#ann writes

you let out a soft moan, both your hands gripping on wriothesley's shoulders as you get closer to your release. he rests his hand on your clothed hip and thrusts up into you.

"that's it," he says, his eyes dark as you bounce on his cock, "you can go faster than that."

your head spins and you rest it against wriothesley's chest, thinking back to roughly 30 minutes ago when you stumbled into the men's section of the hot spring. the four men that greeted you were way welcoming than you'd thought. 'why don't you come join us?' the red haired man had said, turning back to look at you first. that's truly when your troubles had started.

well, you wouldn't really consider them troubles anymore.

not when wriothesley's cock was making your vision go white with pleasure, not when you were clenching around him so tightly you could feel him throbbing.

diluc's voice breaks through your thoughts as his arm grabs yours.

"alright, that's enough wriothesley," he quips, "i've been waiting-"

"wriothesley!" you exclaim suddenly as the aforementioned man finishes inside you with a soft groan, his scarred hand gripping your hip roughly.

"thanks," he says simply, easing out of you just as diluc pulls you to him in the water. your legs feel like jelly and pleasure still swims in your vision. you feel empty, missing the feeling of wriothesley's cock more than you'd admit.

but your focus shifts to the red haired man in front of you. diluc gently kneels you down in the water and puts a hand under your chin, angling your face up to meet his piercing gaze. he moves back to lean against the edge of the pool and you notice how he hardens under his robes.

"alright. open your mouth for me," he says quietly, earning a whistle from childe at the other end of the pool. diluc gives him an angry side eye, almost as if saying 'wait your turn.'

you do as he says, pressing your hands on his strong thighs as he lifts his toga and his cock springs out right next to your awaiting mouth. you take him, licking his tip before slowly engulfing your lips over him.

"that's good," diluc groans out. you look up to see him already looking down at you, his hand snaking into your hair. he bucks into your mouth, holding your head in place, and you moan in response, pressing down on him further.

"this is taking forever," alhaitham says suddenly, his voice closer than expected. you hear wriothesley's low laugh behind you, the sound sending sparks straight to your core.

alhaitham lifts your lower half in the water, kneeling so he can press against your ass. he bunches up your dress and grips your hips as if aligning himself with your already wet cunt.

"seriously? just wait your turn-" diluc stops, groaning out at the feeling of you taking him deeper. his sounds make you throb and he's so full in your mouth, tears brim at the corner of your eyes.

alhaitham runs his fingers down you, smirking as he earns a whimper out of you from him rubbing your puffy cunt.

"good," he simply says, deeming you ready enough, and you feel the tip of his cock slowly push into you. you moan out, the sound muffled by diluc's cock, and the vibration makes diluc groan again. he grabs your hair tighter, thrusting into your mouth faster.

"you're still so tight," alhaitham whispers, pressing in further, causing your eyes to roll back as he slides in. he moves quicker, connecting your hips together as your limbs go weak. pressure builds in your stomach again, curling low and deep, practically begging for release.

it's all too much, the feeling of diluc's cock in your mouth, the feeling of alhaitham harshly thrusting into you, the feeling of the warm water lapping at your curves.

the tears in your eyes spill and you moan right onto diluc's cock as you finish, the pressure exploding low in your stomach. diluc grunts in surprise as your hand travels up his abdomen. alhaitham lets out a small sigh, feeling your walls clench around him tighter. he grips your hips as he fucks you through your orgasm and you can only whine shamelessly on diluc's cock.

"oh archons i'm going to-" is all diluc can say before he releases right in your mouth. you swallow, tears rolling down your cheeks. diluc slips out of your mouth but keeps his hand under your chin, moving your face up as if to see if you swallowed. he pats your cheek gently and adjusts his toga.

"p-please-" you stammer, "it's too much.. it's-"

"we're in a public place," alhaitham says, "do you have no shame?" he teases, but keeps fucking into you as your ass ripples against his hips, getting closer and closer to his release.

"clearly not," childe answers for him, "who willingly agrees to this arrangement?" he laughs, the sound playful despite the obscene acts taking place in front of him.

but really, could you blame yourself? four of the most eligible men in the ancient city had practically invited you in. how could you have said no?

"it feels-" you start but moan instead, gripping the edge of the pool tile in front of you. diluc smirks down at you, looking at your completely fucked out expression.

"i know it does," alhaitham says with one final grunt, finishing almost immediately after. you gasp at the feeling of being filled up twice but his hands hold your hips in place.

"you sure took your time," wriothesley retorts, smirking at the both of you in the water. alhaitham gives him a look, sliding out and fixing his robes haphazardly.

"i have an idea."

the three of them turn their heads to the end of pool, seeing childe wade his way through the water. diluc raises his eyebrow in interest.

"let's make this a competition," he says as he lifts you up bridal style with the biggest grin on his face.

"he always does this," diluc quips, watching as childe lays you down on a pillow. your core wracks with aftershocks of pleasure. you're too overstimulated to even think.

"then i'm leaving," wriothesley states.

"what? too scared that i'm the best for last?" childe says as he trails a hand down your face. he cups your cheek, kissing you as he lays his body weight on top of yours.

"not really," alhaitham answers him, sitting back at the edge of the pool.

"well you should be," childe answers back and without any warning, aligns himself with your cunt and slides in.

the feeling makes your eyes widen and your hands fly to his biceps, squeezing them meekly.

"it's too much ple-" you whimper but part your legs further for him.

"shhh," he puts a finger to your lips, "how does it feel?"

"s-so good," you moan out and childe stifles it with another kiss to your lips. he connects your hips and you practically feel every vein on his cock as he slides in and out fervently.

your legs lock around his hips as his pace gets faster.

"childe d-don't stop," you whine as his cock brushes up against that spongey spot inside you. he pins your wrists above your head with one hand.

"wasn't planning on it," he answers. then, without slowing his pace at all, he looks up at the three men watching you.

"did you hear that?" he says, "don't stop," he mocks you. a slow smirk etches his features.

"doesn't prove anything," diluc states from across the pool.

"you'll see," childe says, turning back to you and snaking his hand to your neglected clit. he rubs circles on it fervently, timing it with his thrusts. you throw your head back, the pressure building in your abdomen once again.

"that feels good right?" childe says in your ear, his low rumble lapsing straight to your building pressure.

you can't even answer, you can't even think straight. the pressure snaps and you finish for the second time that day with a broken sob, digging your nails in his biceps to the point of scratches.

childe stays in you, watching the facial expressions you make with a satisfied look.

"i think i won that," childe turns his head to the other three.

"no way," wriothesley looks over.

"you definitely didn't," diluc states.

"why don't you just ask?" alhaitham says, to which childe finally looks over at you, your eyes glassy with remnants of tears.

"good idea," he says, wiping your eyes with his thumb.

"tell us who was the best."

When you were little, your teachers had conducted small interviews in your kindergarten class, with one of the questions being the classic ‘what do you want to be when you grow up?’. Whether it be a ballerina, a princess or the more realistic paper pusher idea you had as a teenager, you’d always thought your work tools would be pens and stilted faxes—later emails—, not guns and grenades. 

Granted, you do use pens for the reports you are expected to write when the action dies down, and while your handler prefers communicating with you via phone, she still uses emails to forward you the details.

But guns and grenades were definitely never in your radar.

And nor was Leon, for that matter.

It had been pure dumb luck that had carried you through the first few days of Racoon City’s lockdown, the same one that had made you ill for the week before it, and thus unable to make your way to the police station when reports started coming in that called for evacuation. 

There was no point in you going there, you reasoned. Even if you weren’t sick with whatever disease they were focusing on containing, you doubted your current condition would make you eligible to leave the city. So you hunkered down in your apartment, called out sick from work, and prepared to only leave your bed to go to the bathroom. 

Needless to say, when you finally felt healthy enough to walk to the RPD, the world had turned upside down. With zombies or its adjacent, of all things. 

You'd always been a fan of horror games and the like, but shooting monsters from the safety of your couch had nothing on trying to evade the living dead that plagued the streets of the city you once called home. To survive though, you needed more than the knives you had pilfered from your kitchen.

And like the virus, an idea struck. 

Racoon City Police Department.

It had weapons, a convenient gate surrounding it, and if everything panned out right, other survivors with whom you could escape the city. It was perfect—or as perfect something in a zombie apocalypse could be. 

Getting in was no small task. The front gate was locked and swarmed, with too many zombies you didn’t like your chances with. Your hands started to get clammy, your thoughts started to race, but you forced your brain to focus. Once more, you let your eyes travel through the length of the building. And there it was. A solution. 

From where you had taken cover behind a car, you could spy a big trash container, the type that was emptied by trucks, down one of the alleys that surrounded the police department. You sneaked over, and using it as a step, managed to get up and over the wall. 

Then you noticed that there were zombies inside the grounds too, because nothing could be easy for you, apparently. 

In a stroke of genius—or perhaps stupidity—you leaped from the top of the wall to one of the trees that peppered the space, and aimed for one of the windows on the second floor, hoping that when you fell through—if you fell through—there would be no zombies for you to encounter. 

And indeed there were no zombies. Just him. 

When you bursted through the window and landed on something warm, you immediately scrambled away, clumsily unsheathing your knife, and pointed it at the looming figure that had frozen in front of you. After a few tense breaths though, you could make out a face, which had not yet been defiled by the deadly disease. 

A cop—marked so by his bloodied uniform—stood before you, his gun mirroring your knife. It was pointed directly at you, but while your hands shook, his were more stable. Perks of the job, you supposed. 

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to bring a knife to a gunfight?” he blurted out. 

The sheer absurdity of his comment was enough to burst the bubble of panic that had been slowly growing inside your chest. Your grip of the knife wavered, and your muscles started to protest the stunt you had just pulled. 

“I’m…sorry?” you said. “What?”

“Nothing, uh,” the cop snapped himself out of the stalemate you had found yourselves in, and lowered his gun. “Are you okay?” 

He offered you a hand and pulled you right up. His eyes scanned you—for injuries, (bites, cuts, marks of infection) maybe—and starved from anyone without brains dripping from their skull, you returned the favor. 

Brightened by the shine of his flashlight, the first thing you noticed about the stranger were his eyes. Blue. But not the electric, see-in-the-dark blue, nor the stormy, black glazed blue. Rather it was one that reminded you of the sky a week ago, back when nothing had changed. 

If the eyes are the windows of the soul, you thought, then his was to be trusted.

There was nothing…special about his features beyond that. A blond with blue eyes is nothing you’d never seen before, and the small amount of baby fat that still clung to his features reminded you of some of coworkers with whom you shared your age. 

And yet, after a moment of silence, you had to scramble to remember to answer his question. 

“Yes,” you said. “Just—shaken.”

That was the first time you met Leon Scott Kennedy. 

With him, a simple evacuation mission turned into something much more dangerous, and what started as simple puzzles to unlock a passageway that would give you a safe exit out of the RPD, evolved into a conspiracy that ended with the true nature of the situation. 

There were others that night. Claire Redfield, who had arrived in the city with Leon and with whom you had managed to board a train to escape, and Sherry Birkin, a child whose parents were responsible for the creation of the T and G-Viruses. Marvin Branagh, who had been infected long before you entered the picture, and who ultimately met his untimely end. 

And Ada Wong. A mercenary who had betrayed you at the eleventh hour. 

Racoon City was blown up by a missile not long after your train left, and when dawn came, as the last vestiges of certainty for the future left you, only one thing ran through your mind. September 30th, 1998, was not a day you’d ever forget. 

The moment to breathe after successfully evacuating was short-lived, as military trucks came and ushered you into the nearest refugee camp, a few miles out from the edge of Racoon City. And after that, all you’d ever thought you’d do, all the places you’d thought you’d see, all the people you had known before vanished. Nothing would be the same ever again. 

From there, you were separated once again. 

Claire left for Europe, still searching for her brother. She came back eventually, but the nature of both your lives meant that constant contact was not possible. There were rare days where you did get to see her though, in which you had to cram months of gossip into a few hours. 

She mostly stuck to Sherry, who had been taken in by the US government following your escape from Racoon City. Under protective custody, you weren’t allowed to see her much, but trusted Claire to keep her company while she endured whatever testing the government declared necessary due to her exposure to the G-virus. 

Her safety, in the end, was placed on yours and Leon’s shoulders. 

If you became agents under the newly formed Anti-Umbrella Pursuit and Investigation Team, they said, Sherry Birkin would be safe. Of course, you didn't trust their definition of ‘safe’, knowing it to be vastly different to yours, but after a tense conversation with Leon, you both agreed. You could still check in on her from time to time, and you clung to that like tragedies seemed to you. 

It was a choice you were given, sure, but so was deciding between eating mold or a vial of poison. The one you picked wasn’t the best, but it was the less terrible one. 

And so, Leon became the only constant in your life. 

The training you were subjected to was hell, and the nature of it meant you had little to no free time left. After particularly gruelling sessions, sometimes you’d think you’d take whatever the hell happened back at Racoon City in place of fucking endurance training. 

Leon, though—Leon was a natural. 

It was expected to a point. He had already undergone the police academy and was in better shape than you, a freshly graduated, twenty-something desk jockey, who spent all free time playing games. And that, mixed with the proficiency he showed for combat and weapons, made it so it was only a matter of time before he got picked for a mission. 

The occasion came in 2002, four years after your integration into STRATCOM, when he was sent to the Amazon Rainforest. Under Major Krauser, one of your earlier mentors, he managed to survive yet another apparition of your past in the form of a T-virus strain. 

It wasn’t dark or rainy, the day he was discharged. On the contrary, it was noon and the sun was blazing, from which you sought cover inside your small apartment. It was a recent purchase, rented with the first paycheck you had been awarded after graduation. The training was hell, your superiors could be assholes at times, but the hazard pay and insurance policy had significantly more zeros attached at the end than you had thought. 

You went still when your front door’s lock turned, but after catching a glimpse of the man that came through, you once again relaxed into the mess of paperwork strewn across your kitchen table. 

“Using the key I gave you to good use, huh?” you quipped, looking him up and down. Leon sported a few bandages across his body, and while he had already showered the grime away, his shoulders clamped together with unseen tension. 

He didn’t answer, and instead walked your way, heavy footsteps echoing in the silence of your apartment. Under the kitchen’s light, you could see the absence of it in his eyes, his baby blues uncharacteristically gray. Still silent, his head dropped to your shoulder. 

“Tired?” you asked with a softer voice, with one of your hands reaching up to carefully brush through the hair that tickled your neck. “How was the mission?”

“Walk in the park. If the park were made of landmines. Can we not talk about it?” Leon asked, muffled from where he pressed against you. After a few moments where all you heard was the buzzing of the light overhead, he sighed and brought his face up, with his chin still on your shoulder. You angled your face slightly, if only to see him after so long apart. “My place was too…quiet.”

“So you came to mooch off my utilities then.”

“Shut up.”

“I thought you didn’t want quiet?”

He tilted his head away from you, but didn’t quite manage to hide the way the corner of his lips creased, how his eyes, tired as they were, softened under the corny lines you spewed off. You thought he'd appreciate them, as they are one of his specialities. 

Months later, when you are assigned your own first serious mission, when something in it goes wrong and one of your squad members dies, you enter his apartment in much the same way he did yours. 

And you don’t leave. 

It was a logical decision on both your parts; living with a roommate was cheaper, you carpooled often anyway, your nightmares were pretty much the same and so you knew how to handle them, and, by virtue of whoever assigned your missions, you two started getting dispatched together more often than not.

You were unofficial partners, in more than one way.

Not all missions turned into bloody messes, thankfully. Some included boring stakeouts, general surveillance, or undercover operations, in which, thanks to your training, things rarely went awry. 

The latest one you had been assigned involved retrieving intelligence from what the government believed to be a lab belonging to Umbrella or one of its subsidiaries in Italy, along with the elimination of any BOWs you may encounter. When you and Leon arrived, however, the place had already been ransacked and the servers purged, from which you could not hack anything out of. 

All in all, it had been a failure, but not one of your own design.

“Its going to suck if this affects our paycheck,” you complained, mindlessly walking around the outskirts of the town you had been sent to. Leon gave you a halfhearted shrug, occupied with talking to the field handler. He hung up after a while and sighed, raking his fingers through his dirty blond hair.

“Evac team is going to take a while. There was an emergency and they had to reroute there.”

You groaned. “What type of emergency?”

“An urgent one, it seems.”

Right. Anyway, in your reconnaissance earlier you had seen a picturesque cafe, and given the lack of caffeine you had consumed today, you decided to start walking there, leaving Leon behind.

“Hey!” you heard him call out after you. “Where are you going?”

“Somewhere I don't have to hear your corny ass lines. It's too early for this.”

“Okay, grandma. It's four in the afternoon.”

“Shut up. Your sense of humor is bad jokes.”

“And?”

“Well, they’re bad, for one” you stressed. Leon fell into step beside you, and you let your eyes glaze over him. “Your only redeeming quality is your pretty face, I’m afraid.”

“You’re saying I’m pretty?”

“I’m saying I have eyes.”

“Well, ‘eye’ would’ve gone with handsome, but pretty works, I guess.”

“Oh my god.”

The menu at the cafe you had ended up in boasts numerous products, easily read with the little Italian you knew and similarities with Spanish, which you had studied extensively. It helped too that most if not all of the product names hardly changed in English, and there was only one thing with enough caffeine for you to last until the evacuation team could arrive. An espresso. Or more than one.

“Hey,” you said, grabbing Leon’s attention. “Order me three of these.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Order them yourself. I don't want to be responsible if you die from that.”

“My Italian is a little rusty,” you said, knowing damn well you just wanted to hear him talk in Italian. “Yours is better. And you’re literally from here.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not,” he repeated, relenting and stepping forward to order. “According to my legal records.”

“...Just order me my goddamn espresso.”

You both stood a little to the side, leaning against the bar where your orders were served. The first espresso went down like a shot, but after the grandma who had made it murmured something in Italian and glared at you, you relented, and slowly sipped the other two. You swiped some of Leon’s too, making a face when you’re hit with alcohol you didn’t know was there.

From around the counter, the grandma tsked. “Dì alla tua ragazza di non bere tanto espresso, o le farà venire un infarto prima che si sposino,” she said. Using your super advanced Italian and Spanish knowledge, you picked out ‘espresso’ and ‘infarto’, frowning when you deduce the meaning of her words. 

“Non è la mia ragazza,” Leon said after a moment, and you spy the tips of his ears turning red. ‘Ragazza’, though, was not a word you recognized. Is it ‘fault’? Is that what he was saying? You didn’t think your caffeine habits would be embarrassing enough for him to blush, but clearly, he did. 

The grandma huffed and disappeared past a half-door. “Americani,” she muttered. That one you knew.

“Leon,” you said, noting how he refused to meet your eyes. “Leon, what did she say?”

“Nothing,” he said, tone rising with the word. “Just that you should be careful about how much coffee you drink.”

“I gathered that much,” you said, sipping the last of your espresso. “She said more than that though, and I don’t think it would take that many words just to say that. And what’s a ‘ragazza’?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Leon.”

“Uh, like raggedy? Rag-ass-a?”

You frowned. “But isn’t Italian a romance language? How does English—?”

“Romance?” he interrupted, chuckling nervously. “Who said anything about romance?”

You raised your eyebrows. “What?”

“What?”

“Wait, I’m confused.”

“Hi confused, I’m Leon.”

“...You’re impossible.”

“Nope,” Leon said, a grin slowly forming in his mouth. “I’m still Leon.”

You sighed, turning around to exit the small cafe. “I’m telling evac to leave you here.”

You heard him chuckle, calling out a grazie! at the grandma who had once again appeared at the counter in light of the new customers that had entered. “You’re too much of a grump today. Trouble sleeping?”

“You stole all my blankets, asshole.”

“And you used my arm as a pillow, which cut off my blood flow. I think we’re square.”

“I only keep you around because of them. And your half of the rent.”

“It's nice to see you appreciate me so much. Here I thought you said my pretty face was my only redeeming quality. Nice to see you like my arms too.”

“I never said that—”

“No? Then why is your hand on my arm?”

It had become a habit at that point, for you to grab onto the crook of his elbow while strolling around. You had played a couple once at an undercover operation, but the gesture had stuck. Leon never said anything the subsequent times you had done it, which saved you from the embarrassment of having to come up with an excuse for it. God forbid you wanted to—ugh—touch him constantly.

“I don’t see you complaining,” you deflected. 

He paused walking, forcing you to do the same. “No,” came softly, as his eyes scanned your face, looking, searching, for something. “I don’t.”

And then, in a burst of bravery on his part. “Do you know why that is?”

You itched to look away, something about the afternoon sun making his gaze even more fiery under it. It was intense, like the one you’ve seen on missions where there seems to be no escape, but it's also soft, like the mornings when you wake up together after either of you had a nightmare and had sought comfort in the other. 

“I might,” you answered after a while. “Are you going to do anything about it?”

“I might,” he echoed. Before you could figure out if he was joking or not, though, he grabbed your chin, tilted your face up, and joined his lips to yours. 

You had kissed people before—there was never anyone serious, but you’re not inexperienced by any means. You had kissed Leon before too, on a night you were both too drunk on alcohol and adrenaline to think about the consequences, which you wordlessly swore never to bring up again. 

This, though, you remember thinking as you wrapped your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss, this might need a conversation or two. 

You get many more missions after that, many more wounds, many more new night terrors to dream about. But you also get a home in the form of your now husband, who, as sappy as it makes him seem, puts on his ring—the one he swore himself to you with—first thing after fulfilling a mission. 

You’re still not sure if you’ll ever forgive him for spewing a bad joke in the middle of his vows, though. 

⟡ a/n: do Not ask me about the resident evil timeline. what the hell guys. Theres the og games and then the rereleases, but things like operation javier havent been revamped yet, so things like resident evil 4 re that change things like krauser being his mentor instead of his equal are still foggy. and also what the fuck, what the hell is up with the DSO government agent secret service thing??? jesus christ i just wanted to write a one shot. so yeah, im very sorry if there are any inconsistencies among the canons but i really cant be bothered anymore. ive done my best, ive picked and chosen what i liked and what i didnt, and this came out. bone-app-the-teeth, i hope you enjoyed. i think leon is a bit occ, bcs from what ive seen, hes a bit more sarcastic and jagged in re4, but less so in re2. so. idk man, he became less of an alcoholic in this one ig. i miss jill. anyway, i loooooved writing his corny lines. when he and reader met for the first time he was supposed to say something along the lines of 'i wont leaf you behind because she got leaves stuck to her hair after jumping from the tree, but i didnt like the tone so i scrapped it :(( i had so much fun with the other ones though, it felt like lighting struck every time i came up with one. also wanna know something funny. the title came from a nail polish color my friend set me and was like 'this would be a great leon fic'. well. here we are. AND ANOTHER THING leon is fucking italian??? and his parents were mob???? what. and he was late bcs he had a hangover bcs his girlfriend BROKE UP WITH HIM???? imagine fumbling leon s kennedy i would simply kill myself. rip to her but im different

This is, like i said before, dedicated to my best friend whose birthday is today!! everyone wish her a happy birthday now. thank you for being there and not judging me when i say or do stupid shit. ily twin, i hope you enyojed the fic i promised you like a year ago when i had no idea who leon s kennedy was. like damn, why didnt you introduce me to him sooner? hello sailor

Dr Hildegarde told him it was a placental abruption. Something that could not have been stopped so they had to perform C-section. Their baby was stillborn, one of the complications occurring in fifteen percent of cases. He could feel an aching hole inside his chest and a tight set of his jaw against oncoming wave of tears as Dr Hildegarde’s thin fingers squeezed his shoulder in sympathy. Geillis, with puffy and bloodshot eyes, told him Claire has lost a large amount of blood and received a transfusion.

Jamie kept staring at Claire’s asleep face. Gritting his teeth, he caught a thought at the back of his mind that made his blood freeze. Now that she slept, he hoped she was not in pain. She was but Jamie did not know that. Claire was given pain medication by a nurse and it helped her to drift back to soothing darkness. She did not have to face a reality where she had lost her baby. Claire’s face was smooth, only a slight furrow between her eyebrows disturbed the peacefulness. A part of Jamie wished she slept forever like this. Not hurt, without need to live with the ache and heartbreak of losing their child. He shook his head violently as if to rid himself of the awful thought that was creeping into his fevered mind. The selfish little, fragile part of himself whispered that she’ll hate him. When Claire wakes she will realise what a failure he is and she won’t want him anymore. He feared it and it made him feel sick to his stomach

Jamie hesitated, afraid that Claire could flinch away from his touch as he reached his hand to her. Oh, how much he wanted to comfort her. How he wished he could reverse time and not put his Sassenach to such misery because of himself.

He could bear just about anything but not her pain.

Tips of his fingers gently curved over her soft cheek. She did not move, only eyebrows knitted a deeper crease between them. Jamie bit his lip blood bursting, fighting against the tears rushing as the tide, copper tasting faintly in his mouth.

Even now partly covered in the night shadows, she was so, so beautiful. There was an unearthliness about her pale, pale skin like she would soon belong to the angels. Jamie could almost imagine how their wee lassie would have looked alike with her mother. He sucked in the sterile scented air and exhaled in a shallow breath. The sounds of his heart shattering filled each corner of the room.

Thumb smoothing the transparent shell of her ears Jamie jerked at the sudden sound filling the space. It was a whimper, faint and delicate as early snow but so desperate it made him cold to the marrow of his bones.

“Sassenach,” He whispered, voice hoarse with the effort. Jamie had no idea what he could say to her to make it better. There was nothing. Nothing he could do or say to make it hurt less. She leaned into his palm, face painted with visible distress and Jamie thought he would lose it.

So he did the best he could. Fingers gently curling into her hair, he whispered to her in ancient Gàidhlig as he always did when Claire had hard times. It seemed to soothe her and he had hoped it would bring the same relief to his Sorcha now.

She stilled for a while before her eyes fluttered open. They told him she had awakened before after coming out of surgery when the last lingering sensations of drugs faded away. She asked for him Geillis said. Claire needed him there, and he wasn’t.

She blinked, eyes still dull and heavy-lidded. Her lungs burned as she inhaled deeply as if a needle had punctured the skin. Her mouth was tacky. Feeling a drowsy shadowiness swim behind her dry eyelids Claire stared through Jamie. Slowly coming out from submerging oblivion all she could feel was pain. It started under her skin laying its sharp claws along the edges of her limbs, dipping inside red tissue. It ran in the bloodstream igniting each fibre like fierce lightning bolt traveling from nerve to nerve. The pain was inside burnt deep behind her eyelids, coating her throat, shredding the lungs. Claire’s body hung on the brink of giving in and falling back into the peaceful darkness. It took all the strength she had left inside to concentrate and not step back into the blackness. Her vision blurred, eyes straining with the effort. She felt dizzy. When she realised that her quiet sanctuary was disturbed by an intruder, her eyes finally focused.

Jamie’s lips quirked into a ghost of a smile. “Mo cridhe…” His warm palm cupped her cheek and she shrugged away. Pulling a sheet up to her chin she stared at Jamie as if he was a stranger.

For a long time, there was a silence and neither of them moved.

She felt so lonesome. She was all alone. Abandoned. She was so so so lonely in all of this.

Even in midnight darkness she could see the barely checked tears in Jamie’s eyes. It felt like a millennia that he was frozen. Not able to move or say anything. Jamie looked utterly broken.

Destroyed.

But she did not feel a thing about it.

Swallowing a choking lump in his throat Jamie opened his mouth. He only gasped for air as he groped for words, not able to say anything. Eyes blown wide, hands shaking by his sides, Jamie just looked back at Claire who jerked away again when he wanted to lean down to touch her.

“Don’t touch me” Claire’s voice echoed in the hollowness of her chest.

“I am so verra sorry, Sassenach” His voice was no more than a weak, strangled rasp.

She turned away as the tears spilled down his cheeks, making their way down his neck. She still could not bear seeing him cry.

Her hands slowly reached now a barren expanse of her abdomen. Covered with a thin hospital sheet her own body felt foreign and unfamiliar. Claire was as the goddess Niobe whose children were slain and unburied. She was turned to stone and brooded endlessly over the sorrows sent by Gods. Only this time Claire was the one to blame, her own traitorous body. She laid there, numb and cold as the stone herself.

Claire’s voice cracked, forced out her dry throat. “Go home, Jamie”

“No,” It sounded like a groan. Full of anger, frustration, heartbreak.

When her eyes found Jamie’s, Claire’s words were nothing but a broken whisper.

“I have lost a lifetime with my child before even be able to experience it.”

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It was early predawn with the sun trying to breakthrough stubborn clouds floating over Scotland.

Jamie startled, awakened to the sound of shoes gliding over the linoleum. Geillis gently touched his shoulder, eyes scanning  still asleep Claire.

“Ye should go home, mo charaid,” His fellow Scotswoman circled the bed, glancing at vital signs monitor. “Yer no good like that for Claire, go to sleep, have a bite.”

Standing up Jamie felt needles prickle his numb legs. Muscles cramped from a broken sleep on that tiny chair. Shaking off the remnants of his restless night he turned to Geillis, zipping the jacket up.

“Promise me, ye stay with her and willna leave for a moment?” Jamie nervously ran a hand through his hair, before tapping it on his thigh. “I’m going to use the bathroom and grab something from the car.”

Geillis nodded, smiling faintly. “I willna. But ye promise ye will eat a proper lunch and get some sleep tonight. Ye have to be strong for Claire. She will need ye.”

Jamie swallowed, shaking his head in agreement. The only thing that kept him from falling apart was Claire’s need for him, his strength that he could lend her. Even though she might reject him again, that’s the least he could do for his wee Sassenach.

He was gone no longer than twenty minutes. Jamie made a quick visit to the bathroom, splashed cold water over his face, grabbed an awful resemblance of a coffee from a vending machine. He changed his sweaty t-shirt in the car for a freshly washed gym one, dug out Claire’s favourite Jaffa cakes from the glovebox and was on his way back.

When he stepped inside the ICU room Claire was awake. And it made him somewhat jealous and guilty again that he did not catch the moment when she woke. He froze and just stood like an idiot in the doorway. Claire did not even look up, kept staring at her folded hands on her knees. Mary Hawkins hovered over her changing the bag of IV fluids, smiling shyly as she reminded Claire to eat her breakfast. She only nodded absently but did not touch the tray with tea, porridge, bread rolls and butter with raspberry jam. Claire always thought it was rather funny that NHS offered continental breakfast at hospitals. The last thing she wanted to do was eat now. Claire would gladly remain in a state of unconscious drowsiness and a dead sleep for the rest of her life.

As they were left alone Jamie moved slowly, setting aside the cakes on the bedside stand. He thought he’d seen a faint smile on Claire’s lips but wasn’t sure he did not imagine it.

“Ye mind?” Jamie exhaled, trying to keep his voice steady. Claire scooted over slightly allowing him a bit of space on the narrow bed. Jamie lowered himself carefully to sit, too aware of her fragile state. He was afraid he could break her if he is not cautious enough.

They stayed quiet for a while, both lost in the loud sounds coming from the hospital hall.

“How do ye feel?” He asked at last, eyes searching hers but she stubbornly looked away.

Jamie prayed that she would answer him, that she wouldn’t pull back. His heart was aching hoping that she would grant him the least a bit of mercy and just share her burden with him. Christ, it was his child too.

Claire shivered at the sound of Jamie’s voice. So familiar, so concerned, so him. Somewhere very deep deep inside her there was a space that was screaming for him, that needed him desperately. The ache of it was tearing her apart but it was buried under a cloak of overtaking grief. She could not get out from its cold, gripping claws. The sight of Jamie was breaking her heart, ripping it out but she kept thinking she was alone when it all happened. How scared she was.

Claire wanted to reach out to him and reassure him she’s not angry. But the turmoil was too great. There was a mix of feelings she did not understand. She was scared, angry, she felt guilty and weak. But mostly she was hurt. There was a great deal of pain and Claire had no idea how to deal with it.

She absently smoothed the crumpled fabric of white sheet over her belly.

“Empty,” Her voice cracked. “I feel empty.”

The breath choked out of him and Jamie leaned in to her wanting to cradle her close. But he stopped midway unsure and taken aback by the feeling that he had to think if he can touch her.

His hand froze in the air just inches away from soft curve of her cheek. A lonely tear rolled down Claire’s face and she whimpered against her will. Biting down her lip hard enough so it hurts, so maybe, just maybe it will distract her from the real tragedy her own life turned into. She could not bear to see that look on Jamie’s face. When his thumb gently wiped away a salty drop, the burning soreness inside her chest threatened to burst out burying them both with lava-like sorrow. Her fingers closed around Jamie’s warm palm withdrawing it from her face.

But he kept trying. The haunting feeling of losing her kept him going. He would not lose her.

“Ye should eat yer breakfast, mo ghraidh,” Jamie offered quietly “ Ye need it to keep up yer strength.”

“I failed, Jamie.” Claire’s voice was distant as she drew patterns over the white sheet. “I failed our daughter. I failed us.”

He wanted to say something, deny those ridiculous words but she shook her head dismissing him.

“You should leave, go home, there is no use for you to sit here, Jamie.”

He was losing her. He was losing it all.

Pressing a dry kiss to her forehead Jamie just sat back. If that chair would be the place he has to spend the rest of his days on to be near Claire, he would do it.

Later in the day Claire just laid, resting as much as possible. She spent her time pretending to watch TV, switching the channels just for the sake of keeping her hands busy. With no child to lay in her arms, she felt an exceptional need to do something, anything that would fill that hole. Jamie has been with her most of the time, only occasionally taking trips to the bathroom or to stretch the muscles in his legs, pacing endless circles in the hallway. They did not talk much, only business-like exchange of phrase.

Though Claire needed to remain calm, resting in order to heal quickly, they needed her to get up for walks. Nurse Olivia explained to Claire she needed to become progressively mobile in order to prevent constipation and blood clots. Jamie volunteered but Claire said she wanted Geilis with her. It was a great relief for Claire going on those painful, even though gentle walks with her best friend. It was a change from Jamie’s utterly destroyed face and she felt as she could breathe a little bit easier without seeing him looking so guilty, looking so sad. Geillis did not push, did not start the conversations Claire did not want to hold. She just talked, as usual, made filthy jokes, shared her memories from last Tinder date and filled her in all recent gossip at the hospital. Claire was grateful for that.

Later, after Jamie convinced her to take a bite of a dinner she fell into a restless sleep. Geillis on the other hand finally managed to drag Jamie out of the hospital room and laughed at him softly when he groaned at the bright hall light.

“Yer like a bloody mole.” She pushed him towards the cafeteria paying zero attention at his protests. “Ye have to eat, Claire willna thank me if I let ye starve yerself.”

Geillis only smirked when Jamie demolished two full meals with a clear look on her face “I told ye”. She was rumbling about everything and anything but Jamie barely listened. After some time, wiping the grease from his lips, Geillis moved a plate aside, reaching for Jamie’s hand.

“Dinna worry, she’ll come around,” the ginger-haired woman smiled. “She needs time, time to heal and accept.”

He nodded.

“And so do ye.”

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Claire dreamt. She was weightless. Free and peaceful, floating in serene darkness. There was no pain, no fear, no loss. Her body was a feather, not her own, inside the space of the parallel universe. She did not know her name or who she was. Everything was foreign and new. It was dark and soothingly warm. There was no existence of her, whoever she has been before. She felt at peace wrapped in the cocoon of warmth surrounding her. She was nobody, motionless and still. Perfect in its hollowness. There was no time nor space but quiet buzzing filling Claire’s senses. She just was. Swimming in the endless distant land of nothing. She did not know how long she has been there, in the space of bottomless chasm. But then there was something. Growing inside her solar plexus, spreading its roots in her bloodstream. Running under the surface of Claire’s transparent skin. Trying to break out, the pressure of it clawing at her heart. Leaving a flow of blood soaking trail. A name.

he opened the door in a white sleep shirt and dark gray sweats, but the way his body filled up the shirt, his height, his ruffled sleep-ridden black hair… it’s like you wanted to turn right back to your car and drive off before you did something you regretted.

but then you remembered the sorry state of your bank account after the previous finals season and put on your warmest smile ever, trying to get rid of the filthiest thoughts that appeared in your head. he gave you the most dizzying grin in return and beckoned you inside.

he’d made you tea before he left for work, his biceps flexing a bit under his sleep shirt as he stirred some honey into your cup. he looked at you with his icy blue eyes, explaining that he’d gone through several babysitters before you. “hopefully you’re the one that sticks,” he said with a warm chuckle, and it sent heat lapsing straight to your core.

you tried to focus on the task at hand.

sigewinne, his little girl, was an absolute angel to you. and after the first day, he pleaded with you to return. she had liked you more than any other babysitter. she only ate your food and read books with you and even went to bed at a respectable time because of you.

to add onto your list of reasons to stay, he even paid you on time.

so you had no choice really.

and after that first week of babysitting, it didn’t get easier. whenever he came home from work, you stared as he took off his heavy work boots, breath hitching when he loosened his tie and ran a hand through his hair. in the mornings when he sometimes did yardwork, you sipped on your tea, seeing the way sweat ran down his chest and disappeared into his shirt. you noticed the scars that littered his arms and chest, ignoring the way it made your thighs clench when you imagined running your hands across them.

but it wasn’t just you that was affected.

he had noticed your gaze, full of yearning. the way you’d linger after he paid you. the way you deliberately started wearing tank-tops and shorts around him. the way you seemed to hold your breath around him when he came back from his morning run, especially when your eyes seemed to wander when he used his shirt to wipe his face.

he extended the original 4 days a week visits, claiming that work was getting longer. he started making dinner for you when he got home from work. he became more touchy, accidentally bumping into you when you were preparing sigewinne’s breakfast or putting his hands on your hips when he was passing by behind your back.

you knew you shouldn’t have come back after the first visit.

because that’s how you found yourself in his bed after he came home every night, getting stuffed full with his thick cock.

your knees are nearly next to your ears as he fucks you with rough, deliberate thrusts. his large hands press the back of your thighs lower, making his cock slide in deeper. he litters your neck with kisses and you moan out, louder than you expected.

“shh.. you just put her to bed,” he puts a finger to your lips and then chuckles, the sound a deep rumble that makes you clench harder around him. you grab onto his bicep as he eases out and slides in again, groaning at the feeling of your cunt spasming around him. the sensation is new every time, he’s just so big that even after weeks of him fucking you like this, you still gasp when his tip touches your puffy folds and bullies it’s way in.

“you’re taking me so well,” he says, his voice straining as he bottoms out. you throw your head back and cry out his name, biting down on your lip as he starts thrusting faster. wet, squelching sounds fill the room and you place your palm against his lower abs as if telling him to slow down.

he doesn’t. not for one bit.

“it.. ngh wriothesley.. it’s too much!” you cry out. his lips lock with yours to silence your moans and you place your hands on his shoulders, gripping the strong muscle as he fucks you harder. his free hand pulls your tank top up further, palming your tits and pinching down on your nipple. it only makes you dig your nails further into his shoulder, adding onto the scars he already has running down his body. no man has fucked you like this, no man has gotten you creaming on their cock like he does.

“i know you can take it,” his breath is hot in your ear, “you’re a good girl aren’t you?”

to that, you clench down on his thick length further, nodding quickly.

“y-yes... wriothesley i’m so close,” you say, breath shaky.

“cum for me then,” he says back roughly as his tip brushes against your g-spot far too many times. his command sends you over the edge and your cunt clamps down on his cock as you finish, eyes rolling back. he groans out now, feeling your tightness, and fucks you through your orgasm.

“g-good girl,” he stutters and you feel him release inside you with a strained grunt. it’s a good thing you’re on contraceptives or else he’d have ended up with another kid by now. he slides out slowly as you lay there, panting with your eyes closed.

he just chuckles again, causing you to throb. you hated how much his deep voice affected you like this.

“you’re coming tomorrow, right?” he asks, pulling you on top of him immediately, "sigewinne's expecting you."

“yes,” you whisper out hoarsely. you put your hands on his shoulders again, rubbing your thumb over the crescent nail marks you made. his hands come up to rest against your hips and you feel his thick length hardening beneath you again. your mouth parts slowly as his tip slides against your wet folds, coating himself in your arousal.

“good, because i’m not done with you yet.”