𝖔𝖗𝖈𝖍𝖎𝖉

"Easy, easy now...calm down. You're safe."

“Who the hell are you-“ you question in fright at his fanged teeth.

He gave a slight frown, eyes shifting a bit as he studied you.

“This is my home, your wounds…you’ve been here just short of a day.”

He explained, keeping his distance to not further frighten you- pointing to your abdomen.

“You're- a vampire?!!”

He chuckled slightly, not amused by the fear in your eyes but understanding your reaction”

"Half vampire, actually” He went on, “But I mean you no harm, you have my word."

“You could be lying”.

He raised an eyebrow, a hint of irritation in his voice at the accusation

"You'll have to trust me on that, won't you? If I wanted to hurt you, I could've done so long ago. You were passed out and bleeding on your horse's back."

Realization hit you, his arms crossing over his chest as you stay silent in protest.

"You were quite injured, I patched you up the best I could and kept you in this room to rest. Please allow me to heal you back to health completely.”

You stay in the corner of the bed with your hands clutched onto the thick fur blanket. You give him a nod, accepting his proposal, although reluctantly.

He nods back, sensing the fear and uncertainty radiating off of you but appreciative that you aren’t too stubborn.

"It would've been wrong to leave you to bleed out in the woods." He said, slowing returning to the fire and book.

“I didn’t know vampires had morality.” You retort, slipping out of your mouth without much thought.

He but only chuckles, you can almost hear his smile as he speaks, low and soft.

“I’ve had my share of…distasteful humans. But your horse made a good case for you, you know.”

You have to almost stop a smile- becoming more comfortable by the second with his seeming civility.

Not too comfortable, though, feeling the bandages around your waist.

He looks back and sees you touching them through your shirt.

“Can I see them?” He asks, walking closer to you now with a voice of concern.

You nod.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, being careful not to touch you unnecessarily, reaching out and gently unwrapping the bandages, his movements slow and deliberate as he revealed the wounds beneath.

You wince slightly at the cool air hitting your broken skin, your stomach flexing inwards and your lungs expanding.

He pauses for a moment as you flinch, his eyes flicking up to your face.

"I'm sorry, I'll be gentle," he says softly before continuing to unwrap the bandages, revealing the cuts and gashes on your body. His expression hardened again as he took in the extent of your injuries, his fingers tracing lightly over the wounds, gentle and steady.

“How do they feel?” He asks, taking all the bandages off and reaching to the nightstand for more.

“Fine” You reply.

"Are you sure you're feeling alright? I can sense your emotions, you know. And you're not very good at hiding them."

You feel your brows contort into irritation, you dont even know what for- maybe your innate distrust.

"What, you're mad that I can read you so easily?" He replied with a smile, enjoying your annoyed expression a little more than he thought.

“It's a bit annoying…” You say, raising your brows, with a sprinkle of sass.

He smirked again, his lips playful.

"Well, I'm sorry if it's annoying. But you're quite expressive. It's hard not to notice when you look like that.”

“Like what-?” You retort.

“That.” He replies quickly, making you swallow your words.

You watch as he redresses your wounds, taking his time to wrap the bandages around your waist and stomach.

You take that time to look at his face more carefully than before- being this close to a vampire wasn’t something you think you’d live long enough to be able to observe like this.

You noticed his light amber hair, his yellow eyes and long lashes that gave him an epicene charm. You couldn’t keep your curious eyes from wandering over his features, he smelled like oud and iron.

When he was done, you looked out toward the open window, the sill swaying back and forth as the wind dance.

“How long will they take to heal?” You ask as you look back down at his hands.

"It depends. The wounds were quite severe, so it may take a while for them to fully close. The medicine should accelerate the healing process, but it's not instantaneous.”

“Okay- well, if it's fine i'll return to my town then by tomorrow.”

His expression shifted to surprise at your statement.

"You want to leave already? You're not fully healed yet, it's not safe for you to go back out there. They could open, get infection, you could get-“

“I don't wish to bother you any longer- you've already helped me enough.” You state. You’ve been quite wary about vampires- raised to practically believe they were spawns of hell itself.

He raised an eyebrow, his surprise quickly replaced by a hint of irritation

"Bother me? Nonsense. You're a guest in my home, and I don't intend to just let you wander off into danger when you're just as injured as when I found you.”

“It's still an inconvenience…”

He lets out an annoyed sigh, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You're insufferable, you know that?” It's not an inconvenience. You're my responsibility now, whether you like it or not.”

You let out an equally annoyed huff, but you don’t bother to object anymore, clearly stuck and indefensible.

“Fine”. You breathe out.

He gave you a firm nod, satisfied that you had agreed to stay.

"Good. You'll stay here until you're fully healed. I won't have you running off and getting yourself killed out there."

He watched you as you settled back into bed, his expression softening slightly

"I'll be back to check on you later. Try not to do anything reckless while I'm gone." He says, walking out the door.

“Wait!” You shout.

He pauses in the doorway, turning to look at you.

"Yes?"

“What’s your name?”

“Alucard”, is what you hear before the shut of the door.

You hear his descending footsteps on the floor of the castle, plopping your head back into the goosefeather pillows as you stared at the brick ceiling, trying to get comfortable again, as much as you could considering your circumstance.

Hours had passed, and sleep didn’t miss you on its way.

Alucard had come back to your room, opening it after not hearing any confirmation at his soft knocks.

He saw your sleeping state and moved quietly as to make sure sure not to disturb you, scanning over your form, taking note of your condition and whether you were in any pain or discomfort even if your unconsciousness.

He leaned over and placed a hand on your forehead, checking for a fever or sweats.

After making his observations, his eyes lingered on your hair, fingers carefully brushing against a few strands as he withdraws his hand.

He found himself captivated by the color and texture, a hint of curiosity flickering within as the sunlight filtered through the window and casted a warm glow over your skin, the smooth contours of your face and neck.

He looked at your physiognomy in almost jealously, envious of your humanness. The feeling of your warm skin coursing with blood that hadn’t yet gone through the process of death. He brushed his knuckle softly against your cheekbone but quickly removed it once he felt you slowly stir away.

You crack your eyes open and flutter your flashes as the setting sun pokes at your lids again.

“Is it evening already?”

He nods, his voice low and quiet, walking around the corners of the room to light the candles scattered around to offer some light before the moons arrival.

"Yes, it's getting late. You've been asleep for quite a while."

You let out a long drawn yawn and attempt to sit up near the headboard.

He watches, eyes tracking your every move. He can see the pain and stiffness in your movements, a pang of guilt tugging at him for not being able to do anything for you in that moment.

"Careful," he murmurs, voice taint with concern. "You're still injured, remember? You shouldn't be sitting up yet. Let your body heal."

“I can't just sleep all day.”

"Yes, you can”…He continues, trying to push through without the conversation. “You're still recovering. You need to take it easy and let your body heal itself. Sleeping is the best way to do that." He crosses his arms over his chest, a hint of frustration in his voice over your seemingly unmovable persistence.

You frown at his scolding, crossing your arms back.

"What's with the pout? You look like a petulant child."

You scoff, leaning your head back and mouth slightly agape.

“That's rude...”

He chuckles, a smirk growing at your response.

"Is it? I was merely stating the truth.

You're acting like a spoiled brat who doesn't want to listen to their caretaker."

“I'm just tired of sleeping so much...”

“Well I can’t just let you run around and frolick can I?”

You pout again, knowing he’s right but not wanting to agree out of…pettiness.

He shakes his head and sighs, “Stay here, I’ll bring you some food”.

“Yeah sure i’ll stay! No problem Doctor!” You say with fringed enthusiasm. “Can’t really go run and frolick can I…?” You mumble after.

“I heard that.” He says as he walks out, making you chuckle a bit.

As you wait, your stomach growls even more, wondering what kind of food you’ll be given. With all the wealth and luxury displayed in just the small portion of the castle you’ve been limited to witness- you had set your expectations high….unfortunately.

He comes back not more than an hour or so later- hair tied up in a low messy bun and what seems to be flour on his pants.

You see Alucard bring in a tray of a small loaf of bread and a bowl of what smelled like plain chicken stock, small floating pieces of carrot.

He sits down next to the bed, putting the tray on the edge of the bed before helping you sit up just a bit so you could eat.

You look at him and then the food- the silence and your inactive made him scoff.

“Are you hands broken all of a sudden? Do you need me to feed you?” He says bluntly, raising his brows in disbelief of your shamelessness.

You gave him a shrug and innocent expression smile- but he lets himself fall to your poorly executed manipulation.

He tears a piece of the what you can only imagine is some kind of buckwheat bun, as he dips it into the plain soup.

“Fattening me up so you can eat me?” You say as the soup soaked bread moves closer to your mouth.

He rolls his eyes and holds it closer to you to take a bite.

Before you open your mouth to accept the bread, you catch a wiff of the smell and…your head tilts away swiftly.

“Oh gods- you don’t even need to fatten me that’s gonna kill me first!” You say as you shake your head.

“What? Stop being dramatic. It’s just bread, here” He says, tilting your head back toward his face and the bread.

“Where did you get that? Did my horse produce it?!”

Alucard furrows his brows and scoffs.

“I made this…it took a while by the way.”

Your eyes widen- not knowing if you should be surprised and touched that he attempted to make you food or if you should be alarmed at how horribly it went.

“Oh…”

He sighs, “Is it really that bad..? What do you humans even eat besides bread and beer?”

You scoot back a bit, creating a good distance away from the bread.

“Is this- just chicken stock?” You ask, trying to find any kind of compliment to give him.

He looks at you deadpanned, and you have to stifle a smile.

“I should have gave that carrot to the damn horse…” He mumbled before getting up to leave with the tray.

“Wait wait!” You laugh as you protested, waving your arms back up to urge him to stay.

“I’ll try it…since you went out of your way.”

He sighs, giving you another chance and placing the tray back on your lap.

You have to gather more courage than you might have ever before- taking the same piece of bread he tore and counting your blessing before putting it into your mouth.

Truthfully- the chicken stock made it somewhat bearable, masking the stale like gummy texture of the bread…and swallowing it before it could bother you too much.

Alucard watched at the bedpost, arms crossed as he observed your expression.

You look up at him after the first bite, tilting your head back and forth and twisting your arm to try and say it wasn’t too aweful.

He lets outs a chuckle and sits back down on the chair; occupying his earlier read as he waits for you to finish your meal.

As soon as you’re finished, he glances at the empty bowl and plate, a hint of relief in his eyes

"You ate everything, good. It's important to keep your strength up while you're recovering."

You simply nod, not wishing you further frustrate him over his cooking inability.

"Get some rest now. You need it."

He takes the tray and turns to leave, but once again hesitates at the door, as if his body screams at him to stay longer than needed.

Looking back at you; his eyes roaming over your face as if committing it to memory.

“I never got your name, now that I think about it. I think I’d like to know what to address you as.”

You hesitate for a moment- but it’s the least you could offer, formality wise.

“Y/n.” You respond.

He replies in almost a whisper.

"Goodnight, Y/n." He smiles.

He won’t be going to bed anytime soon but he hopes your rest is committed.

“Goodnight, Alucard.”

Again is the shut of the door, and you know you won’t see him again til the next morning.

After he leaves the room, he stand in the hallway for a moment, lost in thought- he feels a heaviness in his chest at the sound of his name on your lips. It’s been a long time since anyone has said his name at all- nor with as much tenderness and void of disdain as the way in which you spoke it.

The next day comes, much like the last in its configuration, just as the next few would likely follow.

Alucard comes in and moves quietly around, tending to the small fire in the hearth and tidying up a bit around your room; keeping his movements soft and silent, not wanting to disturb the peaceful atmosphere while you sleep.

He notices the moment you start to stir, his eyes flickering towards your sleeping figure on the bed. He watches you wake, and a hint of a smile plays at the corners of his lips as he watches you blink sleepily.

“Goodmorning”, you hear from the vampire, chuckling as he sees you stretch. “Sleep well?”.

You reply with a nod, yawning greatly before giving him a “Mhm”.

He feels a sense of relief wash over him, glad that you were able to get some restful sleep. Moving closer to the bed, his eyes scan over you for any signs of discomfort.

"That's good to hear. How are you feeling? Any pain?"

You shake your head, truthfully feeling much lighter than the previous day. You sit up so you can present your wounds to him.

He nods in approval, satisfied assurance while he steps closer to the bed until he sits on the edge, gently reaching out to examine your wounds, his fingers lightly brushing over the bandages that cover your injuries and unwrapping you.

"They're healing well. You're lucky you didn't sustain any serious damage."

He relays, his palms trailing down your sides as he tries to feel for any swelling, and you seem to find your throat a bit dry.

He can hear you gulp, and he reluctantly pulls his hands away and starts to wrap you with new bandages, rolling your shirt back down.

“Thank you”, you reply, trying to fill the empty space between you two, even if it’s just verbal.

He pauses for a moment, surprised by your words. He hadn't expected you to thank him, and the sincerity in your voice catches him off guard.

He clears his throat again, trying to maintain his demeanor.

"You don't need to thank me. I'm just doing what I can to ensure your recovery."

You smile and nod, impressed by his humbleness.

“Do you think, I can go outside now? Maybe for a walk.” You ask.

He hesitates, considering your request. Youve been confined to the room for almost a week now, and the thought of you getting some sun wasn’t the worst.

"Hm...I suppose it would be good for you to get some fresh air. But only for a little while. You're still recovering, so you shouldn't push yourself too much."

You smile even wider, glad that he wasn’t cruel or unreasonable.

“Thank you, will you join me?” You offer.

He feels his brows contort with confusion, but he can't help the small smile that follows.

"Me? You want me to go with you?"

“Well i've never been to this part of the country- i’m not so used to it.

He chuckles softly, finding your naiveté endearing

"I see. Very well, I'll accompany you on your walk." He replies, coming back to the edge of the bed and helping you up, putting out his forearm for you to hold yourself up with- making sure you don't stumble or fall.

"Take it slow. You might be a bit unsteady at first."

You hold on tight, feeling your limbs finally stretch out after hours of laying down with not much breaks.

He watches you carefully, his eyes following your every move. He notices the warmth of your hands on his arm, gripping and clinging to him so tight, and the closeness of your body sends a current through his body- and he finds himself putting a bit more effort into trying to push down the strange feelings that are bubbling up inside him, because of you.

"Easy there. Don't push yourself too hard."

Once he makes note of your posture, he slowly releases your arm, though keeping a hand hovering nearby, just in case you need support.

“Do you happen to have any clothes?” You ask, wanting to get into something more fresh compared to your tattered and messy clothing.

"Yes, I think I do. Stay here.” He says, quickly moving out of the room to retrieve them and arriving again only minutes later with a neatly folded stack of garments in his arms.

He hands them to you, his eyes flickering over your figure as he does so.

"These should fit you. Let me know if they don't."

You take the small pile with both hands and go to the washroom of your familiar room to change.

Alucard waited patiently outside the door, his mind racing as he imaged you changing inside- hearing the rustling of fabric and wanting to ask if you needed help but he didn’t want to overstep- didn’t want to make you suspect anything more of it all.

Desperately he tried to push the thoughts down into the back of his head, but they keep creeping up, making his heart race and his palms sweat a bit.

When you emerged back out in the clothes he gave you, his eyes almost widened, a faint melancholy in his gaze.

“What…you look like you want to say something.” You ask.

He looks back into your eyes as he’s snapped out of his thoughts.

“Sorry- sorry…no you look fine. It’s just that” He rambled on, “The clothes belonged to my mother, they suite you.”

Your brows rise at the information and your stomach drops a bit- feeling sorrow for him in his dark undertones. But you stay silent.

“Alright”, he continues, draping a red scarf around your neck.

“Keep this on, it’s cold in the mornings.” He says as he pulls your hair up from the scarf and lays it behind your shoulders, fingers brushing your ears slightly as he stands much closer now.

You only nod, allowing him to open the door and lead you out of the room for the first time.

When you step out of your enclosure of a room, you feel the smooth velvet carpet rolling out into the deep hallways of the ancient castle, soothing the soles of your bare feet as you walk alongside Alucard, looking around at the ceilings and the fixtures that adorn the home.

He watches as you take in the grandeur of the castle, a hint of pride in his eyes. He’s lived here for so long, but he sometimes forgets how impressive it must look to outsiders

"It's a bit much, I know. But it's been in my family for generations."

“No, it’s beautiful. Really.” You assure, taking everything in as you finally get to explore the place you’ve been locked up in.

He smiles again at your words, feeling a small swell of warmth in his chest. Expecting you like most people to be intimidated or scared by the castle's size and antiquity, but he can tell you seem genuinely impressed by it.

"Thank you. My father, Dracula, had it built many years ago. He desired opulence." He says with cadence.

As he explains more of the building’s interior, you both finally reach a exit. You can hear the chirping of birds and the wind on the other side as if a portal to an unexplored grove were near.

Alucard pushes the heavy doors open, revealing the sprawling gardens outside. The morning sun is casting a warm golden glow over the landscape.

The gardens- a riot of color, with blooming flowers and lush greenery filling every inch of space.

He watched as you step out into the grass. He can't help but find the sight of you barefoot in the garden endearing, your toes sinking into the soft earth as you breathe in the sweet spring air.

You open your eyes and look up, appreciating the sky from below opposed to the window from a distance as to which you were forced to do for the past few days.

Alucard, though, doesn’t follow your gaze. He instead can't help but admire the way the sun catches in your hair, and on your skin, making you look like you're glowing. A second, much more beautiful sun.

He finds himself staring for a moment, mesmerized by your beauty.

He also notices the way you hold the shawl closer to your body, and he wonders if you're cold or if there's something else you're trying to hide. He tries to resist the urge to reach out and brush a stray strand of hair out of your face again, wanting to feel just an atom of your being, as if to merge them with his.

He step closer, concern etched on his face

"Are you cold?"

You look back at him, your brows contorted and a soft look of vulnerability on your face.

“A little”, you admit.

He sees the goosebumps emerged on your soft and sunkissed skin, and he frowns slightly.

He takes the coat off his back, and drapes it over your shoulders

"Here, this should help." He says as he pulls you closer to him, your shoulders rubbing up as he keeps the draped jacket close around you, a bit too big but enough to warm you.

You give him an appreciative smile, and he returns one right back.

He watches you return your eyes back on the scenery, his gaze softening as he sees the way you admire the beauty of the world around you.

He’s seen this view countless times before, smelled the same air and felt the same breeze pass him by. But somehow, it seems more vibrant with you here with him now.

“Would you like to go back inside now?” You ask.

He shakes his head, not wanting the moment to end just yet.

"Not yet. Let's stay out here a little longer. Is that okay?” He asks softly.

You nod, happy that he’s willing to indulge you in just a bit more time outside.

You can’t help but feel his eyes glancing to you every now and then- and you try to ignore the urge to get closer to him.

Not for warmth, or because of the cold, or anything other than the flickering need to be closer to him.

Something entirely separate, something entirely unfamiliar.

After another few minutes, you two decide to come back inside to prevent any possibility of you catching a cold.

Alucard shows you a few more hallways and rooms along the way, pointing them onto and providing a little history lesson every now and then, not wanting to bombard you with his entire lifetimes worth of stories. When you arrive back at your room, he watches you settle back into the bed. A strange mix of emotions swirling within him. he wants to stay with you, but he knows he should give you some space.

He lingers in the doorway for a moment before speaking up again.

"If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask. I'll be around."

You smile and nod, “Thank you”. You whisper.

“Of course. I'll be in the library if you need me." He hesitates for a moment, as if he wants to say something more, but then he turns and walks away, leaving you alone in the room, leaving the door open this time- as if inviting you to join him.

Maybe you’re just thinking too much into it.

As he sits down on the wooden library chairs, trying to concentrate on the book in his hand and the ink that sticks to his quill, his thoughts keep drifting back to you, wondering what you're doing in your room and if you're comfortable.

He can't shake the feeling that he's being drawn to you like a moth to a flame- in an inseparable trap he set himself. His affliction.

Lost in his own mind, he snaps out of it as he hears a knock at the library door. He looks up, setting his book down to calls out.

"Come in."

You hear his command, opening the tall doors and peaking your head in to find him.

He looks up as you enter the space, his eyes widening slightly as you approach closer and walk down the sparse steps- secretly trying to hide the fact that he was thinking about you just seconds ago.

"Ah, I wasn't expecting you so soon.

Is everything alright?" He asks, feeling his heart suddenly accelerate.

“Yeah, sorry” You reply, handing him back his jacket, “you just forgot this”.

As he takes the jacket from you, his finger brushing against yours for a brief moment that he curses himself for not keeping it a second longer.

He looks at it for a moment before looking back at you.

"Ah, thank you. I didn't realize I had left it behind." He says in a more hoarse tone than usual.

You chuckle and nod, “I also didn't realize.” You say in a lighthearted tone.

He chuckles softly in return, his eyes locked on yours- Acutely aware of the way your scent fills the air around him, intoxicating him with its sweetness.

"I suppose I was too distracted this morning to notice."

He finds it harder and harder to resist the urge to reach out to you, to pull you closer to him with each growing second.

You break the short lapse of silence, your eyes trailing down to the desk full of books and sheets of freshly inked script.

“Reading?”

He also glances at the books on the table, trying to compose himself.

"Ah, yes. I was just doing some light reading. and annotation. Trying to take my mind off things." He says before looking back at you, his gaze lingering on your face. He can feel the tension between you growing, the air heavy with unspoken words and emotions.

“What, uhm- kind of things?” You ask, immediately feeling as if you overstepped.

He hesitates for a moment, unsure if he should be honest with you, but he can't bring himself to lie.

"You." He speaks.

You nod, understanding as you touch your wound on your side- Assuming he’s referring to your injuries, knowing how much he cares to treat you. Pushing away the initial thoughts of affection, not wanting to get your hopes up.

He nods, a small sigh escaping his lips. He conflicts with himself- wanting to tell you every preoccupied thought he’s had of you since the moment he found you on the back of his horse.

"Yes, that. And other things." He slips in quietly.

“You should rest, you’re not well enough to be up for so long.” He says a bit more sternly.

You furrow your brows a bit in unease, wishing he elaborated.

“Right.” You respond plainly.

He sees the disappointment in your eyes and immediately regrets his words. He didn't mean to push you away, but he's afraid of letting his guard down, of getting too close to you.

He runs a hand through his hair, feeling frustrated with himself

"I just... I don't want you to overexert yourself."

“It’s fine-“ You reply quickly, not wanting to invest more emotional energy into the exchange, exiting the library and walking back to your room, each step heavy and unrelenting as if your body rejects being away from him.

He watches your back as you leave, his heart sinking at the sound of your steps descending in volume. He wants to call out to you, to tell you to stay, but the words stick in his throat like a lozenge.

He sits there for a moment, frozen in place, before cursing himself under his breath. He knows he's messed up, but he's not sure how to fix it just yet.

Alucard remains in the library, pacing back and forth restlessly, still. He can't focus on anything, his mind consumed by thoughts of you.

He curses himself for being so awkward and aloof, for not being able to express his feelings properly even if they aren’t all fleshed out and appropriate.

He wants to follow you, to make things right, but he's afraid of what might happen if he does. So he stays in the library, brooding and frustrated, feeling more alone than ever.

You on the other hand, stay cooped up in your room. Equally frustrated- pacing around the bed unaware of how similar you both seem to cope.

You stay until the sun sets, wondering if he’ll show anytime soon to check up on you like he has been- angrily ruffled into the bedsheets as you almost wish you never went to the library, wishing you just left it at the peaceful garden walk from this morning.

“Fuck it?” You think to yourself, just go. “Just get up…walk over to him and figure it out? Right?” What even is there to figure, maybe, you were just overthinking.

You put your hand on the doorknob, resting before you swing it open.

As you prepare to take the first step out your eyes widen at the sight of him right infront of you with his hand raised.

He freezes in his tracks, surprised to see you standing in the doorway. He hadn't expected you to open the door just as he was about to knock, and his face looking more pale than before, somehow.

He looks at you, heart racing as he takes in the sight- feeling a mix of relief and nervousness, unsure of what to say or do next.

“…Hi.” You break the silence.

He swallows hard, his palms feeling clammy. He forces himself to speak, his voice sounding hoarse and awkward

"Hey. I was just coming to check on you." He drew on.

“I was also going to find you.” You confess.

He raises an eyebrow, surprised by your words. He hadn't expected you to be looking for him as well, his hopes rocking up.”

"Were you?"

“Yeah well- it's evening so I figured you'd want to check up on me again.” You sidetrack, dancing around the idea of anything else.

He nods, feeling a pang of guilt.

He had been avoiding you all day, and yet here you were, still thinking about him and his routine. Sure, he was too, but he hated the idea of burdening you with such heavy feelings in his care.

"Right, of course. I should've been more on top of it."

You nod, letting him into the room as you go to sit down on the bed as he follows you, his heart pounding in his chest. Why?

He can feel a tension between you two, one that’s been bubbling and thickening like a witches brew.

He tries to focus on the task at hand, but his mind keeps drifting to other things as he approaches you, his hand trying not to linger too long- prudent in his action.

He keeps his gaze clinical as he examines the wounds, rolling your shirt up and unwrapping the bandaged, but it's hard not to notice the softness of your skin beneath his fingers.

He gently touches the edges of the scars, his touch cautious as he checks for any signs of infection or irritation.

He’s aware of how close he is to you, how intimate the situation is, how for the past few days that he’s tried to ignore- scared of pushing himself onto you in any way.

He can feel the heat radiating off your body, and it's making it difficult for him to concentrate as he can see you watching him.

He glances up at you, his eyes locking with yours for a brief moment.

“You look worried....”

He looks up at you again, his expression serious.

"It's just... the scars are still a bit red. I'm worried about infection."

You nod, your expression also turning more stone.

He frowns, his fingers tracing the edges of the scars lightly.

"I'll have to keep a closer eye on them. Make sure they don't get worse."

You nod, wincing slightly as he touches them.

He immediately stops touching the scars, his expression softening.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you." He whispers.

“It's okay- it just stings a little”. You assure.

But he still feels a pang of guilt at the thought of causing you pain, even if it was accidental.

"I'll try to be more careful. I just want to make sure they're healing properly." He goes on, feeling himself open up more- wanting to tell you just how much he cares.

He wraps you back up in new dressing, rolling your shirt down again and leaning down toward you.

“Hold onto me, I’ll help you up.” He says softly, putting his arms around your back as you wrap yours around the back of his neck, holding into him for support as he helps you up onto your feet without too much trouble.

For just a moment your chests press up- but soon letting go.

Alucard steps back, not wanting to cross any lines- but gods is his mind absolute chaos right now.

The feeling of your body closer than it’s ever been- the feeling of almost embracing you was too much for him to handle.

You clear your throat, leaning back against the bedpost, “Earlier today...in the library...”, you go on.

He perks back up, “Yes? What about it?”

“I'm sorry if i seemed too insistent, you probably wanted to be alone”…

He shakes his head, a hint of amusement in his eyes.

"Don't apologize. You didn't seem insistent at all. If anything, I found your curiosity endearing."

He sends you a smile, a softer look.

"And I must admit, it was nice to have some company in the library for once. I've been alone for so long that l've almost forgotten what it's like to talk to someone…”

You smile back, “Me too.”

He returns your easygoingness, “You're not just saying that to make me feel better, are you?"

“I'm not, it's making me feel better too.”

He chuckles, a bit deeper this time.

"I see. So you're not just a beautiful woman with a sharp mind, you're also honest."

“I hope to be”, you reply wittingly.

“Honesty is a rare quality, you know.

Most people will say anything to get what they want, or to avoid hurting your feelings. But you... you seem to speak your mind without a second thought…Especially about my bread.”

You roll your eyes place and scoff, “I’ll never hear the end of it from you.”

“I’m still hurt.” He says, feigning offense.

The two of you exchange a few more pleasantries, both reveling in the fact that your issues from earlier have been mended and quickly forgotten. Thankfully.

Alucard glances out the window, seeing the darkness of the night outside and hearing your yawn.

"It's late. You should probably get some rest, as much as I wish to keep talking.” He adds on quickly.

You nod, opening the door as he walks out into the doorway.

“Goodnight, dear.” He says politely.

You respond with a kiss on his cheek, quick and gentle.

“Goodnight.” You say with a soft smile, and and shut the door on his dumbfounded face.

He stands there for a moment, stunned by your unexpected kiss.

His hand comes up to touch the spot where your lips had been, a look of surprise and... something else on his face. He shakes his head slightly, a small smile playing on his lips as he turns and walks away, heading to his own room and recalling the experience with every step. He tries to tell himself that it was just a polite gesture, nothing more, but he can't help the way his heart flutters at the thought of your lips on his skin. He knows any semblance of sleep won’t be easy- not after your stunt.

You sleep deeply through the night and into first light, unable to hear Alucard knocking at your door.

He knocks a second time, a tray of breakfast food in his hands.

Upon your lack of response, he enters the room quietly, his eyes immediately going to your bed to check on your condition- smiling softly as he sees you still asleep, setting the tray of food on a nearby table.

He walks over to the bed, his footsteps light and quiet so as not to wake you. It’s almost noon, and he wants to make sure you’re not feeling any sort of extreme exhaustion- considering the irregular surplus of sleep.

He continues to watch your face- finding himself getting used to the peaceful sight of your sleeping form.

But he notices a look of distress on your face, becoming concerned. He sits down on the edge of the bed, observing intently, his eyes narrowing as he realizes you're having a nightmare of some sort.

He hesitates for a moment, unsure if he should wake you up, but the conviction on your face convinces him to act.

"Hey...wake up." He gently shakes your shoulder, trying to rouse you from your terrors.

He watches as you rise up in a jerked motion- breathe quick and heavy, pupils dilated and expression that of terror.

He places a comforting hand on your back.

"Shh... it's okay. You're safe now. It was just a dream." He says as he rubs your back in soothing circles, his touch gentle and reassuring. He looks at you with concern, his eyes filled with worry

"You were having a nightmare... do you want to talk about it?"

“I don’t really remember it-“ You say in a defeated tone, more annoyed than anything.

"Okay. But if you do, I'm here to listen."

“Thank you”, you say with a faint smile, his hand now on your shoulder.

"Of course.“ He glances over at the tray of food he brought in.

"I brought you some breakfast. You should eat something. It’ll take your mind off it perhaps?”

You take the tray appreciatively, nodding but still disoriented.

He notices the slight change in your expression. He tilts his head slightly, studying your face.

"Are you sure you're okay? You look a bit... dazed."

“Sorry- i'm just- still waking up”

He chuckles softly, amused by your sleepy state “It's alright. I understand."

He sits on the edge of the bed again, watching you pick up the food, satisfied that you're finally eating something.

He leans back against the headboard of the bed, content to just sit with you for a while.

"How are your wounds feeling today? Are they healing well?"

“Oh- yes I think so”, you say, putting the tray next to you and turning to face him, lifting your shirt up to let him examine them.

He runs his fingers gently over the healing cuts under your bandages, making sure they're not infected or still bleeding

"Good. They look like they're healing nicely. You'll probably be fully healed in a few more days."

“A few more days...alright”. You start to think to yourself, wondering what'll happen then- considering that you’ll have no need to stay here once you’re healthy.

He notices the look on your face, the slight furrow in your brow as you think to yourself. He lowers your shirt, his gaze fixed on you

"Is something wrong?”, he asks, getting closer to you as he tries to coax it out of you.

You simply shake your head.

He raises an eyebrow, not quite believing you. At all actually.

"You know you can tell me if something is bothering you, right?"

“I know…” You say, unconvincingly once again.

He reaches out and gently takes your hand in his, his touch gentle and comforting

"You can trust me, you know. I won't judge you. I swear it.” He says with a gentle expression.

“Yeah- yeah I know.” You say quickly, your face developing a rouge at his sudden act of affection. Or maybe it was just- care, a polite gesture of friendship.

You go back to eating your breakfast, slipping your hand out of his.

Even while enjoying your morning meal, your stomach is heavy with the residual feelings of your nightmare- frustration that you can’t seem to remember what made you feel so ill.

“Do you ever get nightmares?” You ask Alucard.

He looks to face you- a bit unprepared for your question but honest.

“At times, they seem more like recollections than fantasies of my mind.”

You furrow your brows, looking done at your food and playing around with it.

“I can’t remember what I was even dreaming about- but it’s a strange feeling.”

You go on, opening up about the discomfort of your body.

He frowns, feeling a mix of sympathy and concern for you. He pulls you closer to him, his arms wrapping around you in a comforting embrace.

"I'm sorry. I wish I could take it away from you."

You let out a surprised sound- hands hesitating to wrap around him.

He can feel your surprise, unrelenting. He holds you tightly against his chest, one hand gently stroking your hair

"It's okay," he murmurs softly.

"You're safe now. I won't let anything happen to you. Alright?”

You feel your brows scrunch up and your body lighten- as if he’s shared some room in his body for you to lay your afflictions bare. To take some of the pain from you and lock it away in himself.

With contemplation- you hug him back.

He holds you closer, his chin resting on the top of your head

"That's it," he murmurs. "Just relax. Let me hold you."

His words soothe you like a balm, mending together pensive feelings of melancholy you weren’t even aware of before.

You feel warm tears roll down your cheeks, sniffling before he gently rocking you back and forth as he tries to soothe you

"Shhh, it's okay. Let it all out," he whispers, his voice filled with tenderness and compassion.

"I've got you," he continues.

You use every second to try and pull yourself up together- but he wraps around you close, holding you together as you fall apart in his arms.

He continues to whisper words of comfort, his voice low and soothing

"You're doing so well. Just keep breathing. In and out, that's it."

After a few minutes of much needed exhalations, you recover well in the vampires arms.

He feels a sense of relief wash over him as you relax against him. He gently tilts your chin up.

"Are you feeling better now?" he asks gently, his hand still stroking your hair.

You let out a cathartic sigh, nodding.

He cups your cheek in his hand, his thumb gently brushing away the tears from your face

"Good. I'm glad to hear that. You had me worried for a moment there."

“Sorry...I guess I just haven't had someone hug me in a long time.”

He shakes his head, his hand still cupping your cheek.

"You have nothing to apologize for. And don't ever apologize for needing comfort. Everyone needs a hug sometimes."

As you calm yourself more, Alucard decides to give you some space to recollect yourself, clearly needing it.

“I’ll give you some space. I’ll be in the library, if you need anything.” He reminds, before bidding you a goodbye after making sure you ate.

You take deep inhales and deeper exhales, your mind ringing with his voice guiding you through breathes.

The room becomes quiet and dark, you're left alone with your thoughts. The memory of Alucard's touch and his warm smile are all you can think about, and you can't help but wonder what he's doing right now- deciding it’s better to find out for yourself than wonder.

Alucard looks up as you enter the library.

He sets down the book he was reading and smiles softly.

"Feeling better?" he asks.

You smile and nod, walking closer.

"Come here," he says, patting the chair next to him. "You can keep me company."

You gladly take a seat, eyes roaming over the various books and sheets covering the desk- similar to yesterday’s spreads.

He notices how close your face is to his work. He closes the book, gently tapping your forehead with it.

"You're going to give yourself a headache if you keep reading like that," he teases, a playful glint in his eyes.

You pout and rub your forehead.

“Rude…” You say in a whisper.

You scoot closer to get a better look at the writing, your elbows folding on top of the table.

As you observe the scripts, Alucard is more concerned with how beautiful you look- even when you’re concentrated, and he can't help but feel a pang of longing in his chest- quickly pushes those feelings aside, not wanting to ruin the moment with his own desires.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, noticing the pause of his writing and his gaze.

He blinks, realizing he's been caught staring. He quickly looks away, clearing his throat awkwardly.

"Ah, nothing," he says, trying to play it off as nonchalantly as possible.

"Just lost in thought for a moment."

You nod, going back to watching him work, putting your head on his shoulder with the close proximity.

He freezes for a moment, completely caught off guard by your sudden closeness. He can feel the warmth of your body against his, and the scent of your hair filling his senses.

He takes a deep breath, trying to keep his composure, but it's becoming increasingly difficult.

You can’t help but chuckle at his reaction.

He can feel your laughter vibrating through him, and it's a pleasant sensation.

"What's so funny, human?" he asks, playfully.

“Nothing, you've just….been on that page for a while. You can’t read can you? Tell me the truth.” You play around sarcastically.

He glances back down at the book, realizing that he's been staring at the same page for several minutes now, obviously at that.

He lets out a soft chuckle, embarrassed that he got so distracted by your presence once again, finding it to a troublesome, reoccurring issue.

"Ah, I guess I am a bit distracted," he admits, his gaze flickering back to you.

“No no it’s okay, lots of people can’t read you know. Don’t be embarrassed”, you continue with your nonsense joke.

You pretend to look around, your eyes going around left and right as he shakes his head.

He shuts the book, setting it aside and turning his full attention to you as he pushes it away.

He turns his body towards you.

"You're a distraction," he teases, poking your side gently.

“Hey!” You exclaim, “you invited me to sit here”, you digress, poking him back.

He chuckles and dips his finger in a small pool of ink, swiping it on your nose, making you backup a bit and give him more room for defense.

You gasp at the sudden cool touch of pigment- and run after him as he walks over quickly to the books nearby.

“This is not fair at all!” You exclaim, watching him dodge your attacks with ease.

“That seems like a personal issue, yes?” He says as he walks deeper into what seems like a maze of shelves.

As you get more and more competitive- you finally land a hit on him: a decently sized dab of ink landing on his cheek.

As it lands you run off- not wanting another hit of solvent somewhere on your face.

But of course…to your disadvantage, you can’t necessarily outrun a vampire.

Easily, he catches up to you- pinning you against the bookshelf. He stands over you, his body caging you in, as he holds up his finger- ready to mark you with another proof of failure.

"No escape now," he teases, his hand slowly and tauntingly smearing ink around your chin.

You roll your eyes and chuckle- the both of you breathless from the chase.

He can feel your small breathes mingle with his- noticing your chest pressed up against his.

He looks down at you, his eyes locking onto yours, and suddenly the playful atmosphere shifts into something more intense.

He rubs your bottom lip- except you don’t feel anymore ink rubbing into you, just the touch of his skin, his eyes glued to your supple lips as you look at his gaze.

“Alucard…?” You whisper softly.

He doesn’t look at you, eyes still glued to your flushed cheeks and the staggered breathe that escapes from your mouth.

“Hm?” He responds, finally flickering his eyes up to look at you.

“Yes dear?”

As your eyes lock, you feel a force that only pushes you to an immeasurable distance into him- and he responds immediately.

As if endless moments of pining finally meet its destiny- the kiss is tentative at first, a slow exploration of each other's mouths.

He takes his time, wanting to savor every moment of this, wanting to make sure that you're comfortable and enjoying it too.

Your arms wrap around each there- Alucards large frame pressing you into the bookcases behind you as his hands hold your sides- your arms wrapping around his neck to pull him closer.

He groans softly at your hands on him, your tongue meeting his in a heated dance. He's surprised by how easily you fall into rhythm with him, how well your bodies seem to fit together.

He revels in the sounds you're making, the way your body trembles against his. He descends his kisses to your cheek and then neck- feeling your pulse racing under his lips. He continues to kiss and nip at your neck, his fangs scraping gently against your skin as he moves down to your collarbone- the feeling of his teeth grazing your skin absolutely electric.

Your fingers grip slightly at his hair, running through them as he lavishes your shoulder with his sweet kisses.

Your body starts to arch into his touch. His hands on your sides tighten, holding you in place- his breath heavy as he starts to speak between kisses.

“Stop me…please, please stop me if you don’t want this…Stop me, I won’t be able to stop myself.” He pleads, kissing up to your ear as his other hand snakes up to hold the side of your neck, pulling his face to look at you again, his aureate eyes piercing into yours.

You let out deep breathes from your nose, swallowing the lumps in your throat as your half lidded eyes meet his, nodding just enough to assure him before diving back into his lips.

He groans again at the feeling of your lips, his grip on your thighs tightening. He presses his hips against yours, letting you feel the evidence of his arousal.

He breaks the kiss, his lips trailing down your jawline and to your neck once more. He can't resist the urge to mark you, his teeth meeting kisses and sucks at the sensitive flesh.

“Alucard-“ You interrupt.

He growls against your neck, his teeth almost sinking into your skin just enough to leave a mark

"Yes, my dear?" he murmurs, his voice low and yearnful.

“You….can drink, if you want to.” You go on softly, seeing his eyes flicker with an immediate importance.

He lets out a shaky breath, his control hanging by a thread. He can feel his fangs lengthening, his body practically vibrating with need as he gulps.

"You shouldn’t say such things to a dhampir," he growls, his grip on your hips tightening almost painfully.

He leans in closer, his lips brushing against your pulse point once more.

He can feel your heart racing, the scent of your blood is enough for him to go mad- the sound of your blood that pumps through your veins sounding like the perfect symphony.

"Last chance to change your mind, y/n.” He murmurs, his breath hot against your skin.

You shake your head, holding his chin and tangling your fingers in his hair.

“I want to feel it…feel you.”

Your words cause his self-control to shatter. He can't hold back any longer, the need to taste your blood overpowering everything else, any sense of responsibility or moral compass gone- your declaration of want is all it takes.

He sinks his fangs into your neck, a deep moan rumbling in his chest as the taste of your blood hits his tongue. You feel the two long needles puncture your skin smoothly- the pain quickly subsiding as you feel his lips plant themselves on your skin and his breathe blows kisses over your skin over and over- his chest puffing out as he gets closer and more greedy.

You felt his hands clutching at your waist as if his fingerprints could weld onto your skin like iron.

The pain and pleasure mingled, creating a heady cocktail that clouded your senses.

The room spun around you, the world narrowing to the sensations of his fangs in your skin and the blood leaving you and nourishing him, his heart pounding in sync with your own.

You felt his hardened length, insistent, pressing against your thigh, a silent testament to the desire coursing through him while the taste of your blood intoxicates him- the taste like ambrosia, all while he can feel your body trembling against his, can hear the sounds of pleasure falling from your lips.

He can smell your arousal, the scent driving him wild with desire. He drinks deeply, his tongue lapping at the puncture wounds on your neck to encourage the flow of blood.

His grip on you almost bruising as he grinds against you-feeling himself losing control, his body acting on pure instinct as he takes what he needs from you, as if you were providing him with life force.

He finally pulls back, his fangs leaving your neck as he looks at you- your blood on his lips staining them as if he devoured a mound of cherries.

You smear the droplet across the corner of his lip- the red hue replacing what was once ink, pressing your lips onto his.

He moans into the kiss, his tongue tangling with yours.

He carries you over to the nearest surface, which just so happens to be the desk you were just at. He sets you down on it, his body pressing against yours as he continues to kiss you hungrily and messily.

He chuckles against your lips, enjoying the way you groan as he pushes the books off the desk to make space for you. He lifts your hips slightly, grinding his hardness against you through the layers of fabric between you- growling in approval as you open your legs for him, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he presses himself against you even more.

He nips at your collarbone, his lips trailing down to your chest as he begins to unbutton your shirt with deft fingers.

“May I?” He asks before completing removing it at your confirmation.

He pushes your shirt off your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor and leaving you exposed to him

"Gods, you're perfect," he murmurs, his hands moving to cup your breasts as he leans down to capture one of your nipples in his mouth, your head tilting back as moans spills from your mouth- his tongue swirling around it before he gently nips at it with his teeth, the small remnants of your blood on his lips painting your chest in blotches.

His other hand moves to your other breast, his large hand almost completely covering it as he squeezes and kneads the soft flesh.

“Fuck-“ You groan, feeling his fingers tweaking at your sensitive buds while you feel him grinding even harder onto you his fingers trace patterns on your skin as he continues to worship your body.

Your fingers deftly unbutton his shirt, letting it fall open - his head perks back up to capture your lips once more.

Your hands trail down to his belt buckle.

He breaks the kiss, his lips moving to your ear as he whispers

"Eager, are we?"

“Can you blame me…?”

"No," he murmurs. "Because I want you to be. I want you desperate and needy for me…burn for me, like I burn for you.” He groans against your ear, his hands trailing up the sides of your thighs and gripping your hips to toy with the hem of your skirt.

“Stay still”, he whispers, his voice much more playful now. “Let me check the rest of these wounds? Yes?” He mentions, slowly letting the tie of your skirt undo itself as he slides it down, humming in approval as you lift your hips for him.

His cold hands touch your bare skin and you almost flinch, but you welcome them.

“Draga mea…you’re stunning.” He groans, looking down to appreciate your skin under the moonlight seeping from the overhand windows of the library.

You feel the light seeping into your skin and more noticeably his hands becoming more bold, more desperate, and daring. So are his kisses, descending down your neck to the valley of your breast, worshipping your skin as he kneels down to get on both knees while his face is met with your core- your cunt throbbing loud enough that his ears are sure to pick up on it.

He parts your thighs further, his hands gripping them tightly as he continues to kiss and nip at the sensitive skin of your inner thighs.

He's close enough now that you can feel his hot breath on your aching core, but he's deliberately avoiding touching you where you need it most.

“Alucard…please-“

He looks back up at you, cutting you off before you can beg.

“Adrian. I need you to call me that now.” He says, placing a kiss on your core through the fabric.

“Okay?” He adds, waiting for you to nod before he slips the fabric off and finally darts his tongue out to tease the sensitive skin just above your clit, smirking into your folds when he heard your breathe hitch.

He moves his tongue down slightly, tracing around your clit.

He can see how wet you are, your arousal dripping down, tasting it.

He starts to lap at your clit, his tongue swirling around it in tight circles before dipping down to tease your entrance as your moans spill out, hand tangles in the his hair, gripping his golden strands and making him groan into you, eyes darting up to meet yours- lost in the taste and scent of you, completely consumed by the desire to make you feel good.

You feel your hands gripping tighter, the heavy cinch in your abdomen ready to snap.

Minutes that felt like hours of him reverently pleasing you- you tremble and gasp.

He doubles down his efforts, his tongue and lips working even harder to push you over the edge. He can tell you're close, your body trembling and your breath coming in short gasps

“Adrian- I’m-!” You whine, your legs loosening their clasps around his face as you cum on his tongue.

He groans loudly as you cum, his tongue eagerly lapping up every drop of your release. He doesn't stop, continuing to lick and suck at your sensitive flesh even as you ride out your orgasm.

He finally pulls back, his face wet with your juices as he looks up at you. “You’re so beautiful when you cum. I want to make you do it over, and over.” He said, rising up to his feet- resting his forehead against yours as he tries to catch his breath

"You have no idea what you do to me," he whispers, his voice filled with raw emotion, lips brushing on your ear.

“What do I do to you?” You reply, pulling your head back to look up at him.

He gazes back down at you, his heart clenching at the sight of your innocent eyes. His hand cups your face, fingers tracing your supple face.

“You make me want things I never thought I could have. Things I don’t deserve." He admits, almost like confessing a sin to you, leaning in to kiss you again, pressing his lips against yours in a tender caress.

“I almost want to keep you here. Just for myself- look at how selfish you’ve made me, draga mea”. He speaks, a smooth accent painting his last words as he pecks kisses to your jaw, chuckling deeply as he feels your hands unbuckling his belt and letting it fall.

Both of your hands frantically pull at eachother- the innocent chuckles and soft kisses between the seconds it takes for him to undress and spread you apart- ready to give you the attention you need.

He positions himself at your entrance, his cock throbbing with anticipation. He looks into your eyes, his expression filled with desire and possessiveness

"Are you ready for me, love?" he asks, his voice low and rough. "Are you ready to feel me inside you?"

“Yes- please, need more Adrian.” You plead.

He slowly pushes in, his hips moving in a slow, deliberate thrust.

He looks down at you, his eyes locked on your face as he watches your expression

"Relax for me, love," he murmurs, his hands stroking your thighs gently. "Let me in."

You nod, breathing in and out softly as he helps you and reassures you with soft words and gentle caresses.

“You’re doing so well, keep going for me. Breathe…Fuck- just like that.”

He can feel your body relaxing around him, allowing him to slide in further with each slow glide of his hips.

When he finally bottoms out, he feels your walls clenching down on him- making him bite down on his one lip til it bleeds.

The same blood hits your lips over and over on an tangle of kisses, his pace getting faster and more intense as he starts to lose himself inside you- his heart beating in sync with yours as he fucks you on the desk that starts to creak now.

“Fuck- it's so...” You groan, your stomach pooling with the same feeling just moments ago.

"So what, love?" he asks, his voice rough. "Tell me. Tell me how it feels. Tell me everything.”

You whine softly- felling each thrust hammer into you even deeper as he urges you to speak.

“So...fucking good...” You admit, wholeheartedly.

He shudders at your words, his cock twitching inside you. He nips at your ear, his breath hot against your skin

"My perfect little human," he groans, his hands roaming over your body- your walls tightening hearing him whisper to you.

"Oh, you like that, don't you?" he whispers again, his voice low and seductive. "Being told how perfect you are? Hm?”

You can’t reply even if you wanted to- and you most urgently did. Only whines and moans escape your lips.

He chuckles, his smirk widening as he sees the effect his words have on you

"You're such a good girl," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your neck. "So beautiful, so sweet. I wonder how many times I can make you cum tonight."

“So close- Adrian!”

He can feel your body trembling beneath him, your breathing ragged and uneven

“Come for me, darling” he whispers, his voice smooth and sickly sweetened. "I've got you. I'll take care of you. Just like I’ve been doing, yes?”

You look up at him once more- your big pleading eyes grasping for a piece of his soul to gaze into.

Looking down at you again, his eyes meet yours. He's momentarily struck by the vulnerability and trust in your gaze, and it almost brings him to his knees completely.

"God, I love you," he whispers, his voice raw with emotion- almost as if he had no time to think before he spoke, as if it would change anything.

Your heart thumps, unable to tear your gaze away.

“A-Adrian-“ You moan out- his cock still pumping in and out of you and hitting every spot to make you cry out- ultimately making you spill all over him as you cum.

He lets out a shaky breathe feeling you release.

He’s never said those words out to anyone before, never dared to hope that he would ever feel this way at all.

He buries his face in your neck, his movements becoming more desperate as he clings to you, still going even as you’ve finished.

"Say it," he begs, his voice rough. "Please, say it. I need to hear it."

Your thighs twitch around his waist- overstimulated and sweaty, “love you…Adrian-! I love you…” You reply, clawing your nails at his back.

He groans into your neck, his own orgasm washing over him in a powerful wave.

"Oh, gods-" he gasps, his hips stuttering as he spills inside you. He holds you tightly, his body shaking, licking at the wounds he planted on your neck from earlier, wanting to taste the crimson of your being, just a little more.

As the blood draws, each drop hitting his senses, he knows he is binded tightly to a world he cannot live in without your presence. His Affliction.

For a moment, Alucard simply looks at you. Golden eyes searching your face as though trying to determine whether you're merely being kind. When he realizes you're sincere, some of the tension leaves his shoulders.

Barely noticeable.

"I'm glad," he says quietly. His voice is softer now, the afternoon sunlight catching against the pale strands of his hair as he looks at you, and you're suddenly struck by how unfairly beautiful he is.

Especially like this.

The realization makes your smile widen slightly. "Can I call you something too?"

His brows lift. "Something?"

You nod.

"You wish to give me a pet name?"

"Well, yes."

You tilt your head. "If you're going to call me things like my love and beloved, I think I should get one too."

A quiet laugh escapes him then. "I suppose that is fair."

‧₊˚⇢♡ guides you with a hand at your back through crowded towns, unfamiliar roads and in more sketchy parts of wood

Whether you're walking through a crowded marketplace, entering a room, or simply moving through the halls of the castle together, Alucard always seems to find his place just slightly behind your shoulder.

One hand resting lightly at the small of your back.

Never possessive. More so a subtle, discreet gesture. One that many don't notice on first glance.

Like no matter where you are, he'll make certain nothing reaches you first.

₊˚⇢♡ is constantly making sure you're comfortable.

Perhaps it's because he's spent so much of his life caring for others, and caring for you is not much different nor a chore. Though it's probably because the sweet way you breathe a 'thank you Adrian,' or 'you're always so kind thank you my love.' Has him quick to whatever you need to hear those lovely again.

If you're cold, a cloak is draped over your shoulders before you can mention it.

If you're tired, he's already suggesting you rest.

If you're hungry, he's quietly finding a source of food for you.

Half the time, you don't even realize something was bothering you until he's already taken care of it.

And when you thank so softly like the angel you are?

He simply smiles.

‧₊˚⇢♡ always reaches for you in his sleep.

Alucard sleeps lightly by nature. Years of solitude and danger made certain of that. Yet slowly but surely, after sharing a bed with you, over time it's been increasingly easier to sleep soundly next to you.

Primarily because you fall asleep holding his hand.

You always knew that he carried a weight most people could scarcely imagine. The loss of his parents. His complicated love for his father. The loneliness. The years spent wandering with burdens that were never truly his to carry.

You knew there were nights his sleep wasn't peaceful.

So when you'd first begun sharing a bed, you'd made a habit of reaching for his hand before falling asleep. Not because you were afraid to sleep alone. But because you never wanted him to face even his nightmares alone ever again.

The first time you'd done it, he'd looked almost comforted yet confused. Glancing down at your intertwined fingers before looking back at you. Yet he hadn't pulled away.

And after that, it simply became part of your routine.

Until one evening, months later, as candlelight flickered softly across your shared chambers, Alucard spoke just as you were settling beneath the blankets.

"My love?"

His voice was unusually hesitant.

You immediately looked up from where you'd been adjusting the covers. "Yes?"

For a moment, he seemed almost uncertain.

Golden eyes lowering briefly.

Then—

"Would you be comfortable with..." He paused, clearly searching for the words. "Me holding you while we slept?"

A warm smile glaced your lips as your nodded, "Of course, sweetheart."

Once settled into bed, Alucard's arm settled carefully around your waist as though he were handling something precious. Slowly relaxing into you only after you had done so yourself, and once he did, it was almost as though he could finally breathe properly.

Now, months later, Alucard rarely even realizes he's doing it.

You'll wake in the middle of the night to find yourself tucked securely against his chest. One arm wrapped around your waist. His hand resting over yours. Sometimes his face buried lightly in your hair.

Other times, when nightmares try to find him, you'll feel it. The unconscious way his fingers search across the mattress. The way he reaches for you even while asleep.

Seeking warmth.

And the moment he finds you, his body relaxes. The tension leaves his shoulders. His breathing evens out once more.

“Hi.” You sound breathless. Leon sits at his table, letting his legs stretch out in front of him.

“Everything okay?” He doesn’t want to bug you, to be a bother, but after everything he’s seen, he can’t help being a little cautious.

You groan and flop back onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling. Guilt sits heavy in your chest, while a relentless ache twists low in your abdomen, as if someone has decided your uterus makes the perfect punching bag.

The joys of being a woman.

There are few things more frustrating than having plans fall through because of your period. You’d been looking forward to tonight, and now you’re stuck under a blanket, feeling miserable and annoyed at your own body for refusing to cooperate.

“I’m fine I’m just,” you chew at your lip. “Dealing with some stuff.”

Leon's grip tightens slightly on the phone, his jaw tensing. He recognizes that tone, the one you use when you're lying through your teeth to spare him worry. But he knows you better than that. Without a word, he grabs his jacket off the chair and stands up.

“Where are you?” His voice is quiet but firm, the kind of tone that means business before it even fully forms a sentence.

“No Leon I’m fine,” you say quickly, knowing how he’s probably reacting. “I just got my cycle and it’s- brutal.”

He pauses half way down the hall of his apartment, his mouth twisting. “You just got your period?”

“Yep,” you screw your eyes shut. You aren’t exactly embarrassed, your period is natural, but you don’t exactly know if you want to talk to your older boyfriend about it. “I don’t know if I have it in me to go out tonight. I’m really sorry I was really looking forward to it.”

Leon exhales sharply through his nose, relief, then something softer. Not pity. Just… understanding. He turns on his heel and heads back to grab the car keys.

“Don’t apologize,” he says, already jingling them in his hand as he walks out the door toward the parking lot. “I’m coming over.”

He starts the engine before you can argue, not that you would’ve had a chance anyway, and pulls onto the road with one thought: painkillers. His ex once told him ibuprofen helped hers, but maybe she was wrong? He’d buy two brands just in case. And chocolate too, he remembered that part clearly enough from some rom-com Claire made him watch once.

“You don’t have to do that,” you say lightly, turning onto your back. “Really. I doubt this is how you wanna spend your Friday night.”

Leon scoffs, turning the wheel as he merges onto the highway. “Friday night? Babe, I've spent way worse Fridays getting shot at by bioterrorists.” He says it so casually, like discussing a mild inconvenience rather than life-or-death scenarios. The convenience store lights glow ahead. He parks and grabs his wallet before you can even protest again.

“Tell me what kind of chocolate you like,” he demands softly into the phone while scanning snacks for painkillers. His brow furrows in concentration, because this is serious business to him right now. “or I’ll have to guess.”

You smile to yourself. “Dove milk chocolate.”

“Dove milk chocolate,” he repeats. “You got it. Why don’t you rest til I’m there?”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” you sigh, and turn to your side. “Leon?”

“Hm?” He sounds distracted, and you wonder what isle he’s lost himself in.

“Love you.”

Leon chuckles softly on the other end of the phone. “See you soon, sweetheart.”

-

You hear him enter the apartment from beneath your blankets, and you sit up groggily. You had fallen asleep, albeit a bit uncomfortably, and when he walks into your bedroom you smile at him with sleepy eyes. “Hi.”

Leon’s face does something stupidly tender the second he sees you, messy hair, blanket tangled around your waist, eyes half-lidded with sleep. The plastic bags dangle from his fingers as he toes off his shoes and pads over to you.

Without a word, he leans down and presses a soft kiss to your forehead before sitting on the edge of the bed. He pulls out two boxes of ibuprofen (because what if one brand sucked?), Dove chocolates in gold wrappers, and an entire family-sized bag of gummy bears because why not.

“Hey,” he murmurs back, nudging your knee gently with his knuckles.

“Did you buy the whole store?”

“If you wanted.”

You try not to roll your eyes.

Leon hears you up a cup of tea as you prop yourself up on pillows, your tv on playing an old rom com. The chocolates are opened when he comes back, settling you between his legs so your back presses to his chest, his chin atop your head.

Leon wraps both arms around you, warm and solid like a human weighted blanket. He presses his lips to the crown of your head as the cheesy rom-com plays, something with awkward first dates and dramatic confessions in the rain. Not his usual taste, but he doesn’t complain.

He grabs a chocolate piece from the open box between you two, popping it into his mouth before offering one to you next. His fingers brush your cheek as he does, gentle, careful not to smudge it on your skin.

The tea steam curls upward; Leon reaches for it without letting go of you entirely and takes a slow sip where your lips had been just moments ago.

“Thanks for…understanding,” you say softly. “This is really nice though. Just…being with you.”

Leon’s chest vibrates with a quiet hum as he rests his cheek against your hair. The TV glow paints soft golds across the room, and for once, everything feels normal. Not missions or emergencies or bloodstains on his uniform. Just this, you curled into him, shared chocolate melting on tongues.

His hand slides up to cradle the side of your face, thumb stroking your jawline absently. “‘S good,” he murmurs like it’s obvious, that being here with you is better than any other Friday night plans. Then he kisses your forehead again because apparently that's become his new favorite thing to do.

x

Divider @uzmacchiato

Leon Kennedy Blurbs

Leon Kennedy tag list: @yours-truly-andrea @xozoelivia @princesssugarplum

★. girlfriend!lara croft who likes to have her hair braided by you.

☆. girlfriend!lara croft who kisses your cheek at every chance she gets.

★. girlfriend!lara croft who takes one of your necklaces or bracelets with her when she goes on long trips, so she feels like you’re always with her.

☆. girlfriend!lara croft who brings home new recipes from different countries so you can cook them together.

★. girlfriend!lara croft who takes you to small restaurants, hidden libraries and secret antique shops.

☆. girlfriend!lara croft who will take you to undiscovered temples so you can see them before anyone else.

★. girlfriend!lara croft who still sometimes cries about her parents’s death when she’s alone with you.

☆. girlfriend!lara croft who can’t help laughing when you make terrible jokes.

★. girlfriend!lara croft who secretly loves to be cared for, to have someone who worries about her.

☆. girlfriend!lara croft who randomly slips her hands under your shirt, or into your hair, just to make you shiver.

★. girlfriend!lara croft who keeps a list of the places she wants to visit with you across the globe.

☆. girlfriend!lara croft who always shows you her outfit before leaving.

★. girlfriend!lara croft who likes to have your legs on her lap when you’re talking on the couch.

© sozzoe. do not copy, post as yours, translate, or use my work for any AI purposes.

Leon S. Kennedy

You get hurt. You get hurt and he jumps to your rescue, of course. He’s used to being the one-man action team, after all.

When the enemies/creatures have been dealt with, he treats your wounds with a furrowed brow and some sort of tic in his eye. God, he’s fucking tired.

You thank him, and you look so very sincere, but he’s used to that too. And then he checks himself for wounds – he’s always second priority – and when he looks back to the room he’s surprised you’re still here.

People leave. That’s what they do. He helps, he protects, he saves the world every tuesday, he gets thanked, and then people leave.

But you don’t. You stay, you ask if he needs help or a bandage, you thank him again. You ask what your – both of you – next move is. It gets him hesitating, maybe his fingertips even tremble with hope and fear. He’s been carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, all alone, for so long that it’s weird and a little bit terrifying to see you stay.

You keep going together and he keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop. For you to have disappeared when he turns back, or for you to take an opportunity to go your own way. And still. You don’t. You stay. You fight with him and banter with him and hurt with him.

Maybe you even call him « my hero », which gets him snorting because he doesn’t feel like a hero, more like God’s least favorite pest exterminator.

And because he is God’s least favorite pest exterminator, of course you end up getting separated by a concrete corridor crumbling on itself, only a tiny hole, about the size of your face, allowing you to see and hear each other. Already the weight of the world is back on his shoulders as you try and fail to open a passage on the other side, but when your eyes lock with his he sees desperation mixed with sadness, and he knows what’s coming.

But then you say : « I don’t want to leave you alone. » with a sincerity that he really doesn’t know how to deal with. He almost forgets to breathe. His heart is in his throat and he just nods.

You work together to find a way to regroup. You talk to him the whole time through his talkie. You keep encouraging him : « We’ve got this. » « Okay, one step closer. » « Are you alright ? Please keep talking to me. » And by the time you are finally back together, he knows you’re not going to leave.

And he sure as hell isn’t going to leave you either.

Someone please make one of these terrible github sparkly hello kitty edits of Leon with « God’s least favorite pest exterminator » written in glittery pink letter please the world needs it

Chris Redfield

To be completely honest, he’s a goner from the moment you walk in.

The way you answer him like you’re not scared of him in the slightest has him reeling and wanting you around all of the time.

He’s tired of being the responsible one, the strong one, the capable one. He’s tired of being in charge when the world around him is going to hell.

But you treat him like a normal human being, and it’s a breath of fresh air after drowning for so long. He’s just Chris with you. He loves it.

When you get in trouble he’s terrified. You have him doing stupid things that he would bark at his men for. But the way you thank him and smile at him makes it all worth it. And then you bring his squad stuff like homemade cookies to thank them, like they’re the firemen who got your cat out of a tree, like life isn’t so fucking complicated, and he swears if you weren’t here he wouldn’t care about the fate of the world quite as much.

When he has to leave for a long time and he can’t see you he gets cranky. His men have noticed. One of them even once had the balls to tell him to get one of these old-timey pendants with your picture in it, so he can stare at it while he’s gone like a WWII soldier. Chris put him back in his place swiftly, but in the privacy of his mind, he considered the idea for a moment, despite how ridiculous it is.

The men have a betting pool going on about how long it’s going to take him to ask you out. He knows it. He has thought about betting against himself because he knows he won’t ever do it. You deserve a normal life with a normal man. He’s just hoarding what little normalcy you can give him while he still has access to it.

When they come back this time, a lot of them are hurt and most of them are covered in blood, dirt, and whatever biological weapon it was this time. They get into the decontaminating showers – always too cold, and the pressure is so high it feels like the water is piercing their skin – and go through the battery of usual exams to make sure they’re clean. By the time they’re done it’s late into the night, and while some of them still insist on going home, most of them will spend the night in the rooms reserved for them at the facility.

Chris almost always sleeps there a few nights when they come back. He needs the time to adjust back. The bed is clean and the room is safe, and that’s all he needs to know.

But this time there is something on the bed, next to the pillow. It’s a teddy bear. There’s also a piece of paper with your handwriting. « Got him at the fair, he reminded me of you, so I got him for you :) Please be safe <3 »

The bear is a cheap thing, but it’s got a plushie cigarette sewn on its mouth and a serious look. It’s stupid, but it’s cute. And maybe it’s because he’s tired, but the dam breaks. He picks his jacket back up, takes the bear with him, and leaves the facility, headed to your place in the middle of the night.

He’s not going to ask you out, but he’s going to kiss you senseless, if you’ll have him.

Albert Wesker

You’re a tool. But a useful one.

And if he’s being honest with himself, a pretty one.

Probably his favorite piece on the board.

He knows positive reinforcements ensure loyalty, so he compliments you, makes sure to take notice of everything you do and that you are aware he notices. It starts out forced but it does get... easier and easier.

You respond positively each time, good, it’s working.

He starts getting closer. Drawn to you. Physically. Has trouble keeping himself from touching you. Your hair, your face, your waist.

He tells himself that developping a romantic (on your part) relationship would ensure your loyalty even more – people are stupid when it comes to love. So he does touch, more and more, gives sarcastic quips that you respond to. He loves when it comes to you easily, matching his intellect. He loves when you struggle to find words, his pretty little plaything trying oh so hard to win his favor.

He starts kissing your hands, playing the gentleman in all the right moments, just to get you hooked.

He ignores the way he wants to bite at your neck, mark you, tells himself it’s just lust provoked by all this playing around. He’ll get you there anyway.

When you try to leave – or he thinks you try to leave – it all changes. He goes nuts with anger. He’s not above playing a game of cat and mouse with you. Stalking you, hunting you. You are not allowed to leave.

He’s drunk on you, actually, drunk on something he hasn’t even had yet, but he’ll get it. You’re his. And his alone.

And when he catches you, he’ll make sure you can’t forget it ever again.

Ethan Winters

He’s been through so fucking much, died at least 3 times and was brought back through unethical experiments and the power of God’s twisted sense of humor.

Lost his wife twice. The only good thing left in his life is Rose.

When you come around, he’s wary and tired, but he accepts the help anyway, because if he stops thinking that humans are fundamentaly good he’s going to throw himself off a bridge, and it probably won’t even kill him.

And thankfully, you prove him right.

He only gets to come out of the « medical » facility they’ve got him under surveillance at when they need his abilities to... save the world ? Make it worse ? He doesn’t really know anymore.

You’re his usual companion – his guard dog, he thought bitterly at first – and you do your best to actually help him, not let him take all the risks and do all the work. You even fight for him to finally get an appartment outside of the facility, near Rose. He’s still under surveillance, and he has to attend weekly check-ups, but you’re there every time, if only to be a friendly presence.

He cannot thank you enough, really.

When he starts catching feelings for you, he beats them back into the darkness of his heart with a stick. He has loved and been loved and has had that love turned against him in the most painful ways already. He can’t go through that again.

Rose is different. Firstly because she’s his daughter, he really can’t help but love her unconditionally, and he does. Secondly, because she has powers that keep her mostly safe from all the wild conspiracy theory shit that’s happening around them, and he likely will not lose her the way he lost Mia.

But you ? You’re devastatingly human.

He also can’t bear the thought of spreading his monstrosity to you. You’re a good person, a light in the darkness really, and you deserve so much better.

So he keeps his distance. Or pines from afar like a schoolboy with a crush on the popular kid, according to Rose. Which is hard to do when you keep coming around, asking how he’s doing, being friends with Rose outside of work.

So one day, when you come to the appartment with flowers and food and a warm smile, and it’s a bad day with the mold, and you put the flowers in a vase while Rose puts the food in the fridge, when you put the vase down on the table in front of him and he brushes tired fingers against the soft petals, only to see them wilt instantly, he swallows all the anger and hate and misery and tries to hide it all behind his hands. But you are here at his side, all gentle and caring and worried for him. You lay a careful hand on his shoulder, assuring him it’s okay, you’ll just buy more, joking that hey, maybe you’ll buy plastic ones next time.

And he bursts. Send the vase and the rotten flowers flying across the room, shouting at you not to touch him. You jump and take your hand back in fear, and god, that makes him feel even worse. He slumps in his chair, tired from all of it. « I’ll just rot you, too. » he says with tears in his voice.

« Ethan Winters. » you bite after a moment of silence.

« Oh shit, full government name. » quips Rose from the kitchen.

« You are not a monster. » you continue, still looking straight into his eyes. « In fact, you are probably the best man I have ever met. »

He doesn’t see any doubt, or fear, or hint of lying in your eyes. And despite himself, he starts sobbing. In an instant, your arms are around him and you are rubbing his back and petting his hair and laying soft kisses to his temple like you can’t help yourself.

And he knows he’s fucked, he can’t do this without you. He loves you.

Carlos Oliveira

He knows he’s attracted to you fairly early. He’s got a big heart, and to be quite honest, he has been wanting to be in a relationship. So he’s been looking around for that spark and you ? Oh, you’re everything.

But the world is going to shit and there’s much to be done so he doesn’t really get the opportunity to ask you out on a date. Because, yes, he wants to date you. Take the time to know you, to have all the relationship-defining conversations and everything. He wants love, and he isn’t going to waste his time or yours.

But during and in between missions and running away from living nightmares you two are getting close. And he likes what he gets to see.

When you tell him about your hobbies and interests outside of this hell, he loves the way you can’t seem to stop. And he loves the way you can’t seem to stop listening to him when he shares his.

When you talk about the people dear to you, he sees how much affection you have in you, and really, he wants to give it back to you.

When one day the topic of clothing styles come up, and you tell him about you wish you could dress every day, he can’t help but imagine you in the outfits you describe and sometimes he remembers that conversation in the most inappropriate ways and it starts haunting the back of his mind at the most inappropriate moments

He loves your sense of humor, and more than that he loves your laugh.

Lately he’s been loving your smell, and the way you say his name.

Yeah, okay, he’s getting sappy. But he still wants to do things right, and date you first. Besides, it’s still just attraction, nothing more, nothing less.

But then you don’t get paired up. And it’s okay, it’s just one mission, he’ll see you again.

By the time he comes back, you’re gone on your own mission. It’s okay, it happens.

But this back and forth lasts a month and he’s going insane. He can’t even catch you in between missions because when you’re free, he’s gone, and when he’s free, you’re gone. And he really fucking misses you. Is that how his cat feels when he leaves ? (Carlos is a cat man and you cannot convince me otherwise) Like the sun has set and won’t seem to come back up ? At this point he’d pay to see you smile on the other side of the street.

When you finally, finally come back to him, it’s like he can breathe again. And when you see him, there’s a barely contained happy bounce in your step as you approach him, smiling so wide you’d think he was holding the key to word peace.

The conversation starts a bit awkward, « long time no see », « how are you doing ? », but then you fumble with your bag and hand him something. « I got you this ! » you say, bouncing on your feet again.

He looks down and it’s the gaudiest, ugliest, most ridiculous Raccoon City magnet.

Forget dating. He’s marrying you.

Luis Serra

He’s flirting, you’re flirting back, the banter is easy and getting easier each day. He’s having fun talking to you, getting to know you, fighting alongside you, patching each other up. It’s fun, it’s easy, it’s the exact dynamic he’s always wanted to find. You’re a good friend. Right ?

You’re usually together one on one, when your paths do cross. He loves that he gets you all to himself, that he can pry you open slowly, like a treasure chest. And he loves what he finds inside. The humor and the intelligence, the caring, the kindness, the humanity. You both have seen messed up stuff and it’s a welcome reminder that the whole world does not amount to these horrors.

He has started touching you, a hand on your arm, a strand of hair brushed out of your face, an arm slung around your shoulders as he flirts harmlessly, and you’ve been smiling and letting him do it, sometimes even touching him too (a friendly slap on the arm, fingers brushing at a bullet-graze on his clothes), when you both come across another person and, naturally, he flirts with them too.

And suddenly, it all stops.

You don’t touch anymore, you don’t flirt anymore, hell, you don’t even smile at him anymore, except in this awfully polite, hypocritical way that he hates. The contrast is so brutal that it almost gives him whiplash. But he’s a smart man, and he doesn’t take him long to realize what’s going on.

« Are you jealous ? » he asks in his usual flirty, amused tone, once the other person is out of earshot.

He knows he fucked up instantly, because you clench your teeth so hard the vein on your neck starts pulsing. Your eyes are ice cold when you look at him and answer : « I am not jealous. I just realized I was wrong. »

He feels like his heart fell out of his chest and he wants to throw up. You thought- You were- Oh god. Shit. Fuck. Yeah, he flirted with you because that’s his nature, but when you flirted back he thought you were just joking, matching his energy. Honestly, he didn’t even think about it, the fact that maybe you could catch feelings for him, because usually, people don’t. He’s good for a flirt and a lay but that’s it.

Except now, he does have to think about it. Because you were the closest thing he ever got to a friend, and because he actually really liked having you flirt back, the way it boosted his ego like no one else did before. And the way those tentative touches had him lightheaded, wanting to touch more.

Oh. Oh.

He wants to swear in spanish and english and a few other languages that he can barely speak. But instead he says : « I’m an idiot. » Because he is.

You look at him like you’re waiting for him to tell you something you don’t know, and, yeah, he probably deserves that. So, slowly, as if he’s approaching a feral cat, he takes your hand in his.

« You weren’t wrong. But would you believe me if I said that I hadn’t realized it until now ? »

You close your eyes and scrunch up your face to repress a laugh, but you can’t keep a smile. « Oh my god, » you answer, rubbing at your eyes in amused disbelief, « I do. You’re such an idiot. » you add after a beat.

« I am such an idiot, » he agrees, smiling and looking into your eyes, before bringing your hand to his mouth and placing a kiss on your knuckles.

Jack Krauser

Someone in the chain of command tells him you would be better suited for another team, providing proof with statistics and graphs and all that jazz, and all he says is : « Absolutely not. » before storming out of the room.

He looks cold and in control on the oustside but on the inside ? Oh, he wants to burn that person and their entire family, hell, their entire world alive, for even suggesting that you be under someone else’s command.

And even he knows that’s an overreaction on his part.

He hates it but he does have to wonder why. So he examines your interactions, your missions, the times you fought together, the times you fought against each other, the respect for you that grew and keeps growing still.

The way if anything were to happen to you, he would kill anyone in the room and then bring you back in fucked up RE appropriate ways, because truly, it’s not that he can’t do it without you, but he doesn’t want to.

He grits his teeth when the feeling mounts into the conscious part of his mind and when it hits, he gets so infuriated he crushes whatever is on hand. It’s not good, it’s a weakness, it’s a danger to his purpose.

But it doesn’t have to be. He could use you as added motivation. He could put you in the right place, at the right time, so that the danger posed to you will make him dangerously feral. He can use these feelings to his advantage.

Prepare to be put on the front lines a lot, girlie. And if you do get hurt, you will still be barked at, because it’s your own damn fault. He’s already weak enough for you. Don’t make him weaker.

Karl Heisenberg

He knows he’s an asshole and he knows he’s unhinged bordering on totally insane. An asshole, he always was, but he really blames the madness on Miranda and her experiments and being stuck in this goddamn valley for decades with what is basically a cult and its leaders. It’s like cabin-fever. He knows the only way he could regain sanity would be to get the fuck out, but he also knows that the winged freak would never let him, and that he would just allow her plague to grow if he ever did manage to leave, anyway. So he’s stuck here but every second makes him even madder and angrier, like a nuclear reactor getting closer and closer to explosion.

And he knows that makes him fight with you about stupid shit.

And he knew it was only a matter of time until one of those fights turned really ugly. Because he’s an asshole and he’s unhinged bordering on totally insane.

But he must have done something right because ever since he’s let you stay with him you’ve been growing more and more confident around him, and yes, that also means you’ve been butting heads more, and you haven’t been backing down. He loves that. He hates that. On good days it makes him laugh like a maniac, but on bad days, like today, it makes him absolutely enraged.

He knows he almost blew the entire factory up. He knows he almost killed all his monsters, the villagers, and you. And he knows you know it too. You saw him start turning into the real monster that’s constantly bubbling under his skin, saw his body and face contort into terrifying, inhuman shapes.

He doesn’t know if you ran away. He wouldn’t blame you if you did. Metal was already flying everywhere in a chaotic ballet and the entire factory was rumbling under the force of the power literally pushing at its walls, when he felt himself changing. He saw the panic in your eyes and caught himself, surrounded himself in a thick layer of junk, like a straight jacket, like a weighted blanket, clawed at his own face in the darkness, screamed his voice raw, and when the self-hatred finally passed, he made himself breathe to kill what was left of the rage. The only thing left now was guilt.

The claw marks had healed already, and he was back to his « human » appaearance. But he didn’t dare let his metal cocoon fall away yet. You probably had ran away, actually, a very normal reaction to mortal danger. And he probably wasn’t the same person anymore, in your eyes. Maybe he wasn’t even a person anymore. He had accepted the fact that he was a monster now long ago, and it was only a matter of time until you figured it out too.

He finally comes out of his cage and, yeah, you’re not here. A wise decision. He’s not even mad, really. Just... alone. And it hits him harder than he would have thought. And it also hits him that he fucking got attached. He thought he was too old and too fucked up to develop teenager crushes, goddammit.

He sits down on the nearest chair and lets all of the junk fall to the ground in a deafening cacophony. He used a lot of energy on his outburst and he’s so, so tired now. Thanks to Miranda’s curse, he knows he’ll be right back to his usual chaotic energy in a few hours, but right now he feels the exhaustion in his bones. He leans back on the chair and pulls his hat on his eyes to maybe take a nap, when footsteps echo outside of the room. He raises his chin just in time to see you come in, all straight back and clenched fists. He doesn’t say anything, torn between wonder at the fact that you’re still here, and wonder at the fact that you’re still alive in this valley if your survival instinct is that bad.

« Get up. » you say, your eyes wet and your jaw set. He adjusts his hat back and he does get up, because what the fuck, and you take his hands with trembling fingers and raise his arms a little and examine him like he’s a pickpocket and you’ve found your wallet missing.

But then you ask : « Are you okay ? » with a shaky voice. Oh, you’re really stupid, he thinks, because sweetheart, what are you doing, worrying for the monster who almost ate you up ? But something else stirs in the back of what’s left of his humanity, something soft and fragile, and really, he can’t bring himself to lie.

« I haven’t been okay in a long time. » he snorts derisively. And you fucking sniffle. And ask if you can hug him. He is honestly too stunned to do anything but open his arms for you, and he has to admit that when you snuggle against him, it feels nice. Human. Almost normal, even.

After he walked you home the other night, you kept his jacket and you hugged him, so unless he’s completely out of touch with modern dating, it appears you’re still interested.

There’s a good thing about this, though. Sort of. He’s been staring at the cabinet day after day, aching for a swig of whiskey… and while he’s indulged a couple times to sate the urge, it’s not like before. He has to be available if you call, and be capable of whatever ask you might throw at him. 

He wants to be needed by you, wants you to lean on him. Make a difference in a manner that might feel like nothing compared to his usual missions, but would be big for you.

With work, well…

Yes, the work is important: saving lives, making a difference where he can. And he does take a certain satisfaction in that. But he can’t deny that lately—for a while now, actually—every time he receives a call from the D.S.O. for some new task, it hangs over him more like a heavy obligation than a call to action. 

Though he’s long past literally being forced into this work. Because if he doesn’t do it, then who will? How many times has he been involved in a job that would’ve gone to complete shit if it weren’t for him? How many more people would be dead?

It’s not the D.S.O. that’s the problem, he knows that. Even with all its flaws. 

It’s the world. 

One thing after another. Never ending tragedies, destruction. Corruption. 

Leon toyed with the idea of leaving the D.S.O. before. And in everything that happened last year, work was probably the main thing that kept him sane through the aftermath. It kept his mind occupied; offered a distraction. Most people can’t talk to him when he’s on missions. Most missions don’t offer personal time. Even on the more laid-back excursions that end with a night in a hotel or safe house, Leon always finds himself exhausted when he returns. And when you sleep light and on alert, the debt never stops accumulating.

He’s always been like that, but it got worse after Raccoon City Syndrome symptoms began and again after her passing. The last time he slept decently was the first night spent with you.

No matter how much he considers it, he’s never been able to pull the plug on this work. There’s always a reason to keep going, even if he dreads the calls. He’s not sure he will ever quit. Not until his body simply isn’t capable anymore. 

He’ll never be free, that’s a given. He can only hope for better. To fill his time outside of work with something brighter.

***

Incoming Call Unknown Number

Leon’s long since lost faith in any higher power, but he’s still praying now, to any god that’ll listen, that this unknown number belongs to you.

“Leon?”

“Who’s asking?” he responds, despite recognizing your voice instantly.

Warmth bubbles up his chest. A comfortable, hopeful warmth, that he hadn’t truly felt since getting his hands on that antiviral a year ago; until he started spending time at your bar, and you pried his cage open with your persistence.

“Oh, shut up,” you giggle into the phone. “I… I’m sorry that this is the first thing I’m calling you for, but I could use a favor. Are you free?”

“Calendar’s clear. What d’you need?”

“We’re doing a birthday thing at the bar tonight for Daisy,” you explain, sounding a bit nervous, “and Devon was supposed to bring her birthday cake, but he can’t anymore and the bus takes more than an hour to get there and back—it’s ridiculous, I know—and she’ll be here soon. I know it’s silly, sorry ag—”

“Glad to,” he answers. “You’re at the bar?”

“Yes.”

“Can be there in ten minutes. That alright?”

“Yes! Oh my god,” you say, relief palpable. “You’re a life saver, Leon.”

See?

A small thing for him that’s a big thing for you. Your happy, grateful voice just then is reward enough—having your number now is the cherry on top. 

“See you soon.”

He should probably jerk off before picking you up to help clear his mind. Especially after hearing that giggle of yours, Jesus Christ. He’s been doing an exceptionally shitty job at thinking rationally around you and about you, as his unfinished report proves. 

But that would take too much time. He’s waited long enough to hear from you, to help you. 

Leon grabs the first coat he sees and slips his easiest shoes on, determined to arrive at your place quicker than ten minutes. He takes the steps two at a time down to the driveway and drives the Porsche a bit faster than he should.

Okay, more than a bit.

He arrives in exactly eight minutes and fourteen seconds, pulling over as he drives up in front of the bar. You’re already standing outside, and shit, you might be trying to give him a heart attack dressed like that. You’re wearing a black party dress that squeezes your figure and stops at your thighs. His jacket hangs at your elbows, and you’ve done your makeup and hair.

You don’t seem to register that the Porsche is your ride until he rolls down the window and calls for you.

“Thank you for coming,” you say, settling in and pulling over your seatbelt, “but when were you going to tell me you drive a fucking Porsche?”

“Today.”

“Uh huh.”

Leon’s wearing a black long-sleeved shirt that fits him in all the best places and grey jeans he pulled out of the laundry basket, held up by a black belt. He feels like he should’ve taken the time to put on something nicer after all, but him being underdressed doesn’t seem to register for you, judging by how your eyes are wandering.

“You know where we’re goin’ or you wanna type it in?” Leon holds his phone out to you, unlocked.

“Oh no, I’m the worst at giving directions. Hold on… here.” You type the address into his Maps. “Fifteen minutes.”

He drives the speed limit (or slower) this time, savoring this priceless time.

“You know,” you start when you’re a few blocks away from the bar, “I thought about calling you before today. Or texting you. I couldn’t decide what to say, I kept typing and deleting everything I wrote. And you stopped coming to the bar, and I wondered why. If that meant anything…”

“Thought you should have the choice,” Leon answers, staring straight ahead.

You nod. 

“You missin’ me at the bar?”

“Kinda, yeah.”

“Wanted to give you some space is all. I’ll be back.”

He probably shouldn’t, but he will.

His right hand moves over the center console, coming to rest on your leg, closer to your knee than your thigh—though the thought is tempting.

“When we get back to the bar… would you want to join us?” you ask. “Stay for the party?”

“Shouldn’t,” Leon says, furrowing his brows, damning himself for choosing to be responsible. “Got paperwork to finish up tonight.”

“Oh. Uh, sorry if I interrupted that.”

“Nah. I was kicking the can all damn day, just need to suck it up and finish.”

Last time he told you he “shouldn’t” do something—well. You both know how that turned out.

***

The time driving back passes by much faster. Must be the looming understanding that he’ll have to go right back home once he’s dropped you off, to spend more time alone and keep resisting that bottle of whiskey. Although, in that regard, being surrounded by bottles of liquor in a fucking bar can’t be much better.

But he’d be on the hook to drive you home. 

“You sure you don’t want to come in?” you press once he comes to a stop at the front entrance, and fuck, it’s hard for him to resist you.

No, he’s not sure. Not with the mental gymnastics he’s actively participating in to justify why being around you is a good thing, actually, and especially not when you’re dressed like that. Sitting in the passenger seat of his Porsche and looking like you belong in it.

Leon really did fuck up by not getting off before coming to pick you up. 

“I’m sure,” he lies. 

“Okay. Good luck with your paperwork.”

You’re clearly a little disappointed, and he doesn’t like that it’s because of him, even if it is because he’s trying to be responsible. 

You take your seatbelt off and lean over the middle, cupping the side of his face with your hand and pulling him in, your lips meeting his. The kiss is slow, deep—but you only give him one before drawing back. It’s a taste; a peek at everything still left unsaid.

“Goodnight, Leon.”

He’s a statue as you gather your stuff and step out of the car; he should get up and open the door for you, but he’s glued in place. Stunned, gawking at you as you get out in that beautiful dress, letting you walk away. 

And just like that, you’re entering the bar and leaving him behind. 

Leon pulls himself together and drives off. 

He makes it about halfway home. Can he really stand to miss out on this with you? After waiting by the phone so long for your call? Getting this out of his system would be for the best, clearly.

Muttering some curse under his breath, he makes a U-turn at the next intersection and comes right back, undoing all that effort to subdue himself. 

His report can wait. What would the D.S.O. do, anyway? Fire him? The worst he’ll have to deal with is explaining to Sherry why he’s been so distracted lately—and that wouldn’t exactly be his definition of fun, but it would probably be good for him. 

No one knows about you. Not Sherry, not Grace, not Chris; right now, you’re his secret. There’s something nice in that, the solace and feeling like he has something all to himself for once. Before, no matter how quiet he was or how much he tried to keep things to himself, the people around him always had a way of finding out more than he liked.

The death of his wife felt like such a public affair and completely inescapable. The funeral, the leave from work, people showing up at their house to express condolences (and then others coming to his desk and doing the same once he returned), all of it. It never fucking stopped.

It was suffocating him—and so, the moment the D.S.O. suggested a relocation to help stand up their new office in the Pacific Northwest, Leon was beyond eager to accept.

He parks down a few blocks and knocks at the locked bar door, settling his hands in his pocket. It’s a conscious decision he makes, like manually breathing. He’s all out of whack. Anxious. It’s an unusual feeling.

After a short time, it’s you who opens the door. Like you knew.

And that relieves some of the simmering anxiety.

“Hi,” you say, your smile beaming, absolutely fucking radiant. He can’t believe he almost didn’t come back. “Finish your work so quickly?”

“Let’s go with that. Still got room for one more?”

“It’s perfect timing, we were just about to do the candles. Come on!” you urge, grabbing his arm in your excitement and dragging him over to the bar with everyone else.

The group is small, less than twenty heads by his quick count. Leon recognizes a few people; Daisy and Lucas, of course, their shifts often overlapping with yours, and a couple familiar faces he doesn’t have names for. He can’t be sure, but he wonders if he’s the only person on ‘this’ side of the fence here—the sole customer. None of the regulars he knows of are here tonight; not even the friendliest, youngest ones.

“Hi,” you say meekly to the crowd staring at you, wrapped around Leon’s arm. “Everyone, this is Leon.”

Most of the group waves and says their names with a quick ‘nice to meet you’, completely unaware, but Daisy has the biggest smirk on her face when she says ‘hi’, as if this happening is a birthday gift all of its own. 

Daisy had kept her cool when Leon spoke to her when you weren’t there, apparently capable of turning on a filter, but with you present? It’s gone.

“I knew I recognized that jacket!” she exclaims, making the connection in real-time as her eyes dart between each of you. “Oh, we have so much to talk about.”

She’s staring at you.

Leon stands there, caught between enjoying the warmth that seems to be rising within you and instinctually wanting to step in and save you. 

Earlier, he’d also been apprehensive about joining in; being around your coworkers like this, displaying that whatever is between you two is more than nothing, more than bartender and customer. Now, after he’s actually here? He realizes how freeing it is. 

Here, everything is new. He doesn’t know these people, not yet—this is your world.

Leon says nothing and adjusts his arm that you’re hanging off, slipping behind you and resting at the small of your back, under the jacket. His jacket, that you’re wearing. That motion that closes the empty space between you, the sides of your bodies connecting, is response enough to Daisy’s curiosity as far as Leon is concerned. 

It’s one of those things: small for him, big for you (actually, maybe this one is big for him, too). The ceremony continues on like nothing happened, as it should. 

The man beside Daisy—her date, Leon assumes—lights the candles, and the group sings her happy birthday. He even joins in, blending into the crowd. A new, and very welcome, experience for him. 

When Daisy blows them out and everyone is clapping with their eyes on her, Leon leans over to you, nudging you closer with his arm and kissing you. 

Not slow, nor fast. Not sweet nor rough. It simply is. 

“I’m happy you came,” you say as you part. “And I really can’t thank you enough for driving me.”

“It’s my pleasure.”

It doesn’t take long for Leon to notice Daisy staring you down, desperate for your attention. He looks at you and nods towards her, getting you to notice. 

“I’ll be back.” 

“Take your time. I’ll be here.”

***

Leon does his best to mingle with your friends when they approach him in your absence. Most ask the obvious, apparently not clued in: how do you know her?

So you also haven’t talked about this. Not that he expected you to talk—this has been nothing but a few interactions and a fuck, if he’s trying to be objective about it—but most of those he speaks to seem surprised that you’re here with a date at all. 

Leon wishes he knew more about you. Thus far, from conversations with other guests, he’s learned that you’re close to your mother, you had a bad breakup with your ex (a few months ago, if he heard right?), and you’ve lived here almost your whole life.

All things he should’ve asked you about on that walk home instead of letting it go on in silence for as long as it did.

He’s not used to this whole… dating and courting thing. If that’s even what’s happening. Was never great at it when he was young, and even worse now after being married for so long. It’s not like riding a bike, that’s for sure. 

“Leon!” you call then, rescuing him from anymore solo conversations. 

You gesture towards yourself, waving for him to come over, and Leon is happy to approach the counter, standing across from you. He notices you’ve got a bottle of whiskey in your hands and a row of shot glasses. 

“Come on, I’m pouring your favorite,” you say excitedly, quickly pouring down the lined-up shot glasses, filling each one uniformly. 

It’s probably still enabling bad behavior, but he’ll allow himself this because he drinking with you is different. 

And he has a very hard time saying no to you. 

“Alright, but I gotta take it easy,” Leon warns, “as your designated driver. One.”

“I could walk.”

“No chance you’re walkin’ home alone tonight dressed like that.”

“You could come with me,” you note. 

“Forecast says it’s gonna rain.”

“Okay, you win,” you give in, sliding a shot across the bar. “Your one drink, sir.”

Leon picks his up when you grab yours, matching your motions and downing it at the same time. 

Yeah. He needed that. Hits his throat like fucking heaven. 

You dole out the shots to everyone around you, and soon after pour another round. It takes all of his self-discipline, but Leon declines this time. He will drive you. He can always pull out that bottle in the cabinet once he’s back home. 

You walk around the counter to meet him on the other side. You shake his black jacket off your arms first, folding it nearly and setting it on one of the chairs before turning your attention to him. 

“Cake?” you ask, gesturing back to the table. 

You’re more activated than you were earlier.  Tipsy, definitely. It’s clear in how you let your stare linger on him, the bubblier tone of your voice, and your flushed cheeks. Cute.

“Nah, thanks though.”

“You have to at least try it,” you say, lifting your fork towards Leon, offering a small bite. “It’s really good. That place makes the best cakes.”

Shit, if you weren’t surrounded by people right now, he’d let you feed it to him. 

Instead, he makes sure to overlap his palm with yours when he takes the fork from your grasp and eats it, pleased in how closely you’re watching his movements behind those thick eyelashes and pretty eyes…

“Mm. You were right,” he says, setting the utensil back on your plate.

“Knew you’d like it. It’s this little bakery on the north end of town,” you tell him excitedly. “They have really good coffee, too.”

“S’pose I’ll have to take you there some time.” 

“Yeah,” you respond, posture relaxing. “You will.”

Wordlessly, Leon grabs your hand and leads you to the far end of the bar. Your corner. 

It’s not all that far away, but in this moment, it feels like you’re in your own little world here. Suddenly, it’s only you and him. 

“So,” he starts, gripping your waist and hoisting you onto the edge of the counter, “how was your talk with Daisy?”

“She’s fucking nosy, that’s for sure,” you say. 

“That’s the birthday girl you’re talking about.”

“Oh, fuck off with that. No special treatment for the birthday girl.” You laugh, leaning farther back on your palms pressed to the table. “Besides, she’d say the same about me.”

Leon wonders if you’re doing it on purpose, pushing your chest out at him like that. 

“Yeah, you’re similar in that way, aren’t you?”

“She’s worse, though. We’ve been friends for years, and she’s always got her nose up my ass, I swear.” You laugh, but there’s a hint of nervousness in it. “I didn’t tell her much about you, like your job or—”

“Not asking because I’m worried about what you’ll say. I’m merely curious,” he says, leaning closer into you and lowering his voice. “Did you tell her I spent the night? How hard you came from just my fingers?”

“Would you like me to?” you challenge. “Cause it’d really satisfy her curiosities. Bet she’d be as surprised as me to find out your dick still works like you’re in your twenties.”

“You had doubts?”

You shrug, grinning. 

“I’ll have to make sure that’s fully cleared that up, then.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” you counter.

With that, you jump off the counter, sliding by him and running off to the bathroom, leaving Leon alone once more. He takes pride in your abrupt exit, thinking how flustered you looked.

It’s not long before Leon’s phone buzzes and he pulls it out of his pocket, stomach dropping from worry it could be for work. 

It’s from you. 

He opens it to a picture of you in the bar bathroom with your dress lifted up to your chest, revealing your lacy black panties and a hint of the matching bra underneath. 

Leon gasps, actually gasps at the sight. As he’s contemplating a response to you, his phone vibrates again—another picture, this time with the neckline of your dress pulled down, breasts threatening to spill over. He can hardly believe it; he started this day waiting on your call, and now he’s ending it with your risqué photos saved to his phone.

Leon: Fuck. You: wanna escape? You: im ready to go home Leon: Would you rather come to mine?

You must’ve hypnotized him with those photos, because immediately after hitting send, Leon’s cursing himself for inviting you over. It’s not that he doesn’t want you to come over; obviously he does, the message coming unbound unwittingly.

Not only is his place horribly sterile and not fit for guests of any kind, Leon hasn’t had anyone over since he was still married.

And it doesn’t feel wrong, not exactly. Not because of you, anyway. It’s the experiences, being able to remember the good side of living—when shecan’t anymore. Further, she never even stepped foot in this new house, but you will. It’s like he’s starting a life that’s excluding her, and that’s a tough pill to swallow. 

She’d want him to be happy. She’d want him to move on, find a way to love life again. He knows that, he does. But it’s one thing to know it and another to let yourself fully believe it and without shame. He feels guilty that he’s letting you in so readily, when this vulnerability didn’t come so easily with her. It took time. It’s unfair. 

All of this is not fair to you, either, though he’s been trying to shove that thought deep away in some mind drawer he could forget about.

He’s being so selfish, and that’s wrong. His role has always been to give, give, give for the benefit of others, for the world. Hasn’t it?

Treating you differently than he did the love of his fucking life. Leaving his friends behind with such little notice. How often he considers quitting the D.S.O.; god, the mere thought of it feels too self-centered. Dragging you into his life that you know nothing about, that he can’t ever fully tell you about—this side of the world that’s unsafe for anyone, but especially unsafe for you, a civilian. 

And then you’re out of the bathroom and by his side again, laughing and holding onto his arm, and he makes himself forget about all of that for a minute. Be selfish and pretend that whatever this is can one day amount to anything. 

“You ready?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” you say, nodding. You poke your finger to his chest and add, quiet so only he can hear, “Stop by my place first?”

So you give him your answer to his text.

“Yeah.”

***

When you take a little longer getting your things than he anticipated, Leon shuts the car off and decides he should check on you; make sure everything’s okay, see if you need his help. He hears shuffling from down the hall and walks up to your bedroom door. It’s slightly cracked.

“You alive in there?” he asks, gently knocking to inform you of his presence. 

“Leon!” You seem surprised by his presence. Must not have realized how much time passed. “Come over here.”

He pushes the door open and enters, walking over to you; you’re at your dresser, rummaging through your shit to pack your overnight bag. 

“This?” You hold up a dark blue, lace and mesh bodysuit. “Or these?” You shove the bodysuit in his hands and then hold up a matching set, deep red underwear and a bra. “Or you’re happy with what I’m already wearing?”

You push the other set into his hold, too, and then grab the top of your dress and pull down, reminding him of the black lacy set you wore tonight and in the pictures. 

As if he could forget. 

Imagining you in each of them, and the fact that the reason you’d taken a minute is because you were picking out what to wear for him once he undresses you… no, he can’t think about that. Not yet. He wants—needs—tonight to be more than sex.

Leon sets all the items you’d given him on your dresser and wraps his arms around your waist, pressing your body into his. His lips find yours, kissing you softly a few times before continuing them along your jawline and around to your ear.

“Like ‘em all, so bring what you want,” he whispers, “but you better decide fast, or we’ll never make it outta here.”

“Okay, okay,” you acquiesce, pushing on his chest. “I’m almost done, I swear. Can you check to make sure I locked the back door?”

“Sure.”

Leon’s fingertips linger as long as they can when he lets you go. You still have the brightest, most ridiculous smile on your face and it’s infectious—he flashes you his own growing grin as he walks out the room.

Something about your request to check the back door activates his instincts. He checks the locks on all of your windows before making sure the deadbolt on the back door is locked, then pulls the curtains all the way across the rod to cover the window fully. One of the window locks is a little flimsy—he’ll need to get that fixed for you. 

You come out just as he’s done making the rounds, bag in hand. Without missing a beat, Leon approaches you and takes it into his own. 

“Ready?” he asks. 

“I am,” you answer, wrapping his jacket tighter around your body. It still smells like him.

You take your keys from the pocket and follow him out, locking the door behind you. A sprinkling rain starts shortly after you get in his Porsche, perfect timing. 

“You’re nervous,” he comments, noticing the slight waver of your hand as you buckle in. 

“You’re inviting me over.”

“That a bad thing?”

“No!” you object.

You turn away from him and look out the window, but Leon already caught sight of the blush crawling across your cheeks before you’re out of his view. 

“Then…?” he pushes you, enjoying this. 

“I mean—I never thought I’d get to see your life outside the bar. You know?” you explain, still facing away as you speak. “I’m excited to see your place. There’s so many things I’ve been curious about, but you were always like a closed book. Glued shut. But lately…”

“What else d’you wanna know?”

His offer catches you off-guard; you turn back to him, like you need to inspect his expression to believe he’s giving you an open invitation. 

“Your job,” you start. “What do you do for the D.S.O.?”

“Ah. Startin’ with the hard hitters,” he replies. “Can only tell you so much. Classified work.”

“Well, you must work in the field?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s that like?”

“Difficult.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“No, it’s alright. It’s tough work, and I practically live at their whim.” Leon’s tone shifts slightly, less relaxed compared to a few moments ago. “But someone’s gotta do it.”

“I see. So it’s like… a duty to you?”

“Something like that,” he says. “I’ll warn you that my house ain’t anything special. Moved in not long ago, haven’t taken time to do much with it.”

She was the interior decorator of their old place. Insisted on it. Leon bought a few things he liked for the house, but his style is incredibly ‘sterile’, as she described it. If he was in charge of decorating the whole thing, it would’ve looked like an eerie model home.

“I mean, my place isn’t anything special, either,” you offer. “You’ve seen it. I have no sense for interior design.”

“Sure. Your place looks lived in though. Like a home,” he notes. “Mine doesn’t.”

“Whatever. I’m sure it’s fine,” you answer. “Anyway. No pets, I assume?” Leon shakes his head no. “What do you do when you’re not at the bar or working? Or doing silly favors for me?”

“Not much,” he admits, a half-truth. 

He can’t exactly tell you how he spends most of his days drinking, or had until very recently. Now he spends most of his days thinking about it, longing for it between the occasional drink to keep his sanity. The only thing stopping him from indulging in it that much anymore is needing to be presentable for you. 

He’s lucky you called when you did, while he’d been hunched over that fucking paperwork. Kept wrestling himself trying to justify another shot, resisting so he could put pen to paper (in the end, he still barely managed to get down a few sentences). Rinse, repeat. 

Never should’ve written anytime, for anything on that note. He knows better. What if you’d waited longer and called when he’s out on a mission? Would he have answered, phone in one hand and gun in the other? What if he’d been deep in the drink when you called?

The vibe shifts in the car. You’ve been given freedom to ask questions, and you did, but Leon realizes he’s giving you pretty shitty answers. 

“No pets,” he restarts, filling the silence. “Not that I don’t like ‘em, but this life doesn’t leave room for that type of responsibility.” He laughs as he tacks on, “Never could keep any plants alive, either.”

He turns into the driveway of a modern split-level home so nice you’re sure that he’s pulling in just to back out and turn around. Clearly in denial, considering you’re at the end of a wide cul-de-sac and Leon’s putting the car in park and turning it off.

“Oh.” You look ahead in disbelief, and Leon can’t decide if he feels silly (all of this lavish shit for one guy who hardly uses it?) or gratified by your reaction. “Leon, this is your place?”

“As of a few months ago, yeah.”

“It’s beautiful,” you say. “Oh my god, seriously, it’s like the type of house you point at as a kid and dream about living in one day.”

“Glad you think so.” 

“Hey, uh—one more question.” You reach out and lay your hand on his forearm awkwardly. “You’re really not mad at me… for going through your stuff?”

Leon tenses a bit. He’s not mad.

“Wish you hadn’t,” he admits after a short but heavy silence. “But it’s not a problem. Nothing in there I’d hate for you to know.”

He’d rather have been able to tell you about his wife himself, admittedly, and wishes it could’ve happened later. Feels like a reveal that propelled this further, simply by you knowing this part of his life now, and it can’t be walked back. But maybe it wouldn’t have made much of a difference anyway, with how quickly you’ve wormed your way into his head.

“Right,” you say, “sorry again. I’ll ask next time. I really don’t make a habit of invading peoples’ privacy like that, I promise.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Leon says, trying to reassure you. “Don’t gotta be sorry.” He takes the hand you laid on him, curling a finger underneath and lifting your palm to his face, kissing one knuckle. “Serious. If I cared that much, you’d know.”

“Asking ‘cause of what I said earlier?”

“…Kinda.”

“I’m sorry. Wasn’t supposed to be anything but banter.”

The rain abruptly picks up, coming down hard and interrupting your conversation, but he believes you and he hopes you believe him.

“Wait here, alright? I’ll only be a second.”

You nod.

Leon takes your bag from the backseat and carries it up to the door, unlocking it swiftly and stepping half-inside. He drops the bag and grabs an umbrella close by, opening it on the way back and holding it over the car as he opens the door for you.

“This is absurd, it’s not that far!” you protest, but Leon has already learned that you like his princely gestures; you like being doted over.

“Thought you’d wanna keep your hair dry. But if you don’t care—”

Leon starts to pull the umbrella away, threatening you with the pouring rain, and you instantly lunge out to grasp the handle and hold it steady, both your hands wrapped around one of his.

When you signed up to be an FBI agent, you didn't expect to be trapped in a care center that was transformed into some type of facility where people were tested on… 

Well, you weren't necessarily trapped. Yes, you were stuck in the center with no way out, but you also willingly came in after learning that your coworker, Grace, was kidnapped here. Your boss told you not to go because it was too dangerous, but you didn't listen. 

Now, you were wandering down hallways and sneaking past dozens of infected who roamed around the place. You thought after the Raccoon City incident, the government had this virus under control, but now, it has begun to spread again. 

It must be from that guy who apparently kidnapped Grace. You were told his name was Victor Gideon, and he was a former Umbrella researcher. 

Suddenly, you heard a scream in the distance, but it wasn't from an infected…

You quickly ran down the hallway, pushing open a door that led into a large room. In the middle of the room was Grace, and you caught a glimpse of a large creature running out the door. Before you could process anything, Grace fell to her knees, holding her head in her hands. 

“Grace!” You called out, running over to where she was and crouching down next to her. “Hey, hey…” You try to soothe her. She was breathing heavily, and her hands were shaking. 

“I–I can’t–” Grace finally said, letting out a sob. She was having a panic attack… You sat down on the floor and grabbed Grace’s hands, rubbing your thumbs over them with the hope it would ground her. 

“Grace, it’s me, I’m here,” You add. Grace was still shaking and breathing fast. When she finally composed herself enough to feel your touch on her hands, she collapsed into your arms. “Hey, it’s okay…” You murmur as she lets out sobs. You had your arms wrapped around her while her back was leaning against your front. 

“H-how… How did you find me?” Grace whispered, hiccuping in between her words. 

“Shh… just try to take deep breaths, okay?” She tried to follow your instructions, taking short, shaky breaths. You rubbed your hands up and down her arms. She was cool to the touch, and you felt dried blood on her bare skin. 

“There we go…” You murmured after a few minutes. Grace had begun to calm down; her sobs and shaking subsided, though she still remained in your arms. “Are you hurt anywhere?” You ask her. 

“J-Just my hip…” Grace replied, finally leaning back from your arms. Your eyes drift to her hip, where she has her jacket tied around her stomach. You noticed the blood staining her jacket, turning it a dark red color, and making you frown. You slowly unwrapped the jacket and lifted her shirt slightly, revealing a nasty, dark red gash. 

“God… why would you go out alone?” You said under your breath, rubbing your thumb against the dried blood on her cheek. “We need to get you away from whatever infected is still roaming around in here,” You added after a moment, standing up from the ground. You extend your hand out to Grace and pull her upwards. You expect her to let go, but she keeps her fingers interlocked tightly with yours as you walk down one of the hallways. 

“I was told that the guy who kidnapped you is someone named Victor. Do you know what he wants to do with you?” You asked her after a few minutes of wandering. Grace remained close to your side, letting out a quiet groan every once in a while as her wound kept getting worse. 

“I–I don’t know… When I first encountered him, he tied me to a chair and hooked IV needles into my arms to take my blood,” Grace replied, and you frowned again. Why would someone need Grace’s blood?

“I’ll get you out of here… I promise,” You told her, squeezing her hand lightly. You were curious what else had happened, as Grace was a disheveled mess. Her shirt was torn up, her hair was frizzy, and she still had various blood stains across her body, but you didn’t want to keep pushing her. 

Eventually, you made it back to the main area and brought Grace to one of the side rooms, sitting her down on the couch. She let go of your hand and slowly moved the fabric of her jacket away from her hip, wincing as she did. 

“I found a medkit earlier. Can I clean your wound so it doesn't get infected?” Though you didn't have much medical experience, the FBI taught you a few things during training. 

“Yeah…” Grace agreed, nervously fidgeting with her hands. You pulled out the small medkit from your bag before sitting next to Grace on the couch. 

“Tell me if anything hurts too much, and I'll stop,” You say, grabbing a small cloth out of the medkit and leaning down towards Grace's hip. You begin to gently wipe away the blood that stained her skin around the wound. Your head was so close to Grace's face that you could clearly hear her shaky breaths and quiet groans. “You're doing so good…” You try to reassure her. 

“Fuck!” Grace curses as a separate cloth that you poured alcohol on touched her skin. You pulled the cloth away, looking up at her with concern. 

“I know it hurts… You're just going to need to breathe with me, okay? Deep breaths…” You demonstrate taking a large inhale, followed by a long exhale, and you repeat it a few times before Grace imitates you. 

As you continued, you took your free hand and brought it down to hers, interlocking your fingers with hers. Grace's cheeks heated red for a moment, but as you started cleaning the wound again, she held your hand tightly while trying to take the deep breaths you showed her. Grace let out occasional whimpers of pain, leaning her head against your shoulder like it would muffle the pain. You kept your hand tightly in hers, letting her dig her nails into your skin. 

“Almost done… you're so strong,” You whispered to her, and when you finished cleaning it, you pulled out a bandage wrap from the medkit and gently wrapped it around her hip. “You'll need stitches for that, but it'll be better to get it from a professional than me,” You add, leaning back from her and putting the leftover supplies back in the kit. 

“T-thank you!” Grace peeped out in embarrassment as she removed her head from your shoulder and slowly released your hand. Grace couldn't help but stare at you as you stood up from the couch. Her cheeks were heating red again, but this time, it wasn't from the pain. 

“Are you okay?” You ask her, noticing her face turning that light shade of red. You pressed the back of your hand against her forehead, thinking she was sick, but she felt fine. 

Suddenly, Grace grabbed your wrist and pulled you back down onto the couch, and before you could protest, she leaned forward and pressed her lips against yours. 

It took you a moment to process it, but you started kissing her back, moving your hands to hold her cheeks. Grace groans as you nip her bottom lip gently, and her lips part slightly. Taking the opportunity, you slip your tongue into her mouth before slowly pushing Grace down onto the couch until she kept herself up with her elbows. Grace's hands slowly slid under your shirt and rested on your waist, sending shivers down your body. 

You were relishing every second of that kiss. Though you never admitted it to yourself, there was always something different about Grace. Your gaze would linger on her a second too long when she walked away, and you would smile a bit too much when talking to her. It wasn't until this moment that you knew you truly wanted her. 

You wanted the moment to last forever, but of course, it was too good to be true. The two of you were interrupted by the sound of gunshots going off in the distance. 

You pull back from her, remembering you were still stuck in the center. Grace gingerly took her hands off your body as you carefully climbed off her.

“We should keep going and find a way out…” You tell her. Grace nods and slowly stands up from the couch. 

She stood by your side and hesitantly moved to hold your hand again as you started to exit the room. You made no attempt to move your hand away, allowing Grace to hold it freely. 

“S-sorry about back there. I'm not sure what came over me–” Grace nervously rubbed the back of her neck with her other hand. 

“Don't be, I fully intend to finish that kiss later when we get out of here,” You whisper to her after a few moments. She blushed again but squeezed your hand tighter, with a small, satisfied grin tugging at the end of her lips.

You were laying on the couch, leg hanging off the edge lazily, exhausted from your day at work while you watched TV. It was some mindless reality show displaying fancy houses and women adorned with expensive jewelry and your eyes glazed over long ago. You were pulled out of your trance when your housemate Grace came through the door, kicking her shoes off and putting her keys into the little tray you kept by the door. 

You had met Grace in college, both doing vastly different degrees but getting along nonetheless. She’d stay in her dorm while you went to a party, always complaining about assignments due in the next few hours. In the final year, the two of you shared a dorm, beds only inches away from each other while you dreamed of them being one. You’d been infatuated with Grace since you met her. You believed she was the most beautiful woman you had ever seen, short blonde hair and her nerdy glasses, the way she stuttered and darted her eyes around when she got the slightest bit nervous. Even though you knew Grace was also into women, you refrained from confessing to her, afraid that she wouldn’t reciprocate the feelings and you’d make her feel awkward. So for all these years, you watched from the sidelines, waiting for the right time. If it ever came.

Grace was pulling files out of her bag, most of them somehow getting crumpled, as you lifted up from your position, your back groaning with you.

Grace jumped, fingers digging into the paper as she looked over to you. “Oh, I didn’t know you were home,” She said, settling back down again.

You pulled your arms behind your back in a stretch as you got closer, putting your elbows on the counter. “It’s 8PM, of course I’m home,” you retorted and gave her a smile.

She chuckled and said quietly, “Of course.” More to herself than you.

You opened the fridge, pulling out a bottle of juice. You gestured it her way but she shook her head, so you poured a glass for yourself. Grace finished organizing the papers out of her bag and hung it up, swerving to the desk in the corner of the living room, flipping her computer open. You’d found your spot on the couch again, watching her as you took a sip of your drink. Her brows were creased in concentration, face drenched in the bright light of the screen as she clicked in and out of tabs.

“Deadline coming up?” You asked, turning the TV off so the dramatic arguments of rich women weren’t getting in the way of the conversation.

Grace quickly looked at you like she was checking you were actually talking to her, then back to her computer, “Yeah. A couple, actually…”

You rolled your eyes playfully. After knowing Grace for this long, you knew how she was with work. She was great at what she did, no doubt about it, but her time management was something left to be desired. 

Rising from the couch and taking another sip, you said, “I’ll leave you to it, then.” And began walking to your bedroom.

“Oh, wait,” She said quickly, turning in her chair to face you.

You looked back at her, eyebrows raised and waiting.

“I, uh, I got a date,” She said, a bashful smile coming to the front.

Not too long ago you had convinced Grace to try out a dating app, help her get out and meet more people. You curated her account with her, flipping through the candidates and debating on whether they were interesting enough. It was mostly for fun and games, you knew Grace wouldn’t actually go out with anyone, what with her work and anxiety the level of a prey animal. So for Grace to tell you this news, it came as a surprise.

“Really?” You say, failing to keep suspicion out of your tone. “Who with?”

She patted her pants for her phone, then looked over her desk, mumbling to herself. You looked over at the kitchen counter, spotting her phone. You chucked it her way and she began scrolling through. Finally, she showed you the profile of a gorgeous woman, same age as Grace and worked in software engineering. How boring.

As Grace was rambling out facts about the girl, you gave a strained smile and nod. You didn’t think this whole dating app adventure would actually produce something, but now that it did, you were faced with your own jealousy.

Grace softly called your name, “A-are you listening?”

You shook yourself out of your thoughts and looked at her again, “Yes. Yes, I am. She seems great.” 

Grace smiled, turning off her phone and placing it on the desk, “Yeah. I’m pretty nervous, though.”

You sat on the arm of the couch, “What for?”

She sighed, “She invited me to her place.”

You playfully bumped her shoulder with your fist, “Grace Ashcroft, you dirty dog.”

Her laugh was thin, her cheeks fading to a soft pink as she tucked her hair out of her face, “I-It’s nothing like that– I don’t know. I mean, what if she wants to… You know.”

You smiled sympathetically. Grace confessed to you years ago that she’d never really had sex, the furthest she got was some heavy kissing and groping, anything past that was uncharted territory. It’s not like she didn’t know anything about it, she was a grown woman, she just didn’t know how to do it.

“Well,” you started, downing the last of your juice first. “If she makes you feel bad about being a virgin or anything then drop her.”

Grace’s face fell into her hands, sighing, “I don’t want to make a fool out of myself. I wish I had some practice.”

As soon as the idea came to your mind you pushed it down. You weren’t about to get in the way of your friendship, embarrass yourself and Grace. Also, having the rent of the place split between two was great.

“This’ll be practice, won’t it?” You said, holding yourself back from placing your hand on her shoulder.

She flung herself back in her chair, slumping down slightly, “I guess.” She pouted. “I’ll just embarrass myself, though.”

“No you won’t, Grace,” You laughed. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

She looked at you with that familiar kicked-puppy look she seemed to always have. Her fingers were tangled between each other as she fidgeted. “W-What if you… you know, gave me a rundown. Like, what I should know.”

“A sex-ed class?” You humored, cocking your brow.

She looked away, sighing, “No just… Well, yeah, I guess.”

“Diagrams? Videos?”

“Stop it,” She pleaded, her nerves making her cough up a laugh that you joined in with.

Your thoughts were running wild. I’ll show you how it’s done, was all you wanted to say to her. You wanted to take her to your room and show her how you please a woman and how a woman should be pleased. Your laugh ended with a shaky exhale before you spoke again, “Okay. What do you want to know?”

“I-I don’t know. What should I know?”

God, this was hopeless. “Well, you know the basics, the rest is just trial and error. Watch some porn or something.”

Her blush grew brighter as she placed her elbows on the desk, resting her chin in her palm, “I’m not doing that. That’s not real.”

At this point, your idea didn’t seem all that bad anymore. Grace was too embarrassed to talk about anything, you could barely keep your head straight, and she wanted something real. 

“What if…” You said, looking over at the black screen of the TV. “What if I showed you?” You didn’t dare to look at Grace now, it would kill you if you did. But the silence was deafening and you needed to know if you had to leave and never see her again.

She was staring right at you, mouth parted slightly and eyes darting around your face. She was frozen solid despite the heat smoldering her face.

“You don’t have to,” You quickly added. “Just… You know, might be easier than giving you a lecture or whatever.”

She remained quiet. Very quiet and very still. That was a good start.

“It was stupid. I’m sorry,” You mumbled, turning your gaze away from her again to avoid the gnawing humiliation.

“N-No,” Grace finally said, blinking hard before looking down at the floor. “I-I mean, if that’s what you want, and comfortable with, I’m f-fine with it.”

Heat radiated off the two of you, making you want to take your sweater off but you thought it best to wait. You watched Grace as she kept her eyes on her feet and nervously chewed her lip.

“If you’re fine with it, I’m fine with it,” You practically whispered. If the room wasn’t so hollow and quiet, Grace wouldn’t have heard you.

She nodded, and you followed with your own. You got to your feet slowly and Grace closed the lid of her laptop, pushing the chair back in. You both timidly walked towards the hallway, and before taking another step you asked, “My room or yours?”

Grace hugged herself, “E-Either’s fine. I don’t really mind…”

You decided on her room, maybe it would make her less anxious.

Stepping inside, you took in the simplicity of her space. Her dresser sat against the wall next to her wardrobe, pieces of worn clothes laying on the carpet waiting to be thrown in the washer, and more beginning to pile in her basket. Her bed wasn’t made, the blankets still ruffled around from the night before and the smallest, faintest stain of drool on her pillow. She didn’t have much going for decoration, mostly pictures of her with her mum and college graduation, some old friends. It was bland, for lack of a better word.

Grace frantically began tidying her sheets, tucking them in and smoothing them out before offering you a seat. “Um, should I close the door?”

You looked over and saw the soft yellow glow of the lights in the hall, then back at her, “We live alone, Grace, no one’s going to walk in.”

She let out a shaky laugh, “Right, yeah.” But she still went over and shut the door with a soft click.

“Grace, we don’t have to do this,” You reminded her. “If you’re uncomfortable we can just pretend this never happened.” Even you knew that this wasn’t going to be forgotten for a long time.

 “No, No,” She protested, standing a little straighter. “I-I’m fine, just…”

“Nervous?”

She smiled, but you couldn’t decipher if it was from embarrassment or fondness. “Yeah,” she admitted.

You patted the spot next to you on the bed for her to sit, and after only a moment of hesitation, Grace accepted.

“It’s okay. I’ll take care of you. We won’t do anything you don’t wanna do,” You said, finally placing that hand on her shoulder. She nodded, her eyes shut tight. 

You felt bad, you really did, but Grace looked so cute when she was anxious. Her face scrunching up, her eyes wide, you could hardly contain yourself right now. You moved your hand to her back, rubbing small circles into it while she took deep breaths.

Grace looked up at you, “So… What do we do?”

You offered her a small shrug while trying to hold back your grin, “Do you wanna kiss?”

She nodded quickly, wiping her palms on her jeans before curling her leg under the other, swiveling to face you more. 

You felt like a teenager again, a dumb smile trying to force its way to the front as you looked into Grace’s eyes and your body produced more heat. Slowly, you pulled your hand up to Grace’s cheek, guiding her closer to you. You felt her shudder against your lips before you connected. You started slow, getting a feel for each other and making sure Grace wasn’t going to freak out. Butterflies began rioting in your stomach, throwing a celebration at the fact you were finally kissing Grace, the girl you’ve wanted since meeting her. 

The pace was picking up and Grace seemed to be relaxing. Her shoulders weren’t pressed to her ears anymore and she was leaning on her hands to get closer to you. Her lips were so soft, almost impossibly, you could feel yourself melting against her, a high coming on. Before you could stop yourself, you moaned softly into her mouth, brushing your tongue against her bottom lip. She opened her mouth wider, inviting you in, and you took the time to touch each corner of her mouth. Grazing her teeth, meeting the inside of her cheeks and fighting with her own tongue. She was panting, eyebrows knitted together while her fingers dug into you.

You pulled away slowly, reluctantly. “How was that? You okay?” You asked breathlessly. Both your mouths covered in a thin coat of saliva and Grace licked it away.

“I-I’m fine. It was good–great,” Grace tried her best to look you in the eye, but she kept looking down at your neck, or lap, or nose.

You smiled, leaving a peck on her lips, “You happy to go further?”

“Y-Yeah,” She said, rubbing the goosebumps off her arms. “What’s next?”

You shrugged again, “This is your lesson. What do you want to know?”

She pressed her lips together, thinking. As she did that, you dragged your hand along her thigh slowly, admiring her. Although perverted, you really hoped she’d be taking her clothes off.

“M-Maybe…” She cut herself off, sighing. “We could… T-Touch each other?”

The red kept burning deeper along her face, contrasting with her pale skin beautifully. You kept your hand on her thigh, gripping a little tighter, “I’m happy with that.” You grinned, and pulled her into a kiss again. It was no longer neat, your lips lazily smacking against each other, the lewd ambience of quiet moans and heavy breaths. You tugged at the bottom of her shirt gently, pulling away, “Can this come off?”

Grace hummed a response, shifting back. You pulled her shirt up over her and threw it to the floor. You were paralyzed by her body, unable to stop staring at her. She was slim, no scars or blemishes broke her skin apart from the rare moles dotted around. Her bra was sophisticated, black with additions of lace at the top of the cups, it concealed most of her breasts, with only some of the skin peeking out the top. It was driving you crazy. She wrapped an arm around her stomach and you finally snapped out of it, looking at her face again.

“Sorry,” You mumbled. “You’re just… Fuck, Grace, you’re so pretty.”

You heard a quiet moan escape her before she cut herself off. “T-Thank you,” She managed to say. 

“Do you want mine off?” You offered, preemptively pulling at the hem.

“I-If you want to. I mean, n-not that I don’t want you to, I’d love that– not like that, I mean–”

You shut her up with your mouth on hers again, a deep kiss to get her back down to earth, and it seemed to work. When you pulled away, you saw her chest falling and rising quickly, but not at an alarming rate. Your eyes never left hers as you took your sweater off, chucking it on top of hers. This time, it was Grace’s turn to look stunned. 

She muttered a shaky, “Oh, God.”

“Eye’s up here, missy,” you smirked. “Do you want to lie down?”

She nodded, scooting back to lay in the middle of her bed, her head resting against the soft pillows. You sat watching from the edge of the bed, taking her in. After all this time, you’d finally kissed Grace and had her laying in her bra in front of you. Trying not to get carried away, you slapped yourself out of your fantasies. You crawled towards her, adjusting yourself to be over top of Grace. Neither of you were touching, but you could feel a magnetic pull towards her.

“This okay?” You whispered, tilting your head down at her.

She pushed a strand of your hair out of your face, chewing her lip, “Yeah.”

“What do you want right now?”

She laid her arms over her chest, her pale eyes wide but somehow relaxed, “I just… want to keep kissing you. And see what happens.”

You couldn’t stop the giddy smile growing on your lips. You craned your neck down, planting your lips on top of hers again. Grace's kisses grew hungrier, more needy, lifting up her head if you dared to pull away. Her hands, still shaking, found your waist, gently placing them down like she was scared your skin would burn her. You held the side of her face, and slowly trailed down to her neck and shoulder. Your fingers ghosted over the top of her bra, making Grace’s breath hitch. You trialed it again, dragging over the band above her ribs. Her moan vibrated against your mouth, bucking her hips up before forcing them back down. That was enough for you. You held her breast in your hand, gripping tighter and brushing your thumb over her nipple. The whimper that left her made your head spin, you didn’t want this to stop. Grace's head fell back, breathing heavily as you kept toying with her. You slipped the strap down her shoulder, pulling the fabric away so you could feel her skin.

You’d nearly let yourself go, lose all dignity and completely ravage the girl under you. But with the last piece of sense in your mind, you look up at Grace through your eyelashes, “Is it okay if I use my mouth?”

Brows pinched together, Grace landed a hand on your scalp, pushing you down closer to her body. You grinned, getting all of her that you could inside your mouth, licking and biting. Grace cursed under her breath, her back lifting off the mattress again. Your tongue glided along her hard nipples, your other hand squeezing at her neglected breast. Grace’s hands snaked under you, desperately pulling at the button on her jeans. 

You looked down, then back to her, “Need something?” You tease.

She looked past you and to the ceiling, pulling down the zipper, “I-It’s hot in here.”

You laughed softly, kissing along her jaw. You sat next to her as she pulled her pants down to her ankles, struggling to rid of them. You both giggle as you help her out of the trap she put herself in. Her underwear didn’t match her bra, probably from her rushing to get ready in the morning, it was a simple gray pair of panties, just plain cotton with no design or frills. What did stand out, though, was a faint wet patch between her legs. You subconsciously lick your bottom lip. How much longer was this foreplay going to last? You could hardly take it anymore. 

You manage to free yourself of your pants too, just an old pair of pyjamas you threw on when you’d gotten home, and began settling back into your position on Grace.

She put a hand to your chest, “Wait. Can I, um… Could I try b-be on top?”

You swiftly moved to the side, albeit a bit too excitedly, “Of course.” You took Grace’s place on the bed and she swung one leg over you, sitting on your pelvis. You could feel the heat between her legs wash over you, and you were sure she could feel your own.

Grace’s eyes danced over your figure, her hands dragging along your sides as she breathed deeply. You lifted your hand to rest on her now bare thigh, rubbing a circle into it with your thumb.

“Hey,” You whispered, and her eyes snapped back to yours. “You okay?”

A faint smile played at her lips, “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m, uh, j-just thinking.”

“About what?”

She swam around in her brain for the right words, landing on, “What to do.”

You tilted your head to the side. “Well, what do you want?”

Grace dropped her chin down, trying to hide her face as much as she could, but from your angle, you could see everything. 

“What is it?” you asked, moving your hand to her hip. 

“I-I don’t wanna say it.”

You chuckled softly, “If you don’t tell me what you want, then how am I going to know what to do?”

Grace lolled her head back, groaning, “I… I wanna… G-Grind, against you.”

You grinned, heat rising on your face, “That’s all you had to say.”

You gently pushed one of her legs off of you, slinging your leg overtop. Now Grace was sat on your thigh, with hers between your legs. You pulled her in closer to gain more friction, and Grace shuddered at the movement.

“This okay?” You asked in a hushed tone.

“Yeah,” She adjusted her position slightly to get more comfortable. 

After watching each other for a second, you began moving your hips.

 It didn’t take long for Grace to follow, her hands pressed on your ribs for leverage, biting down on her lip. It was slow, deliberate, Grace’s nails digging into your skin as she kept going. Her soft whines and moans only made you pick up your pace, grabbing a handful of her ass and pulling her closer. Grace was slowly unraveling, her movements grew sloppy, losing any rhythm that she previously had, her hands splayed out next to your head and her breath fanning over your face. Her bra continued to slip off, you wrapped around and unclipped the back, pulling it off and forgetting it in a corner of the room.

 You could just feel how wet she was, her soaked panties rubbing over your thigh and almost sticking there. Reaching your own climax, you held an iron grip on her hips, helping her grind against you and reaching for her lips again. You could barely call it a kiss. Your lips brushed against each other, your teeth trying to get a hold of her mouth but you were both so lost in ecstasy nothing really connected.

“Fuck– I think I’m gonna–” Grace breathed out, sweat shining off her her collar bones.

“That’s fine,” You reply, barely able to pay attention.

“N-No, I want more,” She whined, letting her head hang down.

What she said sent a surge through your body. “What do you want? Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you,” You managed to say through your rugged breaths.

“Y-Your hands… Please.”

You felt like an animal, some kind of primal instinct to make Grace feel perfect right now. Trying to be as gentle as you could, you flipped Grace back down on the bed, leaving kisses down her neck as her hips continued to grind on nothing. 

Laying beside her and leaning on your elbow, you nipped and sucked on her skin, licking her sweat along the way. You slipped a finger under the band of her underwear, pressing your lips to her ear, “Off?”

She frantically nodded and you made quick progress on ripping off her soaked garment. You started by just flowing your hand over her stomach, inner thighs and pelvis. You were teasing, yes, but you also wanted her to have time to prepare.

Grace grabbed your wrist, “Please.” She said softly, ringing around in your head as a sound you would never forget. 

In no hurry, you took your hand down to her core, coating your fingers in her slick as you watched her face contort in pleasure and desperation. Once you felt you had enough, you pressed two fingers to her clit, making her jolt under you. Creating smooth, slow circles over it, you took in the symphony of her moans, breathy and low in her throat as she threw her head back. Your movements grew quicker and Grace couldn’t stop squirming, one hand latched around your forearm and the other tugging at the bedsheets.

You traced down to her entrance, testing her by running a finger over it. Grace bucked her hips up and you let yourself in. Grace moaned loudly, clamping a hand over her mouth as you pulled your finger in and out of her, curling up every now and then to see her reaction. And her reaction didn’t disappoint. You found yourself absentmindedly rubbing against Grace’s hip, desperate for connection and some kind of release. You pressed your forehead to Grace’s and she swiftly moved to your lips, her hand resting on your cheek. You could feel her clenching around your finger as she moved with you, her legs beginning to shake. Her hand reached down to your underwear and she started mimicking your actions over your clit. You pulled away from her kiss, a surprised moan leaving you.

Grace moved her hand, “Do– Do you not want–”

“Yes, Grace, please,” You groaned, pressing your body up to hers. Her fingers found their way under your panties, slipping as she tried to make those same circles. You both were absolute messes, huffing and groaning against each other while you added another finger inside her. Grace was falling apart, you could tell she was close to release. You pumped your fingers faster into her, uncovering her sweet spot and her back raised up like she had just been tased, but she didn’t stop touching you. Her own hand was gaining speed as she continued to writhe and curse. 

Her hips matched your hands movements and she looked into your eyes. Her eyebrows sloped up, pupils blown, her lips swollen and red. That would’ve been enough for you to cum right then and there, and you got pretty close.

Your hand was starting to tire out, cramping at the wrist, but you knew you couldn’t leave Grace like this. You quickly pulled your fingers out, moved down so your face was in front of her pelvis and you looked up at her. No words had to be exchanged. Grace’s nails pierced into your skin as she raised her hips. You flattened your tongue against her, trailing up from her entrance to her clit, lapping up everything that had dripped out of her. You wrapped your arms around her thighs to subdue her squirming and continued to lick and suck as Grace cried out. She tasted amazing, you were sure she had drugs laced through her body making you addicted. Despite your efforts, Grace was still moving around relentlessly, grinding against your face and making a mess.

She moaned out your name, unable to keep her voice down, “I-I’m close.”

She didn’t need permission or affirmation, so your only response was flicking your tongue over her clit as fast as your body would let you. Grace’s fingers dug into your skull as her body tensed up, legs beginning to shake like her insides were experiencing an earthquake, and finally the knot in her stomach snapped, letting out sweet sounds you never wanted to silence. You slowed your pace after a moment, letting her ride out her high before she went practically limp, panting heavily. 

You crawled back up and laid next to Grace, watching her chest rise and fall, her eyes closed and her frown no longer present. Once she collected herself, she turned and looked at you, a dazed expression painting her face. She grabbed your face and pulled you in, lips connecting. 

She quickly pulled away, wiping her mouth, “Ugh.”

You laughed, licking your lips, “Don’t like it?”

“I just wasn’t expecting it.”

“I ate you out, Grace, my mouth will taste like that.”

She recoiled at the phrase, shoving her face into the pillow and groaning.

You crept closer to her, grinning, “Is something wrong?”

She shook her head furiously.

“Do you need a kiss?” You puckered your lips and inched closer.

Grace threw her hands to your chest, pushing you back, “I-I’m good, thank you.” No matter her efforts, she was smiling along with you as you continued to pester. Once she smushed your face with her palm, you decided to grant her mercy.

“I’ll go wash my mouth,” You said, moving around her and finding your sweater on the ground. You threw it on as you made your way to the bathroom, looking in the mirror at your mouth and chin coated in Grace’s arousal. You licked away what you could before rinsing your mouth out, swishing some mouthwash around just in case. And since you were already there, you decided to use the toilet. After washing your hands, you grabbed a small hand towel from the cabinet, dampening it with warm water before wringing it out. Once you got back to Grace’s room, she was still laying on the bed nude, staring at the ceiling. You handed her her top and laid next to her.

“You okay?” You asked once again.

“Yeah, I’m good,” She smiled and pulled her shirt over her. You placed a hand on her thigh, pulling her legs apart. “Wha– again?” She said, shooting up.

You chuckled, “No, I’m cleaning you up.” Holding down her leg, you dragged the cloth along her pussy, soaking up the last of the night. Grace flinched at the sensation, instinctively closing her legs.

You pushed her leg away again, “Stay still.”

“S-Sorry.”

You gave her another wipe. “Grace, stop squirming.”

She pushed her hair out of her face and sighed, “I’m sorry, I-I mean you’re kinda touching my…”

You exhaled a laugh, shifting to press your weight over her leg, “Now, stop moving.” 

Grace stared at the door, concentrating, suppressing her movements the best she could. You may have cleaned her up for a little longer than you needed, just to watch her get flustered all over again, but she didn’t need to know that.

You placed the cloth neatly at the end of the bed, leaving a kiss just below her belly button before you got back up. “Now go pee,” You said, picking up the discarded clothes and messy hand towel.

“Huh?” Grace sat up, crossing her legs. “Why?”

“Mandatory after-sex ritual,” You told her, opening the door. “Keeps you clean and safe.” 

Grace followed behind you, veering off course to the bathroom while you went to the laundry. You dumped everything in, planning to deal with it tomorrow and switched the light off, heading back to Grace’s room. While she was still gone, you rummaged in her draws for new underwear and pyjamas, laying them out on her bed neatly. Grace quietly made her way back in the room, rubbing her eyes and yawning.

You watched her, spying the light marks you’d left on her neck, smiling to yourself, “Here, get changed into these.”

She looked over the clothes, hastily stripping her shirt off and climbing into the new outfit. She must’ve wiped her sweat down while in the bathroom, her skin appeared more matte now as you watched her change. 

You turned around, at least trying not to seem like a creep, and headed for the door again.

“W-Where are you going?” Grace called out, appearing presentable again.

“I was gonna go to bed, aren’t you?”

“Well, yeah, but…” She looked up at you, casting a spell over your mind. Those puppy eyes were back, glassy from fatigue and needy, her bottom lip jutting out slightly, “Can’t you stay?”

“I can do that,” You said dumbly, pulling yourself over to her bed. You let Grace get comfortable first, turning off her lamp before climbing in next to her. She shuffled closer and you threw your arm under her neck as she settled into your shoulder. You sank into the bed, raking your fingers through her hair and pulling at the small knots that formed.

“I… I don’t know if I’ll go on that date anymore,” She said quietly.

You turned your head to look down at her, “Why not?”

Silence filled the space between you while Grace kept fiddling with her shirt, “I think I’d just rather… Stay here, a-and do that with you.”

Your heart skipped a beat and you choked on the air, trying to keep your composer, “That good of a teacher, huh?”

She gave a breathy laugh, stealing a quick glance at you, “I guess so.”

You tucked your fingers under her chin and pulled her closer, pressing your lips together. “Good,” You said, pulling away. “I didn’t like that girl anyway.”

All of this to say: your classroom is one of the most welcoming places on the entire school campus, so much so that you even have relationships with students who you don’t actually teach. At this point, you’re kind of a volunteer guidance counsellor for a lot of them. And you’re fine with that, of course; you want to be the person that you needed when you were their age. (Hell, helping them even helps you to deal with your own seemingly ever-declining mental state, although many of them have family issues not dissimilar to your own, and you can’t help but feel like there’s nothing you can do for them.)

So it’s not unusual for students to show up during your lunch break, looking anxious or upset or just in need of a quiet place they can be themselves. But what is unusual—in fact it’s never happened before—is for Leon Fucking Kennedy to walk into your classroom just as the bell rings and your students are leaving.

He moves out of the doorway to let out the last student—Amy, one of your best—who gives him a quizzical look and then throws the same expression across her shoulder at you. You, standing there completely dumbfounded, staring at Leon like he just grew a second head. 

Amy disappears down the hall, and then it’s just you and Leon. 

Leon. Here. In your classroom.

“What the—? Leon?”

“Sorry for barging in,” he says with a sheepish grin that doesn’t meet his eyes. What’s even weirder than his presence is what he’s wearing. Dark grey tac pants, combat boots, a maroon leather jacket with a pale fur lining, and beneath it, a dark blue tac shirt with a leather holster over his shoulders. 

Even without any weapons on him, it’s clear he’s dressed for a mission. And with that intense, focused look on his face, your heart sinks just a little. It’s hard to see him like this. So tense, his brow low over his beautiful eyes, his shoulders taut. 

“What’s going on? How did you get in here?”

He steps over to you and stands on the other side of the desk. “My US agent badge is like a backstage pass,” he replies, his lips quirked at one corner. Again, it doesn’t reach his eyes, no mirth or laughter behind them. Only cold, anxious focus. “I know I shouldn’t be here. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay, I just…why are you here?” You observe him from head to toe again, your stomach twisting at the sight of his clothing. 

“I…can’t really tell you.”

“Uh. What?”

“I mean—it’s classified. I’m not supposed to be here right now at all.”

“Leon, you’re scaring me…”

“No, you don’t—it’s okay,” he’s quick to reassure you, holding out his hands in a placating gesture. He’s wearing black, fingerless tactical gloves. The callouses on his knuckles and fingertips are worse than ever, not to mention the dark circles hanging beneath his eyes. “Just—I’m being deployed. Like, as we speak. I should already be on my way.”

“…Oh. So why are you…?”

“Let’s just say my handler owed me one,” he says wryly, resting his fingers on the surface of your desk. Then, his eyes soften just a little as he holds yours. “It’s out of country. Like, a long way out. And kinda a big deal. And I just…wanted to see you. Before I go.”

You’re instantly reminded of the phonecall from two years ago, when he told you he was going on a mission, and you knew that there was something different about this one. Then eight days later, he showed up at your door, a complete and total mess. He wouldn’t let you touch him, couldn’t even form a sentence, he even freaked out after a nightmare and pulled a knife on you. After convincing him to stay, and calming everything down, he confessed that the mission went bad. That everyone who was on it died except him and his major.

A painful knot forms in your stomach at the thought that this could be that kind of situation again. What if this time, Leon is one of the ones who doesn’t make it out? What if he doesn’t even get chance to show up at your door, broken and needing you to put him back together? 

“Do you—uh. Know when you’ll be back?” you ask around the thick lump in your throat.

“Hopefully not too long, but…you know how it is. Hard to know.”

You nod. “Yeah. I guess you can’t tell me where it is you’re going, right?”

“Like I said, shouldn’t even be telling you I’m going in the first place.”

“Or be here right now.”

“Or be here right now,” he confirms. This time, his smirk is a little softer, a small spark of humour lighting his eyes. It does little to ease your anxieties, but it’s still nice to see. A little bit of Leon peeking through his carefully-crafted—and completely necessary—veneer of Agent Kennedy. 

He breaks your eye contact to look around the room, taking in all the art displays, the paint covered worktops, the paintings drying on racks in the corner. His smirk turns into a soft, barely-there smile, and when he looks back at you, his eyes really are sparkling. Not unusual for when he looks at you, but unexpected, given the circumstances right now.

“It’s really cool in here,” he says fondly. “I’d love it if you told me more about it. What it’s like to do this job. I can see some art on the walls that reminds me of yours.”

“Really?” You glance to the right at the nearest display. 

“Yeah. Guess it’s your influence on them, huh?” 

“I’m no Van Gogh.”

“No. You’re you.” Slowly, he slides his hand across the desk, stopping when his fingertips are just brushing yours. Then, holding your eyes with unbreakable intensity, “Tell me about it when I’m back?”

A little transfixed by his gaze, you nod, and swallow hard. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.” You move your hand to take his properly, threading your fingers together. “Be safe.”

“I will. Promise.” He hesitates for a second, then seems to abruptly make up his mind, leaning across the desk to press a kiss to your cheek. God, it’s agonising, how much you still want him. After all this time, after all these years of knowing that he can’t be yours—that this right here, the tac pants and soon to be filled gun holster, is the reason—and all these years of dating other people, you just cannot shake how much you want Leon Kennedy.

And you’re not sure if it makes it worse or better that the feeling is obviously mutual. Just like he can’t shake the need to join every fight that comes his way, he also can’t shake that he wants you, too.

Still, he insists that the two desires are mutually exclusive. And still, you find asshole after asshole to date, and get burned every time. 

Shaking yourself from the thoughts, you give Leon a reassuring smile, and squeeze his hand. “You got this. Call me when you’re back?”

“Always.” It’s true—since the mission where he showed up at your door two years ago, he’s called you after every single one to let you know he’s home safe. “See you soon.”

“Yeah. See you.” 

He lingers for a few more seconds before reluctantly pulling away. The further he gets from you, the more you see of his Agent Kennedy armour, slipping across him like real metal armour. As much as it hurts to see, you’re grateful for it. It keeps him alive, after all.

***

That night, when you switch on the TV, it’s all over the news. 

The president’s daughter has been fucking kidnapped. Just—gone. Taken overseas. 

And you know, deep in your gut, that this is the mission Leon has been assigned to. Rescuing the president’s daughter from who the hell knows what and where? If anything is gonna be as classified as he made it out to be, it’s that. 

“The White House has yet to confirm reports that the president’s only daughter, Ashley Graham, is missing, but sources close to the young college student have expressed their concern for her safety,” the news anchor says as you stand in your living room, gaping at the TV. “Due to the White House’s refusal to comment, no statement has been made about how the president’s daughter is going to be located and returned home. Our sources have suggested that the reason the president’s office will make no comment is because this kidnapping may have been an inside job, someone seeking revenge or power over the president. The global political fallout from this could be catastrophic, but we want to assure our fellow Americans that there is no evidence of a plot to control the president using the kidnapping of his daughter. 

However, with concerns that this was, in fact, done by someone inside the President’s circle, it’s likely that the government will seek the help of operatives outside of his immediate circle of staff and detail to avoid any conflict of interest. This hasn’t been confirmed, but we will report with any updates as soon as they come in.”

Holy shit.

Holy fucking shit.

***

At school the next day, it’s all anyone is talking about. Not just the students, but the staff, too. Teachers, janitors, aides, the nurse. When you walk into the teacher’s lounge in the morning, the TV is playing the news, which is exclusively covering the disappearance of the President’s daughter every minute of the day, even though there is no new information.

It really doesn’t help you carry out your usual techniques to help with your nerves about Leon being on a mission, which consist of distracting yourself with work, art, or both.

In the end, you disguise your frustration as your desire to properly teach your students, and say, “All right, guys, I get that there’s a lot going on in the world right now but can we please spend the next thirty minutes of class focusing? I promise I’ll allow ten minutes at the end to talk about the president’s daughter.”

Reluctantly, your students agree, and you manage to hold it together during those promised final ten minutes when the room is abuzz by forcing yourself to watch the paint dry. 

When you get home, despite yourself, you switch on the news. It’s a bad idea, to be sure. But you do it anyway. You know Leon is out there searching for Ashley Graham, and even though reporters haven’t even received official confirmation of her disappearance yet, you still somehow hope that the news would provide you with information if anything happened to Leon. Just on the off chance. Just in case.

It doesn’t help your anxiety, though, and it’s not like you’ve been having a particularly great time mentally lately anyway, worries about Leon aside. Your house has slowly gotten to a state of disarray, so behind on chores that the idea of doing them is too intimidating to face, and the idea of not doing them feels the same, so you’ve ended up in a vicious cycle. You’re nervous constantly, jumping when the phone rings, dreading the sun setting because when any room is dark you fear it. 

Safe to say, you’ve been struggling. A lot. You haven’t told anyone about it, either, too afraid they’ll call up a shrink on your behalf or send you off in a strait jacket, if they found out the things you think about. Dark thoughts, a lot, that won’t go away no matter how hard you try.

Your art has been lacking, too. You just…don’t have the drive for it, anymore. Don’t have any inspiration. Sure, shutting yourself away in your house isn’t helping the creative juices flow, but going outside and socialising just feels like too much. 

You’re certain that it’s the time of year. Holiday season approaching means that contact with your family is amping up, and you’re expected to respond, to RSVP to whatever family event is being held for each holiday. You’ve been ignoring calls from your parents for a week, knowing they’re calling to discuss Thanksgiving plans. And you haven’t even stopped to consider what the hell it’ll be like around Christmas. 

Since cutting your brother off, the holidays have been a nightmare of pretending to be sick so you don’t have to go, or, when that excuse was used last time, forcing yourself to sit through a dinner with the guy who abused you your entire teenage years, pretending everything is fine. Because your family pretend everything is fine. Because they think that he didn’t do anything wrong.

Sitting here now, on the edge of your sofa, your fingernails dig painfully into your palms as you watch the news. Relentless, repetitive reports about the missing girl. No new information. Not even official statement from the president. Just speculation that has your head whirring and your heart racing, and yet, you sit and watch it anyway.

Your landline rings. You rush to it without thinking, picking it up with your heart in your throat, not even checking the caller ID box, thinking it might be Leon.

“Hello?” 

“Hi, sweetie, it’s me—” Your mom is cut off by you slamming the phone back down on the stand. You bring your hand up to your mouth, holding your breath in the ensuing silence. Sure enough, the phone starts to ring again. 

God, you can’t fucking handle it right now.

On your phone, there’s a text from Ruby, your coworker.

> Hey r u ok? heard u missed after wrk drinks 2nite again?

Heavy, you sigh, and throw your phone onto the sofa, your body quickly following it. 

—

Seventy-Two Hours Later

Leon 

Somewhere between almost losing all of his free will and autonomy while pain coursed through his veins like fire, and speeding away from the exploding island on a jet ski powered by a key that Ada inexplicably put a little teddy bear charm on, Leon realised something.

Well, he realised a lot of somethings, actually, not least that this is probably the weirdest, most fucked-up mission he’s been on since Racoon City; and that somehow, despite that, he feels more satisfied with the outcome than he thought.

But mostly, he realised that he has a choice. Those people in that village? In the mines, the steelworks? They had no choice. Las Plagas descended on them and took away all their free will, their humanity, their choices. Out of nowhere they were turned into mindless slaves for a goddamn maniac, and everything they had worked so hard to build was gone.

Leon, though? Thanks to Luis—God, he never thought he’d feel any kind of gratitude towards an ex-Umbrella researcher, but he also never thought he’d see a goddamn lake monster like something out of a fairytale, so—Leon got to choose. And he gets to keep choosing. 

After defeating Saddler, Leon’s first choice was…well, himself, and it came in the form of what he said to Ada. 

“I think we both know this is where you and I go our separate ways,” he’d said, confident—for the first time—in the decision to separate from her. When he’d first seen her, back in the Castle, it threw him, just a little. Not enough to compromise the mission, of course. But he couldn’t help but wonder where the two of them would end up once the mission was over. There’s still some part of him that hopes she’ll make a different choice, that she’ll choose him instead of her job. Maybe there always will be that part of him. But just as she makes her own choice every time, Leon made his this time, and he made it clearly.

Because the thing is, he does care about Ada. Maybe, in another life, he could have fallen in love with her.

But here, in this life, there’s only one person his heart belongs to. It has, ever since that first night in the Silver Dove Bar. 

You.

He fell hook, line, and sinker, and despite the world’s best attempts at throwing distance between you, he will always find his way back. He knows, deep down, that no one will ever come close to you.

So, he could’ve followed Ada. Or maybe even asked her to stay. Asked her to make a different choice. But it wouldn’t have been the right path for either of them, and finally, he thinks he’s starting to accept that. Finally, his experience with Ada in Racoon City feels like it can be put to rest.

Because now, he’s ready to make his most selfish choice yet. 

Empowered by almost losing his ability to choose at all—and almost not making it out of that place around a dozen times—Leon can’t fucking hold himself back anymore. For so long, he’s seen the way you look at him: like you’d do anything for him, like you’d face all his darkness and the danger that comes with his life and fight it all away to be with him. And that was just the thing. He didn’t want you to do any of that. He didn’t want to rope you into his chaotic, unpredictable life, terrified that eventually it would lead you to resent him.

It has always felt selfish, the idea of asking you to be with him. To really commit to him. Because there is so much darkness, so much uncertainty, and you deserve better than that.

But now, after everything…the selfish choice might just be one he’s ready to make. And maybe, just maybe, it won’t be as selfish as he thought. You’ve been ready for him to make it all this time, and after all, isn’t that your choice, too?

“All right, Agent Kennedy, you’re cleared,” the doctor at the field hospital in Spain tells him. It’s his fourth checkup in twenty-four hours; he’s been quarantined since he wrote his report and the right officials got their hands on information about Las Plagas. Ashley has been quarantined too, he assumes, but she got whisked off fairly quickly once they were picked up and taken to the field base near the coast. 

“Thank you,” Leon says, offering the doctor a smile he hopes doesn’t look too exhausted. God, he’s ready to leave this place. In the back of his mind he wishes, just a little, that he had a home to go back to; a place about which he could think fuck, I can’t wait to go home. Ashley kept saying it—Now we can go home!—assuming, naturally, that he actually had a place, too. Technically he has an apartment near the training HQ in DC, but he spends so little time there that it doesn’t feel like his.

No, instead, all he can think about is going home to you.

“Flight leaves in thirty minutes,” a mission coordinator tells him when he leaves the quarantine room. A young woman, around Leon’s age, carrying three clipboards at once and talking into a headset at the same time as walking Leon through the compound. “Do you want to make a phonecall before you leave? We’ve got a line set up for you.”

“Oh, I—yeah, that’d be great. Thanks.” 

She takes him to a tent filled with people and desks and room dividers, phones ringing off the hook and computer screens blaring bright blue in the darkness. She shows him to the phone set up for him, with an antenna poking up through the tent roof alongside a dozen others, the type used for international calls.

Suddenly he feels nervous and excited all at once to hear your voice. He hadn’t been able to tell you anything about his mission, but he knows you, and you know him—and he also knows that news of Ashley’s disappearance won’t have gone under the radar. There’s no way you haven’t connected the dots and worked out just where, exactly, he’s been the last three days.

He types in your number—he knows it by heart—and it only rings once before you answer. 

“Hello?”

Every muscle in his entire body relaxes. A breath leaves his lungs, his eyes fluttering. “Hi, sweetheart, it’s me,” he says softly, unable to resist calling you that, because he’s shaking like a leaf all of a sudden. Everything hurts, his body so sore and stiff, and yet he feels none of it now, your voice like a balm over all of it, a warm blanket thrown across his freezing limbs.

“Leon!” you cry, sounding equally relieved, although for different reasons. “Oh my god I—are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

“Are you sure? I’ve been watching the news just waiting but I haven’t heard anything and I’ve been worried—”

“I’m okay,” he says again, this time a little firmer, gently cutting you off. “I promise. I’m still overseas, but I’m getting on a plane home within the hour.”

You breathe out heavily. “Fuck, okay. Okay, that’s good. You sure you’re not hurt?”

“Usual bumps and bruises, but no, I’m good. Been in quarantine for twenty four hours, otherwise I’d have called you sooner.”

“What—quarantine?”

He sighs. “Yeah. I’ll explain when I see you.”

“Come straight to mine, okay?”

A smile twitches at his lips, warmth blooming in his stomach. He holds tight to the receiver, allowing himself a quick moment to just close his eyes and imagine stepping through your front door, wrapping you in his arms. Telling you I’m sorry I’ve taken so long to get my shit together, but I want to be with you, if you want to be with me too. “If that’s okay,” he says eventually, feeling his cheeks flush hot.

“Yeah, of course, you know that’s okay. What time is it over there?”

“Honestly? I got no idea.” 

“That bad, huh?” 

“It’s…been a lot. What time is it for you?” 

“It’s midnight here.” 

Shit, so it’s probably six or seven in the morning in Spain right now. “You should get some sleep, baby.” 

“I will, now I know you’re okay.” 

“Yeah, I’m okay.” He takes a deep breath, wishing he was already by your side. He glances over his shoulder and sees the same coordinator from before, tapping her watch and gesturing to the airstrip behind the tent. “I gotta go, don’t wanna miss the plane. See you soon?” 

“See you soon.” 

***

Fourteen Hours Later

Reader

Last night, after you’d hung up the phone, you went to bed and fell asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow. 

You hadn’t slept for the entire time Leon was on his mission, too worried about him, too unhelpfully obsessed with watching the same news reports over and over on the off chance that they would find something new. But now, you know before they do, before anyone does. You know that the mission is over, and Leon is safe.

So you sleep, and sleep, and sleep.

And only wake up ten minutes before there’s a knock at your door, leaving you zero time to clean your very messy apartment, and zero time to actually prepare yourself for seeing Leon.

But honestly, none of that matters. Because when you open the front door, and see Leon standing there, dark blue jeans and a grey T-shirt, combat boots only half-laced—fuck, that’s all that matters. He is, and always will be, the most important thing.

He smiles when you open the door. Relaxes like he’d been holding every muscle taught until the moment he laid eyes on you. And you kind of feel the same, to be honest.

“Hey,” he says, his smile so sweet and earnest, reminding you of that rookie cop you met in a bar six years ago.You can see bruises on his arms, carrying underneath his T-shirt sleeves.

“Hey,” you echo, giving him your own smile and stepping aside to let him in. You want to throw yourself at him, wrap your arms around him, check him for wounds and kiss all his bruises away. But you know how he can get about touch after a mission, so you hold yourself back, wanting him to be as comfortable as possible.

Closing the door behind him, you turn around to see him standing there, taking in the state of your living room. 

“Sorry it’s a mess,” you mutter, feeling your cheeks flush red with shame. “I—I’ve been busy.”

He turns and looks at you like he knows that’s a lie, but doesn’t call it out. “You okay?” he asks instead.

“I think, given the circumstances, I should be asking you that.”

“Oh, me? I feel like a million bucks.” He puts his thumb up, gives an exaggerated fake grin.

You can’t help the laugh that comes out of your throat. His grin gets very real all of a sudden, like that’s exactly the reaction he was hoping for. “You got checked out by medical, right?”

“Yes, ma’am. A lot, actually.”

“You said you had to be in quarantine…?”

He sighs heavily, runs a hand through his freshly-washed hair. Even though it’s clean, it looks fluffy and frizzy, like wherever he showered didn’t have great shampoo, and definitely no conditioner. Given that he probably showered in a field tent somewhere, it makes sense, but still. His hair is so lovely, it deserves better.

He deserves better.

You shudder, shaking yourself from the thought, and walk over to the couch—one of the only empty surfaces in the room—and pat the seat next to you.

He sits down with another heavy sigh, slumping back against the cushions like he lives here. His legs splay wide as he puts his hands on his face and drags them down. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters to the ceiling. 

“That bad?” 

“You don’t even wanna know some of the shit I’ve just seen.”

“You wanna tell me?”

“Giant, sentient insects…”

“Say what now?”

He huffs a laugh. “Yeah. And that’s just the start.”

“Damn…so these insects, how giant are we talking?”

“Some of ’em were taller than me. See this bruise?” He points to a bruise on his forearm that is very long and thin. “One of them literally roundhouse kicked me.” 

“A bug did that?”

“Yup.”

“…So. Bioweapons, huh?” You’re hesitant to say the word, knowing his history with such things. Despite the promises the government made him of helping fight bioterrorism when he was “asked” to join his current agency, he’s told you several times that he hasn’t actually got to help much with it at all in the six years he’s been there. And now that he has? You’re not sure how he’s going to deal. 

“Yeah. Bioweapons. Not as I ever thought I’d see them.”

You study him for a moment. The bruises across almost every inch of him, the open wounds on his arms, two small cuts on his jaw. On his left cheekbone there’s a graze, though you can barely see it from where you’re sitting. You’re desperate to run your fingers over his face. His hands lay flat on his thighs, slowly running up and down the denim. 

“Hey. I’m okay,” he says, reading your mind.

“Yeah. I know. I just…wasn’t sure how you feel about the whole bioweapons thing. I know you wanted to fight them from the start, but now…?”

“Honestly, as fucked up as it is, now I’ve done it for real, I want to do it again.”

“That is fucked up,” you agree, drawing a chuckle from him. “But I get it. It’s personal for you.”

His eyes sparkle with something unnamable when he nods in response, holding your gaze. “Yeah. Exactly. It…reminded me so much of Racoon City. It’s what I’ve been wanting to fight this whole time. Stop anything like that from happening again.”

“And you did,” you say with a soft smile.

He takes a deep breath. Tips his head against the back of the couch, closes his eyes. “Yeah,” he breathes out, the breath going through his whole body. “Yeah, I did.”

“And now you wanna do it more.”

He opens his eyes again and looks at you. “Absolutely.”

“Maybe it’s time to start, like…I don’t know, requesting specific missions. Is that a thing you can do?”

“Not…really,” he replies with a small smirk. “But there’s this department I’ve had my eye on for a while. The DSO. Deals specifically with security with bioweapons…I don’t know. I’ve just been thinkin’ about it. They probably wouldn’t even let me transfer.”

“Leon. You just saved the president’s daughter. I think you have every right to demand whatever the fuck you want, and they know that they have to say yes.”

At first, he doesn’t reply. A grin spreads across his face, confusing you in an instant.

“What?” you ask.

“I never told you what the mission was,” he says, eyes twinkling with amusement. 

“Yeah, but I’m smart as hell.”

“Yes, you are. When’d you figure it out?”

“Literally as soon as I heard she’d been taken. So like, two hours after you came to my classroom.”

“Damn. Surprised it took you that long.”

“Hey!” you exclaim on a laugh. He laughs, too, and it’s so fucking beautiful you want to bottle it. “How would I have guessed before I knew she was even missing?”

“All right, all right, I’ll give you a pass for that.”

You shake your head. “Unbelievable.” 

He’s smiling. It takes you by surprise when he reaches out and takes your hand, turning it so he can thread your fingers together. You gasp, eyes falling to look at them before you meet his gaze again, your mouth hanging open just a little.

He seems…different, after this mission. Different than he was after that bad op two years ago, you mean. Reaching out to touch you right away is world’s away from what he was like back then, for starters, but it’s also just…his eyes. His smile. The tension in his shoulders that is still there, probably never won’t be, but it’s just…different.

Shifting in his seat a little, he squeezes your hand, hesitates for a second. “Hey, so, uh. I wanted to—” He’s cut off by your landline ringing across the room. 

You sigh, already moving to get up. “Sorry,” you say, squeezing his hand before letting it go. 

Then, seeing Mom come up on the caller ID screen, you sigh again. You consider just ignoring the call, letting it go to voicemail, but then you realise—you so rarely have a legitimate excuse to tell her to call later. When you ignore her calls, she’ll try again straight away, and then keep calling every hour until you answer. But if you tell her you’ve got a friend staying for a few days and that you’ll be busy with that and work…well, maybe she’ll leave you alone for a matter of days. 

“Hey, Mom,” you say when you pick up the receiver. “I’m sorry, I can’t talk right now, I’ve got a friend staying—”

“I’ve been trying to talk to you for days!”

“I know, but I’ve been busy with work and—”

“I understand, I won’t hold you up for long, I promise. I just need to know if you’re coming to Thanksgiving dinner next week, so I know my numbers.” 

You pinch the bridge of your nose. You can feel Leon’s eyes on you, burning holes in your back. Wracking your brain, you try to come up with a way to get out of having to make this decision right now. “Mom…”

“I don’t want to take up your time. Just a yes or no and I’ll hang up, promise. I’ve got my notebook in front of me with everyone’s RSVPs.” 

Great. You’ve accidentally created the perfect scenario for it to be impossible not to give her a quick answer. Got a friend over and can’t talk for long? No problem, honey, just say yes or no and I’ll leave you alone! 

“I—I can’t do this right now, Mom, I…” hot tears sting the backs of your eyes. You squeeze your nose harder, screwing your eyes shut so tight it hurts. 

“Sweetie, whose time are you holding up here?” she asks with a little chuckle, seemingly unaware of the spiral she is sending you into.

You don’t want to think about Thanksgiving. You never want to think about Thanksgiving, let alone the entire upcoming holiday season. All those invites, those chances for your family to make you feel like the bad guy for cutting off your abusive brother. All those excuses you try to come up with, all the ones that can only be used once, and then all the times you have to go to these things anyway. 

You have to go, and see him.

Drawing in a deep, trembling breath, you manage to keep your voice steady when you ask: “Mom, is he going to be there?”

She tuts. “You mean your brother?”

“You know that’s what I mean.”

“Is your brother going to be at a family holiday celebration?” You can almost see her roll her eyes and wave a dismissive hand. “Come on, sweetie, don’t you think it’s time to move on from all that nonsense?”

Somehow, even now, it takes you aback when she says stuff like that. You grip the phone tighter and grit your teeth. “It’s not nonsense, Mom.”

She sighs. You can tell by the sound of it that she’s about to launch into a condescending lecture, and you wish now more than ever that you’d just ignored her call. Or that you had the courage to just hang up on her now. 

Better yet, maybe you should just unplug your landline and leave it that way for a while.

“Look, I—I really can’t do this right now,” you say, hoping one last time that it will get her to relent. 

“We’re not doing anything, sweetie, I just need to know if you’re coming.”

“And if I say no?”

“Well, I think that would be a little immature of you…”

“Immature?”

“If I’m being frank, yes! Hon, you’re an adult now. You’re both adults. I think that you should really just let it go, don’t you? He’s different now, he’s so mature and kind, everyone loves him!”

“Mom…”

“Come to Thanksgiving and you’ll see that it’s all okay. I’m sure he would be happy to see you if you would extend an olive branch, let him know you are open to reconnecting…”

“Mom, stop.”

“Sweetie, come on—”

“Mom!” You cry, painfully aware of Leon’s eyes on you, but too goddamn upset to really care about it. A tear falls onto your cheek and you wipe it away, feeling rage and heartache and that pesky, lying guilt crawling across your skin. “If he’s different now, if he’s so perfect and wonderful and born again, then why hasn’t he apologised to me?”

The line goes quiet, save for a little indignant huff from your mom. A classic, when she doesn’t have a good enough retort.

“He abused me, mom. He abused the entire fucking family.”

“Exactly, and we’ve all found it in our hearts to forgive him! Why can’t you?”

“I was a kid!” you exclaim, throwing your hand up at your side. “I was—no, you know what, I shouldn’t have to explain this to you. Your child shouldn’t have to explain this.” Your voice is thick with tears now, and she hears it.

“Sweetie, I didn’t call to upset you.”

“Well, you’ve achieved it anyway. Maybe if you don’t want to upset me more, you should just stop talking.”

She sighs, long and lingering. Making a point. “Are you going to come to Thanksgiving or not?”

You grind your teeth so loud that you hear it. Close your eyes again, try to calm yourself down. If you say yes, you’ll have to face your brother, you’ll have to sit around a table with all your family and act like everything’s fine. Act like your panic attacks aren’t getting worse. Act like you don’t have nightmares every night about the family falling apart and it all being your fault. Act like you’re totally okay with everything that went down back then. And you’ll have to deal with him acting that way too. Except you know that he actually means it.

But if you say no? The onslaught of texts from distant family asking why you weren’t there. The disappointment in your mom’s voice. The sense of superiority that he has, when he shows up to Thanksgiving and you don’t; the golden child, the one who everyone can rely on, the one who gets away with murder. And everyone will talk about you, the one who just can’t let stuff go. Ancient history, they’ll all say, and toast to the future while they laugh.

And at Christmas, or New Year, or whatever the next family gathering is, they’ll all ask you where you’ve been.

“I—I have to go, Mom,” you manage to say, voice just barely a whisper. “I’ll talk to you later.” Before you can give her an answer, you hang up, almost slamming the receiver down on its dock. Then, after a shuddering breath pulls itself into your lungs, you lean down to the phone outlet on the wall and pull out the cord.

Your face is flushed hot and covered with tears. Each breath is starting to feel just a little too deep, a little too harsh. Thoughts in your brain rush around relentlessly, a mixture of anger and frustration and fear and guilt, about your family and also about the fact that this just happened in front of Leon, who just got back from a mission, who needs you to be strong right now and help him recover.

Beyond the pounding of your heart in your ears, you vaguely hear Leon’s voice say your name across the room. But you can feel the panic attack building, familiar enough now that you know it’ll get past the point of no return soon, and you’ll have to just hyperventilate, fall to the ground, and wait for it to pass.

He says your name again. This time he’s closer. You turn around and find him standing right behind you, his blue eyes so soft and kind and concerned, eyebrows drawn up in the middle.

“Hey, you’re okay,” he’s saying, so soothing, so muffled through the rushing of blood in your ears. Cautiously, he reaches out and presses a hand to each of your elbows. Then he starts kneeling down, carefully guiding you to go with him. “Hey, look at me. Let’s just sit down for a minute, okay?” 

Shaky, you let him lead you to the floor. Your knees hit the carpet, and being close to the ground makes you feel a little less dizzy, knowing that if you do pass out, you’ve not got far to fall. You try to focus on the warmth of his hands on your arms, lock your eyes onto his and let yourself get lost in them.

“Breathe with me,” he says, then starts counting out breaths. You do as he asks, as he instructs. Staring at him like he’s all that’s anchoring you to the moment. (He sort of is).

Just an inch, you feel yourself start to relax. The panic subsides, caught in time before it reached its peak. Your breathing starts to feel more normal and less like it’s burning your lungs. 

“Fuck,” you say on a heavy exhale. Leon’s hands are in yours now, sitting atop his lap where he’s kneeling in front of you. 

“Okay?” 

“Yeah. I—yeah. Thank you.” Then, as you start to remember where you are and what’s happening, shame crawls up your spine. “Fuck. I’m sorry. Shit, I’m so sorry, Leon…”

He frowns deeply. “What? What are you sorry for?”

“I—this shouldn’t be about me right now.”

“Sweetheart…”

“You just got back from a horrific mission and I’m here having a panic attack because of a fucking phonecall. Jesus, it’s pathetic.” You laugh humourlessly, shaking your head at yourself.

“Hey.” His voice is firm now, grip on your hands tightening. “It’s not pathetic. Don’t—don’t say that.”

“But compared to what you’ve just been through…”

“No, we’re not doing that. We’re not comparing apples to oranges.”

Despite yourself, a laugh makes its way up from your lungs. A real one, this time. It catches in your throat as a snort, and you cover your mouth, trying to hold back your giggle. 

“What?” Leon asks, but his face is spreading into a little bemused smile.

“Nothing.” You’ve given up trying not to laugh. “Nothing, just—something about using that metaphor right now is funny.”

He laughs, too. A soft, lovely chuckle that lights up his face. “I’m glad I amuse you.”

“You do. You’re a very funny guy, Leon.”

“Aw, shucks.”

Still smiling, you lift up your hand and playfully shove his shoulder. He grins in response. It’s gorgeous. He’s gorgeous. 

The tension in the air is dead and gone. All that’s left is you and him, your best friend, the one person in the world you have always known won’t hurt you, and who you know you can truly be yourself around. Even if being yourself is having a mini breakdown after a phonecall with your own mother.

“Couch?” Leon suggests, squeezing your hand.

You nod and sigh heavily. “Couch.”

Once you’re sitting down, Leon doesn’t let go of your hand, and for a while, the room falls into quiet. You’re unsure if you should be the one to talk first. After all, you’re the one he just had to talk down from a panic attack. 

In the end, though, it’s Leon who breaks the silence. In an insane, perfectly tension-breaking way. “I fought, like, four giants.”

You blink. “What.”

“Yeah, I think it was four. They were more like trolls, I guess, but they were definitely giant.”

“Leon, what the fuck?”

He shrugs a shoulder, ridiculously casual. “Honestly, they weren’t even the scariest thing I faced over there. They were just big and loud.”

“I…” Your mouth opens and closes for a minute, baffled. You’re unsure whether to laugh or not. The way he’s talking about it is like it’s no big deal, like he is trying to lighten the mood by just randomly blurting out that he causally fought literal giants in Spain. But also, the fact they weren’t the scariest thing? Not exactly a laughing matter, is it?

Still, the complicated and conflicting mix of emotions is an effective distraction against thoughts of what your mother said. Which, you suppose, was probably Leon’s goal.

He’s smiling like that’s exactly right. 

You shake your head at him. “That sounds terrifying, Leon.”

“Hasn’t been the best week of my life. That’s why I didn’t send a postcard.”

This time you do laugh. “Aw, you didn’t wanna send me one that said Wish you were here?”

“Definitely not. Maybe after it was all over I did wish that.”

“How long has it been over?”

He sighs a little and leans back into the couch, tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling. “I think…four days? I was in quarantine for a couple of them. Then a lot of it was debriefing and medical checks. I don’t know where they took Ashley, but I assume she had to be quarantined too. Even though I know for sure we aren’t infected.”

“…How do you know that?”

He swallows. You watch the movement in his throat. For a second, he hesitates, and it stirs anxiety in your gut, knowing that what he’s about to say is not going to be great to hear. “Because we were infected,” he says quietly. “Don’t freak out, but it was this, like…mind-controlling parasite. They infected me and Ashley. But we got it out. Purged it.”

Your mouth goes dry. You just stare at him, feeling your throat tightening with tears, your hands clench into fists in your lap. A fucking mind controlling parasite. Leon had that. Did it take control of him? What would have happened if he couldn’t get rid of it?

At your lack of response, Leon turns his head to look at you. His eyebrows draw together at what he sees on your face. “Hey.” He squeezes your hand. “I’m all right.”

“I…Leon, what…” There are no words, really. Or, there are too many, swirling around in your mind and getting tangled on your tongue. 

“Really,” he insists, shuffling closer along the couch, “I’m okay. I promise. Hey—look at me.” He draws your eyes back to him. You hadn’t even realised you’d looked away and started staring into space, imagining all the ways Leon has been hurt in the last week. He holds your gaze intensely, making it impossible for you to break it. “I’m all right. Do you hear me?”

“Leon…” 

“Sweetheart. C’mon, don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m gonna die.”

“It sounds like you almost did,” you say, your voice coming out as a whisper, despite your best efforts.

“But I didn’t. And I’m here, with you. Just focus on that, okay?”

Pulling your lips tight together, you nod, trying to force back the tears stinging behind your eyes. You move in closer to him so your arms are pressed together, and he lifts his head from the back of the couch, offering a small, encouraging smile. God, he’s so fucking beautiful. His eyes are so earnest. So soft. Even now, after everything he’s been through. After fighting giants and zombies and monsters beyond comprehension, his hardened edges always find a way to give way around you, to show his capacity for gentleness. To remind you who he really is, beneath his shell. 

“Did you wanna talk about…the phonecall?” Leon asks gently, smoothing his thumb over the back of your hand. It’s so fucking comforting it makes you want to cry again. 

You shake your head, but say, “My mom. She was asking me about coming to Thanksgiving dinner.”

“But your brother’s gonna be there?”

“Yeah.”

“And I’m guessing she wasn’t exactly as supportive as she should have been.”

You sigh, slumping back against the couch. “I don’t know. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I should just get over it.”

He frowns. “You say that like it’s so easy.”

“Yeah, she seems to think it is.”

“But she’s wrong.”

“Is she? Or am I just being dramatic? Trying to make an issue where there isn’t one?”

“Sweetheart, I’ve known you a while, and you’re not the kind of person to do that. You wouldn’t just throw around words like abuse and everything you’ve told me about him as if it means nothing.”

Feeling your bottom lip begin to tremble, you pull it into your mouth, and screw your eyes shut. Beside you, Leon shifts, and you almost startle when you feel his other hand carefully touch your shoulder. He slides it up across your neck, then eventually settles cupping your face in his palm, smoothing his thumb over your cheekbone. 

“Hey,” he says softly. Taps the corner of your closed eye, coaxing you to open them.

After a second, you do, and a traitorous tear immediately falls. He doesn’t hesitate in brushing it away, and his eyebrows draw together sadly, emotion settling into his lovely blue eyes.

“You do not have to go to that dinner,” he insists, his voice so low and close to your face that you can feel his warm breath. He tries to hold your eyes again, but your heart is pounding, and you’re crying despite yourself, and it’s all you can do to dart your gaze across his face. The cuts, the bruises, the beautiful sharpness of his features, his hair. The way he looks at you like…like he… “You don’t have to go, you don’t have to pretend everything is fine. That’s not your job.”

“It’s what everyone wants me to do,” you whisper.

“Fuck them. They don’t know what they’re talking about.”

“No, they don’t, but there’s so much pressure, Leon. If I don’t go, it’ll just make things worse further down the line. Everyone will accuse me of stirring up shit. Of ruining perfectly nice family holidays.”

He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I’m still sorry.”

Sadly, you smile. His hand on your face feels so, so nice. It feels right. And even though it hurts, because as always it reminds you of what you can’t have with him, right now, you just let yourself melt into the feeling. Into the warm, comforting press of his palm to your skin, his face so close you can taste his breath. 

His eyes dart between both of yours, then for a split second, they find your lips. He licks his own, and his expression changes, shifts to something hesitant. “Hey, so. I don’t know if this will help or make it worse but…they’ve put me on leave for two weeks. Apparently the president insisted. So…I’m free for Thanksgiving. If you wanted to do something, just the two of us.”

Your eyes light up. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah.” He looks kind of shy now, like he’s not sure what your answer will be. As if it would be anything yes than Holy shit yes yes yes. “What do you think? It’s okay if you say no. I understand it’s complicated, but I just wanted to suggest it…”

“Leon.” You cut him off, bringing your hand to grasp his wrist. “That sounds perfect. Yes, I want to spend Thanksgiving with you.”

“Really? It won’t make things worse…?”

“Hell no. All I needed was a good excuse to not go to the family dinner. Now you’ve given me one!”

“Is it really a good enough excuse?”

“Are you kidding? My best friend is on leave for the first time ever and is actually free around a holiday? I’ll fucking take it.”

He smiles, all bright and bashful. It makes you want to kiss him. Which, yeah, okay, it doesn’t take much for you to want that. But still. 

You squeeze his wrist, and he glances down at where you’re holding onto him, and then there’s that hesitance again, tugging down the corners of his lips, falling over his expression. He looks down, moves away just a little, though doesn’t take his hand from your face.

You’re about to frown and ask him if he’s sure about his offer when he says, “I…guess it would make a better excuse if I’m…more than just your friend, right? Spending Thanksgiving with…with your boyfriend?” 

Your heart leaps into your throat. 

You try to speak, but it really is lodged there, thumping between your tonsils.

He looks up at you from under those long eyelashes. His forehead wrinkles, and he bites his lip nervously. You half expect him to fill the silence, to say something to further explain what he’s just said, but he doesn’t. He just waits. Watches. Chews his bottom lip like his life depends on it.

“I…Leon, what—what are you saying?” you manage, voice thin and reedy. 

He sighs as though frustrated, and this time he does take his hand away from you, instead using it to run through his hair. “God, I’m sorry, I thought that was gonna come out smooth. Fuck.”

“It’s okay, I just…what do you mean?”

“I’m…shit, I’m trying to tell you something, and I definitely should not have led with that, because it’s obviously more complicated than just—” He exhales sharply. Then, meeting your eyes once more, he seemingly decides to try again. “After everything that happened in Spain, I realised something. I realised I don’t want to wait anymore. I don’t want to—to hold back. From you—from us.” He swallows, hard and nervous. You’d watch his Adam’s apple bob if it wasn’t for how intensely his nervous blue eyes lock onto yours, his brow drawn together earnestly. 

You swear your heart skips a beat, and in the back of your throat, your breath catches. 

He moves in close again. Takes both of your hands in his, and holds on tight. When he says your name, it falls off his tongue like it’s a relief for him to hear himself say it, like it’s the first time he’s ever formed it in his mouth. Like he never wants to stop. “I’m not gonna bullshit around it anymore. I won’t. I love you, sweetheart.”

Oh, fuck.

“I really do, and I think I’ve always loved you, from that very first night we met.” God, he looks scared. As if he worries this is going to fuck things up. As if there’s any chance you would reject him. Before you can say anything—though your mouth has gone dry and you’re not sure how you’d get words out anyway—he continues, frantic, “I’m sorry, I know it’s complicated, I know I’ve spent so long pushing you away and we’ve both got our own shit going on, and I know I can’t give you things that you probably want, and I know that I’ve probably fucked up and done this wrong but I—”

Your body moves before your brain can catch up. It’s for the best. Jesus, it’s for the best, because the second your lips are on his, it’s like coming home.

His voice fades in your mouth. You cup his face in your hands, holding him firm to you. He melts into the kiss in an instant, doesn’t miss a beat, opens his lips against yours and slides them together with such perfect, delicious precision. Slowly, he brings his hand up to caress the side of your neck, his other finding its way to your waist. And then, he’s leading the kiss, slowing it down to that beautiful soft reverence that he so often takes when you kiss for the first time in a while. He tilts his head in the other direction so he can get better leverage against your mouth, brushes his fingertips down the curve of your neck, up behind your earlobe, into your hair.

You shiver at the feeling. Push your own hand into his hair, take a fistful of it, and revel in the breathy, broken sound that escapes his throat.

Just as you start to run your tongue along his bottom lip, he pauses, pulls away just enough that he can murmur: “We should probably talk about…I don’t wanna mess this up, I—”

“Leon,” you interrupt, tugging on his hair. “You just told me you love me for the first time. Can we think about the practicalities later?”

Breathy, he chuckles, and nods a couple times. “Yeah. Okay, yeah. C’mere, baby.” Both of his hands find the nape of your neck and use it to pull you into him again. And into him you go, melting, letting everything else fade away until all that’s left is him. The warm wetness of his mouth. The slide of his chapped lips, still so luxurious and gentle against your own, the familiar taste of him and his breath falling into your own lungs. He kisses you like he means it, like he’s committing every inch of you to his memory. Like he wants you to feel how much he loves each second of this, each touch, each brush of lips and teeth and tongue. God, it feels fucking amazing, and there’s such intense heat building deep in your belly that you can’t hold back a delicate little moan.

At the sound, he hums his approval. One of his hands slides slowly, too slowly, all the way over your neck, your shoulder, your arm, eventually falling to your waist and hips and then your thigh. He takes hold of it, gently coaxes you to lift your legs onto his lap so you’re curled right into him, his hand hooked under your bent knee, anchoring you there. You can feel his eyelashes brushing against your cheekbones. It’s so fucking perfect. He’s so fucking perfect. This is perfect.

You weren’t expecting any of this. Not the kiss, and certainly not the confession of love, and his suggestion that he wants to finally—finally—be your boyfriend. After all this time, after all this fear and hesitation that has held both of you back, something in him has snapped, and he’s finally broken that tension that has been between you for so long. 

It’s all you can do to whimper when he licks the entire length of your tongue in one single, excruciatingly slow movement. It’s sexy, of course it is, but mostly it feels…reverent. He’s savouring you, and he wants you to know that’s what he’s doing.

The hand under your knee tugs just a little, and after a second he breaks away, his lips soaking wet and swollen when he murmurs in a low, throaty voice: “I wanna feel you, sweetheart.”

You’re nodding before he’s even finished talking. “Yes. Please, Leon.”

“Bed?”

“Bed.”

When he takes his shirt off, and briefly turns around to throw it on the armchair in the corner of your room, you almost burst into tears at what you see.

His entire back, from top to bottom, is cast in deep, mottled shades of purples and reds. Like he’s fallen into a tray of paint, it covers every inch of his usually pale skin, completely shadows all of his moles and scars and hairs. It’s just a big, dark sheet of agony and it breaks your fucking heart to see it. 

He turns back around to face you, and his expression goes bleak at the look on your face. “Hey—hey. What’s wrong?”

Wordless, you take a ginger hold of his shoulder, and tug lightly to get him to turn around again. He does. A gasp pulls into your throat, trembling and weak. Your shaking hand reaches out towards his shoulder blade, not daring to touch it for fear of hurting him, but wishing more than anything that you could touch it and in doing so take away all that damage, all that pain.

As if he’s just realised what’s happening, he quickly spins on his heel and turns back towards you, his brow deeply furrowed. “Hey—don’t look at that.” He takes hold of the backs of your elbows, pulls you close.

“Leon…I’ve never seen bruising like that, I…”

“I’m okay.”

You look up at him, wide-eyed, and tilt your head once like half a shake of it. “That is very, very far from okay, Leon. What happened? Who…what…did that?”

He sighs. “I…got thrown onto my back a lot,” he explains in a murmur, looking down at the ground like he’s embarrassed. In the daylight streaming through the sheer curtains over your window, you notice more bruises across his chest and ribs, a few cuts here and there that have been stitched up. “Bad guys love to do that, for some reason. Makes ’em feel big,” he adds, wry, as if trying to make you laugh.

“Jesus Christ,” you whisper, decidedly not laughing, instead delicately running your fingertips through the gaps in the bruising across his abdomen. “Leon, you must be in so much pain…”

“I’ve had worse.”

“That’s not reassuring.”

“It hurts, but I can manage.”

You shake your head. Your eyes are watering, and you’re not sure if it’s because you’re crying or just that you haven’t blinked in over a minute. You’re definitely breathless, though, the sight of all his injuries rendering you that way. “Sit down,” you instruct eventually. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

“What are you doing?” he asks, but sits down on the end of the bed anyway.

At first, you don’t answer, just head into the bathroom and go straight for the medicine cabinet. It takes you a minute to find what you’re looking for, right at the back of the basket of various tubes and bottles. Prescription-strength ibuprofen gel, from when you had RSI in your wrist last month (the woes of a painter).

He sighs when he sees you walk back into the bedroom with it in hand, but the sound is fond, a soft smile twitching at his lips. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Lie down. On your front.”

He smirks. “You know, I kinda like it when you’re bossy.” You don’t respond, just raise your eyebrows and point at the bed. With a playful roll of his eyes he does as you ask, crawling up the bed and then lying down on his stomach, lifting up his arms to grasp the pillow. A soft grunt leaves his throat when you carefully straddle his hips, the curve of his ass below you. “Jesus, baby, you’re killin’ me,” he mutters into the pillow.

You ignore him. “Tell me if this is too painful, okay?” He nods, so you get to work. Carefully, so carefully, you smooth a good amount of the ibuprofen gel all over his back until it makes an even covering. Then, using as little pressure as possible, you rub in circles, helping it to absorb quicker. 

“Feels good,” he murmurs. You glance at him, finding his head tilted to the side, his eyes closed. You look for signs of pain or discomfort on his face and don’t find any. 

“Not too cold?” you ask, focusing again on your task.

“It’s cold, but that kinda helps.” 

“Did they ice all of this for you? Try to reduce the swelling?”

“Kinda. By the time I was at the field hospital it’d been a while since the bruises were there. Too late to ice.”

“It’s never too late to ice,” you point out, gingerly moving your hand down to his lower back where the bruising gets especially dark. The gel is slippery beneath your fingers, but gets less so as you work it in, as it really gets into his skin. “Do you want some now?”

He shakes his head. It messes up his hair on the pillow. 

You continue to work for another few minutes until his back is just a little tacky and all the gel has soaked in as much as it ever will. While you screw the cap back on the tube, you carefully get up off of Leon, and he makes a disappointed noise in the back of his throat. You shake your head fondly, then head off into the bathroom to put the gel away and wash your hands.

When you walk back into the bedroom, Leon is on his back on the bed, head propped up on his elbow. In his pants, his dick is half hard, and he’s smirking at you as you head back to the bed. “Hey, it’s my nurse.” 

You snort. “Don’t make it weird.”

“You’re the one who just made it smell of ibuprofen gel in here.”

Crawling up the bed, you give him a Look, then eventually settle on your side beside him. “Not like you were gonna treat those bruises yourself, was it?”

He reaches for you, muscles rippling across his chest and abs as he does so, pulling you closer into him. “Maybe I just wanted an excuse to have you on top of me,” he says. 

“You don’t need an excuse for that.”

“Oh? That so?” He coasts his hand down your back, slow and steady. Grins when you shudder. 

You’re not quite ready to give in just yet, though. “Where else do you hurt? Have you had painkillers?”

“I could think of something that would help me forget the pain right now…”

“Leon.”

“Yes, gorgeous?”

“I’m serious.”

“Me, too,” he insists, but he’s smirking, his fingertips teasing the elastic of your pyjama pants. When you stay silent, he sighs, brushes some hair back from your face. “I don’t want my bruises to stop what was happening,” he says quietly. “I don’t want anything to stop any of it.”

You hesitate. Glance down at the bruises on his abdomen, the stitches dotted around. “Me neither, Leon, but…you’re hurt.”

“I’m fine.”

“Leon—”

“I’m fine enough,” he amends.

You raise a dubious eyebrow, and lift a hand to softly caress your fingers down his cheek. “I don’t want to hurt you, baby.”

“You couldn’t.”

“And I want to help you.”

His eyes soften. He takes hold of your hand and kisses your palm, not breaking your eye contact. When he speaks again, his voice goes breathy, just the hint of a whine tinging its edges. “I need you, sweetheart. I need to be close to you right now. That’s how you can help me.” He ducks his head and bends over a little so he can press his lips to your neck. Close-mouthed but still hot. “Please?”

A shiver runs through your body again, your skin rising into goosebumps. There’s still that pulsing, warm need between your legs, still the fizz of arousal under your skin. “I need you, too,” you breathe, and as soon as he hears it, he takes your face in his hands and pulls you in for a searing kiss.

It’s not long until you’re both completely naked, beyond desperate to be skin to skin. Leon wasn’t kidding when he said he wanted to be close to you—he’s practically pressing every inch of himself against your body the second all your clothes are off. He’s on top of you, his hardness pressed into your hip, chest flush against yours. Though he holds himself up with his arms on either side of you, you can still feel the weight of him pressing down on you, and his forearms brush against your hair. There really isn’t an inch of him not touching you right now, and it’s fucking lovely.

Careful to avoid the bruising on his back, you run your hands gently up and down his arms, caressing the backs of his elbows and the curve of his biceps. He kisses you like he never wants to do anything else. Long, deep pushes and pulls of his mouth, wide-open and wet and messy. His tongue treating yours like it’s a goddamn popsicle, sucking and licking it relentlessly. It’s all you can do to grind your hips up into him, wetness already dripping down your thighs and onto the bed below you. 

He hasn’t even touched you yet—not your pussy, anyway. Occasionally he’ll lift one hand and grab at your tits, but he’s mostly using his mouth for them, swirling his tongue around your nipples until you’re gasping and throwing your head back on the pillow. One hand in his hair, you pull when his teeth graze the sensitive, hard bud. He hums, somewhere between a laugh and a moan.

“Leon,” you gasp, “please, I need you…”

“Wanna take my time,” he murmurs, trailing his mouth up your chest to your collarbone. He sucks a kiss there, right where the bone meets your neck. Pleasure lights up your spine, fizzes like sparks. 

“You can take your time when you’re fucking me,” you point out breathlessly, earning a soft chuckle from him. You feel it vibrating in his chest when he lies back on top of you, kissing your mouth again, slow and languid. 

“Can I taste you?” he asks between kisses.

Your hips keen up into his, your back arching off the bed as much as it can with his weight pressing you down. A desperate moan escapes your throat, frustrated but also so goddamn horny. “Leon…”

“Can I?”

“Want your cock,” you whimper, scratching at his scalp with your nails.

He lifts his head then, just enough to meet your eyes. His lips are soaking wet, swollen. Pretty. So fucking pretty. “You want it that bad, huh?” 

Your pussy pulses for him, clenching around nothing, desperate to feel him stretch you open. His hard cock is heavy against your hip, just inches away from where you want him. 

“Please, Leon…you can taste me later, just—please. It’s been so long. I need you inside me.”

His expression softens. When his eyelashes flutter and he smiles a little, for a second, you’re reminded of that young Leon you met all those years ago in a bar. Before all the darkness came. Before you lost him and found him again. He just looks so earnest, and there’s a gorgeous, sparkling light in his blue eyes that reminds you of how he looked at you that first night. Like he’s in awe. 

Like he’s in love.

I think I loved you from that first night we met, he’d said.

It suddenly hits you that you haven’t said it back yet. Holy shit, how have you not said it back? You’ve been waiting for him to tell you that since the first fucking night you met and now he has and you’ve been desperate to tell him since then too.

Taking his face in your hands, you stare into those lovely eyes for a second, letting it all fall over you. The last six years. The time you’ve spent apart. The time you’ve spent together. All the years you’ve kept each other at arms length for fear of many things, so many things you can’t even list them. All the love that you carry for him, that you’ve had to tuck away in a little box in your mind. 

Until now.

“You okay?” he asks into the sudden quiet, his eyebrows drawing together. His voice is low, husky. Hoarse from desire.

Instead of answering, you gently push him off of you. He goes willingly, all pliant and loose as you guide him down onto his back, laying him down against the pillows you once laid upon. He looks a little puzzled, but that confusion is replaced by a dark lust when you straddle his thighs. As if on instinct, his calloused hands find your hips as you settle in place on top of him. His cock stands hard and red just inches from your core. All you need to do is slide forward, lift up, and you could sink down onto him. 

First, you lean down, hovering just above his face. You put your hands on each of his cheeks, look deeply into his eyes, and whisper, “I love you too, by the way. My Leon. I love you.”

His mouth falls open. A soft gasp pulls into it, catching in his throat. You swear that his eyes get a little wetter, and he swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly. “Yeah?” he manages eventually, voice trembling despite how he clearly tries to keep it steady.

You nod. Lean down, take his lips in a soft, sweet kiss. “I love you so much, Leon,” you whisper against his mouth. “I’ve loved you since that first night we met.”

He whimpers. God, you haven’t heard him make that sound since that night. Since he was a rookie cop and he had nothing but light and hope in his eyes. 

His hands tighten on your hips, then slowly slide up your waist, over every part he can reach. “Baby,” he all but whines, his desperation evident in the slight wrinkle between his brow, the way his hands grip you hard. 

Before he can say anything else, you shift on top of him. Take a hold of his length—to which he moans and watches you with blown-wide pupils—and stroke him a few times as you get positioned properly on top of him. Then, in one very slow motion, you sink down onto him. 

Bliss falls across his face like you’ve never seen. His eyelashes flutter, like he wants to close his eyes but doesn’t want to look away from you. In fact, he’s looking at you like you hung the goddamn moon, his mouth still open slightly, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. 

He feels amazing, of course. Stretches you open so fucking good, your pussy welcoming him with ease. You sit there when he’s balls deep, feeling the head of his cock brushing your cervix, and holy fuck, it already feels so fucking good that you can’t help the whimper that escapes your own throat.

“Fuck, Leon,” you whisper, revelling in the spectacular feeling of him inside you. Buried to the hilt, you feel the stretch of him, bordering on painful. It’s not though. It’s good. It’s so good, to feel him, to feel how big and hard and hot he is. 

“You’re amazing,” he says brokenly. “So fucking beautiful, oh my God…”

When you start to move, his eyes finally close, and you really enjoy looking at him like this. Below you, completely at your mercy, the movement of your hips delivering all his pleasure as his cock rubs against your walls. Lost in pleasure, lost in you, his hands reverently stroking your thighs and your hips, going for your tits and then brushing his fingertips across your jaw, the only part of your face he can reach. 

He’s quiet again. Similar to how he was last time, and so different to how he was the first time, all those years ago. You can’t help but wonder about the sounds he would have made had you got on top back on that first night in the motel. Then you wonder if you’ll ever be able to get them from him again, get him to stop holding back so much and just let himself give in.

His eyes open again, but only slightly, his lids still hanging low. He gazes up at you through his eyelashes, filled with so much affection and adoration it makes your skin get hotter, makes your pussy clench harder. He starts to thrust up into you a little, matching each of your movements, and fuck, fuck, right there—

Hot liquid gushes from your pussy all over his dick, wetting his pelvis and his thighs. 

“Oh, God…” you mutter, pleasure sparking through your core and tightening in your belly. “Fuck, Leon, you feel so fucking good.” 

“Yeah…fuck…” he whispers, and you hold his gaze, staring right into his eyes as you bounce slowly up and down on his cock, circling your hips so he hits that perfect spot inside of you.

It’s when he switches up the position and lays you on your back again that you feel yourself get close. His thrusts don’t start slow; he pushes in fast and hard and keeps going like that until you’re practically screaming and frantically grabbing onto his shoulders. You know he could probably go harder, could definitely pound the head of his dick against your cervix until it hurt. You wouldn’t complain. You’d love that, actually. But it’s also really fucking sweet that he’s holding back, that he doesn’t want to hurt you; you can feel it in the tension in his shoulders, the short snap of his hips each time he thrusts in. He’s holding back. Trying to take it slow, and failing, but still making sure he’s careful.

“Can I get my clit?” you ask breathlessly, and he nods, lifting himself up enough that you can get your finger between your bodies and start to rub at the sensitive, swollen bud. “Oh, fuck, yes. Leon, that feels so good, holy shit.”

“Yeah, baby. Yeah.”

“Oh, God. Oh, God, Leon, fuck—fuck, just like that, just like that, right there—”

There’s that heat again, squirting from your core, all over his dick and down onto the bed. He groans, guttural and choked as though he tried to hold it back but couldn’t. He buries his face in your neck and you let your other hand find his hair, anchoring him to you as he thrusts and thrusts and you rub and rub and that gorgeous pleasure starts to coil low in your belly. 

“Fuck, Leon, I think I’m gonna—”

“Yeah, come on, baby, come for me,” he pants against the shell of your ear. 

You do. Fast, hard, pleasure washing over you in a wave from your head to your toes. It seizes your muscles, has you going very still underneath him as your entire body tenses and you cry out from the pleasure, gripping hard to Leon’s hair. 

It’s not long after that Leon’s coming, too, pulling out just before he spurts all over your stomach. You’re on birth control, and he knows that, but he’s never come inside you before and, knowing him, he’ll probably want to ask before he does it for the first time.

So instead you just enjoy the feeling of his hot release covering your skin, the way it drips down onto the bed and between your legs. He’s panting above you, his hand going still around his cock, face hovering right above yours. 

“Fuck,” he curses, low and broken. Then he kisses you. Deep. Hard. Hot. “Fuck, baby. Fuck.”

You laugh a little, still just a touch delirious with pleasure. “Yeah. So good, Leon.”

“I could stay like this for days, holy shit.” Before you can reply he’s kissing you again and you melt into him because you can. Because you always will. Because he’s Leon, and you love him, and God, he loves you too.

When you both head into the bathroom to get cleaned up, as soon as you’ve cleared your stomach of his release, you start to run a bath. There are some bath salts you got for Christmas that are meant to help ease sore muscles, so you tip some of those beneath the water flow, and the room immediately fills with the smell of them. 

“You gonna take a bath?” Leon asks, throwing the washcloth he used to wipe his dick—and thighs, from where you squirted on him—into the laundry basket. 

“It’s for you,” you say, putting the cap back on the bottle of salts.

He raises an eyebrow. “Me?”

“Uh-huh. Don’t think that just ’cause I put some ibuprofen gel on you I’m done taking care of you.” You reach into the cabinet under the sink and pull out a clean towel, hanging it on the hook on the back of the door. Then you spread out the bath mat beside the tub, and grab the little bath pillow you’ve never used, attaching it to the tub’s edge.

Leon goes quiet, but you can feel his eyes on you as you get things ready. He’s just standing there, watching you. Eventually you turn to him, and you find his expression looking nothing short of awed. Like this is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for him. 

You hope that it isn’t.

“Thank you, baby. Will you join me?” he asks, his voice coming out rougher than you’d expected.

You smile. “I’d love to.”

Sinking down into the warm water feels heavenly, but not quite as heavenly as it feels to be settling in between Leon’s legs, his knees bracketing you as you lean back into his chest. He wraps his arms around you, presses a kiss to your shoulder. God, you’ve never been more thankful that this apartment came with such a good sized bathtub.

For a while, you sit there in comfortable silence, both of you just letting the heat relax you. Leon breathes against the spot behind your earlobe, occasionally brushing his lips across your neck. You lean your head back into his shoulder and close your eyes, breathing in deep, the smell of the salts relaxing. 

He rubs his hands gently across your body, every part of it he can reach. He caresses you like it’s the first time he’s ever had chance, even though it’s not; he makes a point to give each inch attention and care, appreciatively squeezing at your belly and your tits and your thighs. 

Despite how relaxed you are, your mind can’t help but wander. Aside from sex, this is the most intimate thing the two of you have ever done, and now that you’ve said I love you to each other, what does it mean? Does Leon finally feel ready to call this more than friendship? He used the word Boyfriend earlier, but did he mean it? Is that where this is heading? 

Is that where you want this to be heading?

Well, yes, of course it is—you’ve always wanted that, deep down. But you’ve also always thought that it would never be possible. Because Leon said it wasn’t. Said his life was too fucked up, that he didn’t want to ruin what you had by fucking up being your boyfriend. 

And, honestly, seeing him so injured after his latest mission has given you just the slightest bit of pause, too. He made it through this time, but what about the next mission? And the mission after that? Can you handle being the girlfriend who sits beside hospital beds and waits anxiously by the phone for the call that tells you he’s not coming back?

A shudder runs through you at the thought. 

Leon notices. “Hey,” he says softly, tilting his head down to look at you. “You okay?”

Distantly, you nod, and a beat of silence passes before you speak again. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“After that first time we met, if everything hadn’t gone to shit, and you’d started a normal job as a cop…what did you want to happen between us?”

Leon exhales through his nose. He’s quiet for a minute, swirling his finger in circles across the top of your thigh. “I know we only met the one time,” he starts, “but if I’m honest, I wanted to date you. Like, immediately. I wasn’t kidding when I said I fell for you that night.” 

A smile spreads across your face. His warm lips press into your temple, long and lingering.

“Is that a little pathetic of me?” He smirks against your skin.

“No,” you laugh. “Not at all. It’s really sweet, actually.” 

“What about you? What did you want?” 

“I wanted the same,” you confess, quieter than you’d meant it. “I took that number you gave me and didn’t even wait twenty four hours to call you.” 

“Good to know you were as in as I was,” he teases. Then, after a second, “Why’d you ask?” 

“I…guess I just wondered what it is you want now.”

Slowly, he runs his hand down your arm, wet with bathwater and hot to the touch. He finds your hand, then threads your fingers together, holding them up in front of you. “I want to be with you,” he says lowly, his voice vibrating against your ear. “I know it’s taken me way too long to say it, but I—I wanna be your boyfriend. I wanna be yours, for real this time. I don’t—I won’t keep pushing you away.”

Your breath shakes when you breathe in deep. Relief floods through you at the sound of the words you’ve been waiting to hear for years.

“I hope I’m not too late,” he murmurs, squeezing your fingers with his. “But I understand if I am.”

Quickly you shake your head. “No, you’re not. It’s not too late. I—I want all those things too, Leon.”

You feel his smile, and the brush of breath against your skin when he laughs a little. A joyful, disbelieving sound, bubbling up from his chest. “You do?”

“Yeah. I do.” You take another breath, and let it out slowly. “But…”

“Oh, no.” His voice lilts wryly but you hear the genuine concern behind it. 

“I’d be lying if I said it didn’t scare me,” you confess. 

He hums sympathetically, squeezes your hand again when he asks, “What scares you, sweetheart?”

“All of it. Your job, those bruises, the mind controlling parasite…that’s just another day at the office for you and I…I’m scared for you. I already worry about you so much, but if I’m your girlfriend? If we want to build something together? That terrifies me even more.”

He kisses your knuckles before he releases them under the water again, instead using his hand to brush some hair back away from your neck. Then, he presses a kiss there, long and warm. “I’ll always come home,” he promises.

“I know you’re really good at your job, but you face some seriously scary shit, and I…I will always worry that one day you won’t come home. Or you’ll end up in the hospital and I’ll get a call five days later telling me you’ve been there and I didn’t know. Or you’ll go missing and the government will try to cover it up or something or—”

“Hey,” he cuts you off gently. “Breathe.”

You do. It shudders with the sudden onset of tears stinging at your eyes. “It’s not that I don’t already worry. But being your girlfriend just makes it all seem so much more…I don’t know. It’s just different.”

“Yeah, it is. I understand. And…I’m sorry it can’t be any other way.”

“Don’t apologise. I know you feel passionate about your job, which I guess is why I’m also wondering…what changed? You’ve been telling me for years we can’t be together because of the job, the way it takes over your life. What’s different now?”

He exhales, tipping his head back against the bath pillow for a minute. His hold on you doesn’t falter, his hands solid on your thighs and belly. “When that parasite almost took away everything about me, almost took all my choices…I realised how lucky I was to have choices in the first place. And how close I came to losing my free will also meant I came close to losing you.”

“Oh, Leon…”

“I can’t promise you that I’m gonna be good at this,” he continues, tightening his arms around you just a little. “My job is still gonna keep me away from you most of the time, and—and things won’t be easy. I’ll be gone, I’ll go on missions, I’ll come back hurt. It’s always gonna be like that.”

“I’ve always known that, Leon.”

He nods. “I know. I know, and I think I finally realised that, during this last mission. That in pushing you away, I was also taking away your choice, too. Or—making it for you, I guess. Told myself it was safer for you to not choose me.”

You run your hand over his thigh, up to his knee where it crests the surface of the water. “Maybe I do choose you,” you say, quiet. “Maybe I always have.”

He breathes in sharp, deep, then a broken sound escapes his throat, close to a whimper. “Baby.” His lips press firm and hot against the spot beneath your earlobe. Then your neck. Then your shoulder. Each time, a certain and impassioned suck that is sure to leave a mark. You tip your head back onto his shoulder, your eyes fluttering closed as he keeps kissing and sucking along every part of your skin he can get to. “You really mean it?” he asks, a nervous vibration against you. 

“I mean it, Leon,” you breathe, lifting your hand to reach up and stroke his cheek. 

“Even though it won’t be easy? I’m gonna be away so much, and you deserve better than someone who’s just—who’s throwing himself into danger all the time. You deserve someone who can give you everything—”

“Leon,” you cut him off, lifting your head and turning slightly in his arms so you can meet his eyes. When you look at him, he’s frowning, that earnest crease pulled between his brows again as he stares with such gentle fear back into your eyes. You caress his face softly, your palm wet against his cheek. “I accept you with all of it, you know that, right?”

“But…but you just said you’re scared, and I get it, I really get it…”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t still want this. You. It doesn’t mean I don’t want to try.”

“I want to try, too,” he says quickly, bringing his hand up to brush his thumb across your cheekbone, leaving a wet trail in its wake. “I’m probably gonna fuck it up a million times, but I’ll always try. I want to. I can’t—I can’t pretend I don’t feel how I feel anymore.”

You smile. Warmth blooms in your chest. “We can work through it together,” you say softly. “Take it one step at a time. I’m not under any illusions that our relationship is gonna look like anyone else’s our age.”

He huffs a laugh, genuine even though his eyes remain serious. “Yeah, no kidding.” His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, and he glances down at yours, then back to your eyes. For a minute he keeps doing that, looking between them, like he wants to kiss you but also wants to look at you just as badly. You sit and stroke his cheek, happy just to be here, in his arms, feelings finally laid out between you. 

“Hey,” he says eventually into the quiet, “Bath’s gettin’ kinda cold, huh?”

“Not really,” you reply, then suspiciously narrow your eyes at the look on his face. 

“I just—remember earlier you said I could taste you later?”

Immediately you feel your pulse between your legs, the stirring of arousal. “Yeah. I did say that, didn’t I?”

He nods, his pupils blown wide again. “I still really wanna,” he breathes out. His hand slowly slides across your thigh, around onto the inside of it, then even slower it crawls up towards your pussy, stopping before it gets there. “Can we get out so that I can?”

Already breathless, you nod, and it’s all the confirmation he needs before he’s essentially hauling you out of the bath, wrapping you in a towel, and taking you straight back to bed.

***

It’s still almost dark outside when you stir. The clock by your bed reads 06:12. It takes you a second to realise why things feel off, why the bed feels cold; you lean back a little, carefully reaching back with your arm to feel for Leon, but when you find his side of the bed empty, you panic. 

He’s gone. He’s left in the middle of the night. Did he mean what he said last night? Did he have a nightmare and get freaked out? Did he—

You quickly roll over, and find a piece of paper on his pillow, lying neatly in the little dip his head left. His handwriting is messier than usual, as if he wrote it in the dark. 

Woke up really early, decided to go the store to get some stuff for breakfast. I’ll be back ASAP, hopefully before you wake up.

Love, Leon x

A sleepy smile spreads across your face as you relax back into bed, relief falling over you. It’s adorable that he felt the need to sign the note, as if it could be from anyone else, but funnily enough, it does actually help you feel even more reassured. 

With the note loosely held in one hand, the backs of your fingers brushing against Leon’s pillow, you easily slip back into sleep.

Next time you wake, your pillow is decidedly warm, and there’s a comforting weight around your shoulders, pressed into your waist. Your eyelids flicker open into the dim light coming through your curtains, and you realise that the pillow is actually Leon’s shoulder, and you’re tucked into his side, his arm wrapped snugly around you.

His held tilts down towards you when he feels you stir. “Hey, sweetheart,” he murmurs. 

You can’t help but smile. Still sleepy and bleary-eyed, you lift your head to look at him. He’s dressed, wearing the clothes he came here in yesterday, minus the shoes. His hair is a little messy, like he didn’t think to neaten it before he went out to the store. He looks…relaxed. Handsome. It’s so fucking lovely. “Morning,” you say, reaching up to rub your eyes. “I got your note.”

“Yeah. I didn’t wanna worry you if you woke up before I got back. Which…you obviously did.”

“Thanks. I’ll admit I did panic a little before I saw the note.”

He brushes some hair back from your face. “I’m not going anywhere,” he promises softly. “You know that, right?”

Tilting your head to kiss his palm, you let your eyes flutter closed again, drawing in a  deep breath. “Yeah. I know.”

“I thought I’d make pancakes for breakfast?” 

Your eyes open into his again. “I’d love that, but I’m cooking for you, Mister just-got-back-from-a-mission.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Nope. But I’m gonna.” You pause a second, idly noticing the paper grocery bag sitting by the bed. On the front of the bag, there’s a graphic of a pumpkin sitting in a pile of autumn leaves. Your stomach twists anxiously at the thought of Thanksgiving, but then eases, when you remember that you’re spending it with Leon. Speaking of… “Hey, so, Thanksgiving…”

His finger brushes down your cheek over and over, absent, like he’s only half aware he’s doing it. “Yeah?”

“You’re staying until then, right? Like, here? With me?”

“I mean…if you want. I don’t have to. I can get a motel or something—”

You roll your eyes. “Leon, I want you here. In fact, I’m glad you’re staying, ’cause then the looking-after-you thing can keep going.” 

His cheeks turn a little pink when he looks away and raises a diffident shoulder. “Sweetheart, you don’t—”

“Yeah, yeah, I don’t have to, I know. But I want to. You need to rest, and you need to heal.”

For a long moment, he just stares at you. His blue eyes sparkle, affection shining from them, his hand soft against your face. It looks like maybe he’s trying to figure out what to say, but can’t quite decide, or even come up with words in the first place. Instead, he leans in, and places a chaste but long kiss on your lips. Warm, familiar, lovely.

“Mm. Good morning to you too,” you murmur as he pulls away, mirroring his smile. 

“I, uh. I got something extra at the grocery store that I wanted to…well, can I show you?” 

You nod, and watch as he gets up from bed and grabs the grocery bag with the pumpkin on it. He turns it upside down and pours out the contents onto the bed, consisting of—uh…about a dozen cell phones? Ranging from newer, fancy models to older, cheaper ones, they scatter across the mattress, all switched off but taken out of their original packaging.

With raised eyebrows, you glance between the pile of phones and Leon. “Uh…Leon? Are you trying to tell me you’re becoming a criminal, or…?”

Leon chuckles, shaking his head. “They’re not burner phones. Well—they kinda are, but not in a suspicious way. I just…I wanted you to always have a way to reach me, now that we’re together. But I’m always forgetting to leave my cell phone at the damn base, and I take it with me on missions…”

“…And then it gets fucked up,” you finish for him, to which he laughs again, pushing aside the phones so he can perch on the edge of the mattress.

“Exactly,” he confirms. “But I figure, if I use this fancier one as my main cell phone”—he holds up a shiny silver flip phone, one of those new Razr ones that all the rich kids at school are flaunting lately—“It’ll remind me to take better care of it. But in case I forget, I’ve got all these other ones as backups. I’ll keep one in different places. So that I’m always there if you need me.”

An unexpected wave of emotion hits your chest like a goddamn truck. A hard lump forms in your throat, affection overwhelming you, pushing at your chest from the inside. You stare at the phones, then at him. He looks anxious, chewing at his bottom lip, the tips of his ears still flushed red. 

In your silence, he only grows more fidgety, fiddling with the sheets between his fingers. “Uh…is this weird? Shit, this is really weird, isn’t it? I’m sorry, I just wanted to—”

“It’s not weird,” you manage to say past the thickness in your throat. “Well, I mean, it is. But it’s not like your life is normal anyway, so it’s kinda not weird, in context.”

He raises an eyebrow. “That’s…good? I think?”

“It’s really cute, actually.”

“It is?” he replies, dubious. “I kinda just feel like a weirdo. There’s like, twelve phones here, babe.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Yeah, that is a lot of cellphones. Did the person at the store look at you like you were crazy?”

“Oh, I’ve been put on a list, for sure.”

Still laughing, you reach out and grab a hold of his T-shirt, using it to pull him in for a kiss. He makes a surprised noise, and he’s grinning when you pull back enough to look at his face again. “You’re adorable, you know that?”

“Hm, no, wasn’t aware.”

“Well, now you are.”

“I think you win the prize for most adorable, honey.”

“Absolutely not. That one’s always gone to you. It’s an annual thing.”

Chuckling, he gives you one last kiss before leaning away. Then he picks up the silver flip phone and absently flips it open and closed again. “I’ve got all their numbers written down, so we can add them to your phonebook,” he says. “And I’ve also got a number to give you that’s…well, in case you ever really need to reach me when I’m at work, and for whatever reason you can’t, there’s a number for agents’ family members. If you call them, tell them it’s an emergency and who you’re calling for, they’ll do their best to contact me, even if I’m deployed.”

There’s that swell of affection again, pushing against your ribs, constricting your lungs. Like, seriously, it steals your breath, makes it catch in your throat. 

He’s really serious about this, isn’t he? Serious about you? 

It’s not that you didn’t believe him before. You know he always says what he means and means what he says. It’s more like it’s all felt a little too good to be true. But right now, seeing the lengths he’s going to to really make you a part of his life in a new way—to make you an official ‘family member’ that has access to that secure line—well, it’s all just become very real, very fast. 

He’s yours, now. And he’s making sure you know that. 

“Hey, you okay?” Leon asks, his brow drawing together as he leans in closer. 

You hadn’t even noticed your eyes getting wetter. “Yeah, I—I’m good. Just—this means a lot to me, you know?”

He softens. This time when he gets closer, he actually climbs further onto the bed, pushes the phones all the way to the bottom of the mattress so he can kneel beside you. He takes your face in his hands, looks you right in the eyes for a long, drawn-out minute. Then, slowly, like he has all the time in the world, he kisses you. So languid and delicious, all wet lips and gentle, teasing swipes of his tongue along your bottom lip.

You hold onto his T-shirt in your fist, slide your other hand into his hair. He makes a contented noise in the back of his throat, then gently pushes you backwards, laying you down against the pillows. 

Pancakes, and transferring phone numbers, can wait.

notes: i seriously cannot thank you enough for all the incredible comments y'all have left on this series so far. every single one makes me so motivated to keep writing this. i'm so sorry this one took a while - i actually had a deadline for an original work that i had to stick to so i didn't let myself write ANY fanfic for basically the entire month of May LOL but that work is finished now and i am FREE! hope you enjoyed this part just as much as you have the others, and that it lived up to your hopes and expectations! please do let me know if it did! also let me know if there's anything specific u are hoping to see covered in this series...i can't guarantee that i will include it as a lot of it is already planned, but i'd still love to hear your thoughts if u have any! i'm so grateful for you, can't wait to bring you the next part!! love u love u love u xoxoxo