Requests Are Open

‘Y/N, come on! We’re going.’

‘I’m coming!’ you shouted from the other side of the cave, looking into your pocket mirror since they didn’t keep any larger ones in there. ‘Just finishing my makeup.’

Paul’s hand appeared around your wrist while the other put the mirror down. ‘You don’t need that. You’re already smoking hot. Come on.’

He caught you by surprise. You let him drag you out of the cave, feeling your cheeks on fire. 

You thought nothing of it, but after a few hours hanging out all together at the boardwalk, when the guys started to sit down on the steps leading to the beach, he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you onto his lap.

‘Paul,’ you tried to scold him, although it came out in a mumbly, embarrassed voice.

‘Whaaaaat?’ he asked innocently, but he was quick to pass you a beer before you even had a chance to gather your thoughts, let alone answer him. ‘Just let loose and have some fun, Y/N.’

You heard David and Marko chuckle. 

What you didn’t notice was the way Dwayne studied you silently.

Anyway, after that night, Paul’s innuendos became more frequent. So did the times he pulled you closer to him, one way or another. And while you were used to riding with David, up until then, Paul began to drag you towards his bike.

You slowly started feeling some butterflies for him.

But you pushed them away, for the same reason you had tried your best to stop thinking about Dwayne.

But just like that, he started changing his behavior towards you, too.

Dwayne was more subtle than Paul. 

A hand on your hips as you all walked together.

Sitting next to you on the couch, his thigh against yours.

Tucking your hair behind your ear.

Wiping some cotton candy off your lips with his thumb.

But since both Dwayne and Paul had started to find any excuse to be next to you, it meant you always had at least one of them around you.

Sometimes, both.

Like that time you sat on the couch in the cave, and Dwayne immediately sat on your left. Marko, who was about to take a seat too, threw a suggestive look at Paul. Then, he walked away, faking nonchalance, and sat with David on the couch opposite yours. Paul swooped in and dropped onto your right. 

You lowered your head to hide your blushing cheeks and closed your legs, trying to make yourself as small as possible. As if they were sharing a brain, Dwayne and Paul spread theirs, both their thighs touching yours again. The dark-haired vampire sneaked an arm around your lower back too. 

David and Marko were watching this like it was the funniest thing in the world. You could pretty much picture them holding popcorn instead of those boxes of Thai food.

Your leader recomposed himself and nodded to the ones on the side. ‘What do you want to eat, Y/N?’

‘Nothing spicy for her,’ Paul answered for you in a fake angelic voice, wiping his thumb across your warm cheek. ‘She’s already burning up as it is.’

The vampires opposite you laughed.

You clenched your teeth, raised your hands, and looked to the ceiling. ‘What is the matter with you, Paul? Both of you, actually?!’

But when you glanced at him and then Dwayne, the look in their eyes made your throat go dry. 

It was the same look you had seen on their faces whenever they had vamped out after choosing their next meal: a predator’s gaze. Intrigued, focused, feral. 

Except you knew that, at least, they weren’t planning on killing you. So… WHAT. WAS. THEIR GAME?!

At first, you thought they were going through some kind of alpha male complex, trying to annoy or outcompete each other.

But no: you quickly realized they were playing the same game.

In fact, they pretty much started alternating the times they’d each get you to ride their bike. Or carry you when you all flew.

You’d be lying if you said there wasn’t a part of you that enjoyed their attention.

But you still weren’t planning on doing anything about it. 

They might have been ridiculously hot, sure, but they were still vampires. Predators. Killers!

And you were human. 

So, you tried to keep your distance.

It didn’t work, of course.

For example, when you were eating burgers at a diner and some ketchup ended up next to your lips, Paul squeezed your cheeks between his thumb and index fingers and licked it off.

When you started to fall asleep on the couch, Dwayne carried you to bed before you could even realize he had picked you up in the first place. He tucked you in and kissed your temple. His lips lingered next to your ear, causing your neck to break out in goosebumps. ‘Dream about me, won’t you?’

Or when you were watching the sunset from the small bridge leading to the cave—wearing a short dress, your elbows on the handrail and the salty late-evening breeze blowing into your hair—Paul stepped outside as soon as the sunlight was gone.

‘Admiring the view, Y/N?’ 

You nodded without turning around.

‘So am I,’ he said in a suggestive tone, his chest suddenly against your back and his hands next to your elbows on the headrest, caging you between his arms. ‘And it’s doing something to me.’

He trailed a finger up your bare thigh and pressed himself against you, making you feel his erection.

‘Paul! What the hell?’

You stepped away, walking backwards towards the cave without moving your eyes from him. 

That meant you didn’t see Dwayne appear. 

So, you walked right into him, your back hitting his toned chest. This time, he wasn’t even wearing his usual leather jacket.

You gasped at the sudden, unexpected contact. 

‘Shhh shhh shhh,’ he whispered in your ear, placing a hand on your hip. ‘It’s just me.’

‘Yeah, relaaaaax, Y/N,’ Paul commented as he walked towards, sandwiching you between his body and Dwayne’s. ‘We don’t bite.’

The other vampire chuckled against your temple. ‘Unless you want us to, at least.’

Paul burst into one of his over-the-top laughs.

You slid to the side and took a few steps away from them, shaking your head. ‘Enough! Stop… playing with me! Both of you!’

They just looked at each other and exchanged a pleased smirk, especially when your high-pitched voice broke.

‘What even is your game?!’ you went on, bringing both hands to your head. ‘Are you fucking with me? Are you both pretending to hit on me just to see who I’d choose, or something?!’

They both looked at you and at each other again.

Then, they started breaking the distance between you. 

Slowly. Like lions stalking their prey.

‘Oh, little human,’ Dwayne commented in a patronising voice, caressing your burning cheek as you looked down. ‘Who said anything about pretending? Or choosing?’

Your head shot up, meeting the enraptured gaze in his dark eyes.

Paul pressed himself against your back again, sliding an arm around your hips and tangling his other hand into your hair. ‘Yeah, we wanna share you.’

You turned your head, taken aback, studying him from over your shoulder as your womb felt on fire.

The blond promptly caressed your cheek. Then, he pressed his lips against yours, sucked your lower one, and then bit it. ‘Be ours, Y/N.’

Dwayne placed a hand on your face to get you to look at him but spoke to Paul instead, a smirk on his lips as he caressed your cheek with his thumb. ‘She already is.’

And with that, he slid his tongue into your mouth, running a hand up and down your waist while Paul started peppering kisses on your tender neck.

Theirs. 

Forever.

---------------------------------

Tagging @littlesuncat as you were asking about this pairing 😘

I ran this poll a few days ago and, even though I hardly ever see this pairing in the Lost Boys fandom, it seemed like quite a few of you were interested in it

So, I thought I'd write something about it.

After months of no progress, you somehow sniffed out some form of “Intel” about a group of bloodsuckers who were staying in the abandoned Ironworks. Which is where you found yourself this darling Friday evening. Though it felt like hours of you hiding in the shadows of this decrepit cave. You’re snapped to focus at the sound of loud cheering from a group of individuals. You peek out from behind, counting them out so you can come up with a game plan. Five of them. Not the worst, but most definitely not the best. You tuck back behind the can, listening to them.

“Michael,” one of them says, his voice velvety and calm. “You did good tonight.”

Another chimes in, “Almost thought you’d pussy out at the last second!”

Michael…the name sends a wave of fear over you. There’s no way it’s that Michael, right? The sweet boy you’d been showing around town since his mom and brother moved to town over the last month? The one who could barely get his name out without stuttering? You decide to hold off for a moment longer, seeing if it was truly the one you had in mind.

A cheeky laugh rings through the cave. “It’s like you said, David. We’re a family.” There’s footsteps that come closer towards you, the owner of the voice sitting on a nearby box.

You take the opportunity to look once more, and your chest aches. Your fear was true. The curly haired boy you’d split an ice cream sundae with during an argument of which Stones song was best was a damn bloodsucker. And for the first time, your hands faltered slightly around the pistol. You keep yourself hidden, trying to regain your footing. They’re killers. Evil. The reason why Santa Carla is called the Murder Capital of the world. Any boy you knew before was dead…at least that’s what you were trying to convince yourself.

You curse to yourself, pushing the hesitation down and burst out from your hiding spot, gun extended towards Michael. “Time’s up.”

Though, none of the boys move. Michael actually turns to face you fully, a smile creeping up his cheeks. “Y/N” he says sweetly. “We were waiting for you to come and say hi.”

The lack of reaction makes your skin cold. “Wh-what do you mean?” you have to jerk yourself to grip the gun properly.

“You of all people should know vampires have heightened senses,” he laughs, standing up to line his chin up with the pistol. “Y’know, being a hunter and all.”

“How did you-“

“Vampires Everywhere?” he says it in a mocking tone. “The amount of copies your family burns through is a little funny. Besides, nobody has that many wooden stakes in their closet, its just not normal.”

You swallow, readjusting your grip. The blonde behind Michael chimes in. “Don’t think we don’t have eyes everywhere, Y/N.” You recognize him. The platinum blonde punk who spends nearly every evening on the boardwalk. The other three accompanied him every time.

“Michael.” It’s the first word that comes out. It sounds weak and defeated. You meet his eyes, and they’re darker than they’d ever been before.

“Y/N.” he says, finally pushing the pistol down, your arms dropping easily. “Trust me. You’ll have a much better time being one of us than fighting us.” The words drip with a hint of threat, the group all looking at you with a collected hunger. “Come with us. One night…we’ll show you what it means to be free…to have a family that really looks out for you.”

You scoff, trying to keep your hard exterior, even though he struck a soft spot. You confided in him about your situation, your lack of family. “Michael, you’re kidding, right?”

He shakes his head at you while David steps to his side. The other three boys finally stand, moving to circle you. “Y/N,” He takes the water pistol out of your hand, tossing it to the side. “You’ve gotta learn to let go.”

“And who the hell are you?”

David laughs and takes another step. “The one who taught Michael how to let go,” he muses, brushing a strand of loose hair out of your face, which makes your skin crawl. He circles you slowly and nods to Michael.

Michael finds your gaze again. “Y/N,” he urges sweetly, the boyish charm finding his cheeks again. “Just hear me out…hear us out?”

You keep eye contact and look past his eyes. He’s still in there…and its comforting. His eyes lull you into a calm and your shaking slows. Your walls break, the years of experience and perspective of vampires cracking. “Fine.”

The collective cheer, all of them clapping and throwing their arms around each other, you included. Michael pulls you into a tight hug. “You won’t regret this,” he presses a soft kiss to your temple. It makes you feel warm, something you hadn’t felt in a moment.

-

They take you to a stretch of woods by the bridge, the night sky filled with stars, making it almost tranquil. The three other boys you’d learned to be Paul, Marko, and Dwayne make their way onto the bridge, jumping the handrail and leaning over the open air. Michael and David stay beside you as you approach the handrail.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” David mutters into you ear.

You look over the edge, fog misty and cloud-like. It almost feels like you’re miles higher in the air. And you hate to admit it, but shit-he’s right. The evening is stunning. It’s the perfect temperature, not a hint of humidity. The sky is clear, and the only sound beside from the voices beside you are the rusting leaves.

“Come on,” Michael takes your hand, climbing over the handrail.

“You’re crazy.”

He nods, “You’ll like it.”

David’s chest presses against your back, his hands resting on your hips. “We won’t let you fall,” his proximity sends a chill over you. You don’t even notice how he takes the stakes from your belt and tosses them over the edge. His energy is revoltingly intoxicating, leaving you dizzy, but comforted.

The two boys help you over the edge, Michael keeping you close. You watch as Paul and Marko basically free fall into the fog, and your heart stops. You have to remind yourself they can fly. Dwayne adds his own flair by flipping through the fog. Michael turns you to face him, holding your hand tightly, and tilts you over the gap. Your chest is thrumming with fear. “No, no, enough, come on.” your slightly panicked voice makes him laugh…and he jumps into you, causing you both to dive into the night.

You don’t even have time to scream. Michael’s holding you close, gliding gently through the clouds of mist. After a few seconds of fear, it melts into an unfair weightlessness. Your hands are clutching to the lapels of his jacket as you gasp an inhale. He’s laughing and extending an arm out to feel the air. You finally settle into a comfortable feeling, your grip loosening slightly.

“Nice, isn’t it?” he says into your ear, and you nod. “I told you its not so bad. And I won’t let anything hurt you.” His voice is calm, his free hand cradling your cheek.

Your chest flutters as you absorb the moment. It’s not every day you’re miles in the sky, suspended by absolutely nothing but your closest friend. The feeling is indescribable, and it contorts your stomach in the best way.

“Just think about it, Y/N. This could be us…all the time,”

And for the first time that night, you actually take it into consideration.

-

After flying through the night, they place you down gently in the sand, your feet finally feeling ground for the first time in an hour.

“You must be starving,” Michael says, arm draping over your shoulders. “I’ve got you,” he brings you back into the ironworks. He slips away to let you sit on the couch and disappears down a small corridor.

The Boys aren’t too far behind, chipper and still balls of energy. Marko plops on the ottoman by your feet, David in the chair opposite you. “How are you feeling, Y/N?”

You actually consider the question for a beat. “Warm,” you answer.

The group lets out various amused noises. “Good, good,” David waves Dwayne over and whispers in his ear, who then nods and goes to grab something.

Michael returns first, a small container of food in his hands. “For you,” he says gently, extending it out. You take it and open the lid. It’s still warm. You look it over cautiously. “Cmon, now. We wouldn’t stoop so low to poison your food,” he says through a laugh. The laugh is a reminder he’s still him. Proof the boy you’d been so worried about was still there…he could just fly now…and will live forever.

You take a small bite as Dwayne returns with a large bottle, covered in stones and silver, and hands it to David. He grabs a cup off of the coffee table, pouring a generous sip into the chalice. “This, my dear Y/N…is your ticket.” He puts the bottle down, followed by the cup. He takes a manicured nail and drags it across the palm of his hand, drawing a small trickle of blood. He urges a few drops into the cup before shaking his hand out. It’s dramatic, yes, but its calculated.

“My…my what?” you place the fork in your hand down, raising a brow.

“Your chance to join us,” Paul hums. “The brotherhood.”

You look around the room, the five boys all looking at you with expectant eyes. You finally land on Michael once more, and he’s got these puppy dog eyes- whether he realizes or not. You think about what you’ve grown up knowing. Vampires are heartless killers. They have no care for anyone but themselves. How tonight has disproved the entire basis of your perspective of these creatures. You think about your life, your lack of someone to go home to. You think about how these near strangers are so willing to take you in, welcome you into their twisted life and treat you as one of their own. You think about Michael. How this kind boy has turned your chest more times than you can count, how you’d do anything to protect him. How he’d clearly do the same for you.

The cup finds its way to your hands, the crimson red reflecting the candle lights above you. You could get lost just staring into it, you almost do. Except David’s voice pulls you out. “We want you here. Be one of our own.”

Michael sits next to you, eyes hopeful. “Please?”

because he fed you. regularly at that. they’re meals that came at the same times everyday. breakfast, lunch and dinner, in the same portions and adjusted when necessary without you having to ask. you learned quickly that hunger wasn’t something you had to worry about—as long as you stayed within the lines he set. in other words, when you’re good. and it’s not like you’re disobedient by nature or you purposefully do things you aren’t supposed to do. it’s honest mistakes, small mistakes. but little ones are still mistakes nonetheless, aren’t they?

because he clothed you. nothing fancy but it was always practical. things that fit you well, kept you warm and helped him in handling easier, move you, manage you. of course, you never had a say in what you ever wore but he did notice you taking a liking to what you now know as your favorite color. so, you do have more pieces in that shade than you do anything else.

because he bathed you. at first because you didn’t know how then later because he didn’t trust you to do it properly. it became routine—just like a clinical, detached in that way. it was never sexual either, at least.. it doesn't feel that way (again, you really have no concept of sexualization or perversion). it was simply just maintenance: something that had to be done to keep you functioning the way you were supposed to.

and because he taught you. this is the part of his influence that lingers the most, and may actually be the first thing that someone would notice if they managed to have a conversation with you. his lessons on english started simple at first, then things got a bit harder, and your repeated everything until they stuck. he corrected you when you got something wrong, rewarded you when you didn’t. but it wasn’t just language. it was behavior. expectation. understanding the way the world worked, or at least the version of it he allowed you to see.

“people are dangerous, (name). unpredictable. selfish. sick.”

he would tell you that, not always in those exact words but in the same way that built the same idea. he reinforced it with examples, with his tone, with the way he positioned himself in contrast to everything else.

so of course after fear mongering, he would feed you something extra nice and warm to fill your belly or perform something similar to an act of service for you (for example, he liked to fix your hair, otherwise it becomes a mess). or even correct you in a way that didn’t hurt as much as it could have. and the message would settle where it was meant to:

he is the exception. the only one who doesn’t want to harm you. the only one who understands you. the only one who provides.

victor gideon wouldn’t ever break the pattern—your pattern. the routine you’ve come to know as your life. and yet for the first time, the rhythm breaks.

you haven’t seen him for hours so you assume he’s busy.

so, you do what you’ve always done when something doesn’t make sense. you stay still and you wait because waiting has always kept you safe.

but footsteps that don’t belong to him move through the hallways. a different scent. a different voice registers.. mm. it doesn’t make sense.

you wait for things to correct on their own but.. it doesn’t. and time stretches in an unfamiliar way without you fully understanding why you feel so.. unsettled. perhaps it’s a bit of separation anxiety or maybe you’re picking up on a shift in the air.

the footsteps comes closer, then the sound pauses like whoever it belongs to is.. adjusting? is that the right word? it feels like whoever it is, is cautious. and that alone is enough to make something in your chest tighten because there’s no place to put it. no rule to apply. no outcome you’ve been prepared for.

by the time it reaches the door, your body has already reacted; shoulders pulled in tighter, your tail curls closer around you, your ears press back. you don’t think through any of it, you just brace for whatever.

the handle moves, not suddenly but definitely not in a way anyone else would notice—it lacks the confidence you’re used to. there’s a difference in the timing, in the pressure, in the certainty of the motion. victor was always certain. this hesitates where it shouldn’t and shifts where it should be smooth followed by a quiet greeting of ”hello darling.” or “how are you, little one?”

the door opens anyway, the shape that fills the doorway doesn’t align with anything you’ve been taught to expect. the presence is foreign and there’s no hesitation in how your mind processes it, no pause to question or reassess.

it categorizes immediately. not him. which means—not safe.

leon doesn’t move right away when he pushes the door open.

for a second, it’s just assessment—distance, layout, exits— but all that collapses almost immediately when he mentally hiccups. the cage. that’s the first thing that he processed and then, there’s you.

young. folded into the space like you’ve been shaped to fit it. not fighting it—just existing inside it. he doesn’t know, but it seems like it’s clear as day this isn’t new for you.

his jaw tightens.

“jesus,” he mutters under his breath, the word slipping out before he can filter it. his gaze flicks over you again, slower this time to catch on the details. the ears. the tail. for a brief second, his brain tries to file it somewhere explainable. and it lands in a sick place. something ugly, but a conclusion built on what he’s seen people do before.

“perverted bastard..” he murmurs, more to himself than anything else, the words laced with quiet disgust as his attention shifts back toward the cage, toward you and the way you’re watching him.

the comm in his ear crackles softly. “leon?” sherry’s voice cuts through, low but alert. “you stopped moving. what’s going on?”

his eyes don’t leave you. “..i found someone,” he says after a beat, voice quieter than usual. there’s a pause on the other end—brief, but enough to register surprise. he adds, more specific this time, “there’s a girl. locked up.”

another pause. “is she—”

“i don’t know yet,” he cuts in, already stepping closer as his attention stays fixed on you, tracking every small reaction. “stand by.”

he lowers himself slightly as he gets within a few feet of the cage, not close enough to crowd you, but not distant either. enough that you can see him clearly. and.. up close, the details don’t resolve the way he expected them to.

leon is.. confused. yeah, confused.

because the ears don’t sit like.. a headband would. there’s no seam, no break in the line where they meet you. they move—subtle, reactive, flattening tighter against your head as he shifts, responding to him.

his gaze drops, just briefly, to the tail. and its the same thing. its not attached to you. it is you.

there’s a moment where his expression stills completely, the realization settling in without fanfare or comment. he doesn’t want to be rude. but whatever assumption he made a second ago dissolves just as quickly as it formed, replaced with a new feeling. something similar to finding out the gayest person you’ve ever met is straight.

“..okay,” he exhales under his breath, more to himself than anyone else. he doesn’t linger on it. doesn’t question it out loud because whatever you are— or whatever was done to you—it doesn’t change the situation.

you’re still in a cage.

you’re still looking at him like he’s the worst possible outcome.

“hey,” he says, voice dropping again, softer now. its definitely not the tone he uses in the field. “you understand me?”

you don’t answer but your eyes stay on him, tracking every movement like you’re waiting for something to go wrong.

“alright,” he murmurs, not pushing it, because clearly.. you’re scared of him. “that’s okay.” there’s a pause, just long enough to let the space settle again before he tries something else.

“i’m gonna get you out of there,” he continues, “you don’t have to—” he stops himself, “..you don’t have to do anything right now. just stay there, okay?”

not that you could do much else.

you don’t respond to that either. not verbally at least. but something in your posture shifts. not enough to call it movement, but you are less rigid than before.nyour gaze flickers over him again and there’s something there that doesn’t fit with the fear.

confusion, maybe. or curiosity. something softer that doesn’t have a place to settle, caught between everything you’ve been taught and everything you’re seeing.

because he doesn’t match what you expected.

he doesn’t move like a threat. doesn’t sound like one. doesn’t look like anything you’ve been told to fear in the way you understand it.

and more than that—he’s different.

there’s no comparison for it or framework to put it in. you’ve seen one man your entire life, learned the shape of him, the way he exists in a space. this one doesn’t match.

his face.. his body. something about the way he holds himself, the way he looks at you. not through you, not around you, but at you. it doesn’t align with anything you know how to interpret.

it catches and lingers longer than it should. and somewhere underneath all these big emotions—

you think he’s… nice to look at.

you don’t have a better word for it.

and you don’t have the context to understand why your attention keeps drifting back to his face, to the way his expression shifts when he looks at you, to the steadiness in his voice when he speaks again.

you just know it doesn’t feel the same as looking at victor and that alone is enough to make your belly flutter in a completely different way.

“i’m leon, by the way.” he says, he’s a few feet away now looking for something—a key maybe.

leon..

His head tilts towards you, shaggy hair shifting as his gaze travels over you with interest. You stare back at him blankly, brows furrowing when you take in the scruffy stubble covering his jaw and the weathered look to his skin. He had to be at least twice your age, but even you could admit the man was stupidly handsome. You’re only left with more questions than you started with as you continue to stare at him, feeling bewildered. The flex of his gloved fingers catch in your periphery, distracting you as you glance down to find him piecing together a disassembled gun with practiced ease, the parts set out neatly on your desk. 

His voice is gruff when he speaks. “You’re younger than I expected.”

“You… were expecting me?” you ask, irritation seeping into your voice, patience growing thin. “Who the fuck are you?”

The man’s brows raise at your blunt question, fingers still moving deftly, his eyes flickering with mirth. 

“You know, the FBI promised me a warm welcome,” he says, the chair swiveling as he turns to face you fully. “Can’t exactly say you’re delivering on that promise.”

“Yeah well, I didn’t make any promises,” you retort, giving him a tight smile, watching as he leans forward, sliding his newly assembled gun back into its holster. “Besides, you still haven’t answered my question.”

He sighs, leaning forward, his arm outstretched as he offers you his hand. “Leon–”

He’s interrupted by the Unit Chief calling out your name. Your eyes narrow when you see the case file in his hands, glancing back at Leon before you leave him, stepping inside the Unit Chief’s office, the door clicking shut behind you.

“We’ve got two new bodies,” he says, handing you the case file. “Unsub’s been crossing jurisdictions and the local police department is… well, concerned to say the least. Think you can handle it?”

You nod, flicking through the pages, nose scrunching when you see the images of the crime scene – each more grisly than the last. Mutilated bodies, blood smeared across the walls, messily carved symbols etched into the wooden door of the victims’ home.

“Seems ritualistic,” you murmur, reading through the reports. You glance up at him, clutching the case file to your chest protectively. “You’re letting me take this alone? I’m flattered.”

“Ah,” the Unit Chief shakes his head, nodding towards Leon. “Not exactly.”

“What?” you scoff, looking at Leon who gives you a smile and waves through the glass. You glare at him, yanking the blinds shut. “The old man?” you hiss, “he’ll only slow me down.”

The Unit Chief sighs, taking a seat in his chair. “That man is Leon Kennedy. DSO. It’s only a precaution. He’s more experienced than any team we could put together and after what happened with Agent Ashcroft, the FBI is trying to be more… mindful.”

“Ashcroft?” you echo, remembering the Rhodes Hill incident. “That’s– that’s because they sent an analyst into the field of all things. She must’ve been terrified. I’m a field agent, I can handle myself.”

“Agent Kennedy took an interest in the case,” he replies, hands clasping together. “If there’s bioterrorism involved, he’ll be useful. If there isn’t, use him as an idea board. The Unit Chief peers up at you, his expression stern. “My decision is final.”

Your jaw works irritatedly before you huff out a heavy breath, nodding reluctantly. “Yes, sir.”

Despite your sour mood and the urge to slam the door shut, you carefully close it, making your way back to Leon. You drag a spare chair towards your desk, sinking down onto it. Leon shakes his head when you offer him the case file.

“I’ve already read it.”

“Huh,” you stare at him, lips pursing while your eyes squint in recognition. “Leon Scott Kennedy,” you drawl, jabbing your finger at him, “you’re the Raccoon City cop. I’ve heard stories about you. Shouldn’t you be…” you gesture to him pointedly, “retired?”

“Ouch,” Leon says, his hand moving to press against his chest as he feigns being hurt. “You really don’t want me here, do you?”

“All I know is that you’re some big-shot DSO agent that I don’t need on my case, Leon,” you shoot back, flipping open the file to read the autopsy reports more thoroughly.

“The first case you’ve ever been in charge of,” Leon muses, his leather gloves creaking softly as he picks up a stray pen, putting it back into its place. “I’m impressed. Not everyone gets to be a lead on a case like this. Then again, you’re pretty good at this kinda thing.”

Was he buttering you up? He had to be. You don’t bother looking up as you mark a few things of interest off on the report.

“Thank you,” you murmur, scrawling a few notes down on a notepad before you pause, head turning to find him watching you carefully. “How did you know that?” you ask, a hint of suspicion in your voice, “we’ve never met before.”

Leon shifts, grunting softly as he tries to get more comfortable in your chair. “I took the liberty of reading your file,” he replies flippantly, his expression darkening as he tries to work the chair’s jammed lever. “Fuckin’ chair… how do you sit in this all day?”

“I don’t sit all day!” you snap, “and you read my file? I don’t care if you have the fucking clearance, you can’t just–” 

You’re interrupted by a loud snap, teeth gritting together when you realize he’s pushed the lever too hard – or perhaps, underestimated his own strength – the lever cleanly detached and now clutched in Leon’s gloved hand. 

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he murmurs, setting the lever down on your desk, patting it awkwardly. “I’ll buy you a new chair.”

You have half a mind to reach over and strangle him. You even consider doing it, until he grumbles under his breath and shrugs off that jacket of his, your murderous intent forgotten as soon as you catch sight of his thick biceps. With those things, Leon could probably strangle you and have no problem doing it. 

The sheer size of him renders you incapable of tearing your gaze away, your stare settled firmly on his shoulders, arms and chest – every part of him unfairly thick and muscular – his skin-tight shirt leaving you barely conscious of the way your throat was beginning to dry up. 

Your newly broken chair creaks once more under Leon’s weight, the sound piercing through the haze of your shameless staring. You blink uncertainly, taking another lingering peek at his biceps while he’s too busy trying to get comfortable. 

“We’d better get going,” you announce, grabbing the file before standing up abruptly. “The local PD is probably waiting for us.”

“We can take my car,” Leon says as he follows you into the elevator.

“I’m not in the habit of getting into cars with strange men,” you say testily, pressing a button before turning to face him. 

“And I’m not in the habit of babysitting FBI agents,” Leon drawls, leaning against the wall of the elevator, his arms crossing over his chest. 

The movement makes his shirt stretch tighter if anything, the fabric clinging to his broad forearms stubbornly, his watch glinting softly in the lighting. Your head tilts, eyes narrowing with irritation when you register his insult. 

“No one asked you to babysit,” you say, shaking your head. “I have a gun,” you take it out of the holster attached to your hip, pointing it at him, “and I’m smart. I’ll have this case wrapped up in a day or two, so stay the fuck outta my way.”

A smile pulls at his lips, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he lifts his hands in mock-surrender. The amusement in his eyes makes him look a little younger, your heart fluttering with delight for a moment before you tamp it down violently. 

When the elevator comes to a stop, Leon takes your bag before you can protest, his gloved fingers brushing yours briefly. You step after him, brows raising with begrudging respect when you see his car. Big-shot DSO agent, your mind supplies as he puts your bag into the backseat, gesturing for you to get in. You sigh heavily, opening your mouth to argue but Leon’s already disappeared inside his car, the engine rumbling to life. Muttering a curse under your breath, you get in his car, pulling the door shut firmly. 

–

“What do you mean there’s only one room available?”

“What’s there to understand?” Leon asks, dangling the singular key in front of your face. “Rooms are all booked out. They’re celebrating some special harvest festival according to the receptionist.”

“Harvest festival?” you echo, peering up at him. “You gotta be fucking kidding me. That’s like the perfect cover for our unsub.”

“I would help,” he murmurs, nudging your shoulder gently to get you to step aside, “but you wanted me to, what was it?” you roll your eyes when he snaps his fingers, pretending to think. “Ah yes, stay the fuck outta your way.”

You snatch the key hanging from Leon’s finger, ignoring his aggrieved sigh as you push past him and stomp back down the stairs to the reception, ready to demand another room. All the receptionist does is give you an apologetic smile and offer you a discount. You swallow your pride as you trudge back up the stairs, doing your best to avoid Leon’s eyes when you find him leaning beside the room’s door, his brows raising amusedly.

“I don’t want to hear it,” you mutter, slotting the key into the lock.

Leon shrugs non-committally. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”

The door is heavy as you push it open, Leon’s hand moving to keep it open for you as you step inside. You fumble in the darkness for the light switch at the same time Leon does, his strong, calloused fingers brushing over yours. It’s enough to have an unwanted shiver running down your spine, warmth blooming in your chest and a flush settling high on your cheeks despite your stubborn annoyance with him. 

“Fuck me.”

You follow his gaze when he swears, taking in the lit room. There’s a shitty couch in one corner, a tiny area with a coffee machine and table, and… a bed. 

“Okay,” you say slowly, staring at the one, pitiful bed you had been afforded. “Great! So I think you should go and chew out the receptionist.”

“I’m not doing that,” Leon scoffs, bending down to take off his boots, his gun clattering against the table as he sets it down. “I can take the couch.”

You look back at the couch, brows furrowing. “That’s really nice of you and all, Leon,” you begin, stepping further inside the small room, “but I don’t think you’re exactly going to fit.”

“You care about me or something?” he drawls, looking over at you with a smile as he opens his duffle bag to pull out a towel and a set of clothes. 

“Get over yourself. I’m just worried about your…” you gesture towards him vaguely, “potentially geriatric bones.”

Leon chokes on a laugh, his brows shooting up. “Geriatric? I’m 49. My bones are in perfect working order.”

“Right, nevermind. You did break my chair.”

“I did you a favor,” he retorts, slinging the towel around the back of his neck. “It was a hunk of junk.”

“It was in perfect working condition!” you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Do you always defend inanimate objects with such passion?” Leon muses, stepping closer until he’s only a few inches away, head cocking to the side.

“When they’re close to my heart, yes.”

“A chair is close to your heart?”

You decide to double down. “Yes, Leon.”

“Huh,” he nods slowly, clicking his tongue. “You got attachment issues?”

“Did my file not tell you that?” you smile up at him snarkily.

Leon grins, shaking his head. “I’m afraid I skipped over your psych eval.”

He turns, disappearing into the bathroom. You glare at the door and huff out a sigh, removing your shoes before grabbing the case file and flopping down on the bed tiredly. You flick through the pages absentmindedly, settling on the symbols carved onto the door. You hadn’t seen anything remotely like it before and the database search you’d done earlier in the car had come up empty. 

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath, glancing towards the bathroom.

You’d exhausted all your options save for one. A reluctant groan leaves you as you stand, approaching the bathroom, leaning against the doorframe. 

“Hey, Leon?” you call out when you hear the spray of water come to a stop. “I… might have been a little difficult earlier,” your voice sounds strained, “but if you could maybe take another look at the file, then I would… you know, probably appreciate it or whatever.” You swallow, face twisting with discomfort. “Please?”

Leon laughs, the rich, deep sound seeping through the crevices. “Don’t hurt yourself,” he says, sounding entirely too entertained by your attempt to ask him for help. “I’ll take a look for you.”

You frown at the door, jolting when it swings open suddenly. A few wisps of steam escape, and you blink owlishly, finding yourself face-to-face with his bare chest. It’s hard to keep your gaze from wandering over his exposed skin, a light dusting of hair covering his chest coupled with a few scars. A strange, gurgling noise escapes you when he shifts back to grab his towel, his broad, muscled back now visible to you. You sway, moving to grip the doorframe, knees feeling weak. 

“You okay?” Leon murmurs, glancing over at you as he ruffles his damp hair, brows furrowing.

“Yes!”

Your voice is shrill, pitching up awkwardly until you clear your throat and give him an equally awkward smile. 

“Perfectly fine,” you clarify, this time sounding breathless as you try and fail to not look down, inhaling sharply when you see his defined abdomen and the dark, coarse hair below his navel, disappearing into the waistband of his sweatpants.

“It’s just that you look…” you trail off, fingers itching to reach out and squeeze and touch. Hot. Attractive. Fuckable. Really fucking fuckable for a 49-year-old man. “Like shit,” you settle on, the words tumbling out of you in a strained manner as you force yourself to meet his eyes. “You– you look like shit, Leon.” You pat his shoulder jerkily. “Unfortunately.”

“Right, sure,” he says, his head tilting as he stares down at you, unconvinced. “You really know how to flatter a man.”

“I’m charming like that,” you say, hands clasping behind your back. 

Leon hums, and you stare back up at him, gaze flitting away for one moment to get a glimpse of his left hand. No ring. Perfect. You pinch yourself as soon as the thought comes.

“You gonna let me out?”

“What?”

When Leon gestures towards you, you realize you’re still standing in front of him, blocking the way out. You move to the side sheepishly, pushing the case file into his chest quickly before locking yourself in the bathroom.

You let out an embarrassed groan once you’re in the shower, burying your face into your hands. What the fuck was wrong with you? There was no way that all it took was some dorky, attractive, older man to have you feeling out of sorts. A dull ache flares between your thighs at the thought of Leon, fingers sneaking past your folds to rub at your traitorously swollen clit. It doesn’t take much, just the image of his body pressed against yours, his arms wrapped around you, mouth pressed against your ear while he grunts–

You cum with a muffled whine. Scrubbing the rest of your mortification off of your skin with soap, you dry off, slipping into a pair of sleep shorts and a hoodie. You pad out of the bathroom to find Leon sitting at the table – thankfully with a shirt on – a few containers of food littered across its surface while he’s hunched over his laptop.

“Hey,” he greets when he sees you, gaze travelling over you briefly before turning his laptop towards you. “I had a look. Your guy might be part of a cult,” Leon brings up another image, showing it to you, “they’re not the exact same, but similar enough. Might be worth looking into.”

“Cult? That’s fun,” you murmur, dropping into the chair beside him, watching as he runs his hair through his hair. “Thank you for taking a look, and the food.”

His brows raise. “Those might be the most sincere words to come out of you today.”

“Shut up,” you say, although a small smile pulls at your lips.

Dinner is quick as you both make a plan for tomorrow – visit the local PD, check out the crime scene and investigate a few related areas of interest. Leon settles down on the couch soon after, adjusting his pillow a few times before grunting as he tries to get comfortable. You were right, he doesn’t fit. He looks so awfully crammed, knees bent and back hunched at an awkward angle that even you feel bad about it.

“Leon,” you say exasperatedly, “we can both fit on the bed. That can’t be good for your back.”

“This is fine,” he replies stubbornly, shifting onto his back uncomfortably, arm hanging off the edge. “I’ve slept in worse places.”

“I can’t deal with you complaining about your back tomorrow,” you say, gesturing towards the bed. You lay down, squirming to the side to make space. “See? You can have the other side.”

“You sure your boyfriend won’t mind?”

“What?” you ask confusedly, sitting up on your elbows. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

Leon grunts as he gets to his feet, dropping down onto the bed without further protests. It’s a tight fit, but you both manage, a sliver of space left between your bodies. You stare up at the ceiling, lips pursing, feeling antsy. 

“Did you…” you glance over at him, feeling entirely too bold for your own good, “did you ask because you were interested?”

He stares back, brows raising. “Interested in what?”

“In what?” you repeat irritably, “are you seriously playing dumb?”

Leon smiles back at you, shrugging lazily. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Maybe if you clarified what it was you wanted from me–”

“I don’t want anything from you!” you sputter, flushing hot. The bed creaks as you flop onto your side, facing away from him. “You’re old and weird and infuriating and–”

“I feel like you’re avoiding my better qualities.”

“Fuck you.”

“Yeah, I know you want to, baby.”

It’s a miracle your neck doesn’t snap with how fast you turn to look at him. 

“May I remind you that this,” you gesture between your bodies wildly, “is a professional relationship?”

“Yeah?” Leon murmurs, raising his brows, “is that why you got off in the shower? Rubbed one out to make yourself feel better ‘bout liking me?” He looks unfazed when your jaw slackens, tapping the wall behind his head. “Thin walls.”

“That is none of your business.” You lean closer, eyes narrowing in an attempt to hide your growing embarrassment. “HR is going to have a fucking field day with you.”

You flop back onto your side, trying to put some distance between you, but there’s such a little space on the bed that you end up half-dangling over the edge. Leon doesn’t say anything, the silence between you thick and stretching on uncomfortably until you sit up, turning to face him.

He stares back at you, the bed creaking softly as he shifts, folding an arm under his head. His shirt stretches tight, thick bicep flexed and the sight is enough to make you lose your last nerve. 

Your hand cups his jaw, head dipping to press a kiss to his lips. It’s meant to be quick, fleeting, to get whatever the fuck you have bottled up inside of you. Leon doesn’t seem to agree as he returns your kiss roughly, stubble scratching against your skin, his hand moving to cup the back of your head, blocking your escape.

“Where’re you going?” he murmurs, lips brushing over yours.

“This–” you whine softly when he kisses the underside of your jaw, fingers tightening into his shirt. “This is a bad idea.”

“I happen to be full of those.”

“You’re so fucking corny,” you groan, mouth dropping open as he trails kisses along your jaw lazily.

His lips are soft, calloused fingers massaging your scalp whilst an arm slides around your waist to pull you into his side. Another whine escapes you, head tipping towards him as his hand wanders under the hem of your hoodie, hot skin drifting over your waist and higher, his thumb grazing the curve of your breast.

“And you’re a fucking brat,” Leon says, watching your expressions closely as you whine and pant, pulling him towards you for another kiss, arms wrapping around his neck tightly. 

He groans into your mouth, lips slotting over yours feverishly, his hand squeezing at the back of your neck. You squirm, throwing your leg over his hip, mewling when he licks into your mouth. Leon’s a good kisser, you think dazedly as his tongue strokes against yours in a filthy motion that has heat blistering in your stomach. His hand moves, circling around the front of your throat, squeezing gently.

You blink up at him hazily when he pulls away, lips slick with spit and pupils blown out. A smile spreads across your lips as you arch into him, hands sliding up over his strong forearm, fingers wrapping around his wrist.

“You can squeeze harder,” you whisper, pressing his fingers into your skin harder, gasping when he grants your request, eyes rolling back as the pressure around your throat constricts.

“That’s a little fucked up, baby,” Leon breathes out, watching as you writhe and suck in a ragged breath, his brows furrowing. 

His brows raise when you glare at him, leaning over you to let his nose nudge against yours, kissing you gently before he tightens his grip a little more, drawing out a choked noise from you. There’s a heady fog settling over your mind the more he keeps you from barely breathing, something slow and syrupy creeping into the crevices of your brain as he presses a kiss to your cheek. He’s letting go before long though, brushing the pad of his thumb over your lips roughly. 

“I can handle it,” you mumble hoarsely, head tipping as he massages your throat, huffing out a breath when he laughs against your cheek.

“Yeah?” Leon rasps, his gaze darkening when you suck his thumb into your mouth, tongue swirling around the digit needily, head lifting as you feign bobbing your head. “What, you want me to put you in your place or something? Is that what you need?”

The idea is appealing. You’ve been strung tight for months, between work and the never-ending cases that were stacking up on your desk, you hadn’t exactly gotten much time to yourself, to wind-down from the constant wear and tear brought about by the commitments demanded from you by the FBI.

“Maybe,” you say slowly, looking away. “I don’t know. I guess I just want some… attention or whatever.”

“From me?” Leon says, his fingers sliding over your jaw to guide your gaze back to him. “Your way of asking for attention is acting bratty?”

“I don’t know!” you sputter, pushing at his chest, feeling shy. 

“Oh, that’s cute,” he coos, smiling down at you. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll give you all the attention you fuckin’ need.”

You squeak when he moves suddenly, sitting up before he’s dragging you towards him, maneuvering you until you're bent over his lap. A whimper is punched out of you when he squeezes the fat of your ass through your shorts, lashes fluttering when each consecutive grope grows rougher until it stings lightly.

“Guess if you’re into choking, you should be into something like this,” Leon murmurs thoughtfully, squeezing your ass greedily. “‘s been a while since I’ve done this with someone.”

“Since you’ve– ah– groped someone?” you ask, hips wiggling when his touches disappear, ass lifting involuntarily to chase after his touch.

“Kissed, touched,” he sucks in a sharp breath, “groped… fucked.”

You glance at him over your shoulder, brows raising curiously. “Can you still get it up?”

A sharp yelp escapes you when his hand comes down on your ass, hard and punishing. It stings, the pain spreading out over your ass unforgivingly. You try and glare at him but his hand is coming down again, landing another heavy spank to your other ass cheek. 

“It was just a question!” you protest, squeaking when he spanks you again and again, eyes squeezing shut as the red-hot pain spreads over your ass, the ache in your pussy beginning to burrow deeper.

“I know,” Leon murmurs, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your shorts. “Do you want me to stop?”

You pout into the sheets, voice quiet. “No.”

He huffs out a soft laugh, tapping your hip. You lift them, letting him tug your shorts down, mewling softly when he squeezes your ass, his fingers dipping past your panties, stretching them before letting them snap back against your skin.

“Cute panties,” he says, his hand rubbing over your stinging ass, fingers sneaking between your thighs, brushing over the drenched, ruined fabric. “Too bad you’ve made them all messy, baby. So fucking wet for me. You like my hand on your ass?”

“Yes,” you grumble, glaring at the wall. “Stop asking stupid questions, you jerk.”

You jolt when he spanks you, letting out an agitated breath when his hand palms over ass before coming down again in several repeated motions. A whimper escapes you when pleasure bleeds through your body, teeth sinking into your lower lip when the pace of Leon’s slaps quicken. It hurts but feels so good all the same, your thighs trying to squeeze together with how uncomfortably wet your pussy is becoming.

“Don’t– fuck! Don’t stop,” you mewl, arching your back, tears prickling at your eyes. “Leon– please ah–”

“Please?” Leon echoes, “look at that, you’re back to being polite. Good fuckin’ girl.”

You whine in agreement, nodding dazedly as you look back at him, unfocused eyes finding his lopsided smile, heart fluttering in your chest. You reach back for him, hand fighting his shirt, lips parting, eyes slipping shut when he leans towards you, head dropping to kiss you deeply, his fingers squeezing at your ass gently.

“You gonna stop being a brat? Hm? You wanna be my good girl, baby?” Leon rasps against your lips, stealing another soft kiss, his hands still palming at the blistering flesh of your ass, squeezing every now and again to force a pitiful whine out of you. He clicks his tongue when you slur, nose nudging against yours gently. “I asked you a question, sweetheart. Use your words for me.”

“Yes,” you manage out, pushing your ass back into his greedy, awaiting palm, a few stray tears dripping down your cheeks. “‘m gonna be– nghh– ‘m gonna be your good girl, Leon.”

“Yeah?” he breathes out, voice sounding rough as his thumb strokes over your cheek, wiping away the tears. “My sweet, pretty girl.”

“It– it hurts,” you babble, jerking in his lap when he rains an unsuspecting slap down onto your ass, teary eyes rolling back when his fingers slip between your thighs suddenly, rubbing at your swollen, aching clit through the dampened fabric of your panties. “Leon– ah fuck!”

“I know it does,” he soothes, pressing harder against your clit until your legs kick up, “but you asked for this, baby. Remember? You came up to me all pretty and said you wanted attention.”

“Stop being mean,” you hiccup, leaning into his palm when he offers it to you, nuzzling into the warm, rough skin.

“Mean?” Leon whispers, “‘m taking care of you, sweetheart.” He hums as he wipes away the saliva beading at the corner of your mouth, spreading it over your lips before his thumb presses down more firmly, a grunt of satisfaction leaving him when your lips part obediently. “There you go,” he breathes out, “suck on my thumb while I play with this needy, little pussy, baby.”

You whine, fingers clinging to his wrist as you suck lazily, tongue swirling around his thumb. His fingers rub against your wet panties, drawing out a soft mewl from you as he pets your clothed pussy.

“You can take them off,” you mumble around his thumb, biting gently before sucking again, happy to have your mouth occupied. “Want you to touch me.”

“I kinda like ‘em on,” Leon murmurs, his fingers grabbing at your thighs before they move, slipping past the waistband. “Besides, I can touch you like this.”

Your eyes flutter shut when his fingers glide through your sticky, puffy folds, breath hitching while Leon groans when he feels your wet pussy. His fingers are thicker than yours, slipping over the soft skin before the calloused pads find your clit. Your thighs twitch, toes curling when he starts to rub your clit using slow, measured circles.

“Is this how you do it?” he asks, leaning down to kiss your cheek. “Did you play with your clit til you came in the shower?”

“Mhm,” you nod, peering up at him, lashes fluttering. You lap at his thumb, tongue flicking against the tip playfully, letting him watch. 

“Fuck,” Leon rumbles, his thumb brushing over your bottom teeth before rubbing against your tongue. “So fuckin’ gorgeous, sweetheart. Look at you.”

You smile, lips wrapping back around his thumb soon after, eyes rolling back when his fingers leave your clit to play with your fluttering hole. A long whine leaves you when he circles your hole teasingly, the tip of a finger pressing in briefly before he draws them back out to rub at your clit.

“Put ‘em in,” you mewl, hips beginning to roll against his hand, one of your hands squirming underneath you to try and move his wrist. “Leon,” you grumble, pulling his thumb out of your mouth when he tries to press against your tongue again. “Put ‘em in.”

“What happened to being polite?” he muses, dipping his finger in again and then pulling it out. 

“If you put ‘em in, I’ll be polite,” you reply, blinking up at him sweetly, a smug smile on your face.

Leon laughs, watching as your mouth drops open when he finally inches one finger inside of your clenching pussy, beginning to slowly fuck it in and out of you.

“Go on then,” he coaxes, “beg all pretty for me, sweetheart. Tell me what you want.”

“P– nghh– please fuck me with your fingers,” you whimper, fingers moving to rub at your throbbing clit. “Please, Leon? Want– fuck– want another finger.”

He doesn’t make you beg any further, sinking another finger into you. You shove your face into the sheets, hips wiggling back to meet the thrust of his fingers, your fingers quickening their pace against your clit. 

“Taking me so good,” Leon murmurs, using his other hand to spread you open. You flush, feeling entirely too exposed as he stares down at your pussy stretching around his fingers. “Pretty fuckin’ pussy just sucking my fingers in.”

Your walls flutter around his fingers at that, hand reaching out for him blindly, fingers managing to curl into his shirt. You yank him down, mumbling something incoherent around his lips before dragging him down further, lips pressing against his. You moan into his mouth when he starts thrusting his fingers in and out of you harder, curling them just right. 

“Leon,” you pant against his mouth, biting his lower lip before tugging it. Leon groans, his fingers scissoring before you moan again, lapping at his lips. His eyes roll back when your lips find his neck, head tipping to bare more of it to you until you manage to move, crawling up onto his lap, his fingers slipping out of you momentarily.

His back hits the bed when you push at his chest, his fingers finding your pussy again, thumb rubbing at your clit while his fingers sink back inside. You shove your face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in with a mewl, pawing at his firm chest as you let your hips drop, fucking yourself on his fingers.

“You gonna do that on my cock?” Leon moans, his fingers tangling in your hair when you kiss his neck feverishly, teeth scraping against his throat, the action enough to draw a hoarse growl from him. “Gonna ride my cock like you’re riding my fingers, gorgeous?”

“Yeah,” you murmur against his neck, latching onto his skin and sucking, all with the intent of leaving a mark of your own, like he had done on your ass. “Wanna– ahhh– wanna ride your cock, Leon.”

“Fuck,” he mutters, an arm clamping around your waist to hold you flush against him, his thumb pressing against your clit harder, the lewd noises of your pussy growing louder with every snap of his wrist. “You’re gonna drive me fucking insane.”

You smile against his throat, kissing the underside of his jaw when his throat bobs uncertainly.

“We haven’t even fucked yet,” you whisper, fingers slipping into his hair, pulling at the strands to make him expose his neck further, drawing out a pretty whine from his lips. “Think you can handle me?”

Your smile fades when his fingers pull out of you suddenly, a sharp yelp leaving you when he grabs your hips and manhandles you onto your stomach, the fabric of your panties tearing loudly as he rips them off of you and pulls your ass into the air. 

“Those were comfy!” you protest, glaring at him. “Leon?” you jolt when he slaps your ass hard, pulling your asscheeks apart. “Leon, wait– ah fuck!”

You squeal when he buries his face between your thighs, lurching forward unsteadily on your knees, hands grabbing out for the pillows. He’s ruthless, tongue gliding through your warm folds, drinking down your slick with a rough growl, his hands squeezing at your hips, tugging you back onto his mouth when you try and squirm away. The stubble on his cheeks and jaw isn’t helping, scratching against your skin deliciously as he nips and spits onto your cunt.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” he snaps lowly, biting punishingly into your thigh when you try kicking at his chest. “Huh?”

“I didn’t–” your leg jerks when Leon bites the back of your thigh, fingers curling into the pillows tightly when he bites the fat of your ass soon after, tongue laving over the bite.

“You didn’t what?” Leon asks, thumb finding your swollen bud, his tongue drifting over the inner crease of your thigh, barely shy of your aching pussy. “You didn’t mean it, is that it, baby?” he drawls, wet fingers rubbing over your pussy. 

“Yes!” you choke out, hand slapping against the pillow when he sucks your clit into his mouth lazily, his nose pressing into your pussy, rough hands massaging your ass. “I– nghhhh– I didn’t mean it, Leon.”

“Oh, I think you did,” he sighs heavily, feigning disappointment. He clicks his tongue condescendingly. “I thought you were being my sweet girl, but turns out you’ve just got one hell of a mean streak. Just can’t help being a bit bratty, can you, pretty baby?”

“I’m not a brat,” you wail, shoving your face into the pillows the same time he presses his face into your pussy.

You don’t think anyone’s touched you like this before, let alone used their mouth like this. Leon’s strong, his hands clamping down onto you to keep you in place as he flicks his tongue over your clit, teeth scraping over the sensitive bud. You drool messily, whimpering and whining as he laps at your cunt, his tongue prodding against your hole.

“Oh fuck,” you whisper, glancing behind you, eyes wide to find Leon looking at you hungrily, his gaze dark and feral. You swallow nervously, thighs twitching when he kisses the curve of your ass. “Leon, Leon– oh fuck!”

A squeal escapes you when he presses his tongue into your clenching cunt, eyes squeezing shut so tightly that you feel dizzy, hips pressing back needily to meet the movements of his tongue. He fucks it into you, head tilting as he holds you against his mouth, a hand moving under your hoodie to stroke over the length of your back. 

You arch, mewling, hips swaying dazedly as he caresses your pussy with his tongue. A soft, ragged moan leaves you when his mouth moves, returning to your clit, toes curling when he presses his fingers back into you.

“You sound so pretty falling apart on my tongue,” Leon murmurs, rubbing his tongue over your clit with a groan, his fingers crooking inside of you. “You gonna cum, baby? Pretty pussy’s clenching around my fingers.”

“Nghhh–” you slur into the pillows, trying and failing to keep your eyes open, your lids drooping shut when his fingers press against that spot inside of you, his fingers rubbing over it with just the right amount of pressure. 

His stubble brushes against the backs of your thighs, lips soft as he trails hot kisses all over your skin. Your hips jerk when he fucks his fingers into you harder and faster, the pressure in your lower stomach growing greater. When his mouth latches back onto you, you moan loudly, knees beginning to buckle.

“Fuck! ‘m gonna cum– ‘m gonna fucking cum, Leon,” you whine, hugging the pillow to your chest, a sharp breath of air leaving you.

“Cum then, sweetheart,” he whispers, “be a good girl and cum for me.”

You cry out when he sucks harder on your clit, his face pressing harder into you, nose buried into your pussy. Leon groans loudly, the vibration shooting up through you, making your pussy clench around his fingers tightly. Your body trembles, knees giving out finally when his tongue flicks at your clit, another moan tearing its way out of your throat as you cum.

“That’s it,” Leon snarls, managing to hold you up despite your arms feeling rubber. “Cum just like that. Good girl. Good fuckin’ girl.”

You whimper, still twitching as he laps at your cunt gently, tongue sweeping over your folds as he slurps down your slick, his thumb rubbing against your clit to draw out the final waves of your orgasm while his fingers slow their pace inside of you before pulling out completely.

Leon’s body is hot when he hovers above you, his hands brushing away the sweaty hair clinging to your skin, head dipping to press soft kisses to your cheek, his stubble oddly soothing as it rubs along your skin.

“You okay?” he asks softly, hands drifting down over your back, squeezing your waist soothingly, hands petting at your still reddened and slightly bruised ass. “I guess I’ve been a little pent up.”

“A little?” you murmur, fingers sliding into his hair when he kisses your neck. “I think you’re more than a little pent up, Leon.”

He grunts in agreement, dropping another kiss to your neck before laying down on his back, letting out a heavy breath. 

“I haven’t exactly had time to relax,” he sighs, “too many fucking responsibilities ever since Raccoon City.”

You hum, sitting up, arms still a little wobbly. Leon watches you, his eyes tracking your every movement. You smile at him, eyes twinkling, fingers hooking into the hem of your hoodie before you pull it up over your head, tossing it to the side. He sucks in a sharp breath when he sees your breasts, hand reaching out before he pauses mid-reach. You take his hand, pulling it toward your breast, smile growing wider when he squeezes.

“Are my tits helping you relax?” you ask innocently, hands landing on his chest as you swing a leg over his hip, straddling him.

“Guess so,” Leon says, his other hand joining the fray, squeezing your untouched breast. “Pretty fuckin’ tits, sweetheart.”

Your eyes flutter shut as you let him play with your tits, distracted momentarily by the way his fingers move – pinching and tugging, thumb sweeping over your hardened nipples. It’s when you shift on his lap that you become aware of how hard his cock is, hips rolling against the clothed length.

“To answer your question,” he murmurs, tracing the curve of your breast, gently cupping one in his hand, thumb stroking over the soft flesh. “I can, in fact, still get it up.”

You snort, unable to stop the laugh that bubbles out of you. Leon grins back, his head tilting as he peers up at you, hands sliding down over your sides to grab your waist.

“I didn’t doubt you for a second,” you breathe out, voice laced with amusement, your hands beginning to pull at his shirt. He helps you, lifting his arms so that you’re able to pull it up over his head easily. “You do look pretty good for a 49-year-old.”

You lean forward, kissing him gently before you trail kisses down his neck and over his chest, lips brushing over his thick pecs. Leon sighs, his eyes slipping shut, a hand cupping the back of your head as you continue to lay his skin with kisses. You kiss his scars tentatively, squirming lower to kiss his abdomen, tongue darting out to trace the defined ridges of his abdomen.

“You tryna make me cum?” Leon rasps, half-lidded eyes watching you as you bite at his side playfully.

“That is a priority, yes,” you say, following the trail of coarse hair that lies under his navel and the thick bulge laying further down.

His hands in your hair tighten when you nuzzle into his sweatpants, nose brushing against the fabric. When you breathe in, you can smell him, all heady and musky and arousal is seeping into your bones once more, mouth sucking at his clothed cock.

“As much fuck– I would like that,” he grumbles, hips bucking when you mouth at him again, spit dampening his sweatpants, “I’ll cum if you put your mouth on me, baby.”

“Just one suck,” you mumble stubbornly, pulling his sweatpants and boxers down. 

Your eyes widen when his cock bobs heavily, struggling with its own weight. You swallow, blinking dazedly as you take in the length and the thickness and the heavy balls that sit underneath. The tip is flushed angrily, darkened and dripping with globs of pre-cum that don’t seem to stop, his cock twitching when you lean towards it slowly.

“It’s big,” you whisper, glancing up at Leon before your eyes find his cock again, pussy beginning to throb as you imagine the stretch. “Really fucking big. You’re– you’re that hard for me?”

Leon grunts, his hand wrapping around his cock, giving it a quick pump. “Yeah, just for you, sweet girl.” He pumps it again, holding his cock towards you. “You said you wanted a taste, go ‘head, pretty baby.”

You don’t need any further invitation, licking your lips hungrily, tongue lolling out. You drag your tongue along the hot length of his cock, feeling the smooth skin and saltiness of his pre-cum. Leon groans, his hips bucking again, another glob of pre-cum dribbling out. You lean forward just in time, catching it on your tongue before your lips wrap around his thick cock.

“Fuck– fuck, baby,” Leon moans, twitching underneath you as you bob your head, beginning to suck. “Your mouth– hah– fuckkk.”

You peer up at him, eyes glittering as you let your tongue swirl around the head before you pull off, pressing a wet, sticky kiss to the tip of his cock. 

“Don’t do that,” he mutters hoarsely, shaking his head, “don’t fucking kiss my cock like you’re fucking in love with it.”

You do it again, brows raising when his cock twitches, looking over to find his hand clenched into the sheets, knuckles nearly white. 

“I think you like it,” you tease, moving to wrap your hand around his cock, stroking it slowly. “And… I think your cock likes it too.”

“Fuck me,” he growls, head tipping back when you take his cock back into your mouth, sucking and slurping lewdly. He groans and grunts through it, eyes peeling open to watch you swallow around his cock, your pupils blown wide with lust.

When his head lolls to the side, you take your chance, head dipping before he can stop you to suck one of his balls into your mouth. He tastes so dizzyingly nice, spit beginning to leak from the corners of your mouth. Leon’s cock kicks and you land one last kiss to the tip before he’s pulling you up towards him, muffling your whine with a messy kiss.

“Wanna ride it,” you mumble against his lips, worming closer, breasts squishing up against his firm chest.

Leon doesn’t answer, too busy tipping your head up by your chin to kiss you again, stealing your breath. You paw at his chest, fingers finally latching onto his thick biceps. Squeezing, you moan into his mouth when his tongue strokes against yours, arms wrapping around his neck as he pulls back up onto his lap. 

Your hips roll, bare pussy gliding along the length of his cock, the tip catching on your newly swollen clit, making you twitch. He refuses to let up with the kisses, groaning into your mouth when you pull at his hair, feverishly swallowing up every little noise that bleeds from your throat.

“Yeah?” he breathes out finally, head tipping back for a moment as he catches his breath, calloused hands squeezing at your hips. “You wanna bounce on it? Hm? This needy pussy of yours need a fat cock to keep it happy, baby?”

“Mhm,” you nod, biting your lip, arousal blistering over your skin, lust beginning to cloud your thoughts once more. You press closer, lips brushing against his ear as though telling him a secret. “It needs your fat cock, Leon.”

“C’mere,” he mutters roughly, moving you up onto your knees, hand grasping the base of his cock to hold it steady for you. “Sink down on it, sweetheart.”

You shift, lowering yourself slowly, letting out a muffled gasp when you start to take his cock, the head of it already beginning to stretch out your pussy as it bullies its way past your entrance.

“‘s just so fucking thick,” you moan softly, peering up at him.

Leon hums, his thumb stroking over your lower lip while his other hand strokes over your hip soothingly.

“You got it, baby,” he smiles, dropping a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “You took my fingers and my mouth so fucking good. Only got a few inches left, yeah?”

Your brows furrow as you bite your lip harder, gasping when you finally take all of him, pussy fluttering around his cock wildly in an attempt to adjust to his sheer size. You feel so full, so much so that you think you can feel him in your stomach.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” Leon whispers, his arms wrapping around your waist as he leans against the headboard of the bed. “Take what you need from me, sweetheart. ‘s all yours.”

“Leon,” you mewl, dragging out the syllables of his name, whimpering against his mouth when he kisses your cheek. “I… I can’t,” you say, flushing hot, “it’s too big, I don’t–”

“Good girls don’t give up,” he breathes out, hands moving to squeeze at your waist, “not to mention you were so headstrong earlier. Where’s that attitude now, baby?”

“You fucked it outta me,” you retort poutily, shoving your face into the crook of his neck. 

“And to think you said I was old and weird– shit, baby–”

You relish in the loud, guttural groan he lets out when the walls of your pussy squeeze around him. Nuzzling closer, you kiss the spot under his ear before your hips move, rocking and rolling in a lazy rhythm as you get used to his size. 

“I’m not giving up,” you murmur, glancing up at him as he watches you, head tipping back when his hand moves up over your breasts, slipping between them to wrap around your throat. 

“Atta girl.”

Leon squeezes and you moan, grabbing his wrist as your knees dig into the bedding, hips beginning to rise and fall. He pulls you into a sloppy kiss, growling into your mouth, panting as his tongue slips over yours messily, his thumb prying your mouth open. You pant, tongue lolling out as you ride his cock, the bed creaking from your motions as you fuck yourself on his cock needily.

“Fuckin’ gorgeous,” Leon rasps, watching you with dark eyes, his hair messy and hanging over one side of his face. “So fuckin’ gorgeous, sweetheart.”

You smile at him dopily, breath slowing when his hand tightens, starting to cut off your intake of oxygen. His nose nudges against yours, breath hot as he kisses you, lips working against yours eagerly until his grip loosens, letting you suck in a breath.

“You trust me that much?” Leon asks, smiling back at you with a feral look in his eyes when your hand wraps around his throat. “You think that’s a good idea, sweetheart? You wanna choke me out while you ride my cock?”

“Oh, you can take it,” you whisper, tightening your grip. Your movements don’t slow, thighs smacking against his as you bounce on his lap, your hand landing on his shoulder for leverage as you drop yourself down on his cock harder, setting a firmer rhythm. “Heard you– ahh– kicked ass back at Rhodes Hill.”

He grins, eyes glinting, a ragged noise leaving him when you pant into his mouth, licking at his lips. 

“Yeah, I still hah– got it,” Leon muses, hands squeezing at your ass. 

Your brows furrow when his grip tightens, a moan punched out of you when he grips your hips starting to lift you, using you as he fucks you on his cock. 

“That’s it,” he drawls, controlling the rhythm and you, his forehead pressing against yours as he jerks you up and down his thick, throbbing cock. “Take my fat fuckin’ cock, baby. Cute, little pussy’s just swallowing me up.”

You whimper, hand sliding to cup the nape of his neck, your bodies moving together as his cock carves its way through your pussy, nestling against that spot before it glides out and drives back in. His chest is pressed against yours, firm muscle pressed against your soft breasts, the coarse thatch of hair at the base of his cock rubbing along your clit. 

“Harder,” you whisper, eyes finding his, hips starting to sway back to meet his thrusts when he plants his feet into the bed, knees bending as he fucks his cock up into you. “Want it– nghh– harder, Leon.”

“That might strain my joints, baby,” he says softly, smiling up at him when you huff out an annoyed breath. “What? You were concerned about my bones.”

“Fuck your bones,” you groan, pushing at his chest, squirming off of his lap onto your hands and knees, ass swaying up into the air. You look back at him over your shoulder, hand worming between your thighs to spread yourself open for him, wet, dripping pussy all on display for him. “‘m so empty,” you whisper, voice lilting. “Fill me up?” You bat your lashes, “please?”

Leon mutters a low curse, his chest heaving as he rises up onto his knees, using your ankle to pull you toward him, his hand stroking his cock with uneven motions, knuckles tightening when he sees the slick webbing between your puffy folds and clinging to your thighs.

You’re half-expecting some witty remark, but all Leon does is brush a rough kiss to your shoulder, grunting into your ear before he’s notching the head of his cock against your aching pussy and driving his cock into you.

“Too– fuck! Too fast!” you squeal when he starts thrusting hard and fast, the bed beginning to rock with every snap of his hips.

“But you said you were empty,” Leon rumbles into your ear, “‘m just filling up this needy, pretty fucking cunt for you, sweetheart. So stop squirming,” his hand clamps down on your hips, “and fucking take it.”

You wail into the room, thrashing under him when his hips smack into your ass, balls slapping against your throbbing clit, the lewd noises echoing through the small space. He draws moan after moan out of you, his cock pounding into your pussy unforgivingly. You think you can feel it in your throat, his fat cock sliding through your gripping, fluttering walls. 

Leon’s body is draping over your back, his mouth settling right next to your ear as he grunts and groans. Your toes curl, back arching when he pushes down on the small of your back, his breathing ragged as he grinds his impossibly thick cock into you.

“Fuck,” you mewl, spying his flexed bicep near your head, drool pooling into your mouth. Your head tilts as the muscle bulges, all inhibitions lost when you follow the line of his arm to stare hazily at his veiny forearm. You lean towards his bicep, teeth sinking into the thick muscle with a moan.

Leon’s breath hitches, his hips stuttering for a moment when he realizes you’ve bit him before his thrusts start up again, his hot, heavy cock pounding back into your needy pussy. You lick his bicep, tongue laving over his warm skin, eyes rolling back when his arm moves, wrapping around your throat, his bicep pressed up against the side of your neck.

“You keep– fuck– staring at my arms, sweetheart,” Leon rasps, grinning against your cheek when you let out a choked moan, his breath cut off by a low moan of his own. “Is this what you need? A strong arm wrapped around your throat, fat cock pounding into your needy cunt and sweet, little kisses?” He punctuates his question by kissing your temple.

“I– nghhh– need you,” you whine, feeling dazed as he drops his weight onto you a little more, enough so that you can feel every inch of him against your back. 

You can’t really do anything but take it, his skin slapping against yours and breath rough in your ear. When his fingers move, finding your clit to rub the swollen bud, you whimper, clutching the sheets, nails raking against the fabric as the string of pleasure draws tighter.

“‘m gonna cum,” you say hoarsely, cunt clenching around his cock desperately. “Leon– Leon, Leon, Leon!”

“‘m right here, baby,” Leon whispers, kissing your cheek, “taking my cock so well. Doing so– fuck– good for me, yeah? Cum whenever you want, sweet girl, I’ve got you.”

Your body jerks when his fingers rub against your clit faster, a ragged scream erupting from you as you cum violently. Leon swears, his grip on you faltering, the arm on your throat drawing away as you twitch on his cock, grasping at the sheets, at the pillows until Leon offers you his hand.

Your fingers lace together with his and you squeeze tightly, gasping uncontrollably until his mouth finds yours, capturing your lips in a kiss. You whimper into his mouth, knees weak and thighs tired, your death-grip on his hand loosening when he soothes you with soft kisses. Your pussy clenches and Leon groans into your mouth, his hips jerking forward unevenly.

“‘m gonna cum too, pretty baby,” he grunts, fingers pushing at your ass gently, hips beginning to pull away. “Greedy, little pussy’s clenching around me too tight, I can’t–”

“Inside,” you mumble, letting your hips sway back tiredly, trying to swallow down the length of his cock. “Cum inside.”

“That’s– shittt– a bad idea, baby,” Leon groans, his head dropping forward to rest against your shoulder as his hips rock into you, pace stuttering.

You can feel his cock throb and twitch, a soft mewl escaping you. “You said you were full of bad ideas.”

Leon lets out a startled laugh, his breath coming out in short, choppy bursts. “I did– hahhh– I did say that. Take my cum then, sweetheart, gonna flood this perfect fuckin’ cunt with cum.”

He grips your hips, thrusting forward with a hard drive of his cock. Leon swears under his breath, his hips jerking into your ass as he cums, cock kicking and throbbing as hot, thick cum floods your pussy.

You let out a contented noise when he moans into your ear, low and guttural, the sound making you feel warm. His softening cock slips out after a few moments and Leon pulls himself away from you, the bed protesting under the weight of you both. You curl up into his side, head dropping over his chest, eyes drooping when you feel the steady beat of his heart.

Leon’s hand settles on your head, stroking over your hair lazily as he pants, chest rising and falling.

“Do you feel relaxed?” you murmur, peering up at him with a sleepy smile.

“I feel fucked out,” Leon mutters, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheek, rubbing at the spot of drool that had pooled at the corner of your mouth. “You did a number on me, sweetheart.”

“I aim to please.”

He laughs, hauling you closer and you smile, kissing the underside of his jaw. “You went above and beyond, I can tell you that much.”

You snort, arms wrapping around his neck. “Am I gonna get that in writing?”

“I’ll think about it,” Leon murmurs, his fingers slipping under your chin to tip your head, lips pressing against yours. You hum into the kiss, fingers tangling in his soft hair, a quiet noise leaving you as he squeezes your ass.

When Leon pulls away, you chase after his lips, eyes fluttering shut when he returns your kiss just as eagerly, your thigh hooking over his hip, brows furrowing when you feel his cock against your thigh.

You look down, cheeks flushing when you find his spent cock beginning to harden, the fat length bobbing gently as it fills out.

“Already?” you murmur, sighing softly when he leaves stubbly kisses along your jaw.

“What can I say?” Leon whispers, his hips bucking when your hand wraps around his hardening cock. “You uh… bring out the best in me, I guess.”

You raise your brows, unable to stop the wide smile that spreads across your face. “Your best attribute is your cock? That’s a little disappointing.”

He grins, groaning when you kiss his pec. 

“You didn’t seem to think it was disappointing when I fucked you with it.”

“It is nice,” you acquiesce, head tipping back as he leans into you, trailing hot kisses down your neck, his hips beginning to rock lazily, meeting the strokes of your hand.

“I do have other nice, non-sexual attributes,” Leon says, his hand cupping your cheek, thumb stroking over your skin gently. There’s a light flush settled on his cheeks and he clears his throat, sucking in a soft breath when you squeeze his cock. “Maybe you’d like to find out sometime?”

Your smile softens, affection beginning to creep in through the cracks of your ribs. Leaning forward, you kiss him gently.

one hand was pressed just below your waist, gripping gently at the love handles that had become more prominent over time, while the other was situated on your hip. you were so lost in your thoughts and worries that you didn't even notice leon come in until he had already set down his papers on the end of the bed and was standing behind you.

"hey," he murmured, voice low and caring, replacing your hands with his own. "what're you seeing that i don't, hmm?"

his thumbs began to move in slow circles over your skin, grounding you in place. he leaned in slightly, pressing a kiss to your right shoulder before resting his chin in the crook of your neck.

you lean your head back against him, cradling yourself in his embrace as his arms moved to wrap around your waist, "you still like my body… right?"

leon's eyebrows furrow more than they already had been at your question, and with his heart in his throat, he says, "of course i do. i love every part of you. what's brought this on, baby?"

you lift your shoulders into a slow shrug, "i don't know… i just… i know i wasn't thin when we got together… but now i'm just…" your words fade off, a deep sigh falling from you instead.

leon understood where this was going, and for a moment, he wanted nothing more than to throw you down on the bed and to show you just how much he loved your body. but he knew that you needed more than just that right now.

he turned you gently in his arms so that you were facing him and slid his hands up your arms to cradle your face. his eyes - always tired but tender for you - locked onto yours with a deep intensity.

"you think i fell in love with just a body?" he urges softly, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. "i didn't. i fell in love with you. i fell in love with the way you laugh when you're not supposed to, and the way you hum old songs when you're in a good mood. the way you poke your tongue out without realising whenever you're concentrating really hard."

his voice dropped lower, rough with certainty. "i fell in love with you for you… and this?" he ran a hand over your hip, firm and purposeful. "this is home to me now, no matter how much you change."

leon's words filled you with a warmth that no one but he ever could. the reassurance and promise in his eyes as he said every word, uttered every syllable, you knew he was speaking nothing but the truth.

his truth.

"you really mean that?" you ask, voice smaller than normal as your gaze fell to where your hands had reached for his shirt just above his belt. it had become a habit for you to mindlessly reach for him whenever you were doubting yourself.

"mean it?" leon echoed, a frown creasing his brow, once more. "baby, of course i do."

with one hand, he cupped your chin, lifting your gaze to meet his again, his thumb brushing along your lower lip. but he can see that you're still struggling a little to believe him. the way your chin dimpled and your lips slightly frowned.

so with an assured and gentle firmness, leon guides you to stand facing the mirror, your back flush against his front. his hands find purchase on your hips, holding you with undeniable love and care.

standing like this, the way your body contrasts against his, it's even more obvious now. he's all hard muscle and firm lines, and you… you're soft, curves and femininity.

"look at us," he whispers into your ear, voice rough with sincerity. "look at you."

his words, the rasp in his voice, send a shiver down your spine. you can feel every breath he takes against your back, the way his chest rises and falls, every subtle twitch of his muscles as his hands hold you close to him.

"look at how good you look, hmm?" he says against your neck, his grip on you tightening just a little. "how pretty you look against me. how soft you feel beneath my hands."

he shifts one hand from your hip, sliding it slowly up your side, fingers tracing the curve of your waist, the soft swell of your ribs underneath cotton and skin. every inch he touches tingles under his fingers.

his other hand joins in now, sweeping over the gentle roll at your waist before splaying wide across your lower belly like a silent claim being made.

your breath catches and your body tenses slightly in the reflection. leon feels it, but he doesn't stop. he can't stop. not until the doubt is gone, not until you understand just how much he worships you.

"you really think i wouldn't want all of this?" he murmurs into your neck, his lips brushing against your jaw. "you think i don't wake up every morning with my hands and mouth itching to touch you? i ache to feel you."

a shiver runs down your spine once more from the gruffness and honesty in his voice, making you press yourself a little more into him. he chuckles low and soft at that, feeling your reaction.

if there was anything leon knew how to do… it was how to rile you up.

he knew each and every button to press, and when to press it.

"seeing you like this… looking at yourself…" he paused again to gently nip at the shell of your ear. "it makes me want to show you even more just how much i love you… and your body."

you can't help but let yourself fall victim to the 'leon kennedy' charm once again. it's what got you in trouble in the first place.

your body was beginning to warm up, the heat rising to your cheeks and your heart gradually beating faster. you were like putty in his hands every time he so much as lowered his voice an octave or two into that slow seductive tone, and the way he was touching you now was starting to drive you insane.

leon hummed in satisfaction as he felt your body melt into him, his hands growing bolder as they slid down to your thighs. his touch was firm, and always deliberate, as he pulled you even closer. his lips returned to your neck, sucking and biting at every sensitive spot, knowing exactly how to make you squirm.

"leon…" you quietly gasp his name, head rolling back against his shoulder fully now.

your lips parted as your breaths grew heavier, hands moving to find purchase on him as his lips roamed over your skin with tantalising precision.

a rumble of appreciation escapes his throat at the sound of your name on his lips, making him squeeze the flesh of your thigh in an almost possessive manner. he loved it when you said his name like that. he loved it when you moaned and gasped, begged, and screamed it. for him, it was music to his ears, and he was damn proud to be the cause of it.

"mhm… that's it," he growled, one hand sliding up the inside of your thigh, slow and teasing.

his fingers danced dangerously close to where you wanted them most, but he held back, as his other hand crept up your stomach now, brushing softly beneath the curve of your breast.

you were practically begging for his touch now. your hands grasped at the fabric of his shirt, tugging him closer, wanting more.

"leon… please…" you gasped, your voice filled with a desperate plead for more than just the teasing he was giving you.

he hummed again with satisfaction, the smirk on his face evident as he felt you trembling against him. god, he loved the sight of you like this.

"shh… i've got you," he said in a low, soothing voice. i'm going to take care of you, baby. but first…" he pauses to turn your head to face the mirror once more, his chin resting on your shoulder. "i want you to watch yourself. can you do that for me?"

your vision was slightly blurred, your focus torn between the feeling of his hands on you and the reflection in the mirror. your skin was warm, and your chest was rising and falling with every breath. but you manage to nod.

"good girl," he rumbled at the agreement, the praise sending a shiver through you. his own breathing was starting to match your rhythm now, deep and slightly shaky as he continued to trail his lips along your skin.

one hand was still on your thigh, massaging gently, while the other slipped to the thin material of your shorts. his fingertips slowly pushed under the hem, just to brush softly against the elastic of your panties. the contact made you shiver, a soft gasp escaping your lips.

his eyes flicked back up to meet yours in the mirror, a low chuckle escaping his throat. you were already so responsive, so sensitive to his touch. it only made him want to see more.

"keep watching, sweetheart," he whispered against your neck with a gruff edge to his voice, his eyes never leaving yours as he continued to tease you. his fingers brushed lightly against the front of your underwear now, barely a touch, but it had you biting back a moan. "don't take your eyes off yourself."

"o-okay…" you pant, the word broken and shaky by how undone he already had you, and he hadn't even really begun.

his fingers curled gently against the fabric of your panties, slow and deliberate, tracing the curve of your hip before sliding through the damp heat. a groan rumbled in his chest as he felt how ready you were for him.

"look at that," he said, voice thick with desire. "you're already so wet… and all i did was touch you."

he circled his thumb over where your clit is with agonizing slowness, watching your reaction in the mirror.

you gasp at the contact, a jolt of pleasure shooting through you as he teased you with his touch. you could feel his gaze burning into you, watching your every little reaction with a mix of satisfaction and hunger.

"….leon…" you moan, hands clenching into fists as you try to keep your gaze on yourself. your own eyes are darkened with the same desire, your breath coming in a little faster, mirroring the speed of your heart beat.

"what is it, baby?" leon asks, his voice low and sultry, his words almost a growl against your ear. his thumb continues to tease you, rubbing circles with the perfect amount of pressure. he's enjoying this. how easily undone you are by his touch alone.

"more….more… please…" you plead, hands gripping impossibly tighter, your knuckles tensed with desperation. "i need… more."

"more?" he rumbled, dragging the word out. "you want more of this?"

his fingers finally slip beneath the edge of your panties, spreading you open with slow intent. one finger slides through your folds then two push in deep without warning.

you cry out.

"look," he commands gently but firmly, his free hand tilting your chin back toward the mirror. "watch how pretty you are when you come apart for me."

he curls his fingers just right - the rough pad of his calloused fingers catching the sweet spot inside - and suddenly it's all too much. the heat in your cheeks, the tremble in your thighs… and leon behind you, owning every second of it.

"that's it," he comforts. "i've got you."

your knees grow even weaker, almost buckling beneath you as the pleasure of his touch suffuses through your entire body. his fingers - thick and long - curl perfectly inside your gummy walls, pushing you towards the edge.

"baby…." you whimper, your voice breaking as your hips begin to roll instinctively against his hand, chasing the friction, the depth, him.

"shh," he soothes this time, though his own breath is ragged now and control fraying at the edges. "i know, baby. i know."

he adds a third finger with a slow stretch that makes you gasp and arch hard into him. his thumb finds your clit again, creating firm circles with the thrust of his hand, and every nerve in your body lights up.

your reflection shows it all. lips parted as silent moans fall from you, eyes glossy and unfocused, cheeks warm. even your fingers have torn free from the grip on fabric and are now clutching wildly at his forearm.

not pausing in his ministrations, leon leans forward, his lips finding the exposed curve of your shoulder once more. he kisses the soft skin, trailing up to your throat, until he reaches your ear.

"leon- i'm gonna-"

"that's it," he urges. "come for me, baby. let me feel you."

his thumb presses harder over your clit, giving it one final circle, and then it hits.

your walls clench around his fingers as pleasure rips through you in hot, pulsing waves. a choked cry escapes you as your knees finally give out.

but leon is ready.

he catches you easily with an arm snaking around your waist before pulling you fully against him. he doesn't stop moving, drawing out every last tremor until you're trembling in his arms.

"fffffuck….." you groan, finally taking a breath as the orgasm passes.

leon holds you close as you shudder and twitch against him, his lips finding that sensitive spot on your neck and murmurs words of praise and comfort into your skin. you can feel his chest rumble with each breath, the steady, solid beat of his heart grounding you as you slowly find yourself again.

after a few long breaths, he slips his fingers free of you, his hand coming up to turn your face towards the mirror using the back of his hand.

"look at you… so beautiful."

you blink back into focus to find yourself staring at your own reflection in the mirror. you look spent, exhausted in the best way possible, with a hazy glow in your eyes that only comes from being thoroughly cared for by the man behind you.

"beautiful." he repeats, then turns you in his arms, pulling you into his chest as his head rests on top of your head. "no more worrying about this body, okay? no more worrying about weight, curves or anything else."

when you don't answer he makes you look up at him, cupping your face,"promise me."

"…i promise," you eventually nod.

he presses a kiss to your forehead, holding it for a moment before pulling away, "good girl."

©𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐂 ⋆˚࿔ 𝐞𝐬𝐭. 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟔. ✩ mature content. mdni. do not steal, plagiarise, repost or take inspo from my work.

Leon pushes through the apartment door, light from the hallway streaming in behind him into the dark living room. He doesn’t reach for the light, just closes the door behind him to remedy his fault. He toes his shoes off next to the door. He spies you asleep on the couch, curled beneath more than a few blankets. He smiles tiredly. His feet really hurt, and there’s nothing he wouldn’t give just to rest beside you. But he only has tonight and the wee hours of the morning.

With a sigh, he trudges over to the couch where you snore. He hates to do it, but he nudges you awake. You groan.

“What time is it?” you ask, voice hoarse. You don’t even open your eyes to see who it is; you already know.

“Just past midnight,” he says. You sigh, stretching your arms out above your head. He watches you carefully, like you’re performing for him. “Come to bed,”

“What time do you have to leave?” you ask, finally opening your eyes to gaze at him. He smiles softly.

“Around six,” he says. 

You frown. “Wake me up when you get up to leave. I want to be able to see you go,”

He nods, then extends his hand to pull you free from the cushions on the couch. You silently protest for a moment, murmuring about how comfortable you are, but you eventually give in and let him haul you to your feet. You press a sleepy kiss to his cheek before walking around him toward the bedroom.

He follows you, because he would be stupid not to, and feels his bones loosen beneath his skin. You ooze comfort and simple pleasure. If he could take you with him everywhere, he would. He’s a selfish man when it comes to you; he wants to keep you beside him at all times, keep you hidden away in a place where only he can find you. He stares dreamily at you, watching you shuffle pillows and sheets as you prepare to slip between them for the night. You brush a few stray hairs from your eyes.

He’d gladly be sick for a hundred years if it were the disease you’ve given him. He smiles.

“What are you staring at?” you tease, grinning. He feels like he’s floating.

“Just admiring,” he says simply, softly, lovingly. You laugh and climb into bed. “Sometimes I feel like the luckiest guy in the world,”

You roll your eyes. “Quit being so sappy and come to bed,” you tease, reaching for the bedside lamp. He doesn’t deny you.

With as much speed as he can muster, he pulls his gear off. You watch him, hand hovering near the lamp. He’s clad in a pair of sweatpants in minutes, and finally, he joins you. It’s like coming home, getting into bed with you. It’s soft and gentle, he always knows what to expect. He tends to steal the blanket in the middle of the night and you respond by clinging to his shoulders like a backpack.

He’s staring at you again, he knows he is, but he would be a fool not to. You shut the lamp off finally, and you’re suddenly bathed in the moonlight streaming in through the windows. Your eyes reflect the light. This is where Leon finds he is safest. Beyond you, there is no Umbrella, no Raccoon City, nothing. He can only see you. He can only feel your fingers weaving between his, your lips against his cheek, your muttered words as you sink into the pillows. He never wants to leave, never wants to feel the ache of missing you ever again.

“How long will you be gone this time?” you ask quietly. He stiffens beneath you.

“A few weeks, probably,” he says. You sigh heavily. “But I’ll come home,”

“You better,” you say. He can feel your lips curl up into a small smile from where you rest against his bicep. It sends a shiver through him. “Who would keep me warm at night?”

He reaches over to pull you in closer, to stake some sort of claim upon you. “Nobody, I would hope,”

You laugh. “No one could replace you. You’re one of a kind,”

“You just like how I cook your eggs,” he mutters, but he’s smiling. He’s holding you steady against him, perfectly tucked into his side where you belong. At this moment, it feels like this will last forever, like morning will never come and he will never board a plane.

“That certainly is a plus,” you tease. He hums.

You’re asleep within minutes. He knows he will follow soon after, but he wants to hold onto the moment for a little bit longer. In this room, the world doesn’t exist. It’s just you and him. He wants it to be that way forever.

When he wakes, the sun is barely peeking over the horizon. He rolls out of your arms, tucking the duvet back into your side to keep you snug. His gear rolls back onto his body with little protest. The ache returns. Gently, he nudges you awake.

“Already?” you whisper. He fights a frown. “Don’t get lost out there,”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says.

You pull him in for a sleepy kiss, and that’s how he has to leave you. You turn onto your other side, facing the window where the birds are beginning to sing. He smooths a hand over your head before he turns out of the room. He leaves a little piece of his heart behind when he closes the front door behind him.

…

It’s week two in some European city he can’t pronounce, and Leon is full of aching. His muscles feel heavy, his head constantly hurts, and he wants nothing more than to sit in your presence for a few minutes. A few minutes is all he needs.

He remembers how his mother would drag him to church on Sundays, half the service memorized and etched into her heart. Leon was always rather bored with it, often counting how many people were in the room and then imagining how many it would take stacked on top of each other to lift him to the ceiling of the church. The only part of service he liked was communion–his midday snack, if you will. More than anything, he remembers the way the pews felt beneath him, sturdy and hard against his legs as he desperately tried to stay still for the service lest his mother send him another warning glance. It’s how he feels now, sitting in the helicopter on his way home to you. He itches to move, to have the flight conclude so he may rush home to you. But Hunnigan is throwing looks in his direction, looks that tell him that even when he touches down, he won’t be home until at least tomorrow.

A sigh escapes him. It’s been much too long since he’s missed someone, and the fact that he misses you like this, right here and now, is almost too much for him to bear. What are you doing? What time is it there? Have you showered and gone to bed? Are you making dinner? He wants nothing more than to lean against the counter and watch you cook, or sit on the bathroom counter while you shower because he can’t bear to be away from you for long, or ask you questions about the movie you’re watching because he didn’t see the beginning of it.

His longing for you is a foreign concept. He doesn’t understand what you do to him to make him think in terms of you. He passes his time planning the next time he’ll get to see you, often creating grandiose fantasies in his mind about where you’ll go and what you’ll do. Sometimes, he takes you away to a remote island and you live in paradise for the rest of time. Other times, he has a normal life with a normal job, and he can give you life you deserve; a house on a quiet street in a sleepy town, maybe a couple kids, family dinners, and bedtime stories. Sometimes, the thought makes him sick, the fact that he can’t give you a normal life. But he pushes it away with the memories of the way you look at him, and that quiets him for a while.

Finally, after hours of yearning and waiting, he’s standing outside of your door. Even after spending his formative years surrounded by God and altars and psalms, he is not sure Heaven exists. But if it does, it could not compare to the interior of your apartment. His key gets stuck in the lock when he tries to open the door, excitement coursing through him. You come to his aide, like always.

He’s home earlier than he expected, honestly. It’s just past nine in the evening. You’re clad in an old pair of sweatpants and a shirt you stole from him. The sight of you makes him melt. He can barely allow himself to get his coat off before he’s pulling you into him, breathing you in like he’s been lost for air. You laugh into his chest, returning his embrace, and he feels lighter than he has in a long time.

“Missed you,” he mumbles into your hair. It makes you laugh again. He wishes he could play the sound back from memory.

“Missed you, too,” you say. “There’s some lasagna left on the counter if you want it. I don’t know how warm it is, though,”

He grins widely, pulling away from you for a half a second just so he can pull you back in for a kiss. It’s long and languid, easy and careful. It’s warm. It’s loving. When you break, you’re blushing, staring at him like he’s acting strange.

“You alright?” you ask, searching his eyes for anything that might be out of place. He just grins again.

“More than,” he says. You laugh again. “Lasagna sounds amazing,”

You chat to him about your last couple of weeks while he struggles to dig the lasagna out of the pan and onto a plate. Apparently, the girl at work that you hate had gotten fired. Leon couldn’t remember her name if he had a gun to his head. But you seem excited that she’s gone, and so he is too. He microwaves his lasagna for too long and burns his hand on the plate when he goes to take it out. But you’re quick to soothe. As the hiss of pain leaves his lips, you’re dragging him to the sink to run cool water over his hand. You chastise him for touching the plate, telling him he needs to be more careful.

“I love you,” he says. You freeze in place, halting your fretting over him. Your eyes pull to his in an instant, searching to see if he’s telling the truth. He is.

“Do you mean that?” you ask. His lips pull into a thin line, fear beginning to creep up in a flesh on his neck. His mom always told him that was his biggest tell.

“I do,” he promises. Your apprehension eases away from your features. The water is still running, it’s the only sound between you two. You take a deep breath.

“I love you,” you return, smiling softly.

All the years spent going to church prepared him to recognize divinity when it was presented to him, and he sees it finally. It appears to him in the form of you and your laughter, your caring nature and your freckled skin, your birthmark and your crooked tooth. He kisses you again, the love fuel to his movements. You laugh against his lips, peeling his soggy hand away from your cheek. When he pulls away, your hair is smeared against your face from where he’s wet it, but you’re laughing.

“That was stupid,” Leon says, hauling you into him. The words aren’t unkind, but they’re not gentle either. You stumble against him.

“Have I been known to be anything else?” you ask. He grunts. “Besides, I’ve got you to take care of me,”

He doesn’t respond. He finds a quiet spot, a reclusive corner where he can assess the damage. There’s a wicked gash along your side, cutting from near your navel up towards your ribs. It makes your vision tunnel when you finally lay eyes on it. You hadn’t known how bad it was. His fingertips are gentle around the surrounding skin.

“You’re lucky evac is two minutes out,” he says. His voice is hushed, like he’s telling you a secret. Maybe he is.

“Yeah?” you ask, a breathy noise that you’re not certain you could recreate. The sound is deep, rooted in desperation and blood loss. Leon’s eyes flick up at you from where he’s crouched, icy gaze cutting through his lashes. He looks pretty like this, bent low in front of you, looking at you with something you can’t place. It makes you shiver.

“You’re losing blood,” he says. You nod.

“Gonna give me yours?” you tease. Your vision tunnels a bit, and you slump forward. Leon catches you, pulling you flush against him. He smells like sweat and cedar and smoke, something that nearly lulls you into sleep. You hear a distant rumble as the building continues to crumble.

He helps you out of the derelict building. You’re barely even walking, just sort of stumbling beside him as he carries most of your weight, and you feel strangely guilty for making him do all the work. The helicopter’s blades never slow as it touches the ground. Leon helps you into your seat, guiding you gently. He’s soft as he slides the headphones over your ears, even going as far as to smooth a piece of hair out of your eyes. You can hardly keep them open.

“Stay with me,” he murmurs. It feels like a promise. “Can’t have you dying on me, now,”

“That would ruin your whole week,” you say, trying to smile. It’s a weak attempt at a joke, and he knows it. You can see tension make its home under Leon’s skin. It rears its head with every pull of muscle, every furrowed brow.

“We’ll be home soon,” he says. You nod. You’re not sure if he’s reassuring you or himself.

When you do finally land, you’re pulled away from him for medical attention. You fight as best as you can, attempting to sit in on the briefing, but Leon levels you with a gaze you’ve never seen him wear, and you accept defeat. There’s two medics standing idly in the room, and they turn to see you hobble in, eyes widening.

“What the hell happened?” one of them asks. You shrug, sitting down on the bed.

“Caught something sharp,” you say. They lift your shirt, which is in ribbons. A shock of pain rips through you, and you stifle a groan.

They work quickly, giving you a tetanus shot. You wince as the needle sinks beneath your skin. The pain only adds to the rest of it searing through your muscles. Now that you’re sitting, adrenaline having dissipated, everything hurts. The gash oozes blood, which makes you feel dizzy. Your back hurts, your legs hurt, your side hurts. Every time they touch you, you suck in a breath.

Finally, you’re stitched up. They tell you to take it easy for a week, shove pain meds into your hands, and send you out the door. Leon leans against the opposite wall, watching his boots. He looks tired, run down. He’s covered in dirt. Black streaks smear across his cheeks, his biceps. His hair falls like a golden frame over his eyes. You sigh.

He looks up then, watching you. He scans over your body, checking for any lingering injuries the medics managed to miss. You offer him a weak smile.

“No hospital?” he asks, pushing off the wall to meet you where you stand. His steps are heavy, tired. You shake your head. “Good. Let’s get you home,”

You follow him out of the building. It’s winding turns and desolate hallways until fresh air smacks you in the face. You take a deep breath, trying to let the residuals of the mission fall off of you. Leon’s car faces you, a beat up old Buick–he refuses to get anything newer–and it stares at you like it knows something you don’t. You fit easily into the passenger seat, like you were made for it. You lean back against the headrest. You feel suddenly exhausted, like a two ton weight rests in your chest. You just want to sleep. The drive to your apartment isn’t long, and you’re counting down the seconds until you’ll be able to slip into the shower and let the day wash down your back.

Leon helps you upstairs. You try to protest, tell him that the elevator isn’t going to exert you any more than the walk to the building itself, but he refuses to listen. He follows silently behind you until you reach your door. He’s like a shadow as you enter the apartment, still bathed in the darkness of night. You hate to do it, but you turn on the light, flooding the room and making you wince. Leon holds your arm to keep you steady as you toe off your shoes.

“You don’t have to babysit me, you know,” you say, not looking at him. “This isn’t the first time I’ve been hurt,”

He doesn’t say anything for a long, pregnant moment. But then, “I would like it to be the last, preferably,”

You huff a weak laugh, something hoarse and weary. “You and me both, partner,”

He follows you from room to room, picking things up as you drop them. Your right arm is effectively useless because any movement on that side sends shockwaves of pain through your entire body. You sigh heavily, fighting back tears. Leon stands in the threshold of your bathroom, holding your bundle of clothes and hairbrush. He looks at you with something you can’t identify–not quite pity, but something adjacent. He looks so pretty, so collected, even in his dirty state. You clutch your side.

“I can take it from here,” you say, breathless. “I’ll see you in a week,”

Leon stares at you. His fingers fidget with the hem of your sleep shorts. He opens his mouth to say something, then shuts it again. Then, “Do you want help?”

You blink at him. You hadn’t considered he’d be willing to help you. You hadn’t thought so far ahead as to know what you’d do to get out of your clothes.

With a breath, you say, “Yes, please,”

He nods wordlessly. Your clothes find their home as a heap on the sink counter. He pats the top of it once as if casting a spell to make them stay put. He turns to you then. He’s broad, forces you to dial in on him. His hands linger at his sides like he doesn’t know what to do with them.

You lift your left arm above your head, a silent encouragement to get him to touch you. His hands fall on you like a caress. Gently, he lifts your shirt up. His knuckles brush against your side, making your breathing hitch. He’s not watching you, fully focused on his task, but you can’t look away from him. He looks so focused, like one wrong move would paralyze you. He catches one end of the shirt in your armpit, pulling the other side out so you can slip your arm through. He helps ease your head through the collar, then pulls it off entirely via your other arm. He breathes in heavily through his nose at the expanse of skin he’s revealed. Then he takes a step back. You swallow thickly.

“I need…” you mumble, brain rotting inside your skull. “I can’t reach-”

“I got it,” he says. The words sound broken on his tongue.

You spin for him, presenting the clasp of your bra. You purse your lips when his warm hands make contact with the smooth skin on your back. He makes surprisingly quick work of it. Within seconds, you feel it loosening around your ribs, a small blessing. You breathe out something heady and heavy.

“I’ll be out there if you need anything,” Leon says. He leaves little room for argument by bustling out of the room as quickly as he can. You blink.

The shower water is hot on your skin, but it feels good. You can feel the tension slipping down your shoulders in rivulets. Somehow, you manage to wash yourself one handed, which you feel mildly proud of. The steam loosens you. It’s only when you step out of the water that you remember that you have to put a shirt on.

You struggle for what feels like hours. Every movement pulls on your stitches. You’re near tears when you finally call out for Leon.

“Yeah?” he asks, cracking the bathroom door. You sniffle.

“I can’t…” you say, taking a breath to recollect yourself. “I can’t get my shirt on,”

“I’ll help,” he says. His voice is so soft, so intimate. He enters quietly, staring at anything that isn’t you.

The shirt looks miniscule in his hands. Carefully, almost reverently, he eases the collar over your head. His gaze still lingers just past your shoulder. You frown. You slip your good arm through the sleeve.

Leon finally looks at you. You nod, letting him know it’s okay to put his hands on you. You see the turmoil in his eyes, the need for consent.

“You can touch me,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. He nods once.

He grips the hem of the shirt, pulling as far down as the fabric will let him. Then, softly, he helps guide your arm through the sleeve. His fingers brush against you again, just along the curve of your breast, but the touch is electric, crackling with something unsaid. The moment is so intimate, so personal, you could burst into tears. Then the shirt is fully on your body. You wonder if Leon can hear your heart hammering against your chest. If he can, he doesn’t acknowledge it. 

“Thanks,” you say, breathless. He nods. “I can handle the rest,”

“You sure?” he asks. There’s no suggestion in his tone, and that almost makes it worse. You breathe heavily through your nose, nodding.

He stands there as you fumble with your hairbrush. Your lips are pursed as you stare at yourself in the mirror. You’re barely halfway through the tangled strands before he stops you.

“Let me help,” he says–no begs. You glance at his reflection. He looks as wrecked as you feel. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth, gaze unblinking as he waits for you.

“Okay,” you say softly, voice hollow and breathy as you pass him the hairbrush.

He’s gentle as he works the brush through your hair. His gaze remains focused on the wet strands, but yours is on him. His brow furrows slightly, that bottom lip pulled snugly between his teeth as he pulls on a particularly tough tangle. His eyes look so blue in the yellowing light above the mirror. The care he takes with you is enough to make you sick. His hands are frustratingly warm as they bump against the back of your neck. He never once pulls or yanks, never scrapes the bristles against your skin, never gets frustrated. He works until it is done, unwaveringly, and you didn’t expect anything less. The moment is so soft, so delicate, you’re afraid that something might break when you pull away.

“I think I got it,” he says, soft as a whisper against you. You nod.

“Thank you,” you say. You stay idle for a moment, just watching him. He looks so unsure.

You think, in another lifetime, miles and miles away from here, that you could’ve loved him. He’s funny when he wants to be, charming in a boyish sort of way. You count on him, but he doesn’t let it get to him. He gives because he thinks it a privilege that you let him. You reach up to wipe away some of the dirt still smudged on his face. He stiffens beneath your fingertips, not prepared for such affectionate contact.

He swallows thickly. You remove your hand, and you see him relax just a fraction.

“Do you need any more help?” he asks in an almost broken way. You shake your head. “I’ll see you later, then?”

“Yeah,”

He ducks his chin at you, then shuffles out of the bathroom. You hear the front door open and click shut a moment later, leaving you alone in your apartment.

...

Leon is not sure that he would describe himself as kind or good. But on his drive home, as he thinks about your withered form presented to him in the dim light of your bathroom, looking up at him through your lashes like he was something holy, he starts to think that that doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter if he is kind or good because you kept looking at him like he was all you ever needed. He can still feel your skin against his fingers, sending shivers down his spine. 

He’d frozen up. He knows that he probably looked ridiculous, like a flushed school boy who had just stumbled into the girl’s locker room by accident. Your skin had been so soft. The expanse of flesh he’d discovered beneath your tattered shirt lives in his brain as he shuffles into his apartment. The space is dark and empty. He has very few personal items, unlike you. His space looks abandoned, which he guesses it usually is. He really only uses this place to sleep and eat sometimes. 

He crashes onto his couch, still unshowered and unclean. He just needs a moment, he tells himself. Just one moment, to collect the memories of you like precious items to set on his vacant shelves. The way you shivered against him when he brushed your side, the way you watched him, doe eyed, in the mirror as he brushed your hair, the humidity of the room clinging to you; they all go, framed and perfect, on shelves in his mind. He breathes out, something heavy and soft all at once. 

He’s unfamiliar with this feeling. He doesn’t know how to embrace it, so he decides that he shouldn’t. He’s not sure he deserves something as sweet and gentle as you. You’re better than him, in almost every way. You don’t let the job wear you down, you take pride in what you do. You tease him. The mercy and compassion you give him are foreign in his brain. And he feels so selfish for accepting every last scrap. He eats up the way you look at him, the way you laugh at his weak attempts at jokes, the way you worry after him even with a ten inch gash on your side that very easily could’ve gutted you. He is gluttonous and greedy and selfish. You are consuming him, and he is letting you. He shouldn’t. He shouldn’t let you plague him this way. He knows that it could all too soon be ripped away from him, but in this moment, in the dim light cast by the moon streaming through his curtains, he doesn’t care. A shudder rakes through his body, from head to toe. 

It would be all too easy to blame you. He could curse you for whatever spell you’ve cast to make him stupid in this way. But he knows the fault is his and his alone. It’s his fault that he mistakes your casual compassion for anything more. It’s his fault that he devours whatever good comes his way, just to corrupt and blacken it. And he doesn’t want to do that to you. He doesn’t want to see where this will end, even if he has before and knows it as intimately as he knows every other aspect of death and decay.

He tips his head back against the couch. There’s a crack in his popcorn ceiling, cutting through the expanse of white like a vein. 

He knows he’s cut open and bleeding at your feet. He’s wounded in a way that doesn’t make sense. He doesn’t want you to help him. Not because he doesn’t ache to feel your gentle hands smooth over his scarred flesh, working out the evil with every electrifying touch, but because he does, and that would make you the universe’s top priority. 

He is cursed, a bad day after a worse one. And he knows that if he were to let you have him the way he wants, you’d become cursed too. Cursed with him and his aches and pains, his scars and bruises, his anger and resentment. 

When he settles beneath the sheets that night, he dreams of you. He dreams of your soft skin against him, your laughter, your easy smiles. He dreams of the life he could have were it not for his exceedingly awful luck.

He could save you. He could prevent you from ever coming nearer. But that somehow feels like a worse, more torturous ending. And he is nothing if not selfish.

...

The next time you see Leon, it’s nearly a week later. The swelling on your side has gone down and most of the pain has subsided, but it’s still tense and unforgiving, especially so early in the morning. There’s little light coming through the curtains thanks to the steady stream of rain pelting the earth.

His hair is soggy, casting thick shadows over the high points of his face. There’s crystal droplets on the shoulders of his jacket, ones you want to reach out to shake off, but you refrain. He smiles at you, that gentle half smile he only ever wears when he’s half exhausted. 

“Came to check on you,” he says softly, words turned plush on the corners of his lips. You smile.

“Unfortunately, I’ve succumbed to sepsis. You’re seeing a ghost,” you joke. He rolls his eyes and pushes past you into the apartment.

He shakes off like a dog as he hangs his coat on the hook. A few rogue water droplets smatter your face. You take a moment to observe him. The lines of his body are rigid like there’s something pulling him taught. For a moment, you ache to reach out and smooth your palms over his muscles, to help him relieve some of that tension. You wonder if that’s something that would be okay, if he would welcome your touch. There is a line that stands between you, and you’re not sure which side of it you reside on. 

“Anything interesting happen in the week that I’ve been gone?” you ask, leaning against the back of the couch.

Leon hums, pursing his lips as he thinks back on the last few days. “There’s a new coffee machine in the break room,”

You huff a laugh. “Can’t wait to try that baby out,”

Silence stretches thick between you, like a rope that’s been left out in the rain. You watch him move with careful precision, finding where would be the best place to exist within. You wonder why he never seems to relax, even in your space. You wonder if he knows how much you care. Subconsciously, you run the pads of your fingers over your injury. It’s a rough stretch of skin now, bubbled with scar and scab. You frown.

“Does it hurt?” he asks, suddenly standing again to get to your side. He catches your wrist where it hovers near the tear.

You shrug. “Only when I think about it,”

He purses his lips and emits a low hum, giving you a once over. “Have a fever at all?”

You shake your head. He nods, once and curt, before dropping your wrist and stepping away from you. 

“Do you need any help?” Leon asks, avoiding your gaze by scanning around the room. “Any chores that have been neglected? Any errands I can run for you?”

You feel the corner of your mouth tick up in a small smile. Shaking your head, you say, “No, Leon. I’ve been able to manage on my own,”

“I know,” he says. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, gnawing on the soft flesh there in thought. Then, soft as a whisper, he says, “I was worried about you,”

You feel your heart catch in your throat. You think back to the way he looked at you that night, like you were broken before him and he couldn’t do anything to fix you. You think about how gentle he was with you, how careful he was like you were bursting at the seams. You see his cheeks turn a tinge of pink as the silence stretches thick between you. You reach out, placing a flat palm against his chest. There’s no sound in the apartment, just the rain outside and your own heavy breathing.

“You don’t need to worry about me, Leon,” you say, just as soft. “I know you’ll always take care of me,”

He swallows, something heavy and unsaid, and nods. “I will,”

It feels like a promise. It feels like a vow.

With an intake of breath, you say, “Anything on our docket?”

Leon purses his lips. “Not on yours,” he says. You frown. “You’re on light duty for a while,”

You twist your face up in a nasty expression, which makes Leon smile a fraction. “I don’t like that,”

“That’s what I figured you’d say,” he says. He moves around you to finally sit down. You’re almost surprised as he gets comfortable on your couch. You move to join him. “I tried to tell Hunnigan you wouldn’t go down easy,”

“I can’t imagine I have much choice,” you say, grumbling. “Did they say for how long?”

Leon shakes his head. “Could be a while,”

You groan.

“Hey,” he says, gently. “You took a hard hit. It’s either office duty or a grave,”

You scowl at him, and he flashes you a smile. “Promise me you won’t get yourself killed while I’m gone,”

He makes a motion over his chest. Cross my heart.

The next week, Leon is shipped out to God knows where. They won’t tell you, probably afraid you’d commandeer a craft to chase after him. You’re checking in with Hunnigan by the hour, who tells you you’re being paranoid. How can you not be? He’s out there, alone, doing something, something dangerous, and you’re stuck writing reports and drinking watered down coffee from the new machine in the break room. He could be hurt, he could be dead, and you would never know the difference. It makes you sick, it makes you scared.

“Separation anxiety?” Sherry asks, taking a seat beside you. You’re staring at a monitor, feeling like your eyes are melting out of your head.

“Shut up,” you retort, making her laugh. “I just worry about him,”

“Y’know, I think I had this exact conversation with him a couple weeks ago,” Sherry says, grinning at you. You scowl at her. “You two act like if you’re not attached at the hip, you’re basically dead,”

“That’s what it feels like,” you murmur. You sigh. “You don’t get it,”

“Maybe not,” Sherry says, shrugging. “But I do know what it’s like to feel,”

You blink at her. “Don’t you have somewhere else to go be annoying?”

Sherry jabs a finger into your side, making you yelp. “Don’t be mean to me just because you’re grumpy,”

You huff.

You are not grumpy.

...

Leon feels half dead on his feet as he trudges up the stairs of your apartment building. He’s been gone almost two weeks, with little to no contact with you. It feels like it’s killing him. He feels like it’s sucking out his will to live. He just wants to see you.

He knocks gently on your door. It’s late, just past midnight, but he knows you’re still awake, always the night owl. You open it a second later, wearing a shirt three sizes too big and an old pair of sweatpants; he thinks you’ve never looked more beautiful. You give him a once over, scanning him for injuries, and when you don’t appear to find any, you crash into him. He lets out an oomph as his arms settle around your waist. You smell like home, and he feels his heart crack open a little.

“Worried about you,” you whisper into his shoulder. He holds you a little tighter.

“Not over yet,” he says, and you pull away, squinting at him. He shrugs his jacket off to reveal a nasty cut along his bicep. He smiles sheepishly at you.

You sigh, and it’s like the greatest symphony ever written. “Grab a seat at the table. I’ll patch you up,”

His pain ebbs as he sits. You return to him moments later with a first aid kit and a scowl. Your soft hands against his skin are what keep him tethered to the earth. Pain threatens to eat at his muscles and sinew, to consume him. But you’re gentle, easing through it like a softbed creek, curving over already smooth stones.

“Did you even try to get out of the way?” you murmur. You don’t look at him, but he’s watching you. He sees the twitch at the corner of your mouth as you clean the wound, the pull of your brows in concentration. You look so beautiful like this, like a pink sunrise, a reminder that good is out there.

“Sort of,” he mumbles back. You frown at him. “I didn’t really have time,”

You hum. Once the wound is thoroughly disinfected, you prime the needle for stitches.

“This will hurt,” you say, sinking the steel beneath his flesh. He doesn’t react. You make quick work of the area, making sure to tape over it to protect the stitches. When he’s all patched up, you pat his other arm, saying, “Try to make time so that this doesn’t happen again,”

He nods, watching you. You’re a breath away, inspecting him for any other injuries he may be sequestering. He reaches up hesitantly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. He feels giddy at the way your eyes widen.

“Pretty,” he says, so softly he’s not even sure you hear it. He wonders if he’s concealing the deep, desperate love he has for you, or if he’s bearing it all with his gaze. At this point, he’s not sure he cares. 

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Kennedy,” you say, smiling at him. “I’m still mad at you,”

Soft as a whisper, he says, “I think I can handle that,”

Without much further thought, Leon closes the gap. You let out a little squeak when his mouth meets yours, but you almost melt into him. He’s so relieved that he could cry. Your hands find purchase along the curve of his jaw, his own grasping at the loose fabric of your shirt. You sigh sweetly into him, coating his nerves in a saccharine so destabilizing he can’t help but return it. When you fall into his lap, parting your lips and winding your arms around him, he’s afraid he’s died and gone to Heaven. And when your tongue finally meets his, he groans, something deep and guttural and unbecoming.

You pull away, a string of saliva hanging from your kiss bitten lips. You rest your forehead against his. His every perception centers on you; your hands on his chest, your nose bumping his as your chest heaves, your smell, the skin of your neck, open and exposed for him. He wants you, needs you like you’re the only thing that can save him. And when you kiss him again, a fire burns anew in his chest. Your hands are everywhere; his arms, his shoulders, his chest, and they find a home winding into his hair. A gentle tug against his scalp has his hands tightening their grip on your hips, begging you to still.

“Leon,” you murmur against his mouth, heady and soft all at once. 

“I’m here,” he says, and he means it. He has never been more present. And then he’s standing, lifting you with him to place you back on the floor. You stare at him, pupils blown wide, gnawing on your bottom lip.

He pulls you flush against him because he can’t help himself. He is nothing if not selfish, nothing if not gluttonous and greedy, and now that you’ve given him this small victory, he wants to see if he can keep winning you. He sees the quiet desperation in the deep color of your eyes, the way you’re watching him with your full, rapt attention.

“You can touch me,” you say, voice low and barely audible. He wants to eat you alive.

He wastes little time after that, mouth crashing against yours with renewed energy. His heart swells in his chest when you cling to him all the same. Your fingers dig into the tops of his shoulders. He taps his fingers once against your thigh, signaling you to jump. He catches you, carries you close against him until you’re laid out against the sheets. He doesn’t stray far, following you into the linen, soft and sweet.

He watches you for a moment, taking it all in. You’re smiling at him, grinning really as he hovers above you. You brush your fingers against his cheek, smoothing away whatever doubt may be lingering. He ducks his head, pressing feather light kisses to the column of your throat, making your breath hitch there. He doesn’t get far, not when you pull his mouth back to yours, grasping at his shirt in an effort to rid him of it. Leon is a compliant man, flashing you a grin as he pulls back to yank it off. He wonders if your cheeks warm like his, if you can hear the hard hammer of his heart in his chest.

...

Leon is all rigid muscle, sinew pulled tight and corded along his arms, the plans of his stomach, his shoulders. You feel almost animalistic, feral. You run flat palms over him, feeling him twitch and tremor under your touch.

“Pretty,” you say, soft as a whisper. He huffs a laugh.

You push him back slightly, only giving yourself enough room to sit forward to pull off your own shirt. You watch him swallow thickly as it gets discarded somewhere across the room. His hands are soft, gentle against the revealed skin as he kisses you again. Feather light touches across your waist, your stomach. Rough and callused palms against your breast, thumb finding your nipple. You arch into him at the contact, tightening your grip on his shoulders.

You’re aching, cut open and bleeding. His hands leave goosebumps and fire in their wake as he lays you back against the sheets, tracing his lips down your torso, stopping at the waistband of your pants. He looks up at you, chest heaving. You nod, a gentle duck of your chin. Your breath catches in your throat as he slowly–painstakingly slowly–tugs your pants down. He lets his hands wander over your exposed thighs, hopefully ignoring your choice of underwear. Light touches against your hips cause them to fall open. You wonder if you look as vulnerable as you feel. He presses the gentlest kisses to the insides of your thighs, head bouncing between them.

“I’ll take care of you,” he says, a mumble against your skin. It sends shivers down your spine.

When he presses an open mouth kiss to the apex of your thighs, you think you black out for a second. A breathy gasp echoes off the walls. He tugs your underwear out of the way to flatten his tongue against you. The sound you make is unbecoming, head dropping back against the pillows. He wastes little time, sucking and kissing and licking as he finds his rhythm, finds what you like, what makes you the loudest. He eats you out like it’s a game, like he’s determined to get the highest score. Your vision is nearly white, fingers buried in his hair. When you tug on it a bit, he groans, deep and sultry, sending shocks to your brain. 

Your thighs begin to shake when he pulls your clit between his teeth, a breathy moan escaping you. He locks an arm across your hips to keep you in place. You’re shamelessly grinding against his face, chasing release. You keen high and whiny as he slides two fingers into you.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he says, low and heavy. “Make a mess on me,”

He curls his fingers against you. The stretch and tempo and timbre of his voice were nearly enough to send you over the edge, but what does you in is seeing him lean back to watch you, stubble brushing the inside of your thigh. You clench around his fingers as you come, writhing and panting like an animal. You watch him lick his fingers clean before you’re clawing for him, pulling his mouth back up to yours. You groan as you taste yourself on his tongue. Your fingers fumble with the clasp on his belt, fighting to free him of it. You feel him chuckle against you as he reaches down to help you. He pulls away a bit to shuck off his trousers.

Your mouth waters when his cock springs free from his boxers, thick and flushed and dripping. Instinctively you reach for it, but he stalls you, gently grasping your wrist. You frown up at him.

“Won’t last very long,” he says by way of explanation.

“Next time, then,” you say, chest heaving. He grins at you, climbing over you again.

His kisses are addictive, you decide. You’re not sure how you ever went without them. They’re all consuming, send you spinning. You’re flat on your back again, pulling him as close as you can, running your hands down the expanse of his chest. He lines himself up with your entrance, gently pushing himself inside. The stretch is devastating. You break the spell of his kiss to gasp, jaw slack. His chest heaves as he buries himself in you, arms flexing on either side of your head. He stalls once he’s fully seated inside you. You smooth his hair away from his face, thumb swiping against his cheekbone. You feel so full; of him, of want, of love.

“You okay?” he asks, voice hoarse and heavy. You grin at him.

“Never been better,” you say.

You lock your legs around his waist, begging him to stay close to you. He drops his head, turning into your palm more as he begins to slowly pull out of you. The drag of him against your walls has you keening. He almost pulls out fully before pushing back in, setting a languid pace that has you boneless. One hand smooths up your side, cupping your breast. You pull him back down to you, mouth meeting his in a devastating kiss. He sighs heavy against your lips, a whimper so delicious it has you rolling your hips just to hear it again. He moves to bury his face in your neck, pressing gentle kisses to the skin there.

“So pretty,” he mumbles. You sigh. “Like you were made for me,”

The praise has you scratching your nails lightly down his back, earning you another pretty noise. His thrusts pick up their pace but never lose their softness. He ruts into you like a man consumed, mumbling against your sweat slick skin.

“Dreamed of this,” he says. His hands wander over you, fingertips gentle against your injury. “Dreamed of you. My pretty girl,”

There’s a pressure building in your stomach, a coil wound tight, threatening to burst every time he opens his mouth.

“Yours,” you say. “Always have been,”

His thrusts turn shallow, deep. He says, “Doin’ so good, fuckin’ perfect,”

You clench around him, huffing a breathy moan. “Leon,”

“I’m here,” he says. “I’m right here,”

His thumb finds your clit, and you’re seeing stars. White hot pleasure radiates throughout your body, threatening to consume you. He picks up the pace, chasing his own release. He thrusts one, two, three more times before he’s groaning in your ear and filling you up. He collapses against you, chest heaving and panting. Your fingers wind into his hair, toying with the ends. Every now and then you feel him press kisses to the column of your throat. 

“Leon,” you whisper. He hums. “I think your stitches split,”

He laughs then, a bright, airy sound that splits your chest open with want. He pulls back to look at you, and you note the way his eyes brim with adoration. You feel suddenly shy.

“You gonna patch me back up?” he asks, soft against you. You grin.

“Yeah,” you say, brushing the hair out of his eyes. “I will,”

You paused before you opened the door, still feeling anxious about greeting him despite spending most of your time around him. When you did, you could smell the alcohol on him, and then how he desperately tried to cover the smell with cologne. Your nostrils were too sharp to be fooled.

You never called him out on his alcoholic tendencies, you felt like that wasn’t your place. He always drank a little more than everyone else at work parties and he refilled his flask more often the week before a mission.

“You really didn’t have to come over early in the morning to do this,” you sighed, watching Leon fix your shower as you applied your makeup in your bathroom mirror. “I could’ve called someone.”

“You hate calling people. Also, I’d rather not have a smelly assistant. We share the same office. If you stink, it’ll affect me too,” he mumbled as he fiddled around with a new shower head. “Plus. I’ve saved you a bit of money.”

“I’m not broke, Leon,” you rolled your eyes and continued humming to the music that was playing through your phone. Was it really normal to have your boss fix your shower before the two of you went to work? Probably not. But you didn’t care, you liked spending time with him before his missions.

Leon was going on a mission today, hence the smell of alcohol. You were on comms. You had done this several times before, and all had gone accordingly. So why did you feel so nervous?

“Did you sleep tonight?” he asked, seeing how puffy and red your eyes were, and the dark bags that were run over by concealer. He reached over to the bacon and egg sandwich you made him, the yolk spilling out of the sandwich onto his lap, hoping you didn’t notice.

“Yeah…yeah. Of course I did.”

“Don’t fall asleep on comms,” he muttered, his eyes now focused on the shower.

“Tsk, when has comms ever gone wrong between the two of us?” you spoke. He was going to say something like ‘don’t jinx it’ but your phone began to ring. “Hold on, my mom is calling me.”

“You don’t have to answer, you know."

“Leon, it’s fine,” you assured him, leaving the bathroom to answer the phone.

“Whatever you say.”

He only wanted to snatch the phone out of your hand and tell you that everything you did in his office was the best he had ever seen, and that he doesn’t think he could ever find an assistant that was better than you. Seeing your demeanour crumple after calls with your parents made something boil within him. But it wasn’t his place to dictate your relationship with them.

He settled on getting you cake instead.

“Happy now?” He asked, watching you eat the cake in his car as he drove you to the DSO building.

“Extremely,” you smiled, trying not to get crumbs and frosting everywhere. “So, if you keep note of the alternative route around the left side of the building…”

He wasn’t listening. He already had your notes memorised. Every reroute, every exit, every blind spot. Sometimes he thought that you were just reading them out loud for yourself, just to be certain that he was going to be safe. His hand rested loosely on the steering wheel, the other drumming on his lap.

You always did this, you smoothed out every crinkle in every plan, threaded exit routes in every step and tied up any blind spots.

“And then if you go into the server room there should be…”

After Raccoon City, he needed it - to listen to every instruction, every report, every detail because he knew one small mistake could lead to hundreds of thousands dying. Back then it was screaming, fire, radios and broken signals, people who didn’t understand what was happening, people who never got to finish their sentences. People who never made it out.

He glanced at you, your eyebrows were tightly knit, your tablet in your hands. Sometimes you stumbled through your words as you read off your notes. You never did that.

Seeing your determination to keep everyone safe and ensure no one was in distress reminded him of himself and he admired you for it. So why couldn’t he like himself when he shared the same quality?

Bright headlights flashed by, and he blinked, refocusing on the road.

“If the east exit is blocked then you can go around the…”

He exhaled through his nose. Were you concerned or was it your perfectionism taking over? Maybe it was the concern that drove the perfectionism.

The only thing running through his mind was your face after his mission, and the pleasant relief that shined on it despite you trying to remain professional. The clicking of your heels as you basically ran up to him, and then the celebratory meal you guys would get afterwards. Just think about that Kennedy.

“Leon, are you even listening?” you cut him from his thoughts.

“Every word,” he said, a slight truth within his words.

The buzz of the office continued around you as you set up your headset. Co-workers walked around the maze of desks, passing files and handing each other mugs of coffee.

“Okay. Are you there, Leon?” You asked, the bright screen illuminating your face- making your eyes sting more than they already were.

A few seconds of static.

“Yeah.” His voice low and steady like it always was.

Your fingers moved across the keyboard, pulling up maps and images.

“Perfect.” You chirped, swinging your leg over the other. “Comms check.”

You could hear him let out a small laugh, “loud and clear, ma’am.”

Your eyes were red and puffy with exhaustion, and when you looked around things were blurry at first until you blinked it away. Everything was running smoothly, just according to plan – well that’s what you told yourself.

A heat signature flickered briefly and then disappeared. You weren’t sure if it was you or the camera. This exhaustion had been plaguing you for a while now, but you saw this as weakness.

“Hold on,” you said, squinting your eyes and leaning closer to the screen.

“What’s wrong, boss?” Did he always have to make such stupid jokes in the middle of something so dire?

Nothing. “Clear.”

“You sure?” He asked.

“Certain,” you confirmed, eyes darting across the screen.

“Alright then.”

The camera caught movement. Gunshots. A string of them.

“Leon!”

He groaned and staggered back, throwing himself behind a wall. His body slammed against the wall and he coughed.

“Leon,” you repeated yourself, heart pounding.

“It’s fine.”

“I thought- I thought it was clear-“ you stuttered, your fingers trembling against the keyboard.

“y/n. It happens.” He hissed through his teeth.

It does not happen. He lowered his guard because of you. You said that with confidence and certainty. You almost got him killed. You were incompetent.

The medical room was quiet. You sat in the waiting room with your leg bouncing up and down and nausea torturing your stomach. The gunshot kept playing in your head over and over again. The flicker of a heat signature. Your mistake. He trusted you. You got him hurt. He had done nothing but make you feel comfortable at the DSO, and you hurt him.

The nurse told you that you could go in now.

His dark hair laid against the white of the pillow, his arm bandaged and in a sling. He was sat up in a bed, a thin blanket pooling around his legs.

“Hey, you.”

“Hi,” you squeaked. You pressed your lips together as your eyes wandered along the floor.

“Sit,” he commanded, flickering his eyes to the seat next to him and then you.

You sat down next to him, placing your hands on his bed. His free hand grabbed your hand, rubbing small circles into your palm with his thumb.

“You got shot because of me.” you broke the silence.

“I’m pretty sure the guy with the gun did that.”

“Not funny.”

“A little funny.”

“I shouldn’t be doing comms-“

“No.” Leon said firmly, his hand tightening around yours. “That’s not happening.”

“Leon, you got hurt because of me.”

“That’s a part of the job description – getting hurt. You were just doing your job and it was a slip up. I’m still here.” he stated, watching you refuse eye contact with him.

“But what if-“

“You’re working for me because you catch things other people don’t. You made one mistake and that’s okay. You’ve saved me hundreds of times before. One mistake doesn’t undo that.” he said, as if he had planned what he was going to say a million times. Like he knew you were going to react this way.

“We can’t afford mistakes. Not if it gets you hurt.” You said coldly, standing up. “I have reports to finish.”

“y/n-“ he started, but you opened the door and left the room.

The sling stared at you, a physical manifestation of the guilt that had been dragging you down for the past week, a reminder of your mistake as if it hadn’t been buried in your brain. You hated it, because it told you that you failed, you failed the one person that had never failed you. The sling made your mistake real, the type of real that you didn’t want to face. It was ugly and sickening and he had to wear it around his neck like a public announcement.

“Wanna get lunch together? On me?” he would ask, attempting to find a smile on your face.

“It’s okay, I already made my own lunch.” you would reply coldly. There was no pre-made lunch in your bag.

The plants were dying and shrivelling under the heat. Your new workload made you forget about them.

You began repenting for your mistakes by staying at your desk until midnight. Words were restrained with you, greeting people and waving became small nods of acknowledgement. Stepping foot outside of the office wasn’t a thing that you did anymore.

“I’m worried about you. What is this about, y/n? What’s wrong?” he asked once.

“I’m fine, I’m just a bit tired.”

“Well, get some rest tonight. You can take tomorrow morning off, it’s fine by me.”

“It’s fine, I’ll just go to bed earlier tonight. You need me tomorrow anyway.”

The white sling stared back at you.

“You need to redo this report; there are plenty of typos and sentences that aren’t finished.” A supervisor said, handing back your report to you, humiliating you in front of Leon.

“Yes sir,” you mumbled, your eyes refusing to meet his.

One afternoon, you couldn’t handle it anymore. It took one look at the sling. It made you sick, the way you hurt him, the way he groaned when he got shot, the way his end was silent for a second.

You hid yourself in a toilet stall, your head in your hands.

You never made mistakes; you had never been the mistake-making person. And now all of a sudden, you make one mistake and it sets off a whole chain of them.

For your entire life, being good enough was never a thing. Constantly chasing after perfectionism was something you did throughout childhood, and it had long been running through adulthood. It ruined you, being constantly unsatisfied with your work and now you could finally feel yourself drowning and suffocating.

You worked so hard all week ensuring there was not a fault in your plan, yet someone got hurt anyway. Leon got hurt due to your mistake. He trusted you and now you blew it.

Your chest tightened, sharp pains every time you breathed.

Your brother was handling operations at your age, yet here you were, having a panic attack in the toilets because you messed up once.

Your brother died over a mistake. Mistakes were not allowed after that.

The rule was unspoken, but it was seen in your mother’s disappointment when your report card wasn’t perfect, or when you tried piano for the first time and you weren’t immediately a prodigy at it. You only wanted to make them proud, to be the perfect daughter. Troubled nights became the norm, obsessively running over every error you had ever made and perfecting it in your brain.

Accepting anything other than perfect was impossible. Dying was preferable to handing in an unperfected report. You would have rather not tried at all than try and it not being perfect and if made you a coward, that was fine with you.

Your fingers twisted into your hair, trying to hold back a sob, like you were trying to pull these thoughts out of your head before your breathing became any harder to control.

The shot. The silence. His pained hiss.

What if the bullet landed somewhere else? What if it was a repeat of your brother all over again?

The image of your mother crying at the kitchen counter, the funeral that came too soon. You were forced to come to terms with death before you even really knew what life was.

You breathed in slowly, and out. Your breath was still shaking and fast. In and out. Slowly, you brought yourself up out of the lake you were drowning in.

The bathroom stall was left empty, and you returned to your desk like nothing happened.

It was the evening. You had just left, pens scattered across your desk and piles of reports that needed to be re-written. It was another successful day of avoiding Leon as much as humanly possible in the confined space of his office.

Leon needed a file, but your top drawer was slightly open. He couldn’t help himself. Something caught his eye - a piece of paper.

‘Formal Notice of Resignation’

You idiot.

“You gotta be kidding me,” he muttered and left the office with only one thing on his mind: finding you.

Grey clouds swirled around the city and you were half-way through the car park until a deep voice called your name. Feeling like a deer caught in headlights, you stared at the man in the leather jacket who was practically running over to you.

“What is this?” He asked, his eyebrows furrowed, holding up the piece of paper. You cringed, as if he found your diary.

“I was going to tell you soon,” you mumbled, staring at his shoes because his eyes would pierce right through you. “I didn’t want to be dramatic about it.”

“So what? You were going to tell me after you had disappeared?!” he said, jaw tight. “You are not leaving.”

“That is not your decision to make,” you hissed, your hand clenching around your bag strap.

“You’ve been with me on every operation this year. You’ve prepped every mission, every-“

“That’s exactly why I’m leaving,” you interrupted him, “I can’t keep sitting behind a screen watching you almost die.”

“That’s the job you signed up for.”

“Yeah, and I didn’t think it would feel this way,” you admitted.

“Feel what way?”

“I- You think I, I enjoy doing that?” you avoided the question, feeling rain begin to spit in your face.

“You make one mistake and you decide to run away. That’s your solution?” He questioned, a short laugh fell from his lips.

“I’m not running away! I’m protecting you!”

The rain hit harder against the ground, puddles beginning to form.

He huffed, water droplets sliding down his jacket. “Protecting me? You’re the best assistant I’ve ever had. The best analyst we’ve had in field operations for a long time!”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does, you’ve saved me hundreds of times, more than I can count. One mistake doesn’t undo everything.”

“I’m not making the same mistake twice. I refuse to be the reason you get hurt again.”

“This isn’t about the mission, is it?”

You walked away from him.

“Walking away isn’t protecting me! You’re punishing yourself!” he called after you.

Something in you snapped, because if he was going to prod around at your personal life then he can shove a stick up his nosy ass-

“Leave me alone, Leon, you think I don’t notice the copious amounts of alcohol you drink every day?” you yelled, “Why are you begging me to come back to a job that is already destroying you? Because you want someone else in your- in your fucking nightmare?”

His paused and his expression changed.

“I’m asking you to not walk away from something you’re good at because you’re scared,” he said, a sadness lacing through his words. His hair was soaked in the rain, sticking to his face.

“I’m not scared. I’m removing myself from being the reason that another mistake happens.”

“You know what? If one mistake is enough to make you quit, then I truly think you weren’t cut out for the job in the first place,” he bit back, his words slapping you in the face before he could stop them.

“At least I’m not roping someone to stay in a job that has destroyed them,” you fumed.

You walked away before you continued bickering with this stubborn, middle-aged man any longer.

“At least I still have the balls to do the job,” he muttered, watching you grow smaller and smaller until you disappeared out of the car park as his chest rapidly moved up and down, his hands in tight fists.

Note: next chapter is even more angsty LMFAO, but it ends with leon taking us back to his apartment. and I regret to inform but I am closing my taglist cause holy shit... the amount of love is LITERALLY overwhelming, thank you guys so much <3

You soon adapted to his way of working, you kept a small notepad and noted down his schedule. He came in at 8.30am and left between the time of 7pm to 11pm. It depended on his mood, what day it was, and the time you wanted to go home. You noticed that he put off his lunch as late as possible, to make the second part of the day seem ‘quicker’; you noticed that he hated digital files and always printed them off; you noticed that he could quickly reel off details from a file that he only read once.

Leon was no stranger to observing either. As he passed your desk, he felt a little embarrassed to see the clean structure of it all, how everything was perfectly lined up – compared to his mess of a desk. He saw how much you would fidget in your seat and how your eyes never left your screen despite this. When he first called your name in the office, it startled you so much he began to knock softly on your desk before speaking to you.

It was a Friday, you had done a full week of working with Leon, the two of you were finishing late – a seemingly running theme for the past few days.

You heel kept slipping out of your shoe as you bounced it up and down, sat cross-legged on your chair. Sorting out Leon’s mission report and ensuring that none of his emails went unread, your fingers clicked at a rapid speed across the keyboard, lines of data reflected in your eyes. You heard Leon’s chair creak as he leaned back, signalling that he was ready to go home. You looked up at the coat hanger, to see your coat and scarf hanging up next to his. The weather was beginning to warm, and you thought about how it was probably time to drop the scarf. The once shrivelled plant on Leon’s shelf had begin to shoot back to life after you began to water it.

“So.” Leon started, taking off his reading glasses.

“So?” You pushed yourself away from your desk slightly, patting non-existent dust off your shoulders. You suddenly became very aware of how hunched over you were and internally begged yourself to not say something stupid in this conversation.

“What did you think?” He asked, watching you make yourself presentable after hours of staring at a screen.

“Think of what?”

“Working with me this week? I hope I wasn’t too scary.” he joked.

You laughed softly and your eyes fell onto the floor, “you weren’t scary. Working with you this week has been… efficient.”

“Efficient?” He raised his eyebrow, nodding slowly.

“Yeah… I don’t have to repeat myself or correct mistakes or anything. Saves a lot of time.” You continued, unsure if you had said too much. You had a bad habit of saying too much or nothing at all, you could never quite grasp the perfect number of words.

“Hm. Don’t usually get someone describing me as a piece of equipment.” He huffed, amused.

“I didn’t mean it negatively,” you said quickly. “I like working with you, Leon.”

“Good. Because this week has been significantly less stressful with you around.” He pushed himself out of his chair and stretched, a little grunt accompanying this.

“Really?”

“You have somehow structured my chaos, and that is impressive.” He sat on your desk and then tapped the top of your monitor before you could say any more, “It’s a Friday. What are you still doing here?”

“Uhm, your reports?” you replied innocently, looking up at him with your hands placed in your lap. Something about you resembled a small mouse to Leon, maybe it was the way you scrambled around him or accidentally squealed when he called your name too loudly.

“You know you can go home and do them next week.”

“You’re here too,” you said, a little bluntly.

He paused and then sighed, standing up, “fair point. C’mon. Let’s go home.”

As you two left the building, your shoulders brushed slightly. Neither of you said anything or adjusted yourselves.

You stopped in your tracks, clutching onto your bag strap.

"Leon," you called out.

"Yes?" He stopped to turn around.

"Thanks for a nice week at the DSO," you gave him a warm smile. He returned it.

"...anytime."

Within the first week of meeting Leon, he planted a seed of affection that began to bloom in your heart.

You no longer needed to look at each other to pass files to one another, neither of you needed to fill a silence because it was comfortable sitting in it together. Neither of you needed to consciously to adapt to how the other worked because it already happened naturally.

The one plant on Leon’s shelf multiplied into many others and you had your own flowers on your own desk. Leon would find you watering them in the morning while he placed the snacks that he bought for you on his way to work on your desk. His tie was all crooked, and without thinking, your hands reached out to fix it, straightening it for him. He blinked at you,

“…thank you.”

The meeting room held many secrets. The two of you always walked to meetings together, and Leon never left the room without you. If either of you adjusted yourselves and there was a brushing of your leg against his – neither of you would move. Once, you were finishing up notes, and Leon was awkwardly hovering around the door, checking his watch, as if there was something physically barricading him from passing through. It was only until you got up and walked through the door that he left the room. The two co-workers watching this laughed.

In the middle of spring, the office goldfish passed away, and Leon found you scooping the corpse up into a plastic cup.

“What are you doing?”

“Jerry passed away,” you mumbled, a hint of sadness in your voice, “he meant so much to me when I started here.”

Leon held back a laugh, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“I want to give him a burial.”

“A burial?” he questioned.

“Yes. Flushing him down the toilet is a horrible send off,” you explained, horrified by how anyone with a decent heart could flush a precious thing down a toilet. A fish was a pet too. Imagine flushing your dead cat down the toilet. Cruel, you thought.

“Alright then, let’s give him the funeral he deserves,” Leon confirmed, a little surprised by your loyalty to this fish, but anything to see you happy he supposed.

The two of you spent your lunch digging a hole behind the DSO building with a teaspoon.

“I can’t believe you have me digging a grave for a goldfish behind the DSO,” Leon murmured as he scooped out the last bit of dirt. You laughed a little, placing the goldfish in the freshly dug hole.

“The lengths you go for me won’t be forgotten, Leon,” you teased, patting his back. He turned his head over his shoulder and caught your eyes, and for a brief moment you two were staring at each other. A boyish grin flashed on his face before he stood back, and you said a few words. When the two of you walked to the office, you had some dirt on your cheek, and he brushed it off your flustered face. Clearing his throat, he walked back to his desk like nothing happened.

Co-workers began to notice. It wasn’t uncommon to see the tall man dressed in navy to have you, tagging alongside him with your notepad in your hand.

“Do you know where Kennedy is?” Someone would ask.

“Probably with l/n,” was one of the multiple variations of answers.

“Have you seen l/n?” Another question.

“Yes, she was last with Kennedy in the break room.” Another variation.

“Where’s the two?”

“Gone out to get lunch together.”

You were waiting for the printer to work, and Sherry found you, asking: “Have you seen-“

And then Leon would be there, appearing around the corner with two coffees in his hand. She saw the way a smile stretched across your face as soon as your eyes lay upon him.

“Ah,” Sherry said to herself.

People began to test this theory. Leon would walk out of a room, and someone would ask him where you were, only to be greeted by you, who was only a few paces behind him.

You became much louder, in fact, people could now hear the two of you coming. It was either your laugh that echoed down the hallway or his boyish giggle. You now knew the security and the receptionist, they would welcome and say goodbye to you. You now waved at people and greeted them in the office, your posture had lifted into something bright and beautiful. You were no longer the shadow you had the desire to be; you reflected the light and for once, you didn’t mind it. This courage to call out others' mistakes instead of being complicit in their obliviousness had taken root in you.

One evening, exhaustion had finally won, and you were fast asleep, your face resting against reports. Leon found you, your peaceful face lit by your desk lamp. He laughed slightly and draped his jacket over your shoulders as he returned to his desk, occasionally glancing over to you. You were going to be in for one hell of a lecture about pushing yourself too hard when you woke up.

“You know, you’ve really come out of your shell, y/n,” Sherry stated, as the two of you ate your lunch on a bench in a nearby park.

“You think?” you asked, looking at the cherry blossom trees that filed down the park.

“Mhm. And I think a certain someone has something to do with it,” she hummed, glancing at the blush that crept onto your cheeks.

“No… no,” you denied, immediately knowing who she was implying.

“Deny it all you want, but he has certainly helped you blossom.”

You didn’t respond, but your eyes drifted to the window of your office where Leon was probably working.

“They’re calling you two salt and pepper.” Sherry admitted, taking a bite of her sandwich.

“Why?”

She laughed and then said, “because you two come as a pair.”

“Oh dear,” you huffed, smiling a little.

The inevitable realisation that you had feelings for this man fluttered around you.

It fluttered around him too - intensely.

He could go hours now without thinking about the golden liquid in his flask. Nothing was dying in his office anymore, not when you were around. Despite the natural coming of the spring, his days were lighter and brighter with you in them. Seeing your face after missions, the way you would rush to the medical room after events that would hollow him from the inside, it soothed the mental torment in his mind. Even just the small things you would say, he knew you were a woman of a few words, would assure him. And for once, finally, he felt that someone wasn’t relying on him.

He admired the way you were capable of things yourself, after gruelling years of everything being on his back, there was someone to take the pressure off. He had never felt more ashamed when you caught him tipping whiskey down his throat, even if you never said anything about it, the way you became quiet after just killed him.

Seeing you made him get up in the morning, and if you ever called in sick, extremely rarely, a dread would build in his chest again. His grip around his pen would tighten when he heard you take all the verbal abuse your mother threw at you through your phone. It disgusted him.

“Mmm… I think maybe if you…” you spoke about how he should approach his next mission, you had scooted your desk chair to his desk, your heels flicking back and forth. You leant over to press on his mouse and typed a few words into his keyboard, revealing a new image of some report. You saw an image of the BSAA badge. Your heart sunk a little.

Your leg brushed against his. Neither of you moved. For a second you think he inched his leather derby shoes closer to your black kitten heels. You adjust your legs, so they’re still touching him, but closer. Your head is still glued to your paper, and his eyes are still glued to his screen. A hundred reckless impulses rushed through your brain and everything in you just wanted to press the tip of your shoe against his ankle and rub slow circles around and around, to slip yourself on his lap and feel his rough stubble, to look up and meet his eyes. But you couldn’t, as wanting something and acting on it were very two different things to you. And you always found yourself better at the former.

It was late, 11pm. Leon groaned, pulling himself away from his desk. The absence of your rapid typing did not go unnoticed by him. Strange - you never left before him. Your coat was still hanging up next to his and your desk lamp was still on, so you couldn’t have gone far. He left the office, peeking his head around the corner.

Bang! Bang!

Thuds were heard from around the corner, and Leon followed the noise.

You were crouched on the floor, half of your arm in the vending machine. He cleared his throat and your head snapped towards him, caught red handed. You went bright red.

“It stole my money,” you admitted, pouting slightly.

He chuckled as he saw the stuck chocolate bar leaning against the glass.

“I don’t think fighting it is going to make it want to give it to you.”

You groaned and slid your hand out in defeat. Nothing was working in your favor today. Your shower broke this morning, so you had to resort to drowning yourself in perfume. Your computer locked you out of your account. Your button fell off your coat. Now this.

“I just wanted one thing today,” you mumbled, staring at the purple wrapper through the glass.

“One thing?” he questioned softly, tilting his head.

“Yes.”

“From a vending machine?”

“Yes.”

“Step aside.”

You stepped out of the way.

He gave the machine a firm shake. Didn’t work. He then kicked it in frustration, and it slipped into the basket.

You gasped as you retrieved your chocolate, “my hero!”

“Anything for you,” he smiled back then checked his watch, “you know its eleven, right?”

“I lost track of time. Seems like you did too.” you replied, observing the bags around his eyes. No one ever noticed him staying late.

“C’mon. Let’s go home. You need to rest, you know,” he held your shoulder and led you back into the office.

“Okay salt,” you mumbled, taking a bite from your chocolate bar.

“Salt?”

“People are calling us salt and pepper.” you said, mouth full of chocolate. You passed the chocolate bar to him.

“Why?” he questioned, his eyes flickering to your face and then taking a bite out the bar you passed him.

“Apparently, we come as a pair.”

“And you’re assuming that I’m salt?”

You two continued arguing over who was salt and pepper out of the building, chocolate in your mouths, and the receptionist rolled her eyes.

edit: part 3 is here

note: i hope u guys liked the pure cheesy office romance <3. the next chapter will be quite angsty!

"you're perfect for the job." her gaze was taken from the files and onto you, her eyes full of certainty.

you wiped your clammy palms on your pencil skirt. this unbearable dread had been planted in your chest, you should've called in sick this morning to escape this fate. you felt yourself grow smaller, if that was even possible, because in your mind - it was.

"sherry, i'm not- i'm not sure i can even do this-" you took a deep breath in. you did not write out those positive affirmation post-it-notes and stick them to your mirror for nothing. you nodded, "it's fine. i can do this."

"there we go." sherry chuckled a little, the corners of her rosy lips curving upwards. she placed her hand firmly on your shoulder. "this is major for you. don't let this opportunity pass you by."

"yes, sher- ma'am."

sherry let out another laugh, rubbing her thumb slightly on your shoulder before letting go and placing a pile of folders in your hands.

"you'll need these. now, take a deep breath and go in that office. you've got this," sherry assured, a bright encouragement shined from her smile.

the files anchored you down and you paused mid-walk over. you turn your head over your shoulder, like a child seeking her mother's approval.

sherry mouthed "go" at you with a proud grin stretched on her face.

this was easy for her. it was far away from easy for you.

at the end of the corridor was a dark grey door, with the name 'leon s. kennedy' engraved into a golden platter. you weren't used to feeling important. sure, you worked at the dso, but you were used to blending into the shadows - drawing attention to yourself was the last thing you wanted to do.

and working for leon s. kennedy was going to attract the attention you hated.

you pushed the heavy door open with your back, your heart pounding out of your chest. it was just a person. just a guy. just some man. don't be afraid of a man, don't let him intimidate you. you were going to be his assistant, you had to get to know him. just be sociable for the next... however many hours.

the grey, february light filtered through the windows, and the cold air conditioning made the office into what could be mistaken as a freezer. there was a dying plant on one shelf, a long rifle held on another. a coat hanger held a navy blue scarf and various leather jackets. a framed photo reflected the light, and two figures could be made out - it seemed to be him and sherry, fairly recent.

the broad figure looked up from his paperwork to raise an eyebrow at the woman who just clumsily stepped into his office with a pile of files in her hand.

"who are you?" his deep, oddly soothing voice drew you from your observations. his eyes fell to the folders you were holding, "need help?"

now, you were observing him.

his hay-like hair fell around his face, a few greys woven within his chestnut brown. his eyes were sharp and pale, as if they were clear and contrasted against the dark frame of his eyelashes. his face was tight with frustration and exhaustion, evident in the deep crease in his eyebrow.

your stomach dropped into your ass.

"y/n. i mean miss l/n. the new- your new assistant." you stuttered through your sentences as if they were obstacles. god nothing looked better than dying in a hole. first impressions were everything, according to your mother, and you had already humiliated yourself.

"ah, yes. sherry said," he replied, standing up from his seat, his expression softening, but you were too terrified to even look him in the eye - actually your eyes found the floor to be incredibly interesting.

"i have your folders, sir- sherry sent me here with them. i can sort them out if you'd like," you began, rushing over to his desk and sorting through them already, your fingers frantically flicking through them all. maybe if you moved fast enough, he wouldn't notice your inability to deal with words.

"it's okay. it seems like they're sorted already." he said, his voice thinning as he watched your fingers maneuver rapidly through paper.

"yes sir, color-coded." you managed a small smile towards him. nothing was safer than color coding.

"just call me leon. i'm not assessing your usefulness in the first five minutes of our meeting, you know." he joked, placing his steady fingers on top of your fiddling ones, "you can breathe."

"sorry." you mumbled, stepping back to behind his desk.

"nervous?"

"no." you said, too quickly. you bit your lip, "is it that obvious?"

"you'll be fine." a smile tugged on his lips, "how about coffee to relax nerves?" he asked, his head tilting to the side.

you paused to try to understand how coffee could relax nerves but you agreed anyway. following him outside his office, you saw sherry give a small thumbs up among the labyrinth of desks and sea of workers. you exchanged with her an unsure crooked smile and she winked at you. traitor.

"sir- leon. the break room is down there-" your hand awkwardly pointed behind you.

"let's try the new coffee shop down the road. seems nicer in my opinion. if sherry told me you were starting today i would've..." he started to mumble to himself about welcoming you properly and that no one tells him anything around here.

you followed him quietly out of security and out of the dso building. the harsh cold nipped at your nose, making your ears sting. you tried to keep up with leon as you buttoned your coat up, the two of you walking along the pavement. all the trees were beginning to bloom again, green leaves attempting to free themselves from their cocoons. you liked this time of the year, the evenings becoming lighter - you could drive home in the sunset, the golden light blindingly bright, the warm caress of the sun rays brought you an abundance of happiness. but that is of course, only when you finished on time.

"you worked as an assistant before or..?" he started, noting how quiet your footsteps were, despite you wearing heels.

"yea, just for a little while when, uhm, sarah was off." you replied, fiddling with the button on your blazer.

"how did that go?"

"i did well. good enough." you answered, observing the way he placed himself on the outside of the pavement.

"heard that you did better than sarah herself." he huffed, catching your eyes as he looked down at you.

"i did not, she- i just reorganised a few things." you stuttered, a heat crawling up your neck.

"not what i heard." he shook his head, amused by your stubborness.

"well." you weren't sure what to say. "thank you?"

he laughed a little, "you're welcome."

he outstretched his arm to open the door to the coffee shop for you. the warmth of the shop made you sigh, your stiff fingers absorbing the heat.

"how can i help you today?" the cashier questioned, an eager smile on her face. you turned to leon who was already looking at you.

"order what you want, it's on me." he said, his hand on your shoulder, nudging you out of the way of passing customers.

giving him the faintest hint of a smile, you placed your order.

"name?" the cashier asked, seemingly patient.

"uh, y/n." you replied.

"could you repeat that again?"

you repeated yourself, a blush creeping onto your cheeks. she stared back at you blankly.

leon said your name louder, the cashier nodded and typed into the till. internally, you had smashed your head against the counter.

leon ordered his drink, his adam's apple protruding and his grey stubble coated his jaw, making you wonder how old he was. you noticed how his hair looked blonder under the warm light of the morning, and how the scowl on his face had softened into a smile. he felt your stare, and his eyes flicked back to you as he spoke to the cashier about some tab. caught, you snapped your head back the floor, because you forgot about how interesting floors can get.

you two waited by the window, sat on the stools.

"so, sherry taught you everything then?" he asked, tilting his head slightly.

you nodded enthusiastically, "she's a great teacher."

"i'm sure you were a great student."

your face was on fire and you hoped that your entire face was not red.

your name is called, thank god, and leon goes to pick up the two cups, placing the smaller one in your hand.

"you live nearby?"

"yeah, just one of the villages nearby. only forty minutes." you mumbled, "it's nice. and quiet. i like it there."

"quiet's good. you don't get that around here." he nodded slightly.

the two of you continued talking, a few awkward silences, but as the two of you navigated through the conversations, you two got used to how the other works. you found out that leon drank his coffee black, no sugar; said the corniest jokes that somehow made you laugh anyway; collected leather jackets.

"if you're working with me, we need rules." he announced, tapping the table with his fingers.

you gulped.

"first rule. don't call me sir. it makes me feel old." he spoke with a gentleness. you noticed the way he addressed other co-workers as you walked out the building, it seemed like he reserved a softness towards you.

you nodded and trialled his name, "leon."

"there we go." he exhaled from his nose, watching you take a sip of your coffee. your face contorts briefly into a disgusted expression and he tried to hide the smirk that was playing on his lips.

"second rule. we don't ever come back here again, this coffee was shit." he finalised.

you nodded, "agreed."

"perfect." he placed his coffee cup down and the two of you left the place hastily.

you made it back to his office, settling behind your new desk. leon ran you through the things he needed you to cover over the next few weeks. as you were sat at your desk, leon hunched over you, clicking on your mouse to show you the right reports he needed you to work on. his chest awfully close to your face, was he always this close and personal? maybe it was something to ask sherry. or not. probably not. his concentrated face, eyebrows furrowed and lips pinched, completely disappeared when he noticed you were looking at him.

it was weird sharing an office with only one other person, you could hear every move that leon made, his typing, him clicking his pen on and off, his sighing, the way his seat creaked as he sat back and him unscrewing his hidden whiskey flask. you pretended you didn't notice.

when the office was empty, your phone flashed, the words 'mom' shone brightly across the screen.

your heart rate accelerated.

leon finished up in the break room, making an americano to power him through his last few hours of work. he preferred working late, he hated going home and having too much time to think. as he made his way back to the office, he heard your voice. he paused for a second, not wanting to barge in. but there was no one else in the room, just you, your face illuminated by your phone screen.

"yes mom, i think so. i've actually been promoted to being an assistant of a well-known agent." you said, a chuffed smile on your face, nodding, "mhm, yeah i think it's going well. yes he is nice to me, he got me coffee too."

you continued as you spun around in your chair, "yes i know this is a big opportunity. i'm taking it seriously."

he could suddenly hear the other end of the call.

"you know your brother never needed this much time to prove himself, he was leading operations at your age." your mom said through the phone, her voice containing a thousand icicles.

leon watched the way your smile was gradually erased from your face.

"yes mom- i know, i'm trying my best." you assured her, digging your teeth into your bottom lip. your posture had completely crumpled.

"are you working late tonight?" your mom asked sternly.

"mhm."

"good. dedication is what will separate you from the rest. this is important." she replied, every word she spoke placed another weight on your back.

"i know. i- i better get back to work." you just wanted this call to end. it was foolish to think she was going to acknowledge your hard work. it was never well done, it was always do better.

"okay. call us this weekend, your father would like to know how things are going, this is important to him too you know."

"yes mom. bye mom." you ended the call with a sigh, chucking your phone back into your bag.

you didn't realise how badly your hand was shaking until you gripped your wrist with your other hand. fuck.

get your shit together.

leon walked into the office, like he didn't hear the tense call. you exchanged smiles with him and the both of you returned to your computers.

ignoring the waiting whiskey flask and ignoring the pressuring voices of your parents.

edit: here is part 2