wanted to scream. He was still a guy after all and when was the last time you saw a hot guy naked in your shower, if ever??
Unintentionally, you loudly exhaled when finished, regaining your composure and finally feeling like you could meet his eyes, which of course, had not left yours. You huffed in amusement, reaching behind him to shut the water off. “Okay, Leon stay here, let me grab a towel.”
Yanking open the shower curtain and carefully stepping out of the tub, you grabbed two towels from the cabinets under your sink, taking note of how fogged over the mirror was. You had no idea how long the two of you were in there for, what was supposed to be a quick objective turning into Leon’s massage time, not that you were complaining, more than happy to rub his head and touch his abs.
Turning back to face Leon, you quickly wrapped a towel around your drenched clothes, lightly scoffing to yourself at how easily persuaded you were to get in the shower. Like a puppy who just had his first bath, you threw the fluffy towel over Leon, slightly pouting and muffling an ‘aww’ as you rubbed it back and forth over his hair, strands poking out every which way. You dried his arms, torso, legs, before wrapping the towel around his waist, tucking in the side to ensure it would hold. “Okay, now step over baby,” and his hands reached for your forearms for support, stumbling over and naturally, right into your arms.
“Very smooth, Leon, veryyy smooth,” you mused, hand coming up to stroke the back of his head as he tucked it into your neck. He sighed, once again wrapping his arms around your waist over the towel, huffing in annoyance when he couldn’t worm them underneath. Chucking, you pecked the side of his head. “Someone’s sleepy,” and his grip tightened, tucking you into him further. You hummed, thinking for just a moment, “I guess I could go for a nap, too.”
Wordlessly, Leon straightened, hand clasping yours to lead you back towards your bedroom.
Warnings: some angst? mentions of puke, self doubt, reader is still insecure and thinks she’s kind of pathetic, nightmares, alcohol, ummm hurt/comfort, more feelings spoken yet the get no where lowkey it’s crazy like if they just communicated
Notes: yes I have the audacity to say I’m sorry again. I hope everybody is ready for nothing, bc there is a whole lotta that!! Umm I don’t think this chapter goes anywhere or has a plot even like just hurt reader and Leon comforting and stuff </3
The silence in the room for once was not suffocating, occupied with the mindless hum of your fan, muted noises of the early risers and most importantly, your quiet little breaths.
You had managed to sleep through the rest of the entire night. Or well- almost. Your soft huffs were counted by Leon as you slept, the brushing of his thumb against your hand seemingly never ending.
He’d barely slept, if at all. He couldn’t. Not when he saw the pain and terror that clouded your eyes every time he shut his, not when he saw that look painted on your face when he ran in your room. The memory gutted him, a knife so deeply wedged that it felt like he was physically getting carved from the inside out.
He felt sick to his stomach, mind replaying the way you backed away from him, how you couldn’t catch your breath, the way your eyes scanned the room for Gideon. Leon had indirectly changed your life for the worse by trying to keep you at a distance.
The slightest morning light creeped in through your curtains, just barely illuminating parts of your cozy room as the rays softly landed on you. Leon laid on his side, gaze never leaving your slightly propped up form, focused. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. He thought maybe if he looked away, you might stop breathing. So he didn’t.
The entire night had ticked by, Leon doing what he did best. Observing. Studying. Though he couldn’t deny how distracted he had become when you first started working at the DSO. The way you looked up at him, those pretty round eyes giving him your undivided attention. You were sickeningly sweet, so inviting that at times it made him want to crawl out of his own skin. A completely different taste compared to his usual palette.
The way heat prickled at his neck when you’d stare at him, the burning sensation that seemed to form underneath the wake of your gaze. The feeling was so foreign to him, he felt helpless, so unknown that for once in his life, he didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to navigate this new territory. So he did what he had always done. Reverted back into his cold unwavering self. Built a wall so high that you’d have no choice to back away at first glance. Be an asshole to the pretty rookie.
Coming to terms with how nasty he had been was like being forced to stare into a mirror, and god did he hate his reflection.
Little chirps from birds sounded from outside your window signaling the dawn of a new day. Leon had sighed in relief at you successfully making it through the night without any more issues when he heard the hitch of your breath. Your hand, having left his at some point, had formed into a small ball, nails digging into your flesh. The slightest of twitches pulsed through your fingers.
Leon sat up straight, listening, waiting to see if maybe you’d wake up. A choked noise fell from your lips and he could hear your breaths catch and drag, louder and more intense. Little wheezes mixed in with a sudden broken sob. That’s all it took for him to throw the covers off of him, pacing around to your side of the bed. “(Name),” Leon tried.
He could see the way your throat bobbed, swallowing back a cry. Your eyes were squeezed shut, but still he could see the way your eyes rapidly fluttered back and forth. Your lips slightly gaped, chest beginning to heave.
“(Name), wake up,” he tried again, voice louder as he rested the back of his palm against your forehead. You were burning up, skin slightly damp and clammy.
“Fuck,” he cursed, brushing the hair that stuck against your skin behind your ear. Leon could keep his cool for many things, but this was not one of them. You were somewhere too far to reach, too deep in to be pulled out of. His heart started to pound in his chest. Small whimpers sounded from your unconscious frame, breaths becoming panicked pants.
A hand cupped your cheek, gently patting. “Come on, (name), wake up,” Leon urged. Nothing but a ragged breath broke out of you, upper body slightly rocking at the intense panic attack. “You’re okay, you’re okay-” he breathed, other hand softly coming to your shoulder. “Hey- (name), wake up, wake up,” he pressed harder, gently shaking your shoulder, too scared of hurting you, but also having no idea of how to get you out of this. The only nightmare experience he’s had were his own, and no one’s ever had to wake him from them.
A small tear slipped out of the far corner of your eye, falling down the side of your face. Leon cursed, thumb wiping it away. His hair fell over his face as he angled himself over you, panic taking over his form too. Seeing you like this affected him in ways he’d never known. “Fuck, come on, I’m right here (name), you’re safe-”
A choked gargle spilled out of you as you gasped, shooting up and frantically looking around your room. Leon swore, jerking his away just in time before you gave him a concussion, and yourself a second one. Unsteady jagged breaths tore out of you, sounding rough around the edges as each hitch caught against your throat. Eyes blood shot and wide, you once again frenziedly scanned the room, looking through Leon like he was a ghost, like he wasn’t even there right in front of you.
Your hands, still formed tightly into balls, now desperately clutched the fabric of your bed sheets, knuckles white. A few beads of perspiration had formed, one trailing down the side of your jaw.
Leon had always prided himself on maintaining a well constructed callous exterior despite at times feeling like he was falling apart on the inside. He was relieved that no one could know what he was truly feeling and now was not one of those times. Leon’s expression wore nothing but transparency as his eyebrows furrowed in concern, a deep “11” engraining itself in the middle. He had to focus on calming his own breath, heart beating like a bat out of hell. His eyes that intensely bore into yours, examined your face, your features, your eyes as they looked anywhere but at him.
“Hey- hey, look at me, I’m here,” Leon spoke, hand still curled over your shoulder. He wasn’t sure what to do, whether or not he should touch you, didn’t know what would bring you out of this state and only fearful he might worsen it.
Glazed over and wet, your sight was unfocused on a random spot in the room. Physically you were there, but inside your head, you were still somewhere far away. Leon swallowed, shakily exhaling before putting on a brave face. He raised his hand to cup your cheek, and gently guided your face towards him, making you look at him. “(Name),” Leon spoke, low yet demanding.
“Look at me, sweetheart,” and he cupped your other cheek, thumbs running just below your waterline to swipe at the tears that had unknowingly gathered there. A small hiccup, but at least your breathing had slowed. Too zoned out to reply, he tried again. “Hey, hey look, I’m right here, you’re not alone, you’re safe, you’re okay.”
With a sniffle, the smallest pout began to form on your lips. You dropped your head, Leon’s hand shifting to support it. He watched a tear fall drop through the air, a dark pink shaded circle forming on your comforter. You didn’t reply, but he could hear the small muted whimpers that you failed to conceal. His heart physically constricted, jaw clenching as he could do nothing but watch. There was nothing he could do to turn back time.
Leon softly whispered your name, a low coo that was so soft he wasn’t even sure if he actually said it. “He-,” and a choked cry fell from your lips, unable to speak. The words were like a jagged blade, getting stuck and nicking all along the inside of your esophagus. He hushed you, thumbs resuming their habit of stroking your skin back and forth. “You don’t have to speak,” he swallowed down the lump in his throat. “You’re okay. You’re safe. Just look at me.”
With a quick shake of your head, you refused. Leon shouldn’t see you like this. He sighed. “Please. Come on, I’m right here.”
Shakily exhaling, you slowly turned your head up, an action that felt too hard, too heavy. Your tear filled gaze landed on his, eyes so blue that if you were present in the moment, you might have loudly gasped. The smallest of smiles formed on Leon’s face. “There you are.”
You breathed, long and deep, shamelessly letting your eyes run over his chiseled yet soft features. The way his eyes crinkled at the side, the slight eye bags, the salt and pepper of his stubble. How could someone be so perfect?
If this had ever happened to you in the past, you would’ve squealed and covered your face, hiding the blush that your cheeks would no doubt be sporting.
But things were different now. You weren’t your usual shy insecure self anymore. You didn’t know what you were now.
“You with me?” No. “Mmhmm,” you meekly responded, returning your gaze back to his. Leon wasn’t the only one under inspection. He exhaled, slow and controlled before continuing. “Tell me what to do.” Eyebrows furrowing, you tilted your head, cheek still cupped by Leon’s calloused hand. A sniffle and then a small pout. “I-? W-What do you..?”
Another exhale as you watched the muscles in his jaw flex, his eyes fluttering shut. “Tell me how I can help you. What do you need from me?” His voice was serious, tone so low it was almost like you could feel the rumble in his chest.
Shaking your head lips agape, you rasped out the only answer you knew. “L-Leon, I don’t-. Y-You’ve done so much, already- for me, I mean. I’m fine-” he cut you off. “Don’t, (name). Please, don’t lie to me. I want to help you.” For once, Leon sounded desperate almost, a tone you’d never heard from him before. He was such a contrast between who was towards you at the office that it felt like you were talking to a whole other person. Then again, your admiration for Leon was always from a distance, so you supposed you never really did know him.
“I was just having another nightmare. That’s all,” you peered down, sight landing on the column of his throat, watching his adams apple bob with every swallow. Another sight that would’ve had you holding back a scream.
As you went to shift, you winced, a sharp pain running up the nerves in your thigh. “Ugh,” and the edge of your lip slightly curled up at the unexpected jolt. “Let me grab your pain meds, then we’ll get you up, okay?” Leon spoke already on the rise, cheeks now cold from the loss of his hot touch. A whine formed in your throat, but you bit down on your lip, fighting it back. A subtle nod would do.
You took the time to study your room, analyze the multiple crooks and crannies that transformed themselves into something more sinister at night. Gideon was dead. He couldn’t get you here.
The burning of your eyes returned once more, and you squeezed them shut willing the tears away. At least during the day he couldn’t.
The thought of Leon leaving you felt just as horrific. Uneasiness rolled in your stomach even when he was just a rooms away. You wanted him with you and you wanted it bad. Just not bad enough to voice it aloud.
“Okay, and after this- you remember what you promised me?” Leon began, interrupting your thoughts as he marched right back to you, pills and water in hand. You shook your head, hand reaching out for the medication. He gave a small grin, almost in victory. “Gonna make you a nice big breakfast. And you’re gonna eat it all, yeah?”
An amused huff left you, eyes jokingly rolling as you popped the pills in your mouth. You responded with a small groan, mouth full of water, stomach still feeling queasy at just the thought, but if that’s all you needed to do to help ease his worries? You’d do it. Plus you didn’t think you’d ever see the Leon Kennedy making you breakfast in your apartment in a lazy day outfit. You had to come out with a win from something.
“Alright, Mr. Kennedy. You got it,” you smiled in fake triumph. Your nerves still felt jittery, hands slightly shaky but Leon’s presence and attitude helped keep the dark parts away. Now it was his turn to roll his eyes. “Leon,” he mumbled before reaching his hands down to work under you. “W-Wait, I can just walk-” but it was too late, Leon was adjusting you in his arms, arms strong and wrapped protectively around you, body cradled to his chest.
“Faster this way. Restroom first? Kitchen? Shower?” He asked, mentally running down his checklist of what to do first. You blushed. “Um r-restroom first, please.” Leon didn’t respond, just carried you straight to the restroom, setting you down on your unsteady feet. “Okay?” He checked, returning to meet your gaze. “Mmhm, t-thanks,” you shyly murmured, unable to keep eye contact. “Let me know when you’re done, yeah?” And you nodded again, smiling softly as Leon shut the door.
Staring at yourself in the mirror, you grimaced at the reflection staring back at you. Eyes dull, lifeless, and it’s not that you looked pale per se but just devoid of any color, any vibrance that gave you life. The only color you had were the nasty purple green bruises you sported on your face and around your neck. It would be just your luck to have the only man you love see you in this state.
You sighed at the thought, feeling ugly both on the inside and out. Whatever Gideon injected you with must’ve been some type of rot, some type of mold that would continue to fester inside of you and take its time to dig its claws into you, make others see you the way you’ve always seen yourself.
You shivered, trying to concentrate on your morning routine, a small sense of faux normalcy that felt as if it could ground you. You were here, you were in your bathroom, in your home. Not there.
Grimacing, you brushed your teeth, wincing at the effort it took to open up your jaw. Gideon really did a number on you. Was it because you were so weak?
A knock broke you from your train of thought and you gasped in surprise, eyebrows shooting up your forehead. “You okay?” Leon’s muffled voice sounded through the other side of the door.
You swallowed, clearing your throat to respond. “Y-Yes, coming!” Cursing as you pathetically tripped over yourself to the door, you slowly creaked it open, chipped mask falling right into place but you had feared Leon could see right through it. You were always frustratingly easy to read, completely oblivious to the fact that you couldn’t even successfully hide your admiration for your own boss in an office setting. The thought made you huff.
Leon’s baby blue eyes met yours, and once again he wore a look of nothing but worry and concern, eyes fluttering around your form as if he was scanning for newfound injuries. Wordlessly, he moved to pick you up, and this time you let him with no complaints.
You couldn’t help but feel uneasy as your eyes followed Leon’s movements in the kitchen, eyes darting from his hands to his neck to his face while he carried a look of concentration. Any other time, you would’ve loved to sit at your counter and watch him make you breakfast while looking nothing but delicious, let your eyes lovingly suffocate him because you didn't have it in you to look away.
But it wasn’t any other time. Things weren’t normal, and you wished you could just shut your thoughts up and appreciate the hunk of a man that stood in front of you, hair messily astray, muscles that bulged at the slightest of flex, and blue eyes that made you stop breathing. You huffed in annoyance.
“Talk to me, rookie,” Leon spoke, still facing the pan of eggs and you narrowed your eyes at his back, because of course, he caught onto the huff that revealed too much. That and the fact you technically were not a rookie.
“Why are you doing all of this Mr. Ken- Leon? I really- really appreciate what you’ve done f-for me, but really, you don’t need to feel obligated to do any of this, I’m- I’m okay, honestly.”
It made him tense, made him clench his jaw and grit his teeth back and forth like the words were an insult. He wasn’t sure which part to address first, but he figured a conversation like this might come up and there was no one to blame but himself for how he acted, for how he was acting now. The guilt chewed away at his insides, at how confusing this all must’ve felt for you. How rattling and overwhelming it was in the first place, but truly how much worse it was after what you went through.
He opened his mouth to speak but the words lodged themselves in his throat.
“You-you didn’t even know who I was…” your sentence died off, attempting to wrap your mind around how fast everything was moving, trying to calm the rapid beating of your heart, your feelings that were growing for him and infecting you more and more, controlling your thoughts and your actions.
He winced, barely, but you noticed, and angled his head away.
“Of course I knew who you were, (name). I-” and he cut himself off with a low exhale. “In the beginning, when I forgot your name,” and he winced again like the memory physically hurt, and god did you understand. You shut your eyes for a moment, wishing you could laugh at the thought now, but a flare up of embarrassment hit you instead.
He turned, placing a plate full of eggs, toast, fruit, jam, bacon directly in front of you, fork next. Your eyes widened, momentarily distracted from the conversation.
“I’d seen you, of course- I saw you. It’s not an excuse but there was so much shit so much junk that came up- and we were never even properly introduced I-” and he let out a breathy exhale, disappointment in himself the only evident emotion you could observe, like even the justifiable excuse didn’t make sense, like he hated admitting it and it still sounded so wrong. You swallowed, hoping- no silently begging, that for once he’d continue, keep elaborating and not shut down and think his one sentence explanations would suffice as enough. They never did, but you never wanted to beg him to say more.
He quieted, as if he was calculating, contemplating. “I knew who you were.”
You let the words hang in the air for a moment, seconds dragging on as you waited for him to continue. Was that it? Did he think that answered everything? Your head pounded, every bruise and laceration throbbed with its own pulse, the cold distant man you’d been in love with was now taking care of you after getting severely fucked up by Gideon- and that- that’s it?? You gripped the fork tightly, small pool of anger coiling in your gut.
You narrowed your eyes, confused but expectantly- wordlessly pleading with him to just explain, explain his feelings, explain why and how.
“And now you’re just- here? Why?” Your tone was laced with irritation, exasperated at the too short conversation that had your blood pressure spiking all too soon. You never raised your voice, rarely got angry- you’d never even think of raising it at Leon Kennedy of all people- but you couldn’t wrap your head around everything. Too much had happened too fast, and you felt like you were wearing thin- thinner.
“W-Why did you want to split up? Why did you- did you save me? Why are you here now Mr. Kennedy? I really-” you shakily exhaled. “Thank you- for helping me- truly, I will, will never be able to repay you, but you don’t need to pity me. This was all- all my fault.”
Ah, there you went, over explaining- over compensating maybe? Desperately spewing things in hopes he’d bite onto something and expand on it? Give you a glimpse of what he was thinking for once, because god, was it horrifying having someone you’ve fawned over for so long suddenly see all your vulnerabilities. He thought you were pathetic before, what would he think now?
Silence stretched thin, his eyes looking at you so intensely that for once you considered returning his gaze back, just as fierce. Maybe then you’d catch a glimpse of something other than that constant worrying frightened look, as if you were made out of glass and would crack under the slightest pressure. You’d survived Gideon. Despite being weak and pathetic, you survived him.
“Will you take a few bites, please?” Leon slowly sighed, not in annoyance, not ill-mannered, but as if he knew it was coming.
You glowered, stuffing a large bite of eggs in your mouth before motioning towards him, fork in hand. He gave you the slightest of smiles, barely there, but enough of a peek that you mentally noted that you’d have to see Leon Kennedy smile, you would have to hear his laugh.
“Why were you so.. harsh.. to me?” The words came out small, fearful, not of him, but of his response, worried that there would be more criteria where you might have fallen short in his eyes.
Leon was silent, eyes falling down to stare at the counter, hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. You had bombarded him with questions, wondering which bait he would bite.
“I am so sorry, y/n.”
You slammed your fork down, and tears welled up in your eyes. Maybe the medicine was making you cranky? The bad sleep that plagued you with nightmares? Him??
“I don’t want you to be sorry, Leon,” you seethed, sitting up and leaning forward as much as your body would allow. “I want you to explain to me why you are here. Why are you helping me?? Why treat me like that t-then all of a sudden right after Gideon, you’re so- you’re so nice to me now. Do you feel that bad??” Your hands balled into small fists, voice wavering as your words caught and strained, but forced out nonetheless. You’d wanted him for so long, but you couldn’t have him like this. Couldn’t have him reserved and unwilling to open up. The switch between you two had been like night and day- at least on his part.
He met your challenging stare, ocean blue eyes piercing yours. He didn’t look defensive, didn’t look like he’d back down, he looked almost prideful. Leon looked like he was almost happy to see you with a little burning flame in your eyes, gifting him a new little peek at your personality. Like he loved seeing you stand up for yourself, pissed, even if it was at him.
“You distracted me. You were a distraction,” he spoke calmly, factually. You noticed the heaviness of your breathing, eyebrows furrowing at his response and deflating as you took the second to settle back in the seat, anger slowly ebbing away to be replaced by more confusion. You waited patiently.
“Higher ups noticed, Sherry noticed, others noticed. I’d look at you,” Leon’s breath hitched, so lightly, so softly you weren’t sure if you’d imagined it. The muscles on his jaw twitched, faint crimson beginning to creep up the sides of his neck as he angled his head away, breaking eye contact. “And I couldn’t get you out of my head.” His voice was gruff, raspy and a tenor so deep it made your lower stomach tingle.
Focus.
Your heart pounded in your chest, breath becoming more shallow, skin warming all over. Had he felt the same?
“I was… falling behind on work. I don’t do that. So I,” he paused, exhaling. “Did what I do best. I shut it out- shut you- out. You were you, and someone like you? Someone like me? It just-” he lightly shook his head. “Just doesn’t work.”
The air had turned thick, too thick. It wasn’t the type of tension before something good happened, it felt like the opposite. Like you were waiting for the fatal blow. For him to tell you this was all a mistake.
“I thought if I acted like that, put up that wall towards you, it would stop. Everything. That I’d think of you less, but it didn’t work- it was the opposite. Then,” he breathed, long and slow, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, 11 forming perfectly in between his furrowed brows. “Then the mission. I never should’ve done that- and I’m so sorry. As soon as I found out your comms wasn’t working, I tried to get to you as fast as possible. And then Gideon found you. And he hurt you.” His voice was unsteady now, slightly labored and forced, but it held, regret intertwining each word spoken.
“And when I saw you there,” Leon shuddered. “There’s a lot of things I regret. But I think that takes the cake. And I hate cake.”
An airy quiet huff left your lips, immediately slamming them shut, needing to keep up your appearance. You weren’t that easy.
Slightly nodding your head to his statements, you tried to think rationally, tried not to get ahead of yourself. Did this mean he felt the same? He liked you too? Was this a rejection or some type of admission? You didn’t dare ask to clarify. Not yet.
“Well. If it’s any consolation to you, none of it was your fault, Leon. I don’t blame you- at all. You didn’t make Gideon take me,” you faintly shrugged your shoulders, unsure of what else to say.
Leon gave the faintest of smiles, anything but genuine. "it's not." And it was factual. To him at least. "It's my fault. I never should've had us split up. I thought," he sighed. "Thought it would distance us. And instead, I was dumb. I hurt you. I let feelings get in the way of work.”
You wanted to scoff, but you weren't sure at which part. "It's not your fault Leon. Please, don't blame yourself. You couldn’t have known.”
The tension in the room had slowly faded, a calm faint humming circulating instead. It felt like you had made some progress with Leon, yet none at the same time. Like you were dancing around a more serious topic, barely scratching the surface. You hated how much of a coward you felt like, too scared to outright tell him your feelings, though you guessed that was already known. You pushed around the food once more with your fork, sitting in the silence that pulsed within the room.
"Eat. Please," and your name rolled so lightly off his tongue, so softly said it felt like it was weighed with emotion. Like he was speaking a secret, like he was praying to you, and all you wanted to do was hear him whisper it deep in your ear, strong arms wrapped tightly around you, head buried your neck- your cheeks heated, pushing the thought deep into the corners of your mind.
"okay."
"I need to run to the office. I'll get you situated wherever you want- I should only be gone an hour or so. Will you be okay?" He questioned, already beginning to clean up all the dishes, not having eaten anything other than sipping on a black coffee.
"Only if you eat, too."
He huffed, amused. "Fair."
"You'll call me, right? For anything, I'm serious, I'll come right back-"
"Leon, yes- promise, thank you."
Leon sighed in relief, bottles of pills covering the surface of your nightstand, book in hand, and everything you might possibly need within reach for hours, days you had exclaimed at first. Blankets, more medicines, remote, computer, more books, a coloring book, an old crochet project, a -
"Okay. Please call me."
"I will, don't worry." And he looked at you, already worrying, already furrowing his brows. For a few seconds, he just observed you, stared at the mismatched bruises that coated your face, your neck, the faint lacerations on your arms. He briefly nodded, hands twitching as if he wanted to reach out to you. He didn't, turning from you and leaving you tucked nicely into your bed, already wanting for him to come back.
Leon was sick to his stomach. Viscerally and horrifically sick, stomach twisting and bile rising rapidly. He'd sped to the restroom, throwing up the empty contents of his stomach, only expelling a clear liquid.
His hands trembled, sweat beaded at his brow and nape of his neck, nostrils flaring as he attempted to slow his breathing, anything to calm the intense pounding of his heart. He'd seen sickening things in the field over the years, experienced things that have made him lock himself in a room for days and not come out. But watching the tape that Gideon had recorded of you- had more than just shaken him.
Sherry had informed him that they'd been able to get the footage, reassuring Leon that on no means did he have to watch it. He chose to anyway, claiming that it was for important purposes, to study a BOW, their tactics, methods.
Of course it wasn’t to punish himself, not to force himself to watch what he indirectly did to you, what he basically put you through. To watch another one of his biggest failings. He couldn't take things back, so he might as well suffer with you.
He didn't regret it per se, but the blurry recording of Gideon beating the ever living shit out of you would scar him like no other, a permanent laceration that the two of you would now share. Watching you shake, sob, bleed.
And the worst? Listening to you defend him. Listening to your slurred broken voice spend its energy to call out for him while being drugged with lord knows what. The way your head would whip to the side, the way you begged, and god all the blood. He watched and watched, eyes glued to the sceen all up until he came in, having to get up to puke before he hurled all over himself.
His throat burned with more need to force out vomit, eyes automatically watering from the effort it took to puke.
But he had to admit, part of him was so proud. The way you spat at Gideon, hearing you hurl insults and curses at him like it was nothing, like you weren’t afraid despite being so horrifically paralyzed with it. Little shy ray of sunshine you, a stuttering mess, looked danger right in the face and told it exactly what you thought. Brave and strong until the end.
He always knew you were, knew you could handle it all, despite not treating you like it. However, there was something so unfulfilling at having to be proud of you from a distance- the distance he had and needed to continue to instill. Leon wanted to be proud of you in a different sense. In a possessive manner, in the way that he would be not just proud of you, but proud of his girl. But you weren't.
Shaking his head, hands gripping the edge of the metal bin, he spat clearing his mouth, before moving to the sink to gargle water. You weren't his girl. And he still felt so undeserving of you that the thought of it ever happening felt too unrealistic. Leon would continue to deny himself the pleasure of ever getting what he wanted, and all he wanted was you.
Returning to your home was more than difficult, knowing he'd have to look at you and see what Gideon actually did to you, knowing he'd have to look at you be so close to him yet so far away. You were you, and Leon was... Leon. He'd drown and only take you with him.
"Hey," he spoke lowly, time well into the afternoon now.
There you sat, same book in hand, and the most beautiful of smiles painted on your face, looking at him. His heart stuttered, eyes gazing into yours, so undeserving of your kindness.
"Hi."
He huffed a small laugh, moving to perch on the edge of your bed, hands resting comfortably in his lap as he looked right at you. Cheeks burning under his intense stare, you shifted under your blankets, setting the book down and doing everything in your power to maintain eye contact, but god those eyes.
"How do you feel? Hungry?"
"God- no." Leon chuckled. "But okay, bruises hurt a bit, but nothing crazy. Im- Im glad you're back. How was the office?"
He hummed, not answering a moment and choosing to just stare, eyes flickering to your lips for the briefest of seconds. Dropping his hand, he moved it to rest above yours, thumb rubbing back and forth. Chills ran through you, the urge to squeal more prominent than ever. You clenched your jaw holding it back.
"I don't think I've told you just how strong you are, (name). And im so sorry im only telling you now." His tone was rough, gravely, and the most serious you had heard him since after everything. Furrowing your brows, you tilted your head in confusion, wordlessly urging him to continue.
"I just need you to know. You're strong, you'll get through this.”
Sitting up straight, you could smell something off, a scent so highly chemical and antiseptic. “Leon- are you, are you drunk?” But you didn’t sound mad, you sounded anxious, worried. You grabbed his hand.
His jaw clenched, the only answer to your question, and full of shame as he looked away, hand still in yours. He thought he had hidden it well, didn’t want to place any worry on you, naturally retreating into old habits when things went awry. There was nothing he wanted to do more than drink himself to death alone, but he knew he couldn’t stay away either. Not because you needed him, but because he desperately, pathetically, and so entirely, had found himself needing to be with you.
A week of waiting for you to wake up, the little time he’d spent with you here, he’d already known he was too far gone. His entire plan from the start had backfired so badly that he could’ve laughed.
“I’m sorry, (name).”
You sat up more with a wince, bringing your free hand to his so that the both of yours cradled his large one, taking the turn to now soothe his skin. “Leon, what happened? Can you tell me?” You whispered the words, coaxing him in hopes he’d tell you what was clearly weighing so heavily on him.
Again, the muscles in his jaw flickered, his throat bobbed. Leon looked uncomfortable, almost insecure and you hated it. You’d rather see him scold you.
“You deserve so much more than this.” He was so quiet, as if he didn’t want to say the words, didn’t want to believe them himself, but knew it was true. “You deserve so much more than me.”
“W-what? What do you mean?” Your voice began to raise, a small but noticeable tremor shaking the words. You weren’t following along, fingers curling into his hand to keep it close, waiting for him to rip it away from you.
“I should go.”
Leon stood abruptly, hand tearing from yours. A faint whine fell from your lips, hand reaching for his, but he’d already begun to move. A pit formed in your stomach, heart dropping as you began to panic, feeling like you just might go crazy if Leon left you. You talked a big game in the beginning, all bark no bite- you didn’t mean it all. You didn’t want to be left alone, you couldn’t do this yourself.
“Wait! Leon, please no-” and too fast, too panicked, you hastily threw the covers away, immediately attempting to stand with no other thoughts than to get to Leon before he could leave you alone to rot. “Wait wait wait,” you didn’t care how pathetic you sounded when all you could feel was fear. The sudden leaving without warning- it was like everything had been tipped over, dam breaking as all emotions flooded over you.
Standing was painful, but through the grimaces you were able to. Fast steps, were worse, not having stood in quite some time given that not only had Leon been carrying you, but with the bed rest, your muscles had already began to waste away from your lack of use.
As soon as you were up, you were down, room blurring and spinning. Hands and knees slammed against your rugged bedroom floor, a sudden and overwhelming intense fear dizzying your vision as sobs began to pool out of you. If Leon left, Gideon would come back. Gideon would hurt you. You’d be stuck in that room again, tied to that chair.
Despite the pain, you attempted to crawl, chest expanding with every labored cry and pant. “Please don’t go, please please please.” The words rambled out of you, pleading, desperate, raw.
Did Leon finally have enough of you? In the little time of taking care of you did he finally realize you weren’t worth it?
Distressed and now almost as frenzied as you, Leon immediately turned on his heel, hearing the loud thump of something hitting the floor, that something being you. Hurting yourself because of him. “Fuck, (name), I’m so sorry, are you okay? Fuck.”
Squatting down, hands found your underarms, maneuvering your body and shifting your limbs so that your arms locked tightly around his neck, his own hands gently turning your body to find purchase behind your knees, effortlessly lifting you up, slowly and mindful of the wound in your thigh.
Your cries were a form of torture to him, the sound so absolutely jarring Leon wanted to make sure he’d never have to hear it again. The way your shoulders shook with each gasp, the glazed look in your eyes, the clenching of your fingers as you dug them into the rug- it all made him sick over again.
He exhaled, placing you into your spot on the bed, but you didn’t release your grasp from around his neck. If anything, they tightened, fearful he’d try to leave again. “Please don’t go, please don’t leave me,” you shuddered, words releasing as hiccups, nails unapologetically digging into the nape of his neck. The position was awkward for Leon. He didn’t dare move.
“I’m so sorry, fuck, are you hurt?” Leon’s hand brushed against the outside of your thigh, bare skin hot under his touch. The act was innocent, soothing. Guilt pooled in his stomach.
The shake of your head was your only response, eyes squeezed shut, chin wobbling as you attempted to hold back more tears. “Are you- are you going to leave me?” Not are you going to go, but are you going to leave me. Leon cursed, alcohol as always proving to be the worst decision possible, a vice he had yet to let go of. And look where it got him- back to hurting you- He was always managing to find a way to hurt you.
“No, sweetheart. I’ll stay, I’m sorry, I thought I was doing the right thing.”
A cry, and Leon could feel the wetness of your cheeks transfer to the skin of his neck. “What- what a dumb thought.” Your words were muffled, slowly spoken between small hiccups. Leon softly snorted in amusement, hand still caressing softly. “You’re right,” he agreed.
For just a few minutes, you stayed in his arms, letting your cries turn into sniffles. “I don’t want to be alone, Leon. I need- I need you, please.” His breath hitched, fear rampaging through him at the thought of the two of you becoming closer. Leon was more than horrified, knowing the path he’d lead you down would only hurt you more. He’d already hurt you enough.
“Okay,” he whispered, hands moving to your back to try and calm you down, rubbing circles with calloused hands that never should’ve touched you in the first place. How was he supposed to let you go after this?
WARNINGS: angst angst angst, blood, gore, death, hurt no comfort, no happy ending <3
“Please. Please, wake up.” You whispered, a plea that could only be heard between the sky and the man that laid in your arms. The ground was wet beneath you, and you hated that you knew what it was. That the liquid was now lukewarm against your skin but once held an initial chill. That despite being outdoors, the faint aroma of iron still lingered all around you.
He felt so warm.
You didn’t move, arms wrapped around a built torso that was covered in lacerations, head tucked deeply into a neck that was now damp from the earlier blood and tears that had streamed down the sides of his cheeks.
He still felt so warm.
His scent blanketed you, faintly mixed in with all the rubble and smoke. You tried to ignore the coppery metallic tang that had unwelcomely woven itself in.
Fingers curled into his tight black shirt, chin trembling and lips wobbling. You panted into his neck, each breath a gasp for air. He was here, he was right here in your arms. He just needed to wake up.
“Please baby. Please, wake up- need you here, c-can’t go on without you. Please.”
The quiet was sickening. The lack of a response, the lack of anything except for the cries and insults and pleads that flowed from your torn lips. Each second passed so agonizingly slow, yet so fast all you could do was bury yourself deeper into his neck. Still, you tried.
Beg after beg after beg.
You weren’t sure how long you’d been there for, crying out to some unknown upper power to bring him back, to any god or creature that might’ve existed and took pity on you. You had screamed, cursed, tried bartering your own life and soul to just have him for a moment longer.
Sobs and wails turned into spurts of snarls and growls as if you were some ravaged animal, some crazed thing with a hunger for something that could only ever be satisfied by him. You dug your hands into the blood soaked soil, nails bleeding and tearing on rocks as you raked your fingers through, throwing dirt and hurling insults at the sky.
“I’ll do anything. Please!” The words tore from your throat, more of a demand than anything else.
When there was no response, you were forced to sit with your anger. Forced to sit in silence, save for your own cries that echoed around you.
Curling up next to him, just as you had always done, your hands traced softly over his abs, fingers running and tickling patterns on his skin as if the two of you were solely cuddling. You were careful not to dip too low, to not feel what wasn’t there.
Then they threaded through his hair. The beautiful stark white tufts, damp with sweat, now partially dyed a dark maroon as it seeped out onto the earth behind his head in a distorted halo. The pretty hair you’d tug on or massage and play with after he had a long grueling day, after he found his rightful place with his head in your lap, hair splaying out like he was some angel. He’d grin at you, eyes closed in content as he hummed along to whatever you blabbed on about. He’d make a comment that he felt at peace with you, that he could be himself. That you were his home.
Your nose ran along the side of his neck, lips grazing the skin, nuzzling as close as possible. The warmth was fading by the second.
“You’re okay, my love, I’ve got you. I’ve got you baby.” More whispers and lies that would go unanswered. More tears that rushed down the sides of your face. More love with nowhere to go.
“Did so good- so brave,” your nails gently scraped against his scalp, fingers weaving through the strands, waiting for the soft hum that always fell from his lips at the motion that he loved, that soothed him. Your other hand found his cheek. He was growing increasingly colder, a tell that you had laid there with him for hours. You would stay there with him forever if you could.
So softly, you caressed his skin, thumb carefully avoiding a small wound, unknowingly smearing the blood that had previously trailed down the sides of his mouth. ‘You’re okay’ repeatedly muttered into his neck, as if you murmured the words enough times, as if you treated him so gently and held him so closely, that they might come true. That your eyes would open and he’d be right there smiling at you, sharp piercing blue eyes teasing but flattered, glint of devious humor shining through like always. He’d laugh at you, poke and make fun of, then he’d pepper you in kisses all over. Tell you he’d love you, that you knew better, knew he’d never leave you.
He would come back. He had to.
“We’re gonna go home, ‘kay? G-gonna go home, and-and it’s gonna be fine, I can fix this, we can fix this, baby,” you sobbed. And it was cruel- such a cruel and ugly moment that had no right to be your last with him. Filled with nothing but lies and snot and blood, the smell of smoke somehow becoming more prominent while his began to vanish. The lies you swore only dealt more damage to you, heart thumping and mind screaming that it knew, that your body knew, but you refused to speak the words on your tongue.
A period of silence, of some mock makeshift semblance of comfort that would never come. Tears and wails had slowed to small gasps and soundless whimpers as you laid with him, trying to pretend that the two of you were home in your shared bed, wrapped lovingly in each other's arms- your usual nightly routine. Surely if you willed it enough, it would come true. He remained still in your arms. Frozen.
A new round of sobs made their way up your throat, already stinging and scratched raw from the supposedly endless supply you had. Your eyes burned, puffy and rimmed red while your lips grew swollen, teeth having gnawed them from your past failed attempts to bite back screams.
Agony was a paralyzing thing, a full force sensation that shook you yet rooted you still, that would make you remember this nightmare forever. You knew years down the road on a beautiful sunny day- if any could exist without him- you'd shut your eyes and this moment would find you. Haunting. Immobilizing. It would force you to relive it, force you to come back here. There would be no escaping him, this.
But you supposed this was the price you always knew you’d pay. Your curse for falling in love with the strongest.
You blubbered out a howl, cradling his head closer, shifting up so that now he lay tucked in the crook of your neck, hands pathetically making a faux display of protecting him, shielding him. As if you ever could. Your hands fisted into the root of his hair, desperately clutching him towards you, holding him like you couldn’t possibly fathom ever letting go.
You’d barter everything, switch places with him in the blink of an eye, anything to not be lying like this with him right now. Your legs were careful to not touch him, didn’t want the reality to hit you and remind you of what he lacked below. It didn’t matter, he could still come back.
Still, you tried to comfort him amongst the sputtering of your cries, absolutely shredded and strained from the complete and utter bloody murder you had screeched. The moment was hideous, flecks of blood now dry on your face, hair matted with his gore, snot you hadn’t bothered wiping away, face puffy and splotched. None of it mattered.
“S-Shoko, she, she will-” and you cut yourself off with a sharp inhale, painful and instant, as if your body and mind were finally accepting the fact that your words were useless and futile. That each lie dug a little deeper, took something from you that you’d never get back. Shoko wouldn’t be able to do anything. and you knew it.
“Please please please, come back. Please!”
The words twisted in your gut, a physical pain that punched so profound a hand left his cheek to cradle your stomach, to clutch at your chest. You writhed, stone and gravel hard against the side of your skull, trying to catch a breath you’d never get. It was overwhelming, devastating, the ultimate display of affection towards a loved one. You’d done it, you achieved it.
There was no amount of soul dealing you could do, no solution you could find, no turning back time. This was real, this was your new life.
Immediately, you shot up, temporarily abandoning him of your touch to grasp at the clothing near your chest and neck, anger and denial ebbing away and panic seeping in as reality finally took hold. It was like ice in your veins, a seer so hot it burned cold. There was a visceral fear, pure unadulterated hysteria that pummeled through you at the reality of having to go on without him- a soul tie between the two of you that had been severed far too early. There was no reparation for a loss so big. Nothing could ever fill the newly gaping hole in your chest. You would truly never be the same. You clawed at your throat, at your face, no amount of oxygen relieving the need for air that you lacked. But you knew that wasn’t what your body craved, wasn’t what your soul yearned for.
Naturally, you turned towards him- always to him, only to be met with the horrific sight all over again. The flat dullness of his eyes, bright electric blues completely fizzed out, replaced with a lifelessness that only confirmed the one thing you wouldn't accept. The gape of his mouth, now dried blood that had dribbled down the sides. White long luscious eyelashes that you’d always been jealous of, spattered with crimson.
But his arms- his torso.
A gut wrenching wail broke through, shoulders rolling with every vicious sob, lips curling and eyes squeezing shut. This was it. This would be the last of him.
You leaned over him, forehead resting on his unbeating too still chest, arms caging the sides of his head to rest in his blood.
“Please- if you w-wont come back- take me with you, take me with you, p-please, I can’t do this, I can’t do this,” you yelled, unsure to who. Maybe to him, maybe to the sky, maybe to no one. You wished you could crawl inside of him, tuck yourself right behind his ribcage and die there, rot with him, fester and become one with nature together.
Raising your head to gaze directly down at him, you knew. When all that reflected back in his now lifeless eyes, was a version of you you’d never seen before, you knew.
You willed yourself to die, rocking back and forth as the stomach churning nauseating grief rattled your bones, making it incapable to stay still, torn fingers clawing into the earth to try and grasp onto something. Tears dropped onto his blood stained face, skin paler than ever before, murky eyes staring right through you. This was it.
“Take me with you,” you begged, making eye contact as the coldness of it all began to settle in your bones. The weather was overcast, skies grey, thunder cracking as it began to softly drizzle. “Take me with you, Toru. Please.”
WARNINGS: angst angst angst, blood, gore, death, hurt no comfort, no happy ending <3
“Please. Please, wake up.” You whispered, a plea that could only be heard between the sky and the man that laid in your arms. The ground was wet beneath you, and you hated that you knew what it was. That the liquid was now lukewarm against your skin but once held an initial chill. That despite being outdoors, the faint aroma of iron still lingered all around you.
He felt so warm.
You didn’t move, arms wrapped around a built torso that was covered in lacerations, head tucked deeply into a neck that was now damp from the earlier blood and tears that had streamed down the sides of his cheeks.
He still felt so warm.
His scent blanketed you, faintly mixed in with all the rubble and smoke. You tried to ignore the coppery metallic tang that had unwelcomely woven itself in.
Fingers curled into his tight black shirt, chin trembling and lips wobbling. You panted into his neck, each breath a gasp for air. He was here, he was right here in your arms. He just needed to wake up.
“Please baby. Please, wake up- need you here, c-can’t go on without you. Please.”
The quiet was sickening. The lack of a response, the lack of anything except for the cries and insults and pleads that flowed from your torn lips. Each second passed so agonizingly slow, yet so fast all you could do was bury yourself deeper into his neck. Still, you tried.
Beg after beg after beg.
You weren’t sure how long you’d been there for, crying out to some unknown upper power to bring him back, to any god or creature that might’ve existed and took pity on you. You had screamed, cursed, tried bartering your own life and soul to just have him for a moment longer.
Sobs and wails turned into spurts of snarls and growls as if you were some ravaged animal, some crazed thing with a hunger for something that could only ever be satisfied by him. You dug your hands into the blood soaked soil, nails bleeding and tearing on rocks as you raked your fingers through, throwing dirt and hurling insults at the sky.
“I’ll do anything. Please!” The words tore from your throat, more of a demand than anything else.
When there was no response, you were forced to sit with your anger. Forced to sit in silence, save for your own cries that echoed around you.
Curling up next to him, just as you had always done, your hands traced softly over his abs, fingers running and tickling patterns on his skin as if the two of you were solely cuddling. You were careful not to dip too low, to not feel what wasn’t there.
Then they threaded through his hair. The beautiful stark white tufts, damp with sweat, now partially dyed a dark maroon as it seeped out onto the earth behind his head in a distorted halo. The pretty hair you’d tug on or massage and play with after he had a long grueling day, after he found his rightful place with his head in your lap, hair splaying out like he was some angel. He’d grin at you, eyes closed in content as he hummed along to whatever you blabbed on about. He’d make a comment that he felt at peace with you, that he could be himself. That you were his home.
Your nose ran along the side of his neck, lips grazing the skin, nuzzling as close as possible. The warmth was fading by the second.
“You’re okay, my love, I’ve got you. I’ve got you baby.” More whispers and lies that would go unanswered. More tears that rushed down the sides of your face. More love with nowhere to go.
“Did so good- so brave,” your nails gently scraped against his scalp, fingers weaving through the strands, waiting for the soft hum that always fell from his lips at the motion that he loved, that soothed him. Your other hand found his cheek. He was growing increasingly colder, a tell that you had laid there with him for hours. You would stay there with him forever if you could.
So softly, you caressed his skin, thumb carefully avoiding a small wound, unknowingly smearing the blood that had previously trailed down the sides of his mouth. ‘You’re okay’ repeatedly muttered into his neck, as if you murmured the words enough times, as if you treated him so gently and held him so closely, that they might come true. That your eyes would open and he’d be right there smiling at you, sharp piercing blue eyes teasing but flattered, glint of devious humor shining through like always. He’d laugh at you, poke and make fun of, then he’d pepper you in kisses all over. Tell you he’d love you, that you knew better, knew he’d never leave you.
He would come back. He had to.
“We’re gonna go home, ‘kay? G-gonna go home, and-and it’s gonna be fine, I can fix this, we can fix this, baby,” you sobbed. And it was cruel- such a cruel and ugly moment that had no right to be your last with him. Filled with nothing but lies and snot and blood, the smell of smoke somehow becoming more prominent while his began to vanish. The lies you swore only dealt more damage to you, heart thumping and mind screaming that it knew, that your body knew, but you refused to speak the words on your tongue.
A period of silence, of some mock makeshift semblance of comfort that would never come. Tears and wails had slowed to small gasps and soundless whimpers as you laid with him, trying to pretend that the two of you were home in your shared bed, wrapped lovingly in each other's arms- your usual nightly routine. Surely if you willed it enough, it would come true. He remained still in your arms. Frozen.
A new round of sobs made their way up your throat, already stinging and scratched raw from the supposedly endless supply you had. Your eyes burned, puffy and rimmed red while your lips grew swollen, teeth having gnawed them from your past failed attempts to bite back screams.
Agony was a paralyzing thing, a full force sensation that shook you yet rooted you still, that would make you remember this nightmare forever. You knew years down the road on a beautiful sunny day- if any could exist without him- you'd shut your eyes and this moment would find you. Haunting. Immobilizing. It would force you to relive it, force you to come back here. There would be no escaping him, this.
But you supposed this was the price you always knew you’d pay. Your curse for falling in love with the strongest.
You blubbered out a howl, cradling his head closer, shifting up so that now he lay tucked in the crook of your neck, hands pathetically making a faux display of protecting him, shielding him. As if you ever could. Your hands fisted into the root of his hair, desperately clutching him towards you, holding him like you couldn’t possibly fathom ever letting go.
You’d barter everything, switch places with him in the blink of an eye, anything to not be lying like this with him right now. Your legs were careful to not touch him, didn’t want the reality to hit you and remind you of what he lacked below. It didn’t matter, he could still come back.
Still, you tried to comfort him amongst the sputtering of your cries, absolutely shredded and strained from the complete and utter bloody murder you had screeched. The moment was hideous, flecks of blood now dry on your face, hair matted with his gore, snot you hadn’t bothered wiping away, face puffy and splotched. None of it mattered.
“S-Shoko, she, she will-” and you cut yourself off with a sharp inhale, painful and instant, as if your body and mind were finally accepting the fact that your words were useless and futile. That each lie dug a little deeper, took something from you that you’d never get back. Shoko wouldn’t be able to do anything. and you knew it.
“Please please please, come back. Please!”
The words twisted in your gut, a physical pain that punched so profound a hand left his cheek to cradle your stomach, to clutch at your chest. You writhed, stone and gravel hard against the side of your skull, trying to catch a breath you’d never get. It was overwhelming, devastating, the ultimate display of affection towards a loved one. You’d done it, you achieved it.
There was no amount of soul dealing you could do, no solution you could find, no turning back time. This was real, this was your new life.
Immediately, you shot up, temporarily abandoning him of your touch to grasp at the clothing near your chest and neck, anger and denial ebbing away and panic seeping in as reality finally took hold. It was like ice in your veins, a seer so hot it burned cold. There was a visceral fear, pure unadulterated hysteria that pummeled through you at the reality of having to go on without him- a soul tie between the two of you that had been severed far too early. There was no reparation for a loss so big. Nothing could ever fill the newly gaping hole in your chest. You would truly never be the same. You clawed at your throat, at your face, no amount of oxygen relieving the need for air that you lacked. But you knew that wasn’t what your body craved, wasn’t what your soul yearned for.
Naturally, you turned towards him- always to him, only to be met with the horrific sight all over again. The flat dullness of his eyes, bright electric blues completely fizzed out, replaced with a lifelessness that only confirmed the one thing you wouldn't accept. The gape of his mouth, now dried blood that had dribbled down the sides. White long luscious eyelashes that you’d always been jealous of, spattered with crimson.
But his arms- his torso.
A gut wrenching wail broke through, shoulders rolling with every vicious sob, lips curling and eyes squeezing shut. This was it. This would be the last of him.
You leaned over him, forehead resting on his unbeating too still chest, arms caging the sides of his head to rest in his blood.
“Please- if you w-wont come back- take me with you, take me with you, p-please, I can’t do this, I can’t do this,” you yelled, unsure to who. Maybe to him, maybe to the sky, maybe to no one. You wished you could crawl inside of him, tuck yourself right behind his ribcage and die there, rot with him, fester and become one with nature together.
Raising your head to gaze directly down at him, you knew. When all that reflected back in his now lifeless eyes, was a version of you you’d never seen before, you knew.
You willed yourself to die, rocking back and forth as the stomach churning nauseating grief rattled your bones, making it incapable to stay still, torn fingers clawing into the earth to try and grasp onto something. Tears dropped onto his blood stained face, skin paler than ever before, murky eyes staring right through you. This was it.
“Take me with you,” you begged, making eye contact as the coldness of it all began to settle in your bones. The weather was overcast, skies grey, thunder cracking as it began to softly drizzle. “Take me with you, Toru. Please.”
Warnings: some angst? mentions of puke, self doubt, reader is still insecure and thinks she’s kind of pathetic, nightmares, alcohol, ummm hurt/comfort, more feelings spoken yet they get no where lowkey it’s crazy like if they just communicated
Notes: yes I have the audacity to say I’m sorry again. I hope everybody is ready for nothing, bc there is a whole lotta that!! Umm I don’t think this chapter goes anywhere or has a plot even like just hurt reader and Leon comforting and stuff </3
The silence in the room for once was not suffocating, occupied with the mindless hum of your fan, muted noises of the early risers and most importantly, your quiet little breaths.
You had managed to sleep through the rest of the entire night. Or well- almost. Your soft huffs were counted by Leon as you slept, the brushing of his thumb against your hand seemingly never ending.
He’d barely slept, if at all. He couldn’t. Not when he saw the pain and terror that clouded your eyes every time he shut his, not when he saw that look painted on your face when he ran in your room. The memory gutted him, a knife so deeply wedged that it felt like he was physically getting carved from the inside out.
He felt sick to his stomach, mind replaying the way you backed away from him, how you couldn’t catch your breath, the way your eyes scanned the room for Gideon. Leon had indirectly changed your life for the worse by trying to keep you at a distance.
The slightest morning light creeped in through your curtains, just barely illuminating parts of your cozy room as the rays softly landed on you. Leon laid on his side, gaze never leaving your slightly propped up form, focused. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. He thought maybe if he looked away, you might stop breathing. So he didn’t.
The entire night had ticked by, Leon doing what he did best. Observing. Studying. Though he couldn’t deny how distracted he had become when you first started working at the DSO. The way you looked up at him, those pretty round eyes giving him your undivided attention. You were sickeningly sweet, so inviting that at times it made him want to crawl out of his own skin. A completely different taste compared to his usual palette.
The way heat prickled at his neck when you’d stare at him, the burning sensation that seemed to form underneath the wake of your gaze. The feeling was so foreign to him, he felt helpless, so unknown that for once in his life, he didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to navigate this new territory. So he did what he had always done. Reverted back into his cold unwavering self. Built a wall so high that you’d have no choice to back away at first glance. Be an asshole to the pretty rookie.
Coming to terms with how nasty he had been was like being forced to stare into a mirror, and god did he hate his reflection.
Little chirps from birds sounded from outside your window signaling the dawn of a new day. Leon had sighed in relief at you successfully making it through the night without any more issues when he heard the hitch of your breath. Your hand, having left his at some point, had formed into a small ball, nails digging into your flesh. The slightest of twitches pulsed through your fingers.
Leon sat up straight, listening, waiting to see if maybe you’d wake up. A choked noise fell from your lips and he could hear your breaths catch and drag, louder and more intense. Little wheezes mixed in with a sudden broken sob. That’s all it took for him to throw the covers off of him, pacing around to your side of the bed. “(Name),” Leon tried.
He could see the way your throat bobbed, swallowing back a cry. Your eyes were squeezed shut, but still he could see the way your eyes rapidly fluttered back and forth. Your lips slightly gaped, chest beginning to heave.
“(Name), wake up,” he tried again, voice louder as he rested the back of his palm against your forehead. You were burning up, skin slightly damp and clammy.
“Fuck,” he cursed, brushing the hair that stuck against your skin behind your ear. Leon could keep his cool for many things, but this was not one of them. You were somewhere too far to reach, too deep in to be pulled out of. His heart started to pound in his chest. Small whimpers sounded from your unconscious frame, breaths becoming panicked pants.
A hand cupped your cheek, gently patting. “Come on, (name), wake up,” Leon urged. Nothing but a ragged breath broke out of you, upper body slightly rocking at the intense panic attack. “You’re okay, you’re okay-” he breathed, other hand softly coming to your shoulder. “Hey- (name), wake up, wake up,” he pressed harder, gently shaking your shoulder, too scared of hurting you, but also having no idea of how to get you out of this. The only nightmare experience he’s had were his own, and no one’s ever had to wake him from them.
A small tear slipped out of the far corner of your eye, falling down the side of your face. Leon cursed, thumb wiping it away. His hair fell over his face as he angled himself over you, panic taking over his form too. Seeing you like this affected him in ways he’d never known. “Fuck, come on, I’m right here (name), you’re safe-”
A choked gargle spilled out of you as you gasped, shooting up and frantically looking around your room. Leon swore, jerking his away just in time before you gave him a concussion, and yourself a second one. Unsteady jagged breaths tore out of you, sounding rough around the edges as each hitch caught against your throat. Eyes blood shot and wide, you once again frenziedly scanned the room, looking through Leon like he was a ghost, like he wasn’t even there right in front of you.
Your hands, still formed tightly into balls, now desperately clutched the fabric of your bed sheets, knuckles white. A few beads of perspiration had formed, one trailing down the side of your jaw.
Leon had always prided himself on maintaining a well constructed callous exterior despite at times feeling like he was falling apart on the inside. He was relieved that no one could know what he was truly feeling and now was not one of those times. Leon’s expression wore nothing but transparency as his eyebrows furrowed in concern, a deep “11” engraining itself in the middle. He had to focus on calming his own breath, heart beating like a bat out of hell. His eyes that intensely bore into yours, examined your face, your features, your eyes as they looked anywhere but at him.
“Hey- hey, look at me, I’m here,” Leon spoke, hand still curled over your shoulder. He wasn’t sure what to do, whether or not he should touch you, didn’t know what would bring you out of this state and only fearful he might worsen it.
Glazed over and wet, your sight was unfocused on a random spot in the room. Physically you were there, but inside your head, you were still somewhere far away. Leon swallowed, shakily exhaling before putting on a brave face. He raised his hand to cup your cheek, and gently guided your face towards him, making you look at him. “(Name),” Leon spoke, low yet demanding.
“Look at me, sweetheart,” and he cupped your other cheek, thumbs running just below your waterline to swipe at the tears that had unknowingly gathered there. A small hiccup, but at least your breathing had slowed. Too zoned out to reply, he tried again. “Hey, hey look, I’m right here, you’re not alone, you’re safe, you’re okay.”
With a sniffle, the smallest pout began to form on your lips. You dropped your head, Leon’s hand shifting to support it. He watched a tear fall drop through the air, a dark pink shaded circle forming on your comforter. You didn’t reply, but he could hear the small muted whimpers that you failed to conceal. His heart physically constricted, jaw clenching as he could do nothing but watch. There was nothing he could do to turn back time.
Leon softly whispered your name, a low coo that was so soft he wasn’t even sure if he actually said it. “He-,” and a choked cry fell from your lips, unable to speak. The words were like a jagged blade, getting stuck and nicking all along the inside of your esophagus. He hushed you, thumbs resuming their habit of stroking your skin back and forth. “You don’t have to speak,” he swallowed down the lump in his throat. “You’re okay. You’re safe. Just look at me.”
With a quick shake of your head, you refused. Leon shouldn’t see you like this. He sighed. “Please. Come on, I’m right here.”
Shakily exhaling, you slowly turned your head up, an action that felt too hard, too heavy. Your tear filled gaze landed on his, eyes so blue that if you were present in the moment, you might have loudly gasped. The smallest of smiles formed on Leon’s face. “There you are.”
You breathed, long and deep, shamelessly letting your eyes run over his chiseled yet soft features. The way his eyes crinkled at the side, the slight eye bags, the salt and pepper of his stubble. How could someone be so perfect?
If this had ever happened to you in the past, you would’ve squealed and covered your face, hiding the blush that your cheeks would no doubt be sporting.
But things were different now. You weren’t your usual shy insecure self anymore. You didn’t know what you were now.
“You with me?” No. “Mmhmm,” you meekly responded, returning your gaze back to his. Leon wasn’t the only one under inspection. He exhaled, slow and controlled before continuing. “Tell me what to do.” Eyebrows furrowing, you tilted your head, cheek still cupped by Leon’s calloused hand. A sniffle and then a small pout. “I-? W-What do you..?”
Another exhale as you watched the muscles in his jaw flex, his eyes fluttering shut. “Tell me how I can help you. What do you need from me?” His voice was serious, tone so low it was almost like you could feel the rumble in his chest.
Shaking your head lips agape, you rasped out the only answer you knew. “L-Leon, I don’t-. Y-You’ve done so much, already- for me, I mean. I’m fine-” he cut you off. “Don’t, (name). Please, don’t lie to me. I want to help you.” For once, Leon sounded desperate almost, a tone you’d never heard from him before. He was such a contrast between who was towards you at the office that it felt like you were talking to a whole other person. Then again, your admiration for Leon was always from a distance, so you supposed you never really did know him.
“I was just having another nightmare. That’s all,” you peered down, sight landing on the column of his throat, watching his adams apple bob with every swallow. Another sight that would’ve had you holding back a scream.
As you went to shift, you winced, a sharp pain running up the nerves in your thigh. “Ugh,” and the edge of your lip slightly curled up at the unexpected jolt. “Let me grab your pain meds, then we’ll get you up, okay?” Leon spoke already on the rise, cheeks now cold from the loss of his hot touch. A whine formed in your throat, but you bit down on your lip, fighting it back. A subtle nod would do.
You took the time to study your room, analyze the multiple crooks and crannies that transformed themselves into something more sinister at night. Gideon was dead. He couldn’t get you here.
The burning of your eyes returned once more, and you squeezed them shut willing the tears away. At least during the day he couldn’t.
The thought of Leon leaving you felt just as horrific. Uneasiness rolled in your stomach even when he was just a rooms away. You wanted him with you and you wanted it bad. Just not bad enough to voice it aloud.
“Okay, and after this- you remember what you promised me?” Leon began, interrupting your thoughts as he marched right back to you, pills and water in hand. You shook your head, hand reaching out for the medication. He gave a small grin, almost in victory. “Gonna make you a nice big breakfast. And you’re gonna eat it all, yeah?”
An amused huff left you, eyes jokingly rolling as you popped the pills in your mouth. You responded with a small groan, mouth full of water, stomach still feeling queasy at just the thought, but if that’s all you needed to do to help ease his worries? You’d do it. Plus you didn’t think you’d ever see the Leon Kennedy making you breakfast in your apartment in a lazy day outfit. You had to come out with a win from something.
“Alright, Mr. Kennedy. You got it,” you smiled in fake triumph. Your nerves still felt jittery, hands slightly shaky but Leon’s presence and attitude helped keep the dark parts away. Now it was his turn to roll his eyes. “Leon,” he mumbled before reaching his hands down to work under you. “W-Wait, I can just walk-” but it was too late, Leon was adjusting you in his arms, arms strong and wrapped protectively around you, body cradled to his chest.
“Faster this way. Restroom first? Kitchen? Shower?” He asked, mentally running down his checklist of what to do first. You blushed. “Um r-restroom first, please.” Leon didn’t respond, just carried you straight to the restroom, setting you down on your unsteady feet. “Okay?” He checked, returning to meet your gaze. “Mmhm, t-thanks,” you shyly murmured, unable to keep eye contact. “Let me know when you’re done, yeah?” And you nodded again, smiling softly as Leon shut the door.
Staring at yourself in the mirror, you grimaced at the reflection staring back at you. Eyes dull, lifeless, and it’s not that you looked pale per se but just devoid of any color, any vibrance that gave you life. The only color you had were the nasty purple green bruises you sported on your face and around your neck. It would be just your luck to have the only man you love see you in this state.
You sighed at the thought, feeling ugly both on the inside and out. Whatever Gideon injected you with must’ve been some type of rot, some type of mold that would continue to fester inside of you and take its time to dig its claws into you, make others see you the way you’ve always seen yourself.
You shivered, trying to concentrate on your morning routine, a small sense of faux normalcy that felt as if it could ground you. You were here, you were in your bathroom, in your home. Not there.
Grimacing, you brushed your teeth, wincing at the effort it took to open up your jaw. Gideon really did a number on you. Was it because you were so weak?
A knock broke you from your train of thought and you gasped in surprise, eyebrows shooting up your forehead. “You okay?” Leon’s muffled voice sounded through the other side of the door.
You swallowed, clearing your throat to respond. “Y-Yes, coming!” Cursing as you pathetically tripped over yourself to the door, you slowly creaked it open, chipped mask falling right into place but you had feared Leon could see right through it. You were always frustratingly easy to read, completely oblivious to the fact that you couldn’t even successfully hide your admiration for your own boss in an office setting. The thought made you huff.
Leon’s baby blue eyes met yours, and once again he wore a look of nothing but worry and concern, eyes fluttering around your form as if he was scanning for newfound injuries. Wordlessly, he moved to pick you up, and this time you let him with no complaints.
You couldn’t help but feel uneasy as your eyes followed Leon’s movements in the kitchen, eyes darting from his hands to his neck to his face while he carried a look of concentration. Any other time, you would’ve loved to sit at your counter and watch him make you breakfast while looking nothing but delicious, let your eyes lovingly suffocate him because you didn't have it in you to look away.
But it wasn’t any other time. Things weren’t normal, and you wished you could just shut your thoughts up and appreciate the hunk of a man that stood in front of you, hair messily astray, muscles that bulged at the slightest of flex, and blue eyes that made you stop breathing. You huffed in annoyance.
“Talk to me, rookie,” Leon spoke, still facing the pan of eggs and you narrowed your eyes at his back, because of course, he caught onto the huff that revealed too much. That and the fact you technically were not a rookie.
“Why are you doing all of this Mr. Ken- Leon? I really- really appreciate what you’ve done f-for me, but really, you don’t need to feel obligated to do any of this, I’m- I’m okay, honestly.”
It made him tense, made him clench his jaw and grit his teeth back and forth like the words were an insult. He wasn’t sure which part to address first, but he figured a conversation like this might come up and there was no one to blame but himself for how he acted, for how he was acting now. The guilt chewed away at his insides, at how confusing this all must’ve felt for you. How rattling and overwhelming it was in the first place, but truly how much worse it was after what you went through.
He opened his mouth to speak but the words lodged themselves in his throat.
“You-you didn’t even know who I was…” your sentence died off, attempting to wrap your mind around how fast everything was moving, trying to calm the rapid beating of your heart, your feelings that were growing for him and infecting you more and more, controlling your thoughts and your actions.
He winced, barely, but you noticed, and angled his head away.
“Of course I knew who you were, (name). I-” and he cut himself off with a low exhale. “In the beginning, when I forgot your name,” and he winced again like the memory physically hurt, and god did you understand. You shut your eyes for a moment, wishing you could laugh at the thought now, but a flare up of embarrassment hit you instead.
He turned, placing a plate full of eggs, toast, fruit, jam, bacon directly in front of you, fork next. Your eyes widened, momentarily distracted from the conversation.
“I’d seen you, of course- I saw you. It’s not an excuse but there was so much shit so much junk that came up- and we were never even properly introduced I-” and he let out a breathy exhale, disappointment in himself the only evident emotion you could observe, like even the justifiable excuse didn’t make sense, like he hated admitting it and it still sounded so wrong. You swallowed, hoping- no silently begging, that for once he’d continue, keep elaborating and not shut down and think his one sentence explanations would suffice as enough. They never did, but you never wanted to beg him to say more.
He quieted, as if he was calculating, contemplating. “I knew who you were.”
You let the words hang in the air for a moment, seconds dragging on as you waited for him to continue. Was that it? Did he think that answered everything? Your head pounded, every bruise and laceration throbbed with its own pulse, the cold distant man you’d been in love with was now taking care of you after getting severely fucked up by Gideon- and that- that’s it?? You gripped the fork tightly, small pool of anger coiling in your gut.
You narrowed your eyes, confused but expectantly- wordlessly pleading with him to just explain, explain his feelings, explain why and how.
“And now you’re just- here? Why?” Your tone was laced with irritation, exasperated at the too short conversation that had your blood pressure spiking all too soon. You never raised your voice, rarely got angry- you’d never even think of raising it at Leon Kennedy of all people- but you couldn’t wrap your head around everything. Too much had happened too fast, and you felt like you were wearing thin- thinner.
“W-Why did you want to split up? Why did you- did you save me? Why are you here now Mr. Kennedy? I really-” you shakily exhaled. “Thank you- for helping me- truly, I will, will never be able to repay you, but you don’t need to pity me. This was all- all my fault.”
Ah, there you went, over explaining- over compensating maybe? Desperately spewing things in hopes he’d bite onto something and expand on it? Give you a glimpse of what he was thinking for once, because god, was it horrifying having someone you’ve fawned over for so long suddenly see all your vulnerabilities. He thought you were pathetic before, what would he think now?
Silence stretched thin, his eyes looking at you so intensely that for once you considered returning his gaze back, just as fierce. Maybe then you’d catch a glimpse of something other than that constant worrying frightened look, as if you were made out of glass and would crack under the slightest pressure. You’d survived Gideon. Despite being weak and pathetic, you survived him.
“Will you take a few bites, please?” Leon slowly sighed, not in annoyance, not ill-mannered, but as if he knew it was coming.
You glowered, stuffing a large bite of eggs in your mouth before motioning towards him, fork in hand. He gave you the slightest of smiles, barely there, but enough of a peek that you mentally noted that you’d have to see Leon Kennedy smile, you would have to hear his laugh.
“Why were you so.. harsh.. to me?” The words came out small, fearful, not of him, but of his response, worried that there would be more criteria where you might have fallen short in his eyes.
Leon was silent, eyes falling down to stare at the counter, hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. You had bombarded him with questions, wondering which bait he would bite.
“I am so sorry, y/n.”
You slammed your fork down, and tears welled up in your eyes. Maybe the medicine was making you cranky? The bad sleep that plagued you with nightmares? Him??
“I don’t want you to be sorry, Leon,” you seethed, sitting up and leaning forward as much as your body would allow. “I want you to explain to me why you are here. Why are you helping me?? Why treat me like that t-then all of a sudden right after Gideon, you’re so- you’re so nice to me now. Do you feel that bad??” Your hands balled into small fists, voice wavering as your words caught and strained, but forced out nonetheless. You’d wanted him for so long, but you couldn’t have him like this. Couldn’t have him reserved and unwilling to open up. The switch between you two had been like night and day- at least on his part.
He met your challenging stare, ocean blue eyes piercing yours. He didn’t look defensive, didn’t look like he’d back down, he looked almost prideful. Leon looked like he was almost happy to see you with a little burning flame in your eyes, gifting him a new little peek at your personality. Like he loved seeing you stand up for yourself, pissed, even if it was at him.
“You distracted me. You were a distraction,” he spoke calmly, factually. You noticed the heaviness of your breathing, eyebrows furrowing at his response and deflating as you took the second to settle back in the seat, anger slowly ebbing away to be replaced by more confusion. You waited patiently.
“Higher ups noticed, Sherry noticed, others noticed. I’d look at you,” Leon’s breath hitched, so lightly, so softly you weren’t sure if you’d imagined it. The muscles on his jaw twitched, faint crimson beginning to creep up the sides of his neck as he angled his head away, breaking eye contact. “And I couldn’t get you out of my head.” His voice was gruff, raspy and a tenor so deep it made your lower stomach tingle.
Focus.
Your heart pounded in your chest, breath becoming more shallow, skin warming all over. Had he felt the same?
“I was… falling behind on work. I don’t do that. So I,” he paused, exhaling. “Did what I do best. I shut it out- shut you- out. You were you, and someone like you? Someone like me? It just-” he lightly shook his head. “Just doesn’t work.”
The air had turned thick, too thick. It wasn’t the type of tension before something good happened, it felt like the opposite. Like you were waiting for the fatal blow. For him to tell you this was all a mistake.
“I thought if I acted like that, put up that wall towards you, it would stop. Everything. That I’d think of you less, but it didn’t work- it was the opposite. Then,” he breathed, long and slow, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, 11 forming perfectly in between his furrowed brows. “Then the mission. I never should’ve done that- and I’m so sorry. As soon as I found out your comms wasn’t working, I tried to get to you as fast as possible. And then Gideon found you. And he hurt you.” His voice was unsteady now, slightly labored and forced, but it held, regret intertwining each word spoken.
“And when I saw you there,” Leon shuddered. “There’s a lot of things I regret. But I think that takes the cake. And I hate cake.”
An airy quiet huff left your lips, immediately slamming them shut, needing to keep up your appearance. You weren’t that easy.
Slightly nodding your head to his statements, you tried to think rationally, tried not to get ahead of yourself. Did this mean he felt the same? He liked you too? Was this a rejection or some type of admission? You didn’t dare ask to clarify. Not yet.
“Well. If it’s any consolation to you, none of it was your fault, Leon. I don’t blame you- at all. You didn’t make Gideon take me,” you faintly shrugged your shoulders, unsure of what else to say.
Leon gave the faintest of smiles, anything but genuine. "it's not." And it was factual. To him at least. "It's my fault. I never should've had us split up. I thought," he sighed. "Thought it would distance us. And instead, I was dumb. I hurt you. I let feelings get in the way of work.”
You wanted to scoff, but you weren't sure at which part. "It's not your fault Leon. Please, don't blame yourself. You couldn’t have known.”
The tension in the room had slowly faded, a calm faint humming circulating instead. It felt like you had made some progress with Leon, yet none at the same time. Like you were dancing around a more serious topic, barely scratching the surface. You hated how much of a coward you felt like, too scared to outright tell him your feelings, though you guessed that was already known. You pushed around the food once more with your fork, sitting in the silence that pulsed within the room.
"Eat. Please," and your name rolled so lightly off his tongue, so softly said it felt like it was weighed with emotion. Like he was speaking a secret, like he was praying to you, and all you wanted to do was hear him whisper it deep in your ear, strong arms wrapped tightly around you, head buried your neck- your cheeks heated, pushing the thought deep into the corners of your mind.
"okay."
"I need to run to the office. I'll get you situated wherever you want- I should only be gone an hour or so. Will you be okay?" He questioned, already beginning to clean up all the dishes, not having eaten anything other than sipping on a black coffee.
"Only if you eat, too."
He huffed, amused. "Fair."
"You'll call me, right? For anything, I'm serious, I'll come right back-"
"Leon, yes- promise, thank you."
Leon sighed in relief, bottles of pills covering the surface of your nightstand, book in hand, and everything you might possibly need within reach for hours, days you had exclaimed at first. Blankets, more medicines, remote, computer, more books, a coloring book, an old crochet project, a -
"Okay. Please call me."
"I will, don't worry." And he looked at you, already worrying, already furrowing his brows. For a few seconds, he just observed you, stared at the mismatched bruises that coated your face, your neck, the faint lacerations on your arms. He briefly nodded, hands twitching as if he wanted to reach out to you. He didn't, turning from you and leaving you tucked nicely into your bed, already wanting for him to come back.
Leon was sick to his stomach. Viscerally and horrifically sick, stomach twisting and bile rising rapidly. He'd sped to the restroom, throwing up the empty contents of his stomach, only expelling a clear liquid.
His hands trembled, sweat beaded at his brow and nape of his neck, nostrils flaring as he attempted to slow his breathing, anything to calm the intense pounding of his heart. He'd seen sickening things in the field over the years, experienced things that have made him lock himself in a room for days and not come out. But watching the tape that Gideon had recorded of you- had more than just shaken him.
Sherry had informed him that they'd been able to get the footage, reassuring Leon that on no means did he have to watch it. He chose to anyway, claiming that it was for important purposes, to study a BOW, their tactics, methods.
Of course it wasn’t to punish himself, not to force himself to watch what he indirectly did to you, what he basically put you through. To watch another one of his biggest failings. He couldn't take things back, so he might as well suffer with you.
He didn't regret it per se, but the blurry recording of Gideon beating the ever living shit out of you would scar him like no other, a permanent laceration that the two of you would now share. Watching you shake, sob, bleed.
And the worst? Listening to you defend him. Listening to your slurred broken voice spend its energy to call out for him while being drugged with lord knows what. The way your head would whip to the side, the way you begged, and god all the blood. He watched and watched, eyes glued to the sceen all up until he came in, having to get up to puke before he hurled all over himself.
His throat burned with more need to force out vomit, eyes automatically watering from the effort it took to puke.
But he had to admit, part of him was so proud. The way you spat at Gideon, hearing you hurl insults and curses at him like it was nothing, like you weren’t afraid despite being so horrifically paralyzed with it. Little shy ray of sunshine you, a stuttering mess, looked danger right in the face and told it exactly what you thought. Brave and strong until the end.
He always knew you were, knew you could handle it all, despite not treating you like it. However, there was something so unfulfilling at having to be proud of you from a distance- the distance he had and needed to continue to instill. Leon wanted to be proud of you in a different sense. In a possessive manner, in the way that he would be not just proud of you, but proud of his girl. But you weren't.
Shaking his head, hands gripping the edge of the metal bin, he spat clearing his mouth, before moving to the sink to gargle water. You weren't his girl. And he still felt so undeserving of you that the thought of it ever happening felt too unrealistic. Leon would continue to deny himself the pleasure of ever getting what he wanted, and all he wanted was you.
Returning to your home was more than difficult, knowing he'd have to look at you and see what Gideon actually did to you, knowing he'd have to look at you be so close to him yet so far away. You were you, and Leon was... Leon. He'd drown and only take you with him.
"Hey," he spoke lowly, time well into the afternoon now.
There you sat, same book in hand, and the most beautiful of smiles painted on your face, looking at him. His heart stuttered, eyes gazing into yours, so undeserving of your kindness.
"Hi."
He huffed a small laugh, moving to perch on the edge of your bed, hands resting comfortably in his lap as he looked right at you. Cheeks burning under his intense stare, you shifted under your blankets, setting the book down and doing everything in your power to maintain eye contact, but god those eyes.
"How do you feel? Hungry?"
"God- no." Leon chuckled. "But okay, bruises hurt a bit, but nothing crazy. Im- Im glad you're back. How was the office?"
He hummed, not answering a moment and choosing to just stare, eyes flickering to your lips for the briefest of seconds. Dropping his hand, he moved it to rest above yours, thumb rubbing back and forth. Chills ran through you, the urge to squeal more prominent than ever. You clenched your jaw holding it back.
"I don't think I've told you just how strong you are, (name). And im so sorry im only telling you now." His tone was rough, gravely, and the most serious you had heard him since after everything. Furrowing your brows, you tilted your head in confusion, wordlessly urging him to continue.
"I just need you to know. You're strong, you'll get through this.”
Sitting up straight, you could smell something off, a scent so highly chemical and antiseptic. “Leon- are you, are you drunk?” But you didn’t sound mad, you sounded anxious, worried. You grabbed his hand.
His jaw clenched, the only answer to your question, and full of shame as he looked away, hand still in yours. He thought he had hidden it well, didn’t want to place any worry on you, naturally retreating into old habits when things went awry. There was nothing he wanted to do more than drink himself to death alone, but he knew he couldn’t stay away either. Not because you needed him, but because he desperately, pathetically, and so entirely, had found himself needing to be with you.
A week of waiting for you to wake up, the little time he’d spent with you here, he’d already known he was too far gone. His entire plan from the start had backfired so badly that he could’ve laughed.
“I’m sorry, (name).”
You sat up more with a wince, bringing your free hand to his so that the both of yours cradled his large one, taking the turn to now soothe his skin. “Leon, what happened? Can you tell me?” You whispered the words, coaxing him in hopes he’d tell you what was clearly weighing so heavily on him.
Again, the muscles in his jaw flickered, his throat bobbed. Leon looked uncomfortable, almost insecure and you hated it. You’d rather see him scold you.
“You deserve so much more than this.” He was so quiet, as if he didn’t want to say the words, didn’t want to believe them himself, but knew it was true. “You deserve so much more than me.”
“W-what? What do you mean?” Your voice began to raise, a small but noticeable tremor shaking the words. You weren’t following along, fingers curling into his hand to keep it close, waiting for him to rip it away from you.
“I should go.”
Leon stood abruptly, hand tearing from yours. A faint whine fell from your lips, hand reaching for his, but he’d already begun to move. A pit formed in your stomach, heart dropping as you began to panic, feeling like you just might go crazy if Leon left you. You talked a big game in the beginning, all bark no bite- you didn’t mean it all. You didn’t want to be left alone, you couldn’t do this yourself.
“Wait! Leon, please no-” and too fast, too panicked, you hastily threw the covers away, immediately attempting to stand with no other thoughts than to get to Leon before he could leave you alone to rot. “Wait wait wait,” you didn’t care how pathetic you sounded when all you could feel was fear. The sudden leaving without warning- it was like everything had been tipped over, dam breaking as all emotions flooded over you.
Standing was painful, but through the grimaces you were able to. Fast steps, were worse, not having stood in quite some time given that not only had Leon been carrying you, but with the bed rest, your muscles had already began to waste away from your lack of use.
As soon as you were up, you were down, room blurring and spinning. Hands and knees slammed against your rugged bedroom floor, a sudden and overwhelming intense fear dizzying your vision as sobs began to pool out of you. If Leon left, Gideon would come back. Gideon would hurt you. You’d be stuck in that room again, tied to that chair.
Despite the pain, you attempted to crawl, chest expanding with every labored cry and pant. “Please don’t go, please please please.” The words rambled out of you, pleading, desperate, raw.
Did Leon finally have enough of you? In the little time of taking care of you did he finally realize you weren’t worth it?
Distressed and now almost as frenzied as you, Leon immediately turned on his heel, hearing the loud thump of something hitting the floor, that something being you. Hurting yourself because of him. “Fuck, (name), I’m so sorry, are you okay? Fuck.”
Squatting down, hands found your underarms, maneuvering your body and shifting your limbs so that your arms locked tightly around his neck, his own hands gently turning your body to find purchase behind your knees, effortlessly lifting you up, slowly and mindful of the wound in your thigh.
Your cries were a form of torture to him, the sound so absolutely jarring Leon wanted to make sure he’d never have to hear it again. The way your shoulders shook with each gasp, the glazed look in your eyes, the clenching of your fingers as you dug them into the rug- it all made him sick over again.
He exhaled, placing you into your spot on the bed, but you didn’t release your grasp from around his neck. If anything, they tightened, fearful he’d try to leave again. “Please don’t go, please don’t leave me,” you shuddered, words releasing as hiccups, nails unapologetically digging into the nape of his neck. The position was awkward for Leon. He didn’t dare move.
“I’m so sorry, fuck, are you hurt?” Leon’s hand brushed against the outside of your thigh, bare skin hot under his touch. The act was innocent, soothing. Guilt pooled in his stomach.
The shake of your head was your only response, eyes squeezed shut, chin wobbling as you attempted to hold back more tears. “Are you- are you going to leave me?” Not are you going to go, but are you going to leave me. Leon cursed, alcohol as always proving to be the worst decision possible, a vice he had yet to let go of. And look where it got him- back to hurting you- He was always managing to find a way to hurt you.
“No, sweetheart. I’ll stay, I’m sorry, I thought I was doing the right thing.”
A cry, and Leon could feel the wetness of your cheeks transfer to the skin of his neck. “What- what a dumb thought.” Your words were muffled, slowly spoken between small hiccups. Leon softly snorted in amusement, hand still caressing softly. “You’re right,” he agreed.
For just a few minutes, you stayed in his arms, letting your cries turn into sniffles. “I don’t want to be alone, Leon. I need- I need you, please.” His breath hitched, fear rampaging through him at the thought of the two of you becoming closer. Leon was more than horrified, knowing the path he’d lead you down would only hurt you more. He’d already hurt you enough.
“Okay,” he whispered, hands moving to your back to try and calm you down, rubbing circles with calloused hands that never should’ve touched you in the first place. How was he supposed to let you go after this?
