lilyleely

[lilyleely]

praestigia

NOTE: this is the completed version of the fic, including part 1. some minor edits have been made to part 1, but that's about it. once again, thanks sylus for being my first lads fic! as always, much love to spence for bullying me into finishing this

plot: formally speaking, sylus is a...sponsor. more colloquially, he's your sugar daddy -- and you're starting to wonder if he might actually want more. (wc: ~13.1k)

cw: this is all AU and does not include, like, any game lore (aside from that it's happening in linkon city). afab!reader, also a phd student, toxic behavior [miscommunication], explicit smut [dom/sub dynamics, slight bondage, underwear as a gag, size kink if you squint, fingering, some degradation, possessiveness, squirting, overstimulation, some choking, no protection aside from implied birth control], angst, some fluff, open ending. mdni!

[ao3]

-

The skyline of Linkon City never fails to captivate you, blinking lights of tall, corporate buildings, the specks of light dotted across the sky, the blur of beams weaving through the roads – no matter which angle you look at it from, the view will inevitably take reign over your focus. So much so, that you do not notice the imposing figure approaching you from behind. He can only draw your attention by placing both hands on your shoulders, jumping slightly as you blink and remember where you are. A wave of flashbacks crashes through your mind as you are gently turned towards him, your back facing the window now.

“Perhaps I should find it somewhat offensive that the view never fails to take your attention away,” Sylus remarks, his tone unmasked in his teasing and playfulness. His scarlet eyes peer past your shoulder to see if there was anything interesting or out of the ordinary. “Do I need to start booking rooms without windows?”

“Don’t be silly,” you gently admonish, moving past him to grab a drink of water. His eyes burn the skin on your back, though you are familiar with this gaze. “Thank you for letting me rest here.”

“Do you really think that after all this time, I would leave you to pay for a hotel room yourself? Or to find your own transportation home?”

“It’d be understandable. I can see where you would be coming from if you made those requests.”

“I must say, I am a little wounded, kitten,” he drawls in mock pain. Instead of waiting for you to return and remain close to him, he situates himself on the bed first and leaves ample room for you to lay next to him.

The gesture invokes warmth, exudes comfort, and stands familiar as you climb onto the mattress with ease and memory. Sylus stretches out his arm next to you, and his pose quietly begs for you to cuddle into him.

And so you do. Sylus’s stature and frame, of course, never fails to envelop you during these moments of tranquility. Your chest pressed against his side, a leg crossed over his, your nails drawing patterns over his bathrobe and exposed abdomen – security, strength, and affection, once again, never fails to help you relax.

Because this is what happens after every gala, every fundraiser, every grand opening, every social event that you accompany Sylus to. This routine of being in hotel rooms so high above ground with breathtaking views, burrowing into him, oftentimes burying himself inside you, and separating the next morning with an implicit understanding of exactly where you stand, is what you two had agreed upon all those months ago. And in return, your financial stress disappears into thin air, leaving you to study and engage in hobbies without such a heavy burden on your shoulders.

Despite his constant reassurances that he can clean up whatever mess you may end up making, they do not negate just how tiring and draining these events end up being. Constantly putting on airs, overexposing your practiced smiles, making sure that there is not a single hair out of place, switching to what you like to call “fancy people table etiquette” – Sylus sponsored and, in a way, hired you to be as close to perfect as possible, and so, you must do as such to uphold your end of this business relation. Tonight has been a little more taxing than usual, as somewhere along the way, he felt the need to buy you anything that captured your attention for more than a few seconds. He would bid a ridiculous price that would dissuade any other potential customers, their expressions of defeat when they pass by causing him to secretly gloat that everyone has learned at least one thing about him: he will get what he wants.

You had caught onto this shenanigan after the third item, and you made sure to school your gaze away from the auctioned items. But because he always seems to know what plays in your mind, he complains, “You never let or ask me to buy you things anymore.”

Your eyes had closed shut during your time of reflecting on tonight’s events, and they continue to remain as such. “I have very little closet space. At this point, I think I’ve probably swapped out 90% of my wardrobe because of you. People are starting to get suspicious.”

“Then why not move out and find a bigger apartment? You know I can afford it.”

“Sylus–”

“I know, I know,” he interrupts. If he were anyone else, you would have scowled at him. “It would be too far from campus, become inconvenient, and you feel it is too much to ask for.”

As the conversation suggests, this is not the first time Sylus has brought up this proposition. What remains unsaid is how you would be closer to his residence if you were to move to one of the many apartments he had in mind, all of which would reduce your commute to his place down to walking a block or two; not a twenty-minute drive.

“Just say the word, and it will be done,” Sylus murmurs into your hair. When he realizes he has received no response, your soft snoring greets him before he can inquire any further. With a heavy sigh, he reaches out and switches the nightstand light off, leaving the darkness to swallow you both. His eyes fall shut in tired ease, but his grip around your shoulders remains firm.

-

It comes to no one’s surprise that you feel less than well-rested when your alarm starts blaring at 5:45AM. You had an early class today, so you had to give yourself ample time to make it home, change, wipe away any lingering smudges of last night’s makeup, and try to appear as…casual as possible. Not wanting to wake him up so much that he cannot fall back asleep, you reach out for your phone and click one of the volume buttons, rendering it silent. Sometime in the night, your position had changed to Sylus spooning you. His limb slung over your waist is heavy, making it all that more difficult to leave – not just physically, but mentally as well.

Like ripping a bandaid off, you have every intention to quickly remove yourself from his embrace. But Sylus, being the infuriatingly light sleeper that he is, immediately tightens his hold around you as soon as you attempt your escape.

“Sylus, I need to go,” you whisper.

He presses you impossibly closer to him. “I will drive you to your apartment. Sleep.”

“No, I’m taking the subway.”

“Why take the subway when you have me?”

“If anyone needs rest, it’s you,” you say pointedly, because it’s true. Being the CEO of a business that may or may not be totally legal (you never ask because honestly, the less you know, the better) is not exactly a 9AM-5PM job. There have been more times than you can count when he would be pounding into you and forced to take a phone call. Granted, that doesn’t stop him from grinding into you and grinning devilishly when you bury your face into the nearest pillow to muffle your moans and whines.

“Speak for yourself,” he grumbles into your hair. “You haven’t gotten more than six hours of sleep every night for the last week.”

“And how exactly do you know this?” As soon as you ask, you already know the answer.

The app for– “Your smartwatch.”

“One of these days, I will disconnect my account from that app.”

“I would like to see you try.”

And you will. Just, when you’re not trapped in his arms.

“I’m still taking the subway,” you backtrack, though your voice is quieter than before. A tiny sense of relief fills you when his embrace loosens, and you can finally crawl out of bed. It’s harder than it seems to squash the distressed voice in your head complaining about how easy it was for him to let you go. As you pick up all your clothes and make your way towards the bathroom, you notice his phone sitting innocently by the room’s coffee machine. After looking over your shoulder, you swipe it off the counter and bring it with you.

Guessing his passcode is harder than you thought – the man has an ego the size of the entire universe, so you figure it would be something personal: his inaugural date as CEO, his birth year, his birthday, or others. On your last, desperate attempt, you type in four digits and find yourself absolutely floored at the view of his, now, unlocked phone.

Your birthday.

There is no time to dwell on the implications of it all, and you chalk it up to the fact that no one really knows you outside of being his typical date or escort. Therefore, the passcode would be that much harder to guess than the route that you had originally gone for. Yes, that’s all it was: an extra layer of security.

Sylus’s phone is surprisingly unorganized, random apps thrown into folders that they do not belong in, leaving you to search for the fitness app that your watch is not only connected to on your own phone, but somehow also on his. You press the buttons necessary to delete your watch data from his end. When you are ready to close the app, you cannot help but notice the preview of his messages app and the texts within. Your thumb swipes away the fitness app and shakily taps the messages window that stares hauntingly at you. It had been left open on a conversation with another woman, if you had to guess based on the name sitting at the top.

My parents are getting antsy, and so is your grandfather.

That is none of my concern.

Unfortunately, it is. They’re not exactly happy about the woman you keep bringing as a partner.

Our arranged marriage is not a publicly known detail.

And I’d like to keep it that way. But Sylus…

What?

We can’t delay this much longer. You’re running out of time.

The exchange tells you enough, just enough for you to realize the situation you find yourself in. You suddenly recall an incident in the beginning of this relationship with Sylus when he described this arrangement, him as your sugar daddy, as a means to an end, preferably the end of something that he clearly did not want out of desire for his own freedom. There was not enough detail for you to give it much thought after that night of discussion and negotiation, but now, it all makes sense.

Your thumb takes it back to his home screen and presses the lock button. In a haze, you get ready and dressed before exiting the bathroom, completely unaware if you even have your clothes on right or your hair somewhat kempt. As quietly as possible, you place his phone back where you had found it. Though common practice at this point, it now feels far too intimate to plant a featherlight kiss on his cheek. It causes him to stir, but you’re halfway out the door before he can fully register your departure.

Whoever passes by, whatever zooms past, however something tries to gain your attention, you have no recognition of your surroundings. A thick layer of tension settles itself into your brain, allowing you to think of nothing but the fact that this entire time, Sylus has been in an arranged marriage that you, apparently, were supposed to be instrumental in destroying. To find yourself back in your apartment maybe forty minutes later is a miracle in and of itself. You return to the plane of reality when you open your closet doors to toss your dirty clothes into the hamper and are greeted by the many items bought with his money.

Contrary to popular belief, jealousy does not make itself known in your system. You’re not exuding shades of green or red like an angry Christmas tree. If anything, you come to a quiet acceptance that this…partnership with Sylus will come to an end, and soon. It would do no good for him to keep seeing or supporting you while formally married, which means you have to get your life in order. Sylus has given you more than enough money to put you through your last two years of your postgraduate career and maybe a year into your postdoc, but you should still remain frugal. If you’re lucky enough, the money you earn during postdoc would be enough to live relatively comfortably on.

Alone. Without him.

It’s fine, you think to yourself as you turn on the shower. It’s totally and completely fine.

-

A couple hours later in class, your phone vibrates with a message that reads, “You actually managed to disconnect your watch from my phone.”

The slight smirk tugging at your lips is inevitable as you type out a response: You told me to try, so I did.

“I will be changing my passcode.”

If you want. There’s nothing else on there that I need to delete, right?

“Oh sweetie, wouldn’t you like to know?”

The subtle, possessive curl of his message coils around you tenderly, making you temporarily forget that you are in class and should be exhibiting a poker face. But you still shift in your seat, a warm pool of heat forming in your core as you imagine his expression and his voice reading the message out loud. Forever a tease and a flirt, Sylus knows exactly what he is doing by sending you that message.

Your best revenge in the moment is to leave him on read, on the edge of his metaphorical seat. It takes too much effort to bring your conscience back to your current lecture and actually take some notes. Your phone buzzes once, but you ignore it – and in hindsight, you’re glad you did. Sylus, in all his infinite wisdom and glory, took it upon himself to send you a picture of himself after a shower – the skin of his chest glistening under the fluorescent lights, grey towel hung low on his waist and barely holding on, veins on his arms frustratingly visible because he knows what they do to you, his biceps flexed just enough that you want to take a bite at them. The fucker full well knew you were in class and, you know, in relatively close proximity to other people who would have, no doubt, gotten an eyeful.

As you walk towards the subway station to go back to your apartment, head down and focused on typing out a message, a giddy smile can’t help but break out across your face. Your thumbs tap, “Should you really be sending photos like this to someone who, in the public’s eye, is just a friendly escort?”

After not even thirty seconds, your phone buzzes, the notification of his call sliding in from the top of your screen. You almost roll your eyes as you bring the device to your ear. “You have five minutes before I lose signal underground,” you warn, your tone still playful nevertheless.

“‘A friendly escort’, you say? I suppose that’s what the young ones are calling intimacy these days.”

“You knew I was in class. And stop it, I know you have some stupid smug look on your face right now,” you chastise.

“You know me so well.”

“Actually, speaking of,” you say as your eyes flit down to your watch. “Aren’t you supposed to be in a meeting right now?”

“I stepped out.”

Your heart and feet skip a beat, almost causing you to fall flat on your face and absolutely eat shit in the middle of the sidewalk. It’s hard not to let your mind race at all the implications, that this tirelessly busy man decided in a heartbeat that he would step out with a desire to call you over something so minor; to do no more than simply tease you. In the grand scheme of his life, you have very little significance – your temporary companionship where you may see him four or five times a month, sometimes with weeks in between and other times mere days. Text messages were never a guaranteed daily activity, though as of recent, he has been texting you more often. But amidst his employees, his connections, his partnerships, his family, you’re just…you.

You didn’t realize you had been stunned into silence long enough for him to ask, “Are you still there?”

“I am, sorry,” you apologize, scrambling to think of an excuse. “Uhh, an email came in and I was reading it. Didn’t hear you.”

“I’ll get you some wireless earbuds.”

“Please don’t.” Your rejection is immediate, firm. The lack of room left for argument stands apparent. “That’s not necessary.”

“And what’s stopping me from just ordering you a pair regardless?”

“Me.”

Sylus responds with a contemplative pause, which is...unusual. He has always been so quick to reply with wit and banter, but there is a chance that maybe something distracted him, like what you had said as a poor attempt at a viable excuse.

“I suppose the kitten is starting to make use of her claws now.” His voice rings softer, quieter, almost as if disheartened by his own statement. “First you disconnect your watch, and now you won’t even let me buy you earbuds.”

“I just don’t want you to buy anything that’s not necessary. Covering my tuition and all the dresses is one thing, but wireless earbuds, I can do without. My wired ones work just fine.”

Your eyes catch the sign for the stairs leading down to the subway up ahead. “I’m about to go under and lose signal. Was there anything else?”

“Come over tonight.”

Your mouth works faster than your brain. “I can’t,” you lie, a pang of guilt creeping into your heart. “There’s a study group tonight for an exam.” Not a lie. “Besides, we just saw each other yesterday.”

“Has that ever stopped us before?”

“W-well, no,” you splutter because it’s true. There have been a handful of times when you spent two, sometimes three consecutive nights in the past – but things were more hot-and-heavy then, a time when you couldn’t get enough of him and vice versa. “I’m just saying.”

“Then come after the study group.”

“It’s gonna run pretty late because we have an exam in a few days.” Again, not a lie. “Who knows if the subways would still be running by then?”

“I’ll pick you up.”

“But you might be asleep.”

“Highly unlikely, little one.”

Quickly looking around you, you quietly hiss, “Sylus, you should be asleep by the time the subways stop running. Why would you still be up at 2AM?”

“In case I have to refresh your memory, you do remember that I am the CEO of one of the largest tech companies in Linkon, right? The work never ends.”

“You need time for sleep, you know, like everyone else??”

“I’m not like everyone else.”

Your eyes close in frustration as you groan. Your feet have reached the top of the stairs, and you couldn’t have asked for more perfect timing. “Okay, I’m at the station so I’m gonna hang up. I’ll come over another time, alright? Talk to you later.”

“Sweetie–”

Moving forward to race down the stairs and smashing the hang up button is your way of desperately trying to not lose resolve. Any longer, you would have given in and rolled yourself straight back to square one with nothing but dread. You have never been more relieved to see the little “No Signal” sitting in the top left corner while you swipe through a gate and manage to get down another flight of stairs without tripping over your feet.

Wired earbuds in, hands stuffed into the pocket of your hoodie, letting the wind tunnel threaten you to topple over, you do everything in your ability to not think about him – to not think about the messages that may flood your phone once you get signal, to not think about the pushback you may receive because Sylus is someone who figures out to, somehow, always get his way, and to not think about the weight of his earlier words: “I stepped out.” You pretend that you know nothing about this arranged marriage, the curiosity having caused your thumbs to twitch in anticipation at maybe looking up who this woman is. You ignore the now glaringly close deadline that will terminate your relationship with Sylus forever, and most of all, you ignore any semblance of pain that knowledge makes you feel.

Cup half-empty, spoons tossed the window, the subway window across from you is greeted with a blank stare. In a rare moment of mindfulness (or is it dissociation?), you think of nothing until you find yourself standing by the foot of your bed and ready to face plant into the middle of the duvet. With your last shred of working consciousness, you set an alarm for thirty minutes before the start of the study group and promptly fall asleep.

-

As you predicted, the study group runs late into the night. Despite the several digressions into conversations that were very much not academics-related, all of you feel relatively good about the subject matter for the exam on Friday. Everyone comes to a unanimous decision to reconvene in a couple of days. Given that it was Monday, one more study session Wednesday and some independent review Thursday night would be beneficial.

For your own sanity, you had left your phone, stashed in the recesses of your backpack, tossed into the corner of the study room, on do-not-disturb for the entirety of the night. You had it programmed to still chime and alert you if family contacted you, mainly because it doesn’t happen often, and if it does, that means something big happened. The device remained silent for the whole time, and part of you wants to avoid confronting what your notification screen might look like. But before you can muster up the courage to do so, one of your friends speaks up.

“Hey, you took the subway here, right? I can drive you home,” Jiho, a doctoral student in the same year as you but doing research under a different professor, offers. A part of you is beyond relieved at the perfect example of an excuse to not check your phone because it would be so incredibly rude (not really) in a social context.

“You wouldn’t mind? If you have somewhere to be, I can just walk.”

Jiho rolls his eyes in a playful manner. “Come on, before I change my mind.”

He drops you off in front of your apartment complex about ten minutes later, and he shoos away your offer to buy him coffee as a token of gratitude. You wave goodbye as his car pulls out of a guest parking spot, and only then do you notice the conspicuously sleek, grey sports car sitting a few meters away. Your heart pounds, and your palms begin to sweat as you get closer and closer to your unit, afraid of who you might find once you get inside. You spot the fluorescent glow from underneath peering out from underneath your door, and it takes everything in you to not drop your keys as you unlock the deadbolt.

“So the kitten has finally decided to come home.”

“How–”

Sylus, looking severely out of place in your humble abode, sets down the stack of papers in his hand on your coffee table. With his other hand, he points to the fixture on your wall by the door where your keys typically hang. His own set now occupies one of the hooks, and you spot the spare key you had given him a few months ago. To your knowledge, he has never used it before, and you can count the number of times he has stepped into this apartment on one hand.

You quietly shut the door behind you, locking both deadbolts in place before setting your backpack down. “It’s so late,” and even you wince at the shakiness in your voice. “You should be asleep. At home.”

“Perhaps I would be if someone had just checked their phone once in the last fifteen hours.”

Well, you don’t have much of an excuse for that.

Sylus sits on one end of your couch in loungewear, though somehow, he still makes it seem like he’s in something formal enough for business casual. You cautiously sit on the other end away from him.

“I passed out as soon as I got home, and then I was running late for the study group, so I just left my phone on do-not-disturb.”

His silence speaks volumes.

“I didn’t mean to worry you.”

But maybe you did.

Maybe, subconsciously, you did. Maybe you wanted to test the limits of his affection. Maybe you wanted to see just how far he would go to make sure you were okay.

Maybe you simply wanted to get a taste of when you least expect radio silence, an appetizer for how things may turn out when Sylus calls for the end of your arrangement.

“Look at me.”

Tension weighs you down as you slowly turn your body towards him, but you avoid his gaze and aim to study the logo on his shirt instead.

“Sweetie, look at me.”

The command snaps you into compliance, his tone firm and undeniable. You expect to see anger, frustration, disappointment. After all, it would make sense, for there is a set of expectations and rules put into place to ensure trust between both parties. Transactional, contractual, institutional obligations and conditions set by both the company matchmaker and individuals are put in place to conveniently manifest and quickly disintegrate these business relations, to avoid messes.

But you realize all too quickly that the mess will be inevitable, in your case, because instead of tinges of red fury in his eyes, you find concern, worry, and confusion. Dread sinks into your stomach like an anchor in the middle of the ocean, dropping further and further into the dark unknown.

“You’re hiding something from me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you immediately counter. Good job, you just made it more obvious.

Sylus pins you down with a look that means nothing other than “you know better”, and your heart threatens to burst from your chest out of sheer anxiety.

“Since you refuse to tell me otherwise, tell me how you got home,” he says, and though he may seem cool and nonchalant in the way he rests an arm against the back of the couch, you can see the irritation pulsing through the veins on his forearms.

“A friend from the study group drove me home.”

“And you were simply too busy to look at your phone during the drive?”

“I had to give him directions.”

Sylus cocks an eyebrow at the mention of this friend’s gender. “Him?”

“Jiho, sweet guy. Does research with another professor.”

“I suppose I have him to thank for bringing you home safely. Regardless, you should have called me to pick you up.”

You have one last card to play. “That’s not in the contract.”

His eyes harden and narrow the slightest bit, the curve of his jaw growing tense in building irritation. “How so?”

“There’s a line somewhere in there about making sure I would not contact you for personal favors that are outside the scope of our,” you hesitate to find the right words, “relationship.”  You can’t remember the last time your palms sweat so much.

“I offered.”

“And I am not obligated to take the offer. While kind, I did not see the need to bother you.”

“I clearly remember stating that it wouldn’t be an issue, especially considering I asked you to stay with me for the night.”

“But I told you I couldn’t,” you retort.

“Couldn’t or wouldn’t?”

The bitter note in his voice on his last word matches his steely gaze that is undoubtedly determined to pick you apart, to peel off each layer of whatever walls you may have put up. He’s not ignorant or oblivious by any means – something is going on, and you’re not telling him. You answer him with deafening silence, blaming your late-night fatigue for it.

Responding directly to his question would only make this worse, as you cannot see yourself getting out of the ensuing conversation unscathed and alive. Instead, the couch dips as you cross the distance between you two, hesitantly straddling his hips in case he doesn’t want you to. But he allows your move, his hands almost instinctively resting on your thighs as you settle yourself into his hold. His skin feels glassy smooth beneath your fingers as you caress his cheek, studying every detail of his face and avoiding his eyes.

Perhaps there is a part of you that is trying to commit the minutiae to memory in preparation for the days when you will no longer see him so intimately. You should have never let yourself get so attached, no matter how much tenderness and adoration Sylus has been lavishing you with. The realization hits you in a bittersweet manner, and the featherlight kiss you place on his lips only makes it hurt more.

Yet you move past the pain to accept the fall, the descent into oblivion as you feel Sylus respond to your kiss, deepening and increasing in fervor. The heat in your core is more than just lust as it sinks deeper and deeper into you, a testament to the depth of your affections. Somehow, his touch as his hands roam your figure burns hotter. It almost makes you want to shy away from his grasp, but part of you welcomes the trails of fire as your punishment for deceiving him.

You gasp out his name as his lips leave your neck scorching, each nip of his teeth and lave of his tongue adding to the haze slowly overtaking your rationale. But beneath the man’s ardor, you manage to recognize his irritation and annoyance – the way his fingers grip your waist, his nails digging into your back – about how this whole night has progressed.

Apologize, his eyes seem to scream. Seek forgiveness as I seek vengeance, his hands draw on your skin.

Beg for me.

“You test my patience in a way that others have never done before,” he says in a dangerous tone as you gasp at the chords of delicious pain running down your back.

“I’m– ah – sorry,” you gasp as his arousal grinds purposefully against yours.

The answering swat against your ass stings, and you attempt to ignore the rush of slick dampening your panties even further –  a reaction that Sylus does not fail to miss. Instinct calls and beckons when your eyes slip shut the moment a hand rakes up to get a firm grip of your hair, pulled towards him so he can kiss you fervently again.

So lost in a hazy reverie, you barely register when he lifts you by your thighs and makes his way to your bedroom. Or at least, you think he’s going there, given that he’s only been in your bedroom once before. But Sylus makes strides with the confidence of someone who has visited here countless times, and the aura he exudes both thrills and frightens you.

In mere seconds, he strips you down and regards you with an appreciative gaze. The glint and apparent desire in his eyes never fails to flatter you – to be wanted is addicting, especially when wanted by a man as powerful as Sylus. You should be alarmed by how natural it feels to be in this current state of undress and debauchery.

“Open your mouth,” he commands, and you obey without a second thought. “Good girl.

“As much as I cannot bother to care about disturbing your neighbors, I know you do,” he concedes, but not without balling up your panties and stuffing them past your parted lips. “All of this could have been avoided if you had just let me pick you up.”

The argumentative whine that slips off your tongue is resolutely muffled, serving no purpose except to further Sylus’s sadism. His approving smirk immediately quells your anger, and you can only watch with half-lidded eyes as he removes his clothes at a painstakingly slow place. Normally, you are the one to grant him a show at his command, but tonight, you deserved a taste of your own medicine. Your wrists become bound by his belt as he finds his second home between your legs. Tears prick the corners of your eyes when he purposefully lets his shaft drop on your clit.

“Always so wet and ready for me, kitten,” he praises, his tone low, teasing, but appreciative.

His smirk widens as he moves to hold his cock and tap it menacingly against the puffy bundle of nerves, taking in each twitch of your body, each dampened mewl, each falling tear. With each tap, the string of slick between your cunt and his length becomes more and more prominent, spreading across his skin. “Tell me, sweetie, who this belongs to,” Sylus compels with a drawl, jutting his chin towards your carnal source of torture before meeting your eyes. He knows very well that the word you're trying to say is “you”, but he takes great pleasure in knowing that there is no way the sounds will come through the soaked cotton in your mouth. “Hmm? What was that?” The frustration of not being able to clearly convey the right answers only adds to your arousal, turning the heat in your core into molten lava. At his clarifying question, you, undoubtedly, feel a pool of precum drip from your pussy, and when you see his eyes flit down to his cock in hand, you know he's fully aware of it too. They hone in on how easily the tip slips into your beckoning entrance, attempting to entice and draw him in for both your pleasures.

You keen as Sylus slides two fingers into your entrance without warning – they’re a far cry from his cock, but thick and long in their own desirable way. The tips of his fingers easily find the spot that makes you squirm, moan, mewl, and you’d have to be blind to miss the wicked expression splitting across his face. Despite the teasing attitude from earlier, he wastes no time trying to bring you to your peak. Your muffled cries only spur him on, even more so when he’s able to fit a third finger inside you. “Maybe I should let your neighbors hear us. I imagine it would get the message across that you’re not exactly…available.”

Embarrassing, what you would give in this very moment to be nothing more than his. Your hips follow the drag of his fingers, unwilling to let yourself feel anything less than filled. But before he lets you come, he stops.

Why?

“Greedy little thing.” His tone is mocking, yet highly amused, as he removes his fingers – and as much as he would like to play with you to his heart’s content, to break you down and tear you apart, his veins thrum with impatience and apprehension. Sylus seeks to punish you in a different, more overwhelming fashion, that would require you to beg him to stop rather than to start. It takes everything in him to not force you down his entire length. Instead, he devises to lull you into a false sense of security with the way that he takes his time sliding into you, no matter how much your pretty cunt desperately tries to suck him in. Sylus is sure you would be able to see the restraint painted across his face if you didn’t have your head thrown back and back arched from being stretched open. The sight of your bare stomach and chest makes it all the much harder to reign in his desires.

“Fuck,” he hisses. His cock continues to bully its way through your pussy, slowly and languidly, until it’s fully trapped inside you. When your thighs meet his v-line and your clit brushes against his skin, you whine and buck against him for desperately needed friction. But Sylus quickly traps you and pins you down from your thighs, restricting your movements with a devilish grin. “You never answered my question,” he reminds you, a clear taunt. In the blink of an eye, he leans back to land a firm yet stinging slap on your puffy clit and revels in your muffled cry. “Who does this belong to?”

Your dry sobs only intensify as you fight to respond with a clear answer, but it’s impossible. The way you grind your hips against him, seeking any sensation that could help quench this insatiable thirst in your core, should say enough. Sure, you could simply point at him, even with your wrists tied together, but you’ve been with him long enough to know that he wants the words of possession to roll off your tongue at times like these. And if you tried taking the cloth from your mouth…needless to say, you would be lucky to survive the night.

He chuckles when he feels the walls of your pussy tighten around his cock, a different tone that deviates from the vicious shake of your head to signal that despite your complaints, you would much rather be gagged like this. “Cum for me,” Sylus demands in a low voice. “Cum for me, cum from me just being inside you, and I will give you what you’ve been begging for this whole time.

“Even better yet, make a mess.”

The coil in your core tightens more and more and more until it suddenly snaps, your body trembling with the force of your orgasm and your throat hoarse from your silenced screams. “Good girl,” he praises when he pulls out, hungry eyes roaming every inch of you, as he rapidly swipes his fingers against your clit and relishes in his ability to make you squirt, fluids flying and landing messily in the near vicinity. You don’t know how long it takes for you to get over the high, oversensitivity from his fingers as they continue to stimulate you. Barely coming down from your climax, Sylus stuffs three fingers inside you and continues to fuck you, purposefully and forcefully rocking against your g-spot.

“Please,” you beg and cry as you twitch and flinch, trying to remove yourself from the source of this unbearable amount of pleasure. But your articulation is, once again, victim to your cotton gag, leaving you to audibly dry sob and squeal in overstimulation. The satisfaction on your sponsor’s complexion should sound the alarms in your brain, but it only thrills you to pieces as clarity fades more and more from your conscience.

In a haze, you manage to pull your belt-bound wrists forward from above your head and tap his shoulder three times. Only then does he stop in his tracks, carefully removing his fingers from your core. Sylus exhibits the same attention when he holds your chin with one hand and takes the soaked cotton of your panties out of your mouth. Before you can even take two breaths, greedily gasping for air, Sylus kisses you softly, slowly. Unable to do much with your head still in a fog, you reciprocate as much as you can – to silently thank him for his punishment, as well as his mercy. He pulls back, cueing you to open your eyes and take him in, just as he assesses you in his own way. His eyes search and roam your face and figure before meeting your gaze once more.

How endearing, you believe they seem to say. He cocks an eyebrow, his way of asking are you okay? You take a few deep breaths before nodding. But before you can try and decipher more of what he may be feeling through his eyes, he bends forward, breathing into your ear, “On your stomach.”

Large, strong hands manhandle you until your head is almost buried into the sheets, hiding your disheveled state, your hands grasping at the expensive linen, and his weight planted firmly on top of you. A pillow is stuffed beneath your abdomen before he spreads your ass, eager to study the ruin he has caused on your poor, little pussy. Sylus readjusts himself so that his dick nestles comfortably between your ass cheeks. Even in your daze, the heat of his arousal almost seems to burn your flesh, and you desperately wish it was inside you. 

A self-proclaimed mind reader, Sylus drives you to the edge, groaning quietly when your cunt attempts to lure him in when he coquettes you with the tip. Every slide, every push, every instance of friction makes you fall deeper into this pool of anguish and lechery. Before you even realize it, visceral pleas for him to fuck you are spilling from your tongue, very much so to his delight. “I know you can beg better than that,” he taunts. “And to think I had trained you so well.” His voice reeks in mock despair and disappointment.

Though you know he’s not completely serious, his words are enough to send your sin-addled brain into a state of panic – so panicked and shaken to the point that you don't even register the next words falling off your tongue. Something about the practiced but genuine phrases of separation, wanting to be used, wanting to be ruined – were you pressing back into him, hoping, praying that you could draw him into you?

In response, you soak in the hisses of expletives in your ear, the comforting, mind-numbing sensation of being filled again, and the weight of his frame atop yours. He holds himself up on his elbows, and each thrust threatens to split you in two. “Mine,” his voice slips through your conscience, hanging onto the way the sound drags out, “are you not?”

Always, you nearly answer on primal instinct when he buries himself as deep as he can inside you, his cock almost feeling like it’s in the back of your throat. The inexplicable amount of pleasure stops you from giving him what he wants, which pushes him to press himself even harder against you. “I’m beginning to lose my patience, kitten,” Sylus warns, as if he’s not the very reason for your delayed responses. His fingers sneak underneath you to grab you around the neck, forcing your head up. Your pants are greedy, desperately seeking air as his hand tightens just a bit more, the haziness in your mind thickening.

“Yours,” you gasp. “Always,” slips off your tongue before you can stop yourself.

The silence that hangs still is enough to make you question whether or not you fucked this whole thing up. Dread begins to drip into your system as his grip around your neck loosens, even more so when his hand slips away entirely and he begins sliding out of you. “Wa–”

In the blink of an eye, his hand pushes your head back into the sheets, his fingers curling around your strands at the scalp. Sylus’s cock fucks you into the mattress, his pace almost frantic, yet punishing. The realization that you’re going to be incredibly sore in the morning is an accepted assumption at this point, leaving you with little warning of your release approaching the precipice. Silenced cries, Sylus fervidly ensuring that your pussy is forever molded to the shape of his length, your sanity slipping – his impassioned murmurs of how tight you are, how easily he can pound you into oblivion, how your pussy makes it so easy for him to sink into the very depths of your core – all drive you to your peak. His last sign that you’re going to come is the dissipation of your whimpers.

Sylus wraps his hand around your neck once more, turning it so that he can capture your lips in a bruising kiss. He swallows your screams as you topple over the edge, your climax so intense that your whole body trembles for what feels like eternity in his hold. Your pussy compels him to remain buried deep inside you, and he’s more than happy to comply. But it doesn’t stop him from grinding against you, driving you into overstimulation.

“So good,” he groans against your lips in between kisses. “So fucking good, taking my cock so well, I’m gonna–”

“Y-your cum, please,” you urge. “Please give me your cum!” Your voice dissolves into sobs.

“Fuck!” Sylus spits out. The hand that was on your neck now covers your mouth as he spills inside you with a deep moan, his teeth buried into your shoulder to muffle his own voice. You relish in the sharp pain, as if he’s trying to engrave his mark into your skin, and can’t help but keen as his cum fills you up. Each pulse and twitch of his cock sends a shiver down your spine and almost tempts you into begging for more.

Catching his breath, he refuses to leave your warmth. His tongue softly licks the area where his teeth had embedded themselves into your shoulder, and follows them with reverent kisses. You remain quiet, only letting your breath hitch when Sylus slips out of you. He gently presses your back into a deeper arch so that you can present yourself to him, and he watches with apparent satisfaction as his cum leaks from your pussy. A hand on your ass, his thumb reaches over for your entrance to push and give him a better view of his undeniable claim on you.

As infuriating as he can be, you observe with bleary eyes as he leaves to grab a damp towel from your bathroom before returning and carefully wiping his cum away. After doing so, he tosses it to the floor and picks you up bridal-style, carrying you the short distance to your bathroom. He starts the shower and hums some nonsensical tune with a faint voice as you wait for the water to warm up. When he deems it hot enough, Sylus offers you a hand and helps you into the shower. Compared to his apartment, your shower stall is barely enough to fit the both of you. But he makes it work, taking the utmost care in cleaning you up, his touch so cautious yet heavy with care.

You barely remember making it out of the shower, much less when he dries you off and brings you to bed. There’s a faint memory of his warmth wrapping around your frame when you awaken later that morning, a delicious ache stretched through your muscles. Yet the side where he laid is cold.

It, along with the unread text from your bank notifying you of a, no doubt, sizeable deposit, is to be expected, you remind yourself. The sticky note by your phone that reads, “Early meeting, sweetie. -S” is the only truly physical (and unexpected) sign that he had been here in the first place. He never owes you an explanation, and you never expect to get one.

Just another day, another transaction.

-

Friday rolls around, and when the sun has set beneath the horizon, you find yourself perched in Sylus’s home on the kitchen island, a speckless slab of black quartz that you just know you’re leaving fingerprints on, as he throws together a salad. Something is in the air fryer, and he has a bottle of sparkling cider waiting to be opened. Sylus had stopped you with a look of “don’t you dare” when you tried helping out with something – anything – so the only thing you could do was sit and try to look pretty.

“Pick a salad dressing,” he commands when you grow silent. You eye the three jars that have been placed in front of you.

“I’m fine with any of them.”

“Not an answer.”

“I’m serious though!”

“Pick one.”

You groan as you look at the jars and point at the middle one. “Happy now?” you ask passive aggressively, sending him an exasperated glare.

Sylus, swift and silent, swoops in and steals a kiss from an unexpected you. Saying nothing, he pours some out into the salad bowl and mixes it all together with adept flicks of his wrist – no utensils needed. With a pair of tongs, he drops some greens onto your plate before taking the rest and tending to whatever is cooking in the oven.

It’s not the first time you’ve been here, and it’s not the first time he’s cooked for you. But it is the first time since accepting that you may feel something more than obligation and friendly affection for this man. This whole experience feels wildly domestic, as if you belonged…here.

On this counter.

Accepting impromptu kisses.

Waiting on food cooked by him.

Knowing you’re staying over for the night.

As if you were meant to be a part of his life.

The thought terrifies you, without a doubt, but you like it. Settling down with Sylus, forever attached at his hip at events, is a dangerous fantasy.

Lost in your thoughts, the what if?s, the possibilities, your daydream breaks when he pulls the curtain closed in front of the balcony door, completely blocking a wonderful (and surely, very expensive) view of Linkon. It takes you a few seconds to realize that you had been looking past the windowpane when frolicking around in your imagination, and you’re reminded of the night before you disconnected your smart watch from his phone. “Sorry, did you say something?”

“Penny for your thoughts?”

You feel the heat rushing into your cheeks, knowing they would be warm to the touch. Turning away from the now-concealed nighttime skyline, you direct your attention to the fridge meters away from you. “Just thinking about my test.”

“It’s too late now, if you realize you got something wrong. We’re here to celebrate it being over.”

“I know.” You sigh. “Thank you for doing this, by the way. I was getting a little tired of eating out.”

“I was as well. Too many business lunches and dinners the last couple of weeks.”

“How did those go?” you ask just to keep the conversation going.

“They went fine,” Sylus says without any further detail. “Come, let’s eat.” Before you can come down from the counter yourself, he already has an arm wound around your waist and is semi-carrying you to the dinner table. The distance between the table and the kitchen was maybe fifteen steps at best, closer to seven given Sylus’s long strides. It would’ve been a short walk regardless, and you’re flustered with the unexpected royal treatment.

Unceremoniously (but still carefully), he sits you down into a chair and pushes it in before going to his seat. Sylus places himself next to you at this round, mahogany table that seems a little too big for a man who lives alone. Largely used for serving several different dishes, it just looks a little out of place compared to the rest of his penthouse, all sleek and sharp. But you’ve learned to stop questioning things you’re curious about when it comes to his personal life, because clearly, he’s not very open to sharing those details.

Dinner isn’t anything special, as Sylus lets you prattle on about your research and other office gossip. He never divulges any of the gossip in his own workplace, but you understand it’s for confidentiality reasons. And he may just not care that much. At this point, Sylus knows a little too much about you while you know very little about him outside of his preferences and inclinations for food, media, and general daily habits.

Understanding the reality of that stun locks you for a few seconds – the duality of the word intimacy, the realization that you don’t even know Sylus’s favorite color. You could guess, sure, but you don’t definitively know. Why is it that you know the exact amount of shaved truffle on his pasta at that fancy restaurant by the river, but not his birthday? How do you explain your ability to pick up on details of his facial expressions at events and banquets, therefore knowing when to intervene so he can get a break from these people, but not the makeup of his family?

“You’ve been staring off into space quite a bit lately,” Sylus muses, ripping you away from the beginnings of your mental breakdown.

“Sorry, I just thought of something about my exam again.”

“What a terrible host I’ve been then, to allow your mind to wander so often. How can I keep your focus on me?”

You hum, looking around his apartment and then at the table. “Let me wash the dishes.”

“I own a dishwasher for a reason.”

“Please? It’s the least I could do since you made dinner – which was wonderful, by the way. You ever consider becoming a chef?” you ask with a slight chuckle, taking the opportunity to grab his dishware and utensils and carry them to the sink. Stainless steel shines brightly at you, whether from a recent deep clean or lack of usage, as you start to run the tap for warm water.

Large, familiar hands find their home on your waist, the heat burning through your sweater. They pull you against his frame, and you allow yourself to lean back a little bit as you start scrubbing the porcelain. Arms wind around your middle and hold you tight, his senses becoming muddled as he loses himself in your scent and touch. He gently paints the column of your neck with soft, faint kisses – so soft that if you hadn’t been so tuned into him, you would’ve missed them.

“You’re taking too long,” Sylus murmurs against your skin.

“What, never had to wait a tiny bit for a treat you want?” you tease, and chuckle when his teeth bite into your shoulder.

“Brat.”

“I’m almost done, I promise.” 

It’s so hard to not like–

Your brain freezes – but somehow still commands you to scrub the plate in your hand. Moving on pure muscle memory now, you have maybe five seconds to figure out your own thought process.

This is a contract, you remind yourself. This is a mutual relationship to satisfy both parties’ needs without getting personal feelings involved. Sylus made that very clear in the beginning. But the less logical part of your conscience creeps in like a phantom on your shoulder. So how does that explain Sylus’s actions recently? How does that explain this very moment of what would appear to anyone as a sweet, pure, domestic interaction?

He’s just comfortable, you rationalize.

Why does he insist on you staying the night?

Because that’s what this contract entails.

Why does he keep asking you to move closer?

It’d be more of a problem if he was asking me to move in with him.

Would it be though?

Of course??

You sure about that?

This is NOT the time for--!

A small pinch on your waist brings you back to reality, your synapses firing on overdrive to try to get you back to a functional level. You cannot hold back your “ow!”, which seems to be just enough of a reaction to satisfy this man.

“What was that for?!”

“Something is clearly on your mind,” he says in a low tone, the tone that indicates he’s starting to become agitated.

“No there’s not,” you retort and fail to hide the sheepishness in your own voice.

“You’re doing a terrible job at convincing me to accept that. What are you not telling me?”

“It’s–,” you pause, scrambling for words. “--trivial, at best.”

Sylus’s arm extends in front of you to forcibly remove the plate from one hand and the sponge from the other. You relent to reduce the risk of breaking anything, but somehow, it’s still not enough. He grabs a tea towel hanging on the oven door behind him, spins you around so that your back is now digging into the edge of the sink, and proceeds to furiously dry your hands. You can’t help but wince when he tries to rub off some dried soap residue, but there is no time to dwell on it.

Not when Sylus slings the towel on to his shoulder and bends at the waist to meet your eyes. Not when he cages you between his arms as his hands bear his weight on either side of you. Not when he pins you with an expectant glare, demanding your full honesty.

“It’s really nothing.” Your tone is firmer now, but he doesn’t fall for it.

“Is it something personal?”

“...yes.”

“Does it have anything to do with your family?”

“No.”

“Is it something that I’m able to fix?

Technically, yes. But you’re not stupid.

“No.” Your voice softens, lowering to a murmur at best.

“Tsk,” Sylus clicks his tongue. “Why do I find that hard to believe?”

“Because you have a large enough influence to make you think that you can fix anything you want.”

“Precisely,” he responds pointedly and, perhaps, a little too proudly. “So tell me. Tell me what’s bothering you, and I’ll have it resolved within 48 hours.”

You didn’t realize that you had stopped looking him in the eye. And when you do, your breath hitches. So determined, so resolute.

And yet, so heartbreaking.

You can’t help but let your fingers ghost over his cheek, tracing the edge of his jawline. He stands firm even when you step forward and press a light kiss against his cheek. As if on instinct, he turns and immediately parts his lips to slide against yours, but you pull back before he has the chance to deepen it, and with it, your affection.

“You have enough to worry about as it is,” you murmur. “I’m fine, really.”

Sylus’s eyes turn disapproving, doubtful. But he knows when to back off when needed.

“Don’t forget that I can help you, should you need it,” he gently reminds you. “Do you understand?”

“I do, don’t worry.”

He sighs. “Very well then. Now come, we’re here to celebrate the end of your exam, after all.”

You take his outstretched hand, but you fail to leave behind your troubled heart.

-

Two nights later, at four in the morning, you stare blankly at your phone screen.

[Are you sure you want to request to terminate this contract?]

The only contact you've had with Sylus the last two days is sporadic texts about little things, like how your day was going or if you'd heard about the results of your exam yet. You do your best in suppressing the quiet loneliness that pushes your heart to your throat and a dagger into your stomach, the undeniable sensation of realizing that you miss Sylus.

Missing him as if he were your actual partner and not just one for show with dollar signs behind the scenes.

Worrying enough to wonder if he's getting enough sleep and eating enough food outside of whatever work dinners or lunches he may be obligated to attend. Just yesterday, you had ordered delivery to his office with your own money, and he had texted you a simple Thank you, little one. To which you responded with a casual, You're welcome 👍.

Smooth.

You're not sure how long your eyes linger over the [Yes] button, the midnight minutes blinking by as you contemplate your next move. Is this the right call? Should you wait until Sylus comes around and tells you on his own about the arranged marriage? Should you just wait until he makes the request instead?

No. You want a clean break. You want to call this off on your terms, essentially saving yourself from the path of destruction that you would undoubtedly set off on. One tap and a press of the lock button immediately after, you burrow yourself into your blankets and will yourself to sleep.

With light sleep at best, you watch with bleary eyes as the sun begins to rise, casting your room into a hue of its golden hour, signifying contentment and new beginnings. But it only elicits dread as you wait for the inevitable end.

-

The shriek of your phone rips you from your mindless daydreaming, and you know who it is before you can even get a good look at the screen.

“Hel–”

“What is the meaning of this?” His voice rings dark, irate, with what you think is the slightest hint of panic laced beneath each syllable.

“Sylus,” you start, but he interrupts you again.

“If I did something to upset you, then you need to let me know. Otherwise, I am at a complete loss for your sudden request to terminate our agreement.”

“You did nothing wrong.” Your attempt to subdue his worries may be futile, but you at least have to try.

“And I’m sure you can see why I don’t believe you for even a second.”

“I mean it though,” you refute. “Look, I’ll explain more when we meet with the company rep.”

“My patience is running thin. Tell me now.”

“Please, please just wait until we meet this evening,” you beseech, on the brink of breaking down while walking back to your apartment from class.

“It was simply a mistake, right?”

“Sylus, please–”

“Fine. Don’t be late.” The beep that follows indicates he has hung up on you. You suppose you got what you wanted, but it feels a hundred times worse.

There will never be enough time in the world for you to be prepared for this moment, standing in the ascending elevator of a discrete yet well-kept high-rise building while clutching a manilla envelope in your hand. The last time you were here was to outline the conditions of the situation with a representative there to help mitigate and ensure that both parties would be satisfied. You suppose they’ll be doing the same thing today, except it would be to ensure a clean split.

As the secretary walks you to the designated conference room, your legs tremble, even more so when she casually adds that Sylus was already here, waiting. She stops and knocks on the door in front of her, announcing your arrival. A sound of approval from inside cues her to open the door and let you in, and you nervously step inside after thanking her. Not that you didn’t believe her earlier, but actually seeing Sylus in the flesh somehow adds to the gravity of the situation.

“We have both parties here now, so let us begin,” the representative says after greeting you with a handshake. Calling out your name and gesturing to you, he states,” You are the one that called to terminate this contractual agreement, is that correct?”

“Yes,” you confirm in a shaky voice and clear your throat. A copy of the contract sits in front of you, and you keep your eyes trained on the letters that are starting to blur and swirl together. If it means that you don’t have to look at Sylus, you’ll take it.

“Is the reason for the termination due to any violations of the terms and conditions set at the initial meeting?”

“No.”

Despite keeping your head down, you see and hear Sylus shift in his chair. A sudden chill wraps around you, and you slightly shiver.

“Mr. Qin, to your knowledge, did she violate any part of the contract?”

“No.”

“Now let us discuss financial compensation.” Looking towards you again, he asks, “Have you been financially compensated for your services?”

“More than adequately.”

“Per the contract, are there any services you have not been paid for?”

You shake your head. “Sylus does not owe me anything.”

“Then as per company policy, once one party calls for the termination of the contract, the request must be honored to protect the safety of both parties. Any services that were not compensated for would have to be done here in this meeting, but that is not a concern in this case. Please give me a few minutes to draw up the agreement to terminate so that you both can sign it.” The representative gets up and leaves the conference room.

Sylus steals the opportunity to ask the one question that has been on repeat in his mind since he received the notification.

“Why?”

You like to think you’ve gotten to know Sylus relatively well over the last year. Given your lack of explanation over the phone earlier, you know your words alone would never be enough to placate him. With shaky hands, you retrieve the envelope from your lap and slide it across the table, even daring to finally look up at him now. His crimson eyes nearly break you, but you’re grasping onto every last straw to keep yourself sane.

Inside the envelope contained a couple of pictures found online of Sylus’s arranged fiancée, as well as several news articles discussing how her company may be heading towards a merger, but it was unclear on exactly when it would happen and who it would be with. It hadn’t taken long for you to realize that you’ve seen her several times in passing at various events and fundraisers, and that she and the man sitting across you seemed to avoid each other in public as inconspicuously as possible. You warily watch as he pulls the contents out and freezes, his gaze snapping back to you.

“How did you…?” he inquires.

“It doesn’t matter how I found out,” you respond softly before switching to a more matter-of-fact tone. “We knew this would come to an end at some point. Considering your arrangement isn’t known to the public yet, it was fine to be seen with me. But when this news breaks out, and if you’re still associated with me, it wouldn’t look good for either of you. You don’t need the reputation as a two-timing womanizer, and she doesn’t need to be publicly perceived as some poor woman who couldn’t keep a hold on you, therefore undermining her achievements.”

“You should have talked to me before going straight to nullifying our contract,” he fires back.

“That would’ve made it harder.”

Sylus leans back in his seat, now regarding you with piqued curiosity. “Made what harder?”

“Maybe that’s not the right expression.” Your palms are starting to get sweaty again, even as they curl and clench tighter than ever, your fingers digging into your palms. There's nothing you can do that would eradicate the shakiness in your voice. “I just meant that talking before now would've made everything complicated.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Oh? Do elaborate.”

 “Well, I thought,” you stammer. “I mean– it’s just talking would’ve, would’ve– let some—” You pause again, desperately trying to find the right words. “Would’ve let some things be said that would’ve, you know, been better to be left unsaid. About us. Between us. Does that make sense?” Your hands have been drawing inane shapes in the air as if they would help aid in Sylus’s (and your) understanding.

“Better unsaid by you or me?”

After a few seconds, you answer hesitantly, “Both, maybe?”

For the first time in months, there are no emotions in his eyes. You have always been able to pick out at least something he may be feeling – affection, frustration, fatigue, lust – but to be on the receiving end of his blank stare like it’s the first day all over again, is unnerving. Agonizing, too.

When he finally opens his mouth, his tone dripping with disdain and mockery, he derides, “Who knew the little kitten thought so highly of herself?”

His words immediately trigger an alarming amount of shame and embarrassment. Have you been reading too much into his actions? Was it all in your head? Did it all occur out of some desperation for something genuine from him?

Oh God.

It’s at this moment that the representative comes back with the papers in hand, and part of you is ready to believe that there may actually be a higher power in the universe. “Thank you for your patience. Once you both have signed the termination agreement, I will make copies for both of you.” He seems completely unaware of the tension that has solidified between you and the CEO, even as you take the pen from the representative with a slight tremor. You quickly scan over the contents because you’re having an increasingly difficult time finding the brain cells to scrutinize each sentence and sign on the indicated lines. After you all but shove the papers across the table, you push your seat back and grab your purse.

“Oh, miss,” he starts, but you interrupt him.

“You can just email me a copy of these. Excuse me, I have something urgent to get to.”

He stares at you for a few seconds before giving a corporate smile. “Of course. Thank you for coming in. Have a good rest of your night.”

“Thank you. You as well.” Your platitude is rushed, almost harsh sounding. You mentally note that you need to send a card that is both a thank-you and an apology for scurrying off like this when you were the one to initiate it.

The walls feel like they’re closing in on your brain and consciousness, so much so that you suddenly find yourself out in the lobby of the building with no recollection of how you even got down here. A gust of fresh air hits you as you step out the doors, and it’s a little easier to breathe now. But it doesn’t mean that your chest isn’t ready to burst, your ribcage threatening to tear open and leave you passed out on the street. It doesn’t mean that Sylus’s words don’t hurt you any less, and the pain of your own embarrassment only compounds on them.

The uncharacteristic chill on this summer night scrapes against your cheeks and ears. You finally will yourself to walk towards the nearest subway station, all the while blinking back tears that just won’t stop coming. Never mind the other pedestrians who may catch a glimpse of you wiping away any physical manifestation of your grief, the other subway riders who may observe you desperately hiding in a corner of the carriage, or even the other residents in your apartment building who watch you furiously tapping your phone while passing by.

With nothing to stop you, not even your own will, you let the tears flow, streaming down the sides of your face and into your pillow as you trace the ridges of your wall, your phone lying innocently a few inches away. Despite deleting his phone number and officially disconnecting on the website, you can’t bring yourself to discard his message thread. There were too many memories, too many reminders of what you once had and will probably never have again.

Your pillow becomes damp with tears of confusion, shame, and regret. How could you be so stupid,so caught up in your own delusions that Sylus Qin, tech mogul and CEO, one of the most secretive and sought-out individuals of the current decade, with connections you couldn’t even dare to dream of, somehow held a shred of genuine affection for you? How could you have thought that his demands to see you night after night were anything more than just wanting some type of company, the kind that does what he says and strokes his ego? How could you have convinced yourself that you were actually special to him?

How could you have put yourself at so much emotional risk for something that was nothing but transactional to begin with? 

The next morning, with one look at your morose expression and the puffiness of your eyes, the other people in your cohort know better than to ask if you’re okay. During the lecture, Jiho silently hands you a piece of gum, a tiny, reoccurring gesture of camaraderie throughout these years of graduate school, as an attempt at providing some type of normalcy. Your movements are sluggish and lethargic as you fold the strip into your mouth, but it’s the first time in the last 18 hours that you feel like things might…just be okay.

-

Two days later, an email comes from the company telling you it is policy to change your phone number, and they will financially compensate for the cost of a new SIM card since it is an inconvenience to you. Hours later, you find yourself in front of a cellphone technician who is setting up the new SIM card. As they type in a few things on their computer, they hand you a pin to help eject your current one. You’re not looking forward to the hassle of telling everyone that your number has changed and fixing it in everything you have that involves your number, but even you understand that this is the first step to a fresh start. Sylus is probably going through the same process, if he already hasn’t gotten it done.

And as your phone sets everything up with the new number, you stare at your closet, now stuffed to the brim with dresses and skirts that you may never wear again. Nothing you do from now on would ever require such formalities. The knowledge of it stings to some degree when you find a large, empty bin that was used when you had moved in. Without ceremony, you begin the mindless task of removing said clothing items from their hangers and folding them into the container. You don’t want to cry. You don’t expect to cry. But the steady streaks of tears dripping down your face is enough to show how much you grew to cherish your time with Sylus.

Time that you will never be able to return to.

[fin]

.

.

.

.

“How did she know?”

“Sylus, what are you–”

“She knew,” Sylus cuts her off. “How could she have known without you tipping her off?”

“Think about this logically. I want this arrangement gone as much as you do, so why would I tell her? She’s your key to dissolving all this.”

“She was more than that.”  

“Was?”

“Shit,” Sylus curses, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“...she left you?”

“No,” he retorts. “Not willingly.” At least, that’s what he wants to believe. “But I’m not discussing this with you.”

“And I don’t really care to know the details. So…what are we going to do?”

Sylus’s hand tightens around his newly acquired phone as he stands and gazes out the window at the city skyline from his bedroom. He might be starting to understand why you seemed so entranced by the view.

“We’ll figure something out.”

“I really hope so, Sylus.”

-

-

“Hey boss, we’re here for the daily debrief,” Luke and Kieran announce as they slip into his office and all but collapse into the chairs in front of his desk.

“I’m listening,” Sylus says, keeping his eyes trained on his monitor.

“It was the usual. She woke up, skipped breakfast, went to class, stayed in the small office for her professor’s grad students for like, five hours. Uh, what else?”

“Bought a snack from that place in the library that sells coffee and shit,” the other twin adds. “Then she–”

“What snack did she buy?”

“Just some chips, from what we saw.” The twins look at each other and give a slight shrug.

“Did she eat lunch?” Sylus’s tone suggests that he could care less, despite having posed the question.

“She ate something while in the office, but it didn’t look like anything substantial. Oh, but she had a sandwich for dinner. She watched some TV – one of her comfort shows again – and scrolled on her phone while in bed. Did we miss anything?”

“I think that about covers it.”

Luke and Kieran sit in silence, waiting for Sylus’s dismissal. Said man continues to type away on his keyboard.

“Hey boss,” Kieran starts and immediately earns a “shut the fuck up” look from Luke. “We’ve been doing this for a year.”

“Which is fine,” Luke adds right after.  “We’re not complaining.”

“Right, we’re not complaining. But uhh,” Kieran continues. “How long do you expect for this to go on for?”

“As long as it needs to. You’re dismissed.”

Not long after the twins disappear from his view, he runs a hand through his silvery locks, frustration and tension evident in his strained tendons and veins. Sylus locks his computer and grabs the coat off his chair before sauntering down to his car many, many floors below where the parking garage is. But instead of walking towards his sports car, the one that had sat in a visitor spot of your apartment parking lot all those months ago, he makes his way to an unsuspecting black sedan, its brand common and inconspicuous. Without any need for a GPS, Sylus pulls out and drives to your apartment complex.

In the darkness of twilight and beneath the shadows of beechnut trees, he leans against the steering wheel and gazes up at your window, a luminescent yellow shimmering through the curtains. They haven’t been pulled completely shut, but there is nothing to see in the light regardless. The minutes that pass do not feel like time in any way as he sits in a somewhat meditative state, and the only thing that could snap him out of it is when your bedroom lights switch dark. In reality, fifteen minutes pass before he watches your shadow, then your figure, approach the windowpane.

Sylus takes the little time he has to observe you, to see if you appear any different than yesterday. Did you have a full meal? Was your research stressful? Were you making use of the money he had paid you before everything ended? Were you getting enough rest and nutrition?

When he can no longer see you, he falls back in his seat and lets out a heavy sigh, exhaustion weighing heavily on his eyes. Sylus starts his car and throws it in reverse, and he spends his twenty-minute drive home thinking about nothing but you, his cold, empty bed, and how maybe, as much as he wants to deny it on all fronts, you two were not meant to be. Yet he holds onto hope that he can defy that fate eventually, because whether you know it or not…

You will always be his.

[lilyleely]

Bang Chan ✧ Railway Unveil

[lilyleely]

gnabnahc: 💭

[lilyleely]

Bang Chan ✧ SKZ CODE Ep.45

[lilyleely]

Chris back hugs are life altering, confirmed.

[lilyleely]

Bang Chan ✧ TMA 2023

[lilyleely]

Bang Chan ✧ Slump 230903

[lilyleely]

Bang Chan ✧ [SKZ LOG] A day filmed by chance

[lilyleely]

♡ drunk with chan

⇢ pairing: chan x fem!reader ⇢ word count: 2.7k ⇢ genre: smut, friends to lovers ⇢ summary: a texting mishap makes it sound like you’re offering your friend a handjob ⇢ warnings: 18+, minors dni!; mentions of an injury, handjob, cumshot, unprotected sex, breast play ⇢ masterlist ♡ series masterpost ♡ updates ♡ read on AO3 ⇢ reblogs and feedback are always motivating and appreciated! ♡

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The club is boring tonight, to say the least. Firstly, it’s because Chan isn’t drinking with you. Usually, you two are the loudest and most annoying people when your friend group goes out clubbing just because you dance like no one’s watching and do stupid things that make you laugh. In other words, you release all the pent-up stress and don’t act your age, for a change.

Tonight, Chan is not drinking because he’s grabbed a boiling pot with his bare hands, leaving both his palms burned. They’re recovering slowly, but it’s only been ten days and he’s on meds, so he can’t drown his sorrow in alcohol. He’s been snapping at his roommates for the smallest things, and they were surprised he even wanted to join you all tonight. He did join you, but he’s been sitting by the table all night with one fist completely bandaged up and the other only partially, looking around or just staring at his phone.

The second reason why the club is boring is that no one manages to catch your attention, other than Chan. He is a friend, but so are the other guys, who are all very charming and handsome and pretty—but only he makes you feel that way, which is becoming obvious. Because of this, you’re not around him tonight, especially since you’re drinking and he’s not. You both might have a small crush on each other—more serious on your end than on his, you’re sure—but you don’t want to admit to any feelings or anything like that. 

You’re sure you will if he snaps at you while you’re drunk. You’d probably cry, too, and then it’d really be obvious. So, you resort to just standing around the bar and watching him, enjoying the fact that he wore a tank top, which reveals so much of his skin, muscled chest, and sides, the arms that you want to hold onto while he plows into your cu—

“Take a picture while you’re at it.” You’d recognize Minho’s snickering anywhere, so you scoff and shake your head at his petty little comment.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mutter back and go back to your drink. Is your crush really that obvious?

“Wait, you have a little something here,” he says and leans in, thumb swiping over the side of your chin. “Oh, it’s just the drool from all that staring.”

You swat his hand away and roll your eyes at the comment. “Ha-ha, funny.” It would be funny if it weren’t absolutely tragic.

“Just tell him. The man’s had a shitty couple of weeks, he could do with some good news.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

It’s a lie, and you both know it. Minho’s words stay with you, make you drink more, make you stare at the object of your desire longingly, wishing you had the guts to make the first move. But, the fear of rejection is too strong, probably always will be. 

And then, he texts.

Chan: this place is so boring

Chan: i’m going home

You take a while to type your response, not noticing that he’s sent something else in the meantime. You respond with “i’m coming with”, and only then realize the conversation reads:

Chan: gonna go jerk off

You: i’m coming with!

What is he going to think of this now? You feel like you want to throw up, but then again, it’s kind of funny. Chan will understand. But, he’s the only one who’s not drunk, so he might find it weird.

Minho texts, too.

Minho: when i said go for it, i didn’t mean in the group chat

Minho: either way, smart move

You go back to the conversation and realize that Chan hadn’t texted you—he’d texted the group chat, which means all your friends can see the thing you sent and made a fool out of yourself.

Jisung: 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

Felix: so we should stay here for at least an hour

The rest of them probably haven’t seen your embarrassment yet, but you’re sure they’ll have something stupid to say when they do. And then, Chan responds.

Chan: shut the fuck up

You’re not sure if he’s angry with you or with them, but it doesn’t sound goo. A second later, he texts you outside of the group chat.

Chan: are you going home?

And so you find yourself in the back of an Uber with him. He hasn’t said a word about the group chat. All he did was get in the car and stare through the window, chewing on his bottom lip.

“So are you really going home to jerk off?” you ask, chuckling as you remember the embarrassment from earlier. It’s awkward as hell, but it’s better to address it when you’re tipsy than tomorrow when you’re sober.

“I fucking wish,” Chan tells you, lifting both hands to remind you of the current state of his hands.

“Wait—” You gasp, realizing why he’s been so fucking snarky lately, why his fuse seems shorter than usual, why he’s been so off. “You can’t do it on your own?”

“Nope.”

“That explains why you’ve been… weird.”

“Weird?” He looks at you with a frown. “Towards you? I really didn’t mean to. I’m just… frustrated. Can’t do anything with these hands, not even that.”

“Don’t you have a fleshlight or something?”

Chan looks up in embarrassment, chuckling. “No, I don’t.” With that, he looks through the window. “I’ll get these off sooner or later and then I’ll stop being weird, I guess. Sorry if I was rude to you.”

“You weren’t,” you say with a gulp because your mind is taking you places it shouldn’t be taking you, like wondering just how hard his cock would get if you were the first thing to touch him after such a long time… How quickly would he blow? “Do you need a hand?”

“What?” His head snaps in your direction. “What do you mean?”

“With… that?” you ask, sneaking a glance at the boner that’s very visible. 

Chan gets them around you sometimes—when you’re talking about sexual stuff or when you’re sitting on his lap or cuddling—but he usually shoves a hand in his pocket to hide the telltale sign of arousal. He can’t do that tonight and he knows he’s busted—you can tell when he bites down on his lip and chuckles nervously.

“Sorry,” he whispers, “I… I’m like an animal these days.”

An animal? God, that sounds promising.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“You’re serious about this?” Chan looks at you questioningly, a slight frown on his face.

“It’s just a… Handjob, I guess.” You shrug, making it seem more meaningless than it actually is.

When you get to his place, you’re still determined to go through with it and you have alcohol to thank for that. Chan asks you if you’re sure again, and you laugh it off, going towards his bedroom. It’s just a handjob, right? Just that.

So, when he sits on his bed and pulls his shorts and boxers down a bit, you shouldn’t shiver, right? Your mouth shouldn't salivate, and you definitely shouldn’t be thinking about taking him in your mouth and gagging on i—

“You really don’t have to,” Chan says again, placing his bandaged hands over his cock, covering it. “I can live for another week, it’s no—”

You grab his hands by the wrists and pull them away. The next second, you’re straddling his knees. It’s not because you want to be close to him, it’s just that the position feels more natural. “Just shut up and let me help you for once,” you hiss the words, alluding to the well-known fact that Chan always has everyone’s back. Maybe it’s time you did something for him, even if it’s as self-indulgent as this.

Chan grunts when you wrap both hands around his cock and start tugging at it. “Do you have any lube?” you ask, knowing it would be wildly inappropriate to wet his cock with your mouth. Even though rushed, the moment is weirdly intimate, or at least that’s what it seems like when your eyes meet and you realize you’re on Chan with his dick in your hands and that he’s trembling under your touch.

“Uhm... Top drawer,” he finally speaks, looking at the nightstand. His voice quivers, which makes you feel a bit better about being so shaken up about getting to finally touch him. His cock is so hard and warm and you can help but think about what it would feel like inside of you.

You get the bottle of lube out, squirt some on your palm, rub both palms together, and get back to what you were doing. This time, Chan moans and closes his eyes, letting his head rest on the wall. “Fuck.”

You’re going fast since it’s what most of your partners preferred. A hard grip, fast movements, a squeeze here and there and they’d shoot quickly—you figure that will work for him too. “Good?” you still check, wanting to hear Chan say it. Selfish, this whole idea of yours.

“Perfect,” he hisses, opening his eyes. “Slow down.”

“Don’t like it fast?” you wonder, slowing down your movements, just as he asked.

“I like it a lot,” Chan explains, looking down at your hands. “Too much.”

“Oh,” you understand what he means when you realize how much precum has dripped out of his cock. That’s when you remember he hasn’t been touched in a while and that he’s probably been aching for release. “Come fast if you want to, I don’t care.”

“It’s— I want to enjoy it some more.” The fact that he bites his lip after saying that makes you whimper, which is embarrassing considering you aren’t being touched in any way. “You okay there?”

“I… Yes.”

“Sure?” he asks, gaining his confidence back. “You look a little flustered.”

“Maybe because your dick is in my hands,” you suggest, scoffing. Since Chan chuckles, you decide to be mean and start moving faster again, which gets him to hiss in mere seconds.

“Please, please, please,” he begs so sweetly that you really don’t want to stop, but you do.

“Why do you not want to come?” Isn’t he snapping at people because he just wanted to orgasm?

“I want to,” Chan stresses, looking at your hands once again. They do look nice around him, you have to admit, especially all wet and slippery. “I need to, but I want… I… Don’t want to make things weird, but I guess they already are. I want to enjoy you touching me for as long as I can.”

It’s not romantic, it’s not any type of admission of feelings or anything of the sort, yet you find yourself smiling and looking away like a fool. A fool in love, but he doesn’t have to know. 

“Chan,” you hum slowly, starting to tug at his cock with both hands, twisting them in the opposite directions. “Come. I’ll touch you again, I promise.”

“I can’t ask for this twice,” he shakes his head, “I can’t.”

“I’m already doing it once, so what’s the difference?” You shrug, knowing very well the more times you do this, the more you’re going to want the man.

“I won’t want you to stop, fuck—” He grunts when you start going fast, face twisting as if he’s in pain, a guttural groan turning you on beyond belief. “Get greedy and all that.”

“Sometimes greedy is good,” you say and grin at him right before starting to move so fast you just know he’ll blow.

“I’ll— I’ll come. Fuck, yeah… You’re so good at this,” he gulps, “I’ll come. Don’t want it to get on you.”

“Can you come all over yourself?” you ask the question before really thinking about what you’re asking. It’s something that turns you on immensely, but definitely not something you tell guys you aren’t even dating. Hell, you haven’t really said it out loud before.

“That’s what you want?” Chan cocks an eyebrow up and gives you a smirk, and you just know he’s about to start teasing, so you start twisting your hands again. “I can, I can.”

So, you push his cock away from you, getting it to point towards him, and continue doing what you’re doing. The louder Chan gets, the louder you get, even though you’re not being touched. 

You can’t stay quiet when the guy you want to fuck is moaning because of you, grunting your name, digging his heels into the bed, twisting and turning under you. He blows without warning, cum shooting out and spraying his black shirt, streaks of white cum staining it instantly, the fabric soaking in the sperm. You keep jerking him off until he gives you everything, until all the cum is out and on his shirt, until Chan’s body relaxes under you and he whimpers. “Fuck, I needed this.”

You wipe your hands on his shirt and then tug at the hem. “Up.” He listens, allowing you to take the shirt off of him. You get up and take it to the bathroom, soaking it in water to get the cum out of it.

When you get back to the room, Chan is still in the same place you left him, head resting on the wall, cock out. He looks tired but blissful, so you walk over to the bed and grin. “You okay?”

He nods at you and looks at his lap. “Come sit.” When you take your earlier position, Chan places his hands on your thighs, but he can’t really touch you—the bandages are in the way. Still, you can feel the warmth of his body, so you shiver.

“Listen, I… Can I return the favor?”

“Re— Return the favor?” You gulp, wondering what he wants to do with you, wondering why you’ve already made up your mind about letting him.

“I can’t finger you, but I can… I have my mouth, still.”

It’s then you notice he’s hard again, and you wonder just how many times he can go in a row. Maybe you’ll find out someday. “You’re serious about that? You don’t have to return anything.”

“I know, I’m just— I want to.”

“Why?”

“Come on, I’m not oblivious,” Chan notes, and you know exactly what he means. “You aren’t either. We’ve already crossed the line, might as well do it in style.”

“Then how about I make you come again?”

“Me?”

You grab his cock again and run your hand over it, sneaking the other one down between your legs, under your skirt, pushing your underwear to the side. That’s when Chan realizes what you mean and looks up at you with adoration on his face. “You want that?”

Instead of responding, you scoot over closer and lift your hips so you can position him at your entrance. When Chan nods at you, you sink all the way onto it and grunt loudly. Fuck, it feels good.

“Fuck me,” he groans, “how can anything feel this good?”

“Right?” you grunt right back, grabbing his shoulders. “You just came and you’re already this fucking hard? What?”

“Can you please take off your shirt and whatever you have under it?”

You do as asked, not realizing Chan would instantly attach his mouth to your tits and start sucking on them one by one. Here and there, his teeth dig into the flesh, making you cry out while you move your hips back and forth and then in circles, trying to find the motion that feels best for both of you. It’s so easy to get lost in it, though, when he sucks on your nipple so sweetly and looks up at you with puppy eyes. 

So, you have no choice but to wrap an arm around him and use the other to tug at his hair while you ride him. “You really like them, huh?” It’s been minutes of him just going at it—licking, sucking, biting, suckling, and he doesn’t seem to want to stop.

“Always stare at them,” he admits, breathless. “Wanted to touch it for a long time. Now I get the chance but can’t.”

You laugh at that, realizing how tough everything must be for him right now. Fuck, the guy can’t even get himself off properly. But, now Chan has you.

if you want to support my writing, you can buy me a coffee here and let me know what you think about it here. thank you! ♡

[lilyleely]

The Three Times You Share A Bed - Leon S Kennedy

Pairing: Leon Kennedy x reader

Genre: fluff, some light angst thrown in towards the end?

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: two times you sleep in leon's bed, and the one time he sleeps in yours

CW: roommate! Leon, kinda friends to lovers?, light angst, abandonment issues, paranoia, fear + insomnia, mentions of zombies, bedsharing, leon has intimacy issues (get therapy challenge)

OMG HAPPY RE4 RELEASE!!! I am SO excited to play once im done work this weekend! Leon looks so damn fine in the gameplay ive seen and i am going FERAL! pls no spoilers for anything new in the game! <3

RE4 remake spoiler free zone!! I have yet to play the remake so there are no spoilers in this!

————

The telltale clicking of a key in the door has you on your feet in seconds, abandoning the plush throw blanket on the couch. Before it even opens, you’re standing on the doormat. You feel a little silly, like a golden retriever waiting for its owner, but the shame is washed away when Leon steps through the door.

It’s been three weeks since you’ve last seen your roommate and best friend, and just as long since you last had company. He raises an eyebrow at the sight of you standing in front of him, the dark circles under his eyes becoming more prominent. 

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” He sighs and drops his backpack on the floor, locking the door behind him.

“How was it?”

You fight the urge to wrap your arms around his broad shoulders and inhale his scent, knowing that’s not what friends do. Still, the feeling is there and if he went in for it, you’d reciprocate in a heartbeat.

He opens the fridge and beams at the fully stocked drinks and snacks. He cracks open a can of cider and leans against the counter. “Long,” he admits, “way too long. And my nose is still burning from the smell of rotten flesh.” You crinkle your nose at the thought. Leon’s never been much of a talker and most of his work being classified didn’t help. Whenever something wasn’t top secret, though, you were sure to sit there and listen no matter how horrific the details were.

You settle in on the couch next to the agent, listening to him drone on about a zombie-like creature that had peeling flesh and fifty eyes. You could vividly picture it from his words alone, and the image of the creature sent a shiver up your spine.

Leon talks for hours, spilling every miniscule detail of every horror he encounters. You stay the whole time, nodding along. Leon laughs at the way you scrunch your face in disgust or close your eyes in fear. He hates how cute you are, but he can’t seem to stop telling you stories. After many hours and a few drinks between the two of you, he’s almost run out of stories to tell.

Leon pats your shoulder gently, collecting his cans from where he’d set them on the coffee table. “I need a shower,” he states. “I’ll see you tomorrow, y/n.”

“Go shower. You stink,” you joke and punch him in the ribs.

He feigns injury at your blow, pretending to suck in a breath like you’d really hurt him. He keeps up the facade the whole way to his bedroom, only leaving character when he shuts the door behind him.

It’s only when he’s disappeared that you realize how late it's gotten—and how dark. Even though your shared apartment is on the 19th floor, you can’t help but worry something is going to crawl through your window. You shake the thoughts away and get ready for bed, but every gust of wind and rustling of leaves makes you flinch.

You close your eyes and tug your comforter over your head, hoping that if there is something out there, it won’t know you’re there. You toss and turn for a while longer, staying dead quiet and pushing your fears away.

Finally, you can’t take it anymore. You take a deep breath, throw your comforter off of your shoulders, and sprint to Leon’s room. It’s like your brain is on autopilot—it knows exactly where to go to be safe.

You don’t knock on the door, instead quietly twisting the knob and slipping in through a crack in the door. Leon sits up as soon as your feet touch the wooden floor, eyes snapping towards your silhouette. He’s been a light sleeper ever since Racoon City, waking at the slightest of sounds.

He relaxes at the sight of you but only for a second. He glances at his digital clock, eyes widening at the time. “Y/n? What are you still doing up?”

“I-I couldn’t sleep…I feel like a flesh eating zombie is going to climb through my window and eat me.”

He chuckles. “That would be my fault.” He shuffles over in bed and pulls back the comforter. “You’re more than welcome to stay here for the night.”

You crawl into bed next to him, keeping as much distance between the two of you as possible. You can feel his body heat radiating through the blankets and smell his body wash on his skin. The feeling is new, yet so familiar it eases you instantly.

“Leon?”

He hums in response.

“Is it safer to sleep next to the window or the door? From like, a secret agent standpoint.”

“We’re on the 19th floor so window, but unless it's a hotel room, the door. You would more than likely hear it if they broke down the front door so you’d have more time to get out.”

You think for a second. “Can we switch places?”

“Honestly, y/n,” he laughs dryly, “the safest place to sleep right now is next to me.”

Your face warms at that and you nod, relaxing into his pillows. While you drift off to sleep, Leon watches over you. He knows nothing is going to come for you here, but he did promise to keep you safe, and he’ll keep that promise no matter what.

—

When you get home, you’re in a foul mood. You practically throw the groceries onto the counter before walking to your room and throwing yourself onto your bed. It’s been a long day. All of the stores were so busy you could hardly get through the aisles, and all of the people you encountered were rude.

Leon comes out of his room a few minutes later. Seeing the groceries abandoned on the counter, his first thought is to check on you. He doesn’t check on you, though. Not yet, anyway. He knows you’ll just be more upset if the frozen items melt and the milk sits out all night, so he sets out on putting them away.

After almost an hour of laying in your bed trying to recuperate after the day you’ve had, you’re snapped out of it by a text.

Leon: Come here, I have a surprise for you

You don’t feel like leaving your bed, but you force yourself out of it anyway. It’s not Leon you’re mad at. Leon is probably the only person in the world you don’t hate right now. You knock on his door softly, holding your arms behind your back.

“Come in!” He shouts.

You open the door, shuffling into his room and closing it behind you. Your jaw drops when you see a tray in the middle of his bed piled high with your favorite snacks, drinks and two wine glasses. Leon pats the spot next to him and you’re happy to oblige, relaxing onto the mattress.

“You didn’t have to do this, you know.”

He shrugs, pouring you a glass of wine. “It already seems like you had a bad day, I just wanted to do something to make it a little better for you.”

“Thank you.” He nods in acknowledgement, turning on his tv and handing you the remote. “You can choose the first movie. Just—maybe no zombies?”

You snort at that. Classic Leon, using his corny jokes to make light of even the worst of situations. You settle on an old favorite movie you love, handing the remote back to the blond and switching it for a wine glass.

Between your favorite movie, the delicious wine and your favorite snacks, your spirits are lifted in no time. One movie turns into two, and two turns into three. Soon enough, you’re dozing off in Leon’s bed.

He moves the tray of snacks and the glasses off of the bed to give you more room to sprawl out. Laying down next to you, he watches you sleep. A part of him wishes he could see this every night—the same sight he fantasizes about on even the hardest of missions.

He flicks off the lamp on his side table and settles in. “Good night, cutie,” he mumbles, knowing you’re far too deep in sleep to hear him.

—

You wake up in the middle of the night, moonlight streaming through the window and illuminating Leon’s bedroom. You’re still numb from sleep, your senses dulled just enough that it takes you a minute to realize that something is grabbing you. No, not grabbing—holding. 

You blink a few times. Leon is laying next to you, his chest pressed to your back, his arms around your waist. You can feel the slow beating of his heart and the heat coming off of his skin. He’s so close it overwhelms you, yet it’s all you’ve ever wanted.

You think about slipping away but you know what a light sleeper he is, and you don’t think you could handle it if he woke up and saw how close you were. You close your eyes and try to calm the beating in your heart so you can fall back asleep.

When you wake up again, Leon is gone. Your body feels cold where his once was. You sit up—is he showering? He can’t be, the bathroom door is open. You sit up, letting the blankets fall off of you. You swing your legs over the side of his bed, walking out to the kitchen, but he’s not there either.

Did he leave to go get something? 

You check your phone, expecting to see a text saying he ran out to go get more milk or something, but there’s nothing. You sigh, typing up a message and sending it to him.

Y/N: where’d you go?

You practically jump when your phone lets out a noise, but your heart sinks when you see what it is.

Message Not Delivered. Try Again?

You sigh. That can only mean one thing: he’s on another mission. Typical Leon, disappearing in the middle of the night to go god knows where for god knows how long. The frustration bubbles up in your chest and you feel like hitting something, but you don’t. It’s not worth it.

You try to keep your mind off of his sudden disappearance by throwing yourself into chores. You wash his bedding and make his bed, then wash your own. You sweep and mop the floors and vacuum the carpets. You dust the blinds.

It doesn’t help.

Your mind keeps wandering back to the fact that he left without saying goodbye. That he woke up at some ungodly hour, saw you laying in his arms, got up and left without another word. He didn’t even leave a note. He really cares that little. 

You shake your head and even though the pit in your stomach makes you feel like not eating, you make yourself a sandwich regardless. Seeing the untouched groceries in the fridge just adds to the feeling.

Even though you know he’s not going to get it, you pull out your phone and start typing.

Y/N: do you at least know when you’ll be back?

Message Not Delivered. Try Again?

The message makes you roll your eyes. Leon fucking Kennedy.

—

A week goes by, and then two, and you still hear nothing from your roommate. You send texts here and there, hoping for an answer, but none of them go through. Eventually, you start venting to him through there, too. Expressing how frustrated you are that he didn’t say goodbye, how annoying your feelings are, how sometimes you wish you didn’t know him so you didn’t have to go through this.

It’s a random Sunday night when you’re sitting on the couch, watching trash reality tv and eating snacks. It’s cold in the apartment, but you can’t be bothered to turn on the heat. Only when your arms puff up with goosebumps do you scour the room for a sweater, settling on a random one hanging on the back of a chair.

It’s Leon’s, an old one from the Police Academy. His smell floods your nose when you pull it over your head, and it's so bittersweet you don’t know if you should laugh or cry. You settle back on the couch, but a rustling at the window makes you freeze in your tracks.

It stops for a moment, and you can almost convince yourself you’ve imagined it or it’s a part of the show—until it happens again. You scramble for the remote, pausing it so you can hear better. The noise starts again, and you waste no time in hightailing it to your bedroom and slamming the door behind you.

You flop onto your bed, trying (and failing) to remind yourself that it’s just the wind. That you’re safe here. But it’s hard when it’s late and you’re tired and you’re alone and the only person you feel safe with just abandoned you.

You curl up into a ball, pulling Leon’s sweater over your mouth and inhaling the familiar scent. It’s enough to calm you down, if only for a few moments. If you close your eyes, you can almost trick yourself into thinking he’s there, and for now, that’s good enough.

—

Leon knows he fucked up when he gets back to the country and turns on his phone. Almost fifty messages from you, each one more sad than the last. He wants to slap himself—why couldn’t he just grow a pair and say goodbye? Why did he have to be so noncommittal?

He reads every message on the cab ride back to the apartment, and his heart breaks for you. He didn’t think about how you would drive yourself crazy over him or how worried you must have been. All he thought about was getting the call for the mission in the middle of the night and not wanting to wake you up.

But he didn’t abandon you. He thought about you every day and god—he wishes he could have talked to you. Hearing your voice and seeing your face was enough to make everything better. With the horrors he’s seen lately, all he wants is to be back in that bed with you for one more night.

He’s quiet coming into the apartment, hoping he doesn’t wake you up or scare you. And even though he knows you’re sleeping, he’s still disappointed you’re not waiting at the door for him.

He tosses his backpack into his room and strips off all of his holsters and velcro.  He’s quiet walking down the hallway to your room and even quieter opening the door. He relaxes at the sight of you curled up in a ball. 

You look so cute and so peaceful and—is that his sweater? The sight brings a smile to his face. He closes the door behind him with a soft click, climbing into the bed next to you.

You wake up when the bed dips down and arms wrap around you. You’re so tired you don’t even care who or what it is.

“If you’re gonna kill me, can you at least let me sleep first?” You mumble.

You fully awake as soon as you hear Leon’s laugh.

“You’re back?” You say, and you hate the way your voice cracks. 

You turn around to face him, tired ocean eyes meeting yours. He nods sleepily, “‘m sorry I didn’t say goodbye. It was stupid of me.”

“It’s okay,” and it really is okay. All the resentment you felt melted away at the sight of him. 

“C’mere,” he mumbles. 

You lay your head on his chest, wrapping your arms around him. You can hear his heart rate slow down at the contact. 

“I just—I just need you tonight.” Those are big words coming from the agent, and they leave you completely stunned. He must have seen or done something horrible while he was away for him to be this vulnerable, even with you.

“You can have me tonight.” You try to keep your voice even, “you can have me whenever you need me,”

He kisses the top of your head. “But I always need you.”

“Then I’m always yours.”

Neither of you speak after that, Leon falling into a light sleep. You stay up a while longer, watching the blond boy rest beneath you. He looks so fragile like this, you can’t imagine him fighting off monsters and handling weapons. You kiss his collarbone through his shirt and let yourself fall asleep with him. 

[lilyleely]

𝕃𝕖𝕠𝕟 𝕊 𝕂𝕖𝕟𝕟𝕖𝕕𝕪 | ℝ𝕖𝕤𝕚𝕕𝕖𝕟𝕥 𝔼𝕧𝕚𝕝 𝟜 (𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟛)

ᴬᶠᵗᵉʳ ˢᶦˣ ʸᵉᵃʳˢ… ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᶦˢ ᵒⁿᵉ ʰᵉˡˡ ᵒᶠ ᵃ ᵍʳᵉᵉᵗᶦⁿᵍ.

[lilyleely]

you & i ; leon kennedy / reader

and i'm not normally the jealous, jealous type. but if we're picking favorites than i am yours. [jealousy, requited unrequited love]

He wouldn’t admit it, but you could see it clear as day in his eyes. Or at least you think you could. Leon was quiet and focused, repeatedly checking on his hand gun like he didn’t believe it was perfectly fine. You fiddle with your combat knife between your fingers while stealing glances at him. No matter how many times you asked if he was alright he always gave the same excuse: It’s just Ashley. But it wasn’t. He was worried, but his mind was occupied with something else— someone else. It wasn’t any of your business, but the haunted look swirling about the solid blue in his eyes was your ghost as well. She might as well wrap her gloved hands around the column of your neck and squeeze the air from your lungs with the aftershocks she sent through you both. An appearance from an echo of another time, another place.

And the silence was the worst part of all.

It gnawed on the marrow of your bones and made a home in your chest. He barely acknowledged any attempt you made at a conversation. You wanted the sky to open up and swallow you whole; break every bone in your body and tear you so finely apart you were nothing more than stardust. Maybe you’d come back as a hurricane or an earthquake. Maybe you’d unleash your anguish and heartbreak in a fury of raging winds and seismic waves. You didn’t care what you’d leave behind in the wake of your destruction, everyone else be damned. What mattered was the aftermath. The peace beyond satisfaction as you wither into nothingness. But you weren’t a devastating storm, you were just devastating. And it hurt to feel so small with someone who made you feel so warm. Leon never talked about her much, but he confided in you enough for you to know whatever you guys were was in jeopardy if not already damaged beyond repair. His demeanor only solidified the fear.

Then he stood up and you watched his every movement right down to the way his shoulders rose and fell in rhythm with his breathing. He holstered his gun. You faced the knife blade down between your thighs and dug it into the wooden chair beneath you. He avoided eye contact. Your knuckles turned white from the sheer force of your anger-turned-suppressed-sadness. Did you even exist to him right now?

“Let’s get goin’.” His voice held firm, but you felt anything but. Standing up after him, you slide the knife back into its sheath wrapped against your thigh. You figure a small hum in response would suffice. Before walking out behind him, you glance back at the window that is wide open and clench your jaw. Then you swiftly turn away.

You suppose you should have realized Leon wasn’t serious about you two. All those flirty exchanges and nothing to show for them. You had thought this was just the usual talking stage, but perhaps he never planned for it to go past that. Of course, why would he? With a woman as beautiful as her it would be no competition. You follow him through a hallway in disarray with only a single room at the end of it. Chairs, tables, and other furnishing items were shoved up against the walls with no regard. Inside the small room was nothing special, but you looked around regardless. The fireplace was lit and wood burned and crackled within. There was a table with books and cups strewn across it with chairs around it. You stepped forward, placing your hand on the book that rests at the end of the table. Your eyes scanned over the pages and you barely noticed Leon attempting to press on.

“You could let me get a good look around before you rush me.” You narrowed your eyes at him, your voice dull of emotion. He seems a bit taken aback by it, but his expression melts away into something more his speed; neutral.

“We have more important things to do than read.” Leon holds your gaze and you roll your eyes only to abide by his pace in the end.

His hand reaches out for you. You look up at him from the ground, cautious and hesitant, but accept his help. You didn’t realize how badly you had been smacked into the stone wall until he examined you from behind.

“That’s gonna make a nasty ass bruise.” He scoffs, his demeanor different all of a sudden. You’re quiet, studying his face for a sign. Your lack of reaction causes him to stare back with something almost unreadable then his gaze drops to your lips and back up to your eyes. There’s something soft, but you’re so scared of his soft. Quickly looking away, you roll your shoulder back a few times and groan.

“They pack a punch in here… I hope Ashley is okay. I know they wouldn’t—“ You pause, inhale, then exhale, “Let’s just fine her.”

Leon keeps his eyes trained on you and you alone. He makes you feel naked under his stare; vulnerable and exposed. There’s a beat then he’s matching your steps down the path before you. It’s so painfully awkward, but you only have yourself to thank for that. It would’ve been easier to play the stupid, oblivious second choice as you assumed he’d want you to. But you didn’t want to. You wanted to be selfish in a job that forced you to be only selfless. You wanted him in every possible way and so painfully wholeheartedly it made you want to cry. So badly it felt too heavy on your chest and you struggled to breath against the weight of your wants. What did you have to do to be enough? The pain rushed through you in quick succession. You were thankful Leon was behind you or he’d see the way your lip quivered as you fought back tears the welling in your eyes. 

Leon never promised a future together. He never even let you get your hopes too high. It always hurt knowing he wasn’t all in like you were, but you accepted it nonetheless. Now you feel foolish. You couldn’t convince someone to love you.

Ashley was elated to reunite with you both after Leon comforted her. You stayed back guarding the door, unable to look her in the eyes. She would know something wasn’t quite right with a glance. It was a talent you weren’t anticipating dealing with. Ever since you had both located and saved her, Ashley was keen on asking you questions about your relationship with Leon. You wouldn’t give clear cut answers, but the way your cheeks dusted pink and you tried to hide a smile, Ashley knew. She would be able to spot it a mile away. The older sister-younger sister dynamic came easily between you two as you were relatively close in age to begin with. It was sweet, but also terrifying how she could pinpoint your thoughts with accuracy. Maybe that was your downfall. You wore your heart on your sleeve and Leon kept every little thought and emotion locked up tightly. He wasn’t stoic by any means; capable of laughing, smiling, and joking. He was just…guarded. Way better at it than you were. If she couldn’t get answers from him she could get them from you. It was easy to tell yourself that talking about how you felt made it somewhat better, but then you’d have to admit what you avoided. You’d have to tell Ashley she was right all along. These were words you weren’t sure you could say.

There was a knock on the double door behind you. A signal that he and Ashley were finished talking. Once you had walked in, Ashley ran up and hugged you with all her might (which was surprisingly a lot). Her head easily rested against your shoulder due to you both being very similar heights. You, of course, embraced her back and the lump in your throat came back. Warm, comforting…it was what you needed most with your conflicting thoughts and emotions.

The moment was broken by Luis on Leon’s earpiece. You and Ashley slowly pulled away from each other as you watched. From what you both could hear it sounded as if Luis was in quite a predicament. You frowned, but there was a hint of amusement in your eyes at their interaction. The transmission is cut short and Leon’s face is contorted in annoyance.

“Can’t believe that guy.” He scoffs, doing one last sweep of the room for anything remotely useful before your journey continues.

“He’s in trouble. We can’t just leave him, right?” Ashley was not fully separated from you, concern glistening in her eyes. She was sweet, but Leon looked exasperated having to come to Luis’s aid. He was an interesting guy despite his past dealings and you couldn’t lie about feeling distrusting of him, but he made you laugh and it was hard to not like someone who did that. You join him in taking a quick look around before he pushes the door open to reveal a hedge maze below. You lean against the railing, pulling your rifle off your pack and situated in your hands. You peered through the scope. A lone Colmillo stalked a pathway across from your group.

“Fifteen?” You asked.

“This isn’t even a fair bet.” Leon huffed a small laugh, crossing his arms as he watched your target. You hummed, taking aim and watching for a moment to catch the creature off guard. The second he stood still your finger squeezed the trigger and a loud shot rang out across the maze. His body fell limp to the floor. You leaned back and Leon whistled, ruffling your hair. For just a minute you forgot why you were even upset and welcomed his gentle touch.

“Alright, write it down. I owe you fifteen bucks.” He playfully rolled his eyes at you. When his back turned, you watched him saunter off down the steps with his handgun ready. Ashley glanced at you.

“Did he do something?” Her voice was soft and gentle as if you were a cornered animal. You hardly realized the frown on your lips and the way your eyebrows creased together. His retreating form made you feel empty. Loneliness thrived.

“Let's not fall behind.” You smiled in her direction, but it never reached your eyes. Now it was Ashley’s turn to frown, but she complied.

Your knuckles turned pearly white as you gripped the golden bars of your cage. Your eyes were focused on the balcony above you where Ashley had been taken. Leon hurried to unlock a door, but was interrupted by another call on his ear piece.

“Ada?” His voice speaking her name caused your stomach to plummet far, far down— or at least that’s how it felt. Every nerve in your body trembled as you bow your head against the bars. The conversation seemed brief as not a minute later he was calling out her name frantically then sighed. You couldn’t even stand the thought of looking at him. It seems that’s all you have felt this last hour; unable to confront the one person you should be able to trust the most.

“C’mon— Hey, are you alright?” His hand barely grazed your shoulder before you whipped around and stared at him with wide eyes. He seemed stunned himself, holding his hand in the air, mouth agape. You couldn’t think, couldn’t move. The ache in your heart and the burning in your lungs. Your chest feels heavy and constricted and you could only watch as he lowered his hand and waited on your cue. But there wasn’t a cue. You wanted to scream at him, but you also wanted to run off alone and scream until your throat was raw and bloodied. Attracting the attention of the castle's inhabitant did not matter, but thinking rationally wasn’t on your agenda currently. You bit the inside of your cheek and inhaled a trembling breath.

“...I’m sorry. I just…” But you couldn’t finish your thought or rather your excuse as none came readily to mind. It should’ve been easy to blame the things you endured, but that wasn’t it. And even if you were to voice the real reason you would feel idiotic. Leon was in mission mode and didn’t need a lovesick girl making a scene while the President’s daughter was snatched from their hands.

“You haven’t been acting like yourself. One moment you’re talking to me like normal and the next you’re— You seem so angry.” Of course he would pick the worst time to wrangle the truth from you. His eyes were so sincere, but his features weren’t soft. There was determination dancing in his tone as he spoke.

“It’s just this whole mission.” You were quick to excuse yourself, but Leon followed.

“Is that really it?” He brushed his fingers on your elbow, but you refused to look back at him. You’d kill for one of those Zealots to interrupt this moment, but God wasn’t so kind.

“I knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but everything is so fucked up. I’m just not doing so well.” It absolutely murdered you to seem so weak and vulnerable to something you both had been groomed for, but it was easier to use that as an excuse than confess to being head over heels for your partner. Of course, it wasn’t like Leon hadn’t already blurred that line. He proved it in the way he stepped around you to stand face to face once more. You didn’t need to look up to know exactly how he was watching you. In fact, it was better you didn’t. One look into those mesmerizing blue eyes and your anger and sadness would waver. It was so easy to forget when he looked at you like that. Leon cautiously raised a hand and wrapped it very gently around your elbow, caressing the material of your black long sleeve. The fabric had already been snared by a close call with a Zealot and his crossbow. He could make out the vibrant blue and purple painting the soft skin of your arm. You were littered in battle wounds and deep bruises.

“We’ll handle this the same way we always have. Together.” He was soft spoken and reassuring. It only made you want to cry. How could he be so kind when breaking your heart?

“Yeah…yeah. Let’s go find Ashley.” You finally matched his gaze with a meek smile. He was hurting you and didn’t even notice. Leon was ever the oblivious type unless you made it apparent. He looked over you with confliction as if something was stuck in his throat and he didn’t know how to say it. His hand fell down your arm, fingertips bumping against yours as if he was attempting to muster up the courage to hold it. You could feel your heart rate speed up at his simple gesture. You quickly cover the lower half of your face with your hand and turn away from him.

“I said let’s go find Ashley!” You sped walked over to the room that opened up beside you guys earlier.

“As you wish.” He huffed a laugh and you could just hear the smile. He knew he had gotten to you.

The mineshaft was damp, musty, and smelled heavily of rockdust. You sat next to Leon as he flexed his arms, watching the limb very carefully for any protruding veins. Luis proudly leaned against a structure. You wished you could finally breathe a sigh of relief that the suppressant worked, but Leon was a ticking time bomb. Any moment the infection could regain control and the symptoms would resurface. How long did he have until then? What measures could you both take to hold it at bay? You were overthinking and thinking overall was bad, you knew that. If you thought for too long you would eventually break away piece by piece until nothing was left of you but brittle bones and teeth. Your heart was shattering for a man who would not give you his eternity.

So you did the next best thing: walk away from the problem— literally. Feigned the desire to strategize while he recovered and hid away between wooden crates and empty drums. It wasn’t home, but you could breathe. The ache in your chest and lungs subsided as you drew your knees to your chest and wrapped your weary arms around them. Held them as close as you wanted to hold him but he longed for the embrace of another; a woman dressed in red and confidence. An image of her face flashed through your exhaustion riddled mind and you simpered. You were a kettle ready to shriek from the pressure that built deep within. Only your shrieking would be a spectacle. It would be tables turning, glass shattering. You would not go with grace for that was admitting a defeat only you knew of. Was letting go even possible? Leon left a scar on you that would never fade and every fall you’d see him in the fog like a phantom of the past. He was inescapable. And you wanted to be selfish anyways, hold onto him like he’d dissolve into ash if you let go.

“You look…stressed.” A familiar voice startled you out of your thoughts. Eyes wide like a deer in headlights, staring up at Luis as he held your attention with his signature smirk. You scoffed, stretching your legs out while he took a seat beside you.

“That’s an understatement. All this Plagas bullshit is getting on my nerves.” You fibbed through pearly white teeth. The words felt bitter on your tongue and you were unable to hold his gaze.

“Is it really that?” He asked. You froze. Your expression remained neutral, but Luis could feel the confliction radiating off of you like body heat.

“Is that answer not good enough? I know I’m bad at lying, but have some sympathy.” Your words spilled from your lips with a tremble. Your voice cracked into a whisper as if you strained to maintain composure and perhaps that was precisely the struggle. A question. It was simple and you could have lied again. But you were weak and he was honest.

Luis sighed, smiling softly to himself while looking at the ground, “I’ve spent my whole life mastering that and you can’t fool a professional.”

Now you were fraying at the seams. Every emotion bloated in size and threatened to burst. Heavy was the weight you burdened yourself with. Droplets fell like pearls on the floor of the mineshaft, collecting dirt on its spherical surface until it popped and soaked in. You looked up for a brief moment wondering if the ceiling was leaking only to discover you had begun to cry. Ducking your head down again, you pulled the hem of your sleeve up your palm and used it to dab the tears streaming down your face.

“That was kind of corny.” You sputtered a laugh and sniffled.

“Corny? I think you’re just embarrassed and don’t want to admit it.” He was right, but you refrained from answering. Instead, you inhaled deep breaths as you patted down your damp cheeks.

“I guess you can know, but it’s a secret between us.” It was meant to come across as humorous, but you sounded pathetic, “It hurts. Ya’know, being in love with someone who belongs to someone else.”

Luis didn’t interrupt. He also didn’t belittle you for how you felt. He sat there, listening attentively, and occasionally nodding along so you knew he was still listening. It meant the world and more to you. Had Ashley been here you knew you’d have broken down the same way in front of her, but she was so far away and you were so fragile. Luis was a shoulder to cry on; something you needed for a long while. 

“I don’t really know the specifics, but…maybe you’re not looking at it from the right angle.” Luis merely suggested and you could hear the struggle in his words as he chose what to say very carefully. It made you laugh again.

“Hey, we ready to go?” This time, Luis was startled as well, but he hid it quickly behind a cheshire grin. You looked up to see Leon a few feet away. In the dim lantern light, he appeared holy. If you were to believe in something, you’d believe in his divinity. Something godly walked among men and you weren’t the religious type, but you didn’t need to be. Shaking your head gently, you stumbled onto your feet. Leon watched you cautiously. You knew your eyes were red and puffy, but you merely walked past him to the path forward. It took awhile for you to realize they had fallen behind, but the further away you were from him, the more at ease you felt. 

If looks could kill, yours would be lethal. In fact, you spent the entire boat ride avoiding absolutely any eye contact with Ada. It was awkward and Leon was tense. You expected him to make his move here, but that was more so your imagination. As soon as Ada had left and the boat stilled at shore, you leapt forward to grab his arm. You don’t know what came over you. It was almost on instinct you attached yourself to him. Leon looked down at you, eyes filled with bewilderment. The waves crashed against the rocks below you both, filling the silence with ambient sounds. When he fully turned to face you, you pushed yourself off him and heaved a shaky breath. 

“Leon—”

“This is about Ada, isn’t it?” You paused, snapping your head up to meet his eyes. It was like he gave you permission to combust, word vomit everything you had been thinking and feeling the entire time.

“I don’t want to do this anymore.” It came out close to a whisper, but you tested the waters with it.

“Hey now—” But he was effectively cut off as you picked up a rock and threw it at the boat with all your might. Now he was just confused. This didn’t stop him taking a step back as you found more ammo to unleash on the one thing that did absolutely nothing to you. You pelted it with stone after stone, grunting at the force with which you launched them. It was the same cycle of scour and attack until you became noticeably feeble with your hurling.

“I hate—” The rock hit the very front and left a noticeable dent, “—her so much! I hate that you love her!”

Then you crumbled, meekly tossing the rocks now with no strength behind them. It was cathartic at first, but quickly became meaningless in the face of heartbreak. You were now a shell of your red-hot anger; a bright flame dwindling in the rain until the glowing embers were burnt out. For the first time since this feeling settled on your stomach, you sobbed inconsolably. You covered your mouth with your palms and leaned forward to curl into yourself and released a scream muffled against your skin. It hurt. Everything hurt and you wanted to puke so hard your intestines fell out of your mouth. You wanted to be gruesome and unsightly. You wanted to be swallowed whole by absolutely anything at this point. Unrequited love was too much to bear. Ashley was gone. Luis was dead. You had no one to lean on while you wept so hard you began to choke and gag. The arms that wrapped around your trembling form were so warm and, even if it was Leon’s, you were desperate for comfort.

“Please, please don’t pick her over me. I can’t live with that. You’re not allowed to break my heart like that. You’re supposed to fall for me.” Your hands came up to grip the material of his black shirt, “I want you, Leon. More than anything and if you pick her, then you pick wrong.”

Your conviction was solid. It had to be you and no one else because who better to understand exactly what he was going through than you? The world could end tomorrow, but all that would matter was that he wanted you more than he ever thought of her. You both could fail this mission, you could become parasitic with the rest of them, but you would know he loved you more. It was a simple choice. You or her and you hoped to god he would choose you any day in any lifetime. 

Leon was silent, however. His grip never wavered, but he was in deep thought. Then he pulled back from you and you lifted your head. He leveled his gaze with you. There was something unreadable on his face. His touch was ever so gentle and you swore you would melt if he were any softer. One of his hands reached up to caress your cheek with calloused fingertips. You shuddered, leaning into his touch. As you closed your eyes, you pictured spring and flowers and his smile belonging to you. It was perfect and so were the lip brushing against yours as your eyes fluttered open. There was no time to react; you could only accept his lips pressing against your own in a gentle kiss. There were no sparks, no fireworks, only something akin to the gentle warmth of a fireplace. After what felt like eternity, he pulled away.

“It wasn’t like you gave me a choice anyhow. The moment I looked in your eyes for the very first time, I was fucked.” He chuckled, thumb brushing against your supple cheek as he leaned his forward against your own. You could hardly contain the tears of joy that flooded you now. It felt almost too good to be true, but sometimes that is just the way it goes.

“Good because I was prepared to give a whole speech about it.”

“Powerpoint, too?”

[lilyleely]

Partners, Roommates, Best Friends

RE4!Leon x f!Reader

Summary: Yourself and your partner Leon have just returned back from a harrowing mission overseas in Spain. The both of you are severely affected by what you'd seen out there, both developing insomnia that only the other can seem to cure. You share a job, a home, a friendship, and now a bed.

Warnings: 18+ minors dni. Smut.

Words: 3.8k

Notes: This is pure filth tbh nothing much more to add lmao apart from I need help

You and Leon had been partners for the past two years. Partners, best friends, roommates. Everything you did, you did together. There were pros and cons to this of course, the pros being the two of you knew every little thing about each other, and the cons being that you knew every little thing about each other - hence knowing how to get on the other's last nerve. However frequently that may happen, tonight was not one of those nights.

It had been just short of two weeks since you’d both returned to the U.S, after being on an assignment in Spain. It had been the hardest thing you’d ever experienced in your career so far. You didn’t need to have a conversation with Leon to know he felt the same. The tired faint expression on his face, and once shining blue eyes now dark and glazed told you a story without having to ask. The two of you had barely spoken about it since getting back. It was kind of an unspoken rule between the two of you usually, to never really talk about work. You assumed this was a fairly normal thing, wanting to keep work at work. The only time you and Leon ever discussed anything related to your jobs was when you both needed to. Sometimes it was good to debrief, after all the information was strictly confidential but seeing as how you were partners, it didn’t prevent you from talking about it freely to each other. Just one of the perks of being partnered together you supposed. 

This hadn’t happened this time though. Instead you’d both simply gone about your daily lives, but both much quieter and more subdued. You noticed Leon was much more clingy, he wanted to be close to you at all times. This wasn’t completely out of character, but the intensity flagged up with you almost immediately. It started on the first Monday night since you’d gotten back on the Friday. Curled up watching a movie and he’d suddenly come and shuffled up close to you, and gently placed his arm on the back of the sofa and asked if it was okay. As soon as you’d nodded, his arm was draped around you and pulling you tight to his chest. 

That’s when it started, and then it turned into hand holding whilst eating dinner and buddying up to go to the laundry room. Which then progressed into naps together on the couch during the day time. You knew full well neither of you slept at night. This wasn’t typical friend behaviour, friends didn’t hold hands having dinner or cuddle on the couch but, it’s what you both needed. 

The clock had just struck twelve am as you climbed into your cold sheets on a damp and drizzly Friday evening. Two weeks since your return, and every time the silence fell and you closed your eyes you were back there again. Spain. 

You couldn’t escape it, it was like running from a never ending nightmare playing on a loop in your brain. You’d been staying up for as long as you could, hoping that when you finally settled into bed you’d be tired enough just to switch off and sleep. You were always too hopeful. And always wrong.

You tossed and turned for what felt like an eternity, any tiny disturbance making you jolt your eyes open and jump. Something hit the window with a crack that made you almost rise two inches off the bed. You shot up, your hand immediately outstretched reaching for the pistol you kept in your nightstand drawer. 

Your fingers gripped around the cold, heavy metal until you saw the loose bit of tree branch hanging from the window awning. Your chest relaxed, and you cursed under your breath at your own stupidity.

Everything made you on edge nowadays, even though you knew you were safe at home. You couldn’t be any safer if you were completely honest with yourself, knowing that Leon slept a mere door across from you was a huge comfort. Slept is a loose term, you would bet money on the fact he wasn’t asleep at this moment in time. However, he did almost act like your personal guard dog, whether you were on the job or doing your grocery shopping together.

The rain grew heavier outside, the pattern on the windows normally added to a serene atmosphere, the ambient sound usually lulling you into a peaceful sleep. It wasn’t working its usual magic however, you feared nothing would.

Sighing, you flung the sheets off you, determined to swallow your pride and do what you should’ve done two weeks ago. You needed a good night's sleep, and the only time you could ever get some sleep lately was during the day, wrapped up with your roommate. It was pathetic really, you thought to yourself. You’d never been this affected after a mission before, and you’d seen some gruesome shit, but this past assignment had been something else entirely for the both of you. You’d witnessed Leon almost die a million times, and those memories flashed up every time you closed your eyes and then continued like a reel you couldn’t turn off in your nightmares. In your dreams you weren’t there to save him, you were simply a helpless onlooker. You just had to stand there and watch.  

Wrapping your arms around your body in response to the chilly air, your bare feet pattered across the wood floor as you crept out of your dark room. You eased the door open gingerly, trying to prevent any loud creaking as you slipped through the gap and into the hallway. Leon’s bedroom was directly opposite yours, and you hesitated for a moment at the door, trying to listen for any soft snoring that indicated he may be asleep. The last thing you wanted to do was disturb him if he had by some miracle managed to drift off, he was a light sleeper and you knew the second you opened his door he’d be awake in a flash. 

Listening for a moment, you were met with complete silence, so you decided to go ahead and gently twist his door handle. Leon’s room was in complete darkness, apart from a slither of moonlight that cast a stripe across the room from the tiny gap in his curtains.

You crept in as silently as you could, making sure to close the door behind you with a gentle click. You saw movement from the bed, a shadow sitting up and you heard Leon sigh from the mound of sheets. 

“Hey, it’s only me.” You whispered. “Sorry if I scared you.” 

Leon exhaled a deep breath from his nose, and sat up from his bed, leaning over he pulled the curtains back a tiny bit more, revealing more of the room under the moonlight. You could see him now, and you were very grateful it was still dark enough that he wouldn’t be able to tell you were blushing. He was sitting on his bed, shirtless and in pyjama shorts that hugged his hips in a way that made you want to stare. You’d seen Leon almost naked plenty of times and it never failed to cause a blush to creep up your cheeks. 

“No, you didn’t don’t worry. I heard you get out of bed. You can’t sleep either?” Leon muttered, his voice low matching your whisper.

“No.” You responded, glumly.

He sat back properly in bed, and pulled the covers back, patting the mattress. Neither of you spoke, instead you simply obliged, silently accepting his offer by climbing under the sheets, the unoccupied side of the bed cold and crisp. Leon adjusted, shuffling himself so he was propped up on one arm and you lay on your back staring at the ceiling. Your shoulder was grazing his torso, and the warmth radiating from his body was exceedingly comforting. There was a lingering, but comfortable silence. Just being in one and other's company helped to relax the other. 

“A tree branch scared me.” You suddenly said into the darkness.

“A tree branch?” Leon asked.

“Yes, it hit my window and I nearly had my gun out and everything. I’ve never felt so stupid Leon.” You huffed, and laughed humourlessly at yourself.

“I get it, I’ve been on edge too.”

“When d’you think it will stop?” You whispered, more seriously. 

“I dunno, I really don’t know.”

Leon sighed, and brought his free arm over both your hands that were resting on your stomach. You froze a little at the contact, and Leon picked up on it immediately, because of course he did. He was so ridiculously in tune with your mannerisms and moods, he practically knew how you were feeling before you did. Leon immediately retracted his hand.

“Sorry, ‘there something wrong?” He asked, tentatively.

You took a sharp, shaky inhale of breath. Nothing was wrong with what he just did, and you weren’t sure why you’d tensed up like that. You and Leon were touchy most of the time, especially in the recent weeks, but it was in a friendly, overly comfortable way. Or so you’d convinced yourself. But there was something about lying next to him in his bed, bare skin almost daring to touch and feeling the heat radiating from his bare form that had everything feeling different. You suddenly felt as if you had nowhere to hide. You couldn’t play off a subtle touch as a friendly gesture. Everything felt all the more intense. 

“No, no. It’s okay.” You reassured him, and you turned to face him, one hand tucked under your head as you met his gaze. 

“I’m just tense, is all.” You smiled weakly, his piercing blue eyes never leaving yours. 

“You won’t mind if I do this then?” Leon asked softly, as he rested a palm on your side and squeezed reassuringly. The contact felt comforting but was stirring up something else inside you you weren’t ready to address quite yet.

“I can’t stop the nightmares.” Leon said, suddenly. His confession shocked you slightly, he wasn’t one to share much, even to you. He’s gotten more generous over the years when it came to giving you an insight into his psyche, but it was still a rare occurrence that shocked you whenever it happened. 

“You too?” 

“Yeah,” Leon chuckled dryly, devoid of any humour. “You wanna talk about it?”

You sighed for a moment, and were very aware of how he’d begun tracing small circles on your thigh with his calloused thumb. You hesitated for a minute, before saying, 

“I see you die every single time I fall asleep.”

Leon didn’t respond for a second, he was clearly processing what you’d just said but didn’t seem to be phased by your confession. His thumb was still tracing small circles.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, sincerely.

“I’m just terrified I’m going to lose you Leon.” You breathed, through a well of tears forming. What you didn’t know, was Leon had the exact same nightmares, except it was you he couldn’t save. The words broke Leon’s heart, and the hand resting on your thigh soon applied some pressure, pulling you in closer to him so your bodies were flush.

“I’m not going anywhere sweetheart, I promise.” Leon soothed, and kissed the top of your head firmly whilst you found yourself sobbing into his chest. 

“I can’t stand the thought Leon, it scares me so much.” You sobbed quietly against his skin, and all he could do was whisper small “I know,”’s and “it’s okay I’m not going anywhere,” as he stroked your hair.

He gripped you tight, and it took you a  moment to gain your composure before you were gazing up through teary eyes at the man next to you. 

“What about you? What do you dream about?” You asked, your voice hoarse. Leon paused for a moment, contemplating your question and how to phrase the answer. 

“You. The same situation but in reverse. I’m not fast enough or I’m not close enough or I’m not good enough, and I lose you.” Leon answered honestly, and your eyes softened but your brows knitted upwards in an expression of guilt and sadness. 

“Oh, Leon…” was all you could muster as you stared at him. “I’m not going anywhere either.” You gave his arm a gentle squeeze, and that was how it started. Before you knew it, Leon was leaning towards you and placing his lips on yours. He kissed you gently, his lips feather light on your own as he cupped your jaw to tilt your head up to him ever so slightly. It was like something clicked. You knew you’d always felt something for Leon, but you’d always feared taking it that step further, fearing it would ruin what you had or that it just wouldn’t feel right. But this, this felt right. It felt natural, normal.

You took initiative, deepening the kiss by propping yourself up on one elbow and pinning his chest flat to the bed with your other hand. Leon responded almost immediately, his hands finding your hips and tracing lines up your back as you hooked a leg over his waist. You were lost in the moment, the taste of him completely addictive as you entangled a hand in his hair, earning a low groan from him that caused heat to pool between your legs. Your hips began to move involuntarily, grinding gently against him that caused you both to shudder.

Leon held his hands against your shoulders for a moment, breaking away from the kiss and he pushed your hair out of your face.

“You’re so beautiful.” He breathed, his pupils blown out in lust and his lips pink and wet. It was a gorgeous sight. You didn’t have the chance to respond before he was pulling you back into the kiss, but this time, he angled you in such a way that meant he could flip you on your back. He towered over you, his hair brushing against your face as he peppered doting kisses along your jaw.

You sighed, suppressing a moan as he worked his way down your body. He reached your breasts, and he looked up at you through hooded eyes.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Leon asked, his gaze never leaving yours. You nodded, and Leon wasted no time continuing. He lifted your his old shirt with ease, taking one of your breasts in his mouth and sucking gently. Your hand shot into his hair, intertwining your fingers in the strands and giving them a gentle pull to encourage him to be a little rougher. He got the hint, his other hand massaging your other breast applying a pleasurable amount of pressure whilst his mouth and tongue got to work sucking and biting your nipple. You desperately wanted to touch him, but your hands had no chance of reaching where he needed you in the position you were in. You reached between the two of you anyway, your fingertips just about reaching the tip of his waistband, indicating what you were desperate to do. Leon pulled his mouth away, causing you to mewl slightly at the lack of contact. He moved your hand away and gently placed it back at your side, not taking his hand away yet like he didn’t trust you not to move.

“I’m nowhere near done with you yet.” Leon spoke in a rough, low voice that sent your head spinning. 

He continued down your body, placing kisses along your stomach before settling himself on his front and parting your legs. The way his breath felt against your clothed pussy made your skin flush hot. Leon hooked his arms around your thighs so they sat on his shoulders, and began placing more doting kisses along the inside of the soft flesh.

You tried your best not to squirm as he fingered the line of your panties, pulling the now soaked fabric to the side to allow him access. He groaned slightly at the sight of you glistening wet for him. 

“Fuck baby.” He hissed under his breath, before placing a sloppy kiss on your clit making you gasp as shockwaves of pleasure rippled through your stomach. He placed another kiss on your clit, harsher this time causing your legs to clamp together. Before you knew it, Leon was back up on his knees and pulling your underwear fully off now, seemingly growing impatient with the fabric.

All bets were off the table now. Leon returned to his position on his stomach and threw your legs back over his shoulders, burying his face between your thighs and getting to work with his tongue. Your senses were completely overloaded, all you could think about was Leon, and a string of his name rolled off your tongue in throaty whispers as he sucked and licked in all the right places. Your hand shot to his hair once again, combing your fingers through the strands to massage his scalp. It was a desperate plea for him not to stop. You pulled on the strands which made him groan again, the vibrations reverberating against you which intensified everything he was doing with his tongue. You gasped, sitting up slightly and opening your eyes to see his stare fixed completely on you, drinking in your responsiveness. He was determined to please you, desperate to know exactly what you liked.

He pulled away for a second, his thumb immediately going to rub small circles on your clit as a substitute for his mouth. His blue eyes darted from you and back to your centre, before he sunk a digit inside you causing your jaw to fall slack. 

“Oh my god.“ you breathed, your head falling automatically back onto the mattress, and you heard Leon chuckle lowly.

“You good, sweetheart?” He said, lowly.

You just about managed a nod, your eyes still closed and mouth slightly agape as the coil in your stomach began to wind tighter with every touch. 

“Use your words baby.” 

“Yes, yeah-“ You breathed quickly, eyes shooting open, fearing he might stop. Leon chuckled softly, before his mouth was back on your clit and he added a second finger that caused your back to arch involuntarily off the bed.

Leon curled his fingers upwards, hitting that spot inside you that caused you to lose all sense of self.

“Fuck Leon, right there oh my god.” You moaned, and you only got louder as his fingers got faster, working you with expertise you weren’t used to. You were so close, the feeling in your stomach building and building until it finally snapped. A string of cries escaped your lips as you finished, Leon’s hand pressed down on your stomach to keep you still as he continued to finger you through it. 

You were still coming to your senses before you even realised Leon was now kneeling in front of you, lining himself up with your entrance and pumping himself a few times as he teased you. Your head shot up from the mattress when you realised what he was doing, and you immediately whined, reaching down between the two of you to impatiently guide him to sink into you.

“Eager much?” Leon smiled, his voice low and rough and it continued to make you dizzy. 

“Please.” You begged with doe eyes up at him, but he just laughed softly and took both your hands in his, proceeding to pin them above your head with one hand whilst the other stroked his cock again. 

“Stay like this for me, sweetheart.” He breathed against you, before pushing into you painfully slow. He stayed still for a moment, and you both moaned as he bottomed out inside you. 

“Please start moving.” You whined.

“Since you asked so nicely…” Leon breathed, his right arm still pinning both your wrists above your head and just like that, he was snapping his hips into yours at a rate that was fatal. The sound of your wetness and his hips slapping into you filled the room. The gasps and moans that left your mouth as your jaw fell slack once again were obscene, you were propping your head up slightly, watching as he pounded into you and it made your head swim.

“Dirty girl, like to watch, do you?” Leon whispered through panting breaths as he continued to fuck you senseless. All you could do was pathetically nod, as your eyes rolled back and you let the pleasure overtake you. The familiar tightness was building again, you instinctively snaked your hand between the two of you and began circling your clit. Leon made a noise not dissimilar to a growl, as you clenched around him at the additional pleasure of your clit being stimulated.

“Fuck.” He groaned. “Look at you, going all dumb on my cock.” Leon brought his other hand up and rested it around your throat, squeezing gently and this almost pushed you over the edge. You fluttered again around his cock, earning a low moan from his lips.

“You like my hand around your throat like this, baby?” He got the hint, you fucking loved it. He squeezed slightly harder on your neck as his pace increased, fucking you deeper than you even thought possible as the head of his cock kissed your sweet spot with every thrust. 

You were a mess, writhing beneath him, eyes rolled into the back of your head and babbling nonsense as your climax grew nearer. Leon was close too, his thrusts becoming more stuttered and inconsistent. Your noises got even louder as you gripped onto the arm that held your throat, the pleasure now becoming overwhelming and the band in your stomach snapped again. Another string of cries, mixed with a mantra of Leon’s name left your mouth as you came, the spasming and squeezing around him triggering his own orgasm. 

He emptied himself into you, groaning your name and panting into your ear as he slowly fucked you through your orgasm as well as his own. After a moment, he slowed almost to a complete stop before sliding out of you and laying on his back. The two of you lay there, getting your breath back and coming down from your highs. 

“Why the fuck haven’t we been doing that this whole time?” You said after a few moments. Leon laughed, his broad chest rising up and down as he did and you still couldn’t help but stare as a sheen of sweat glistened on his skin.

“I don’t know, maybe because we’re both idiots?” He grinned, resting his hand on his stomach whilst tucking the other one behind his head. “I’m sorry if I was a little rough back there.” 

You frowned, turning to face him now.

“Not at all. It was fun.” You reassured him, taking in his beautiful face as he still remained laying on his back, glancing up at the ceiling. 

After a moment, he broke the silence. “Not gonna lie, I didn’t strike you as the type to get off on choking.” 

Your mouth opened in shock and you slapped his arm playfully, and Leon just started chuckling and turned on his side to snuggle into you, his laughter was infectious and you couldn’t help but join in. 

“You tired?” He said, lowly.

“Not really.” 

“Good, ‘cause I’m not done with you yet.”

-

[lilyleely]

₊˚✧ phone lights up my nightstand in the black

bestfriend!leon kennedy x fem!reader smut

warnings: 1.6k words, use of y/n, curse words, iphone user (sorry android users), COP LEON!!, phone/facetime sex, masturbation (f + m), kinda cnc idrk, itsy bitsy tiny sadism (m),

masterlists , based on this pic (i wanna eat his collar bones)

The sound of Leon's phone ringing unpleasantly woke him up. The default iPhone ringtone makes him groan. He hesitantly lifted his head from his pillow, scanning the nightstand for his ringing phone. Once his eyes saw the phone and the contact name, Leon accepted the Facetime, only slightly annoyed now. 

"Y/N, it is one in the morning and I have work in a few hours. This better be good." He sighed. He took note of your camera being off even though you explicitly chose to Facetime him. "I can't sleep." Your voice was breathy and a little hoarse. "Can you talk to me until I fall asleep?" 

Leon would be lying if it didn't make his heart flutter at the fact that you called him of all people to help you. He sighed before setting his phone on the nightstand, leaning it against a half-empty bottle of beer, his body turning to lay on his side rather than his previous position on his back. 

"What do you want me to talk about?" He left his camera on, too lazy to make an effort to turn it off. His broad chest and arms on display, the blanket falling comfortably on his torso. "Anything." Your voice was even breathier than before, it concerned him a little, wondering if you were crying before you had called him, your camera being off not helping your case. 

"I can tell you about what I did at work today." You thought it was cute how he would sacrifice his very deeply important sleep to help you even when he had to be at work in just a few hours. "Okay." He could hear the smile you had on your face even though he couldn't see you. "Well, I woke up and then I had to go straight to work because I overslept. I had to drink the shitty RPD coffee." He laughed softly as you hummed along. 

"I don't know what they put in it to make it taste like it came from the depths of hell." He laughed again and was relieved when he heard your laugh emit from his phone. "It was pretty slow today, just had to look over some paperwork with Chris." You hummed again, letting him know you were still listening. "Like I said, pretty slow today. I don't wanna bore you." 

"Keep going, you're not boring me." Leon looked at the phone, staring a pink letter where your pretty face should be. "Keep going? Well, if you insist." He jokes but you don't find it very humorous, desperate for him to keep talking. "I thought about calling you 'cause I was so bored. I was just sitting at my desk all day." He admitted, a little shy to share this with you. "Why didn't you?" Your voice coming out whinier than you would have liked. 

Leon raised an eyebrow slightly. "I figured you were busy. Next time I will." He smiled, glancing at the clock that read 1:27. When he got no response from you he assumed you had fallen asleep. He wondered if he should hang up or if he should just leave the call going while he slept in case you needed him again. Neither choice mattered though once he heard the noise that came through the phone that you accidentally let slip. 

"Did you just... Did you just moan?" He stared at his phone in disbelief, convinced his mind was playing tricks on him, but it all started to make sense. The turned-off camera, the breathy and hoarse voice, the small whine that came with your words only moments before. He could hear your heavy breaths as silence overtook the both of you. "Y/N?" The way he says your name almost makes you moan again. "M'sorry." 

Leon stared at the pink letter, shock written on his face. "Sorry for what?" He asks hesitantly, wanting clarity on what you were apologizing for even though he had a pretty good idea of exactly what you're apologizing for. You stay silent again, unsure of what to say. "Y/N?" He says again and you have to bite your lip to stop yourself from saying something you'll regret. "Are you doing what I think you're doing?" He asks, feeling a bit bold.

"What do you think I'm doing?" He could hear the dismay in your voice and he couldn't help but laugh. "I think.. you're touching yourself." He spoke slowly, afraid of what you would think if he had gotten it wrong. You go quiet again from embarrassment, and god, getting caught is really turning you on. "Sorry." You mumble, hoping he won't hang up and never speak to you again. 

"Why don't you, uh.. show me?" You can see the nervousness on his face when he asks the question and you would be lying if he didn't look cute. You don't say anything as you hesitantly turn your camera on, his eyes instantly being blessed with the slight of your hand shoved down your pretty panties. 

He remembers when you bought them, texting him a picture and asking what he thought. Getting a boner in the middle of work and he couldn't even think of what to say to you without sounding desperate, opting for a simple "they're nice" with a thumbs up emoji. And once again, he doesn't know what to say while looking at the same pair of underwear. 

"Oh, fuck." He glances at the clock again, 1:31 AM. He could feel himself getting harder under the meticulously placed blanket. He could see the outline of your fingers through your underwear as you rubbed slow circles on your clit. He looked at the screen intently, neither one of you saying anything. "Do you want me to take them off?" Leon's breath hitched in his throat and he could've sworn he just saw the gates of heaven for a second. 

"Yeah, please do." You complied quickly, setting the phone down for a moment, letting a black screen overtake your camera before picking the phone back up, giving Leon a much better view than before. He can feel his cock twitch as he looks at the way your legs are spread, giving him the perfect view of your soaked pussy. "You're killing me, Y/N." He sighs as he tries to readjust his pajama pants. 

You continue to stay quiet as you brush your fingers over your puffy clit then dip them down your slit and tease your enterance. "Come on, pretty girl. Show me what you were doing while I was talking before." Your fingers pressed harshly into your clit as you bucked your hips at the nickname, making you moan at the sudden feeling. Leon closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before returning his eyes to the screen, the tent in his pants getting harder and harder to ignore. 

He watches as you begin to finger yourself and you no longer care about being quiet, moaning softly as you fuck yourself with your fingers. Leon never found interest in watching porn, thinking there was no real point to watching someone so intimately but that mindset quickly dissipates as he looks at you, giving him such a show. 

He knows he shouldn't but he can't help but think what it would be like to pound his cock into your pretty pussy, the mere thought turning him on even more, if even possible. He grabbed the phone from the nightstand, flipping onto his back as he shoved a hand down his pants. He winced as he brushed his hand against his hardened cock, quickly wrapping his hand around it and slowly pumping it. 

"Are you touching yourself?" Your sweet voice echoed through the phone. "Yeah, I am." Leon sighed, his eyes still stuck on the screen. "Am I turning you on?" If it weren't for the slick noises that could be heard from the phone or the sight that you're graciously letting see or the sentence you had chosen to say, you sounded just like an angel to Leon. "Yeah," He laughed softly. "You are." He gently groans as he squeezes the tip of his dick, letting precum drip out for lube, some getting on the warm pajama pants.

"Can you show me?" His eyes widen in shock for a second before he places the phone on the bed, camera positioned at the ceiling as he shuffles his pants to his ankles. He quickly picks the phone back up, now angling the camera so you could see his twitching cock. "Woah." It was barely above a whisper but Leon still heard it, pride swelling in his chest. 

 "Wish you were here right now. Want you to fuck me so bad." You whine. Leon sucks in a sharp breath, your words shooting straight to his sensitive cock. "Me too, baby." You both continue to touch yourselves, watching the other as you do. Moans transfering through the phones’ microphones. 

"I'm really close." He admits a little embarrassed he couldn't last long, but the sight of you was just too pleasurable for him. "Me too, Leon." Hearing you say his name makes his cock twitch in his hand, pushing him over the edge, and painting his abdomen with cum. Your orgasm shortly following Leon's. 

"Holy fuck." He curses under his breath as he watches you fuck yourself through your orgasm, your legs trembling and fighting to stay open. "Look at you." He says softly as you pull your fingers away from your cunt, letting him have a complete view. "Need more, come over." He can feel himself getting hard again and he glances at the clock once again, 1:44. "Be there in twenty." "Make it fifteen." He was going to be so tired at work later.  

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[lilyleely]

is this not exactly what happened

[lilyleely]

⇁a snake in this garden | leon kennedy.

resident evil 4 remake leon s. kennedy x gn!reader angst

in which you find a picture of the woman he can't let go of.

content contains: angst, unrequited(?) love, hurt/no comfort, no use of y/n

937 words

song rec: "just like chet" by laufey

my first work here! this is short, as i am just trying to get a feel for how things work on here :] enjoy below the cut!

You've never once doubted Leon's love for you. You met him when he enrolled in STRATCOM after the Raccoon City incident, and you've been inseparable ever since. After so many nights staying up late over a cup of coffee together, you eventually confessed your feelings to each other after almost eight years of friendship

But things have changed.

Every since the blonde man came back from his mission in Spain, he's been different—Leon's been more distant, staying at work till the late hours of night, and he's even opted to sleep on the couch instead of with you. The bed has been void of his warmth for a few weeks now, and you've missed his touch every second he's away.

One night, Leon comes home earlier than usual. While you laze on the couch of your shared apartment's living room, you're reading a worn-out copy of Dracula, not expecting your dear boyfriend's arrival until later in the night. You look up from the yellowed pages of your paperback novel, eyes wide as you lay your sights on the agent's tired figure. He's slipping off his shoes and lazily unbuttoning his dress shirt, mumbling jumbled words beneath his breath that you can't catch.

"Leon?" You call, your head peeping above the couch. He looks up from his shoes, his ocean-hued gaze locking onto you. A faint smile paints his face.

"Hey, hon," he whispers. Your eyes soften at the sight of him. Leon looks exhausted, his eyebags worse than usual. You're heart ached as you took in his figure. After dating him for almost a year and knowing him for nearly a decade, you knew when he was sick of the world. Leon walks towards your spot on the couch sluggishly, flopping into you to lay his head on your lap. "Missed you..." he whispered, voice muffled into your thigh. You pet the top of his head, threading your fingers through his mildly greasy hair.

"M'right here, Lee," you hush him softly. You missed this—being with him, feeling him, seeing him. Silence filled the living room as you two sat comfortably.

Suddenly, the ex-cop gets up, tugging at your wrist as a silent suggestion for you to follow. You move without thinking, trailing his heels as you two walked to your shared room.

It looked like any other portion of the little apartment—minimalistic, but homey. This was your garden of Eden. The peace from the storm that was STRATCOM. You sit with Leon on the edge of the bed, the ivory sheets creasing beneath your shared weight. Your lover sighs, laying on his back as he relaxes into the mattress. Your hand feathers against his chest as his eyes flutter close, and you figure he's going to pass out in only a few minutes.

As your fingers fiddle with the buttons of his shirt, Leon's breathing steadies. As the seconds tick by, he falls further into sleep, and you can't help but smile at the domestic sight. Ever since his mission to save Ashley Graham, Leon has never looked so at-peace. The visual made your heart melt as a warm smile etched across you face.

"Goodnight, Lee," you murmured quietly, pulling your hand away from his resting figure. You gently get off the bed, body adjusting to the cold hardwood beneath you. You tiptoe out of the bedroom, shutting the door behind you with a little click! before venturing back to the living room. You get back in your seat on the couch, but a little white paper catches your eye.

On the floor is what seems to be a polaroid. It's small, only the size of your palm. You pick it up when you sit down, flipping it around to check its contents.

A woman in red, smiling coyly at the camera.

There's a note written in thin, black sharpie at the bottom. "A gift for you," it says in neat penmanship. Your heart squeezes. You realize that there's a snake in your garden.

You know who this is. Ada Wong, the woman that captured Leon's heart almost a decade ago. You remember your lover saying that she was nothing, that it was just a moment of loneliness in a dark time.

It's clear that wasn't true.

You never considered yourself a strong person. Your duty as an agent was to give intel to your partner, whoever it was on the mission. Much like Hunnigan, you stayed in your office, talking to your mission partner over a communication line, and give them orders depending on the task at hand. It wasn't physically taxing, seeing how you had no military experience.

Ada had everything. She's intelligent and she can fight without breaking a sweat. It's no secret that she's beautiful, too.

"Is this what Leon wants?" You whisper, tears swelling in your eyes as you the picture between your fingers shook. Your lips quivered as your eyes traced the outline of Ada's body. Hourglass, toned, and so very alluring.

Any man in their right mind would want a piece of her, you think to yourself.

You're unsure of what to do with the picture. Do you throw it out, do you hide it, or do you give it back to Leon without question? You decide it best to leave it on the floor, just like you found it.

You get up from your spot on the couch, straightening up your casual attire before walking to the front door. The polaroid is on the floor, and your coat is in your hands.

A walk wouldn't hurt, you tell yourself, ignoring the ache in your heart. Keeping secrets won't hurt either, you lie to yourself.

no hate to ada tho she bad af.

[lilyleely]

KEEPING PROMISES

pairing: leon kennedy x gn!reader

summary: After four months of captivity, Leon comes to your rescue. You soon find that the worst part of trauma is the aftermath—something he knows a thing or two about.

words: 4.5k

warnings: kidnapping, mentions of torture, heavy PTSD, hurt/comfort

notes: got a light-hearted request and absolutely butchered it bc i wanted to explore the effects of what being taken for experimentation might actually look like.

The room they throw you into is comprised of four-walled metal. A hospital gurney shoved into a corner. A chair with leather straps buckled to each arm and leg, crusted over with aged brown puddling—the morbid centerpiece. 

The last twenty-four hours have been a blur. A blink of darkness. A flashbang through time. You suspect you have a concussion, and the blood congealing your hair at its crown all but solidifies the idea. A shitty predicament to be in. All the videos and articles and word of mouth said the same thing: no second location. Die if you have to. Don’t let a kidnapper drive away with you inside the car.

What about four of them? What could you have done, truly?

You try to remember. Memories are the only thing you can control now. You remember friends and family, your pets, your shitty job. But still, the last twenty-four hours draw one big blank, except for the car ride. The music. Four deep voices, muffled by the trunk. No safety release—an older model. They thought it through.

They plan to torture you. That much is clear. That much sends you to wracking shivers that chatter your teeth, that rattle the brain inside your throbbing skull.

Nobody will find you here. Wherever here is. A warehouse, you believe.

No. Scratch that. Someone will find you, maybe years down the line, when the rats have gnawed on your corpse until nothing but brittle bone remains.

The door swings open, spilling light into the room, showcasing the well-used chair. A masked man steps inside, dressed all in black, kitted out in tactical gear, and you tense. He doesn’t deserve a reaction. To see you shiver and shake. You’re terrified—a fact he’s better off not knowing.

“Drugs wore off, I’m guessing.” His boots thunder against the floor as he strolls over to you, knife poised in his right hand. “If you promise to be good, I’ll untie you. Our intentions aren’t to make you suffer.”

Whatever he wants. Whatever he wants if it means letting you leave this place alive.

You nod your head in agreement, and he lifts a gloved hand to your mouth. Frees you from the cloth gag.

“I’m sure you have questions. Unfortunately, I can’t give you any answers. Not right now.” He tugs you forward by the collar of your shirt, far enough to reach the arms tied behind your back. “You’ll see soon enough, though.” A quick slice through fabric, and your shoulders ache as they relax to neutral position, a sharp burn that lances down to your fingers.

You say nothing in response. Just cross your arms at your chest and hope that he’ll leave you. That he’ll bypass the chair and lock you in here again, all alone.

No identifying features. Every bit of skin, covered in black material. Even his accent sounds fake.

“You’re docile,” he says, darkened eyes squinting from behind his mask. “That’s good.”

You aren’t sure what his praise entails. Just want to go home, to sleep in your own bed, to not be so scared anymore. 

“Someone’ll be here shortly to collect you. Play nice.”

As if you would risk any other course of action.

He closes the door, a set of keys jangle inside the lock, and his footsteps thud away. You’re left to darkness yet again.

An unbearably long time later. They lead you somewhere, a man at each arm, tugging you along. A place encased in shadow, cold and damp. Still inside the maze with the uninviting metal walls. The grating bites at your bare feet. A scream echoes up from below, curdles the blood inside your veins. 

“Don't worry about that. Our patients can be dramatic sometimes.”

You worry. Worry even more after that.

Patients. Patients mean doctors. Doctors mean facilities. Facilities mean testing. Experiments.

Or they’re lying. Seeking to chip away your armor—any easy feat regardless.

You’re unsure of the day, the week, the month. Let alone the time. You’ve lived in total darkness for who knows how long. You sleep, you wake, they bring you food, they draw blood. They’re nice enough to let you shower, to provide you the decency of relief inside an actual bathroom.

Unfortunately, the whole taking you against your will thing ruins any hospitality they care to give you.

“Today’s the big day,” says one of the men, eyes squinting with a smile beneath his mask. “Are you excited?”

Excited is the last word you would use. Maybe terrified. Maybe resigned. Maybe exhausted. 

You’re our last hope, they had said. After you, there’s nothing.

And you see why now. Bodies line the hallway, stretched out inside green canvas bags. They remain still within, unbreathing. You’ve witnessed death. The after.

That will soon be you, no doubt. 

They planned for this. The malnutrition, the poor accommodations, the sleep deprivation, the psychological warfare. Wear you down, stretch you thin, keep you pliant.

You’re docile. That’s good.

But they haven’t hit you—yet. Small victories.

They lead you into a laboratory of sorts. Empty rows of beakers, jars filled with pickled body parts, a program pasted onto a computer screen. An operating table.

You dig your heels into the floor, dead your weight as flight rips through you. They hold steadfast, unmoving while you thrash around in a pitiful display of strength.

There’s nothing left. They laugh when you slump. Laugh even harder when you begin to cry.

Within the hour, you will be nothing but a body bag. They’ll make you disappear—burn you up, dissolve you in acid, throw you into a pit where you’ll find companionship with the dirt.

You have no fight left. Strapping you to the table is easy. Cutting away your shirt is easy.

However, the surprise of far-off gunshots provides an unexpected difficulty.

The men bristle to attention, speak to each other in coded phrases before they disperse out into the hallway.

You’re left alone, left to endure the shouting and the shooting, left vulnerable and scared.

You shift your body to the side, and the gurney rocks—just a small vibration, a small jolt of the wheels, but you can work with this. They failed to secure your feet, simply looped the straps through.

Okay. Think, quick. Need a plan.

You glance around. Surgery tools on the counter. Gotta have something sharp in there to cut these straps.

The gunshots start up again, echo closer, and you throw your lower body off the side of the gurney. Surprisingly lightweight when you roll it over to the counter and kick off the bag of instruments. Easy to knock on its side, but you didn’t think about the sharp clatter that sends thundering footsteps your way, shouting voices.

You take the bag between your teeth, then a trembling hand busies with its contents. Just enough give from the bindings to move your wrist, and it’s all you need. You pull out forceps, clamps, sutures, scissors—

Scalpel.

Your heart almost stops when a bullet sprays through the door. Your brain shuts off. Act. Survive. Get the fuck out of these straps.

One hand freed. You see the blood but feel no pain. Get out. Just get out. 

Someone bursts into the room. You shield yourself, huddled behind the gurney. Grip the scalpel tight in hand. Both of your hands, now freed.

Your odds of winning against a gun: negative zero. Your odds of trying anyway: one hundred percent.

Footsteps thump throughout the room, cautious in speed. You curl further in on yourself, your hands shake, you hold the breath inside your lungs.

They grow closer. You have two options: fight or die. Running will get you nowhere with bullets involved.

“Are you alright?” asks a deep voice, quiet. A lie. A fucking lie. 

When a hand touches your shoulder, you spin around and stab the scalpel into flesh—your target cries out, hisses out a string of curses.

You sprint for the door, only to realize it’s locked. It’s locked. You turn to locate the other door, only to find the man standing between you and escape.

You’ll break it down if you have to. 

“Fucking—hey. Hey!” Much like a cornered dog, your hackles raise as he approaches, blood draining from the laceration on his arm in thick tracks of red, like a raindrop window.

You miss the rain. You miss the sun. You miss your home, and your bed. Good food, a bubble bath. You miss living. 

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he says, arms outstretched in an offering of peace.

“Sorry, but I’ve heard that one before.”

You search for a weapon, a defensive item, a distraction. The beakers on the shelf. Just a few steps to your left.

“Okay, can we not throw things? That hurts, you know.”

“That’s the point, dumbass.”

“Jesus Christ—“ he ducks under your throw, levels a tired glare your way. “It’s a bad idea to hurt the only person trying to help you.”

You attempt another. A pathetic toss that he easily sidesteps. 

The adrenaline runs dry. Your knees buckle. Shattered glass coats the floor. 

“Are you done?”

You nod. “You can kill me now.”

“I already told you, that’s not why I’m here.” You slump against the wall, and he approaches, blood-splattered and battle-ready. Kneels before your pitiful form. “Let me see.”

He holds out a hand, nods to your bleeding wrist. What do you have to lose? You’re exhausted. Couldn’t fight him if you tried. 

“I’m guessing the scalpel did this,” he says, gives you a soft smile that settles balmy inside your chest. Strangely genuine. You aren’t used to that.

“Yeah. I think I should stay away from sharp things.”

“I agree.”

As he wraps a layer of gauze around the injury, you ask, “What… what month is it?”

He glances up at you. “March.”

March. Four months. You missed your best friend’s birthday. Your cousin’s had her baby by now.

Four months gone. Wasted away, spent damned in that awful metal room. 

“Hey.” He rests a hand on your shoulder, lightly squeezes to reorient your reality. “Life goes on, but you still have plenty of time to catch up.”

You aren’t sure how he knows. Maybe he does this often. Saves innocent people from big bads. Regardless, his words comfort you a little. Help the thought of after seem less scary.

After you leave this place. Adjustment seems impossible. Going back to work, paying bills, grocery shopping, cleaning house. All so mundane in comparison. Useless. What’s the point in doing all that shit?

He helps you to your feet. Says, “I’m getting you out of here.”

You believe him. 

When he brings you to the extraction site, calls for evac, tells you everything’s okay now—you believe him.

He visits you in the hospital during a two week stint of quarantine. Day four of fourteen. March twenty-third. Says so on the calendar. 

Funny. How time changes, your perception of it. You were shoved into that trunk last year. Last. Year. 

His presence helps.

“You clean up well,” he says, taking a seat in the chair at your desk. Temporary lodging, barebones, stark white everything.

At leaks it looks like a bedroom. And nice people visit. To take your vitals, and draw blood, and ask you questions (a lot of questions). They give you medication.

“I don’t think you’re allowed to be back here.”

He presents his wrist, the hospital band wrapped around it, and the orange sticker signifying that he is, in fact, allowed to be back here. “My room’s down the hall.”

“So we’re neighbors, then.”

“I guess so.”

You fold down the corner of your page then close the book: a sappy romance novel given to you by one of the nurses on the floor. “How’s your arm, by the way?”

“It’ll be fine. Luckily, you have shitty aim.”

“I never apologized for that, did I?”

He gives a calming shrug. “I don’t need one.”

“Oh. Can I ask why?”

“You were scared, and you weren’t thinking straight. I get it.”

“If I’m being honest, I still don’t think I’m exactly… normal.”

“It’ll take a while.”

“I guess you understand that, too?”

“More than you know.”

In a melancholic way, that comforts you. He’s been where you are now, at least somewhat, and he seems to be doing well. Better than most would, at least.

“Can I ask you something?”

“That depends.”

“I just…” you exhale a sigh, “Do you know why they took me? I’ve asked half a dozen people and nobody will give me an answer.”

If you can understand why they did it, if your captivity was assigned purpose, then maybe—maybe your suffering would mean something.

“Sometimes there isn’t a reason,” he says, and your shoulders wilt. He leans forward in his chair, bracing elbows on his knees, and looks down at the bruised-up state of his hands. “Bad people do bad things just because they’re bad. That doesn’t make what you went through any less real.” He clenches them into fists.

More than you know, he had said.

You believe him.

A routine begins after his first visit. Borne from boredom, seeking comfort, a need for companionship.

He shares bits and pieces of his life, small anecdotes that say little about him as a person. He asks you questions about your life from before. About your job, your hobbies, your family.

On the seventh day, he tells you his name. Leon. It sounds nice on inner-monologue repeat. Even better out loud. 

“Leon. Yeah, that suits you,” you say. He’s moved from your desk chair to the edge of the bed, thumbing through the book you currently read.

“You think so?”

“It’s unique. Elegant.”

He snorts out a laugh. “Nothing about me is elegant.”

“I very much disagree.” He glances over at you, gives a hum. Closes the book. “No, I wasn’t—fuck, I wasn’t trying to make it weird.”

“I’m flattered, actually.”

You scrub a hand over your buzzing face, now timid as he stares at you. “Jesus Christ.”

You have eyes. Those eyes work. And now that you aren’t in immediate fear of death, you can appreciate his… aesthetic. He cleans up well, looks good in civilian clothing.

Him sparing you from a torturous death might contribute a bit to your starry eyes. That’s what you tell yourself.

“Anyway, thank you again for saving me.”

“Like I told you the last seven times, you don’t have to thank me.”

“I do, though. You have no i—“ you clear your throat when a surge of tears constricts your voice, and he tilts his head. Patient, observant. “You have no idea what it was like in that place.”

He turns serious, brows knotting, settling a shadow over his eyes. “You’re right. I don’t. But if you ever want to talk about it…”

“… you’ll be here.”

“Exactly.”

On the eleventh day, you talk about it. Curled up in his desk chair this time, while he reclines in bed and stares at the wall across from him. A gift of privacy, and you’re grateful.

“The nurse had to sedate me last night.”

“Yeah, I heard. Nightmares?”

You nod. Need to talk about it, lest the brainworms feast on what sanity still resides.

Just say it. Don’t worry about your shaking hands, or the smallness of your voice, or his neutral glances.

Say it. He gets it.

“I don’t really know what caused it, but. Well, everything they did was to wear me down, ya know? It was mostly mental. They never touched me or anything.” You inhale a deep breath, enough to fill your lungs past capacity, and it burns, and you appreciate it. The grounding. “In my dream, though, they did. And it was—fuck, it was brutal. And I woke up and I. Well, I think I was facing the wall, and I thought it was the trunk they put me in and I was just… I was there all over again.”

Fingers graze your knuckles, and you look down at the sight. The way he holds your hand, the scrapes and scars. “You’re okay now.” His grip tightens, but you can’t look up at him, and he doesn’t comment on it. “If you don’t want to talk about it, you don’t have to.”

“I need to.”

“Forcing it does more harm than good. Trust me, you still have time.”

“I’m not like you. I’m weak.”

“You don’t have to be like me.” He laughs under his breath, a sound free of humor. “And I’m not as strong as you think I am.”

He goes to pull away, but you catch a finger and swallow down his stare. “You are the reason I’m alive right now. Don’t sell yourself short.”

“So your opinion is biased.”

You’ve both resorted to hushed voices, as if shutting away the world outside. The four walls of his room intimate instead of imprisoning.

“I don’t know many people who would do what you did.”

“You mean my job?”

“And this. Coming to visit, spending time with me. I didn’t know that was part of the description.”

“It’s not. You just… remind me of somebody.”

“Who?”

He shrugs. “It’s not important.”

Closed-off as ever, enigmatic. Magnetic in the curiosity that plagues you, but still, you let him go, and skin burns warm where his hand used to lay.

“Will you tell me why they took me?”

He leans back, fluffs up his pillow, and you read the change in energy. He’s done talking. “I took an oath of silence, I’m afraid.”

“I figured as much.”

It’s day fourteen now. Your antibiotics are finished, electrolytes balanced, system flushed of illness. Free of… whatever stuck you in quarantine in the first place. Ready to go home.

Home as in a fresh name, a false death certificate, a new start that you never wanted. 

Everyone you’ve ever loved will know you to be dead. Four months missing, body never found. You’ve seen too much. Bad people would come looking for you.

Let them.

Far as the doctor and the nurses and the agents who meet with you are concerned, your anger stems from overreaction. They sedate you again—fuck the meds you aren’t taking them this is wrong!

A family you’ve known almost three decades, your entire goddamn life, and you'll never see them again. You never asked for this. You want to go home. 

They send Leon to your four-walled cell, some kind of sick-joke manipulation tactic poorly guised as a mediator. Look, the man you’ve grown close to, who understands what you’re going through, here to do our bidding. To make you seem crazy. Dramatic. He’ll convince you, right?

Who wouldn’t act like this? Who would agree to this?

“You’re a fucking liar. I should’ve known.” The meds leave you woozy, double-edge your vision. You can’t even coordinate well enough to sit up, to look at him proper.

You’re still angry. Still so fucking angry you could scream the walls down, but your muscles have turned gelatinous and you couldn’t show it if you tried. Which makes it even worse. Turns to fury that boils and wails and consumes until nothing of you is left but ash and you’ve always been one to project hatred inward anyway.

“I never lied to you.”

“I don’t fucking care. I just wanna go home.” Even your voice runs flat, slurred like you’re six shots deep. At least you can still cry. “This isn’t fair. I wanna go home. I miss my family. I wanna go home.”

“Listen, I understand—“

“No you don’t. Stop saying that. Shut up, Leon.”

He doesn’t. Nobody does. You never wanted this. Never asked for it. It’s not fair. It’s not fair!

A cool pressure rests over your temple, and you open your eyes to find him kneeled beside the bed, a gloved hand comforting against the side of your face.

“I know exactly how you’re feeling.” His gaze shards up your chest—if all-consuming grief had a look, you witness it now. “Losing everything, starting all over again, leaving behind your entire life. It’s not just you.”

“I can’t do this.”

“You can. You’ve come this far, and I won’t let you give up.”

You wish to move, to push him away, but you’re so tired. “You should’ve left me in that warehouse.”

“I’m glad I didn’t.”

He talks you into complying. You resign yourself to a new life. Change your driver’s license, your birth certificate, credit cards, cell phone number, email, leave everything you ever loved behind.

It’s hard. You sit in your new apartment and you cry most days. The agency allots you a therapist for the first six months. Until you can get back on your feet.

After six months, you’re still crawling. You have no money. Your resources are cut off and the agency doesn’t care and you have nobody to turn to.

Scratch that. Leon cares. He calls sometimes, to check on you, to see how you’re doing. What can you even tell him?

Yeah, everything’s good.

You couldn’t leave your house for months because every car screamed danger. When you conquered that fear, got a job nearby, a customer sounded like the man who always drew your blood. Woodsmoke smooth, a guise of trust, malicious in the eyes. You were fired after four days of consecutive no-shows. Four days of hiding inside your locked bedroom. Another job, quit after the first week when the song you heard in that goddamn trunk played every hour like clockwork.

Yeah. Everything’s good.

You don’t expect the knock at the door. Nobody ever comes to visit anymore, and a surge of adrenaline leaves you frozen at the kitchen sink.

Another knock. You drop to the floor. Curl up beneath the counter.

The phone rings, and you leave the answering machine to catch it:

Hey, this is Leon. If you’re home and you can hear this, I’m outside right now. Probably should’ve called first, huh?

Oh. Just Leon. Thank god.

You open the front door and peek through the crack, and he steps back to give you space.

“It’s just me,” he says, gives you a smile, all reassuring and warm.

You step back to let him in, and he moves slowly, calmly. Guilt curls heady inside your chest, makes you wince. It’s not his fault. “Sorry. I’m still jumpy.”

“No, it’s fine. My mistake. I just wanted to stop by while I’m in town.” He toes off his shoes then crosses thick arms, clad in his leather jacket. “You’re a shitty liar.”

Everything’s good.

“I know.”

He motions to the couch, asks, “Can I sit?”

“Yeah. Do you want water or something?”

“No, that’s okay. I can’t stay long.”

You’re used to it. Being alone all the time. Staring at the cold sheets of your bed, sharing meals with the empty chair across from you. You miss having friends, and family, and—and you miss being loved.

As if witnessing your thoughts, he makes a sound in his throat. Shakes his head. “Not that I don’t want to. I have somewhere important to be tomorrow.” 

“It’s fine, Leon.”

“Is there anything you need while I’m here?”

“I’m fine.”

He falls silent, squints up at you. “You don’t have to bullshit me.”

You blink for a moment. Decide the best way to worm yourself from beneath his stare. Decide it’s best to be honest. “I’m just…” you deflate with a sigh, and the drain of false optimism leaves you exhausted, “I’m not your responsibility.”

“I don’t think that. Maybe I’d just like to do something nice for you.”

“But… why?”

“Why not?”

You join him on the couch, curling up all sad and defeated. Tired. So fucking tired. “We barely know each other.”

“Like that’s ever stopped me before.”

You don’t deserve it, you want to say. You shouldn’t be here. Alive at all. 

He turns to you, leans forward to plant his elbows on his knees. “We can start with lunch?”

“I don’t have any money.”

“I didn’t ask if you had money.”

The thought of leaving your apartment scares you. The thought of staying scares you. And he knows that. Can sniff out your six-month-long bout of agoraphobia like he exists inside your brain.

And he smiles, soft as always, a comfort to frayed nerves. “I won’t let anything happen to you. It’s just lunch.”

Just like before, like all those other times that he made promises with impossible odds, you believe him. God, if you believe anybody, it’s him.

He gets it. Knows exactly what to say to sate, to glue a little piece of the Old You back in place.

He gets it, and he’s been here before, and you like him.

Shit. You like him. 

“Okay. Lunch.”

His smile widens, and he looks at you like you’ve walked through flame—earth-shattering pride and warmth and something else you can’t quite place. “Maybe we can make it a date.”

A date. A date.

Your eyes grow wide, and he waits. Gives you time to process.

It’s a lot.

The idea seems wonderful. But the world is grey most days, and many things that should provide happiness bring you little more than lightning-strike stress.

You wish you could say yes. 

“I don’t think you realize what you’re getting into.” His smile disappears, and you reach for a hand. Wish to will the color back to his face. “I’m not saying no. I’m just.” You take a readying breath, and steady your eyes on his. “I’m really fucked up right now, and I understand if you don’t wanna deal with that.”

You don’t even want to.

“Listen, I’m not expecting you to marry me. We’ll just… dress up and have a nice time.”

You look at him, and the emptiness, the exhaustion of his own eyes speaks to how much he needs this, too. A break. A distraction. Something good for once in his life. A sentiment you very much share.

You drag a thumb over the back of his hand and scoot closer, until your legs touch and the heat of his body calms you. “When you said I remind you of somebody. It was you, wasn’t it?”

His nose crinkles in a way undeniably cute. Almost embarrassed, if you can believe it. “Damn. That obvious, huh?”

“Context clues, actually. You’re really hard to get a read on.”

“I’ve been trying to work on that.”

“Then I guess I can work on… leaving the house.” You give a shrug. “No better time than now, right?”

“Now is good.”

Another piece, glued back in place. He seeks to work through one at a time, over and over again, until none remain. Won’t stop until the you that you lost becomes whole.

You’re scared. Nauseous, pained in the chest. But hopeful.

He keeps his promises.