#yeritos

READER’S POV

The remote island was a world unto itself- white sand fringed by turquoise water, palm fronds whispering in the constant trade wind, and the half-finished beach house rising like a promise against the sky. Leon had bought the entire cay a couple of months ago from someone he met during a mission who owed him big time; hence it was sold at a good price. He had told no one except you and the handful of trusted contractors who knew him only as “Mr. K.” He’d envisioned it as their escape: no Umbrella ghosts, no DSO briefings, no late-night calls from Agent Hunnigan. Just you, him, and the kind of quiet that let a man breathe.

You were the project engineer overseeing the build. No one on the small crew knew you were seeing the absentee owner. You’d made that clear from day one, and Leon had respected it- even when he hated it. The secrecy was both thrilling and exhausting. You insisted on keeping things strictly professional on site: no lingering glances, no familiar touches, no pet names. Leon understood the need for discretion better than most- his entire career depended on shadows- but it still frustrated him.

He’d ordered the temporary barracks built first- soundproofed, climate-controlled, with a private dock only you and he could access. The crew bunked in the main camp half a mile down the beach and never questioned why the lead engineer had her own private quarters. They simply assumed it came with the high-end contract. Still, a few of the older workers occasionally gave you knowing looks when Leon’s boat appeared at odd hours or when you returned from “late-night site checks” looking a little too relaxed. They never said anything outright. They valued their bonuses and their jobs too much to pry. Leon wanted nothing more than to pull you against him in front of everyone and claim you openly, but he respected your boundaries. For now.

Despite the careful distance you maintained in public, Leon found creative- and sometimes hilariously obvious- ways to spoil you whenever he visited. He knew you hated expensive jewelry and flashy gifts, so he got inventive with smaller, deeply sentimental ones that made your heart melt. One weekend he brought a custom leather-bound notebook with your initials embossed on the cover and every page pre-filled with silly doodles of the two of you as stick figures building the beach house together. Another time he surprised you with a small potted orange tree sapling (“So the barracks always smell like you”), complete with a handwritten note tied to a branch that read “For the woman who makes everything brighter.” He once smuggled in a set of engraved steel measuring tools for your work belt- practical, useful, and etched with tiny coordinates of the island so you’d always “find your way back to me.” You scolded him for still spending money, but the way your eyes softened every time told him you treasured them more than any diamond.

When Leon had first wanted to meet you properly, he hadn’t gone through normal channels. He had asked Alec’s father- a well-connected developer- to track down “the engineer who built Thompson’s villa,” only to discover that the talented young project engineer was none other than his son’s future wife’s best friend and the maid of honor. That revelation had made their first real meeting feel almost fated. The second time he met Carrie, she had grilled him like a protective older sister over coffee, eyes sharp and unrelenting, before eventually warming up with a teasing warning:

“You hurt her and I’ll bury you where no one will find the body.”

Meeting Sherry had been surprisingly emotional. The young woman who saw Leon as an older brother figure had pulled you aside later that evening and whispered, “He looks at you the way he used to look at the world before everything went to hell. Don’t break his heart.” Chris had been more direct, clapping Leon on the shoulder with a rare grin: “Finally found someone who can keep up with your stubborn ass. She’s good for you, Kennedy.” Rebecca had simply smiled warmly and said, “She makes you look younger. Hold onto that.” Even the stories Leon shared with you about Claire, Jake, Helena, Jill, and Hunnigan painted a picture of a found family that was slowly starting to include you. They all liked you- genuinely- and that meant the world to Leon.

LEON’S POV

Tonight the crew had evacuated early for a supply run to the mainland. The island was empty except for the two of you. The air in the barracks smelled of salt, sex, and the orange body wash you used. Leon lay sprawled across the king bed, sheets tangled low on his hips, chest still glistening. His phone rested in one hand, thumb scrolling slowly through a private folder only he could open.

The photos were pure indulgence: one of you laughing with your head thrown back as he kissed your neck on the deck at sunset; another of your bare back arched while his hands gripped your hips from behind, the curve of your spine glistening with sweat; a close-up of your lips wrapped around him, eyes looking up with that perfect mix of innocence and sin; one where you were riding him reverse cowgirl, head tilted back in bliss. Then came his favorite- the one that always hit him hardest: your face flushed deep pink, eyes glassy and completely out of it, lips parted with his cum still sticking to your tongue and dripping down your chin, a thin string of it connecting to your swollen lower lip as you looked straight at the camera with pure, fucked-out adoration.

He felt himself harden again just looking at it.

He rolled onto his side. You sat at the small desk, back to him, naked, laptop open, typing reports under the soft glow of the desk lamp. The curve of your spine, the dimples above your ass, the way your hair stuck to the nape of your neck- fuck, he was gone for you.

Leon slid across the mattress until his chest brushed your back. His hands skimmed up your ribs, cupped your breasts, thumbs brushing already-pebbled nipples. You tensed, then melted with a sigh.

“Leon…” A warning and a welcome all at once.

He kissed the knob of your spine. “You should be done by now.”

“If someone hadn’t dragged me in here the second the last boat left, I might be.” You turned your head, offering your mouth. He took it, slow and deep, tongue stroking yours until you whimpered.

He glanced at the screen just as you alt-tabbed. Floor plan. But he’d seen the previous tab- online banking. Numbers. Transfers. His gut tightened, but he kept his voice lazy. “What’re you working on?”

“Email from the manager,” you lied smoothly, voice breathy as he pinched a nipple.

 Oh, so that’s what you’re playing today.

Well, two could play this game.

He closed the laptop with a soft thud, slid one arm under your knees and the other behind your back, and carried you to the bed like you weighed nothing. You yelped, laughing, then gasped when he straddled your chest, knees bracketing your ribs, heavy cock resting between your breasts.

From the nightstand he produced the handcuffs- cold steel, already warmed by anticipation. Your eyes widened.

“When did you- ”

“Decluttering my office and bringing this here weeks ago. Surprised you never noticed.” He clicked one cuff around your left wrist, stretched your arms above your head, and locked the other to the sturdy headboard slat he’d had reinforced for exactly this. “Good cop, bad cop. You answer honestly, you get rewarded. Lie… consequences.”

You licked your lips, already wet for him. “Yes, Officer Kennedy.”

An idea popped into his mind.

He still had his old uniform.

Maybe next time, he thought.

He started easy. Favorite food- cheesy milk ramen with crab sticks, mushroom, and egg. Color- forest green. Itinerary for Carrie’s wedding weekend- flight Thursday, rehearsal dinner Friday, ceremony Saturday, back Sunday night. Each correct answer earned slow, curling fingers inside you, his tongue flicking your clit until you were shaking. He sucked one nipple into his mouth while his thumb circled your clit, and you came hard enough to see stars, thighs clamping around his ears.

Then he asked about your family.

You tensed. He felt it in the flutter of your walls around his fingers.

“Still the same,” you said, voice tight. “Parents and my little brother. Busy people.”

He hooked his finger, pressed against that spot that made you keen, then withdrew completely. No clit. No mercy.

You whined.

“Do you still talk to them?” he asked, voice deceptively gentle.

You tried to smirk. “When I have to.”

Another slow pump of two fingers, curling, stroking, building you right to the edge- then nothing. Your legs tried to close; he pinned them open with his shoulders.

He kept going. Favorite childhood memory. First apartment. Why did you choose engineering? Every question skirted the edges of the things you never said. Your answers stayed surface-level, polished, evasive. His cock throbbed painfully, but the anxiety crawling up his throat was worse.

He’d told you everything- how the first outbreak in Raccoon City had shattered him at twenty-one, fresh out of the academy, watching colleagues turn into monsters in the streets while he fought his way through the nightmare with a rookie’s badge and a shaking gun. How he’d met Chris Redfield and Claire Redfield in the chaos of that hellish night- Chris, the stoic BSAA operative who became the older brother he never had, pulling him out of more firefights than he could count; Claire, fierce and protective, who’d helped him carry the weight of survival. How he’d stepped up as something like an older brother to little Sherry Birkin after they rescued her from the ruins, promising her a normal life even when his own was anything but. How Chris had basically adopted Rosemary in the years that followed, the two men bonding over fatherhood in a world that kept trying to take it away. He’d even told you about the short, complicated fling with Ada Wong- the woman in the red dress who slipped in and out of his life like smoke, leaving him with questions he’d never fully answered. You’d met Sherry, Chris, Rebecca. You’d listened without flinching. Yet you kept this locked away.

“What do you think about our relationship?” he asked finally, voice rough.

You were panting, tears of frustration already gathering at the corners of your eyes. The words slipped out before you could stop them- raw and unfiltered. “I like us… but we both know this won’t last forever. I just want to enjoy it while it does.”

The slap to your cunt was sharp, wet, perfect. You cried out, hips jerking, but the sound died when you saw Leon’s face.

He was on you in a second, caging you completely, one hand pinning your cuffed wrists higher, the other gripping your jaw with a gentleness that somehow made the intensity worse. His eyes- those powder-blue eyes that had looked at you with nothing but adoration for three months- were wide with hurt. Raw, unguarded hurt. The kind that cracked through every layer of stoic DSO agent he’d built over the years.

“What. Did. You. Say.”

You froze. The fear that had lived in your chest since the first blackmail email surged forward like a tidal wave. You hadn’t meant it to land like a knife. You’d only meant to protect yourself- to keep this fragile, perfect thing from shattering the way everything else in your life eventually had. Your family had taught you that happiness was temporary, that love was a transaction you’d always end up paying for with pieces of yourself. Leon was the first person who made you believe otherwise, and that belief terrified you more than any threat. If you let yourself hope too hard, the fall would destroy you. So, you’d armored the words with distance. But you saw now how it had sliced him open anyway.

 Leon’s chest heaved. Inside, something fractured. He’d been patient- God, he’d been so patient. Three months wasn’t long in the grand scheme, but to him- forty-seven years old, scarred by Raccoon City and a dozen apocalypses since- it felt like a lifetime of waiting for someone who finally saw the man beneath the missions. He’d already pictured the ring, the quiet wedding, the life after the beach house was finished. He’d promised himself he’d wait for your “I love you” before starting any countdown, but he’d fallen anyway- hopelessly, completely. And now this. The woman he loved more than he’d ever loved anyone was already writing their ending in her head. It wasn’t anger that flooded him first; it was a deep, aching betrayal that tasted like every foster home that had sent him back, every time Ada had vanished without a word. She doesn’t trust me to stay. The thought lodged in his throat like glass.

“I-I mean- ” You scrambled, voice cracking. Fear clawed up your spine. He was going to leave. You could see it in the way his jaw tightened, the way his eyes glistened just enough to break your heart. “Leon, I didn’t- I just… I’ve never had anything good that didn’t end. I didn’t mean it like that. I swear I didn’t. I just… I’m scared. I’m so scared that one day you’ll wake up and realize I’m not worth it. That my mess will drag you down and you’ll leave like everyone else. But I don’t want you to. God, I don’t want you to.”

He didn’t speak at first. The silence stretched, heavy with everything unsaid. Leon’s thumb brushed your cheek, slow and deliberate, as if memorizing the shape of your face in case this was the moment it all slipped away. His breath was warm against your skin, but his eyes searched yours with a vulnerability he rarely showed even to Chris or Sherry. You could feel the tremor in his hand- the same steady hands that had once carried a scared little girl named Sherry through zombie-infested streets, now shaking because of you.

Then your walls crumbled completely. The tears came fast and ugly- sobs that tore out of you like something feral. You’d bottled it for so long: the emails, the money transfers, the late-night panic that Leon would find out and see the broken girl your parents had always called a mistake. Now it spilled everywhere, slow and halting at first, each word dragged out like it weighed a thousand pounds.

As the first heavy sob left your lips, a vivid memory crashed over you like cold seawater.

You were eight years old again, standing on a wobbly wooden stool in your mother’s cramped kitchen. The smell of burnt rice and cheap detergent filled the air. Your mother’s voice, sharp as broken glass, cut through the silence: “You were supposed to be gone before you even started breathing. I tried to get rid of you twice, and look at you- still here, eating my food, breathing my air. A mistake that won’t die.” Your small hands trembled as you scrubbed the floor on your knees because “being alive isn’t free.” Your father had only watched from the doorway, cigarette dangling from his lips, muttering, “At least make yourself useful if you’re going to stick around.” Later, when you were passed around to your father’s side of the family, it only got worse- odd jobs at dawn before school, endless chores, and constant reminders that you owed them for every scrap of food and every night under their roof. “Ungrateful little whore in the making,” your aunt had sneered once when you cried after being forced to work through a fever. You had learned early: love was conditional, safety was temporary, and happiness always came with a price you could never fully pay.

The memory shattered as Leon’s arms tightened around you, pulling you back to the present.

Leon’s eyes widened in panic. The hurt on his face twisted into something softer, more desperate. “Baby- fuck, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I pushed too hard. I’m here. I’ve got you.” He fumbled for the key on the nightstand, hands shaking as he unlocked the cuffs. The metal clattered away. He pulled you into his lap, arms wrapping around you like a shield, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other stroked your spine. You buried your face in his neck, soaking his skin with tears, body trembling against his.

He rocked you slowly, pressing kisses to your hairline, your temple, anywhere he could reach. “Shh. Breathe. I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here.” His own eyes burned; he blinked hard, refusing to let the tears fall yet. He’d fucked up by pushing, but hearing you say those words had cracked something ancient inside him- the fear that he was still the orphan kid no one chose. You’d chosen him every day for three months, yet you still expected him to disappear. It hurt worse than any gunshot.

“They… they cut me off,” you whispered, voice cracking on the first syllable. You paused, swallowing hard, fresh tears slipping down your temples. Leon wiped them away with his thumb, murmuring soft nonsense against your hair- “I’m here, baby. Take your time. I’ve got you.”- but he didn’t rush you. He just held you closer, his heart hammering against yours.

You drew a shaky breath and kept going. “Or… I ran. My mom tried to abort me. Called me a mistake every single day I was alive. Dad’s side used me like free labor- odd jobs at six years old, told me being alive wasn’t free. I had to earn my keep or I didn’t deserve to breathe. In high school, I met Carrie. She helped me run the day we graduated. I built a life. Then… weeks after we started dating, the emails started. My aunt first. Then my mom.” Another long pause as another sob hit; Leon rocked you gently, pressing a kiss to your forehead, his own eyes burning. “Blackmail. They had a photo- from Chris’s dinner. You, me, Chris, Rose. We looked… happy. They thought it was some kind of double date- two older rich men with their young whores. Called me a whore for latching onto a man almost twenty years older. Said I seduced my uncle, that it was my fault he had the stroke after I fought him off. Threatened to tell everyone- your bosses, my crew, the world- that I didn’t deserve happiness. That someone like me should be alone. So I paid them. Quietly. Every time. I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t want you to see me the way they do. Broken. Temporary. Not worth staying for.”

Leon listened through every drawn-out confession, jaw tight, eyes burning with a fury he kept leashed for your sake. His arms tightened around you with each painful detail, anchoring you. When you finally fell silent, voice hoarse, he pressed his forehead to yours. “They’re wrong,” he said, voice low and fierce. “Every single word. You’re not a mistake. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And I’m not them. I’m not leaving.”

You looked up at him, eyes red and shining. “I love you, Leon. I love you so much it hurts that you’ll leave me now too.”

The words hit him like a lifeline. You threw yourself forward, kissing him hard- desperate, messy, all teeth and tongue and three months of unspoken terror. Before he could respond, you shoved him flat onto his back. Your hands found his wrists, snapping one cuff around them and chaining him to the headboard before he could protest. Then you straddled him, spit into your palm, and stroked his aching cock once, twice- feeling it twitches and harden instantly under your touch.

“Wait- baby, you’re not thinking straight- ” Leon tried, voice strained, but the words dissolved into a guttural groan as you sank down onto him in one smooth motion. The stretch was perfect, overwhelming. He filled you so completely that for a second you couldn’t breathe. The feeling of him- hot, thick, pulsing inside you- chased away the last of the fear. You were in control now. You could show him how much you meant it.

You started slow in the cowgirl position, hands braced on his chest for balance, rolling your hips in deliberate, grinding circles that dragged his cock against every sensitive ridge inside you. Leon’s breath hitched, eyes locked on where you were joined, watching himself disappear inch by inch into your dripping heat. “Fuck, baby… look at you taking all of me,” he rasped, voice wrecked. “So wet for me. So perfect.” You lifted up until only the tip remained, then sank back down with a wet slap, taking him to the hilt again and again. Your breasts bounced with every rise and fall; Leon’s gaze devoured them, dark with hunger. You leaned forward, changing the angle so his cock rubbed right against that spot that made your vision blur, and rolled your hips harder- tight, filthy circles that made his abs flex and his thighs tremble beneath you. Sweat slicked your skin; your clit ground against his pelvis on every downstroke, sparking pleasure that built like fire in your veins. Leon’s free hand gripped your hip, guiding you, but he let you set the pace, trusting you completely even while chained. “That’s it… ride me just like that. Gonna fill this pretty pussy up. Breed you so deep you’ll feel me for days. Want you swollen with my kid, baby- walking around the beach house knowing I put it there. I love you… fuck, I love you so much.”

The dirty words and the sudden confession sent a fresh gush of wetness around him. You rode him faster now, thighs burning, breasts swaying as you bounced- long, deep strokes that made obscene wet sounds fill the room. Leon’s hips bucked up to meet you, driving himself impossibly deeper, his cock throbbing with the need to claim you. “Gonna knock you up,” he groaned, voice breaking between thrusts. “Fill you until it takes. You’ll look so good carrying our baby- tits full, belly round. Mine. All fucking mine. Gonna watch your body change for me, know every stretch mark and every curve is because I bred you full. I love you- God, I love you.” You came hard around him, walls fluttering and clenching, crying out his name as waves of ecstasy crashed through you. He followed seconds later, hips stuttering, flooding you with thick, hot pulses that made you moan again, the breeding promise and his repeated “I love you” pushing you both over the edge. You could feel it- his cum spilling deep, painting your insides, the wet heat of it making your womb clench like it was trying to keep every drop.

But you didn’t stop. You kept moving, riding him through the aftershocks, kissing his neck, his collarbone, anywhere your mouth could reach. Leon cursed, low and filthy. “Jesus- baby, you’re gonna kill me. Feels too good. I can’t- fuck- ”

You rolled off him, ass up, presenting yourself on all fours. In the haze of lust and lingering emotion, you’d completely forgotten you’d cuffed him- you were so far gone, mind blank except for the need to feel him again, that the metal around his wrist didn’t even register. “Fuck me, Leon. Please.”

He surged up. The cuff chain snapped with a metallic crack- raw strength born of pure need. Metal fragments scattered across the sheets. His hands were free in an instant. One arm wrapped around your throat from behind- not choking, just holding you in place, possessive and grounding- while the other gripped your hip. He thrust in hard, burying himself to the hilt in one stroke. The angle was devastating. He fucked you with relentless energy- deep, claiming strokes that made your tits swing and your voice crack into broken moans.

“Hold me,” you begged, voice wrecked. “Touch me, Leon.”

His free hand slid up your body, finding your nipple. He rolled it between his fingers, pinched, tugged- then switched to the other, flicking and rubbing until they were swollen and aching. Every pinch sent sparks straight to your clit. He pulled out suddenly, just as you teetered on the edge. You cried out in frustration, but he flipped you onto your back, folded your legs up into a tight mating press, and slid back in slow and deep.

“Look at me,” he growled, voice rough with emotion and lust. “Gonna fill this pretty pussy up. Gonna put a baby in here so you never doubt I’m staying. Want you round with our kid- tits leaking so much I drink it, belly full of me. Gonna breed this perfect cunt until it’s dripping for days. You’ll never feel empty again. I love you.” The words ignited something primal in you. Your eyes flew open, walls clenching around him at the filthy promise. He thrust in rhythm- grinding against your clit on every stroke, mouth latching onto one nipple. He sucked hard, teeth grazing the sensitive peak while his tongue flicked mercilessly. His fingers tortured the other, rolling and pinching in time with his thrusts. Pleasure bordered on too much; your whole body quivered. “Imagine it, baby,” he panted between thrusts, voice dark and reverent. “You, pregnant with my child. Our family. No more running. Just you, me, and the life we make together. I’m gonna pump you so full tonight you’ll be leaking my cum for days- proof that you’re mine forever. I love you… so fucking much.”

Then he dropped lower, pulling out with a wet sound and burying his face between your thighs. His tongue was relentless- long, broad licks from your entrance to your clit, tight circles around the swollen nub, two thick fingers curling inside you to stroke that perfect spot. He hummed against you, the vibration making your thighs shake. “Taste so fucking good. Come on my tongue, baby. Let me drink every drop- gonna fill you again after, breed you full.” He sucked your clit into his mouth, flicking it rapidly, and you shattered- squirting hard, soaking his chin, his chest, the sheets. The release was endless, waves of liquid heat spilling out of you while he drank it down like he was starving, not caring the mix of his cum to yours, murmuring praise between licks: “Good girl… taking my tongue so well. Gonna pump you another full of cum next, make sure it sticks. F-uck I love you so so much.”

When your pussy finally calmed, Leon climbed back up, folded you again, and gave you five perfect, deep thrusts- each one grinding against your oversensitive clit, his voice a low growl. “Take it, baby. Take every drop. Gonna breed you right here- put a baby in this womb so you know I’m never leaving.” On the fifth he came with a guttural groan, flooding you until it leaked out around his cock. You came again too, smaller but no less intense, whispering “I love you” against his mouth.

Neither of you knew who said it first.

It didn’t matter.

You both collapsed, tangled and spent. Leon’s arms wrapped around you instantly, pulling you to his chest. The fear was gone- replaced by a bone-deep certainty that this was real. That he was staying.

Fear and disgust warred in his chest- not at you, never at you. At the monsters who’d tried to break the woman he loved. He wiped your face gently. You were passed out cold, wrecked from the edging, the confession, and the way he’d fucked you like the world was ending. He carried you to the bathroom, ran a warm bath, lowered you in, and washed you with careful hands- shampooing your hair, rinsing the sweat and tears and cum from your skin. You stirred once, murmured his name like a prayer, and fell back asleep against his chest.

He changed the sheets, dressed you in his long-sleeve shirt, himself in the matching pants, and tucked you into the clean bed. Then he sat beside you, thumb stroking your cheek, and made silent promises.

The next morning you woke to coffee, fresh mango, and Leon’s arms around you on the sunlit deck. No running. No walls. Just the two of you, knees touching, voices low.

You told him everything again- slower, calmer. The daily reminders that you were unwanted. The child labor disguised as “family duty.” The escape with Carrie. The blackmail that started the moment you let yourself be happy with him. Leon listened without anger this time, only steady resolve. “They’re done hurting you,” he said quietly. “I’m not going anywhere. You don’t have to carry this alone anymore.”

You didn’t want to use his connections at first. He respected that. But after long talks on the deck, watching the waves, you both agreed: one final payment, then a formal letter from his lawyer- now yours too- warning them of cease-and-desist, defamation charges, and possible criminal harassment. Leon made a quiet call later that day. A discreet DSO-adjacent contact paid your family a visit. No violence. Just a conversation that ensured they understood exactly who Leon Kennedy was and what would happen if they ever contacted you again. You never needed to know the details. They never bothered you again.

You started seeing a therapist- Leon sat in the next room the first few sessions, just in case. He held you after the hard ones. He celebrated the small wins.

One night, curled together under the weighted blanket he’d bought you, you laughed softly. “So you feel insecure because I don’t post you online?”

He groaned, burying his face in your neck. “I’m your boyfriend. Of course I’m insecure. Look at Carrie and Alec- they post couple photos like it’s their full-time job.”

“You’re forty-seven, Leon. We’re way too old for that.”

“Forty-seven and still whipped,” he corrected, nipping your ear. “And I’m your home screen and lockscreen. That counts.”

You kissed his temple. “It does.”

A week later you flew to the mainland for Carrie’s wedding prep. Leon had negotiated two extra days off for you- pulled strings again, that bastard- and you’d pretended to be annoyed. The double date at the cliffside restaurant was perfect: ocean breeze, string lights, good wine, and even better company.

Carrie leaned forward with a mischievous grin. “So, Leon, when are you finally going to make an honest woman out of my best friend? You’ve been sulking about not being posted online for weeks now.”

Leon pointed his wineglass at the happy couple across the table. “Look at you two. Every post is the two of you looking disgustingly in love. I’m her boyfriend. I deserve some public humiliation too.”

You laughed so hard you nearly snorted your drink. “Leon, envy doesn’t suit you. We're way too mature for that kind of thing.” To which earned daggers from her friend as she just stuck her tongue out.

“Speak for yourself,” he shot back, pulling out his phone. He opened Instagram and turned the screen toward you. Username: LSKennedy. Profile picture: you in the emerald-green dress from Carrie’s charity and engagement gala, tongue out, champagne in hand. Following: one account. Yours. Your last post- months old, before you met- was a photo of his Porsche with the caption “My dream man.”

Your face burned. “Leon- ”

You turned to Carrie, eyes narrowing playfully. “You helped him find this account, didn’t you?”

Carrie feigned complete innocence, raising both hands. “What? He asked so nicely.”

You tried to block your own account on his phone. Leon snatched it back with a laugh. The whole table erupted.

Grinning, Leon tossed his phone across the table to Carrie. “Here- hold this for me.” 

The two of you immediately turned into giggling children, leaping up and chasing each other around the table like kids while Alec and Leon watched in amused disbelief.

Alec clapped Leon on the back, shaking his head. “Man’s completely whipped. Respect.”

Later that night, back at the hotel, Leon pressed you against the balcony railing under the stars. “I’m serious about us,” he murmured against your mouth, voice low and warm. “Eight more months. Then we talk rings. I want forever, baby. Not ‘while it lasts.’”

You kissed him until you were breathless. “Eight months,” you agreed softly. “Then forever.”

The wedding itself was a beautiful blur of joy and happy tears. You stood beside Carrie in soft lavender, bouquet trembling only slightly in your hands as you watched your best friend exchange vows with Alec. Leon sat in the front row, his eyes never leaving you the entire ceremony. When Carrie and Alec finally kissed, sealed with cheers and applause, Leon’s gaze said everything he couldn’t shout in public:

You’re mine.

I’m yours.

We made it.

After the reception, as the sun dipped low and the garden lights twinkled on, you slipped away with Leon to a quiet corner surrounded by blooming jasmine. He pulled you close, resting his forehead gently against yours.

“No more secrets,” he whispered.

“No more secrets,” you promised, smiling up at him.

He kissed you slow and sweet, the kind of kiss that tasted like the future- beach house finished, lazy mornings, maybe a dog, maybe kids if you both decided yes. The kind of kiss that said the past could stay buried where it belonged.