A Total Disaster

Yet now: here you were, sitting alone—or... not entirely alone—on a worn-out couch at one of the annual college frat parties.

You'd get to the not entirely alone part in a moment.

The music was deafening here, the bass pounding so violently through the walls that it felt as though the entire house was closing in on you.

and every room overflowed with strangers shouting over each other in a crowded room, while the red cups littered every available surface, and the air smelled like cheap beer, perfume, sweat and poor decisions— that everyone would probably regret by next morning.

Honestly? You already wanted to go home.

Because truth be told, this had all been Mia's idea – she had spent an entire week convincing you to come, promising it'd be fun, that you'd finally loosen up, and that you'd be thanking her by the end of the night.

You should not have said yes, yet you did.. and now rest was the history.

Well... you certainly didn't want to thank her anymore. If anything, you wanted to strangle her.

She had vanished almost the second you'd arrived, currently somewhere in the house making out with her boyfriend— and the last thing you'd seen before losing her was her lip-locking with him— leaving you to fend for yourself at a frat party you never wanted to attend in the first place.

Finally you sighed for what had to be the fiftieth time that night before folding in on yourself, resting your forehead against your knees. Your posture had somehow evolved into that of a defeated shrimp, that silently screamed, ‘Please... somebody get me out of here.’

Unfortunately for you no one could listen to what was going inside your head, and not to mention: one particularly persistent problem refused to let you breathe peacefully.

A guy named… Jake? James? Jack? Truthfully, you didn't care enough to remember.

He had been orbiting around you for the better part of an hour like an especially annoying fly, you desperately wished you could swat. "So..." he said for what felt like the seventh time, dropping onto the couch beside you despite the mountain of empty space elsewhere. "What course are you in?"

You sighed and straightened yourself while subtly scooting farther toward the armrest. "Criminal law." You said uninterestedly and avoided looking at him altogether, letting your gaze settle somewhere beyond the crowd by the gate, already dreading the conversation you knew was coming.

"Oh, that's cool," he said chirpily, utterly unaware that you wanted to push him down the stairs just for daring to exist within your vicinity.

Oh fuck off, you breathed in your head.

"You've got really pretty eyes," he said, resting his elbows on his knees, his chin propped lazily in his palms as he stared at you with that unbearably amused expression— the kind that made you want to gouge his eyes out for looking at you like that.

God, were you studying criminal law just so you could get away with murder? Christ.

At this rate, maybe you really could.

and..maybe you should start paying attention in your lectures after all.

"I see." You said sighing sharply, closing your eyes briefly, agonizing his presence.

He leaned closer, his breath sour with something fruity and artificial. "So... you got a boyfriend?"

You inhaled slowly, but for a few seconds... you hesitated, because your mind screamed something else entirely.

No—I don't have a boyfriend, but I'm in love. Fuck.

Instead, you swallowed those words back down and sighed. "No." The same answer you'd been giving everyone who asked about your love life.

"Oh, nice."

Not nice. Not nice at all.

Because try being hopelessly in love with an asshole for years. Try carrying feelings for someone you absolutely shouldn't. Someone who got under your skin, annoyed you beyond reason... and somehow still managed to occupy every—

Never mind.

You cut the thought off before it could wander any further, refusing to let his face invade your head yet again.

Anyways, you'd rejected James or Jack, seven times already. Apparently his dictionary lacked the simple word no.

"Look," you said, finally turning to face him. "I'm really not interested."

He laughed. Actually laughed. “You would be.”

God, what an asshole.

At this point, Mia owed you your favorite dessert for the next six months.

But still you weren't about to interrupt whatever romantic moment she was having with her boyfriend— that would make you feel guilty: but if this continued much longer, you just might.

Actually? No. Forget it.

You needed Luca. Your brother.

Because he'd probably finished work by now anyway, and would be somewhere at DSO headquarters doing... whatever mysterious government things he never bothered explaining.

So, without another thought, you pulled your phone from your pocket, and quickly opened your messages. Not bothering to double-check the contact, then quickly you typed on the thread:

Come get me.

Back entrance of the college auditorium, frat party.

I hate you.

I'm serious.

Just come soon.

Then send.

Immediately, your shoulders relaxed, in relief. Good. You knew Luca would come get you and even if he complain the entire drive home, and tell you he'd warned you not to come, while probably laughing at your misery.

But..He'd still come.

You believed in him.

"So..." Jake—James—Whatever-His-Name-Was asked, trying yet again. "Who're you texting?"

You honestly wanted to tell him, It's none of your business, asshole. But considering he'd already ignored your rejection more than once, you decided otherwise and thought just maybe mentioning Luca might finally get the message across. Hopefully, he'd take the hint and back off. Though, knowing him… You weren't exactly counting on it.

"My brother." You said through gritted teeth, and finally clutching your phone tighter in your hand.

"Oh?" He asked.

"He'll be here soon." you pointed out.

He grinned, his yellow-stained teeth stretching into a smile so wide it made your patience shrink even further. "Guess I get to meet him then.”

What? What the fuck was he talking about? You pinched the bridge of your nose with your free hand, already feeling a headache coming on. God, he was fucking insufferable.

You finally turned to him, stared at him in complete disbelief "No, I—" then you finally stood before he could continue. "I need to use the bathroom."

You didn't wait for his reply, instead disappeared into the hallway, weaving through clusters of drunk students until you found the women's restroom and slipped inside.

The moment the door clicked shut… you exhaled "Jesus.”

You walked over to the mirror before the sink and for a moment you just stood there: staring at your reflection, while slipping your phone inside your empty pocket. Then you noticed yourself, wearing your favourite dress. The way your hair was no longer sitting the way you'd styled it. Lipstick slightly smudged after mindlessly snacking throughout the evening.

You looked...Exhausted.

For one brief moment… you wished you could simply disappear.

Outside, the bass continued to shake the walls. You knew weren't leaving this bathroom anytime soon— because knowing your luck, James-Jake-whatever was probably still lurking in the hallway.

So you stayed. Then one minute became five, five became… fifteen, then you lost track. Long enough for the party to blur into nothing but muffled thumping and distant laughter.

You stood there long enough that you never noticed the message had been delivered to the wrong thread.

…

At exactly 8.07 p.m your phone chimed with a notification, you quickly pulled it out of your pocket, and this time; you didn't bother to see the name. But you did read what it said.

Outside.

Nothing else.

Okay that was strange Luca would never text in one word, but maybe he was just tired— or at least that's what you told yourself.

Still a strange calm settled over you. You straightened your dress, checked your reflection one last time, and stepped out of the restroom, slipping your phone inside your pocket again.

The hallway was almost empty now, and the guy was nowhere to be seen.

Good.

You made a beeline for the front door, and finally pushed it open — instantly the cold hit you like a physical blow, the winter air, sharp and biting, flooded your lungs, and goosebumps erupted across your skin.

Inside, with the crush of bodies and the heat of the party, you hadn't noticed how frigid the night had become. But now— your breath crystallized in front of you, and you rub your arms with either hand to warm yourself up.

And then you saw someone.

Leaning against a black SUV, arms crossed.... and that someone was not Luca.

It was Leon Scott Kennedy.

Of all people.

Seeing him, both of your hands fall either side of you and you feel a bit of irritation — or something along the lines of happiness which you would not want to admit, at all.

He looked up from his phone the instant you emerged, as if he'd felt your presence before he'd seen you.

His eyes found yours across the driveway, then he sighed— a long-suffering, familiar sound that transported you somewhere else entirely, for a moment he just stared at you with his eyes, that bruised your soul naked, then he straightened himself and cleared his throat,"You took your time." His voice was loud enough for you to hear him.

You could not fathom his words because your focus was elsewhere like on his leather jacket that hung open, revealing the white scarf looped around his neck.

The white scarf.

The one you'd knitted for him in a fever of misplaced optimism, ages ago. The one you'd assumed he'd lost, or thrown away, or forgotten in some drawer like the rest of your history together— no, but the truth that lingered was? there was no history together, you gave him this.. when… when.. you were a teenager.

Suddenly the memories itself burned holes in your brain like lobotomizing everything that was not him— no you won't go there.

You can't, still what was unexpected was your breath got caught, because it had been years. Hadn't it? Then why … Did he still have that?

No, it doesn't matter, you quickly thought to yourself.

Then finally forcing the words out, you managed to speak out, "What are you doing here?" And you just stood there because your stubborn feet wouldn't budge an inch.

He finally straightened and pushed himself away from the car, and with slow, deliberate steps, he crossed the space between you until only a few feet remained. This time, you didn't retreat.

"You texted me." He raised a brow, an amused huff escaping him as he slipped his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

"No," you argued, folding your arms before your chest, "I texted Luca."

"Check your texts, then." A quiet breath escaped him.

Your stomach sank at his words and yet you did. You pulled your phone from your pocket, ran your fingers over the screen, and finally found—

Leon (asshole)

Yes. That's what you'd saved his contact as.

Not that he knew.

And yes again you had texted him: he was right, in the midst of it all you forgot to check who you were texting at all.

…Shit.

No. No. No.

The colour drained from your face, and every trace of warmth sinking into the pit of your stomach, and seeing you pale he laughed not cruelly– but amusedly, "Maybe next time check who you're texting?” At his words heat crawled up to your neck, like snake around its prey.

god damn it.

Now he stood directly in front of you. Close enough that you could smell his cologne— something woodsy and expensive, the same scent that used to linger inside you ages ago, it hit you like a freight train, you shook your head quickly not wanting to go down that lane and realize that you couldn't lose this sharp-tongued battle.

Not to him. Not tonight.

"Even so," you said, clenching your jaw, "you didn't have to come."

He let out a slow sigh. "Story of my life," he muttered under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. "No, I didn't have to, but—"

"I wanted my brother," you cut in.

You hadn't meant to sound so vicious, for a second his face fell but he gathered his usual persona back: with that shameless grin of his. “Yeah?”

You didn't reply for a long moment, instead your mind wanders again.

Honestly? You hadn't intended to act like that toward him either, because whatever had happened between the two of you belonged to the past.

Years ago... or, if you were being painfully honest with yourself, eight years, ten months, three weeks, and two days to be exact.

Not that he would remember the date, surely.

But you did. Because that was the day he…. You trail of mid-thought, because that was the story for another day.

Again… perhaps it didn't matter anymore. It was the past. Or at least, that was what helped you sleep at night.

but you did think whether the bitterness had lingered all these years, or whether it had simply disguised the fact that a part of you had never truly stopped loving— no, it didn't matter, and you also knew your feelings, your desire, could undo what had already happened, it could not change the past or the fact, that he wasn't into you.

So you buried those thoughts where they belonged; into the back of your head.

"But now I'm here instead of him," he said, pushing you out of your thoughts, "So can we go? Instead of pretending this conversation is getting us anywhere?"

"You can go." You shoved your phone back into your pocket. "I'll wait for my friend."

"No." He said flatly, running a hand through his hair.

You laughed, throwing your hands in the air. "I am sorry, I didn't ask you.”

"Too bad." His voice was firmer this time. Before you could stop him, he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders, ignoring every half-hearted protest that left your lips. The familiar weight settled around you, carrying with it the faint scent of his musk and his cologne— a feeling so achingly familiar it tugged at memories you'd spent years trying to bury, and for some reason you didn't remove the jacket insteas you let it rest on your shoulders. "I didn't drive two hours just to leave you here.”

Your heart squeezed. Two hours. Why did he spent two fucking hours to come here.

And for a moment, you saw that boy— the one who used to drive across the city at 2 AM because you couldn't sleep, who'd show up with your favourite snacks, and tell you terrible one-liners, and that lopsided grin which he used to give you— the one you fell in–

Stop. No. It was all in the past.

That boy was gone: and he was absolutely clear years ago what he meant when he said--you shook your head sharply as if doing that will help you, forget everything that has happened before.

"I'm sorry," you said quietly. "For bothering you."

"You didn't." He answered immediately then he stepped even closer leaving only an inch between you and him. "But can we not do this? I'm already here. It's better if we go, no?"

"I don't want to go with you." You said looking down because suddenly the ground below looked way more interesting than anything happening right now.

Suddenly silence stretched between you, brittle and sharp. But he didn't back down. Instead, he frowned— something flickering in his eyes that looked dangerously like determination. "You'll have to," he said, and you looked up at him in those familiar ocean - blue orbs. "Either willingly, or I'll have to put you in the car against your will."

“What?”

“You heard me, dove.”

"Dove." The name hit you like a physical thing, like a bow meant straight for your ribs. The fact he said it so casually. Easily. As if years hadn't passed between the last time he said it and now.

Dove. The same teasing lilt he used when you were teenagers—when you'd follow him and Luca around like a shadow, when he'd ruffle your hair and call you his little dove, when you'd pretend to hate it even as you secretly memorized the shape of his smile.

Another memory slipped through your defenses, sharp enough to make your vision blur.

Summer evenings on Leon's porch came rushing back— your brother ducking inside his apartment to grab sodas while the two of you stayed behind, watching fireflies dance across the fading light.

Dove, look, leon had whispered in your ears, pointing at the first star, that fell through the sky.

Make a wish.

And you did. You never really believed in wishing on falling stars; it always felt like a childish superstition. But back then, whenever he spoke about them in that quiet, hopeful voice of his, somehow, you believed too. So you closed your eyes and wished—not for yourself, but for him. You wished that he'd be happy. You just hadn't known that one day, his happiness might come at the cost of your own. Even if you'd known, though, you weren't sure you would have wished for anything else.

But what you did mind was…. thinking Leon and you could ever be something. He could…. ever be… you didn't get to finish that thought because soon that memory disperse in the air leaving nothing but a pile of bitterness in your stomach.

Your heart squeezed, viciously, but you knew his game. He was watching for a crack— inside you, some hitch in your breath, some flush to your cheeks, some proof that the nickname still worked its way under your skin like it used to. You'd be damned before you gave him one. "Can you not, say that name?" You said instead, managing to keep your voice flat, and disinterested.

"You texted me." He said ignoring your question, stead of it he repeated his previous question.

"By accident, Leon." The words came out exhausted, frayed at the edges. "It was by accident."

A brief flash of hurt crossed his face— there and yet it was gone so fast you might have imagined it. But you felt it. That familiar twinge of guilt, sharp as a blade cut through you, "I'm sorry," you whispered. "I just... don't want to go with you."

"Either way," he said, and his voice softened even as his stance remained unyielding, rooted to the pavement like he was prepared to outlast the weather itself. "You have to." He doesn't give you a moment to speak again, as he continues, "And if you want to argue with me standing here?" A ghost of a smile touched his lips, but his eyes stayed fixed on yours— serious, and searching. "I'm way too happy to oblige."

He tilted his head then, studying you with that unfair patience he always had. The one that used to make you feel seen and exposed in equal measure. "And between the two of us remember.." His smile widened, just a fraction, "...I'm much more stubborn.”

…

Before you could reply, the door swung open.

"There you are!" The guy—Jake? James?—emerged from the house, all easy confidence and drunken entitlement, you didn't have to look to know it was him.

after all you spent hours... listening to his annoying ass.

He strode towards you in an instant, and slung his arm across your shoulders like you were old friends, like you hadn't spent the last hour trying to escape him. "I've been searching everywhere for you."

Fuck. He's back. You rolled your eyes so hard you thought they would escape through your skull.

You tried to shrug him off, but his arm was heavy, pinning you in place. Then Leon moved even closer to you and straightened beside you— some subtle shift in his posture that made him seem suddenly larger, and more dangerous. His jaw tightened, a muscle ticking in his cheek. "Take your hands off her."

You pushed at the guy's arm, but he didn't budge. Just grinned down at you with that infuriating, liquored-up persistence.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." He finally turned his attention toward Leon, raising his free hand in mock surrender. His eyes swept over Leon's leather jacket, his stance, the white scarf. "Jack," he said, amused. "The name's Jack. Relax, man."

Leon didn't relax, instead he took one step forward towards the guy, and something in his expression made Jack's smile falter.

"Take. Your. Hands. Off. Her."

He said it like a verdict, like a promise. Each word delivered with such cold, controlled authority that the temperature seemed to drop another ten degrees.

Jack's arm finally fell from your shoulders. He took a small step back, putting distance between himself and Leon, then between himself and you. He looked from Leon to you and back again, that stupid grin returning but thinner now, uncertain.

"Oh." He forced a laugh. "Is he your brother or something? Who was gonna pick you up?"

Before you could answer, Leon scoffed— a sharp, humorless sound. "I'm not her brother." He held Jack's gaze, unblinking. "But I am someone who will break your hands if it comes to that. Do you understand?"

Jack understood. The color drained from his face. Then he muttered something under his breath— fucking psycho or maybe whatever, man and retreated back inside, the door slamming behind him.

The silence that followed was heavy, vibrating with the aftermath of Leon's anger. "Let's go," Leon said, already turning toward his SUV. "Before I lose what's left of my patience."

"I can make my own decisions." Your voice came out shaky despite your best efforts.

"Never said you couldn't, Dove." He didn't look back. Just walked to the passenger side and opened the door.

You refused to move. "You're fucking arrogant."

"Thank you."

"Insufferable too."

"Yes. I know."

He stood there, holding the door, the interior light casting his face in shadow and gold. Something about his patience—his absolute certainty that you would come—made you want to scream. "Get in the car," he said quietly. "I won't ask again."

You should have walked away, should have gone back inside, found Mia, called an Uber, done literally anything else.

Instead, with an angry huff that felt embarrassingly like surrender, you crossed the driveway and climbed into the passenger seat. Every bone in your body wanted to smack the self-satisfied look off his face, but you didnt neither.

And as soon as you settled inside the car, he closed the door behind you with a soft, definitive click.

….

You didn't want to talk to him, not really. So you sat in silence, scooted as close to the passenger door as physics allowed, forehead resting against the cool glass, and Leon was tense beside you— as you could see it from the corner of your eyes and feel it in the rigid set of his shoulders, the white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel— but he didn't speak, just the occasional hushed sigh, barely audible over the engine.

Soon the trees blurred past, as the moon followed your car, silver and indifferent, hanging in the rearview mirror like a witness. Finally, you broke the silence, still not looking at him. "You didn't have to do that and come here."

"I know." He agreed, his grip, on the wheel tightened again.

"Then why?"

A pause. Then, quietly: "Because I wanted to."

You wanted to say so many things. You don't have the right. I'm not some damsel, you could have just left. We are not anything.

Instead, what came out was small and simple: "Thank you."

"No problem." The words came out of him like a soft surrender.

You just hummed, forcing your attention towards the scenery instead, as the miles passed, you realized something uncomfortable— something that had nothing to do with Jack or the party or the cold.

Sitting here in the dark, surrounded by the familiar scent of his cologne and the ghost of everything, and all you could feel was want, desire, for him, like you did years ago.

Not the desperate, aching kind from when you were fifteen, but something deeper, something that recognized his silhouette in the streetlight and thought home.

You shook your head, tried to push the thought away, then you let your eyes fall closed, pretending exhaustion.

"Why do you hate me so much?" Leon blurted out, and just scoffed a little, as the question pushed past his lips : out of nowhere, and your eyes fluttered open and instantly you feel that weird sensation running in your lower belly.

God.

The reason.

How could you tell him? That you were holding a grudge, or maybe it was your love you were holding onto? That "moving on" had never actually happened. That you haven't dated a man since — no. yeah.

That would seem pathetic as fuck.

So you lied. "Nothing you did," you murmured, letting your voice go slack, distant. "I'm gonna sleep. Wake me up when... when we get to my apartment."

You didn't give him a moment to think there was more to this conversation and soon you just closed your eyes and let the darkness take you finally — or pretend to, anyway, slowly you let your breathing even out, let your head roll against the window. But still, you felt him looking at you eventually, and you feel the weight of his gaze like a touch.

And you wondered, as the car hummed beneath you and the road disappeared like a blur, if he knew you were faking. If only he could hear the way your heart was hammering against your ribs, too fast for sleep, or maybe he was letting you pretend, just for tonight, that you were okay.

…

The drive home had been quieter than either of you expected, soon you were lulled by the warmth of the SUV and the exhaustion finally catching up to you, you'd drifted into actual sleep.

"...Dove." A soft voice pulled you back. "Hey.. wake up."

You let out a sleepy groan, eyelashes fluttering open to find Leon watching you beneath the dim glow of the streetlights. "We're home," he murmured.

You nodded sluggishly, still half-dreaming, fumbling with the seatbelt, when you climbed out, your legs wobbled from fatigue, and his hand settled against the small of your back— light, almost hesitant, there and gone before you could fully register it.

As you moved deeper towards your apartment the front door of your building was already open.

Luca appeared in the doorway the moment footsteps hit the stairs. "There you are." He stepped aside, inviting you in, then immediately looked past you to Leon. His eyes shifted between the two of you, narrowing with suspicion. "What happened? you two look like someone was killed right in front of you."

Leon sighed, rubbing his temples, as if you gave him the biggest headache he ever had, "I had to pick her up from the frat party; because she texted me instead of you."

Luca blinked. "Wait...what she texted you?"

"By accident." You corrected, moving past him into the apartment.

"And you drove across town to pick her up?"

"I did," Leon replied as he followed you into the apartment. Only after both of you had stepped inside did Luca let out a quiet sigh, lingering for a brief moment before gently closing the door behind you.

The answer came so naturally that Leon didn't seem to realize what he'd admitted until after he said it.

Luca stared at him for a long second before shaking his head with a tired laugh. "You could've just called me, then I would have went and picked her up."

Then you glance back at Leon, because Luca was right— he could have. Could have forwarded the message, could have ignored it entirely, could have done literally anything else.

Instead, he'd driven across the city without hesitation. Endured your attitude at the fraternity, endured the silent car ride, never once complained about wasting his evening on someone who'd spent years — agonizing him.

That realization settled somewhere warm and dangerous in your chest. Kind. That's what he was and this was why you'd fallen in love with him in the first place.

Your gaze lingered on him for a heartbeat before you quietly muttered, tearing your gaze away from him, "...Yeah. You probably should've called Luca."

For once, he didn't have a smart remark ready. Then he turned a little red and rubbed the back of his neck, exhaling through his nose. "Maybe."

Then, as if the moment had become too heavy, he nodded toward you and deadpanned, “But….”

Leon couldn't come up with an excuse, because what the hell was he supposed to say? So instead he chose silence.

"What?" You frowned immediately.

“Nothing.”

Luca barked out a laugh. "You two are still the same." Leon merely lifted a brow, looking almost as though he thought he'd managed to slip off the hook. Then they both exchanged a brief glance— so subtle it would've gone unnoticed by anyone else. But not by you. It was a look that said only one thing: Tell her. Your smile faded, if only by a fraction.

You narrowed your eyes at both of them before pointing at your brother. "Don't change the subject." Your expression softened just enough for hurt to peek through. "You have something to tell me, I can tell from your body language."

The amusement vanished from Luca's face, and Leon noticed it too, quietly, he took a small step back, and headed towards the kitchen because whatever came next belonged to the two of you.

The silence lasted barely five seconds before Luca cleared his throat, "actually."

You looked up, stomach sinking at his tone. "I was going to tell you tomorrow." Luca drawled, looking anywhere but you.

"Telling me what?" You managed, you were dreading it because you knew… something terrible was happening or… maybe was about to happen.

He rubbed the back of his neck. "I got offered a six-month assignment overseas."

The room fell silent, instantly, "Wh..what?" You choked on the air, and your eyes widened instantly, because what the ‘fuck.’

"I leave next week." He said, stepping closer to you.

You stared at him, waiting for the laugh, just kidding. It didn't come. "You're leaving?"

"It'll only be six months." He reassured you as he held your face in his hands, “Sis–”

He searched your face with quiet apprehension, hope peeking through the guilt weighing heavily in his eyes. And honestly...

You couldn't even find it in yourself to be angry.

Because you knew what this meant to him. Opportunities like this didn't come twice. It was the kind people waited years for— the kind that could change the course of a career, a dream, a life. Slowly, you reached up and rested your hands over his.

A small smile curved onto your lips. "That's great."

His brows pulled together. "What?" His eyes widened as if he'd misheard you.

"It's really great," you repeated softly, your thumbs brushing over the backs of his hands. "I'm happy for you. I really am."

The tension in his shoulders faltered. You gently guided his hands away from your face before lifting one to your lips, pressing a lingering kiss into his warm palm.

"Just..." You looked back up at him. "Promise me you'll be safe."

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. "I want to tell you everything," he admitted quietly. "Every detail."

"Alright." You gave him a small nod, your voice gentle. "You can tell me tomorrow."

Just then, Leon wandered out of the kitchen, drying his hands on a dish towel. His gaze flicked between the two of you before a knowing smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Well..." he drawled. "That went better than I expected."

You shot him a look that earned an unapologetic shrug in return, without another word, you turned, intending to retreat to your room and let the evening settle.

"There is something else."

Luca's voice stopped you before you could take another step, you paused, and slowly, you turned back to face him, your brows knitting together. “Go on, then.” You said , looking at him.

He stood rooted where he was, fingers curling anxiously at his sides, as though he was searching for the right words— and dreading what would happen once he found them. "Leon's going to check in on you and stay here while I'm gone." He blurted out.

"Excuse me?" You scoffed, not believing what he had just said.

"You'll be alo—." Luca starts.

"I'll be fine," you insisted, scrunching your nose as you planted your hands on your hips. "I'm not made of glass."

Luca let out a slow sigh, tilting his head as he studied you,"I know you're capable."

"Then why do I need a babysitter?" You arched a brow at him.

"It's not babysitting." Luca says, shaking his head , while rubbing his forehead.

"It absolutely is."

Silence stretched between the two of you before Leon's voice cut through it, "I can say no."

Both of you turned, Leon leaned casually against the wall's doorway, one shoulder resting against the frame, arms folded across his chest "If this makes you uncomfortable," he continued evenly, looking at you instead of Luca, "I won't do it."

Luca shook his head. "No, that isn't an option."

You laughed bitterly, as you removed your hands from your hips, and rubbed your temples, "So I don't even get a choice?"

"It's for your safety," Luca said quietly, forcing patience into his voice.

You let out a disbelieving laugh. "I have friends, and they're perfectly capable of looking out for me."

His jaw tightened. "I'd rather have someone I trust with you."

“So, you trust Leon more than me?” you asked quietly.

“That's not what I meant.”

"This… is ridiculous" Your voice wavered despite your best efforts to steady it. "And this is worse than you leaving."

You knew you shouldn't have said it, but fuck, you were exhausted—exhausted from always being the one who thought twice, the one who cared so much about everyone else's feelings when no one seemed to do the same for you.

Maybe it was selfish. Maybe you'd regret it the moment the words left your mouth. But right then, you couldn't bring yourself to care anymore.

After that long silence followed, even Leon cleared his throat awkwardly and swiftly you swallowed the ache rising in your throat, turned on your heel, and walked away before either of them could stop you.

A second later—

Bang.

Your bedroom door slammed shut, the sound echoing through the apartment and leaving an unbearable silence in its wake.

...

On the other side of the room, Luca stood motionless. "...I handled that terribly."

Leon leaned against the kitchen counter with a quiet sigh. "No."

Luca looked at him.

"She's not really angry about you." Leon stared at the closed door. "She's hurt that she thinks you don't trust her."

"But I do," he said, rubbing at his temples with a weary sigh. Luca looked at him for a long moment before speaking. "You don't have to do this, I mean taking care of her." Leon's gaze dropped to the floor, silence stretching between them as he stood there, seemingly lost in thought. Then, at last, he looked up, wearing that familiar I'll handle it smile — the one that never quite reached his eyes. "I know," he said after a measured pause, taking a slow breath. "But I will."

Luca studied him carefully, trying to read anything in his expression, but Leon gave nothing away. "Thanks."

Leon only nodded, though he couldn't pretend your words hadn't cut him.

god he just wanted to pull you so close--no, he can't have those thoughts no.

But he knew — that you didn't like him, at least not after what happened years ago, and he'd only just now caught up to the reality of it.

But no, that wasn't quite right either. Something had happened; and if he thinks deeply about it maybe it was indeed about that?

But that didn't make sense, did it? Because it happened years ago... it was after all just infatuation for you, back then, wasn't it?

Now: when he replayed every argument, every barbed exchange, every word thrown like a stone across the distance between you, he realized he hated being the reason for your suffering.

Honestly the last thing he'd ever wanted was to hurt you. He'd only ever wanted you happy — genuinely, stupidly happy, even if that happiness had nothing to do with him. That was the truth he carried, heavy and stubborn: your wellbeing mattered more than his pride, more than his ego, more than the ache… of not having you…

And he'd be lying— to the dark, to God if he had to—if he said he didn't want to be here.

Right here. In whatever capacity you'd have him. And if god himself placed that opportunity on a platter, silver and gleaming, held it out with indifference or grace or even resentment? He'd take it. He'd take it before the higher power above could change its mind.

…

Behind your bedroom door, you buried your face in your pillow with a groan that was half rage, half something you refused to name. "I don't need a babysitter..."

Your voice came out muffled, furious, humiliated. "...And I don't want him."

The lie tasted like ash. Because you wanted him, God, you still wanted him but the wanting only sharpened your anger, at Luca for forcing this. At yourself for the traitorous heat that still coiled low in your stomach. And unfairly, irrationally, at Leon for being impossible to hate cleanly.

He could have said no. Should have. But that asshole didn't.

The thought burned.

Because some small, treacherous part of you had hoped he would refuse, hoped he'd look at Luca and walk away rather than endure your company— and the fact that he hadn't, that he'd simply accepted it so easily, even if you were being difficult and giving him every reason to hate you, he still didn't. And that thought coiled tighter in your chest like a fence keeping your emotions securely trapped inside.

Though deep down, you already knew none of this was really his fault, and if Leon was going to be around for six months, checking in, hovering at the edges of your life...

How the fuck were you supposed to handle that? How were you supposed to keep your… feelings in check, you could not and even if it wasn't the end you knew that you were absolutely fucked.

…

Instead of staying within firing distance in the living room, you pad upstairs to ready yourself for an early night, tucked in bed with your story and something hydrating on your skin. After a steamy shower, you slip into a nightgown, something silky and cooling on your skin. 

Right before you can finally wrap your body in a cocoon of Egyptian cotton and bamboo, you hear the shattering of glass echoing up the walls of the staircase and the hallway that leads to your bedroom. 

“Leon?” You call out as you gingerly make your way down the steps, peering over the banister into the kitchen. Leon stands, with a broom and dustpan already put to work, sweeping up the pieces of a ceramic plate. 

“Sorry,” he mutters, not looking up at you. 

“What happened?” 

He glances up with an extended hand to halt your movement. “Don’t walk over here. I don’t want you to step on any of the shards and cut your foot.” 

You nod, staying in place on the bottom step. “Are you alright?” 

“Just go back to bed.” 

You obey, sauntering back up the stairs, but not burrowing back under the covers, waiting for Leon on the edge of the bed, legs crossed, reclined back on your palms. He crosses the threshold of the bedroom, not paying you much mind as he undresses, discarding the day on his clothes, and hops into a pair of sweatpants, yanking on a t-shirt. 

He stands at the high-boy dresses, back to you as he removes his watch and wedding band. You take the opportunity to approach, and as he turns around, brows squinted, you push him up against the piece of furniture. 

“Stop, I’m not in the mood,” he says weakly, turning his head to the side as you plant a garden of kisses on his neck and cheek, eyes faulting to the floor. 

“No, but you’re in a mood, and I’d like to know what’s going on.”

He just shakes his head, extending his hands to your arms, however, he doesn’t use the leverage to push you away. 

“Come on,” you goad, palming his dick through the fleece fabric. It’s not long before he begins to grow beneath your hand as you continue to grind the heel up and down his hardening length. 

He groans. “Work was–mhm–bad. Got reamed for a call I had to make in the field. Assholes.”

“I’m sorry, baby,” you say, giving him one last kiss on the lips before you sink down to your knees, pulling the band of his sweatpants and briefs with you. Freed at last, you get to take in the sight of his cock, pulsating and twitching as you teasingly graze your fingers up and down the shaft. 

With a hand wrapped around his base, you open your lips to stick out your tongue, flat and thick and wanton as you slide the head across it. Leon’s whole body shivers, his hands running to grab the knobs of the dresser drawers as he clenches his teeth through the sudden pleasure. 

“Fuck, that’s good,” he hisses, caressing the back of your head. “Take all of me, baby, just like that.” Funny that he thinks he’s going to be the one in charge tonight. 

You give him what he wants, taking half of his length into your mouth, the other half stroked by your hand. The hand that isn’t working his cock is extended above your head, palming his abdomen beneath the fabric of his t-shirt, feeling the muscles tense and release as you suck him down. He takes the collar of his shirt in his mouth, pulling it up and away from your hand on his stomach so you have better access, and he has a bit he can chomp down on when his ecstasy is nearly unbearable. 

“I’m so close,” he warns through gritted teeth and cotton. “Keep going.” 

As if. 

You use that as your cue to pull away, retreating back onto your heels. 

“Wha–,” he whines. “Why’d you stop?” His lips pucker into a pout, his eyes glassy beneath a set of woven brows. “I was–oh god–” He takes in a deep breath so as not to finish anywhere but between your sweet lips, and he’s able to get it under control, sparing himself the embarrassment of finishing in the air. 

“Are you gonna come home, slamming doors again?” You ask in a syrupy, saccharine voice, batting your lashes up at him, oh-so sweet. Like maraschino cherries. Or milk chocolate. 

Leon shakes his head frantically, casting his eyes down at his throbbing cock, desperate for your mouth to return as if to beg you –as if it would only take one at how painful it is for you to show him mercy. And it does look painful, you’ll give him that much. Saliva and anticipation gleam across the angry head, red and weeping. 

“Use your words, Leon,” you croon, fighting a smug smile that threatens to appear on your lips. 

Tossing his neck back, he lets his head hang for a moment before he glances back down at you. “No, I won’t. Fuck, I promise, just keep going. Please.”

With the lightest touch of your tongue, you flick the tip across his head, gathering a drop of salty moisture before you abdicate once more. His hips jolt forward, and his hands race to your shoulders, fingers bearing down into your skin like you’re some stress ball he can squeeze under the torturous pain you’re inflicting upon him. 

You hum, tilting your head back and forth, letting the plea roll around in your brain as you ponder his apology. “And what about when you didn’t give me a kiss when you came home? You know how much I hate that.” 

“I’ll kiss you,” he spits. “I won’t forget again, just please–shit–”

He’s so loud, always has been, never able to contain the guttural cries that pry open his mouth. It turns you on to hear audible evidence of the pleasure you inflict upon him, your ears drooling at every desperate whimper and primal scream that leaves his chest, and tonight is no different. If you were wearing underwear beneath your nightgown, you’re sure the gusset would be completely drenched. 

“Come on, baby, you’re being mean.” 

“So were you,” you nearly shout before lowering your voice back to a seductive whisper. “How do you think I felt when you came home, didn’t say a word to me, and started huffing and puffing and breaking plates. Huh? I’m not the mean one.” 

“No, you’re not, baby, I’m sorry.” He always gets loose-lipped with the pet names when he’s in the throes of his pleasure, especially if you’re playing hard to get. Cupping your cheek, he continues his apology. “It was unfair of me to bring that home to you, and I’m sorry. I was just having a shitty day…I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay to bring it home, Leon, but only if you’re going to talk about it like an adult. You know you don’t have to hide your feelings from me.” You flutter your lashes, rising back up to your knees. “Now, enough of all of that. Let me make you feel better.” 

He gives you a slight smile, a go-ahead for you to lick a stripe of tongue and spit up and down his shaft, preparing to take him into your mouth once more. 

“Yeah, that’s it,” he says, a hand finding the back of your head to help guide you onto his length. His hips thrust forward slightly. “Just like that–oh god–yeah, that’s it.” 

He doesn’t last much longer once your mouth returns after luring him to the brink of his pleasure and withholding it. Leon finishes in your mouth with a string of curse-laced gratitudes, moans spilling from his bottom lip, only released from the lock of his front teeth once he can no longer contain the sounds of pleasure lodged in his chest. Once he removes himself, dragging a line of cum and saliva across your bottom lip, you swallow down every last drop of his release, licking any remnants from the corners of your mouth. 

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he says with a labored breath, regaining consciousness from his mind-numbing climax so he can bow down and caress your face with his palm. When you glance up to study his face, you see a couple wet strands trickling down his cheeks–oily droplets bathed in the low light from the lamp on your night stand. The whites of his eyes are glistening, his lower lashes stuck together like the feathers of a bird flying through rain. “I needed that.”

There wasn't a sound of your boyfriend being home. Weird. You were sure he had his day off.

You frowned, setting your coffee down on the table and absentmindedly placing the half-eaten chocolate over the mug to keep it warm, "Leon?"

Your brows knit together as you looked toward the hallway, expecting his usual gruff "What?" or the sound of heavy footsteps. Instead, the apartment remained eerily quiet.

Only then did you realize he'd been suspiciously quiet for the last few hours, he hadn't make any sarcastic comments or wandered into living room to check on you, "let me just—" you muttered under your breath, and just as you were about to get up and investigate, when slow, heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway.

You instantly looked up, and see him emerge before you and immediately you choked on the air, 'what the actual fuck?' You breathed and indeed it was the right word for it-- for what you just saw.

Because standing in the doorway..

Was Ghost. Simon Riley. Your favorite game character.

Well.. It was Leon dressed as Ghost.

he did look hot though, hotter than you think he would look, as you notice him wearing that skull mask. The tactical gear. The gloves. Even the headset.

As you looked at him completely star-struck, you found him leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest.

You simply stared, frozen where you stood, "uh, Leon what are you doing?" and for a brief moment, though, you forgot to say anything at all.

His voice came out perfectly flat beneath the mask. "It's Ghost, Love, not Leon"

A laugh escaped you, and you bent over, clutching your side as you tried to contain it. "Christ," you breathed between laughs, before finally stopping and wiping the corner of your eyes with your finger-tip.

Leon let out a quiet scoff, and you could swore he had raised an eyebrow beneath his mask, "Wow. And here I was thinking you'd find this attractive."

"You do look attractive."

He tilted his head as he took a step closer, his gaze fixed on you. You let out a slow, steady breath, willing yourself to stay composed, because, honest to God, he looked breathtaking.

"So..." he drawled, letting the silence linger between you both. "Am I your favorite now?"

A smile tugged at your lips. "Baby boy," you murmured, your voice warm with quiet certainty, "you have always been my favorite."

He stepped right up to you, his taller frame all but swallowing the space between you, and towering over you, he dipped his head slightly, leaning down until you two were nearly eye level. "Mhm," he murmured, a teasing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth you could tell because of the tone he hummed in.

"Were you jealous?" You asked, cutting off whatever words were sitting on the tip of his tongue.

"No." He replied, almost way too fast, that you thought he was being defensive.

suspicious as hell.

and yet it was cute.

"You literally bought a Ghost cosplay, leon." You pointed out.

because you knew he didn't own it before.

"Fine." He let out a dramatic sigh before finally lifting the mask just enough for you to see the world's most offended pout. "You've liked one too many Ghost edits."

"Wait... are you serious?" you exclaimed.

"I've seen your likes," Leon said flatly. "On his edits."

"He isn't even real!" you protested, throwing your hands into the air.

"He also isn't me." The words left Leon with the most dramatic groan you'd ever heard. For a fully grown man, he was throwing an astonishingly convincing tantrum, dragging a hand down his mask with a sigh that screamed 'betrayal.'

You couldn't hold it in anymore, then another wave of giddiness exploded in your chest and you burst into laughter, "Oh, baby", you wheezed.

Before you could tease him any further, Leon suddenly leaned down, slipped one arm beneath your knees, and, with effortless ease, hoisted you over his shoulder like you were just a sack of potato, "Leon!" you shrieked, squirming and kicking your legs in protest as you lightly pounded a fist against his back.

He didn't so much as falter, his grip remained firm, one hand resting securely against the back of your thighs as he continued walking as though carrying you over his shoulder was the most natural thing in the world. "You done?" he asked far too calmly.

"No!"

"Alright."

You huffed dramatically, continuing your entirely ineffective attempts to wriggle free, while Leon merely chuckled, and remained completely unbothered. "Leon put me down, please."

"Oh baby, no, don't 'Leon' me," he sighed, pausing for a moment as he adjusted you more securely over his shoulder, his grip tightening just enough to keep you from slipping.

You let out an indignant squeak as you shifted against him, only making his hold firmer. Then, a little lower he murmured "You can thirst over Ghost all you want..." and your heart-beat quickened and you were sure he heard it though: he didnt point it out.

Instead he started walking toward the bedroom, the skull mask catching the dim light as he moved. "But in reality..." His voice dropped to a croon, smug and sure, the grin hidden beneath bone and shadow somehow audible in his tone. "I am all you need."

holy fuck, at his comment you literally had a tear run down your thigh, and you knew, now what Leon was about to do, or maybe-- show, what he was about to do. and you were damn sure that you would let him show you.

You finally let out a small giggle, and he answered you in a sigh that was theatrical enough to echo through the apartment— exasperated, and hungry.

Swiftly he carried you to the bed, tossing you onto the mattress , and you bounce a little as you settle on it and he did all of it with a confidence that left no room for doubt. "Now," he murmured, climbing over you, the mask inches from your face. "Let me show you why I'm the only man you need."

"Then show me", you challenged, gripping his collar with your one hand and removing his mask with the other, before finally crashing your lips onto his: and he groaned against your mouth "rest assured I will."

and he did exactly that — so completely and so relentlessly that, by the end of your little 'show', you'd forgotten how the two of you had ended up there in the first place.

So when Price pulled you aside for an extraction mission and paired you with him, you weren't sure what kind of sick joke he was playing, because you two couldn't stand each other— and now this?

And indeed it was ‘what the fuck situation’, for you, as well as it was for him.

Well…. that wasn't entirely fair, if you were being honest, you could stand him just fine. It was him who couldn't stand you.

He hated when you stood too close, hated when you spoke, hated when someone talked to you, hated that you existed in his orbit, and he acted like your existence was a personal affront.

Honestly? You'd adapted to the whole hate each other thing, pretty easily. and if Ghost wanted to play at hating each other, fine. Two could play that game, and you weren't about to let some masked asshole belittle you without returning the favor.

So obviously you fired back, sharp, snarky comments that landed just as hard as his silence did. You gave as good as you got, and maybe, just maybe— you were starting to enjoy it.

okay fine you did enjoy it.

even so, apart from this, everyone else on the team loved you, adored you even, but— Ghost? He looked at you like you were a problem that needed solving.

and it really didn't help… when beneath all that comments, and hatred, that you'd somehow developed the world's most inconvenient, obnoxiously massive crush on the very man.

not that he will ever know about it.

but the real kicker was that you'd never seen his face, maybe that was half the thrill— the mystery, the mask, the way he moved like violence personified.

The not-knowing factor that made everything more treacherous, and maybe he was the whole problem.

you didn't know what you were getting into with him, and somehow that made him impossible to quit.

Now you both found yourself alone inside the humidity of the jungle that clung to your skin like a wet shroud, beside you, was the man Simon Riley, who stomped through the underground grass , his combat boots crushing exotic ferns into a pulpy mess while the air shimmered with a sickly, iridescent haze, and the moonlight glowed down at you.

"If you step on one more tripwire because you're too busy staring at the scenery, I'm leaving you here," Simon growled.

"Being eaten alive, here, would be better than being with you, Ghost," you snapped, wiping the sweat from your brow, as you spat out his name with unmistakable contempt, yet somehow, saying it still left a pleasant taste in your mouth.

The question was, would you admit it? Nope, not at all.

"you're a fucking liability." he scoffed loudly.

"And you're a joyless prick in a skull mask," you snarled. "We make a great team. And just to be clear, I'm enjoying this every bit as much as you are," suddenly your irritation boiled over at his attitude. "No, actually—" You didn't get the chance to finish your sentence.

When he suddenly came to a halt, you stumbled straight into his back, colliding with his broad shoulders hard enough to make you grunt in pain. "What the—"

Was he made of fucking stone?

Fucking Hulk. You thought.

Simon didn't so much as flinch, and suddenly your brain fired a question at you, if he is so solid wearing his clothes, how solid he would be without them?

Damn it, you cussed yourself under your breath.

Then his shoulder tensed instantly. And a burst of golden spores erupted from a nearby cluster of oversized lilies, swallowing him in a thick, shimmering cloud.

He coughed loudly, waving the dust away with a gloved hand, but the pollen clung stubbornly to his gear, seeping into the fabric of his tactical vest and settling over his mask. "Dammit," he hissed.

"What now? Did you breathe in some glitter?" you asked, sarcastically, and each word that stumbled out of your mouth, dripped in amusement.

But oddly enough, Simon didn't answer you, instead his breathing shifted, turning heavy and ragged, suddenly he stepped back from you, his movements jerky. "Get the fuck back," he ordered, his voice rougher than usual.

Okay, wow. this was beyond absurd.

Ghost don't usually react like this around you. Sure, he hated you— the snarky comments, the constant bickering, the icy glares... that was normal. But this?

This wasn't.

His breathing was uneven, almost as if he were holding himself back from something, and for the first time, you were convinced he'd definitely inhaled something, because why was he acting as if you carried the bloody plague, anyway.

Then a mischievous thought crossed your mind. Maybe you could use this to your advantage, and perhaps teasing him now would be far more fun than waiting for whatever the hell was wrong with him to wear off.

After all, you didn't want to lose your chance.

Slowly, you took a deliberate step closer, tilting your head as your lashes fluttered innocently at him. Your voice turned sickeningly sweet. "You okay there, Ghost?" you cooed. "You're twitching like you ate something bad.”

"I said get the hell away from me!" His voice cracked through the jungle, sharper than before. Ghost took another step back, then another, until his broad frame collided with the rough trunk of a massive cedar tree.

He stopped there as if the tree behind him would fix whatever was wrong with him. His chest rose and fell in heavy, measured breaths beneath the weight of his tactical vest. His gloved hands hung rigid at his sides, fingers curling into tight fists before slowly uncurling again, trembling, as if he were fighting to keep himself under control. You barely had a chance to open your mouth before he let out a frustrated curse.

"Fuck..." With a jerky motion, he yanked off one glove, then the other, tossing them carelessly onto the forest floor. He flexed his fingers, before tugging at the collar of his shirt in obvious discomfort. "Fuck, it's so hot.”

"Is it?" you drawled, finally deciding to grant him a sliver of sympathy. Leaning casually against the trunk of a nearby tree, you folded your arms across your chest and regarded him with exaggerated concern. Then your lips curled into a wicked grin. "Oof... the great, great Simon is in heat, is that it?”

"Don't fucking test me right now." His head dropped forward resting on his chest, and his voice became a bit strained. "The pollen... It's a synthetic trigger, military grade. I can feel it in my blood, it's making it boil." He breathed.

"So? Take an antihistamine."

"We don't have—" He chokes on a groan, hips bucking forward before he freezes completely, and notice his cock already hard and straining against his pants like a fucking animal. Shit. I feel— I need— He mutters something filthy under his breath, voice wrecked. "Gotta fuck you. C’n smell your c’nt from here, feel it dripping for me.”

You push yourself off the tree and saunter closer to simon, grinning cruelly, and seeing you closer to him, his whole body tenses, he sucks in a sharp breath as you crowd him. "Yeah?" You drop your gaze to the thick ridge of his cock, obvious and obscene behind his zipper. "That so?"

You reach out, drag one finger down the straining fabric, and he shudders. "Fuck," you laugh, "You're practically leaking.”

"Shut up— shut up, I'm fucking losing it," he warned, but his voice cracked, high and desperate. He grabbed your wrist, wrenching your hand off his cock only to yank it away like he couldn't stand the contact or couldn't stand losing it. "I told you to leave.”

"What's wrong, Simon?" You reached out again and dragged one finger down his arm, watching him flinch like he'd been burned. "Afraid you'll break your precious asshole persona?"

He spun so fast that you barely got a moment to breathe and you gasped loudly, as he caged you against the tree with his forearms on either side of your head. His eyes blazed behind the skull mask, wild and desperate. "You have no idea what you're provoking."

"Then show me."

He doesn't get to reply, and you press closer yourself to him, your voice dropping to a murmur against his mask. "I want to see your face."

"No." The word comes out strangled.

"Ghost." You drag his call sign through your teeth like a provocation. "You're burning up. Why not just—" You hook your finger under the edge of his mask.

"Don't." He rasps it, breath scorching against your face, he was shaking, his whole body vibrating with the effort of holding back. "No one's ever... no one has seen me."

You reach up on your toes, and your fingers hovering where the skull print ends. "No one?" "Never." He catches your wrist, but doesn't pull you away, but you feel his grip is iron, yet his thumb strokes your pulse in a traitor's caress. "If you take it off... if you see me..."

"Then?"

"I won't be able to pretend anymore," he admits, voice cracking open. "I won't be able to stop—"

"Then don't." You hold his gaze, watching the war behind his eyes soldier versus man, duty versus whatever this is. "But if you're uncomfortable..."

He removes your hand from his mask himself. For a second you think he's pushing you away, but then he hooks his own fingers beneath the fabric and pulls it up, slow and deliberate, like drawing a blade from a wound, before hanging it on his neck. "There."

your breath caught completely. Fuck. He was, without question, the most handsome man you'd ever seen.

You swallowed thickly, your thoughts scattering as, for the briefest second, all you wanted to do was kiss him. Not just because he was devastatingly attractive, but because he'd trusted you enough to remove his mask and let you see the face hidden beneath it.

his brown eyes settle on yours, naked and fierce, and you realize you've actually seen him, but like actually never really seen him, now Simon, who stood stripped bare, staring back at you with nothing left to hide behind, his face was stark and beautiful in a brutal way— sharp jaw dusted with a light stubble, a scar bisecting his left eyebrow, lips parted and sweats dripped onto his face, and you could not peel your eyes away from him.

God he was so handsome.

"Fuck," he whispered, staring at you like you were the one who'd stripped naked.

"There's the real you," you teased, your voice breathier than you intended, because, damn the voice did match his face, "Not so scary without the skull."

But what you really wanted to say was, 'i have never seen someone like you,' but you couldn't so you stood there completely still , while his brown orbs, strips you naked with them.

His control snapped, and he drifts his gaze to your lips then he grunt in frustration before slamming his mouth on yours, and the kiss violent and starving— his teeth clashing with yours, slowly his tongue forces your lips apart.

Jesus, he tastes like copper and gunpowder, like a man who's been running on adrenaline and denial for too fucking long. "Say my name." He growls then his lips parts from yours, then he leans down and grinds his words out against your jaw, then he leans lower until his teeth grazes your throat. "Say it."

"Ghost," you breathe, a low pleasurable moan escaping your throat.

He snarls, shaking his head, eyes wild. "The real one."

Your stomach flips that annoying little butterfly running freely in your gut — at that and raw, stupid intimacy of saying his real name. You drag your nails down his chest and whisper, "Simon." you say seductively.

"Fucking—" He laughs mid-word, the sound of a man already undone. Then his hands find your hips, his grip going brutal on them, as his fingers digging hard enough to bruise, then he straighten himself before nibbling softly on your ear-lobe, which makes you close your eyes in immediate pleasure, "Turn around," he growls against your ear, while grinding his cock against your core.

"Say please." You teased, though a little moan escaped you anyway.

He snarled your name before spinning you around and pinning you against the rough bark of the tree. The coarse surface scraped against your chest, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips as your body instinctively arched away from the abrasive trunk.

soon his mouth found your neck, sucking hard enough to bruise while his hands yanked your trousers down, towards your ankle in one swift motion and his action burned your skin, with nothing but his touch, and you whimpered like a kitten who was in absolute heat, "do you ever get tired of runnung your mouth?" he growled against your skin, his fingers digging into your hips, "always testing my fucking patience,” he breathes, “Do you know how many nights I've—"

He cuts off with a groan, shoving his own pants down to free his cock— it was thick and flushed while already dripping with a bead of cum, then he slaps it hot and heavy against your thigh, making you grin like shameless whore, you were for him, and a second he drags the head of his cock through your skin, smearing slick pre-cum in a filthy trail that makes you shudder.

"Fuck," he grits out, watching it glisten on you. "look at that, already leaking.”

"How many nights you've what?" you taunted, pushing back against him, as you arch your hips giving him a better access to your cunt.

He doesn't answer, instead he lines himself up and drives into you in one brutal thrust, sheathing himself completely. "Fuck, so--wet."

You screamed his name, your fingers scrabbling at the tree bark, and he froze, just for a second— his forehead dropping to your shoulder.

"want’d this s’ long," he confessed, his voice wrecked, broken. "Dreamed about it. H’ted myself for it. Wanted you since the day you walked into that briefing and mouthed off to the commander."

He pulled back completely, making you groan “si–”,

“shut up”, he snarls and thrust again, harder, setting a punishing rhythm. The sound of skin slapping skin echoed through the jungle, "Every mission," he panted, his hips snapping against yours, "every briefing... watching you... trying not to—fuck—you're so tight—"

"Simon—"

“Fuck, I love when you say my name like that.”

You could not form anything else to say, so instead he takes the moment to speak, "I've been hard for you for months," he admitted, his voice cracking as he drove deeper inside you. "Jerking off in the showers thinking about this, about your face, your cunt, when I'd finally—fill it with my cum."

his admission steals the breath straight from your lungs.

fuck, so he wanted this too.

then only you realize it wasn't hatred, it was need, need for this, need for you.

He shifted his angle and you cried out, seeing stars. He wrapped one arm around your waist, holding you flush against him as he rutted into you with abandon, all that repressed discipline finally unleashed.

"That's it," he groaned, his breath hot in your ear. "Take it. Take everything I've been holding back."

His thrusts became erratic, and you feel your walls clamp down on his member while the tree bark scrapes your palms as he uses you exactly how he'd fantasized. "Fuck, your walls are so desperate."

"Hmph", you breathe, your eyes rolling back inside your head.

"Never got dick, this good, eh?"

"No." The denial tore from your throat and dissolved into his name, and you screamed until your throat burned.

All while he was ravishing, your inside relentlessly and you felt the cartography of his cock, those raised veins mapping your walls like territory being charted, claimed, conquered, as every ridge dragged against you, marking you from within.

The confession a second before had broken something in him— and he grunts your name, whole fucking you like he was trying to erase years of denial, "I'm going to—" he gasped, his grip bruising your ass.

"Fu, fuck, me too–”.

He roars, in the night, his body locking as he buries himself to the hilt of your hole.

Finally you feel him pulse— in thick and furious motions while he floods you in hot spurts that don't seem to end, his hips jerking with each brutal wave, then finally as you think he is done he thrusts once more inside you, shuddering, grinding and rolling his hips, deep as he empties himself inside you.

Your walls clamp down around him, orgasm ripping through you sudden and vicious, and you let go too— your voice breaking into broken, guttural sounds against the bark. "Ngh—fuck, ah—fuck, Simon—"

He groans your name back, wreckedly while he still twitches inside you, when you both stopped quivering he collapsed against your back, his chest heaving, his face pressed to your neck, and for a long moment, neither of you moved, and you stay there in that position for a long while, hearing each other's ragged breaths and finally the jungle sounds returns around you, and the only you get the sense of 'what just happened', knock inside your brain, like a visitor from afar.

He withdraws slowly, the drag of his cock out your hole, with a wet pop, makes you tremble from the loss of him.

He shuffles backward, tucking himself back into his pants with clumsy hands, his expression dazed, blown out.

The mask hangs loose around his neck, forgotten, and his face beneath the moonlight is unbearably open— stripped of all armor. You feel your heart squeeze tight between your ribs, breath catching at the rawness of him, the unguarded vulnerability

You turn around, leaning your shoulder against the tree, and smile, lazy and satisfied, and you feel his cum drip down your thighs, though you make no effort to clean it anymore, "So." You bend to grab your pants, stepping into them, the bark rough against your back. "Months, huh?"

He blinks at you, still catching his breath, then he huffs out a laugh— rough, and embarrassed, "Yeah and no..." you raise an eyebrow at him, then he runs a hand through his sweat-damp hair, eyes flicking to yours before away again. “it was since the day I first saw you.” then he dragged a hand down his face, looking simultaneously sated and horrified, yet his eyes sparkled with feelings you both finally discovered "Christ. We're still on a mission."

"And you just fucked me against a tree," you pointed out, “Guess it was better than the mission.”

He stared at you, incredulous laughter catching in his throat. "I think I want you more now, you fucking bane of my existence."

A beat. Then you laughed too your voice dropped, rough and certain, "So. You are mine."

He stepped closer to you pressing himself against you, and slowly, he caught your hand before you could retreat, his grip unyielding, expression shuttering into something severe.

He didn't give you breath to speak, as his thumb pressed hard against your knuckles. "You should forget what you saw today."

"Never," you said, grinning through the threat.

He just smirked too shaking his head, in disbelief and this time, when he leans in and kisses you--

there was no pollen to blame.

“Leon,” you squeal, not caring if your shrieks wake up the children upstairs. Hell, it could wake up Mr. and Mrs. Johnson, the elderly couple next door, and you wouldn’t give a shit. 

Your Leon is home. 

“I’m home, baby,” he says, voice hoarse and rough like the gravel beneath the SUV he parked haphazardly on the port. “Miss me?”

You remove your arms from around his neck and step back so he can come inside the house. “So much.” 

Not as much as he missed you. And your scent. Jasmine and honeysuckle, and all the sweetness of a late summer’s day drenched in milk and honey. He’ll need at least five minutes just to inhale you tonight. 

He follows you around the bedroom like a puppy dog scooting on its heels as you unpack his bag, listening to you complain about how rowdy the kids were, how you never want to take all of them to the pool at the same time ever again. His hands don’t leave your body, even as you walk back and forth between his bag on the bench and the dresser, unloading folded clothes, tossing dirty ones into the hamper. 

“Leon,” you groan, starting to grow weary of the hindrance on your movement. “Can you stop touching me for one minute so I can finish this?” 

He whimpers, sinking down to his knees so he can press the tip of his nose into your stomach, nuzzling his face into your flesh. From beneath arched brows, he glances up at you, his pupils wide beneath the low light of the bedroom, evicting the blues of his irises, whites drenched with need. “I’ve had a long week baby…be nice to me.” 

You sigh, evading his grasp to set the last pair of jeans into one of the drawers, closing it with your hip before returning back to your husband, still kneeling in the middle of the room. His hair is floppy and long, in need of a haircut, and soft beneath your fingers as you brush a curtain of snow-streaked blonde away from his eye. 

“You want me to be nice to you?” You taunt, a smug smile beginning to tease the corner of your mouth. His jaw is sharp and tense as you graze it with the faintest kiss of your fingertips. He nods enthusiastically, lips nearly quivering into a pout. “What do you say?”

“Please.” He swallows, his hands rising to your thighs then to your ass, caressing the flesh as he rests his cheek against your lower abdomen, pressing you into his face from behind. 

“Please what?” 

He glances up at you again, dark brows pinched in the middle, the fine lines in his forehead deepening. “Please be nice to me.” 

You shake your head. “You’ll have to be more specific than that, Leon.” 

“Let me eat your pussy…please.” 

“Sure, baby,” you say with a tilted giggle, caressing his cheek with a careful palm, noticing a surface-level scratch across the bone, already mended with salve. You’ll still have to kiss it better later for it to heal properly. Or now. You bend at the waist, pressing a feather-light peck onto the wound, and Leon lets out a tiny whine. 

Leon’s hands slide beneath your nightgown, the fabric gathering just above your hips, held out of the way by one hand at the curve of your waist. The heel of his other hand begins to palm your pussy, dragging it down the outer length of it before he slides two fingers through your drenched lips, focusing on the flesh on either side of your clit. 

His eyes are still affixed to yours, watching your face begin to wince in pleasure, the skin between your eyebrows creasing, your teeth baring down on your bottom lip. And he revels in the way your fingers pull the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging as he continues to tease your cunt. 

Then, his puckered lips begin to suck on your clit, a wet, gurgling sound coming from the act, so lewd it makes you shiver. He laps at your pussy, tongue flattening as he drags it up and down the entirety, from seam back to your clit where the tip of his tongue flicks the throbbing bud. 

It doesn’t take long for your orgasm to build. With Leon, it never has. Abdominal muscles contract and release as your walls begin to clamp down around nothing, squeezing out another gush of arousal onto the fingers that toy with your entrance. 

His hand has a death grip on your nightgown, crumpling the silk in his fist as he grows hungrier, devouring you through your climax until you’re a slobbery, jittery mess. 

“But you called backup, right?” 

He nods once, his eyes closed as he rests the back of his head against the wall, cranium meeting chipped plaster with a thump. “Yep.” He opens his lids to look down at the watch on his wrist, its glowing green letters cutting into the darkness of the supply closet. “They’ll be here in seven minutes. Until then…” He mutters something incoherent under his breath and you laugh. 

“What’s so funny?” He asks, face devoid of the same amusement crawling across your own. 

“Nothing,” you say, still giggling at the thought. 

“We have–” He checks his watch again. “Six minutes and forty-three seconds before the rest of the team arrives. More than enough for you to explain what you find so amusing about this situation.” 

“You’re such a dick, you know that?” You bow your brows at him but his face doesn’t change. “It’s stupid, but whatever. You know that game? Seven Minutes in Heaven? The kissing one where you spin the bottle and whichever two people it lands on, they have to go into a closet and kiss for seven minutes?” 

His head finds the wall once more, his eyes cutting down at you from where you’re crouched onto a step stool. “I’ve heard of it. Though whenever I played, back in my day,” he adds with a snide smile as though he’s so much older than you, affirming the fact that he thinks you’re a kid, though you’re not more than a year behind him. “We always took it one step further.” 

“Naughty.” 

“Yeah.” 

A moment of silence passes between the two of you. Your eyes can’t help but glide up and down his arms, hidden behind the squeaky sleeves of his leather jacket, the rise and fall of his chest beneath one of his quintessential navy blue shirts, always just a hair too tight. No one around headquarters complains, though, and neither do you. Even if he’s an ass, he’s still a specimen to see in the flesh. 

“So,” he starts, drawing out the syllable, cutting his eyes to the side, then back to you. “Wanna play?” 

You straighten up, pointing a finger back at yourself. “Me?” 

He looks around the room in performance to prove his point. “Who else?” 

“Right. Um–”

“We don’t have very long,” he interrupts your stutter. “Kind of the point of the game, so make up your mind. Wanna fuck? Yes or no?”

“Yes.” 

God yes. Yes, yes, yes. You swallow your excitement as Leon lunges at you, his hand immediately coming to grab your jaw, pushing your face into his, locking your lips in a kiss that is all ice and fire. The heat shoots straight between your legs, your stomach flipping back and forth before dropping to your feet.

“Fuck,” he groans into your mouth, swiping the drum of his tongue along your front teeth. “Bend over. Hands down.” 

You obey under no pressure at all except the gravely roar of his voice and the manual command of your body beneath his hands, rough and calloused and hungry. Your upper body is pressed onto a crate, the perfect height to bend you in half as Leon snakes his arms around your waist to make work of your belt and the button of your pants. He wastes no time in shoving them, along with your panties, an unimpressive cotton pair (not that he takes any time to notice them), down your thighs, grabbing the meat there as continues to push them all the way to your knees so they can part in preparation. 

His own belt buckle clinks and the next thing you hear is the metal teeth of his zipper screeching, and then the rustle of fabric. With one hand on your back, pressing you down, he takes his cock in the other to fist it to its full stiffness, the thing already red and weeping, eager to dive into your cunt. Leon presses two fingers inside you, and you yelp at the sudden stretch, nails digging into the plastic crate. 

“Shit, you’re tight,” he remarks to himself. “So fucking tight for me,” he says a little louder, to you this time. “And wet, huh? This all for me?” He pumps in and out, gathering enough moisture to spread throughout your folds, onto your clit. When you don’t answer, he removes his hand and swings it across your cheek. You yelp, hips jolting in response to the unexpected sting. He needn’t repeat himself. 

“Y–yes, Leon. It’s all for you.” 

His watch beeps. “Think I can make you mine in five minutes?” 

Already drunk on the few seconds he had his fingers inside you, the man could propose and you’d say ‘yes’. For another time…

“Please,” you cry as his hand comes down to sooth the red mark growing on your skin. 

“Alright, sweetheart, you ready for me?” 

You can feel the head of his cock prodding at your entrance, ready to dive once you give him the word. “Please,” you repeat. The plea sounds more desperate on your tongue the second time, and when you glance over your shoulder, you see Leon grinning down at you, his face contorting into a wince the second he thrusts his full length into you, not sparing a moment or a single inch. 

The stretch is bittersweet, an amalgam of pleasure and pain so beautifully interwoven into a sensation that has your knees buckling beneath you. If it weren’t for the crate supporting your upper body, you’re sure you’d be a puddle of limb and bone on the floor. 

“Holy fuck,” he hisses as he begins to move, thrusting into you at an unforgiving pace. His girth stretches you to new dimensions, and as his tip beats your cervix like a drum, white stars begin to splatter across your vision, the black hole behind your lids turning into a Pollock painting. “You feel–god, you feel so good. Doin’ so good,” as the sound of his pelvis slapping against your ass echoes against the narrow space.

The praise makes you clench around him, encroaching walls threatening to milk him dry till there’s nothing left to give. Not even two minutes in and he’s approaching his climax, a whirling hurricane of a thing, spinning in his core, begging for release. 

He pulls out, only to flip you onto your back, lifting you until your seat is dangling off the ledge of the crate, ass held in his hands as he penetrates you once more, continuing his pace. Now, his curve is sliding against the button behind your front wall, hitting the back of your clit over and over again until you’re gushing all over him, your climax sneaking up on you, striking in a vicious attack. 

“Leon.” 

He nods, knowing exactly what your voice isn’t strong enough to ask with words. “I’m coming inside.” It’s not a question, not one you can answer in the negative, anyway for he is far too determined and you are far too weak to refuse. So you agree, nodding your head with a pathetic kind of enthusiasm you swore you’d never show in the presence of this man. 

Leon finishes with a final punishing thrust, coming down on flexed arms that bracket your waist, his head hanging so low you can feel the soft strands of his dark blonde hair tickling your stomach where your shirt has ridden up. 

But was that your mind, or the door to the bedroom that needs its hinges replaced? An intruder or the stream of water hitting your drum at the perfect angle?

Do you turn the faucet off (and do what?) or do you let this play out like you’re some blonde Hitchcockian starlet, stabbed to death in a ceramic grave, embalmed in PVC and soapy loofah net. 

You’d really hate to die all naked and wet like this. And unmoisturized. You make a mental note to include a full-body rub-down with petroleum jelly in your funeral plans. 

You glance over your shoulder, seeing only em empty bathroom through the fog-stained glass. No Norman Bates waiting on the other side of the shower door with a sharp blade in his hand and a cheshire grin on his face. Apparently, it’s not your time.

Swallowing down your paranoia, you turn around to face the cascade of steam and blue-hot pellets that cleans your body of all its sins. Leon calls you ‘Lucifer’, the way you bathe in hellfire. ‘Hotter than a bullet’, he says. Whatever that means. You never ask those types of questions. 

What did you see out there? 

Where did that scar come from? 

How the hell do you know bullets are hot?

You rinse the soap from your front, the suds from your hair, your eyes screwing shut as the shampoo runs down your forehead. And when you open them, now facing the shower door again, you see a heart drawn in the condensation. 

Then, you blink and it’s gone, the heat erasing the dripping strokes you saw only seconds ago. 

Your ancestors outran Malaria so you could be killed in the shower. 

Or.

It’s midnight and you watched a slasher movie while being home, all alone. What did you think was going to happen? And it’s not your fault, really. It was just on the television, one of the few channels that wasn’t flooded with commercials about weight-loss meal plans and insurance claims. 

Turning back toward the stream, you let the water prick your skin. And then, a pair of hands wrap around your waist. 

You’re not imagining things this time around.

“Boo.” 

You spin on your heel, grout and tile scratching the skin on your way around. Blonde, devilishly handsome, and just dim-witted enough to pull something as dumb as sneaking up on someone in the shower. He said he wouldn’t be home for another week. Now he’s here, naked as the day he was born, standing behind you in the shower, with his hands roaming your sides.

I love you, you’re back! 

I hate you, you’re a beast!

A dilemma, indeed.

“Holy shit, Leon,” you gripe, heart beating so fast, it might break free from your chest and run a marathon down the street. “Not fucking funny.” As he laughs, you throw anything you can get your hands on at the clown: a loofah, a bar of soap, almost a shampoo bottle. He grabs your wrists, snatching the bottle from your grasp, returning it to the niche in the wall as he presses pause on his laughing fit to apologize. 

An apology doesn’t carry the same weight if it’s followed up by ‘I had to’ and ‘I just couldn’t help myself’.

“You scared me, Leon. I thought I was about to be a headline on the news or show up on the side of a milk carton.” 

He arches a suspicious brow, the mist from the showerhead catching on the dark, coarse hairs. “Bit old for the milk carton, aren’t you?” 

You land a punch on his chest, knuckle digging straight into sinew. It hurts you more than it hurts him. He only winces so you don’t feel bad about being so weak. “Not. Helping. Asshole!”

“Come on,” he coos, wrapping you in his arms. It’s been nearly a month without seeing him in the flesh, and you’re not going to put up a fight if he wants to hold you, so you let him, sinking into his touch. His skin is warm, smelling like government-issued soap, skin-eating and putrid. It’ll be his second shower of the evening, and the only enjoyable one. “That’s more like it. Happy to see me now?” With his arms still wrapped around you, and yours around him, he smooths the damp hair at the back of your head.

“I would have been happier if you had a collar with a bell,” you say, retreating, letting your eyes fall to his form, drinking it up from the callouses on his toes to the tiny scrape on his forehead.

Another question you never ask: how do you know how to do that? 

To sneak up on people without making a sound? Without so much as a strand of your hair being seen? 

Dipping his chin, letting the water run down his head, drenching the blonde curtains, gluing them to his temples, he chuckles. It’s a dark, vibrational sound that echoes throughout the glass chamber, nearly knocking you off your feet. 

He glances up at you, droplets coating his eyelashes, making his blue eyes all the more piercing. “For you, I’d wear anything around my neck.” 

You pause for a moment, letting those words in their lewdness settle in your stomach. Then, you cackle. Like a witch on a broom, soaring through an inky, Halloween sky, across a big, butterball full moon. “You’re so cheesy, Leon.” His face falls and he rolls his eyes. You never let him off easy when he attempts to play these little games–one-liners and corny jokes to try and set the stage for what he really wants to say…

“Just let me fuck you, okay?” 

There it is.

“That’s all you had to say.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He’s already pumping his half-stiff cock in his hand, it sitting heavy in his palm as it slides back and forth in his fist. “Turn around, princess.” His other hand is positioning you, molding you like a ball of clay, moving your body so that your tits are pressed up against the glass wall, your cheek turned and flat above them. 

He presses his tip through your lips, shoving his length between them, gathering the slick of your arousal before thrusting himself into you, every punishing inch at once, leaving you no moment of reprieve before you’re forced to take it all. The stretch has you purring like a cat, your back arching to find the angle that guarantees almost instant pleasure–the euphoria that comes from feeling full, stuffed to the brim with his cock. 

He pistons in and out of you, muttering a few sweet nothings about the way you feel around him, how much he missed you, how he thought about you and your angelic face every day he was out in the field. You’ve missed the feeling of him inside you so much that you become as drunk as a white-trash divorcée in a bar, singing bad karaoke, pissed off long island iced teas and revenge.

“So tell me, baby, did you miss me?” He asks, nose nuzzling into your cheek as he speaks in your ear. You fail to respond, far too focused on the slow build of your pleasure, hammering the nails into the roller coaster you’ll soon ride up, then down. Unable to shut his mouth for more than five seconds, he returns to your ear, nibbling the lobe before his voice reappears. “Happy I’m home?” 

It’s distracting, sometimes. The way he incessantly pokes and prods while literally poking and prodding. The difference is, one feels good–really, sinfully, it’s-own-circle-of-hell good–and the other one makes that good go poof! 

“Can you just stop asking me questions?” You ask against the glass, backing your hips up just an inch to meet his thrusts half-way. 

He chuckles, the vibrations tickling your cheek, and his hands continue to roam your body, sliding down the sides of your torso, one settling on your throat, the other at the slope of your waist. His fingers just hold your neck, tethering you to him as he presses your front back to the glass, your spine now flush with the line of his abdomen. You can feel his quickening heartbeat against your shoulder blade, paying attention to the rhythm as it grows. 

Leon adjusts the shower head so that the stream of water can cascade down both your bodies, now melded together as one. The sound of his hips slapping your ass as he plummets into you harmonizes with the sound of the wet sheets. 

It takes a while for you to find your high, but once it’s within arm’s reach, you relax your hips and your abdomen, and let your body do the rest of the work. You scream out, crying Leon’s name as his grunts eclipse your whimpers, your walls clamping down on his cock, so tight he can hardly remove himself, and he doesn’t. He finishes violently inside you, growls hot on your neck as he spits out gratitudes to you, to the stars in the sky above, the deities that live among them, for returning him home to you once more. 

“Fuck,” he curses as he finally slides out of your pussy, taking with him the evidence of your mutual ecstasy. “That was so good.”

Planting kisses on your droplet-mottled shoulder, he exchanges the chaste pecks for bites, then kisses again, working his way up the crook of your neck, the curve of your ear. You’ve yet to remove yourself from the glass wall, too jittery to trust yourself not to fall if you do. Plus, you don’t pass up the chance to stay pressed against a hard surface by Leon’s vast chest, savoring the feeling of your skins’ union. 

His hands trail up and down the flesh of your arms, teasing you with the gentle scrape of his nails, the tickling pads of his fingers. Then, as if anything at all needed to be said to punctuate such a beautiful expression of your love, Leon speaks. 

“So, let’s talk more about that collar.”