This is not for tears

Fav things

● Resident evil ●

• Succession •

• Kendall Roy • Roman Roy • Stewy Hosseini • Jeryd Mencken • Lukas Mattson • Shiv Roy •

• Fav Actors •

• Jeremy Strong • Cillian Murphy • Joseph Quinn ●

• Misc Masterlist •

Leon was furious. He tried to hide it and focus on the mission. The place was already a fucking hell in itself, so adding that burning feeling inside him every time Ada appeared didn’t improve things at all.

Six years had passed since the last time he saw her, when he thought he hadn’t been able to save her. Finding her there, slithering like a venomous snake, was driving him crazy—especially because of you.

You were his partner. You had been for the last two years since Operation Javier.

The two of you had been trained by Commander Jack Krauser. He had been relentless and merciless with both of you, but especially with you, because according to him, girls should be in the kitchen or knitting, not on the battlefield. Still, you had proven more than once that you deserved to be there, saving Leon’s and Jack’s lives during Operation Javier.

Leon was grateful to have you. No one else understood him like you did. Both of you had survived six years of training and missions.He trusted you too much, so when Ada appeared and began using her insidious words on you, it enraged him that you fell so quickly.

“Mmm, a new partner.” Ada whispered, walking around you with that cat-like gait. “She’s pretty like a puppy. She reminds me of you six years ago in Raccoon City, Leon.”

She ran the tip of her fingers across your cheek and you blushed, lowering your gaze to the floor.

Leon had never seen you like this. He frowned even deeper, quite irritated.

“Ada, leave her alone,” Leon complained, picking up his gun and sheathing his knife.

You were gripping your weapon tightly and Ada just laughed.

“Relax, man. I see you don’t like sharing. I don’t blame you, she looks very appetizing.” She looked at you, showing her perfect teeth, and then used her grappling hook to exit through the window of the room in Salazar Castle.

You remained motionless, trying to regain your composure.Leon looked at you with his throat irritated.

“You should defend yourself. You’re not a little girl,” he growled, checking the magazine of his pistol.

The two of you had lost Ashley. Now you were trying to find her in that gloomy yet majestic castle. Running into whoever had been helping the two of you from the shadows bothered him, especially because it was Ada Wong.

He had told you a little about her, so it annoyed him that you fell so quickly for her stupid seduction games. You were younger than him and more inexperienced in many things, so something inside him wanted to protect you and teach you. Still, it seemed incredible to him that you blushed at a couple of silly flirtations.

“Yes, you’re right…” you nodded, embarrassed, looking around the room. There was a bed that looked quite comfortable, but it wasn’t time to rest.

“She did the same to me… six years ago. She used me to get a sample of the G-Virus in Raccoon City. Don’t let her do the same to you,” he warned, looking at you with his intense blue eyes.

His gaze was deep and you could notice the symptoms of the infection. The whites of his eyes had small dark veins. The two of you had been infected with Las Plagas parasite, the gift of the Los Illuminados. Luis Sera had told you he would give you an antidote, but you still hadn’t found it inside the castle.

You knew the two of you had to hurry. Every time, your body felt weaker and more painful. Without meaning to, you started coughing and spat small drops of blood onto your tactical glove.

He looked at you, worried, and took you by the arm, guiding you to the bed.

“We don’t have time for that,” you complained, closing your eyes as you felt the spasm of pain in your chest.

“You need to rest.” He made you sit on the edge of the bed.

Leon took care of you all the time. He had always seen you as someone to protect. He cleaned the corner of your lips with his thumb and looked at you.

“Leon… we have to hurry,” you told him, trying to get up, but he put a hand on your shoulder and made you sit back on the bed.

“It’s an order. You must rest.” You felt his fingers massaging your shoulder and you blushed.

He looked down at you from above. You weren’t blind. Since the first time you met Leon six years ago, you had liked him. He was the only kind agent with you and always treated you with patience. You had no kind of knowledge when you became an agent, unlike him, who had gone through the police academy and lived through the Raccoon City outbreak on his first day of work.

“Alright, agent, but you also need to rest,” you told him.

You placed your hand over his on your shoulder and Leon maintained his composure, but that small act of affection overwhelmed all his senses.

He was hungry for human warmth, just like you.

Six years immersed in missions had not turned him into a machine, although Leon would have preferred it. You were too important to him, too special.

He sighed but sat down beside you and then slid to lie down on the bed.

“Just five minutes,” he murmured, taking you by the waist and pulling you toward him.You had done this other times: hugging each other, staying close and supporting one another.

Leon had decided that kisses were too intimate, but touching over the clothes was allowed.

He lowered his hand to your breasts, caressing over the thin fabric of your tactical shirt. He could feel your sports bra, the one he liked so much to see and smell when he sneaked into your room at the base and checked your underwear drawer.

He knew it was wrong, that it was inappropriate, and he felt like a pervert every time he stole your underwear, but he couldn’t help it.

You gasped. You didn’t consider it appropriate to do it right now.

“Leon, we’re in the middle of a mission…” you told him while wrapping your legs around his, hugging him even tighter.

“Just ten minutes. I need it,” he murmured, smelling your hair. He could smell dirt, iron, and a little of your shampoo scent. He gave you a kiss on the head. “Make it quick.”

That last part almost sounded like an order. He took your hand and guided it to his crotch. There was a huge bulge.You began to caress it over the thick fabric of his tactical pants and he pressed you against his chest, sliding his thigh between your legs.

His fingers dug into your hips and you began to move, chasing the pleasure you so desperately needed.

He put you on top of him while you rode his thigh.

“Yes, like that. You do it very well, my little girl.” You shivered at hearing his rough and needy voice.

Your hand kept caressing his bulge. You closed your eyes as the tingling rose from your lower belly.

The pain of his fingers hooked into the soft flesh of your hips only made you chase that thing you longed for even more.

He could feel it. He watched you bite your lower lip to silence your moans, so used to keeping quiet, to silencing your desires.

He panted, feeling your hot wetness on his thigh through the thick fabric of his cargo pants.

You felt it: his thick thigh, the wet fabric of your cotton panties, the tingling sensation that rose from the soles of your feet to your lower belly.

Your small swollen button of pleasure begging for prompt attention, but as soon as you slid your hand down, he grabbed your wrist.

“No,” he reprimanded you. You looked at him on the verge of tears.

“I need it…” you begged, and the pain of his erection about to burst in his pants made him growl.

He took you by the waist and threw you onto the bed beneath him. You squirmed a little. His body against yours, big and heavy, knocked the air out of your lungs. Your ribs hurt, but it was all rewarded when you felt him roughly rip off your pants and push aside your soaked panties.

“You’re so fucking wet… you’re like a bitch in heat. Someone talks nicely to you and you start panting,” he growled, sliding his thick fingers between your velvet folds until he found your swollen clit and rubbed it.

You writhed with your heavy boots and tactical pants tangled around your calves. The orgasm came so fast. Your pussy throbbed, feeling empty.You bit your lower lip until it bled, but Leon didn’t stop stimulating you, fascinated by your face of pleasure, by the way you writhed beneath him.

“It hurts…” you murmured between whimpers, with a couple of tears sliding down your temples.

Leon stopped, scared that he had gone too far. He was angry that you had reacted like that to Ada and wanted to punish you in some way. He had never been dominant in bed and had gone almost six years without having sex. He was going crazy, so with you he had only done things over the clothes for the past couple of months.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you,” he apologized, but you grabbed his wrist—his gloved hand, the tips of his fingers wet with your pleasure.

“No. I want you inside me,” you begged, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and clinging to him.

His all-teeth smile made you shiver. He lowered his pants, freeing his erect cock. He wasn’t wearing boxers.

The tip was thick and red, soaked with precum. He stroked it a little, spitting saliva directly on it, and then buried himself inside you without warning.

He covered your mouth as he opened you with his hardness. It was thick and you felt the skin stretching around it, making you feel completely full.

His thrusts were not controlled. He chased the orgasm like a dog after a bone. He was desperate and every stroke felt like it would break you into a thousand pieces.

You didn’t stop him. You clung to him. You needed him as much as he needed you. The tingling returned and you came, soaking him in a lake of your pleasure. He growled, letting himself go completely inside you, crushing you against the bed. His hand was still over your mouth.

He contained his growls and moans against your neck until he felt your small pussy steal every last drop of his semen.

He stayed inside you for a moment and then pulled out, stripping you of all his warmth.

With Leon, things were like that, and you were already used to it, although it was the first time you two had gone beyond some caresses over the clothes.

“We must get moving. We can’t waste any more time.”

“Yes, sir.”

It surprised you that he took a handkerchief from his pocket and cleaned you with delicacy.

“Thank you.”

"Don’t thank me. Just the next time you see Ada, don’t blush.” he asked you seriously, throwing the handkerchief into a corner.

Both of you got ready and you nodded.

“Yes, I won’t do it again.”

Although the next time you still blushed. It was inevitable, and Leon still punished you.

It was Friday, and you could feel the anticipation; the nerves that things might not go as planned gave you an annoying rash on your arms.

At 10 p.m., you heard your father snoring and got out of bed wearing jeans and a wool sweater. You went downstairs barefoot, slipped out the back door, and ran to the bus stop.

You arrived at the motel half an hour later than agreed, ran up the stairs to room 214, and knocked on the door.

He opened the door; he had a cigarette between his fingers and was wearing his old, worn-out denim jacket with frayed sleeves. He looked at you with dark, red, watery eyes; he looked like he was high.

“You’re late… bloody hell, I thought you’d changed your mind…” He yanked you by the arm roughly and shut the door behind you.

The place was just as horrible as you’d imagined—a double bed with cheap sheets; the smell of dampness and disinfectant bothered you, even more than the scent Michael gave off from his skin during his shifts.

Michael smelled of cologne and clean clothes; he’d made sure to take a good shower after his shift, thinking about how he’d fuck you that night. He grabbed you by the waist and slammed you against the wall.

“Thirty minutes late…” he scolded you again, blowing cigarette smoke in your face and making you sneeze.

“I had to leave the house really late… to make sure my parents were asleep,” you apologized.

He smiled bitterly and flicked the cigarette onto the ground, then crushed it out with his heavy boot.

He kissed you; his lips were hungry for you. He couldn’t hold back. He’d promised himself to take it slow—that there wasn’t a shift to return to for another eight hours, and that your parents weren’t going to show up out of nowhere.

But he couldn’t; it was in his system. He needed you so desperately that the slowness caused him pain. His hands quickly slid under your sweater, feeling the soft, warm flesh of your stomach. He grabbed the hem and pulled it up over your arms, leaving you in just your bra—a pink cotton one you’d picked out especially for him.

He looked at you with his dark eyes, smiled when he saw you, and you rolled your eyes, feeling silly.

“Hey, calm down, I’m not taking the piss, it’s just… it’s cute, you know?" He touched the fabric with his finger and kissed you again.

He slipped off your jeans and carried you to the bed; his fingers played with the waistband of your pink cotton panties.

The fabric was already wet with your anticipation, and he smiled between kisses; his fingers slid easily along your slit and stopped at your little button. He rubbed it slowly, even though he wanted to rip your panties off once and for all and slam you against the bed.

He held back; your small, controlled moans seemed so sweet and perfect to him. You were so used to holding back that you did it unconsciously.

He felt your sighs of pleasure against his lips; first it was his middle finger inside you, thick and long, while he looked at you with his dark eyes.

You opened your mouth, feeling it hook inside you and his thumb rubbing your little button.

“That’s my pretty girl…” he kissed you again, his tongue traced your mouth, and you tangled your fingers in his dark, slicked-back curls.

You were still wearing your sneakers and socks; Michael barely noticed when your legs started shaking, rocking the old bed.

“God… fuck…” You couldn’t hold back anymore; you bit your lip, embarrassed at having made so much noise, but his dark eyes challenged you.

“You can swear all you like here, love, no one else is going to hear you but me… cum for me, sweetheart… just for me.” His deep voice was the blessing you needed to finish.

You dug your nails into the skin of his scalp when you felt him enter you like lightning; he let out a guttural sound, and every part of you felt it—his thick, rough fingers were hooked inside you.

And it washed over you, like a hot, sprawling wave that brought everything inside you crashing down and soaked the sheets with your pleasure.

You began to sob, overwhelmed.

Michael pulled you close against his chest right after; you felt the rough fabric of his denim jacket against your cheek, Michael’s weight crushing you against the bed.

He held you tight; you felt him release his erection amid moans and grunts, burying himself inside you, filling you completely.

You fel every his vein throb, hard flesh stretching your intimacy until it burned, but he didn’t move at first.

“Yes… just hang on, love, just a bit longer,” he hissed in your ear, clinging to you, feeling your warm walls tighten around him, and he began to move slowly.

His hips found a rhythm; your sobs of pleasure only stoked his desperation, his lack of self-control, and he couldn’t hold back, couldn’t deny himself you any longer—he increased the thrusts.

He filled you with himself and then released you, over and over; the old mattress creaked, the headboard banged against the wall.

His guttural growls filled the entire room, and you felt like he was going to tear you into a thousand pieces, and that you would let him do it—you would let him tear you apart without hesitation.

He buried his face in your neck and came inside you; you felt him tremble almost at the same moment your second orgasm hit you.

This time much quieter and more controlled; you had barely recovered when he hadn’t pulled out of you yet, as he usually did, to prolong your time together, to make sure you weren’t just some fucking dream his wounded mind had conjured up to make him feel better about himself and his shitty life.

And then you heard him sob against your neck.

At first you thought it was your imagination; you opened your eyes and saw the ceiling of the motel room with its moldy corners.

The musty smell mingled with Michael’s cologne and mild soap.

He kept crying, desperately, like a little boy, and looked at you, his face red, tears streaming down his cheeks, his eyes bloodshot and wet.

And you knew that just before you had arrived, he had already been crying.

He took your hand and kissed it; you were so surprised you couldn’t move. You couldn’t understand where the man had gone who used to fuck you desperately against the wall of the hallway in your entryway.

The same man who made you beg and submit.

He cupped your face in his hands and forced you to look him in the face through your sobs.

“I know you don’t love me the way I love you, that I’m just the bloody piece of rubbish you sleep with so you can feel like you’re making a decision for yourself because your parents treat you like a bloody little girl, but I really do love you. You’re the only good thing in my bloody life. I’ve got nothing. Do you understand? I only see my daughter at weekends, and my ex hates me — though not more than I hate myself. And I feel so bloody alone!" he growled, pressing you against him. You felt like he was going to break your ribs this time, and he hadn’t even pulled out of you yet.

But you hugged him back, let him sob into your chest. You didn’t say a word while he trembled and hiccupped so childishly it hurt; you just stroked his hair and hummed a song to calm him down.

He fell asleep with his head on your chest, drooling on the cotton of your pink bra—the one you’d put on for him.

He softened inside you as you stared at the ceiling, unable to fall asleep.

You had to leave that filthy room and go back home before dawn.

Back to your perfect, suffocating, yet familiar life, but you didn’t dare move and wake him; you just watched Michael sleep as you ran your index finger over the straight bridge of his nose and felt his warm saliva spill onto your breasts.

Your life had never been the same since September 30, 1998. Your home was overrun by monsters and then reduced to ashes by a government-launched missile intended to contain the disaster caused by the Umbrella Corporation.

You had lost everyone. Family, friends, acquaintances. Nothing remained of your old life.

But the very day you lost everything was the day you met the man who saved your life; if it hadn’t been for him, you would have died at the hands of a horde of zombies chasing you.

 You were trapped in a mini-mart, and when you heard the sound of machine gun fire, you screamed for help—which caused a horde to come toward your position. It had been a stupid move on your part, but you were desperate to survive.

He fought his way through the zombies and rescued you. His hair was long and unkempt; it reminded you of a doormat, but you’d never been more grateful to see another human being.

You lunged toward him, and he was about to push you away, but when he saw that you were conscious and showed no signs of infection on your face, he held you in his arms.

“Miss, are you okay?” He used his flashlight to get a better look at your eyes and check that you had no injuries.

“Yes… I’m fine…” you replied, and he nodded.

“Good, let’s go to the subway station with the rest of the survivors. Stay close, miss.”

You followed him as he took out the zombies along the way; he was quite skilled, and from his appearance, he looked like a soldier. On the sleeve of his tactical shirt was the Umbrella logo alongside the initials U.B.C.S.

Back then, you didn’t know that the outbreak had been caused by the misdeeds of the pharmaceutical company that controlled the entire city, so you didn’t even question it—you just followed him; he kept you safe.

You were one of the few survivors of the RC incident; the government gave you shelter for a while. You lived in room 204 of the Wrenwood Hotel, and you had been given a small compensation payment, just like all the other survivors.

Nothing could change the fact that the aftermath was horrific, and you tried to fight it, to rebuild your life, but it was useless.

The nightmares began as soon as you could close your eyes and rest. The cries for help, the moans and growls of the zombies, the shuffling of feet, the gunshots, and the smell of rot and blood haunted you every time you managed to fall asleep.

You’d wake up screaming and crying, clutching the sheets.

You hadn’t seen Carlos in almost two months; he had saved you, but he wasn’t just an ordinary civilian.

There was a support group for survivors and family members of the RC incident, so you decided to go, thinking you might find him there.

After a really tough meeting where some members opened up and shared their terrible experiences during the outbreak, Carlos showed up at the next meeting. It was strange for you to see him in normal clothes.

A pair of jeans and a plain short-sleeved shirt that accentuated his perfect biceps. Maybe the night you met him, you hadn’t noticed those details—like the width of his back, how round and perfect his shoulders were, and that unique smile that made your lower belly tingle.

He said your name as soon as he saw you and hugged you tightly in his arms; you could smell his woody cologne soaked into his shirt, feel his hard, defined body through the thin fabric.

You awkwardly returned the hug, and when he finally pulled away, he placed his large hands on your shoulders. He was quite a bit taller than you, and while that had once made you feel protected, now it just made you feel more self-conscious—and he noticed.

“I’m glad to see you. I hope you are too.” He smiled at you, stroking your cheek with his calloused hand.

You didn’t remember Carlos having no concept of personal space, but then, when he brought you coffee, kept you company on the subway, and draped a blanket over you, it seemed like the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for you.

You could barely remember the way he used to brush your hair away from your face or stroke your back in circles to comfort you.

“Yeah, sure, it’s good to see you,” you replied, and he smiled even wider, revealing his perfect white teeth; the dimple in his chin made you blush, and he noticed.

Suddenly, the sound of chairs scraping reminded you where you were; the meeting leader announced that everyone should take their seats, and you and Carlos sat down together.

The two of you watched in silence as the rest of the people shared their experiences; the tears came quickly, but unlike you, who had a lump in your throat, Carlos seemed more at ease.

He noticed how tense you were and placed a hand on your leg, beginning to trace circles with his thumb. You looked at him, and he just gave you a sideways smile; his hazel eyes seemed to tell you that you could count on him.

“I’m here,” he whispered to you, as if the rest of the world had disappeared, and you nodded, letting out a couple of tears and resting your head on his shoulder.

You clung to his huge arm, as if it were a blanket or a teddy bear, and he didn’t stop stroking you through the fabric of your jeans.

When the meeting ended, neither Carlos nor you spoke. Carlos just introduced himself and shared a bit about his experience, but only because he had to do it the first time—you’d already done it at the previous meeting.

Carlos brought you a cup of coffee from the vending machine at the end of the hall, and you drank it.

“Thanks.”

He just smiled at you and took a sip of his own coffee.

You were starting to feel exhausted, and he noticed.

“How’s the sleep going?”

You sighed, taking another big sip of your coffee. You didn’t want to get to the hotel room and have to sleep. You didn’t want to close your eyes and see all that hell again.

“Not great… do you have them too…?”

“Nightmares?”

You nodded. You saw that he had pretty deep dark circles under his eyes. You looked the same.

“I can’t sleep at all,” he said, taking another sip of his black coffee.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I have insomnia,” he said, not making a big deal of it. “Want me to walk you back to your room?”

You checked the time on your wristwatch and nodded.

“Yes, please.”

The meeting place was the basement of a church not far from the Wrenwood Hotel.

The two of you walked together, and after five minutes he took your hand, intertwining his thick fingers with yours, and you didn’t pull away.

It was nice to pretend things were normal. To imagine that you and Carlos were a normal couple, swaying as you walked, your hands intertwined.

When you reached the hotel lobby, it hurt to let go of his hand.

“My room is 204,” you said nervously, pulling the key from your jeans pocket.

“204,” he repeated, scratching the back of his neck; he didn’t seem to want to leave.

“Yes, 204.” You held your breath, tense just remembering that you had to face the long night alone.

You didn’t want any more nightmares, or tears, or fear.

He moved closer to you, and his woody scent hit you hard.

“Do you want…?” you whispered.

“Yes.”

You exhaled, feeling relieved that he was making things so easy; you’d never been good at that kind of social interaction, even before the incident.

The two of you walked to the elevator and he pressed the button; as soon as you reached the right floor, you walked down the hallway, inserted the key into the lock, and let him go in first.

He looked around the room intently, as if it were different from any average hotel room.

“Do you want more coffee?” you asked, pointing to the small capsule coffee maker in the room.

“Sure,” he replied.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, and you hurried to make the coffee. Then you handed him the small cup, and he took a sip.

“It tastes better than the coffee from the vending machine at church.”

“Yeah,” you said with a nervous laugh.

You sat down next to him, lightly brushing his leg with yours.

His thighs were thick; the jeans were straight-leg, but they still filled them out completely. He stood up to set the cup next to the coffee maker, and you could see his round buttocks. Those jeans looked great on him.

He noticed the way you were looking at him and laughed.

“If you keep biting your lip like that, it’s going to be really hard for me to stay still,” he said bluntly.

You couldn’t hold his gaze; you blushed, feeling embarrassed.

“Hey…” He leaned in and lifted your chin so you’d look at him. “If I’m misreading the signs, just tell me and I’ll stop.”

His hazel eyes were as sweet as his gentle smile.

“No, I want this, I’m just not very good at it,” you admitted honestly.

“Don’t worry.” He knelt down in front of you to be at your eye level. “If you want me to stop, I’ll stop.” 

“Don’t stop.” 

He leaned toward you and brushed his nose against yours, then laughed, and so did you—you were so nervous.

“I’m sorry… I’m so clumsy at this.” You whispered, feeling his coffee-scented breath tickle your lips.

“No, it’s okay, this is better.” He kissed you, leaning closer and closer to you.

You felt one of his hands on your cheek and the other sliding under the cotton of your basic T-shirt.

Slowly, he laid you down on the bed, his large, hard body on top of yours, but the weight was controlled; he didn’t let you bear it all.

His hand caressed your belly and played with the hem of your jeans; you hurried to unbutton them while catching your breath.

He kissed your forehead, then your nose, and then the edge of your jaw. When you tried to get rid of your pants, you couldn’t, and he noticed.

“I’ll take care of it.” He grabbed the hem of the denim and slid it down your legs.

Then he looked at you with a half-smile; your cheeks flushed even redder, and you covered your face. He laughed.

“Don’t make fun of me,” you said, muffling your voice with your hands. He took your wrists and pinned them on either side of your head against the bed.

“I’m not. You’re beautiful.” He kissed you again, and this time you felt his hardness against your intimacy.

The bulge in his crotch was even more visible through the thick fabric of his jeans; his quiet gasps between kisses made your body melt onto the sheets.

“Take off your shirt…” you asked him between gasps and kisses.

Carlos smiled. He stepped back briefly to take off his shirt and toss it on the floor.

The sight of his perfect pecs covered in dark, curly hair, his rounded shoulders, and his toned, firm abs was like a good dream—the kind you no longer had. You caressed his abs, feeling their firmness and his smooth, tanned skin beneath your fingers, and he just laughed.

“I’m glad you like it…” he murmured, leaning over you again and kissing you once more.

His tongue played inside your mouth; it was long and caressed your lips. Then you felt his hand slide dangerously down to your lower belly, teasing the elastic of your panties. As soon as he crossed the line, you felt his fingers caress the hair on your mons pubis, and you shuddered.

“I love it like this,” he murmured as he continued to caress you until you felt a rough finger on your clit; he slowly rubbed it.

You dug your nails into his shoulders, and he only increased his rubbing without stopping his kisses; your legs went straight, and you arched your feet and back.

He let you catch your breath as you came in his hand. He watched you closely, biting your lips—perhaps a little too hard for his own taste. When you were done, he kissed your nose and then your lips.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asked, stroking your hair.

“Yes… thanks, it’s been a long time since I came like that,” you confessed, trying to catch your breath.

He kissed your cheek and then your neck.

“Do you want me to keep going?” he asked, and you nodded immediately.

He didn’t waste any time; he was aching and desperate, and his jeans were too tight. He shouldn’t have worn them, but they were the only clean ones he had.

He shed them as fast as he could, struggling a bit to pull them down. You could see his soaked boxers, and he got rid of those too.

His cock sprang out, thick and dripping with precum from the tip. The head was even bigger and rounder; he stroked it a little in his hand, between moans and gasps.

You were so absorbed in watching him, lying on the bed with your legs spread.

“Are you okay?” you asked him.

He nodded.

“Yeah, I’m just so fucking hard for you, it hurts. I need to fuck you.” He leaned in, pushing aside your wet panties and teasing the thick tip of his cock against the entrance to your pussy.

You were speechless; it was so big you wondered how it would even fit.

He kept preparing you for his cock, caressing your clit with his thumb while rubbing his cock against your wet entrance, then spitting directly onto his hardness.

“If it hurts, tell me to stop and I’ll stop.” He told you without stopping his thumb from rubbing the source of your pleasure.

“Uh huh” was all you managed to say when he slid his huge, blunt tip inside you.

You shuddered and thrust your hips forward, seeking more of his hardness. Carlos growled as he felt your warm walls envelop him, and unable to control himself, he let himself go completely. You let out a small cry of pain.

“Sorry… fuck.” He groaned, but you wrapped your legs around his hips and held him tight, digging your nails into his back.

“Don’t stop.”

He moved his hips slowly, waiting for you to get used to it. You kissed him, and he cupped your face in his hands as his thrusts picked up the pace.

You tangled your fingers in his tousled hair and pulled on it as you came for the second time.

“Oh fuck… you’re going to kill me, you’re so tight and dripping…” he gasped, feeling a small fountain wet his throbbing cock.

He was already on the verge of exploding; he could feel white drops spilling out.

“I’m going to cum…” he warned you.

Suddenly you remembered that you weren’t on birth control pills. You hadn’t been thinking clearly.

“Shit!” you lamented, closing your eyes.

“Relax…” Carlos’s voice seemed to be straining.

He came inside you, pulling his cock out at the last moment and releasing a couple of thick spurts onto your lower belly and your basic shirt.

“Damn, I’m sorry, I couldn’t hold it.” He apologized, picking up his shirt from the floor and wiping you down with it, then he took off your dirty shirt and you were left in your bra.

He collapsed down next to you; his massive body took up more than half the bed. He grabbed your waist and pulled you against his hairy chest.

Your cheek brushed against his dark, curly hair—it tickled a little but was also soft.

“Mmm,” you moaned, closing your eyes as he stroked your hair.

“I’ll buy you the pill tomorrow, okay?”

“Uh-huh.” You were exhausted; your eyelids felt too heavy, and your body seemed to float above Carlos’s body and the sheets.

“Try to sleep; I’ll be here with you.” That was the last thing you heard before sinking into a deep sleep.

The peace didn’t last long; at 3 a.m., you woke up startled and screaming. Carlos was dozing beside you; he snapped to attention, and as soon as he saw you were still half-asleep, he started calling your name.

“It’s okay, it was just a dream.” He took you in his arms, and the scent of his woody cologne, along with the faint warmth of his sweat, helped you wake up.

You began to sob, and Carlos soothed you.

“You’re okay, you’re safe with me,” he whispered, kissing your hair.

When you managed to calm down listening to Carlos’s steady heartbeat, you looked at him and he smiled at you.

“What?” he asked you softly.

“I don’t want to sleep,” you told him. “I don’t want to close my eyes and see that again.”

He sighed; he understood better than anyone, but he was a soldier, and you were a civilian who had lost everything in an instant.

“You don’t have to sleep… let’s watch TV,” he said, reaching for the remote on the nightstand and turning on the TV.

You leaned against Carlos’s chest, listening to his heartbeat and breathing, his massive arm draped over you, protecting you.

The two of you watched a reality show about blind dates, and Carlos’s laughter and funny comments began to relax you.

“Thanks for being here with me,” you said, looking him in the eyes.

He stroked your hair.

“You don’t need to thank me; I think I’ve gone half my life without having a good night.”

“Carlos, the bar is set way too low—because watching a reality show at 4 a.m. with a crybaby isn’t a good night at all,” you said sarcastically.

Carlos smiled at you.

“It’s the best night, and you know it.”

“Yeah, well, it was before I ruined it with my whining.”

“Oh no, no, no. You haven’t ruined anything; it’s the best night, period. I hope there are more nights like this.”

You agreed. Because the nightmares, the pain, the fear, and the insomnia were better when you were by Carlos’s side.

Leon kissed you desperately, as if he hadn't kissed you in years; his tongue pushed its way into your mouth, and his hands gripped your hips, pulling you tightly against him. You could feel his erection through the thin fabric of your sleep shorts.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, and he held you as he gently laid you down on the bed. Then he slipped off his plain white sleeveless shirt, and you saw his broad pecs, covered in dark blond hair. You placed a hand on his chest while he put both hands on either side of your head, and you felt his weight against your body.

He pressed himself against you, his hardness throbbing against your wet pussy; he looked at you as he pulled your shorts aside with one hand.

His finger slid into your slit through the thin fabric of your panties; you bit your lip, accustomed to keeping quiet ever since the girls were born.

It was Friday night, and after another exhausting week, Leon had looked at you with desire after dinner and had come up behind you while you were washing the dishes and the girls were getting ready for bed.

It wasn’t that you two didn’t have sex the rest of the week; in fact, you two had sex at least five times a week, sometimes even more because Leon would wake you with caresses and kisses before the alarm went off, and you couldn’t resist doing it on your side while you were half-asleep, and he would slide his cock between your folds like a man hungry and in need of you, moaning and growling in your ear.

But this time was different; you noticed that Leon had been acting strange ever since he got home from work, pensive and distant.

And now he was watching you as he slid a finger inside you and his thumb rubbed your clit; you writhed at his touch. You’d been together for 22 years, ever since he came back into your life and never left, and he knew which buttons to push, how to make you beg for more.

You bit your lip hard as you arched your back; he kissed your forehead and your nose and let himself go completely inside you.

You wrapped your legs around his hips and felt him fill you with every thrust.

You were so lost in your pleasure that you didn’t notice the way he was looking at you, with his moist blue eyes.

“Leon… Are you okay?” You stroked his cheek; he closed his eyes and buried his face in the crook of your neck. “Leon…”

He quickened his thrusts; you tangled your fingers in his soft hair, and the sound of his growls flooded all your senses.

You came for the second time, and he didn’t last much longer; your pussy milked him so deliciously that he ended up spilling inside you.

Minutes later, he remained inside you, clinging to you, smelling your sweat and scent in the crook of your neck.

He pulled out of you slowly and grabbed some tissue from the nightstand next to him, gently wiping you clean. Then he took you by the waist and cradled you in his arms. You lay down on his chest and wrapped your legs around his; you were so tired.

Leon felt your wetness against his thigh and sighed, looking up at the ceiling. He stroked your hair until he heard your breathing slow and become steady. He held back his tears in silence.

It had been five days since he’d coughed up blood, and the symptoms were only getting worse.

Of course, he’d kept up the facade in front of the girls and you; every time he had a coughing fit, he’d hide in the bathroom, the garage, or the bedroom.

He spent more time in his home office checking his weapons, the girls’ fake passports, the cash. He had always been on alert, making sure everything was safe for the girls and for you around him, but now the problem was inside him, and he didn’t know how to fix it.

He had gone to the DSO, but after taking samples and running tests, they didn’t know what was wrong with him.

Leon felt tired; his body ached more than usual, and that morning he had noticed a small black spot on his left palm that was slowly spreading toward his ring finger, where he wore his ring.

The rash was rough and painful; they had taken samples at the DSO.

He was doing everything he could to keep you from noticing, but eventually you would, and he didn't know what to do when you found out because he had no solution—he didn't know what was wrong with him or if it was contagious.

He wasn’t stupid; he knew he’d been exposed to various viruses throughout all his counter-bioterrorism missions. Viruses T, G, C, and Las Plagas—he’d had a parasite inside him that he’d eliminated with radiation.

It could be residue from any of that crap he’d faced over the years.

Or maybe something new and unknown. He didn’t want to involve you or the girls in this; he didn’t want them to suffer because of him.

So he’d made up his mind: he’d have to stay away from you all to protect them, and he knew you’d probably never forgive him. He hugged you tightly and kissed you on the head, then gently laid you back in bed. You were fast asleep, completely oblivious to everything—and that’s how he’d keep you.

He got dressed quickly and went to check on the girls; Luna and Lena were already asleep. He kissed each of them on the forehead.

In Leah’s room, as soon as he approached, she opened her eyes.

“Daddy…” She hugged him, and Leon picked her up, cradling her tiny body against his chest.

“My little mouse,” Leon cried silently, clinging to his little daughter, knowing all the pain he would cause her.

“It’s okay, Daddy.” She wiped his tears with her little hand and then handed him the teddy bear. “For you.”

Leon sniffed, wiping his tears with the back of his hand.

“For me? But it’s your favorite.” Leon looked at the teddy bear and then at his daughter; she smiled at him with her perfect baby teeth.

“For you,” she repeated.

“I’ll take good care of it, my little mouse. Now go to sleep.” Leon put her in bed, tucked her in, and kissed her on the cheek.

 He stroked her poorly cut blonde hair and watched her little chest rise and fall until she fell asleep.

He left the room with the teddy bear in his hand and went to his office, where he already had a suitcase packed and everything he needed to leave.

He knew he should at least leave you a note, but nothing he could say would make this any better.

He left the note on your nightstand, next to a bar of dark chocolate, just like the first time he walked out of your life.

He grabbed the keys to the Porsche and drove off, not knowing if he’d ever see you again.

You woke up the next day, patting the empty side of the bed. You assumed Leon had gone for a run; it was Saturday, and you could afford to sleep in.

You looked at your nightstand, still half-asleep, and as soon as you saw the bar of dark chocolate, you felt nauseous.

You picked up the note, trembling, and saw Leon’s handwriting.

You had been an Umbrella scientist during your youth; back then you were only an intern. They didn't allow you to see the most important or confidential projects, nor go down to the lower levels of NEST, the laboratory that existed beneath the city.

Basically, you were dedicated to taking notes, writing reports, filing documents, and bringing coffee to the doctors and scientists during meetings.

That day you had to move along with your team to the ostentatious mansion of one of Umbrella’s founders, Dr. Oswald E. Spencer.

You knew the three founders only by name, like any other Umbrella employee, but you were never truly informed of the reason why you had to go to the Spencer Mansion located in the Arklay Mountains on the outskirts of Raccoon City.

You were surprised by the appearance of the mansion; it was spacious and elegant, although there was something that made your skin crawl and filled you with discomfort.

The workday began normally, it was early in the morning, another meeting in which you had to take notes for your boss and bring coffee, although in different facilities.

Everything happened very quickly, the images are blurry, 11 years have passed since that July 24, 1998, and you still don't even know how you survived.

You went for coffee and when you returned to the place you discovered your boss tearing another doctor’s throat apart with his teeth, the place was already a disaster, there was blood everywhere.

A coworker who was one of the few who had treated you kindly the few times you had seen him, took you by the arm without warning, pulling you out of the state of shock you were in.

You knew he was one of the most important scientists, far above your position as a simple intern, his white coat had a badge: A. Wesker.

“What is happening here?” you asked horrified while running, practically being dragged by him.

It seemed that he knew these underground facilities very well, but he said nothing and threw you into a cell.

“Stay here, I’ll come back for you.”

“No, wait!” But he had already closed the cell.

You pounded on the metal door again and again asking for help, no one came for you.

You were disoriented, frightened and trapped.

The place was small, completely airtight.

You began to think that you would die there, of hunger and thirst, you couldn't stop repeating the image of your boss tearing the flesh of another human being, there was no humanity left in his eyes.

You were aware that strange things had been happening within the corporation, but you had never wanted to investigate, your position was inferior, your boss was an idiot and your coworkers always treated you like a servant.

The only person who had treated you well had now locked you in a cell without food or water and left you to your fate.

You lay down on the uncomfortable cot and without meaning to your body relaxed, your mind filled with a deep fog, you couldn't get up and then you began to think that there had been something in the coffee he had given you less than half an hour ago, just before everything went to hell.

“You always prepare coffee for everyone during the meetings, it’s time for me to prepare one for you.” He smiled and you blushed without losing your professionalism.

“It's not necessary, Dr. Wesker.”

“I insist, take it.” He handed you the cup of coffee and you took a sip while looking at his smile.

You woke up with a scream, deeply startled.

“Miss, calm down, are you okay?”

He was wearing a S.T.A.R.S uniform, the police special unit, and the moment you saw him, you grabbed his arm, clinging to him desperately.

“Don’t leave me!” It was the first thing you managed to say.

He didn't pull away, in fact he embraced you against his chest. The smell of earth, sweat and metal flooded every one of your senses.

You sobbed in relief that the police had finally come.

You knew absolutely nothing of the hell that the members of S.T.A.R.S had gone through inside the mansion and this had only been the beginning.

...

One week later.

Chris Redfield was the one who saved you. You were always deeply grateful to him, he took you with him and you watched him face an enormous monster with a rocket launcher.

The helicopter arrived and everyone was extracted from the place just before the mansion was destroyed.

Your life was never the same again, you were a key witness and Chris took you into his apartment.

He was angry because the Chief of Police didn't want to take action and he didn't know how to protect you. If Captain Albert Wesker had turned out to be an infiltrator of the Umbrella corporation, it didn't surprise him that the whole city was controlled by the pharmaceutical company.

He showed you a photo of Wesker and you were able to recognize him as the man who had drugged you and locked you in the cell.

“I spoke with one of my contacts in the FBI, getting you out of the city is a priority, you aren't safe in Raccoon City.”

You were sitting on the couch where Chris had been sleeping during the nights that last week, when he had decided that you weren't safe in your apartment and that Chief Irons would do nothing to protect you or to investigate that Umbrella was indeed behind the disappearances and terrible murders on the outskirts of the city.

“Thank you for taking care of me.”

“You have nothing to thank me for, it's my duty.”

Chris was a young man, but he was quite serious and capable, and he was also deeply committed to making Umbrella pay for all the damage it was doing.

“It's not your duty to give me your bed.” You lowered your gaze to the floor.

He sighed, he was quite tense, he hadn't even been able to sleep properly, so giving you his bed and dozing on the couch at night wasn't a big problem for him.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me, maybe I should go back to my apartment…”

“Of course not, they would come after you, at least here I can protect you… as soon as my FBI contact confirms it, you will leave the city.”

He left no room for discussion.

“And what will you do?”

“I will go to Europe, Umbrella’s headquarters are there, I need to end this at its root.” he stated while looking at a cork board where he had images and notes from his investigation.

“I want to go with you.”

“No, of course not, it's too dangerous.” He turned in your direction with his arms crossed, his blue eyes framed by dark lashes, his skin pale and his hair dark, quite contrasting.

You stood up, trying to appear firmer before him.

“I want to help, Chris, I need to help make this stop somehow.” You tried not to stutter, but your voice broke, your eyes filling with tears.

You felt guilty for having worked for Umbrella for almost a year and not having tried to look deeper into all the strange things that had happened, perhaps you would have more information and be more useful had you done so.

He approached you and placed his warm hand on your cheek, in an act of affection that even surprised him, but since the first time he found you trapped in that cell, that feeling of protection had awakened and now he could think of nothing but keeping you safe and sound.

“If it keeps you safe, you can help me, you are a scientist, you are an important part of my team.”

“Your team?” you sniffled.

“Yes, you are part of my team now, and I know that together we will put an end to this.” He wiped a tear from your cheek with his thumb.

You smiled at him and hugged him, he slowly wrapped his arms around you.

 ...

2009

You were preparing coffee in the lab break room, it was already quite late and you had to go home soon, but you really wanted to finish that report.

Chris had sent a sample of that new mutation of Las Plagas parasite that he had found in Kijuju in West Africa.

You had worked with Chris all these years, when Jill and he founded the BSAA and Chris wanted you to join his team.

It had been three years since you had seen Chris after he withdrew because of the death of his comrade-in-arms Jill Valentine.

The two of you still spoke from time to time, mostly by phone, 11 years had passed since the Raccoon City incident and since then you had worked behind the scenes to combat bioterrorism.

It seemed like a titanic and endless task, there were more and more viruses, more parasites, more problems and more deaths of innocents.

The fall of Umbrella had only allowed other organizations to take its place. It was a harsh war.

And now Chris had pulled away from you, you knew that Jill’s death had hurt him deeply, especially because she had died saving him from Albert Wesker.

His former captain and mentor.

Every time you tried to communicate with him, Chris limited himself to talking about work; during Jill’s funeral, when you approached him and tried to comfort him just as he had comforted you, he had simply pushed you away.

You remembered it as something painful, because he had been harsh and hurtful.

“Chris, I just want you to know that I will always be here for you.” You tried to take his hand, he was wearing a black suit and it was very strange to see him without tactical gear.

You were wearing a simple black dress. He hid his eyes behind dark glasses.

“Not now.” he whispered, pulling his hand away from yours.

“Chris…” you insisted, knowing that he was suffering and wanting to support him.

He growled your name.

“No, I’m not in the mood for your feelings right now.”

And that was like a direct blow to your stomach. Painful and very low.

“My feelings?” you asked incredulously.

“Yes, I’m not in the mood for that shit.”

“I know you are suffering but you can’t treat me like this…” you felt the sting of tears about to spill from your eyes.

He sighed and took a step back.

“I can’t deal with this.” Chris left without looking at you, hiding all his pain behind his sunglasses.

Three years had passed since that event and the pain and grief continued. You had tried to remain professional and the interactions between the two of you were completely about work.

You were so lost in your own thoughts that you didn't notice someone else’s presence until it was too late.

You turned quickly when you felt the prick in your neck, your body fell into his arms and you saw his face, the same face from 11 years ago in the Spencer Mansion, with a few more wrinkles in that unsettling smile.

“Hi, darling, long time no see.” he greeted you, smiling and showing his perfect teeth, his red eyes behind those dark glasses.

“No… let me go…” you tried to fight but your body was numb and your mind clouded very quickly.

He cradled you as if you were a little girl in his arms.

“Shh… relax, I will take good care of you as I always wanted to…”

...

You woke up with a bitter taste in your mouth, with a deep headache, but the bed you were in was truly comfortable and the place quite luxurious.

“So you are finally awake… How long do you think Chris will take to come for you?” he asked, sitting in a chair beside you.

You jolted and shrank back, trying to move away from him against the headboard.

“What?” you held your head, the pain barely allowing you to think clearly.

He smiled and sighed.

“I always saw your potential, that was the reason I saved you that day in the mansion, if it weren’t for me you would have died, you had no chance.”

“Why are you doing this?” you asked, blinking several times, the pain making you nauseous.

“Because I know you would be the only one to discover a cure for Uroboros, my magnificent creation, designed to eliminate the weak and create a new world.”

You processed the information as quickly as you could.

“Because of you so many people have died, including Jill, you are a monster!” you shouted at him and he only laughed without a trace of emotion.

“Valentine is not dead, she helped me stabilize my creation thanks to the antibodies against the T-virus in her blood, and you have the opportunity to witness the dawn of a new world alongside me.”

“What are you talking about?”

"Your body has accepted my gift perfectly just as I thought.”

“What the hell did you do to me?”

“I made you perfect.”

Then you heard footsteps in the hallway, a strong kick at the door, Wesker merely laughed and rose naturally from the chair, at the door stood Chris with his machine gun and behind him was Sheva Alomar.

“You took less time than I thought, Chris, please come in.”

“Get away from her, Wesker!” Chris shouted, firing at him, but he dodged every bullet with speed, you watched the scene in shock.

Finally Wesker attacked, immobilizing both soldiers with speed and efficiency, then he looked at you and tossed a small vial onto the bed.

“This serum keeps you stable, you must be quick to create more, but I know you are a smart girl.” He winked at you and left with superhuman speed through the window.

Chris and Sheva fired at him as soon as they were back on their feet and had recovered their weapons, but it was too late.

Chris dropped the weapon and took you in his arms desperately, taking your face in his hands, making sure that you were not hurt.

“Are you alright? Did he hurt you?”

The headache continued and your body ached, along with your eyes, but you didn't mention it, you were more surprised that he was so worried about you and by the pain of knowing what was in your blood.

“Chris, he infected me.” you told him and he looked at you in fear.

“You are compatible.” he knew that if you weren't you would have already turned into a mass of flesh and tentacles, he embraced you against his body, stroking your hair. “We will get through this together.”

You let him comfort you, although you knew you had little time.

“I’ll give you space.” said Sheva, closing the bedroom door.

The two of you separated a little awkwardly, looking toward the door, Chris sat beside you on the edge of the bed.

He took your hand, stroking the back of it with his finger, you could feel his tactical gloves against your skin.

“I'm so sorry this happened.”

You placed a hand on his cheek, his eyes were red.

“It's not your fault.”

“Of course it is, everything is my fault… everything he did to Jill these last 3 years and now what he did to you…”

“Wesker is a fucking monster, you didn't know he would do something like this.”

He held your hand tighter.

“Of course I did, he uses my weakness against me and the only thing I did was push you away because I thought that way nothing would happen to you, but now you are infected…”

“Chris, this was not your fault, neither what happened to Jill, nor what he did to me.” you repeated.

He took your face in his hands and looked at you with tearful eyes.

“Don’t you understand? He did it because he knows that I love you! I have loved you for years and I have tried to stay away, to keep things professional but I can’t… I can’t lose you.”

He stole your breath in a deep kiss, you felt his soft lips, his tongue asking permission to enter. His warm breath mixing with yours.

He slowly pulled away from you, resting his forehead against yours, breathing heavily, as if he finally felt free from all the weight he had carried on his shoulders by hiding his feelings for you.

Finally you spoke when you recovered your breath.

Leon woke up abruptly, almost screaming, and patted the empty spot next to him; as soon as he didn’t find you, he jumped to his feet.

He used to sleep in boxers and without a shirt; his dark blond hair was tousled, and he felt too agitated, almost on the verge of shouting your name, but then he saw the little girl stumbling toward the bedroom, dragging her teddy bear.

Her blonde hair covered almost her entire face in an uneven cut, because she had taken a pair of scissors and cut her own hair while he was at work and you were making dinner. He still remembers coming home to find his little girl happy with her creation and you quite worried, trying to fix the mess, but there wasn’t much to be done. he told you to relax, and you sighed as you always did when you felt that your husband and your little daughter were conspiring against you.

“Daddy!” the little girl raised her arms so Leon would pick her up.

“Just a second, little mouse.”

He put on his pajama bottoms and a white sleeveless shirt, bent down, and picked her up with ease.

“Where’s Mommy, little mouse?”

“Pancakes!” she pointed outside the room.

“Mmm, pancakes with chocolate chips! Let’s go to Mommy.” He knocked on the doors of the other two bedrooms, which remained closed. “Girls, come down for breakfast—Mom made pancakes!”

“I’m coming!” Lana shouted. She was the oldest, 12 years old, and had been in a terrible mood lately.

Leon tried to understand her; it was adolescence. But he was 49 years old and very tired—lately more tired than usual.

 Next year he would turn 50, and that worried him, not because of getting older, but because he no longer felt as strong and capable as before.

It had been 13 years since he’d left fieldwork, as soon as he found out you were pregnant. After the global bioterrorist attack using the C-virus, he came home more battered than usual after all the chaos he’d had to face, and you confessed that you were three months pregnant.

He decided that was enough; the two of you had argued before he left for the presidential event. He had promised you years ago that he would quit field work, but now that the DSO had been founded, he was more involved than ever—especially because the president, who was his personal friend, had promised him he would tell the world what had happened in Raccoon City 15 years ago.

Then they came under attack and the president was infected; he had to shoot him, and Leon was presumed dead for three days.

Leon almost never told you what he did at work; it was an unspoken rule in your relationship with him, and you respected it.

He always came home, but after that incident in 2013—when you thought you’d lost him forever for the second time in your life, and on top of that, this time you were expecting his baby—it was enough to give him an ultimatum.

Seeing him at the door of the apartment they shared, looking at you with that somber, pained expression, was enough for you.

And as soon as he found out you were pregnant, he turned in his gun and badge; the DSO gave him an office as a consultant, and his days of facing BOWs turned into sitting at a desk and planning coordinated attacks using his field experience.

At first, Leon felt overwhelmed; he barely slept when Lana was born because he was afraid something would happen to the baby. He kept his Matilda under his pillow, and whenever he managed to fall asleep, even the slightest noise would make him jump out of bed and get into a combat stance.

One night, the baby was crying and Leon was completely exhausted; he fell into a deep sleep. You decided to give him a break and go check on the baby. When you picked her up in your arms, Leon was already standing next to you, pointing his gun at you.

“Leon, it’s me, put that down…” You were terrified.

You’d put up with his behavior for years—his erratic sleep schedule, the way he’d jump out of nowhere if you approached him from behind, the way he saw everyone as a potential attacker when you went out with him to the supermarket or the movies—but now that Lana had been born, it had all gotten worse.

He said your name and immediately lowered the gun.

“I’m sorry, I thought you were someone else. I hate it when you disappear from the bed at night…” He put a hand to his face.

You couldn’t go on like this anymore. Postpartum depression had kept you in bed for the first two months after Lana’s birth. You’d decided to go to therapy, and Leon had been wonderful—he’d taken care of the baby and you, handled everything—but now you could see his behavior getting worse and worse.

The insomnia, the paranoia, the fear, the tremors. It was all consuming him, and you didn’t know what to do anymore.

“Leon, you need help…” you whispered, and he snorted, moving closer to you with the gun still in his right hand.

“I just need my girls close to me all the time.” He smiled slightly at you, and you sighed.

Leon slept in a shirt and boxers; he always looked so irresistible to you, but right now you couldn’t give in to him. You’d done it too many times; you’d let this happen over and over again.

“No, I’m serious… Dr. Vane told me that…”

“I don’t want to know what your therapist tells you about me or our relationship.” He hissed through clenched teeth.

“Leon, please, listen to me.” You pleaded, pressing the baby close to your chest. “It’s not normal for you to sleep with a gun under your pillow.”

Leon let out a dry laugh.

“Yeah, well, you knew when you married me that I wasn’t normal, that my life wasn’t normal, and you said you didn’t want a normal life. Do you remember? That you loved me.” He accused you, keeping his voice down so as not to disturb Lana.

He was already angry, frustrated, tired, on the verge of breaking down.

“Leon, please, you’re not okay. You need help, and I don’t know how to help you…” you said, on the verge of breaking down in tears.

He felt guilty; you were going through enough already without having to worry about him and his messed-up mind.

“Hey, no, no, it’s okay, don’t cry, honey.” He said, moving closer to you and placing a hand on your cheek to wipe away a tear. “I promise I’ll do better.”

You let him wrap his arms around you and the baby, ignoring the fact that he still had the gun in his hand.

Leon sought help from the DSO; there were therapists and psychiatrists specializing in Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder for veterans.

Leon always knew what he was going through. After that night on September 30, 1998, the nights became a sentence. He focused on the pain of the training that nearly killed him, and for six years he drank until he passed out—but not before calling you at 3 a.m. and begging you to always answer.

After his mission in Spain and saving Ashley, President Graham’s daughter, Leon decided to visit you. That mission nearly killed him; he had a damn parasite inside his body, and the only thing he could think about was you—how he would have wanted to hug and kiss you one last time before dying.

That visit turned into a lifetime. He realized he couldn’t stay away from you to protect you—he loved you too much not to live a life by your side.

He proposed to you a year after that visit, and their life as a couple worked because you never asked what he did on his missions; he wouldn’t tell you even if you asked.

Leon invited a couple of friends to his wedding; that’s where you met Claire Redfield, the partner with whom he had survived the RC incident.

You found her pleasant; she worked for an organization that fought bioterrorism called TerraSave.

He also introduced you to Chris Redfield and Jill Valentine, friends and colleagues in his line of work. Sherry Birkin also attended the wedding; she was 19 at the time and had been rescued by Claire and Leon during the events of RC.

Everyone was surprised that Leon was getting married, because he hardly ever mentioned you, but Leon did that to keep you safe.

Your life was completely different from what he had at work, and he wanted things to stay that way.

Leon always knew he wasn't well—you didn't have to be a genius to see that—but life felt better by your side, more peaceful and happy.

Therapy was difficult; the RC thing had changed his outlook on life, but even before that, when he lost his biological parents to murder at age 5, he’d already been carrying a lot of baggage.

But he tried for you and Lana. Two years after Lana, little Luna was born.

By then, Leon was already feeling calmer. His sleep problems persisted; whenever he woke up in the middle of the night, startled by a nightmare of being grabbed by the neck by a BOW and thrown into a corner like a sack of potatoes, shattering his back in the process, he would make sure everyone was okay, he’d check Lana and Luna’s rooms, the locks, and the house alarm system, and then he’d watch you sleep until the alarm went off and he had to take a shower to go to work.

Family life was everything he’d dreamed of in his youth; he’d always wanted to be a father and a husband, a good cop with a happy family. In the end, he’d achieved that with you, his best friend from childhood.

When Lana and Luna were 9 and 7 years old, respectively, you became pregnant with little Leah.

You worried a lot; Leon and you were happy being parents to two girls, but Leon didn’t mind adding one more—if it were up to him, he would have given you six children, but three girls seemed perfect to him.

It was a difficult pregnancy, but you managed to get through it. Now, at 49, you and Leon had three daughters aged 12, 10, and 3.

Leon was happy. He still woke up startled in the middle of the night, and not finding you beside him in bed would make his mouth go dry and give him mini-heart attacks, but he loved you, he loved his daughters, and everything was fine.

He went downstairs to the kitchen; you greeted him with a kiss on the cheek while Leah squirmed in his arms. He put her in her high chair, poured her some milk, and served her a couple of star-shaped pancakes. The little girl smiled at him with her perfect little baby teeth and shook her badly cut blonde hair.

Lana and Luna came to the table; Luna still looked sleepy, and Lana was still upset. 

Leon didn’t understand why until you leaned in close and whispered in his ear.

“She wants a new cell phone, and I told her I’d talk to you about it.” 

“Hmm, I see…” Leon knew that eventually he’d have to give Lana a modern phone, not the functional but obsolete one he’d given her to use since she was 10.

You sat down next to Leon at the round kitchen table, and everyone began to eat breakfast.

“Well, Lana, you’ve gotten good grades, so for your birthday we’ll get you a better cell phone,” Leon said, but the girl frowned.

“Dad! That’s not until the end of this year… that’s a long time…” the girl complained, frowning, and you realized how much your daughter looked like your husband.

“Well… I think…” Leon stopped and started coughing; you handed him a glass of orange juice, and he tried to drink it but ended up spitting it out.

Lana and Luna looked at him in alarm, and Leah, who was too young to understand what was happening, stayed quiet and watched the scene.

You placed a hand on his back, trying to help him stop coughing; you didn’t know if you should perform the Heimlich maneuver.

Leon got up from the chair and ran to the bathroom; you ran after him, but he closed the door, leaving you outside.

“Leon, what’s going on? “Open the door!” You knocked on the door several times and jiggled the doorknob, trying to open it. “Leon, you’re scaring me! Open the door, please!”

You pressed your ear against the door and heard him vomiting.

“Leon, I’m going to call an ambulance…” you told him, and that’s when he opened the door and took your arm.

“No, it’s not necessary… I just ate something that didn’t agree with me, that’s all.” He told you with a smile.

His teeth were stained pink, and his lips had a slight reddish tinge at the corners.

“Leon, what’s wrong with you?” you asked, genuinely concerned.

He said your name and took you by both shoulders.

“Nothing, I already told you I’m fine. Let’s go back to the girls.” He took your hand and pulled you along with him.

“Leon…” you stopped halfway. “You’d tell me if something was wrong, right?”

He laughed, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, don’t worry, everything’s fine…” he assured you. “Let’s go to the girls so they don’t worry about their old dad.”

You nodded, taking his hand and walking toward the dining room.

You watched him as he sat down and told the girls that everything was fine, that he just felt a little sick to his stomach and would take some pills or something.

You didn’t believe him.