julymist

cw: sexual tension

Eddy’s eyes rake over the selection of bottles when he opens the wine cabinet in the private lounge. His fingers skim over a few before finally wrapping around one to his liking with a sound of approval.

“I know the Crawfords. You’re Barry’s cousin, right?” he asks without turning around as he reaches for the corkscrew on the marble counter. His body is already slightly swaying from the earlier consumed champagne.

Behind him, Leon is giving you a side eyed glare as he watches you sit down on one of the large leather couches casually. He’ll deal with you later.

“Yeah. Good ol’ Barry,” he mutters the lie, grateful that Hunnigan managed to find the perfect fake identities.

“He’s the best,” Eddy grins when he finally manages to pop open the bottle.

He lines three stemmed glasses on the shiny surface in order to pour the alcohol, and Leon moves to sit beside you despite the way you refuse to look his way.

“I was handling it, you should’ve stayed to watch Adams,” you whisper through gritted teeth when he settles a little too close on the cushions, his shoulder brushing yours.

“You can't just leave without telling me first,” he retorts with a hush and a stern glare that you still refuse to meet.

“I do hope you two like red wine. To be honest, I don't get people who don't,” Eddy comments, oblivious to the muttered conversation.

When he turns to hand you each a glass, he’s about to sit down when he halts in his movements. “Ah! Almost forgot,” he chuckles self-deprecatingly and strides right back to the counter.

You see him opening a drawer, and you use the distraction to finally turn to Leon with a mean frown. “You’re going to say you need the bathroom and you will let me handle this.”

The fellow agent nearly scoffs at your order, and he once again feels the sudden urge to kiss the scowl off your face. “Not happening,” he stubbornly refuses, his eyes flickering to your lips briefly.

You chew on the inside of your mouth in annoyance, feeling your irritation rise at the way he’s meddling in your objective. 

In the meantime, Eddy opens a box of cigars, and makes a gesture to offer some for you and Leon. You both decline with a synchronized handwave, and that makes the man laugh. It has you thinking of how much the two of you usually work so well together, and the reason you're so often paired up.

Leon just had to ruin it tonight by being so damn unreasonable.

Right then, you decide to do something you’ve never done before. You’re fully aware that your interpersonal feelings are at play, but it's not like you were ever professional about Leon.

“Hey, Eddy? Logan wants to use the bathroom. Do you have one nearby?”

Leon goes impossibly tense beside you, and you can feel the heat of his glare on the side of your face. You’re sure that if you turn, you’ll see the look of utter betrayal on his features.

“It’s right there,” the redhead gestures to a dark wooden door in the corner as he cuts the end of his cigar with a snip.

“Great,” the agent grits out bitterly as he stands with a huff, his hands balled into fists when he walks off.

He slams the door shut behind him loudly, knowing  well how childish he must seem, but he can't bring himself to care anymore. He can’t believe you just put him on the spot like that, explicitly going against his demands like his words mean nothing to you.

You’re clearly behaving like this on purpose, and as much as he knows he deserves it, he can't accept that you effectively dismissed him to be alone with the other man—whether that is for the sake of the mission or not.

Standing at the sink, he stares at his tired reflection in the mirror, a million thoughts running through his mind as he tries to collect himself. 

He knows you're a professional. You can handle this. 

And him? Well, he just needs to get a grip.

As you pretend to take a sip from your glass, you hum in fake approval, complimenting the taste when Eddy sits on the opposite couch facing you. 

There's a nervousness running through your system from the stunt you just pulled on Leon, already feeling guilty about blindsiding him. But the feeling is quickly put away as you concentrate on the mission. You want to prove to him just as much as yourself that this was the right call.

“So… Do you always bring strangers up for good wine or am I just lucky?” you drawl with a playful smile.

The man chuckles, slowly exhaling a puff of smoke through his nose. “Only when they're such good company.”

“Well, I’m flattered… Though I do wonder, is the ‘special’ lounge always this empty?”

“The night is still young. It’ll fill up later when more important guests show up... For now, we can enjoy the quiet and privacy.”

You notice his eyes trailing down your blue dress, and decide to cross your legs to get him even more enthralled. At the sight of your bare thigh revealed by the high slit, he clears his throat, then gives the bathroom door a quick glance before lowering his voice.

“You know, if it wasn't for Mr. Crawford,” he mutters the name with a hint of sarcasm, “I could show you an even more special place… Somewhere a lot nicer than here.”

That peaks your interest, and you tilt your head with a small smirk. “What kind of place?”

If he says his bedroom, you’re splashing your glass in his face.

“The kind of place where great minds meet and great things happen…” he grins smugly.

You begin to lose patience with his half-spoken revelations, and suddenly, you decide to stand to make your way next to him, catching the man off guard.

As Eddy eyes your figure, your knee bumping into his as you sit, you swirl your drink and bat your eyelashes, hoping he’s too drunk to see the way you tense under his shameless gaze.

“Is my mind great enough to take me there?” 

He snorts, sucking a long breath through the cigar that glints in golden embers at the tip. “Your mind is certainly great if you're sitting this close to me while your husband is only a door away…”

If only he knew.

With an internal pep talk to steel yourself, you take the smoke-emitting cylinder from his grasp without asking, then make a show out of wrapping your lips around it to inhale the fumes that burn your lungs. You just hope indirectly exchanging saliva with a stranger is worth the mission.

“I’m feeling particularly great tonight, Eddy, and I would love to see this special place you speak so highly of. Plus, I can assure you, Logan doesn't mind…”

The redhead keeps his gaze fixated on your tinted lips, and he looks like he’s about to finally give in when he then shakes his head with a laugh. He pauses to take a big sip of wine before setting his glass down and giving you a pointed look.

“I don't know, sweet cheeks. I don't think Mr. Crawford likes to share.”

As if summoned by his words, Leon steps out of the bathroom with an expression so solemn he looks like he’s in mourning. But the second he sees you sitting so close your leg is touching the rich asshole with his cigar in your hand, a fire instantly lights behind his blue eyes and it's all he can do not to rip you away from that couch.

You notice the tightness of his jaw instantly, and you're certain Eddy does too, which would ruin the entire plan you’re working hard on executing. If this goes to shit, you would have lost this opportunity and surveillance on Adams who’s still partying downstairs.

“Logan likes to watch,” you suddenly blurt out, and immediately feel your face grow piping hot.

“What?” Both men look at you in surprise, but only one of them has a smirk slowly etching on his face.

A silence stretches in the room as you collect your thoughts, with Leon looking at you like you just grew another head, while Eddy seems like he just won the jackpot.

“Y-Yeah, um, it’s like his whole thing. Tell him, honey.” You lie further—too late to back out now.

For a moment, you think Leon might genuinely blow your cover right then and there. But some way, somehow, he manages to exhale deeply through his nose, and then, without a word, moves to sit on the opposite sofa with his back straight.

There’s a challenge in his eyes as he keeps his glacial gaze fixated on you and makes your spine shiver, as if saying ‘you better not.’

“Is this true, Mr. Crawford?” Eddy drawls, placing an arm behind you on the couch’s backrest, testing the waters.

Leon doesn't answer, he’s worried anything that might come out of his mouth would be a litany of curses directed at the man and his entire lineage. This might be his tipping point to finally lose his sanity, because how in the ever loving fuck did you manage to frame him as a cuck of all things?

With the tense silence making the air thick, you break it by shoving the cigar back into Eddy’s mouth, internally shuddering at the indirect kiss.

“So, tell me more about this place,” you urge him, a little too desperately as you hope to get done with this masquerade already.

“Hm, you’re a curious little one, aren't you?” he smirks before continuing, “I have to be honest, I may have been too earnest. I can't actually take you there tonight.”

Fucking great.

Fighting the urge to smack him in the face, you give him a tight-lipped smile. “Why not?” 

The man takes a moment to think of his answer, stealing a glance at Leon who’s sitting as still as a statue with his burning eyes, before turning back to you.

“Something really special is happening tonight… It’s a private audience—even more private than usual. I can't tell you much more, but one thing’s for sure, you will know about it tomorrow. Everyone will.”

You feel adrenaline rush through you at his coded words, and you decide to push further despite the blue eyes searing holes into you. Something serious is planned to happen tonight and you have a feeling it's not a boyscout bonfire.

With a flirty grin that makes your lips twitch in internal cringe, you throw your bared leg over the older man’s lap and wrap your arms around his neck.

“Oh, Eddy, you’re being such a tease! Why won't you just tell me already?”

He chuckles in a low rumble, then places a hand on your waist as he leans to exhale his smokey breath into your neck. 

“You cheeky little minx… You really are curious, aren't you?”

You’re about to retort when you see him make eye contact with Leon and immediately tense up. You don’t dare do the same—you can guess he has a murderous glare on his face that he reserves for the lowest of bastards.

“Are you sure he likes to watch?” Eddy murmurs with a gulp, and that's when you finally turn to see Leon—and God, it's so much worse than you’d imagined.

It would be funny if it wasn't downright scary, but the man is quite literally shaking with anger, his fists are trembling in his lap with uncontrollable tremors, and you know he’s fighting every single atom in his body not to lunge. At Eddy or at you, it wouldn't matter, either way, he’s about to fucking lose it.

“Y-Yeah,” you answer in a squeaky voice, attempting to muster some confidence despite your debilitating nerves.

To your surprise, the redhead seems to believe you—or maybe he’s already too drunk—because he suddenly laughs and tightens his hold on you.

“Oh, I see,” he grins with pearly whites, “he’s not jealous over you… He’s jealous he can't join in!”

You have to stop yourself from bursting out into an ugly cackle at whatever math was done for him to come to that conclusion. But then, Leon speaks, and you feel your breathing stop.

“You caught me,” he strains out and raises his trembling hands in surrender.

What the fuck did he just say?

Without waiting for either of your responses, the blonde agent stands abruptly, and strides directly to the couch just to grab you by the waist like a portable package, and quite literally rip you off Eddy’s side. He then sits in your emptied spot, settling between you and the man, and serving as an impenetrable barrier of hard muscle and storming cerulean eyes.

No one speaks for a full five seconds before the redhead bursts out into a choked laugh, slapping a hand on Leon’s thigh with a smack that makes him jolt.

“Well, I’m not complaining,” Eddy grins between snorted chuckles. 

He then cups the startled agent’s face, and leans in to steal a kiss that Leon barely manages to stop quickly enough with a finger on the other’s lips.

In the most deadpanned voice he can muster, he offers an excuse to his newly acquired, overly eager lover. 

“Sorry, kissing’s not on the menu. The missus and I have an agreement.”

Next chapter coming soon.

not that he was bad at it before, but he gets outrageously good at eating you out now that his dick is untrustworthy. knowing exactly where to lick and prod, how to curl his fingers and push into that spongy spot that makes your back arch.

his favourite past time is looking up from between your legs and seeing you moaning above him, head thrown back, hands making a mess of his hair. he can’t help but let out obscene noises each time you pull at his strands, each time he feels your cunt tighten around his fingers. his dick never gets fully hard, but he still feels arousal. a damp, distant warmth in his abdomen.

he’d be humping the bed. not vigorously, not like he did when he was a younger man, but slow and controlled. a slow grind, over and over, until you’d come too many times all over his face and couldn’t take it anymore. the arousal would linger for hours. never enough to get him hard, but he still felt it. it made him heady, cuddling up to you, pawing at your breasts and kissing up your neck. he wished he could fuck you like he did when you’d first met. missed the feeling of entering you, of cumming inside you.

after searching online, reading countless articles, he came up with a semi-solution. fastening a harness around his broad hips, dildo lodged in the front. at first he’d felt embarrassed. the contrast was shocking. his limp dick remained in his briefs, but when he’d look down at you, your cunt sucking in the toy and leaking all over it, it really made him feel like he was fucking you, again. and you enjoyed it which was all that mattered to him. but this was a good alternative, close enough to the real thing. his hips would still stutter when you came around the toy, as if you actually were tightening around his length.

“just like that, lee. keep going.” his dick twitched at your words, your hands in his hair, the raked lines your nails had carved down his back. god, he couldn’t even get hard but he felt on top of the world.

“want you to cum.” you’d whisper in his ear, breath tickling his neck and making the hairs on his skin raise. “wanna see you cum, honey.”

he groaned, digging his nose into the crook of your neck, thrusting harder. he felt it, now. not hardness, but warmth. wet. he was leaking into the fabric of his underwear, under the harness.

“so good for me, always so good.” you kept going, lips parted and panting.

“i’m-oh, fuck.” he whimpered into your skin, hips stuttering. his orgasm hit him like a truck, knocking the wind out of him. you took his face gently in your hands, guiding his lips to yours. he was still cumming, eyes screwed shut, mouth malleable and weak for your kiss.

once his thrusts had stopped completely, you wrapped your arms around him, manoeuvring your bodies to lay you both on your sides, hissing at the movement of the toy still in you. his eyes were glazed over, heart pounding and head throbbing.

“you okay?” you whispered, gentle and oh so caring. his heart squeezed. you caressed the side of his face with your palm, grazing the stubble that’d grown there.

“almost killed me.”

you snorted, flicking his forehead.

he chuckled, wrapping his large arms around you, and squeezing you into him. you nuzzled into his bare chest, pressing kisses into his warm skin. his breathing was beginning to slow down, but you could still hear his heart pounding.

“we’re definitely doing that again.”

“Told you I’d make it worth your while.” Sasha grinned, the headlights from Wynter’s car illuminating his yellow, nicotine-stained teeth as he chewed lazily on his toothpick.

He watched Wynter flip through the bundle of documents that he had acquired for her. She seemed impressed with his work, taking her time to scan through the paragraphs as a subtle smile crept across her lips.

Spitting the toothpick to the side, he tapped the trunk of his vehicle that he leaned on. “Got more of that in here, and a real juicy tip-off I’ll throw in for free, but you know how it is. Fifty up front and the rest on delivery.”

They had met in the middle of a desolate dirt road, as Cousins exchanging favors. Coming in recommended from a friend of a friend, yada yada. Two young neonate upstarts, one looking to take over his father’s empire, the other seeking revenge for her uncle’s death.

“’Course,” Wynter simpered. “Business is business.”

She chucked the bundle through her open car window onto the passenger’s seat. Slipping a card out from her pocket, she handed it to Sasha just as he lit a cigarette. “Ricardo’s hosting an exclusive event tomorrow night. In case you wanna have a little chat.”

Sasha handed his pack to Wynter and as she pulled out a cigarette, he flicked open his lighter, readying the flame. After drawing in a long inhale, she continued, letting the smoke seep from her mouth, “Turns out he likes a very specific type of vessel. Coloratura sopranos.”

“The fuck?” Sasha snapped, fumes rushing out of his nose as he frowned, trying to make sense of it.

“All the better to hit the high notes for the screams.” Wynter shrugged. Sure, it was a little pretentious, but hey, you had to give the guy points for creativity.

“What a fucking piece of work.” Not only was Ricardo Giovanni a fellow rival who could oust him as his father’s successor, he also had a particular artefact that Matheo coveted. So, he needed to go.

“You got a plan?” she drawled, a faint expression of boredom spreading across her face.

Sasha tossed the burned-out stub of his cigarette onto the road, crushing it with the sole of his sneaker. “Yeah, wear something nice to the event, will ya?”

And that was how they ended up in front of a fancy members’ club the next night.

“You cleaned up good,” Wynter remarked, cocking an eyebrow as she regarded the Giovanni before her.

His bright ginger mane was slicked down with not a single flyaway out of place, and he donned a custom-fit shirt and waistcoat set made of luxurious velvet. Its rose and skull patterns against a wash of burgundy and deep violet complemented each other. Along with his slim-cut trousers and expensive Italian leather shoes, he looked right at home rubbing shoulders with the rich and famous.

In return, Sasha gave her a low whistle while blatantly checking her out. “I could say the same about you.”

She had opted for the vintage, chic look that was all the rage these days. With her hair coiffed into a bouffant bob, the elegant lavallière blouse under her cream skirt suit, and a pair of red bottom stilettos, she resembled a bella donna from the ’60s. Yet the latest designer bag she carried housed a Beretta 92 with a detachable suppressor, just like how Sasha had an engraved Colt 1911 tucked away within his waistcoat, including an arsenal of smaller weaponry. 

“Guess your sugar daddy’s treating—”

Sasha was interrupted with a reproachful flick to his forehead, as Wynter glowered at him. 

“Ow!” He raised his hands in mock surrender, biting back his anger. “Okay, okay. Take it easy, lady!”

“Uh-huh? Let’s just focus on the task ahead,” she deadpanned. “What’re we doing about the invites?”

“What about them?” he asked nonchalantly. Upon meeting her blank expression, he offered his arm to her. “Come on, watch and learn from the pro.”

She scoffed at him, but linked her arm around his, allowing him to lead the way.

At the door, he just strode in, ignoring the queue and the attendants at the door, until a bouncer stood in front of him, physically blocking his way. Sasha remained apathetic, exclaiming, “Is this how Ricky treats his esteemed guests?”

“What? You know Mr. G personally?” the bouncer questioned, already scrolling through his tablet. “If I could just get your—”

Sasha snorted arrogantly at the man, countering with, “And you are?”

Instead of waiting for the bouncer to respond, he brushed past him, muttering loudly for those in the surrounding vicinity to hear, “I should really talk to Ricky about these new hires. Seems like they’re not cut out for the job.”

With a dumbfounded look on his face, the bouncer mumbled out a hurried apology and let them go. Once they were at a safe distance from the entrance, Sasha turned to Wynter. The diamond-shaped tattoo under his eye twinkled under the lights as he scrunched his face up into a smug grin. “What did I tell ya? I’d say it was an Oscar-winning performance.”

Wynter waved him off dismissively. “Hmm, it was so-so.”

Sasha shook his head in mild disgruntlement. “Tough crowd.” At the same time, he brought her close to him, pretending to give her an embrace, only to slip a vial discreetly into the pocket of her blazer. “Just a little concoction I prepared for the vessel,” he whispered into her ear.

Wynter didn’t need any further directions. Immediately, she set to work, surveying the hall they had stepped into. She understood setups like these from previous hit jobs. People were rarely imaginative when it came to how they organized logistics, preferring to rely on the same old tired methods.

It wasn’t difficult to spot Ricardo. He was a brash and extravagant man who appeared to be in his early thirties, slim build, blessed with a thick curly mop of dark raven hair and a neatly trimmed beard. Easy on the eyes, but akin to marmite the moment he opened his mouth. He was over by the roulette table in the middle of the room, soaking up the spotlight from his peers. It checked out with what Sasha had mentioned to her the other night, that the Giovanni rival was vainglorious and had a weakness for excess and women.

At the side, there was a raised platform cordoned off with a velvet rope, leading to a private area with its own lush booths and bar. The VIP section, Wynter presumed, and where her target was likely to be. If she had a penny for every Kindred who jealously guarded their prized vessels under the guise of plying them with freebies like this makeshift cage, she’d be swimming in even more cash by now.  

Casually, she fished out a cigarette, sauntering over to Ricardo, who had now moved over to the poker tables. Sighing breathily, she played the damsel in distress, “Don’t suppose you have a light?”

Spinning around, Ricardo’s surprise morphed into a leering smile as he ogled at Wynter. “For a bella ragazza like you? Anything!”

He sparked up his lighter as she leaned forward, puffing on her cigarette seductively, making sure he could catch a good glimpse of her coy, lowered lashes, and the tantalizing way she licked her parted lips.

“Are you alone, signorina?” he pried expectantly.

The corner of her mouth lifted into a half smile, deciding there was nothing more entertaining than letting him indulge in a contest of egos. “No, I’m accompanied by my Cousin.”

She noticed his olive green eyes widen as he clocked the title she used as one of his own, and then, the drop in his smile when she beckoned Sasha over.

“Cousin Sasha…” Ricardo greeted stiffly. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Neither did I.” Sasha smirked. “I couldn’t help but indulge the lady.”

Ricardo huffed out a scathing laugh. “Didn’t think she was your type, ragazzino.”

In any other circumstance, Sasha would have lost his temper, demanding that Ricardo explain the diminutive way he addressed him, and most importantly, what he was getting at with that backhanded slight. Yet the furtive glance that Wynter threw him made him realize the game she was playing. It was better for Ricardo to underestimate the two of them, and strike once he had let his guard down.

“Oh, you boys!” she teased, playfully patting the lapel of Ricardo’s suit. “Why don’t we gamble a little?”

She acquired a hefty stack of chips from the dealer at the table and the others followed suit. The mood eased up as they engaged in the poker game that was about to commence. To the men’s bemusement, no matter whether Wynter was winning or losing, she placed riskier and riskier bets with each round, as if she were living life on the fast lane, driving straight into a car crash without fear. Ricardo seemed to take a liking to her aggressive, flashy style of playing, experiencing a sense of exhilaration vicariously through her.

He touched her shoulder before sneaking his hand under her blazer to toy with her bow. “Say, why don’t you join me in the VIP lounge? I have something special to show you. Something I think you might enjoy…” he remarked suggestively.

Peering up at him, she batted her eyelashes and pouted. “Can Cousin come?”

Gingerly, he glanced between Sasha and Wynter, hesitating for a moment, but not wanting to lose out to the other Giovanni, he relented. “Sì, certo! He can watch, but not touch.” He laughed contemptuously, unable to resist shoehorning in another insult.

Sasha gritted his teeth, chainsmoking as he prayed that it wouldn’t be long until Ricardo met his well-deserved fate.

As they settled into a VIP booth, Ricardo called over a lady who appeared rather awkward and like a fish out of water, as if she were not used to the grandeur of such parties. “Don’t be shy! We won’t bite… yet,” he jested before introducing her to the two. “This is Emily.”

She nodded timidly, taking a seat beside him as she placed the cocktail she had been nursing on the table.

“Emily’s pretty talented. Aren’t you, piccola?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t—”

Ricardo cut her off, feigning ignorance. “She’s an understudy for an opera singer. Whatchamacallit again? Color— Colatu?”

“Coloratura soprano,” she corrected him nervously.

“Ahh, that’s it!” He gave a resounding clap before flagging down an assistant to arrange something for him.

Taking advantage of this opportune moment, Wynter focused on her Blood. Time seemed to stand still and in a fraction of a second, she dumped the contents of the vial into Emily’s drink, with both parties being none the wiser to her antics.

Emily grew flustered as Wynter gave her a cheeky wink, and she gulped down the remains from her glass for liquid courage. Satisfied, Wynter gazed at Sasha, blinking twice like a secret code they shared, and he mouthed the words “twenty minutes” in return.

Just then, Ricardo wrapped up his conversation with the assistant. Turning back to Wynter, he gestured toward Emily, as if displaying a piece of meat. “What do you think? Isn’t she so nice and refreshing?”

Wynter tilted her head coquettishly, agreeing with him. “Yes, she is. Couldn’t we go somewhere more private?” she asked, flirtatiously running the vamp of her heel up the length of his trouser leg. He bit his lip and took in a sharp breath. “I’d like to get to know each other better.”

Running a hand through his black tresses, he stood up, signaling to the staff to clear the table as he brought the group through the back stairs of the building, leading up to where his personal study was. As they walked in, Sasha and Wynter noticed that the room was soundproofed. A bunch of odd objects that didn’t quite fit into its aesthetic were lying around in a deliberate order. Their eyes darted toward the rope, a camera on a tripod stand, a scalpel, and a plastic sheet spread out on the ground.

Ricardo shut and locked the door behind him covertly before welcoming them into his private space. “Now, why don’t you stand in front of the camera, Emily? Entertain us with one of your concerto pieces, my little songbird,” he cooed, directing her to the spot.

By this point, she was moving fairly unsteadily, but still managed to get into position as the plastic crinkled under her feet. 

“My, my, aren’t you a lightweight,” Ricardo taunted, then turned his attention to Wynter. “Signorina— Ahh, my apologies. I believe I haven’t even asked for your name.”

She slinked over, pressing her finger to his lips, shushing him. “Perhaps I’ll reward you with it after we’ve had some fun.”

He kissed her finger and stroked her neck with a hint of menace behind his words. After all, he wasn’t the kind of man to be denied. “Oh, you will. I’ll make sure of it.”

Over his dead body, Sasha growled internally, as hatred for his rival and a feeling of protectiveness toward Wynter surged in his chest.

“As for you, Cousin Sasha. Stay right there and watch,” Ricardo ordered, as he pressed the record button on his camera. “You do anything stupid and I’ll have your legs broken, you hear me?”

Sasha clenched his fists, but nodded subserviently. It wasn’t long now until the real party would start. In fact, he was this close to getting what he was looking for.

“Emily!” Ricardo roared, as she let out a startled squeak in reply. “Haven’t I asked you to start singing?”

Instantly, she trilled the opening notes of the concerto. It wasn’t her best work, as her voice warbled, seemingly unfocused and unable to hit the right notes. Dismayed, Ricardo castigated, “What’s wrong with you? Here, I’ll give you some encouragement.”

Storming over, he grabbed her roughly by her hair, exposing her neck as he sank his fangs into it. However, as he drank from her, he felt something was amiss. Where were the bloodcurdling screams he so loved? Surely, he still suffered from the bane of his clan’s painful Kiss? Why was she slumping in his arms, in a catatonic state? What was—

He dropped her body to the floor, as sanguine fluids pumped out of the carotid arteries along her neck, splattering shades of red across the sheet like a work of art. “What the hell… W-what have you done?” he croaked, as he stumbled over Emily’s legs, trying to catch himself, but failing and tumbling into a heap.

Ricardo was unfamiliar with such a form of intoxication. Even when he’d gotten high off the blood of others, it was a fraction of what he was experiencing now. How could this be?

As if he’d read his mind, Sasha ambled over, snickering as he drew out his switchblade, flicking it open intimidatingly. “Ricky, Ricky, Ricky… Jeez, man, you never learn, do you? Who knew the Duskborn could be that ingenious, huh? Wow, I still can’t believe this shit actually worked! I mean, look at you. Pathetic!” he spat.

The whole time, Ricardo tried to scramble to his feet, but it felt as if his limbs were not cooperating, as if his body were no longer his, and he could only roll around from side to side. His spatial awareness was messed up, and he saw things as nearer or further away than they actually were.

Sasha rained blows on his face and gave him a couple of kicks to his stomach, taking out the pent-up frustration he had been holding back for ages onto his rival. Beaten and bruised, he lay there, quiet and unmoving.

“Cat got your tongue?” Sasha sneered, squatting down beside him. He aimed the switchblade at his face. “So, I’ll cut to the chase. You’ve got something my father wants real bad. Any idea where I could get my hands on it?”

“Fuck you, son of a bitch!” Ricardo yelled, though his speech was slurred.

“Wrong answer.”

The blade sliced his clothes like a hot knife through butter and Sasha quickly ripped off the rest of the fabric, chucking them and his shoes to the side, leaving Ricardo stark naked. Wynter had collected the rope, handing it to Sasha as he clutched his knife between his teeth, binding Ricardo’s wrists to a solid fixture.

“You see that thing there?” Sasha pointed to the tripod stand. “Thanks to you, the camera’s rolling. So, remember that you asked for it.” Gazing deeply into Ricardo’s eyes, he grounded himself, compelling him firmly. “Bark like a dog!” 

Suddenly, Ricardo stuck his tongue out, panting as saliva drooled down his chin. In abject obedience, he woofed and bellowed frantically like a hound. This went on for a few minutes, causing Sasha to howl with laughter, until he finally had enough and commanded him to stop. Wynter just sat on the desk, watching the proceedings dispassionately.

“Boy, am I going to have a field day with this footage,” Sasha remarked with glee. “Anyway, let’s try this again. Where the fuck is the item?”

Still, Ricardo would not budge. “Go fuck yourself! You, of all people, would never understand the true value of it, filthy peasant!”

In response, Sasha smacked him hard across the jaw and flew into rage, wrecking the entire room apart. He swiped everything he could find off the surfaces, smashing Ricardo’s possessions against the walls, yanking open and slamming shut drawers.

It was only when he came upon a particular cabinet that he discovered something of interest. He did a double take and chuckled in disbelief. The suction cup hissed as he removed the object from its upright position. The room had grown silent again as Ricardo looked away in embarrassment.

“You know, Ricky, I gotta wonder. Do you keep this thing here for yourself or others?” Sasha twirled the space blue dildo in his hand. It was enlarged, fleshy, and veiny, and the silicone wobbled as it moved in the air. “Tell you what, why don’t we take it for a little spin, shall we?”

He tossed the dildo up and down, letting it land square each time on his open palm, as he strolled toward Ricardo who had closed his eyes, refusing to meet his gaze. As Sasha grazed the tip of the dildo along his chest, Ricardo whimpered and tried to break free of his binds, but his actions were groggy and sluggish.

“Shh, shh, shhh…” The dildo circled around his nipples before dragging along his navel and happy trail. “I’m beginning to think I’m going too easy on you,” Sasha jeered as he placed the tip at the base of Ricardo’s ass.

Out of reflex, Ricardo moaned, shifting his hips as he pressed down against the dildo, wanting to take more of it in. Then, upon realizing what he had done, he jerked away in horror, attempting to curl up into a ball. But Sasha gripped his thighs, splaying his legs apart. Ricardo’s hardened erection, weeping with precum was bared on screen for the video recording.

“For all your self-proclaimed maschismo, this is what you really enjoy, huh? Priceless.” Sasha cackled, as he headed toward the camera. “Just gonna zoom in and send it—”

“No! No! Please!” Ricardo interjected. “I’ll give you what you want, just don’t…” His voice died as he choked out dry sobs, utterly humiliated by the turn of events.

Through his muffled instructions, they found his hidden safe, warded and sealed, where the item was held. To Sasha’s disappointment, all that he retrieved was an empty, plain bronze box.

“This is what my father wants?” he stated incredulously.

Ricardo could only scoff in response.

Wynter peered at it closely, humming as things clicked into place. “It’s not about what’s inside…”

Spurred on by her suggestion, Sasha followed her train of thought and finished her sentence. “... but about what it can contain.”

“Hmm, interesting.” He thumbed the edges of it before putting it into his pocket for safekeeping. Taking the camera off the stand, he switched it off, slinging the strap flagrantly around his neck. “Suits me, doesn’t it? Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone about your little secret if you back off from what is rightfully mine.”

With that, the party was over and Sasha and Wynter strode out into the early hours of twilight. Dawn was approaching, but as Sasha had promised, he gave her the rest of the documents she required along with the valuable tip-off.

“So, you’re gonna win your old man over?” She gestured to the box.

“Eh, I dunno!” He shrugged, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. Sometimes, he wished Matheo would see in him a worthy heir, but that dream seemed to be slipping further and further away.

She thought back on a piece of advice that had been offered to her long ago, and paraphrased it with her own. “If he won’t give it to you, you grab it with both hands. Capisci?”

Sasha smiled fondly before breaking out into a warm laugh. “Sì, amica. Next time we meet, I’ll be the boss.”

Just as she was about to hit the road, he called out, “Hey, Wynter! In bocca al lupo. For that shit with Carlo.”

“Crepi.” She nodded. “You got any special requests?”

He grinned like a fox. “Tell the motherfucker, ‘Sasha sends his greetings.’”

What the actual fuck are you supposed to do with that compliment?

It’s been half an hour since, and you're still thinking about it, replaying the moment on repeat in your head. You try and fail not to make anything of it, reminding yourself that he doesn't want you. He left. He wanted to sleep with you, but didn't want your stupid feelings, that’s all.

So why are you losing your mind over a silly little compliment?

It doesn't help that everywhere you two go around the gala he introduces you as his wife with a smile way too proud to be anything professional. And then there’s his hand that keeps hovering right at the small of your back. Never quite touching—no, he wouldn't dare after everything—but it's there nonetheless, under the guise of playing the married couple role.

You wish you could have a drink to loosen your nerves, but you know you can't do that on the job. So, instead, you decide to head to the bar for a mocktail to at least cool your heated self down.

Leon is immediately on your tail, his tall figure looming right behind you. He’s so close, you feel his breath ghost over your nape when you momentarily stop to clear the way for a gala attendee to pass. He’s like a damn puppy, following you like he’ll lose you if he doesn't. He kind of looks like one too, with his stupidly beautiful blue eyes he keeps not-so-discreetly eyeing you with.

Once at the bar, you lean over the counter to call for the busy mixologist’s attention, but a hand comes to brace on the wood beside you, the warmth of a broad chest radiating on your back as Leon practically cages you in.

“I got it,” he murmurs way too close to your ear and causes you to shiver.

You stay silent, watching as he orders your favorite virgin drink without missing a beat, then stays nearly pressed to you until the beverage arrives and he takes half a step back.

Lifting the glass up to take a sip, you can see him observing you intently from the corner of your eye. His gaze is fixated on your mouth like he's a second away from replacing the cup with his lips.

You finally snap.

“Can you stop staring at me?”

Leon nearly chokes on air, and he feels his cheeks redden as he turns to look away towards the large expanse of the luxurious ballroom.

“Sorry…” he mutters under his breath, feeling like the world’s biggest idiot. But he can't help adding quietly, “...can't help it.”

The scoff you make in response makes him wince, and he knows you have every right to be upset, or even cuss him out, and he will take it in stride.

But it's true that he can't stop himself from staring at you.

Hell, he can't even bring himself to stand more than a foot away, and he's starting to wonder if there is some kind of official diagnosis for this ridiculous condition he’s in. It’s like every bit of yearning he was already experiencing for weeks has been turned to the max after a single night with you.

Plus, he was drunk the entire past day and a half, and now that he is mostly sober, all he can think about is how much he regrets walking away the morning prior. Even if he still wholeheartedly believes you shouldn't be with someone as broken as him.

“Unbelievable…” you mutter, shaking your head.

Leon is a fairly sizable man, but right now he feels as small as a mouse under your disappointed gaze. He knows he’s acting unfair after practically rejecting you, but he himself has no idea what he's thinking other than the fact he’s head over heels for you.

He steals another glance your way, despite your chastising remark, and feels his chest tighten in a feeling he can only describe as all-consuming want.

He wants you.

God, he wants you so bad it hurts.

He wants you emotionally, physically—fucking spiritually—he wants it all. And right now, just the sight of you is both killing him and reviving him all at once.

Your dress fits you like sin, your perfume is intoxicating, your lipstick tantalizing, and the slit that reveals your leg with every step is entirely mouth-watering.

“There's Adams,” you mutter with a small gesture of your chin.

Oh. Right. The mission.

How the fuck is he supposed to complete this stupid mission?

Leon turns to see the man you're pointing to, and sure enough, Marcus Adams is standing with a group of fancy-dressed people. He’s chattering and laughing with a champagne flute in hand like everything is okay in the world.

“Alright. I guess we’ll have to stay close to the bastard, then.”

With a shared nod, you both stride in the direction of the group, then discreetly stand close enough to attempt to catch any valuable piece of conversation.

The room is too loud, however, and the guests and music are too noisy. Plus, Leon smells too good and that makes you even more irritated than you already were by his weird behavior.

How hypocritical that he would act like this after running away like a wanted criminal. He’s so lucky you're working, because if you didn't have to be here you sure as hell would not put up with another minute of this.

Huffing, you try to concentrate on your listening senses, straining to make out the voice of Adams with a particular red-headed man he seems to be in deep discussion with. Then, someone suddenly bumps into you, and you find yourself propelled into the chest that was unsurprisingly standing too close.

Leon immediately catches you with both hands on your waist, and you feel your knees go physically weak from his proximity. He checks on you with a small head tilt, and when you nod to signal you’re okay, he looks up to see the man that just collided into you, not even stop to apologize.

Balding, sporting a white mustache, and appearing to be well into his seventies, he does not stop in his steps until he joins the group of high society you were listening in on. You recognize him as one of the main owners of the hotel, Edd Chastain.

“Fucking geezer,” the ash blonde agent scoffs, almost debating making a scene if not for the mission.

He doesn't retract his hands off you, even when he’s well aware you're alright. If it had been before Friday night, he would not be nearly as bold. But that night changed things forever, and as much as he hates himself for acting like a moron, the urge to keep you close is taking over him.

You, on the other hand, are not so willing to stay so close since you're aware of just how you stupid you get around him. So, you place your hands on his, feeling him squeeze your waist like he’s refusing to let go, before begrudgingly releasing his hold on you.

“Sorry,” he apologizes for the second time tonight, his fingers twitching at his sides in need to touch you again.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom, you stay here and keep watch,” you mutter and walk away before he can protest.

After a short washroom break, you emerge back out into a quiet hallway, fiddling with the tiny purse that Hunnigan managed to stuff with inconspicuous spyware.

Surrounding you, the dark marble on the walls and floor is reflective like mirrors, and you catch the flash of copper hair on the shining tile. When you turn, you realize it's the red-headed man from earlier passing by. This could be the perfect opportunity to approach him, and maybe catch a smidge of intel on Adams and the group of elites.

Before you can even think of a way to strike conversation, he notices you, and walks your way with a sheepish smile.

“Sorry about my dad earlier.”

Confused, you tilt your head in question, “pardon?”

He chuckles, sliding his hands into his pockets, the black tuxedo he’s wearing perfectly tailored to his slim frame.

“The man with the mean mustache that bumped into you back there… that was my old man,” he grins.

“Oh!” you exclaim as it finally clicks, and you thank the stars for the perfect opportunity to spark a social exchange. “No worries, it’s fine, really. I just assumed he didn't see me.”

“Oh, he did… Trust me, someone like you is hard to miss.” The man shakes his head, the playful smile on his face unwavering. Then, he extends a hand, his golden cufflinks catching in the sconces’ light. “Edward Isaac Chastain The Third. But you can call me Eddy.”

You take his hand, giving it a firm shake with a polite smile. “Sarah. Sarah Crawford.”

Up close, you can estimate him to be in his early forties, silver strands streaking his amber hair. There’s no ring on his finger, and you wonder if he’s truly unmarried or if he’s hiding it, if the way he’s looking at you is anything to go by.

Eddy keeps the contact for a second longer than necessary before retrieving his palm, a pensive look on his dark brown eyes.

“The man that was with you, that’s your…”

“Husband,” you finish for him, the word tasting bittersweet on your tongue.

“Right…” He nods slowly, then smiles wide, a cocky confidence radiating off him. “Well, again, sorry about pops. I’d love to get you and your husband a drink from the special cabinet to make up for it. The Chastains get a private stash.”

Bingo. And you didn't even have to try.

“That's really kind, I would love that,” you beam, softening your voice into a borderline flirty tone. “But, if it's alright with you, it’ll be just me… My husband isn't much of a drinker.”

“Oh, it's more than alright with me…” he looks you up and down appreciatively, then gestures to the elevators nearby. “This way please, we have a private lounge on the 8th floor—that’s where you’ll get the best wine.”

“By all means, lead the way.”

With that, he presses the ‘up’ button on the wall that lights up in a red glow, then scratches his goatee beard with a smirk when you come to stand beside him.

Further down the hallway, you don't see the agent that came looking for you because he couldn't stay away no matter how much he tried.

Leon freezes in his steps when he sees you standing with the scrawny looking ginger, the both of you clearly heading somewhere without his knowledge.

A sudden overwhelming feeling of discomfort encompasses him. He knows he has felt jealous before, like the night you came back from your friend’s place, but this is so much worse as he's forced to watch. He finds himself wondering yet again when did he turn into such a possessive primitive creature?

He’s not even the jealous type. Never has been. And yet, the feeling is so strong, he can sense his chest physically constricting as he eyes you smiling sweetly at the asshole next to you. Associating with Adams is enough reason not to like him, but flirting with you? Now he’s just asking for it.

Leon is about to march directly to you to see what the hell this is all about, when you catch him in your peripheral vision and make a discreet gesture with your hand. He observes your movement intently, and understands you’re signaling for him to stay back so you can handle this on your own. You must have found a way to extract information, because of course you did. You have always been great at disarming men—him included.

The elevator dings, and Eddy gestures for you to head inside. “After you,” he drawls in a husky tone, and you respond with a cheeky smile.

Standing in place just like you instructed, Leon has to control every cell in his body not to move, knowing that he needs to prioritize the mission before any personal feelings of debilitating jealousy.

But then, he catches the man’s hand grazing your lower back—something even he didn't dare to do… And he was the one thrusting inside you less than 48 hours ago.

Yeah, no, fuck the mission.

Eddy presses the button for the 8th floor and the doors slowly slide to shut with his hand still insistently placed on you. Internally, you’re cringing at how easy it is for a man to act like a complete creep just because a woman talked to him. At least it makes the job easier.

Right as you're about to compliment his shoes to make him even more pliant, a hand shoots between the metal doors that were inches away from closing, and Leon waltzes in like he owns the damn lift.

“Honey, I was looking for you,” he says with a smile too tight to be anything but fake.

You feel irritation rise at his sudden hijacking of the operation that was going so smoothly, and you notice Eddy retrieving his hand like he wasn't just feeling you up.

“Oh, darling,” you grit out the word with barely contained anger, “I was just getting to know Mr. Chastain here. He says they have the best wine upstairs.”

“Oh, please, just Eddy.” The redhead offers a handshake with a still cocky smile that Leon returns with a strong grip, grinning even wider. Though, you notice the twitch of fury at the corner of his mouth.

“Well, Eddy, I’m Logan. But you can call me Mr. Crawford

Next chapter coming soon.

jealousleonjealousleonjealousleonjealousleonnnnn need himmmmm need him injected into my veinsssss

CW: some gore and violence.

Nora, Ashley, and Luis follow Leon as he leads the group with tense shoulders and a pointed gun. The moon is high in the sky by this point, and the agent has to use a flashlight to illuminate their surroundings of trees and rocky grounds. The Spaniard, who is at the tail end of the group with his own pistol raised, is serving as a guide as he instructs the bunch where to go.

Many thoughts run through Nora’s head as damp leaves stick to her sneakers in her steps. She hasn't spoken a word to the agent, and she does not plan to unless strictly necessary. But she wonders how long she can keep up the façade that nothing happened. The others don't know what he did, they don't know who really is, and she doesn't know if keeping quiet is the smart or stupid thing to do.

A sudden hacking cough shakes Ashley’s body, her hand coming up to her mouth where blood sputters onto her palm. The alarming sight attracts the attention of the others, with Luis frowning in a knowing look.

“You’re infected too…” he murmurs, then glances at Leon. “Between you and Sancho, we have our hands full, eh?”

Nora places a comforting hand on the young woman’s back as a look of panic flashes through the latter’s eyes. “Infected?” she squeaks in fear.

“Sí, with the plaga… The thing that the villagers have that makes them worship Saddler. We call them ganados—cattle.”

The term rings a bell in Leon’s mind, and he recalls it as one of the first things Nora said to him while he pointed a gun in her face. The memory makes something inside him twist. 

He is fully aware she is not addressing him on purpose, which, in many ways he is grateful for. He can barely look her in the eye without feeling the intense urge to blow himself up in shame. The worst part is that Luis and Ashley seem to be completely unaware of what he’s done, which implies she has not exposed his rotting insides to the others just yet.

“I could get you medicine to help delay the symptoms, but that would mean going into Salazar’s castle…” the biologist continues, looking between the two blondes. “And I don't know about you, but I would rather not go back to the local crazyhouse.”

“So what then? I-I’ll just turn into one of them?” Ashley shudders at the horrifying thought.

“No, there is a solution… You see, at the early stage of infection, there's still a chance for a cure. I happen to have equipment made specifically to get rid of the parasite, and I’ve tested it on myself—it works.” Luis pulls at the collar of his leather jacket to reveal a faint scar on his chest.

“Wait, you too?” Leon frowns as he looks over the line marking the man’s tanned skin.

Before the Spaniard can respond, a rustling of leaves in the darkness prompts the group to go quiet and the agent to turn off his light. They crouch, trying to make out the source of the noise through the foliage, when a chilling voice resounds between the trees.

“I know you’re here, Luis. You’re not as sneaky as you think you are.”

Nora feels her heart stop at the sound of Krauser’s rough timber, and she subconsciously reaches to grip Luis’s forearm. The latter barely notices, his own heart thundering in his chest, but it's the agent beside him that does see it, his eyes fixating on the movement for a split second before looking away.

“I’ll make a deal for you. If you hand me the girl and the amber, I won't make it too painful—call it a mercy kill... Which is more than what a rat like you deserves.”

The voice is growing closer, and Leon knows they will eventually be found, especially with the way Ashley is trembling so hard you can nearly hear her bones clatter. He steals another glance at Nora, taking note of her eyes still puffy from all the crying she has undoubtedly gone through, and then he makes a decision.

“The three of you go. I’ll deal with him.”

“I appreciate the heroics, amigo, but I really don’t think you should take on that guy alone,” Luis answers in a hushed whisper.

“I can talk to him, or stall him, at least. You, on the other hand, are his target. So get out of here, and keep them safe. Now.”

The stubbled man finally agrees with a click of his tongue, and after he’s handed spare ammunition from Leon, he eclipses between the bushes with Ashley and Nora right behind.

The latter does not let her mind dwell on the agent’s selfless act even for a second. She doesn't believe a thing about his supposed saint-like persona anymore. So even as they escape thanks to him, she chooses not to concern herself with Krauser finding him—or at least she tries not to.

Leon, watching the others leave and the threatening man approaching, turns his flashlight back on to attract the latter’s attention on him. Sure enough, only a few seconds pass until the ex-commander appears before him in a sudden jump. It’s supernatural the way he leaps into view with so much speed, and Leon quickly understands the man must have abnormal abilities.

“Long time no see, rookie,” Krauser chuckles darkly, his ice blue eyes piercing through Leon’s despite the LED’s flash that should be blinding him.

“Major.” The shorter blonde’s answer is quipped, his jaw locked tight with tension. “Can I ask what you're doing here?” 

“You don't look too surprised to see me rise from the dead…,” the other smiles wickedly. “Were you expecting me?” 

Leon does not answer, instead, he lifts his hand with the intention to aim his gun, but his old mentor moves in a blink, and suddenly, there’s a knife to the agent’s throat.

“Too slow. Didn't I teach you better?” Krauser drawls with a head tilt. He then proceeds to twist the gun out of Leon’s grasp, and kicks him with a powerful foot to the chest that launches him a few feet into the air, just for his body to thud violently on the rocky ground with a roll.

Leon groans in pain as he rotates to his side, the air knocked out of his lungs from the force of the hit. Any suspicions he may have had about Krauser’s superpowered capabilities are confirmed—that was no normal kick.

“We’re just getting started, rookie.” The tall man approaches with slow, confident steps, twisting and turning the knife in his hand like he has all the time in the world. The flashlight that rolled onto the dirt from the attack illuminates his face in harsh shadows that accentuate his sharp features, and somehow, makes him look even more frightening.

With a labored grunt, Leon stands with a stagger, unsheathing his own knife. His chest hurts with every ragged breath he takes as he gets into position for a bloody fight.

“Are you being controlled by the cult?” he hisses between clenched teeth.

The appearance of the man before him is still something he has a hard time believing. He remembers the last time he saw him, two years prior, when they had just survived a gruesome mission where the major faced BOWs for the first time in his life.

Leon, having survived the horrors of Raccoon City, was already well versed in monster fighting, which put him at an advantage despite being a rookie. His skills came especially handy when the government abandoned them for dead, forcing them to face the nightmare alone.

In the end, the agent received news of Krauser’s death in an accident a few weeks after the mission, to his great chagrin. Now, however, the man standing in front of him seems to be nothing like the one that taught him everything.

“This has nothing to do with them. I am a free man, and I have made my own choice. Something you still don't seem to get, do you? You government puppet,” Krauser spits venomously. Then, he moves for a quick attack that Leon barely manages to parry, their blades clattering against each other like swords. 

The younger man retaliates with a slash to the other’s arm that has him jerking back, which allows the agent to roundhouse kick him to the floor. Krauser lets out a pained sound when he falls to his knee, his red beret flying off his head.

“Is that what this is about? Some fucked-up illusion of free will?” 

“No, no, no, rookie… This is not an illusion. This is true power.” The major slowly stands, a look of pure hatred on his scarred face. “What they did to us two years ago—killing our men without mercy. Don't tell me you forgot already?”

He accentuates his point with another attempt at a vicious attack, this time succeeding when he cuts the skin on the dark blonde’s forearm.

“Of course I didn't,” Leon grits out, parrying another strike that came right after the previous one. “But hurting innocents is… unforgivable.”

That last word tastes like acid on his tongue. He fully knows that if Krauser is damned, then so is he. The image of Nora bent over his lap flashes through his mind for a split second, when a kick to his knee jolts him out of his thoughts.

The burly man snickers at the sight of Leon staggering back. “You’re still a kid holding on to fantasies of what's right and wrong.” He shakes his head, his eyes glacial with vitriol. “They used devastating power on us, what's wrong with wanting the same for myself?”

“You’ve lost it completely, Krauser,” Leon scoffs in disappointment.

Their knives clash, their fists connect, and every move that one pulls is matched by the other. Like two sides of one coin, their quick motions mirror each other in a violent display of highly skilled combat, until a distant scream freezes Leon in place. 

He knows that voice.

Krauser uses the opportunity to lacerate his thigh and knock him back with a kick of his boot—hard enough he hits his head against a tree trunk on impact.

“Looks like America’s sweetheart is still nearby. I hope you don't mind me cutting our date short, golden boy, but I have important affairs to attend to.”

Through his blurry vision and concussed brain, Leon sees the platinum blonde turn on his heels, and stride in the direction of who he believes to be Ashley. But the agent knows—that scream is one he couldn't forget if he wanted, its tune burned into his memory from mere hours ago. 

Nora is in danger. 

Clearly, Luis did not succeed in protecting her, and now everything is about to turn to shit when Krauser finds them—finds her. 

Leon can't let that happen. Not when he’s the reason she’s here in the first place.

While making their way in the dark, weaving between trees and bushes, Nora, Ashley, and Luis try to be as silent as they can not to attract attention. In the background, they can hear pained grunts and blades colliding, indicating a gruesome fight between the ex-soldiers.

Suddenly, an involuntary shriek is ripped out of the tanned woman when the skin on her ankle is pierced by jagged teeth. When she looks down in shock, she finds her foot caught in a bear trap, the rusted metal digging wounds into her skin.

“¡Joder!” the Spaniard exclaims at the sight, rushing to her side in a skid.

Ashley covers her mouth in horror as the other woman continues to whimper in pain and panic. “Oh my God,” the blonde chokes out behind her palm.

But then, an eerie silence falls on the woods, and the trio quickly realizes the distant fight has stopped, which could only mean Krauser is now coming their way.

“¡Mierda, mierda, mierda!” Luis curses frantically as he attempts to pull at the metallic jaws, but that only results in Nora wailing again.

“J-Just leave it—you need to go!” she pleads in a trembling voice, tears already pooling at the rims of her almond eyes.

The brunette shakes his head frantically. “Are you crazy?! ¡No te abandonaré!”

Despite the intense dread and pain, Nora is able to make a quick calculation in her mind to figure out their chances of survival. She knows Krauser needs Ashley for the cult’s plan, as well as the infamous amber containing a powerful plaga specimen. And she knows the moment he sees Luis, he will be the first one to be murdered, without hesitation.

If the two leave, however, Krauser will find her and most likely kill her instead. But, if she's ‘lucky’ he might infect her so she joins the rest of the zealots in servitude of Saddler. 

With the decision made in mind, she tugs at Luis’s jacket urgently. “You need to leave and take Ashley to your lab. Please just go!”

“W-wait, how do you know about my lab?” he frowns mid-panic, still refusing to move.

Finding herself in a desperate situation, she calls for a desperate measure, and slaps Luis square on the cheek as hard as she can. 

“I’m telling you to fucking go!!”

He sucks in a sharp breath, completely taken aback by the stinging strike, but that finally manages to get him to cooperate as he begrudgingly stands.

“No te mueras,” he pleads, before finally pulling Ashley’s crying self along with him.

As she sits there, bleeding, trapped like an animal, all she finds herself hoping is that Krauser will make it quick. She's suffered enough for the day.

“What do we have here?” his chilling voice suddenly rasps from behind her. “You’re not who I was expecting.”

Nora doesn't answer, keeping her eyes on her injured leg, as if meeting his gaze would be fatal. She can hear him approach, until his combat boots plant themselves in front of her, his looming figure blocking out the moonlight.

“Krauser!” Leon’s voice calls out in the distance, prompting the big man to snicker.

“Aw, the government’s lap dog is being a hero again. Looks like he’s trying to save you from me. How noble.”

He crouches, examining her trembling form and where the metal teeth are keeping her in place, not caring for the agent running towards them in labored breaths. 

Krauser knows Leon is too concussed to be a real threat at the moment. So, with a dark smile etched on his hardened face, he yanks open the trap abruptly with his bare hands, grinning wider when Nora makes a blood curdling scream.

Through her teary vision, she sees him throw away the metallic device with a clunk, then reach for her throat with a large hand that encircles her neck with ease. Her heart drops in her stomach at the first squeeze to her airways, her hands scrambling to pry his grip open to no avail.

Slowly but surely, dark spots cloud her sight, her body growing limp, and the last thing she hears is Leon’s frantic “don’t touch her!” before her consciousness fades to black.

Nora stirs from a tormented sleep at the sound of clinking chains. Her head pounds in throbbing beats, her muscles so exhausted she can't bring herself to move, and for a moment, she wonders if she is finally truly awake and back in the real world.

Until, a strained voice calls out to her.

“Nora, please wake up.”

She recognizes its owner immediately, the sound being associated with warmth and comfort in the deepest nooks of her brain despite his betrayal. The overwhelming wave of memories of everything that happened washes over her, and she feels a sudden urge to throw up.

At the sight of her face twisting in nausea, Leon sighs in relief, tugging at his chains once again to keep her awake.

“Thank God…” he whispers in gratitude.

His wrists behind his back are chaffed raw from the metal restraints digging into his skin, and his legs are bound together in a way that forces him to stay kneeled. He can't believe this is the second time he’s been chained during this neverending nightmare of a mission, but his own discomfort matters little to him at the moment. All his worry is focused on the young woman that was left laid on the bare floor. 

Krauser had threatened to break her neck earlier the moment he realized Leon valued her life. Which then allowed him to order the agent to strip himself of his weapons and proceeded to knock him out as well. They were both unconscious as he brought them to a private island not far from the northern Spanish shore, where Osmund Saddler is headquartered and the plagas research is conducted. The fortified island being protected by a militia of gun-wielding ganado soldiers, makes escape a nearly insurmountable challenge.

Now, as Leon tugs repeatedly on the chain bolted to the wall, he can't help but steadily feel hope drain when he realizes just how fucked the situation is. Blood that was dried on his forehead slowly washes down with his beading sweat, and his heartbeat continues to be frantic no matter how much he tries to steady himself.

The one consolation in the midst of everything, are the secure bandages around Nora’s wounded ankle that Krauser seemingly treated. Though, it does not take a genius to figure out it’s because he wants her alive and healthy for ulterior use.

When she sits up slowly, rubbing her pounding head, she realizes that unlike the man before her, she wasn't chained. Perhaps Krauser knows how little of a threat she represents in comparison.

“Are you okay?” Leon asks softly, his worried eyes searching her face.

Naturally, she doesn’t respond, only pursing her lips in a way that has him lowering his gaze quickly. He doesn't dare speak again despite all the things he wishes he could say. 

He wants to apologize profusely and beg for forgiveness. He wants to promise he will do everything to protect her and keep her safe. He wants to explain just how much his identity was broken by the reveal of the nature of his world. But he knows none of his excuses, apologies, or promises are worth saying out loud. Not when none of them can change the past.

From the corner of his eye, he can see her take in her surroundings in the empty concrete box of a room they're being kept in. There is nothing of use around—he checked already, so all he can do for now is pull at his chains in hopes of loosening them.

The heavy, metal door in the corner suddenly opens with a creak, and Krauser’s large body fills the frame as he enters and shuts the gate behind him. He looks between his two captives, a ghost of a smirk on his lips when he finds them both awake, before he moves to Nora.

“Krauser!” Leon exclaims in a mix of panic and anger as the man completely ignores him.

He snickers when the young woman backs away in fear, when he comes to an abrupt stop just to crouch in front of her. He reaches to graze his fingers on her bandaged leg in mock gentleness, before retreating his hand just as fast.

“You’re very lucky that old, rusty trap wasn't firm enough to break your little bones.”

Nora trembles in her place, her teary eyes tracing his sharp features in fear, and she finds herself glancing at Leon in reprieve—just or a split second, before looking down at the floor.

“What's your name, little girl?”

She shudders at the nickname, and wishes nothing more than to spit at his feet, but knows better than to disobey.

“N-Nora…”

Krauser looks her up and down, assessing, before he gestures to the chained man with a head tilt. 

“How do you two know each other?”

The odd question makes her pause. She’s not sure why he would be interested in that information, but then she remembers his canonical obsession with Leon. Hell, everyone in the fandom found it funny that he casually keeps on his person a picture of the agent. Though at this moment, his unhinged behavior is frightening and not in the least bit amusing anymore.

“We j-just met,” she whispers shakily.

Krauser tuts in disapproval and wraps a hand around her ankle, which causes her to startle and makes Leon pull so hard on the metal he can feel his wrists bleed.

“Don't fucking touch her!” 

The large man continues ignoring him, keeping the threatening grasp on Nora’s wounded limb as he leans closer.

“Don't lie to me, you stupid girl. I can tell when I’m being lied to.”

Her mind races to figure out an answer that will satisfy his anger. She did not exactly lie, but it is true that she knew Leon for years before their meeting. However, the true reason for Krauser’s suspicions must be the agent’s intensely nervous behavior. Sure, he would be upset if any other innocent was in her place, but not to the extent he’s displaying.

When she doesn't answer quickly enough to his liking, the grip on her bandages tightens enough to make her hiss as he scoffs.

“He was crying like a pussy over you, so don't sell me that bullshit—”

“If you fucking hurt her, I swear to Christ—” Krauser is interrupted by Leon’s raging threat, every muscle in the latter’s body painfully tensed up.

The older man turns his head slowly to look at him past his broad shoulder, a sadistic twinkle in his eyes at the sight of the agitated agent.

“You seem a little too worked up, soldier. Are you scared I’ll do something she won't like?”

Leon seethes, his jaw clenching hard enough he might crack his teeth before he spits out, “I just didn't think you’d be interested since you play for the other team anyway.”

The large man’s eyes widen, and he suddenly releases his hold to stand, striding fast towards his old mentee with clenched fists and flaring nostrils. Nora watches the scene unfold in terror, holding her knees against her chest to make herself smaller in hopes they forget her presence.

“Say that again?” Krauser challenges when he comes to a halt in front of Leon.

“You heard me, Major.” 

The title is spoken with so much sarcastic contempt, it makes the ex-commander’s left eye twitch.

“You think you're real smart, don't you, pretty boy?” His ice blues shoot like lasers, and he leans closer until he can whisper intimately in the other’s ear. “We’ll see how smart you’ll be when the parasite turns you into my personal little bitch.”

Leon’s breathing stutters at the suggestive implication, and his mind scrambles for a retort, when his hair is suddenly yanked back by Krauser’s firm grip.

“It’s not like you’ll be able to complain then. And neither will she,” he snorts in sadistic delight, tightening his hold in the blonde locks. “I think you two make a good pair. I can keep you in rotation—have a different kind of entertainment every night… Then we all can play for all the teams, huh, rookie? What do you say?” 

Leon mutters something between clenched teeth that Krauser can't make out. When he pulls back to ask him to repeat himself, the agent responds by spitting crudely on his scarred face, saliva splattering on his hardened features.

Nora gasps behind her palm, knowing that the punishment for such a devious act is going to be severe. And sure enough, a violent crack of knuckles resounds loudly against Leon’s delicate features, the sound so harsh it makes the woman squeeze her eyes shut with a flinch.

With his body thudding hard onto his side from the force of the hit, he spits out blood onto the concrete, pain radiating through the entire left side of his face. But despite the agony, there's an unmistakable smile on his lips over successfully getting under his old mentor’s skin.

The latter stands over him with trembling fists, fury radiating off him with every rise and fall of his chest, and at the sight of Leon’s bloodied grin, he bends to grab him by the collar to deliver more pain. 

Then, right as his fist rises threateningly, a loud boom fills the room in a deafening blast that breaks the eastern wall and shakes the ground brutally. Krauser staggers to the ground from the force, pieces of concrete and debris flying everywhere. A hot cloud of dust engulfs the three, and it's only after a moment that the loud noise settles to be replaced by their coughs. 

With burning lungs, Nora slowly peers into the scene when she lowers her shielding arms. There, in the opening that has just been created by the fiery explosion, stands none other than the great Ada Wong, a grenade launcher resting on her shoulder.

Next chapter coming soon.

- Leon looooooves morning sex. He always wakes up with wood, and you’re so cute when you’re drowsy. It’s so easy and comfortable to pull your pliable thighs apart while kissing the back of your shoulder. He’d make sure you acknowledged him consciously, then slip his still hardening cock into you.

- he’s totally a slut for your sounds and the noises you make, and Leon would be extra into your sleepy moans. The way you’d be a little bit more breathy.

- you’re also both needier than usual. Taking you from behind, he’d keep one hand on your chest, pinching and playing absently. The other hand would wrap around your throat. He would squeeze every so often, eliciting sweet whimpers from you, and making you both throb.

- Leon, who usually is a big talker, even if it’s often nonsensical praise and compliments, is quieter during these morning sessions. When the sun is low, and your shared room is still dim. The words he does say are more meaningful. Everything feels more meaningful, more intimate, more passionate. He tells you how much he loves waking up to you every day, and how your body was designed for him.

- or what if you wake him up?

Imagine: He just got back from a mission. It was rough. It’s always rough. He’s basically been asleep for 3 days. You see the pain on his face during the short times he’s awake. It’s starting to dim, now that he’s been in safety for a few days, but you can’t bear to see him in so much pain without being able to help him.

you decide to relieve some stress for him. He’s asleep, of course he is, so you swiftly undress, and climb into your bed. He can sleep through anything, so you wonder how long it will take him to wake up for this?

you pull the blanket back and find him in only boxers. It’s easy to slip his thick cock out and you’re rewarded with a soft puff from his perfect lips. You’d missed him while he was gone, and he’d been recovering for 3 whole days, you felt like you were practically salivating looking as his heavy length.

It doesn’t take long, even in sleep, for Leon to harden, and for you to start working him down your throat. The noises he makes are bliss, spurring you to take him deeper. You can hear them shift along with his stages of sleep. When he finally peaks into wakefulness, you feel his fingers drowsily drag through your hair. A pleased hum and some sleepy thrusts from him have you feeling satisfied with yourself.

- or what about after he’s fucked you, cum and sweat dripping into a pool between you. Leon’s arms like a cage, pressing you against his heaving chest as he comes down. His cock softens, but with his size, it stays in you easily. He nuzzles his head into your shoulder, much to your disdain

“No no, Leon, don’t you dare, I want to clean up!” You push against his chest, soft curls giving way to solid muscle.

“Jus’a min, love, you feel so good.” You already know you’ve lost. His words are drowsy. His pacing slowed. He could fall asleep fast normally, but right after he came several times from pounding you into oblivion, he could fall asleep at light speed.