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maculatas · 2 years ago

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Half-Life | Chapter Four

You realized then how delicate this all still was.

Pairing: Plaga!Leon S. Kennedy/F!Chubby!Paranormal Investigator!Reader

Tags: Fluff, Mutual Pining, Angst, Sexual Tension, Masturbation, Blood, Body Horror, Animal Injury & Death

Notes: Heeeeey, guys. It's been a minute since I last posted, but here is chapter 4 (finally)! My summer has been more busy and stressful than I ever could have imagined, so I'm happy to finally be able to finish this chapter, which is the longest chapter of anything I've ever written at just over 14k words!!! I keep breaking my own personal record every time I write, it feels like lol. I also think this is some of the best writing I've ever done and I'm extremely proud of it! Not sure when chapter 5 will come out, as school is starting back up for me soon and a couple people I know irl are getting married this fall, so I'll be traveling a lot as well. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy it! Let me know your thoughts! (And here's a little behind-the-scenes tidbit: the painting I describe at the beginning of this chapter is actually in RE4R in the grand hall!)

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You awoke before Leon, for once.

You couldn’t stop yourself from sitting up on your air mattress and looking at his curled-up form, finally allowed to take in his appearance fully without having to sneak a glance or risk embarrassing yourself and him by getting caught staring.

You had yet to see him so at peace until this moment. He was laid atop his blankets, nearly in the fetal position, one long arm tucked under his pillow while the other was slung across his exposed midriff. His appendages were retracted again and his tail was hanging off the side of the bed, twitching slightly in his slumber. His breaths were deep and even, and his messy blond hair covered his closed eyes.

Never in your life did you think a literal monster could be so damn cute—so damn attractive in ways most humans hadn’t been to you before. Even the ones you dated. You wondered what that said about you.

As you gazed at Leon, you were reminded of the day before, a lovely warmth settling over you like that of the sun spilling in from the window above.

You could feel yourself blush as you recalled him carrying you across the bridge; how he had plucked a flower just to stick it into your hair; the fact he was willing to dance with you in the dilapidated ballroom simply because you asked; the way he played into your little game as you sat upon the throne, faces so near, you could brush your nose against his if you had just moved a little bit closer.

But then he had pulled away, leaving you breathless… and confused.

You weren’t sure why he would humor you with the flirting and the lingering glances and the gentle touches just to distance himself again—why he was holding himself back.

It was maddening, and you struggled to muster the courage to ask him about it or take matters into your own hands. Because, if you were honest with yourself, you were terrified of what it would mean if you did.

Worst case scenario, he would reject you and send you away. It would sting, but you had grown accustomed to the feeling; almost expected it by now. Besides, you were going to leave anyway, weren’t you?

Best case scenario, though? He would reciprocate and then… what? What could come of this? Would you still go home and let this remain as some passionate, short-lived fling? Would you work out how to stay and leave your entire life—friends and family—behind? Or would you come and visit him when you could manage it, living some kind of half-life split between your world and his?

Every outcome you could think of seemed to hurt, and you thought maybe it would be better to keep things as they were; tense but platonic.

However, being with him was so easy. Natural as breathing (when he wasn’t stealing your breath away, that is). Sure, there had been hiccups and misunderstandings. The both of you were stubborn and set in your ways, but you put your differences to rest so quickly.

But god, were you different. The type of different that you thought before meeting him would never work. As a human, he was handsome. Devastatingly so. Could have been a model, had he chosen another career.

And, most notably, he could have had anyone he wanted.

You had come to love your body with all its curves and marks, but you doubted he would even look your way if you had crossed paths in another life.

You knew it wasn’t fair to yourself or to him to compare who he was to who he is now, considering how much he had gone through over the years and his transformation. However, you couldn’t help but think the attention you were getting from him came from loneliness and nothing more.

If anyone else had been just as stupid and nosy as you, he probably would have acted this way towards them in your stead.

Could you so easily be replaced?

Your chest clenched painfully at the thought and you forced yourself to look away from him, eyes bouncing around the room until they landed on the painting hung on the nearby wall.

It was a beautiful depiction of the castle—how it must have looked when it was occupied by people instead of dust and crumbling stone. The colors were vibrant, and a couple in the foreground were walking away from it, arm in arm. You admired it for a long while, feeling a sense of serenity overtake your anxious mind for a moment.

And then memories of the day prior flooded it instead, how you and Leon had spent the rest of the evening making crude wooden frames for the paintings you had “borrowed” from the castle, carefully finding the best places to hang the new pieces on his once empty walls.

Leon acted like he didn’t care, letting you decide for him, but you caught him glancing at the artwork from time to time, a gentle smile on his face at the way they brightened up his home.

You knew once you left he would be lonely again. You hoped if you could make these changes for him it might be enough to keep him content, even for just a little while. And, selfishly, you felt that if you couldn’t have him, you could at least inject remnants of yourself into his life. Maybe then he’d think of you the way you knew you’d think of him until your last breath.

Everything about it was unfair.

You heard a rustle and a quiet call of your name, your gaze meeting the half-lidded one of Leon as he sat up to look at you. He let out a yawn, his impossibly wide mouth gaping open in a way you once thought to be terrifying, those razor teeth glinting in the low light of the morning sun. Now, as he blinked the sleep from his red eyes, you found it more endearing, like the maw of a cat. Precious in all its sharp edges.

“Good morning,” you told him softly, a smile playing on your lips as if you hadn’t nearly worried your teeth through them moments ago.

“Mornin’. You been up long?” he asked as he swept his hair from his face. You wished you could do it for him, but you pushed that thought deep down instead.

“Not long. Was just looking at the painting,” you replied, half-lying as you pointed at the artwork in question.

His gaze trailed up to it, a small grin alighting his bizarrely beautiful features. “It really was a great idea, bringing them back here. Makes the place a lot less depressing.”

“I have those, occasionally,” you joked, pulling yourself to your feet. “I’m gonna start breakfast if you’re interested in something other than fish.”

With a tilt of his head, he asked, “What’re you makin’?”

You smirked as you walked up to him. “You can find out for yourself if you get dressed and meet me downstairs.”

He rolled his eyes playfully, catching you off guard by leaning in close, so tall that even sitting down he was the same height as you were standing. “So demanding, bunny.”

You scoffed. “Forgive me. Please get dressed and meet me downstairs. Better?”

“Baby steps.”

Splaying your hand against his chest, you teasingly shoved him, “Whatever. I’ll just cook without you.”

He grabbed your wrist, clawed fingers cool against your skin, causing a shiver to run through you. “C’mon, you’re breaking my heart here.”

It was your turn to roll your eyes, pulling slightly against his hold. “Then be good and do as you’re told.”

He sighed dramatically, releasing you from his grip. “Yes, ma’am.”

You grinned triumphantly, gently tapping your finger against the tip of his nose. It caused him to scrunch up his face in a way that made you laugh, and then you turned on your heels and strolled to the door.

You glanced back at him as he stood and stretched. “Bacon and eggs, by the way.”

“Now that’s something I can’t pass up.”

“Figured.” And with that, you were on your way.

You kickstarted your morning by brushing your teeth and washing your face in the sink, then quickly got dressed so you could begin working on breakfast.

Leon was swift to join you, staying out of your way as he would be little help with his claws but keeping you company regardless. You made sure to leave his eggs runny and his bacon undercooked to abide by his more primal eating habits.

Soon enough, the two of you were at the table, sitting across from each other as was becoming the norm. It all felt so… domestic.

“Got any plans I need to know about?” he inquired after emptying his plate.

You swallowed the bite you had been chewing, glancing out of the nearby window. “It’s a nice day out. Pretty warm for autumn. Would that lake trip I mentioned yesterday be out of the question?”

“Don’t see why we can’t. And there’s lots to see. I think you’re going to have a good time.”

“With you? Always.”

You could have sworn a faint pink rose to his face, but he was quick to stand and place his used dishes in the sink, so you couldn’t be certain.

After a quick prep for the trip, you headed down to the lake, Leon helping you get onto the boat, which rocked violently as you stepped onto it, to your dismay. He chuckled as you grappled his shoulders to steady yourself, slowly lowering onto the bench beneath you.

“Not too keen on a swim, huh?” he teased you.

“Not fully clothed, at least,” you muttered in reply.

He simply smirked at that but didn’t respond.

Leon smoothly directed the loud motorboat to the first location you had agreed upon back at the house, which was a small cave that held a wooden shack inside. It was such a strange little place, but you liked to hear the echo of your voices bounce off the cave walls, as well as the sound of the boat gently slapping against the dock.

The headless statue with the dark stains on it—that looked an awful lot like old blood—made you uneasy, but you could see yourself camping out at a place like this.

After that, Leon said he was taking you to what he called “chicken island”, which made you laugh.

“Can’t imagine why they’d call it that,” you mused.

“It had chickens there if you can believe it,” was his deadpan response.

And he didn’t lie. Although the birds were no longer present, many rusted cages full of straw nests were stacked across the small area and worn feathers littered the ground. There wasn’t much to it, as he had warned, but you felt the need to at least say you had been to such a silly place.

He then took you into another cave, pulling up to a large dock with only your flashlight as a guide. You climbed up the ladder to the deck above—a place that you had passed through to get to the lake in the first place—to sit on a crate and eat your lunch.

Time was passing rather quickly while out on the water, and you worried if you spent too much time dawdling, you’d have to come back the next day and waste precious hours you could be doing other things.

The end of your visit here was coming up sooner than you’d like, after all.

You were halfway through your sandwich, giving the room a more intense sweep, when your eyes fell upon the elevator in the corner. You had pointed it out before, but Leon wasn’t keen on using it, as the generator keeping the thing in service had long since lost fuel.

Apparently, there had been a shooting range with moving targets on the floor below, to your bewilderment. There was also one inside the castle and another in the mines beneath it, though Leon told you it was too dangerous to trek the old shafts.

You glanced at the counter next to the elevator and a thought came to your mind. “Hey, Leon, you said there were moving targets in the shooting range, right?”

He looked at you quizzically but nodded, mouth full of sliced ham.

You giggled at the sight, but continued your questioning, “So if they were moving, was someone controlling them?”

He swallowed thickly before answering, “Yeah... This guy I just referred to as ‘The Merchant’. He popped up all over the village while I was trying to save Ashley. Helped me a lot by selling me supplies. He was in charge of the shooting ranges around here.”

“How did he know where you’d end up in time to set up shop? And how did he avoid getting infected with the parasite?”

Leon clicked his tongue. “Your guess is good as mine. He was… weird… but he did me a solid, so I figured it would be best not to ask questions. Even sold me some things to live on after I turned. He never came back after that.”

“Do you wish he did?” you asked, unable to stop yourself from prying. It was a bad habit, you knew, but you couldn’t help it.

You wanted to get to know Leon in every capacity, even though leaving would only hurt worse if you did. You must've been a masochist, then.

He sighed wearily, crossing his arms. “If I’m being honest… every day I wished someone would come back. Didn’t matter who. Used to lay awake at night and think about Claire or Ashely or Ad—” he paused at that, and you were going to ask what name he was about to say when he continued, “Anyway, I used to imagine them coming to find me. Just to say hi, I guess. To see how I was doing. But they never did. Not that they should. I told Ashley not to come back for her safety, and to not tell anyone I was alive. Don’t know why I hoped she’d break her promise.”

“Well,” you started, reaching over and wrapping your fingers around his hand, “at least I’m here.”

“Yeah, and I’m glad for it, even if it's just for a week.” He was staring down at your knuckles and you wanted nothing more than to coil your arms around him, but you refrained.

You considered him for a long moment instead, all your overthinking from earlier being tossed out of your mind as you promptly made a decision, saying, “I could always come back. Make this a yearly trip or something.”

His gaze jumped up to your own, then, shock evident in his pale features. “And why would you do that?”

You let out a huff of laughter. Was he really that clueless? Well, you weren’t about to give him the full truth—that you were utterly infatuated with him—instead replying, “Because I’m your friend, aren’t I?”

“Friend,” he repeated, voice low. Was there a hint of disappointment in his tone, or did you imagine it? “Yeah, I guess at this point, you really are. But I don’t know if it would be a good idea for you to come back.”

“Why?” You felt hurt by that, but you tried to hide it behind a nonchalant attitude, attempting to sound more curious than bitter.

“We’re wasting daylight,” he said instead of answering you, standing up from his crate. “We should keep moving.”

You stood up, too, confusion and frustration circling in your head like vultures. “Fine, but this conversation isn’t over, Leon.”

“Hm,” was all he replied, already making his way to the boat before you even finished zipping up your backpack.

The short trip to the other side of the cave was one full of awkward silence. You didn’t want to show that you were annoyed, but it was difficult to mask it while he was giving you the cold shoulder.

You realized then how delicate this all still was. A few days together was not enough time for him to fully open up to you. You were upset, but he had a stormy history—one he wasn’t keen on sharing.

Whether it was to protect himself from the vulnerability or spare you from the weight of his past, you didn’t know. But you wanted nothing more than to assure him that he meant something to you. That he could trust you.

You kept your mouth shut.

Despite the change in attitude, Leon was still quick to help you out of the boat. It was something you appreciated, given your apparent lack of sea legs.

Your concerned thoughts were replaced with a renewed sense of awe, though, as you shone your flashlight over the cave walls and rushed forward. Leon simply followed behind you while you explored the place, as he made a habit of doing since your arrival.

You found another headless statue stained in dark brown, to your disgust, but not much else resided in the labyrinthine tunnels.

You went back to the boat, and as you were about to leave the area altogether, you pointed out another small dock nearby. “What’s over there? Can we go?”

He seemed hesitant, shoulders tensing, but he eventually nodded, pulling up alongside it.

Once on solid ground, you were swift in finding a painting on the cave wall, which was a large and very old map of the lake with what looked like a whale in the center.

“What is that?” You asked Leon, the uneasy silence from just before fading as your curiosity took root in its stead.

He grimaced as if remembering something terrible. “Del Lago. Giant fish monster in the lake. I killed it, though, so don’t worry.”

“Ah, a Spanish Nessie, then,” you teased despite your horror at such a concept. “Must have been old, if this painting is anything to go by.”

“Its body sank to the bottom of the lake pretty much as soon as I downed the thing,” he said, looking up at the depiction of the creature. “It’s almost a shame, what happened to it.”

“Why, cos you killed an ancient majestic beast?”

He turned to you with a smile. “No, cos I wasted all that meat.”

You laughed and he chuckled in response, the awkward tension from earlier finally giving way to the easygoing banter you enjoyed so much.

“C’mon, there’s more to explore,” you urged, grabbing his wrist and pulling him along.

Near the mural was a shrine with two large hands sticking up from the cave floor, a head sitting in either stone palm.

Well, that explains the headless statues, you mused.

You moved on quickly after that, the cave giving way to a forested path. You made a face as you skirted past a sacrificial altar, gripping Leon a little tighter.

After having to crawl underneath a tiny gap in a stone formation, you made it to a fork in the path, a small building to your right, and a winding trail to your left.

“What’s over there?” you asked Leon as you pointed to the trail, leaning down to wipe the dirt from your clothes.

He seemed to freeze before responding a little too quickly, “Not much. And that cabin just leads to another dock. We should head back to the boat.”

“Oh, c’mon, we’re already here! Might as well take a peek!” you chirped, marching onto the trail.

Leon didn’t argue, but he was tense as he followed you up to the end of the path.

You were more than a little confused by what you found there.

“Graves?” you questioned aloud as you looked upon the two crosses made crudely of sticks, names carved into the wood. They weren’t next to each other like you’d expect, but spread apart and angled toward the center of the dead-end path. “How strange. The only other ones I’ve seen were in the church cemetery.”

“Yeah, strange,” Leon muttered behind you, sounding almost… nervous? You wondered why.

You leaned down to the cross on the left, barely able to make out the name “Luis Serra Novarro” on the wood. An old lighter was on the ground beside it. You wondered if it even worked anymore with how long it looked to be sitting there.

You then crouched before the other cross, “Major Jack Krauser” etched messily upon the surface.

“Well, his name isn’t very local-sounding,” you joked of the latter.

Leon didn’t reply, but you were too distracted by what was dug into the ground in front of the cross to comment on it. It was a large knife with an engraving of a snake on its rusted blade.

“Wow, that’s cool,” you mused, reaching out to pull it from the dirt. It felt like a waste to leave such a well-crafted weapon just sitting there.

“Stop!” Leon barked, lunging forward and yanking your hand from where it brushed against the scales.

Shocked, you pulled away and stood up, taking a step back at the snarl on his face. “Whoa, what’s wrong? The thing booby-trapped or something?”

He sighed, his expression turning weary instead of angry. “No, just… would like to respect the dead.”

You tilted your head in confusion. “Respect the dead? You piled up human corpses at the entrance to the village. Not sure how that’s exactly—” You stopped mid-sentence, realization hitting you as you took in the miserable look on Leon’s face. “You… you knew these guys, didn’t you?”

He grimaced at your words but slowly nodded in response.

“Who were they?”

Leon crossed his arms over his chest tightly, as if to hug himself, before jerking his head to the grave on the left. “Luis helped me and Ashley. He actually saved me from him, too,” he said, looking at the grave to the right. “He was killed by that very knife.”

“Why bury this guy next to your friend if he murdered him?” You were flabbergasted by this whole thing, desperate to make sense of Leon’s strange actions.

He winced at that. “He was my mentor. Trained me to be an agent in the first place. Without him, I don’t think I could have survived.”

“What caused him to change?”

Leon decided to plop onto the ground, his tail whipping in agitation along the dirt. You joined him, sitting cross-legged beside his slouched figure, waiting for him to say something.

“He was betrayed by the very country he fought to protect. His whole unit was wiped out and he was badly injured, unable to fight like he used to. He ended up going MIA and joined the cult. They infected him with the Plagas, too. I had to fight him. I had to—” he stopped to take a steadying breath, “I had to kill him. With that same blade. His blade.”

“I’m so sorry, Leon,” was all you could offer him, placing your hand over his and squeezing gently. He closed his claws into a fist and squeezed back.

“I buried Luis first,” he began. “Had to go into the mines to retrieve his body, ferry it out here. Then I went to the island on the other side of the castle to find Krauser. The whole place had collapsed in on itself, but I had hoped I could get to him. Dug in the rubble for days, but… couldn’t find a body. The knife is all I had left of him, so now it’s here.”

“I see,” you said quietly, staring down at the muddled reflection of Leon’s dirt-covered leg in the rusted blade. “Why’d you place their graves so far out of the way?”

“It’s secluded. Quiet. Peaceful,” he replied, head tilting towards the sky and closing his eyes. “Figured I would bury Wolfie here, too, when he eventually dies. Just thought it would be a good place to…”

You saw him swallow back his words.

“A good place to what?”

He sighed and shook his head before looking at you, those red eyes so hauntingly melancholy, it made your heart ache. “A good place to rest.”

The two of you sat quietly in the dirt, simply holding hands and watching the breeze ripple through the foliage surrounding you.

He’s right, you thought, comforted by the shade of trees, yet still able to make out the blue of the sky above, it is a good place to rest.

You knew Leon grieved the life he once lived, so evident in the way he carried himself—the way he spoke. But this kind of loss was news to you. You never realized just how much weight he carried.

You were determined to lighten the burden in any way you could.

“Come on,” you told him, finally standing. “We have one last stop, don’t we?”

He didn’t need your help to get to his feet, but he still took your outstretched hand, giving you a small, grateful smile when he towered over you once more. “Yeah. We do.”

Before you knew it, you were back on the motorboat, heading straight to the center of the lake for your last location.

You had seen the old, half-sunk fishing vessel from the shore, but wanted to explore it last for the hell of it. You were glad you made that decision, hoping that spending more time on the calm waters might lift Leon’s spirits.

He came to a stop at the port of the large wooden boat, gracefully exiting onto the dilapidated vessel before reaching his hand out and pulling you onto the algae-slick deck with him.

“Careful,” he warned, releasing his hold on you. “The boards are pretty damaged. Wouldn’t want you to fall through.”

“Yes, sir,” you teased, but you took your time walking around, just in case. You heard him chuckle as you shuffled slowly forward, giving him a lighthearted glare in response.

There really wasn’t much to see of the place, only able to access the front of it.

You leaned against the railing of the bow after a brief sweep of the area, looking out onto the blue, blue water. It was beautiful, and you could see why Leon would spend hours fishing out here beyond catching a meal or two.

You glanced over your shoulder at him, finding him leaning against the front of the cockpit, his eyes already on you. You wished you knew what he was thinking when he looked at you like that. You hid your blush by turning back around.

You placed your hands on the railing, a light giggle escaping you as a thought crossed your mind.

“What’s so funny?” he questioned, and you knew he was smiling without needing to face him.

You tapped your fingers on the wood. “You ever see the movie Titanic?”

He scoffed but didn’t answer, instead stepping closer. Before you knew what was happening, he had gently tugged your arms up, holding them in the air as he leaned down to place his chin on your shoulder. Your breath was caught in your throat by the proximity, his own tickling your cheek.

“Was this what you had in mind, bunny?” he asked you, voice low and teasing in a way that made your stomach flip. You kept your arms up as he slid his hands down to rest on your waist and you wondered if you would pass out from your inability to pull oxygen into your lungs.

You needed to get yourself together, so you forced out a nervous laugh before saying, “If only we had Celine Dion playing in the background. I think we’d be dead ringers for the remake.”

Leon laughed heartily. “I can’t imagine they’d do a remake of such a nineties classic.”

You giggled, turning slightly to meet his eye. “They remake everything these days.”

“Well, I don’t think I have what it takes to play Jack, but you’re pretty enough to go on the big screen.”

Oh.

That compliment made heat flood your whole body, though you didn’t want him to notice it. “What are you talking about? You’re practically Leo DiCaprio two-point-oh.”

“Mm, maybe ten years ago,” he mused, pulling away from you, to your chagrin. “C’mon, we should head back to the house.”

You pouted as you turned to face him. “But I don’t want to yet!”

“Well, there’s not much left to do out here,” he replied, as if coaxing you to follow his lead.

But that wasn’t exactly your style, now was it?

Instead, you let your hair down from its messy bun, kicked off your shoes and socks, and yanked your shirt over your head.

Leon’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates as you stripped in front of him, pulling your jeans off and leaving yourself only in your underwear. You could tell he was trying not to stare, focusing solely on your face as he choked out, “What the hell are you doing?!”

Still, you saw his gaze drop to your bare skin. You felt utterly exposed, but you weren’t ashamed.

In fact, you felt good.

You felt free.

You sat on the railing of the boat, smiling wickedly at him as you flipped your legs over the edge. “I told you if I was going to have a swim, it wouldn’t be fully clothed, didn’t I?”

Before he could say anything else, you plunged into the water.

It was so cold, you locked up for a moment, your body shocked by the sudden change in temperature. You stayed under for a few seconds, willing yourself to adjust before breaching the surface.

You wiped the water from your eyes, blinking up at Leon as he hung off the bow of the boat. It looked like he was about to dive in after you, as if he was worried you wouldn’t come back up.

His concern for you warmed you right up.

“Are you serious?” he interrogated, breathing out a sigh of disbelief. “You said it was too cold to bathe out here, but you’ll take an afternoon swim?”

“Definitely too cold for a bath,” you replied, nodding sagely. “But you should still come join me!”

“Absolutely not. You’re crazy, you know that?”

You smiled, all teeth. “What was your first clue, sweetheart?”

He scoffed. “You showing up here in the first place, probably.”

“So…” you began, “you should learn to expect the unexpected. And jump in. I know the cold doesn’t bother you, Leon.”

He sighed, staring over at the shore for a moment before turning to face you once more. “Fine.”

You whooped in victory as he stepped back from the railing, and then bit your lip as you watched him pull off his shirt, revealing his lean, taut upper body. His legs were obscured by the boat as he tore his pants from them, but you got a good look when he leapt onto the ledge of the bow. You had to crane your neck to take in all of him, grazing your eyes up his muscled form, covered only by boxer briefs.

Before you could stare for too long, he dove into the water behind you, and you covered your eyes as it splashed up in a small wave.

He quickly rose to the surface, flipping his blond hair from his face.

“See? Not so bad,” you told him, paddling closer to where he was treading.

“Guess not.”

You were about to speak again when you felt something large slither along your leg. You yelped, pulling your body away from the sensation. “Oh my god, something just touched me!”

Leon shrugged. “Probably just a fish.”

“No, no, it was definitely a snake!” you told him, eyes staring down as if you could see into the dark water.

“It’s possible. There’re vipers in the area, I told you that before.” He seemed to be taking joy in your distress and you glared at him angrily for it.

“Leon, if that’s true, I need out RIGHT now.”

You began to swim towards the motorboat, suddenly very over this whole situation, when something touched your leg again. You screamed as it wrapped around your ankle, pulling you under the water.

You weren’t under for very long, whatever it was almost immediately releasing you. You sputtered as you pushed your head above the surface, panicking.

But then you heard Leon laughing hysterically nearby, and the realization that he was just screwing with you hit you like a brick.

“Oh, you asshole!” you yelled, wading back over to him and shoving his chest in rage.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I just had to,” he told you between laughs.

“Yeah, you will be.” With that, you splashed his face with water, feeling smug that you got him before he could use his arm as a shield.

You splashed him a few more times until he lunged toward you, grabbing your arms, “Okay, we’re even now. Happy?”

He released you and you pretended to think about it for a moment, easing closer. Your faces were mere inches apart, and you wanted nothing more than to lean forward and kiss him. You weren’t sure how the action would even work, considering his protruding fangs, but that didn’t stop you from wanting to find out.

He seemed to edge nearer, and you wondered if he had the same idea.

But your nerves got the better of you.

Instead, you jumped up and shoved his shoulders down, dunking him completely under the water.

It was your turn to laugh as he came back up, his wet hair covering his eyes. “Now I’d say we’re even.”

He pushed the strands from his face and shook his head, chuckling. “Yeah, I deserved that.”

Before you could say something else, the sky seemed to darken suddenly. You still had a couple hours of daylight left, so you glanced up, confused. You saw that clouds had converged over the sun, looking awfully heavy.

Something splattered against your forehead, and you wiped it off, realizing it was a raindrop. Several more began to fall on and around you, and you knew it was time to head back to shore.

You and Leon quickly got dressed as the sprinkle of rain turned into a steady shower, dampening your once-dry clothes. Still, you made the time to glance at Leon’s cute butt as he leaned down to pull up his pants, and when you turned to put on your own, you could feel his eyes on you too.

Thankfully, Leon decided to head back to the cave, the rain only coming down harder as you finally entered it. Leon moored the boat, and the two of you hurried through to the quarry.

A flash of light streaked across the sky as you reached the church, the echoing BOOM that followed it making you jump out of your skin. You must’ve looked like a wet chihuahua with how you shook, both from the sound and the cold rain seeping down to the bone.

Leon turned to face you, his expression concerned. He got close, placing his palms against your arms. “You’re freezing. C’mon, let’s get you home.”

Despite your misery, you couldn’t help but feel warmed by his words.

Let’s get you home.

He said it like it was yours, too.

He grabbed your hand, tugging you along as you rushed back to his place, knowing it was still quite a trek.

You finally made it to the house, and you doubled over as soon as you crossed the threshold, panting heavily from practically jogging the whole way. You were shivering violently, your teeth chattering as you finally caught your breath, when you felt Leon lay his hand across your back.

“Hey, you should get changed. I’ll start a fire,” he urged, eyes soft as he looked at you.

You nodded, doing as he said, wringing your drenched clothes over the tub before hanging them on the sides of it.

Feeling slightly better, you went back into the main room, seeing that Leon had pushed the dining table over and moved the couch in front of the fireplace, where a stack of logs was piled in the hearth.

He was struggling with the matches again, so you gently took them from his hands, alighting the kindling yourself. He simply nodded at you before you sat down on the couch and reached your hands towards the slowly growing flames.

“You’re soaked,” you told him. “Go change. I’ll make dinner when we warm up.”

He smiled down at you as he stood, stroking the top of your head. You never wanted him to stop. “Be right back, then.”

You were finally losing the chill as he returned, sitting down beside you, his tail draped between you on the seat.

Another loud crash of lightning made you cry out, flinching.

“Whoa, there,” he said softly. “You okay?”

You grimaced. “Yeah, I’m not… the biggest fan of storms. I like the rain when I’m cozied up inside, but thunder and lightning… I don’t know. It freaks me out.”

“So you’re afraid of heights, snakes, and storms. Anything else I should know about?” he asked lightheartedly.

You rolled your eyes. “I’m not afraid of heights, just falling off a shoddy bridge, thank you very much. And snakes only scare me when they’re venomous and I think they’re slithering around my leg.”

His tail flicked up as you stared pointedly at it, the movement incredibly cute to you. He could really be just like a cat sometimes.

“I stand corrected. Just storms, then,” he teased.

The conversation flowed to other things, but looking around, you realized with sudden concern that Leon’s dog wasn’t nearby. “Hey, where’s Wolfie? Was he upstairs?”

Leon’s brows furrowed at that, standing and glancing around the room. “No… he wasn’t. He usually doesn’t stay out when it storms.”

“Is he okay?” you questioned.

Leon crossed his arms. “I’m sure he’s fine. Maybe staying somewhere out of the rain.”

You nodded, though you worried for the poor dog’s safety.

As you promised, you made dinner—a roast, actually—and you had never seen Leon so excited by something you had cooked thus far (though he wouldn’t touch the potatoes, onions, and carrots that simmered alongside it).

As you worked on washing dishes, you saw Leon staring out of one of the windows, and you knew he was looking for Wolfie. You finished the chore, walking into the main room to stand beside him.

“He’s never been gone this long,” Leon stated with a frown.

You worried your bottom lip. “Maybe… Maybe we should go find him.”

Leon glanced at you, then, brow raised. “I’ll go find him. You should stay here.”

“No way,” you argued, already pulling on your hiking boots. “I’m not letting you go out there alone.”

“You could catch a cold, and that bear is still around. Besides, you hate the thunder and lightning, and it's only getting worse.”

“Well, I’m worried about him too. I want to help.”

He sighed as you stood upright, seeing the determination in your eyes. “Fine, but dress warm.”

You nodded vigorously. “I have a raincoat and a jacket, don’t worry.”

You quickly ran to your luggage, throwing on your hoodie, sliding the raincoat over it, and grabbing your flashlight from your backpack.

You met Leon at the door, the two of you heading out into the dark.

You kept your arm braced above your brows to block the rain from your eyes, the hoods of your jacket and coat pulled over your head still not enough to prevent the onslaught, raking your flashlight over the ground as you and Leon called Wolfie’s name.

You didn’t know how long you were in the storm, and although the clothes on your top half helped to keep you dry and warm, your legs were getting soaked through. You pushed past the discomfort, your concern for Leon’s animal companion taking precedence.

The look of worry on his face was compelling enough to keep moving forward on its own.

You were near the church again, calling out the dog’s name as loud as you could, getting desperate to find him safe, when you heard Leon gasp beside you.

“What?” you questioned.

“This way,” was all he responded, bounding through the woods at a speed you could barely keep up with.

Leon was taking you deep into the forest, and you could focus on little else but his darting form as you followed him, afraid to be left behind in the dark.

You thought you were gaining on him when you tripped over a root, cutting your knee as you fell to the ground, hard. You were quick to pick yourself back up, sprinting after him and gritting your teeth against the pain.

You lost him, though, the realization filling you with panic. You just continued running in the direction you saw him taking off, calling after him frantically.

The thunder rumbled deafeningly from above, making you cower in fright, but you knew you had to keep going. The darkness seemed to encroach upon you, the torrent of rain pelting against your whole body hard enough to hurt.

You don’t think you had ever felt this afraid.

To your relief, you finally caught up to Leon, but it was short-lived when you took in what was ahead of you.

Leon was crouched over, and you could hear him muttering in distress. Before him was Wolfie, laying motionless on his side, four streaks of dark red seeping out of his white fur.

You rushed forward, dropping onto your injured knee, not caring how badly it stung as you assessed the animal in front of you. He was still breathing, thankfully, and letting out quiet little whimpers. The wounds looked deep as you appraised them, wondering what could have done this to him.

As if reading your mind, Leon growled, “It was that damn bear.”

You didn’t respond as he stripped his shirt off, easily ripping it into strips. They were soaked through with rain, but it was better than nothing.

“Here buddy,” Leon reassured Wolfie as he grabbed his own tail.

“What are you doing?”

Ignoring you, he gently pricked the barbed end into the dog’s side, who yelped and writhed at the feeling before near-instantly relaxing.

“Kills the pain,” is all he offered as you looked at him in shock. He then shoved the strips of cloth into your hands. “I’m gonna lift him up and I want you to wrap these around him, okay?”

He’d only ever been this serious when protecting you from that bear two days prior, and you swallowed before nodding in response.

You began to carefully slide the first strip over one of the gashes, about to tie it off, when Leon interjected, “Tight, but not too tight.”

“Got it,” you said, fingers shaking as you followed his direction for each wound. You weren’t sure if it was the cold or the nerves but you managed it well enough.

When you were done, Leon stood. Wolfie was held in his arms, the dog’s blood smearing against his bare chest. It made your stomach twist with unease.

“I have bandages in my first-aid kit,” you told him as he began the trek back to the path, trying to keep up with his long, hurried gait.

“He’s lost a lot of blood,” Leon said. “We can change the bandages, but I don’t know if he’s… I don’t know if he’ll make it.”

You couldn’t reply, tears pricking your eyes at the thought.

Leon’s voice wavered as he continued, “I know he’s old. I knew I’d lose him eventually. But not like this. Not this soon…”

You pushed back your tears, sadness giving way to conviction. “After we replace the bandages, I’m gonna take him to the vet, okay? You’ll have to carry him to my car, but I think if we’re fast, we can do this.”

“What if he dies on the way there?” Leon asked miserably, “I don’t want to be away from him in his last moments.”

“I know it’s a risk, but we have a real chance of saving him, Leon. You told me to trust you yesterday, right? Well, now I need you to trust me.”

He seemed so conflicted but eventually nodded, his features solemn. “Okay. I’ll trust you.”

You reached over and squeezed his arm comfortingly.

God, I hope I’m right about this.

+++

It had been a long time since Leon felt this afraid.

He had lost everything once, and was forced to spend a decade trying to survive the hole that loss gouged out of him. Just a void sitting inside his chest, the edges slowly creeping out to devour what was left.

Wolfie had been there for him in ways humans never were. Even when he wasn’t this grotesque monstrosity, he would rather die than burden someone else with his innate brokenness, preferring to mask it with his need to help or his oftentimes cynical sense of humor.

The truth of the matter? He didn’t know who he was when he wasn’t useful to someone. When he wasn’t a protector. He had never felt so unmoored, going without this self-imposed purpose to drive him forward.

Wolfie had renewed that purpose a month after his transformation, when Leon was at his lowest. He limped up to him with a swollen leg after being bit by a viper, clearly recognizing him despite his mutated features. He had done all he could to nurse the poor dog back to health, and Wolfie hadn’t left his side since.

He sometimes wondered if it was fate that brought them together again—if he allowed himself to believe in something beyond the mundane—but he had renounced god and any other spiritual bullshit ages ago.

He looked down at the dog in his arms, no longer in pain due to his venom’s painkilling properties, but his breaths were still concerningly shallow. He wanted nothing more than to sprint full speed back to the house but worried the movement would only exacerbate Wolfie’s injuries.

He wasn’t completely sure he was okay with letting you take his dog from him—not wanting to miss any precious time he might have left—but he agreed that it was worth a shot to bring him to the vet clinic, even if he couldn’t join you.

He glanced over at you, your teeth gnawing into your bottom lip as you silently walked beside him, and was at least glad you were here with him in this nightmare. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to do this alone.

Eventually, you made it to the house, and he moved aside to let you open the door for him. You both rushed into the building, you grabbing your first-aid kit and a pair of scissors.

You were quick to find the proper bandages, and Leon just held Wolfie’s body out so you could cut off the bloodied strips of his shirt and re-wrap the wounds. Your hands were shaking, but you were careful and methodical, so he didn’t comment on it.

When you finished, you grabbed a blanket and a towel, laying them on the dining table so Leon could bundle the dog tightly inside to protect him from the rain. It was a bit of a walk to the hunting lodge, after all.

You moved away to wash your hands and find your car keys, but Leon could only stare down at your leg as you came back into the room. There were mud and grass stains, which he expected, though he was caught off guard by the knee of your jeans being torn, bright red trickling down your shin in a small but steady stream.

“What happened to your leg?” he questioned, unable to recall when you could have gotten the injury.

“Oh, it's nothing. I just tripped when I was chasing after you. Nearly lost you completely because of it, but I found you pretty fast,” you told him nonchalantly as you packed your bag.

He felt his stomach drop at your words, realizing that he hadn’t once looked back to check on you during his mad dash to find Wolfie. The thought that you were hurt and lost in the middle of the woods during a storm that scared you, and he just left you there, making bile rise to his throat.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry. I should have waited for you… I didn’t even know you weren’t behind me anymore…”

You shook your head, smiling at him, but the expression couldn’t hide the exhaustion in your eyes. “It’s okay, I promise. You were worried about Wolfie. I don’t blame you.”

“It’s not okay,” he seethed, his own self-hatred pooling into his chest. “I left you alone in a storm! In the dark! What if that bear was still around, huh? It could have killed you and I left you there, with nothing to defend yourself with!”

“Leon, I’m fine. Nothing happened beyond this little cut.” Your voice was calm and he wished he could hate it. Hate you for how you could talk him into or out of almost anything.

It had been mere days. He didn’t know you, and yet he trusted you implicitly. Trusted you with the life of his only companion.

And then, when he asked you to trust in him, he had sabotaged it in an instant.

He didn’t respond, knowing he might say something he’d regret, so he only watched as you quickly rolled up your pant leg to blot and disinfect the cut. He disliked seeing you in pain, witnessing the way your face screwed up as you used peroxide on the small wound—heard the hiss you made as it bubbled up on your broken skin.

You were wrapping one of the extra bandages over it when Leon looked out the window, the storm only hitting harder as the hours passed. “Maybe we should wait it out. You shouldn’t be driving in this.”

You sighed as you unrolled the leg of your jeans, walking over to stare into the dark with him. “Under normal circumstances, you couldn’t pay me to go out in this weather. But I don’t think we have time to waste, Leon.”

You both glanced over at Wolfie on the table, wrapped up and hopefully comfortable in the blanket. Leon had no choice in this if he didn’t want to lose his dog.

He was meant to protect him and now he was sending him off with someone most people would call a stranger.

Any quality of his that could be halfway useful in this situation, and he wasn’t even there when Wolfie was attacked. And now his only companion was bleeding out on his dining table and he could do nothing to stop it but put him in someone else’s care and hope he lived.

Leon had all this strength, all these heightened senses. His entire body was deemed a weapon. And yet he couldn’t even save his dog.

What was the point of any of it, then?

And what would he have done if you weren’t there to help him? Watch Wolfie slowly die, helpless to prevent it?

Worse still, what if it was you who had been attacked?

He imagined your lifeless body lying in his arms, frightened eyes wide and staring off into nothing, drenched in blood that wouldn’t stop pouring out of you, and he could do absolutely. Fucking. Nothing.

“Come on, Leon. We have to go,” came your gentle voice, pulling him out of his dark thoughts.

He only nodded in response, grabbing Wolfie and heading back out into the downpour, beyond the safety of his home.

The two of you trudged in silence through the village, the storm raging above your heads. He could practically sense your anxiety coming off of you in waves, but you were doing your best to remain stoic. He didn’t know if it was to calm yourself or him, but he appreciated the attempt.

Finally, you made it to the hunter’s lodge, and you spoke up as soon as the door shut out the torrent. “I was wondering, how did you know where Wolfie was? Back there in the forest?”

“The storm dampened it, but I could hear him whimpering from the path. When I got close enough, I could smell the blood.”

“Right, super senses. Thank god for ‘em.”

He glanced at you sharply. “I’d rather have stopped him from getting hurt in the first place.”

“Hey, I know this sucks, but he’s alive and he’s going to stay that way if I have a say in it.”

He really took you in at that. Your face was wet, strands of your hair sticking to your forehead, but the fire in your eyes…

He had no way to know if things would work out the way you wanted, but your conviction—your unyielding, infectious hope—quelled the needling fear, if only for a moment.

He might not believe in god, but angels must be real if you were standing beside him.

You made it to the car shortly after, Leon gently placing Wolfie into the backseat as you threw your bag into the passenger side and sat behind the wheel.

You turned the ignition, the vehicle roaring to life as Leon looked down at you, urging, “Please be careful. I might lose Wolfie, but I can’t lose you too.”

“I will be. I promise.” Before you closed the door, you glanced back up at him, asking, “What are you going to do while we’re gone?”

He clenched his clawed hands into fists, feeling the sharp edges dig into his skin as he grated out, “I’m going to kill that fucking bear.”

You looked shocked by his words but nodded in agreement. “Okay. Good luck.”

And with that, you closed the door.

Leon stepped back to let you drive off, knowing that the fate of his companion was out of his hands.

He exhaled harshly and turned on his heels, ready for the hunt.

Now this is what he was good for.

Shifting onto all fours, Leon was quick to shed his more human qualities for the sake of the kill, sprinting faster than he ever had on his legs alone. He focused solely on his senses to direct him through the downpour and to his prey, feeling his claws digging into the wet earth below.

As he had told you earlier, the storm dampened his abilities, but that wouldn’t stop him from reaching his objective.

In fact, it only made him more hellbent on completing it.

It took him nearly an hour to find where the massive animal was lurking: a cave not far from where he had found Wolfie bleeding into the mud.

Despite its size, there was not much of a fight as Leon latched those deadly teeth of his around its throat and ripped. It barely had time to even register him launching at it before it was wheezing and choking on its own blood.

In this form, Leon was too proficient at killing. A part of him—deep, deep down—wanted to take his time tearing the beast limb from limb, listen to it roar and whine in agony before he finally put it out of its misery.

When its jilted movements eventually stilled, blood coating the cave floor and Leon from his mouth to the knees of his dirty pants, he stumbled back into the wall and closed his eyes tightly.

Vengeance. It was something he understood, but he didn’t see the point of it. Blood for blood’s sake never sat right with him. He only sought to kill out of necessity—to survive.

And yet, here he was, bloodlust finally fading as the bear’s large corpse laid before his weary gaze.

He could pretend all he wanted that this was an act of protection, a means to prevent further attacks in the future, but the sadistic glee he felt when his teeth sunk into warm flesh… there was nothing to excuse that.

This bear was simply living as it was born to do, even in its aggression.

Maybe Leon really was losing his humanity. Not a descent into a mindless killing machine, but a dissipation of self—fully aware of his own cruelty, but basking in it instead of rebuking it.

He wasn’t sure which version scared him most.

He had to make this worth it, then. He had to alleviate this burning shame and break apart the guilt sitting heavy in his gut like a stone.

And so, with care, he carved up the carcass of the once dignified beast and devoured it, leaving only bones and fur in his wake.

It was the only form of reverence he could convey.

He dug a shallow hole in the mud beside the cave, laying the gory remains inside before covering it once more.

The storm had finally started to clear as he finished the task, the scent of petrichor not quite able to hide that of blood.

Unsure of how long it would take for you to return with news of Wolfie’s condition, he rushed over to the hunter’s lodge to wait out the hours.

They passed slowly. Agonizingly. All he could do was curl in on himself and sit just inside the door of the old building, wet with rain and blood and mud.

He once thought his initial transformation was the worst he had ever felt, that it was rock bottom. Before that, it had been what transpired in this village. And before that, it had been the disaster of Raccoon City.

He realized bitterly there was always further to fall.

He wasn’t sure why you were so adamant to befriend him like this. To help him. Was this pity? Was Leon some charity case for you?

But then he thought of the way you smiled at him, the look on your face as he joined you in the cold water of the lake, the way you drifted to him like you were caught in his orbit and couldn’t fight the pull.

The thought that maybe, just maybe, you felt the way he did… it was a jolt across his slumped form.

However, nothing could change what he was. His nature, it was a vicious one. And someday, you might not survive the animal that unfurled inside of him—through him.

Whatever happened after tonight, he knew one thing: his only escape was death.

He would simply wait out the end of your trip, selfishly wanting to wring out any joy he might find in your company, and if Wolfie survived the night, he would send him home with you to live out the rest of his days. He was certain you would take good care of him, provide for him better than Leon could ever hope.

But, he was reminded, Wolfie might not survive.

And it was Leon’s neglect that was to blame.

Useless, useless, useless, he repeated like a mantra in his head.

He never imagined he’d have more to lose than he already did. More to ruin.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, the dawn breaking up the night. The sun’s warmth upon his skin did little to lighten his mood—as it burned more than soothed—but then he thought of the way your soft flesh felt against his and he nearly fell into a dream, eyes drifting shut.

He shot up suddenly at the sound of an approaching vehicle, though, his misery morphing into an all-consuming apprehension.

Was he prepared to grieve?

Your car finally pulled up near the lodge, and he rushed to the side of it, his heart palpitating as he stared into the backseat window.

He saw Wolfie laying there, breathing slow and steady.

He was alive.

Leon had never felt so relieved.

He turned to face you as you opened the door, looking up at him with tired eyes.

Your expression turned to full-blown concern when you took in his appearance, reaching out to touch the blood staining his bare chest. “Are you okay?”

Leon placed his fingers over your hand, holding it close to him, the warmth of it more of a balm than the sun ever was. “I’m fine. It isn’t mine.”

You sighed, eased by his words. “You found the bear, I take it?”

He nodded solemnly. “It won’t bother us anymore.” You didn’t reply and he looked back at Wolfie’s unconscious form once more. “How did everything go? Will he be alright?”

“It went great. He got stitches and a blood transfusion, and they kept him overnight for observation. Went ahead and got him a few shots when they said he was in the clear this morning. He took it all like a champ.” You dropped your hand, to Leon’s chagrin, grabbing your bag from the passenger seat. “They told me to change his bandages every few hours and monitor for any infection. Gave me antibiotics and a few days' worth of painkillers. He should be just fine.”

“What did you tell them about the injury?” he questioned, suddenly concerned by what information you might have let slip in your distress.

“Don’t worry, I told them he got attacked while I was out camping. No specifics, I promise.” A look of realization then dawned on your features, to his confusion, before you began sifting through your bag.

You then pulled out a blue collar from its depths. It jingled as you held it up to Leon, shot tags dangling behind a bone-shaped one at the front, sporting the dog’s name and what he assumed was your number.

“Picked this up before I took him from the clinic. Hope he’ll wear it,” you said, shrugging as you stood from the car.

A flood of emotions washed over Leon, then, namely an overwhelming sense of gratitude for what you had done for him. It went deeper than the collar in your hand, deeper than even saving his dog.

You had faced a storm for him, soaked to the bone and afraid. You suffered being lost in darkness with an injured knee, even if it was only briefly. You drove through a torrent and stayed up all night to make sure his companion would live. You witnessed him covered in blood and filth and you reached out…

You were always reaching out.

Before he could think it through, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a tight embrace. He felt your plush body pressed against his hard edges—heard the way you gasped in shock. You almost immediately settled into it, though, holding him in turn despite the drying grime flaking onto your clothes.

“Thank you, for everything,” he murmured, face buried into your neck, the natural smell of you drifting to his nose. It was all at once sweet and grounding.

There was so much more he wanted to say, but this would have to suffice, the words caught in his throat.

“I’d do it all again in a heartbeat,” you whispered, your small hands sliding across his back soothingly.

The warmth of you made him ache, made his eyes burn, never wanting to let you go.

He knew he must.

The walk back to the house was a silent one, the only sounds the rainwater dripping onto the ground and the squelching of mud underfoot, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. The two of you were just exhausted and still reeling from how the night had spiraled to near tragedy.

Leon glanced down at Wolfie’s sleeping form in his arms, so drugged up on pain meds he likely wouldn’t wake for anything. He gave the dog’s head a gentle stroke, beyond relieved that, for now, it wouldn’t be the last time.

The three of you entered Leon’s home, deciding that you would bring Wolfie’s bed and blankets downstairs, nestling them beside the fireplace to keep him comfortable and prevent him from exerting himself more than necessary once he was up and moving again.

Once the dog was settled in, Leon could only stand and stare, worried that if he took his eyes off of him for a moment, he might die in his absence.

“I’ll make you up a bath, Leon,” you said quietly from the kitchen, already bringing a large pot to boil on the stove. “You could really use one.”

He sighed, finally dragging his gaze from Wolfie so that he could level it on you. “Don’t worry about that. I can just clean up at the lake.”

You huffed indignantly, approaching him and taking him in—in all his filthy, monstrous glory. “No way. You need a nice hot bath, and that’s that.”

“You’re stubborn as hell, you know that?” he replied, scoffing good-naturedly. In truth, the thought of you caring for him like this made his heart beat a little faster.

“Oh, I know,” you said with a smile, one that was so sweet, he would hold on to the sight of it for the rest of his life, “but it’s what you like about me.”

He found himself chuckling for the first time since last night, always so surprised by your ability to pull him out of his misery.

“Not the only thing,” he said lowly, fingers twitching at his sides to reach out and touch you again.

Your cheeks flushed pink at his words, but you shook your head and laughed. “Go on, sit down for a bit while I finish what I started.”

He wanted to argue—to assist you in your task—because being waited on like this was something he had never been used to. Instead, he did as he was told, plopping down next to Wolfie on the floor and petting him to pass the time.

He had almost fallen asleep again, unable to fight his eyes from drooping closed, when you called to him, informing him his bath was ready. He stood and stretched, yawning as he met you at the entrance of the side room.

“Here,” you told him, a pile of his clothes, a towel, and a washcloth in your arms, “knock yourself out. Well, don’t really.”

He took them gratefully, smiling at your ridiculous comment as he thanked you and disappeared behind the corner.

He quickly shed what was left of his tattered clothes, dropping them haphazardly onto the floor before stepping into the tub and lowering himself in the water.

It was hot, but it didn’t burn. In fact, it was rather soothing as it lapped at his skin. The tub was almost too small for him, however, his knees peeking out of the water from having to fold his long legs.

It was cramped but not completely uncomfortable. He sunk in a little further, letting out a pleased sigh.

This was definitely better than the lake, that was for sure.

Before he could relax fully, he caught sight of something on the side table next to him. He turned his head and instantly regretted it.

It was a makeup mirror you had brought, and it was angled in a way he could stare directly at his own reflection.

It made him flinch.

He didn’t look away, however, gritting his teeth against the image of himself he had loathed from the moment he transformed. But not only was he faced with his monstrous visage once more, he could now see the blood and dirt caked onto his skin, exposing him for what he truly was.

Something that was meant to kill.

He fought the urge to shatter the glass, not wanting to destroy something that belonged to you, instead leaning over and turning it away.

As he laid back in the water and began scrubbing the grime from his body with the rag you had provided for him, a barrage of thoughts overtook his tired mind, all of them relating to you.

He couldn’t bear to look at himself, yet you rarely took your eyes off of him.

He was disgusted by his own existence and the form he was forced to live in, yet you treated him like he was normal. Like he was a person.

He quickly finished bathing, the water starting to cool, but he was in no rush to leave, allowing himself this moment of peace and to think.

He rested his clawed hand against his chest and could still feel where your small palm had been placed there, could still feel the way your flesh gave under his tight hold when had embraced you. The warmth that radiated from your very being.

His hand lowered mindlessly as he lingered on the image of you stripping bare to him on that boat, offering him your impish little smirk and batted lashes over twinkling eyes.

It lowered further as he thought of your lips, wondered how they’d feel against his skin—how soft they would be.

He hissed as his hand gently wrapped around the base of his cock, almost shocked to feel it was already achingly hard.

Leon couldn’t remember the last time he had touched himself like this.

In the beginning, he worried he would hurt himself, what with the small daggers that were his new fingers. Eventually, he dared to wander—carefully, of course—and soon it was one of the few things human left of him, to have this libido to relieve. But as the years passed and his body changed, he hardly had the urge.

And now here he was, fisting his cock at the thought of you.

He held back a groan as he slid his thumb across his slit, imagining it was your tongue instead.

He could picture your pretty eyes looking up at him as you took him into your mouth, how you’d tease him with kitten licks and the gentle scrape of your teeth until he was begging you for more, how you’d pull away just to level him with that mischievous smirk you wore so well before you’d cave and take him to the hilt.

Leon gasped as he picked up the speed of his pumping fist, lifting his hips above the cooled water, trying to avoid sloshing it onto the floor with the motion.

He then thought of your cunt, how sweet it would taste as he laved it with his tongue—mused about what precious little sounds he could pull from those plush, kissable lips of yours. He could almost feel how your fingers would card through his hair, yank it to get him closer to where you wanted him; how he’d tease you the way you did him before finally conceding, your desperation for him almost more delicious than the very essence of you that he fed upon.

He grit his teeth as he neared the edge, fighting to hold back.

Too soon. It was too soon.

He paused his movements, taking in a slow deep breath to calm his rapidly beating heart, letting the wave of pleasure that nearly crested over him fade to a lapping tide.

His mind slipped back into his fantasy, then, needing to finish what he started before he was driven mad with desire.

He imagined you underneath him now, bodies flush together, the head of his cock sliding against you—not a taunt but a preparation for what was to come.

He wondered how tight you’d be as he pushed inside, how warm and wet and inviting, squeezing his hand as he emulated the scene from his head.

How well would you take him?

Although much of his body had changed over the years—grown—what sat beneath his belt had not. This was not a concern for him, however, having been well-endowed even for a human man of his former stature. In fact, he almost seemed more… proportionate… now.

Would he be too much?

Or would you plead for him to go harder and faster? Deeper?

Leon couldn’t stop the near growl that escaped him as he imagined the way you’d cry out into the crook of his neck, his name like a breathless prayer against his skin. He could feel you wrap your legs around him, scraping your nails across his spine hard enough to draw blood.

He was on the precipice once more, but this time he didn’t hold back.

He thought of you looking into his eyes as you came undone beneath him, wide and full of unshed tears, overwhelmed by the euphoria coursing through you. His body shuttered at the idea of your walls tightening impossibly around him, pulsing and wet.

He managed to bite back the whine that clawed up his throat as his cock twitched, his seed spurting across his chest and stomach.

He collapsed back into the tub, his mind so gloriously blank and full of fuzzy warmth as he caught his breath.

And then the realization hit him.

He had just masturbated. To you. While you were just on the other side of the wall, without even a door to fully separate the room.

He was flooded with remorse, then, wondering if he had managed to keep quiet enough so that you wouldn’t hear or suspect his reckless sin against you.

He stilled, listening intently to any sounds in the house, his inhuman ears able to pick out the overlapping breaths of you and Wolfie over the whistling wind outside, right there in the dining room.

He swallowed the lump of shame that formed in his throat and roughly wiped the spend from his flesh, the harsh scrape of coarse fabric a small punishment for his transgression.

As he dried himself and changed into sleepwear, he wondered how disgusted you’d be with him if you knew just what he was thinking.

Surely, you’d never look at him the same.

He wanted to blame his exhaustion from a sleepless night, but he knew deep down this was bound to happen eventually. Your very existence was a temptation to him, after all.

He took a steadying breath before he finally turned the corner to face you, pleasantly surprised and more than a little relieved that you were fast asleep, curled up on his couch with a blanket draped across your legs.

He smiled softly as he approached you, all worry forgotten as a swell of affection replaced it.

You looked so sweet laying there, head resting upon the pillow you must have brought from upstairs and your pressed hands, your breaths puffing out a strand of hair hanging over your mouth. Leon quietly chuckled as he tucked it behind your ear and pulled the blanket up and around your shoulders to keep you warm before standing upright once more.

He knew as he gazed upon you that regardless of whether you returned his feelings or not, his own might never leave him. He would have to make his peace with that.

He sighed, closing his eyes tightly before opening them once more, deciding that was a problem for later.

He then sat beside Wolfie, checking on him briefly before laying down right there on the floor, exhaustion overtaking any real need for comfort. Not like he hadn’t done it the first night of your arrival, anyway.

As he drifted into a deep slumber…

He couldn’t help but dream of you.

+++

The night had been a long one.

You had sat in the emergency room of the vet clinic with Wolfie for hours, watching as they tried to keep him alive.

You would never get the image of his terrified eyes out of your head, looking to you for help or for comfort as people he didn’t know surrounded him while he couldn’t even move.

You didn’t let your tears escape until they told you he was stable, locking yourself in their bathroom across the hall and sobbing into your hands, the events of the night finally catching up to you.

He would live.

You weren’t sure you could forgive yourself if he didn’t. You wondered if Leon would have.

Oh, Leon, you thought worriedly, I hope you’re okay.

You wished you could get ahold of him somehow to let him know Wolfie was alive, aware of the fact that even if he owned a cell phone, the village had no service anyway. You were half tempted to drive out to see him and tell him the news, but you didn’t want to leave Wolfie alone for that long.

You then recalled the bear and Leon’s promise to kill it, hoping desperately it didn’t hurt him. You didn’t know what you’d do if you drove back just to find him bleeding out in the mud like he had found Wolfie, the thought piercing your heart like a bullet.

To calm yourself, you replayed the day in your head, focusing only on all the good parts.

You thought of how he opened up to you at his friends’ graves, how he held your hand as you sat in the dirt together.

You thought of how he slipped his palms across your waist on the boat, how he spoke so lowly in your ear, how your faces got so close in the water.

You thought of how he stroked your hair while you sat by the fireplace, the affection so freely given it was as if he couldn’t stop himself from touching you.

You thought about how concerned he was for you when you returned to the house after finding Wolfie, how he was upset you had gotten hurt and lost in the woods and blamed himself.

And then you thought of what he said before you left for town:

“I might lose Wolfie, but I can’t lose you too.”

Those words were looping in your brain over and over.

You knew he was just concerned with your safety, that he’d probably feel guilty if something happened to you while you were trying to save his dog, but the way he said it… The way he looked at you…

“I can’t lose you.”

It was like he meant it.

Despite your anxiety, you managed to nap a bit on the bench outside of the observation room, asking the veterinarian to wake you when Wolfie came to.

In the morning, while he was still out cold, you took a brief stroll outside of the clinic, making your way into the neighboring pet shop to bide the time.

As you passed the shelves of toys and supplies, your eyes caught on a large blue collar, realizing that it was about Wolfie’s size. You held it aloft as you considered buying it, thinking it was almost silly to put a collar on a half-feral dog.

But then you thought of the other outsiders that might appear in the village every so often. You worried they might dog-nap Wolfie for his friendliness or kill him for his intimidating appearance, deciding it may be worth the purchase, just in case.

Besides, Leon seemed drawn to the color blue, if the majority of his shirts and his preference regarding the castle’s art was anything to go by. It was oddly endearing imagining the scorpion man and his wolf-dog matching in such a way.

After buying it and getting an engraved name tag, you returned to the clinic, petting Wolfie and offering him soft words of encouragement as the vet gave him some much-needed shots.

The rain finally subsided as you made your way back to the village, your nerves still alight despite Wolfie’s improved condition.

When you finally pulled up to the dirt road near the lodge, you were overjoyed to see Leon appear beside the car.

Your heart was in your throat, however, when got a good look at him, his face and still-shirtless torso covered in dirt and so much blood.

You couldn’t stop the instinctual need to touch him, reaching out and placing your hand against his stained chest. “Are you okay?”

He gently laid his clawed fingers across your knuckles, pressing your palm into his skin, as if your very being was a solace to him. “I’m fine. It isn’t mine.”

Your relief at that was palpable, beyond overjoyed that he was perfectly safe. Though, the blood had to come from somewhere, and it wasn’t all Wolfie’s. “You found the bear, I take it?”

Leon’s eyes seemed to darken, but he nodded, replying, “It won’t bother us anymore.”

The answer was jarringly cryptic, and Leon seemed more upset to admit he killed the bear than you would have thought, considering how eager he was to do it before you left.

You shook away your thoughts as he asked you questions, the conversation turning to Wolfie’s health.

You then recalled your purchase at the pet store, pulling it out of your bag and waving it in front of Leon. “Picked this up before I took him from the clinic. Hope he’ll wear it.”

You stood from the car, ready to get back to the house and take a nice, long nap, when Leon wrapped his arms around you, to your utter shock.

He held you close to him, the strength of it enough to feel your bodies meld together, but not enough to hurt you.

It took you a moment to register it all, short-circuiting at the feeling of him against you, but you eventually hugged him in return, shivering as he tucked his face into the crook of your neck and let his breath fan across your skin.

“Thank you. For everything.” His voice was tight in his throat and it made your heart ache to hear it.

It was the least you could do, a part of you deep down blaming yourself for what happened to Wolfie, because you had kept Leon out longer than he wanted. What if Wolfie had only been in the woods waiting for the two of you to come back? Maybe if you had agreed to return to the house before the storm hit, none of this would have happened to begin with.

Instead of saying that, you only replied, “I’d do it all again in a heartbeat.”

It was still the truth, as you would do anything to protect this half-man and his dog—willing to suffer more than just a nasty cut and a sleepless night if it meant they were safe.

Leon pulled away, to your despair, and grabbed Wolfie, the three of you heading back to the house.

As you set up Wolfie near the fireplace, you couldn’t help but notice the way Leon wouldn’t take his eyes off the sleeping dog, and although you understood it, he needed to wash the blood and grime from his body and get some much-needed rest.

If your night had been rough, you couldn’t imagine what his had been like.

He argued against you making him up a hot bath, but you wouldn’t hear it, telling him your decision was final.

“You’re stubborn as hell, you know that?” he said in faux annoyance.

You replied, smiling, “Oh, I know, but it’s what you like about me.”

“Not the only thing.” The words and the way he said them made a tingle run up your spine, but you were quick to shoo him off, taking a deep breath as you went about your task of filling the tub.

You changed quickly into your pajamas before sending Leon to his bath, flopping onto the couch with a quiet groan after fetching your pillow and a blanket from upstairs.

You thought that maybe you could sleep forever as you shifted, getting comfortable on the old piece of furniture. You wanted to wait for Leon, though, staring up at the ceiling in quiet cogitation.

Despite your fear that you were the reason Wolfie was out in the storm in the first place, you couldn’t understate your role in saving his life. Had you not been there, Leon wouldn’t have been able to do anything, and you could sense the distress that caused him at the realization.

You worried deeply about what might happen after you leave.

A stray tear escaped your eye and you battled the awful thought of one or both of them dying out here in this village, all alone, with no one to call for.

Wolfie was old and this place was dangerous. And even if Leon ended up being fine physically, you knew his loneliness would eat him alive, especially with the inevitable loss of his dog an ever-looming threat.

You squeezed your eyes shut, wiping them to stop you from crying.

You thought about Leon’s smile instead. Thought of his voice and his laugh and the way he looked at you. Like you were normal. Like you were important.

You could still feel the way his arms wrapped around you, how safe you felt. How cherished.

You sighed deeply, turning over to stare at Wolfie, watching the slow rise and fall of his side as he breathed. You reached out your hand to him, gently stroking his head, his fur soft and warm.

You wondered as your eyes drooped shut and your mind began to fade to unconsciousness, your fingers slowly falling away from Wolfie’s form:

How could you leave them now?

--------------------

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#PLEASE READ THE BEST LEON FIC EVER #ugh so good #fic recs #fave

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maculatas · 2 years ago

Text

— 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒖𝒔𝒄𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒆 | 𝒂. 𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏

emt!abby x clumsy fem!reader, fluff / angst / smut (mdni!), wc: 8.8k (abby makes me ill).

synopsis: abby’s recuperating from a rocky relationship. tending to you more than once has gotta be fate.

content warnings: language, 18+ content (MDNI!): fingering (abby & reader receiving), oral (abby receiving), standard emotional constipation, non-graphic depictions of injuries / blood. let me know if i miss anything! not proofread well!

tagging those who interacted with my interest post! @eden-nox , @feeeeebbb , @thecowardwrites , @dawn-bunni , @dykefromstatefarm , @kingofcrabs17 , @deadliebalboa , @caitlinisfruity , @matchabxba , @abbysidechick

main masterlist | tlou masterlist

THE FIRST TIME ABBY TENDS TO YOU is an embarrassing circumstance all its own. And not necessarily because you’d hurt yourself, but because of one meddling little sibling in particular.

It’s nearly 2am in the morning, a little brisk outside of the apartment complex, and Abby’s trailing behind her rotation partners up three rickety flights of stairs.

“Seattle EMS!”

The door’s flying open and a frantic girl no older than fifteen is ushering the trio in the apartment.

“It’s my sister,” she says quickly. “She cut her hand with a knife. Won’t stop bleeding.”

Abby’s observing her surroundings, eyes flitting around the space as they file quickly down the hallway, walls neatly littered with polaroids, picture frames, and various other decorations and knickknacks.

As they spill into the living room, Abby’s eyes settle on you, sitting on the coffee table in nothing but an oversized tee and some boyshorts.

There are tiny smears of red across your thighs, right hand applying pressure to your left palm with a wad of paper towels. One look at your face shows draining color and Abby’s setting the duffel on the floor.

“Need her rate and blood pressure,” one of her partners says. “Anderson, can you assess the damage?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Abby says, kneeling in front of you.

She swears she feels a jolt of electricity pass through her nitrile gloves when her fingertips brush your skin. You’re shaky, eyes droopy because you’ve never been great with blood.

“I’m gonna take a look,” Abby says softly, coaxing the paper towels away from you. “That okay?”

You nod, hair falling into your face as she turns your palm over to analyze the wound.

“Sheesh,” she whispers. “What’d you do?”

When you’re silent for a moment, warmth momentarily returning to your cheeks as embarrassment floods your system, Abby’s eyes swing to your younger sister who’s seemingly clocked the considerable tension between you and the hot EMT.

“We were making brownies,” she fills in helpfully. “Big sis was chopping up the nuts.”

One of Abby’s partners chuckles, the one filling out the paperwork, and Abby glances at you again, something niggling in the pit of her stomach when she sees the flustered way you bite your lip.

“Personally not a fan of nuts in my brownies, but that’s a hill I’ll die on.”

Abby’s trying to distract you, take your mind away from a the gnarly gash cut deep in your palm line. It works, she thinks, when you crack a small smile.

“Me neither,” you agree, and it’s the first words you say all night.

Your voice has a sweet rasp, one that makes Abby’s gut twist.

“Guess this means nuts really are a no go,” you say, hissing momentarily when Abby makes start with cleaning your wound.

For a moment she forgets you’re talking about brownies and your little sister’s searing gaze should be confirmation enough, but after gathering all of your important information and spending the next forty-five minutes cleaning you up, Abby’s being stopped in her tracks as they file out of the cramped living room.

Your little sister catches her as the two other techs swing into the third floor hallway.

“My big sis is gay, FYI,” she giggles mischievously. “Like real gay.”

You call her name, absolutely horrified.

Abby can’t help the smile that splits her face.

“Mmm, good to know.”

You’d barely recovered from that moment, still reeling nearly a week later after your failed sleepover party with your little sister that ended in the hottest tech seeing you in the worst condition possible.

And while you thank every force above that Abby hadn’t seemed too perturbed by your sibling’s antics, it’s still something that makes you rub the heel of your palms into your eyes and kick your feet in annoyance before bed.

But just when you think you’re finally getting over it, you cross paths again.

Fate has a cruel way of flexing its humor because you’re turning an especially crowded corner in the freezer section of Whole Foods when your toe catches the corner display.

“Shit!” you hiss, basket clattering to the floor.

Your jar of extra garlic-y marinara is rolling away and a few of your lemons are scattering between avoidant feet.

“Hey, you alright?”

And you’ve heard that voice before, familiar hum haunting your dreams for the past week and a half.

You look up just as the body associated with the voice crouches in front of you, pasta sauce in one hand and trio of lemons in the other.

Of course it’s Abby in all of her glory. Her hair is loosened from her braid, falling over her broad shoulders as she searches your face. She’s in her work polo, few buttons undone and belt somewhat loosened.

Something akin to recognition flashes over her features as she takes you in.

“Thanks,” you whisper when she rights your basket and carefully sets the runaway items inside.

“You’re always hurting yourself,” she teases, standing to her full height before offering her hand out to you.

For a moment you were caught up, so engrossed in seeing Abby again like a direct manifestation of your very fears (and a wet dream or two), that you hadn’t noticed that people were staring.

Your face is hot as your fingers brush her palm and she’s hoisting you up like you weigh nothing. When you shift your weight to the foot you’d tripped on, your face screws up in discomfort.

Abby’s scarily perceptive, equal parts because it comes with the job even when she’s off duty, and also because it’s you. She doesn’t know what’s so different about you, especially because she hasn’t bat an eye at another girl in the past seven months since her previous break-up, but she can’t take her eyes off of you. She’s certain her pupils are blown wide by now.

“Does it hurt?” she asks, steadying you with warm hands.

Abby has to force herself to glance up at you when she happens to notice the way your chest hitches, pendant on the dainty chain that rests between the divot of your collarbones glinting under the fluorescents.

“A little,” you admit.

Abby doesn’t hesitate to take your basket alongside hers and offers you a perfectly sculpted arm.

God you could actually combust, not only because you’re beyond embarrassed but because Abby’s too fucking hot for her own good.

“Easy,” she tells you as you move through the aisles slowly.

She’s guiding you to a quiet corner in the foodcourt, setting you gently against the bench before plopping down next to you.

Your lips part to thank her, tell her that you’ll just rest here for a moment before going about your day, but she’s lifting your leg into her lap and undoing the strap of your sandal wordlessly.

“Oh—”

Her gaze swings to yours.

“Gotta get a better look,” she tells you with an easy smile, fingers gentle around your ankle.

She starts rolling, testing your range of motion. When your expression pinches, she’s rummaging through her basket, only to produce a frozen bag of peas a few moments later.

“Doesn’t look like any bruising is forming and you’ve got your full range of motion,” she observes. “Just a rolled ankle. Nothing some ice won’t fix.”

You stare at her unblinking, nodding stupidly as she applies a slight amount of pressure with the frozen vegetables.

“I, ah—” you let out a low hiss and Abby shouldn’t lick her lips, but her mouth’s dry and the skin of your legs are like butter. “I think I’ll be okay.”

The concern that shades Abby’s features makes you squirm on the bench, ankle still propped in her lap.

“Did you drive?” Abby presses, and she knows that this is a bad idea.

The two of you could be on your way, paths officially untangling, but something inside of her is compelled, tugged hard at the sight of you.

“No…” you trail off sheepishly. “I walked.”

Abby’s lips part, words escaping her before she can stop and think twice.

“I’ll walk you home,” she offers.

“Oh, Abby, you don’t have to do that,” you say gently.

It’s like someone squeezes the air from her lungs at the sound of her name leaving your lips in a rasped hum, makes her wet her lips again because her mouth’s gone dry.

“You’re probably really busy, I don’t want to be a bother,” you add with a soft smile.

“You wouldn’t be,” she assures you. “Just wanna make sure you make it home safe.”

And it’s such a sweet sentiment, one that makes warmth bloom in your chest and your tummy. But there’s a dull ache, a squeeze that makes your thighs involuntarily press together. It’s barely perceptible and you hope to whatever’s in the universe that Abby’s not keen when it comes to body language.

The planes of her face are serious, bump on the bridge of her nose pronounced as you watch the set of her jaw. Fuck, did you want her bad, feel embarrassment creeping because if anyone nearby could intercept your brain, they’d find a slew of less than appropriate thoughts accompanying the more tame.

Without another word, Abby’s hooking your sandal back on, patting your shin gently before setting you right and gathering the combination of your groceries and hers.

You make a move to follow her, but she levels you with a warning glare.

“Stay put,” she urges. “I’ll take care of it.”

“But, Abby—” you splutter.

Your name is stern on her lips and another dull ache ebbs as she stands over you in her uniform, muscles stretching the fabric taut.

She’s off a moment later and after what seems like an eternity waiting almost helplessly, Abby returns with a few paper bags. She’s stuffing the receipt in her pocket and your expression shifts, lips pursing.

“How much do I owe you?” you ask as soon as she offers her elbow to you.

“Don’t worry about it,” she quips, body tensing in the slightest as she acclimates all over again to the feeling of you clinging to her. “Now let’s get you home.”

“Abby!” you whine, drawing her name out petulantly.

It’s so domestic, all of it. Carrying your groceries with your arms looped through hers and the two of you strolling down the sidewalk to accommodate your hurt foot.

“What?” she mocks, and you can’t help but smile.

“You’ll be late for work,” you say softly, unable to stop the passing observation of how sturdy she feels against you.

“I’m off.”

And something like relief, excitement, jolts at the thought. Makes you hush the rest of the way to your apartment building like the courage is still brewing.

The middle-aged woman that sits at her desk in the lobby and plays Candy Crush half of shift pauses to spare the two of you a passing glance as you walk in, eyebrows raising and lips twitching.

“Afternoon, Marianne,” you greet sheepishly.

“Good afternoon,” she parrots, rolling her lips to hide the amused grin threatening to spread.

Abby is none-the-wiser as her eyes flit around the lobby in search for the elevators.

The ride up ends up being shrouded in total silence save for the whirring of the lift’s gears and your shallow breaths. For a moment, Abby wonders if she’s overstepped. If she’s made you uncomfortable and read all the signs wrong.

As the two of you approach your door, the very one her and her coworkers had banged on a little over a week ago, she’s trying to come up with the words to apologize, tell you that she really just wanted to make sure you were okay.

(Even though she’ll only ever admit to herself that perhaps part of it was self-indulgent and the softness of your skin was like a high).

But you’re beating her to it, untangling to shift your weight to your uninjured foot and turning to face her.

“Do you…” You swallow and blink once, then twice, gathering the rest of your courage. “Do you wanna come in?”

Oh— Abby hadn’t been expecting that. She’d been expecting you to fumble with your groceries and close the door in her face for good. But now you’re looking up at her through thick lashes and a shy grin and all she can think to herself in this moment is that she’s a goner.

“I’m making dinner,” you add. “If you’d like to stay.”

Another slice of domesticity that has Abby’s wires crossing.

“Sure,” she agrees easily, and it takes everything inside of her not to teem with too much excitement when you turn to slot your key into the lock and the door springs open.

Your apartment is just how she remembers it from the little details she’d picked up the last time she was here. That same scent of lemons and what she thinks could be incense. Though it’d felt a little out of line, unprofessional to be too engrossed in her surroundings the first time, especially when her eyes caught a particularly suggestive photo among the wall hosting polaroids.

You’re with a group of girl friends, bent over in a too short skirt so that the swell of your ass is pressed to the girl in the center’s front. The shot gives a perfect eyeful of your cleavage in a tiny little triangle bikini top and the cherry on top is the pair of red cat-eye glasses sliding down the bridge of your nose as you wink at whoever is behind the camera.

You pause at the end of the hallway when you notice Abby’s no longer close behind.

“Looks like somebody knows how to have a good time,” she observes jokingly, but her cheeks are so incredibly warm because christ you’re beautiful.

You’re sheepish.

“Definitely retired from that life,” you tell her, and she notes that the neat sharpie dates back nearly six summers ago. “Now I like to bake with my little sister and injure myself.”

Abby can’t help the smile when you start gazing at all the other polaroids tacked into a heart formation on the crisp white walls.

“You seem like the life of the party,” Abby says, eyes lingering on another polaroid of you in what seems to be a dorm room with a joint pinched between your fingers, sporting a feather boa, a paper crown that says ‘birthday girl’ and those same red sunglasses.

You huff out a laugh.

“I wouldn’t say that...”

She wonders if she’ll see that side of you. So far you seem so quiet, reserved. It makes her want to peel away the layers and learn you.

The thought makes her blink hard.

“Kitchen’s this way,” you say after a few moments pass, turning on your heel to pad down the hall and swing left.

Light pours from where you flip the switch to the kitchen’s fluorescents.

Abby finds that the living room and kitchen is far tidier than the last time she’d been here, obviously cleaned after the entire baking debacle with your little sister.

My big sis is gay, like real gay. The words were like a subtle push. One that made Abby weigh the potential.

She’s setting the paper bags on the counter, making a move to go through the bags to help you put the groceries away, but your hands close over hers, slightly smaller and warm as you halt her movements.

“You’ve done enough for me,” you say, smile crooked. “Make yourself at home.”

And the household phrase is so cliche, but makes a split second reel of what making herself fully at home entails. She’d never admit it out loud, but part of it is bending you over the kitchen island.

She swallows the lump in her throat as you limp around the kitchen.

“You should rest your foot,” she says.

Your smile widens.

“I’m okay,” you assure her.

She leans against the counter, watching as you file everything in its rightful place. The muscles in her face involuntarily twitch when you stand up on your tip toes to throw a box of cereal on top of the fridge.

Your ass looks absolutely edible in your jeans and the low cut of your top shows the way your shoulder blades contract.

Definitely doesn’t help her blooming kitchen fantasies.

“You want something to drink?” you offer.

“Just water, please,” Abby clears her throat, gaze snapping up to meet the gaze you throw over your shoulder.

And she has to use the cute little glass you give her as a lifeline, nearly crushing the frosted green glass to bits multiple times over the course of you prepping dinner and the actual thing.

Because not only are you wickedly witty in a way that’s easily overlooked, but you’re phenomenal in the kitchen. Nearly drools watching you cut through your produce while chattering happily about growing up on the west coast and your college years.

You work through the building heat to set a painted ceramic dish piled high with pasta that Abby absolutely devours with nearly as much fervor as she likes to think she would you.

“Good?” you ask hopefully, leaning forward on your elbows.

“Better than good,” Abby says eagerly. “Great, fantastic.”

“Yay,” you cheer pure-heartedly and she could melt. Especially when she polishes off the plate and you sit up straight. “More?”

She easily agrees just for the sake of watching you.

“You should, uh—” You scratch the back of your neck nervously as she continues eating. “You should stop by again. If you, y’know, wanna…I cook a lot and there’s usually a lot left over.”

Abby could scream in excitement. She’s one intrusive thought away from reaching over the island to squish your cheeks and tell you that there’s literally nothing else in the world she’d wanna do than to see you again. Instead she forces her composure with an easy smile.

“I’d really like that.”

And the way she sits back in her seat, legs obviously spreading under the surface to stretch has you wiggling uncomfortably. The last few buttons of her polo have come undone, exposing a freckled expanse of skin that you’d love to sink your teeth into, and somehow, sometime while your back had been turned, she’d opted for undoing the rest of her loosening braid to throw it into a topknot.

The tension is palpable, thick enough to choke, and at times, as the two of you chat over the kitchen island, it has you stumbling over your words.

Even more so when you walk her to the door at half past ten. She’s leaning against the doorframe like she doesn’t want to leave, and truthfully, you don’t want her to. Want to spend as much time as you can caught up.

“I’ll call you?” you bite the bullet despite the tremor in your fingertips.

Abby nods, arm banded around her paper bag of groceries, a tupperware of leftovers nestled on the top.

“Yeah, please,” she hums.

And there’s one final moment of tension that clings between the two of you as she kicks off the doorframe and you close the door, back pressed against the wood.

After that night, the lines you dance blur impossibly. Always a will she, won’t she that seems to equally frustrate the two of you for vastly different reasons unbeknownst to the other.

You because you can’t get a read on Abby, always teetering over a steep edge trying to get her to bite your advances. But you know, know that there’s something there. Abby because she’s given more and more reason to fall into you with every passing moment, but can’t seem to take the plunge, entirely too freshly single to think about another commitment that could fail and leave her already mending heart beyond repair.

And she knows it isn’t fair, especially when the tension both romantic and sexual is absolutely brimming. You’re nothing like the partners she’s been with before, especially not her last girlfriend who was practically your polar opposite. You were gentle, sweet, funny. Good at practically anything you could get your hands on.

But something stalls her, keeps her from diving headfirst despite late nights laying on your living room floor talking about things both minute and infinite, cooking with you in the snugness of your tiny kitchen, even inviting you to outings with friends and vice versa.

So you take the plunge instead, one Saturday evening weeks after your first meeting, after spending long swathes of time tangled in each other’s presence.

You’re at a bar with her and her friends, slight buzz giving you the smallest nudge of confidence to cling to her arm. And god does Abby look good tonight, especially so, in a dark button up and fitted pants. She’s got her hair down, tickles your cheek when you nuzzle against her shoulder.

Her friends’ eyes are inquisitive, curious because touches between the two of you rarely linger for longer than a few moments, but you’ve been glued to her side all night. She doesn’t say anything though, doesn’t shrug you off, even wraps an arm around your shoulder when you return from the restroom.

So with a few more drinks and a little more liquid courage, you’re toeing a little over the line. You’ve pushed her hair over her shoulders, pressing your lips experimentally to the skin behind her ear. It’s a sensation that has her freezing up almost imperceptibly, but you can tell with the way her muscles grow taut under your fingers.

“What’re you doing, angel?” Abby asks quietly, span of her large palm gripping your thigh.

“Nothin’,” you hum, nose bumping her ear.

She breathes out a hollow laugh, tries to turn her attention to her friends who are obviously trying to ignore your displays of affection. But then your lips are brushing with more force against her collar and she’s sliding out of the stuffy booth to get some air.

Her resolve is obviously crumbling, even more so when she stands at the bar waiting for the next round of drinks and your arm bands around her waist, the other flattening below her belly button. When your pinkie slides beneath her belt buckle, she’s pushing off the counter.

And for a moment you think you’ve upset her when she gathers all the stout glasses and winds through the crowd to return to the booth you’d previously occupied.

You barely make it to the back of the bar when she’s emerging from the bodies and grabbing you roughly by the bicep.

“Abby—”

Her lips are slotting yours before you can apologize, and she tastes like cherries and liquor. Her arms wind around your waist, one hand on the small of your back, the other grabbing a handful of your ass.

“Abs,” you whisper breathlessly, unable to feel any embarrassment for taking up a high traffic aisle as she bites your bottom lip.

“Your place or mine?” she asks, voice gravelly. “Because you started something that I’m gonna need you to finish, princess.”

And your knees are jelly the entire trek to your apartment, insides liquid and tummy fluttering because a warmth has begun to pool in your panties. The way Abby can’t keep her hands off you through the elevator ride up makes it all the worse.

“You’re such a fuckin’ tease, y’know that?” she hisses in your ear as you miss the keyhole a few times. “For the last six weeks all you’ve done is toy with me and—”

Her breath hitches when she presses her front to your back and slides her hand up the skirt of your backless sundress to feel the stickiness forming between the plush of your thighs.

When you finally force the door open, Abby’s kicking off her shoes and her fingers are making work of her top buttons. You’re quick to swivel on your heel, shoving her roughly against the front door to push up on your tiptoes and pepper kisses over the curve of her jaw.

“Me?” you huff petulantly, an uncharacteristic gleam in your eye as your fingers are deft on her belt buckle. You unbutton her dress pants. “You waltz in here all the time looking so…so…fuckable.”

Abby nearly chokes on her breath.

“And you try to play coy, but I see right through you, Abby,” you say in such a gooey tone. She throws her head back and moans. “I see the way you look at me. The little things you do. You’re not subtle Anderson.”

And that’s new. Calling her by her last name.

Your hand’s down the front of her pants, under her boxers and you feel it. How wet she is. Feel the slick between her folds as you circle her clit.

“Oh, fuck,” she breathes, lips parted as she takes the sight of you in.

“Wanna make you feel good,” you sigh, biting your bottom lip as you stare up at her.

She nods eagerly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you hum.

Her hands come up to cup your cheeks, leaning down to steal a few kisses before her hand’s wrapping around your wrist and pulling you from her heat.

“Open,” she barks, guiding your fingers to your lips.

You do so without argument, the taste of Abby making your eyes hood.

You make a noise in the back of your throat, and Abby’s walking you back towards your bedroom.

“You wanna make me feel good?” she asks, back of her knees hitting the edge of your mattress. She’s got you situated between her legs, shucking off her top and shimmying her trousers and boxers off in one go. “Then get to work.”

She’s spreading her legs, gaze locked as you lower until you’re eye level with her cunt. The pale moonlight that filters the window making it absolutely glisten.

You’re kissing the skin of her inner thighs, hands on her knees as you glance up at her, only find her with her bottom lip tucked harshly between pearly teeth.

“Want you bad,” you admit breathily, biting the taut skin before laving at it with the flat of your tongue.

All you receive is a shaky breath, seemingly knocking the words straight from her lips.

“Nothing?” you taunt, biting the other side.

Abby’s opening her mouth to say something snarky, but your lips are on her clit and your middle finger’s sliding in with ease.

“Jesus, fuck,” she whispers breathlessly.

And you’re smug as you eat her out, vibration of your moans rumbling through her core when she threads her fingers through your hair and tugs ‘til the tension in your scalp stings deliciously.

“Shitshitshit,” she chokes when you add another finger.

Under normal circumstances, she’d be embarrassed when her body locks up and her legs shake after what seems like only mere moments, but after she comes down and the fog clears, she’s wiping that smirk off your pretty face.

The sight is one to see, Abby leaned against your headboard with your back plastered to her front. The skirt of your dress is scrunched around your waist, flimsy straps knocked from your shoulders.

She’s merciless, thick fingers plugging you full.

“Ah, Abby,” you hiss, hand wrapping around her wrist.

“Can’t get over how tight you are.” She bites your earlobe. “You can barely take two.”

As testament, she stuffs you deeper. The squelch is downright filthy, your arousal pooling down your slit and onto the sheets. For a moment Abby’s pulling her digits from your heat, spreading her fingers in front of your face to show you the stringy strands of clear that web her knuckles.

“See that, princess? See how wet you are?” she teases, other hand taking a palmful of your tits while her mouth maps each blemish and mark with kisses across your shoulders and neck.

“So fuckin’ pretty like this,” she husks. “Wish you could see how pretty you look.”

You throw your head back, chest heaving as her fingers curl inside the spongy walls of your cunt and applies such a toe-curling pressure against the spot that has you seeing stars. It makes your back arch, knees twitching against the legs that Abby uses to keep your thighs spread.

“You gonna cum, pretty girl?” she whispers, blowing air against the shell of your ear as her ministrations grow sloppy.

You nod quickly, body tensing.

“M’gonna fuckin’ cum,” you whimper, “Please, Abs, don’t stop. I’m—”

Abby could cum all over again when your chest pushes forward into her hold, head lolling back against her shoulder as you let out a pitched whine that sounds a lot like her name.

“Fuck!” you swallow, falling slack against her sticky skin as you gush.

Her other hand drops to your clit, lazy circles making your pussy clench around the fingers still stuffed inside.

“That’s right, princess,” she huffs. “Cream all over my fingers.”

Your breaths stutter, pussy clenching as you let out a needy little moan.

“So good,” she praises. “Such a good girl.”

And you’re absolutely boneless, head knocking gently against hers as you push further into her chest. You feel her weight shift as she reaches, then the gentle feeling of her cleaning you up despite sleepy overstimulated protests.

It’s warm in your room as Abby slinks down the pillows and pulls the covers up. Her chin rests on top of your head as you cozy up to her, mumbling about how much you like her and how you’ve waited for such a moment.

You don’t remember the last thing you say before you doze off.

Abby does, though.

It keeps her up the entire night. Has her eyes blown wide as she stares up at the ceiling and the weight of the evening dawns on her.

Always wanna be with you. You’re my person.

And she doesn’t know how it’d gotten to this point. How did she let herself get so entangled with you? She’d always been aware that there’d been something there, that she was crushing and was almost a hundred percent sure you reciprocated, but this was far more than she’d anticipated.

It’s a step away from the ‘l’ word, and she’s not so sure it’s something she’s willing to fall into.

So Abby does what she does when she’s scared and she’s running. She’s replacing herself with your pillow as the sun comes up, heart squeezing when your cheek nuzzles against the fabric and your lips part to blow a breath.

She’s dressing as she makes her way to the front door, takes a final look at the polaroid wall that stares back at her as she tugs her shoes on, and slips out of the apartment building into the chilly Seattle air.

You’d been prepared for a lot of things growing up and into yourself. Had learned to swallow the bitter side of sweet, but nothing could have prepared you for the splintering feeling of Abby’s absence.

You wake up a few hours after she leaves, naked and hugging one of your pillows. The apartment is eerily silent as you wait in stillness for any signs that she’s just an early riser.

There’s no shower running, no clattering in the kitchen, no shuffling in the hall. And when you survey your surroundings, comforter wrapped around your shoulders, you suck in a deep breath.

Maybe she has work.

It’s a futile attempt to rationalize the situation, but you know Abby. Know that she’d leave a note, maybe a text, or—

You scramble for your phone, but deflate when you find a notification to water your virtual plant. For good measure, you open her text thread, but all that stares back at you is the confirmation that she was picking you up the night prior.

“Oh, Abby,” you whisper to yourself, something like sickness making your stomach twist.

The cursor blinks, keyboard clicking as you type and retype anything that’ll confirm that maybe you’re just being paranoid, reading into things too much.

So you settle on good morning 💘.

It’s almost instantaneous.

Read at 7:47am.

It takes a little under two weeks for Abby to surface again. Not without ample prodding. You’re a communicator, she realizes, as she sits outside of Jo’s Coffee and stares down at the string of texts from you over the past week and a half.

pretty girl: good morning 💘

pretty girl: have a good day at work

pretty girl: i made dinner if you wanna stop by

pretty girl: can i swing by the station with lunch?

pretty girl: just want you to know that i’m thinking of you

pretty girl: meet for coffee? wanna see you.

pretty girl: text me whenever you’re comfortable, i’ll leave you alone til you’re ready 💗

That final text is what makes her crack. Makes the guilt eat away at her. So she messages you when her shift is over.

me: jo’s at 4

pretty girl liked ‘jo’s at 4’

She looks up when the chair across from her scrapes against the concrete. You drop into the seat, fresh-faced and obviously newly showered. But she can see it in your eyes, the bags that puff like you’ve been crying.

And you have, even if you won’t admit it, because Abby’s the closest thing you’ve felt to what love could be like and these past two weeks have been agonizing as you try to pick apart every single facet of your situationship with her.

“How are you?” you ask, giving her a weak smile over the table.

“Good,” Abby lies, but you don’t see through her poker face and it stings, thinking that she’d been so unaffected by all of this.

You nod, fiddling with the fake leaves of the center piece.

“I missed you,” you admit shakily.

And fuck, did Abby miss you too, but she can’t find it in herself to face her fears head on. So she just nods, biting the inside of her lip.

“Didn’t miss me?” you tease, trying to make light of the situation.

“I don’t think we should see each other anymore,” Abby cuts to the chase, words leaving her lips like a shot that echos in the night.

It makes your ears ring, your brows furrowing as your lips twitch into a frown. Abby braces herself, knows what a brewing argument feels like. It’s sick to say that it’s familiarity, that sharp words and hoarse voices are a norm.

But you just shrink in your seat.

“Why?” you whisper.

Abby sucks in a deep breath.

“You don’t remember what you told me?” she asks like an accusation.

You blink.

“You told me that you wanted to be with me. That I’m your person,” she says.

And you wonder what’s so wrong with that. Especially when you’ve spent two months glued, when you were so sure it was mutual.

“I do,” you affirm softly. “You are.”

Abby squeezes her eyes shut, shakes her head.

“I’m not—” She clears her throat. “I don’t want a girlfriend. I don’t need the distraction. Especially not now with work and my personal life.”

Ouch. That had hurt, Abby calling her time with you and any subsequent moments nothing more a distraction.

“Oh.”

She doesn’t know why your response frustrates her, makes annoyance pinch the back of her brain as she takes you in, but it does. Full force.

“We’re better off as friends,” Abby says. “It’s easier, it’s—”

“Friends don’t fuck each other, Abby,” you say simply, and the calmness in your tone makes her upset.

She’s used to the shouting, to the arguing and being at each other’s throats in conversations like these. But you never fail to amaze her as you keep your composure.

“I have no intention of sleeping with you again,” she says stonily. “That night was mistake. I hadn’t been with someone in months and you were giving me attention and—”

In her frustration with the entire conversation, she hadn’t realized that tears were pooling in your eyes. That you were trying not to cry.

Her face softens when she notices.

“I’m sorry, I just—”

“You what?” you murmur. “What were these past three months, Abby?”

“I dunno,” Abby sighs in annoyance. “Two people enjoying each other’s company? We were drunk and—"

You simply nod, knuckling away the brimming tears before shrugging your bag over your shoulder.

“Where are you going?” Abby sighs when you stand.

“Home,” you answer quietly. “Whatever. Let’s just forget any of this ever happened.”

She grabs your arm over the table, opening her mouth to apologize again, but you’re shaking her off.

“Take care of yourself,” you tell her.

The days blur like the edges of a muddy watercolor.

You start to think that things could look up, that maybe Abby was put in your life for some reason you’ll uncover in the future. But the universe can be so cruel sometimes, knows exactly what to do to shatter the broken pieces you’d tried so hard to glue together.

It comes in the form of a night out nearly a month after you’d last seen Abby. She made no additional efforts, just left you wondering if you’d imagined it all, and your friends are especially tired of your moping.

It’s a surprise!

And you’re not really one for surprises. Especially not now, but they’re dragging you out, carting you across town. Your stomach sinks to your ass when you see the familiar neon lights. Feel your chest tighten on the trek up the stairs to the same bar that preluded your spiral.

You could throw up when you’re situated in a booth with your friends and you glance at the bar by chance.

Abby’s leaned against the counter top, looking as good as ever, but she’s not alone. There’s a girl that hangs off her shoulder, skin umber and eyes warm. She makes no moves to distance herself and you don’t know why you feel the anger begin to sizzle. Abby hadn’t been yours in the first place.

“What do you wanna drink?” one of your friends asks.

“Nothing,” you answer stiffly.

She follows your gaze to the countertop, sees the way your eyes burn.

You’d kept your situation with Abby private, didn’t want to jeopardize such a potentially good thing with your well-meaning meddling friends at such a fresh stage. But now that it’s soured, you stare openly.

“That’s her, isn’t it?” she asks, and your avoidance is answer enough. “C’mon, let’s show her what she missed out on.”

As it turns out, it doesn’t seem like much. Because she doesn’t even blink when you sidle up to the counter with your friend, three patrons between the two of you.

You’d always thought the two if you had a sixth sense for the other, but Abby’s oblivious to her surroundings, too engrossed in her drink and the pretty brunette hanging off her shoulder.

One of the bartenders goes up, asks what he can get for the two beautiful ladies, and your ears perk when her voice sounds. Nearly throw up the empty contents of your stomach all over the bar top when you see the way she slings her arm over the girl’s shoulders.

“Another vodka soda for my girl.”

She’s buzzed, you can hear it, but it’s the most sound declaration you’ve heard from her in the time you’ve known her.

You break away from the bar, and you run.

Abby feels like a shell of herself.

She’d gone out over the weekend, celebrating a visit from a close friend from the east coast. And it’d done a good job of numbing the pain for a little while, of taking her mind off of you.

But it’s Tuesday, the first day of her rotation this week and she hates that this feels worse than her previous break-up despite the unlabeled status of your relationship. You hadn’t even put up a fight, just took her rejection in stride.

It makes her feel infinitely worse, knowing you didn’t have it in you.

She doesn’t even realize she’s spaced out in front of the drink coolers of the convenience store after her shift when a voice snaps her out of it.

“S’cuse me.”

And she knows that voice. It’d been her greenlight all those nights ago.

Your little sister is brushing past her, going straight for the Body Armors and Gatorade. She must feel the way Abby stares because she’s side-eyeing the older girl from her post.

“Oh, it’s you,” she says, turning her nose up in the air.

Abby swallows.

“Hey to you too,” she says hesitantly.

Your little sister humphs, snatching the golden berry flavor and a yellow Gatorade. Abby takes a moment to glance at her basket, sees fever medicine and Tylenol among other things like instant ramen and Vitamin C gummies.

“Are you sick?” she asks.

Your little sister’s face screws up in annoyance.

“No, but my big sis is,” she says matter-of-factly.

That information makes Abby’s heart sink.

“She alright?” she asks carefully.

“She’s seen better days no thanks to you.”

And on a normal day, Abby would laugh because your little sister is witty, just like you. Can see where she gets it from. But right now, all she can imagine is you bed ridden and coughing up a lung.

“I can take a look at her,” Abby offers suddenly. “I—”

“Yeah fucking right,” your sibling scoffs.

Her language stuns Abby and this time she really can’t help but chuckle.

“You think this is funny?” she gripes. “You broke my sister’s heart. She’s been so fuckin’ sad because of you and you’re laughing.”

Abby sobers up quick, shakes her head.

“No, no, that’s not—,” she splitters urgently. “I– I’m laughing ‘cuz you’re just like her.”

Your little sister doesn’t look convinced, uses the back of her hand to wipe her nose as she levels Abby with an unrelenting stare.

“You suck, y’know that?”

“Yeah,” Abby sighs, hands flailing in defeat. “Trust me, I know.”

“And you’re a pussy,” your little sister adds childishly. “I know you really like my sister.”

Abby doesn’t even bother denying it, just stands there with a prepackaged sandwich that pales in comparison to your cooking and a diet soda.

“I do,” she affirms quietly.

“Then do something about it,” she says surprisingly. “My sister’s a catch, the coolest person I know. You’d be the biggest fucking dumbass if you don’t lock her down.”

And her candidness makes Abby crack a smile.

They stand there for a few moments in silence before your little sister is shoving the basket in Abby’s arms and prancing down the aisle.

As soon as Abby’s paid, black plastic bag in her grasp, she finds that your little sister has lingered outside of the convenience store.

She’s shoving a key in her hands.

“She’s too tired to open the door,” she says. “She likes extra lime in her ramen and runny eggs. Also hates swallowing pills so you’ll probably have to crush it up and put it in her water or something.”

“Who’s the EMT here?” Abby grumbles.

Your little sister pins her with a narrowed look.

“Don’t fuck this up Anderson,” she warns. “If Big Sis asks, I took a train to the mall to meet up with my friends.”

And just like that, she flounces away.

You’re asleep when she sneaks into your apartment.

She kicks her shoes off, sets the bag of convenience store goods on the kitchen island before padding through the living room to peek into your room.

Buried under a mound of blankets, just your eyebrows and forehead peek from the top as you snore softly. When she peels the covers away, she not only finds that you’re sweaty and your cheeks are flushed, but you’re wearing her favorite hoodie.

She hadn’t realized she left it here, but seeing you in it has her sinking to her knees by your bedside, chin resting on her bent arm.

“Hi, angel,” she whispers quietly, pushing the sweaty strands of hair from your face. “Missed you.”

You don’t budge, cheek smushed in your pillow as you snooze peacefully. And maybe she shouldn’t have come here, because all it’ll take is you asking her to stay.

She tucks the blanket to your chin, leans forward to press a kiss against your temple.

In the kitchen, she’s only reminded of how much she misses you. Misses this. She’d spent nearly everyday here during your time together. Brushed shoulders with you while you guys cooked together, leaned against the counter while you took extra care plating her food despite her protests of ‘we’re gonna eat it anyways’. You guys frequently laid out on the living room floor, snacking while watching movies, flipping through coffee table books or getting existential.

She’d made so many memories here, made a home out of you.

The thought stirs something emotional inside of her, makes tears prick the corner of her eyes as she rips open the packet of ramen and digs the seasoning sachet out.

Frustration wells as she goes through the motions in your kitchen by herself. Wonders why you had to go and be so fucking wonderful and make her fall for you.

She’s halfway through and angrily brushing her tears away when she hears your door creak open and your voice croak your little sister’s name in question.

When you stand in the doorway of the kitchen, her name is falling from your lips.

“Abby?”

You rub your eyes momentarily and Abby feels like the biggest piece of shit on the planet as you stand there with the hood of her pullover on, Christmas pajama pants and some crew socks.

“Hi,” she breathes.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, bewildered eyes bouncing around the kitchen as you take in your surroundings. The bags under your eyes are swollen, your lips chapped as you fidget in the archway.

“I ran into your sister at the convenience store,” she admits. “She said you were sick.”

“And?” It’s like you can’t fathom the fact that Abby would have any concern for you. Something like anger bubbles at the idea.

“What do you mean and?” Abby asks, eyebrows furrowing. “You’re sick and I… I care about you.”

There’s that normalcy again, that familiar feeling of emotions beginning to reach its boiling point. But she’s not angry at you. Could never be when all you’ve been is perfect to her. And perhaps in the back of her mind that plays the tiniest role, because you’re everything she could ever want, need, but she steady fucks it up every go around.

“Do you?” you whisper.

You look small, defeated, unable to meet her eyes.

“Of course I do, what are—”

“You really hurt me, you know that?” Your breath hitches. “You came into my life like fate, over and over again. Still do apparently. And you— You made me like you more than I’ve ever liked someone in my life. You let me see you, let me fuck you, let me… let me…”

It’s your first real display of heightened emotion. You don’t bother trying to hide your tears, or hide the way Abby’s built you up and ruined you these past four months.

“And then you just left.”

The lump in her throat nearly chokes her breathless.

“I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt, y’know?” you continue and Abby’s hands tremble. “That maybe you really just needed the time for yourself, but then I saw you, and—”

“Saw me what?” Abby interjects. “Where?”

“At the bar,” you squeak. “She’s really fucking pretty, and I hope she makes you—”

“What are you talking about?” Abby grills, taking a step towards you.

“If you didn’t want to be with me, if you didn’t feel the way I felt about you, you could have just said that,” you whimper, dashing the tears away in embarrassment. “You didn’t have to make an excuse about not wanting a distraction.”

“I’m so lost right now,” Abby says. “I—”

“I saw you at the bar this weekend,” you tell her straight. “You were with a girl, called her yours.”

And that floors her. She’s almost a hundred percent certain she would’ve felt your presence a mile away, But as you reveal that you’d only been meters away from her, the closest you’ve gotten in weeks, it makes her gut pinch.

She wracks her brain, tries to recall that weekend, tries to think of any woman who’d give you the idea that she’d choose anyone but you.

She draws a blank at first, but then she remembers the bartender’s passing comment.

You and the birthday girl are too sweet.

Abby had fake retched and Nora’d drawn out an exaggerated ewwww as the bartender set the vodka soda before them.

She’d been far too engrossed to realize that you’d been in the vicinity. But she’s not so sure she would’ve done much to take advantage of your presence if she had.

This is her first act of courage in months and she’s falling head first as she crosses the berth between the two of you.

When she stands a few inches away, you look up at her, thick lashes wet and nose snotty. You look like a mess, but Abby’s always thought you were beautiful.

“Nora’s not my girlfriend,” is the first thing she says.

You think you should feel relief, some semblance of hope flickering, but this feels a lot like uncertainty and you hate the limbo.

You don’t say anything, just wipe your nose on the back of your hand.

“I’m sorry,” Abby whispers, hands coming up to grasp your shoulders.

You make a noise in the back of your throat, corners of your mouth turning down in that telltale sign that you’re not done crying yet.

“C’mon, angel, stop crying,” Abby says weakly and the nickname makes your stupid heart flutter.

Her thumbs are brushing underneath your eyes, over the puff of your eyebags before she’s crushing you to her chest, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other winding around your shoulders to keep you anchored.

Your arms wrap around her waist, taking in the scent of her pine body wash and the softness of her detergent.

“I hate you,” comes your muffled hiccup.

Abby only hugs you harder.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

And perhaps she deserves that, but you’re pushing your face further into her chest and she barely hears you.

“I missed you,” you admit a second later, back of her work shirt fisted between nimble fingers.

A shuddering breath leaves her at the admission, makes her body relax as the two of you stand at the edge of your kitchen.

“Missed you,” she murmurs, savoring the way your body feels melding against hers for the first time in weeks. “Fuck, I missed you so much.”

“You’ll stay?” you whisper.

“Yeah, yeah,” she assures you. “I gotta go home and get some stuff, but of course I’ll stay.”

Your hold tightens and your head shakes.

“I mean stay, Abby,” you clarify. “With me. Don’t…don’t run away anymore.”

Her breath catches in her throat, a new onslaught of tears choking her as she nods fervently.

“Yeah,” she croaks, kissing the top of your head. “M’not going anywhere.”

BONUS

You don’t know where the time goes. It all seems to blur together in the moments you spend with Abby, and before you can wrap your mind around the fact, a full year has passed the two of you by.

“You look so pretty,” Abby comments, sitting on the edge of your bed with her legs spread.

She’s watching you through the mirror, blue eyes piercing and unblinking.

You don’t think you’ll ever get used to the way she always seems to make you warm.

“Thanks,” you mumble, unable to hide the smile that twitches while you screw the cap back onto your lipgloss to take one final look at yourself.

“Not gonna say it back?” Abby feigns annoyance, pushing up from her seat to wrap around you, one hand bracing against the dresser as her chin drops to your neck.

“Then it’d be insincere,” you deadpan, head tilting to rest against hers.

She humphs under her breath, shamelessly sliding a hand up your dress.

You stop her fingers in their tracks, pushing off from the drawers to create space between the two of you and alleviate the warmth beginning to bloom behind your navel.

“We’re gonna be late for Nora’s birthday,” you quip, fingertips barely brushing the doorknob before Abby’s hands are gripping your waist.

She’s hoisting you to throw you against the mattress playfully.

“She’ll survive if we’re ten minutes late,” Abby assures you wolfishly, climbing over you to cage your body between her thick thighs.

“You’re gonna mess up my hair,” you whine, pushing at her shoulder.

Abby captures your wrists in one hand, other tilting your chin up to slot her lips between yours. The taste of the fresh coat of lipgloss you’d just applied makes her smile against your mouth.

She relaxes a fraction when you reciprocate, tongue languid. A noise of approval rumbles from her chest when you nudge her onto her back and bite down on her bottom lip. With a wicked glint in her eyes, she’s pulling away, hands resting against the curve of your ass.

Now you’re straddling her, manicured hands mapping from her waist to her shoulders to feel the ripple of taut muscles underneath. She’s tense, obviously waiting for your next move with bated breath and kiss bitten lips.

But then you shift teasingly over her zipper.

“Let’s go,” you hum, pressing a final kiss to her jaw before climbing off of her anticipating figure. “No dessert before dinner.”

#once on my main blog and another here #sorry i have so many sideblogs #but double the attention if you please #GOSH its just so good #tlou #fic recs

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