please… I need coffee…

Suguru grunted behind you, hands clamping your hips. "Fuck, your pussy doesn't want me to let go, huh," Suguru sped up, the thwacking of skin growing faster as his cock dragged along your insides. The friction sparking heat that coiled low in your gut.

You moaned around Satoru, the hum making him buck. He grabbed your hair loose, guiding your head. "Yeah, just like that. Take more, angel." He pushed deeper, tip nudging your throat. You gagged soft, eyes watering, but relaxed to let him in. The stretch in your jaw ached sweet, his precum bitter on your tastebuds.

Suguru’s hand grazed over your back, sweat slick between you. His chest stuck to your skin as he ground in circles, cock stirring your depths. "Feel that? Right against your spot." Fingers slipped to your clit, rubbing firm and steady. Sparks shot up your spine, pussy clenching hard.

 Contorted sounds escaped from your throat as Satoru started shallow thrusts. Saliva bubbling out, strings connecting when you pulled back for air. He thumbed it over your lips. "Messy girl. Love seeing you drool on my dick."

it didn’t take long for the pressure to build fast. Your poor and stuffed body wounding tight. Suguru's fingers pressed harder on your clit, rolling it just right. "Cum for me, baby. Squeeze my cock." His thrusts becoming even more punishing as his balls smacked heavy against you.

“C-Cumming! T-Toru….S-Sugu,” you exclaimed, poorly attempting to cry out either of the boys names. Your walls pulsing wild around him. Juices gushed out, soaking his length and thighs. The release hit like waves, legs shaking, vision spotting white. You cried out muffled on Satoru, body jerking.

Suguru fucked through it, groans rough. "That's our pretty girl. Milk it all." His hips stuttered, but he held back, drawing it out.

Satoru eased out a bit, letting you gasp. Spit trailed long from your lips to his shiny cock. He slapped it light on your cheek. "Pretty as fuck when you cum…" He fed it in again, holding your head steady. “C’mon…back in, yeah?”

Suguru pulled back slow, almost out, then rammed home. Cum from your release mixed with slick, squelches loud and filthy. He spread your cheeks, watching himself disappear inside. "Look at that creamy mess. All for us."

You bobbed faster on Satoru, hollowing cheeks for suction. He hissed, free hand on the wall. "Shit, princess, your throat's choking me s’good." Precum flowed steady, coating everything.

Suguru varied it now, long slow drags that made you whine, then quick snaps that jolted you forward onto Satoru. Sweat beaded on his skin, dripping hot onto your back. His breaths came panty, control fraying.

Satoru locked eyes with Suguru over you. Tension sparked between them. Suguru leaned in first, hand on Satoru's neck pulling him down. Their lips crashed, open and hungry right above your head.

Tongues slid wet smacks of mouths mixing with your slurps. Suguru sucked Satoru's lower lip, biting light. Spit glistened on their chins as they broke for air, then dove back.

You pulled back to glance upside down, the raw heat of it all making your poor pussy throb. Satoru's cock jumped at your lips from their kiss. Before eventually shoving your head right back into work.

Suguru growled into it. "Taste so good, Toru." He licked Satoru's jaw, hand sliding to his chest, tweaking a nipple hard.

Satoru thrust erratic now. "Fuck, yeah Sugu…F-fuck…love you so much yeah?” Their kiss turned sloppy, tongues pushing visible, moans vibrating down to you. “Fill her up good f’me…”

Suguru snapped at that. He buried his cock balls deep, length swelling as he pumped hot cum into you. Spurt after thick spurt flooded your pussy, warm and sticky, womb full. "Take every drop, sweetheart."

The sight of Suguru stuffing you full triggered Satoru’s orgasm next. He yanked your hair, holding flush as he unloaded. Ropes hit your throat, salty and thick. You gulped fast, some spilling out through the corners of your lips, but he kept going till you finished swallowing it down.

Your two boyfriends kissed lazy through aftershocks, cocks twitching still. Suguru slipped free with a wet pop, cum oozing thick from your hole, trailing down.

Satoru pulled out too, tip red and slick. He scooped leaking seed, pushed fingers in your mouth. "Clean it, good girl." You sucked them eagerly, tasting both.

Suguru chuckled low, flipping you to hands and knees again. "Round two. My turn in front." His cock, still hard and messy, tapped your lips. "Lick it clean first, baby."

You did, tongue lapping your cum and his off every inch. The taste being such a salty sweet mix, his shaft twitching under your mouth. Satoru knelt back, spitting on your ass. Fingers probed, one then two, twisting to loosen.

"Gonna fuck this tight hole now, angel," Satoru said, voice thick over your whimpers and whines. The head pressed, popping past the ring. Burn stretched wide, but the lubrication of his spit helped, inch by inch sinking in. Fullness hit different, pressure on new spots that made you keen.

Suguru filled your mouth, syncing thrusts as Satoru bottomed out before eventually groaning loud. "So fucking tight back here. Clenchin’ like that." He spanked once, crack, cheek stinging hot.

You pushed back, chasing the building ache. Suguru's hand in hair, fucking face gentle rough. "Breathe, princess. Taking us so well." Fingers found your clit again, rubbing fast. Your orgasm stacked quick now, body sensitive. You came hard despite Satoru's cock deep inside your ass. Your rim fluttering as your pussy came untouched.

They followed soon after, Satoru grinding deep to spill in your ass, hot jets painting walls. Suguru down your throat, cum sliding easy now. And once Satoru finally pulls out and Suguru lifts your head away from his length, it doesn’t take long for you to completely pass out.

“Shit Sug, y’think we overdid it?” Satoru asked breathlessly, looking down at your limp figure. His tone hilariously concerned.

“The fuck do you think, Satoru?”

a/n: this is not a part of the series!!! i made this oneshot a while ago before i started writing for the bf!geto x reader x bsf!gojo miniseries. but i never finished it and i guess this can be like an unrelated extra chapter maybeeee idk

also i did not know how to end this and lowk forgot to post ts

divider credits!! @dividers-are-us , @cursed-carmine

Leon lay quietly in your shared bedroom. Your head rests on his chest, listening quietly to his heartbeat. Your shared quiet afternoons were nice, especially after so much chaos Leon had gone through. Upon his return he clung to you a little more often than not. His limbs sticking like glue to you. The day was spent relaxing in bed, not much moving, or talking. The silence and tv humming quietly provided a nice presence. His arms wrapped around your body, resting on your lower back.  

Leon occasionally rubbed or massaged your muscles, a silent ‘thinking of you’. The lower his hands traveled the more your body relaxed. The warmth he emitted makes you feel warm. Your eyes were locked tight onto the tv screen. You weren’t sure what was playing but it seemed interesting. Upon the endless snacks and lazing around Leon needed to get up; 

“Up, baby. Need to use the restroom…” Leon says, patting your butt in the process.  

Your body jolts with little shock, still not used to Leon being extra physical. You liked the way he wanted you and no one else. Leon didn’t leave you questioning if he loved you or was sexually attracted to you. He took the lead and always made it clear what he liked, wanted, needed, or didn’t like. Everything he had been through and the fact he still had enough room in his heart for you made your heart and stomach giddy.  

You turned away from his body, allowing him to pull away and make a quick exit. Your eyes fell back to the tv but your minded started to wander off. While Leon was away and you had been left to yourself, it made sense you would have to take care of yourself. Lonely nights leave your imagination to run wild. Leon is in every single one of them. His body leaning over yours, his nose brushing slightly against yours. The sound and feeling off his breath huffing from his pace. Sometimes these thoughts would turn into something a bit dirtier.  

His hands always seemed to be a star at some point during these nights. Leon running them along your body, feeling every inch of your skin, each curve and mark on you. The thought of him running his hand up along your back. Your body tossed along his lap, your ass in the air. Running his hands along the curve, reaching below, teasing your clit through your panties. Leon didn't need to use his words; his hands and actions were enough to make you feel whatever emotion he wanted to give.  

You laid silently, listening for him to finish his business and come back. You had been waiting to bring up this topic, but it wasn't easy for you. Topics like these were something you weren't used to sharing. You weren't a prude it was more of the fact that you just didn't want to share how you felt. This pit sat in your stomach for a short while before the sound of a door opening pulled you back to reality.  

Emerging from the restroom, Leon makes his way back to you. You could tell by the way he was acting he was in a very good mood. No worries right now, just the both of you together. His small vacation was starting to take effect; his shoulders looked less tense; his brows weren't strained together. Leon looked fuller of life now that he was with you.  

“You okay, baby?” Leons voice broke your trance.  

You looked back up, meeting his eyes. The worry laced in his eyes made you feel a little bad. You weren't trying to make him worry, just trying to figure out your words. You continued to watch in silence before finding your voice.  

“You looked a little out of it.” Leon continued as he dropped his body next to yours, pulling you close to his body once more.  

“Yea was just thinking...” Your voice came out quieter than usual. You tried to steady it with each breath, but this wasn't a normal request or question to ask your boyfriend. Especially out of nowhere.  

“What were you thinking about?” Leons voice carried out very carefully, he knew this voice, how small it could get when the topic was going to be something different than usual.  

Leon sat up a little straighter this time, watching you closely; his blue eyes locked heavily on your frame. He wasnt going to push or budge but if he knew it needed to be talked about, he wouldnt drop it as much.  

“It’s... kind of...” Your voice trailed off, leaving Leons mind to wander off with different thoughts of what you could be talking about. 

Leon continued to let the silence fill the room as you slowly worked up the courage to say what you wanted to say. The more you thought of it the hotter you felt your face become. Unconciously you bring your hands up to your cheeks attempting to hide the flushness. Leons sly eye catches on quickly, a smirk starts to grow on his lips. He could tell it was going to be a dirty topic.  

“Go on...” Leon lifted his hand, placing it on your lower hip, rubbing your skin gently.  

Goosbumps start to litter your skin as his fingertips continue. Your breathing picked up slightly, heartbeat picking up. You could feel Leon watching you and your movements, and you knew you couldn't hide much from him.  

Taking a small breath, you finally broke.  

“Would you...would you... Spank me?” Your question hung very low in the air.  

Leon heard you clear as day. Even though your voice was a little quiet, and not loud, he could hear the question, implications and the meaning. Leon expected anything but this, especially when he made it clear about how he would treat you.  

“Are you sure that's something you would want?” Leon asked, his brow kicking up slightly.  

This wasn't something small; this was something serious that involved a lot of different trust. Leon was a little hesitant at the thought yes, but he would do it if its what you wanted. He sat and thought of the different risks and things that could happen. It may seem small to others but inflicting any pain on you put Leon on the edge. He wanted to make sure you were completely sure.  

After some time of looking in your eyes, watching for hesitation or regret from your words Leon didn’t move. He had to make sure this was something you wanted, this wasn’t some small request. He would be inflicting pain on you, and that’s something Leon swore to never do.  

“Come here...” Leon called over softly.  

You quickly sat up, pushing away the sheets. Shifting in his spot, Leon lets out a quick groan, his boner straining in his pants. He was usually very patient and very calm but something inside of lit this fire under his ass. Leon knew well enough you were a grown woman and could take care of yourself but you requesting something so dirty, especially from you, was something so jarring.  

Leon wasn’t expecting this when he came back, but he didn’t mind if it was something you truly wanted. He would give you the moon and stars if you asked, but even then, he would be sure it was something you wanted. Leon wasn’t the kind to beat around the bush; he preferred up-front and honest. He just really wasn’t expecting this from you. But the excitement in his chest started to grow as he saw you moving with anticipation.  

Leon sat himself at the edge of the bed, his lap waiting for you to take position. Watching you closely, you seemed very sure you wanted this, and if you wanted it, Leon was going to give it to you.  

You drop down, your lower half balanced across Leons thighs. You lay your arms out before you, finding comfortability. Your breathing had picked up its pace with each second passing. You were shocked that you could bring yourself to him to do such a thing. It had taken some time anyways to become physical together; it was only a matter of time before kinks would be brought up. Being with Leon for so long, he helped bring up your confidence and be less shy. He never pushed you further than what you were comfortable with.  

Leon pulled down your shorts and panties, running a hand over your skin, feeling your smooth surface. He could see your pink cunt poking out from below, your wetness starting to pull around your folds. He bit his lip, muffling his groan. You could feel the cool air as he pulled your clothes away. It felt so nice to finally get that off your chest as well as receiving it. 

“Anytime you want to stop, just tell me, okay? I won't hesitate to stop.” Leon said, before reaching below to kiss your lips. You moved your head to meet his, finding his eyes after your second kiss. A smile shared between the both of you. Seeing how excited you were started to ease Leons nerves a bit. 

“I will, promise” You swore before turning back, facing away from him. You laid in anticipation for what was to come.  

“Good girl, handling it so well…” Leon’s voice hummed quietly. Slouching slightly lower to reach your ear.  

His rough hands gliding over your smooth ass. The redness on your ass was starting to grow. The hue is growing more prominent and vibrantly. You could feel your skin starting to swell and heat up. Leon’s praising feeding into your dropping cunt. Your mouth hung slightly open, soft pants coming out. Your shyness still in effect, your noises were too quiet for Leons liking. Drawing his hand back, landing down against your skin. A stinging feeling landing quick and harshly against your skin.  

An echoed cry sprang from your lips, biting on your tongue, trying to muffle your sounds. Leon groaned above, your cries sounded like music to Leon’s ears. He preferred to take his time with you, no rush, or unnecessary speed. Dragging your orgasm out until you couldn’t take it anymore.  

“That’s it, handling it so well…” Leon mumbles, leaning down placing a kiss along your hairline.  

His free hand traveled up your back and around your body, cupping your face gently. Leon couldn’t see your face, but he knew your bodies’ reactions were enough evidence to show how much you enjoyed this. The way your fists clenched together with each landing smack, each relieved sigh from your lips. Leon bit his lip, watching the redness grow and spread. Leon never would put his hand on you or touch a hair on your head wrong. The one thing he always wanted to do right was never hurt you mentally or physically. Granted, Leon was hesitant at the thought but the thought of you begging for him to do that made his cock swell. 

“So pretty, baby… you like when I spank you?” He asked before landing another hit. Watching your skin jiggle from the impact, Leon grasps a palm full of your skin, squeezing the fat.  

“Fuck…” He groaned from above. 

Leon’s eyes watched your body like a hawk. Seeing your skin littered in his markings making his cock strain further in his pants. You were acting so different than usual, your quiet demeanor, your shy eyes avoiding his sometimes. Leon knew you weren’t delicate or some fragile doll, but you were too important for him to lose. He just loved the small effects he had on your body, the way he made your cheeks flush when he would flirt with you. Leaning down to kiss your cheek, just for you to swat at him jokingly.  

“You must’ve been really nervous to ask, hmm...?” Leon asked further, his hand gliding back to your ass.  

You nodded your head, mind too hazy to verbally respond. You had been waiting for this moment. Relief was welcomed when Leon agreed to do such a thing. You knew how he was with you, and you loved and appreciated that, but it also made you nervous as well.  

“Very proud of you for speaking up though…” His sentence continued into a praise.  

Leon drew his hand back, before landing another harsh slap against your ass. The boner coming through his pants was starting to get worse. He was trying to pace himself and tell himself to take it slow and easy. This was something new for the both of you and he had to remember that. 

“I wasn't expecting such a request from you...” Leons words continued to trail out, no particular speed or rush. He just wanted you to enjoy this for yourself.  

It wasn't often you spoke up about sex or requested something regarding sex and if Leon could give it to you, he absolutely would. Memories of you and Leon having sex started to pool into his thoughts. The nights and mornings he spent with you. Your legs wrapped tightly around his head as he dug his tongue deeper into you. Or having his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you close as he fucked his cock deeper into you. These memories also made him think of how you would react if he spanked you during actual sex. 

Would you become wetter than usual? Would you cry out his name louder after each hit? Would you beg for more or pretend you didn't like it?  

“Doing so good…” Leon’s praise made your pussy clench tighter together. The way he would squeeze and rub your skin together after each hit. Leon was good with his movements, everything he didn’t felt like a reward unless he wanted it to feel like a punishment.

Leon made a mental note to bring up these questions to you later. Whether he had to ask verbally or find out with your body, he wouldn't argue. Either way, he was getting an answer. 

“This is all for you, such a good girl for me…remember how I told you when you wanted something…” Leon’s voice trailed off before he landed one more spanking and finishing his sentence;

“You need to ask for it…and you. Did.” Each final word landed an extra smack.

Your lower half now vibrantly and glowing red. Leon definitely was going to be thorough with his after care tonight with you. He always was but he was going to go the extra mile for you.

“Good girl, this is just to make you feel good…” Leon’s voice became gruffer the more your whines echoed through the room. Your moans bouncing off the walls.

“Deserve everything you ask for, sweet girl…” Leon was trying so hard not to take right then and there, your pussy just peaking out at him waiting to be touched.

This felt like a reward for you but a torture for him. His cock still bulging and straining in his pants, your moaning, the feeling of your warm skin burning his hand.

Fuck, he was doing this again with you, even if he had to be the one to ask you. Leon didn’t care, he needed you in every way.

Leon hasn’t been the same since he returned from one of his missions two weeks ago. He had been deployed in deep Romania, told to investigate an unknown disease spreading throughout the region. Pale, sickly victims who fed on their companions. At first thought, it sounded awfully like zombies.

He refused to answer any of your questions when he returned. He kept a thick silence as he laid in bed with you that night, the darkness of the room swallowing you both whole. You were worried. Had something happened to him?

Even after questioning him, he didn’t open up. Not immediately. His silence worried you intensely, each day crawling at your insides and scratching at your flesh. It drove you crazy. He wasn’t the same, his skin held no warmth, he was paler, and his eyes fell dull. Like he had died, yet he stood in front of you breathing.

You felt like you were going crazy. Peeking over your shoulder every few minutes, sneaking a glance at him seated on the couch, posture sulken and relaxed. An old TV show plays on the screen a few feet in front of him, his eyes glued and mind occupied. He was in his whole own world.

Distracted with your head turned towards him, you don’t realize your knife slipping, accidentally nicking your finger instead of chopping the fruits settled in front of you on the counter. A sharp gasp leaves you as you step back, clutching your finger delicately. It didn’t hurt too much, but definitely caught you by surprise.

Inhaling deeply, you turn to reach for the medical drawer, only to be met by the sight of Leon standing behind you. You gasp loudly, knocking into his firm body and colliding your nose into his chest.

“You okay? I smelt— heard, uh, you hurt yourself.” He mutters lowly, hand reaching for yours, as gentle as always. You flinch at the coldness of his skin, fingers handling your finger as he examines the cut. Not too deep, but deep enough to cause blood. A bit of blood.

“My knife slipped, hun. It wasn’t anything bad.” You reassure, blinking up at him as he stares intently at your fingers. His eyes were locked down on the blood, lips parted and pupils dilated. You could feel the hunger in his gaze, and it scared you. You hadn’t even heard him get up, his footsteps or breath behind you.

The air brushing against your shoulder makes you shiver as you watch him bring your finger closer before suddenly pulling back. With a heavy sigh, he runs his fingers through his hair before softly patting your hip. “Be careful, yeah? I’ll get you a bandaid.”

It’s late at night when you awake from your slumber, eyes slowly drifting open and adjusting to the lack of light inside your shared broom. You can feel his body behind you, tucked into the bed under the blankets. His back faces you as you peek over your shoulder, breath slow.

Cautiously, you climb out of bed, lifting a weak hand to rub your temple. It’s well past midnight, and the silence of the house is all you can hear. Knowing Leon’s presence was next to you always soothed you, having such a hunk of meat for a husband, knowing he would always protect you.

But now you couldn’t help but feel unease. He looked the same as Leon, sounded the same, yet he didn’t feel the same. You didn’t know who was pretending to be your husband, and it scared you.

You get up from the mattress, slipping on slippers and quietly walking out of the bedroom. You don’t hear the sheets moving behind you.

The living room was pitch black when you entered. Living with Leon meant living in a cozy house with top notch security, which helped you feel safe from the threats outside the walls. Now you were afraid of what laid inside the walls.

Fiddling around, your eyes land on one of the decorative candles you have set on the dining table. You light it, holding it up as you begin to rummage the countertops for your sleeping meds. It wasn’t rare for you to stir in the middle of the night and crave your meds to fall back asleep, it was an annoyance but had become routine.

Across from the fridge you had double ovens stacked on top of each other on the wall, metallic, expensive and glimmering when the moonlight shines across it. Passing by them, you see your own reflection by yourself and alone in the dark kitchen. You don’t give it second thought.

You reach up, fingers aimlessly searching through the higher cabinet for the familiar feel of your meds. You couldn’t see so high up, so you were using your senses.

Slowly, a masculine hand comes into view and reaches into the cabinet beside you. Your blood runs cold. You didn’t see anyone behind you, you didn’t hear them either.

Your entire body freezes up before you suddenly dig your elbow into the man’s gut behind you, a loud groan of pain escaping him. You recognize the voice immediately and turn around to shove him back, glaring at his scrunched up blue eyes.

“Leon Scott Kennedy—“ You hiss, hand clutching your chest as you try to level your breathing. He stands in-front of you almost sheepishly, gently rubbing his stomach where you had struck him, a frown on his lips.

“Honey, what was that for? I was trying to help.”

“Help?! Where the hell did you come from?!” You snap back, clutching at your chest and leaning back against the counter behind you. He may have a good amount of years on you, but he was going to make you die young from a heart attack.

“I’m sorry, so sorry..” He whispers, gently pressing against you and nuzzling his stubble into your tangled hair. His limbs press cold against you, making you flinch softly. Thick arms wrap around your waist, your hair standing up on your own. He was cold, still, and with your head pressed against his burly chest, a small part of you tells you to lean in and listen for his heartbeat. To remind you this is your husband.

But you find none.

The following days are hell for you. You know there's something wrong with him, but you can't name it. You’re worried sick about what to do and if he’s even okay, but whenever you ask, he waves you off. Shrugs or laughs and tells you ‘You overthink, hun.’ It's nauseating, sharing a bed with a man who wears the skin of your husband but not the soul. Yet he still reaches for your hand in the dark, his cold touch only further pushing you away.

You were scared. Terrified, even. The nights grew longer, days more tiresome; you were unable to make them through without noticing things you didn’t want to notice. His lack of heartbeat, the unnatural chill lingering on his skin, his dead-silent breaths, darkened eyes, the hunger that flashes in them when he looks at you. Not the hunger a husband should have— something cannibalistic instead, something disgusting and rotten to the core. You’re terrified of your husband.

You can't pretend you don’t notice any of this, or that you’re able to wait it out until he decides to open up, or the delusional hope that’ll it wash over. The phone in your hand shakes as you call up the only number you could think of in the moment that would be able to help you.

“Hello?” You speak hesitantly, your voice hushed. You’re tucked into the dark corner of your living room late at night, Leon asleep in your bedroom. You had checked several times to make sure. A single candle is lit beside you on the small table.

“Chris Redfield here.”

“Chris!” You quickly whisper to him your name, alerting him you were Leons wife. He’s quick to recognize you, worry immediately grasping at his tone. Your body tightens in fear as his voice reaches to you. “Chris, I need your help. Leon—”

“Leon? You’re with him?” He gasps.

“Y-Yes?” A hard blink.

“You have to get out of there. We’ve been trying to contact him for days, he disappeared from our care and isn’t answering any calls and turned off his location services. He’s not safe.”

It's almost hard to hear Chris with how loud your heart is beating. Horror grabs at your legs, keeping you frozen in shock on the couch as you croak out a weak, "What's wrong with him?” Even if you knew you should get up immediately and run, you found it impossible to move your legs.

A moment of hesitation fills the call before he speaks. “He went on a mission to Romania and ran into Umbrella, if you know what that is.”

“Yeah, I do. And?” You usher, your voice small.

“They were making a virus, and he got infected. Its dangerous, he’s dangerous. The only reason he hasn’t killed you yet is probably because he loves you. But he’s not himself, he won't be able to make that difference for too long, so you need to get up, grab your stuff, and get out of that damn house!”

His sharp voice makes you snap back into reality. Your voice shakes as you stand up, holding the candle in your hand shakily as you wobble down the hallway. “T-The virus— What is it doing to h-him?”

“He… It's… It's a sick duplication of vampirism, is the best way to describe it.”

“He’s a vampire?”

You look up from your candle, slowly making eye contact with deep blue irises with no light in them. He stands before you, gaze flat and set down on you like a predator would do with its prey. The air runs cold as he silently closes his palm over the candle, bathing you both in darkness.

Chris calls out your name in confusion, but Leon slowly takes the phone from your hand, his fingertips making you shiver. He silently ends the call and sets the phone aside, staring down at you with an unpleased frown. Your body trembles, and he notices.

“Sweetheart,” He whispers, gently stepping forward until your breath brushed against his, “Why would you go to Chris when you could have just talked to me?” A large hand sets on your back, creeping up and pressing through the thin fabric of your silk-cami. You struggle to respond, mouth open but no words able to escape your throat. You never wanted to be scared of your husband.

“H-He— he said—”

He hushes you, his other hand going to brush your hair out of your soft cheek, before cupping it and gently squishing. “He was lying. I’d never hurt you, my love.”

You can't help but notice he didn’t correct the idea of him being infected.

“What.. about.. the virus part?” You choke out.

He hesitates, eyes slowly drifting down your body before snapping back up to yours. A frown washes over his face.

“I love you, you know that?”

“What?”

A soft cry leaves you as he suddenly latches his teeth into your neck, fangs breaking through your skin. The sensation tingled, a small sting, before your body slowly starts to feel lighter in his arms. You can feel your blood slowly being sucked out into his mouth, his soft tongue occasionally darting out to lick over the two punctured holes. Shaky whimpers leave you as your arms fly out, pushing and swatting at his large body.

“I love you, my sweet girl,” He whispers, pressing you against the wall behind you, his hand on your back reaching to gently grasp the back of your neck, tilting your throat just right for his mouth. Your legs flail around before falling limp, your body completely limp against his. “You’re such a good girl for this, I’ll reward you, okay? Just relax.”

His words only make you tear up, whimpering into his hair as his sucking slowly renders you useless in his arms. Wrapping around his shoulders, you push up into him, finally giving up control. You craved to be in your husband's arms again and to feel intimate with him after weeks of being apart, even the thought of him being a supernatural being didn’t scare you anymore. He was still your husband, and you loved him unconditionally. The pain in your neck slowly numbed.

He pulls away slowly, blood trickling down his chin as he stares down at you longingly. Gently, he connects his lips with yours, hands moving down to scoop up your body and hold you against him. Your legs wrap around his waist like second-hand nature, hands moving to cup his stubbled face as you kiss back deeply. Your tongues move against one another slowly, the taste of your blood making you moan. It was salty and metallic but gave the kiss taste.

Before you know it, your back was against the familiar warmth and plushness of your mattress, his heavy body grounding you into the bed. It was like dead weight drowning you into the sheets. Cold kisses, lingering caresses, slow touches and the rustling of clothing being pushed to the side. You don’t know when you end up naked, but next thing you know he’s between your thighs, hungrily lapping at your wet folds.

A sense of euphoria washes over you as you relax, body yielding to his touch. You cant control yourself at this point; you’ve fully surrendered to him. You feel as if you’re drunk on his touch, unable to breath without it. The moment he sank his fangs into your neck was the moment you were permanently his for eternity.

“Do you wanna be with me forever, sweetheart?” He whispers against your skin, large hands spreading you open by putting pressure on your thighs. Even while inhumane between your legs, you were always the first thing on his mind. The thought of being with you until the end of the world was all he craved.

“Forever?” You croak, another moan leaving you as he dives back down, sucking your clit between his lips with focus. Fingers rubbing soothing circles into your thighs, massaging your legs until you’re putty in his hands. The sensation of him is everywhere, starting from your head to your toes.

“Mhm. Just gotta trust me, love. Can you do that? Will you be a good girl?” He finally pulls away, leaning up to make eye contact with you. Warmth flutters from your heart at his voice, still as sweet and caring as the day you met him, hence why you married him. He always put your needs and love first.

“I l-love you, of course..” You nod eagerly, locking your lips with his passionately. His burly arms wrap around you, groaning in content as he quickly pushes his briefs down, thick cock springing out against his abdomen. Heavy, painfully hard, irritated and aching to be burrowed into your body. He doesn’t hesitate when he aligns himself with you, pulling back from the kiss to slowly intertwine your fingers and press a soft kiss to your cheek, watching closely to your expression as he pushes inch by agonizing inch, stretching you wide on him.

You almost can't breathe, overwhelmed by the conflicting emotions, the pleasure, and even the pain. The hunger but love in his eyes as he slowly thrusts, whispering loving praises to you. He ushers you everything will be okay, and that when you wake up you’ll understand.

His teeth clamp down on your throat, fangs breaking through your skin once again. You cry out in pain underneath him, flinching and hugging him tighter. He groans at the taste of your blood filling his mouth, lapping it up hungrily while rolling his hips deeply into your tight warmth. You smelt like home and tasted like heaven.

“Leon, I’m— I cant— please,” You cry, trying to pull away from his teeth. It was starting to hurt, not like before— no, this time it was agonizing. Like he wasn’t planning on stopping until you were fully drained and nothing but a corpse underneath him. “Y-You’re scaring me..”

“No, no, no, baby,” He pulls away, his lips covered in your blood. He licks it away as he dives down to bite into his wrist, blood spilling down his forearm. The sight terrifies you, and you hiccup underneath him, trembling. Gently, he nuzzles you closer to his big chest, pressing warm kisses to your hairline. “You said you trust me, right?”

“M-Mhm.”

“Then be a good girl and drink this, okay?”

Your eyes slowly drift down to his bloody wrist, the thought of even consuming his blood nauseating you to your core. Your lips move to say no, but you can’t help but remember what he said. Together forever. So gradually, as if you were hypnotized, you lift your head and take the blood into your mouth. It stains the inside of your mouth as you lap at it for a short moment before pulling back sharply, as if you were snapped back to reality.

“Shhh, it’s okay, it’s okay.” He hums, pushing you back down to lay underneath him. The blood staining your lips only makes him groan, starting back up a strong pace. His hips push against yours, snapping harshly. The sounds of skin-to-skin echo throughout the bedroom. His teeth latch back onto your neck, his hands holding you tight against him.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” He groans between long sucks, feeling your body slowly grow lighter in his grasp. Finally pulling back from your throat, he can see the light in your eyes slowly dim underneath him. With a weak smile, he presses one final kiss to your warm lips. “I’m gonna be here when you wake up, okay?” He brushes his thumb to your bottom lip, pressing down slightly before releasing you. It would be the last time he’d feel your skin warm and alive.

In your last few moments, you can feel your orgasm wash over your body, releasing on his cock as he moans deeply and burrows into your neck, clutching you tightly. His thrusts grow sloppy and inconsistent before he spills deep into you, holding onto you like a lifeline— yet there you were, dying slowly.

With one last shaky breath, he nudges his nose against yours, fangs glistening in the moonlight. “I’ll love you forever sweetheart, till death do us part.”

And when your body finally falls limp in his arms, he awaits till you rise once again, skin cold to the couch as fangs grow where humane canines once laid.

“okay.”

“the shoulder?”

“just bruised.”

“leon.”

“just bruised,” he repeats.

you move to the shoulder anyway, peeling back his jacket and the shirt beneath, and he lets you check it without complaint, which is how you know he’s exhausted. the man argues on principle when he’s got energy to spare. you clean it and tape what needs taping and try very hard not to notice the warmth of his skin under your hands or the way he’s been watching your face this entire time with an expression you can’t quite look at directly.

you’re reaching for the antiseptic when his hand closes around your wrist.

“leon—”

“i just need a minute,” he says quietly. he tugs, gently, and you let him pull you in, let him wrap both arms around you and press his face into your neck and breathe. you feel him exhale, long and slow, and something in him unknots by degrees.

you’d been so careful. so focused on not smothering him, not making it about you when he was the one who’d been gone for six days doing god knows what, and here he is holding on like you’re the thing he’s been waiting to get back to.

“i missed you,” he says into your neck. low and a little rough. “the whole time. just kept thinking about coming home.”

you pull back just enough to look at him and he looks back, tired and earnest and it makes your chest ache, and you kiss him soft and he makes a quiet sound and kisses you back deeper, hands sliding from your waist to your hips and pulling you closer, tongue pressing against yours.

“your ribs,” you say against his mouth.

“are fine.”

“leon—”

“are fine,” he says again, and stands, and you go with him.

he takes his time with you the way he always does after he’s been gone. hands relearning you like he’s been thinking about it the whole ride home.

he presses his mouth to your throat first, lips dragging slow, then your collarbone, then down your arm, the inside of your elbow, your wrist, back up to the soft skin of your inner arm and closer to your underarm and you feel heat rise to your face because it’s so intimate, so careful, like he’s paying attention to parts of you that nobody else thinks to.

he reaches behind you and unclips your bra and pulls it off and then presses his face between your breasts and hums, a satisfied sound, cheek against your skin. not rushing. you card your hands through his hair and feel the tight thing in your chest finally, finally come undone.

when he finally settles between your thighs and looks at you, blue eyes soft, you reach up and touch the bandage above his brow without thinking.

“hi,” you say softly.

“hi,” he says back.

he pushes into you slow and you feel every inch of him. the thick drag of his cock stretching you open, his heat filling you so completely your breath stutters and your walls flutter around him instinctively, pulling him deeper. he goes still for a moment, forehead dropping to yours, panting.

“god,” he exhales. sounding a little wrecked. “missed you so much. missed my girl.”

he starts to move and you feel everything. every slow thorough roll of his hips, the slick grip of your walls around his girth pulling tight each time he draws back, the warm wet heat building between you with every stroke until you’re arching up into him and gripping his shoulders. his forehead stays on yours, one hand laced through yours against the pillow, the other spread warm at your hip like an anchor.

“missed you,” he murmurs again, like he can’t stop saying it now that he’s started.

his mouth finds your neck and he’s kissing you, licking at your skin, so very desperate, like he’s been starved of you, which he has, dragging his lips up to your jaw and back down to your collarbone and back up again like he can’t decide where he needs to be, like everywhere isn’t enough. his hips keep their rhythm but his mouth is everywhere, tasting you, breathing you in, and you feel the low sound he makes vibrate against your throat.

“just need you,” he mumbles against your skin. “just my girl—ah—just need my girl.”

you don’t answer. you can’t. he feels too good, in too deep, filling you so completely that coherent thought is somewhere far away and you never want to come back from this, never want to move from this exact spot, his weight and his warmth and his mouth on your skin.

his hips stutter, pace faltering, and you feel him getting close, but his hand slides between you without hesitation, thumb finding your clit, pressing in slow circles like even now, even while edging closer to his own release, he’s not going to cum without you. you gasp and clench around him and he groans into your neck.

“cum,” he breathes. ragged. “with me. cum with me, baby.”

you do. your walls grip and flutter around him and he comes apart right after, shuddering, face pressed hard into your neck, your name leaving him in breathless moan.

he stays there after. his body heavy, face in your neck, very still. you don’t move either. you’re not sure either of you could.

a long quiet moment passes.

“…sorry,” he says eventually. muffled against your skin.

“for what.”

“came straight from a mission.” he murmurs. “didn’t even shower. just got you all—” he shifts slightly, almost self conscious about it, which is so endearing on him you could cry. “sorry.”

you laugh softly, hand moving through his greyish blonde hair. “leon. i genuinely do not care.”

“still.” he lifts his head and looks at you, a little sheepish. “shower with me.”

he peels himself off you with great effort and pulls you up with him and you both stand there for a second, equally wrecked, and he looks at you in the low light of the bedroom with something so soft in his face.

then he takes your hand and walks you to the bathroom.

“It’s okay,” you wave it off before kneeling to give Nanako a proper hug. Lightly, Mimiko weasels her way in. “Did you two bring a lunch, today?

The question is superfluous—of course, they did. Mimiko is allergic to most things, and it’s a much safer play to simply bring food from home. But, if you forget to remind them immediately, they’ll forget to give it to you, and you’ll forget to remind them once the chaos of class starts. It’s an endless cycle of forgetting.

Nanako nods vehemently, digging into her themed backpack for two modern bento boxes, and hands them over with chubby fingers. “Yep! Papa made it!”

You smile and nod, getting to your feet to refrigerate them. With knees popping and aching on your way up, you wonder how long you’ll have until you feel truly, properly old. Mr. Getō lingers in the doorway, pays a swooning mother no mind as she unleashes her feral child in the room, and you find an excuse for small talk, because you can.

“What’d you make them?” You’re digging into the mini-fridge now, the one by the front door, and place their lunch boxes in the spot you always put them. Lower level, to the right. Mr. Getō shrugs in his suit like he doesn’t have somewhere to be.

“Just leftovers,” he says. You stand to your feet, brushing the apron off. “Tako sausage and omurice.”

“Awh, I love tako sausage,” you gush, and eye the room as it slowly begins to fill. Single mothers whisper behind your back. You know, becase your hackles raise. “I don’t know why, but sausage always tastes better squid-ified.”

Mr. Getō lifts an eyebrow. “…Squid-ified.”

“Yeah,” you nod away the stark reminder of exactly why you’re not this man’s type. He seems like such a no nonsense guy, and here you are, yapping.

“Well. If I knew that, I would’ve brought you some,” he offers with a kind smile, and your knees buckle. Just a little.

“Bah,” you wave the platitude away. “I’m an adult. If I really want tako sausage that bad, I can make it.”

“Do you?”

“Do I what.”

“Make it.”

“Oh! No.” You snort, suppress a giggle, and breathe. “I’m lazy.”

Crossing his arms, Mr. Getō rests a shoulder against the door frame. “Says the woman taking care of twenty gremlins on a daily basis.”

“Hey, they may be gremlins, but they’re my gremlins,” you say, eyes scanning the room. Yūji Itadori gnaws on a jumbo block. You should probably take it from him before he hurts himself. Thankfully (unthankfully) Mr. Getō checks his watch, and realizes—

“Shit, I’m going to be late. I will, um, see you at pick up,” he pushes away from the wall, smile never failing. Class is going to begin soon, anyways. Before you can respond, though, he perks up with an afterthought. “Oh, and—if Nanako says anything else, please disregard it. It’s not…she has a fixation, right now.”

You don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean.

“Um…okay?”

“Okay,” Mr. Getō exhales, wavering by the door for one more second. “See you at five?”

“Sounds good,” you smile, and avoid thinking about how it sounds like a promise. Lock the fuck in. You’re no better than any of the mothers that swoon under the smooth of his voice. And, you hate yourself for it, every single time.

Once Mr. Getō leaves, so do the rest of the parents—the mothers, lingering, hoping that he might give them a sliver of his day. Fools, you think, because they won’t get anything if it doesn’t concern Nanako or Mimiko.

You walk to the front of the room, taking Yūji’s block away from him on the way. Luckily, he’s not a crier.

“Okay, everyone! Quiet Coyote!”

“Papa’s crying again.”

“I know.”

“He’s lonely.”

“I know.”

Suguru Getō is such a good dad.

While this something you know, it doesn’t make your heart swell any less.

“See! He likes you, lots!” Nanako holds up the sticky note plastered to the interior of her lunch. You crouch to read, instead of taking the note and pulling it to your face.

have a good day at school! i love you both so much. please don’t give ms. y/n a hard time. (nanako)

And, while there’s no proof that ‘he likes you lots,’ you appreciate Nanako’s match making sentiment nonetheless. Mimiko eats quietly next to her. Eyeing the tako sausage in their bento boxes, your mouth waters. Just a little bit.

But, you brought a sandwich. God, adult food is so boring.

“Yes, your Dad is a very nice man,” you smile, and ruffle ginger hair. Nanako beams.

“Exactly! So you’ll marry him?”

“No, Nanako.”

Nanako whines at that, and even Mimiko seems a little disappointed. “What? Why not?”

You suppress a groan. How do you explain without alluding to adult concepts that run right over children’s heads.

“Because, that’s not how relationships work, Sweetie,” you sigh, and adjust your legs so your knees hurt less. “Both people need to be on board. It’s a partnership.”

Nanako frowns. “Pardnership?”

You hum and nod. “Yes. Like the buddy system—marriage is one big buddy system.”

“But,” her bottom lip warbles, and shit, fuck, “Papa wants a buddy.”

“And, he’ll get one,” you know he will, it just won’t be you. And, you’re fine with that, you barely know the man—he’s just nice to look at, and takes very good care of the only two angels on Earth. “But, he has to choose. You can’t choose for him.”

“But—”

“No buts, Nanako,” because, you really can’t have this conversation for much longer. “Eat your food before it gets cold, okay? Your Papa will find a buddy, soon.”

“But,” Nanako begins again, because she’s stubborn, and has never been a good listener unless she wants to be. “But, you’d be a good buddy—I want you to be his buddy.”

You sigh. Swallow. Pat Nanako on the head in hopes it’ll placate whatever is going through her little mind at the moment.

“Eat your food, Nanako.”

“Papa, why don’t we have a Mommy, yet?”

“Girls—you’re four years old. Papa need a little more time than that.”

“Why?”

“…Because.”

“That’s a bad reason!”

You’re a little lonely. You can admit that, at least.

It’s not easy—after wrangling 20 five year olds all day—to have the energy for much else but recuperation. You’ve gone on a few dates, during the summer when class is no longer an something to worry about. You make as much time as you can for friends, on the weekends, maybe once or twice a month, when you don’t have a laundry list of errands to run because you waited the whole week to do them. That doesn’t make your apartment feel any less empty, though.

Heating up the other half of your sandwich, you try to remember the last time you went on a second date. Your boyfriend from college, maybe? You both lived on opposite sides of the country, and it wasn’t long after graduation before everything fell apart. Most parents you meet are surprised that you don’t have kids of your own by now, but that’s not the case—the issue is that you have twenty of them, from eight to three.

(To five, if you count the after school program.)

The microwave beeps, and you take the sandwich out. It’s cold in the middle, you should’ve flipped it open, but you’re too tired to care. That’s been a reoccurring thing, lately—being tired. Being cold.

“But, you’d be a good buddy!”

Yeah. You wouldn’t mind a buddy, either, Nanako.

“…What are you two doing?”

“Nothing, Papa!”

“Girls—thank you. Now, go to bed. I won’t ask again.”

“Okay, goodnight!”

Click.

“There’s an h in spaghetti, Nanako—”

Now. As stated, Mimiko is just as bad as her sister. Possibly worse—at least, Nanako is easy to say no to.

“My Papa is sad—and you can make him happy.”

Yeah. That’s what she starts with. What the fuck.

She holds out a homemade card with two hands, thumb and index pinching both sides until it wrinkles. From what you can see, there’s a pink glittering heart on the cover, with the names Miss Y/N and Papa above in crayon and stilted handwriting. This is a form of guilt tripping you’re severely unfamiliar with.

You take the card—because fuck, are you supposed to just make her stand there?—and open it because you can. Curiosity killed the cat.

THEESE WEKEND

PAPAS HOWSS FOR SPAHGETI

You snort. It takes you way too long to understand ‘howss’ is house.

“Mimiko,” you sigh, because, out of the two sisters, “you know I can’t. Your Papa has to choose his buddy, remember?”

She lets out an exhale, curling a lip of frustration, and wow, Mimiko, the fuck. “Yes, but—he’s not choosing one.”

“And, that’s okay,” you smile, pocketing the card before kneeling to her level. This is totally going on your fridge, your feelings surrounding the situation be damned. “Maybe, he doesn’t want a buddy right now.”

“Then—Then, he doesn’t get to cry about it!” She stomps a foot, and you want to say who’s crying about what, but keep it to yourself. “He won’t even see Uncle Gojō anymore. Just—come this weekend. Please.”

You sigh. You won’t, but, “I’ll think about it, Mimiko.”

“Did you do it?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think—”

“Yes.”

“Did you know your daughters invited me to your house, this weekend?”

“I did not,” Mr. Getō huffs with levity, and you join him in watching the girls climb the monkey bars. It’s a few hours since school ended, and the afterschool program is in full effect. Luckily (unluckily), you’re in charge of that, too. It’s not like you have anything better to do.

You pull the card out from your apron, and wave the cover design in his face before opening it, and trying your best to stay true to the spelling. “Theese wekend…papa’s howss…for spahgeti.”

“Wow.” Mr. Getō runs a hand over his lower face, chucking before he asks, “May I see that?”

Gladly, you hand it over.

“This is what they were doing last night,” he realizes aloud. “I was wondering why there was glitter all over the floor.”

“Ah yes, she’s elusive,” you nod solemnly, remembering how many times that godforsaken powder followed you out the class and into the home. Mr. Getō lifts an eyebrow. “Glitter, I mean.”

He snorts, nods, and passes the card back like he knew you wanted to keep it. The twins finally notice their Dad waiting, and come bounding over, covered in a level of sweat and grime that only a child could tolerate.

It’s immediate—the way Mr. Getō lights up.

He kneels down with open arms, each girl taking one, squeezing and pulling with no care for his pristine black suit. He doesn’t seem to care, either, as he cradles both of their heads and leaves twin kisses in his wake.

“How was school?”

“It was great! Did you know bears sleep for so long?!”

“Miss Y/N is coming to our house this weekend.”

You gawk, and look at Mimiko with absolute betrayal, because that’s not what you said. “I said, I’d think about it!”

Mr. Getō looks at you over his daughters head with a grin in his eyes.

“Is she, now?”

“Yep, I invited he—”

“We invited her!” Nanako adds loudly, lifting a hand in the air like she’s still in class. “But Mimiko delivered the letter because no one can say no to her!”

You knew it. You knew it, that wretch.

Mr. Getō laughs and stands, patting his daughters on the head on the way. You sigh but keep a good natured smile, knowing you will be screaming about this into a pillow later.

“You two are scary,” he says with a smile, then redirects it to you, and you’re…

“Sorry, about that,” you breathe, because this is embarrassing. Beyond, actually, because it’s like his girls have a radar for your exact type—their dad.

“No, I should be the one apologizing,” Mr. Getō steps forward. Mimiko forces a conversation out of Nanako, a sidebar, away enough to give you two privacy. Both of their eyes drift, though. “I told you—they have a fixation. They’ll get over it.”

“Oh no, it’s okay,” you wave his words away with both hands. “I get it. Plus, it’s endearing, when it’s not…”

“Embarrassing.”

“Yeah,” your fingers curl into the bottom of your apron. “But um, you should, like, totally put yourself out there more—not that, um, only if you want, but y’know, you could have anyone! So, uh, go for it!”

Mr. Getō snorts, and the sunset dances in his eyes and turns them molten. He’s staring at you too much. You should probably put the anxiously supportive thumbs up away. “And, that was supposed to be…encouraging.”

You clear your throat. “Yeah, it was an attempt. I—”

“What’s your answer?”

What.

“What?”

“Or,” Mr. Getō tilts his head, edits the sentence. “What would be your answer. If I, um, asked you. For…spahgeti.”

You snort at the pronunciation, too focused on the way he smells to notice the fact that Mimiko and Nanako’s conversation has come to a lull. Now, they’re watching in rapt attention.

“Uh, sure—yes,” you blink, pinch your arm just to make sure this isn’t a dream, and—nope. It’s still Thursday. You’re still at school. Covered in washable paint. “Yes, I would, um, I like spahgeti.”

He laughs a little, and you scrunch away a smile. You want to hear that, again.

“Six on Saturday?”

“Yeah,” you nod, you keep nodding, you need to stop nodding. “Yeah, sounds great.”

“No, you cannot cook the spaghetti yourselves.”

“But—”

“Absolutely not—Mimiko, how’d you learn how to turn on the stove?!”

“…Watching you.”

Maybe, you shouldn’t be going to a random man’s house. But, that random man is Mr. Getō, and he has daughters—so it’s not like he’s going to murder you, right?

Though, you’re more worried about accidentally murdering yourself on the way. You don’t notice the bright orange hand until after you’re honked at, a third of the way through the crosswalk.

“Watch where you’re going!”

Well. Fuck you, too.

The bottle of wine feels weird in your hands—too heavy and too cold, and the closer you get to your destination, the closer you get to the expensive side of town, the lump in your throat swells to a softball. You get comfortable with regret when you knock on his door thrice, hurting your knuckles in the process.

Christ, Mr. Getō lives here?

It doesn’t take long for him to open the door…ostensibly, not in a suit.

It’s strange seeing him outside of school. The issue is, outside of school, you dress the same. Apparently, Mr. Getō doesn’t wear suits all day, in the comfort of his own home, and that’s…weird.

(Not that you thought he would—but also, he totally seems like the type of guy who would.)

“Ah, hello! Thank you for coming.”

Today, he dons jeans and a button down shirt, both oversized enough to be comfortable, but nice enough to be…nice. His hair isn’t as neat as it typically is, but half-up nonetheless, with a stray hair working its way out the hair tie. There’s a streak of green marker on his chin, and you giggle at it, gesturing to your own.

“You’ve got…um…”

Mr. Getō slams a hand over his chin with a groan. “Marker?”

He steps out of the doorway to let you in, and you take the opportunity with a smile. “Looks like it—”

“Miss Y/N!”

Nanako and Mimiko come screaming down the hall and around the corner. You take them to the chest—well, the waist—as Mr. Getō disappears to, presumably, wash the green off his face.

“You came!” Nanako beams. You give her a small smile, because the little girl has no idea what you went through, internally, to drag yourself out of your apartment this evening.

“I did,” you nod, and give a very happy Mimiko a soft glare. She doesn’t even waver. They both guide you to a pleasantly placed table in the dining room, decorated with the works—roses and candles and actual porcelain plates. You don’t even think you own actual porcelain plates. Certainly not due to your own volition. The lighting is warm, and cozy, and could easily put you to sleep.

They sit you at the head, fussing over your hair, your outfit, and apparently, the way you sit.

“Papa has been working all day,” Mimiko says as Nanako tries to push your chair in, but can’t, because she’s five and you’re four times her size. “He wouldn’t let us help. Be nice to him.”

That or else hangs heavy in the air, and you gulp. This isn’t intimidating at all.

Before you start to regret your decision for the third time, Mr. Getō comes out of the kitchen while patting his hands dry with a reusable towel. Immediately, the girls scatter—sprinting down a seemingly endless hallway, and duck into the third room on the left. The door slams shut. Then, a series of giggles.

“…I’ve never seen them move so quickly,” Mr. Getō mutters, and you laugh quietly in agreement.

But, now, without Nanako or Mimiko to fill the void with insanity, you don’t know what to say. Silence lulls, and it’s loud.

“Me neither.”

This…is awkward.

Mr. Getō seems to feel it too, because immediately, he gets the ball rolling, and points to the kitchen. “So, dinner is ready but, um, I don’t know if you want me to make your plate, or if you want to make your own, or…”

“I can make it,” you insist, standing to your feet and grabbing the very nice, probably very expensive plate. You pray that you won’t drop it, somehow. “I wanna see what your kitchen looks like, anyway.”

Mr. Getō chuckles, light and good-natured. And, if you sway, it’s not your fault. “Why?”

You shrug, following him into through a doorway. “Tells you a lot about a person.”

Mr. Getō makes a sound, a hum of contemplative agreement. And, the kitchen is…aggressively domestic. This is about to be the worst first date of your life, you already know—not because it’s going to end poorly, but because you kind of want this man. And, you can’t tell yourself the last time you’ve been on a second date.

Two bowls fill the island—one with spaghetti (spahgeti), one with salad—and a plate of garlic bread. It smells heavenly and your mouth waters, completely forgetting your mission to judge this man into unattractiveness.

(Though, there’s nothing to judge. All it says is that he’s quite organized, and loves his daughters.)

You notice a familiar drawing pinned to the fridge—it’s a simple one, with three stick figures holding hands, the two on the ends much shorter than the one in the middle. They stand on a poorly crayoned field, and the names mimi, nana, and papa are written above their respective figures in black crayon, along with a date in the corner.

“They drew that the first day of class,” Mr. Getō reminisces, coming around the counter to get a better look. The date lines up—as does the fact that you struggled to place it. “Came home ranting about how they wanted Miss Y/N to be their mama.”

You snort, and ignore every feeling in your being—including the weight of the plate in your hands. It doesn’t drop, though. “Kids have no shame.”

“None. Especially mine.” Mr. Getō adds, moving past you to rummage through a cupboard. Then, offering, “Water? Also—help yourself.”

As your eyes follow his arm when he gestures to the counter, your stomach grumbles on cue. It’s not your fault you don’t know how to cook. You nod, grabbing the giant plastic spoon, and try your best to not seem greedy.

“Yes, please! This looks so good, Mr. Getō, I—”

“Suguru,” he corrects, and you nearly jump. He’s behind you, now, reaching for something, you don’t know, you’re not paying attention. Suguru, your brain goes. Suguru, Suguru, Suguru—

“Y’know, I don’t think I ever knew your first name,” you realize aloud, taking the last spoonful you’ll allow yourself. He drifts away to fill the glasses with water, and you exhale, finally being able to breathe. You move onto the salad.

“That’s it?” He asks and hands you a glass, eyeing your plate. You gulp. Did you fuck up, already?”

“Have some more.” And then, he’s grabbing another spoonful of spaghetti—one much fuller than any of the three you gave yourself. “Please—I made so much food.”

“Well, yeah,” you defend. “But, y’know, Nanako and Mimiko are gonna eat some, so—”

“And, they’re five. They eat this much,” Suguru takes the plate from you (you’ve lost your privileges, clearly) and fills the spoon again, lifting it in the air like it represents ‘this much.’ “It’s okay if you don’t finish it, I just—I want to make sure you get enough.”

He hands the plate back to you, not before adding two pieces of garlic bread, much heavier than you found it. It’s accompanied by a sheepish smile, one that makes it seem like he’s digging a grave for himself deeper than necessary. Your heart swells nonetheless. Then, you stomp on it, chanting stupid, stupid, stupid, because, if you think he isn’t doing this just to humor his daughters, you’d be just that. Stupid.

“Oh!” You remember, “I also brought wine—I don’t know if you’re, like, a wine guy, or not, but—”

“Sure,” Suguru shrugs as he starts to fill his own plate. You waver with your own by the threshold, because you don’t know what to do otherwise. “There are wine glasses on the table. Let’s pop it open.”

“Yes, now kiss! K-I-S-S-I-N—”

“Shhhh—they’re going to hear us!”

“Opa!”

You love opening a wine bottle. You love the pop of the cork, the resistance from the air—but, you let Suguru open it this time. Because, God forbid your elbow goes flying, or the cork, and you knock over one of his lovely candles, and set his very nice place on fire. Suguru scrunches his nose with a smile at your exclamation. You remember where you are, again.

“Sorry,” you recant, and Suguru just shakes his head, slowly filling your glass.

“No—I like it when you’re comfortable.”

With that, he passes the glass back and smiles, and you…ignore what he just said, actually. Because, you’re already a hop, skip, and a jump from falling for this man, and there is absolutely no point in doing that.

“What do you do for work?” You ask instead, because anything other than small talk would turn garbled. Suguru eyes lift from his own filling glass, to you, like it was a question he wasn’t expecting.

“Oh, um, I’m a Lit professor, actually.”

“Lit as in…literature, or as in lit-lit, like turnt lit?” You’re reaching, you doubt the word lit is anywhere in Suguru’s vocabulary unless he means literature, but you just need to double-check.

“As in literature,” he chuckles, swirling wine around the glass like a professional. “I, unfortunately, doubt any of my students would refer to me as lit.”

“You never know,” you shrug, taking a bite. After a swallow and a hum, you nod. “This is really good.”

“Thanks,” he grins, and takes a sip of the wine. His eyes widen, like he wasn’t expecting it, but, “so is this.”

You thank him in return, and silence comes back screaming. You hate to say it’s because you’re stuffing your face, and you try to do so as politely as possible, but you are, and it’s not your fault—the food is good, and you haven’t found time in between grading obscure drawings and letter identification tests to eat today.

Suguru props a chin on his hand and watches you eat, swirling his glass again—you start to wonder if that’s just something he does with his hands. It isn’t until you realize his fork is clean, food untouched, that you finally falter. With food in your cheeks, no less.

“…Are you not hungry?”

Suguru blinks himself to the present, and whatever look he wore dissipates into his usual. He picks the fork up, after that.

“Yes, sorry,” he huffs a laugh at himself, seemingly self-deprecating. “You’re cute, is all.”

You start choking—partially, because you had the bright idea to swallow when he opened his mouth. You try to wash it down with wine, but when it only prickles the itch, you choose water instead.

“Sorry, was that too forward?” He asks, with a smirk, which makes you think he doesn’t mean it. Not in the genuine way, at least. You wave it off, recovering and trying to breathe through the embarrassment of choking on a noodle like a child.

“No,” you croak, though you want to say yes, but not in a bad way. “No, I’m just…”

You’re just what? Floored? Flabbergasted? Fucking sweating beyond repair?

“Flattered,” you finish. You should probably slow down on the food before you give yourself a stomach ache, but most of it is already gone. Suguru smiles as he chews behind a hand.

“Good.”

You are going to scream. What the fuck is this.

Because, you’re quickly beginning to learn, Mr. Getō and Suguru are two very different people. And, while Mr. Getō is hot, yes, Suguru is…

“What do you think they’re doing, right now?” Suguru’s eyes dart to the hallway, and you snicker.

“Probably eavesdropping!” You yell the last word, only to hear tiny feet scatter. Shaking your head, you mutter, “nosy.”

Suguru snorts. “Tell me about it.”

“Oh, I will,” you nod, unfortunately getting comfortable enough to yap. Well. There it goes—the second date. There it goes, sprinting out the door and on a flight to a different country, until the concept of a second date is no longer feasible. “Those two in class? Little rascals. Sometimes, I have to separate them.”

“Lucky,” Suguru laments with a chuckle. “Wish I could do that at home.”

You shrug, and take a sip of wine. “I’m complaining, but. They’re good kids. They’re smart, and they liven up the place. Even help other kids if they finish their work early—though, that’s mainly Mimiko…Nanako always finds something to do. You did good.”

“Thanks,” Suguru says, and suddenly, the burning candlelight is much more interesting than your face. “I get…worried, you know? That they don’t have a mom.”

“Sure, but,” and you look into the hallway again, wondering if the girls came back, how much of the conversation they can actually hear. “They’ve got you. And, from what I hear, you fill both roles spectacularly.”

Suguru shrugs. “I try.”

Suguru shrugs, and you overstep. Possibly. Maybe. “Am I allowed to ask what happened?”

“Oh,” he laughs, tight and bordering on bitter, with eyes trained tight on the plate before him. “I’m, um, technically not their dad. We’re related—cousins, but I’ve been taking care of them since they were babies. Their parents, uh, weren’t exactly up to the task.”

He keeps it vague but answers anyway. You take the hint, and don’t pry anymore. There’s a part of you that relaxes at that fact, the fact that there isn’t another woman, but you berate yourself for it immediately. It doesn’t seem like a good thought to have.

“Well—I think you’re the best dad they could ask for. This spahgeti? Fire.”

Suguru laughs, for what you realize, is technically the very first time—not around words or to hide behind, but an actual laugh, that rumbles from his belly outward with a smile that crowds his eyes. You want to hear it again, and again, and again, until you’re too dizzy, and have to get off the ride, or else.

He’s still smiling upon recovery. “You’re sweet.”

You frown, “but, I mean it!”

Suguru snorts, and looks back down to his plate. That smile doesn’t fade.

“I know.”

Dinner goes by faster than you want it to.

To stall, you offer to help with the dishes. Suguru doesn’t let you—but he does let you stay.

“—and then, she said God fucking shit.”

“No,” you gasp from your seat by the kitchen island. Suguru nods wisely.

“Oh, yes,” he hisses. You ignore the way his back works as he dries the last dish, opting to fiddle with a ring on your finger instead of drool, but, occasionally, lift to partake in the sinfully domestic sight. “I wish the walls weren’t so thin when I stub my toe, but.”

“But, they’re always listening,” you finish with a giggle, because, been there, done that. Suguru huffs in agreement.

“Yes,” Suguru laments, and after placing the dry dish into a cupboard, turns to you. “Top five most horrifying moments of my life when I heard her say it.”

“I can imagine. I…also stubbed my toe a while ago, said dammit, and we had a kid that wouldn’t stop saying it for weeks. Had to explain it to his parents and everything,” you sigh. The embarrassment from the whole situation comes back in full force as you tuck a head into your hands. He chuckles, placing the towel over the sink.

“Sounds like you have it worse than me.”

“Meh, only from 8-5,” you shrug, but he shakes his head.

“Exactly,” Suguru insists while resting a forearm on the island across from you. “And I have mine from 5-8—but only two kids, not twenty.”

“They wrangle each other, half the time,” you wave. “Quiet Coyote works wonders.”

“I’m sure it does,” Suguru chuckles, and stands up, pushing away from the counter. “Let me walk you out.”

Ah, yes. It’s that time, now, isn’t it?

Suguru walks you the few steps to the door, it not being too far from the kitchen. You’re about to say goodbye, maybe shake his hand or something else equally awkward—whatever people do after first dates when they don’t go horribly. But, the second you reach the foyer, little feet come bounding around the corner.

“You’re leaving already?”

“No, stay! We can have a sleepover!”

You giggle when Suguru sighs, getting down on a knee to turn to his daughters. “Girls—We’ve taken up enough of her time. Miss Y/N has a life outside of class, you know.”

Which, is false, but you appreciate the sentiment nonetheless. They whine and pout but Suguru has the last word, and after you hug them goodbye, he sends them to their rooms. Knowing them, they’re still lingering in the hallway, hiding behind a wall.

“Good to know they had fun, too,” you snort, and Suguru stands, fighting a smile and failing.

“Nosy little brats,” he mutters under his breath. Then, hollering over his shoulder, “Go to bed, you two!”

More shuffling feet, and you sigh. “They’re not going to bed.”

“Nope,” Suguru shakes his head in agreement. “Not at all.”

“Well, um, that’s my cue,” you say, stilted, and tightening the grip on your purse. “I should probably go before the trains stop running.”

“Oh! Yes,” Suguru says, like he forgot, and like he expected to linger with you in his doorway forever. “I had fun.”

“I did, too.”

Suguru makes no move to let you out—and you make no move to leave, because you don’t know how his front door works, whether you have to unlock before you exit, and would prefer to avoid embarrassing yourself after an genuinely decent night. Suguru scratches the back of his head.

“I was wondering, actually, if you’d like to go on a proper date,” he says it around a breath, one he was holding. “One without my daughters right around the corner.”

“We’re not listening!”

“…Like that,” he mutters, but you’re too busy trying to make sure your feet are firmly planted on his lovely wooden flooring, not floating in the air on cloud nine.

“Oh, as in,” you breathe, and promptly black out. Hopefully, you say something that makes enough sense. “Uh, yeah. Yep. Definitely down for that.”

“Okay, great,” he smiles, and it’s that smile again, the one you want to bottle and keep forever. “When are you available?”

“Oh, whenever,” you say, before you realize you should dial it back, dial it way back. “I mean—uh, preferably not school days, but I’m pretty free on the weekends.”

“How about a week from now? Next Saturday.”

Next Saturda—do you even have time to purge your closet by next Saturday?

“Sure, sounds good.”

“Ice cream, Papa!”

“No.”

“Pleaaaaase?”

“No.”

“Pretty please with a cherry on top?”

“…Fine.”

“Really?!”

Monday comes, and you’re fucking terrified.

Because, Suguru is a guy straight out of a YA novel—and you don’t know whether he asked you out again to humor his kids, again (you’re in denial), or if a guy that you actually find physically and emotionally attractive wants to go on a date with you. Again.

But, you’re about to find out, because—

“Good Morning, Miss Y/N!”

You put on a brave face, the bravest face you can muster. Also, just your luck, you’re running out of laundry, and instead of doing it Saturday night like you usually do, you went to Suguru’s. Sunday, you were too busy panicking to be useful. So, yes, maybe you have on the ugliest cat sweater you own—but it was either that, or a cacti shirt.

“Good Morning, girls, how was your weekend?” You ask, before quickly realizing playing dumb was not the way to go.

“It was good! You made Papa so happy he took us to get ice cream the next day, and he never does that!” Nanako tries to whisper, but she’s a child with little control over her vocal chords, and you flinch.

“Oh, really?”

Mimiko nods in agreement—but, before she can respond, Suguru is quick in ushering them deeper into the room and, more importantly, away from you.

“They need to stop telling on me,” Suguru chuckles as he returns to usual perch by the doorway. “Like, now.”

You giggle. “That’s all kids ever do, Sug—I mean, Mr. Getō.”

You’re sweating. That was a close one.

“Suguru,” he corrects, looking at you with eyes bordering on a beg. “Please.”

“Well, Suguru,” you say, swallowing panic when another parent gives you an appalled look. “Uh, how was your weekend?”

“It was nice,” he nods, watching the room. “My daughters harassed this woman into going on a date with me. Luckily, I already had my eye on her.”

Oh, you think, and try to wrack your brain for who it could be. Definitely not you.

Your stuck, actually, literally frozen, despite the sweat forming at the small of your back. Suguru keeps talking. “Six, again? I’ll pick you up.”

And, because your brain is stupid, and, you don’t know, maybe he wants to go on a hike or something—

“Wait—am or pm?”

Suguru snorts. “Pm.”

Oh. That’s like, date-date time. Though, you suppose it was last time, but this is an actual date, not a ‘my daughters won’t quit unless we do this’ date.

“Sure, yeah. Totally—six is great.”

Suguru squeezes your hand before he leaves for the day. His harem of single moms glare like you killed the child support they get from their divorcees. And you…

You almost forget to put Nanako and Mimiko’s lunch boxes in the fridge. Almost.

Jesus, he can’t wait to return to you.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

LEON S. KENNEDY DISLIKES NOISY MORNINGS. He likes to keep things quiet. Peaceful. Alone. Moping around and wagging his imaginary tail to see you—wait, what?

“Sweets! I bought sweets.” Leon nuzzled at your peacefully sleeping form after carefully putting the boxes on your dining table and shoving the lattes into your fridge. His arms automatically hooked into your waist, pulling you impossibly closer to his chest, greedily taking your warmth for himself. He felt you moving, settling quite nicely, and making yourself comfortable in his hold.

“You’re noisy.” He heard you mumble in his chest, but he couldn’t care less. Hooking his chin at the top of your head, he breathes in your scent, inhaling the fragrance of your shampoo and your detergent, utterly content with being suffocated by—well—you.

“You act as if I care.” He hummed, taming your messy bedhead with soft pats, gently weaving his fingers through your hair as if patting an incredibly sleepy chinchilla.

Christ, he could melt just by looking at you. You looked adorable. Your naturally pouty lips jutted as your eyes remained closed, looking utterly at peace. Blissfully unaware of your effect on him. He thinks it’s unfair. How you just breathe, and he’s already at your beck and call. How the sun peeks through your windows perfectly frames your figure, making you look utterly devastating. How your hair just cascades perfectly on your shoulders, looking like messy waves that just fit.

How he thinks he wanted to be a little more than just a best friend.

“Mhm, stay.” He felt arms slowly snaking around his body, and he swore his heart rate sped up. He’s sure you heard it, too—with how your face was pressed into his chest. And he would’ve been embarrassed if he hadn’t felt you nuzzle—burying your nose in between his soft pectorals. Each puff of breath was hot, rendering his brain pathetically useless—a putty in your embrace.

“F-for breakfast?” Yeah, real smooth, Leon. What a stuttering sweet-talker you are. Proud of you, son.

“Forever.”

Then you were awake, staring at those huge cerulean eyes that reminded you of the vast seas. Gods, he was beautiful. Would it be too greedy to wish to wake up every morning with this sight? With Leon’s flushed cheeks and soft eyes that scream longing and affection?

Oh wait, maybe you’re projecting.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

LEON S. KENNEDY HATES BEING TIED DOWN. He despises commitments with passion. Almost pukes at the mere mention of it, actually. He doesn’t do all that lovey-dovey shit. He isn’t clingy—hates to be that person, in fact. He likes being alone, surrounded by his thoughts. That’s his favorite pastime, actually. He—okay, what the fuck. Who wrote this? This script is wrong. Someone is getting fired.

The air in the dining room feels light. Comfortable. The rays of the sun softly peeking through, the birds by the windows singing their hearty tune, and Leon taking care of you, just as usual. You like this routine: drinking coffee while chatting with your favorite person, just as the sun rises like a beautiful backdrop.

“Let’s make us official.”

You almost spat your coffee, heart suddenly—*violently—*hammering inside your ribcage, begging to be let out. You think it’s palpitations. The iced Spanish latte does its job at roughhousing your nervous system to the point that you think you’re hallucinating shit at like 7:46 am in the morning. You’re not equipped with the right knowledge for this conversation. It feels like your cells just burst.

“W-what?” You replied, with all the neurons and brain cells working overtime. They’re like three combined, so it’s not really that hard of a job when all you could think about was Katseye’s Gnarly chorus on loop. And maybe your hot-fucking-childhood-best-friend-that-acts-more-like-a-boyfriend-than-best-friend-but-you-digress.

“I mean, we’re not blind. As much as we’d like to deny it, we can’t run away from this conversation forever.” If there was hesitation in Leon’s voice, you couldn’t pinpoint it. And if his hands were mildly trembling beneath the surface of the table, you couldn’t see it. But you’d be damned if you couldn’t feel the tension rapidly resurfacing while the conversation continued.

“I can run away right now.”

“Sweets.”

“Lee.”

Leon sighed, as if he could already feel a headache coming. “I can catch you.”

“I’ll run even faster.” See, your tongue is your greatest enemy here.

“You talk too much.”

“You can shut me up.”

You knew someday that your sharp tongue would be the death of you. You got into so much trouble as a child because of it. Your aunties and uncles often get offended by your blunt words, while your little cousins seem to enjoy it. Your parents often scolded you, urging you to school your sharp tongue and witty replies, specifying it’ll bite you in the ass in the future. You didn’t give a fuck. Little you know who you were from a very young age.

You knew, and you were well-aware.

You just didn’t expect to be bitten right now.

Not that you would complain—oh god, no. You’d die happily.

“What?”

“What?”

Leon was staring at you as if he’d like to do exactly that. You don’t blame him—you’d like to do exactly that, too. You’re just… scared.

Scared to lose him.

Scared to lose the sacred friendship you built since you were in literal diapers.

Scared to mess it up so bad, you’d break up.

Scared to fuck it up, he’d end up lea—

“Whatever you’re thinking of, stop. It won’t happen.” Leon suddenly spoke up, looking at you, even if you avoided it. You hate how he knows you like the back of his hand.

Then, he sighed. Leaning closer towards you, hovering his hand over yours. He doesn’t touch, no. He waits. Patiently. “I won’t let it.” He said, barely a breath louder.

Oh, how you hate how easily he makes your resolve crumble.

You’d pity yourself if only you weren’t exactly where you want to be.

You took a deep breath, looking at his eyes after, letting your fears swirl in your irises and baring your emotions in front of him. It’s just… you weren’t used to being vulnerable, okay? Not when you’ve forced yourself into accepting whatever the fuck life throws in your way, simply choosing to laugh it off rather than to mope somewhere all day.

But this? This sudden vulnerability? This sudden confession—no, it never really was sudden. It had been subtle, yes, but you really shouldn’t have been surprised. You’ve been tiptoeing around—crossed, even—the friendship boundary roughly about a few years ago, after that incident in damned Raccoon City.

Now for the record, choosing to go with Leon to venture to that place was on you. You knew he’d be fucked up, being blacked out drunk the night prior—you would know, you were with him at the bar. You get it, the night he just wanted to forget being dumped by his asshole ex. And well, maybe you just wanted to go to RC because you were curious about his workplace, okay? Sue you for being nosy.

You just haven’t expected it to be, for lack of better terms, infested with rotting undead corpses who wanted you for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and dessert.

That definitely wasn’t how you wanted to start your Monday.

“Leon, I…” You felt your nails digging through your palm, leaving crescent indents. It grounded you. “I want to, I really fucking do. I don’t think I have to confess when I’ve always been obvious.” Something dripped, maybe it was crimson from your hands or clear from your eyes. “I’m just scared. So fucking scared.”

You couldn’t face him, swallowed by your cowardly brain, and yet, you couldn’t stop your mouth from speaking every unsaid thought that plagued you. It has a mind of its own.

“I’m scared. What if you wake up one day and realize that I wasn’t the one you’d like to spend your future with? What if you realize that you just settled for the safest option? Because I’m not her, I will never be her—god, fuck! I wanted to be her, but fuck my life, I’m not. I could never do the things she could—I’m basically useless without you. What if I fuck this up? Fuck it up so bad, I’d lose you?”

You were spiraling. Your mind was clouded, as if the dam had been broken and every word was just falling out uncontrollably.

“I like you. No, fucking hell, that’s lackluster. I’m fucking in love with you, and I hate that my stupid brain keeps spewing nonsense and my mouth couldn’t fucking shut up and it’s exposing me!”

And finally, god, finally. Your eyes finally darted at him.

He didn’t look surprised. God, no. It’s so much worse.

He looked soft. As if something unbelievable finally happened. As if he were just waiting for those words to come out of your damn mouth.

“You’re in love with… me?” Leon uttered—no, it was barely a whisper. It was disbelief and relief, all at once. Packaged like a buy-one-get-me-free sale. His soft cerulean eyes were shining with something suspiciously akin to unshed tears. It was apparent, even if he was looking far from you, staring at his now-empty cup and leftover ice.

“Was that all you’ve heard?” While you, you were puzzled. You knew he was a little fucked up, but damn, all those ramblings and that’s all he registered?

As if finally collected his bearings, Leon looked at you, fighting that watery smile that didn’t seem to get off, no matter how hard he tried. “It was all that mattered.” He choked out, biting his lip as a tear finally dropped.

And another.

Then another.

Until it flowed freely like a beautiful waterfall.

“I couldn’t care less. Shit, I just wanted you.” Leon rasped, “Fucking hell, all I’ve ever wanted—no, needed was you.” Trembling, his hands grasped yours, engulfing them whole. He traced little shaky hearts, his fingers still absentmindedly trembling as he stared at your skin, shying away from your gaze.

“All you, Sweets. Always you.” He lifted your hand, prompting it to cup his cheek. With his eyes closed, he melted into your warmth, exhaling a stuttered breath before looking into your eyes. “Always had been, always will be.”

It was whispered.

The promise.

Barely above a whisper.

But the devotion was loud.

Too fucking loud, it echoed through your heart, silencing your stupid brain’s unnecessary provocations.

“You dumb fuck.” You croaked. Before swiftly crossing the table to suffocate in his embrace. You hugged him like he was your lifeline, burying your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his stupefying scent.

Leon did the same, nosing your hair and pulling you to his lap. His head was filled with nothing but you, his arms wrapped in you like a warm cocoon. Peppering light kisses, while his hands fiddled with the ends of your hair, tracing feather-light patterns on your clothed skin. “Your dumb fuck, I suppose?”

“Mine.” You replied, cheekily pecking his neck, feeling the goosebumps run through his spine. “You learn fast.”

“Mhm, shut up.”

Then suddenly, his hand was on your cheek, guiding you towards his plush lips. And damn, you fucking melted, your lips moved as if you were already accustomed to his, moving in sync, like a mad rhythm waiting to be played. The kiss was tender, full of longing and secret devotion shared. It felt like whiskey, something strong, harsh yet addicting. It was heavy with regret—regret of why you haven’t done this much sooner, how you’ve lasted this long without each other’s constant touch, when you’ve realized all you needed was each other, and what’s stopping you from fully destroying the quote-unquote bounder-less boundaries you’ve been too afraid to fully cross.

And was quickly replaced by need—full hunger that aches to restore time that was lost. There was heat when he parted your mouth with his tongue, curling around yours like a waltz that seeks to devour you whole. Your throat bubbles with whines you don’t even bother suppressing, because he drank it with vigor. He kisses you like he was starved, tongue fondling with yours, curling and stroking until your head was fucked and air was a foreign concept for losers.

You felt his large hands grope your ass, snaking down to grab a hold of your thighs, manhandling you so you’re straddling him, clothed drenched cunt to clothed hard cock. It made you whimper, embarrassing sounds escaping your lips while he rolled his hips, catching your clit. Writhing in his hold, your mouth left his as you tugged his shirt, signaling that you want it gone.

He obliged with a husky chuckle, “Impatient, aren’t you? My needy baby.” Leon’s voice dropped an octave lower, swiftly pulling his shirt off to reveal his muscular build. Before your head could catch a fraction of what you were doing, your hands were already tracing his sculptured lines. Nimble hands flying from the sides of his neck, lightly circling his pebbled nipples (which made him stutter a breathless gasp), dropping lower to his chiseled abs, feeling the deep ridges and subtly grinding on his hard cock.

“F-fuck, sweets. Like what you see?”

“Very.”

Oh, maybe you shouldn’t have done that.

Because suddenly, you’re very afraid of what will happen next.

Maybe your legs would cease to work.

Maybe your voice would refuse to come out.

Maybe his cock would be wrung dry.

And maybe you’d like that.

Leon groaned in response, hauling you up with one arm while his other arm busied itself gripping the back of your scalp, under your soft hair, pulling you closer as his tongue bullied yours yet again. Your arms flew to his neck, inching yourself even closer as you felt him move—walking to what you would assume to be your bedroom.

Plopping you down on your bed, you bounced twice—twice too long for Leon, apparently, as he found himself in between your thighs, rip, rip, ripping your clothes to shreds. His hand found purchase in your bra, swiftly unhooking it with a snap. It would’ve been impressive if not for his tongue immediately lapping your pebbled nipple, calloused hand playing and massaging the other one.

“Fuck, baby,” he panted, sucking lazy kisses that would for sure bruise. “Y’taste too sweet. Shit, you really are my sweets.” Then, you felt a hazy, sharp pain, looking down to see a bite mark right before your areola—all red and new as he stares at you with hooded eyes. Cerulean eyes that seemed to deepen with each passing second, pupils all blown out and dilated as if you were the only drug he’s willing to indulge in.

Then, he switched to your other nipple, slobbering and giving it the same attention as the other one. Little zigzags as his tongue traced your areola to your hardened nipple. Fuck, it was a mess of spit and bites as he sucked wet kisses down your stomach, fiddling the strings of your sleep shorts and tugging them down with the patience of a saint—well, if the saint was being chased by a rather aggressive wolf in a two-by-two world build.

“Fuckin’ look amazing, gorgeous.” Leon huffed, kissing the side seams of your panties and lifting your thigh, placing it on his broad shoulder, his face lightly pressing your inner thighs as he scattered wet kisses—his light stubble scratching you involuntarily, arching your back with light whines.

His warm puffs of breath tickled you, moaning as your fingers travel to his scalp. “S-stop teasing m—” You stuttered, before a sharp whine catches on the back of your throat.

Fuck, it was hot. His warm tongue lapped the gusset of your drenched panties, tasting you just from the fabric. Desperate licks as he sucked, blunt nails digging through your thighs as your arousal seeps through the ruined cloth. Then, his lips found purchase on your clothed (almost transparent) clit, sucking and sucking with the scratchy—wet—fabric adding the stupefying sensations.

The room was filled with your ah-ah-ah!’s while Leon was having the time of his life in between your legs. It wasn’t until you heard a small rip-rip-rip until ypu realized that oh! you’re fucked.

Leon groaned, immediately devouring your fucking pussy. “Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart. Y’ve been keeping t’is from me?” He slurred, tracing your folds with his tongue, fucking you with zigzags that ranged from lazy to vigorous spurts of energy. He eats you out like he was starved and you were the only meal he needed to survive. He flicked his tongue on your clit, swirlin’ and sucking, then going back to your drippy hole where he collects your sweet fuckin’ sap. “Shit—haah—so fuckin’ wet for me—juuuust for me, sweets?”

“C’mon, baby. Gimme more, yeah? Fuuuuuck, y’can gimme more.” Leon rasped, greedily sucking your twitchy, engorged clit, then switching to tongue-fuck your drippy hole, curling and stroking your stretchy walls. While you? You were (s)creaming, throat scratchy with strings of curses, with drool collecting on the corner of your lips—precisely why you barely registered his thick finger entering you, stretching your poor pussy out while his tongue continued to abuse your poor clit. “P-please.”

The burn was insane—insanely fucking delicious, your head was swarming with dizzying pleasure. “F—s-shit, m-more—mhmn—a-aah!” You don't even remember what you were doing, barely even remembering your name. All you could think about was Leon, Leon, Leon.

You felt another finger, scissoring, curling inside your gummy walls. Reaching into the depths of your spongy weakness—making you scream, thrashing into his hold to the point that he has no choice but to wrap his strong arm around your abdomen to halt your involuntary actions.

And then another.

Three fingers, knuckles deep, assaulting your insides—hammering into your fucking g-spot, while his tongue continues to suck the living soul out of your poor hypersensitive nub.

“S-shit, ‘m close—fuuuuuck—‘m close!” You rasped, tugging Leon’s soft locks as your body convulsed—unravelling, coming undone. Eyes rolling back to the back of your skull until all you could see was white, and the coil on your abdomen violently snapping as liquids flew like a damn waterfall.

And Leon? Yeah, he wasn’t done. Still lapping your juices as you spill it all out. Even after your high was released, his mouth was still moving, still making out with your oversensitive pussy, still greedily sucking your juices, even if you tried to pull away, running from his strong embrace. God, no. He just pulls you back even closer, burying his nose in your clit while his tongue circles your hole.

He’s determined to fuck your brains out so good, you’d stop thinking of pointless possibilities that would never fucking happen as long as he’s alive. Why would he think about other women when he’s got you splayed out for him like a fucking five-course meal, just his for taking? Why would he think about the irrelevant fucking future when his past and present were spent with you? All you, baby. All fucking you.

“Oh, fuck—Leon—!!”

Did he say that out loud? Because by the look of it, he did. Your glassy, heart eyes say it so.

“Like that, sweets? That I’m aaaaaall yours? Yeah?” Leon grunts, standing up so he could hover over you, kissing you, all spit, come, and tongue. His tongue—god, his tongue, you love his fucking tongue—coiled around yours. Fucking your mouth while his hand unbuckled his belt, tugging off his pants in a swift motion. You caught sight of his drenched boxers, spurts of wetness visible through the grey fabric. It made you whine on his mouth, eyes fluttering shut as you basked in the sensation.

“Bet you fuckin’ loved that, didn’t you, sweetheart? Loved the fact that I came untouched by eating you out, mhm?” He whispered on your lips, slightly pulling away as his lips reattached to your neck, sucking and kissing deep reds and purples once more. “Didn't even need to grind, fuck, y’r cunt’s allll I need, baby. Drives me fuckin’ insane.”

Just as quickly, you felt something hard and hot pulsing on your fluttering cunt. Blinking—willing your eyes to open, you saw his massive cock—long, pretty, veiny and fucking girthy as you swallowed dry. Shivers traveled down your spine, suddenly very fuckin’ afraid if it’ll even fit.

Leon chuckled, as if sensing your hesitation. His hand moved to cup your cheek while his other traced circles in your hips, grounding you. “It’ll fit, baby. I’ll make it fit.” His tone was soft, his thumb caressing your cheek as he wills you to look at his eyes—but damn, his words were nasty. “Gonna make sure y’r head’s full of my cock, my pretty baby. Y’like that?”

See, you would’ve responded. All sweet and high-pitchy. Instead, moans were the only thing that left your lips when you felt his cock nudge your outer lips, teasing your cunt as you felt Leon spreading your legs further, bullying your cunt until his tip finally fuckin’ entered your stretchy hole.

“F-fuhck! Mhmnn—!!” You stuttered, already feelin’ fucking full. Still too hypersensitive from your earlier release. “S’jus the t-tip?”

It made Leon puff out a breathy chuckle, moving his hips little by little, small thrusts to fit snugly inside you. “Y-yeah, baby. Still jus’ the tip. ‘m sure y’can fit more inches here, yeah?” He drawled out, his fingers tracing to what he would assume to be where his dick would fit. “J-jus’ tell me if y’need a break, ‘kay?”

Then he thrusts, parting your gummy walls, impaling you with his thick, veiny cock fully. And you did nothing but take it, enjoying every second of being fucked dumb by Leon and hearing his damn cute whines. He wasn't afraid to be vocal, oh god no. He was loud. Groaning with each mean thrust on your cunt—whining as he repeatedly pounds your g-spot, making you drool on your sheets.

“Y-yeah? L-like that, baby? Oh fuuck—” Cutting himself off with a groan, he felt you clench—squeezing his damn cock so tight, he had to will himself not to cum that fast. “Sweet girl, you're—ngh—y’r fuckin’ suffocatin’ me.”

You did nothin’ but whimper, and he did nothin’ but take you to pound town.

Leon’s stamina was more than fucking impressive; his unrelenting thrusts were constant and damn consistent, roughly loving and disrespecting you all at the same time. You felt stuffed to the brim with his thick shaft, his calloused thumb traveling to rub mean circles on your clit as you moaned for mercy. The repeated plap-plap-plap of his skin slapping yours was nasty, and his erratic ministrations of your body felt like heaven. You think you could stay like this forever.

“Yeah, b-baby? Fuuuuuuckin’ think you could stay like t’is for—nghh!—forever?” He groaned at the shell of your ear, darting his tongue to flick at the sensitive lobe. “Think ‘m doin’ somethin’ wrong, y’shouldn’t be thinkin’ at alllll.” He croons, tone deep and mocking, manhandling your thighs, folding you in half.

“Wha—Lee!! Oh fuck, Leoooooon—!!” All you could do was squeak, your voice going an octave higher—something you didn’t even know you were capable of, as he jackhammers into your cunt. Fucking you senseless and so utterly stupid, abusing your spongy g-spot with precise thrusts. And you could only retaliate by fucking up his back, scratching while your back gives out.

You swore you heard him whimper in delight.

Your five senses consist of staring at Leon’s fucked out face, smelling Leon’s heady scent, tasting your cum and Leon’s saliva still on your lips, hearing Leon’s sharp grunts and gasps—occasionally his small whimpers as he hits a rather deep spot, and—fuck—feeling Leon’s thick cock spearheading your tight cunt, feeling him twitch as his veins tickled your insides.

Yeah, you won’t be walking, alright.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

LEON S. KENNEDY IS ALL OF THOSE THINGS, BUT MAYBE THERE MIGHT BE EXCEPTIONS (YOU).

“Fuck you, Kennedy. Fuckyoufuckyoufuckyou!” You groaned, the feeling of your legs still not returning after a day and a half of full bed rest.

The person charged guilty was found chuckling, eating ice cream, and faaaaaar away from where your wrath could grasp him in the neck (he’d like that). “Ouch, babe. Kennedy? Seriously? Who’s that?”

Aaaaaand then ducking, as if he could already feel the pillow heading toward his head without directly looking at it.

“Fuck you and your stupid fucking stamina and your stupid fucking words—ugh! I am never sleeping with you ever again!”

“You kiss your boyfie with that potty mouth?” He whistled, “Damn.”

“Oh, you dick!” You threw him your plushy, the same thing he gave a few years ago—all purpley and stupid. Cute, but stupid.

“Nine inches, baby. And a grower—hey! Not my child.” Leon pouted, catching the plushy with both hands, then patting in the head as if it truly had feelings.

“Fuckin’ suffocate!”

“In those thighs? Bet.”

“Asshole—!!”

“We could try that, too.”

“Urgh!” You threw your hands up, huffing, as you slumped back in your (thank god wasn’t broken) bed.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. 　　　.   　　˚　✭　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　　✭　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　 ✦

imsorryimsorryimsorryiwantmore holy fuck i don't know what i wrote and in my defense, my hands started typing shit before i even realized what i was doing okay okay. (did u enjoy it tho? teehee) rbs and comms are greatly appreciated! i work well with praise wink wink wink

His only saving grace is you, another agent who he works with on his rare duo missions. You’re just about the only other single person in the entirety of the DSO—that’s what it feels like. Sometimes, you two will sit at events and roll your eyes at people showing off their partners. Then an awkward silence after of a silent agreement ‘cause you both know you’re just envious.

“Do you think we can call in sick?” Leon sighs as you both sit in your hotel room before you have to leave for an event. This ceremony thingy-bullshit is a bigger, more nationwide one that your boss sent you both to. One room, but two beds, at least. Cheapskates knew you didn’t have significant others and didn’t bother with privacy.

“I mean, prolly… but we lowkey might get flamed,” you reply. He leans against the doorway of the bathroom as he watches you do your makeup. The pretty, long dress you have on is a far cry from the tactical gear he usually pairs you with. Both looks are hot as hell, he definitely can’t deny that. He’ll just tuck that secret in his pocket for now.

“Well, hurry up. Maybe we can show up and leave as quick as possible,” he says as he checks his watch and pretends as if he didn’t just try to check you out. Not that it would be the first time.

Extremely unfortunately, you make it to the event, dreading every click of your heels against the marbled floors as you step inside. This one’s clearly expensive and fancy—that’s worse. The bar quickly becomes Leon’s victim. He lets you know he’ll get you a drink while you find them a spot at a table with an easy escape.

Well, he didn’t really expect to come back and find some guy hitting on you. He’s more curious than annoyed, but it’s there. This guy has the audacity to hit on a girl like you?

“Really? They flew you all the way out here, huh? So you’re pretty special,” this idiot smirks, thinking his blinding white teeth are gonna win you over. Leon can tell you’re irritated.

“Sure, you could say that,” you reply with pursed lips and your best disinterested voice. Your gaze shifts briefly to Leon standing behind him who looks amused. You’re only taking note of your drink that he’s holding.

“Well, special lady, would you maybe like to go to dinner with me somewhere more… private?” He lowers his tone leaning in a little, thinking he’s smooth as hell.

“Uh… no, y’know my schedule’s kinda full…” you shake your head, using that very obvious rejection tone. If he hasn’t taken the hint already, he has to take it now, right?

“Okay, no date. Maybe just uh… a night together?”

Nope. You were stupid to think a man would ever take a hint.

His tone makes it obvious what he’s asking, he wants his head under your dress. He says it like he knows you’ll say yes.

“Oh, I’m celibate, actually,” you smile tersely. He gives you a look as if he doesn’t believe you.

“Really? A pretty girl like you isn’t interested in sex?” He raises an eyebrow, taking a step closer as if that’s gonna fix your supposed virginity. “I find that hard to believe, sweetheart.”

“Ah, too bad. Really sucks when not every living female wants to fuck you, huh?” You can’t help but mock, returning the raised brow. “Afraid it’s just gonna be you and your fist tonight.”

He scoffs, trying not to look as offended as he clearly feels. He finally seems to take the hint. “God, some special lady you are,” he grumbles, pushing off the chair he was leaning on and giving you a look before disappearing.

“Celibate? Really?” Leon chuckles when he finally gets to talk to you again, holding out a glass of wine for you. He knows first hand that you're just about the opposite of celibate. You’ve been out drinking together multiple times… one thing leads to another.

“Just a white lie, cant hurt,” you shrug with equal amusement. You finally sit down at your carefully scouted table right next to the exit for a quick, uninterrupted escape.

The rest of the night is as boring as you expected, but a couple more glasses of wine gets you through it. The millisecond you receive your awards—some bullshit that you don’t even think needs to be awarded—you and Leon are out of there. You’ve never been more happy to see your hotel room.

Taking your time undressing and relaxing for a while, eventually you turn in for sleep. You’re even wearing your cute silky set, all curled up under the sheets. And clutching them tightly. It’s literally freezing.

“Mmh, Leon…” you mumble, trying desperately to warm yourself up. You look over your shoulder at his bare back turned to you on the other side of the room. When did he take his shirt off? “Are you awake?”

After hearing a quiet grunt, you continue. “Are you cold? I’m freezing.”

“No. ‘S hot as hell,” he grumbles. He waits for you to say something else, and just as he’s about to offer you all his sheets, he hears shuffling from your bed. A moment later, he feels the mattress dip behind him and turns over to see you kneeling on the bed and inviting yourself in.

“Y’don’t mind if we cuddle?” You murmur, slipping under the covers. He swallows as he sees your cute pajamas with the lace and he can already tell this isn’t gonna end with just cuddling. He wordlessly opens his arms up for you, wrapping them around you when you make yourself the little spoon.

He makes sure the sheets are pulled up over your shoulders, rubbing your arms and thighs underneath to try to warm you up. “Still cold?”

Well, not really. You're very hot now, actually, but you nod your head, mumbling yes.

“Want me to warm you up another way?” Leon offers, his voice quiet and rough in that way that sends a shiver down your spine. He rubs his nose against your neck, fingers brushing up under your shirt. How are you supposed to resist?

“Yeah,” you nod against the pillow, squirming slightly as he rubs your side—ticklish little thing. You help shift your legs as he pushes your shorts and panties down.

“There you go. I got you,” he murmurs, sliding his hand back up the inside of your thigh. He kisses the side of your neck as his fingers part your soft curls to get to your pussy. You can feel him smirk against your skin when he feels how wet you are.

“Doesn’t feel very cold to me,” his warm digits spread your slick around, finding your clit with ease and gently circling it with his middle finger. You whine quietly, hands grabbing his forearm that’s around your waist.

You’re snug but not tight around his fingers, easily dipping them in your wet cunt and spreading you open. He shifts, almost draping himself over you to “keep you warm” as he fingers your needy little pussy and gets you nice and ready for him.

“Oh, Leon, right there,” you whisper into the pillow as he makes sure the heel of his hand is rubbing against your clit as he adds a third finger. Your hips lightly rock against his palm, your brows pulled into that soft crease that makes you look fucking adorable.

“Look at you, going around telling people you’re abstinent and yet you’re crawling into my arms,” Leon teases gently, curling his fingers in a slow, languid way that makes your spine straighten and your breath catch.

Just as you’re mumbling about getting close and about to cum, he takes his hand away with a kiss to your shoulder beside the strap of your top. You whine, but he turns you around in his arms with one of those dumb smirks.

“C’mon, girly, you’re on top tonight. Show me how celibate you claim you are, hm?” He taunts, bringing you with him as he rolls into his back, big hands on your soft hips.

“Ugh, how did I let you talk me into this? Didn’t we say we’d stop after last time?” You complain as you settle your hands on his bare chest, your naked hips lazily grinding against the tent in his pajama pants.

“We both know we can’t stop. ‘Sides, I barely talked to you, just tried to warm you up,” he grunts as you start dry humping him, rough hands sliding down your scarred thighs. Rubs his thumbs over the small, raised lines before giving you a light slap on the ass.

“Get going, princess. You’re slow,” he says with fake impatience, staring up at you with that cheesy smirk. You roll your eyes but start to pull down his sweats and boxers anyway.

Your hips shift restlessly with need as you grip his hard cock, giving it a couple light strokes before positioning yourself above him. With your eyes on your movements, you hold him still as you slowly sink down on him with a low, gravelly moan.

“Mmh—fuck, there you go. Hug me so nice,” he sighs with a grunt of your name as he watches you. You sit there on his cock, looking up at him expectantly. This is usually the part where he takes over again and holds you hips while he thrusts up into you.

He simply returns the look. Asshole. What happened to chivalry?

You sigh dramatically, your knees on either side of his waist as you find leverage with your hands behind you on his hard, strong thighs. You don’t usually do this part.

You suck in a breath, lifting yourself up a bit, and then back down with a soft moan. Up and down, up and down, grinding softly against him and keeping eye contact.

But it’s just not the same! Even as you keep up a nice rhythm, your soft moans getting louder and your grip getting tighter, he’s not deep enough. Not hitting the spots he usually gets.

“Leon, c’mon… it’s better when you do it,” you sigh as your hands come back to the front, tracing his abs as you do your damn best riding his cock. He simply stares, amused as his hands rub up and down your thighs.

“…Leon,” you say more firmly this time, hoping you can chastise him into fucking you. It doesn’t work, and you’re getting impatient. You groan dramatically, circling your hips as you lock your eyes on his. “Leon, just fuck me already! Fuck me hard!”

He can’t help but laugh. It gets him going to see you all frustrated, as much as he hates it when you’re anything but happy. Anyway, who’s he to deny you? His hands slides up to your hips, pausing to grope your ass before firmly planting themselves above your thighs.

“Careful what you wish for,” he murmurs before lifting you up and then pulling you back down to meet his thrust. A moan slips from both of you this time as your fingers dig into his bare chest.

“Mmh, fuck yeah Leon,” you groan, leaning back so you can see his face a bit better. Not for long, ‘cause then he pounds into you hard enough to pull out a high-pitched whine and make you throw your head back with pleasure,

“God, fuckin’ love that, don’t you? You can’t even ride me properly. Always need my help,” he grunts as his hips jump to meet yours every single time. He always scolds you in that sickly sweet voice that has your pussy dripping.

“Oh—mph! Right there—yeah, nail my shit, just like that,” you say breathlessly, your head dropping to his chest as one of your hands snakes beneath you to find your clit. A half moan-half growl slips from your lips as your back arches deliciously, teetering right on the edge.

“Jesus, cumming already? Needed it bad, did you?” He murmurs as he trails gentle, contradicting kisses compared to his rough thrusts against your shoulder. “Come on, sweetheart. Cum on my cock.”

It’s hard to hear his words over the squeaking of the bed and your own moans. Almost forgot you were in a hotel—no, you definitely did forget. That’s not what’s crossing your mind right now, though. You’re too busy crossing the finish line. Moaning his name, your fingers still on your clit as i grinds up into you to help you ride it out.

“That’s it, girly. Good girl,” Leon mumbles in your ears, rolling your hips against his pelvis. Once he’s decided you've had enough rest, he gently manhandles you onto your back, quickly pushing your legs up and squishing your knees against your tits as he gets right back to work.

His hands grip the backs of your thighs, his fingertips denting into the plush skin as he pounds into your pussy. His voice leaves him in harsh grunts and satisfied groans, his gaze fixed on his cock coming in and out of your soft cunt.

“Y-Y’know… how much it pissed me off… when that guy was flirting with you?” Leon grunts through gritted teeth, almost like he was trying to keep it back.

“Fuck… yeah?” You question through your sex haze. You guys don’t really talk about other people, or your feelings. Especially not towards each other. So to have him essentially admit that he’s jealous.

“Yeah, princess. Couldn’t believe he thought he had a chance with… you,” his words come out a little slurred—he always talks too much when he gets close. You whine softly, the jealousy woven in his voice making your insides quiver.

His hands grip tighter on your thighs, not enough to bruise but definitely no less than firm. He leans over you a bit, putting a little more of his weight on top of you as he fucks you harder. He barely manages to remember he didn’t use a condom, whining pathetically as he uses all the forces of his self restraint to pull out.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck…” he whispers under his breath, one big hand pushing your thighs together as he strokes himself with the other. You make sure you’ve got a front row seat to see his brows furrowed and your name falling helplessly from his lips.

Leon moans your name, his head falling back as he finally pours his hot, sticky cum all over the backs of your thighs. Rope after rope lands on the soft flesh, making him moan a little more as he squeezes as much as he can out of the tip. You look so pretty like that, he’d take a picture if he knew you wouldn’t kill him.

“Oh god… so perfect, sweetie. Did so well,” he mumbles lazily stroking himself a little longer before letting go. He smears a bit of jizz across your skin before bringing his thumb up to your mouth, letting you lick it off.

It takes a moment to recover with his thighs feeling like they’re on fire, but eventually he pats your hip and gets up. He finds a small towel in the bathroom and runs it under warm water to come clean you up. Once you have everything you need, he puts your panties back on and double checks that you're nice and cozy as his little spoon after a very abstinent night.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The light wakes you up in the morning, streaming in through the thin curtains. You grumble, waking up and shaking Leon’s shoulder awake soon after. He kisses you and says thanks for last night, before the two of you return to your “normal friendly mission partners” routine.

Just as Leon closes the door behind you, about to head out to go home, you glance over at the sound of the persom in the next room over leaving as well.

The last thing you expected was to lock eyes with the man who tried to hit on you at the event, looking tired as hell, as if he didn’t get any sleep.

“…you didn’t sound very celibate to me.”

a/n: hi hope u enjoyed!! any notes always super duper appreciated 🙌

Just as if something had reached into your head and ripped you out of your thoughts, Leon, who you completely forgot was with you, suddenly grabbed your shoulder and shoved you hard toward the wall. Your back slammed against the cold concrete beside you with a loud thud, knocking the breath from your lungs, the pain ran through your body making you hiss loudly. "Are you—"

But your words: were suddenly cut off by a gunshot that echoed through the building from Leon's gun, and smoke curled outside of it and dispersed in the air.

And the mutant that had been seconds away from sinking its teeth into your neck collapsed at your feet with a guttural groan, its body hitting the concrete with a sickening thud.

Fuck you didnt even notice. If Leon wasn't here you would have died. No shit.

You flinched and before you could even process what had happened, Leon crossed the distance between you and him , and finally stopped directly in front of you, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. "What the hell is wrong with you today?" he snapped at you, his gaze fixed on yours.

Instead of getting angry at him or his tone, your body betrayed you immediately, and you swallow before lowering your gaze, and feel a sudden shiver racing down your spine as the realization struck you finally that he was standing entirely too close. Finally when you lifted your head and met his darkened blue eyes, you felt something very close to worry in it. "Why aren't you paying attention today?" He pressed.

You opened your mouth, still slightly breathless from the impact of the wall hitting you. "Sorry—"

"Sorry?" Leon cuts in sharply, and he runs a hair through his hair, “I don't think sorry–.” Before he could continue, a movement flashed from the corner of his eye.

Then a mutant appeared, honestly? They were bad at reading the room; even if you said it you knew it was quite an understatement.

A second later another mutant burst from a nearby room. But this time Leon didn't even turn towards it, he just raised his gun and shot a bullet straight to his head, the mutant dropped instantly before even getting closer to you and Leon's eyes didn't waver from yours and he frowned slightly. "You've almost been grabbed three times in the last twenty minutes."

You narrowed your eyes at him, god you were angry at him, furious even; but fuck.. how was he so clueless? frustrated with yourself and your own thoughts and a little bit with him, with everything, you shoved him hard in the chest.

Leon instantly staggered back a step, stumbling over his own feet, but he didn't fall: he just steadied himself before he could fall and for a second he just looked at you, with those beautiful intense eyes and unreadable expression that you knew better than anyone, which meant ‘why are you not listening to me’, but god you could not reply anyway.

Then he sighed heavily, clenching his jaw, his eyes dropping just for a second towards your lips, but he quickly shook his head and lifted his gaze and stared at you again, slowly he opened his mouth, and closed it again.

Because what else was he supposed to say?

He didn't know.

And now you looking at him, you felt the truth you'd been trying so desperately to bury claw its way back to the surface, digging up the grave you'd carefully made for it instead.

Because he was right.

You hadn't been focused on the mission, or anything else for that matter. The only thing occupying your mind was him. The need to tell him had been sitting in your chest for so long that it had become impossible to ignore. But now, with everything laid bare between you, your thoughts felt hopelessly tangled together, knotted so tightly that you couldn't make sense of any of them anymore.

Leon took a deep breath and stepped closer to you again, stopping only a few inches away from you, “are you listening to me?” He asked, and you shook your head dropping your head in defeat, and he pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation, "are you okay?." He asked softly.

When you met his gaze, there was genuine worry written in it, but what cracked your heart was, the useless thought: that he did worry for you, but as your partner, and not the way you wanted him to, "I'm fine," you said quietly.

But something else popped in your mind, a useless thought, like another tab opening in the browser of your mind, without you even clicking on it, because you knew you can't just give up: without even telling him, you thought to yourself, and told yourself, today is the day, so stop being pathetic and tell him.

Leon immediately looked unconvinced, as if he could hear your thoughts that were ruining your life, but the thought that he could hear it, made your stomach drop to the floor you were standing on, because if he could hear you right now, that would be scary.

But again you knew it was more like he could not believe a single word that came out of your mouth. "You don't look fine." Then he guides his hand, resting it above your head, before ruffling your hair, “Tell me, please.”

God, for a moment, his hands on you felt like they were pressing a gentle warmth straight into your system, spreading through you with every second he held on. Looking at him, you couldn't stop the thought that surfaced, that it was supposed to be now. This was the moment. You could say everything, you held inside. He was standing right in front of you, and for the first time, it felt like he was giving you the chance to finally do it.

You could say millions of things including your feelings, him, what you felt.

Even if words run out, he would understand it. You knew he would.

Tell him. Tell him. Tell him.

Your brain replayed that thought over and over again making you swallow hard and you nod more to yourself than to him, he looked at you intently as if you were explaining the way of world peace, “there is something..” you trailed off mid sentence, because damn it, how do you even start with this stuff.

“Take your time.”, Leon said before removing his hands from your hairs and resting it inside his pocket, but his gaze remained on yours as if he could only head you if he had focus like that, or maybe what you were going to say was the most important thing.

The moment he removed his hands from your hairs, you felt disappointment run through your chest and you finally curl your fingers into a fist and open your mouth to let the confession fall from your throat. “I-I–”

Just then, as if fate decided to intervene in the midst of your confession, it was cut off before you could even get your words out.

"Did I interrupt something?" The familiar seductive voice drifted through the air before you could even complete your sentence.

It was the voice of a woman you knew way too well.

.

.

You closed your eyes briefly.

Because there it was, another reason, beside your cowardiceness, that your confession never made it out of your head. Here stood another reason in flesh.

Because when she existed that beautifully how could you let your feelings be known?

When you turned toward the sound, she was already there, standing only a few feet away from you and Leon.

Ada Wong.

She looked inhumanely beautiful, short hairs, perfectly dressed, her red dress clinging to her figure, while her features complemented her face far more beautifully.

For a moment, a sharp blade of jealousy twisted deep in your gut. It was a feeling you'd kept buried beneath your heart for so long, but now it surged to the surface all at once. And despite yourself, your eyes immediately drifted to Leon.

The change in his frame was instant. His entire body went rigid, and he rolled his shoulder before closing his eyes for a second after seeing her, and his breath turned uneven just at her presence, as you see it happen in real time, tears involuntarily started forming in your eyes, and right now as you see it happening all you wanted to do was run away.

Because fuck the confession.

Fuck Leon Scott kennedy.

Maybe it was unfair, but you were tired of seeing this happening every damn time.

His jaw clenched so tightly you swore you could hear his molars cracking. Your chest twisted painfully inside you, because of that very expression he made, after all it was the same one he always wore whenever Ada appeared. Like a dog finally seeing the person who kept abandoning it.

"There we go," you muttered under your breath too quietly, that you were not even sure that you even said it.

To your surprise, Leon immediately turned away from Ada and looked toward you instead, his body relaxing the minute his gaze landed on you, "Let's go, we will finish this conversation later."

You stared at him, confused, your tears fading as your mind struggled to grasp his sudden change. Yet, you could practically feel every nerve in Leon's body reacting to Ada's presence, and still he didn't chase her, nor did he talk to her.

It somehow felt strange.

Because Leon wanted Ada, didn't he?

And before either of you could move from your place, Ada laughed softly and began walking toward the two of you. "Always so warm, Leon."

"What do you want?" Leon asked flatly, before finally turning to her, meeting his gaze, but as he looked at her, there was only coldness remained in his eyes.

.

And it was something he never thought was possible, yet it had happened. He had become cold toward Ada. Not cruel, not hateful, just distant in a way he had never managed before.

Because for years, she'd occupied a complicated place in his life, one he never quite knew how to let go of.

He also knew she cared, of course she did, but never enough to stay, never enough to choose him, and as time passed Leon had buried that truth beneath old memories and unfinished feelings.

Maybe it started years ago after he saved Ashley and Ada appeared again, reopening wounds that never truly healed.

But now it was different. Everything changed when you showed up in his life. At first, Leon tried to keep it professional between you and him. Because he felt something very first day he saw you: but he told himself it was familiarity, attachment issues, loneliness, anything except what it actually was.

He convinced himself he didn't want more, didn't need more.

But God, did he fall. He absolutely did, harder than he could ever admit. Because how could he not? After seeing you smile, after you made his days lighter by just existing beside him.

You made him feel like he needed to be a better person. But he could not let half-attachment take away his life. So he tried to move on.

He did, but could not.

So instead he tried something else, for the first time in his life, to finally confess his feelings, more than once, but the chances were never in his favour.

And he could not do that either.

And a part of him had never truly believed you wanted him that way. Not until today at least, because you had been acting stranger than usual from the moment the mission started, and he thought maybe just maybe you were going to tell him about your feelings? Maybe you were not.

Because even that paled in comparison to what had really been haunting him. You had nearly gotten yourself killed more times than he could count today, and that had terrified Leon far more than anything else.

Usually you took these missions more seriously than him, and today you were distracted, and a small voice in the back of his head told him that it was because of him.

But he could not believe it. Because you never said it out-right to him, that you had feelings, and he never saw it either.

But again neither did he: showed his feelings to you.

But maybe, in his mind, just maybe, it was that. That you loved him. The same way he loved you too.

Leon shook his head sharply to shake off the thoughts that were trying to take over his entire nervous system.

Because he was absolutely wrong. He knew that, deep in the logical mind of his.

So, he decided he would tell you everything another time.

Not knowing: today had to be the day for it.

.

Which is something you both didn't know, at least not yet.

.

Ada chuckles and places a hand dramatically against her chest. "Ouch."

"What do you want, Ada?" Leon said and this time his tone was even sharper.

Ada's smile widened as her shoulder relaxed, finally seeing Leon finally looking at her. "Information."

Leon immediately pinched the bridge of his nose at her comment and his eyebrows furrowed in obvious irritation. "We don't know anything, yet."

Ada tilted her head, looking at Leon and her gaze for a second drifted to yours and something close to amusement touched her lips, "So, you are searching for it here?"

“Yes, we are,” Leon said coolly, “but we don't have time to waste, so let's go our separate ways. Like we always do.” This time, he didn't wait for Ada's response. Instead, he gently took hold of your wrist, his fingers wrapping around it with surprising care, and instantly warmth bloomed inside your chest, spreading through you in a way that felt both unfamiliar and impossible to ignore.

“Maybe I can help you?” Ada offered, her lips curving into a smile as she looked at Leon. Then her gaze dropped to where his hand was still wrapped around your wrist. For the briefest moment, something sharp flickered across her face, her jaw tightening before she smoothed it away and looked back at you.

“No need,” Leon said immediately, already trying to guide you away.

But your feet refused to move, and you yank your wrist away from Leon's grasp, Leon's face falls as you do, but you were so focused on Ada: to notice how Leon reacted to that, “How?” you asked instead, keeping your eyes on her.

“Interesting,” Ada murmured softly.

Before she could say anything else, Leon cut in. “We are not taking her help.” and his tone left no room for argument.

Ada sighed dramatically. “Leon, even your partner seems willing to trust me.” She tilted her head slightly. “Don't make me look bad. And don't act like I've never helped you before.”

Your eyes narrowed at her. “What's in it for you?”

For a second, Ada's gaze sharpened, calculating, like always, “Oh, let's just say it's for Leon's sake. Old times' sake.”

For Leon. Of course it was for him, and their old times.

Which you hated completely. Your stomach churned as jealousy reared its ugly head once more, and you scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief.

Because every instinct told you to refuse, to leave Ada behind and continue on your own. But you were exhausted by everything, him, roaming endlessly in this building, and if Ada knew something that could get you out faster, then maybe it was worth the risk. “Fine,” you said at last. “Help us, then.”

The moment the words left your mouth, Leon's hand landed on your shoulder, turning you toward him. “What are you doing?” he asked sharply. You met his blue eyes without backing down.

“Let her help us.” you replied.

He shakes his head clearly not entertained, “That's crazy, you know that.”

“She knows something.” you pressed, your eyes pleading as they drowned itself into Leon's gaze.

“I don't care.” Leon said before loosening his grip on your shoulder and crossing his hands in front of himself.

You sighed at him and lowered your voice. “Leon, she's here anyway. We might as well make her useful.”

His jaw ticked immediately. The look he gave you made it obvious he hated every second of this.

Meanwhile, Ada looked entirely too pleased with herself. “See?” she said lightly. “Your partner is the reasonable one.”

Leon shot her a glare sharp enough to cut through steel, “Don't push your luck, ada.”

Ada only smiled at his response.

.

.

The next thing you knew, the three of you were moving deeper into the facility, following Ada's lead through dim corridors and flickering lights.

As you three kept walking you noticed something peculiar—Leon didn't leave your side, not once, he stayed in between you and Ada, though, somehow, he was guiding you by placing his hand firmly against your lower back, which made your chest tightened, because perhaps he was doing it unconsciously, but honestly? things like this, only made it harder to not love him, and your chest swelled with same emotions you were dealing for months.

The next twenty minutes passed surprisingly smoothly, all thanks to Ada, because now you finally managed to reach the first floor of the facility.

Ada led the way deeper into the first floor room, until she stopped in front of what looked like an ordinary wall, and you both followed behind her. A few seconds later, ada pressed some hidden buttons in it and a door slid open with a mechanical hiss. "Voila", Ada said triumphantly.

Your eyes widened in shock, “wow.”

“Don't know if we are dealing with zombies or spies.” Leon said, rolling his shoulders, his comment makes you relax entirely and you chuckle softly.

God, he is such a stupid man.

But getting back to the situation at hand: now it all made sense. Why neither you nor Leon had been able to find the door before.

Because it was deeply hidden. The room though, looked like a forgotten archive buried beneath years of secrets, there were countless Umbrella files and classified documents filling the space, the shelves stood overturned, papers littered the floor, and old computer monitors remained completely dark into the dimly lit room. The air here smelled different, it was of dust and old papers and mold taking place in this room. But at least it was better.

Relief settled immediately in your chest. And without wasting another second, you hurried toward the nearest desk and began rummaging through stacks of folders.

Leon moved beside you, searching through another pile of documents.

For a moment, you almost forgot Ada was even there. Then a soft cough echoed through the room, as she made her presence known.

You and Leon looked up at once.

Ada stood across from you holding a file, and then she stepped towards you slowly, "This one," she said.

You frowned a little at it, "How do you know?"

Ada merely rolled her eyes. "Just take it."

Before you could question her further, she pressed the file into your hands. Your heart immediately picked up speed, as you clutched and curled your fingers around it.

“Open it.” She said, raising her brow.

You nodded and looked down before flipping the cover open and turned through the pages, your eyes popped largely as if bulging itself to come out of your skull, because the file had exactly what you were looking for, "We got it," you breathed, to yourself.

"We do." Leon's voice came from beside you. Then he stepped closer to you and glanced down at the documents over your shoulder.

His arm brushed yours as he leaned in, and despite everything, your heart betrayed you, beating at frantic speed.

You didn't dare move or breathe, and somehow at that moment everything around you faded in a blur but as the warmth of him settled beside you so naturally it made your chest ache.

Then Leon stepped away instantly and the space beside you instantly felt colder. "I'll see if there's anything else," he called, already moving toward a row of drawers against the far wall.

You just nodded to yourself watching him briefly: before returning your attention to the file.

And once you were done, you slammed it shut you looked up from your file, and noticed Ada through the corner of your eye, that she drift toward Leon.

You wanted to interrupt whatever she wanted to say to Leon, to pull him away, or just tell him, you were done: and now you should go back the HQ but somehow nothing came out of your mouth, and maybe you just wanted to see how far it would go.

How far Leon would go with her.

Your eyes remained on them, as Ada soft chuckle echoed in the room, "Remember when you saved me before?"

Your fingers tightened around the file you were holding: at her words, because you know it all too well. You remember it as clearly as yesterday.

After all, you'd seen it happen with your own eyes. And just then a memory flashed through your mind: all of it happened in the split second before the explosion, Leon had instinctively thrown himself in front of Ada, shielding her with his own body as the blast engulfed them. The image is still burned into your head, whether you wanted to or not.

Your chest tightened painfully at that image, because all you could remember was Leon enveloping Ada in his body, and instead of caring for his own safety he made sure she was protected.

The memory ended and you took a deep breath, trying to calm your trembling body.

And that was Leon for you: always the hero, never caring what happened to him as long as everyone else, or Ada, was safe.

Maybe you were being unfair right now, but as soon as those thoughts appeared in your mind, everything started to hurt even more, and your eyes remained glued to them.

Leon scoffed at that, and barely glanced at her before replying, "Unfortunately."

Ada rolled her eyes at him. "You are quite charming, Leon."

“That's not what people usually accuse me of,” Leon replied dryly, already beginning to step away.

Then to your surprise Ada reached out and caught his hand, “I–” Ada starts.

And your stomach dropped immediately.

Oh, for fuck's sake. You cursed under your breath.

No way. She can't.

Leon looked just as surprised as you felt. His eyes flickered down to where her fingers rested against his hand before he pulled away almost instantly, like the contact had burnt him.

Before any of them could react or say anything, you clutched the file tighter to your chest and stepped forward, and quickly reached where Leon stood and conveniently, and--completely accidentally, you placed yourself directly between them.

Ada stepped back instantly, and her mouth twitched, because she knew why you did that, because after all she felt the same for him, but she didn't dare speak, so you took your chance, “Leon,” you said, a little too quickly, refusing to look at Leon, “I think we should go.” strange, your voice was calmer than you were feeling

Because internally? You were screaming at him. It was jealousy, you knew, embarrassing, and yet there it was anyway, twisting inside your chest as you refused to look at him.

Still. What Leon didn't know couldn't hurt him or you.

Right?

.

Before Leon could say anything, the floor beneath the three of you suddenly lurched.

A violent tremor ripped through the facility, making the entire structure groan around you, the metal screeched in the distance, and the concrete cracked beneath your feet, while the overhead lights above you flickered wildly.

For a split second, you thought the whole building was collapsing, until you realized it wasn't the facility moving. It was the floor you three were standing on. "Move!" Leon shouted.

You barely had time to register his voice before his hands hit your shoulders way too hard, and then he pushed with a force that sent you stumbling several feet away from him, your boots scraping violently against the concrete as you struggled to regain your balance.

Then the ground below Leon and ada were on disappeared in a second. And a massive section of the floor gave way beneath them, concrete shattering as the entire platform collapsed into the darkness below.

Your heart stopped, entirely, and you could feel it, instantly stop beating, your breath stuck into your throat, "LEON!" The scream tore from your vocal chords, a low guttural sound that could not bear losing him.

No.

No, no, no.

Not him.

Before you could even process what was happening, your body was already moving, instinct and adrenaline took over you completely. The same instinct that always did whenever Leon was involved.

So you ran straight to the collapse and without thinking you jumped on the floor below, as soon as you did, nothing mattered: then a second later pain exploded through your ankles then your legs, the moment you landed on the lower level, but you ignored it. Slowly dust filled the air, the debris rained around you.

But none of it mattered right now–because all you could see was Leon.

On the ground, breathing, alive.

Relief crashed into you so hard your knees nearly gave out.

Then your eyes lifted and the relief curdled instantly, into something ugly as you saw Ada above him, she was completely shielded by his body, his arms wrapped around her protectively, his back taking the impact of the fall, every inch of him positioned between her and the collapsing concrete.

But as far as you know Leon wasn't bleeding which was a relief.

But the sight struck something deep inside your chest, and you clenched your jaw tightly, as you saw them wrapped into each other for a few more seconds. Suddenly your stomached turned into weird knots, knowing that's what he does, he chooses Ada every damn time, he protected her.

Again.

Not caring if he could die, or get hurt.

Honestly? A part of you knew that Leon would've done that for anyone.

But jealousy didn't care about logic. And right now it felt like something sharp twisting directly between your ribs.

Leon groaned, making you pull out your thoughts, but nothing came out of your mouth, you even parted your lips trying to speak, but what remained on the tips of your tongue was, “you chose her” so instead you remained quiet.

Then immediately Leon seemed to realize the position he was in, and he soon pushed himself up with a loud wince and practically shoved Ada away from him.

Ada smirked at Leon, "You protected me again." She casually said as she straightened herself beside leon.

Leon ignored her entirely, his eyes instead drifting to you instead, as he limped slightly while walking towards you, "You okay?"

Why on earth was he so damn stupid?

He could have died. That thought kept repeating inside your head as you stared at him. Not the fall. Not the scratches covering his skin. Not the pain in your legs.

The only thought that remained was he could have died.

And somehow, after throwing himself into danger, after shielding Ada with his own body, after nearly giving you a heart attack, the first thing out of his mouth was asking if you were okay.

You just stared at him blankly. For a long moment, you couldn't find a single word to say. Because what were you supposed to tell him, anyways? That you were furious at him? That seeing him protect her had felt like someone driving a arrow straight through your chest? That you were terrified of losing him?

You should not be furious but emotions, ugly emotions never cared about that, did they?

And none of it mattered anymore anyhow, so instead you simply nodded.

Though a flicker of something unfamiliar crossed his face, before he could speak, another violent tremor shook the facility from top to bottom. "Wow, someone ask me if I'm okay too," Ada said dryly. You didn't even have to look at her to know there was a smug smile tugging at her lips.

"Leave," Leon ordered, without even looking at her, his eyes remained glued on you instead, as he started, “I wanna tell–”, Leon swallowed.

But you cut him off, "You're hurt... let's get outside, okay? The helicopter should be here by now." The moment the words left your mouth, confusion flickered across Leon's face again, and you saw it, lingering there as if he couldn't understand where this sudden distance was coming from.

But everything hurts. Your chest felt tight, your thoughts a mess, and the ache in your heart was becoming impossible to ignore. It was all too much. So you turned away from Leon and saw that the space that Ada had occupied moments ago was empty now.

Not that you cared.

Soon, you walked past the exit and quickened your pace toward the door, hoping Leon wouldn't notice anything.

Though a bitter voice in the back of your mind told you he probably wouldn't anyway, and somehow you believed it.

Yet within a few steps, Leon had already caught up to you. To your surprise, he reached out and gently wrapped his hand around your wrist, bringing you to a stop. Your gaze turned to him and dropped to where his fingers rested against your skin before slowly you lifted your gaze to his face. There was something almost pleading in his expression, a look that made your chest tighten despite yourself. "Hey, listen—"

You pulled away from his grasp instantly before he could continue and his brows furrowed in confusion. "What's wrong? Talk to me."

You shook your head, refusing to meet his eyes. "Nothing."

The lie came out far too quickly and looking at Leon he didn't believe it either. But before he could question you anymore, you finally walked outside and this time Leon didn't try to catch up with you: which felt like a relief.

As you finally stepped outside the building, the cool night air struck your face, carrying away the stale scent of smoke and destruction. A helicopter was already waiting on the empty road ahead, its rotors spinning steadily beneath the dark sky.

Without saying a word, you climbed aboard.

The flight back to headquarters passed in complete silence. Leon tried speaking twice with you, his voice cutting through the hum of the engine, but each time you ignored him, keeping your eyes closed and pretending to be asleep. Eventually, he gave up.

But even with your closed eyes the tension inside the cabin settled and felt like a suffocating weight, it was thick and impossible to escape.

The moment the helicopter began its descent onto the DSO rooftop, you were already preparing to leave.

As soon as the skids touched the helipad, you stood and headed for the exit. Before the rotors had even fully slowed, finally when the engine was stopped you stepped onto the rooftop and walked away without a single glance back.

Behind you, Leon called your name, but you kept walking anyway. Leaving him standing there on the landing pad as the realization slowly settled across his face.

Something was very, very wrong.

.

.

Later, at 9:08 p.m., instead of going home, you found yourself sitting on a deserted stairwell tucked away in a quiet corner of headquarters. It was hidden from the rest of the world and more importantly, hidden from Leon.

Your eyes were red and swollen from crying. Every tear seemed to make the heaviness in your chest worse, as if some terrible, inevitable doom was hanging over you, waiting to crush what little strength you had left.

So you sat with your head buried between your knees, shoulders hunched forward, making yourself as small as possible. Your spine ached from the position, but you barely noticed.

Everything hurts anyway.

Then a familiar voice broke through the silence. "There you are." You didn't need to look up to know who it was.

Chris.

Your best friend, he stopped directly in front of you, hands resting on his hips as he looked down at your miserable state. You knew he was there, but you couldn't bring yourself to speak. Instead, you kept your head lowered, staring at the floor. "Whoa, who died?" Chris joked lightly.

But the second you lifted your head, his face fell instantly seeing your tear-stained face, swollen eyes, and your trembling lips told him everything he needed to know.

Without another word, his expression softened, and he stepped forward and gently pulled you against him, pressing your face into his stomach while one hand settled on the back of your head. "Hey," he murmured quietly. "Tell me."

The kindness in his voice only made the dam break further. A sob escaped your throat, louder this time, and your fingers curled into his shirt tightly.

For a moment, Chris simply stood there, one hand resting on the back of your head as you cried against him. Then, slowly, you pulled away. His hand slipped from your hair and fell back to his side as you tilted your head up to look at him. Your eyes were red, your cheeks damp with tears. "I want you to take me to a bar."

Chris sighed, "What?"

"I said I want you to take me to a bar."

For a second, he simply stared at you, certain he'd misheard. "Are you serious?"

"Please, Chris." The look you gave him stopped any further questions before they could leave his mouth. It wasn't anger or stubbornness he saw or knew.

It was heartbreak, and whatever had happened, it was bad enough that you were asking for something you would never normally ask for.

Chris exhaled heavily through his nose and rubbed a hand over his face."...Okay."

.

.

A few hours later, you were sitting at a bar with what you were fairly certain was your eleventh tequila shot.

At least, you thought it was your eleventh. "And that's why he loves Ada," you declared dramatically, pointing an accusing finger at Chris as if you were presenting undeniable evidence in court.

Across from you, Chris buried his face in his hands, because he had listened to this story nine times.

Nine. God he was tired, but he knew so were you so he just listened.

Again.

"So you're saying he saved Ada?" he asked mockingly.

You gasped in immediate offense, "No, no, no." You shook your head so hard the room tilted slightly. "You're missing the point."

"The point I've heard nine times?"

Ignoring him entirely, you spun toward the bartender and raised your empty shot glass. "Another one."

“For the love of God, no.” Before the bartender could move, Chris reached across the counter and snatched the glass right out of your hand.

"Chris!" You pouted.

You narrowed your eyes at him, and he rubbed his forehead and finally he leaned forward and grabbed both sides of your face, squishing your cheeks together until your lips puckered involuntarily. "Listen to me."

You nodded, your eyes widening as if you were in a classroom and your teacher specifically asked you to do something, "He loves you."

For a second there was silence, God if only it was true, then you burst into laughter so hard you nearly fell off the stool, but Chris, didn't let you fall but instead he held you in place removing his hands from your face.

"I'm serious!" Chris protested.

"Oh my God," you wheezed between giggles. "You're on his side too."

"I'm not on anyone's side." Chris said and his tone was firm.

"Then you're delusional."

"You're the one eleven tequila shots deep."

You pointed at him triumphantly. “Still you are the one delusional here.” You stick out your tongue at him, and chuckled "at least I am keeping my wits about me.”

Chris looked like he was talking to a wall at this point. "He would've done that for anyone," he said patiently. "Leon is Leon. The guy throws himself into danger for complete strangers. That's literally who he is."

Your laughter faded, then your face suddenly fell, as you stared past Chris head: "But he doesn't love me." You mumbled the words came out quieter than everything else you'd said that night.

Chris's expression softened immediately. "And the thought that he does?" he asked carefully.

You looked down into your lap, "Really tempting.” Then you sighed, “but it's not the truth.”

Chris was about to logic his way into your mind but just then your attention abruptly shifted to a random man sitting three stools away.

You pointed dramatically at him, "That guy looks like a cat." You giggled.

Chris followed your finger. The man looked absolutely nothing like a cat, and thank god that man didn't notice you talking like that, "Okay, enough," Chris said firmly, finally standing up. "We're leaving."

"No, we are not!"

“We absolutely are”, he sighed then he grabbed your arm, gently but firm enough to make you listen.

But did you listen?

Obviously not. Then immediately, you smiled at Chris, the very one, which meant 'trouble' and then his face paled, because he knew you were gonna do something stupid, when his grip on you loosens and instantly you take the moment to slide off your stool and sit cross-legged on the floor.

In the middle of the bar.

Like a stubborn toddler staging a protest. Chris slowly closed his eyes. "Please tell me you're not doing this."

"I'm… n…not going home." You said slurring on your words.

By now, people had started staring at you and him, but you didn't care. Not really. Not when your entire world already felt like it was falling apart around you. Chris looked up at the ceiling as if some higher power might suddenly grant him the patience to deal with you. When none came, he let out a long sigh, leaned down, and grabbed your wrist. "Get up," he said. "People are watching."

"No." You giggled again.

Chris tilted his head toward the ceiling again as if begging someone to help him.

"Take me to your place," you blurted out, looking up at Chris with pleading eyes. Chris finally met your gaze, and for a moment, it looked like he was about to refuse. Then, before either of you could say anything else, you suddenly gagged uncontrollably, but luckily you didnt throw up.

Chris sighed in relief and whispered, "Definitely not."

"Then I'm staying here." You say scrunching your nose at him.

"You cannot stay here."

You folded your arms. “Watch me!”

Five painfully embarrassing minutes later, and two negotiations: Chris finally managed to drag you back onto your feet and outside of the bar. Though he did apologize on your behalf to them.

You celebrated his defeat by immediately leaning your entire body weight against him. "You're my best friend." Your hands snaked around his waist.

"Sadly.” Chris said, shaking his head.

"I'd die for you." You smiled.

"Please don't." He groaned and by the time he managed to get you into the car, you were already halfway asleep.

The drive home was filled with slurred rambling about Leon, Ada, helicopters, conspiracies, and what Chris strongly suspected was the exact same story for the tenth time, still he listened to you and his eyes stayed on the road. Because despite all the tequila, he knew what was really happening.

Big misunderstanding, between you and Leon and he did tell you that, but of course, you didn't believe him.

When he finally pulled into the driveway and glanced over to you, he found you curled against the window with your eyes closed.

Chris sighed heavily.

As annoying as you'd been all night, seeing you like this made something twist painfully in his chest. Because for all your jokes and stubbornness, you looked lost. Carefully, he climbed out of the driver's seat and walked around to your side of the car.

When he opened the door, you immediately mumbled something incoherent and reached for him. "Come on," he said to you, "Let's get you inside and help you sober you up.”

You honestly thought you had dreamt it all. Because everything felt distant and blurry, as your exhaustion settled heavily into your bones and your eyelids threatened to close again. For a moment, you just sat there trying to stay awake while the world around you swayed slightly.

Then Chris sighed, turned his back toward you, and crouched down while you remained inside the car, then you blinked at his back in confusion. "What are you doing?"

"Getting you inside before you pass out before even standing up." Chris said softly.

A tired laugh escaped you before you could stop it, because you were too exhausted to argue, so you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and let him pull you onto his back.

Then he straightened himself up in one motion, and as he did your eyes drifted shut again, and you could barely keep them open anyway.

A few seconds later, you forced them open briefly, just enough to make sure you weren't actually dreaming. You weren't. Chris was carrying you towards his apartment.

Then you sighed in exhaustion as if you were the one carrying Chris then you rested your head against his shoulder and let him guide you towards his apartment.

By the time Chris managed to get you inside his house, you were wide awake.

And suddenly you noticed one of your shoes had somehow disappeared during the journey from the car to the elevator. But you didn't know where: nor that they mattered.

Swiftly he guided you toward the couch and gently pulled you from his back and dropped you onto it before disappearing into the kitchen. A minute later he returned with a glass of water. "Drink."

You accepted it with surprising seriousness.

Chris relaxed for a second: then, without warning, you promptly spilled the entire glass down the front of your shirt.

You stared down at your soaked clothes. "...Oops."

Chris groaned so loudly that it echoed through the apartment. "For God's sake."

You burst into laughter. "It's cold."

"Yeah." Chris said before rubbing his temples and disappeared into another room of his before returning with an oversized grey hoodie, in his hands, "Here." He says handing you the hoodie.

"What?" You asked.

"Put it on."

You squinted suspiciously at it. "Why?"

"Because your shirt is soaked."

"Oh."

That seemed reasonable enough. A few minutes later, after a struggle that involved your head somehow getting stuck in one sleeve, Chris finally managed to help you pull the hoodie over your head.

You immediately dropped your head and buried your nose into the fabric, then frowned. "It smells funny."

Chris looked offended. "It smells like laundry detergent."

"It smells like... Chris and it's funny."

"That's because it's mine." Chris sighed.

"You know what?" he continued, "I'm never helping anyone ever again."

"You love me." You winked at him.

"Unfortunately."

You grinned at his response then immediately leaned sideways and nearly fell off the couch. Chris caught you before you could hit the floor. "Jesus–."

For a moment he just stood there holding your shoulders while you blinked slowly up at him.

Then he exhaled sharply, "You need water and some hangover pills."

“No need.” you shake your head and smile stupidly at him.

Chris rubbed the back of his neck, before saying, “your shirt might seem to disagree.” possibly talking about the fact you soaked your shirt with water: because you were way to drunk.

Then he turned away towards his room and a few minutes later he returned with another glass and a couple of hangover tablets. "Take these." He hands them to you.

You stared at them, suspiciously before blurting out, "They're tiny."

"Take them." Chris ordered.

"What if they're poisoned?" You questioned.

Chris looked genuinely exhausted. "If I wanted to poison you, I would've done it three hours ago."

You nodded and with the world's greatest reluctance, you swallowed the pills. Chris watched until he was absolutely certain you had actually taken them this time.

“Thank you.” You murmured, finally laying onto his couch.

“Don't mention it.” he sighed, and only then did he finally relax.

The apartment grew quieter after that. The alcohol was starting to lose its battle against exhaustion, but you didn't sleep, more so you could not: as everything started to weigh more on your heart.

You pulled the sleeves of his hoodie over your hands and curled deeper into the couch.

Chris disappeared down his bedroom: for a moment before returning with a blanket draped over one arm.

Without a word, he tossed it over you, making sure it covered you properly as you curled deeper into the couch. You mumbled something incoherent in response, making him roll his eyes.

Then he settled at the end of the couch near your feet, leaning back with a long sigh as the silence of the apartment finally returned.

For the first time all night, he allowed himself to relax. Because deep down, he already knew this peace wasn't going to last.

Because he knew the moment Leon found out where you were? The moment he realized Chris had taken you home instead?

There was going to be a problem, a big one, Chris dragged a hand down his face and groaned quietly before glancing back at you. "Yeah," he muttered to himself. "He's gonna lose his damn mind."

.

.

Meanwhile back at the headquarters, Leon didn't realize something was wrong at first. Because at first he tried to find you but could not, but after all, people disappeared after missions all the time. Mostly everyone went home, slept for twelve hours straight. Maybe you did too.

So, he told himself not to overthink it. You were an adult. You could take care of yourself. You were probably at home already, curled up somewhere with a blanket.

The thought should have made him feel relieved, but it didn’t.

Then he called you.

And it went straight to voicemail.

Second time. Same.

By the fourth unanswered call, Leon was actually scared. god damn it. Why weren't you picking up your phone? Were you hurt? Were you upset? He knew there was something you wanted to say.

But what if something happened to you?

He was halfway through before losing his mind, with unhelpful thoughts, “Fuck where are you?" he muttered under his breath, while staring at his phone, as he clutched it tighter beneath his fingers.

Eventually, he called everyone on his team after enough badgering and threatening of his co-workers on the phone someone from another group finally cracked and mentioned seeing Chris leaving the bar.

With you, and you were drunk all over Chris.

Leon's jaw clenched so hard it hurt, so immediately, his brain supplied several extremely unhelpful images that only made his mood worse.

You laughing with Chris. Leaning on Chris. Crying on Chris. Going home with Chris.

"Nope." The word came out sharp.

Before common sense could intervene, Leon was already grabbing his keys from his pockets.

Then twenty minutes later, he was driving far faster than he should have been, rain beginning to hammer against the windshield as his thoughts spiraled further and further out of control.

The logical part of him knew Chris was his and your friend, and you were safe with him. He trusted him with his and your life.

Leon knew that, internally and logically but when feelings are involved logic rarely ever worked.

And every time he imagined you upset enough to cry on somebody else's shoulder instead of his, or being with someone else, something ugly twisted inside his chest.

So he pressed down on the accelerator, the night swallowing the car as the world outside dissolved into streaks of light.

.

.

You weren't entirely asleep when the pounding started on Chris's door after thirty minutes.

At first, your alcohol-soaked brain convinced itself it was part of a dream. Then the knocking came again, louder this time, rattling through Chris's apartment.

You groaned from beneath the blanket and lifted your head slightly. "Is that the postman?" you mumbled.

Chris laughed quietly then looked up from where he'd been sitting across the room.

At the sound of the knocking, his expression immediately shifted. Because he knew exactly who it was. “He is earlier than I thought.”

Another knock came through.

Chris groaned and finally pushed himself upright and walked toward the front door while muttering several creative insults under his breath. The moment he opened it, Leon was standing there, soaked from the rain, "Wherе is she?"

Chris folded his arms around his chest, as he stared at Leon, “Hello to you too.”

"Chris." The warning in Leon's voice was immediate.

"Where is she?" He repeated.

Chris smiled, "Nice to see you too, buddy."

He knew he was playing with fire.

Leon flared his nostril, his blue eyes darkening as he simply pushed past Chris and walked inside. "Hey—"

Leon barely heard another word Chris said. The second he entered the living room, and moved inside and then his gaze settled on the couch and he found you.

And there you were curled up beneath a blanket on the couch, you froze the moment you saw him. Then you sat up so abruptly it was as if the alcohol had vanished from your bloodstream. The blanket slid from your shoulders and gathered in your lap.

Only then did Leon notice the oversized hoodie hanging off your frame. Chris's hoodie. He knew it immediately; because he'd seen Chris wear it more times than he could count during team gatherings. As he saw it a strange feeling settled heavily in his chest.

And something dangerous flashed across his face. Jealousy. Unfiltered. and he wanted to rip it off you and wrap you in his own clothes.

You stared at him with utmost confusion which plastered over your brows and eyes, "...Leon?"

“Am I dreaming?” You mutter to yourself while pinching your cheek..

Despite everything, Leon's gaze softened. Then he moved closer to you and crouched down in front of the couch, one knee touching the floor while the other remained bent. His hands stayed loosened at either side of him, as he steadied himself, looking absurdly like he was about to propose.

"No, you're not dreaming," he said softly, before reaching for your hand and squeezing it slightly. Your chest warmed at the sensation of his skin against yours.

Fuck, you were still drunk, as you noticed all the absurd things about him the realization hit you instantly knocking the air straight out of your lungs.

Just as you were about to say something, Chris appeared in the living room and muttered "Today is really the worst," he said, and glanced between you and Leon, and rapidly losing what little patience he had left and with a heavy sigh, he turned on his heel and headed for his bedroom.

A second later, the door slammed shut behind him, leaving the two of you alone in the suddenly very quiet living room.

For a brief moment, Leon glanced toward the closed bedroom door before turning back his attention to you.

The second your eyes met his, and your breath caught instantly.

The alcohol suddenly felt far less effective, as his blue eyes held yours effortlessly, making it impossible to look away.

For a long second he remained crouched in front of you, close enough that your heart began to betray you. One of his hands was still wrapped around yours, warmly and squeezing it tightly, “What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice quieter than intended.

His jaw tightened slightly. Leon let out a slow breath before finally releasing your hand. For a second, disappointment over you thought he was about to stand. Instead, he reached up and gently cradled your face and you felt a shiver run down your spine, “I spent three hours looking for you.”

"Why?” You breathed.

"Because you disappeared." He replied, his eyes intently on you.

You looked down at your hands, unable to hold his gaze any longer. Your eyes slipped shut, and suddenly the alcohol seemed to catch up with you again, wrapping around your thoughts and loosening the walls you'd spent hours trying to keep up. A small, tipsy smile tugged at your lips, "I was upset," you admitted quietly.

“Figured.” His words came out sharper than intended.

Then all the frustration you'd been carrying finally spilled over, and a small frown settled on your face as you looked at him. "Why..." you began, gently taking his hands from your cheeks and setting them aside. You pulled your legs up onto the couch, crossing them as your fists curled tightly at your sides. "Why do you do this...?"

Leon frowned, his brows drawing together as he finally let his hands fall back to his sides. A familiar heaviness settled in his chest. “Why do I do what?”

"Why does it always have to be Ada?" You asked, letting a bitter laugh escape your throat.

His entire body stilled at the name, and instead of getting angry: something close to amusement settled in his chest, because why were you bringing her up? But he didn't say anything, instead he just looked at you, hoping you would continue, because he was as confused as a man, who was asking for directions in new city.

"You always throw yourself into danger for her." You continued.

"I do not." Leon said confidently.

“You do!” Your voice cracked at the last syllable, "I see it every damn time!"

Leon stared at you in disbelief as you grew more agitated with every word.

"You shielded her when the floor collapsed," you said, your voice rising despite yourself. "You didn't even hesitate. You didn't care if you died or if something happened to you!" By the time you finished, you were breathless.

For a moment, Leon simply looked at you, then something in his expression shifted, the confusion disappeared, replaced by a sudden softness, as though understanding had finally dawned on him.

And somehow, that only made you angrier. Your throat tightens despite yourself as you feel the tears starting to form behind your eyelids, "Why couldn't it have been me?" you asked bitterly, and closed your eyes tightly.

The question finally slipped, and you knew it was too late to take it back.

Fuck it.

You finally asked what has been sitting over your chest for months.

The room went silent, and only sound was your and his breathing in the quiet of the room, Leon's breath caught at your question. "What?"

"Forget it." You said looking away, but his hands reached up and he held your chin with gentle firmness before making you look at him, "no”, he sighed impatiently, “what did you just say to me?" His voice was immediate.

Fuck it, if he wanted to know that bad, then you might as well as tell him, "If you're always willing to risk yourself for her..." Your throat tightened again, "Why can't it just be me?"

For a second, Leon simply stared at you. Then his expression shifted into something almost horrified, as though he couldn't believe what he was hearing anymore.

Before you could say another word, he shifted and settled onto both knees in front of you, his hands immediately rising to cradle your face between his calloused palms, and this time he didn't let you pull away. And the warmth of them made your breath catch, because they were undeniably gentle against your face, even after being rough from years of training and fighting, yet they were impossibly gentle against your skin, grounding you in a way nothing else had all night.

Holding your gaze Leon smiled softly, as if it were the only thing that mattered in this room, or the world then he shook his head frantically. "No, no, no," he said quietly, but firmly. "You've got it all wrong, sweetheart.”

"Sweetheart." Sweetheart.

The nickname settled deep into your veins and spread through you like blood itself, warm and impossible to ignore. It wrapped around your heart, slipping past every chamber of it. For a moment, that single word drowned out everything else.

But then his next words caught up to you.

You've got it all wrong.

Your brows pulled together because What did he mean, you had it all wrong?

You stared at him, as confusion cut through the haze of alcohol and your heart pounded painfully against your ribs. Because from where you were sitting, nothing felt wrong. You had seen it with your own eyes. You had watched him throw himself in front of Ada without a second thought. You had watched him choose her.

So what exactly had you gotten wrong?

"It has always been you," he finally said, the words coming out rough, as though they had been buried inside him for far too long. "Always. The minute I saw you."

Your breath caught in your throat, confusion still written all over your face. Seeing it, Leon let out a quiet laugh, one that sounded both sad and fond at the same time.

He shook his head slightly, his thumb brushing against under your eyes softly as if he still couldn't quite believe this conversation was happening. As if, after all this time, you genuinely had no idea. "I thought I was being obvious."

Your jaw dropped, and you swallowed loudly, "Obvious?"

"But you saved Ada today."

"I would do that for anyone, Ada isn't special." You knew that, but your heart didn't let you believe it, stupid. You knew.

Then seeing your spiraling eyes, he shifts closer to you with the help of his knees and continues, “what scared me was if you fell with me, you would get hurt.”

You freeze completely at his words, then Leon groaned loudly looking completely exasperated with himself. "I thought you knew."

"Knew what?" You asked way too quietly.

His blue eyes locked onto yours, as he finally opened his mouth and his throat bobbed up and down before he finally said, "That I love you."

The world stopped entirely as he said it, and every coherent thought left your mind and the little alcohol that was left in you, drained down into the floor beneath.

You felt completely sober and he squeezed your face gently, "I should've told you." His voice softened again. "I should've made it clear." He continues, "I'm sorry." The sincerity in his voice destroyed you completely, and your heart burnt against your chest as if someone reached inside you and lit it with fire.

Then Leon leaned forward, while his hand stayed still on your face, then finally he looked at you, to see if you would pull away, instead you stayed there, and finally he leaned and let his lips brush your forehead softly, just as he do a shiver ran down your spine, then he rested his forehead against yours.

"Leon—" you start, and he immediately shakes his head. "Don't give me an answer right now," he said quietly. "Think about it. Sleep on it. Tell me when you're certain."

"Leon, shut up," you breathed.

Then he pulled away just slightly then his brows lifted in surprise, but before he could say anything else, you continued. "I love you too." The words hung in the air between you.

And Finally, they were out. The truth you'd been carrying around for so long, the feelings you'd tried to ignore, deny, and bury. The moment you said them, a weight seemed to lift from your shoulders, leaving you feeling strangely lighter.

Leon simply stared at you, as if he couldn't quite believe what he'd heard. "What if you change your mind tomorrow?" he asked softly, you leaned towards him and pressed your lips onto his softly before pulling away, "Won't happen." You said firmly, then he rested his forehead against yours and there wasn't a trace of hesitation in your voice, and somehow, Leon knew you meant it.

Something warm unfurled inside his chest at your words and it spread through him like a wave, washing away months of uncertainty and longing. For the first time all night, he allowed himself to believe it was real.

Finally, a soft smile tugged at his lips. "God I used to dream about this moment.”

Then before you could say anything else he said, "C'mon." and he finally pulled himself away from you.

You looked completely confused by what he'd just said. "What?"

Leon stared at you for a moment before letting out a quiet sigh. "I'm taking you back to your home."

Your brows furrowed at him, "I am home."

"This is Chris's home," he pointed out.

"Right." The realization hit a second later.

God.

You'd somehow forgotten that minor detail entirely. A look of embarrassment flickered across your face as the alcohol continued to wreak havoc on your thoughts.

Leon, meanwhile, couldn't help the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth. Slowly, he removed his hands from your face and rose to his feet. Then, without a word, he reached down removing the blanket from your lap and throwing it aside on the couch and then he carefully helped you up, steadying you when you swayed slightly the moment you stood.

The room spun slightly and his arm wrapped around your waist, steadying you. And without another word he removed his jacket from his torso and draped it around your shoulders.

Then he looked down at Chris's hoodie, his jaw ticking in jealousy, “You can give him his hoodie back tomorrow.”

You laughed at his absurd comment the sound made something warm appear in his expression.

A few minutes later, he was getting you settled into the passenger seat of his car, after letting you settle, Leon pulled out his phone, and texted Chris.

Leon: Thanks for taking care of her.

A few seconds later Chris replied with a single thumbs-up emoji.

Leon stared at it, then snorted slightly. “Grandpa.” He said and a grin appeared on his lips.

But then three-dots appeared again on Chris's chat and Leon's phone buzzed in his hands.

Chris: If you hurt her again, I'm breaking your jaw.

Leon sighed, at his text because he knew it was fair of him to do so.

“You won't get the chance.” He replied back to him.

Chris saw it immediately but didn't reply this time.

And after checking his phone for the last time Leon put it away on the dashboard of his car, and glanced over at you being half asleep beneath his jacket, and then he turned his gaze at the road and started the engine, with a stupid smile on his face.

Because, for the first time that day, his chest felt lighter as he realized, you were finally his and he was yours.

fuck, you're so done.

so absolutely, completely done with sukuna's bullshit that you can barely see straight through the haze of cheap tequila and the brain freeze clawing at your skull from the way you're shoving spoonfuls of ice cream into your mouth like it's a fucking lifeline.

you slump against shoko's shoulder on her shitty dorm room floor, surrounded by empty bottles and the sticky residue of melted chocolate chip, and you just let it all pour out of you.

every petty grievance, every time he brushed you off for a video game or looked at some other girl a second too long, every time he made you feel small and stupid for wanting even a crumb of his attention.

you're crying, maybe. there's wetness on your cheeks, but it could just be the ice cream melting or the condensation from the bottle you're still clutching.

it doesn't matter.

what matters is the way shoko's fingers card through your hair, slow and soothing, her dark eyes soft and so, so patient.

"he's such an asshole," you slur, nuzzling deeper into the crook of her neck.

she smells like cigarettes and vanilla lotion, and it's the most grounding thing in the world right now. "i hate him. i fucking hate him so much, sho. why do i let him do this to me?"

she doesn't answer with words.

instead, she tilts your chin up, her thumb brushing away a tear, and then her lips are on yours.

it's familiar, this thing you two have. it's comfort and release and a way to say everything you can't put into words.

you melt into her instantly, a desperate little sound tearing from your throat as you part your lips for her and taste tequila and mint and the faint sweetness of your shared ice cream.

it makes your head spin even more, but in the best way. your hands come up to fist in the fabric of her crop top, holding her close, and you're already whining into her mouth.

you can feel the cold of the ice cream carton against your hip where it's tipped over, but you don't care. nothing matters except the way her tongue slides against yours, the way her fingers tighten in your hair, the way she pulls you closer until you're practically in her lap.

you're so drunk.

so fucking drunk that the room is starting to tilt and your thoughts are getting all fuzzy around the edges, but your body knows exactly what it needs.

you start rocking your hips, grinding your aching, desperate cunt against the firm muscle of her thigh. your jeans are too tight, the seam pressing right against your clit as you rut against her like an animal in heat, mouth still locked on hers, muffling your own pathetic little moans.

you can feel the damp spot growing at the crotch of your pants, can feel how slick and swollen you are just from kissing her, and it's pathetic and needy and you don't give a single fuck.

"shoko," you gasp, breaking the kiss to tilt your head back, baring your throat to her like you're offering it up. "shoko, please, i need—i need more. i need to feel good. make me feel good, please, i'm so—i'm so—"

"shh, i know, baby." her voice is a low, soothing hum against your ear, and you feel her hand slide down your back, over the curve of your ass. "i know you need to let go. i'm gonna take care of you, okay? you trust me, don't you?"

you nod frantically, tears still leaking from your eyes as you look up at her with all the pathetic, desperate devotion you can muster. "yes, yes, i trust you. i trust you so much, sho. please."

she smiles, that lazy, knowing smile that always makes your stomach flip, and then she's pulling out her phone. you can barely focus on what she's saying, just catch fragments of her voice—

"hey, get your asses over here,"

"she's a mess,"

"no, a good mess, just bring yourselves"

—and then she tosses the phone aside and pulls you back into another kiss that robs you of every coherent thought.

they must not live far, or maybe you're just that lost in the haze of alcohol and shoko's touch, because it feels like only minutes later that the door to her dorm swings open.

you're so far gone that you barely register the two tall figures that step inside, too busy licking into shoko's mouth and grinding against her thigh like a bitch in heat. it isn't until you hear a low, rough laugh that you even realize anyone else is there.

"fuck, shoko. you didn't say she was already this far gone."

that's geto. you know his voice, deep and smoky from too many cigarettes.

you pull your mouth away from shoko's with a wet, obscene sound, blinking up at him and the flash of white hair beside him.

gojo's grinning like he just found the best toy at the party, his sunglasses shoved back into his hair, ice-blue eyes sweeping over your disheveled state with obvious interest.

geto is already lighting a cigarette, the flare of the lighter illuminating the sharp angles of his face, and he looks at you the way he looks at everything—like he's already figured out exactly how he's going to take you apart.

"aw, suku's girl is all sad," gojo coos, stepping closer and crouching down to your level. his voice is a mocking singsong, but his eyes are hungry. "what's wrong, sweetheart? did he make you cry? that's no fun."

you want to tell him to fuck off, but your brain is soup and shoko's hand has slid around to palm your breast through your shirt, and all that comes out of your mouth is a garbled little whimper.

you feel hot and dizzy and so fucking empty, like there's a void inside you that needs to be filled with something, anything.

your hips keep moving against shoko's thigh, chasing friction that's not nearly enough.

"look at her," geto says, taking a long drag of his cigarette as he watches you. his voice is flat, but there's a heat underneath it that makes your thighs clench. "she's so drunk she can barely think. perfect."

shoko clicks her tongue, still stroking your hair, still smiling that little smile. "i told you. she needs to be taken care of. and i'm nice enough to let you boys in on the fun, so don't make me regret it."

"never." gojo's grin widens, and he's already reaching for the button of your jeans. his fingers brush against your hip, and you jolt like you've been shocked. "c'mon, sweet thing. let's get these off you. you're all wet, aren't you? i can smell you from here."

and god, you should say no.

you should push him away and stumble to your feet and call sukuna and scream at him until your voice gives out. but your body has already made the decision for you.

your hips lift off shoko's thigh, a silent, desperate permission, and gojo practically purrs as he yanks your jeans and soaked panties down your legs in one swift motion. the cool air of the room hits your bare, glistening cunt, and you shiver, a needy little sound falling from your lips.

"fuck, she's dripping," gojo breathes, and there's no mockery in his voice now, just raw hunger. "shoko, you've been holding out on us."

"shut up and use your mouth for something useful, satoru."

that's all the encouragement he needs.

he's on his knees between your spread legs before you can blink, big hands gripping your thighs and pushing them apart. and then his mouth is on you—hot, wet, insistent—and you're gone.

your head falls back against shoko's shoulder as gojo's tongue drags through your folds, from your dripping entrance up to your swollen clit, and the sound you make is nothing short of pathetic.

it's too much, it's not enough, it's everything all at once.

your hands fly down to tangle in his soft white hair, and you buck against his face like it's the only thing keeping you tethered to reality.

"that's it, baby," shoko murmurs in your ear, her hand sliding up your shirt to palm your bare breast, her thumb flicking over your hardening nipple. "let him make you feel good. you deserve it. you've been so stressed, so upset. just let go."

you're crying again.

you can feel the tears streaming down your temples, mixing with the sweat already beading on your skin. it's too much. the way gojo's tongue is circling your clit, the way shoko's fingers are twisting and pulling at your nipple, the way you can feel geto's eyes on you as he smokes his cigarette, watching you fall apart with that unreadable expression.

you feel so wanted.

"more," you whimper, the word barely a whisper. "more, please, i need—i need to be filled, please—"

gojo pulls back with a wet sound, his chin glistening with your slick. he's grinning, but it's not the cocky grin from before. it's dark, predatory. "you hear that, suguru? she wants to be filled."

geto takes one last drag of his cigarette before stubbing it out on the floor, not even bothering to look for an ashtray. he's already unbuckling his belt, the metallic clink making your stomach flip with anticipation and fear. "then let's fill her."

what happens next is a blur of limbs and heat and the wet sounds of bodies coming together.

you're stripped bare in seconds, your shirt torn off so carelessly that a button pings off the wall.

gojo is shucking his jeans, and his cock springs free—long, thick, curved slightly upward, with a bead of precum already glistening at the tip.

geto's is just as intimidating, but darker, more veined, and the sight of them both, hard and ready for you, makes your mouth go dry even as your pussy clenches around nothing.

"you know the drill, don't you?" geto asks, his voice low and rough. he's positioned behind you, his chest against your back, his breath hot against your ear.

shoko has shifted so you're lying on your back, your head pillowed on a stack of her pillows, your legs spread wide.

gojo kneels between them, his cock pressed against your slick folds, teasing you. "you're gonna take us both. you're gonna be our pretty little cocksleeve until you can't remember your own name. think you can handle that, slut?"

the name should sting, but it doesn't. it sends a jolt of heat straight to your core, and you nod frantically, babbling out a string of "yes, yes, please, fuck me, please—"

gojo doesn't need to be told twice. he pushes in, all at once, and the stretch steals the air from your lungs.

he's so fucking big, and your walls flutter and clench around him, trying to accommodate the sudden fullness. your hands fly up to claw at his shoulders, and he hisses, a sharp, pleased sound.

"fuck, she's so tight. gonna be so good, huh? gonna milk my cock so good."

he starts moving, slow, deep strokes that make your toes curl and your eyes roll back. but then geto's hand wraps around your hip, stilling you, and his voice cuts through the fog.

"not yet. i'm not in yet."

you hear the click of a cap, feel the cool slick of lube being spread over your other, untouched hole.

you whimper, a broken, scared sound, because you've never—you've never done this before. but the fear is tangled up with so much arousal that it's hard to tell where one ends and the other begins.

shoko leans over you, her face swimming into view, and she presses a soft, reassuring kiss to your forehead.

"you can do it, baby. you're so strong. just breathe for me."

and then geto is pushing in, and the sensation is so overwhelming, so utterly foreign, that you scream.

it's not pain, not exactly—it's too much, too much fullness, too much stretch, your body struggling to accept two thick cocks filling you from both ends. you're pinned between them, impaled, helpless, and the tears are streaming down your face as you sob.

"there we go," geto grunts, his hands gripping your hips as he sinks deeper. "taking it so well. such a good little cocksleeve."

gojo starts moving again, a slow, deliberate grind that makes you gasp, and geto follows his rhythm. they find a pace together, one sliding in as the other pulls out, a perfect, punishing rotation that leaves no part of you empty.

the room fills with the sounds of your wet, obscene flesh slapping together, with gojo's low groans and geto's harsh breaths and your own continuous, broken litany of moans and pleas.

"please—fuck—so full, too much, can't—"

"you can," shoko says, and her voice is the only steady thing in the chaos. she shifts until she's straddling your face, her bare cunt hovering just above your lips. "you can take it. and you're gonna make me feel good too, aren't you? you're gonna eat my pussy while they fuck yours. because you're my good girl, right?"

you don't have the words to answer.

you just lift your head, your tongue darting out to lick a stripe up her slit, tasting her, wanting her. she groans, a low, throaty sound, and settles her weight down on your face.

you bury yourself in her, your tongue finding her clit, lapping at her desperately as gojo's cock pounds into you from below and geto's fucks your ass from behind. the angles are perfect, shoko's taste flooding your senses, her moans your only compass.

gojo's hands find your tits, and he immediately starts groping, squeezing, pinching. he brings one to his mouth and sucks the entire nipple inside, swirling his tongue until you're arching your back, a muffled scream escaping into shoko's cunt.

he switches to the other, giving it the same treatment, leaving them both swollen, aching, and glistening with his spit.

"fuck, your tits are perfect," he mutters, his voice muffled against your chest. "wanna live here forever."

geto spanks you.

hard.

the crack of his palm against your ass makes you jolt, and you moan against shoko's pussy as the sting blooms across your skin. he does it again, and again, until your ass is red and smarting and you're sobbing into shoko's folds with a mixture of pain and pleasure that's driving you insane.

"color?" geto asks, his voice gruff.

"green," you gasp against shoko's clit. "so green, please don't stop, please—"

they don't stop.

you lose track of time.

you lose track of everything except the rhythm, the heat, the fullness. you eat shoko's pussy like you've been starving for it, your tongue fucking into her entrance before flicking up to circle her clit, drawing desperate gasps from her lips.

every few minutes, you feel one of them stop, and you open your eyes to see geto and shoko exchanging a cigarette, taking slow, lazy puffs in between the frantic, animalistic fucking. the smoke curls in the air, mingling with the scent of sex and sweat, and it's the most decadent, depraved thing you've ever seen.

you're a mess.

your hair is plastered to your forehead, your thighs are slick with your own juices and their precum, and you can feel the first orgasm building in your gut, a coil of heat that's about to snap. you can feel them picking up the pace, both of them, hammering into you with a desperation that matches your own.

"gonna come," geto growls, his hips stuttering. "gonna fill this tight little ass up."

"me too," gojo breathes, his pace becoming erratic. "gonna pump you full, sweetheart. gonna make you so full of our cum."

and then your phone rings.

it's your designated ringtone for sukuna, and the sound cuts through the haze like a knife.

you try to ignore it, try to focus on the feeling of their cocks slamming into you, on the taste of shoko on your tongue, but it keeps ringing, shrill and insistent.

geto reaches out, his long arm stretching to grab your phone from where it's fallen on the floor. he looks at the screen, and a slow, cruel smile spreads across his face.

"well, well. speak of the devil."

he answers the call and puts it on speaker.

"what the fuck do you think you're doing?" sukuna's voice crackles through the speaker, angry, accusatory. "you thought you could just ignore me? i've been calling you for an hour, you stupid—"

gojo leans into the phone, his voice muffled because his mouth is still buried between your tits, sucking a deep, dark bruise into the soft flesh. "hey, suku. she's a little busy right now."

there's a beat of silence. "who the fuck is this?"

"it's satoru. and suguru. and shoko." gojo punctuates his words with a particularly deep thrust that makes you cry out, the sound high-pitched and wanton and unmistakable. "your girl's being a real good little cocksleeve for us. you should hear the sounds she makes."

shoko leans in too, her voice lazy, unconcerned. "hi, kuna. sorry, she's kind of… occupied. can you call back later?"

and you, you can't stop. you can't stop moaning, can't stop the slutty, wanton sounds that keep pouring from your lips with every thrust. "fuck—fuck—please—gonna come—please let me come—i'm so close—"

you hear sukuna's sharp intake of breath, hear the rage and disbelief warring in his voice. "you're fucking kidding me. you're fucking—"

but you can't hear the rest, because the orgasm hits you like a freight train.

it crashes over you, rips through you, and you're screaming into shoko's pussy, your body arching off the floor as gojo and geto follow you over the edge, filling you with hot, pulsing spurts of cum. it drips from your overwhelmed holes, mixes with your own juices, puddles beneath you on the floor.

gojo's phone drops from geto's hand, clattering to the ground as they both collapse on top of you, panting, sweaty, wrecked.

the call is still connected, but no one's talking. just your heavy breathing, your broken sobs, the wet sound of their cocks pulling out of your spent, aching holes.

shoko leans down and presses a soft, tender kiss to your forehead, her voice a whisper of honey and praise.

"you did so good, baby. you're such a good girl. you deserve so much better."

and you lie there, trembling, crying, full, and you can't bring yourself to care that sukuna is still on the line, still listening. because you feel so fucking good. so used, so wanted, so perfect. you feel something that sukuna has never made you feel. not once, not ever.

well, one thing is clear. three people clearly fuck you waaaayyyy better than one.

And he had nothing to fear.

Or so he told himself, standing in the corner of yet another boring Jujutsu High networking event, a glass of champagne dangling from his fingers that he hadn't taken a single sip from.

"You're doing it again," Shoko said, not even looking up from her phone. She was leaned against the wall next to him, already bored out of her mind, watching the room through half-lidded eyes.

"Doing what?" Satoru asked, his voice casual. Too casual.

"That thing where you stare at someone like you're calculating exactly how to make them disappear from the face of the earth. You know. Your specialty."

Satoru's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "I'm not staring at anyone."

"You've been staring at that guy for seven minutes," Shoko replied, finally glancing up. Her eyes followed his gaze across the room. "Seven minutes, Satoru. I counted."

"I've been observing," he corrected, his tone clipped. "There's a difference."

"Mm. And what, exactly, are you observing?"

Satoru didn't answer. Because he couldn't. Because if he opened his mouth right now, he might say something he couldn't take back — something like "I'm observing the way his hand keeps finding excuses to touch my girlfriend's arms" or "I'm observing how he's standing way too close to her" or "I'm observing the exact angle I'd need to Infinity his stupid face into next week."

Shoko finally looked up from her phone, following his gaze across the room. You were talking to someone — some assistant from the Kyoto branch, some guy Satoru didn't recognize and didn't care to know. The guy was tall, annoyingly handsome, and he kept laughing at things you said. Too loudly. Too eagerly. Like he was trying to impress you.

Like he didn't see Satoru standing right there.

"You're jealous," Shoko said flatly.

"I'm not jealous."

"You're literally turning green."

"I'm not turning anything—" Satoru started, but then he saw it. The guy's hand slid down to the small of your back. Casually. Like he had any right to touch you there. Like your boyfriend wasn't ten feet away, watching the whole thing.

Satoru's eye twitched.

Shoko smirked, taking a slow sip of her drink. "Oh, this is going to be good."

You were mid-conversation — something about mission protocols, something boring that you were only half-paying attention to because this guy had been talking for five minutes and you were starting to wonder where Satoru had wandered off to — when you felt an arm wrap around your waist.

Not roughly. Not aggressively. Just... there. Warm and familiar and distinctly his. The arm tightened just slightly, pulling you back against a solid chest, and you felt the brush of lips against your temple — soft, almost absent, like he couldn't help himself.

"Hey, baby," Satoru said, his voice smooth and easy. But you felt his fingers press just a little more firmly into your hip. A reminder. A claim. Mine.

You looked up at him. His blindfold was on, but his head was tilted in that particular way that meant he was looking at the guy across from you. Not glaring. Not threatening. Just... looking. The kind of looking that made lesser men break into a cold sweat.

"Hey, sweetheart," you said back, playing along even though you knew exactly what he was doing. "I was wondering where you went."

"Got bored," he shrugged, but his arm didn't move from your waist. Not an inch. "Who's your friend, pretty girl?"

The guy — you'd already forgotten his name, something with a K maybe? — shifted uncomfortably under Satoru's unseen gaze. "I'm— we were just discussing—"

"Great." Satoru smiled. Not his real smile. The other one. The one that didn't reach his eyes and made everyone who saw it take a small step backward. "Well, we should get going, my love. Things to do. People to see."

"We do?"

"We do." He was already steering you away, his hand sliding from your waist to the small of your back — right where that other guy's hand had been. Like he was erasing the touch. Replacing it with his own. "Nice meeting you. Enjoy the rest of your night, yeah?"

He didn't wait for an answer. He just guided you across the room, his touch warm and steady, until you were standing by the windows at the far end of the venue, away from everyone else, the city lights glittering behind the glass.

"Satoru," you said, turning to face him. You crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow. "What was that?"

"What was what, darling?" He was playing innocent, but his ears were already turning pink.

"You just... dragged me away from a conversation."

"I didn't drag you, princess. I escorted you. There's a difference."

"That's literally the same thing."

"It's really not."

"Satoru."

He sighed, running a hand through his white hair. His blindfold had slipped slightly during his dramatic intervention, and you could see the edge of his eyebrow, the furrow in his brow. He looked flustered. Embarrassed. Cute.

"Who was that guy, anyway?" he asked, trying to sound casual and failing miserably.

You blinked. "I don't know. Some assistant from Kyoto? I think his name started with a K?"

"And he had to stand that close to you?"

"He was just talking, Satoru."

"His hand was on your back, sweetheart." Satoru's voice dropped, losing its playful edge. "I saw it. He put his hand on your lower back and left it there for way too long."

"He was just being polite, Satoru." you pointed out, though you were struggling not to smile. "Not everyone is trying to steal me away."

"I touch your back when we talk," he said, stepping closer. His hands found your waist again, pulling you gently toward him. "He doesn't get to."

You stared up at him — at his pink ears, his slightly furrowed brow, the way his bottom lip was caught between his teeth like he was trying not to say something he'd regret.

And then, slowly, you smiled.

"Satoru," you said, drawing out his name like a tease. "Are you jealous?"

"No."

"You are. You're totally jealous."

"I'm not jealous. I'm protective. There's a difference, princess."

"Name one difference."

"The difference is—" He stopped. Paused. His ears went from pink to red. "I don't have to explain myself to you."

"You're so jealous, baby."

"I'm not—" He groaned, dropping his forehead to your shoulder in defeat. His arms wrapped around you fully, pulling you against his chest. "You're impossible, you know that?"

You laughed, reaching up to run your fingers through his messy white hair. He melted into your touch instantly, his whole body relaxing against yours, a soft hum escaping his throat.

"I don't get jealous," he mumbled against your shoulder, his voice muffled. "I'm not that guy, sweetheart."

"You're literally that guy right now, my love."

"I'm never that guy."

"You're being that guy, darling."

"I hate you."

"No, you don't, pretty boy."

He sighed. His arms tightened around you. "...I really don't, baby. I really, really don't."

Later, when you got home, Satoru was quiet.

Not the bad kind of quiet — not the distant, unreachable kind that made you feel like he was a thousand miles away even when he was right next to you. Just... thoughtful. Introspective. His hand found yours on the couch, his thumb tracing lazy circles on your palm while he stared at the ceiling.

"You know I trust you, right, sweetheart?" he said finally, his voice soft.

You turned to look at him. His blindfold was off now — just his eyes, soft and blue in the dim lamplight, reflecting something vulnerable. Something honest. He looked young like this. Unprotected.

"I know, Satoru," you said.

"It's not that I don't trust you, baby." He paused, searching for the right words. "I just... I don't trust them. I don't like the way they look at you, my love. Like you're something to be... taken. Like I'm not standing right there. Like you're not mine."

"Satoru—"

"I know it's not rational." He laughed, but there was no humor in it. Just a hollow, self-deprecating sound. "I know I'm being stupid, princess. I'm Gojo Satoru. I'm not supposed to feel... threatened. By anyone. I'm the strongest. I've faced down curses that would make grown men weep. But when I see someone touch you — when I see someone look at you like they have a chance—" He stopped. Swallowed hard. "I want to remind them that you're mine. And I hate that, pretty girl. Because you're not mine. You're your own person. You can talk to whoever you want. You can let whoever touch—"

"Satoru."

He looked at you.

You leaned over and kissed him. Soft. Slow. Deliberate. You poured every ounce of reassurance you had into that kiss, and you felt him exhale against your lips, felt his shoulders drop, felt his hand come up to cup your cheek like you were something precious.

"I am yours, baby," you said against his lips. "I'm yours and I'm my own person. Both things can be true at the same time."

He stared at you for a long moment — at your eyes, your lips, the small smile playing at the corner of your mouth. Then his shoulders relaxed completely, and he pulled you into his lap, burying his face in the curve of your neck.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he mumbled against your skin. "For being weird tonight. For being jealous. For dragging you away like a caveman."

"You weren't weird, my love. You were... cute."

"Cute?"

"Jealous you is very cute, darling."

He pulled back just enough to look at you, one eyebrow raised. "I'm never being jealous again, princess. I'm above it."

"Sure you won't, baby."

"I won't. I'm the strongest. I don't get jealous."

"Mmhmm."

"I'm serious, sweetheart."

"The strongest jealous boyfriend."

He groaned, dropping his head back against the couch. "I'm leaving you."

"You're not going anywhere, pretty boy."

He sighed. His arms tightened around you, pulling you closer until your chest was pressed against his and you could feel his heartbeat, steady and warm. "You're right, baby. I'm not."

The next time it happened, you were at a small café down the street from your shared apartment.

It was a Saturday morning, the sun was golden through the windows, and you'd just wanted a quiet coffee before heading back to curl up on the couch with Satoru. Nothing fancy. Nothing worth noting.

Except the barista was cute.

You noticed — because you had eyes, not because you were interested. He was tall, lanky, with kind brown eyes and a friendly smile. The kind of guy who probably had a dog and went on hikes and remembered people's orders.

"One oat milk latte," he said, sliding the cup across the counter. Then he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the counter, his smile widening. "It's on the house today. For the pretty customer."

You laughed politely, reaching for your wallet. "Oh, thank you, but I can pay—"

"She said she can pay."

Satoru's voice came from directly behind you, smooth as silk and cold as ice. His hand appeared on your lower back — firm, possessive, deliberate — and he stepped up beside you, towering over the counter like a warning sign.

The barista's smile faltered. "Oh, I didn't realize—"

"Clearly." Satoru's smile was razor-sharp. "Thanks for the coffee. Very generous. We'll be going now, baby."

He took the cup from the counter, wrapped his other arm around your waist, and guided you out of the café before you could even process what had happened.

The door swung shut behind you. The morning air was cool on your flushed cheeks.

"Satoru," you said, turning to face him. "Did you just... jealous-interrupt me again?"

"No, baby."

"You did. You totally did, my love."

"I was being efficient, sweetheart. He was wasting your time."

"He was being nice, Satoru."

"He was being flirty, pretty girl. There's a very big difference."

You stared at him — at his red ears, his stubborn jaw, the way he was holding your coffee like a trophy. He stared back, unblinking, refusing to admit defeat.

"You're impossible, darling," you said finally.

"You've mentioned that before, princess."

"I'm dating a toddler."

"You're dating the strongest sorcerer in the world, actually."

"You're a jealous toddler, baby."

"I am not—" He stopped. Took a breath. Ran a hand through his already messy hair. "Okay, sweetheart. Fine. Maybe I'm a little jealous."

"Maybe?"

"...A lot jealous, my love. I'm a lot jealous. Are you happy now?"

You smiled — wide and bright and full of affection — and reached up to cup his face in your hands. His eyes fluttered shut immediately, his whole body leaning into your touch like a sunflower seeking the sun.

"I'm not going anywhere, Satoru," you said softly. "You don't have to scare off every guy who looks at me, pretty boy."

"I know, baby." He opened his eyes, and they were soft now. Warm. Vulnerable. "But I want to."

"That's not healthy, darling."

"I never claimed to be healthy, sweetheart." He pressed a kiss to your palm. "I just claimed to be yours."

You laughed — bright and surprised and so full of love it made your chest ache — and he kissed you right there on the sidewalk, coffee forgotten, the world fading away around you.

"You're ridiculous, Satoru," you whispered against his lips.

"I'm yours, princess," he corrected, his forehead resting against yours. "There's a very big difference."

Later that night — after the café incident, after you'd spent the afternoon curled up on the couch together while watching bad movies, and after Satoru had apologized approximately seventeen more times (you'd stopped counting) — his phone started buzzing.

He glanced at the screen. Rolled his eyes.

"It's Shoko," he said, already reading through the messages. "She's being annoying."

"Nothing new there," you said, leaning over to look.

The group chat was, as always, chaotic.

Satoru's fingers flew across the screen, his expression indignant.

He hesitated for a moment, thumb hovering over the keyboard. Then, with a dramatic sigh you could hear from across the couch, he typed:

You laughed, the sound muffled against his shoulder. Satoru shot you a look of betrayal. "You're supposed to be on my side," he complained.

"I'm on no one's side," you said sweetly. "I'm an agent of chaos."

He muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like "traitor" before turning back to his phone.

You watched his thumbs hover again. He was typing, deleting, typing again.

Satoru stared at his phone for a long moment. His ears were turning pink again. You could see him trying to come up with a comeback.

He failed.

You burst out laughing — actually laughing, the kind that made your stomach hurt and your eyes water. Satoru tossed his phone onto the couch cushion beside him and flopped backward with a dramatic groan.

"They're the worst," he declared, staring at the ceiling.

"You love them," you said, still giggling.

"I tolerate them. Barely."

"You literally just said you don't hate Shoko."

"Don't quote me at me."

You grinned, crawling over to curl up against his side. His arm came around you automatically, pulling you close like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"You're cute when you're flustered," you said.

"I'm never flustered."

"Your ears are red."

"The room is warm."

"It's November."

"The heater is warm."

You reached up and tugged gently at his earlobe. He swatted your hand away, but he was smiling — that soft, private smile he only let you see.

"I love you, you know," he said quietly.

"I know, baby."

"Say it back."

"I love you too, Satoru. Even when you're a jealous mess."

"I'm not a jealous mess."

"Your phone says otherwise."

He groaned, burying his face in your hair. "I'm never looking at that group chat again."

"Sure you won't, pretty boy."

"…I really hate you sometimes."

"No, you don't."

He sighed, his arms tightening around you. "…No, I don't."

That night, you were lying in bed, half-asleep, the sheets tangled around your legs and Satoru's arm draped across your stomach. The room was dark except for the faint glow of the city outside the window, and everything was quiet and warm and safe.

"Hey, baby," he whispered.

"Mm, Satoru?" you mumbled, barely conscious.

"I'm sorry. For being... like that tonight. At the café."

You opened your eyes, blinking in the darkness. He was propped up on one elbow, looking down at you. His hair was a complete disaster — flattened on one side, sticking up on the other — and his eyes were soft in the dim light. He looked adorable like this. Unprotected. Yours.

"Like what, my love?" you asked, your voice still thick with sleep.

"Jealous. Possessive. Weird." He paused, his thumb tracing small circles on your hip. "I've never been like this before, sweetheart. With anyone. I've never cared enough to be."

You reached up and brushed his white hair back from his forehead, your fingers trailing down to trace the line of his jaw. He leaned into your touch like a cat seeking warmth, his eyes fluttering half-closed.

"I know, Satoru," you said softly.

"I don't like it, princess. Feeling like I could lose you. Even when I know I won't." He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. "It makes me act... not like myself, pretty girl."

"Maybe this is yourself, darling," you said, your thumb brushing across his cheekbone. "Maybe you've just never cared enough about anyone to feel it before. Maybe jealousy isn't weakness, Satoru. Maybe it just means you love me."

He was quiet for a long moment. His eyes searched yours in the darkness, looking for something — reassurance, maybe. Or permission.

"That's... actually really insightful, baby," he said finally.

"I have my moments, my love."

He smiled — that soft, private smile he only gave you in moments like this, when the world was asleep and nothing existed except the two of you — and leaned down to kiss you. Slow. Sweet. Full of everything he couldn't say out loud.

"I love you, sweetheart," he whispered against your lips.

"I know, pretty boy."

"Say it back, princess."

"I love you too, Satoru. More than all the baristas in the world."

He laughed — a real laugh, warm and surprised — and buried his face in your neck, his arms wrapping around you like he never wanted to let go.

"I'm still going to glare at anyone who touches you, baby," he mumbled into your skin.

"I would expect nothing less, my love."

"And I'm not sorry about the Kyoto assistant."

"I know you're not, darling."

"Or the barista."

"Definitely not the barista."

"And if anyone ever puts their hand on your back again, sweetheart —"

"Satoru."

"—I'm not saying I'll do anything violent. I'm just saying I might, pretty girl."

You laughed, pulling him closer until there was no space left between you, and pressed a kiss to the top of his messy white head.

"Go to sleep, Satoru," you murmured.

"Can't, baby."

"Why not, my love?"

"Too busy being jealous of your dreams, princess."

"My dreams, darling?"

"You might dream about someone else, sweetheart. Someone with better hair."

"No one has better hair than you, pretty boy."

"That's true." He paused, pulling back just enough to look at you. "Wait. Was that a compliment, baby?"

"Go to sleep, Satoru."

"...I love you, my love."

"I love you too, darling."

"More than the barista?"

"Satoru."

"I'm just asking, sweetheart!"

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling so wide your cheeks hurt. And when you felt his breathing even out a few minutes later, his arms still wrapped around you like he was afraid you'd disappear, you pressed another kiss to his forehead and held on just as tight.

Jealous Gojo was a lot.

But he was your jealous Gojo.

And you wouldn't have him any other way.

A/N. if you can't tell, i am NOT talented at writing jealousy, so i hope you guys still enjoyed this!! 😭

next up: sick gojo.. or maybe a cooking disaster?.. 🧐