THE HERMIT

READER’S POV

The remote island was a world unto itself- white sand fringed by turquoise water, palm fronds whispering in the constant trade wind, and the half-finished beach house rising like a promise against the sky. Leon had bought the entire cay a couple of months ago from someone he met during a mission who owed him big time; hence it was sold at a good price. He had told no one except you and the handful of trusted contractors who knew him only as “Mr. K.” He’d envisioned it as their escape: no Umbrella ghosts, no DSO briefings, no late-night calls from Agent Hunnigan. Just you, him, and the kind of quiet that let a man breathe.

You were the project engineer overseeing the build. No one on the small crew knew you were seeing the absentee owner. You’d made that clear from day one, and Leon had respected it- even when he hated it. The secrecy was both thrilling and exhausting. You insisted on keeping things strictly professional on site: no lingering glances, no familiar touches, no pet names. Leon understood the need for discretion better than most- his entire career depended on shadows- but it still frustrated him.

He’d ordered the temporary barracks built first- soundproofed, climate-controlled, with a private dock only you and he could access. The crew bunked in the main camp half a mile down the beach and never questioned why the lead engineer had her own private quarters. They simply assumed it came with the high-end contract. Still, a few of the older workers occasionally gave you knowing looks when Leon’s boat appeared at odd hours or when you returned from “late-night site checks” looking a little too relaxed. They never said anything outright. They valued their bonuses and their jobs too much to pry. Leon wanted nothing more than to pull you against him in front of everyone and claim you openly, but he respected your boundaries. For now.

Despite the careful distance you maintained in public, Leon found creative- and sometimes hilariously obvious- ways to spoil you whenever he visited. He knew you hated expensive jewelry and flashy gifts, so he got inventive with smaller, deeply sentimental ones that made your heart melt. One weekend he brought a custom leather-bound notebook with your initials embossed on the cover and every page pre-filled with silly doodles of the two of you as stick figures building the beach house together. Another time he surprised you with a small potted orange tree sapling (“So the barracks always smell like you”), complete with a handwritten note tied to a branch that read “For the woman who makes everything brighter.” He once smuggled in a set of engraved steel measuring tools for your work belt- practical, useful, and etched with tiny coordinates of the island so you’d always “find your way back to me.” You scolded him for still spending money, but the way your eyes softened every time told him you treasured them more than any diamond.

When Leon had first wanted to meet you properly, he hadn’t gone through normal channels. He had asked Alec’s father- a well-connected developer- to track down “the engineer who built Thompson’s villa,” only to discover that the talented young project engineer was none other than his son’s future wife’s best friend and the maid of honor. That revelation had made their first real meeting feel almost fated. The second time he met Carrie, she had grilled him like a protective older sister over coffee, eyes sharp and unrelenting, before eventually warming up with a teasing warning:

“You hurt her and I’ll bury you where no one will find the body.”

Meeting Sherry had been surprisingly emotional. The young woman who saw Leon as an older brother figure had pulled you aside later that evening and whispered, “He looks at you the way he used to look at the world before everything went to hell. Don’t break his heart.” Chris had been more direct, clapping Leon on the shoulder with a rare grin: “Finally found someone who can keep up with your stubborn ass. She’s good for you, Kennedy.” Rebecca had simply smiled warmly and said, “She makes you look younger. Hold onto that.” Even the stories Leon shared with you about Claire, Jake, Helena, Jill, and Hunnigan painted a picture of a found family that was slowly starting to include you. They all liked you- genuinely- and that meant the world to Leon.

LEON’S POV

Tonight the crew had evacuated early for a supply run to the mainland. The island was empty except for the two of you. The air in the barracks smelled of salt, sex, and the orange body wash you used. Leon lay sprawled across the king bed, sheets tangled low on his hips, chest still glistening. His phone rested in one hand, thumb scrolling slowly through a private folder only he could open.

The photos were pure indulgence: one of you laughing with your head thrown back as he kissed your neck on the deck at sunset; another of your bare back arched while his hands gripped your hips from behind, the curve of your spine glistening with sweat; a close-up of your lips wrapped around him, eyes looking up with that perfect mix of innocence and sin; one where you were riding him reverse cowgirl, head tilted back in bliss. Then came his favorite- the one that always hit him hardest: your face flushed deep pink, eyes glassy and completely out of it, lips parted with his cum still sticking to your tongue and dripping down your chin, a thin string of it connecting to your swollen lower lip as you looked straight at the camera with pure, fucked-out adoration.

He felt himself harden again just looking at it.

He rolled onto his side. You sat at the small desk, back to him, naked, laptop open, typing reports under the soft glow of the desk lamp. The curve of your spine, the dimples above your ass, the way your hair stuck to the nape of your neck- fuck, he was gone for you.

Leon slid across the mattress until his chest brushed your back. His hands skimmed up your ribs, cupped your breasts, thumbs brushing already-pebbled nipples. You tensed, then melted with a sigh.

“Leon…” A warning and a welcome all at once.

He kissed the knob of your spine. “You should be done by now.”

“If someone hadn’t dragged me in here the second the last boat left, I might be.” You turned your head, offering your mouth. He took it, slow and deep, tongue stroking yours until you whimpered.

He glanced at the screen just as you alt-tabbed. Floor plan. But he’d seen the previous tab- online banking. Numbers. Transfers. His gut tightened, but he kept his voice lazy. “What’re you working on?”

“Email from the manager,” you lied smoothly, voice breathy as he pinched a nipple.

 Oh, so that’s what you’re playing today.

Well, two could play this game.

He closed the laptop with a soft thud, slid one arm under your knees and the other behind your back, and carried you to the bed like you weighed nothing. You yelped, laughing, then gasped when he straddled your chest, knees bracketing your ribs, heavy cock resting between your breasts.

From the nightstand he produced the handcuffs- cold steel, already warmed by anticipation. Your eyes widened.

“When did you- ”

“Decluttering my office and bringing this here weeks ago. Surprised you never noticed.” He clicked one cuff around your left wrist, stretched your arms above your head, and locked the other to the sturdy headboard slat he’d had reinforced for exactly this. “Good cop, bad cop. You answer honestly, you get rewarded. Lie… consequences.”

You licked your lips, already wet for him. “Yes, Officer Kennedy.”

An idea popped into his mind.

He still had his old uniform.

Maybe next time, he thought.

He started easy. Favorite food- cheesy milk ramen with crab sticks, mushroom, and egg. Color- forest green. Itinerary for Carrie’s wedding weekend- flight Thursday, rehearsal dinner Friday, ceremony Saturday, back Sunday night. Each correct answer earned slow, curling fingers inside you, his tongue flicking your clit until you were shaking. He sucked one nipple into his mouth while his thumb circled your clit, and you came hard enough to see stars, thighs clamping around his ears.

Then he asked about your family.

You tensed. He felt it in the flutter of your walls around his fingers.

“Still the same,” you said, voice tight. “Parents and my little brother. Busy people.”

He hooked his finger, pressed against that spot that made you keen, then withdrew completely. No clit. No mercy.

You whined.

“Do you still talk to them?” he asked, voice deceptively gentle.

You tried to smirk. “When I have to.”

Another slow pump of two fingers, curling, stroking, building you right to the edge- then nothing. Your legs tried to close; he pinned them open with his shoulders.

He kept going. Favorite childhood memory. First apartment. Why did you choose engineering? Every question skirted the edges of the things you never said. Your answers stayed surface-level, polished, evasive. His cock throbbed painfully, but the anxiety crawling up his throat was worse.

He’d told you everything- how the first outbreak in Raccoon City had shattered him at twenty-one, fresh out of the academy, watching colleagues turn into monsters in the streets while he fought his way through the nightmare with a rookie’s badge and a shaking gun. How he’d met Chris Redfield and Claire Redfield in the chaos of that hellish night- Chris, the stoic BSAA operative who became the older brother he never had, pulling him out of more firefights than he could count; Claire, fierce and protective, who’d helped him carry the weight of survival. How he’d stepped up as something like an older brother to little Sherry Birkin after they rescued her from the ruins, promising her a normal life even when his own was anything but. How Chris had basically adopted Rosemary in the years that followed, the two men bonding over fatherhood in a world that kept trying to take it away. He’d even told you about the short, complicated fling with Ada Wong- the woman in the red dress who slipped in and out of his life like smoke, leaving him with questions he’d never fully answered. You’d met Sherry, Chris, Rebecca. You’d listened without flinching. Yet you kept this locked away.

“What do you think about our relationship?” he asked finally, voice rough.

You were panting, tears of frustration already gathering at the corners of your eyes. The words slipped out before you could stop them- raw and unfiltered. “I like us… but we both know this won’t last forever. I just want to enjoy it while it does.”

The slap to your cunt was sharp, wet, perfect. You cried out, hips jerking, but the sound died when you saw Leon’s face.

He was on you in a second, caging you completely, one hand pinning your cuffed wrists higher, the other gripping your jaw with a gentleness that somehow made the intensity worse. His eyes- those powder-blue eyes that had looked at you with nothing but adoration for three months- were wide with hurt. Raw, unguarded hurt. The kind that cracked through every layer of stoic DSO agent he’d built over the years.

“What. Did. You. Say.”

You froze. The fear that had lived in your chest since the first blackmail email surged forward like a tidal wave. You hadn’t meant it to land like a knife. You’d only meant to protect yourself- to keep this fragile, perfect thing from shattering the way everything else in your life eventually had. Your family had taught you that happiness was temporary, that love was a transaction you’d always end up paying for with pieces of yourself. Leon was the first person who made you believe otherwise, and that belief terrified you more than any threat. If you let yourself hope too hard, the fall would destroy you. So, you’d armored the words with distance. But you saw now how it had sliced him open anyway.

 Leon’s chest heaved. Inside, something fractured. He’d been patient- God, he’d been so patient. Three months wasn’t long in the grand scheme, but to him- forty-seven years old, scarred by Raccoon City and a dozen apocalypses since- it felt like a lifetime of waiting for someone who finally saw the man beneath the missions. He’d already pictured the ring, the quiet wedding, the life after the beach house was finished. He’d promised himself he’d wait for your “I love you” before starting any countdown, but he’d fallen anyway- hopelessly, completely. And now this. The woman he loved more than he’d ever loved anyone was already writing their ending in her head. It wasn’t anger that flooded him first; it was a deep, aching betrayal that tasted like every foster home that had sent him back, every time Ada had vanished without a word. She doesn’t trust me to stay. The thought lodged in his throat like glass.

“I-I mean- ” You scrambled, voice cracking. Fear clawed up your spine. He was going to leave. You could see it in the way his jaw tightened, the way his eyes glistened just enough to break your heart. “Leon, I didn’t- I just… I’ve never had anything good that didn’t end. I didn’t mean it like that. I swear I didn’t. I just… I’m scared. I’m so scared that one day you’ll wake up and realize I’m not worth it. That my mess will drag you down and you’ll leave like everyone else. But I don’t want you to. God, I don’t want you to.”

He didn’t speak at first. The silence stretched, heavy with everything unsaid. Leon’s thumb brushed your cheek, slow and deliberate, as if memorizing the shape of your face in case this was the moment it all slipped away. His breath was warm against your skin, but his eyes searched yours with a vulnerability he rarely showed even to Chris or Sherry. You could feel the tremor in his hand- the same steady hands that had once carried a scared little girl named Sherry through zombie-infested streets, now shaking because of you.

Then your walls crumbled completely. The tears came fast and ugly- sobs that tore out of you like something feral. You’d bottled it for so long: the emails, the money transfers, the late-night panic that Leon would find out and see the broken girl your parents had always called a mistake. Now it spilled everywhere, slow and halting at first, each word dragged out like it weighed a thousand pounds.

As the first heavy sob left your lips, a vivid memory crashed over you like cold seawater.

You were eight years old again, standing on a wobbly wooden stool in your mother’s cramped kitchen. The smell of burnt rice and cheap detergent filled the air. Your mother’s voice, sharp as broken glass, cut through the silence: “You were supposed to be gone before you even started breathing. I tried to get rid of you twice, and look at you- still here, eating my food, breathing my air. A mistake that won’t die.” Your small hands trembled as you scrubbed the floor on your knees because “being alive isn’t free.” Your father had only watched from the doorway, cigarette dangling from his lips, muttering, “At least make yourself useful if you’re going to stick around.” Later, when you were passed around to your father’s side of the family, it only got worse- odd jobs at dawn before school, endless chores, and constant reminders that you owed them for every scrap of food and every night under their roof. “Ungrateful little whore in the making,” your aunt had sneered once when you cried after being forced to work through a fever. You had learned early: love was conditional, safety was temporary, and happiness always came with a price you could never fully pay.

The memory shattered as Leon’s arms tightened around you, pulling you back to the present.

Leon’s eyes widened in panic. The hurt on his face twisted into something softer, more desperate. “Baby- fuck, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I pushed too hard. I’m here. I’ve got you.” He fumbled for the key on the nightstand, hands shaking as he unlocked the cuffs. The metal clattered away. He pulled you into his lap, arms wrapping around you like a shield, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other stroked your spine. You buried your face in his neck, soaking his skin with tears, body trembling against his.

He rocked you slowly, pressing kisses to your hairline, your temple, anywhere he could reach. “Shh. Breathe. I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here.” His own eyes burned; he blinked hard, refusing to let the tears fall yet. He’d fucked up by pushing, but hearing you say those words had cracked something ancient inside him- the fear that he was still the orphan kid no one chose. You’d chosen him every day for three months, yet you still expected him to disappear. It hurt worse than any gunshot.

“They… they cut me off,” you whispered, voice cracking on the first syllable. You paused, swallowing hard, fresh tears slipping down your temples. Leon wiped them away with his thumb, murmuring soft nonsense against your hair- “I’m here, baby. Take your time. I’ve got you.”- but he didn’t rush you. He just held you closer, his heart hammering against yours.

You drew a shaky breath and kept going. “Or… I ran. My mom tried to abort me. Called me a mistake every single day I was alive. Dad’s side used me like free labor- odd jobs at six years old, told me being alive wasn’t free. I had to earn my keep or I didn’t deserve to breathe. In high school, I met Carrie. She helped me run the day we graduated. I built a life. Then… weeks after we started dating, the emails started. My aunt first. Then my mom.” Another long pause as another sob hit; Leon rocked you gently, pressing a kiss to your forehead, his own eyes burning. “Blackmail. They had a photo- from Chris’s dinner. You, me, Chris, Rose. We looked… happy. They thought it was some kind of double date- two older rich men with their young whores. Called me a whore for latching onto a man almost twenty years older. Said I seduced my uncle, that it was my fault he had the stroke after I fought him off. Threatened to tell everyone- your bosses, my crew, the world- that I didn’t deserve happiness. That someone like me should be alone. So I paid them. Quietly. Every time. I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t want you to see me the way they do. Broken. Temporary. Not worth staying for.”

Leon listened through every drawn-out confession, jaw tight, eyes burning with a fury he kept leashed for your sake. His arms tightened around you with each painful detail, anchoring you. When you finally fell silent, voice hoarse, he pressed his forehead to yours. “They’re wrong,” he said, voice low and fierce. “Every single word. You’re not a mistake. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And I’m not them. I’m not leaving.”

You looked up at him, eyes red and shining. “I love you, Leon. I love you so much it hurts that you’ll leave me now too.”

The words hit him like a lifeline. You threw yourself forward, kissing him hard- desperate, messy, all teeth and tongue and three months of unspoken terror. Before he could respond, you shoved him flat onto his back. Your hands found his wrists, snapping one cuff around them and chaining him to the headboard before he could protest. Then you straddled him, spit into your palm, and stroked his aching cock once, twice- feeling it twitches and harden instantly under your touch.

“Wait- baby, you’re not thinking straight- ” Leon tried, voice strained, but the words dissolved into a guttural groan as you sank down onto him in one smooth motion. The stretch was perfect, overwhelming. He filled you so completely that for a second you couldn’t breathe. The feeling of him- hot, thick, pulsing inside you- chased away the last of the fear. You were in control now. You could show him how much you meant it.

You started slow in the cowgirl position, hands braced on his chest for balance, rolling your hips in deliberate, grinding circles that dragged his cock against every sensitive ridge inside you. Leon’s breath hitched, eyes locked on where you were joined, watching himself disappear inch by inch into your dripping heat. “Fuck, baby… look at you taking all of me,” he rasped, voice wrecked. “So wet for me. So perfect.” You lifted up until only the tip remained, then sank back down with a wet slap, taking him to the hilt again and again. Your breasts bounced with every rise and fall; Leon’s gaze devoured them, dark with hunger. You leaned forward, changing the angle so his cock rubbed right against that spot that made your vision blur, and rolled your hips harder- tight, filthy circles that made his abs flex and his thighs tremble beneath you. Sweat slicked your skin; your clit ground against his pelvis on every downstroke, sparking pleasure that built like fire in your veins. Leon’s free hand gripped your hip, guiding you, but he let you set the pace, trusting you completely even while chained. “That’s it… ride me just like that. Gonna fill this pretty pussy up. Breed you so deep you’ll feel me for days. Want you swollen with my kid, baby- walking around the beach house knowing I put it there. I love you… fuck, I love you so much.”

The dirty words and the sudden confession sent a fresh gush of wetness around him. You rode him faster now, thighs burning, breasts swaying as you bounced- long, deep strokes that made obscene wet sounds fill the room. Leon’s hips bucked up to meet you, driving himself impossibly deeper, his cock throbbing with the need to claim you. “Gonna knock you up,” he groaned, voice breaking between thrusts. “Fill you until it takes. You’ll look so good carrying our baby- tits full, belly round. Mine. All fucking mine. Gonna watch your body change for me, know every stretch mark and every curve is because I bred you full. I love you- God, I love you.” You came hard around him, walls fluttering and clenching, crying out his name as waves of ecstasy crashed through you. He followed seconds later, hips stuttering, flooding you with thick, hot pulses that made you moan again, the breeding promise and his repeated “I love you” pushing you both over the edge. You could feel it- his cum spilling deep, painting your insides, the wet heat of it making your womb clench like it was trying to keep every drop.

But you didn’t stop. You kept moving, riding him through the aftershocks, kissing his neck, his collarbone, anywhere your mouth could reach. Leon cursed, low and filthy. “Jesus- baby, you’re gonna kill me. Feels too good. I can’t- fuck- ”

You rolled off him, ass up, presenting yourself on all fours. In the haze of lust and lingering emotion, you’d completely forgotten you’d cuffed him- you were so far gone, mind blank except for the need to feel him again, that the metal around his wrist didn’t even register. “Fuck me, Leon. Please.”

He surged up. The cuff chain snapped with a metallic crack- raw strength born of pure need. Metal fragments scattered across the sheets. His hands were free in an instant. One arm wrapped around your throat from behind- not choking, just holding you in place, possessive and grounding- while the other gripped your hip. He thrust in hard, burying himself to the hilt in one stroke. The angle was devastating. He fucked you with relentless energy- deep, claiming strokes that made your tits swing and your voice crack into broken moans.

“Hold me,” you begged, voice wrecked. “Touch me, Leon.”

His free hand slid up your body, finding your nipple. He rolled it between his fingers, pinched, tugged- then switched to the other, flicking and rubbing until they were swollen and aching. Every pinch sent sparks straight to your clit. He pulled out suddenly, just as you teetered on the edge. You cried out in frustration, but he flipped you onto your back, folded your legs up into a tight mating press, and slid back in slow and deep.

“Look at me,” he growled, voice rough with emotion and lust. “Gonna fill this pretty pussy up. Gonna put a baby in here so you never doubt I’m staying. Want you round with our kid- tits leaking so much I drink it, belly full of me. Gonna breed this perfect cunt until it’s dripping for days. You’ll never feel empty again. I love you.” The words ignited something primal in you. Your eyes flew open, walls clenching around him at the filthy promise. He thrust in rhythm- grinding against your clit on every stroke, mouth latching onto one nipple. He sucked hard, teeth grazing the sensitive peak while his tongue flicked mercilessly. His fingers tortured the other, rolling and pinching in time with his thrusts. Pleasure bordered on too much; your whole body quivered. “Imagine it, baby,” he panted between thrusts, voice dark and reverent. “You, pregnant with my child. Our family. No more running. Just you, me, and the life we make together. I’m gonna pump you so full tonight you’ll be leaking my cum for days- proof that you’re mine forever. I love you… so fucking much.”

Then he dropped lower, pulling out with a wet sound and burying his face between your thighs. His tongue was relentless- long, broad licks from your entrance to your clit, tight circles around the swollen nub, two thick fingers curling inside you to stroke that perfect spot. He hummed against you, the vibration making your thighs shake. “Taste so fucking good. Come on my tongue, baby. Let me drink every drop- gonna fill you again after, breed you full.” He sucked your clit into his mouth, flicking it rapidly, and you shattered- squirting hard, soaking his chin, his chest, the sheets. The release was endless, waves of liquid heat spilling out of you while he drank it down like he was starving, not caring the mix of his cum to yours, murmuring praise between licks: “Good girl… taking my tongue so well. Gonna pump you another full of cum next, make sure it sticks. F-uck I love you so so much.”

When your pussy finally calmed, Leon climbed back up, folded you again, and gave you five perfect, deep thrusts- each one grinding against your oversensitive clit, his voice a low growl. “Take it, baby. Take every drop. Gonna breed you right here- put a baby in this womb so you know I’m never leaving.” On the fifth he came with a guttural groan, flooding you until it leaked out around his cock. You came again too, smaller but no less intense, whispering “I love you” against his mouth.

Neither of you knew who said it first.

It didn’t matter.

You both collapsed, tangled and spent. Leon’s arms wrapped around you instantly, pulling you to his chest. The fear was gone- replaced by a bone-deep certainty that this was real. That he was staying.

Fear and disgust warred in his chest- not at you, never at you. At the monsters who’d tried to break the woman he loved. He wiped your face gently. You were passed out cold, wrecked from the edging, the confession, and the way he’d fucked you like the world was ending. He carried you to the bathroom, ran a warm bath, lowered you in, and washed you with careful hands- shampooing your hair, rinsing the sweat and tears and cum from your skin. You stirred once, murmured his name like a prayer, and fell back asleep against his chest.

He changed the sheets, dressed you in his long-sleeve shirt, himself in the matching pants, and tucked you into the clean bed. Then he sat beside you, thumb stroking your cheek, and made silent promises.

The next morning you woke to coffee, fresh mango, and Leon’s arms around you on the sunlit deck. No running. No walls. Just the two of you, knees touching, voices low.

You told him everything again- slower, calmer. The daily reminders that you were unwanted. The child labor disguised as “family duty.” The escape with Carrie. The blackmail that started the moment you let yourself be happy with him. Leon listened without anger this time, only steady resolve. “They’re done hurting you,” he said quietly. “I’m not going anywhere. You don’t have to carry this alone anymore.”

You didn’t want to use his connections at first. He respected that. But after long talks on the deck, watching the waves, you both agreed: one final payment, then a formal letter from his lawyer- now yours too- warning them of cease-and-desist, defamation charges, and possible criminal harassment. Leon made a quiet call later that day. A discreet DSO-adjacent contact paid your family a visit. No violence. Just a conversation that ensured they understood exactly who Leon Kennedy was and what would happen if they ever contacted you again. You never needed to know the details. They never bothered you again.

You started seeing a therapist- Leon sat in the next room the first few sessions, just in case. He held you after the hard ones. He celebrated the small wins.

One night, curled together under the weighted blanket he’d bought you, you laughed softly. “So you feel insecure because I don’t post you online?”

He groaned, burying his face in your neck. “I’m your boyfriend. Of course I’m insecure. Look at Carrie and Alec- they post couple photos like it’s their full-time job.”

“You’re forty-seven, Leon. We’re way too old for that.”

“Forty-seven and still whipped,” he corrected, nipping your ear. “And I’m your home screen and lockscreen. That counts.”

You kissed his temple. “It does.”

A week later you flew to the mainland for Carrie’s wedding prep. Leon had negotiated two extra days off for you- pulled strings again, that bastard- and you’d pretended to be annoyed. The double date at the cliffside restaurant was perfect: ocean breeze, string lights, good wine, and even better company.

Carrie leaned forward with a mischievous grin. “So, Leon, when are you finally going to make an honest woman out of my best friend? You’ve been sulking about not being posted online for weeks now.”

Leon pointed his wineglass at the happy couple across the table. “Look at you two. Every post is the two of you looking disgustingly in love. I’m her boyfriend. I deserve some public humiliation too.”

You laughed so hard you nearly snorted your drink. “Leon, envy doesn’t suit you. We're way too mature for that kind of thing.” To which earned daggers from her friend as she just stuck her tongue out.

“Speak for yourself,” he shot back, pulling out his phone. He opened Instagram and turned the screen toward you. Username: LSKennedy. Profile picture: you in the emerald-green dress from Carrie’s charity and engagement gala, tongue out, champagne in hand. Following: one account. Yours. Your last post- months old, before you met- was a photo of his Porsche with the caption “My dream man.”

Your face burned. “Leon- ”

You turned to Carrie, eyes narrowing playfully. “You helped him find this account, didn’t you?”

Carrie feigned complete innocence, raising both hands. “What? He asked so nicely.”

You tried to block your own account on his phone. Leon snatched it back with a laugh. The whole table erupted.

Grinning, Leon tossed his phone across the table to Carrie. “Here- hold this for me.” 

The two of you immediately turned into giggling children, leaping up and chasing each other around the table like kids while Alec and Leon watched in amused disbelief.

Alec clapped Leon on the back, shaking his head. “Man’s completely whipped. Respect.”

Later that night, back at the hotel, Leon pressed you against the balcony railing under the stars. “I’m serious about us,” he murmured against your mouth, voice low and warm. “Eight more months. Then we talk rings. I want forever, baby. Not ‘while it lasts.’”

You kissed him until you were breathless. “Eight months,” you agreed softly. “Then forever.”

The wedding itself was a beautiful blur of joy and happy tears. You stood beside Carrie in soft lavender, bouquet trembling only slightly in your hands as you watched your best friend exchange vows with Alec. Leon sat in the front row, his eyes never leaving you the entire ceremony. When Carrie and Alec finally kissed, sealed with cheers and applause, Leon’s gaze said everything he couldn’t shout in public:

You’re mine.

I’m yours.

We made it.

After the reception, as the sun dipped low and the garden lights twinkled on, you slipped away with Leon to a quiet corner surrounded by blooming jasmine. He pulled you close, resting his forehead gently against yours.

“No more secrets,” he whispered.

“No more secrets,” you promised, smiling up at him.

He kissed you slow and sweet, the kind of kiss that tasted like the future- beach house finished, lazy mornings, maybe a dog, maybe kids if you both decided yes. The kind of kiss that said the past could stay buried where it belonged.

READER’S POV

It had only been a couple of days since you officially handed the keys to the neighboring villa over to its new owners. The melancholy hit harder than you expected. You kept telling yourself it was ridiculous- you barely knew the man next door- but the silence in your studio felt heavier without the distant growl of his Porsche or the sight of him jogging the hill at dawn, silver-streaked hair catching the light like a secret.

Why should I feel sad? It’s not like we knew each other that well.

You’d wrapped up the project, collected your bonus, and tried to shove the memory of that dirty-blond neighbor into the same mental box where you stored every other fleeting attraction. Work was safer. Work didn’t look at you like it was memorizing the exact shape of your hesitation.

Your phone buzzed on the kitchen counter while you were halfway through packing for the next gig- another luxury build, this one on a private remote island off the coast. The department had actually given you three full weeks to prepare, a minor miracle after the last-minute pivot. For now, you were stuck in the main office, handing over files and schematics to the QS team. You hadn’t seen the full original contract and blueprints yet, but the rumors were mouth-watering: beach house, infinity pool, private dock. First time on an island commission. The thought alone had you buzzing.

On the third ring you glanced at the screen. Carrie.

“Babe,” she sang the second you answered, voice bright and zeroed in like a heat-seeking missile. “You’re coming to the charity gala this Friday. No excuses.”

You laughed even as you shook your head. “Carrie, I’m drowning in specs. And parties like that aren’t my scene. I’ll stick out like a sore thumb- especially around the rich crowd.”

Which was true. In all the years you’d been best friends, she had never once managed to drag you to a club, concert, or gala. Crowds drained you; small talk with people who measured worth in net worth made you want to disappear into the nearest wall.

But something in her tone was different this time- sharper, more determined. “That’s the point!” she said. “Plus, you owe me. I have an entire list of every single time you bailed on me.”

“I’m still going to be your maid of honor in three months!” you protested, though you both knew it was the bare minimum.

“Still,” she sniffed, and the sound twisted something guilty in your chest. “Alec and I are moving out of the country right after the wedding. New house, new life. We might not see each other for months at a time. His family is throwing this gala for charity and our engagement announcement. You being there is non-negotiable. And honestly? I’m worried about you. You never go out. You never date. You’re so convinced no one could want you because you’re ‘just’ a mid-level engineer with no life outside work. Give yourself a damn chance. Who knows- someone might sweep you off your feet by an older rich guy with the hot car you won’t stop gushing about.”

You felt your face burn. “Carrie, I swear- ”

“I’m not letting you hide anymore,” she cut in, triumphant. “I already picked your dress. Emerald green. It’s going to make your ass look illegal. Alec and I will pick you up personally. End of discussion.”

You groaned, but the warmth blooming in your chest won. It felt like yesterday you two were crammed into that cramped two-bedroom with two other roommates, splitting ramen and stressing over whether you’d ever afford a house.

Then one random night Carrie came home squealing because the guy she’d been crushing on had finally asked her out properly- turns out he wasn’t just “some guy.” He was Alec Harrington, heir to one of the oldest money families on the East Coast, introduced through her cousin at her grandma’s 100th birthday party. Now Carrie had senators on speed-dial and tech billionaires in her contacts. You still felt like an imposter in her world, but she was right. You hadn’t dated since forever. Insecurity was your default setting. You’d had a few flings, but you never let them go further. You were still a virgin, only ever touching yourself in the quiet of your studio.

“Fine,” you muttered. “But if I embarrass you, I’m blaming the heels.”

Then you heard someone in the background speaking to Carrie, their voice muffled but clear enough: “Don’t forget your important schedule with her today.”

Carrie immediately responded, bright and cheerful, “Thank you with the reminder, sweetie!” Obviously not to you. “Before I forgot, be ready in thirty. We’re going to get bikini waxes today!”

Then the line went dead.

- - -

Friday night arrived like a freight train. The dress did look criminal- silk the color of deep forest, fitted through the bodice, skimming just above your knees, the neckline low enough to feel daring but not desperate. Carrie had also given you a small velvet box and told you to wear it. No questions asked. She had done your makeup: soft smoky eyes, a bold wine lip that made you look like someone who belonged in rooms like this. You stared at your reflection in the guest bathroom mirror at the Harrington family estate and tried not to panic.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt… pretty. Work and budgets had swallowed every version of yourself that wasn’t covered in dust and safety glasses.

The party downstairs was already a glittering whirlwind- crystal chandeliers, live jazz quartet, gowns and tuxedos that cost more than your annual salary. You found Carrie near the bar, arm looped through Alec’s.

“You look hot,” she whispered, squeezing your hand. “Now mingle. Or at least drink something stupidly expensive.”

You did both- nursing a glass of champagne that tasted like liquid gold while trying not to gawk at the guest list. Senators. A retired four-star general. A billionaire actress you vaguely recognized from late-night talk shows. You stayed glued to Carrie’s side, nodding politely when she introduced you as “the brilliant engineer who will build your dream home.”

Your social battery was already blinking red by the time you leaned in and murmured that you needed the bathroom to freshen up. Carrie shooed you off with a quick reminder: “Come straight back- I’ve got people I want you to meet.”

You escaped into the quiet marble bathroom, breathing deep, retouching your lipstick, mentally counting down the minutes until you could politely call it a night. When you stepped back out, Carrie and Alec were nowhere in their usual spot. You wandered a little farther, scanning the crowd.

Then you saw him.

Leon Kennedy stood near the open French doors that led to the terrace, deep in conversation with a man in a tailored suit who looked like he ran half of Washington. Leon wasn’t in his usual workout gear or leather jacket. He wore a perfectly cut navy suit that hugged his broad shoulders and tapered waist like it had been sewn onto him. Clean-shaven for once, he looked younger, sharper-almost dangerously polished. But you still preferred the rugged version: stubble, faint shadows under his eyes, the quiet exhaustion that made him look like he’d fought the world and won.

Your heart slammed against your ribs. He hadn’t seen you yet. You could slip away.

A hand suddenly landed on your lower back. “Oh my god, that’s Leon,” Carrie hissed, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Alec knows him through some DSO consulting thing- government contractor, super mysterious. I also heard from someone that he owns a black Porsche. Come on, I’ll introduce you properly this time.”

She knew.

Before you could protest, she was dragging you across the room like a woman on a mission.

Leon’s head turned at the movement. His eyes- those powder-blue eyes- locked on you. They widened for the briefest fraction of a second, recognition flashing hot and unmistakable, before the controlled mask slid back into place. But you caught it: interest. Hunger. Something that made your stomach flip.

“Leon,” Carrie said brightly, “this is my best friend. She’s the one who finished the villa next to yours. The engineer I was telling you about.”

Did my best friend plan this… is this a setup?

You swallowed, offered your hand. “Hi. We… kind of met. Sort of. On site.”

His grip was warm, firm, calloused in ways that spoke of more than paperwork. “Didn’t catch the name then,” he said, voice low enough to curl straight into your belly. “Good to meet you properly. You do incredible work.”

Carrie winked and vanished with Alec, leaving the two of you in a sudden, charged pocket of quiet amid the crowd. In your peripheral vision you swore you saw the couple high-five like teenagers who’d just pulled off the perfect prank.

LEON’S POV

Finally.

The second Carrie dragged her across the marble floor, Leon felt the tension he’d been carrying for weeks snap like a live wire. He’d been hunting for her name for days- ever since he got back from that godforsaken overseas op and found the neighboring villa finished, no more temporary gate, no construction crew, and the woman who’d haunted his morning runs vanished like smoke.

Tracking her should have been harder. But being connected to the right “big shot” made it insultingly easy.

Alec Harrington’s family didn’t just have money- they had access. Old money, political money, the kind that opened doors even the DSO sometimes had to kick down. Leon had pulled a favor the moment he landed stateside. One discreet call to Alec’s father, a casual mention of “the engineer who did the Thompson’s villa,” and the pieces fell into place faster than he’d expected.

For some miracle of timing, the old man had laughed and said, “You mean the one my future daughter-in-law’s been raving about? Her best friend- the maid of honor. They’re practically sisters. We’re throwing a charity and engagement gala this Friday. She’ll be there. Consider this your personal invitation, Kennedy.”

The man even gave him his son’s fiancée’s number and met the couple later. Carrie had happily introduced herself. Telling him that her best friend was in fact talking about him- well mainly about his car and his jogging routine. She then reassured him that her friend would be there.

Leon had shown up early, scanned every face, and waited. Alec texted him that he should try to mingle with other people first, as his fiancée told him. He didn’t mind; he’d been chasing this woman for months now and tonight was still young.

Now here she was- emerald silk clinging to every curve he’d only imagined, cheeks flushed, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. The same girl who used to bike up that hill like the world was chasing her. The same girl whose quiet focus had somehow burrowed under his skin and refused to leave.

He shook her hand and felt the spark travel straight up his arm. Got you.

He wasn’t letting her slip away again.

READER’S POV

You talked for what felt like hours- first at the bar, then drifting toward the terrace as the night cooled and the jazz inside grew distant. Leon was careful with the details of his job- “consulting, mostly. Lots of travel. Not nearly as glamorous as it sounds”- but his dry humor slipped through when he described chasing “bureaucratic zombies” across time zones. You told him about the brutal bike commute that kept you sane, the tiny studio apartment that doubled as your office, the way you’d always loved cars (you even got a driver license despite not owning one) but could never justify anything beyond a ten-speed on your salary. He listened like every word was classified intel he intended to memorize.

Eventually the noise inside became unbearable. “Walk with me?” he asked, nodding toward the manicured gardens that stretched behind the mansion like something out of a dream.

The path was lit with soft paper lanterns. Your heels clicked beside his dress shoes. Conversation flowed easy- random, effortless. He told you about the Ducati Diavel he kept tucked beside the black Porsche (“Faster than the car on the right roads. You’d like it”). How he’d watched you pedal up the hill every morning and wondered what kind of fire made someone that dedicated when no one was watching. You admitted you’d noticed his black Porsche before him, which made him laugh. And then you admitted that the first thing you thought about him was the way he always looked exhausted but carried himself like the world couldn’t break him if it tried.

You two kept walking and then his fingers brushed yours once. Twice. On the third pass he took your hand properly. You let him. The warmth of his palm grounded you, sent sparks racing up your arm and straight between your legs.

“I’ve been interested,” he said quietly, after a stretch of comfortable silence. “Since that first morning. Kept trying to find the right moment. Then the job pulled me away, and when I got back… you were gone. Villa finished. Thought I’d missed my shot.”

Your breath caught. “Why... You looked… like someone who had better things to worry about than the girl on the bike.”

He stopped walking, turned to face you under a lantern’s golden glow. “Not better. Just louder. But you? You were quiet. Steady. Made me want to know more.” His thumb stroked the back of your hand, slow and deliberate. “You want to try driving the Porsche sometime? Only if I get to pursue you properly. Dates. Sending you bouquets. Dinner. Why not give us a shot?”

Heat flooded your face. You turned away, embarrassed, but your body betrayed you- cheeks burning, pulse racing, a giddy shiver you couldn’t hide. The low certainty in his voice made your mind flash to dangerous places: his hands on the wheel, on your waist, on your thighs. You felt the flush spread lower, warmth pooling low in your belly.

You’d never been this bold, never skipped the slow build, never felt wanted enough to ask for what you really wanted. But something about Leon made you want to be reckless.

You gave him the hint in the way your fingers tightened in his, the way you stepped closer until your hip brushed his. “Hmm, how about we start by getting to know each other… more?” you whispered, voice a little breathless. “But I wouldn’t mind… continuing this somewhere quieter. Your place?”

His eyes darkened instantly, pupils blowing wide. A slow, hungry smile curved his mouth. “Yeah,” he said, voice rough with promise. “My place.”

The drive back was silent and electric. His hand stayed on your thigh the entire way, thumb tracing lazy circles that made your breath hitch every few seconds. You could feel you were dripping. Leon noticed you trying your best not to squirm under his calloused hand. You prayed not to make a mess on his passenger seat. But it looked like that was the last thing Leon would even be bothered with.

He might be more than happy if he knew how much he affected you.

When the Porsche purred into his familiar driveway- the neighboring villa now fully completed, no temporary gate or construction remnants left in sight- he killed the engine and looked at you like he’d been starving for weeks.

He didn’t lead you straight inside the house.

Instead, he caught your hand and guided you along the narrow path between the two properties- the same shadowed walkway where the temporary gate and construction fence had once stood. Now it was just clean stone and private darkness, the perfect blind spot under the soft glow of his exterior lights. Your heart hammered as he backed you gently against the cool stone pillar beside where the pedestrian gate used to be.

“Been dreaming about this exact spot after I found out you left,” he murmured, voice low and rough against your ear. His hands cupped your face, thumbs stroking your flushed cheeks. “Every damn night.”

Then his mouth crashed into yours- deep, urgent, months of stolen glances and silent want pouring out at once. You moaned softly into the kiss, fingers curling into the front of his navy suit jacket, kissing him back just as hungrily. He tasted like champagne and whiskey and pure need.

Leon’s hands moved with deliberate hunger. He found the hidden zipper at the back of your emerald dress and slowly peeled it down ward, breaking the kiss only long enough to tug the silk over your shoulders and let it pool at your waist. The cool night air brushed over your skin, revealing your black lace bra you’d worn for the low neckline of the gala dress. The bra did almost nothing to hide how your nipples had already stiffened into tight peaks.

His breath hitched, eyes darkening. “Jesus… you’ve been like this under that dress the whole time?”

You bit your lip, cheeks flushing hotter, but didn’t deny it. He pulled the bra down to your waist, watching your soft, heavy breasts spill free into his palms. They were warm, nipples dark and sensitive. He groaned low in his throat, thumbs circling the hardened buds before pinching them gently, then firmer, drawing a sharp gasp from you. Leaning down, he captured one peaked nipple in his hot mouth, sucking deeply while his tongue swirled and flicked the sensitive tip. His teeth grazed it with just enough pressure to make you arch and whimper, then he switched to the other, lavishing it with the same hungry attention until both nipples were red, swollen, and glistening with his saliva, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

His hands didn’t stop. They slid down your waist, pushing the bra and the dress the rest of the way off until they puddled at your feet. He hooked his fingers under the black lace panties- delicate, sheer, and already soaked through at the crotch- and dragged them down your legs along with the dress and bra.

“Black lace even for the gala?” he murmured against your lips, voice dark and teasing. “She’s even bare and puffy… you’re going to kill me, baby.”

Now you understood why your friend had insisted on getting you waxed days before the party. Mentally, you reminded yourself to treat her to a nice restaurant as a thank you for the wax and the lingerie.

You kicked the fabric aside, now standing completely naked except for your heels. Leon drank in the sight- your now messy eyeliner and lipstick, flushed skin, the cute moles on your collarbone and left rib, the curve of your hips, the way your thighs pressed together with nervous anticipation, and the transparent slick that slowly rolled down from your core.

He backed you against the stone pillar, then lifted you effortlessly onto the wide ledge there, spreading your thighs so he could step between them. He noticed your cunt glistening, already puffy and slick with anticipation. His cock strained painfully against his suit pants; he freed it with one hand, thick and leaking at the tip.

He slowly knelt down and buried his face in your needy cunt. You raised your left arm and bit it to stifle a cry, eyes rolling back as his tongue flicked over your swollen clit, circling it with firm strokes before sucking the sensitive bundle of nerves into his mouth with rhythmic, pulsing pulls that made your hips jerk.

He licked down to push his tongue inside your entrance, fucking in and out while his nose rubbed against your clit, the wet, filthy sounds of him devouring you filling the night air. His rough hands held your hips steady, fingers digging into your flesh as your legs involuntarily quivered. Your other hand fisted in his hair for dear life. When you looked down, his pupils were blown wide with lust.

Saliva and your juices coated his chin as he devoured you, humming against your folds so the vibration shot straight to your core. He slid two thick fingers into your dripping pussy, curling them perfectly against that spongy spot inside while his tongue lashed your clit faster, harder. Your thighs trembled around his head, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter until you were right on the edge.

You felt yourself about to fall apart when Leon pulled back with a slick pop, chin shiny with your arousal. Before you could whine at the loss, he rose up between your spread thighs and kissed a hot, open-mouthed trail up your body. He sucked a dark, blooming love bite into the soft skin of your inner thigh, then another just above your hip bone. His mouth moved higher, latching onto the swell of your already sensitive breast; he bit down gently, then sucked hard enough to leave a vivid hickey right beside your nipple before soothing it with his tongue. He repeated the mark on the other breast, claiming you with wet, possessive sucks until your nipples throbbed and your skin was painted with fresh love bites. Finally, he reached your neck, nipping and sucking another prominent love bite just below your ear, making you moan his name like a prayer.

No more waiting.

You whined as he lined himself up and sank into you with one long, steady thrust, burying himself to the hilt in your tight, dripping virgin heat. The sudden stretch and burn made you cry out, nails digging into his shoulders. Pain flashed for a moment before melting into overwhelming pleasure. In the heat of it you sank your teeth into the junction of his bare neck and shoulder, biting down hard enough to leave a clear bite mark. Leon groaned, hips stuttering at the sharp sting of your teeth.

Leon immediately clamped a hand over your mouth, eyes dark with lust and warning. “Quiet, baby. Someone might still be around- even out here.”

He started moving- slow at first, deep and deliberate, letting you feel every inch as he dragged out and pushed back in. The wet, slick sound of your bodies meeting was obscene in the open air. Your bare breasts bounced with each thrust, nipples brushing against his shirt and sending sparks through your overstimulated chest.

“Can’t believe this is happening,” he growled against your ear, picking up pace, hips snapping harder. “Every time you rode up on that bike… every glance you gave me. This is exactly how I dreamed it- right here, against this pillar, buried inside you where anyone could walk by.”

Your walls clenched around him, fluttering as pleasure built fast from how sensitive you already were after his tongue. He fucked you steadily against the gate pillar, one hand still covering your mouth to muffle your moans, the other gripping your hip tight enough to bruise.

You came first- hard- body shaking, a muffled cry vibrating against his palm as your pussy pulsed and squeezed him rhythmically.

But Leon wasn’t finished.

Still buried deep inside you, he lifted you off the ledge, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist. His cock slid even deeper with every step as he carried you toward the covered side entrance of his villa, kicking the door open with his shoe. “You can thank me properly now,” he rasped, echoing the dream that had haunted him.

Inside the dimly lit entry, he pressed your back against the nearest wall, hiking one of your legs higher around his hip. The angle let him drive into you harder, faster, the slap of skin on skin echoing louder in the confined space. He fucked you with deep, punishing strokes, one hand braced beside your head, the other kneading your breast before pinching and rolling your swollen nipple between his fingers. He leaned down, sucking the aching peak into his mouth, teeth grazing it sharply as he thrust, drawing desperate sobs from you.

Your eyes widened when he gave you an open-mouthed kiss, tongues sliding messily together. When he pulled back, a thick string of spit connected your lips. He gathered more in his mouth and let it drip slowly onto your waiting tongue.

“Swallow it,” he demanded, voice gravel-rough.

You did, throat working visibly as you showed him your tongue again. He dove back in, sucking on it, swapping spit in filthy, open-mouthed kisses until your chin was slick and shiny.

You noticed his pace becoming more rapid. “Can I come inside you- fuck. I need to come inside you,” he pleaded, pulling out almost completely before slamming back in, repeating the motion so you felt your insides being rearranged by how big and thick he was. “Gonna breed this tight pussy. Fill you up until you’re dripping with my cum.”

“Y-yes, Leon, please,” you moaned, voice breaking. “I’m on the birth-control shot. Please- fill me. Breed me.”

That was all he needed.

When his own release hit, it was intense- hips stuttering as he spilled deep inside you, hot pulse after hot pulse, flooding your womb until it leaked out around his cock. Your second orgasm crashed over you at the same moment, walls milking him greedily while your whole body trembled in his arms.

For a long moment there was only heavy breathing, the scent of sex and your coconut shampoo, and the distant sound of crickets outside.

Leon pulled back just enough to look at your flushed, satisfied face. Still buried deep, he then carried you the rest of the way down the hall to the master bedroom like you weighed nothing. He laid you on the huge bed, sheets cool against your overheated skin, and stripped the rest of his clothes. You watched, heart pounding, as he crawled over you- broad, scarred, beautiful, the fresh bite mark you’d left on his shoulder already darkening.

You pushed gently at his chest until he sat back against the headboard.

“My turn,” you whispered, voice hoarse but determined.

You slid down between his spread thighs, inexperienced but eager. Your hand wrapped around his still-hard cock, stroking experimentally. You murmured an apology since this was your first time doing this, then kissed the tip and licked the precum that spilled out.

Leon’s breath hitched. He gently guided your hand lower, showing you the perfect rhythm. “Like this, baby- nice and slow at the base. Yeah… just like that. Fuck, you’re a natural.”

You leaned in, tongue swirling around the head, then took him deeper. The gag reflex hit fast; you coughed, eyes watering, but didn’t pull away. Leon’s hand threaded gently through your hair. “Easy… breathe through your nose. Relax your throat for me. God, look at you- taking me so well even though it’s your first time.”

You hollowed your cheeks, bobbed slower, using your hand on what you couldn’t take. The praise made you bolder.

You tried different angles, sucked harder, let your tongue drag along the underside exactly the way his low groans told you he liked. Even clumsy and new at it, the sight of you- stained lips stretched around him, eyes glassy with lust and effort- rocked his brain completely. His hips twitched, thighs tensing, a wrecked “Fuck- baby, you’re gonna make me lose it- ” spilling from him.

He was close, but he pulled you off with a curse. “Not in your mouth. Not tonight. I need to be inside you again.”

He flipped you onto your back, hooked your legs over his shoulders, and folded you in half into a deep mating press. Your knees nearly touched your chest, ankles locked behind his neck. The position left you completely open, helpless, cunt dripping with her arousal and his semen and exposed for him.

Leon braced his hands on either side of your head, muscles flexing as he lined up and sank back into you in one relentless thrust. The new angle made him feel impossibly deeper, the head of his cock dragging right against that spongy spot inside you with every stroke.

“Fuck, look at you,” he groaned. “Gonna breed you again. Keep this pretty cunt full of my cum until it takes.”

He started slow, grinding deep, then picked up speed- hard, punishing thrusts that made your tits bounce and your breath punch out in broken moans. He leaned down, reposition your legs so he could capture one nipple in his mouth, sucking hard and biting just enough to make you cry out while he pounded into you. Your nails raked down his back; you turned your head and sank your teeth into his forearm, biting down as another orgasm ripped through you.

“Dirty girl,” he rasped, holding your jaw as he continues licking into your mouth. “Taking my spit like you take my cock.”

He kept fucking you through it, hips snapping, the wet slap of skin on skin obscene in the quiet room.

Only when your legs were shaking did he pull out, flip you onto your stomach, and yank your hips up into doggy style. He shoved a pillow under your belly to keep your ass high, then mounted you again in one deep animalistic thrust. The new angle made you cry out- his cock dragging along your g-spot with every brutal stroke. One hand fisted in your hair, the other reached around to pinch and tug at your nipples, rolling the swollen peaks while he railed you. He leaned over your back, biting down on your shoulder to leave another love bite as his hips slammed forward.

“Gonna fill this pretty pussy again,” he growled, turning your head just enough to claim your mouth in another messy kiss, tongues sliding, spit dripping down your chin.  “Can’t imagine not breeding you. Might knock you up anyway.”

It’s only been an hour or two and you’ve unlocked lots of kink in one go like a speedrun.

He spat into your mouth once more, watching you swallow with dark satisfaction before he straightened up and fucked you even harder- deep, animalistic strokes that had the headboard slamming against the wall.

You came a fourth time, sobbing his name into the sheets, pussy fluttering and gushing around him. Leon followed right after, burying himself to the hilt with a guttural groan as he spilled deep inside you again, thick ropes of cum flooding your already full cunt until it leaked down your thighs.

And you passed out.

You didn’t know how long the two of you had been sprawled after everything that happened earlier. But you had been in and out of consciousness for a while now until you felt someone touching you with a thick towel.

The first thing you noticed was that it was still dark, and then Leon was cleaning you up.

When he noticed you were awake, he pressed a kiss on your temple and told you that you could go back to sleep. You tried to get up using your arms lightly. He then offered you a glass of water and you thanked him.

After that, you tugged him weakly, and winced a bit when you now felt the soreness of your whole body, especially your lower core. But it was the best kind of pain and you didn’t mind.

Except Leon saw your reaction and he got worried and apologetic.

“I should have been careful with you, I’m s- “ he started but you tugged him again.

“If you’re that apologetic then cuddle with me,” you said softly, opening both of your arms for him to hug you. Forgetting that you were butt naked until you saw Leon ogle at you unashamedly.

You knew he wouldn’t decline that amazing offer.

“Yes, ma’am.” He simply threw the towel he used onto the floor. There’s tomorrow to deal with other things.

After a few peaceful minutes of lazy touches and quiet breathing, you shifted slightly, tracing a finger along one of the faint scars on his chest.

It dawned on you that you were leaving. Anxiety slowly crept in like cold water.

“I should probably tell you… I’m heading out for the next project in less than two weeks. Private island commission. It’s a big one- a two-storey beach house, infinity pool, the works. I’ll be gone for a while. Might be a while before we can do… this again.”

You said it lightly, trying to sound casual, but the words carried an undercurrent of uncertainty. Part of you already wondered if this was just a one-night thing- a heated fling sparked by months of stolen glances. Despite him asking you for a date, it still feels way too good to be true. Rich, mysterious neighbor finally gets the girl next door, then life moves on. You wouldn’t blame him.

Leon’s hand stilled on your hip. He let out a low, amused chuckle that vibrated through his chest.

“Well, aren’t you excited to go there and start working on our beach house soon, huh?” he said, voice warm and teasing, lips brushing your hair. “Heard from your friend that you’ve been raving about it being the first time working on a remote island.”

You blinked, lifting your head to look at him, confusion clear on your face. “…Ours?”

His powder blue eyes met yours, a slow, satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Without a word, he reached over to the nightstand, opened the drawer, and pulled out a thick folder. He flipped it open and handed you the top document- an original copy of the contract for the private island project, complete with signatures and stamps.

Your eyes widened as you scanned the owner’s name.

Leon S. Kennedy.

You stared at the paper, then back at him, mouth slightly open. “You… you own the island?”

Leon shrugged one broad shoulder, completely unbothered. “Someone sold it to me a few months back. Figured it was time to build something permanent. A real home base when I’m not… traveling for work.” His fingers slowly traced down your naked back, warm and possessive, sending a fresh shiver across your skin. “I personally spoke with your department head. Made sure you were assigned to lead the design and oversight. Told them no one else would do.”

Your breath caught. The rumors about the mouth-watering project, the generous timeline, the sudden approval for three full weeks of prep- it all clicked into place. He had pulled strings. For you.

A surprised laugh bubbled out of you, light and disbelieving, as the full weight of his scheming finally hit. You shook your head, still grinning.  “Wait- so what about the dine-ins? The flowers? The whole slow-burn pursuit? And you letting me drive your Porsche that one time? Was that all part of the master plan too?”

Leon’s smirk widened into something softer, more affectionate. He reached up, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as he gazed at you with those striking powder blue eyes.

“Well… we can still do all that while you build it, no?” he murmured, voice low and teasing, but laced with genuine warmth. “I plan on spoiling you rotten on that island. Dinner on the beach every night if you want. Flowers delivered by boat. And the Porsche? Baby, you can drive any car I own. Hell, I’ll buy you one in your favorite color if it makes you smile like that.”

Your heart fluttered at the easy promise in his words. This wasn’t a fling. This was him claiming you- quietly, deliberately, the same way he’d waited months for the right moment.

“Leon…” you whispered, equal parts stunned, flattered, and a little overwhelmed.

He set the contract aside and rolled you gently onto your back, hovering over you once more. His hand continued its slow, deliberate path along your spine, then lower, cupping your ass and pulling you flush against his already-hardening cock.

“So yeah,” he murmured, voice dropping into that rough, hungry register again, lips brushing your ear. “Our beach house. You’ll be designing it… and I’ll be making sure you come home to me every night once it’s done.”

The heat in his eyes left no room for doubt.

Before you could form another word, his mouth claimed yours in a deep, searing kiss. His hands roamed your body with renewed purpose, sliding between your thighs where you were still slick with his earlier release and your own arousal. You gasped into his mouth as two thick fingers pushed inside you, curling just right.

“Round two,” he growled against your lips, already positioning himself at your entrance. “And this time I want to hear you scream my name without worrying about anyone overhearing.”

He thrust back into you in one smooth, possessive stroke, swallowing your moan with another hungry kiss.

Leon Kennedy didn’t have time to be curious about people.  

It wasn’t in the job description. People were variables- unpredictable, emotional, and dangerously sentimental. Attachments like that got them killed when missions went to hell, and in Leon’s world, things always went to hell eventually. One wrong distraction, one moment of softness, and someone ended up bleeding out in a back alley or worse.  

But you… you didn’t fit into any of those neat, dangerous boxes.

Your schedule at the job site next door was unpredictable in the best kind of way. Some mornings you arrived early, pedaling up the steep hill before the crew even showed up, tool bag bouncing against your hip. On the busiest weeks you rolled in later, hair slightly disheveled from the wind, despite that you never left early. You stayed until the last task was done, locking up the temporary gate with the same focused precision you brought to everything else.  

You rode that bike through a neighborhood lined with gleaming luxury cars and sprawling estates like it didn’t faze you at all. You argued with contractors twice your size without flinching, voice steady, eyes sharp. When equipment failed or plans fell apart, you laughed- loud, bright, unashamed- instead of panicking. You were competent, grounded, and refreshingly normal in a way that made every other person in his life feel like ghosts or targets.  

And somehow, that normalcy made you stand out more than anyone he’d met in years.

It’s indeed wasn’t in his job description to be curious, but seriously?

He knows he’s been long dead as a cat the moment he’d noticed you the very first week the construction crew rolled in. You looked to be in your late twenties or early thirties- hard to pin down with the hard hat casting shadows across your face and the confident way you moved across the dusty site like you owned every inch of it. Legs pumping steadily on that bike no matter the weather, practical boots kicking up gravel, high-vis vest layered over fitted work shirts that hinted at the soft curves beneath. Short hair flying wild in the breeze. You were focused. Professional. You knew exactly how to read the different kinds of men on site- when to be firm, when to flash a quick smile to get what you needed, when to shut someone down with a single look.  

The first time you glanced at his Porsche parked in the driveway, your expression softened. Just for a second. Something in Leon’s chest pulled tight, an unfamiliar tug he immediately tried to ignore.

Maybe, this feelings of interest occur because it’s his first time- in a long time- to see someone working with a normal job. Without worrying if something will crawl up behind you or a gas that will slowly spills out of nowhere.

He wasn’t looking for complications. His life didn’t allow for them. Missions dragged him away for weeks at a time. The aftereffects of the last one still sat in his veins like poison, a constant low-grade headache and memories that surfaced at the worst moments. The DSO kept feeding him new shadows to chase- ones that never quite died no matter how many bullets he put in them.  

But off-duty, in this quiet villa he’d bought as a half-hearted attempt at pretending he could have a normal life, you were the only thing that felt real. Solid. Alive.

So, he started adjusting his routines without admitting it to himself at first. He timed his morning jogs to coincide with your usual arrival, sweat already cooling on his skin as he watched you chain your bike to the temporary fence. He changed his walking routes so he’d pass the site just as the crew was wrapping up for the day. You never waved first. Never smiled openly. But he caught those quick, almost guilty glances you sent his way when you thought he wasn’t looking. Each one made the corner of his mouth twitch with something dangerously close to a smile.

For the first time in longer than he cared to admit, Leon had something to look forward to once a mission wrapped. A reason to come home that wasn’t just silence and another empty report.

He knew it wasn’t permanent. The project would end. You’d move on to the next site. But damn it, he wanted to enjoy the quiet obsession while it lasted.

Things escalated on a warm evening when you were standing on the narrow path between the two properties, phone raised to snap photos of the nearly finished villa bathed in golden dusk light. A car came barreling down the private road- way too fast, way too close- tires spitting gravel.

Leon was only a couple of feet away, finishing his cooldown walk.

He didn’t hesitate. His hand shot out, fingers wrapping firmly around your upper arm as he yanked you hard against his chest. The car swerved slightly, horn blaring angrily as it sped past. Leon flipped the driver off with his free hand, already committing the license plate to memory out of pure instinct.

He’ll deal with that fucker, later.

“Didn’t expect someone would try to hit me even on a private road,” you said, voice close and a little breathless against his shirt. “Assholes are everywhere, huh?”

It was the not the first time he’d heard you speak directly to him. But it still surprised him to hear your voice now compared the last time (where he saw you crying in frustration with your bike, in which he still kicks himself for not insisting of helping you).

This time it is softer and warm with a hint of dry humor that made heat pool low in his stomach.

He loosened his grip slowly, scanning you for any sign of injury. You weren’t meeting his eyes, cheeks faintly flushed and biting your bottom lip. As if you were guilty? Ashamed? But why? Before he could ask if you were all right, one of the contractors shouted your name from across the site- something short, ending in a vowel he didn’t quite catch in his distraction.

You glanced up at Leon for a brief second, muttered a quiet nervous “Thanks,” and slipped away toward the crew, leaving him standing there with the ghost of your body still pressed against him.

He stood frozen, heart hammering harder than any recent firefight had managed. He tried to recall the name the guy had yelled, but all he could focus on was you. The way you smelled- sweet and warm, like coconut lotion or shampoo, cutting through the dust and concrete. The way your chest had pressed flush against his for those few precious seconds. Soft. Yielding. No bra underneath that thin work shirt. Just the faint, unmistakable give of bare breasts and something smoother- nipple tape, maybe?- that did almost nothing to hide how your nipples had tightened from the sudden contact.

A hot spike of possessiveness surged through him, irrational and sharp. You worked around these rough men every single day, bending and stretching in those fitted shirts, laughing with them, commanding them. And yet… maybe- just maybe- you’d felt that same spark and chosen not to wear anything underneath today. For him.

The thought sent blood rushing south so fast his cock twitched in his shorts.

It would be nice if you lent him a helping hand with the aching tension now straining against the fabric.

Might as well take care of it himself.

He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, trying to hide the obvious dent on his shorts as he walked back to his villa, jaw tight.

Leon still didn’t know your real name.

Months of rearranging his entire workout schedule around stolen glimpses of you, and no one on that damn site had ever uttered it clearly. They just called you “Ma’am,” “Miss,” or “Engineer.” Like it was some kind of classified information.

He’d considered marching straight over and asking outright. Hell, he was Leon Kennedy- he could do that. But every time he got within ten feet of you, something in him locked up. He was in his late forties, battle-hardened, and yet around you he felt like a nervous high school kid with his first real crush. Tongue-tied. Heart racing. Pathetic.

The Thompsons had casually mentioned “the engineer” a handful of times during neighborly small talk, but they’d never introduced you properly. The one afternoon he’d tried to approach on his own, you’d slipped away like smoke- polite, distant, professional. It only fueled the frustration and the burning curiosity higher.

Weeks blurred. He was yanked away on a brutal ten-day mission in Eastern Europe- some black-bag bullshit that left him with fresh scars across his ribs and a headache that refused to fade. When he finally guided the Porsche back into his driveway under the cover of night, the Thompson villa looked complete. A moving truck idled in the drive. Landscapers hauled away the last pieces of equipment. A woman who was clearly not you stood at the main entrance, shaking hands firmly with Mr. Thompson.

No bike chained to the fence. No hard hat. No familiar figure moving near the pool deck.

She was gone.

Leon killed the engine and sat there for a long minute, fingers clenched white on the steering wheel. He’d planned to approach you properly that final morning- ask your name, maybe offer to show you the Ducati in his garage, thinking you prefer 2 wheels rather than the 4 he has- anything to shatter the silent pattern they’d fallen into. But the encrypted call had come in before he could cross the yard. Mission. No time for goodbyes.

Now the project was finished. New owners were moving in. The woman who had quietly haunted his rare days off had vanished back into whatever life waited for her beyond this construction dust and sunlit hill.

“Fuck,” he muttered, dragging a hand over his stubbled jaw.

In his line of work, missed opportunities usually left bodies on the ground. This one just left a hollow ache he didn’t have the energy or vocabulary to name.

He went inside to his villa. The house feels empty again, it looked dull once again.

Exhausted down to his bones, Leon stripped off his clothes in the dark bedroom and collapsed onto the sheets. The image of you- your laugh, your scent, the brief press of your body- still burned behind his eyelids as sleep dragged him under.

The next evening, Leon stepped out onto his driveway for some fresh air, still jet-lagged and sore from the mission.

But really, it became a habit now.

The Thompson villa looked finish- lights on inside, moving boxes stacked near the garage. He wasn’t expecting anyone.

Then he saw you.

You were standing at the pedestrian gate near the main entrance, phone in hand, doing one last check of the exterior lighting. His heart slammed against his ribs.

You’re back.

Before he could stop himself, he crossed the narrow path between the properties. The moment you heard his footsteps on the gravel, you looked up. Surprise flickered across your face, quickly followed by something warmer.

“Leon?” you said softly, lowering your phone.

He stopped just a foot away, voice rough with disbelief. “You’re here. I thought the project was done… thought you were gone.”

You gave a small, tired smile. “Well- the architect called me back for a final walk-through before Mr. Thompson moves in tomorrow. They asked for permission to do the site visit today. I didn’t think anyone would still be around this late.”

That was all the explanation he needed.

The tension that had been building for months snapped.

He closed the remaining distance in one stride as he corners you inside the pedestrian gate. Cupping your face with both hands and crashing his mouth against yours. The kiss was deep, urgent, months of stolen glances and silent want pouring out at once.

He expects her to push him away or even kicked his balls. He never in his lifetime expected that you moaned softly into his mouth, fingers curling into his shirt as you kissed him back just as hungrily.

Leon’s hands moved with deliberate hunger. He gripped the hem of your work shirt and slowly peeled it upward, breaking the kiss only long enough to tug it over your head. The cool evening air brushed over your skin, revealing your breasts- bare except for the thin, skin-toned nipple tape that matched your complexion almost perfectly. The delicate strips did almost nothing to hide how your nipples had already stiffened into tight peaks.

His breath hitched. “Jesus… you’ve been like this under those shirts the whole time?”

Quickly he checks their surrounding and the possible cctv cameras that might be angled on their location.

Seems like this is the blind spot.

Relief but at the same time thrilled of the possibility that things might went downhill. He didn’t care.

Not now, not when you’re here.

 He looks back at you.

You bit your lip, cheeks flushing, but didn’t deny it.

He then hooked his fingers under the edge of the tape and peeled it away slowly, watching your soft, heavy breasts spill free into his palms. They were warm from the day’s sun, nipples dark and sensitive. He groaned low in his throat, thumbs circling the hardened buds before pinching them gently, then firmer, drawing a sharp gasp from you.

His hands didn’t stop. They slid down your waist, unbuttoning your dark khaki pants with practiced ease. He pushed them down your hips along with your panties in one smooth motion. As the fabric dropped to your ankles, he saw the black lace panties- delicate, sheer, and already soaked through at the crotch. The contrast between your practical work attire and the sexy lace hidden beneath sent a fresh wave of raw possessiveness through him.

“Black lace… even for a last-minute site visit?” he murmured against your lips, voice dark and teasing. “You’re going to kill me.”

You kicked your pants and panties aside, now standing completely naked except for your boots. Leon drank in the sight- your flushed skin, the curve of your hips, the way your thighs pressed together with nervous anticipation.

He backed you gently against the stone pillar beside the pedestrian gate, then lifted you effortlessly onto the wide ledge there- perfect blind spot- spreading your thighs so he could step between them. His cock strained painfully against his sweat pants; he freed it with one hand, thick and leaking at the tip.

No more waiting.

He lined himself up and sank into you with one long, steady thrust, burying himself to the hilt in your tight, dripping heat. You cried out, nails digging into his shoulders. The sound carried softly in the quiet evening air.

Leon immediately clamped a hand over your mouth, eyes dark with lust and warning. “Quiet, baby. Someone might still be around.”

He started moving- slow at first, deep and deliberate, letting you feel every inch as he dragged out and pushed back in. The wet, slick sound of your bodies meeting was obscene in the open air. Your bare breasts bounced with each thrust, nipples brushing against his chest through his thin shirt.

“Been thinking about this for months,” he growled against your ear, picking up pace, hips snapping harder. “Every time you rode up on that bike… every glance you gave me.”

Your walls clenched around him, fluttering as pleasure built fast. He fucked you steadily against the gate pillar, one hand still covering your mouth to muffle your moans, the other gripping your hip tight enough to bruise.

You came first- hard- body shaking, a muffled cry vibrating against his palm as your pussy pulsed and squeezed him rhythmically.

But Leon wasn’t finished.

Still buried deep inside you, he lifted you off the ledge, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist. His cock slid even deeper with every step as he carried you toward the small guard house near the garage and carport entrance. You whimpered against his neck, kissing and biting the skin there, whispering breathlessly, “Thank you… for saving last time…”

He chuckled darkly, kicking the guard house door open with his boot. “You can thank me properly now.”

Inside the dimly lit space, he pressed your back against the nearest wall, hiking one of your legs higher around his hip. The angle let him drive into you harder, faster, the slap of skin on skin echoing louder in the confined room. He fucked you with deep, punishing strokes, one hand braced beside your head, the other kneading and pinching your breast until you were sobbing with pleasure.

When his own release hit, it was intense- hips stuttering as he spilled deep inside you, hot pulse after hot pulse, filling you until it leaked out around his cock where you were joined. Your second orgasm crashed over you at the same moment, walls milking him greedily while your whole body trembled in his arms.

For a long moment, there was only heavy breathing, the scent of sex and coconut, and the distant sound of crickets outside.

Leon pulled back just enough to look at your flushed, satisfied face-

…and woke with a violent start, gasping sharply in the dark silence of his own bedroom.

His cock was pulsing hard against his stomach, still twitching as the final spurts of cum painted his abs and chest. The sheets beneath him were soaked. His heart hammered like he’d just run a gauntlet.

The dream had felt so fucking real- the heat of your body, the tight clench of your pussy, the risk of someone walking by and catching him balls-deep inside you at the pedestrian gate and then in the guard house. The way you’d thanked him, the explanation about the final walk-through, the black lace, the nipple tape… everything.

But it was just a dream.

A filthy, vivid, deliciously cruel wet dream.

You were gone.

The site was empty. The villa next door now belonged to strangers.

Leon lay there staring at the ceiling, chest heaving, the ghost of coconut still teasing his senses. His hand drifted down almost unconsciously, smearing the mess across his skin as another weak aftershock rolled through him.

“Jesus Christ…” he muttered hoarsely, dragging the other hand down his face.

The ache in his chest was sharper now. The need to find you- to learn your name, to hear that voice again, to turn the dream into something real- was no longer a quiet curiosity.

It was a mission. Very very special personal mission.

The first time you noticed him, it wasn’t really him that you noticed… but the car first.

It slid into the quiet street like it belonged there- sleek, polished, the kind of machine that didn’t just move but arrived. Even from a distance, you could tell it was new. Expensive. The kind of car you only ever saw in videos you watched at 2 a.m., whispering “one day” like it meant something.

Ever since you were a kid, you never got to try to sit in a fancy, private vehicle. In retrospect you grew up commuting like the rest of the people around the world, of course you knew that. But you were way too young when you immediately learned how to count in thousands by counting your steps.

It's not that you want to, unless you want to be late to school and will get a good beating when your teacher calls them or sleep outside when you are even a couple of minutes late from school. Your parents are proud that their kid can count that far unlike the rest of the kids in the small town you once live. But that’s the only thing they are proud of (whenever there’s a family gathering), most of the time they just act like you didn’t exist. And that's okay.

Then later on you also learned to count your time from your home to school or to any place you plan to go (or your parents asked you to make errands with).

Past forward to present, you finally got to save up to buy your own bike. As much as you love to walk, since working in a fancy location, you really need this bike. Booking for a cab every day is very painful for your daily budget. Plus, it was really time efficient, less traffic, and also since you are a busy person, this also considered an exercise as well. Good for cardio and leg muscles.

You were halfway through unlocking the temporary site gate, helmet still hanging off your arm, when the engine cut.

The door opened.

And then-

Oh.

You froze for half a second, and already opened the site gate. You breathe a hitch.

Because the man who stepped out didn’t match the perfection of the car.

He was… tired. Exhausted or so as you thought.

Not in the lazy, just-woke-up way. No- this was something deeper. The kind of exhaustion that settled into the bones. His hair was slightly out of place, his shirt not wrinkled but not pristine either, sleeves pushed just enough to show forearms lined with faint scars.

Rugged…

Worn… but still looks like he came out of a magazine or perhaps those low-rise jean ads you saw on television.

And did you forget to mention? Unfairly handsome in a way that didn’t try. Your mind is gearing on what could this man possibly do on his daily? Usually, the people you see around here look like they never let the work overtake their appearance. Rich people always care about appearances. They have people to do their work, something like that. But him? He looks like he’s a one man’s job and at the same time serving a face.

He shut the door with a soft click, leaning against the car for just a moment like he needed it- like he was grounding himself.

As if sensing something, you looked away quickly, nervously.

Because staring at rich strangers in rich neighborhoods while you stood there in your sweaty polo shirt, worn out work jeans, and dust-covered work shoes?

Not a good look.

Still…

It wouldn’t be bad to at least steal one last glance.

The car gleamed under the morning light. For a moment, your mind starts to wander something from a romcom… and shakes your head in disbelief.

Yeah. You wish.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. It never did.

Your job description is to manage to build things like this- homes that didn’t belong to you, spaces designed for people who would never worry about rent or deadlines or whether their paycheck would stretch until the end of the month. You were just the project engineer. Even the job title doesn’t sound so fancy.

You made sure the tiles aligned. The cabinets closed properly. The lighting hit the right angles.

You made other people’s dream homes real.

And then you left.

Back to your studio apartment where your bed was three steps away from your kitchen with only one window. In which the view is just another wall from another building. Still thankful to have a roof to sleep on compare being homeless and wondering how would you live by the next day.

Back to commuting on your bike because it was cheaper, faster, and honestly? The only thing you really owned that felt like yours.

So, a man with a car like that?

Not your world.

Second time’s a charm, right? This time you really noticed him first.

Last time you check your wrist watch, it was 6:12 a.m. Your helmet still tucked under your right arm as you stood outside the half-finished villa, scanning your checklist for the day. Concrete dust clung to the edges of your sleeves, and your coffee had already gone cold.

That’s when he passed by.

A jogger. Nothing unusual, this neighborhood was full of people who had time and money to maintain routines. But there was something about him that made you look twice, that you never notice the first time you ogle- peek at him.

Tall. Broad shoulders that could swallow you whole. His dirty blonde hair’s quite thick and full for his age. Well hair transplant is a thing, you thought. The kind of presence that didn’t ask for attention but commanded it anyway. His pace was steady, controlled- like he was measuring every step. Even from a distance, there was something… contained about him. Like a coiled spring.

You told yourself it was nothing.

…Perhaps Military, maybe? Or something like that. But God, he looks amazing in his sweaty tank top and those shorts. It hugs him perfectly.

Still, the next morning, you noticed him again.

And the next.

It became a quiet routine.

You didn’t mean to notice. You really didn’t.

But when you spend months overseeing the finishing phase of a luxury villa- basically living on-site, managing workers, arguing with suppliers, coordinating last-minute client changes- you start noticing patterns.

Sometimes jogging. Sometimes just walking. Same route. Same steady pace. Never looked at his phone. Always alert.

There are times when you stay too late chasing deadlines. You are tired but have no means to even book a cab here- and sleeping here is not even an option too or someone will call a cop on you. As you were about to unchain your bike, you’d catch a glimpse of him under streetlights- leaning against his car, lighting a cigarette, or just… standing there, like the world had gone silent around him. Even as you left, you never tried to speak to him. You felt intimidated but intrigued nonetheless.

Then you won’t see him again.

A week? Two?

It’s not like you’re waiting. He’s just some guy who happens to make your day because he’s handsome and he looks amazing to see him running pass at you

As if you’d miss him, you didn’t even know his name!

Then for about a month you’d see him again.

The routine continues…

---

The man is really getting into you. Not only he’s been running past around the site almost every day. But even if he’s not physically there, it seems like he’s running in your mind as well. Again, and again.

You are slowly becoming way too conscious with his presence.

Like how his eyes flicked toward you, just once, every time he passed as you purposely stood somewhere you can see him.

Or sees you.

Sometimes you imagine it but you notice the faint smile. Or how he started adjusting his route- subtly, but enough that you’d see him more often.

Then there is this one time. It’s that time where you don’t have extra cash on your wallet, when your bike chain slipped and you were crouched on the sidewalk, greasy-handed and frustrated. Your eyes are starting to water a bit because if this thing is completely broken you might need to skip meals for a few weeks again.

And then you hear footsteps, you look up to see him slowed down. He’s now a couple of feet away from where you were.

“Need help?” His voice was low. Calm. A little rough around the edges.

You shook your head too quickly. “I’ve got it.” Hiding the small tears that come out of your eyes, you wipe it off quickly to look like something got in your eyes. Then continue to do your work.

On peripheral vision, he studied you for a second longer than necessary- like he didn’t quite believe you- but nodded anyway.

“Alright.”

And then he was gone.

But his scent lingers. You were flustered, how can someone who’s sweating from a long jog to smell… good?

Your mind started to drift somewhere deeper, somewhere that feels like forbidden.

You stared at your hands for a while after that.

And when you went back home, everything becomes messy.

Lying in your floor bed, pants have been thrown somewhere. Your panty is sticking in your right ankle. Still wearing your work shirt, you bit into as you insert two fingers inside your wet cunt while your other hand is rubbing your sensitive clit. Legs quivering as your toes tipping the bed while your hips are bucking up on how much you keep edging yourself whenever you feel like you are about to come.

Imagining him facing you, your legs are lock around his shoulder.

His dirty blonde is messy after you pulled him closer to your cunt. Nose flicking your clit, as his tongue delve your insides.

His eyes meeting yours with hunger. Like he wants to devour you whole.

Your hands writhing the bed sheet and you felt his rough hands slowly creeps from your stomach until it reaches your breast, then pinch your sensitive nipple.

You want to moan his name-

then it dawns on you, you never know what his name were.

You almost falter, almost. But then you remember how he smells, and how his chest moves whenever he jogs pass at you. And those fitted shorts, you swear you notice the outline of his dick. You know he’s really a full package.

Regardless, just his appearance itself is enough to make you come undone.

But it be nice to know it though…

It feels like hours have passed and your bed sheet is soaking wet that you wash it, as well as your underwear before the sun rise.

And this happens evetime you see him.

It becomes your routine as well.

As if the universe finally heard your plea.

You learned his name by accident.

“Mr. Kennedy’s property line ends here,” your client said casually one afternoon, pointing across the hedge as you walked them through the terrace. “We might extend the landscaping toward this side, but I’ll need to confirm with him.”

Kennedy.

You repeated it silently.

It fits.

You didn’t know why- but it did.

As if the name itself had weight.

Right on cue, as if summoned, he appeared.

Walking past the property line like he always did during late afternoons. Slower this time. No jog. Just… walking. This is the first time you saw him wearing slightly different. He wore a dark leather jacket and inside it was a black compression shirt. As your gaze lower, he’s wearing a tactical dark pants and those boots.

Perhaps he’s really working in military.

And of course, your client noticed him immediately as well.

“Leon!” he called out.

So, it was Leon Kennedy.

He looked up immediately, awareness snapping into place like a switch flipping on.

There was a brief moment- just a second- where his gaze passed over the client, then landed on you.

And stayed.

Not long enough to be inappropriate. Just long enough for you to feel it. You swear you feel the hair of the back of your neck standing up, and involuntarily shudder. It seems like your tummy feels funny as well but you chucked it down that you haven’t eaten since breakfast yet.

Or maybe guilt? Shame?

As if he knows what you did after work.

You straightened unconsciously, suddenly aware of the dust on your now frizzy hair and clothes, the helmet under your arm, the clipboard that felt like a shield.

“Afternoon,” he said, voice rough in a way that didn’t sound natural- like it had been through too much.

You nodded. Didn’t speak. Didn’t trust yourself too.

Your client started chatting- something about boundaries, landscaping, small talk you stopped hearing halfway through.

Because Leon-

Leon was still aware of you.

Even when he wasn’t looking directly anymore. You could feel it. And you hated that you could.

So, you excused yourself.

“Sorry, I’ll check on the installers,” you said quickly, already stepping away before anyone could respond.

You didn’t look back. But if you had…

You would’ve seen him watching you leave.

You told yourself it didn’t matter.

Obviously, a man like him is in a serious relationship. There’s no way that man can be single. Perhaps divorce? Separated? Or he have fuck buddy??

Probably a rich one… very important… But most all

You are way out of his league.

End of story.

Except it didn’t end.

READER’S POV

I can still smell the burned gasoline and the rain after the scorching heat from the pavement. Not from the outbreak- that came later- but from the day I left him. Two weeks before hell broke loose, I stood in the doorway of his shitty small studio type apartment, watching him sleep off another late shift. The scent of his cheap aftershave mixed with the downpour outside. I didn’t leave a note. But the only thing I left in our apartment were my old toothbrush, the necklace he gave me for my birthday, and the shattered pieces of my heart, and I vanished into the storm.

He called me love. Even when he was half-asleep, mumbling into my hair.

"Love, you’re cold… come here." His arms, already sculpted from academy training, would pull me against a chest that felt like a fortress.

I believed in that fortress.

Until I didn’t.

The last straw wasn’t the whispered rumors at the police academy about some cadet hanging all over him. It wasn’t even his dismissive, "She’s just a friend, don’t worry about it," when my worry was a living, breathing thing in my throat. 

No. 

It was a surprise visit.

I’d gotten off my own shift early, picked up our lunch and his favorite terrible coffee, and went to his precinct to celebrate in advance we both knew was coming- his acceptance into the Raccoon City Police Department. My heart was a hummingbird. I rounded the corner to his desk… and there she was.

Perched on his lap like she owned it. Some brunette with a laugh too loud, her hand on his shoulder. And Leon… my Leon. His head was bent over a report, one arm absently resting on the back of his chair, a faint, absent-minded smile on his lips as she whispered something in his ear. He wasn’t pushing her away. He wasn’t uncomfortable. He looked… accustomed.

“See? Told you the forms are easy once you get the hang of it, baby,” she cooed, tracing a finger along the edge of his report with a playful smile. “You’re gonna be the best rookie they’ve ever had. I’m so proud of you.”

Leon didn’t even look up properly, just chuckled that easy, boyish laugh you used to love. “Yeah, just like that- thanks for the help, Jen. You’re a lifesaver.”

The paper cup of coffee cracked in my grip, scalding liquid seeping over my fingers. I felt nothing. I turned and walked out. He never saw me. I was a ghost before I even became one.

Two weeks later, the city had burned.

And in the ashes, I heard through the grapevine- Claire, trying to be kind in a world that had no kindness left- that he’d met someone in the hellscape. A woman in a red dress. Mysterious. Dangerous. Definitely not me, who loves being open when it comes to emotions and security is my utmost priority.

He moved on.

Of course he did.

Leon S. Kennedy, the survivor, the hero, always lands on his feet. Even if those feet are walking away from me.

LEON’S POV

The acceptance letter felt like a ticket to the rest of our lives. Thick cream paper, the official RCPD seal embossed in gold at the top. Officer Leon S. Kennedy. I’d read it so many times on the bus that the edges were already starting to soften. Twenty-one, fresh out of the academy, and everything we’d talked about- our future, a real paycheck, a place where we could finally breathe- was right here in my hands.

I practically ran the last two blocks home, heart pounding with excitement. The key turned easily this time.

“Baby? Love, you won’t believe this- ” I stepped inside, already grinning, a letter held high like a trophy. “RCPD came through. Official offer, start date, the whole thing. We’re really doing this- ”

The apartment was dim, only the soft blue flicker of the TV lighting the living room. She was curled up on the couch, knees tucked tight to her chest, face half-buried in the throw pillow. Her eyes were puffy, lashes clumped together, cheeks flushed and still shiny with dried tears. The sight stopped me cold. She must’ve fallen asleep crying again- probably those damn cat rescue videos she couldn’t resist.

I softened instantly. The letter could wait. She looked so small, so worn out. Quietly, I set my bag down, slipped off my boots, and crouched beside her. “Hey… c’mere,” I whispered, even though she was already asleep. I slid my arms under her carefully, lifting her against my chest. She stirred just enough to sigh and tuck her face into my neck, the faint scent of her watermelon shampoo wrapping around me like always.

I carried her to our bedroom, laid her down gently, and crawled in behind her. My arm slipped around her waist, pulling her back flush against me the way she liked. “Tomorrow,” I murmured against her hair. “I’ll show you the letter first thing. We’ll celebrate properly.”

Sleep came fast, warm and heavy with her in my arms.

The next morning, the air felt… wrong.

Thick, like breathing through wet cloth that clung to my throat. I woke up slowly, the usual soft morning light filtering through the curtains, but everything seemed muted. Colors flatter. The walls of our bedroom felt closer than they should, pressing in. She wasn’t beside me. The sheets on her side were cold.

I sat up, rubbing my face, the letter still folded neatly on the nightstand where I’d left it. “Love?” I called out, voice still rough with sleep. No answer. The apartment was silent except for the low hum of the fridge.

I told myself it was nothing. Just nerves about the new job. Just the weight of everything finally becoming real. But the feeling stuck to my skin like humidity.

I showered quickly, pulled on my uniform shirt, and glanced at the letter again. I’ll tell her tonight, I decided. Come home with her favorite takeout, sit her down, watch that smile break across her face when she reads it. The thought warmed me enough to push the weird tension aside.

Work dragged on. I tried calling her during my break- once, twice. Straight to voicemail. I sent a quick text instead:

Love, picking up your favorite takeout tonight. Got some really good news to tell you <3 Can’t wait to see your face.

When I finally pushed open the apartment door that evening, the paper bag of takeout was warm against my chest- pad thai with extra spring rolls, mango sticky rice on the side, exactly how she liked it. The smell of lemongrass and peanut sauce filled the hallway as I stepped inside, already smiling.

“Baby, I’m home! Hope you’re hungry because I- ”

The words died in my throat.

The apartment was empty.

Not just quiet- hollow.

Her favorite chipped mug was gone from its hook above the sink. The bathroom smelled only of my soap; the sweet watermelon scent that always lingered on the towels had completely vanished. I walked to the fridge on autopilot. The silly doodles she always left on the notepad- little hearts, stick-figure versions of us holding hands, stupid inside jokes- were torn away, leaving only blank paper.

I opened the closet with a shaking hand. Her side was bare. Hangers rattled emptily. No clothes. No shoes. No necklace she never took off. The little jewelry box I’d given her for our anniversary- gone.

No note.

No text.

No call.

Just the low buzz of the refrigerator and the distant sound of traffic outside.

The takeout bag slipped from my fingers and hit the floor with a soft, greasy thud. Noodles and sauce spilled across the tiles like evidence of a crime scene. The acceptance letter, still folded in my jacket pocket, suddenly felt like lead. I stood there for what must have been an hour, maybe two, staring at the hollow spaces where her life used to be.

How had I missed it?

Last night- she’d been crying when I got home. Puffy eyes, wet cheeks. I’d assumed cat videos. I’d carried her to bed without asking. This morning the air had felt thick, wrong, suffocating… and I’d brushed it off. I hadn’t noticed the missing mug when I made coffee. Hadn’t registered the silence. Hadn’t seen the empty hooks, the cleared surfaces.

I’d been too busy thinking about the letter. About the future. About us.

The fortress I’d been building in my head- for both of us- collapsed inward with a silent, crushing weight.

That night I ended up at a dive bar three blocks away, staring into the bottom of a whiskey glass. The amber liquid burned, but it couldn’t touch the confusion, the raw betrayal twisting in my gut. Why? What the hell had I missed?

A familiar, too-sweet perfume cut through the haze. My coworker slid onto the stool beside me, the one my girl had worried about more than once.

“Oh, Leon… all alone tonight?” Her voice was soft, pitying, with something sharper underneath. “She never did appreciate you, you know. Always so sensitive. You deserve someone who actually sees how special you are.”

Her hand landed on my arm, fingers squeezing with easy familiarity. Her lips hovered too close to my ear. “I’ve been right here the whole time.”

The realization hit like a gut punch. I’d told her- casually, stupidly- about the little worries my girl sometimes had. I’d brushed them off as paranoia. She’s just a friend, love. Don’t worry about it.

But here she was. Sliding into the space my girl had left like she’d been waiting for it to open.

I shoved her hand away harder than I meant to. “Don’t.” The word came out raw, gravelly. “Just… don’t.”

I left money on the bar and stumbled out into the rain. Cold drops mixed with the hot sting on my face. Shame burned hotter than the whiskey. I’d fucked up. I’d lost the best thing I’d ever had because I was too blind, too focused on the shiny new badge and my own excitement, to see the signs right in front of me.

Raccoon City came for all of us soon after. The outbreak turned the streets into hellfire, zombies and nightmares spilling out like poison. It burned everything clean on the outside.

Inside, it changed nothing.

And in the middle of that chaos, a flicker of red appeared in the gloom.

Ada Wong.

Silk the color of fresh blood, sharp mind, sharper instincts. A survival instinct that matched my own. She had a way of tilting her head when she analyzed a problem- calculating, curious- that sent a phantom pain straight through my chest every single time.

It reminded me of her.

It wasn’t moving on.

It was haunting.

Until six years later… when the past finally caught up again in the hills of Spain.

SIX YEARS LATER

CHRIS’ POV

I recruited her for a reason.

She had a mind like a scalpel- sharp, precise, and never afraid to cut deep. She stayed cool under pressure, even when the field lab was shaking from nearby explosions or the air reeked of fresh BOW residue. Her background in biomedical research wasn’t some clean lab-coat theory; she’d gotten her hands dirty in the field, calibrating serums while Lickers screeched in the distance. She was an asset. The kind of asset that kept my team alive.

What I didn’t sign up for was becoming a fucking marriage counselor for two ex-lovers with the emotional intelligence of live grenades.

I barged into the briefing room without knocking, my boots heavy on the concrete floor. The air inside was already thick with the low buzz of the holographic projector.. I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling the familiar knot of tension that always formed when I had to play referee.

“Leon’s here for the intel handoff,” I said, doing my best to sound stern and captain-like, the voice I used when I needed people to fall in line. “DSO overlaps on the Omega strain. Play nice, Doc. He’s the best field asset we’ve got, and you’re the only one who can calibrate the drone payload in real time.”

I watched her reaction like a hawk. Her whole body tensed the second I said his name- shoulders tightening under her tactical vest, fingers gripping the tablet a fraction too hard. Her face stayed carefully neutral, a professional mask firmly in place, but the tablet nearly slipped from her fingers. She caught it at the last second, knuckles whitening around the edges.

Why does this shit always happen on my watch?

“Exes,” I confirmed, exhaling through my nose as I leaned against the doorframe. “Yeah, I connected the dots last week when your Raccoon City survivor file crossed my desk with that little red ‘personal entanglement’ flag. Heard some stories from Claire and Sherry. Ancient history, right?”

She forced a smile that looked like shattered glass- tight, brittle, the kind that didn’t reach her eyes. “Ancient. Buried. Irrelevant.”

Ten minutes later the door opened again. Leon Kennedy walked in like he owned the air itself- same scuffed leather jacket from the academy days, hair a little longer and tousled from the chopper wind, stubble sharper, eyes colder than the Arctic strain. He didn’t glance her way at first. Just crossed the room in that effortless stride, shook my hand with a firm clap on the shoulder, and dropped the encrypted DSO drive onto the table like it was nothing.

“Omega Plagas,” he started, voice clipped and professional as he projected the briefing hologram. The blue light flickered across the table, casting sharp shadows on everyone’s faces. “Neural hijack window down to ninety seconds. Pack coordination upgraded- hosts now use basic flanking tactics. DSO lost three agents last month in the village outskirts. Full autopsy reports attached. The parasite is adapting faster than anything we saw in Spain.”

I glanced at her. She kept her eyes locked on her own tablet, fingers dancing across the interface, pulling up her CRISPR sequence overlays. I saw the tiniest twitch in her jaw- but her voice stayed steady as steel when she cut in.

“ViraMed’s retroviral inhibitor targets the parasitic RNA directly,” she said, calm and clinical. “We’re looking at a base-pair mismatch vulnerability at the 47th locus. Aerosol dispersal via modified drone can saturate a thirty-meter radius in under thirty seconds, provided the host cluster is contained. I’ve run six simulations. It should neutralize the neural rewrite before full pack coordination kicks in.”

Leon’s gaze finally snapped to her. His jaw flexed, a muscle ticking visibly under the stubble. “Advisor.” Flat. Measured. Like she was a mildly inconvenient footnote in the mission brief.

“Agent Kennedy.” She matched his tone with sweet venom, tilting her head just slightly. “Still letting the government issue you that discount cologne? Or did Ada pick it out for you this time?”

I couldn’t help it- I pinched the bridge of my nose so hard I heard cartilage creak. The room felt ten degrees colder. “Jesus Christ. Save the reunion tour for after the briefing. We’ve got a village full of mutated cultists waiting.”

The meeting dragged for forty-three excruciating minutes. The air in the room felt thick, charged, like the moment before a storm breaks.

When I finally stepped out for a secure satellite call, the silence I left behind was heavier than any BOW I’d ever faced.

- - -

It started small after that. Passive-aggressive notes appended to reports.

‘ -Per Agent Kennedy’s simplistic strategy, one might consider basic perimeter security…’

‘The Doctor’s theoretical model fails to account for actual combat kinetics…’

Then it evolved into “accidental” meetings in the hallways.

“Redfield needs you to review this,” Leon would say, shoving a file at her.

“Tell him to use the internal messaging system like a big boy,” she’d reply, retracting her hand so the file dropped between them.

“I’m not your messenger.”

“And I’m not your secretary.”

I finally snapped after finding Piers playing middleman for the fifth time in a week- running back and forth with folders like a damn courier while looking increasingly exhausted.

“Enough!” My voice boomed in the conference room when I finally dragged both of them in. The walls seemed to vibrate with the force of it. “You two are grown adults. Professionals. Start acting like it! Communicate directly or I’ll bench you both from joint ops. I don’t care how brilliant either of you is- this bullshit ends now.”

I should have known better.

I rubbed my neck again, already regretting every decision that had led to this moment. I recruited her to save lives. I brought him in because he was the best at what he did.

Instead, I’d accidentally invited a goddamn war into my base.

And the worst part? Deep down, I still believed they belonged together. Two survivors who had lost everything in Raccoon City, still carrying pieces of each other whether they admitted it or not.

But right now, they were a powder keg.

And I had just handed them the match.

LEON’S POV

Acting like an adult? Fine. I could play that game.

I saw her in the lab through the observation window, laughing at something Piers Nivans said. The sound carried faintly through the glass- bright, genuine, the kind of laugh that used to be mine. Her hand rested lightly on his arm as she leaned in to point at something on the tablet screen, her smile warm and easy, eyes crinkling at the corners. That smile. The one I hadn’t seen in six years. The one that used to light up our tiny apartment when I came home late with cheap takeout and called her “love.”

It felt like a knife twisting slowly between my ribs.

Piers was saying something that made her laugh again, head tilting slightly, the way she used to do with me when I told a stupid joke. The green-eyed monster in my chest roared louder than any BOW I’d ever faced. I turned away before I did something stupid, like punch the glass or storm in and drag her out.

So when the next joint briefing rolled around, I was ready.

The conference room smelled of stale coffee and the faint ozone from the holographic projector. I leaned back in my chair, arms crossed, watching her present her latest virology findings on the Omega strain. She stood at the front, confident and composed in her tactical vest, holographic charts spinning in the air in front of her. Her voice was clear, professional, every word precise.

“Fascinating theory, Doctor,” I drawled the moment she finished, my tone lazy and cutting. I let the chair creak as I leaned forward, eyes locked on hers. “Pity field agents have to deal in reality. Must be nice up there in your ivory tower, running simulations while the rest of us bleed.”

The room went dead silent. Every head turned. Even Chris, sitting at the head of the table, froze mid-sip of his coffee.

Her eyes, the exact color I once loved watching darken with desire- flashed to mine with lethal precision. The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.

“My ‘ivory tower’ has saved more agent asses than your trigger-happy version of reality ever has, Kennedy,” she fired back, her voice sweetly venomous, each word dripping with controlled poison. She tilted her head, a small, dangerous smile curving her lips. “Or did you forget Madrid already? The one where my ‘theory’ identified the parasite vector you were about to walk straight into? You’d have been another shredded corpse if I hadn’t flagged it in time.”

I felt the hit land, but I didn’t let it show. Instead I smirked, slow and mocking. “Madrid. Right. Where you spent the entire op cozying up with the support team while I was the one actually pulling triggers. It must be nice to play hero from behind a screen.”

Her fingers tightened around the edge of the table. “At least my ‘screen’ doesn’t come with a body count attached to every bad call. How many agents did you lose last month because you ignored the data and went in guns blazing? Remind me.”

The air crackled with tension. Piers shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Rebecca’s eyes darted between us like she was watching a live grenade pin get pulled. Even Jill, usually the first to crack a joke, stayed silent.

I leaned forward, elbows on the table, voice dropping low. “Careful, Doc. Keep talking like that and people might start thinking you still care what happens to me.”

She laughed once, sharp and bitter, the sound cutting through the room like broken glass. “Care? The only thing I care about is making sure your ego doesn’t get the rest of us killed. Again.”

Chris finally cleared his throat, the sound loud in the sudden quiet. “Enough. Both of you. Save it for the field.”

But it was too late.

The war was officially declared.

From that moment on, the BSAA base became our trench system. Every hallway was a no-man’s-land. Every briefing was a battlefield. Passive-aggressive notes appeared on reports like landmines. “Accidental” collisions in corridors turned into barbed exchanges. The crew watched with a mixture of horror and fascination, the betting pool swelling with every new skirmish.

And through it all, that knife in my chest twisted deeper every time I saw her laugh with someone else- especially Piers.

Because deep down, I knew the truth.

I had never stopped loving her.

And she had never stopped hating me for it.

READER’S POV

He started it.

The petty shit.

It began with him “accidentally” spilling his coffee across my freshly printed genome report- right over the color-coded section detailing the Omega Plagas’s neural hijack mechanism. The dark liquid soaked through the pages in seconds, ruining hours of meticulous work. I spent three painstaking hours in the lab reprinting, re-annotating every base-pair mismatch, and color-coding the charts again, muttering curses under my breath that sounded suspiciously like his full name. “Leon Scott Kennedy, you absolute bastard…”

So I retaliated.

During his next live-fire simulation, I may have had a quiet word with the range master. His prized Silver Ghost was loaded with blanks for the first magazine.

The look on his face when his shots did nothing but click uselessly against the holographic BOW was priceless. The furious, bewildered turn of his head, his sculpted jaw tight with shock, blue eyes scanning the observation room until they locked onto mine behind the one-way glass. I gave him a small, innocent wave, lips curved in the sweetest smile I could muster.

Jill Valentine caught me in the hallway afterward, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised.

“You changed his ammo.”

“He started it,” I said, shrugging as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world.

“You two are going to get someone killed.”

“We’re just… communicating.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Communicating with blanks. Brilliant.”

He escalated.

Two days later, he hacked the training room’s lighting system so the strobes kicked in like a migraine-inducing rave every single time I stepped inside. The flashing lights were hell- disorienting, nauseating, turning every movement into a strobe-lit nightmare. It took the tech team days to fully restart and secure the system. I walked in mid-morning for a scheduled session, froze mid-stride as the lights began their seizure-inducing dance, then flipped him off directly through the glass with both hands while the crew lost their collective shit in the control room. Piers was wheezing. Rebecca was filming. Carlos was howling with laughter.

Chris caught us mid-shade war in the armory two days later.

I was jabbing a finger into Leon’s chest, voice sharp. “You are a government-issue manwhore with commitment issues, Kennedy. You always have been.”

He had me backed against a locker, not touching, just looming close enough that I could feel the heat rolling off his body, his breath brushing my face. His eyes were dark, dangerous. “And you’re a hypocritical ice queen who runs the second things get real. Still running, Doc?”

It was Chris who had the brilliant idea to force a reconciliation.

He locked us in the observation room after the latest debrief, voice booming with frustration.

“Observation room. Two hours,” he ordered, the deep, world-weary dad-sigh of a man who’d survived more apocalypses than birthdays. “Work it out or I’m writing you both up for conduct unbecoming a professional. Talk it out. Don’t come out until you’ve resolved this juvenile crap.”

The door hissed shut behind us. Soundproof walls. One-way glass. No escape.

We lasted eleven minutes before the first metaphorical punch turned physical.

He shoved. I shoved back harder.

Like hell we’re gonna ‘talk it out.’ I was ready to piss him off until he begged for mercy.

But then his mouth crashed into mine- teeth clashing, tongues battling, six years of missing him so hard it felt like the T-Virus eating straight through my ribcage. His hands shoved my vest up, palmed my breast through the thin shirt, and I winced in unwanted pleasure when he pinched my nipple hard enough to make me gasp. I moaned into his mouth like I hated how good it still felt, how perfectly his body still knew mine.

The intercom crackled overhead: “Time’s up, lovebirds. The door’s opening.” It was Carlos’s voice, laced with barely contained amusement. “Try not to kill each other… or do. Either way, make it quick.”

We sprang apart like guilty teenagers, lips swollen, breathing ragged, my hand still halfway under his shirt. Chris opened the door, took one look at the scene- disheveled clothes, flushed faces, the unmistakable heat still crackling between us- and muttered, “For fuck’s sake, you two are worse than Jill and Carlos on a bad day.”

We left in shame. Luckily for me, he didn’t follow. He stormed off in the opposite direction, leaving me alone with the echo of that kiss burning on my lips.

Until it was past ten.

I was in the food pantry, making jammed bread on a slice of stale toast, happily eating it with my ugly ass mug- the one from our first anniversary that still judged me silently for what had happened earlier in the observation room. The second the door clicked shut behind me, the air turned to static.

“You think this is funny?” Leon snarled, pacing like a caged tiger, boots heavy on the tile floor. His hair was still slightly messy from the earlier chaos, jaw clenched so tight the muscle jumped.

“I think you’re a hypocrite,” I shot back, our eyes locking as I licked jam residue slowly from my fingers, deliberately provocative. “You get to play the wounded party when you were the one with a groupie in your lap back in Raccoon?”

“It wasn’t like that!”

“My eyes worked perfectly fine!”

He stopped pacing, looming over me. Five foot Eleven of coiled, frustrated muscle in a black turtleneck that did nothing to hide the breadth of his shoulders. The familiar scent of him- clean sweat mixed with gun grease and something uniquely Leon- invaded my senses. Old memories, dangerous and warm, surged unbidden.

“You left without a word,” his voice dropped, raw and cracked. “You didn’t let me explain. You just… decided I was guilty.”

“You were!”

“I was stupid!” he roared, the force of it making me flinch. He saw it and his face softened, raw agony flashing in those blue eyes I used to drown in. “I was a naive rookie who didn’t know how to handle a clingy colleague! I didn’t cheat on you. I would never have cheated on you.”

The truth in his words hit a chord that had been rusted shut for years. Before I could process it, before I could fortify my walls again, his hands were on my face- calloused thumbs brushing my cheeks with surprising gentleness. And his mouth was on mine.

It wasn’t gentle.

It was a clash- a claiming, a punishment, a desperate reunion. All the months of anger, longing, and bitterness poured into that kiss. His tongue demanded entry and I gave it, my hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer against every sane instinct. He tasted like coffee and regret and home. My body, a traitorous thing, arched into his, feeling the hard planes of his chest, the undeniable proof of his strength and arousal pressing against me.

The door opened.

Claire Redfield stood there, frozen, a bag of chips in her hand, eyes wide as saucers.

I shoved Leon back with all my strength, the spell breaking with brutal suddenness. The sound of my palm connecting with his cheek cracked through the room like a gunshot. “Don’t you ever touch me again,” I hissed, my voice trembling with rage and something far more dangerous.

I fled.

Claire fled.

And by lunchtime, the entire base knew.

JILL’S POV

I slid into the seat across from Piers and Rebecca in the mess hall, coffee in hand, grinning like I’d just won the lottery. The betting pool notebook was already open on the table, scribbled with odds and dates in messy handwriting. An empty ammo box sat in the center with a strip of tape slapped across it that read “MAKE-UP POOL” in bold black marker.

“Ten dollars says they fuck within the week,” I announced, dropping a crisp ten into the box with a satisfying clink.

Piers leaned forward, eyes sparkling with mischief as he counted out his bills. “I give it two days, max. The way they glare at each other in briefings? That’s foreplay with extra steps. Plus, I’m tired of running messages between them like a damn mailman. My legs are killing me from all the extra laps Chris is making us do because of their drama.”

Rebecca snorted into her protein shake, pushing her glasses up her nose. “Hate sex in the armory. I saw the fresh hickey on her neck yesterday- she tried covering it with a tactical scarf like we’re all blind. Amateur hour. And honestly? As the medic, I’m sick of stitching up the tension headaches they’re giving everyone. The whole team’s on edge.”

I leaned back, propped my boots on the table, and laughed loud enough to turn a few heads. “Locked-room special in the observation deck. They either kill each other or fuck. I’m betting on both, in that exact order. Chris is gonna regret playing referee. But let’s be real- those two are family. The world’s dark enough without them carrying six-year-old ghosts. If I can win the pool and get them back together, it’s a win-win for morale.”

“Twenty in a month,” Josh said pessimistically, sliding his cash in. “They’re too stubborn. But I’m in because the tension is messing with our training scores. I need them focused, not sniping at each other over comms.”

Sheva dropped a crisp twenty on top. “Kennedy’s office. Pre-mission. I’m tired of watching two of our best assets waste energy on this bullshit instead of the actual BOWs.”

Carlos Oliveira wandered over from the coffee station, arms crossed, that signature smirk on his face. “You degenerates are betting on Kennedy’s love life? Count me in- fifty on the supply closet during the next joint op. I’ve seen the way they circle each other like cats in heat. The pool money’s gonna fund the good whiskey for the next team party.”

Chris wandered over last, nursing his own black coffee, pretending not to listen. But I caught the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He quietly slid a hundred-dollar bill across the table. “Leon’s office. Post-mission. Someone’s gotta keep you degenerates honest… and if it gets them talking again, even better. The team can’t afford this distraction forever.”

The table erupted. “Cap’s in?!” Piers choked on his drink. Rebecca high-fived me so hard my shoulder popped.

I winked at Chris. “Told you they sounded like a divorced couple in every briefing. This is better than reality TV.”

Deep down we were all rooting for them. The world was dark enough without carrying six-year-old ghosts. But damn if watching them wasn’t the best entertainment the BSAA had seen since the last outbreak.

The pool grew fast. Every interaction was scrutinized like a live BOW autopsy. Did he just “accidentally” brush against her in the hall? Did she just steal his lunch from the fridge again? Verbal sparring over comms during a low-risk recon mission? That was worth an extra five bucks from the spectators. The ammo box was already half-full by the end of the week.

- - -

The crew’s motivations ran deeper than money. After Raccoon, Leon and you were family- survivors who’d lost everything and still showed up every day. The constant tension was bleeding into ops, lowering morale, and making everyone’s jobs harder. The bet gave them an excuse to meddle, but the real drive was getting two of their best assets (and friends) back on solid ground.

The gym locker room smelled of sweat, chlorine from the pool next door, and the faint metallic tang of gun oil that clung to every BSAA operative’s skin. Piers and Sheva had “accidentally” double-booked the base’s only private shower stall- the one with the decent hot water and actual privacy curtains- for Leon and you right after a brutal joint training run.

Piers’s motivation was simple: he was exhausted from being the unwilling messenger and genuinely liked both of you. “They’re wasting energy on this instead of the missions,” he’d whispered to Sheva while forging the schedule. “If a little forced proximity works, I’m all in. Plus, I’ve got fifty riding on this.”

Sheva’s reasons were more tactical. “After the outbreak, we all lost people. These two deserve a second chance. And if it clears the air, our team runs smoother.”

You arrived first, towel slung over your shoulder, hair still damp from the rain outside. Leon showed up thirty seconds later, shirt already half-unbuttoned, scowl firmly in place.

“What the hell?” you snapped the moment you both reached the stall door at the same time. “This is my slot. Piers sent me the schedule.”

Leon’s eyes narrowed. “Funny. Sheva sent me the exact same time. Move.”

You didn’t budge. “Personal hygiene first, Kennedy. You smell like you rolled in Ganado guts. Again.”

“Oh, that’s rich coming from the woman who used to steal my shampoo because hers ‘smelled like a chemistry lab explosion,’” he shot back, voice rising. “Step aside before I make you.”

“Make me?” You laughed, sharp and bitter, stepping closer until your chests nearly brushed. “You couldn’t even make a decent cup of coffee back in Raccoon without burning it. Now you think you can order me around? Typical. Still the same rookie who let some academy skank sit on his lap while I brought him lunch.”

The shouting match escalated fast, voices bouncing off the tiled walls and carrying two floors up to the command level.

“You’re the one who vanished without a word!” Leon yelled, voice echoing. “No note, no call- just gone! And now you act like I’m the villain every time Ada’s name comes up?”

“At least Ada doesn’t pretend to be ‘just a coworker’ while she’s practically riding your thigh!” you fired back, jabbing a finger into his chest. “Time management, Kennedy. You clearly never learned it- always letting other people take priority.”

The argument devolved into a full-blown debate about who deserved the hot water first, who took longer to shower, and whose “personal hygiene routine” was more of a biohazard.

The crew outside could hear every word.

Rebecca winced. “That’s… not going according to plan.”

Leon emerged first, hair wet, towel low on his hips, wearing a blue-ball-induced scowl that could curdle milk. He slammed the locker door so hard the hinges rattled and stormed off without looking at anyone.

You followed two minutes later, towel wrapped tight, cheeks flushed with anger rather than anything else. You flipped off the entire group waiting in the hallway. “Nice try, assholes.”

No fucking. The pool stayed untouched.

- - -

The motor pool was quiet except for the low hum of generators and the occasional drip of rain from the overhang. Josh had “lost” the key to the only available vehicle for the supply run to the satellite facility, forcing you and Leon into the same armored jeep for a ninety-minute drive through winding German backroads.

Josh’s motivation was pure team survival. “The tension is tanking our training scores,” he’d muttered while hiding the key. “If they’re stuck together for an hour and a half, maybe they’ll hash it out. Or at least stop making the rest of us miserable.”

The interior smelled of leather and the faint trace of Leon’s cologne. You sat in the passenger seat with your arms crossed, tablet open on your lap for “work.” Leon gripped the wheel like it owed him money.

The first thirty minutes were pure icy silence.

Then you broke it. “You drive like you’re still a rookie trying to impress the academy girls. Slow down before you hit a pothole and we both end up in a ditch.”

Leon’s jaw tightened. “And you criticize my driving like you’re still the one who refused to let me drive your precious old clunker back in Raccoon. Remember that? Or did you conveniently forget everything except how to hate me?”

You reached for the thermostat and cranked it up. “It’s freezing in here. You always ran cold and never cared if I was comfortable.”

He immediately reached over and cranked it back down. “It’s a tactical vehicle, not a damn spa. You always ran hot and never cared if I was sweating my ass off.”

The near-physical altercation over the thermostat turned into a full-blown argument. Your hand slapped his away. His hand slapped yours back. The jeep swerved slightly as he tried to keep one eye on the road.

“Watch where you’re going!” you snapped.

“Maybe if you stopped acting like a backseat driver I could focus!” he growled. “And turn that garbage music off. You still listen to the same playlists from 1998?”

You unplugged the radio entirely. “Better than whatever country crap you blast when you think no one’s listening.”

Ninety minutes of barbed silence broken only by those sharp jabs. No fucking. When you finally arrived at the satellite facility, both of you stormed out in opposite directions. Josh got a play-by-play via comms and groaned the entire way back to base.

- - -

The after-mission debrief room smelled of sweat, gunpowder residue, and the strong black coffee Rebecca had brewed for everyone. Jill, in a moment of pure desperation after the latest failed sabotage, had spiked two mugs with a mild herbal aphrodisiac she’d “borrowed” from the med bay- non-regulation, but “perfectly safe in small doses,” she’d insisted to the crew.

Jill’s motivation was a mix of money and genuine care. “The pool’s at eighteen grand, but more than that, I hate seeing them like this, they deserve better. One little push can’t hurt… right?”

You and Leon were the last two left at the table, both exhausted from the recon run. Jill slid the mugs across with an innocent smile.

You took a sip first. Your eyes widened. You immediately spit it back into the mug. “What the hell is this? It tastes like someone mixed cough syrup with regret.”

Leon took his sip at the exact same moment and spat it out too, glaring at you across the table. “Did you just try to drug me, Doc? Because that’s low, even for you.”

You slammed your mug down. “Me? You’re the one who looks like you slipped something in mine! Still trying to get your way after all these years?”

The accusation flew back and forth, voices rising.

“You think I’d waste my time drugging you when I can barely stand to be in the same room?” Leon snarled.

“Funny, because you sure as hell didn’t mind when that academy skank was on your lap!” you shot back.

A joint complaint was filed to Chris within the hour- both of you storming into his office, mugs in hand, demanding an investigation into “suspicious beverages.” Chris pinched the bridge of his nose so hard it looked painful.

Jill watched from the hallway, wincing. “Well… that backfired spectacularly.”

No fucking.

The crew got chewed out, the pool swelled even larger from the sheer chaos, and the tension on base grew thicker than ever.

LEON’S POV

Watching her work was its own kind of torture.

The temporary field lab was a converted warehouse on the edge of the infected zone, its walls lined with humming portable containment units and flickering monitors. She moved through the contaminated section with that graceful caution I remembered too well- gloved hands deftly handling sample containers, eyes focused behind the clear visor of her hazmat hood as she carefully pipetted viscous black fluid from a Regenerador tissue sample into a vial. The overhead lights cast sharp shadows across her face, highlighting the determined set of her jaw and the small furrow between her brows when she concentrated.

Piers was her shadow, covering her six with professional precision, leaning in close to hear her quiet instructions over the comms. “Piers, tilt the sample tray thirty degrees- yes, like that. I need a cleaner cross-section for the RNA sequencer.” Her voice was soft, patient, the same tone she used to use with me back when we were still building something real.

A unit. A partnership.

A surge of something ugly and green boiled low in my gut, hot and vicious. When a group of Regeneradors shambled around the corner- pale, fleshy horrors with exposed regenerative cores- I didn’t wait for Piers’s order.

“On your left, Nivans!” I barked, shoulder-checking past him maybe harder than necessary. My rifle kicked against my shoulder as I opened fire, shredding the first creature in a spray of black ichor and shredded tissue. “Keep up.”

I saw her glance back through the reinforced glass, a frown visible behind her visor. Not concern for me. Annoyance at the disruption.

“Eyes on your own sector, Kennedy,” Piers said tightly over comms, voice clipped with irritation as he repositioned to cover the gap I’d created.

“Just making sure the science team doesn’t get eaten,” I retorted, voice dripping with sarcasm as I put another burst into the second Regenerador. The creature screamed, its flesh already knitting back together until my shots found the core.

Later, during extraction under heavy fire, she stumbled on a pile of rubble, boot catching on a jagged piece of concrete. Piers was there instantly, catching her elbow with a steady hand and helping her regain balance.

“Easy, Doc,” he said, voice warm and reassuring. “I’ve got you.”

“I’m fine, Piers, thanks,” she replied, breathless but genuine, offering him a small, grateful smile that hit me like a gut punch. That soft tone- the one reserved for people she actually cared about- was directed at him.

The word “fine” in that tone, aimed at someone else, was the match that lit the fuse.

Back at the temporary base camp, the air still thick with the metallic scent of blood and gunpowder, and the distant rumble of thunder, I cornered her by the decon showers. The area was dimly lit, steam rising from the hot water units, the sound of running water masking most conversations.

“You and Nivans seem awfully cozy out there,” I said, voice low and edged as I stepped into her space. “Laughing, touching arms, calling him by name like he’s your personal bodyguard.”

She didn’t even look at me at first, just continued scrubbing her arms under the spray, water cascading over her tactical gear. “You and every female agent with a pulse seem cozy, Kennedy. What’s your point?”

“My point is you’re working too close,” I growled, stepping closer until the spray misted my jacket. “It’s distracting. For the mission.”

She finally turned, eyes blazing behind the damp strands of hair clinging to her face. “The only distraction here is your pathetic, juvenile jealousy. You lost any right to care about who I work closely with the day you let that bitch sit in my place- on your lap, while I stood there with lunch and your stupid coffee like an idiot.”

Her words landed like bullets. I flinched, but pushed back. “That was six years ago. You vanished without a word. No explanation. Just gone.”

“And you moved on fast enough,” she shot back, voice sharp as a scalpel. “Don’t pretend you didn’t. I think I need to make a vaccine to cure your delusion, Leon. Because clearly you’re still infected with the idea that you have any claim over me.”

She shoved past me, shoulder bumping mine hard enough to sting, leaving me standing there with water dripping from my jacket and frustration burning in my veins.

That night, in the cramped quarters of the forward camp, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and recycled oxygen, I found her alone reviewing data on a ruggedized tablet. The anger between us had cooled to a simmering need, raw and electric.

I pushed her against the soundproofed wall of the supply alcove, my body caging hers, one hand braced beside her head. “You still want me,” I growled against her lips, feeling her heart hammer against my chest. “You wouldn’t get so angry if you didn’t. Admit it.”

She didn’t fight the kiss this time. She met it with equal fury, her hands tangling in my hair, pulling just hard enough to sting as our mouths clashed- teeth nipping, tongues battling for dominance. The kiss was messy, desperate, six years of unresolved heat pouring out in every gasp and bite.

My hand slid down her body, cupping her through her pants, feeling the heat there. I was rock-hard and aching for her, pressing my hips forward so she could feel exactly what she did to me. “Tell me you don’t want this,” I rasped against her neck, sucking a mark just below her ear.

For a moment she arched into me, a soft sound escaping her throat- then she went still. Her knee came up, not hard enough to hurt, but precise and deliberate, pressing into my thigh and creating just enough space to slip free.

“Blue balls are your color, Kennedy,” she whispered, voice husky and mocking as she ducked under my arm. She straightened her shirt with calm precision, picked up her tablet, and left me standing there in agonizing, frustrated silence, chest heaving, cock throbbing painfully against my zipper.

I slammed my fist against the wall once she was gone, the sound echoing in the empty alcove. The frustration was a living thing now- hot, heavy, and nowhere near resolved.

READER’S POV

The satellite lab was a concrete tomb carved into the hillside, all sterile white walls and the low, constant drone of cooling fans fighting the Spanish heat. Fluorescent strips buzzed overhead, casting everything in a sickly pallor that made the glowing monitors feel like the only living things in the room. I was hunched over the main terminal, lab coat sleeves pushed up to my elbows, neck-deep in scrolling genetic sequences. Dominant Plagas strain- its larval hooks burrowing into the host’s central nervous system like barbed wire. I’d isolated a thermal vulnerability in the early stages; if Leon could hit the nests with sustained fire, it might buy him the window he needed. Hunnigan’s back-channel patch had been a godsend- local security cams flickering in a grid across my secondary screen, grainy but functional.

Then the courtyard feed snapped into focus.

Stone arches loomed under a bruised twilight sky, ivy choking the ancient masonry like veins. Flickering torch scones threw jagged shadows across uneven flagstones slick with moss and old blood. And there he was.

Leon.

Alive. God, he was alive. His shoulders carried that familiar weariness- jacket scuffed and dusty from whatever fresh hell he’d crawled through- but the panther-like grace was still there, every step deliberate, boots scraping softly as he scanned the perimeter. The faint stubble along his jaw caught the firelight; his grip on the handgun was loose but ready, blue eyes narrowed against the gloom. He looked… older than the boy who used to pull me into his chest with a sleepy murmur. Harder. But still him.

And with him… her.

The woman in red. Ada Wong. Silk dress clinging to her like liquid shadow, heels clicking with effortless poise across the stone despite the ruin around her. Dark hair framing a face that could cut glass, lips curved in that trademark smirk. Legend made flesh- every whispered story from the Raccoon City survivors, every classified file I’d never been cleared to read. She moved like the night itself had given her permission.

I couldn’t look away. The audio feed crackled to life, voices tinny but clear through the patched mic.

Ada tilted her head, that knowing glint in her eyes catching the torchlight. “You know, Leon, for a government boy you sure know how to crash a party. Or is this your idea of a reunion? All this chasing me across Spain… I’m starting to think you missed me.” Her voice was velvet over steel, teasing, intimate in a way that made my stomach twist.

Leon shook his head, a low chuckle escaping despite the tension in his frame- shoulders not rigid like they’d been with me in that last BSAA briefing, all clipped professionalism and avoided eye contact. This was different. Wary, yes, but familiar. Like two predators circling the same territory and remembering the old rules. “Ada… always with the games. We don’t have time for this. Saddler’s got this place crawling. You really gonna make me ask twice?”

She stepped closer, close enough that the hem of her dress brushed his boot. That smirk deepened. “Time? Darling, we make our own. Besides…” Her gloved fingers lifted, brushing something- dust, a stray thread, whatever- from the collar of his jacket. The touch lingered a heartbeat too long, casual and intimate all at once, the kind of gesture that spoke of shared nights in darker places. He didn’t pull away. Just looked at her, something unspoken passing between them in the flickering light. A history written in bullet casings and half-truths.

The stories were true. Every single one.

A pain, sharp and clean as a scalpel to the sternum, sliced right through me. Deeper than the day I’d walked out of that precinct with his favorite coffee scalding my fingers and her laugh still ringing in my ears. Deeper than the silence after Raccoon, when Claire’s careful voice over the radio had told me he’d found someone in the ashes. This was confirmation. He had moved on. With a spy. An enigma. A woman who matched him step for step in the dark where I had only ever offered light- steady hands, open files, the stupid belief that love meant safety.

My breath fogged the edge of the monitor. The lab’s chill sank into my bones.

Then Ada’s gaze snapped upward- sharp, knowing- straight toward the hidden camera lens mounted in the courtyard’s far arch. She couldn’t possibly see me. But she did. A slow, unfriendly smile curved her lips, the kind that promised she’d already catalogued every weakness in the room. She murmured something low to Leon, too quiet for the mic to catch fully, but I caught the tail end: “…your little guardian angel’s watching again. Cute.”

Leon glanced away, jaw tightening, but Ada just laughed under her breath- soft, mocking. And then she blew a kiss. Direct at the lens. Red lips puckered, playful and vicious, like she was daring me to flinch.

I slammed the laptop shut so hard the hinges protested. My hands shook like I’d just pulled the pin on a grenade. The mug on the corner of my desk- the chipped, faded “World’s Best Rookie” one he’d shoved into my hands with that boyish grin on our first anniversary, back when we still believed in fortresses- sat there like a taunt. Coffee dregs sloshed inside. I gripped it until my knuckles went bone-white, the ceramic warm against my palm, the stupid little chip in the handle digging into my skin.

Love, you’re cold… come here.

I could still hear it. Still feel his arms. Still taste the rain on that last night before I became the ghost.

But I did my job. Because that’s what I did. Always the one left in the rear, always the scalpel in the dark.

I yanked the laptop open again, fingers forcing themselves steady. The feed blinked back to life. I patched the data through- courtyard coordinates, minecart route overlay, Plagas thermal vulnerability highlighted in red across his HUD. My voice on the encrypted line to Hunnigan came out calm, professional, the shake buried so deep even I almost believed it.

“Echo One to Roost. Target confirmed, courtyard grid 47-alpha. Tactical packet en route- minecart escape vector locked. Tell him to hit the larval nests hard and fast. He’ll make it.”

I saved the hero.

Again.

The screen went dark. The mug sat there, silent. And somewhere out in the ruins, Leon kept moving- panther grace and all- never knowing the hands that steadied his path were the same ones that used to hold him like the world still made sense.

- - -

The BSAA field lab was quiet in the late afternoon hush. Sunlight slanted through the reinforced windows, catching on rows of sterile glassware and the soft blue glow of monitoring screens. The air carried the sharp, clean scent of ethanol, bleach, and the faint metallic undertone of recent specimen work. I stood at my workstation, gloved hands steady as I adjusted the focus on the microscope, studying the latest tissue sample from the Spanish outbreak. The Regenerador cells were still trying to knit themselves back together under the inhibitor- slow, stubborn, but dying.

I didn’t hear her approach. Ada Wong moved like smoke.

She appeared at the edge of my peripheral vision, leaning casually against the sterilized workstation as if she owned the entire facility. A ghost in a tailored crimson pantsuit that hugged every curve with dangerous elegance, red scarf draped loosely around her neck like a signature. Her dark hair was perfectly tousled, lips painted a deep, knowing red. She looked completely out of place among the tactical gear and hazard suits, yet somehow completely at home.

“Doctor,” she purred, voice low and velvet-smooth, carrying that faint accent that made every word feel like a secret. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

My fingers tightened on the focus knob, but I didn’t look up. The slide blurred for a second before I forced it back into clarity. “Get out.”

Ada let out a soft, amused laugh, the sound sliding over my skin like cool silk. She didn’t move. Instead, she traced one perfectly manicured nail along the edge of the workstation, leaving a faint smudge on the otherwise pristine surface.

“He still talks about you, you know,” she continued, unfazed by my hostility. “In his sleep. Very… instructive. The way he says your name- soft at first, then desperate. Like he’s reaching for something he can never quite hold.”

My blood turned to ice. The microscope slide suddenly felt fragile in my grip. I finally lifted my head, meeting her dark, amused eyes. “Get. Out.”

She tilted her head, studying me with the calm curiosity of a cat watching a mouse it hadn’t decided to kill yet. “A word of advice, from one woman who’s kept Leon Kennedy’s attention longer than most: if you want to keep a man like him… you can’t just be sweet. You have to be a puzzle he can never solve. A riddle wrapped in danger and mystery. Something that keeps him chasing even when he knows he shouldn’t.”

She pushed off the desk with fluid grace, the crimson fabric of her suit whispering as she moved. Her heels clicked once against the tile floor.

“But you already lost that game, didn’t you?” Her smile was small, sharp, and cruelly knowing. “You gave him comfort. Safety. Love. And Leon… he’s never known what to do with something that doesn’t try to kill him or slip away in the night.”

Ada turned toward the door, pausing just long enough to glance back over her shoulder. “Tell him I said hello. Or don’t. Either way, he’ll still think of me when he closes his eyes. Old habits die hard.”

She vanished as silently as she had appeared, slipping through the lab door like a shadow dissolving into sunlight. No footsteps lingered. No door slammed. Just the faint scent of her perfume- something expensive, smoky, and dangerous- lingering in the air like a taunt.

I didn’t cry.

I stood there for a long moment, gloved hands still resting on the edge of the workstation, staring at the blurred slide beneath the microscope lens. The Regenerador cells continued their futile regeneration attempt on the screen, slow and pathetic. My chest felt tight, hollow, as if someone had scooped out everything soft and left only cold, clinical numbness behind.

The hatred that had been simmering for six years flared hotter, brighter, sharper than before. Not just at Leon anymore. At myself- for still caring. For still letting the ghost of what we had twist the knife every time someone like Ada reminded me that I had never been the puzzle he couldn’t solve. I had been the safe place. The home. And Leon had never known what to do with home.

I pulled off my gloves with deliberate, mechanical movements, dropping them into the biohazard bin. My hands were steady. My face was calm. But inside, something hardened into ice.

When I finally left the lab that evening, I didn’t look back at the workstation where she had stood.

I went numb.

And I decided I was done entertaining anyone’s games- crew, Leon, or otherwise.

CHRIS’ POV

She filed her Spain report with mechanical precision.

I watched her from across the table as she slid the neatly bound folder toward me -  pages perfectly aligned, every section labeled, every chart cross-referenced, every recommendation typed in crisp, professional font. Flawless. Clinical. And utterly dead behind the eyes.

The rest of the team had already been dismissed. The conference room felt too large, too quiet, the overhead lights casting harsh shadows across the scattered maps and empty coffee mugs. 

“Doctor,” I said softly, once the door clicked shut behind the last person.

She didn’t look up immediately. Her fingers lingered on the edge of the folder for a second too long before she finally met my gaze. “It’s all in the report, Captain.”

“Not that.” I leaned forward, elbows on the table, voice dropping lower. “Leon. Ada Wong.”

Her composure cracked for a single second -  a tiny flinch at the corner of her eye, so minute that only someone who had been watching her closely for months would notice. Her shoulders stiffened almost imperceptibly beneath the tactical vest. Then the mask slammed back into place, smooth and impenetrable.

“I saw them,” she said flatly, voice devoid of emotion. “In Spain. Near the castle ruins. It’s fine. It’s nothing new. Just… confirmation.”

“It’s not fine.”

“It has to be.” She stood up abruptly, spine straight as a rifle barrel, chair scraping back with a harsh sound against the floor. Her hands smoothed down the front of her vest with deliberate calm. “Because the alternative is falling apart, and I can’t afford that. Not with the work we do. Not when there are still people out there who need these serums to survive. I don’t have the luxury of breaking down over a man who never chose me in the first place.”

The words landed heavy in the quiet room. I could see the exhaustion etched into the fine lines around her eyes, the way her fingers trembled just slightly before she clenched them into fists at her sides. She looked smaller than usual -  not physically, but like something vital had been hollowed out.

I exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of my neck. “You don’t have to carry this alone, Doc. We’re family here. You, me, the whole damn team. If you need to talk -  really talk -  my door is always open.”

She gave me a small, brittle smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Appreciated, Captain. But I’m fine. Really.”

She turned and walked out, boots echoing down the hallway until the sound faded completely.

I sat there for a long moment, staring at the closed door.

Then I stood up, jaw set, and marched straight to the mess hall where the usual suspects were gathered -  Jill, Rebecca, Piers, Sheva, Carlos, and Josh -  still whispering over the betting pool notebook like it was sacred scripture.

The ammo box sat in the center of the table, half-full of cash.

I didn’t raise my voice at first. I let the silence stretch until every head turned toward me.

“This ends NOW,” I said, voice low but carrying the weight of every apocalypse I’d survived. The room went dead quiet. “You are agents of the BSAA, not soap opera spectators. The next person I hear placing a bet, spreading a rumor, or trying to ‘help’ those two is on latrine duty for a month. I will personally assign the shifts. And trust me -  I know every disgusting corner of those bathrooms.”

Jill opened her mouth, then wisely closed it.

Piers looked like he wanted to sink into the floor. Rebecca quietly closed the notebook.

Sheva raised her hands in surrender. “Message received, Cap.”

Carlos just smirked, but even he didn’t argue.

“The box of money disappears. The whispers stop. The looks, the jokes, the ‘accidental’ setups -  all of it. Done.” My voice rose just enough to shake the walls. “They’re not entertainment. They’re our people. And if I catch any of you treating them like a sideshow again, you’ll wish the BOWs were the worst thing you had to deal with.”

The box vanished within seconds. The whispers stopped. The notebook disappeared into a drawer.

But the looks didn’t.

I caught them in the hallways -  quick glances, knowing smirks quickly hidden, quiet murmurs that died the moment I walked past. The tension didn’t vanish. It simply went underground.

And somewhere down that same hallway, in Leon’s office, I knew two broken people were trying -  in their own messy, painful, explosive way -  to put themselves back together.

I just hoped they didn’t burn the whole base down in the process.

LEON’S POV

It was past eleven.

The base had fallen into that deep, exhausted quiet that only comes after a long day of training runs and mission prep. Most lights were dimmed to emergency levels, casting long shadows down the corridors. I was still in my office, chasing down a paperwork demon -  the final Spain addendum that refused to write itself -  when the words started blurring on the screen. My eyes burned. My neck ached. Caffeine was the only solution.

I pushed back from the desk and headed for the pantry, boots quiet on the tiled floor. The hallway was empty, the only sound the distant hum of the generators and the faint tick of cooling metal from the armory.

I pushed the pantry door open.

She was there.

The room was dimly lit by a single overhead strip light, the rest of the space swallowed in soft shadows. The faint smell of stale coffee and the sweet, fruity scent of jam hung in the air. She stood with her back to the door, shoulders hunched forward like she was trying to fold in on herself. Silent sobs shook her frame -  not loud, not dramatic, just quiet, shuddering breaths that made her entire body tremble.

In her hands, clutched like a lifeline against her chest, was that goddamn mug.

The one I’d bought as a stupid joke during our first year together -  cheap ceramic with a ridiculous cartoon cop and the words “World’s Okayest Rookie” printed on it. She’d laughed so hard when I gave it to her that she nearly dropped it. She’d kept it. After everything - after the silence, after the hate -  she had kept it.

All the fight drained out of me in an instant, replaced by a crushing wave of shame and sorrow so heavy it felt like it would drag me to the floor. I did this. My bitterness, my pride, my stupid, childish attempts to get a rise out of her, to make her look at me even if it was with anger… I had broken the woman I loved.

“Hey…” My voice came out rough, raw, barely above a whisper.

She startled violently, whirling around so fast the mug nearly slipped from her fingers. She caught it at the last second, clutching it tighter against her chest. Her face -  God, her face -  was tear-streaked, cheeks flushed and wet, eyes red-rimmed and glassy. The sight eviscerated me. This wasn’t the sharp, venomous woman who had traded barbs with me for months. This was the girl I had fallen in love with, the one who used to curl up against me on the couch and call me her safe place.

“Don’t,” she whispered hoarsely, voice cracking on the single word. She hastily wiped her face with the sleeve of her shirt, but it did little to hide the damage. “Just… don’t.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, the words feeling painfully inadequate but painfully true. I took one careful step closer, hands open at my sides like I was approaching a wounded animal. “For all of it. For Raccoon City. For being a blind, idiot rookie who didn’t know how to fight for the best thing that ever happened to him. For this… war we’ve been waging. For every cruel word, every petty prank, every time I let my pride win instead of telling you the truth.”

She shook her head, eyes shining with fresh tears. “Your apology is six years and a dozen betrayals too late, Leon.”

She tried to push past me toward the door, but I caught her wrist gently -  not hard enough to restrain, just enough to ask her to stay for one more second.

“Please.”

She looked down at my hand on her wrist, then slowly up at my face. The raw hatred that had burned in her eyes for months was gone, burned away by grief, leaving only exhaustion and an old, profound hurt that made my chest feel like it was caving in.

“There’s nothing left to say, Leon,” she whispered, voice trembling. “You made your choice back then. I made mine when I walked away. We’ve both been living with it.”

I swallowed hard, throat tight. “I never chose anyone else. Not really. Ada was… a distraction. A way to punish myself for losing you. Every time I looked at her, I saw the ways I failed you. The ways I let you down. I was too scared to admit how much I still loved you -  still love you -  so I let the anger win instead.”

Her breath hitched. For a moment, the mask cracked completely, and I saw the girl I fell in love with -  vulnerable, hurting, still carrying the weight when I made her walked away with her suitcase and never looked back.

She pulled her wrist free, but gently, not with anger. “It hurt too much to stay,” she said softly. “Every rumor, every time you brushed me off… it felt like I was disappearing. And then the outbreak happened, and I heard you’d found someone else in the chaos. I thought… I thought I never mattered.”

“You mattered,” I said fiercely, voice breaking. “You mattered more than anything. I was just too stupid and too young to know how to show it.”

She looked at me for a long moment, eyes searching mine like she was trying to find the lie. Then she stepped back, putting distance between us again.

“I can’t do this right now,” she whispered. “Not tonight.”

She slipped past me and out the door, leaving me standing alone in the dim pantry with the ghost of us and the low, steady hum of the fridge.

The mug sat on the counter where she’d left it -  “World’s Okayest Rookie” staring back at me like an accusation.

I picked it up, thumb brushing over the faded print, and felt the first real tear I’d allowed myself in years burn behind my eyes.

I had broken her.

And I would spend the rest of my life trying to put her back together -  if she’d let me.

CHRIS’ POV

The mess hall was quieter than usual that evening, the low hum of fluorescent lights mixing with the distant clatter of trays and the occasional burst of laughter from a corner table. I sat at the end of the long metal bench, nursing a mug of black coffee that had gone lukewarm twenty minutes ago, reviewing the latest after-action reports from Spain on my tablet. The numbers were grim- casualties, specimen contamination levels, the new Omega strain’s adaptability. My team was tired. Everyone was tired.

Jill approached with a peace offering: two fresh coffees and that look on her face that meant she was about to ask for something I probably shouldn’t agree to. She slid into the seat across from me, sliding one mug my way.

“Cap,” she started, voice deceptively casual. “We were wrong about the betting pool. It got out of hand. We all see that now.”

I raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of the fresh coffee. It was actually hot this time. “Glad you finally noticed. The complaint forms from Kennedy and Doc are still sitting on my desk. You’re lucky I haven’t written anyone up yet.”

Jill winced but didn’t back down. She leaned forward, elbows on the table, her expression turning serious. “But… we weren’t wrong that they need closure. Real closure. Not forced, not in a locked room like last time. A neutral space. A conversation. Just the two of them, without the whole base watching or betting on the outcome.”

I set the mug down, rubbing the bridge of my nose. The exhaustion from the Spain op was still sitting heavy in my bones, and the last thing I needed was more drama from my two best assets acting like divorced parents at a custody hearing. “Jill, they’ve been at each other’s throats for months. Every joint op turns into a pissing contest. It’s affecting unit cohesion. Hell, it’s affecting my cohesion.”

“That’s exactly why they need this,” she pressed, voice softening. “For the team. For their own sanity. You’ve seen how they move together when they’re not busy hating each other- they’re unstoppable. But right now? They’re a liability. A conversation. Neutral ground. No audience. No bets. Just… closure.”

Josh, who had been lingering nearby with a protein bar, chimed in innocently from the next table. “So set up a debrief. Just the two of them. Final after-action for Spain and the Alps op. Mandatory. In Leon’s office- more privacy that way. No interruptions. No spectators. Just the two of them going over the data.”

It seemed reasonable. Professional. Leon’s office had the secure terminal, the large desk for spreading out reports and specimen photos, and actual soundproofing. No one would barge in. No one would overhear. A structured debrief in a private space would force them to sit down, go through the data, and maybe- just maybe- air out some of the poison without it turning into another shouting match or, worse, another locked-room disaster.

I exhaled slowly, staring at the cold dregs in my mug. “Fine. I’ll schedule it. Seven p.m. sharp in Leon’s office. Mandatory joint debrief between those two. All other personnel are to respect the privacy of the session. No exceptions.”

Jill’s face lit up with a grin she tried (and failed) to hide. “You’re doing the right thing, Cap. For the team.”

“Yeah,” I muttered, already pulling up the calendar on my tablet to send the invites. “For the team.”

I typed the details carefully:

Mandatory Joint Debrief – Spain & Alps Operations

Participants: Agent Leon S. Kennedy (DSO) & Dr. [Y/N] [L/N] (ViraMed Senior Field Advisor)

Location: Agent Kennedy’s Office (Secure Terminal Access)

Time: 07:00 PM

Objective: Final after-action review, specimen analysis cross-reference, operational lessons learned, and coordination of future inhibitor deployment.

Note: All other personnel are to respect the privacy of this session. No interruptions. No spectators. Door will remain closed for duration.

I hit send. Made sure to cc everyone on my email. The calendar invites went out with a soft ping.

I had no idea I was throwing gasoline onto the forest fire. Again.

Deep down, I knew they still cared- six years of unresolved history didn’t just vanish. But I also knew how stubborn they both were. If this debrief turned into another war, I’d have to step in personally. For now, I told myself it was just paperwork. Just a professional meeting between two adults who used to mean something to each other.

I finished my coffee, stood up, and clapped Jill on the shoulder as I passed. “If this blows up in my face, Valentine, I’m blaming you.”

She just smiled. “Worth the risk, Cap.”

As I walked out of the mess hall, the base lights flickering on for the evening shift, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had just lit a fuse I couldn’t see the end of.

LEON’S OFFICE

She arrived exactly on time.

The clock on my wall read seven hours sharp when the knock came- three crisp, professional raps. I didn’t say “come in.” I just waited.

The door opened and there she was, file folder clutched in one hand like a shield, face a perfect mask of professional detachment. She wore the same tactical vest from earlier, hair pulled back tightly, but a few strands had escaped, framing her face in a way that made my chest ache. She scanned the room once, then deliberately took the seat farthest from my desk, placing the folder on the small side table with mechanical precision.

I didn’t sit at the table.

I leaned against the front edge of my desk, arms crossed over my chest, facing her directly. The office was ours alone- soundproofed walls, dimmed overhead lights casting long shadows across the scattered mission reports and specimen photos still spread out from earlier. The secure terminal hummed softly in the corner. Outside, the base had gone quiet for the night shift. No footsteps. No voices. Just the two of us and six years of unresolved history hanging thick in the air like smoke after a firefight.

“Let’s just get this over with,” she said, voice cool and clipped as she opened the folder. Her eyes stayed fixed on the papers, refusing to meet mine. “Spain after-action, Alps coordination data, inhibitor efficacy numbers. We go through the facts, sign off, and leave.”

“No.”

She looked up slowly, eyes narrowing into storm-gray slits. “No?”

“No more reports,” I said, pushing off the desk and taking two deliberate steps toward her. My boots were quiet on the carpet, but each one felt like a countdown. “No more bullshit. No more hiding behind data and professional detachment.”

Her mask slipped- just for a second. The corner of her mouth tightened, and something raw flickered behind her eyes before she locked it down again. “That’s none of your business.”

“It is everything to me!” The force of my own voice surprised even me. It cracked against the soundproofed walls like a gunshot. I ran a hand through my hair, trying to steady myself, but the words kept coming. “You cried over that mug. The one I gave you on our first anniversary. I saw you in the pantry, shoulders shaking, tears falling into the coffee like you were drowning in it. And you still have it. After everything, you kept it.”

She stood up abruptly, chair scraping back against the floor with a harsh sound. “Don’t you dare rewrite history, Leon. You didn’t fight for us. You let me walk away without a single word that actually mattered.”

“Because I didn’t know how!” I shouted back, closing the distance between us until we were chest to chest. The heat of our bodies mingled in the small space, her breath warm against my collarbone. “I was a kid who got handed a badge and then the end of the world! I didn’t know how to fix what I broke. I was terrified. And then you were here again… but you hated me. And hating you back was easier than admitting I still loved you!”

The word hung in the air between us- loved- present tense, raw and undeniable, echoing off the walls like a confession I could never take back.

Her breath hitched. The fury in her eyes wavered, clouded with confusion and a longing so deep it mirrored my own. “You don’t get to say that,” she whispered, but there was no real force behind it. Her voice cracked on the last word.

“I do.” My hands came up slowly this time, not to cage her but to frame her face- calloused thumbs brushing her cheeks with a gentleness I hadn’t shown in years. “I love you. I never stopped. All the pranks, the fights, the stupid jealousy… it was just the only way I could get you to look at me again. To see me. Not the hero. Not the old rookie. Just me.”

A single tear escaped her eye, tracing a glistening path down her cheek. I caught it with my thumb, wiping it away as if I could erase six years of pain with one touch.

“It hurt too much,” she confessed, her voice breaking completely now. “Seeing you with her… in Spain… it felt like Raccoon City all over again. Like I never mattered. Like I was just another thing you could walk away from.”

“It wasn’t like that,” I said fiercely, my forehead touching hers. Our breaths mingled, warm and shaky. “She means nothing. You are everything. You always were. The girl who made me laugh when the world was ending. The one who believed in me before I even believed in myself. I was too stupid and too scared to fight for you then. I’m not making that mistake again.”

And then she kissed me.

It wasn’t fueled by hate this time. It was surrender. A release of six years of armor-plated grief and buried longing. A soft, aching press of lips that tasted of salt from her tears and the faint sweetness of hope.

I groaned into her mouth, my hands sliding from her face to tangle in her hair, pulling her closer as the kiss deepened. This was different- slow, explorative, reverent. My tongue traced the seam of her lips and she opened for me with a quiet sigh that went straight to my cock, sending heat flooding through my veins. Her hands fisted in my shirt, tugging me impossibly closer until there was no space left between us. I could feel every curve of her body pressed against mine, the rapid beat of her heart matching my own.

The kiss broke for air, but only for a second. She whispered my name against my lips- “Leon”- and it sounded like both a curse and a prayer.

I walked her backward until her hips met the edge of my desk, papers scattering to the floor with soft whispers. My hands slid down her sides, gripping her waist, lifting her just enough to sit her on the desk. She parted her thighs instinctively, letting me step between them. The heat of her core pressed against me through our clothes, and I groaned again, rocking slowly against her.

“Tell me to stop,” I rasped, forehead pressed to hers, breathing hard. “Tell me you don’t want this and I’ll walk away right now.”

She didn’t say stop.

Instead, she pulled me back in, kissing me deeper, hungrier, her legs wrapping around my waist to hold me there. “I hate how much I still want you,” she whispered between kisses, voice trembling with emotion. “I hate that you still feel like home.”

“Then hate me while I love you,” I murmured against her mouth, my hands already working on the buttons of her vest. “Let me show you I never stopped.”

I walked her backward until her hips met the edge of my desk, papers scattering across the floor like fallen leaves. My mouth left hers to trail fire down her jaw, her neck, sucking hard at the pulse point that hammered against my lips.

“Leon…” she breathed, head falling back, exposing more of her throat.

“My love,” I murmured against her skin, the old endearment slipping out like it had never left. “My love.”

My hands made quick work of her blouse buttons, parting the fabric to reveal a simple lace bra. I unhooked it with practiced ease, letting it fall away. Her breasts were perfect -  full, heavy, nipples already tight and begging. I lowered my head and took one into my mouth, sucking gently before flicking the peak with my tongue.

“Oh god…” she gasped, hands flying to my hair, not pushing me away but holding me there.

I lavished attention on one breast while my thumb circled and pinched the other, rolling the nipple until she was writhing on the desk, soft moans filling the room. “You’re so beautiful,” I growled, switching sides, worshipping her with my mouth and hands. “So perfect. Mine.”

The ache in my pants was unbearable. She sensed it. Her hands slid down my chest to my belt buckle.

“Let me,” she whispered, eyes dark with desire and defiance.

She slid off the desk and knelt before me on the carpet, looking up as she undid my belt and zipper, pushing my pants and briefs down my hips. My cock sprang free -  thick, fully erect, veins standing out in sharp relief.

Her small hand wrapped around the base, squeezing gently as she leaned forward and licked a slow, deliberate stripe from root to tip. “Fuck…” I hissed, hands bracing on the desk behind me.

She took me into her mouth then -  slowly, heat enveloping me inch by exquisite inch. Her tongue swirled around the head before she began to bob, taking me deeper into her throat with each pass. Her free hand cupped and squeezed my balls, sending sharp jolts of pleasure up my spine.

I was lost in the wet heat, watching her head move between my legs, when a sound froze us both -  footsteps in the hall outside my office, stopping right by the door.

Her eyes went wide with panic, but she didn’t pull off. Instead, she hollowed her cheeks and sucked harder, a wicked challenge in her gaze as she looked up at me.

A sharp knock. “Kennedy? You in there? Chris needs that Spain addendum right away.” It was Piers.

Him?! Didn’t Chris just send an email? How the hell was this guy not informed?

I quickly sat down in my chair, the motion forcing her even deeper onto my cock. She gagged softly around me but didn’t stop -  if anything, she took it as a dare. Her tongue pressed flat against the underside as she began to bob again, slow and torturous, throat fluttering around me.

“Yeah,” I called out, voice strained but trying to sound normal. “Just finishing up some… paperwork.”

Under the desk, she swirled her tongue around the head, sucking hard on the sensitive spot just beneath it. My hand shot down to fist in her hair, not to pull her off but to hold her there.

Piers didn’t leave. “You okay? You sound… winded.”

“Fine,” I gritted out, jaw clenched as she took me to the back of her throat again, swallowing around me. The wet heat, the tight constriction, the risk -  it was almost too much. “Just… long day. Leave the file with Hunnigan. I’ll get it in an hour.”

A pause on the other side of the door. “Alright. But Chris said it was urgent. You sure everything’s good in there?”

She chose that exact moment to hum around my cock, the vibration shooting straight up my spine. I bit back a groan, fingers tightening in her hair. “Positive. Just… busy. Go.”

Footsteps finally receded down the hall.

The second the corridor fell silent, I hauled her out from under the desk by her hair, eyes wild. Her lips were swollen and glistening, chin wet with spit, eyes gleaming with pure defiance and lust.

“You’re going to pay for that,” I growled, voice rough.

She smirked, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Good.”

I pulled her up, spun her around, and bent her over the desk again, but the fire between us had only grown hotter from the near-miss.

I needed to taste her. Now.

Pushing her pencilled skirt up around her waist and pulling her panties down her legs. "Leon!" she squealed as the cool air hit her exposed skin. "Shhh," I soothed, spreading her thighs wide.

The sight of her glistening folds from behind drove me mad with need. But first…

I dropped to my knees again and buried my face between her cheeks from behind, my tongue finding her clit immediately. She cried out, her hands scrambling for purchase on the desk as I ate her out with single-minded devotion. My tongue fucked into her entrance before returning to circle and suck her clit. I slid two fingers inside her tight heat, curling them upward. 

"You taste like heaven," I groaned.

"I’m… I’m going to…" she choked out.

I felt her walls begin to flutter around my fingers and doubled my efforts on her clit with my mouth. With a shattered cry, she came, bucking against my face, her inner muscles milking my fingers as her release soaked my chin.

But I wasn’t done.

I stood up, slick with her arousal, and spun her around to face me. Lifting her effortlessly by her thighs, I pinned her against the nearest wall- a framed commendation crashing to the floor ignored. "Wrap your legs around me," I commanded.

She did, locking her ankles at the small of my back as I lined myself up with her dripping entrance. "Look at me," I said.

Her eyes met mine, hazy with pleasure. "I love you," I repeated as I thrust into her in one deep, powerful stroke.

We both cried out at the sensation- the tight, wet heat of her sheathing me completely after so long apart. "Oh god… Leon…" she moaned into my neck as I began to move. I pressed my lips to hers, licking her lips- signalling her to open her mouth to which she obliged. I start playing her tongue as well as the roof of her mouth. Her head rolled back a bit, breaking our kiss.

This was primal and possessive. Each thrust drove her back against the wall with a soft thud, my hips pistoning into her with a force born of years of longing and frustration. "You feel… so fucking good…" I grunted, my muscles straining as I held us both up.

"Harder…" she begged, biting my shoulder through my shirt.

I obliged, slamming into her with enough force to make her scream with each impact. "Who do you belong to?" I growled in her ear. 

"You! Leon!" 

"Say it again." 

"I’m yours! Only yours!" Our saliva and her release glistens to her swollen lips, dripping through her chin then the base of her neck. I licked it clean.

The possessiveness in me roared in satisfaction.

When my legs began to burn from holding us up, I carried her- still impaled on me- back to the desk and laid her down on it.

Pulling out slowly, I saw her whimper at the loss. "On your knees," I said softly but firmly.

She turned over without hesitation, presenting herself to me on all fours atop my scattered reports- a vision of submission and trust that made my heart clench even as my cock throbbed.

I knelt behind her on the chair first. "Use your tits," I instructed.

She understood, reaching back to take my shaft and press it between the soft mounds of her breasts from behind, looking back over her shoulder as she began to rock forward and back, fucking herself with me using her cleavage. "The sight of you…" I breathed, watching myself disappear between her flesh again and again.

After a minute of this exquisite torture, I pushed her forward gently. "Now…"

Positioning myself at her entrance once more from behind, I gripped her hips hard enough to leave bruises and plunged back into her depths. This angle was deeper, hitting spots that made her scream into the desk blotter. "Yes! Right there! Don't stop!"

I fucked her like that- with animalistic intensity. Each snap of my hips was a punctuation mark on every argument we’d ever had, every jealous thought, every lonely night. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room. My balls tightened against her ass. "I’m close…" I warned. "Me too… don’t stop!"

The raw passion tipped into something darker, more claiming. I leaned over her back, one hand braced on the desk by her head while the other came down in a sharp crack on her ass cheek. She yelped, then moaned deeper. "Again!" she begged.

I spanked her again- three more times- each strike leaving a red handprint on her perfect skin and making her clench around me tighter. My teeth found the juncture of her neck and shoulder as I pistoned into her from behind. "Mine," I snarled against her skin before biting down- not enough to break skin but enough to brand her. "Yes! Yours! Always!"

The combination of pain and pleasure pushed us both over the edge.

Her orgasm hit first- a violent, screaming climax that made her entire body convulse around me. "I can feel you… squeezing me…" I grunted through gritted teeth.

Then she did something unexpected- a gush of liquid warmth soaked my thighs and the desk beneath us as she squirted from the intensity of her release. The sensation pushed me into my own abyss.

With one final, deep thrust that buried me to the hilt inside her spasming channel… "I love you!" I roared as I came.

My release pulsed into her depths- hot and claiming- filling her as I collapsed over her back, both of us panting and slick with sweat and other fluids.

We stayed like that for long minutes until our heartbeats slowed from gallops to trots.

I pulled out slowly and gathered her into my arms on the floor by the desk- the only clear space- wrapping us both in my discarded jacket.

We didn't speak for a while.

Then she traced a finger over the bite mark on my shoulder. "You bit me too," she said softly. "You liked it." "I did."

We kissed again- slow now, tender.

CHRIS' POV

It’s already past midnight.

The base had gone quiet, the kind of late-night hush where only the emergency lights hummed and the occasional distant generator rumble broke the silence. I sat in my office, staring at the blank report fields on my screen. Neither of them had filed their after-action addendums. Neither had answered the mandatory comms check-ins. A knot of worry tightened in my gut.

Piers appeared in the doorway, looking uneasy. “Sir… they’re not answering from 3B or their quarters. I tried both lines twice.”

Damn it. Had they finally killed each other? Or worse -  had my “brilliant” idea of forcing them into a private debrief backfired so spectacularly that they were now bleeding out on the floor?

I stood up, rubbing the back of my neck. “I’ll handle it.”

Leon’s office was down a quiet admin-level hallway, tucked away from the main corridors for privacy. A thin strip of warm light spilled from beneath the door.

I raised my fist to knock…

The door opened before my knuckles made contact.

She stood there -  hair disheveled, a few strands sticking to her damp forehead, lips swollen and flushed a deep rose. Her blouse was buttoned wrong, one side higher than the other, and I could clearly see the absence of bra straps beneath the fabric. A constellation of fresh love bites bloomed along her collarbone and up the side of her neck -  dark red and purple, unmistakable even in the dim hallway light. In her hand was a neatly bound file folder, edges slightly crumpled.

“All’s there… Redfield,” she said, voice hoarse and a little rough, like she’d been shouting… or moaning. She couldn’t quite meet my eyes, gaze flicking somewhere over my shoulder.

Behind her, Leon appeared -  barefoot, wearing only his black tactical pants and an unbuttoned shirt that hung open, revealing every defined ab and pectoral muscle glistening with a faint sheen of sweat. His own share of scratches and bites decorated his chest and shoulders, red lines that looked suspiciously like fingernails. He looked… relaxed. Sated. The perpetual tension that had lived in his shoulders for months was gone. He grinned at me -  a real, easy grin that actually reached his eyes for probably the first time since Raccoon City.

I blinked, brain short-circuiting for a second.

“Are you two… okay?” I managed, voice coming out rougher than intended.

She nodded quickly, still not quite looking at me. “Yep.”

“Did you guys… make up?”

She shrugged, noncommittal, cheeks still flushed. “Who knows.”

I looked from her evasive face to Leon’s smug, satisfied one. My brain finally connected the dots -  the husky voice, the fresh marks, the unmistakable musk of sex and sweat wafting from inside the office, the way her blouse was misbuttoned and his shirt was hanging open like he’d thrown it on in a hurry.

“Did you guys… fuck?”

They answered simultaneously, without hesitation:

“Yes.”

The word hung in the hallway like a live grenade.

I stared at them both for a long beat, the mental image gallery I absolutely did not want populating itself anyway. Her hoarse voice. The love bites. The way Leon looked like he’d just won the damn lottery.

“Well,” I said finally, clearing my throat like it would somehow erase the mental pictures (it didn’t). I took the proffered report folder from her slightly trembling hand. The corner of one page was suspiciously damp. I decided not to examine it too closely.

“Carry on.”

I turned on my heel and walked maybe ten paces down the hall before I pulled out my phone and opened the old group chat -  the one for everyone involved in Operation Get Them Back Together. It had been radio silent since my shutdown order.

I typed one message:

Redfield: I knew you idiots were still betting. Sadly, I’ll be taking it to treat those two on a fancy date.

My phone erupted into a cacophony of buzzes almost instantly -  texts pinging in rapid succession from Sheva, Piers, Josh, Rebecca, Carlos, and even Jill.

Jill: NO WAY. Proof?!

Piers: He actually did it? In his OFFICE?!

Piers: No wonder he sounds like a duck that’s drowning… FUck

Rebecca: I am genuinely flabbergasted. How the hell did it work? CHRIS. EXPLAIN.

Carlos: Pay up, suckers. I called the desk.

Jill: like hell you did! 

Sheva: Cap, you sneaky bastard. I owe you dinner.

I slipped the phone back into my pocket, a reluctant smile tugging at my mouth despite everything.

The bet might have been officially over.

But for Leon and her… as she walked back into his office and he closed the door softly behind them with a quiet click, their story was just beginning again.

I shook my head and kept walking down the empty corridor, the faint sound of muffled voices and a low, unmistakable moan drifting through the door before it sealed completely.

- - -

THREE WEEKS LATER

The main briefing room was quieter than it had been in months. No more hushed side bets scribbled on torn notebook pages, no knowing glances exchanged over coffee mugs, no muffled laughter from the corner where Piers and Jill used to tally the pool like it was the goddamn Super Bowl. Just the low, steady hum of the holographic projector casting a soft blue glow across the long steel table, and the occasional rustle of mission reports being passed hand to hand. The air smelled faintly of gun oil, fresh printer ink, and the vanilla latte someone had spilled earlier- normal base smells instead of the thick tension that used to choke the place like cordite after a firefight.

Leon sat midway down the table, posture relaxed in a way I hadn’t seen since before everything went shit. One arm draped casually over the back of the empty chair beside him, fingers occasionally brushing the fabric like he was still reaching for her even when she was right there. And she was right there- settled in that chair, tablet propped open, stylus tapping notes with quiet efficiency. Her left hand rested on his thigh under the table, hidden from view but not from the way Leon’s mouth curved in that private half-smile every few minutes. A simple touch. The kind that said they’d spent the last three weeks talking instead of shouting, apologizing in the dark instead of slamming doors, slowly rebuilding something that had cracked apart in the rain two weeks before the world ended.

I watched them from the head of the table, arms crossed over my chest, and for the first time in months a genuine smile tugged at my lips. The kind that reached my eyes and eased the permanent knot between my shoulders. The tension that had turned every briefing into a minefield was gone. The team was focused again. Missions ran smoother- extraction times down twelve percent, error rates cut in half. Even the damn air in the base felt lighter, like someone had finally cracked a window after a long winter.

The debrief wrapped up. Holo-map flickered off with a soft chime. Agents started filing out- Piers clapping Leon on the back with a muttered “About time, man,” Jill shooting me a quick thumbs-up as she passed. Leon leaned over, murmuring something low in her ear, voice too quiet for me to catch but the effect clear: her lips curved into a real smile, the one that reached her eyes and softened the sharp edges she’d worn like armor for months. He pressed a lingering kiss to her temple, thumb brushing her cheekbone, then stood and headed for the door with that easy stride.

She lingered, gathering her tablet and a stack of printed reports, sliding them into a slim black folder. I waited until the last footsteps faded down the hall before approaching.

“You look good, Doc,” I said quietly, voice low so it wouldn’t carry. “Happy. Suits you.”

She glanced toward the door where Leon had disappeared, then back at me. A faint flush colored her cheeks, but it wasn’t embarrassment- it was warmth. “I am. Really am.” She paused, fingers tracing the edge of the folder. “Thank you… for forcing that debrief. For locking us in that room even when we were ready to kill each other. I know it was you and Jill behind it.”

I simply shrugged, leaning one hip against the table, arms still loosely crossed. A faint, knowing look crept into my eyes despite myself. “Sometimes people need a push. Even if they don’t know they’re being pushed. You two were circling each other like wounded animals for months. The whole base was betting on blood or… well, you know what they were betting on.”

She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “The pool hit over twelve grand, right? I heard you finally cashed it out for team beer.” Her gaze turned thoughtful as she studied me. “You sound like you speak from experience. All that ‘sometimes people need a push’ talk. Claire mentioned you and Jill had your own rough patches back in the day.”

I rubbed the back of my neck, chuckling low. “Let’s just say I’ve learned the hard way that stubbornness doesn’t save anyone. It just makes the fall harder when you finally hit bottom.” Before I could say more, my secure satellite phone buzzed against my thigh- private, encrypted line, the one reserved for ghosts and favors. I glanced at the screen: a single untraceable number, no name, no ID.

“Excuse me,” I said, stepping away toward the wide observation window that overlooked the training grounds below. Snow dusted the obstacle course, agents running drills in the distance like tiny moving figures against the white.

I answered on the second buzz. “Redfield.”

The voice on the other end was smooth, cool, and unmistakable- like silk wrapped around a hidden blade. “Captain. I trust my… services were satisfactory.”

My expression stayed neutral, eyes scanning the empty room out of habit. “They’re back together. The team’s stable. Mission success. You delivered exactly what we needed.”

A soft, amused laugh filtered through the encrypted line, clear as if she were standing right beside me. “Of course they are. Leon was always stubborn, but he was never stupid. He just needed the right motivation. Or rather… the right competition. Jealousy works wonders on men who think they’ve already lost everything once.”

My jaw tightened slightly, fingers flexing around the phone. “The scene in Spain. The taunt in the lab. That lingering touch in the courtyard, the blown kiss to the drone camera, the little visit to her research tent… that was all you.”

“Every bit of it,” Ada Wong confirmed, her tone light but edged. “The way I let my hand linger on his chest just long enough for the camera to catch it. The whispered ‘old times’ while Ashley slept. Even planting the rumor through the right channels so it reached her terminal. All carefully staged. Jealousy is such a potent catalyst, don’t you think? Far more effective than any virus we’ve ever fought. No incubation period required.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose, staring out at the snow. “You took a real risk. She could have broken completely. He could have walked away for good this time- gone dark, quit the ops, disappeared like he threatened after Raccoon.”

“But they didn’t,” Ada said simply, almost fond. “Because at their core, they’re both survivors. And survivors recognize what’s worth fighting for. Even if they need a ghost from the past to remind them how much it still hurts to lose it.”

A long pause hung between us, filled only by the faint static of the encrypted line and the distant shouts from the training grounds below.

“You owe me, Cap,” Ada said finally, her voice shifting from amused to businesslike, crisp as a new knife. “Big time. And I always collect.”

I exhaled slowly, gaze drifting back across the room to where she was now laughing softly with Jill by the doorway- head thrown back, genuine and light. Leon had reappeared, slipping an arm around her waist from behind, murmuring something that made both women grin. “Name it.”

“Not now,” Ada replied. “But soon. I’ll be in touch when I need a favor returned. Stay sharp, Redfield.” The line went dead with a soft click.

I slipped the phone back into my pocket, face unreadable as stone. When I turned, she was watching me from across the room, a curious tilt to her head, one eyebrow raised in that analytical way of hers.

“Everything okay, Captain?” she asked, voice carrying lightly across the empty space. “You look like you just got bad intel on a new strain.”

I offered her a small, genuine smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach my eyes this time but felt honest enough. “Everything’s fine, Doc. Just… tying up loose ends from the Spain op. Old contacts checking in.”

She nodded, seemingly satisfied, though I caught the brief flicker of suspicion before she let it go. Leon called her name from the hall, and she turned to leave, tossing a final wave over her shoulder. “See you at the range tomorrow, Chris. Don’t go easy on me.”

I watched her go, Leon’s hand finding hers as they disappeared down the corridor. My mind turned over the implications of Ada’s call like a tactical map. I’d made a deal with a ghost to save two people I cared about more than I usually admitted. Used the world’s most dangerous woman as an unwilling matchmaker. Staged jealousy with surgical precision- drone footage, planted rumors, just enough truth mixed with the lie to ignite everything that had been simmering since the first outbreak.

Sometimes, to put out a fire, you had to start a bigger one.

And sometimes… The biggest risks yielded the only rewards that mattered.

I walked back to my desk, the room now completely silent except for the low hum of the projector powering down. A single thought echoed in the quiet: