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Eddy’s eyes rake over the selection of bottles when he opens the wine cabinet in the private lounge. His fingers skim over a few before finally wrapping around one to his liking with a sound of approval.
“I know the Crawfords. You’re Barry’s cousin, right?” he asks without turning around as he reaches for the corkscrew on the marble counter. His body is already slightly swaying from the earlier consumed champagne.
Behind him, Leon is giving you a side eyed glare as he watches you sit down on one of the large leather couches casually. He’ll deal with you later.
“Yeah. Good ol’ Barry,” he mutters the lie, grateful that Hunnigan managed to find the perfect fake identities.
“He’s the best,” Eddy grins when he finally manages to pop open the bottle.
He lines three stemmed glasses on the shiny surface in order to pour the alcohol, and Leon moves to sit beside you despite the way you refuse to look his way.
“I was handling it, you should’ve stayed to watch Adams,” you whisper through gritted teeth when he settles a little too close on the cushions, his shoulder brushing yours.
“You can't just leave without telling me first,” he retorts with a hush and a stern glare that you still refuse to meet.
“I do hope you two like red wine. To be honest, I don't get people who don't,” Eddy comments, oblivious to the muttered conversation.
When he turns to hand you each a glass, he’s about to sit down when he halts in his movements. “Ah! Almost forgot,” he chuckles self-deprecatingly and strides right back to the counter.
You see him opening a drawer, and you use the distraction to finally turn to Leon with a mean frown. “You’re going to say you need the bathroom and you will let me handle this.”
The fellow agent nearly scoffs at your order, and he once again feels the sudden urge to kiss the scowl off your face. “Not happening,” he stubbornly refuses, his eyes flickering to your lips briefly.
You chew on the inside of your mouth in annoyance, feeling your irritation rise at the way he’s meddling in your objective.
In the meantime, Eddy opens a box of cigars, and makes a gesture to offer some for you and Leon. You both decline with a synchronized handwave, and that makes the man laugh. It has you thinking of how much the two of you usually work so well together, and the reason you're so often paired up.
Leon just had to ruin it tonight by being so damn unreasonable.
Right then, you decide to do something you’ve never done before. You’re fully aware that your interpersonal feelings are at play, but it's not like you were ever professional about Leon.
“Hey, Eddy? Logan wants to use the bathroom. Do you have one nearby?”
Leon goes impossibly tense beside you, and you can feel the heat of his glare on the side of your face. You’re sure that if you turn, you’ll see the look of utter betrayal on his features.
“It’s right there,” the redhead gestures to a dark wooden door in the corner as he cuts the end of his cigar with a snip.
“Great,” the agent grits out bitterly as he stands with a huff, his hands balled into fists when he walks off.
He slams the door shut behind him loudly, knowing well how childish he must seem, but he can't bring himself to care anymore. He can’t believe you just put him on the spot like that, explicitly going against his demands like his words mean nothing to you.
You’re clearly behaving like this on purpose, and as much as he knows he deserves it, he can't accept that you effectively dismissed him to be alone with the other man—whether that is for the sake of the mission or not.
Standing at the sink, he stares at his tired reflection in the mirror, a million thoughts running through his mind as he tries to collect himself.
He knows you're a professional. You can handle this.
And him? Well, he just needs to get a grip.
As you pretend to take a sip from your glass, you hum in fake approval, complimenting the taste when Eddy sits on the opposite couch facing you.
There's a nervousness running through your system from the stunt you just pulled on Leon, already feeling guilty about blindsiding him. But the feeling is quickly put away as you concentrate on the mission. You want to prove to him just as much as yourself that this was the right call.
“So… Do you always bring strangers up for good wine or am I just lucky?” you drawl with a playful smile.
The man chuckles, slowly exhaling a puff of smoke through his nose. “Only when they're such good company.”
“Well, I’m flattered… Though I do wonder, is the ‘special’ lounge always this empty?”
“The night is still young. It’ll fill up later when more important guests show up... For now, we can enjoy the quiet and privacy.”
You notice his eyes trailing down your blue dress, and decide to cross your legs to get him even more enthralled. At the sight of your bare thigh revealed by the high slit, he clears his throat, then gives the bathroom door a quick glance before lowering his voice.
“You know, if it wasn't for Mr. Crawford,” he mutters the name with a hint of sarcasm, “I could show you an even more special place… Somewhere a lot nicer than here.”
That peaks your interest, and you tilt your head with a small smirk. “What kind of place?”
If he says his bedroom, you’re splashing your glass in his face.
“The kind of place where great minds meet and great things happen…” he grins smugly.
You begin to lose patience with his half-spoken revelations, and suddenly, you decide to stand to make your way next to him, catching the man off guard.
As Eddy eyes your figure, your knee bumping into his as you sit, you swirl your drink and bat your eyelashes, hoping he’s too drunk to see the way you tense under his shameless gaze.
“Is my mind great enough to take me there?”
He snorts, sucking a long breath through the cigar that glints in golden embers at the tip. “Your mind is certainly great if you're sitting this close to me while your husband is only a door away…”
If only he knew.
With an internal pep talk to steel yourself, you take the smoke-emitting cylinder from his grasp without asking, then make a show out of wrapping your lips around it to inhale the fumes that burn your lungs. You just hope indirectly exchanging saliva with a stranger is worth the mission.
“I’m feeling particularly great tonight, Eddy, and I would love to see this special place you speak so highly of. Plus, I can assure you, Logan doesn't mind…”
The redhead keeps his gaze fixated on your tinted lips, and he looks like he’s about to finally give in when he then shakes his head with a laugh. He pauses to take a big sip of wine before setting his glass down and giving you a pointed look.
“I don't know, sweet cheeks. I don't think Mr. Crawford likes to share.”
As if summoned by his words, Leon steps out of the bathroom with an expression so solemn he looks like he’s in mourning. But the second he sees you sitting so close your leg is touching the rich asshole with his cigar in your hand, a fire instantly lights behind his blue eyes and it's all he can do not to rip you away from that couch.
You notice the tightness of his jaw instantly, and you're certain Eddy does too, which would ruin the entire plan you’re working hard on executing. If this goes to shit, you would have lost this opportunity and surveillance on Adams who’s still partying downstairs.
“Logan likes to watch,” you suddenly blurt out, and immediately feel your face grow piping hot.
“What?” Both men look at you in surprise, but only one of them has a smirk slowly etching on his face.
A silence stretches in the room as you collect your thoughts, with Leon looking at you like you just grew another head, while Eddy seems like he just won the jackpot.
“Y-Yeah, um, it’s like his whole thing. Tell him, honey.” You lie further—too late to back out now.
For a moment, you think Leon might genuinely blow your cover right then and there. But some way, somehow, he manages to exhale deeply through his nose, and then, without a word, moves to sit on the opposite sofa with his back straight.
There’s a challenge in his eyes as he keeps his glacial gaze fixated on you and makes your spine shiver, as if saying ‘you better not.’
“Is this true, Mr. Crawford?” Eddy drawls, placing an arm behind you on the couch’s backrest, testing the waters.
Leon doesn't answer, he’s worried anything that might come out of his mouth would be a litany of curses directed at the man and his entire lineage. This might be his tipping point to finally lose his sanity, because how in the ever loving fuck did you manage to frame him as a cuck of all things?
With the tense silence making the air thick, you break it by shoving the cigar back into Eddy’s mouth, internally shuddering at the indirect kiss.
“So, tell me more about this place,” you urge him, a little too desperately as you hope to get done with this masquerade already.
“Hm, you’re a curious little one, aren't you?” he smirks before continuing, “I have to be honest, I may have been too earnest. I can't actually take you there tonight.”
Fucking great.
Fighting the urge to smack him in the face, you give him a tight-lipped smile. “Why not?”
The man takes a moment to think of his answer, stealing a glance at Leon who’s sitting as still as a statue with his burning eyes, before turning back to you.
“Something really special is happening tonight… It’s a private audience—even more private than usual. I can't tell you much more, but one thing’s for sure, you will know about it tomorrow. Everyone will.”
You feel adrenaline rush through you at his coded words, and you decide to push further despite the blue eyes searing holes into you. Something serious is planned to happen tonight and you have a feeling it's not a boyscout bonfire.
With a flirty grin that makes your lips twitch in internal cringe, you throw your bared leg over the older man’s lap and wrap your arms around his neck.
“Oh, Eddy, you’re being such a tease! Why won't you just tell me already?”
He chuckles in a low rumble, then places a hand on your waist as he leans to exhale his smokey breath into your neck.
“You cheeky little minx… You really are curious, aren't you?”
You’re about to retort when you see him make eye contact with Leon and immediately tense up. You don’t dare do the same—you can guess he has a murderous glare on his face that he reserves for the lowest of bastards.
“Are you sure he likes to watch?” Eddy murmurs with a gulp, and that's when you finally turn to see Leon—and God, it's so much worse than you’d imagined.
It would be funny if it wasn't downright scary, but the man is quite literally shaking with anger, his fists are trembling in his lap with uncontrollable tremors, and you know he’s fighting every single atom in his body not to lunge. At Eddy or at you, it wouldn't matter, either way, he’s about to fucking lose it.
“Y-Yeah,” you answer in a squeaky voice, attempting to muster some confidence despite your debilitating nerves.
To your surprise, the redhead seems to believe you—or maybe he’s already too drunk—because he suddenly laughs and tightens his hold on you.
“Oh, I see,” he grins with pearly whites, “he’s not jealous over you… He’s jealous he can't join in!”
You have to stop yourself from bursting out into an ugly cackle at whatever math was done for him to come to that conclusion. But then, Leon speaks, and you feel your breathing stop.
“You caught me,” he strains out and raises his trembling hands in surrender.
What the fuck did he just say?
Without waiting for either of your responses, the blonde agent stands abruptly, and strides directly to the couch just to grab you by the waist like a portable package, and quite literally rip you off Eddy’s side. He then sits in your emptied spot, settling between you and the man, and serving as an impenetrable barrier of hard muscle and storming cerulean eyes.
No one speaks for a full five seconds before the redhead bursts out into a choked laugh, slapping a hand on Leon’s thigh with a smack that makes him jolt.
“Well, I’m not complaining,” Eddy grins between snorted chuckles.
He then cups the startled agent’s face, and leans in to steal a kiss that Leon barely manages to stop quickly enough with a finger on the other’s lips.
In the most deadpanned voice he can muster, he offers an excuse to his newly acquired, overly eager lover.
“Sorry, kissing’s not on the menu. The missus and I have an agreement.”
Next chapter coming soon.
eddy jumping to kiss leon is just like me fr like omg i can diddle him? come here you beautiful specimen
What the actual fuck are you supposed to do with that compliment?
It’s been half an hour since, and you're still thinking about it, replaying the moment on repeat in your head. You try and fail not to make anything of it, reminding yourself that he doesn't want you. He left. He wanted to sleep with you, but didn't want your stupid feelings, that’s all.
So why are you losing your mind over a silly little compliment?
It doesn't help that everywhere you two go around the gala he introduces you as his wife with a smile way too proud to be anything professional. And then there’s his hand that keeps hovering right at the small of your back. Never quite touching—no, he wouldn't dare after everything—but it's there nonetheless, under the guise of playing the married couple role.
You wish you could have a drink to loosen your nerves, but you know you can't do that on the job. So, instead, you decide to head to the bar for a mocktail to at least cool your heated self down.
Leon is immediately on your tail, his tall figure looming right behind you. He’s so close, you feel his breath ghost over your nape when you momentarily stop to clear the way for a gala attendee to pass. He’s like a damn puppy, following you like he’ll lose you if he doesn't. He kind of looks like one too, with his stupidly beautiful blue eyes he keeps not-so-discreetly eyeing you with.
Once at the bar, you lean over the counter to call for the busy mixologist’s attention, but a hand comes to brace on the wood beside you, the warmth of a broad chest radiating on your back as Leon practically cages you in.
“I got it,” he murmurs way too close to your ear and causes you to shiver.
You stay silent, watching as he orders your favorite virgin drink without missing a beat, then stays nearly pressed to you until the beverage arrives and he takes half a step back.
Lifting the glass up to take a sip, you can see him observing you intently from the corner of your eye. His gaze is fixated on your mouth like he's a second away from replacing the cup with his lips.
You finally snap.
“Can you stop staring at me?”
Leon nearly chokes on air, and he feels his cheeks redden as he turns to look away towards the large expanse of the luxurious ballroom.
“Sorry…” he mutters under his breath, feeling like the world’s biggest idiot. But he can't help adding quietly, “...can't help it.”
The scoff you make in response makes him wince, and he knows you have every right to be upset, or even cuss him out, and he will take it in stride.
But it's true that he can't stop himself from staring at you.
Hell, he can't even bring himself to stand more than a foot away, and he's starting to wonder if there is some kind of official diagnosis for this ridiculous condition he’s in. It’s like every bit of yearning he was already experiencing for weeks has been turned to the max after a single night with you.
Plus, he was drunk the entire past day and a half, and now that he is mostly sober, all he can think about is how much he regrets walking away the morning prior. Even if he still wholeheartedly believes you shouldn't be with someone as broken as him.
“Unbelievable…” you mutter, shaking your head.
Leon is a fairly sizable man, but right now he feels as small as a mouse under your disappointed gaze. He knows he’s acting unfair after practically rejecting you, but he himself has no idea what he's thinking other than the fact he’s head over heels for you.
He steals another glance your way, despite your chastising remark, and feels his chest tighten in a feeling he can only describe as all-consuming want.
He wants you.
God, he wants you so bad it hurts.
He wants you emotionally, physically—fucking spiritually—he wants it all. And right now, just the sight of you is both killing him and reviving him all at once.
Your dress fits you like sin, your perfume is intoxicating, your lipstick tantalizing, and the slit that reveals your leg with every step is entirely mouth-watering.
“There's Adams,” you mutter with a small gesture of your chin.
Oh. Right. The mission.
How the fuck is he supposed to complete this stupid mission?
Leon turns to see the man you're pointing to, and sure enough, Marcus Adams is standing with a group of fancy-dressed people. He’s chattering and laughing with a champagne flute in hand like everything is okay in the world.
“Alright. I guess we’ll have to stay close to the bastard, then.”
With a shared nod, you both stride in the direction of the group, then discreetly stand close enough to attempt to catch any valuable piece of conversation.
The room is too loud, however, and the guests and music are too noisy. Plus, Leon smells too good and that makes you even more irritated than you already were by his weird behavior.
How hypocritical that he would act like this after running away like a wanted criminal. He’s so lucky you're working, because if you didn't have to be here you sure as hell would not put up with another minute of this.
Huffing, you try to concentrate on your listening senses, straining to make out the voice of Adams with a particular red-headed man he seems to be in deep discussion with. Then, someone suddenly bumps into you, and you find yourself propelled into the chest that was unsurprisingly standing too close.
Leon immediately catches you with both hands on your waist, and you feel your knees go physically weak from his proximity. He checks on you with a small head tilt, and when you nod to signal you’re okay, he looks up to see the man that just collided into you, not even stop to apologize.
Balding, sporting a white mustache, and appearing to be well into his seventies, he does not stop in his steps until he joins the group of high society you were listening in on. You recognize him as one of the main owners of the hotel, Edd Chastain.
“Fucking geezer,” the ash blonde agent scoffs, almost debating making a scene if not for the mission.
He doesn't retract his hands off you, even when he’s well aware you're alright. If it had been before Friday night, he would not be nearly as bold. But that night changed things forever, and as much as he hates himself for acting like a moron, the urge to keep you close is taking over him.
You, on the other hand, are not so willing to stay so close since you're aware of just how you stupid you get around him. So, you place your hands on his, feeling him squeeze your waist like he’s refusing to let go, before begrudgingly releasing his hold on you.
“Sorry,” he apologizes for the second time tonight, his fingers twitching at his sides in need to touch you again.
“I’m gonna go to the bathroom, you stay here and keep watch,” you mutter and walk away before he can protest.
After a short washroom break, you emerge back out into a quiet hallway, fiddling with the tiny purse that Hunnigan managed to stuff with inconspicuous spyware.
Surrounding you, the dark marble on the walls and floor is reflective like mirrors, and you catch the flash of copper hair on the shining tile. When you turn, you realize it's the red-headed man from earlier passing by. This could be the perfect opportunity to approach him, and maybe catch a smidge of intel on Adams and the group of elites.
Before you can even think of a way to strike conversation, he notices you, and walks your way with a sheepish smile.
“Sorry about my dad earlier.”
Confused, you tilt your head in question, “pardon?”
He chuckles, sliding his hands into his pockets, the black tuxedo he’s wearing perfectly tailored to his slim frame.
“The man with the mean mustache that bumped into you back there… that was my old man,” he grins.
“Oh!” you exclaim as it finally clicks, and you thank the stars for the perfect opportunity to spark a social exchange. “No worries, it’s fine, really. I just assumed he didn't see me.”
“Oh, he did… Trust me, someone like you is hard to miss.” The man shakes his head, the playful smile on his face unwavering. Then, he extends a hand, his golden cufflinks catching in the sconces’ light. “Edward Isaac Chastain The Third. But you can call me Eddy.”
You take his hand, giving it a firm shake with a polite smile. “Sarah. Sarah Crawford.”
Up close, you can estimate him to be in his early forties, silver strands streaking his amber hair. There’s no ring on his finger, and you wonder if he’s truly unmarried or if he’s hiding it, if the way he’s looking at you is anything to go by.
Eddy keeps the contact for a second longer than necessary before retrieving his palm, a pensive look on his dark brown eyes.
“The man that was with you, that’s your…”
“Husband,” you finish for him, the word tasting bittersweet on your tongue.
“Right…” He nods slowly, then smiles wide, a cocky confidence radiating off him. “Well, again, sorry about pops. I’d love to get you and your husband a drink from the special cabinet to make up for it. The Chastains get a private stash.”
Bingo. And you didn't even have to try.
“That's really kind, I would love that,” you beam, softening your voice into a borderline flirty tone. “But, if it's alright with you, it’ll be just me… My husband isn't much of a drinker.”
“Oh, it's more than alright with me…” he looks you up and down appreciatively, then gestures to the elevators nearby. “This way please, we have a private lounge on the 8th floor—that’s where you’ll get the best wine.”
“By all means, lead the way.”
With that, he presses the ‘up’ button on the wall that lights up in a red glow, then scratches his goatee beard with a smirk when you come to stand beside him.
Further down the hallway, you don't see the agent that came looking for you because he couldn't stay away no matter how much he tried.
Leon freezes in his steps when he sees you standing with the scrawny looking ginger, the both of you clearly heading somewhere without his knowledge.
A sudden overwhelming feeling of discomfort encompasses him. He knows he has felt jealous before, like the night you came back from your friend’s place, but this is so much worse as he's forced to watch. He finds himself wondering yet again when did he turn into such a possessive primitive creature?
He’s not even the jealous type. Never has been. And yet, the feeling is so strong, he can sense his chest physically constricting as he eyes you smiling sweetly at the asshole next to you. Associating with Adams is enough reason not to like him, but flirting with you? Now he’s just asking for it.
Leon is about to march directly to you to see what the hell this is all about, when you catch him in your peripheral vision and make a discreet gesture with your hand. He observes your movement intently, and understands you’re signaling for him to stay back so you can handle this on your own. You must have found a way to extract information, because of course you did. You have always been great at disarming men—him included.
The elevator dings, and Eddy gestures for you to head inside. “After you,” he drawls in a husky tone, and you respond with a cheeky smile.
Standing in place just like you instructed, Leon has to control every cell in his body not to move, knowing that he needs to prioritize the mission before any personal feelings of debilitating jealousy.
But then, he catches the man’s hand grazing your lower back—something even he didn't dare to do… And he was the one thrusting inside you less than 48 hours ago.
Yeah, no, fuck the mission.
Eddy presses the button for the 8th floor and the doors slowly slide to shut with his hand still insistently placed on you. Internally, you’re cringing at how easy it is for a man to act like a complete creep just because a woman talked to him. At least it makes the job easier.
Right as you're about to compliment his shoes to make him even more pliant, a hand shoots between the metal doors that were inches away from closing, and Leon waltzes in like he owns the damn lift.
“Honey, I was looking for you,” he says with a smile too tight to be anything but fake.
You feel irritation rise at his sudden hijacking of the operation that was going so smoothly, and you notice Eddy retrieving his hand like he wasn't just feeling you up.
“Oh, darling,” you grit out the word with barely contained anger, “I was just getting to know Mr. Chastain here. He says they have the best wine upstairs.”
“Oh, please, just Eddy.” The redhead offers a handshake with a still cocky smile that Leon returns with a strong grip, grinning even wider. Though, you notice the twitch of fury at the corner of his mouth.
“Well, Eddy, I’m Logan. But you can call me Mr. Crawford
Next chapter coming soon.
jealousleonjealousleonjealousleonjealousleonnnnn need himmmmm need him injected into my veinsssss
also this is a scheduled post because i'm busy this sunday so i hope the upload goes well 🤓
i'm having so much fun with this series, reading you guys' comments and reactions is my favorite. thanks again for the support 💓
Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 TBA
CW: some gore and violence.
Nora, Ashley, and Luis follow Leon as he leads the group with tense shoulders and a pointed gun. The moon is high in the sky by this point, and the agent has to use a flashlight to illuminate their surroundings of trees and rocky grounds. The Spaniard, who is at the tail end of the group with his own pistol raised, is serving as a guide as he instructs the bunch where to go.
Many thoughts run through Nora’s head as damp leaves stick to her sneakers in her steps. She hasn't spoken a word to the agent, and she does not plan to unless strictly necessary. But she wonders how long she can keep up the façade that nothing happened. The others don't know what he did, they don't know who really is, and she doesn't know if keeping quiet is the smart or stupid thing to do.
A sudden hacking cough shakes Ashley’s body, her hand coming up to her mouth where blood sputters onto her palm. The alarming sight attracts the attention of the others, with Luis frowning in a knowing look.
“You’re infected too…” he murmurs, then glances at Leon. “Between you and Sancho, we have our hands full, eh?”
Nora places a comforting hand on the young woman’s back as a look of panic flashes through the latter’s eyes. “Infected?” she squeaks in fear.
“Sí, with the plaga… The thing that the villagers have that makes them worship Saddler. We call them ganados—cattle.”
The term rings a bell in Leon’s mind, and he recalls it as one of the first things Nora said to him while he pointed a gun in her face. The memory makes something inside him twist.
He is fully aware she is not addressing him on purpose, which, in many ways he is grateful for. He can barely look her in the eye without feeling the intense urge to blow himself up in shame. The worst part is that Luis and Ashley seem to be completely unaware of what he’s done, which implies she has not exposed his rotting insides to the others just yet.
“I could get you medicine to help delay the symptoms, but that would mean going into Salazar’s castle…” the biologist continues, looking between the two blondes. “And I don't know about you, but I would rather not go back to the local crazyhouse.”
“So what then? I-I’ll just turn into one of them?” Ashley shudders at the horrifying thought.
“No, there is a solution… You see, at the early stage of infection, there's still a chance for a cure. I happen to have equipment made specifically to get rid of the parasite, and I’ve tested it on myself—it works.” Luis pulls at the collar of his leather jacket to reveal a faint scar on his chest.
“Wait, you too?” Leon frowns as he looks over the line marking the man’s tanned skin.
Before the Spaniard can respond, a rustling of leaves in the darkness prompts the group to go quiet and the agent to turn off his light. They crouch, trying to make out the source of the noise through the foliage, when a chilling voice resounds between the trees.
“I know you’re here, Luis. You’re not as sneaky as you think you are.”
Nora feels her heart stop at the sound of Krauser’s rough timber, and she subconsciously reaches to grip Luis’s forearm. The latter barely notices, his own heart thundering in his chest, but it's the agent beside him that does see it, his eyes fixating on the movement for a split second before looking away.
“I’ll make a deal for you. If you hand me the girl and the amber, I won't make it too painful—call it a mercy kill... Which is more than what a rat like you deserves.”
The voice is growing closer, and Leon knows they will eventually be found, especially with the way Ashley is trembling so hard you can nearly hear her bones clatter. He steals another glance at Nora, taking note of her eyes still puffy from all the crying she has undoubtedly gone through, and then he makes a decision.
“The three of you go. I’ll deal with him.”
“I appreciate the heroics, amigo, but I really don’t think you should take on that guy alone,” Luis answers in a hushed whisper.
“I can talk to him, or stall him, at least. You, on the other hand, are his target. So get out of here, and keep them safe. Now.”
The stubbled man finally agrees with a click of his tongue, and after he’s handed spare ammunition from Leon, he eclipses between the bushes with Ashley and Nora right behind.
The latter does not let her mind dwell on the agent’s selfless act even for a second. She doesn't believe a thing about his supposed saint-like persona anymore. So even as they escape thanks to him, she chooses not to concern herself with Krauser finding him—or at least she tries not to.
Leon, watching the others leave and the threatening man approaching, turns his flashlight back on to attract the latter’s attention on him. Sure enough, only a few seconds pass until the ex-commander appears before him in a sudden jump. It’s supernatural the way he leaps into view with so much speed, and Leon quickly understands the man must have abnormal abilities.
“Long time no see, rookie,” Krauser chuckles darkly, his ice blue eyes piercing through Leon’s despite the LED’s flash that should be blinding him.
“Major.” The shorter blonde’s answer is quipped, his jaw locked tight with tension. “Can I ask what you're doing here?”
“You don't look too surprised to see me rise from the dead…,” the other smiles wickedly. “Were you expecting me?”
Leon does not answer, instead, he lifts his hand with the intention to aim his gun, but his old mentor moves in a blink, and suddenly, there’s a knife to the agent’s throat.
“Too slow. Didn't I teach you better?” Krauser drawls with a head tilt. He then proceeds to twist the gun out of Leon’s grasp, and kicks him with a powerful foot to the chest that launches him a few feet into the air, just for his body to thud violently on the rocky ground with a roll.
Leon groans in pain as he rotates to his side, the air knocked out of his lungs from the force of the hit. Any suspicions he may have had about Krauser’s superpowered capabilities are confirmed—that was no normal kick.
“We’re just getting started, rookie.” The tall man approaches with slow, confident steps, twisting and turning the knife in his hand like he has all the time in the world. The flashlight that rolled onto the dirt from the attack illuminates his face in harsh shadows that accentuate his sharp features, and somehow, makes him look even more frightening.
With a labored grunt, Leon stands with a stagger, unsheathing his own knife. His chest hurts with every ragged breath he takes as he gets into position for a bloody fight.
“Are you being controlled by the cult?” he hisses between clenched teeth.
The appearance of the man before him is still something he has a hard time believing. He remembers the last time he saw him, two years prior, when they had just survived a gruesome mission where the major faced BOWs for the first time in his life.
Leon, having survived the horrors of Raccoon City, was already well versed in monster fighting, which put him at an advantage despite being a rookie. His skills came especially handy when the government abandoned them for dead, forcing them to face the nightmare alone.
In the end, the agent received news of Krauser’s death in an accident a few weeks after the mission, to his great chagrin. Now, however, the man standing in front of him seems to be nothing like the one that taught him everything.
“This has nothing to do with them. I am a free man, and I have made my own choice. Something you still don't seem to get, do you? You government puppet,” Krauser spits venomously. Then, he moves for a quick attack that Leon barely manages to parry, their blades clattering against each other like swords.
The younger man retaliates with a slash to the other’s arm that has him jerking back, which allows the agent to roundhouse kick him to the floor. Krauser lets out a pained sound when he falls to his knee, his red beret flying off his head.
“Is that what this is about? Some fucked-up illusion of free will?”
“No, no, no, rookie… This is not an illusion. This is true power.” The major slowly stands, a look of pure hatred on his scarred face. “What they did to us two years ago—killing our men without mercy. Don't tell me you forgot already?”
He accentuates his point with another attempt at a vicious attack, this time succeeding when he cuts the skin on the dark blonde’s forearm.
“Of course I didn't,” Leon grits out, parrying another strike that came right after the previous one. “But hurting innocents is… unforgivable.”
That last word tastes like acid on his tongue. He fully knows that if Krauser is damned, then so is he. The image of Nora bent over his lap flashes through his mind for a split second, when a kick to his knee jolts him out of his thoughts.
The burly man snickers at the sight of Leon staggering back. “You’re still a kid holding on to fantasies of what's right and wrong.” He shakes his head, his eyes glacial with vitriol. “They used devastating power on us, what's wrong with wanting the same for myself?”
“You’ve lost it completely, Krauser,” Leon scoffs in disappointment.
Their knives clash, their fists connect, and every move that one pulls is matched by the other. Like two sides of one coin, their quick motions mirror each other in a violent display of highly skilled combat, until a distant scream freezes Leon in place.
He knows that voice.
Krauser uses the opportunity to lacerate his thigh and knock him back with a kick of his boot—hard enough he hits his head against a tree trunk on impact.
“Looks like America’s sweetheart is still nearby. I hope you don't mind me cutting our date short, golden boy, but I have important affairs to attend to.”
Through his blurry vision and concussed brain, Leon sees the platinum blonde turn on his heels, and stride in the direction of who he believes to be Ashley. But the agent knows—that scream is one he couldn't forget if he wanted, its tune burned into his memory from mere hours ago.
Nora is in danger.
Clearly, Luis did not succeed in protecting her, and now everything is about to turn to shit when Krauser finds them—finds her.
Leon can't let that happen. Not when he’s the reason she’s here in the first place.
While making their way in the dark, weaving between trees and bushes, Nora, Ashley, and Luis try to be as silent as they can not to attract attention. In the background, they can hear pained grunts and blades colliding, indicating a gruesome fight between the ex-soldiers.
Suddenly, an involuntary shriek is ripped out of the tanned woman when the skin on her ankle is pierced by jagged teeth. When she looks down in shock, she finds her foot caught in a bear trap, the rusted metal digging wounds into her skin.
“¡Joder!” the Spaniard exclaims at the sight, rushing to her side in a skid.
Ashley covers her mouth in horror as the other woman continues to whimper in pain and panic. “Oh my God,” the blonde chokes out behind her palm.
But then, an eerie silence falls on the woods, and the trio quickly realizes the distant fight has stopped, which could only mean Krauser is now coming their way.
“¡Mierda, mierda, mierda!” Luis curses frantically as he attempts to pull at the metallic jaws, but that only results in Nora wailing again.
“J-Just leave it—you need to go!” she pleads in a trembling voice, tears already pooling at the rims of her almond eyes.
The brunette shakes his head frantically. “Are you crazy?! ¡No te abandonaré!”
Despite the intense dread and pain, Nora is able to make a quick calculation in her mind to figure out their chances of survival. She knows Krauser needs Ashley for the cult’s plan, as well as the infamous amber containing a powerful plaga specimen. And she knows the moment he sees Luis, he will be the first one to be murdered, without hesitation.
If the two leave, however, Krauser will find her and most likely kill her instead. But, if she's ‘lucky’ he might infect her so she joins the rest of the zealots in servitude of Saddler.
With the decision made in mind, she tugs at Luis’s jacket urgently. “You need to leave and take Ashley to your lab. Please just go!”
“W-wait, how do you know about my lab?” he frowns mid-panic, still refusing to move.
Finding herself in a desperate situation, she calls for a desperate measure, and slaps Luis square on the cheek as hard as she can.
“I’m telling you to fucking go!!”
He sucks in a sharp breath, completely taken aback by the stinging strike, but that finally manages to get him to cooperate as he begrudgingly stands.
“No te mueras,” he pleads, before finally pulling Ashley’s crying self along with him.
As she sits there, bleeding, trapped like an animal, all she finds herself hoping is that Krauser will make it quick. She's suffered enough for the day.
“What do we have here?” his chilling voice suddenly rasps from behind her. “You’re not who I was expecting.”
Nora doesn't answer, keeping her eyes on her injured leg, as if meeting his gaze would be fatal. She can hear him approach, until his combat boots plant themselves in front of her, his looming figure blocking out the moonlight.
“Krauser!” Leon’s voice calls out in the distance, prompting the big man to snicker.
“Aw, the government’s lap dog is being a hero again. Looks like he’s trying to save you from me. How noble.”
He crouches, examining her trembling form and where the metal teeth are keeping her in place, not caring for the agent running towards them in labored breaths.
Krauser knows Leon is too concussed to be a real threat at the moment. So, with a dark smile etched on his hardened face, he yanks open the trap abruptly with his bare hands, grinning wider when Nora makes a blood curdling scream.
Through her teary vision, she sees him throw away the metallic device with a clunk, then reach for her throat with a large hand that encircles her neck with ease. Her heart drops in her stomach at the first squeeze to her airways, her hands scrambling to pry his grip open to no avail.
Slowly but surely, dark spots cloud her sight, her body growing limp, and the last thing she hears is Leon’s frantic “don’t touch her!” before her consciousness fades to black.
Nora stirs from a tormented sleep at the sound of clinking chains. Her head pounds in throbbing beats, her muscles so exhausted she can't bring herself to move, and for a moment, she wonders if she is finally truly awake and back in the real world.
Until, a strained voice calls out to her.
“Nora, please wake up.”
She recognizes its owner immediately, the sound being associated with warmth and comfort in the deepest nooks of her brain despite his betrayal. The overwhelming wave of memories of everything that happened washes over her, and she feels a sudden urge to throw up.
At the sight of her face twisting in nausea, Leon sighs in relief, tugging at his chains once again to keep her awake.
“Thank God…” he whispers in gratitude.
His wrists behind his back are chaffed raw from the metal restraints digging into his skin, and his legs are bound together in a way that forces him to stay kneeled. He can't believe this is the second time he’s been chained during this neverending nightmare of a mission, but his own discomfort matters little to him at the moment. All his worry is focused on the young woman that was left laid on the bare floor.
Krauser had threatened to break her neck earlier the moment he realized Leon valued her life. Which then allowed him to order the agent to strip himself of his weapons and proceeded to knock him out as well. They were both unconscious as he brought them to a private island not far from the northern Spanish shore, where Osmund Saddler is headquartered and the plagas research is conducted. The fortified island being protected by a militia of gun-wielding ganado soldiers, makes escape a nearly insurmountable challenge.
Now, as Leon tugs repeatedly on the chain bolted to the wall, he can't help but steadily feel hope drain when he realizes just how fucked the situation is. Blood that was dried on his forehead slowly washes down with his beading sweat, and his heartbeat continues to be frantic no matter how much he tries to steady himself.
The one consolation in the midst of everything, are the secure bandages around Nora’s wounded ankle that Krauser seemingly treated. Though, it does not take a genius to figure out it’s because he wants her alive and healthy for ulterior use.
When she sits up slowly, rubbing her pounding head, she realizes that unlike the man before her, she wasn't chained. Perhaps Krauser knows how little of a threat she represents in comparison.
“Are you okay?” Leon asks softly, his worried eyes searching her face.
Naturally, she doesn’t respond, only pursing her lips in a way that has him lowering his gaze quickly. He doesn't dare speak again despite all the things he wishes he could say.
He wants to apologize profusely and beg for forgiveness. He wants to promise he will do everything to protect her and keep her safe. He wants to explain just how much his identity was broken by the reveal of the nature of his world. But he knows none of his excuses, apologies, or promises are worth saying out loud. Not when none of them can change the past.
From the corner of his eye, he can see her take in her surroundings in the empty concrete box of a room they're being kept in. There is nothing of use around—he checked already, so all he can do for now is pull at his chains in hopes of loosening them.
The heavy, metal door in the corner suddenly opens with a creak, and Krauser’s large body fills the frame as he enters and shuts the gate behind him. He looks between his two captives, a ghost of a smirk on his lips when he finds them both awake, before he moves to Nora.
“Krauser!” Leon exclaims in a mix of panic and anger as the man completely ignores him.
He snickers when the young woman backs away in fear, when he comes to an abrupt stop just to crouch in front of her. He reaches to graze his fingers on her bandaged leg in mock gentleness, before retreating his hand just as fast.
“You’re very lucky that old, rusty trap wasn't firm enough to break your little bones.”
Nora trembles in her place, her teary eyes tracing his sharp features in fear, and she finds herself glancing at Leon in reprieve—just or a split second, before looking down at the floor.
“What's your name, little girl?”
She shudders at the nickname, and wishes nothing more than to spit at his feet, but knows better than to disobey.
“N-Nora…”
Krauser looks her up and down, assessing, before he gestures to the chained man with a head tilt.
“How do you two know each other?”
The odd question makes her pause. She’s not sure why he would be interested in that information, but then she remembers his canonical obsession with Leon. Hell, everyone in the fandom found it funny that he casually keeps on his person a picture of the agent. Though at this moment, his unhinged behavior is frightening and not in the least bit amusing anymore.
“We j-just met,” she whispers shakily.
Krauser tuts in disapproval and wraps a hand around her ankle, which causes her to startle and makes Leon pull so hard on the metal he can feel his wrists bleed.
“Don't fucking touch her!”
The large man continues ignoring him, keeping the threatening grasp on Nora’s wounded limb as he leans closer.
“Don't lie to me, you stupid girl. I can tell when I’m being lied to.”
Her mind races to figure out an answer that will satisfy his anger. She did not exactly lie, but it is true that she knew Leon for years before their meeting. However, the true reason for Krauser’s suspicions must be the agent’s intensely nervous behavior. Sure, he would be upset if any other innocent was in her place, but not to the extent he’s displaying.
When she doesn't answer quickly enough to his liking, the grip on her bandages tightens enough to make her hiss as he scoffs.
“He was crying like a pussy over you, so don't sell me that bullshit—”
“If you fucking hurt her, I swear to Christ—” Krauser is interrupted by Leon’s raging threat, every muscle in the latter’s body painfully tensed up.
The older man turns his head slowly to look at him past his broad shoulder, a sadistic twinkle in his eyes at the sight of the agitated agent.
“You seem a little too worked up, soldier. Are you scared I’ll do something she won't like?”
Leon seethes, his jaw clenching hard enough he might crack his teeth before he spits out, “I just didn't think you’d be interested since you play for the other team anyway.”
The large man’s eyes widen, and he suddenly releases his hold to stand, striding fast towards his old mentee with clenched fists and flaring nostrils. Nora watches the scene unfold in terror, holding her knees against her chest to make herself smaller in hopes they forget her presence.
“Say that again?” Krauser challenges when he comes to a halt in front of Leon.
“You heard me, Major.”
The title is spoken with so much sarcastic contempt, it makes the ex-commander’s left eye twitch.
“You think you're real smart, don't you, pretty boy?” His ice blues shoot like lasers, and he leans closer until he can whisper intimately in the other’s ear. “We’ll see how smart you’ll be when the parasite turns you into my personal little bitch.”
Leon’s breathing stutters at the suggestive implication, and his mind scrambles for a retort, when his hair is suddenly yanked back by Krauser’s firm grip.
“It’s not like you’ll be able to complain then. And neither will she,” he snorts in sadistic delight, tightening his hold in the blonde locks. “I think you two make a good pair. I can keep you in rotation—have a different kind of entertainment every night… Then we all can play for all the teams, huh, rookie? What do you say?”
Leon mutters something between clenched teeth that Krauser can't make out. When he pulls back to ask him to repeat himself, the agent responds by spitting crudely on his scarred face, saliva splattering on his hardened features.
Nora gasps behind her palm, knowing that the punishment for such a devious act is going to be severe. And sure enough, a violent crack of knuckles resounds loudly against Leon’s delicate features, the sound so harsh it makes the woman squeeze her eyes shut with a flinch.
With his body thudding hard onto his side from the force of the hit, he spits out blood onto the concrete, pain radiating through the entire left side of his face. But despite the agony, there's an unmistakable smile on his lips over successfully getting under his old mentor’s skin.
The latter stands over him with trembling fists, fury radiating off him with every rise and fall of his chest, and at the sight of Leon’s bloodied grin, he bends to grab him by the collar to deliver more pain.
Then, right as his fist rises threateningly, a loud boom fills the room in a deafening blast that breaks the eastern wall and shakes the ground brutally. Krauser staggers to the ground from the force, pieces of concrete and debris flying everywhere. A hot cloud of dust engulfs the three, and it's only after a moment that the loud noise settles to be replaced by their coughs.
With burning lungs, Nora slowly peers into the scene when she lowers her shielding arms. There, in the opening that has just been created by the fiery explosion, stands none other than the great Ada Wong, a grenade launcher resting on her shoulder.
Next chapter coming soon.
krauser you freaky sob 🥵 might end up writing a one shot with that premise... we shall see :)
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Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 TBA
CW: some gore and violence.
Nora, Ashley, and Luis follow Leon as he leads the group with tense shoulders and a pointed gun. The moon is high in the sky by this point, and the agent has to use a flashlight to illuminate their surroundings of trees and rocky grounds. The Spaniard, who is at the tail end of the group with his own pistol raised, is serving as a guide as he instructs the bunch where to go.
Many thoughts run through Nora’s head as damp leaves stick to her sneakers in her steps. She hasn't spoken a word to the agent, and she does not plan to unless strictly necessary. But she wonders how long she can keep up the façade that nothing happened. The others don't know what he did, they don't know who really is, and she doesn't know if keeping quiet is the smart or stupid thing to do.
A sudden hacking cough shakes Ashley’s body, her hand coming up to her mouth where blood sputters onto her palm. The alarming sight attracts the attention of the others, with Luis frowning in a knowing look.
“You’re infected too…” he murmurs, then glances at Leon. “Between you and Sancho, we have our hands full, eh?”
Nora places a comforting hand on the young woman’s back as a look of panic flashes through the latter’s eyes. “Infected?” she squeaks in fear.
“Sí, with the plaga… The thing that the villagers have that makes them worship Saddler. We call them ganados—cattle.”
The term rings a bell in Leon’s mind, and he recalls it as one of the first things Nora said to him while he pointed a gun in her face. The memory makes something inside him twist.
He is fully aware she is not addressing him on purpose, which, in many ways he is grateful for. He can barely look her in the eye without feeling the intense urge to blow himself up in shame. The worst part is that Luis and Ashley seem to be completely unaware of what he’s done, which implies she has not exposed his rotting insides to the others just yet.
“I could get you medicine to help delay the symptoms, but that would mean going into Salazar’s castle…” the biologist continues, looking between the two blondes. “And I don't know about you, but I would rather not go back to the local crazyhouse.”
“So what then? I-I’ll just turn into one of them?” Ashley shudders at the horrifying thought.
“No, there is a solution… You see, at the early stage of infection, there's still a chance for a cure. I happen to have equipment made specifically to get rid of the parasite, and I’ve tested it on myself—it works.” Luis pulls at the collar of his leather jacket to reveal a faint scar on his chest.
“Wait, you too?” Leon frowns as he looks over the line marking the man’s tanned skin.
Before the Spaniard can respond, a rustling of leaves in the darkness prompts the group to go quiet and the agent to turn off his light. They crouch, trying to make out the source of the noise through the foliage, when a chilling voice resounds between the trees.
“I know you’re here, Luis. You’re not as sneaky as you think you are.”
Nora feels her heart stop at the sound of Krauser’s rough timber, and she subconsciously reaches to grip Luis’s forearm. The latter barely notices, his own heart thundering in his chest, but it's the agent beside him that does see it, his eyes fixating on the movement for a split second before looking away.
“I’ll make a deal for you. If you hand me the girl and the amber, I won't make it too painful—call it a mercy kill... Which is more than what a rat like you deserves.”
The voice is growing closer, and Leon knows they will eventually be found, especially with the way Ashley is trembling so hard you can nearly hear her bones clatter. He steals another glance at Nora, taking note of her eyes still puffy from all the crying she has undoubtedly gone through, and then he makes a decision.
“The three of you go. I’ll deal with him.”
“I appreciate the heroics, amigo, but I really don’t think you should take on that guy alone,” Luis answers in a hushed whisper.
“I can talk to him, or stall him, at least. You, on the other hand, are his target. So get out of here, and keep them safe. Now.”
The stubbled man finally agrees with a click of his tongue, and after he’s handed spare ammunition from Leon, he eclipses between the bushes with Ashley and Nora right behind.
The latter does not let her mind dwell on the agent’s selfless act even for a second. She doesn't believe a thing about his supposed saint-like persona anymore. So even as they escape thanks to him, she chooses not to concern herself with Krauser finding him—or at least she tries not to.
Leon, watching the others leave and the threatening man approaching, turns his flashlight back on to attract the latter’s attention on him. Sure enough, only a few seconds pass until the ex-commander appears before him in a sudden jump. It’s supernatural the way he leaps into view with so much speed, and Leon quickly understands the man must have abnormal abilities.
“Long time no see, rookie,” Krauser chuckles darkly, his ice blue eyes piercing through Leon’s despite the LED’s flash that should be blinding him.
“Major.” The shorter blonde’s answer is quipped, his jaw locked tight with tension. “Can I ask what you're doing here?”
“You don't look too surprised to see me rise from the dead…,” the other smiles wickedly. “Were you expecting me?”
Leon does not answer, instead, he lifts his hand with the intention to aim his gun, but his old mentor moves in a blink, and suddenly, there’s a knife to the agent’s throat.
“Too slow. Didn't I teach you better?” Krauser drawls with a head tilt. He then proceeds to twist the gun out of Leon’s grasp, and kicks him with a powerful foot to the chest that launches him a few feet into the air, just for his body to thud violently on the rocky ground with a roll.
Leon groans in pain as he rotates to his side, the air knocked out of his lungs from the force of the hit. Any suspicions he may have had about Krauser’s superpowered capabilities are confirmed—that was no normal kick.
“We’re just getting started, rookie.” The tall man approaches with slow, confident steps, twisting and turning the knife in his hand like he has all the time in the world. The flashlight that rolled onto the dirt from the attack illuminates his face in harsh shadows that accentuate his sharp features, and somehow, makes him look even more frightening.
With a labored grunt, Leon stands with a stagger, unsheathing his own knife. His chest hurts with every ragged breath he takes as he gets into position for a bloody fight.
“Are you being controlled by the cult?” he hisses between clenched teeth.
The appearance of the man before him is still something he has a hard time believing. He remembers the last time he saw him, two years prior, when they had just survived a gruesome mission where the major faced BOWs for the first time in his life.
Leon, having survived the horrors of Raccoon City, was already well versed in monster fighting, which put him at an advantage despite being a rookie. His skills came especially handy when the government abandoned them for dead, forcing them to face the nightmare alone.
In the end, the agent received news of Krauser’s death in an accident a few weeks after the mission, to his great chagrin. Now, however, the man standing in front of him seems to be nothing like the one that taught him everything.
“This has nothing to do with them. I am a free man, and I have made my own choice. Something you still don't seem to get, do you? You government puppet,” Krauser spits venomously. Then, he moves for a quick attack that Leon barely manages to parry, their blades clattering against each other like swords.
The younger man retaliates with a slash to the other’s arm that has him jerking back, which allows the agent to roundhouse kick him to the floor. Krauser lets out a pained sound when he falls to his knee, his red beret flying off his head.
“Is that what this is about? Some fucked-up illusion of free will?”
“No, no, no, rookie… This is not an illusion. This is true power.” The major slowly stands, a look of pure hatred on his scarred face. “What they did to us two years ago—killing our men without mercy. Don't tell me you forgot already?”
He accentuates his point with another attempt at a vicious attack, this time succeeding when he cuts the skin on the dark blonde’s forearm.
“Of course I didn't,” Leon grits out, parrying another strike that came right after the previous one. “But hurting innocents is… unforgivable.”
That last word tastes like acid on his tongue. He fully knows that if Krauser is damned, then so is he. The image of Nora bent over his lap flashes through his mind for a split second, when a kick to his knee jolts him out of his thoughts.
The burly man snickers at the sight of Leon staggering back. “You’re still a kid holding on to fantasies of what's right and wrong.” He shakes his head, his eyes glacial with vitriol. “They used devastating power on us, what's wrong with wanting the same for myself?”
“You’ve lost it completely, Krauser,” Leon scoffs in disappointment.
Their knives clash, their fists connect, and every move that one pulls is matched by the other. Like two sides of one coin, their quick motions mirror each other in a violent display of highly skilled combat, until a distant scream freezes Leon in place.
He knows that voice.
Krauser uses the opportunity to lacerate his thigh and knock him back with a kick of his boot—hard enough he hits his head against a tree trunk on impact.
“Looks like America’s sweetheart is still nearby. I hope you don't mind me cutting our date short, golden boy, but I have important affairs to attend to.”
Through his blurry vision and concussed brain, Leon sees the platinum blonde turn on his heels, and stride in the direction of who he believes to be Ashley. But the agent knows—that scream is one he couldn't forget if he wanted, its tune burned into his memory from mere hours ago.
Nora is in danger.
Clearly, Luis did not succeed in protecting her, and now everything is about to turn to shit when Krauser finds them—finds her.
Leon can't let that happen. Not when he’s the reason she’s here in the first place.
While making their way in the dark, weaving between trees and bushes, Nora, Ashley, and Luis try to be as silent as they can not to attract attention. In the background, they can hear pained grunts and blades colliding, indicating a gruesome fight between the ex-soldiers.
Suddenly, an involuntary shriek is ripped out of the tanned woman when the skin on her ankle is pierced by jagged teeth. When she looks down in shock, she finds her foot caught in a bear trap, the rusted metal digging wounds into her skin.
“¡Joder!” the Spaniard exclaims at the sight, rushing to her side in a skid.
Ashley covers her mouth in horror as the other woman continues to whimper in pain and panic. “Oh my God,” the blonde chokes out behind her palm.
But then, an eerie silence falls on the woods, and the trio quickly realizes the distant fight has stopped, which could only mean Krauser is now coming their way.
“¡Mierda, mierda, mierda!” Luis curses frantically as he attempts to pull at the metallic jaws, but that only results in Nora wailing again.
“J-Just leave it—you need to go!” she pleads in a trembling voice, tears already pooling at the rims of her almond eyes.
The brunette shakes his head frantically. “Are you crazy?! ¡No te abandonaré!”
Despite the intense dread and pain, Nora is able to make a quick calculation in her mind to figure out their chances of survival. She knows Krauser needs Ashley for the cult’s plan, as well as the infamous amber containing a powerful plaga specimen. And she knows the moment he sees Luis, he will be the first one to be murdered, without hesitation.
If the two leave, however, Krauser will find her and most likely kill her instead. But, if she's ‘lucky’ he might infect her so she joins the rest of the zealots in servitude of Saddler.
With the decision made in mind, she tugs at Luis’s jacket urgently. “You need to leave and take Ashley to your lab. Please just go!”
“W-wait, how do you know about my lab?” he frowns mid-panic, still refusing to move.
Finding herself in a desperate situation, she calls for a desperate measure, and slaps Luis square on the cheek as hard as she can.
“I’m telling you to fucking go!!”
He sucks in a sharp breath, completely taken aback by the stinging strike, but that finally manages to get him to cooperate as he begrudgingly stands.
“No te mueras,” he pleads, before finally pulling Ashley’s crying self along with him.
As she sits there, bleeding, trapped like an animal, all she finds herself hoping is that Krauser will make it quick. She's suffered enough for the day.
“What do we have here?” his chilling voice suddenly rasps from behind her. “You’re not who I was expecting.”
Nora doesn't answer, keeping her eyes on her injured leg, as if meeting his gaze would be fatal. She can hear him approach, until his combat boots plant themselves in front of her, his looming figure blocking out the moonlight.
“Krauser!” Leon’s voice calls out in the distance, prompting the big man to snicker.
“Aw, the government’s lap dog is being a hero again. Looks like he’s trying to save you from me. How noble.”
He crouches, examining her trembling form and where the metal teeth are keeping her in place, not caring for the agent running towards them in labored breaths.
Krauser knows Leon is too concussed to be a real threat at the moment. So, with a dark smile etched on his hardened face, he yanks open the trap abruptly with his bare hands, grinning wider when Nora makes a blood curdling scream.
Through her teary vision, she sees him throw away the metallic device with a clunk, then reach for her throat with a large hand that encircles her neck with ease. Her heart drops in her stomach at the first squeeze to her airways, her hands scrambling to pry his grip open to no avail.
Slowly but surely, dark spots cloud her sight, her body growing limp, and the last thing she hears is Leon’s frantic “don’t touch her!” before her consciousness fades to black.
Nora stirs from a tormented sleep at the sound of clinking chains. Her head pounds in throbbing beats, her muscles so exhausted she can't bring herself to move, and for a moment, she wonders if she is finally truly awake and back in the real world.
Until, a strained voice calls out to her.
“Nora, please wake up.”
She recognizes its owner immediately, the sound being associated with warmth and comfort in the deepest nooks of her brain despite his betrayal. The overwhelming wave of memories of everything that happened washes over her, and she feels a sudden urge to throw up.
At the sight of her face twisting in nausea, Leon sighs in relief, tugging at his chains once again to keep her awake.
“Thank God…” he whispers in gratitude.
His wrists behind his back are chaffed raw from the metal restraints digging into his skin, and his legs are bound together in a way that forces him to stay kneeled. He can't believe this is the second time he’s been chained during this neverending nightmare of a mission, but his own discomfort matters little to him at the moment. All his worry is focused on the young woman that was left laid on the bare floor.
Krauser had threatened to break her neck earlier the moment he realized Leon valued her life. Which then allowed him to order the agent to strip himself of his weapons and proceeded to knock him out as well. They were both unconscious as he brought them to a private island not far from the northern Spanish shore, where Osmund Saddler is headquartered and the plagas research is conducted. The fortified island being protected by a militia of gun-wielding ganado soldiers, makes escape a nearly insurmountable challenge.
Now, as Leon tugs repeatedly on the chain bolted to the wall, he can't help but steadily feel hope drain when he realizes just how fucked the situation is. Blood that was dried on his forehead slowly washes down with his beading sweat, and his heartbeat continues to be frantic no matter how much he tries to steady himself.
The one consolation in the midst of everything, are the secure bandages around Nora’s wounded ankle that Krauser seemingly treated. Though, it does not take a genius to figure out it’s because he wants her alive and healthy for ulterior use.
When she sits up slowly, rubbing her pounding head, she realizes that unlike the man before her, she wasn't chained. Perhaps Krauser knows how little of a threat she represents in comparison.
“Are you okay?” Leon asks softly, his worried eyes searching her face.
Naturally, she doesn’t respond, only pursing her lips in a way that has him lowering his gaze quickly. He doesn't dare speak again despite all the things he wishes he could say.
He wants to apologize profusely and beg for forgiveness. He wants to promise he will do everything to protect her and keep her safe. He wants to explain just how much his identity was broken by the reveal of the nature of his world. But he knows none of his excuses, apologies, or promises are worth saying out loud. Not when none of them can change the past.
From the corner of his eye, he can see her take in her surroundings in the empty concrete box of a room they're being kept in. There is nothing of use around—he checked already, so all he can do for now is pull at his chains in hopes of loosening them.
The heavy, metal door in the corner suddenly opens with a creak, and Krauser’s large body fills the frame as he enters and shuts the gate behind him. He looks between his two captives, a ghost of a smirk on his lips when he finds them both awake, before he moves to Nora.
“Krauser!” Leon exclaims in a mix of panic and anger as the man completely ignores him.
He snickers when the young woman backs away in fear, when he comes to an abrupt stop just to crouch in front of her. He reaches to graze his fingers on her bandaged leg in mock gentleness, before retreating his hand just as fast.
“You’re very lucky that old, rusty trap wasn't firm enough to break your little bones.”
Nora trembles in her place, her teary eyes tracing his sharp features in fear, and she finds herself glancing at Leon in reprieve—just or a split second, before looking down at the floor.
“What's your name, little girl?”
She shudders at the nickname, and wishes nothing more than to spit at his feet, but knows better than to disobey.
“N-Nora…”
Krauser looks her up and down, assessing, before he gestures to the chained man with a head tilt.
“How do you two know each other?”
The odd question makes her pause. She’s not sure why he would be interested in that information, but then she remembers his canonical obsession with Leon. Hell, everyone in the fandom found it funny that he casually keeps on his person a picture of the agent. Though at this moment, his unhinged behavior is frightening and not in the least bit amusing anymore.
“We j-just met,” she whispers shakily.
Krauser tuts in disapproval and wraps a hand around her ankle, which causes her to startle and makes Leon pull so hard on the metal he can feel his wrists bleed.
“Don't fucking touch her!”
The large man continues ignoring him, keeping the threatening grasp on Nora’s wounded limb as he leans closer.
“Don't lie to me, you stupid girl. I can tell when I’m being lied to.”
Her mind races to figure out an answer that will satisfy his anger. She did not exactly lie, but it is true that she knew Leon for years before their meeting. However, the true reason for Krauser’s suspicions must be the agent’s intensely nervous behavior. Sure, he would be upset if any other innocent was in her place, but not to the extent he’s displaying.
When she doesn't answer quickly enough to his liking, the grip on her bandages tightens enough to make her hiss as he scoffs.
“He was crying like a pussy over you, so don't sell me that bullshit—”
“If you fucking hurt her, I swear to Christ—” Krauser is interrupted by Leon’s raging threat, every muscle in the latter’s body painfully tensed up.
The older man turns his head slowly to look at him past his broad shoulder, a sadistic twinkle in his eyes at the sight of the agitated agent.
“You seem a little too worked up, soldier. Are you scared I’ll do something she won't like?”
Leon seethes, his jaw clenching hard enough he might crack his teeth before he spits out, “I just didn't think you’d be interested since you play for the other team anyway.”
The large man’s eyes widen, and he suddenly releases his hold to stand, striding fast towards his old mentee with clenched fists and flaring nostrils. Nora watches the scene unfold in terror, holding her knees against her chest to make herself smaller in hopes they forget her presence.
“Say that again?” Krauser challenges when he comes to a halt in front of Leon.
“You heard me, Major.”
The title is spoken with so much sarcastic contempt, it makes the ex-commander’s left eye twitch.
“You think you're real smart, don't you, pretty boy?” His ice blues shoot like lasers, and he leans closer until he can whisper intimately in the other’s ear. “We’ll see how smart you’ll be when the parasite turns you into my personal little bitch.”
Leon’s breathing stutters at the suggestive implication, and his mind scrambles for a retort, when his hair is suddenly yanked back by Krauser’s firm grip.
“It’s not like you’ll be able to complain then. And neither will she,” he snorts in sadistic delight, tightening his hold in the blonde locks. “I think you two make a good pair. I can keep you in rotation—have a different kind of entertainment every night… Then we all can play for all the teams, huh, rookie? What do you say?”
Leon mutters something between clenched teeth that Krauser can't make out. When he pulls back to ask him to repeat himself, the agent responds by spitting crudely on his scarred face, saliva splattering on his hardened features.
Nora gasps behind her palm, knowing that the punishment for such a devious act is going to be severe. And sure enough, a violent crack of knuckles resounds loudly against Leon’s delicate features, the sound so harsh it makes the woman squeeze her eyes shut with a flinch.
With his body thudding hard onto his side from the force of the hit, he spits out blood onto the concrete, pain radiating through the entire left side of his face. But despite the agony, there's an unmistakable smile on his lips over successfully getting under his old mentor’s skin.
The latter stands over him with trembling fists, fury radiating off him with every rise and fall of his chest, and at the sight of Leon’s bloodied grin, he bends to grab him by the collar to deliver more pain.
Then, right as his fist rises threateningly, a loud boom fills the room in a deafening blast that breaks the eastern wall and shakes the ground brutally. Krauser staggers to the ground from the force, pieces of concrete and debris flying everywhere. A hot cloud of dust engulfs the three, and it's only after a moment that the loud noise settles to be replaced by their coughs.
With burning lungs, Nora slowly peers into the scene when she lowers her shielding arms. There, in the opening that has just been created by the fiery explosion, stands none other than the great Ada Wong, a grenade launcher resting on her shoulder.
Next chapter coming soon.
krauser you freaky sob 🥵 might end up writing a one shot with that premise... we shall see :)
Leon Kennedy x Cultist Leader!Reader Dead Dove Smut
❌18+ MDNI❌ ⚠️Dead Dove: Do Not Eat⚠️
[Leon has never found himself in such a position. Usually, the horrible people he’s after turn into vile monsters by this point, and he has no choice but to kill them fast to not get killed. He has never been given the opportunity to pause and reflect on a fitting penalty for their crimes.]
hey friends, i bring you a new one shot today! please do read the tags, especially the ones in bold. enjoy! 💓
word count: 6.5k
CW: dead dove, non-con, sadism as 'justice', 3rd person pov fem!reader, humor if you squint, degradation, humiliation, physical abuse, face slapping, choking, hair pulling, light knife & blood play, spitting, deep throating, cum facial, cum swallowing, anal fingering, anal rape, blood during anal, spanking, light exhibitionism, corruption.
Leon enters the quiet church with his gun pointed and his shoulders tense. His eyes sweep over the place, taking note of the empty rows of pews, and the stained glass behind the pulpit emanating hues of red, green, and blue that scatter across the room.
There's an eerie atmosphere that surrounds the place despite its peaceful appearance. Like even the walls know that the false god worshipped in this chapel is not meant to be revered. The cult’s emblem shines in gold at the center of the kaleidoscope of colored glass, and the agent can't help but feel a simmering anger beneath his calm façade.
How many people has the sect taken? Infected with a parasite that forces them into allegiance, they lose all sense of self, and serve crazed individuals in their quest for world domination. He has had to take down many, their red eyes and dark veins clear indicators of the insect nesting inside them and making them so unbelievably hostile.
The sound of double doors opening behind him jolts Leon into action, and he chooses to hide behind the pulpit to observe who is entering. From his spot, he peers past the wooden structure to see a woman enter, one he recognizes immediately—Osmund Saddler’s daughter. Or, adopted daughter, at least.
He has seen portraits of who is dubbed as “Luminaria” by the zealots, though her real name is unknown. He finds it ironic that her title loosely translates to someone who guides as a leading light, when she is anything but. Leon has seen her execute innocents when he observed her from the shadows of the village. She kills for sport. As if shrieks of agony and despair are music to her cruel ears.
So when he notices the tears on her face as she pads into the nave in her long cloak, he can't help but wonder what would make such a cold woman break.
She kneels on the steps of the sanctuary, merely two feet away from where he’s hiding, and sniffles as she mutters some kind of prayer under her breath. The agent can hardly make out what she’s saying, but through her whispers he’s able to catch a few stray sentences.
“...grant me the power I was meant to yield…make me the true god that will crush the heretics…”
He nearly scoffs at hearing her pleas. He should have known that a lunatic like her would only strive for more, especially if the rumors are true. She is allegedly far more cruel and merciless than her father, and she strives to be the next goddess that will bring glory to Los Illuminados.
“I can do it. I can make them submit. I do not need the parasite to be strong. I am strong,” the woman mutters louder, her tearful prayers growing frantic. “Father is weak, he is controlled just as much as the rest. But I am free. I am illuminated. I am the Chosen One.”
The blonde agent listens to her deranged monologue, and something finally clicks for him: she isn't infected.
This psychopath of a killer isn't even under the influence of the Plaga parasite—she is simply unhinged and partakes in cruelty for the sake of it.
Leon takes a moment for the information to register in his mind. He now understands why she is constantly surrounded by a horde of bodyguards, why she has never displayed any supernatural abilities, and why her appearance is so terribly human. No red eyes, no dark veins, no weird insect-like appandages like her father.
He thought it was as a means to mask her true power, but the agent now understands. She has no power at all.
Once that realization hits him, he knows he won't get another chance to eliminate her when she isn't surrounded by her guards. It’s now or never.
He sees her stand, making odd ritualistic gestures to conclude her prayers, before she turns to leave.
With unmatched swiftness, the agent moves silently, until he encircles an arm around her neck from behind, his pistol pressed threateningly to her temple.
“Scream and I’ll blow your brains out.”
The woman freezes in his hold, her eyes bulging out in shock, and he can see her calculate in real time her next move before she speaks.
“Let go of me before I eternally curse you, you filthy mongrel.”
Leon scoffs, tightening his arm around her in a way that makes her choke on a gasp, then he leans to whisper in her ear.
“I’d love to see you try without the parasite.” He observes her reaction, her face growing from worried to outright scared at the exposure of her secret. “The others don't see it because they're too infected to think, but I do. You’re just a weak little girl with an ego too big to contain.”
A sudden tension seizes her body, and her face contorts in rage as she begins to squirm despite his strangling hold, reaching to claw at his arm.
“If you don't let go of me, I’ll have your guts fed to the dogs while you scream for my mercy, you gutter-born barbarian!”
The man laughs at the threat, finding it utterly ridiculous that someone so pitiful would dare to speak that way. Without the Plaga, she is nothing but a weak woman whose neck he can snap faster than she can blink. Which is why to prove just how helpless she is next to him, he holsters his gun, and grips her hair instead. So forcefully, her head tilts back abruptly from the harsh tug.
“I’m getting tired of hearing you run your mouth, you crazy bitch,” he smirks sardonically and chokes her a little more with his bicep, her eyes watering from the pressure on her airways. “I think you're the one that should be begging for my mercy.”
“N-Never,” she strains out, her nails now cutting his skin, but it does nothing to deter him.
“Are you still pretending it's not over for you? You don't think you're about a minute away from passing out?” he chuckles darkly.
“F-Fuck you…” she curses, forgoing the old-timey insults for something far more fitting for her age.
Leon grins at her barely audible profanity, and right as her eyelids grow heavy from lack of oxygen, he releases his hold and lets her fall to her knees with a thud.
She gasps and coughs loudly, bracing herself down on her hands in her weakened state, her body trembling from nearly choking to death.
The agent circles around her slowly, not an ounce of compassion in his heart at the sight of her misery. He has watched her order for people to be skinned alive—this is nothing in comparison to her demonic acts.
“Go on. Beg.” He tilts his head mockingly, observing her like she’s a pathetic, frail animal. “Beg for my mercy, and I might not make you suffer for too long.”
For once, she’s completely quiet, eyes stuck to the red rug lining the floor between the aisles of pews. When a minute passes without an answer, he crouches, grabbing her jaw forcefully to lift her head and meet his icy eyes.
“Cat got your tongue? I said beg.”
She glares at him for a moment, pure hatred in her gaze, until she finally opens her mouth. But instead of speaking, she spits crudely in his face, watching in satisfaction as her saliva soils his handsome features.
“Oh, now you’re just asking for it…” he mutters, wiping off the wetness with a gloved hand, before backhanding her cheek in a sudden smack.
She sprawls onto the floor on her side, her lip split open from the force of the strike, and she brings a trembling hand to check the blood with eyes wide in horror. From her expression, Leon can guess she has never been hit before, and something about being the first one to stand up to her monstrous self makes him relish.
“Still not begging?” he taunts, an elbow rested on his knee in the picture of casualness.
The woman shakes her head stubbornly, and from her vulnerable position gives him a mocking, disdain-filled smirk.
“You think you're strong? What, because you’re physically sturdy and a government man?” she scoffs, sitting up slowly. “A pitiful creature like you will never understand the meaning of true power… I have legions kissing my feet, while you're the lapdog of people who will drop you the moment you stop being useful.”
Leon’s jaw ticks at her pointed remark, especially the latter part. She’s not entirely wrong, but it doesn't mean her wayward ways are right either.
“So starting a cult is the way you want to feel important? You and your father are the pitiful ones here, but especially you since you don't even have the excuse of being infected.”
He stands, unsheathing his knife and looming over her in a way that makes fear flash in her eyes before she schools her expression again.
“I’m not begging for the mercy of a low-life. Go ahead and kill me, I will gladly die as a god while you continue to live like a directionless vermin.”
The agent tries to ignore her vicious words as he knows they're worthless coming from a lunatic like her. But the fact she refuses to yield, or to show any amount of true fear bothers him greatly. She has destroyed the lives of hundreds, she must at the very least feel true terror before meeting her demise.
He decides to continue tormenting her by dragging her by the hair at her crown, causing her to wail in pain. He doesn’t acknowledge her curses and hisses of indignation, as he pulls her to kneel at the sanctuary where she had been but moments ago.
The knife in his hand comes to rest at her throat when he stands behind her, keeping a grip on her hair as they both face the pulpit.
“You know you could have done quite literally anything else with your life apart from being a psycho,” he mutters contemplatively.
She looks up at him with those rage filled eyes, balling her hands into tight fists. “I told you to fucking kill me already. What are you waiting for, you pussy?!”
Leon’s eyebrows shoot up at the use of modern cursing again, and he grins, tutting in a manner that would look playful if not for the utter disdain he feels for the woman.
“But that would be too easy after all the shit you’ve pulled. Plus, I am adamant on making you beg.”
He presses the sharp edge of his knife just enough to draw blood and make her hiss, then moves the blade up to prick her lower lip with its pointed tip right where it's already bleeding.
“I could cut off this insolent little tongue, you know. Especially after hearing your pathetic prayers just now. What was it again? You want to be the chosen one?”
“I am the Chosen One,” she retorts between clenched teeth.
“Don't tell me you believe your own lies. We both know you're nothing special, you’re just a freak. And God knows I’ve met my fair share of those,” he rolls his eyes.
Licking her bloodied lip, she keeps her glacial scowl on his inverted face when she mutters, “I am your god. Someone as paltry as you should be thanking the heavens you're even standing in my presence, let alone touching me. My disciples pray for me to do them that honor.”
Leon stays silent, contemplating her words for a moment, before bursting out laughing.
“Christ, you're fucking insane,” he snickers, but then the meaning of her statement sinks in and his curiosity peaks. “Hold on, when you say they pray to touch you… Are you saying you let them?”
“When they deserve it… yes.”
He quirks an eyebrow, growing more intrigued—and repulsed—by this new information.
“You make them think sleeping with you is some kind of gift?"
“That’s because it is,” she retorts instantly, “it’s a divine reward that I don't expect a good for nothing pest like you to appreciate. Or to even know how to handle, quite frankly.”
Leon watches her sarcastic smile and narcissistic attitude, and feels his left eye twitch. The fact she thinks coercing her braindead followers into fucking her is somehow a blessing is unbelievable.
He decides right then and there to make sure she regrets every harm she laid on those poor, tormented souls.
Leaning down until he's only a breath away from her face, he murmurs, “I think it's about time someone teaches you a real lesson... Daddy spoiled you too much.”
He tightens his grip in her hair, and when she’s about to protest with another bout of cursing, he spits on her face just like she did to him a minute ago. The gasp that leaves the woman makes him snort, enjoying the look of utter indignation on her face.
“What? You can't take what you dish out?” he taunts mockingly.
He then crouches behind her, encircling his arms around her frame to start cutting at her robes with his knife, starting with a long rip down her chest.
She screams, but a hand slaps her mouth immediately as he hisses in her ear, “what did I fucking say about screaming? Do you want me to make it worse?”
Her protests are muffled by a hand as he continues ripping her clothes with the other, until her torso is exposed and her breasts spill out. He can feel her suddenly freeze in his hold, and she stops whining behind his glove.
Good. He wants her scared by any means.
Leon turns the false prophet’s head to look at him, just to find the first real sign of fear on her face: tears brimming her eyes.
“Seriously?” he grumbles in disappointment. “That’s all it took?”
Her bottom lip trembles and her nostrils flare in a mix of fright and fury, when she mutters a question barely audible under her breath.
“What are you planning on doing to me?”
“That depends… What kind of things did you do to your people?”
Her eyes widen, and the agent can tell she’s recalling every merciless atrocity she has inflicted on those beneath her, wondering which ones will he repeat on her.
“You know, I’ve heard many rumors, but I didn't really believe most of them,” he observes pensively, grabbing her jaw in a strong grip. “However, meeting you now and seeing just how full yourself you really are, I can't help but start to believe in all that wild talk.”
She stays silent, but he can tell she wants to ask about what he heard specifically, so he answers the question without her uttering it.
“Is it true your psycho ass makes people get fucked by bulls? Actual bulls? Now I really hope this one isn't true, because fuck, just thinking about it makes me gag.”
Again, her silence speaks louder than words, and he physically groans at the horrible thought.
“Fucking hell, do you get off on that shit?” he cringes, scrunching his face in disgust.
At the accusation, the woman finally speaks with an offended scoff. “No, you sick pervert! It’s corporal punishment for the traitors who dare backstab me!”
“Oh I’m the sick pervert?” Leon shakes his head in disbelief, then shoves her away so that she nearly crashes face first on the floor.
When he stands, watching her trembling, half naked form, he wonders just how a woman like her ends up being such a monster.
At first sight, she looks so normal. The kind of woman he might pass by on the streets, or sit next to on a park bench. He can even see himself asking for her number at a bar after sharing a decent conversation.
But the person before him is so far removed from normality, he wonders how she still retains her pretty looks and hasn't turned into an ugly gargoyle yet.
“What do I even do with you?” he sighs in frustration as he places his hands on his hips. He’s finding it hard to come up with a punishment adequate enough.
“I told you to kill me…” she mutters from her kneeling position. “Stop being a coward and end this already.”
“And I told you that is not enough,” he huffs, then closes his eyes for a moment to think.
Leon has never found himself in such a position. Usually, the horrible people he’s after turn into vile monsters by this point, and he has no choice but to kill them fast to not get killed. He has never been given the opportunity to pause and reflect on a fitting penalty for their crimes.
Lifetimes in prison and death sentences aren't enough for these people. He has dealt with this kind again and again and again. They hold no regard for human life, and think they can get away with anything.
He is sick and tired of this bullshit. This job is a never-ending nightmare of narcissistic asshole after narcissistic asshole, and it's about time at least one of them gets a fraction of what they deserve.
It’s a good thing the crazy bitch is nice to look at.
“Come here,” he makes a come-hither motion with an exasperated look, like he’s already tired before this even starts.
“No,” she mutters, backing away until her back hits the pulpit.
“Look, we’re not gonna do this back and forth every fucking time. When I tell you to do something, you do it, or I swear to God—the real one—I will take you to that barn out there and make you into breeding stock for the cattle.”
The threat seems to do its intended purpose when the woman swallows thickly, then moves closer to kneel at his feet with a quiet rage filling her eyes.
Leon watches her for a moment, then clicks his tongue as he begins to unzip his pants to the demagogue's horror. He reaches to start palming his groin over his boxers, never looking away from her wide eyed expression.
A minute passes of him trying to bring his erection to life, but he doesn't have it in him to get hard over people’s misery—not even when they're pieces of shit.
“Damn it… Beg me to fuck you or something,” he grumbles in annoyance.
“What?”
“You heard me,” he huffs, continuously palming himself, “come on, just fucking do it.”
If looks could kill, the one she gives him would make him explode. And yet, it seems his earlier threat remains effective as she takes in a deep, steadying breath, before starting to half-heartedly mumble.
“Will you, um, bed me?”
Leon pauses in his movement just to let out a sharp laugh, shaking his head in incredulity. Then, he gives her a condescending shove on the forehead with his index that nearly topples her over.
“Don't tell me you’ve never had to dirty talk before? That was awful.”
“May I remind you that I am a god, not a common whore,” she spits out.
“Well, you will be by the time I’m done with you.”
Her eyes flicker from his face to his palming hand, then back up to his eyes, and a mocking grin slowly etches on her face.
“You can’t even get it up. How are you gonna do that?” she taunts.
Leon pokes his cheek with his tongue in irritation, then gives up on doing the job himself.
“You know what?” he unholsters his gun, then points it between the woman’s legs. “You’re gonna make me hard, or I’ll shoot right where the sun don't shine, then fuck your new bleeding hole open—I’m sure your screams will get me bricked up then.”
Her eyes bulge in panic, and she hesitates for a moment, before tentatively reaching for the waistband of his boxer briefs, just for him to swat her hands away.
“Don't touch me with your filthy hands. Open your month, bitch.”
Begrudgingly, she complies, and he’s happy when he feels a twitch in his cock at the sight of her suddenly so obedient.
Taking out his mostly soft dick out of its confines, he doesn't even attempt to stroke it to life before stepping closer, until he can feel her breath on his skin.
“You’re gonna use that running mouth of yours, and I’m warning you right now; you bite me, and I’ll break every fucking bone in you, and then take you the barn. Is that clear?”
He sees her throat bob as his menace registers, and she nods. At that, he smiles, then wraps his fingers around his length just to smack it against her cheek, eliciting a slapping sound and a grimace on her face that make him snicker.
Finally, he places the tip of his half-hard cock into her waiting mouth. He sighs at the feel of her reluctantly wrapping her lips around him, all while keeping the barrel of his pistol on her temple.
“Good, just like that… Just like the little slut I know you are,” he whispers, his dick hardening on her tongue.
It doesn't take long after that for him to get fully erect, his generous size making her struggle to take him in properly, so she resorts to suckling at his cockhead, though he can't help tsk in disapproval.
“Goddamnit… You’re really bad at this, huh?” He retrieves himself just to place his thumb on her tongue to force her to open wider. “Don't even try to do whatever the hell you were doing just now. Just stay still instead, okay?”
With the instructions delivered, he holsters his gun again to keep a firm grip on either side of her head with both hands. He then thrusts his hips in one fluid motion, making her instantly gag when his cock hits the back of her throat.
Leon moans at the feel of her constricting around him, and if anything, the look of the teary, wide eyed terror she makes only prompts him to face fuck her faster.
No breaks are allowed, only the constant violation of his sex in her mouth, and she can't even scream properly with the way her gurgled protests are muffled. When during a particularly violent gag she accidentally grazes him with her teeth, he retaliates with a slap to her cheek so hard, her ear rings.
The agent keeps a fast, steady rhythm like it's his mission to turn her throat into a fuckhole. She taps at his thighs in protest when her vision spots, and he responds by pinching her nose to force her to gasp around his throbbing length. Every dry heave of her esophagus pulls him closer to orgasm, even when she looks like she's on the verge of either passing out or vomiting the contents of her stomach.
“Puke on me and I’ll cut off your fucking tongue, you useless whore,” he hisses, feeling himself about to tip over the edge.
He pulls out of her mouth right as he begins to climax, stroking his cock rapidly in her face while holding her jaw open. His cum shoots in thick, white stripes over her face, hitting her across the left eye, with the rest splattering over her nose and cheeks, and a generous amount right on her tongue.
When he finishes, his chest rises and falls in labored breaths. He smears the dripping semen with his thumb like he wants it to seep into her skin, before swatting the side of her face again just hard enough to sting.
“Swallow. And say ‘thank you, sir.’”
With tears, snot, and spend covering her face, the false god sniffles as she swallows the salty taste of him between hacking coughs.
“T-Thank you, sir.”
“Good slut. Stand up.”
She obeys his gruff order on trembling legs, standing before him awkwardly, and he’s certain she has never felt so humiliated. Perfect.
He tucks himself back into his underwear, and making a circular motion with his pointed index, he commands her again, “turn around.”
As she does, facing the stained glass illuminating the nave, her clothes fall to the floor with nothing left to hold them, rendering her completely bare. She momentarily closes her eyes at the feel of his cum dripping down her cheeks, the white mess reflecting the colored hues of light.
“Have you not had enough?” she mutters in a low, broken voice.
A moment passes before she feels his breath ghosting her ear, “maybe you should’ve asked yourself that every time you hurt someone.”
It seems her hurt ego returns, despite the clear effort she's making to contain it, because the hate that shakes her body is like no other.
“Oh, please…” she grits out. “We both know this has nothing to do with justice and everything to do with wanting to touch me.”
“Yeah? You think I’m just dying to fuck you?” the agent snickers, then reaches a hand around her torso to roughly pinch a nipple.
The yelp she lets out makes him grin wider—he’s starting to see the appeal of forcing someone to submit. She makes such pretty sounds.
“Tell me… Is that what you want?” he murmurs, his cock already hardening again, “want me to fill up that greedy pussy?”
“I would rather eat glass,” she winces from another pinch.
Leon huffs, suddenly pulling her hair back to tilt her head towards him. “Is that so? Wanna test it out? Those pretty colored lights on your skin could look real nice shredding you inside out,” he gestures with his chin to the stained glass.
At that, she stays silent, clearly scared he would take her up on her words, and the man just smirks in response. He is more than pleased with himself over turning her so pliant, though her attitude is still something that needs to be fixed.
He thinks for a moment about what to do next with her, when a wicked idea suddenly comes to mind. It might be the one way he can ensure her humiliation, without having to go to extreme lengths of bodily harm. Well, he hopes at least.
“Bend over,” he orders and doesn't wait for her to comply before shoving her down, so her torso collides with the top of the pupil.
With her body curved, he steps back to admire her naked form, then kicks her shins with his boot to spread her legs further apart.
“I wanna know what you make them do,” he murmurs as he traces fingertips down her spine.
“Do w-what?” she shivers, cringing at the feel of the cum on her face that's starting to dry.
“To pleasure you. What do you ask them to do?”
Her breath catches for a moment, taken aback by the question, before she answers in a quiet whisper, her eyes focused on the light.
“I… I usually ask for their mouths…”
He hums, the sound akin to approval. “Hm… Do you get on top?”
The woman’s heartbeat quickens, and he traces her inner thigh in what looks like a soothing motion. It’s sensual, the way he’s touching her so delicately in comparison to a minute prior. He wants her to know he’s capable of delivering gentleness, he just chooses not to award it to her.
“Yes…” she finally says after a moment, “I, um, sit on them…”
Leon takes her earlobe between his teeth, giving a small bite just stinging enough to feel her gasp against him.
“Do they like it? Do they like your wet little cunt on their faces?”
“Y-Yes… It's— It’s the highest of rewards… they have to like it.”
With a wet lick to her ear, he runs his thumb right where her labia meets her inner thigh to ask one more poignant question.
“What happens when they don’t?”
The false god stays quiet for a long moment, as if debating to say the truth, before her jaw tightens like the very idea of her subordinates not liking her ‘reward’ makes her seethe.
“They suffocate,” she hisses in venom.
Leon pauses in his movements, nodding slowly as her words register. He can already picture it—her not only using her disciples as tools for her pleasure, but also punishing them when they don't like being used.
“You suffocate them,” he clarifies.
“Yes,” she confirms proudly, “I stay put until they can't breathe.” Then, as if she forgot who she is talking to, or maybe because her narcissism knows no bounds, she adds in a whisper, “those are my favorite climaxes.”
The agent sighs deeply in disappointment, the image of her quite literally killing people with her pussy making him want to both laugh and cry.
He takes a single step back, rubbing his face in exasperation before he runs a hand through his hair with a determined look.
“Have you ever been fucked in the ass?” he deadpans.
The cult leader whips her head around to scoff loudly, her eyes wide in indignation.
“Excuse you?!”
“I’ll take that as a no,” he mutters with a huffed chuckle. “Good. We’ll do just that, then.”
“Don’t you dare! Don’t think I can't scream and attract my subjects here! They will tear you apart!”
He grimaces in annoyance at her empty threats, and with a dismissive wave of the hand he shuts her up fast.
“Not if I break your jaw first. It’ll do you good to keep your mouth open for my cock too, since you kept grazing me with your teeth every time you gagged,” he scoffs, and she instantly clamps her mouth closed.
Leon gestures for the woman to turn around again once he’s certain she will keep quiet, and when she complies, he crosses his arms like a stern teacher.
“Alright… Now spread yourself open, I wanna see your filthy holes.”
She nearly chokes on air at his crude request, and reluctantly places a hand on each cheek to part them and grant him a detailed view of her fluttering cunt and tight asshole. She can hear him sucking in a sharp breath at the sight, shifting closer to inspect better.
“Fuck…” he curses under his breath before clearing his throat. “I’ll be nice… I’ll let you prep yourself first.”
“Prep?” she squeaks like a frightened mouse.
“Yeah, with your fingers. Stretch yourself out so I can fit. Unless you don't mind me forcing my way in?”
With a shudder at the thought, the megalomaniac prods with the pad of an index at her hole, testing the resistance of the tight ring of muscles.
“You can't do it dry,” Leon mutters as he steps forward to swat her hand away. “Use spit at least.”
To demonstrate, he leans down just to spit directly on her twitching rim, eliciting a small sound from her that makes him smirk.
“Go on.”
Now that she is somewhat lubricated, she tries prodding at her asshole again, and tenses when her index sinks up until the first knuckle. She looks like she's already uncomfortable, and the man watches her intently, drinking every wince like her discomfort is a life source.
Anal is not exactly something to do when not relaxed, let alone when being threatened with torture. But she should have thought of that before becoming a narcissistic psycho. The agent does not feel an ounce of remorse as he observes her fingering her tight rim, periodically pausing to wet the area with more saliva by drooling on her finger, until she's able to fit her entire index in a slow motion.
“Look at that. That little hole is swallowing your finger whole,” he snorts, before deciding he’s waited long enough. “My turn now.”
Except when he steps up to her, he doesn't use his fingers. Instead, he grabs her by the waist to throw her to the floor with no regard, then mounts the back of her thighs to keep her still.
“Don't move,” he demands as he takes out his hard-again-cock to stroke it through his fingerless glove.
She tries not to move, but the moment she feels the head of his length brush her hole, a firm hand on her lower back pressing her down against the rug, she can't help but squirm in fear.
“Please don't do this to me!” her voice breaks along with her stubborn pride.
The agent pauses just to savor the moment—it seems he held up on his promise to make her beg.
“Give me one good reason why not to.”
“Because… B-Because…” she searches for an excuse, a justification, anything that will keep her from getting anally raped. “Because you're better than this!” she finally blurts out.
Leon stills, like her words actually mean something to him, before he lets out a long exhale as a smile slowly creeps up his face.
“You know, they’re not wrong about calling you Luminaria… You have certainly enlightened something in me…” He pauses, letting the tension-filled silence thicken the air before continuing, “…and that is that I’ve discovered I’m far more sadistic than I ever thought.”
With that, he clamps a palm on her mouth, and drives his achingly hard cock through the resistance of her tense asshole, while her scream of agony is muffled by his hand.
He groans at the tightness making his movements labored, and he wonders if he should've let her add a second finger first before shoving his fat dick into her barely loosened rim.
When he bottoms out, however, her tight heat enveloping him, and her tears soaking into his glove, he can't help but feel more alive than he ever felt in years.
Leon has been helpless most of his life, from his difficult childhood to the job he’s been forced into, he hasn't had much control over his fate. And now, as he feels her sphincter around his throbbing cock prick with blood to accommodate him, he finally feels in command. He gets to be in charge for once.
He keeps rutting his hips at a steady pace, and when she starts clawing his arm like a feral cat, he chokes her with his bicep just like he did earlier. He’s starting to get good at this.
With a hand on her nape and the other on her crown, he keeps her steady for the incessant fucking while she wails pathetically. But her cries fall on deaf ears.
“Not much of a god now, are you?” He taunts with a sneer, then grabs a handful of hair to tilt her head up towards the cult's symbol. “Why don't you pray for deliverance, little slut? Pray for daddy to save you from me—we both know he won't.”
Every broken sob, every unintelligible plea, only make him fuck her harder, splitting her open on his length in a way he is sure must be making her dizzy. At one point, he begins to feel her weaken under him, and he loosens his chokehold just to let her head thud on the red rug.
He takes the opportunity to lean back and reach down to spread her cheeks apart, biting his lip as he watches his cock drill in and out of her with smears of spit and blood.
Fuck, he could get used to this.
“Keep squeezing me just like that,” he grunts between forceful slams of his hips, giving her a sharp spank that has her writhing. “Fuck, you're choking my cock, baby. Do it again.”
Every stinging slap of his hand makes her flinch and tense up more, the tightness delightful around his length. So he doesn't stop delivering smack after smack to her rippling skin, the sound echoing in the quiet chapel.
That is until his thrusts are suddenly interrupted by the loud sound of church bells reverberating through the wall. It must be time for the daily sermon she preaches, which can only mean one thing… The loyal zealots are coming.
Somehow, that isn't enough of a deterrent for him to stop. If anything, he’s determined to finish before they get here. There's a special kind of thrill at being caught desecrating the false deity that is so holy to the mind-controlled people.
“Your servants are coming for you… What do you think they’ll say when they see their mighty god getting split open by my cock? Do you think they’ll want a turn at your little ass cunt too?” He can't help but moan at the thought.
The idea of raping her right in front of an audience flashes in his mind like a twisted mirage. But he knows he’d be risking his life by doing that, and her tight little ass—as sweet as it may be—isn't worth that much trouble.
“Fuck, I’m close,” he rasps in her ear when he hears the incoming chants of the cultists. He can't help but relish in the obscene slapping of skin against skin as it harmonizes with her screams and the ritualistic hymns. He doesn't think he’s ever heard something so pleasing.
Arching her further back against him with his hold on her crown, he harshly gropes one of her swaying tits, his thrusts growing uneven, and he knows he just needs an extra push to reach his peak.
“Say you like this,” he grits out, punctuating his words with sharp slams of his hips. “Say you like getting your ass raped like a pain addicted whore.”
Knowing he won't stop unless she complies, her voice is utterly wrecked when she hiccups between broken whimpers, “I l-like it— please— I’m… I’m a-addicted… a p-pain addicted w-whore—ngh—”
“Fuck, that's it, good girl.”
Leon grunts as he fucks into her one last time before stilling, his body trembling as he cums generously inside her colon. His cum coats her insides white—thick, creamy semen shooting out in spurts until the man is spent and has nothing more to give.
With a heaving chest, he pulls out slowly with a groan, watching with blown pupils pink tinged cum leak out of her abused hole as she shudders.
When her screams have quieted into small, quiet sobs, her body weak and limp, he hears the door open and feels the eyes of the zealots on them as they freeze in place at the sight. The agent knows he doesn't have much time before one of them decides to heroically save their goddess and the rest follow.
So, with an unexpected kiss to the back of Luminaria’s head, he zips up his pants, and stands to break out into a run through the back passage of the chapel, his gun held firmly in hand.
As he flees the church with the distant sound of cultists’ footsteps on his tail, Leon feels like a changed man. Like he can do anything to anyone he wants—especially egotistical pretty girls who like to play God to feel important.
The sensation is like no other. Addicting. All-encompassing. Delicious. And now he understands why she was so high on the feeling of power and command—it's the best he’s ever felt.
Yeah, he could definitely get used to this…
Maybe next time, he’ll also get that audience he was craving.
Your heels click on hardwood flooring with every pace around the warm-toned hotel room. The royal blue dress framing your body sways with every one of your frantic motions, every nervous step revealing your leg through the high slit of the skirt. No matter how much you try to calm yourself, nothing seems to work, and the gown, the shoes, the hair, and makeup, all serve to make you even more irritable from the sensory overload of black-tie attire.
Around you, three more agents are scattered about the quiet space, with Hunnigan sitting at the corner desk, her fingers busy gliding along keyboard buttons. She looks up at you from her spot, seeing you fiddle with the silver bracelet on your wrist that is actually a hidden microphone.
“Hey, sorry for the last minute call,” she gives you a kind smile.
You wave a dismissive hand, though the movement is stiff from your restlessness. “It's fine. I’m used to this.”
“If it's any consolation, we called Helena first, but she hasn't been cleared from a recent post-op recovery yet,” the brunette shifts in her seat, glancing at the two men fiddling with spyware equipment splayed on the cream duvet. “Since I know your last mission was quite heavy, I was hoping not to pair you with Kennedy again.”
“Yeah,” me too, you omit. “But I’ll be fine. It’s just an intel op, right?”
“Mhm. I’m just waiting for the man of the hour to show up already so I can give you both the debrief of what we got so far.”
As if on cue, there's a sudden, resounding knock, and one of the agents, a tall, bald man, stands off the bed to go to the door.
“Who is it?” he asks in a low baritone.
“Room service, bringing the seven towels you asked for.” The familiar voice on the other side makes a shiver run down your spine as he mutters the code words.
Without hesitation, the agent opens the door to reveal Leon, shoulders tense in a leather jacket and jeans, with a garment bag draped over his forearm. A split second later, his eyes land on you, and he feels his soul leave his body at the breathtaking sight of you—so beautiful, and so, so upset as you immediately look away with a locked jaw.
He knows he’s supposed to be the professional, intimidating agent during times of work, but the mere sight of you makes him feel so small he feels like he could shrivel up and die. It doesn't help that he just found out about being paired up with you precisely forty minutes ago, and that was not nearly enough time to ready himself.
“Martin. Hunnigan. Ferreira.” He greets the colleagues with a curt nod as he enters the room, shooting a small “hey” in your direction so as not to raise questions. No one expects him to greet you formally anyways.
As expected, you completely ignore him, and with an impossibly tight chest, he turns towards the only other woman in the room.
“I brought a tux like you asked.”
“Thank you, Leon. We didn't have time to get you one, so I appreciate you accommodating the mission,” Hunnigan answers with a grateful smile, before her tone turns professionally berating. “If you can go change in the bathroom now please, we have waited long enough.”
The dark blonde nods and follows her instructions without a word. He knows he has come in late, especially if you are already dressed and dolled-up waiting for him. But the horrible hangover and everything else going on in his mind have made the tasks of showering, shaving his overgrown stubble, and driving here feel like a herculean feat.
When the bathroom door clicks shut behind him, you finally let out the breath you were holding. Ever since he fled your apartment the day prior, like you had just turned into Sadako Yamamura through your confession, you have been feeling like shit to say the very least.
Your worst nightmare has come true. After a decade of hiding your feelings for self-preservation, the moment you felt brave enough to lay them out, you received a rejection like no other.
The worst part is you expected him to call, or even come back later—to talk things out or maybe to apologize. But you got nothing. Radio silence. All while you sobbed every tear in your body, to the point you became physically incapable of crying any longer. Your face is still puffy under the layers of concealer and blush adorning your features, and you're grateful for the way makeup masks your deplorable state, giving you a boost of much needed confidence.
When Leon steps back out, fiddling with his cufflinks, the sight makes you want to physically gag, because why does he have to look like that? Your stupid brain is not supposed to like the way the tuxedo accentuates his broad shoulders, slim waist, and long legs. It’s ridiculous how much he looks like a model, and you're growing sick of having to work with someone that constantly appears to be stepping out of a photoshoot.
You allow yourself half a second of indulgence then turn your gaze away before he can catch it. You then settle on the bench by the foot of the bed, crossing your arms stiffly and waiting for Hunnigan to begin the pre-brief.
“Alright,” she mutters as she turns her chair to face you both, then crosses her legs once in position. “As I’ve already explained on the phone, tonight you will be attending the annual Lasting Hope gala. It’s a gathering of the elite, naturally, and its intended purpose is as a fundraiser for cancer research. Now, it comes as no shocker to find out that's not quite what you’ll be doing tonight, as dressed up as you may be.”
As Hunnigan gestures to the both of you with a small smile, Leon can't help but steal a glance your way, just for him to instantly feel his heart stutter.
Goodness, you are stunning, and your stern expression is doing things to him that should not be happening. You are mad at him because he hurt you, nothing about that is sexy… And yet, the pursing of your lips makes him want to kiss the pout off them.
“After your previous mission involving Catriona Adams’ illegal BOW research,” Hunnigan continues, jolting him out of his thoughts, “we have come to find out more about the brain chips used in the injectors. As it turns out, the chips’ effectiveness was the true purpose of the studies she was conducting. And then, with further investigation and the BSAA’s help, we found another culprit: her husband, Marcus Adams.”
The brunette reaches for files on the desk beside her that she hands you and Leon, keeping a copy for herself.
“Marcus has been in contact with black market brokers for months now, trying to sell his product. You see, these chips aren’t what is usually inferred. They're not an electronic piece of equipment, but rather a biological matter that, once injected into the bloodstream, makes its way to the brain, and settles to bind with tissue. It then forms a clump—almost like a tumor—that remains dormant. Until, of course, it is detonated through specific sound frequencies that make it, well, explode.”
When hearing Hunnigan’s explanation, you recall the gruesome scene of when the tyrant, as well Adams’ mutated form suffered from exactly that affliction. You can still hear her monstrous shrieks ringing in your ears.
“There is one glaring difference here, though. The ‘chips’ used on the monsters were a lot more powerful, because they had to adapt to the durable nature of the creatures. But the chips we are dealing with tonight… They are meant for humans.”
There's a silence that falls on the room, and from the corner of your eye you can see Leon’s exasperated face—a look that screams ‘here we fucking go again.’
“If you turn to page 6 please,” Hunnigan murmurs as she turns the pages of the file in her hands and you do the same. “Here. As you can see, we have reliable intel that dictates these chips, or really bioweapons, are being manufactured for usage on people… Tonight will be a gathering of wealthy investors—people with shady business, along with the not so honorable guest of honor: none other than Marcus Adams. In other words, this man is trying to sell his illegal product to people who should not be buying it, and your job tonight is to gather as much intel about the situation as possible.”
“No interference,” Ferreira mutters from his seat on the edge of the bed, and Hunnigan nods.
“No interference. You will just observe, gather information about whether they come to an agreement, and then report back.” She pauses, closing the folder on her lap as she readjusts her glasses. “I understand that this is a sudden operation, but that is why we want our most competent agents on site. You two will be inside, collecting intel, and Martin and Ferreira will serve as your backup in case things go awry… But again, they should not go awry because like we said; no interference.”
With a deep inhale, Leon nods before slowly exhaling through his nose. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Oh, and before I forget!” Hunnigan suddenly stands and reaches for a bag on the coffee table. Rummaging inside, she pulls out a small black box, and flicks the lid open without delay.
Inside lie two rings, a silver band, and one with a sparkling stone. She hands you the one with the gem, and gives Leon the other, before stepping back with a smile.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Crawford.
Martin sits in the driver seat of the black SUV, with Ferreira in the passenger side. They fill the silence with low chatter, while you and Leon sit in the back in the most awkward car ride of your life. Every passing second in his presence makes your mind spiral, replaying the scene of his rejection over and over. And with each looping memory, you want to throw yourself out of the moving vehicle a little more.
He keeps his eyes on the passing road, his thumb nudging the newly acquired accessory on his ring finger. The feeling is foreign on his digit, but the cold metal has already warmed to the temperature of his skin, and the fact your own finger is claimed by a pairing ring, makes heat coil in his gut.
This isn't the first time he has put on the married man façade during a mission. In fact, it's usually the easiest undercover route to pick when with a partner, as it automatically explains coming and going together without raising eyebrows. People also tend to be more trusting of married couples, their commitment to each other inferring a certain kind of maturity, or even trustworthiness.
This is, however, the first time he has to pretend to be married to you. And thanks to his wonderful luck, it just had to happen at the worst possible time ever.
He tries not to let himself think of how much he wishes he was not pretending, but any attempts at dismissing the butterflies in his stomach fail miserably.
There is no way around it—he wants to be yours. He wants to tell you he feels the same, and that there's no one else out there for him. Because he's experienced and old enough to know you are everything he wants. No one comes even close. No one will ever come close. You own him body and soul, and he wants nothing more than for you to keep him forever.
His earlier conversation with Claire only managed to make him more desperate. The hesitation he was holding onto—the fear of hurting you or somehow ruining your life—has started to slowly chip away, and now his brain is going haywire. Maybe she is right. Maybe he deserves to be happy. Maybe he can make you happy too, or at least try. Even if you look like you want to be anywhere else but beside him in this car.
He just needs to tell you the truth about his feelings. Apologize—possibly on his hands and knees—and tell the truth.
If only he didn't have to finish this stupid mission first, then he would use Claire’s pep talk’s effects while they still last, and finally make things right.
“We’re here,” Ferreira announces as the hotel where the gala is held comes into view; The Willard Intercontinental.
Once the car stops in front of the entrance bustling with people in gowns and formalwear, the agents play the part by stepping out of the SUV to open each of yours and Leon’s doors.
You adjust the silk shawl over your shoulders in preparation to leave the car, the cool breeze of the night making you shiver. But when you place your foot on the sidewalk, a familiar hand extends in your vision, the wedding band adorning its ring finger catching the light of the shining hotel.
You hesitate for a moment, before finally placing your hand in Leon’s palm, going along with the pretend play—or maybe using that as a reason to touch him again that won’t wound your pride.
When you meet his eyes as he pulls you out of the vehicle, you find a look of desperation in his ice blues like you have never witnessed in him before. For a moment, you wonder if this is what his eyes looked like in the dark, when he was inside you and crying for you to stay.
“You’re breathtaking,” he murmurs low enough just for your ears to catch, a small, adoring smile etched on his tired face.
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Older Mentor!Leon Kennedy x DSO Agent!Reader Slowburn 🪻🌻🥀
❌18+ MDNI❌
Chapter 23
FOLKS! i have something special for you today, and that is a bonus chapter, a.k.a chapter 22.5!
now let me preface this by saying 22.5 is VERY different from your average ygbo chapter. it's a dark dead dove, so if you're not into that kind of thing, i implore you NOT to read it!
it goes without saying that not reading it will not impact your understanding of the story or your enjoyment of the series, it's simply an added insight into the dark corners of leon's mind, specifically about the nightmare he experiences at the start of this chapter
The ghost of cold metal on his temple jolts Leon out of a suffocating nightmare. His eyes blink open rapidly, and he pants as sweat glistens on his flesh, his consciousness fighting through the haze of sleep-induced disorientation.
When he shifts to kick off the blanket that feels too hot on his dampened skin, he feels a wetness on his groin, and looking down, he finds a patch of spend seeping through his underwear.
His confusion rises even more as he tries to recall the dream that has left him in such a paradoxical state. But he can only make out faint images in the back of his mind. A dark cave, red light, piercing blue eyes, and you at the center of it all.
Thinking of you has become synonymous with his lungs constricting like a boulder sitting on his chest, so he immediately has to inhale deeply to relieve the pressure. He can never forget the look of heartbreak on your face when he left you the day prior. You must hate him by now, and he knows he deserves it, even if a small, selfish part of him hopes you still love him just like you confessed.
God, how does something like this even happen? How can someone like him ever win the heart of someone like you? Without even trying either. Like some kind of terribly unfunny joke.
He sits up on the couch with a groan, looking around the wreck that is his usually spotless apartment. Clothes forgotten messily on the floor, bottles of liquor, beer and whatever other drink he could find in his cabinets scattered everywhere. He had spent the past day drinking and sleeping sporadically, and he’s not even sure what time it is at this point except that it's getting dark outside.
A knock at the door makes him jolt in surprise, wondering who it might be, before quickly dismissing the noise. No way in hell is he talking to anyone in this state.
Rising to his feet, he pads towards the bathroom to clean the mess in his boxers when another knock resounds. This time, it's accompanied by a familiar voice.
“Leon, I know you're in there, I saw your car downstairs,” Claire announces from behind the door with a huff. “You didn't park it in the garage.”
He pauses in his steps, debating whether or not to fake his death, but then remembers how insistent the auburn haired woman can be and finally relents.
“Give me a minute,” he grumbles, not caring if it's not loud enough for her to hear.
A minute turns into fifteen as he trudges through his horrendous hangover to change his clothes and put away the tripping hazards of glass bottles. He will leave showering for later—when he's less likely to lose balance and crack his skull on the tiles.
With a deep exhale, he opens the door for the friend that's been impatiently waiting. She’s about to berate him for taking so long when she pauses at the sight of him.
“Jesus, Leon… You look like shit.”
“Right, thanks,” he mumbles, then turns around to drag his feet back to the sofa to sprawl himself on it.
Claire purses her lips in worry, closing the door behind her with a click. She walks further inside, her eyes quickly skimming over the mess laying around that's hard to make out in the dark. Then, she reaches for the pull chain of the tall lamp in the corner, and tugs it to turn on the warm light.
With his dark undereyes and scruffy stubble in clear display, she shakes her head in concern. “Seriously, Kennedy, you look really bad.”
“Yeah, I got it the first time,” he replies with his eyes squeezed shut, the light momentarily blinding him.
Sighing, Claire moves closer until she sits on the coffee table, no space afforded for her on the couch thanks to his splayed out body.
“You smell too,” she concludes after a sniff.
Leon groans, giving her an exasperated side eye, “what do you even want?”
She ignores his harsh tone, and fiddles with the strap of her watch anxiously. “I just had dinner with the in-laws nearby, and thought I’d come say hi…”
He gives her a pointed look in return, urging her to state the true reason for her impromptu visit. Quieter, she adds in a low murmur, “and I saw Lyla this morning.”
“Lyla?” he asks in confusion before his memory catches up. “Oh, right, Lyla… Yeah, um, what about her?”
“I ran into her at the park this morning while out with Gabby… She seemed a little tense,” Claire pauses, as if hoping he’ll understand her point. When he doesn't, she is forced to continue. “I mentioned you and she let slip that you kind of ghosted her? Well, she says you left your date in a hurry and that you haven't contacted her or answered her calls since. She was actually wondering if you’d gone on a mission.”
Leon rubs his scruff tiredly—he had completely forgotten to message the brunette, or anyone for that matter during the past day.
“Yeah, sorry I was busy. I’ll call her... Eventually.”
Unsatisfied with his answer, Claire shakes her head in disapproval. “Calling her is not the point, Leon.”
“Then what is the point? You said that's why you're here.” He places a palm on his head to soothe his throbbing headache.
“I’m here, because you haven't answered my calls either, and now that I’m seeing you in this state I’m really fucking worried… What the hell happened?”
“Nothin’,” he immediately retorts.
“This is not nothing. You look like absolute hell—I don't think I’ve ever seen you like this. At least not since the first anniversary in 99’.”
She doesn't need to specify what anniversary. They both know all too well she means Raccoon City.
“I’m just… going through something. I’ll be fine.”
There's a flash guilt in her blue eyes as she looks over his pitiful state, and she shifts to angle her body towards his.
“Look… I know ever since Gabby, I’ve been very busy and I haven't been the bestest of friends—”
“Don’t say that,” he interrupts with a headshake and a dismissive wave of the hand. “You’re fine. I get it. You have a family now, and family comes first.”
“But you are family Leon,” she asserts in a soft voice.
The sincerity in her words chips at his hard exterior, and before he can stop it, his eyes water, and he has to turn to look at the ceiling to blink the wetness away. But despite his efforts, Claire notices. The concern in her heart grows exponentially, because she can hardly recall ever seeing him cry in the last decade and a half.
“You know you can trust me, right? Please tell me what's going on, Leon… Please.”
After a long silence, he finally, finally obliges with a disheartened murmur, “I fucked-up, Claire. Really bad… I should've listened to you.”
“What do you mean? About what?”
He exhales sharply through his nose, and closes his eyes like he’s too ashamed to look at her when he speaks.
“Kiddo,” he chokes out like it hurts.
The woman frowns in confusion—she knows exactly who ‘kiddo’ is, but she fails to understand what he means by following her advice. Until, slowly, she recalls the events of her promotion party. Her thoughts begin to work in overdrive as possible scenarios come up in her mind, some much worse than others.
“What happened, Leon?” she presses, concern evident in her voice.
Still refusing to meet her eyes, he decides to be honest nonetheless. Or at least tries to be given his hazy-minded state.
“There's this job offer for her. New York. When I found out about it, I kind of… freaked out. I didn't want her to leave, and I— I went to see her when she called and— and I don't know… I-I messed up, and now she’s gonna hate me forever.”
Every sentence coming out of his mouth only makes Claire more confused, and the way he’s wording things has her thinking of the worst.
“Okay, okay, slow down! I need you to tell me exactly what happened, because right now it's sounding bad.”
“It is bad,” he retorts with a grunt, running a hand through his greasy locks. “I went there and I… We… Shit, you know what I mean.”
The gears turn in her head as she concludes the cause of his painfully embarrassed expression. She clears her throat, keeping her reaction calm despite the flood of questions threatening to spill.
“Wow. Right, um, okay… So what, was it like, weird or something?”
“No… It was perfect.” The answer comes out before he can stop it, and he once again realizes just how much of a sap he turns into when it comes to you.
Claire, on the other hand, is starting to lose her patience in her attempt to figure out what the exact problem is.
“Leon, if you don't stop talking in riddles, I swear to God I’m gonna smack you on your big head.”
His lips twitch into a ghost of a smile as he finally turns to meet her eyes. He realizes how ridiculous he must look, recounting his issues while laying on a sofa like she's his personal therapist.
Finally, he says the truth he has never dared to utter out loud before.
“I have… feelings for her.”
Claire’s eyes widen in surprise, and the puzzle slowly starts to come together.
“You love her? Well, I know you do but, I mean like, love, love?”
There's a silence that befalls the room. He doesn't say ‘yes’ but he doesn't deny it either. The new information takes time to register into the blue eyed woman’s mind.
“Wow…” she whispers in incredulity. “I mean, shit, I can't say I’m not a little bit surprised… But then again, you two are joined at the hip, and you get along so well.”
Leon sighs deeply, feeling like a weight has partially lifted off his shoulders. “Right.”
His solemn expression breaks Claire’s heart further, prompting her to conclude in a quiet murmur, “so she doesn't feel the same about you…”
His expression sours as he shakes his head in denial. “No, she does… And that's the problem.”
At that, the woman pauses, taken aback by the twist of events. “Wait, what?”
“She's not supposed to like me, Claire. You said it yourself, I should go for someone my age.”
A loud scoff leaves her lips at his statement, prompting her to cross her arms defensively. “Yeah, I said that because I thought you were being weird towards your unsuspecting, younger colleague,” she frowns in irritation. “You never told me you two have been seeing each other!”
“We’re not,” he huffs.
“Well, either way, what I saw that day was just you ogling her like a guard dog—which made me think you were lonely and that made me concerned. But fuck, now I’m even more concerned seeing you like this,” she gestures towards him vaguely.
He shakes his head again for the umpteenth time, his voice a somber whisper, “I’m not the one you should be worried about. I’m not the victim here.”
Claire quirks an eyebrow at the statement, tilting her head in question. “So you're saying she is? Because you're older?”
“Because I’m older, and her coworker, and mentor. Oh, let's not forget I killed her dad right in front of her fucking eyes when she was a kid,” he hisses sardonically.
The woman’s hands shoot up in surprise at the sudden mention of the traumatic event.
“Woah, where the hell did that come from?”
“It’s the truth.”
Exhaling deeply, Claire looks him over with sympathy as she finally understands what has him in such a deplorable condition. His neverending guilt.
“Alright, let's take a step back, because clearly you're not thinking straight right now… You said you both have feelings for each other, correct?”
“Yeah…”
“So, if you're both okay with this, I don't really see the big deal. I mean, fine, it's a little awkward due to the past but she's what, twenty-six?”
“Twenty-five,” he corrects with a clenched jaw.
“Okay, and you're thirty-eight! Both adults.” She pauses, pursuing her lips for a moment before continuing. “My only concern before was that you would be hitting on her and making her uncomfortable because you got too horny. But clearly, this is not the case… Right?”
Leon stays silent for a moment, then grumbles imperceptibly, “I guess… Still, I’m not someone she should be wasting her time on. She needs somebody to grow old with, start a family with, not an old creep.”
Claire rolls her eyes hard. “Christ, Leon, you are not a creep.”
He stays quiet, his disagreement apparent on his face as he twiddles with his thumbs over his chest. Then, a sudden smack to the side of his head makes him jolt, holding the spot with an exaggerated groan.
“Hey! What the hell?!”
“Listen to me, you idiot. You need to get your head out of your ass and realize you deserve good things in life too.”
Leon glares at her with a pout, his face too endearing for a badly hungover man pushing forty.
“I mean it,” Claire glares right back. “I’ve never seen you get this pathetic over someone, so stop self-sabotaging! And sure, if it had been somebody else I might have something to say about it. But I know you. She knows you. You’re not some kind of pervert creeper preying on young women. If anything, you acting like this shows that you're quite literally the opposite.”
The dark blonde’s shoulders relax slightly from her reassuring words, and he sits up, placing his head in his hands as his elbows rest on his knees.
“I just… I feel like she could do so much better,” he whispers, looking down at the spot on the floor between his bare feet. “She deserves the best.”
Tentatively, Claire reaches a hand to squeeze his shoulder leaning down slightly to look at his tired face.
“You deserve the best too… You deserve to have someone that loves you. Truly loves you,” she murmurs softly, a small smile etching on her plump lips. “From what I can tell, she's probably the person that knows you the most. So if she has feelings for you like you say, then it's despite seeing you at your lowest, just like you saw her at her lowest too… What I’m saying is, you deserve to be happy, Leon.”
He takes in a trembling breath, then bites down on his bottom lip to stop himself from spilling tears again. He has done enough crying over the past twenty-four or so hours, and now, listening to Claire, he realizes that maybe—just maybe—she isn't completely wrong.
As he makes the mental decision to go knock at your door tonight, at least to apologize for leaving you like your confession was an insult, his phone rings where it lays forgotten on the floor.
Claire watches quietly as he reaches for the device by the foot of the couch. Flipping it over, he finds Hunnigan’s name flashing on the screen, and he already knows it's serious if she's calling on a random Sunday evening.
“Kennedy,” he answers gruffly, already tired before she even speaks.
“Leon, sorry to interrupt your weekend, but we have a situation. We need you operational immediately.”
With a deep, exhausted sigh coming out from the deepest confines of his chest, he closes his eyes with a nod.
shoutout to my @sammimi19 for checking the spanish dialogue for me 💘
Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 TBA
The squelch of mud under Nora’s soles resounds with every step she takes beside Luis. They weave between tombstones as they approach the fenced church gates, the storm having finally subsided. Thankfully, no ganados are in sight around the graveyard, but they stay crouched nonetheless for extra measures of inconspicuousness.
During their walk through the shadows of the village, Luis found out about her half decent Spanish to his great delight, and that has resulted in him displaying an even more playful demeanor—if that was even possible.
“This is ridiculous,” the Spaniard grumbles in a hushed voice. “You know, the yanqui—Leon—is here to save her. Let him deal with this.”
Nora feels her gut twist at the mention of the agent, and she quickly dismisses the argument with a shake of her head. “He can't help her right now. Just trust me.”
The leather-wearing brunette pauses, turning to her with a raised brow. “Wait, what do you mean? I thought you didn't know him.”
“I don't. Not really,” she snaps abruptly, before softening her tone. “It’s just… I met him, and, uh, he’s not doing okay.”
“Do you mean…”
“No, not dead. Just probably some PTSD making him act weird... American soldiers, am I right?” She offers a weak attempt at humor.
Luis chuckles dryly in response as they reach the outer fence encircling the building, pushing open the gate and ushering her in.
“Tell me about it,” he sighs in frustration, “things were already bad, and then Saddler had to bring in ese enfermo de mierda Krauser. Some army colonel or major, yo qué coño sé.” He huffs, then gives her a sly grin. “Sorry for all the cursing, by the way.”
Nora waves a dismissive hand at his half-serious apology. She knows exactly what he’s talking about. Krauser is sick and a massive asshole, and as much as she liked his character as an interesting villain, she does not wish under any circumstance to be faced with his real life counterpart. Especially knowing he assassinates Luis in the game’s story, which is something she has avoided thinking about at all costs.
No. She won't let that happen. If she is saving Ashley, then she is certainly preventing Luis’s death.
“Nah, I completely agree. Ese puto loco.”
He laughs at her grumbled curse, nodding in approval with his charming smile, “I like your style.”
An animalistic growl echoes suddenly in the night air, and they turn their heads to find an infected wolf stalking from around the church’s corner. But what makes it even more egregious looking than its jagged teeth and foaming muzzle, are the fleshy tentacles that protrude from its back, writhing and squiggling as they prepare to lash.
“¡Mierda!” Luis curses, taking out his semi-automatic pistol and aiming at the ugly creature. “Stay behind me!”
Nora covers her ears before he even fires, already anticipating the loud gunshots that quickly follow. The cracking sound reverberates through her skull, and she startles no matter how much she tries to get used to it. She was never a fan of guns, but that fear has now reached exponential levels.
“Damn it, I’m running out!” the man curses when his bullets begin to deplete.
Fortunately, he’s a good shot, and right as the wolf attempts to strike with its tendrils, he fires at one and causes it to retrieve with a shriek. He then shoots its grotesque mug repeatedly, until enough rounds pierce its brain and it staggers to the ground, howling pathetically.
“Por fin… I wasted all my bullets on that mutt,” Luis tsks, checking the remaining measly amount left in his pocket.
“This place is a fucking nightmare,” Nora whispers to no one but herself.
“You’re telling me… Come on, let's go rescue the princesa.”
She watches him make his way around the dog’s lifeless corpse, and follows behind with a faint smile. “Princesa Dulcinea?”
He whips around with twinkling eyes, pointing his finger at her like she just said the most genius thing he’s ever heard. “I was just about to say that!”
Chuckling at their synchronized thinking—or really Nora’s prior knowledge of his jokes before he can even utter them—they stop by the iron palisade gate. At its center, lies a circular indent for the medallion key needed to open it, which they naturally do not have.
However, on their way to the location, Nora gave the matter some thought, and remembered the way in through a window at the back of the chapel. It's the way from which Leon and Ashley escape when he comes to get her, and she wonders why he didn't just go in from there in the first place instead of running around searching for the insignia.
Video game logic, she concludes.
“You seem to know your way around.” Luis pulls her out of her thoughts when she begins to lead the way around the back.
“Um, I passed by here before,” she mutters out a half-lie. “I heard the poor girl cry through the walls, but couldn't find a way in.”
He eyes her curiously for a moment, before a warm smile etches on his stubbled face.
“You’re a brave one, you know?”
Her chest warms and she suddenly feels the urge to give him a hug. Here he is, the poor, gifted guy whose passion for biology led him down a hellish road. And now, he's trying to do the right thing by risking his life to save others, when he’s on the cult’s list of most wanted.
“You too,” she murmurs sincerely, feeling the first shred of hope illuminate her heart since she spawned in this godforsaken world.
“Sure…” Luis smirks with a small nod, but despite his best efforts to seem casual, she can tell the words affect him.
They walk through the arched passageway that leads into the rear yard of the house of worship. There is an elevated ledge built into the stone wall, with a terrace-like platform at the top. All they need to do is to get up there, and then from that point find a way through the window and into the church.
Except for one glaring difference.
“There's no ladder…”
Luis raises an eyebrow at Nora’s dejected comment, before laughing incredulously.
“Well they're not gonna make it that easy for us, are they, cariño?”
“Right,” she nods with a sigh. She then looks around, hoping to find something to use instead, when her eyes land on an old, discarded dresser leaning against the wall. “What about that closet over there?”
The Spaniard walks up to the piece of furniture, giving it a nudge to attempt to push it, but the heavy wood barely creaks. He huffs, then ushers for the woman to lend him a hand, which she doesn't hesitate to give.
With each on either side of the dresser, they hold onto its edges in preparation of dragging it to the desired spot.
“Let's hope I don't break my back. Because then you’ll have to carry me bridal style,” he winks and she rolls her eyes playfully in response.
When he gives her the signal, she pulls with all her muscle power while he pushes, the both of them straining as they move the cabinet at a snail’s pace.
“God, this is so fucking heavy,” she grunts in frustration.
Nora finds herself wondering how in the actual hell did the blonde agent push it out of the way during his escape with Ashley. But then, she remembers how freakishly strong he is, and discards any more thoughts spared on the mentally unwell man.
“Come on, just one more push,” Luis groans with a final bout of effort, before finally bringing the cabinet under the terrace’s ledge. “There, we did it!”
He holds up a hand for a high five, which Nora meets with a slap of her palm gleefully, smiling despite herself. Even as the dulling pain under the back pockets of her jeans throbs, the grinning man before her still manages to bring a smile on her face, and that has her wishing he was the one she fell on top of hours prior.
Opening the furniture’s doors, they use the shelves lining its inside like steps of a ladder, climbing onto the ledge of the open balcony. The view from above is dizzying, and the woman avoids looking down to not add to her already consuming nervousness.
“I’ll hoist you up,” Luis announces, gesturing to the glass-less window above them.
Nora ponders the idea. She's never had to do something like that in her life, and she is far from an athletic person. There is also a shameful insecurity concerning the plumpness of her figure. She is what is colloquially known as ‘midsize’—at least in her time, 2024. Right on the range of average, but by no means thin, and the idea of being carried by a rather scrawny looking man makes her uncomfortable. Especially after her freshman year college boyfriend tried, and it ended with her face on the floor and a scraped elbow. Never again.
“I’ve never done this before…” she murmurs nervously. “Can I be the one to give you a boost?”
The man’s eyebrows shoot up as he laughs, but then he notices her awkward expression and understands she must feel discomfort at the idea.
“Ah, what kind of gentleman would that make me?” He teases lightly in hopes to soothe her nerves. “But fine, I’ll be the pretty damsel, again. You and Ada would get along.”
Being unfamiliar with how exactly one offers a leg up, she listens to his instructions and crouches with one knee the floor. He gives her a thumbs up, checking for her readiness, and once she nods, he places a boot on her propped up thigh and pushes. Her leg nearly gives out from the weight of an entire adult man, but she holds herself in place not to let him fall.
After a bit of effort, Luis is able to haul himself through the window, kicking at the wall for leverage and propelling himself inside the building’s attic. A second later, and he’s looking down at her from the opening.
“¿Estás bien?”
“SÍ.”
He grins at her response, then holds up a finger, “hold on, I think I see some rope.”
After a moment, thick cordage dangles down the wall, with the man looping it around his forearms for a secure grip.
“There. Just hold on tight and don't fall, eh?”
Nora tests the line with a tug before gripping it firmly. She then places a foot on the wall, and with a muttered prayer, begins to climb. Her arms and core muscles activate to the fullest, the rope pricks her palms with tiny fibrous needles, and her shoes are too slippery from mud, but she tries nonetheless. Luis does not give up on gripping the rope either, his own foot pushing on the brick wall for added strength.
“Ngh—you can do it,” he exclaims in a strained voice, though she isn't sure if he's cheering on her or on himself.
With a final exertion, she reaches the ledge and pulls herself inside with a tumble to the floor. The man chuckles, chest heaving from effort, before offering her an open palm.
“Eso, guapa.”
Nora huffs out a small laugh as she takes his hand. She’s not a fan of this whole pushing your body to its limits thing, and she hopes they can retrieve the president’s daughter and get the hell out without alerting the cult. Though, the more she thinks about it, the more she realizes the plan is naive wishful thinking.
“We can't waste time, we need to get to Ashley.”
Luis nods at her comment, and gestures for her to follow him as they make their way to an opening on the floor, then kicks down the folded ladder that leads into the church hallways. He descends first after checking if no one is around, before Nora joins him a trembling breath.
The place is as eerie as in the game. The upper level they have landed on is a mezzanine-like walkway that overlooks the ground floor of the chapel. Downstairs, rows of pews face a pulpit, and behind the latter is an illuminated, multicolored glass with the Los Illuminados symbol at its center. The insignia looks almost like the shape of an insect with its jagged, pointy lines reminiscent of the plaga itself. Nora shudders at the thought of that thing living nesting human beings.
They need to get to Ashley fast.
Passing by the tall windows filtering moonlight that paints the stone walls silver, they come to a stand before the ornate door behind which the girl is kept.
Luis reaches for the handle, when Nora suddenly stops him just to whisper a warning. “Um, you should probably stay back. Trust me.”
He raises a quizzical brow, but mutters a small ‘vale’ nonetheless as he pushes open the door, keeping a safe distance.
Sure enough, a blurry swing of a candelabra flies right where his head would have been if he had not been warned. A blonde young woman comes into view, the makeshift weapon in her grasp held tight as she prepares to make another attempt.
“Wait, Ashley!” Nora interjects with hands held up in surrender. “Stop! We’re not here to hurt you, I promise!”
“Who are you?! Stay away!” she answers frantically, her green eyes wide in panic.
“You weren't kidding…” the man huffs, but then holds his palms up too in a display of peace.
“I’m Nora, and this is Luis. We're here to get you out, but we need to move out of here fast.”
Ashley gives them a wary look, though the way she focuses on the young woman indicates that perhaps the presence of another girl helps comfort her.
“Do you work for my father?” she asks in a small voice, slowly lowering the heavy candleholder.
Nora and Luis look at each other in an almost comical manner, the latter holding in a snicker to not to seem rude, before he settles on shaking his head.
“Definitely not.”
“But we’ll still help if you’ll let us,” Nora adds with a kind smile.
“O-okay… I just wanna go home, please.”
Finally cooperating, the three of them make their way back down the hallway in the direction of the ladder. Their footsteps come to a halt, however, when someone drops from the attic onto the stone floor with a thud.
Luis grins, a flash of relief passing through his stubbled features. “Oye, there's the yanqui! I have to say, you have some perfect timing, hermano.”
The yankee in question, Leon, straightens up as he takes in the sight before him. He has spent the last few hours in a headspace that can only be described as bad, and after debating with himself for a long while, he finally decided to resume his mission and save Ashley.
But now, as he stands in front of the unexpected trio, his heart lurches in his chest when his eyes land on the young woman he had bent over his lap just hours prior.
“Nora.”
Her whispered name on his lips feels like a lightning strike in her soul, the murmur so soft it sounds like a prayer. And, if his wide, desperate blues are anything to go by, it feels like one for him too.
Before she can decide whether to hide behind Luis or confront him for his cruel actions, the gates downstairs open with a loud creak.
The four of them turn their attention to the lower level where they can see a broad figure enter the nave with slow steps. When the latter stands between the pews, the kaleidoscope of stained glass colors illuminate his scarred face.
Krauser.
“What the…” Leon mutters with scrunched brows at the sight of his old mentor—someone he believed to be dead for over two years.
The resuscitated man does not appear to have noticed them, but his sharp, icy eyes scope the perimeter nevertheless. The bright red beret on his platinum blonde head and the tactical clothes on his shredded frame are reminiscent of his soldier days. If nothing else, the man is certainly stuck in the past.
Nora, panicked and confused, does not understand why he is here. He’s not supposed to appear in the story until much later when… he kills Luis.
Oh, God, he must be here to do just that in search of that stupid amber.
Leon would be tempted to ask the major what he’s doing in this place, but the terrified look on the brunette's face is all the convincing he needs to understand the man is up to no good. He may have punished her for her knowledge before, but he knows better not to trust her at this point.
His training habits kick in, a surge of protectiveness in his chest as he crouches with a hiss, “get down.”
The other three follow when he leads the way to the ladder as silently as possible given the growing panic in the room. He can feel Ashley’s fear radiate off her when she moves beside Nora, subconsciously seeking companionship in her.
The agent’s gaze lands on the latter’s frog printed t-shirt. It's damp with rain water and stained with mud, and something about that bothers him more than he understands. She shouldn't be in this hellhole.
Before he can think it through, he gestures for her to climb the rungs first, forgoing his own mission’s prime objective of prioritizing his employer’s daughter.
Nora blinks at the sudden request, but she doesn't even address him when she turns to the blonde woman beside her.
“You go first, Ashley.”
At that, Leon retreats with a tight chest and a locked jaw. He knows not to argue.
Once the girl’s trembling form reaches the attic, Nora follows, and is then succeeded by Luis who gives the somber agent a wink on his way. They manage to all retreat into the roof space without too much noise, and hope Krauser is still oblivious to their presence as they reach the window.
“That's the man that k-kidnapped me,” Ashley whispers shakily.
Leon’s eyes widen at the revelation of his ex-commander’s involvement, and when Luis grabs the rope that was left dangling over the ledge, he interferes knowing the urgency of the situation.
“No time to waste. Jump.”
The Spaniard scoffs, and even in his nervous state chooses to argue, “it’s too high!”
“Fine. You stay here, then.” Leon doesn't spare him another word, glancing past his shoulder at the two women before dropping onto the terrace with a tuck and roll.
He stands up swiftly after, then looks up at Ashley who’s peering down at him in shock.
“Come on. I can catch you.”
“No way!”
Leon feels his nerves rise, but keeps his voice calm when he spreads his arms. “I’ve got you.”
The blonde girl looks back at the others standing beside her, and when they give her reassuring nods, she finally sits at the ledge, and lets herself plummet with a yelp.
As promised, the agent catches her with skill, and as he settles her down on the ground, her shoulders seem to relax at her safe touchdown.
“Shit, I think I just heard something,” Luis mutters to Nora standing beside him, turning his head in the direction of an echoing thud then back to her. “Your turn, quick.”
The woman feels her soul leave her body at the prospect of jumping in Leon’s arms. She begins to consider staying behind, but being undoubtedly annihilated by Jack Krauser does not sound like an easy way to go.
Still, she hesitates, finding it difficult to blindly trust the single person who has betrayed her the most just earlier in the day.
“I-I don’t—” she stammers.
From below, Leon’s face is contorted in a pathetically pleading expression. The idea of not being able to save her because she cannot trust him anymore suffocates him in dread.
“Please,” he begs, his supplicating eyes boring into her fearful ones.
When Luis squeezes her shoulder in encouragement, she realizes she is risking his safety just as much as her own by stalling. So, eventually, she takes the literal leap of faith, and lets herself drop through the cold, night air.
Mid-fall, with her hands clutched to her chest, she wonders for a fraction of a second if she had made a mistake. After all, if this is the monster that humiliated her with his belt, what stops him from letting her fall to the hard floor?
The image of him looming over her with a cold expression as blood seeps from her cracked skull flashes through mind, just to be instantly shattered by her safe landing in his arms.
His secure grip around her shoulders and the backs of her knees feels like it's burning through her clothes despite the nearly freezing temperatures. His breathing is uneven when he peers down at her face, but she refuses to meet his gaze, or even acknowledge him whatsoever despite being cradled in his embrace.
Leon holds her for a second longer than necessary, before placing her down and backing away to allow her ample space. He can feel his arms tingle from the ghost of her shape, and finds himself wishing he could feel her for a moment longer.
“My turn,” Luis announces from above, calling his attention.
Whatever hazy thoughts swimming in the agent’s mind are discarded at the idea of catching the Spaniard, and he shakes his head with a scoff.
“Yeah, no, screw that.”
“You wound me, Sancho,” the peering man answers with a smirk despite the serious situation. He then places his foot on the windowsill and jumps, landing with a pained grunt in a crouch. “Cabrón, that hurt.”
Leon doesn't wait for him to stand before leading the way again, motioning for the girls to climb down the tall dresser that stayed there from earlier.
As he begins to descend as well once Ashley and Nora are situated on the ground, he can't help but grumble at Luis with a confused frown.
“Who you calling Sancho anyway?”
“Well, you're saving the princesa, aren't you? Or I guess, in this case, two princesas,” the stubbled-man snickers as he follows.
Next chapter coming soon.
i would love to hear what you guys think of leon's not to subtle reactions :')
Warm sunlight filters through the blinds and paints the bedroom in soft, golden stripes. It’s nearly past noon, and Leon slowly stirs awake at the sound of keyboard clicking. He turns to lay on his back, his naked form rustling on the sheets, and he can hear the distant hum of the dryer down the hallway.
When he lifts his head off the plushy pillow, his hair sticking out in ridiculous fashion, he finds you sitting at your desk, working on your laptop. The sight of you with equally disheveled locks, in the t-shirt you were supposed to lend him the previous night, and an adorable look of concentration on your face, makes his lips twitch into a sleepy smile.
“Hey, there, gorgeous,” he drawls in a groggy voice.
You pause your typing to turn to him, and feel your heart flutter at the sight of him in your bed. He looks every bit gorgeous with his half-lidded eyes and growing five o'clock shadow.
“Good morning,” you chuckle, then swivel in your chair to face him, one leg bent and tucked under you. “Did you sleep well?”
Leon stretches like a cat in an image that reminds you of Binx, the latter likely perched by the living room’s window at the moment. A small grunt of satisfaction leaves the man’s throat. “Mhm, better than I have in months… You?”
“Same here,” you grin sheepishly, then turn back towards the opened tab on the blue light display.
“Why are you working on a Saturday morning?” he asks with a teasing lilt.
“Actually…” you meet his eyes with twinkling ones, “I was just sending an e-mail to Valerie.”
His brows raise in surprise, ideas about the topic of your message already forming in his head but he abstains from coming to any conclusions.
“Valerie?”
“Yeah,” you nod with a small smile. “I’m letting her know about the position… I won't take it.”
“What?” Leon’s ice blues widen and he props himself up onto his elbows, his muscles flexing with tension.
Your beam widens, and you find yourself biting your lip in excitement. “I’m not taking the job. I’m staying here… with you.”
He sits up completely, the expression on his face morphing from surprise to worry, and causing your smile to slowly dissipate.
“With me?” he asks in a low tone.
“Yes, Leon, with you... I just needed you to ask me to stay, you know.”
He goes completely still for a moment, then shifts to sit at the edge of the bed with his back to you, the comforter doing little to cover his naked form. He appears to be in deep thought, his eyes trained on the fluffy rug on the floor.
“Why are you…” your words trail off as nervousness begins to settle inside you. “Isn't that what you wanted?”
You see his back rise and fall with a deep exhale through his nose, his skin still marked with faint, red lines left by your nails. He doesn't turn to face you as he speaks in a somber voice.
“Are you staying for me, or because you don't want the job?”
The question catches you off guard. You hadn't even really thought of it that way. The position in New York would have been a great opportunity, but it's not like you ever learned to plan anything in your life that did not revolve around him. Your entire career choice was about following him, because you had no one else and you were scared shitless. Plus, he looked cool with a gun.
Now you realize the trap that is his question when he demands to know if you have put any thought into this at all that didn't prioritize him. But how are you supposed to answer that? Should you lie? Say the proposed salary was not enough? Or that NYC is not your preferred scene? Any answer that isn't the truth wouldn’t feel right, and you’re tired of hiding your true feelings from him. Especially after last night.
“I’m staying for you,” you speak in a stable voice, fighting any wavering emotion. “I was leaving for you in the first place.”
His head whips around to look at you past his shoulder, the tightness in his muscles more apparent with every passing second.
“What are you talking about?”
“I was leaving because I thought I needed space… But not anymore. Not if you want me.” You pause, searching his face warily. “You do want me, right?”
Leon closes his eyes with a defeated expression, then rubs a hand on his face in a way that immediately puts you on guard.
“Kid… This isn't— I didn't want you to stay for me, I wanted you to make the decision for yourself.”
“Well, I am, and I’m choosing to stay,” you assert with a frown.
“For me.”
“For me too!”
“Because of me.”
Sighing in frustration, you turn to look back at the screen where the text cursor blinks at the end of a sentence, its pattern mocking in the way it counts the passing seconds of the heavy silence.
“Why is it bad that you matter in my decision?” you murmur after a while.
Leon sucks in a sharp breath at your whispered question, and he suddenly feels naked, both inside and out. He grabs off the floor the discarded towel he had on last night, then swiftly wraps it around his hips because this isn't the kind of conversation he wants to have with his dick out.
You see him stepping closer to you, but he keeps his distance, stopping a few feet away with a stern face.
You brace yourself for the worst.
“Look, I understand that my opinion matters to you, and I appreciate that, kiddo, I really do. But you can't let me dictate your life.”
“So you want me to stay but you don't want it to have anything to do with you?” you scoff in incredulity.
“I know that I unfortunately factor in. But I would hope that you wouldn't change your entire career plan just because I said I’d miss you.”
You feel that land like a blow to your gut, a churning feeling in your stomach. Standing up abruptly, you walk closer with trembling fists, trying and failing not to let your emotions overwhelm you.
“You cried last night,” you state matter of factly. “You didn't just say you’d ‘miss me,’ you fucking cried and said you wanted me stay.”
Leon tenses at your accusatory tone, his jaw clenching painfully. “And I also said I didn't want you to make a rash decision in the heat of the moment.”
“Well I’m not in the heat of the moment right now!” you throw your hands defensively.
“But your reasoning isn't good! You can't just drop everything because of me! I’m not—” he cuts himself off, exhaling sharply through his nose to calm his voice into a quieter pitch. “I’m not someone you change your life decisions for...”
You observe him for a moment, then shake your head in disbelief, “well, you already are, so deal with it.” Then, stepping even closer, you notice his breath visibly hitch from your pained features. “I don't understand what you want, Leon... Why are you acting like last night meant nothing?”
“Last night meant everything,” he corrects you instantly, his nose flaring. “You are everything… Which is why I can't have you waste away your life for me. If you want to stay because you like your current position for whatever reason, be my guest. But you can't stay because of me!”
“Okay?” you scoff, your jaw clenching in irritation. “So say I decide to leave—because apparently that's the ‘wise’ option—then what? We just do long distance? Now? After years of seeing you nearly every day?”
Leon’s expression falters when he realizes things are much more serious than he’d thought. You don't just want to stay for him, you want to be with him, and God, he feels his anxiety spike at the mere idea.
“Kid… There is no long distance…”
You look at him confused, waiting for further explanation, but when nothing comes you finally understand. He doesn't want you like that, and you—stupid, naive little you—thought he did just because of his emotional state the prior night.
“Y-you said I’m the only one that you want…Just now you said I’m 'everything,’” your voice breaks despite your best efforts to steady it. “I don't understand.”
His heart thunders in his chest at the sound of your confusion, and he takes a moment to gather himself before reaching a tentative hand to cup your face.
“I meant every word, sweetheart…” His voice is sincere, his blue eyes so vulnerable it could make a stone cry. “But there's something I can’t do and that is keeping you to myself. No matter how much I want to.”
“Leon, that makes—”
“Listen to me,” he interjects. “We get together, and I’ll ruin your life. Even more than I already have, so I can't—”
“What the hell are you talking about?” it’s your turn to interrupt with astonishment. “Why would you even think that way?”
His fingers tighten where they rest on your cheek, something close to anger flaring in his eyes at your obliviousness. But the feeling is directed at his own failure for not protecting you better from himself.
“I killed your father, kid. Nothing I do or say is ever going to change that.”
You blink at his words, feeling your chest tighten at the horrendous memory. The way he retells what happened so bitterly causes a shiver to run down your spine. You knew Leon harbored guilt over that day, but you did not know it was to this extent.
“He was infected… You saved me,” you whisper calmly in hopes to rationalize.
The broken man scoffs harshly, “and then dragged you with me into this BOW hell where you lose a little more of yourself every fucking mission”
That has your teeth gritting, your own aggravation soaring. “I chose this job. I wanted to follow you. You never even wanted me to have this career, Leon, why are you taking all the blame for my own choices?”
He closes his eyes with a head shake, his heart hurting at your naivety. He then places his other hand on your face, as if he needs to ground you so every word registers.
“Because you had no one else to follow, so you stuck with me... Except you don't realize a drowning person can't save another.”
“I don't care,” you retort in irritation. “I don't care if you don't like yourself, I like you!”
Leon feels a lump form in his throat, and he wants nothing more than to indulge and melt in your arms to let you take all his worries away. But he knows he can't do that. Not to you.
“If you're fighting for me this much already, what's gonna happen later when you’ll grow attached? Y-you might develop feelings… and then, you might do something stupid for my sake and I’ll never forgive myself for it.”
This time, it's you who cradles his face, putting in a bit too much pressure than necessary as you whisper the confession that’s been sitting in your throat for a decade.
“But I’m not gonna grow attached… I already am.”
He stares at you in silence, your words swirling in his head as it tries to make sense of them past his mind’s filters of doubt and self-hate.
“From the day I met you—from the day you saved me,” you continue, feeling tears prick your eyes at the cathartic release of the truth. “I have never not wanted you. You are everything to me, a-and I’m tired of pretending I only mean that platonically, or even physically… I’m— I’m in love with you and I have been since I was sixteen.”
Leon looks at you as if you've just announced you have terminal cancer. And in many ways, you may as well have said just that. His eyes are bulging out of his head, and he cannot believe what he just heard. Not because he thinks you're lying, but because the truth is searing excruciatingly through his heart. If he had any doubts before about ruining your life, he's certain of it now.
You are in love with him. You have been since sixteen.
He blew your father’s brain into the pavement of your childhood home’s front porch, and then you fell in love with him and trailed in his shadows as if he wasn't the grim reaper personified.
The thought makes him nauseous, and a thin layer of sweat forms on his bare skin that makes the sun rays glimmer on his torso. There is a part of him rejoicing that you reciprocate his feelings, however it is devastatingly overshadowed by his consuming guilt.
But the question that makes him queasiest, is whether he inadvertently encouraged this.
His mind races to recollect every memory where he may have accidentally groomed you somehow, the very idea of the possibility making him want to put a bullet in his head.
He never wanted that. He never even saw you like that. Not since last year at that stupid holiday party that he never should've even attended. He’s been feeling shame over his feelings for weeks, but he somehow still fucked up even more than he’d expected.
This is so, so much worse.
His Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows thickly the bile rising up his esophagus. His hands tremble where they hold you, and he begins to feel the telltale symptoms of an incoming panic attack—just like the ones he has fought to hide from you for years.
“Kid… you d-don't mean that…” he manages to choke out.
You can see the signs of discomfort on his face clear as day. He looks like he's a minute away from emptying his stomach’s contents all over your shirt, and that has your heart coming to a halt.
Holy shit, your love confession makes him want to vomit.
You step back from him when you notice his eyes water, and you're certain you’ve never seen him look this distressed in your life. Your own tears begin to fall down your cheeks, your fingers clutching his old top where it frames your body, and you don't even know what to think.
“You don't like hearing that… don't you…” you murmur as a statement rather than a question.
He opens his mouth then closes it like a dying fish out of water. His chest rises and falls in rapid succession despite his best efforts to steady it. He looks like he’s doing everything he can not to crumble on the floor.
“Say something,” you press, feeling your own anxiety engulf your senses.
Leon attempts to speak but he’s not sure how. How does he explain that was the worst news you’ve told him without sounding like a completely heartless piece of shit? How does he tell you that he cares about you too much to inflict his damaged self on you?
He hates how much it all makes sense now. You were always there, always prioritizing him, calling him, messaging him, remembering his birthday when no one else did, bringing him warm meals to help him recover when no one else cared… You have been treating him like someone precious, and he now understands it was all because you ingenuously fell for him as a teenager.
“Please just fucking say something,” you interrupt his spiraling as you tredge through your own. Out of all the reactions of rejection you could have expected, looking so pale he might faint from nausea might be the worst.
“I…” he trails off, the words stuck in his throat.
I love you. You deserve so much better.
“I…”
I love you.
“I’m so sorry...”
With that, he walks past you on staggering legs, then heads straight for his clothes that haven’t even finished drying. He yanks on his pants and button up like the devil is on his tail, barely remembering to grab his phone where it had been abandoned along his suit jacket on your couch. He doesn't bother with socks when he steps into his shoes, his hand already reaching for the front door handle in frantic escape.
When his fingers wrap around the cold steel, he pauses for half a second—just enough to hear your muffled sob from inside the bedroom—before he swings the door open and leaps into the hallway faster than his heart can convince him to stay.
Next chapter coming soon.
this time things won't fester as long because are moving into the finale rather soon! well soon by my metrics 🤓
Older Mentor!Leon Kennedy x DSO Agent!Reader Slowburn 🪻🌻🥀
❌18+ MDNI❌
Chapter 21
today marks exactly two months since the start of this fic, thank you everyone for the support that has motivated me to continue writing with fervor! 💙
CW tags WILL contain spoilers (try not to read them if you're generally okay with nsfw stuff so you avoid getting spoiled!)
“Hold on a minute, is that mine?” Leon arches an eyebrow at the sight of the t-shirt you're handing him.
Since his clothes are in the wash and he only has a towel around his waist, you're lending him a shirt to wear when he asks for one. Except it's not really ‘lending’ because the top does technically belong to him.
“Uh… I’ve had it for like five years, that doesn't really count, okay?”
He laughs as he holds up the fabric to examine it. It's a simple oversized cotton t-shirt with a sports brand logo on the chest. It looks well worn-in and the fact you’ve had it for so long makes warmth settle in his gut.
“I don't even remember giving it to you,” he grins as pulls it over his head, smoothing it down to make it fit right. He loves that it smells like you.
“Well you didn't exactly give it…”
“Oh?”
You smile sheepishly as you put on your own outfit for the night: a tank top and panties. You can't help but feel ravenous butterflies in your stomach at the way he looks at your body so appreciatively, even after having just seen you naked.
“You may or may not have lent me that after training one time, because I forgot to bring a shirt for Close Quarters Combat class.”
Leon steps closer to rest his hands on your waist—he can't stop touching you now that he's allowed.
“So… You’re saying you're a little thief?”
“Well you never asked for it back, and it's been five whole years! I think it's mine at this point.”
He leans in just to give your ear a light, chastising nip with his teeth before whispering huskily. “Good. Because I like you wearing my clothes.”
The warmth that spreads through your cheeks is matched by his own. He knows he’s getting too high on the night’s emotions and should probably reel it back in, but his dick is already twitching again at the thought of you in his shirt. That is, until, the fog of want thins out for a moment, and his thoughts clear up a bit.
Five years. You said you’ve had it for five years. He doesn't want to get ahead of himself, but he wonders if things had already started to change for you since then?
The thought bothers him. Something about you being barely twenty back then and liking someone like him irks him deeply. He’s not the kind of man a young, beautiful girl like you should like, no matter how selfishly he’s indulging in you tonight.
Getting to have his tongue on you—in you—is already more privilege than he deserves, and then you had to go ahead and get on your knees just to absolutely destroy him. You destroy him. Everything about you—how kind you are, how soft, how precious, how earnest—he wishes he could preserve you in a glass jar and keep you all to himself forever…
Alright, Kennedy, time to call it a night.
Internally groaning at his unhinged thoughts, he kisses your temple, then guides you to the bed, peeling the sheets to settle you both comfortably to get to sleep. You feel disappointed when he leans over you, expecting he will get on top of you, just for him to turn off the bedside light then lay back down on the pillows.
“Let’s get some sleep, kiddo. It’s been a long day,” he murmurs in the now completely dark room.
You answer with a hum, but know fully there's no way you're drifting off with him right next to you. You thought he’d want to continue touching you after the shower, but now he’s ushering you to bed like it's a school night.
Spiraling thoughts start making their way up to the surface—as they always do—and now you're wondering if he's already regretting crossing the line. He's not drunk, but maybe he wasn't thinking clearly, and now that he's in your bed he thinks it's a mistake? Should you say something? Should you ask what he’s thinking?
God, you don't wanna seem pathetic, but you know damn well that you are for him. Maybe he is just tired and wants to sleep. Or maybe he’s not all that interested in fucking you after that blow job. Shit, what if he didn't like the blow job? He did cum, but that’s what usually happens when you stroke a dick long enough.
“I’m gonna miss you,” his deep voice cuts through your ruminating thoughts.
“What?”
You hear the sheets rustle softly as he moves closer to wrap his arms around you and pull you against his chest. It makes your stomach backflip how he effortlessly manhandles you to his liking.
“I said I’m gonna miss you, kiddo,” he murmurs in the crook of your neck. “A whole lot.”
The sadness in his voice breaks your heart into a million tiny pieces. You feel like you want to scream, and cry, and tell him you’ll stay if he just asks you to. But he still doesn't, so you do the next best thing you can manage in the moment.
“Leon, I don't want to sleep… I want you inside me.”
His breathing fully stops for about five seconds before he inhales in a broken gasp. He's sure he's never recovering from this night. There is no getting over you. There is just you and your perfect self.
“Tell me how you want me. I’ll give you anything you want.”
You think about it for a moment, every fantasy you’ve had of him for years displaying lewd images in your head. But in the end, you don't want to choose, you just want him to want you.
“I’m on the pill, I don't care how we do it… As long as it's with you.”
There's a silence that follows your words that has you wondering if you said too much, until you’re suddenly shifted to find yourself under him. He settles between your legs, then leans down to kiss your cheek tenderly, though his hands tremble on your skin.
Leon still doesn't speak when his fingers hook on your underwear to pull it down, then skim up to your tank top and tug it off your body with calmness that does little to hide his need. He undresses himself swiftly as well, the both of you as naked as you were but moments ago.
When his digits circle your opening to find you still soaking wet for him, he kisses you fervently while fingering your drippy hole as an extra measure for readiness. The kiss feels more earnest than ever, like he's pouring everything he has through it in place of talking. Then, when your moans are incessant against his mouth, he begins to rut his hard-again-cock against your slick folds.
“Leon…” you whimper, needing him inside you like you need air.
Finally, he notches the tip of his length into your awaiting cunt and begins to steadily slide in with a groan he fails to suppress. He doesn't even know how to function other than to keep sinking into your tight heat while you whine under him, because all he can think is that he must be in heaven right now. He never wants to be anywhere else again.
“You’re the only one that I want,” he speaks, confessing in a whisper between strained breaths.
That makes you lose a little more of your sanity, and you wrap your legs around him to drive him deeper until he bottoms out with a grunt. You’ve never felt so full in your life.
“Y-you too,” you whimper and that proceeds to completely break him.
Leon lets his weight lay heavy on you when he shifts his arms to no longer support himself, but to wrap around you instead. His fingers are nearly bruising against your flesh and his hips move in a slow grind that feels like he's penetrating your soul along with your sopping cunt. He feels the need to embed himself in you, and you in him, or he might truly lose his mind.
How is he supposed to live without you nearby? How is he expected to go to HQ if he can't have lunch with you? Train with you? Or simply catch a glimpse of you as you walk past his office and shoot him a smile?
He starts to pepper kisses all over your face and neck, like he needs to memorize the shape of your skin to prepare for your absence. But it’s not enough, and your looming departure makes him want to scream.
Your own hands dig into his back, your breathing ragged from each gyrating grind of his cockhead against your cervix. He’s so deep it feels like he’s in your womb, carving himself inside your very bones with each desperate thrust. Filling you, surrounding you, crushing you—all you feel is him and the way he’s splitting you open yet making you whole at the same time.
Then, you feel it. A hot, wet drop on your cheek. And you know—you know—it doesn't come from his sloppy kisses.
Your heart stops, your lungs suffocate, and your brain freezes as it tries to process something you were never taught how to handle.
“Leon, a-are you—”
“I want you to stay,” he interjects in a broken voice that shatters you to your very core.
“What?” you choke out a barely audible whisper.
Leon sniffles, then buries his face in your neck and squeezes you somehow even tighter. He’s reaching a level of desperation he never even knew he was capable of.
“I… I wish you could stay, kid, I’m—” he cuts himself off, his hips coming to a stop as he breathes you in to ground himself. “I know I shouldn't ask that of you… But fuck, do I want to.”
You think you might fully pass out this time. There are no words to even begin to describe what you're feeling at hearing those words.
“Leon, that’s—”
Your response is interrupted by his lips on yours, swallowing whatever you were going to say with a feverish kiss. When he pulls back, you can see the faint outline of him in the dark as he presses his forehead to yours.
“Don't answer right now, please. I don't want you to say something in the heat of the moment… I just needed you to know.”
Nodding, you wipe away the dampness under his eyes and blink away your own tears. The answer is crystal clear in your heart, but you will wait like he asked. You want him to believe you when you say it later.
“Okay… Just don't stop moving, baby, please.”
Oh, God, you just called him baby and now he wants to cry even harder. The tightness of your hot pussy alone is worth shedding tears over.
“I won't stop, princess, I promise.”
And just like that, he’s thrusting inside you again, his throbbing cock dragging along your silky walls in a way that has your head spinning. His heavy weight is too much and not enough all at once, his muscles compressing you, and a strong hand on your nape keeps you in place as he fucks into you hard and slow.
Every slam of his hips elicits moans from you both—yours a product of the sweet pleasure-pain of having your insides rearranged by his fat dick. The way he’s pressed on top of you makes his pelvis grind against your clit deliciously, and you’re growing louder and louder with every thrust.
“I dreamed about this perfect pussy—fucking prayed for it,” he rasps in your ear and you shudder.
“Keep talking, I’m close…”
You feel his lips tug into a smile against your skin, and he gives your neck a wet kiss. “Already? Oh, sweetheart… And here I was hoping I’d get to keep you up all night.”
His tone is now teasing, replacing the earlier emotion in his voice, and something about that makes you relax even more in his firm hold.
“You wanted us to sleep—ngh—like a minute ago.”
“That was before I got to be inside this tight little cunt… Now? Now I’m not stopping, darling. You feel fucking unreal,” he chuckles breathlessly.
A filthy moan rips out of you when he grinds his hips in a circular motion that has him punching somehow even deeper inside you.
“Holy— L-Leon…”
“I know, baby, I know… Feels too good, doesn't it? Don't worry, I’m pounding this pretty pussy every chance I get from now on.”
Your nails dig into his skin with a wail, and he answers by sucking on your collarbones in a way that is sure to leave marks you’ll have to be careful hiding under your shirts.
Everything he does and says has you drowning in a bottomless pit of want. The orgasm that was steadily building within you erupts all at once, and your mind completely blanks if not for thoughts of him and only him.
“Fuckfuckfuck—” is all the warning he gets before you’re cumming under him loudly.
Leon can feel every pulse of your spasming pussy as it milks him greedily. You’re trembling and sobbing and he wishes he could see you better. But the shape of you in the dark under him is still the most beautiful sight he's ever witnessed. He knows he won’t last. Not when you’re so tight it feels like you're choking his dick with every tremor.
“Shit, baby— ‘s too good,” he whines pathetically, all traces of his smug teasing from a minute ago gone. He’s putty in your hands, and he doesn't mind one bit.
“Inside! Please, please, please!” you plead frantically like you’re starved for his spend, and in many ways, you know you are.
“Fucking hell.”
If it wasn't for your walls still gripping him like a vice, he would think he’s transcended into another plane of existence from how hard his climax crashes onto him. Spurt after spurt of creamy cum paint your insides white, shooting directly into your womb with a dragged out moan. He almost feels disappointed at the fact you're on birth control, then quickly shoves the caveman thought away along with all the previous ones you bring out in him.
With labored breaths and sweat slicked skin, your legs finally unwrap from around him, your hips having started to cramp from the force of squeezing him so tight. You feel your eyelids grow heavy, and he lifts his weight off you, finally allowing you to breathe properly.
“My baby… Always doing so, so good,” he whispers with a kiss to the tip of your nose.
Leon shifts you to your side to spoon you from behind in a tangle of limbs and ragged breathing. You can feel his cum steadily seep out of you, and you almost wish you could take a picture to commemorate the feeling of being complete. There is no doubt in your mind that this is the best night of your life.
You wish you had the strength to say something, but the exhaustion of the intense roller coaster of a day finally catches up to you. With his warm body pressed to your back, and his gentle hands caressing your hair, you begin to drift into a peaceful sleep.
Before your consciousness completely succumbs, you hear him whisper, “I’ll be here when you wake up," and you know one thing with absolute certainty.
There is no way in hell you’re leaving.
Next chapter coming soon.
officially my new most favorite chapter i've ever written! i hope you guys enjoy this one, and i also preemptively beg you not to be mad at me during the next one 💀 it's an angsty story alright, but the happy ending is guaranteed, i promise! 💖
thank you guys for the love you have given this fic already, i hope you enjoy the chapter!
cw might contain spoilers.
Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4 TBA
cw: suicidal ideation, dry heaving, vomiting.
Leon does not let himself think yet of what he has just done as he lays Nora on her side on the humid planks. His movements are methodical when he takes out two instant cold packs usually meant for blunt force trauma, then cracks them in half to activate their cooling effect. He places each one on the reddened, tingling skin of her bruised-up ass with care, as if he wasn't the cause of her pain in the first place. His fingers twitch as he pulls up her jeans to hold the pouches in place—and to hide the carnage he mercilessly inflicted.
Only when he knows there is nothing else to be done to help, does he sit by her outstretched feet, leaning his back against the fishing shack’s creaking wall. He stares somberly at the now darkened lake, the rising moon in the night sky casting a silver light on his tense features and her sleeping ones.
Leon knows he’s going to hell.
He has known that for a long time. From the moment he had to blow Marvin Branagh’s brains off, to the second he heard Robert Kendo end his and his daughter’s lives before the T-virus could.
He has paved his road to damnation every time he stood powerless while watching those around him suffer. Every time his mother screamed for help while he hid in the closet under the stairs. He always knew he was cursed.
But even for a damned individual like him, the demonic act he just performed is something beyond his moral standards. He has never done this before, at least not to unwilling participants, and certainly not using a belt. He reaches for the latter, grabbing it with a trembling hand off the floor to examine its weathered dents and creases as if to make sure he isn't in a nightmare—one out of his own doing.
How else was he supposed to turn out when his very own parents told him repeatedly they regretted his birth? Including his abused mother, who in turn abused him. Leon is fully aware he has been a burden since the day he was born. He continued to be one after their death when no family wanted him and he was dumped into the foster system. What better way to make a child feel unwanted than exactly that?
Still, nothing justifies brutalizing a poor soul simply because she dared tell him of an ugly truth. His psyche is not rested enough to know whether to fully believe her yet, but the words she spoke and the things she knew were mind-shattering.
A game. His whole life, a game.
Not only that, but he is meant to be some kind of protagonist, as if a man as broken as him could ever have a positive impact on the world.
The jokes write themselves if someone like him was ever hailed as a hero. He was never one and never will be. Each life he successfully saves is just a futile attempt at atoning for the ones he didn't. His hands are permanently stained red, and now they’re rotting from the indents of where he held her place to hurt her.
As he lays his head back against the humid wall, he realizes he just walked the line of no return. No matter what happens, if he completes this mission or doesn't, if he saves Ashley or not, he will always be a man who harmed a woman. It seems he isn't so different from his father after all.
Hot tears brim past his eyes and fall silently down his cheeks, and for once in his life he does nothing to hold them back.
The minutes pass, and he feels more hollow with each one. In the pit of his stomach lies the feeling that never leaves him: guilt. A bone crushing shame that is now morphing into something far more overbearing as he sits with the sin he just committed. He’s not sure how he's supposed to live with this one.
Maybe Sherry will be okay without him. Maybe if this world is made up he can wake up in a better one, or better yet, not wake up at all. A single curl of an index, and he never has to deal with himself ever again.
As his hand twitches towards his handgun, he hears the rhythm of his victim’s breathing change. Slowly, her eyes flutter open as she takes in her surroundings. Her face is pressed to the moldy decking and her head hurts terribly, her mind confused. But it’s the heated flesh of her ass contrasting with cool plastic that brings her back to the present, the cold effect not enough to fully soothe the lingering sting of belt lashes.
When Nora’s consciousness catches up to her reality, her heart lurches in her chest at the memory of what happened, of what was done to her, and by whom.
She hears him shift, angling his body towards hers, and her muscles coil impossibly tight. He looks like he wants to say something but isn't sure what, his tear stained face sporting a pained frown as if he was the one who got whipped like an animal.
Before he can say or do anything, her fight or flight triggers to a success, and her foot connects with his face before she can calculate if it's even a good idea. On impact, his head hits the wall behind him with a crack, completely caught off guard by her violent kick despite his sharp training.
By the time he's holding his bleeding nose with an anguished groan, she’s already scrambling to her feet, her sneakers squeaking on the lumber planks beneath them.
“Fuck— Wait—” he curses, pushing himself up to go after her with a stagger.
He’s not even sure why. What could he possibly have to do or say that won't forsaken him further? He should let her go and carry on with his gun-involving-plan. And yet, as she sprints away, his heavy steps thud right behind hers.
Nora’s body runs on pure instinct as she bolts to the still attached motorboat, a single loop of rope keeping it from floating away. She thanks the universe, or her mind, or whoever is responsible for this fucked up reality as she hops onto the boat with a thump. She nearly falls into the water before regaining her balance and immediately undoing the tethering line.
Leon races despite his dizzying concussion. But right as he reaches the edge, only two feet away from grabbing her, the motor roars when she pulls on the cord with all her frantic might.
“Nora, please—” He falls to his knees, resorting to pathetic begging as she begins to sail away.
With zero experience navigating a boat, she does her best to cruise as far away from the man she thought she knew and further into the dark lake.
His fingers grip the border of the dock, and he considers if he should dive after her. It wouldn't be the most unhinged thing he’s done, and maybe if he can just get to her, talk to her, then the gnawing feeling inside him won't consume him whole.
But then he looks up and meets her pretty brown eyes. There's fear in them, undoubtedly so, but anger too—betrayal. And when her face contorts into a furious scowl, he doesn't even fault her for cursing him. He welcomes it.
“Go fuck yourself, you fucking psycho!!” she shouts across the murky water, her scream rageful enough to be heard through the sound of the booming engine.
As her figure gets smaller and smaller the further she sails, Leon stays there, on his knees, face wet with tears and blood. Then, when she disappears into the entrance of a cave—one of many lining the lake—he feels an intense churning in his guts.
He attempts to stand, but the nausea only makes him double over further, dry heaving the more the memory of her screams echoes in his mind. Soon enough, he’s emptying what little contents he had in his stomach with a retch directly into the water that reflects his distorted image.
After a final gurgled cough, he wipes his mouth with the back of his shaking hand, and takes deep, shuddering breaths to steady himself. He then looks over to the cavernous opening she eclipsed into, his heart physically hurting from guilt and contrition.
“I’m so sorry…” he whispers to no one but the cold, quiet night.
The boat crashes loudly when it rams into the wet rock, nearly sending Nora into the water. She was attempting to dock it, but clearly has no idea what she's doing. So, with a whispered prayer, she jumps, landing on a small decaying pier with a tumble. Somehow, she made it out of the water dry, and she stands upright with a grunt as she watches the motorboat float away before she can even try to tie it.
With labored breathing, her mind reels from the previous incredulous events that have made her day from bad, to worse, to outright horrendous. She doesn't even know what to think anymore, she just knows for certain she needs get the fuck out of here as soon as she can.
The sound of the plastic crinkling of the cold packs makes her pause mid-step, and she reaches under her pants to retrieve the small, palm sized pouches to examine them.
He hurt her and then had the audacity to try to soothe her. That is unprecedented levels of fucked up she doesn't even begin to try to understand. She knew Leon Kennedy suffered from trauma, it's a big part of his character lore, but this? This isn't a trauma-ridden man. This is a monster.
Nora’s eyes begin to collect tears again before she can stop them. She throws the ice bags into the lake with a splash, not caring one bit for littering. The shock still thrumming in her has her whole body trembling with each step she takes further into the cave, and soon enough she’s sobbing loudly.
The air is cold and heavy, her measly t-shirt not enough to keep her warm. And yet, the sting on her bruised flesh is piping hot, making her wince with every movement and only prompting her to cry harder.
Her mind is a blur and her heart is heavy, but her natural instincts that want to survive force her to steady herself. She sniffles and wipes her face with the hem of her top roughly, trying to focus her thoughts on what to do.
Luis. Luis is her only hope. She rakes her memory to try and remember what he was doing at this point in the story, then recalls he was meant to wait for Ada in the big villa near the windmill.
How she is supposed to get there unscathed, she isn't sure, but she has to try at the very least. Hopefully her knowledge of the area’s layout will help.
Once out of the caverns and back onto the village grounds, Nora weaves her way through the rocky hills of the thick forest, forgoing manmade paths. If she wants to survive, she can by no means be noticed. The moment she is seen, she is certain she is dead.
Passing through jagged trees and thorny bushes in the darkness, she jumps at every noise, every distant voice, and every rustle of leaves. At one point, she startles at her own shadow like a cartoon character, her heart jumping out of her chest. But even that doesn't compare to the paranoia of being bit by a snake amidst the dark foliage. She has never felt more grateful for her sneakers.
Advancing slowly, with many pauses needed just to calm her pounding pulse, she finally sees the windmill standing tall up ahead, and feels herself take a breath of relief.
The problem arises, however, when she realizes she needs to pass by the stone building to get onto the bridge leading to the villa. Meaning, she can no longer hide in the hills now.
Nora feels her vision blur with tears from the sheer fear of having to sneak around angry cultists. It feels like an insurmountable task that no amount of deep breathing is helping convince her she can do. She crouches into a ball—not that she was walking straight in the first place—and lets herself cry silently for the umpteenth time.
Why is this happening to her? Why is she being punished for simply loving a game a bit too much? Earlier, when she had the blonde man in her arms, it felt like heaven. Now, she wonders if this is her personal hell. To take something she thoroughly enjoyed and turn into a bloodcurdling reality.
There is no one around to answer her questions, so she stays there, waiting for help that will never come, crying every tear in her body. Until, rain droplets begin to splatter on the forest, the air turning colder and making her shiver.
She remembers now. The storm. The heavy downpour and the strong wind that is meant to occur and prevent radio communication. And sure enough, the rainfall is growing ponderous, and lightening cracks in the sky with booming thunder.
This is her chance. The harsh weather will help cover her noises and hopefully keep the villagers distracted while she passes through.
After a minute spent repeating ‘you can do this’ to herself in a hushed whisper, she starts to move out of the woods and towards the windmill.
As she approaches and begins hearing the crazed zealot’s voices, terror nearly paralyzes her but she perseveres, pushing through her fear. Because she knows for certain, if she wants to survive, she has no choice.
Nora’s crouched form hides behind a barn where cows and pigs are kept, their legs restless from the loud thunderstorm. She prays that unlike in the game, they don't ram into her unprovoked, because that would be the absolute most ridiculous way to die.
She can see the large open gate leading into the villa, and with uneven breaths, she walks slowly towards it while constantly looking around for any lurking infected. When she passes the opening and holds onto the wet, rope railing of the swaying bridge, she feels immense relief shoot through her.
She made it. She weaved through the dangerous area without so much as a scratch. Now, all she needs to do is cross the suspended walkway that is heavily swinging from the wind, and hopefully she won't topple over if she just walks steadily enough.
Her plan is quickly intercepted, however, when a loud roar resounding from behind her rocks her to her core. When she turns to look, she finds one of those dreadful things. A large man with a bull’s head replacing his human one—by which horrible experiment? She does not wish to know.
The good news is this one is not holding a sledgehammer half her size. The bad news is it does not need a sledgehammer to completely obliterate her.
With a choked scream, Nora’s legs move before her mind registers. She runs on the rocking bridge, the storm relentless, and she nearly feels her soul leave her body when the man—the thing—follows her and makes the suspension ropes sway harder.
The villa is right up ahead, all she needs to do is get there. The second she’s inside, she will be okay. She has to be.
Her tennis shoes keep slipping on the wooden slates and she nearly falls at least three times before making it on solid ground. The monster snarls again but she doesn't stop to look this time. She bolts straight for the large double gates of the looming house and pushes to open them, only to sob when she finds them bolted shut.
Her fists connect with the wood with all her might, terror seeping out of every pore of her body as she screams louder than she ever has in her life.
“HELP! OPEN THE DOOR! PLEASE! HELP!!”
The bull-headed abomination is closing on her and the door won’t budge, her already fleeting hope decaying even more.
She then hears a door swing open on the other side and footsteps—multiple footsteps—along with muffled voices she can barely pick on through the loud storm and her heartbeat pounding in her ears.
“Don't open that door, Luis,” a cold female voice orders.
“Someone needs help, I can't just listen to them die!”
“Luis, I swear to—”
The gate opens, revealing the man in question in all his glorious self. The ornate leather jacket on his slender frame is already wet from the pouring rain, his nape-skimming dark waves equally damp. Behind him, stands the woman Nora would recognize anywhere by her sheer presence and beauty—Ada.
“Get in!” the spaniard exclaims, and she doesn't need to be told twice before bolting inside. She hears him shut the door with force, then slide the large bolt lock in place right before the monster can reach in.
She feels tremors in every muscle of her body as her lungs finally exhale air she never realized she was holding. With a heaving chest, she looks up to find Ada’s disappointed face. The latter then clicks her tongue, before spinning around and heading back inside the villa.
“You’re gonna get us killed,” she mutters to Luis who huffs at her chastising.
“But look, we’re fine! Let’s keep a positive mindset, shall we?” He then turns to Nora with a grin. “Don’t worry about her, she doesn't mean it—”
His words are interrupted by the loud bang of the bull-man at the gate, making them both wince. Luis then gestures for the terrified woman to head inside and away from the noise.
“He can't do much about that door on his own. Let's just hope he doesn't call his friends, eh?” he smiles nervously.
Once inside the villa, he closes the door behind them, drowning out the loud ruckus into muffled noise. Ada, who is still looking displeased, crosses her arms and leans back against a dining table in the scarcely furnished home.
It’s only now that Nora takes a clearer look at her without the blurring rain. She looks stunning, as expected, but the stark difference between the game and the present is her outfit. Long gone is the red bodycon sweater dress and stiletto thigh high boots. Instead, she's sporting a black tactical shirt, pants, and combat boots, with a bulletproof vest and endless straps and pouches for gear storage. She’s shorter than expected, but God, does she somehow look even more badass than her digitalized counterpart.
“I’m Luis Serra, and this is…” he pauses, as if unsure if he should introduce her, but then ultimately decides to go for it. “...Ada. What's your name?”
“Nora,” the latter answers with wide eyes, still struggling to compute this new reality where video game characters simply exist. “Nora Sadik.”
“Well, señorita Nora, encantado,” he smirks with a head tilt.
Ada straightens with an exasperated sigh. “Alright, Romeo, are you gonna give me what I’m here for or not?”
The man holds his hands up in defense, putting on a disarming smile in hopes to charm the cold mercenary. “Hey, no need to get upset. I have exactly what you asked for.”
Nora watches as he retrieves a glass tube from his pocket, a golden rock suspended inside it that glimmers in the light of the lanterns on the wall. He shakes it in his hand with a taunting grin, and she recognizes the item immediately: it's the amber.
With a racing mind, she recalls how Luis held onto the resin stone in the game events in order to help Leon and Ashley first. He even made Ada fetch him ingredients needed for a medicine that helps delay the parasite’s effects.
Now, however, there was no Leon or Ashley in sight, which means the events of the night have already changed course from their intended path. It also means the president’s daughter is still being held captive with no savior in view.
Nora hates to even think of him, but she wonders if he has given up on the mission after what happened… After what he did.
Her attention is brought back to the two individuals before her when the woman is handed the amber, but her body instantly reacts to it with a wince. Ada retrieves her hand like she’s been burned, and dark veins pulse under her skin as she holds onto her head in pain.
Oh. Right. Ada is infected too.
“Mierda… It looks like the plaga is reacting to the amber. I told you you were infected, Ada. Just let me help you.”
“Help me how? Didn't you say I have to kill that thing to get rid of the parasite?” she mutters, the blood vessels on her sclera now black.
“You do. But I can get you medicine that can help delay the symptoms.” Luis pauses for a moment, then turns to observe Nora more carefully, the scientist in him on display. “You’re not infected.”
“I’m not,” she confirms with a headshake.
“So how did you get here?” the woman asks her in suspicion.
Nora begins to feel the same dread from before at being suspected like a criminal. Only this time she won’t make the same mistake. This world, whether imaginary or not, is dangerous, and she can't let her shock stricken brain start to blabber again about the game. So she comes up with a plausible lie right then and there, and hopes they believe her.
“I-I’m a tourist. I was, um, camping with a friend and— and we were kidnapped by these crazy people! I was able to get away when, uh, the church bell rang and they all left to go attend a sermon or something, I guess?”
“I will say, you may have picked the worst possible spot to camp,” Luis chuckles.
“Yeah, you're telling me…”
Ada, seemingly convinced with the answer as she knows she was the one that rang the bell to help Leon earlier, gives Nora a nod before turning her attention back to the smirking man.
“Keep the amber for now. I’ll go deal with that thing once and for all and come back for it.” She moves before Luis can answer, already making her way out through the back door. “Don't lose it.”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it… So long as you get me that chopper ride,” he grumbles in response as he watches her leave.
Once they're left alone, with only the pitter patter of the rain against the windows to fill the silence, Nora feels exhaustion hit her like a truck, and she crouches down to sit on the bare floor.
“Hey, you okay?” the Spaniard asks softly.
“Yeah, I just… I need a minute.”
“Well, just know we can't stay for that long now that they know we’re here. They’ll come looking for us soon enough. But once Ada’s back, we can leave this hellhole—I’ll bargain for a spot for you on that helicopter, no worries.”
“Thank you, seriously,” she nods in relief, then rests her head on the wall, creating a wet puddle underneath her from her soaked clothes. She's shivering, both from cold and adrenaline, but right now she needs a moment to calm her heart enough not to have a heart attack.
“You know, at first I thought you were with the other American.”
Nora knows immediately who he’s talking about, but she feigns ignorance. “What American?”
“The one that has them all acting extra crazy. It would be a lot easier to move around this place if they weren't losing their marbles. But I guess he’s trying to sabotage their plan, and they won't have that.” Luis pauses for a moment, before leaning back against a wooden beam with crossed arms. “Disculpa, I know I’m not making sense.”
“Don't worry about it,” she shakes her head in dismissal, omitting the fact that he’s making perfect sense to her.
His words float around her mind as she thinks of the mission again—of Ashley specifically. If the agent has not made an attempt to save her now that things have gone differently, does that mean she is doomed? Or even worse yet, does it mean Los Illuminados will be able to execute their Machiavellian plan? Will they truly send the infected first daughter back to the U.S to begin their world domination?
It all sounds like too much, like she shouldn't know all of these things about the past and possible futures of this world. And yet, she does, and the information lays heavy on her conscience. Now, all she can think of is poor Ashley held captive in that church, alone and terrified, with no one coming to save her.
“Hey, Luis?”
The brunette lifts his head with a raised eyebrow, his coffee eyes meeting hers. “Hm?
“Do you think we could help out one more person?”
Next chapter coming soon.
oh leon you silly goober 🤥 i loooooove writing luis btw and it's making me wanna try out some luis x reader!
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Older Mentor!Leon Kennedy x DSO Agent!Reader Slowburn 🪻🌻🥀
❌18+ MDNI❌
Chapter 20
sorry i'm uploading this a bit late but i decided to be extra and fired up re9 at the last minute to do a quick photo edit and struggled a bit with incompatible mods, but i think it was worth it hehe 🫶
enjoy 💖
CW tags WILL contain spoilers (try not to read them if you're generally okay with nsfw stuff so you avoid getting spoiled!)
cw: smut, fellatio, cum ingestion, vaginal fingering, spanking, nipple play.
When your tears are dried and your heart is calm—as calm as it can be while you lay in his arms—you reach a hand down to the buckle of Leon’s belt.
He startles slightly, looking down at you with impossibly wide pupils while your taste still lingers on his tongue. “Baby…”
“It’s my turn to take care of you.” You begin to unbuckle the leather when a hand on your wrists stops you.
“I don't want to rush things, sweetheart. I just want you to feel good, don't fret over me.”
You feel like a child whose candy was stolen. After fantasizing about this for literal years, there's nothing more you want than to see and feel him bare.
“You don't want me to touch you?”
“That's not what I said,” he tsks, then takes your hand to kiss your knuckles tenderly. “I don't want you to feel like you have to do anything in return. Getting to taste you was more for me than for you, trust me.”
You feel your face grow even hotter than it already is, and you have to stop yourself from starting to tear up again at how gentlemanly he’s being.
“But I want to touch you, Leon. Please let me make you feel good.”
The pleading look in your eyes while you demand he lets you pleasure him makes him wonder if this is some kind of elaborate prank on his poor heart. How can he say no when you are sweetness personified?
“Well, just a heads up, I haven't exactly showered yet,” he mutters sheepishly, finally conceding.
You giggle, poking his abs through his button up in a mock chastising manner.
“Why are you still in your suit anyway?”
“I didn't have time to change, and… I guess I didn't really care enough. Not when my mind was on you the whole time.”
Heart fluttering at the sincerity in his voice, you decide right then and there you’re going to make damn sure he realizes why this is so much better than any stupid date.
With your hand intertwined with his, you move to stand up and pull him off the bed with you, an evident determination in your steps.
“Come on, big guy, we’re gonna shower together.”
“Big guy?” he laughs, eagerly matching your pace as he lets his eyes trail over your naked behind. For once he doesn't feel too guilty about checking you out. “You haven't seen big yet,” he adds with a sly grin.
You roll your eyes at his comment, though the smile on your face only widens. The excitement you feel at the prospect of seeing his body is overflowing your every cell.
Once inside the bathroom, you flick the switch on the wall and immediately regret it as you find yourself exposed under the harsh overhead light. It's quite the contrast with the dim atmosphere you left in your bedroom.
Leon, on the other hand, is losing his fucking mind at the sight because you're so damn beautiful it's getting hard to breathe. He doesn't let you move further before he’s tugging you to his chest just to kiss you fervently again, his fingers digging into your waist.
“God, you’re breathtaking, darling.” He can't stop the words, and he knows he has never spoken truer ones.
Biting your lip, you squeeze where your hands rest on his nape with a playful smile to mask the thundering of your heart. You’ll faint at this rate if he keeps coming up with new pet names every minute.
“You’re breathtaking.”
He feels his cheeks flush like a schoolboy and grins, clicking his tongue. “You can't just recycle my compliment. You gotta come up with a new one.”
“Yeah? Well then, show me what you got and I might feel inspired,” you tease, feeling a surge of boldness at seeing his blushing face. “Take off your clothes, Kennedy.”
An almost pained sound escapes him at the command, relishing in your audacious demeanor. There is an undeniable nervousness in his gut as he loosens his already slackened tie, but he wants to be vulnerable with you just like you are—standing bare in front of him.
You watch as he makes quick work of undoing the top two buttons of his shirt, only to pull it over his head, clearly not wanting to waste time. Then, with his muscled torso on display, he starts to unbuckle his belt with his bottom lip sucked into his mouth in concentration.
Oh, God, maybe you really are going to faint.
The last time you saw Leon shirtless was three years ago, during the summer of 2012. He was training at the gym in HQ in the middle of the night—probably because he couldn't sleep—and you had just returned from a mentally taxing intel mission. He didn't see you when you came in to let out the built-up tension of surveillance work, and you walked in on him mid dirty t-shirt change.
You think about that day often. How the fabric clung to his sweat glistened body. How he smiled at seeing you returning safe and sound, while pulling the garment on to cover himself out of respect. He was as cute as ever, apologizing as if he had inconvenienced you with the gorgeous sight.
But even with that glimpse of skin and the many times his wet tops stuck to his abs, it still wouldn't have prepared you for just how insanely hot this man is. And this is only half of him.
Unzipping his fly, he doesn't catch your wandering gaze as he concentrates on undressing himself completely. He lowers his pants and steps out of them, then chucks off his socks, pushing everything into a neat little pile in the corner of the bathroom floor.
When he straightens back up with only his boxer briefs for modesty, he finds you smirking like you just won the jackpot, your eyes trained on his aching bulge. He would have something smart to say if not for the flusteredness you instill in him, despite his older age. Only you would manage to get him this shy.
Clearing his throat, he musters the confidence to yank his underwear down in one swift motion, kicking it to the side, then standing up with his back straight like his face isn't growing redder with every passing second under your stare.
And boy, does he love your stare.
You look at him like he’s some kind of masterpiece. Like you're fighting the urge to kiss every inch of his skin. Especially the ones between his legs, because fuck—his dick is big, and veiny, and leaking, and fucking hell, did he also have to have the perfect cock on top of everything else?
“You weren't kidding…” you comment in a choked whisper.
“Shut up,” he blushes, moving to grab your hand and guide you into the shower before he can start twitching under your hungry gaze—which he definitely didn't do already.
Nearly stumbling on your feet from horniness, you follow him into the tub and watch as he closes the striped plastic curtain behind you. The air between you suddenly feels even more intimate now within the confines of the shower. It doesn't help either that his tall and broad silhouette fills up the space so much, making him look intimidating despite his gentleness.
“Um, do you like it hot or on the cooler side?” you ask softly, reaching for the valve on the tiled wall.
“I like whatever you like.”
And there goes your heart lurching in your chest again. Your life expectancy is steadily decreasing in the presence of the fellow agent. You just hope you’ll get to suck him off at least once before passing away from lovesick fool syndrome.
Once the water on, you both momentarily step back while the stream reaches the desired temperature, but not before Leon laughs when the cold spray brushes your shoulder and you jump.
“Come here, you baby,” he teases, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you back against his chest.
“I’m not a baby, it's really cold!”
He kisses the droplets on your skin in response, a smile tugging at his lips at your grumpy retort. “You’re my baby.”
With his soft whisper and his mouth trailing up your neck, you feel yourself melt like putty as you sink back into him, only to feel his painfully hard erection against your lower back.
Oh, you’re not waiting anymore.
Turning around you tug him under the now warm water alongside you, and crash your lips to his so hard his eyes go wide, your hands gripping his wet locks. You take the opportunity to slide your hands down to his biceps and give them a squeeze, then, you run them along his chest and trace the fine hairs on his torso. Every part of him feels like it was molded for your palms and you can't stop touching him, making him gasp when you caress his toned stomach.
When you feel he’s dazed enough from your fervent kiss, you proceed to push him against the wall and sink to your knees faster than he can react.
Leon feels his brain short circuit in real time, the image of you dripping wet and kneeling before him being something out of his wildest dreams. Hell, even in his dreams you didn't look this good—and certainly not this bold.
“Kid, you really don't have to—”
“I want to. Now please shut up and let me taste you, Leon, I’ve waited for this long enough.”
“Shit… Y-yeah, okay,” he swallows hard at your whiny, yet definitive command.
His agreement is all you need before you’re placing your hands on his thick thighs, slick drooling down your own. You can feel your cunt clench and unclench at the sheer sight of him soaked, water running down his perfect body, while his chest heaves before you even have him in your mouth. But you won't make him wait any longer.
With your eyes locked on his, you wrap your fingers around his base, then lick a long stripe from the bottom to the top of his throbbing cock. Your tongue glides over the protruding veins, and it instantly makes him twitch with a whimper. You don't think you’ve ever heard him whimper.
Greedy for more of his noises, all shyness is thrown out the window when you grab his length more firmly just to obscenely tap it on your outstretched tongue repeatedly.
Leon feels like he’s gonna die.
“Fuck, sweetheart, you’re—fuck—” he grunts in a mixture of awe and pure heat, precum oozing a little more out of his slit.
You hum in response, flicking your tongue in kitten licks on the underside of his cockhead, right on the frenulum. His reaction is immediate as he reaches his hands to cup your cheeks, like he can't believe something so precious can be so filthy.
Only then do you wrap your lips around the head to suckle gently, closing your eyes at the taste and feel of him. He looks too beautiful like this, looming over you and yet at your complete mercy. You wish you could stay like this forever.
Pulling away just enough to spit on his pulsing dick, you spread the mixture of saliva and pre to coat him fully with rhythmic jerks of your arm. Then, you take him in your mouth again, driving your tongue into his leaking slit.
Leon doesn't know what to do with himself anymore. Everything you do has him making pathetic sounds, and his fingers are twitching where they reverently stroke your face. He feels like he’s gonna cum embarrassingly fast, but then again it's a wonder he didn't orgasm earlier from eating you out.
While he tries to hold on to make this last as long as possible, every muscle in his abdomen contracting, you, on the other hand, show no mercy.
You start to gently squeeze his balls with one hand, feeling the soft flesh on your palm, while the other keeps stroking him with twists of your wrist, all as your mouth engulfs as much of his fat cock as possible. Though, no matter how much you try, you can only take about a third of him before your eyes water as you gag.
When you do, your throat constricting around his tip, he hisses in pleasure, but quickly shakes his head. “Don't hurt yourself for me, baby…”
Reluctantly, you do as he says even if the idea of choking on his dick makes your pussy flutter. So you continue working him with both hands and your mouth, tonguing his glans again just to collect his salty precum before it even oozes.
When he reaches the edge, his hands tighten on your head, fingers digging into your scalp to push you back as he strains out a warning between clenched teeth.
“Fuck, kid, I’m gonna—”
But before he can succeed in pushing you off, you sink your mouth further with a muffled whine, and there's nothing he can do except shake as he shoots his load down your throat with a string of curses and moans.
You swallow every drop of his generous spend, your head dizzy with arousal, as you stare up at him in complete adoration. You only ever fantasized about what he would taste like, but this is better than you ever thought. There's so much fucking cum it's seeping past your lips, but you do a quick work of licking it clean.
The moment the last shudder of his climax passes through him, he’s hauling you up with firm hands on your waist, then presses you against the wall just roughly enough to startle you but not enough to hurt.
The next thing you know, his lips are on yours in a sloppy, tongue filled kiss while he grips your jaw securely. He feels lightheaded tasting the muskiness of his own semen from your mouth, licking your drooly state eagerly. When he pulls back, his thumb brushing your bottom lip, the blue in his eyes is nearly swallowed by his dark pupils.
“You’re so fucking sexy. You drive me fucking insane.”
You whine, rubbing your thighs together in need as you cling to him to pull him closer.
“Leon, you have no idea how insane you make me…”
“Yeah? Then tell me, princess, I’d love to know. Because on my end, I’ve been fighting the urge to say ‘fuck it’ and bend you over the nearest surface from that moment in those vents.”
Your eyes widen as you recall the memory of accidentally backing into his face in the narrow air ducts, feeling your cheeks grow hot in embarrassment.
“I thought you were upset about that…”
“Upset? Baby if I could, I would’ve pulled those tight little cargo pants down and tasted you right then and there…” he chuckles darkly, but then, his tone softens into something more vulnerable. “I wasn't mad at you. I was mad at myself for wanting you. It’s been hell trying to fight it.”
You want to tell him he has no idea the battle you have been fighting for years—constantly guilty over your feelings. Even now, with his naked body pressed against yours, you're still scared of being too much, too intense, so you keep the full truth to yourself.
“You don't have to fight it anymore. I’m right here.”
Leon feels his chest tighten knowing you're only ‘here’ for a short time before you’ll eventually leave. He hates that this is only happening now, days before your departure. But what is he supposed to do? Beg you to stay? Beg you to let go of a great opportunity for him?
No. It’s not like he's stupid enough to believe he deserves you. What's happening right now is nothing short of a miracle, and he’s aware it's not meant to last.
One day, you’ll meet someone that's not broken. Someone who you can grow and prosper with. Someone to raise a family with. And he will watch from the sidelines and wish you all the best, even if it rips him apart. Because at the end of the day, he will never not be the man that killed your father and dragged you into a world of blood and gore. No matter how much he cares for you like it's his sole purpose.
He feels a sudden urge to yell and curse at the life that has always been so unfair to him, but he refuses to let it ruin this precious moment with you.
With a rough kiss to your lips, he spins you around suddenly so that your chest is pressed against the cold tile. Then, with a nibble at your ear, he brings a hand to the supple flesh of your ass and begins kneading it.
“And I’m not letting you go anywhere tonight.”
A finger plunges into your soaked, silky cunt to punctuate his promise, the glide so easy he immediately adds a second one just to feel you clench.
You can barely speak apart from whimpered pleas, and he obliges by steadily finger fucking you, all while his other hand delivers light slaps to your ass that have you going absolutely feral.
“You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about this. About this pretty ass under my hands and this little pussy around my fingers.”
“Fuck, y-you talk so dirty…”
“Hmm, I guess I do… Do you like it?” he bites your ear again.
“I fucking love it,” you rasp out in a feverish moan.
“Then I won't stop. This sweet cunt is the prettiest I’ve ever seen, baby, and it deserves to know it."
You twist your upper body just to kiss him past your shoulder, and he groans into your mouth, curling his fingers inside you. With your contorted torso, he dips his head down to latch onto your nipple and feels your tight walls pulse around his digits at the act.
“Look at you falling apart from me. I could do this forever, darling,” he whispers between wet sucks. “I could kiss all over this sweet body until you’re shaking every fucking day if you let me.”
The hand that was gently spanking you moves to your front, cupping your pussy like he owns it, and for the night, he likes to pretend that he does. Earnest fingers then spread your folds, and soon enough he’s rubbing precise circles on your clit that have you absolutely sobbing.
“Louder, baby,” he grunts against your skin, giving your puffy nipple a light bite. “Let me hear it.”
It’s all too much for you to bear and before you know it, your moans are echoing against the steamy bathroom walls as you cum hard with unintelligible mentions of his name. Your fingers slip against the wet tiles, your head is thrown back against his shoulder, all while he mouths your throat in adoring worship.
“Leon…” you whimper, clearer now, as you come down from the high, and his heart flutters like a love stricken idiot.
“My good girl.”
New chapter coming soon.
i am a smut writer after all 😏
i have a little scheduling announcement and that is that i am going to be uploading on sunday from now on instead of saturday because i'm freeing up that slot for my other series, hofah, so wednesdays and sundays will be the new upload days from now on 💖
Older Mentor!Leon Kennedy x DSO Agent!Reader Slowburn 🪻🌻🥀
❌18+ MDNI❌
Chapter 20
sorry i'm uploading this a bit late but i decided to be extra and fired up re9 at the last minute to do a quick photo edit and struggled a bit with incompatible mods, but i think it was worth it hehe 🫶
enjoy 💖
CW tags WILL contain spoilers (try not to read them if you're generally okay with nsfw stuff so you avoid getting spoiled!)
cw: smut, fellatio, cum ingestion, vaginal fingering, spanking, nipple play.
When your tears are dried and your heart is calm—as calm as it can be while you lay in his arms—you reach a hand down to the buckle of Leon’s belt.
He startles slightly, looking down at you with impossibly wide pupils while your taste still lingers on his tongue. “Baby…”
“It’s my turn to take care of you.” You begin to unbuckle the leather when a hand on your wrists stops you.
“I don't want to rush things, sweetheart. I just want you to feel good, don't fret over me.”
You feel like a child whose candy was stolen. After fantasizing about this for literal years, there's nothing more you want than to see and feel him bare.
“You don't want me to touch you?”
“That's not what I said,” he tsks, then takes your hand to kiss your knuckles tenderly. “I don't want you to feel like you have to do anything in return. Getting to taste you was more for me than for you, trust me.”
You feel your face grow even hotter than it already is, and you have to stop yourself from starting to tear up again at how gentlemanly he’s being.
“But I want to touch you, Leon. Please let me make you feel good.”
The pleading look in your eyes while you demand he lets you pleasure him makes him wonder if this is some kind of elaborate prank on his poor heart. How can he say no when you are sweetness personified?
“Well, just a heads up, I haven't exactly showered yet,” he mutters sheepishly, finally conceding.
You giggle, poking his abs through his button up in a mock chastising manner.
“Why are you still in your suit anyway?”
“I didn't have time to change, and… I guess I didn't really care enough. Not when my mind was on you the whole time.”
Heart fluttering at the sincerity in his voice, you decide right then and there you’re going to make damn sure he realizes why this is so much better than any stupid date.
With your hand intertwined with his, you move to stand up and pull him off the bed with you, an evident determination in your steps.
“Come on, big guy, we’re gonna shower together.”
“Big guy?” he laughs, eagerly matching your pace as he lets his eyes trail over your naked behind. For once he doesn't feel too guilty about checking you out. “You haven't seen big yet,” he adds with a sly grin.
You roll your eyes at his comment, though the smile on your face only widens. The excitement you feel at the prospect of seeing his body is overflowing your every cell.
Once inside the bathroom, you flick the switch on the wall and immediately regret it as you find yourself exposed under the harsh overhead light. It's quite the contrast with the dim atmosphere you left in your bedroom.
Leon, on the other hand, is losing his fucking mind at the sight because you're so damn beautiful it's getting hard to breathe. He doesn't let you move further before he’s tugging you to his chest just to kiss you fervently again, his fingers digging into your waist.
“God, you’re breathtaking, darling.” He can't stop the words, and he knows he has never spoken truer ones.
Biting your lip, you squeeze where your hands rest on his nape with a playful smile to mask the thundering of your heart. You’ll faint at this rate if he keeps coming up with new pet names every minute.
“You’re breathtaking.”
He feels his cheeks flush like a schoolboy and grins, clicking his tongue. “You can't just recycle my compliment. You gotta come up with a new one.”
“Yeah? Well then, show me what you got and I might feel inspired,” you tease, feeling a surge of boldness at seeing his blushing face. “Take off your clothes, Kennedy.”
An almost pained sound escapes him at the command, relishing in your audacious demeanor. There is an undeniable nervousness in his gut as he loosens his already slackened tie, but he wants to be vulnerable with you just like you are—standing bare in front of him.
You watch as he makes quick work of undoing the top two buttons of his shirt, only to pull it over his head, clearly not wanting to waste time. Then, with his muscled torso on display, he starts to unbuckle his belt with his bottom lip sucked into his mouth in concentration.
Oh, God, maybe you really are going to faint.
The last time you saw Leon shirtless was three years ago, during the summer of 2012. He was training at the gym in HQ in the middle of the night—probably because he couldn't sleep—and you had just returned from a mentally taxing intel mission. He didn't see you when you came in to let out the built-up tension of surveillance work, and you walked in on him mid dirty t-shirt change.
You think about that day often. How the fabric clung to his sweat glistened body. How he smiled at seeing you returning safe and sound, while pulling the garment on to cover himself out of respect. He was as cute as ever, apologizing as if he had inconvenienced you with the gorgeous sight.
But even with that glimpse of skin and the many times his wet tops stuck to his abs, it still wouldn't have prepared you for just how insanely hot this man is. And this is only half of him.
Unzipping his fly, he doesn't catch your wandering gaze as he concentrates on undressing himself completely. He lowers his pants and steps out of them, then chucks off his socks, pushing everything into a neat little pile in the corner of the bathroom floor.
When he straightens back up with only his boxer briefs for modesty, he finds you smirking like you just won the jackpot, your eyes trained on his aching bulge. He would have something smart to say if not for the flusteredness you instill in him, despite his older age. Only you would manage to get him this shy.
Clearing his throat, he musters the confidence to yank his underwear down in one swift motion, kicking it to the side, then standing up with his back straight like his face isn't growing redder with every passing second under your stare.
And boy, does he love your stare.
You look at him like he’s some kind of masterpiece. Like you're fighting the urge to kiss every inch of his skin. Especially the ones between his legs, because fuck—his dick is big, and veiny, and leaking, and fucking hell, did he also have to have the perfect cock on top of everything else?
“You weren't kidding…” you comment in a choked whisper.
“Shut up,” he blushes, moving to grab your hand and guide you into the shower before he can start twitching under your hungry gaze—which he definitely didn't do already.
Nearly stumbling on your feet from horniness, you follow him into the tub and watch as he closes the striped plastic curtain behind you. The air between you suddenly feels even more intimate now within the confines of the shower. It doesn't help either that his tall and broad silhouette fills up the space so much, making him look intimidating despite his gentleness.
“Um, do you like it hot or on the cooler side?” you ask softly, reaching for the valve on the tiled wall.
“I like whatever you like.”
And there goes your heart lurching in your chest again. Your life expectancy is steadily decreasing in the presence of the fellow agent. You just hope you’ll get to suck him off at least once before passing away from lovesick fool syndrome.
Once the water on, you both momentarily step back while the stream reaches the desired temperature, but not before Leon laughs when the cold spray brushes your shoulder and you jump.
“Come here, you baby,” he teases, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you back against his chest.
“I’m not a baby, it's really cold!”
He kisses the droplets on your skin in response, a smile tugging at his lips at your grumpy retort. “You’re my baby.”
With his soft whisper and his mouth trailing up your neck, you feel yourself melt like putty as you sink back into him, only to feel his painfully hard erection against your lower back.
Oh, you’re not waiting anymore.
Turning around you tug him under the now warm water alongside you, and crash your lips to his so hard his eyes go wide, your hands gripping his wet locks. You take the opportunity to slide your hands down to his biceps and give them a squeeze, then, you run them along his chest and trace the fine hairs on his torso. Every part of him feels like it was molded for your palms and you can't stop touching him, making him gasp when you caress his toned stomach.
When you feel he’s dazed enough from your fervent kiss, you proceed to push him against the wall and sink to your knees faster than he can react.
Leon feels his brain short circuit in real time, the image of you dripping wet and kneeling before him being something out of his wildest dreams. Hell, even in his dreams you didn't look this good—and certainly not this bold.
“Kid, you really don't have to—”
“I want to. Now please shut up and let me taste you, Leon, I’ve waited for this long enough.”
“Shit… Y-yeah, okay,” he swallows hard at your whiny, yet definitive command.
His agreement is all you need before you’re placing your hands on his thick thighs, slick drooling down your own. You can feel your cunt clench and unclench at the sheer sight of him soaked, water running down his perfect body, while his chest heaves before you even have him in your mouth. But you won't make him wait any longer.
With your eyes locked on his, you wrap your fingers around his base, then lick a long stripe from the bottom to the top of his throbbing cock. Your tongue glides over the protruding veins, and it instantly makes him twitch with a whimper. You don't think you’ve ever heard him whimper.
Greedy for more of his noises, all shyness is thrown out the window when you grab his length more firmly just to obscenely tap it on your outstretched tongue repeatedly.
Leon feels like he’s gonna die.
“Fuck, sweetheart, you’re—fuck—” he grunts in a mixture of awe and pure heat, precum oozing a little more out of his slit.
You hum in response, flicking your tongue in kitten licks on the underside of his cockhead, right on the frenulum. His reaction is immediate as he reaches his hands to cup your cheeks, like he can't believe something so precious can be so filthy.
Only then do you wrap your lips around the head to suckle gently, closing your eyes at the taste and feel of him. He looks too beautiful like this, looming over you and yet at your complete mercy. You wish you could stay like this forever.
Pulling away just enough to spit on his pulsing dick, you spread the mixture of saliva and pre to coat him fully with rhythmic jerks of your arm. Then, you take him in your mouth again, driving your tongue into his leaking slit.
Leon doesn't know what to do with himself anymore. Everything you do has him making pathetic sounds, and his fingers are twitching where they reverently stroke your face. He feels like he’s gonna cum embarrassingly fast, but then again it's a wonder he didn't orgasm earlier from eating you out.
While he tries to hold on to make this last as long as possible, every muscle in his abdomen contracting, you, on the other hand, show no mercy.
You start to gently squeeze his balls with one hand, feeling the soft flesh on your palm, while the other keeps stroking him with twists of your wrist, all as your mouth engulfs as much of his fat cock as possible. Though, no matter how much you try, you can only take about a third of him before your eyes water as you gag.
When you do, your throat constricting around his tip, he hisses in pleasure, but quickly shakes his head. “Don't hurt yourself for me, baby…”
Reluctantly, you do as he says even if the idea of choking on his dick makes your pussy flutter. So you continue working him with both hands and your mouth, tonguing his glans again just to collect his salty precum before it even oozes.
When he reaches the edge, his hands tighten on your head, fingers digging into your scalp to push you back as he strains out a warning between clenched teeth.
“Fuck, kid, I’m gonna—”
But before he can succeed in pushing you off, you sink your mouth further with a muffled whine, and there's nothing he can do except shake as he shoots his load down your throat with a string of curses and moans.
You swallow every drop of his generous spend, your head dizzy with arousal, as you stare up at him in complete adoration. You only ever fantasized about what he would taste like, but this is better than you ever thought. There's so much fucking cum it's seeping past your lips, but you do a quick work of licking it clean.
The moment the last shudder of his climax passes through him, he’s hauling you up with firm hands on your waist, then presses you against the wall just roughly enough to startle you but not enough to hurt.
The next thing you know, his lips are on yours in a sloppy, tongue filled kiss while he grips your jaw securely. He feels lightheaded tasting the muskiness of his own semen from your mouth, licking your drooly state eagerly. When he pulls back, his thumb brushing your bottom lip, the blue in his eyes is nearly swallowed by his dark pupils.
“You’re so fucking sexy. You drive me fucking insane.”
You whine, rubbing your thighs together in need as you cling to him to pull him closer.
“Leon, you have no idea how insane you make me…”
“Yeah? Then tell me, princess, I’d love to know. Because on my end, I’ve been fighting the urge to say ‘fuck it’ and bend you over the nearest surface from that moment in those vents.”
Your eyes widen as you recall the memory of accidentally backing into his face in the narrow air ducts, feeling your cheeks grow hot in embarrassment.
“I thought you were upset about that…”
“Upset? Baby if I could, I would’ve pulled those tight little cargo pants down and tasted you right then and there…” he chuckles darkly, but then, his tone softens into something more vulnerable. “I wasn't mad at you. I was mad at myself for wanting you. It’s been hell trying to fight it.”
You want to tell him he has no idea the battle you have been fighting for years—constantly guilty over your feelings. Even now, with his naked body pressed against yours, you're still scared of being too much, too intense, so you keep the full truth to yourself.
“You don't have to fight it anymore. I’m right here.”
Leon feels his chest tighten knowing you're only ‘here’ for a short time before you’ll eventually leave. He hates that this is only happening now, days before your departure. But what is he supposed to do? Beg you to stay? Beg you to let go of a great opportunity for him?
No. It’s not like he's stupid enough to believe he deserves you. What's happening right now is nothing short of a miracle, and he’s aware it's not meant to last.
One day, you’ll meet someone that's not broken. Someone who you can grow and prosper with. Someone to raise a family with. And he will watch from the sidelines and wish you all the best, even if it rips him apart. Because at the end of the day, he will never not be the man that killed your father and dragged you into a world of blood and gore. No matter how much he cares for you like it's his sole purpose.
He feels a sudden urge to yell and curse at the life that has always been so unfair to him, but he refuses to let it ruin this precious moment with you.
With a rough kiss to your lips, he spins you around suddenly so that your chest is pressed against the cold tile. Then, with a nibble at your ear, he brings a hand to the supple flesh of your ass and begins kneading it.
“And I’m not letting you go anywhere tonight.”
A finger plunges into your soaked, silky cunt to punctuate his promise, the glide so easy he immediately adds a second one just to feel you clench.
You can barely speak apart from whimpered pleas, and he obliges by steadily finger fucking you, all while his other hand delivers light slaps to your ass that have you going absolutely feral.
“You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about this. About this pretty ass under my hands and this little pussy around my fingers.”
“Fuck, y-you talk so dirty…”
“Hmm, I guess I do… Do you like it?” he bites your ear again.
“I fucking love it,” you rasp out in a feverish moan.
“Then I won't stop. This sweet cunt is the prettiest I’ve ever seen, baby, and it deserves to know it."
You twist your upper body just to kiss him past your shoulder, and he groans into your mouth, curling his fingers inside you. With your contorted torso, he dips his head down to latch onto your nipple and feels your tight walls pulse around his digits at the act.
“Look at you falling apart from me. I could do this forever, darling,” he whispers between wet sucks. “I could kiss all over this sweet body until you’re shaking every fucking day if you let me.”
The hand that was gently spanking you moves to your front, cupping your pussy like he owns it, and for the night, he likes to pretend that he does. Earnest fingers then spread your folds, and soon enough he’s rubbing precise circles on your clit that have you absolutely sobbing.
“Louder, baby,” he grunts against your skin, giving your puffy nipple a light bite. “Let me hear it.”
It’s all too much for you to bear and before you know it, your moans are echoing against the steamy bathroom walls as you cum hard with unintelligible mentions of his name. Your fingers slip against the wet tiles, your head is thrown back against his shoulder, all while he mouths your throat in adoring worship.
“Leon…” you whimper, clearer now, as you come down from the high, and his heart flutters like a love stricken idiot.
“My good girl.”
New chapter coming soon.
i am a smut writer after all 😏
i have a little scheduling announcement and that is that i am going to be uploading on sunday from now on instead of saturday because i'm freeing up that slot for my other series, hofah, so wednesdays and sundays will be the new upload days from now on 💖
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