skull-fvcker

[skull-fvcker]

I hope you had someone who loved you

❥ Yandere! Albert Wesker x Gender Neutral! Reader

A/N: Cross-posted from my AO3. I also edited it because it didn't seem as descriptive and understandable as I may have liked.

Summary: The buzz of a beautiful saw severs the tie to most relationships, but Wesker was determined to make sure it brings you closer to him. He loves you, after all. It's not the traditional type of love. But it is true and pure—and borderline unlawful.

Warnings: 3197 words, MDNI, kidnapping, amputation, obsessive behaviour, medical procedures, this is NOT romantic, unhealthy relationships, takes place during the Code Veronica era, wesker is insane

Drip...

Drip...

Drip...

"You're doing wonderful,"

You hear a gruff voice from a shadowy corner of your thoughts, the tone serene and comforting, a soft blanket of protection, "It's okay, this is what you wanted. You wanted this. To always be safe and protected," there is shifting, you feel someone shifting, alongside the sickening sound of rushing liquid. "Never trying to leave my side. No more struggling, just the way I intended. Nothing—no one—will ever hurt you again. You'll be home with me forever. You're doing incredible, I'm proud of you, dear." The person's words were beguiling. You knew that much. They sounded so familiar. A stern yet comforting voice.

More dripping. A silent roar of a device.

You were interrupted by a distant pause, causing a bitter buzzing sensation in your brain. White noise invaded your ears and pulsed painfully throughout your body. Yet the voice continued its gentle caress around your brain. "Do you want me to make the pain go away? You're doing so well. So obedient. Do you want me to make it go away?" Their voice was so honeyed and soothing, you couldn't help but feel a little better as your body grew listless, everything around you fading to black, the voice now sounding like it was in your ear, close enough to whisper charmingly to you. Weightless.

"Just say it, dear, just say you want me to make it go away."

The dull ache in your bones, the smouldering pain spreading throughout your body, made you want to say yes, yes, you wanted it to go away. Yes, it hurt. You weren't sure if you spoke, not even sure if you made a groan of acknowledgement to the person's voice who sounded like Wesker—was it Wesker? Sounded just like him—at least to your muddled brain. Maybe your head idled to the side. Maybe you did make a groaning noise. Though it felt like someone had laid your prone body on dozens, possibly hundreds, of the tips of nails. Did something happen? God, you couldn't remember anything.

Drip...

Drip...

A gasp was heard in response, the telltale sound of a medical instrument being carefully adjusted, meeting your hammering eardrums, your heart pounding in your throat. "Yes, yes—you want it to go away. You want me to make the pain go away. You trust me; well, of course, you do. You've no reason not to. I've got you, dearheart, I'll keep you safe now. Don't worry, I'll make it all go away soon, it'll be nothing more than a memory," The warmth in the voice grew as your consciousness began to fade away into dull static, your hearing giving way to bitter nothingness.

"Just a memory."

You weren't sure how much time passed before you woke up, but it had to have been a long time. You felt tired, almost numb as you slowly opened your eyes to feel a bright light on the ceiling above pulsating through your retinas. The room you woke up in was familiar in a way, of course, it was. It was a hospital room of sorts, you recall. You had spent many nights in places like these, and after a few minutes of trying in vain to move, you couldn't move your legs below the knees anymore, nor could you feel them, not even in the slightest. It was as if you were paralyzed.

That shadowy figure is in your peripheral again, just barely out of reach.

"Look at you—" A voice came from a corner near you, your name feeling like a cruel mockery. It seemed so similar to the voice you heard before, but you shelved that thought. Wesker and that person sounded so similar. "It seems like you had another little fright, hm? We can't let you move about too much. No, no, we can't," A comforting, gloved, yet rough hand laid itself right at the side of the bed you lie in, fingers curling at the thinly veiled blanket that covered your body. "You might tear your stitches. Your dressings."

At first, you strained to move, but you came to realise that you could not. The buzz inside your head and the hunger to escape was nothing more than a distant memory at this point. Yet, the voice was so comforting that you felt like you could lean into the touch. Was this heaven, were you dead? So many words rushed through your head, and even then, you couldn't even begin to vocalise them.

"I am aware, this is all so new to you. It’ll be okay, try not to worry yourself," the voice spoke soothingly as he came into view. You recognized him with a mix of terror and relief, as you saw that it was none other than Wesker, his hands moving towards you from the side of the bed, his sunglasses-clad eyes shining beneath the lenses, filled with gloom. He looked wary like he always did, but there was an underlying sense of excitement behind his amber eyes. As he felt lively. But you knew better. "I know, I know, you're never going to have to walk on those... legs of yours again. So much for walking away from conversations, no?"

You felt your breath begin to heave, the sound of your heart sinking into a pit in your stomach. "What," A sharp glance at Wesker left you breathless. You then prop yourself up on your elbows, beginning to peel the blanket off of your body. "Oh, my God." The words left your throat as quickly as they came, a shock sending a painful sense of dread and horror down your spine. Your legs. No wonder you couldn't feel them from the knee down. "I—I c... I can't..." The words caught themselves in your throat. Whichever feeling of relief was left inside was now substituted with the sickening sense of terror and aforementioned dread.

Your legs.

"It's okay, I told you it would all go away," he shrugged, his smile still showing excitement as he grinned wistfully at you, "Now I never have to worry about you running away. I shall rule with you by my side," he declares as he sat down beside you, his hand reaching out to tenderly stroke your hair, "I must say, you look simply stunning just like this. It's almost as if this is exactly how you were always meant to be." Wesker never followed human rules. Despite this, he spoke to you as an equal, and you felt comfortable confiding in him because he was an authority figure. A superior. He never spoke to you as if you were a child who had scraped their knees. As the dread sets in, Wesker pulls his shades from his face, exposing the snake-like eyes beneath, staring at you as if you were a prized jewel, though you cannot focus on that when there is a more important affair at hand.

They were chopped off.

"W...why—" You stare in horror, lifting one of your thighs, which you could thankfully do, staring at the bandage on your knees. "Why are they..." The words left you, the situation, the realisation sinking deep inside your chest. "I can't... they're gone," The shock and dismay spun around your heart and laid heavy upon your soul as you stared at what Wesker had done to your body. The mess he made of your perfectly capable limbs. The gentle woven pattern of the stitches that circled near what used to be your kneecaps, coated in the golden-brown substance of an antiseptic. The craftsmanship of the stitches and stables was spectacular—the pain was little to none, yet your brain was so foggy that you could barely even properly react to the situation at hand. Only muted gasps and short breaths.

"Hydromorphone," Wesker suddenly uttered, a surprisingly gentle hand resting on your upper thigh. "An opioid much stronger than morphine. Perfect for excruciating pain after limb amputation." The tight-lipped smile barely twitched, yet refused to leave his face. "However, mental fog is a symptom..."

Wesker was your companion—a superior, yes, though, there was mutual trust. That was what you thought, anyway. Trust can only bring you so far, and it’s so easily misplaced. A quiet yet sharp man who held the weight of the world on his shoulders. Someone confident in his actions. A man that you knew little to nothing about, rather than his military experience—his words, not yours—and knowledge on all the things you did not. And yet here you were, dazed out of your mind with a dull sensation in what was left of your legs, that he stole from you for a reason that you would probably never know. Your ears began to buzz painfully, your eyes staring directly at the stubs that were now your kneecaps.

"Don't look at me like that. The only thing they were causing was problems, and problems need to be fixed, dear," he said as he pulled his hand from your thigh, allowing it to gently pat your head, but there was a firmness to it, "I told you I'd fix it, and I did." he buzzes with that same thin-lipped smile, "You look so much better like this. I don't know what you think you're going to miss. Your friends, you say? Family? Why, you have me. You’ll do just fine, I assure you."

Wesker spoke as if this was a completely normal thing to do. Was he trying to convince you, or rather, himself?

Shakily, the words escaped your mouth before you could stop them, "Did you do this? Did—did you remove my legs? Did..." Your voice trailed off as the awful truth began to resonate deep within your brain, spewing out its painful reality and forcing you to take hold of the situation in full force. There was no way around it. Wesker forcibly removed your legs.

"There, there," he shushes, leaning forward to whisper into your ear, "No need for tears. As much as I adore you in all your emotions, you were always just so theatrical..." His voice was frigid, but his eyes seemed much gentler, "You don't need your legs," he tuts, moving his hand to gently caress your cheek, "You don't need anything else, you just need me."

You weren't sure if you were crying or not, but your vision was suddenly blurry with the telltale sign of tears. At this revelation, the cold tone washes over Wesker’s voice again. "You know it pains me to see you cry," a pout. "Don't you remember?" The words in which he spoke were followed by a short gasp, his voice soft and satisfied as he gently caressed your cheek. Wesker stayed quiet for a couple of moments as if to let his words sink in.

But the fact remained, you didn't remember a thing. Not a single comprehensible thought pierced through your head like a bullet. The only thought that stayed was the fact that a bed you would’ve once felt comforted by now lay beneath you like a tomb, like a coffin, dragging you down into the cushions. It was suffocating you, and yet you felt consoled by it despite your brain screaming at you not to feel soothed. Without much of a second thought, your fingers trailed down your thighs, the muscles tensing up as you drew closer to the site of amputation, the skin becoming dense and tingly, no doubt from whatever pain meds—Hydromorphone, or whatever he called it—Wesker had you on.

Had you been stupid, you’d genuinely believe that he was a doctor.

As if reading your mind, Wesker spoke up. "I already told you, I'll take your misery, I'll preserve you, and you won't ever need to feel anything sinful. Just you and me—once I have the world in my hands, of course," he said as his hand slowly travelled down to meet your chin, the corners of his eyes wrinkled, filling with an unnerving smile, "You will adjust accordingly. I know that you will—you’re smart. It’s why I chose you, after all." His soft caresses continued despite his morbid words that sank into your spine. It made you want to get up and run, and yet, you knew you no longer had the luxury to do such a thing anymore.

You just wanted this to be over already, to fall asleep and wake up and discover that this was all nothing more than a nightmare. You were impatient, but Wesker adored this part—the anticipation, the teasing. Yes, he wanted to make you feel happy and protected, yet the fear was something he relished. This was something that was meant to happen; you were always meant to be like this. Wesker set his hand right above the stitches on your kneecaps, the corners of his eyes wrinkling to form crow's feet. He seemed proud of his work, circling the deep incisions and the fragile skin being pressed together. The silence was deafening as he wrapped gauze around the numb flesh.

So gentle in his ministrations, aware that one wrong move could burst apart your healing wounds.

As you two stood—clever choice of words for you, wasn't it?—there in silence, staring into each other's eyes, an unspoken battle of wills took place. You were the first to realise you were at a standstill, the silent acceptance washing over your curved spine. Slow resignation settled in the air, and a tense silence took over. The tension in the air was so thick that not even the strongest of military-grade combat knives could slice it in half. Ironic.

For a moment, Wesker’s facial expression began to darken, and he seemed bitter, but it changed so quickly that you admittedly thought that your brain was just playing tricks on you. His brows knit together, the wrinkle between them collecting a drop of sweat that dripped down his nose. The eyebags that hung below his blonde lashes hid a life that you would never be able to comprehend. "I did it for you," his voice is laced with a growl. "Yes. I love you. I always have. Did you know that? Hmm, I don't think you did. I don't think you ever cared to notice." Wesker’s eyes stared—the thin, narrow pupils that were reminiscent of a viper, or relatively, a feline, intermixed with the amber hues of his irises that blended into a deeper shade of red and yellow—at you with the utmost of love and adoration as if he hadn't just robbed you of something you held dear. 

His words held little to no truth to them and showed nothing but the grotesque being that shone beneath the fragile and scarred layers of his skin. "I put you here because I'm selfish, and I'm scared I'm going to lose you." He seemed to be holding back, the words unspoken but heavy on his tongue. And yet, instead, his next comments threw you through a loop.

"This is just the beginning, dear," Wesker’s bare thumb gently caressed your cheekbone as he shuddered, a sneering smile overtaking his stern features. If this were a different situation, you would've leaned into his touch and offered him your very own smile. "There is more awaiting you. And I believe," He pauses, averting his gaze, his lips parting as his wet tongue darts between them to wet his cracked skin. "I believe you're going to adore what I’ll do next. I will let you heal, of course, but—" Wesker’s fingers fall from your cheek to your coxae, his other hand joining as he grasps at your hips gently. "You will only know me. Everything will be me—us. It sounds magnificent, wouldn't you agree?"

It was almost like an unspoken admission of your place. Your very humanity is being stripped away and discarded like some sort of animal, a prized possession—cattle. Wesker drilled you this hole, a cavity barely deep enough to reach your abdomen, and yet you can't see the light at the top, so you drown in the shallow water that pools around you.

"What are you—" The words come out so shakily, quivering breaths and tensed muscles. "What are you going to do to me, Albert?" Some tears threatened to fall but no matter how hard you tried, they just refused to come. You still felt drowsy, your limbs heavy on both body and heart. Nothing but worry and disgust flowed through every limb—or lack thereof—like an unforgiving rush of water. You never truly know how good things are until they're gone.

In response to your words, however, Wesker grins while the corners of his eyes barely wrinkle. He looked like he was about to burst into fits of laughter, which was rare for such a stoic man. Wesker seldom had profound bouts of mirth. It was as if what you said was incomprehensible and not what one would consider English. Wesker was mocking you even if he thought he wasn't, the shift of his legs was a cruel mockery of something that you now lacked. Despite Wesker’s smile, it soon fell to a slight frown, the flare of his nostrils being an undeniable show of aggression. A couple of moments pass, and he looks away with a sigh, wetting his lips with his tongue.

The dull static in the back of your head returned once more. Everything screamed in you to escape the comfortable prison of bed. Time is not on your side nor is the universe. The world around you melts like wax in a furnace, everything slowly becoming twisted and corrupted. The tingling is almost blinding in what's left of your legs.

You can't escape.

It seemed as though he could sense the trepidation emanating from every pore of your body, and so Wesker’s caress on your cheek became even more temperate, it made you feel as if something was going to happen. Something that would permanently rewrite your brain chemistry. "Don't fret," he silences, "Please, my dear. You'll feel so much better once you just accept me." A rough hand reaches down to the bandages around your thighs. "Trust me. Don't you trust me?" His grip was comforting, but you knew better than to be comforted by this sad excuse for a man.

His eyes search yours for any hint of disobedience, sealing in your fate with a gentle caress.

"I will make you perfect. Only then will you be able to fit faultlessly into my vision of a utopia." His voice comes with a mischievous lilt. With an assertive tilt of his head and a determined quirk of his brow, he began to lean in even closer, further invading your personal space.

"Don't, please don't do this—" Your pleas fell upon deaf ears as all he did to soothe you was rub his calloused thumb against your cheekbone while he gently whispered words of encouragement. Was he trying to comfort you, or was he trying to comfort himself, you wonder. This entire situation was sick and twisted. His comforting words would once be something that you'd find solace in, but now it's something that made you feel sick to your stomach. “Just let me go—”

"Just breathe for me. And stay still, would you?"

[skull-fvcker]

Morality

❥ Yandere! Arcane Viktor x Gender Neutral! Reader

A/N: cross-posted from my ao3. Old fanfiction from 2021, written way before season two. Thought I might as well post it here—the final episode broke me, by the way.

Summary: Years worth of obsession and fantasy obfuscated his once comprehensible brain. But it felt as if this was a crucial transition. Viktor is convinced he is a good man, but his actions are speaking otherwise against his morality.

Warnings: 7204 words, MDNI, obsessive behaviour, kidnapping, viktor is delusional, yandere viktor by the way, dubious consent(he coerces you), unhealthy and one-sided relationship, gender-neutral pronouns used for reader, no usage of y/n, gentle sex, set in season 1

In all honesty, Viktor did not know how it started or when it got out of hand. It started as a simple fascination and he had treated it as such. Nothing was wrong with that, he was a man of science after all. It was in his nature to feel drawn to things that he did not quite understand. Many years have passed since that day. Before his strange obsession came into his life. Honestly, now that he was alone to think about it, had it ever come into his life at all? Or, by some force of nature, he had forced it into his own life? The ever-changing flow of time halted the very moment Viktor had initially realised that he had more than a problem on his hands.

Viktor thought of himself as a man with morals. He was not the best person, yes, there are plenty of others that shone brighter than he did, but he found his value in his work and ethics. That being said, nothing about him was right. His work had been clogged for year's now; the chaotic office space merely setting as a permanent indication that he had slipped too far this time. Above all else, he had guaranteed himself that his work came foremost, give or take a few instances in which it did not. This case was different, however. A disturbing accomplishment that, when asked initially, he wrote off his findings as evidence, or even lack thereof. Whether or not he was believed, was foreign to even him.

Directly adjacent to his cluttered working place—being neat had long passed his troubled brain, hadn't it?— lie his crutch, sat in such a way that it may fall at any minute. Viktor paid it no mind, at least not at first, but looking over his notes and the observations that he had written down, an idea popped up within what was left of a comprehensive state of mind. Of course, how could he have been so oblivious to forget such a thing, it was written clear as day in these scattered notes. His nimble, cold fingers grasped at the end of his crutch and he tugged it over and dug it into the floor while it enabled him to stand.

Viktor's book laid sloppily in his hand, page open in clear view. "Yes," he breathed, "I suppose this will do." He closed the withered book and shoved it between his left arm and clothed side. Periodically, an opportunity was difficult to come by. He had to do the best with what he had been given, though an itch in his brain told him that: why settle for fine, when you can go beyond?

The aforementioned person that he mentioned, the obsession - the two had never even met before, Hell, Viktor was certain it never even knew of his existence. It was ostensibly a normal upper city citizen with no strange qualities, nothing special about its behaviours nor its personality. It was normal. But it made him feel bizarre inside. He could effortlessly correlate it to that of an over-easy egg slowly cooking within a skillet until the yoke bursts for seemingly no reason and tarnishes the taste of the egg entirely. Just like that, it was ruining him. Granted, neither of them seemed to be eggs, but he believed the metaphor to fit rather well. Humanity always seemed to be so fickle, so easily swayed and broken. Just like an egg.

No matter the weakened disposition he had, nor the lingering scent of death he had become accustomed to, nothing prepared Viktor for the way his certain obsession made him feel. He was intelligent enough to not let these be known, oh, how he would hate the way that Jayce would assume the worst of his sentiments. Would he? Jayce had changed rather strikingly since the first day the two had met. Nevertheless, Viktor never seemed to be the man for love, much less protection of those around him.

Moreover, he was sure that with such dehumanising language and behaviour, nobody would hear his side of the matter. After all, calling the object of your affection an "it," and "thing," definitely does not look good for your compassion. Still, it gave him a reason to humanise his behaviour—if his obsession is not seen as equal, then what's the issue, exactly? To be blunt, it served no purpose other than to make him feel better since not a soul knew of this but him.

Sure, it did not occur to him that he would have strayed this far, but sometimes you have to do what you can to keep someone safe. He was in no state to protect someone on his own, he knew this far too well, he could never protect anyone with this sickly, frail body of his. That is why kidnapping was an absolute must. Reminiscing of the past did no good but to open up older wounds that set themselves up for failure, but the first day they had formally met was an exhilarating experience.

When they had seen him, there was a quizzical expression plastered on their face, and they even confused him for a council member of all things—never attentive, he presumed—but upon realising who he was, Viktor found himself met with immediate scepticism. Viktor could not fault them, it was something he knew all too well, though, maybe he should have saved his anguish for another day. The way their warmer hand held onto his own when he reached out to shake it. Their hand was soft, softer than his at least, and much less calloused. Smaller. Yet, their fingers did not hold the appearance of his own; on the contrary, they looked healthy. Healthier than him.

Of course, with someone who seemed to not have any imperfection, how was Viktor not supposed to fall for them, much less become intrigued with their very existence at that point? Humans were so fickle, he knew very well with how his body had grown to become sicker, but they seemed so robust, so self-sufficient. It was just like any other person, nothing too special but it stood out to him and that was what mattered.

It hurt him, really it did, to see them gawk at him with betrayal, to seem so frightened of someone who wasn't even strong, to begin with, but love came with sacrifice and even if he couldn't help everyone, then he would try to help them the best that he could.

Viktor revolted and fought against his rationality, he really did, he tried his absolute best to make sense of both his actions and what he had done. Within the months, he had thoroughly convinced himself that it was for the greater good, for the safety of his obsession; to keep them isolated from others. It was not the healthiest choice, he would acknowledge at the time, but now he may argue that it was the only thing he could have done upon meeting them formally. He just could not let them go.

Months had passed since that day, but it was fun to reminisce sometimes. Besides, it was even better that, when he had the time, they were someone in which he could spoil with every day. Yes, Viktor took things slow and always was sure to leave them be, yet give them company, but watching them stare at him with a look that he could hardly even decipher anymore, left him breathless. And he didn't even know why.

That very thing forced him into the very dilemma that he is in now. Standing in front of a locked door with a flawlessly crafted key lying in his tremoring hand. It was from excitement, he knew it was. It was like this was his own secret sanctuary where he hid his most precious desire and treasure, his perfect obsession that wept behind locked doors. It was the same every day, no matter how long he would stare.

The door opened with a slight rasp, the only other noise being a stifled sob and the sound of scuffing against the floor, then the buoyancy of bedsprings. His stiff body staggered against the sturdy cane, his hunched over body barely allowing the light to pool in around the walls of the door frame. Every day seemed no closer to his objective. He didn't even know how he had done this. Years worth of obsession and fantasy obfuscated his once comprehensible brain. But it felt as if this was a crucial transition.

Viktor is convinced he is a good man, but his actions are speaking otherwise against his morality.

"Good morning, dear. Have you slept well?" The sounds of chains screamed in his ears when he spoke. All these years and his lover still has not gotten used to their living state. "Ehh... I have already assured you. Good behaviour is rewarded, please understand that this is an absolute must to keep you safe." They were terrified. Of him. Isolation was a punishment and he could never help but feel dreadful about them being punished for things out of their control.

"When can I go home?" was the concern they always pleaded with whenever they saw him. Viktor tried to not let it get under his skin, really he did, but the knowledge that they did not want to be with him weighed heavy on his mind. He loved them, they had to recognize. Their eyes were so passive; it reminded him of when he had first seen the mutation, Rio, when he was a young boy. Curiosity, distress; panic. They just did not understand this yet.

Perhaps all the days that he merely sat there and stared at them with a desolate expression thoroughly destroyed the way they would perceive him, or how he would blatantly ignore their tantrums and screaming, tapping his fingers along the edge of his crutch like a patient father waiting for their child to calm down. Of course, Viktor never mistreated them. The most he did was further isolate them, which explained the absolutely pitiful state that they were in right now.

Reluctance to accept the changing future will result in the fear of what's to come. He understands it's different from what they were used to. But one must adapt to their surroundings and become accustomed. Viktor has already sacrificed so much for them; when was it their turn to return the favour? The ever-changing future is something he will never know for certain.

Viktor sighed, watching them press their body against the nook of the room where their bed had been so delicately placed. The bedsheets had been sent into a state of disrepair, and certain pillows seemed more shapely than the rest. From clutching them too tightly, he inferred. It was adorable.

"This is your home," It was no wonder that they attempted to squeeze themselves farther against the wall when he staggered closer. "I don't have any food this time, I'm afraid," he stood right at the side of their mattress, directly in front of trembling form, his eyes fixated on the plate that sat adjacent to the bed, at least a few days old now. "Though, I'm glad that you, ehm, were able to finish your last meal. Good job." A sigh escaped him after the carefully placed praise fell from his lips and, upon staring hastily at them, he recalled the fear blending within their wide eyes. "However," he found himself fumbling over his words, "I know that you've been a little, eh... downcast, as of late so I have decided that I am going to offer you something that I'm sure you would love," he paused, almost reluctant to reach forward and stroke the hair behind their ear. Hesitant to touch them lovingly.

This situation was a troublesome one, of course, it would be, but he was not a fool in the matter. He read up on numerous articles simply so he can keep things safe for them — falling for one's captor, he had thought about it, yet the turmoil often sets in when he realises that they hadn't developed such a thing just yet. Had he not been too kind? Perhaps, it was the chains around their body? Particular disorders of the mind were so hard to force into existence; was that such a terrible thing to wish for? They looked as if they served more as a pet than anything else, honestly. But that's love, this is just his love. Viktor was well aware that a plethora of things regarding both he and his health weren't precisely right, particularly in concerns to other people. Honestly, staring at them in such a miserable state made him feel almost remorseful.

They must feel so trapped, not to mention secluded, after all, he was never able to spend as much time with them as he would have preferred. He wondered, did they feel imprisoned in their own body, too? Probably not in the way that he did, but it was a suspicion that lingered in his mind. He set his hand on the side of their face unexpectedly, and they jolted back. Granted, he was certain that his hand was freezing. But, Hell, it appeared as if they had almost whimpered at his touch. Still, he had never done anything to harm them, he's only keeping them safe. The images of the mutation Rio sitting in a tank of fluids that he knew all too well now, the thought of it being kept alive despite its pleas not to. Such lengths are just an experiment to preserve life. He understood, now. Not in the way that he should have, but he did.

Maybe that was how they felt. Like a trapped animal, frightened and alone. But they have him, they may not want him, but he is there.

Viktor's knees buckled as they pressed against the edge of the mattress, gently hoisting one after the other to get closer to the horrified individual hiding from his affection, which was already something which he never exhibited frequently.

"I want you to understand," he ran his thumb along their cheek with feathery soft touches, "I know you still don't understand why I'm doing this, or why you're here but rest assured that it's all out of genuine love." When you're going to change the world, don't ask for permission. "Alone. You're lonely and you're scared. I know how you feel. But you're special," their eyes met Viktor's for but an instant and it sent shock waves down his spine. Don't ask permission. "You're special to me, and that is what truly matters at this moment." They were about to cry. Correction, they were sobbing. And it was all his fault. Emotional turmoil mixed with the trauma enforced within them made this happen - because of Viktor.

And despite it all, Viktor could not help but feel proud of his accomplishments.

"Please," their name rolled off of his tongue like a loose screw in his brain, though more akin to a prayer. "Look at me when I'm talking to you, please." Their disobedience irritated him and sent his nostrils flaring, but he didn't allow that to show outwardly. They were already so skittish, why would he threaten them further? "Mm, I will reiterate it as many times as you desire: good behaviour is rewarded. If... If you're good—for me—then, and only then, will I allow you to go outside." His words set off a fire in their brain, he could tell how their breathing unexpectedly halted and they went completely tight-lipped. Was that all it took for them to settle down? An effortlessly broken promise?

Right, they were at their wit's end, weren't they? Their emotions override their rationality. The sunlight would be good for their health, after all. Quite frankly, the thought was unsettling, Viktor didn't want them out of his sight, but if it would make them satisfied then he could make configurations for such a thing. Though, he would have to be cautious to not allow anyone to see them. What if they tried to... escape, in a sense? It was dangerous, he would have to think about it thoroughly.

"Do you mean it?" They said, suddenly. Their head was raised aloft and their wide eyes stared directly at him. "If I'm good... I'll be able to go outside? It's—" A sharp inhale. "It's been months," they were optimistic. Why was it so unbearable to see them so miserable?

For all but a juncture, Viktor felt himself at a loss for words. There was no telling whether or not he would be able to keep that promise, but he could try. They just need to learn to embrace change and adapt, maybe they will forget about it in due time. "I mean it," he said without thought, "you have my word." Did they, truly? You should not make promises that you are incapable of keeping, but just this once, the way their expression lit up and how the tears fell from their eyes, made Viktor feel as if he had done something right this entire time. Without a single word, his hand slowly lowered from their warm cheek, his gangly fingers running alongside the edges of the collar that adorned their flawless neck.

In pursuit of great, we failed to do good.

How would Viktor feel if someone had done this to him? It was a rhetorical question; nobody cared for him enough to go to such drastic lengths to proclaim their love. Therefore, this couldn't have been an unfair thing for him to do. "We must adapt to change," he spoke softly as his fingers danced around their trembling jaw. "You must adapt to change." His voice dropped an octave, gaze falling back onto their face. He had adapted to this change flawlessly fine, it was them that had to figure out how to. They were ultimate perfection in his eyes—there was just one, little issue...

"What are you doing?" Their voice quivered. Viktor's hand slipped down to their collarbones, pinching against the soft fleshy prison.

"Ahm, eh, I am... feeling you, merely. Nothing more," their breath hitched at his actions. "Unless you want me to do more?" An unexpected whimper came from them, in which he did not know if it was good or not, but knowing them, it emanated from apprehension. "I love you, you know that. I would never force you to do something. Think of it as a friendly suggestion," Viktor's blunt fingernails found themselves becoming caught on the neckline of their shirt. "So, will you let me?" There was a pause between them. Most importantly, the air seemed to grow still. Tension so thick that you could slice it in half with a knife.

They shifted but didn't give Viktor a clear yes or no. In all honesty, they seemed to be dismissing him altogether. He could feel their body heat begin to amplify, a telltale indication of both their embarrassment and if he dares say desire. A relatively foolish notion, he was well aware, however, that did not mean anything in his mind, not in the current time. The future could come later, and his life may pass him by. But the future does not exist, does it? Not until you make it so. If he didn't take satisfaction in the opportunity that he had right now, then it may never come up again.

Nevertheless, he took the chance and leaned forward, inch by inch until his face had pressed into what was seen within the crook of their neck. Their skin was soft, warm; pulsating. "I am obsessed with you," both of his hands set themselves upon their shoulders, thumbs clutching against the blade of their clavicles. "I am, truly. My devotion, my love, my obsession for you—that will be the only thing that will never change no matter the year to come. You may push me away all that you desire, but I will come back to you. I love you." His chapped lips pressed in between their jawline and neck, a chaste kiss that he allowed to linger on their skin. They didn't even bother pushing him away. They had the strength to, yet abstained.

We failed to do good.

"Understand my efforts," his voice was barely above a whisper, "you must have seen them. Make sense of my love for you." His grip on their shoulders tightened, but he knew it would never be enough to harm them. It wasn't as if he wanted to injure them in the first place, either. However, it was short-lived, and Viktor's hands fell from their shoulders to their bound wrists, and straight down to their tremoring hands. "I have always wanted to do more with you—to be what most would consider a "couple" yet you keep pushing me away." During his rambling, Viktor heard them mumble something under their breath. "Could you repeat that?"

"I said I'm sorry," they whispered. For the first time, it seemed that they were apologising to him so sincerely, maybe with actual suspicions that something may transpire if they were to not apologise. It was startling, but a chance to hear their voice was satisfactory for Viktor. There was a lingering breath that he could feel tickle the back of his neck, coupled together with their heaving chest. They were scared.

We have to make it right.

Viktor felt his heart hammer against his rib cage, a knot forming in his throat bitterly. This clammy feeling in his chest was unneeded. "Well," he spoke with a sharp exhale, "do you know what would make me forgive you?" As if he hadn't already forgiven them, to begin with. Upon feeling them nod slowly, Viktor pulled away from them and hurried his hands from their own, to their neck. His touches were faint, but loving. Held a certain edge to them, hinted at with a distinct emotion. "I'm very sure you're aware of what I'm getting at," his breathing picked up, just as theirs did, and for a few instants, it seemed that theirs was in sync with his own. To his surprise, they shifted and nodded in agreement, but did not vocalise it.

Anxiously, Viktor proceeded to slowly creep his body forward, even closer to them than he was before. He felt his heart thumping against his rib cage, the wind being knocked from his lungs as he shakily exhaled. Viktor was not the type of man for sex, he never had the time to do it; but when it came to his little obsession, why not indulge? Their consent was dubious at best, but at this point, any hint of acceptance was promising enough for him. He struggled to rationalise his thinking but instead was only met with a cluttered mess within his brain. Viktor couldn't concentrate on anything other than them at this moment. It was just the two of them, and that was all that truly carried weight to him.

His kisses against their skin were light, virtually non-existent, but the genuine love that he harboured for them persisted despite their shuddering breathing; despite their apprehension. Viktor's lips pressed against their tender jawline until he finally met the edges of their lips. His hands were twitching, cupping the sides of their face with his thumbs caressing the skin underneath their eyes. This would be their first kiss together. Would they reciprocate it? He sure hopes that they would in some way, they don't seem to have any reasoning as to why they wouldn't. He pulled back momentarily to stare at them, only to notice that they weren't looking at him at all. That would be okay.

"You're mine," he breathed as he pressed his lips against their own once again. Viktor felt as if his chapped, thin lips were being engulfed by theirs—though, theirs were equally as chapped as he were. He made a mental note to up their water intake. The kiss did not quite feel the way that he visualized it to feel—he thought it would have felt more romantic in a sense. Moreover, he would have believed that they wouldn't be chained to the wall in such an intimate instant. But, good behaviour is rewarded. This was temporary, they knew that, as did he. Just as the kiss was about to end, he felt them lean into it and press their lips into his own. That, above everything else, made him feel like the blessedest man in all of Piltover. Of Zaun, anywhere.

"I love you more than anything," confessed Viktor as he pulled away from their lips. "I'm glad that you're mine." And he meant it.

Their breath hitched just as it constantly did when he touched them. Maybe it was the fact that his hands were gradually examining their body, tilting across every crevice, from where their midsection concave whenever they'd instinctively suck it in out of humiliation, to the quiver of the skin around their navel when his fingers ran along the sensitive region. Viktor's hands were underneath their shirt, his wiry fingers eagerly squeezing the skin. They squeaked at first, his hands were frigid after all but eventually unwound though not peeking at him. Viktor wished that they would look at him like a person rather than an oddity.

The hem of their trousers huddled against their hips, hiding away the most intimate part of their body that only Viktor was allowed to see. For a moment, he looked into their eyes for the right to go ahead, but upon being avoided, Viktor merely yanked them down with enthusiasm pulsing through his veins. His thumbs pressed between their navel and hipbones, in an almost comforting gesture. But it wasn't as if they cared in the long run, however, he could hear their hitching breath. Through dirty-minded thoughts, Viktor's right hand loomed above their sex while his other clasped against their hipbone for support. He was actually doing this—something that he had just as much as dreamed of for years.

"Please," their whiny voice startled his thoughts. "Just... be gentle with me," they didn't seem to be in the mood to fight him at all. That's good. Viktor was sure he had neither the strength nor the energy to deal with it.

His thumb pressed against the sensitive nub below, threatening a gasp from them. "I'll never hurt you," he rubbed their hip in synchronisation with his sensual touches against their sex. "I promise, I will do what I can to make you feel pleasured." His breathing picked up as arousal trickled down his spine like that of the emotions that he loathed. "I want... to see the inside of you. All of you," he spoke aloud, a hint of longing in his tone which he had shoved back this entire time. He wanted them to comprehend his love to its full potential.

Viktor's face pressed against the crook of their neck once again, shifting his hips as he closed his eyes. They were making noises, now, their chained wrists clicking against the harsh metals as they lifted their hands to dig into his back. Secretly, he had hoped that they would call his name. He knew that they knew it. They've spoken it countless times before. Granted, it was always in a fit of rage or hysteria which followed, "I hate you," and, "You ruined my life." But they knew his name at the very least.

Moreover, they were unravelling at the seams. They liked this just as much as Viktor did. They loved him, they had to. Lust and love were on a thin line, so closely drawn together yet had such distinct differences. Could the same be said about obsession? Maybe so, but that did not mean much by this point.

"I love you," he breathed into their neck, his warm breath no doubt sending shivers down his spine or so he hoped. "You feel so soft, so pretty..." His fingers toyed with their sex, jerking in sporadic movements which caused their hips to buck against him, further spurring him on. "Do you like it when I touch you like this? Like I—" his breath hitched when their hands clenched the fabric of his vest, "Like I own you?" For once, they actually agreed with him.

"Y-yes," they let out a pitiful, rueful whine more akin to someone who was used to this sort of thing. But that was inane. They belonged to him. "It feels—It feels really good, I..." Their hips were rolling now, eagerly trying to accept his love rather than pushing it away like they always had been. They were accepting change. They were adapting. "Jus—just like that, please, Viktor—"

And at that moment, time seemed to halt.

They said his name, not out of pure spite or anger, not from him doing something they did not like, but in pleasure. The pleasure that he was inflicting on them. "You're doing such a good job, So good for me," it came out as more of a wheeze than praise, though there was a hint of worship hidden within it. "Are you going to come soon? I want you to come undone because of me. I love you," his lips returned their place at their neck, his crooked teeth nibbling onto their soft skin, further forcing out a reaction from them. Just from their responses and noises alone, Viktor felt as if he was going to come any second now instead, and he hadn't even touched himself. All he could feel was his dick beginning to strain against his dress pants.

It was getting so hot and stuffy, surely he should take off his vest and dress shirt soon. The things that they did to him were things that he didn't even expect. The love he harboured, the desire he held—they were his weak spot. This precious creature. Viktor felt his breathing pick up as he pulled his teeth away from their neck, their delicate skin caught between his incisors.

Once more, slowly, his fingers gently danced around their sex, forcing himself to concentrate and try to block out the absolutely lovely noises that they were emitting. The noises, be as they may, were provided to him involuntarily, he attempting to reject the wail of pleasure that came from them. The squelchy sound of their fluid pooling around his fingers met his ears, giving a sick taste of satisfaction. His left hand clenched their skin a little too tightly for even his standards, the wiry fingers of his right hand working against him, deliberately circulating apart and snapping concurrently, a shudder running down his spine at the howl they made along with the response their body offered. Devoiding much of a thought, Viktor pulled his left hand away from their hipbone, dragging the appendage straight to the front of his dress pants, fumbling with both the zipper and hem in an attempt to pull it away from his groin.

"Oh," he heaved as he pulled away, ignoring the whimper that came from his lover in front of him. They wanted this. They needed this. Needed him. "Would you mind if I tried..." The words died in his mouth as soon as they came out, his left hand hovering above his concealed groin. Surely, they would say yes? They seemed a bit dazed, though perhaps it was his fault for not allowing them the relief that they were so close to acquiring. "I want to... feel you. I may not last very long," he fished his dick out of his boxers, feeling his face heat up to the point where he was sure it was red. "Do you want to?"

They made eye contact with him this time. The humanity, the want, the greed and the fear shone in their eyes brightly, but nothing could cover the telltale signs of love and lust. Viktor already knew the answer, they didn't even have to answer him, he already knew what it was going to be by their reaction alone. This was the key to their heart.

Now, at first, Viktor would not lie when he said that it made him feel a bit shy, or nervous—the thought of them seeing such an intimate part of his body, one of which he knows can be heavily judged based on size, was nervewracking to him. But the lack of disgust in their eyes—or maybe it was hidden between a thick cloud of lust—made him believe otherwise. They liked what they saw, and hopefully, nothing would change the way that they saw him. Their approval is what he strives for. However, that does not exactly matter with how far things have gotten. How many times has he repeated that phrase in his head?

The silence was deafening, but it was enough for Viktor to shuffle forward and shift his weight onto his somewhat good leg, swallowing the rising lump in his throat as he used his free hand to pull down their trousers. After this, he would be sure to give things a thorough wash. "Can you come closer?" He asked as he pulled his hand away. Please come closer.

He hadn't expected them to listen to him, nor to actually push themselves off the wall just to get closer to him, but, at the same time, he was not complaining. "Good job," he praised, his hands returning to place on their hips. Their skin felt so warm, but Viktor could still feel the reluctance radiating off of their perfect form. Now, this was just a question of whether or not he should go through with It. If he should finish claiming them.

The rattling chains served as a constant reminder for them to not fall out of line, and Viktor was sure that they did not want to do such a thing, especially not so close to salvation at this point. Steadily, Viktor felt their thighs wrap around his hips, and though the pressure and their weight being shifted onto him were agonising, he tried to force his way through it. The way that he could feel the tip of his dick press against them—that was like pure ecstasy. He never thought the day would come when they would grind into his lap so sensually, and act as if they had never tormented him for years to come.

"God," there was a slight plea laced within his velvet tone, "I need to be inside of you. Please," as much as Viktor loved them, he could never trust them to be the one providing. Not with how their behaviour had exhibited... less than desirable traits. "Will you allow me? We could finally become one in a sense. I just want to feel your insides around me, I want to feel your body heat against me." Whether or not they found pleasure in Viktor's begging, they offered him a response anyway:

"Shut up," was what they said. "Go ahead."

And with that, Viktor found himself slowly pushing their body down into the mattress, further ruining the bedspread and sheets that weren't even properly fixed in the first place. They still seemed reluctant, as their tone even harboured a certain edge to it, but hell, Viktor could not fault them. He feels nervous, too, of course, he does. Pulling down their trousers fully to their calves, he felt a knot grow within his throat. The thought of someone else doing this to them caused bile and jealousy to rise within his empty stomach, curling and screaming in the back of his mind, yet he pushed it aside in favour of much kinder thoughts.

A part of him wished to be able to twist and manipulate this circumstance, but he knew he didn't want to do such a thing - Viktor wanted nothing more than for them to just become wholly his and only his until death would take hold of them both. And even then, that would not split them apart nor dwindle his love for them. "I'm going to..." There was a brief pause, embarrassment etched across his face, "Er, make love to you," he spoke aloud, though it was more as if he was convincing himself that he was going to, rather than informing them.

There was little to no resistance when Viktor pressed himself inside, but it was such a foreign feeling that he could not help but whimper at the sensation. They were warm on the inside, and not the mention that their body would occasionally clench around his dick. His golden eyes gaped at their face, eyeing the expressions that they would make, all the way until the hilt of his dick finally pressed against their pelvic area. This was embarrassing.

Shamelessly, Viktor pulled back his hips, only to snap them forward with a moan. He tried his best to keep quiet, however, with the way that they started breathing heavily with their knees pressed up against the sides of his thighs, he couldn't help but feel overwhelmed. They were perfect, they felt perfect - on the inside, the outside, no matter. He hunched his body over their own, using the strength in his arms—what was left of it, anyway—to keep himself up. Viktor had no clue how long he would last, nor how his body would allow him to continue. But with how it felt, he hoped it would be long enough.

"You—you're... You're big," they suddenly confessed, a slight whimper escaping with the moan that left them. Fuck, they sounded so adorable like that. "Don't... Stop, please—"

A shiver ran down Viktor's spine at the blatant praise that fell from their lips shamelessly, it seemed so heinous, almost as if they were trying to get him going. "Ah..." Keep talking. "You, ah—you think so?" He panted as his hips snapped forward once, then twice. Was he drooling? Shit, he was drooling. "You feel so good on the in—the inside. So warm, so inviting. I would never... want to stop," a particularly loud moan escaped him, which seemed to be a hybrid of both a moan and wheeze. His lover didn't seem to notice nor care, however.

Why would they ever want to leave when they have such luxury in their life? Here they were, underneath Viktor with their eyes clenched tightly, hands balled up in fists as strings of moans escaped their bitten lips. They looked gorgeous like that. It even made Viktor feel powerful to know that he was able to make them feel such a way. Nearly impossible, he thought, if they weren't tied up and reluctant to accept him, they might have tried something devious and that would have ruined every single thing that Viktor had planned. Still, they're accepting his love.

His rhythm wasn't exactly straight nor following any set beat. Viktor felt as if his movements were sloppy and skewed, choppy thrusts and shuddering muscles that he was surprised had lasted this long. He could feel himself growing close, but he couldn't allow himself to unless they had, first. They mattered more than anything else.

"D... Darling," he nearly cried out, "I love you so much—" One of their hands threw itself behind Viktor's head, tangling their fingers within his messy locks of dark hair, gently tugging him forward. A shock ran down his spine at the gesture.

"I know," they breathed, "I know you do." Were they feeding into his delusion and leaving him to feel as if they felt the same, or did they genuinely love him at this moment? The way their eyes slowly peeked open was complete bliss for him, the irises that stared directly into his own with blown-out pupils—love.

He felt his sloppy movements speeding up, all while his body became sore from the extended movements, and all while this happened he felt the drool collect on the edge of his lips, dripping down his chin to their shirt, wetting the wrinkled fabrics. It didn't matter how ruined it would get, Viktor made a mental note to give them an even better shirt. Nevertheless, a knot coiled itself within his gut, curling around his navel and shooting a cramp up his spine in an almost pleasurable manner.

His bottom lip caught itself in between his incisors, muffling a forthcoming moan. "Are you—" a choked moan. "Are you clos—close? Please—" There was borderline whimpering in tone and he could not help but feel embarrassed for it, but the trembling person below made him feel a little better about his childish worries. They nodded without speaking, staring at him through thick eyelashes. They were gorgeous.

Viktor smiled, and it met his eyes. "So am I."

It was blissful, for him, at least—everything seemed perfect and in order as Viktor's right hand clasped around the side of their waist, squeezing the soft, malleable flesh: pliant. His breathing picked up, as did theirs, but he was determined to stretch this out for as long as he allowed himself to. As he closed his eyes tightly, Viktor felt his thumb dig into the dip between their stomach and hip bone, causing a red indentation on the soft skin. Through his pleasure, he could hear the loud sound of their moans below, as well as the sound of skin slapping against the skin; the squelch of genetic fluids mixed. Viktor's eyebrows furrowed together at the sound, his head falling against their chest, forehead pressed directly above their heart. Their clavicle, he presumed. They felt so good, he didn't want to stop, but he was so close.

"Viktor—" they cried out, suddenly, "I'm g—going—" there was a loud, rueful cry, followed by a high-pitched whimper. He could feel them clench around his dick, and then they had come. This sent him over the edge. Viktor lifted his head weakly and pressed his lips against their own, his saliva smearing all over their mouth and cheeks. He moaned into their mouth, pressing his hips forward one more time as his hand clenched their skin, surely hard enough to leave a bruise. He emptied inside of them, the muscles in his thighs twitching and convulsing, his dick soon going limp thereafter.

For a moment, Viktor caught his breath, chest heaving with laboured breaths. Tears pricked his vision when he opened his eyes, and the slobber dripped from his lips. His legs felt as if they were stuck in mud, but how did they feel? As he lifted himself, Viktor stared down at the person below him, completely covered in the afterglow. I came inside, that was an accident, he thought, but they looked so cute like that.

Much like before, Viktor felt a knot form in the middle of his throat, Adam's apple bobbing with each calculated swallow and breath.

Viktor felt breathless, but he felt as if that was to be expected. He stared down below at the barely visible person he had claimed just a few moments prior; his vision betraying him. He rests his forehead against theirs, a promise of devotion. "What can I do to make you love me?"

"Let me go," they whispered in a soft croon.

"You know I cannot afford to do that. You're mine."

[skull-fvcker]

Hi I was wondering if you could do yandere William birkin from resident evil

I'll do some for him, sure. Just may not talk much about mutations as his are more... uncontrolled.

Yandere! William Birkin Concept

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Yandere behavior, Infidelity, Darling does not wish to ruin a family, Manipulation, Obsession.

- William Birkin would be a family man kind of Yandere

- Canonically in game he has a wife and child, said wife working at Umbrella with him.

- By this I'd probably say Birkin is Affectionate, Obsessive, Protective, and Loving towards the one he adores.

- From what I've seen he doesn't really express sadistic behavior despite working alongside Wesker.

- It's just he's so focused on work all the time.

- If Birkin was obsessed with you he'd probably ask you to be near him all the time even if he works.

- His thoughts never seem to wander too far from you, either.

- As much as I hate to say it, one way we could take this is you're an attempted affair he wants to keep secret.

- For the reason of him wanting to keep his family together he probably hides his obsession over you.

- Although in his lab he writes down things he wishes to say/do to you in journals.

- Which he then locks away separate from his research.

- He also obsessively tries to greet you when not busy.

- A quick 'Hello' or small chat is fine for him, for now.

- Birkin is also quick to defend you or his obsession if word gets out.

- You probably want nothing to do with a married man who has a child.

- You don't want a relationship with him no matter how great of a guy he is.

- That doesn't seem to stop him from obsessing over you.

- Birkin is also very loving and affectionate.

- Even when he's trying to keep his feelings secret he still likes to imagine little scenarios with the two of you.

- You find him strange.

- He's married, has a kid, but still insists on pursuing you.

- You do your best to avoid him and his advances in respect for his wife/child.

- However it's difficult when he corners you in his lab to tell you about it.

- "I can't get you out of my head. You have no idea what you do to me. I love you, okay? My head only has thoughts of you. I can't hide these feelings any longer...."

- Him confessing only makes you avoid him more, maybe even tell his wife about it.

- Leaving him yearning for you all the while.

- Then that's where the concept would end but I feel I need to at least mention mutation.

- When Birkin mutates after nearly being killed and using his virus to revive himself, he barely keeps a sentient mind.

- Most of what he feels is pure rage/a feeling of being lost.

- He becomes animalistic.

- Birkin most likely would not recognize you or anybody in any of his mutation stages, especially the later ones.

- However, what if he did?

- It would quickly become a horrorshow for you.

- Not only is there the outbreak to worry about...

- There's Birkin who remembers you just enough to chase you down.

- You aren't sure what he'll do when he catches up to you...

- But you hope to get out of the city before then.

[skull-fvcker]

don't fucking interrupt me when i'm reading my x reader fics it's rude

[skull-fvcker]

feed on me, you know im never far

❥ Leon Kennedy x Gender Neutral! Reader

A/N: I try really hard to nail his character (: cross-posted on ao3

Summary: Leon never asked for these things. He never asked for anything. Your friendship, your kindness, your time. Nothing. He always seemed to be stuck in a perpetual loop of self-pity and responsibility, as if he was in charge of not only himself but you as well.

Warnings: 7383 words, MDNI, smut, unprotected sex, gentle sex, hand jobs, finger fucking, reaall slow burn, mentions of mental health issues(both the reader's and Leon's), awkward moments on purpose, no use of y/n

PT 1

"Maybe, in another life, you could've been given the life you desired and deserved."

The words you spoke to yourself echoed repeatedly in your mind. They seemed to play on a loop, like a record that refused to stop, even when it had been damaged beyond repair. It was like hearing a broken CD play, despite its rough surface. Leon didn't hear you, and for that you were grateful, but at the time, you wanted nothing more than to huddle next to him and run your fingers through his heavy hair. You knew not of how he felt about you, even after his promise—could it even be called that?—that you two were friends.

Maybe, despite it all, some things were just simply not meant to be. 

That, you knew all too well. There would be things that, no matter how hard you tried, would simply be out of your control. Like Leon's borderline alcoholism, or his constantly changing phone numbers. The man was an enigma to you and always would be. He kept you within arms reach, never taking you in yet never pushing you away. You knew what he wanted you to know, and things were always left at that. You had your life, and he had his. No matter how curious you were about his vigour. You let not it dwell, lest you want to be dragged into a world of your own without any means to drag yourself back out.

Friends come and go. Nobody who promises forever thinks that they will leave the other eventually, but it comes, even if you don't like to think about it. And here you were, overthinking again, just as you told yourself that you wouldn't. Fate truly is an unkind mistress.

Which was exactly why you were left staring at your phone in complete confusion. You barely saw Leon after the incident at the pub—but then, you never saw him much in general. He was probably embarrassed. What a thought—and here he was, leaving a very straightforward, yet cryptic message on its own. "Are you free tonight?" That was what it said. The words, on their own, left nothing to be desired. But Leon never asked for these things. He never asked for anything. Your friendship, your kindness, your time. Nothing. He always seemed to be stuck in a perpetual loop of self-pity and responsibility, as if he was in charge of not only himself but you as well.

Despite yourself, you typed in a solemn, "Yeah. You want to make plans, or?" which ached you to your very core to even ask. Your message was immediately read. You felt nervous and intimidated, similar to a high school student asking out their popular crush when they were considered nerdy and unpopular. At a moment's notice, the triple dot began to read at the bottom of the screen, signifying that Leon was not only right there, but that he had an answer at the ready.

"Yes." Was his answer. The triple dot appeared once more, and he sent another message within just a couple of seconds. "Please, I mean. I'd like to hang out. A thank you for taking care of me." Before you were able to reply, he sent yet another message. "If that's okay with you." It was almost as if Leon was fiending for your attention and approval, but you knew that the Leon you knew—or lack thereof—would never desire to do such a thing.

Would it be worth it, could you face him? The answer was, of course: Yes. Of course, you could face Leon. You were an adult with responsibilities and a part of you saw Leon as one of those responsibilities, as childish as it may seem to someone who knew nothing about you or him. "Sure." Your message was short and straight to the point, but Leon liked things that way. In fact, he sent you a thumbs-up emoji and that's where things were left. He wasn't much for talking when it came to texting—one of the little things you knew was that he preferred to speak over the phone or in person.

When the sun made way for the moon to rise in its place, your heart was racing like a gazelle escaping a cheetah. Your body is wracked by a wave of despair and overwhelming despondency and dread. The feeling of anxiety may grip your heart at times but it is a familiar companion that you've learned to manage. It's like a child that never leaves your side, always there to remind you of the love and care you have within. And that's fine—you've found a way to make peace with it.

Sometimes, though, you felt like even just a single hug would be enough to make you feel better, like if someone simply acknowledged your misery it'd make it easier to bear. You could feel your entire body aching for just the single touch of someone, anything to know that you're not alone in the world and that someone loves you. You weren't even alone and these thoughts plagued the fragile mentality of your brain. But, you know, it does get better. Takes some time, but it can't rain forever. The sun always shines again, even if only for a second.

The knock at your door shook any thoughts from your brain, and so you stood up from your sofa with a grunt and sauntered over to the door. You made no effort to check who it was as you knew it was Leon, so you answered the door with a smile on your face, the corners of your eyes wrinkling in delight. And Leon met with the same smile, though far more awkward; the corners of his lips barely tugging upwards to create a tight-lipped smile. A rare occurrence, but a welcomed one nonetheless.

There stands Leon, tall and impressive, leaving a lasting impression with his physique. The way his shirt completely clings to his well-built body, the way his trousers leave nothing to the imagination. It was as if you were staring at a Greek statue of a bygone God that nobody thought to admire and worship—no one but you. He was gorgeous, he was your God, he was your everything. You wished he wasn't.

"Glad you could make it," you suddenly said to Leon as you stepped aside for him to walk into your home. "Take your shoes off, preferably..."

Leon made a grunt in response to your wishes, crouching to take off rather plain-looking sneakers. "You answered the door quickly," he said in a gruff tone, "try not to do that. It's not—" Leon paused as he took off his shoes, standing up to his full height and rolling his broad shoulders. He had a kind look in those eyes of his. "It's not safe to not check. I knew you were expecting me, but..." His voice trailed off, letting his words truly soak in through your skin. You knew what he was getting at, and you were thankful, you really were, despite the dry laugh that came from your throat, your nose twitching as you rubbed your index finger and thumb at your philtrum.

There was a small "Thank you", but other than that things were rather silent and awkward. Truth be told, Leon had never actually been in your apartment before, it was a foreign concept to him and you could tell by the way he stood there with his hands at his sides, eyes scanning every nook and cranny with a twitch of his furrowed brows and clenched jaw. He wasn't angry, you knew that, but he was on edge. You wished there was a way you could make him completely calm and without a care in the world. What plagued Leon's thoughts, you wonder.

"Would you like a glass of water?" "Sure, if it's not too much trouble."

Leon sounds almost teasing and amused now, his voice still filled with that awkward, yet sardonic passion. He was trying to make things less embarrassing and you couldn't help but thank him beneath your breath and he didn't even notice that. Your entire kitchen was cleaned from top to bottom before Leon came over. Maybe you were the embarrassed one. You didn't want Leon to judge your decorum or to think you're a slob or anything. The glass of water you grabbed for Leon was tall and filled nearly to the brim with water, ice cubes floating inside and slightly crackling at the temperature difference.

When you handed it to Leon, he inspected it before taking an experimental sip. "Thanks," his lips meet the glass and you feel the hairs at the nape of your neck begin to stand on end at the sight. It was a mundane sight but it reminded you of those pesky romantic feelings that you had for him. Leon could never tell, even if you'd make it obvious he would never seem to notice. Besides, you knew he was hung up on Ada Wong, and taking him away from what he wanted was not something that you wanted to attempt to try. Leon deserved to be happy.

Maybe you didn't deserve him, but he deserved to be happy.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Leon asks with a slight nod of his head, leaning back with the glass held in his hand tightly. His grip was firm but you knew for a fact that it was gentle in its own regard. You wouldn't call Leon a 'gentle giant', rather, you'd just call him gentle. He was kind if not awkward, in which he cared more for others than he cared for himself, his selfless nature and prioritization of others' needs were unmistakable. You knew not of his line of work besides working for the government and he kept it that way—but you weren't stupid. It was dangerous, you knew that.

With an experimental chew on your bottom lip, you shrug your shoulders and shift your weight onto the balls of your feet. "Just thinking about things. Not really important, you know? Say, how about I pop a pizza into the oven and we watch shitty TV shows?" You were trying to get Leon's mind off of the thought of your worries and it seemed to work, his knit eyebrows upturned in genuine glee. He sure was a sucker for pizza. Though, he probably would've been even happier if you said steak.

He sets down his now-empty glass of water. "Pizza? Count me in. I needed a cheat day anyway." A dry chuckle escapes his mouth, and Leon even darts his tongue between his lips to wet them. Although it was an adorable sight, it amplified your desire to kiss him even more than you had originally intended. Oh, Leon...

With the pizza in the oven and Leon planting himself right on the sofa—you had to reassure him that, yes, Leon, you can sit on the sofa, it's okay—you felt okay enough to sit down beside him just as friends would. His legs were spread, but when he caught you sitting down next to him, he closed them to give you more room. Leon's actions said so much even if he did not. With those handsome features of his, the cleft in the middle of his chin, the slight roundness to his face despite the chiselled features—who wouldn't fall for him? You felt stupid, kind of, for thinking this way about Leon when he was right there next to you.

But, oh... You couldn't help but notice how his shirt hugged his chest and how his sleeves fit snugly around his strong upper arms; thick waist and well-built thighs. What did they look like without those layers, you wondered. How could you not ogle and stare? Maybe it was a bad idea, considering how he was paying attention to the television with paying little to no regard to you, the occasional clench of his fist and his blue eyes fixated on the screen. You did not deserve Leon, while Leon deserved nice things and you could only dream of giving him those things. 

The silence in the room was sinking deep into your flesh like fangs and whispering into your ear in the form of gentle whisps in the air. It reminded you of the car ride when you asked Leon if you two were friends. He was so tired, he probably didn't even remember it. You knew that he had a killer headache in the morning, however, and he did formally thank you, though, at the time, you didn't know that he wanted to spend time with you.

"Thank you," Leon suddenly spoke, turning his focus from the television to you. His lashes fluttered as he blinked, and you subtly noticed the flare of his pupils. "For... Caring about me. It— Well, it means a lot to me." He clears his throat, obviously trying his best to properly articulate the way he feels. "You pulled me out of that stupor and I just, I don't know. I hadn't realised how reliant I was. Having you by my side, it meant the world to me." He suddenly lurches forward and sets his hand on your thigh, his grip gentle yet firm, his calloused fingers dragging against the fabric of your jeans. If only he knew how those words set your heart afire.

A sigh escapes you with another dry chuckle, and you set your hand atop Leon's. His hands were so big. "It's okay," your voice is soothing, at least you hope it is, "I'm just doing what anyone would do, I-" The words are caught in your throat because Leon interrupts you.

"No," he breathes, "not just anyone would do that. Everyone has the capacity to be a good person but you... You are always a good person to me," Your name falls from his lips like a forbidden prayer, his pink, cracked lips curling up into a rare—but cute—smile. "You are a good person." His hand confidently turns and gently grips your own, his thumb smoothly rubbing over the strong bone of your knuckles.

You're conflicted.

"Because I care about you, Leon," You say with a hushed tone, eyebrows knitting together and your fingers clenching around the palm of his hand as he did to yours. "You're my friend," it hurt so much to say those words, "and I will always care about you. It's okay, It's okay to not be okay. It's okay to want an outlet, but it was unhealthy and I needed to help you." It was my duty to help you, Leon, you wanted to say. But that would merely worry him even more than he seemed to be. You've never seen Leon with such admiration in his eyes, at least when he stared at you.

You two stared at each other for what seemed like hours. You found yourself getting lost in those beautiful eyes of his, the way the light reflected off of his blue eyes; flecks of grey and black spreading throughout the ring around his dilated pupils. He was gorgeous—Leon was breathtaking. And you were... You.

One of Leon's hands moved to your upper arm, his gentle thumb rubbing over your tense bicep, pressing against the muscle that quickly decompressed from his touch. A friend, you were a genuine friend and he was to you. You never asked each other for anything; you two gave and gave until nothing was left of your bodies but skin and bones. However, Leon was more than you were ever going to be and he would give more than you could ever even attempt to give. His existence was a gift from the Gods, though he did not see it that way.

As you both get closer, you notice that Leon seems to be keeping some distance. It's as if he thinks that something is not right and that this closeness was not supposed to happen. His hand moves to your face, gently cupping your cheek. His rough thumb rubs the soft flesh of your face, taking in every line, every wrinkle, every blemish and every scar. It left you breathless and you knew exactly why. The spark never leaves after all, but it does get covered like a flame from a fire that doesn't cease.

"Tell me to stop," he says while he draws closer, staring down at your face, into your eyes. "Tell me to leave. Tell me I'm delusional for wanting to kiss you—"

"Please don't stop," Was your response. "Kiss me, Leon."

Leon's lips meet yours in a gentle, feverish display. It's almost as if he's scared of you, scared of hurting you—but it feels so good. The rough tips of his fingers move to grasp your face and hold you close to him like you're the last human being on earth and that he needs you to survive. His lips are dry and almost cracked but there's a hint of mint on his breath. His eyes, awkward and staring directly into your own, begin to close as he inches closer to you. Leon is pulling you into his lap, he's holding you, he's cradling you.

He becomes more passionate with his kisses and more needy, but he never pressures you to do anything against your will. "I love you," Leon mumbles against your lips, "I always have. I always will. Please, I don't— I'm sorry," Though his words are soft unlike his lips, you know that he means everything he says. He means it. Leon loved you.

"But, Ada Wong—" Your words cause him to pull away from the kiss, his hands cradling your head like you were the one keeping him safe from the world. Like you were an angel that fell onto his lap; something that he needed to protect.

"Don't talk about her," He says softly, his eyelashes fluttering against his cheekbones as he opens his piercing blue eyes. "This is about us. Us. Not her." Leon is so gentle in his actions, you almost forget about all of your ailments and your sorrows. The fact that you had been pinning for him for so long, the nights you fell asleep wishing he held you—it was now all real. It was real and you almost couldn't believe it.

You eagerly seek Leon's approval, and his words have a substantial impact on you—you believe him. With little to no resistance, no arguing, or any objections. You smile at him, and he responds with an awkward, barely visible grin. He wants to belong to you. Like he belongs to the government. Like he belongs to his past.

You're pulled onto Leon's lap, each of your thighs pressing against either side of his. Your heart is pounding against your chest and when your fingertips gently rest on Leon's warm, broad chest, you feel his hammering heart. It matches the rhythm of your own, a gentle song that you hoped would soon lull you to sleep—a lullaby. Leon was consumed by a burning desire for you to take control of him like never before. His eyes gleamed brightly, resembling those of a new police officer on their first day of duty. Leon loved you.

Leon's fingers find the back of your head, running along the nape of your neck in a gentle fashion. "Let me kiss you," he begs, "please, I want to kiss you again." His words are pleading and small, your name falling from his lips again like another forbidden prayer. Although the affection remains evident in his words, it's not currently his primary motivation. Nonetheless, the love is always present and not distant. You were his home away from home though you knew it not. You may not have been aware of the depth of his feelings for you, but this was only the beginning.

You respond without speaking, allowing your body to act on its own as you kiss him once more. The tender and romantic moment sends shivers down your spine, and you can't get enough of Leon's minty breath. It's everything you could ever desire and more, and you adore it. It was the perfect moment, a perfect heated display of love and deprivation between the two of you.

Through Leon's kisses, his depravity and passion shone through the cracks of the facade you stared down each time you saw him. He craves you in every way possible, and his thoughts run wild. He can't let himself give in, but he wants to. He craves this. He's always been the quiet, stoic type—his life is a series of secrets. He was trained that way. And he's never had anything to call his own. But you are everything he's ever wanted. And you've become his; you're going to become his.

A spark, maybe even a little flame of lust inside of you blossoms, overriding your emotions and your coherent thought process. It's a flame that you would love to stomp out; but one that you keep breathing oxygen into. Fuel to the fire, value to the pain. Whatever poetic thoughts cross through your mind, they're immediately pushed away by pure horniness and greed for Leon. And you hate it.

"I want you, Leon," you breathe out against his hot, wet lips. He groans in response to your words, almost immediately catching onto the sultry tone that sends shivers down his spine.

"You have me," He whispers, "I'm yours." And that was how it began.

Your hands travelled further than your brain wanted you to go, but your heart and groin controlled your movements at this time. Leon did little to resist you and aided in taking off his shirt that hugged his body. The pads of your fingertips gently weaved against the curvature of Leon's abdomen—his abs soft and without the urge to flex. There were scars that littered his body but you did not care. He was gorgeous. Leon was the most attractive man you had ever laid eyes upon. Your fingers moved up to his chest though your eyes were glued to his happy trail, a trail of light brown hair curling from his belly button and disappearing into his trousers. It made you groan at the sight.

"You," Your lips are dry, suddenly, "You're so hot, Leon. You're so attractive. You look so good," Your breath is heavy against his lips and you catch your incisors between his plump bottom lip, a rueful moan escaping his throat at the feeling. Leon feels the same, you know this now. Despite all the time you spent pinning over him, all the days and weeks you spent convincing yourself that nothing would happen. Here you are, touching him just like your dreams urged you to.

Leon responds to your words with a dry chuckle, nervously swallowing which makes his Adam's apple move. "Takes one to know one, doesn't it?" He throws a random quip into the field in an attempt to lessen the mood, but the lust that surrounds the air is slowly overtaking him as well, clouding his judgement and making him wish he could see you beneath your clothes. He can, you can tell by how his fingers clench the dip in your waist, the rough palms of his hands pressing right up against your hip bones.

In response to him, you groan with an eye roll, never forgetting just how painfully awkward Leon was in these types of situations. Your fingers drift down to where your eyes sit. The tips of your fingers tease at the buckle to his belt, to the zipper to his trousers. There's a noticeable bump that presses against the harsh fabric, desperate to be freed and aching for your touch. Your touch. No one else's.

"It's yours," Leon says. "Go ahead. It's okay."

Despite your body moving on its own, you're still shaking with slight tremors of your hands as you work at unbuckling his belt and undoing his trousers. Once you have his cock in your hands, you notice how it's half hard with precum leaking from the tip. There's a predominant vein that ran along the side of the shaft and when you ran your finger alongside it, Leon groaned with hitched breath. You're teasing him. And, oh, he's all here for it.

You're not entirely sure of what you're doing, but you do it anyway and begin to rub along the shaft, down to the hilt with his curly pubes, and up to the leaking tip. Leon's cock was just as pretty as he was but you bit back that thought and instead focused on trying to make him feel good. One look at his face and you can see that he's staring directly at you with half-lidded eyes and parted, wet lips. His cheeks are flushed a pale pink, extending down to the sides of his neck and casting an angelic glow that makes you want to kiss him again.

"You're such a tease, you know that, right?" Leon suddenly breathes out through clenched teeth, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. "You're so gentle." He doesn't say it like a bad thing, in fact, Leon welcomes it with open arms, loving the sensations of your gentle touch and the love that flows through you and seeps into his skin.

The groans and moans that escape him make your hair stand on end, arousal pooling down in your gut while your thumb rubs over the slit of his tip. "Anything for you," you say breathlessly, working your best to satisfy him, to make Leon proud of you and happy. Your hand begins to pump up and down with the pre that leaked from Leon's tip. It wasn't much but it was what you had for now.

His breathy moans and soft gasps were all you needed to push this forward. Leon was trying so hard to keep still, he even moved one of his hands to his thighs and clenched his veiny fist. His hands were so large, you think, he's so perfect, the thought finishes. How could such a perfect man exist at the same time as you? A sigh escapes both of you at the same time, though Leon's was more pleasurable rather than a gasp for air. His hips are subtly bucking up against you, his thighs tensing up, the stiff muscles pressing against your inner thighs delightfully.

One of Leon's calloused hands moved up to his face, slithering over his mouth with his thumb settling on the bridge of his nose. You can hear soft grunts muffled against his palm, sharp exhales and inhales from his nose as his nostrils flare—Leon was enjoying this, enjoying you. He was enjoying what you were doing to him.

"Oh, fuck—" The sudden groan catches you off guard; it was accompanied by Leon idling his head to the side with his fingers gripping your hip almost painfully. The noises are growing more audible but it's still muffled by his palm. "Yeah, just like that, shit," a remarkably loud, gasping moan slips past the cracks of his facade, his eyelashes fluttering beautifully. You'd never seen Leon experiencing such pleasure before, and you could see the tips of his ears turning bright pink. 

Your hand twisted slightly, thumb running alongside the sensitive vein of his shaft before extending up to rub along his slit. "Are you close, Leon?" You say breathlessly, a soft chuckle laced within your words. Leon merely groans in response and squeezes his eyes shut, his thighs shaking below you. Despite yourself, your pace begins to pick up, face leaning closer to Leon's. 

"Yeah, yeah," his response came quicker than expected, a groan silenced in his voice. "So close. Fuck. Don't stop." Those noises were music to your ears. You can feel his cock pulse and twitch in your gentle, yet firm grip.

It didn't last long, though, to your surprise, as Leon let out a high-pitched whine before he came all over your hand, ribbons of cum seeping in between your fingers and dripping down onto the rough fabric of his jeans. Though this was welcomed, you couldn't help but giggle at his dazed expression. When you pulled away, you noticed how his cock visibly deflated, twitching against your escaping fingers.

Leon hums, pulling his hand away from his mouth, lips dry and eyes glazed over. He rolls his head before shaking it like a dog, his fringe falling over his eyes. "Oh," he breathes, "That was—" It doesn't take him long to catch his breath before he's moving his palms against your hip bones, that glazed-over look still present in his eyes. His pupils completely overtake the blue of his iris, the sweet blues and greys succumbing to the black. "I'm proud of you," Leon whispered, his words sort of slurring together as he leaned in for a kiss. Without a second thought, you kiss him back.

"You're the best-damned thing that ever happened to me, and I'm never gonna let you go," Leon confessed. He was intoxicated by the lust of everything, but you could hear the genuine care and affection in his intemperate voice. Leon loved you.

"Can we," Leon's voice drops barely below a whisper when he draws away from your welcoming lips. It was like a layer of sin was washed away by the rushing warm tides of tomorrow.

"Yes," Was your immediate response. "I—I mean, If you want to. I'd love to. I think it would be— Yeah." Your lips pressed concurrently to form a thin line, and Leon's face had nothing but unadulterated adoration for you. Both of you were apprehensive. The blame fell on neither but both.

Without much thought, Leon was the one who made the first move, pressing you down to the sofa and gently laying your head on a nearby pillow. The palm of his hand held the back of your head before riding his fingertips along your neck to your clavicle. Much like he always was, Leon was gentle. Not one touch was out of reach or aggressive in nature, only harbouring pure love and tenderness. Though his fingers were rough, his touches were not. It was like an angel's kiss, you thought, he's amazing.

He hovered above you exactly like an angel would, the artificial lighting of your room casting soft shadows across his features, emphasising his cupid's bow and the slight bump on the bridge of his nose. How could such a man exist, you wonder.

Leon suddenly halted before a breathy chuckle slipped past his parched lips, despite that tall glass of water you offered him earlier. "Oh," he breathes, "You have any...?" 

"Lube? Ah, erm... Haha, in the drawer right here," You nervously indicate to the drawer at the side of the sofa. You can feel your cheeks swell with warmth at the notion, and that was further amplified by Leon's hazy stare as he reached over you with a grateful sigh. The delicate, loving stare that never left his face made you feel comforted, even if it was a little bit.

"Haha," He starts, working his way to remove his trousers. "Were you expecting this? Or do you... get around a lot, huh?" He's obviously trying to make this position less gauche than it already was whereas all it was doing was making you even more ashamed. A part of you knew that he was simply joking around, though, the irrational part of you believed otherwise. "I'm kidding." He says gently.

The subsequent few instants are a blur, leaving nothing to be desired but the thought that this is going to happen. Leon is going to claim you just as you are going to claim him. You were apprehensive, but so was Leon, you could tell. He was just trying to mask it beneath a sarcastic and sardonic veneer. The truth is not hard to see when you know the man that Leon is. Nevertheless, you don't let your own ludicrous ideas prevent you from having fun.

The squelching noise of lube pressing out of the bottle and against Leon's fingertips shakes you from your thoughts. You watch as the fluid covers his thick digits, leaking down to his wrist and suddenly you're at a loss for air. Arousal is spiking through your body and Christ this was going to be a long night. His unsoiled hand rubs at your inner thigh, his thumb creating slight divots when they press into your flesh. Leon could tear you apart, and at this point, you'd thank him.

"Don't worry," he whispers, his index finger pressing up against you in a thrilling display of lust before pressing inside of you gently. The extra lubrication eased his thick finger inside of you, and you felt yourself involuntarily clenching around him. "You feel so warm on the inside," he hums, "I can't wait you stretch you apart." Leon's voice drops an octave, a passionate growl lacing within that sultry voice of his. It makes you mewl.

One finger soon became two, and you felt his lubricated middle finger slip in with little to no resistance. "Leon," you moan out, arching your back with your incisors digging into your bottom lip almost painfully. "Shit, you're so— so good at this, oh, fuck—" Your head unexpectedly feels heavy and you feel light-headed, so you lay it back onto your delicate, silk pillow. Whimpers and mewls escape you as his fingers gently fuck you; soft thrusts and devoted touches, curling up into that one spot that makes you see stars. 

The sardonic wit returns with a smile cast upon his face, his eyebrows scrunching together in concentration. "Good," the hum that came from his throat was mingled with lust that he was barely controlling below the surface. The muscles in his arms tense, his bicep flexing with each gentle thrust into you. "Feels good, yeah?" His breathy voice sends shivers down your spine. You can see the veins on his bicep pulse as he hovers over you. 

Leon's middle and forefinger stretched you open to the point that you were seeing stars dancing around in your vision, like the blinding light of the sun. Amidst your pleasure, you didn't even notice Leon subtly squirting more lube around his fingers, trying to ease you into everything just for your enjoyment.

And then, as quickly as it came, his fingers left you, leaving you at a loss and whining softly.

"It's okay," he whispers, grabbing the base of his cock with his lubed fist, giving it a few experimental pumps, causing it to twitch lightly. Leon hovers above you gently, with the light casting deep shadows on his face. His nostrils flare a bit as he breathes, the tip of his cock pressing against your entrance. "Are you ready for me?"

Without a thought, you answer: "Yes."

Despite your eager answer, Leon seems to halt for just a moment out of pure worry for you. His head bows and he presses his nose directly against your breast bone, deeply inhaling your scent as he peppers kisses along your smooth chest, winding up to the side of your jawline. He does not bite nor nibble, but he kisses so gently as if you were something fragile, something made of pure Selenite that he was sworn to protect. One crack would cause you to shatter and never be the same again. 

Without much of a thought, one of your hands tangles into the back of his head, your fingers running against his soft hair. Leon hums in response, his tip prodding against your entrance and slipping inside with little to no resistance, an immediate grunt tumbling past his lips. The warm, wet feeling of his breath sent shivers down your spine, causing your back to arch, your sternum pressing directly against Leon's. 

"It feel good?" He asks softly and breathlessly, one hand positioning itself above your hipbone. His cock presses into you until the hilt reaches your pelvis, completely filling you to the brim with him. It was an ache that burned deep inside your guts, and yet you pushed it back for the greater good. You'd get used to it, it was nothing.

And so, you shakily nod, fingers running through Leon's hair. "Yeah," you breathe, "you feel so good, Leon." With the subtle praise that fell from your lips, you felt Leon's entire body tense up. It worried you at first, but with his cock buried deep inside you, there was no time for debates or sorrowful apologies. A part of you almost preferred it that way.

Moments pass, and with your legs wrapped around Leon's hips, you feel pure bliss and arousal coiling around your gut. A whine slips its way past your mouth, a sound that immediately causes Leon to snap his head up at you. He stares at you momentarily, before his facial features soften and he smiles gracefully, lifting his head to rest his forehead against your own. Leon's eyes flutter shut, his thick yet short eyelashes pressing against your scrunched eyebrows. 

"What have I done to deserve you," he whispers softly. You can feel Leon's hips shudder and his muscles tense up from him unmistakably controlling the impulse to thrust into you. "I love you so much." Leon's grip is gentle and romantic, his thumbs pressing against your hip bones, the pads of his fingers digging into your skin, coating you in his love and appreciation.

Leon doesn't allow you to speak your mind, instead, he presses his lips against your own tenderly, The sensation of his lips and wet tongue causes your back to arch. His teeth grind against your own in a feverish display of passion and lust, his tongue pressing flat against your own and coating your mouth with his own saliva. He tastes of mint and a hint of bourbon. A familiar, burning taste that warms you to your very core. This moment, in spite of everything, was perfect.

Before Leon pulls away from the kiss, he holds you close to him, his fingertips digging into your hips as he begins to hump against your pelvis, the squelching noise and skin-on-skin contact buzzing in your eardrums. "I'm sorry," He whispers against your mouth throughout the groans that laced his tongue. You didn't know why he was sorry, but he was. "I love you." He kept repeating.

Despite yourself, you pull away from the kiss and lean your head back, breathing heavily as he thrusts in and out of you at a gentle, yet rough pace. "Leon," you mewl out, feeling him pepper kisses along your jawline and neck, but never quite biting down on your skin with his teeth. "Leon, oh, God, I don't—" The feeling of him is enough to make everything go dizzy and for your eyes to shut tightly.

In response, Leon shushes you and breathes laboriously against your neck, his moist breath sending shivers down your spine. "Take it," he whispers, "Please. You feel so good, do you like it?" Even when chasing his own pleasure, Leon is attempting to make sure that you're most comfortable, that you're safe and not in any pain. His caring yet abrasive personality causes you to moan in response, your wet lips parting. "I'll take that as a yes."

One of Leon's hands moves from your hipbone to your thigh, his fingers digging into the plush surface of your unclenched muscles, the tips of his fingers creating small divots that would ultimately become bruises. His cock bullies itself inside of you, stretching all of your walls around him and forcing you to accommodate just for him. 

"More, please," you try to beg through moans, face contorting in pleasure, the feeling of Leon's cock and his thrusts creating a coil in your gut that threatened to release any moment now. 

You hear him chuckle in response, "Aren't you greedy," he says between gasps and grunts, a bead of sweat dripping down his brow and splashing onto your cheek. Strangely enough, you didn't mind. "Guess I have no choice..."

Leon's thrusts build up in both force and speed, his body hunched over your own as he spreads your legs for easier access. Both of your moans are in sync with the other. A frigid yet passionate display of the love you harbour towards one another, one which neither of you knew about until now. You were so lucky to have Leon.

"Fuck," you moan, pressing your hips up against Leon with a whine. One hand tangles itself in his hair while the other travels down to rest just above your navel. You bite your lip to conceal your noises, but with the moans that escape Leon, you're unable to keep yourself quiet. "You're so hot, Leon, so good, I can't—" You whine at the feeling of his thrusts increasing in speed. "Rig- right there! Shii- shit, oh fuck, Leon—!" 

Your noises are enough to spur him on, a tight growl lacing itself inside his throat. Leon positions himself so that he rocks against that spot almost continually, and he relishes in the repetition that flows from your honeyed and soft lips. The feeling of your fingers digging into the back of his scalp, tugging lightly at his messy locks. You were perfection in his eyes.

"Want me to finish inside," his voice drops an octave as he fucks you like you were the last living being on earth. "Want me to fill you up?" The hidden aggression in his tone is not left unnoticed, but luckily all it does is make you moan even louder, one of your legs wrapping against his lower waist with your heel digging into the curvature of his spine. "I'm gonna keep you nice and full, I promise." "Please," was the response that came from your needy lips, the coil in your stomach just about ready to snap and fray like a faulty spring. "Please, ple- please, please, Leon—" You mercilessly chew down on your lower lip, the sound of his thrusts meeting your ears. The squelching and wet noises were like music to your ears, an obscene performance of pure lust. Your nails dig into the back of his skull.

Leon clenches his teeth, hissing through the gap between his crooked incisors, "You're so needy," a growl rumbles in his throat, "I love it." For you, that is what pushes you over the edge, causing your toes to curl and your back to arch, legs twitching and muscles convulsing in pure ecstasy as you come far quicker than you would've liked. "Le-Leon, Leon, Leon," you repeat his name like a mantra, frail moans and shattered breaths escaping your lips. He's chasing his own high, humping against you like a mutt in heat, mumbling your name and spewing out worthless compliments and praise. "I love you." You murmur with a coo, causing him to choke up and halt against you. 

"Want you so bad," he blubbers, "always have, feel so good inside. Never wanna let you go, please." His words are needy and soft yet harbour a high pitch to them that blasts straight down to your navel. Leon's cock buries itself deep within you, shooting ribbons of cum all over your insides and filling you up to the near brim. You mewl incoherently, thighs twitching against his abdomen. He lays against you, never cocooning you in his total weight, but rather weakly looming. Leon shows his tender, peaceful side to you in this manner.  His cock twitches inside of you as he pulls out, his cum leaking from you much to your disappointment. 

You both catch your breath, coated in sweat and bodily fluids. 

Leon pats sweat from his forehead before running his fingers through your hair, caressing his calloused thumbs against your cheekbones. His face is flushed a deep pink, bringing out his warm complexion and the loving gaze inside his greying blue eyes. He nudges his wet lips against your own one last final time, kissing you eagerly and hotly which leaves little to the imagination. As he pulls away, the tip of his tongue presses against your own, and he smiles gently:

"I think you burnt the pizza."

"Ugh."

[skull-fvcker]

hyperfixation sucks I think just a little too hard about a guy who isn't even real and I could start crying any second

[skull-fvcker]

my heart, my heart wants to hold you

❥ Leon Kennedy x Gender Neutral! Reader

A/N: posted this months ago on ao3 but finally worked up the courage to post it here—this was honestly just my exploration of his character since it's the first time I've written him. Hi

Summary: In which you, a friend of Leon's, track him down and try to put an end—quite badly—to his alcohol issues

warnings: 4340 words, implied alcoholism, unrequited love, general angst and swearing, awkward as hell, written with no Leon in mind so you can imagine whichever one you want, no use of y/n

PT 2

The pub was warm, but not yet bustling. It lacked the social atmosphere in which it would once have. The only people that remained were that of single drunkards and sardonic businessmen who knew nothing more than to drown their sorrows in shitty whiskey as if that would numb the pain of their failing marriage. They knew it would not, yet the urge to drown overcame the rational thinking.

Leon thought that way, too. You knew he did. With every paid vacation that he had, he would escape to some undisclosed location and drown away his sorrows in expensive alcohol—his alcohol of choice is Jack Daniel's. God, it hurts that you know that—until he would lose all sense of clarity and become a babbling mess of a man. Lord knows he becomes even more of a sarcastic prick, those clever quips of his leaving no weight to them and making even less sense than they usually do. He doesn't necessarily become a separate person, but, an exaggerated version of himself. Truth be told, he made you feel like you should get into alcoholism. But you never told him that.

The warm air of the pub waved through your hair, the heavy scent of alcohol and overpriced cologne invading your sense of smell, making you nearly vomit as you stepped through the doorway. The men and women who lost their inhibitions and allowed themselves to verbalize their true beliefs, thoughts, and emotions were filled with each side of the pub, most of them likely accumulating on the second floor to avoid making eye contact with any poor soul that would dare to enter at this time of night. That person just had to be you, didn't it? Always chasing after the people you care for but never getting the reciprocation for your acts. Fate indeed was an unfair mistress.

Your eyes observed the pub with a heavy heart, the sorrow enveloping each and every individual weighing solemnly on your soul. Due to how late it was, you tossed away the idea that some of the people may be college students seeking to have fun. Still, your eyes anchored on a similar figure which sat at the bar, waving for the bartender to refill their drink. Leon... Of course, you recognise that choppy haircut from anywhere; even from the rear of his head. Speaking of which, his head was hanging low. From—what you guessed, anyhow—his overwhelmingly tricky career, no doubt.

Despite it all, you desired to know more about his employment, though he never would budge nor inform you any more than he deemed necessary. Some things are better left unsaid, you suppose.

Your feet moved on their own, heels dragging with each step that you brought. It was the apprehension, you assumed, that was making your hands so clammy and your ears burn up. You knew Leon so well, yet you didn't at the same time. You barely knew anything about his job. He was like an enigma to you. He knew everything about you, whereas you couldn't say the same about him. Did he have a favourite colour? Did he prefer his clothes to be folded a certain way? What about the way his bacon was cooked? Crispy, or chewy? You didn't know. You probably never would, either. Not with how secretive he was.

Leon had sat, drunk, melancholy, and desolate, handling the weight of the world pushing down on him. He seemed so lost, adrift in a sea of regrets, seeking solace in alcohol but finding none. His ashy hair covered his expression—that haircut, he never gets rid of it—with soft strands parting in many different directions. Sometimes it appeared more delicate than other days, and sometimes it seemed incredibly silky and soft.

"Leon," you abruptly spoke, striding next to Leon and sitting on the stool directly neighbouring to him. "How are you doing? What are you doing here?" Your eyes flicked to his shot glass, which was carried to his dry, cracked lips before you even finished your sentence. His cheeks were flushed slightly, and there was sweat collecting by his brows. His furrowed eyebrows pulled his taut skin near the bridge of his nose. Leon turned to face you, his expression softening, but only a short bit. He seemed a bit tipsy at best. "C'mon, you gotta come home already."

He hummed in response to your words, "I could say the same to you, y'know?" He took another gulp of his shot glass, pressing it down into the counter, his bottom lip suddenly moistened with alcohol. A piece of you wished that you could dab the burning whiskey from his skin. "You're not wrong, though." He says with a sigh, snatching the bottle of Jack Daniel's next to him—you can't believe you were right about that—and refilling his shot glass practically to the brim.

One glimpse at his face and you realised what was happening. His mind was clouded with regrets, haunting memories of the horrors he had witnessed in the past. The world's weight seemed to press down on his shoulders, and he found solace in drowning his sorrows in alcohol, hoping it would numb the ache in his heart. But it wouldn't. You know it wouldn't. He did, too. But he was too deep in his alcoholism to even think otherwise. Your eyes look down to your clammy hands, clasped together as if you were to pray.

"Yes," you breathed through your nose, eyes flicking back to glance at the man before you, "I know... I just haven't heard from you in a while, you know? I messaged you a couple of weeks ago, but you didn't respond. I was worried. What are you doing?"

"Classified information, you know that." He was quick to reply, bringing the shot glass back to his lips, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed, his face pertaining to a certain perplexity that you didn't understand. "If I could, I'd tell you why I'm constantly on and off." he trails off a bit, shaking his head in defeat.

Despite yourself, you shakily reach out a hand and set it on Leon's, ignoring the twitch of his brow when you do so. "You're only human, Leon. Don't forget that."

His thoughts were a chaotic mess, filled with self-doubt and regrets. You never realised the regrets and self-doubt that plagued his psyche. You were never informed, and you never knew how much he wondered if he could have done things differently, saved more lives, or prevented that one catastrophe altogether. He reprimanded himself for not being able to protect those he overlooked and cared about, and for the mistakes he had made. And yet here you were, blissfully unaware and lending him a hand like he was the only friend that you've ever had. The emptiness inside him was palpable, and he yearned for the company of his friends who were now lost or separated from him.

Even him thinking about that when you were right there—was that not irony?

He missed the camaraderie, the laughter, and the sense of purpose they had once shared. But, now, despite all the people he surrounded himself with—you knew. You knew how many associates he had, he spoke of so many people whom of which you know not the name of, that you've lost track—he's drowning his sorrows in alcohol, trying to escape the pain that gnawed at him from within. You wondered, even for just a wee bit, if he felt isolated. Ostracized from the world itself, and that concerned you to your very essence as you showed him that bright, inexperienced smile that he used to have not so long ago.

Leon chuckled, if not for a moment, gently shaking your hand from his own, taking another drink with little to no regret. It was as if he wasn't even listening to you. It was as if you were just another pebble on the road to his alcoholism. He truly was a man that you knew you would never understand. The shot glass stayed on his lips for what seemed like forever, never leaving the pink tissue that never seemed to pull back for a smile. But, the moment didn't last forever. He soon slammed down the glass, startling you to the point of flinching, your breath hitching.

Leon stares you straight in the eyes, his calloused fingers gripping his shot glass so tightly that the tips of the digits begin to turn white.

"You know what's the worst thing about being a federal agent in this goddamn country? You're not allowed to have a bad day. Ever. You're supposed to be the tough guy, the one who can stomach everything and pull through because it's your job to handle it. I'm so tired of being caught in the middle of it. I just want to be left alone for once." He huffed, the furrow of his brow and the flare of his nostrils itching deep inside your brain.

Though you knew he worked with the government, you knew not of the specifics. You knew of Raccoon City, but not the rest. He was secretive, and you respected his privacy, discreetly hoping that he would trust you enough to brief you on the rest. That was wishful thinking, but hope wasn't too far gone. However, his words still shocked you, and you could only stay silent as his eyes gazed down at the empty glass in his fingers. His hands are so large, you loathed yourself to confess that. They were consistently warm and rough. Without much foresight, Leon reached for the half-empty bottle of Jack Daniel's, but you snatched it from his side over to yours before he could grasp it. He stared at the empty space where the bottle had been, his face swirling with a mix of emotions. He looked like he felt a pang of longing, a sense of loss, and a hint of anger all at once.

"Hey," he called out breathlessly, "that's mine. I need it." He reached over, only for you to glide it down the counter, your expression deadpan. Leon's face suddenly became astonished, his eyebrows raising as he blinks in disbelief. He had been savouring the rich, amber liquid, the warmth of the alcohol rushing through his veins, and now it was gone, snatched away without warning. Never in all the years that you've known Leon have you done something like this. And, deep down inside, you wished that you would have done it sooner.

You could tell that he felt a mix of frustration and confusion as if he had just lost a part of himself. The alcohol had been his comfort, his companion during the long nights when he sought solace in its familiar taste and burn, when he had no one else to turn to, not even you. And you had just snatched that away from him. You felt unfair—you did, but... it had to be done. "Leon, listen..."

He interrupted you, "You've got a lot of nerve to come in here and tell me how to live my life." He scoffed, leaning back in his stool. "Don't get me wrong. Love your company. You're a great friend," your name fell from his mouth like a curse, "but did you just come here to condemn my life choices? Is that it?"

"No, Leon, I just..." You sighed regretfully, your right arm gripping your left bicep tightly. "I was worried about you, that's all... And all of this alcohol? It can't be good for you." Your gaze does not meet his own, but you're sure that he's glaring at you. The daggers in his eyes pierce your flesh like teeth. Though he did not speak, you heard a scoff, followed by a grunt, while the words appeared to be caught in his throat.

Eventually, your eyes dart back at him, and those blue hues, his striking blue eyes—such an attractive colour, you think—stare back at you with a sense of normality and vacancy. Leon appears empty but shortly sighs and slumps his head low, bouncing it a tad before looking back at you, both relief and happiness crossing over his features. A stark contrast to the anger and disbelief he had just a moment ago. A part of you couldn't help but feel as if he was prepping you for something - but you didn't know what.

He smacks his lips, suddenly, "You're right," he seems to begrudgingly accept it, "hate to admit it, but, you are right. It's not healthy for me. You know," he paused, a breath hitching in his throat, his face lightening up, "I had been drinking all night before you came in. Thought I was going to stay here all night, honestly." His gruff voice fell to a whisper, harsh laughter wracking his chest as his head shook.

"That can't be healthy," you confessed. "Yeah, that's the point. It isn't," Leon stated matter-a-factly. It had been a long time since someone had shown him genuine care and concern. Leon took a deep breath and let out a sigh, finally feeling a glimmer of hope, though that was just how you saw the situation. It was wishful thinking, as he barely told you anything about his life. Apart from a few colleagues. "Listen, if it would make you feel any better, I can go home."

Your gaze sank to the floor, watching as the cracks in the marble begin to create vivid illustrations that gnawed on the back of your mind. You chewed on the inside of your cheek, and sighed, "Could I drive you home? It's the least I could do... I just want to be certain you get home safely since you've been drinking." You reached out a hand, setting it on Leon's shoulder. And for the first time, in a long while, you saw him genuinely smile. A grin of appreciation.

"I'd like that," your name fell from his lips a second time, though better akin to a prayer rather than a curse. It filled your heart to the brim with joy. It made you feel as if you were doing something right with your life. Especially with such a good friend as Leon.

"You gonna pay?" "It's on my tab." "That's..." "Don't worry about it."

Leon hopped off the stool with a chuckle and waited for you to do the same, which you did, though not as aggressively as he did. You walked him out of the pub, opening the door for him before he could do the same to you, to which he offered you a snarky 'thanks'. A diminutive part of you was concerned that he might make a critique of your automobile or its decorum, but you pushed those thoughts aside for more favourable ones. Leon has ridden in your car plenty of times before—you haven't ridden in his, though. Does he even have a car?—so you were sure he wouldn't say anything too mean. You could never be too sure, nonetheless. He was unpredictable, yet predictable in the worst fashion.

A tap on his shoulder got Leon's attention as soon as your car came into view, he giving a hum in acknowledgement. "You going to ride in the passenger seat like a big boy?" You joked dryly, walking over to the driver's side and unlocking the door. Leon stared at you in surprise for a moment but soon snickered.

"I don't know. You think I'm a big enough boy?" "The biggest boy, I'm sure." He laughed in response to that, a deep, robust laugh from his chest as he climbed into the passenger's side. Your car was relatively small, so the springs in the suspension system bounced slightly when he sat down. It made you wonder if the bedsprings in Leon's bed fell ill to the same fate. But those thoughts were driven away and you let out a loud sigh, pulling out your keys and puncturing them in the ignition. "Do you want to play any music?" Leon buckled up, clicking his tongue, "You think Three Days Grace is playing at this time?" "Probably not, no..." "Then no thanks." He looked outside the window in an almost dejected manner, which compelled you to laugh stiffly, if not shake your head in doubt. Leon really liked dad rock, and you'd never understand why. Maybe he was destined to be a father in another life? You never really asked him if he wanted to settle down. It wasn't your place to ask, either way. As you began to think, you couldn't help but steal glances at him from across the car. He was the epitome of everything that you knew every man wanted to be - enchanting, confident, and with a smile that could melt just about anyone's heart—did that include you, too, you wondered?—Your sentiments, purely platonic are what you told yourself, feelings for him were deep and genuine, though there was always that rat in the back of your head that told you that he would never see you as an equal.

You would always listen attentively to his performances, though he told you not much, laugh at his jokes, and be there for him whenever he needed someone to talk to. But did he feel the same way? You could only wonder if he genuinely wanted to be your friend. You gripped the steering wheel, suddenly recalling the small conversations you had with him about a certain someone. Ada Wong was her name — from the things you heard, she was absolutely gorgeous. Had a heart of steel, and a mouth of venom, but truly cared for Leon. She could've done more for Leon than you ever would have.

"Hey, we're friends, aren't we?" Your voice cracked at the end of the sentence, the lights on the dark streets at each corner blinding your otherwise perfectly fine vision. Ada understood Leon better than you ever would, and that was the unfortunate truth that you ought to face.

Leon side-eyes you, and you can tell by the slow turn of his eye. "Of course, we are. I consider us friends. Close enough to be friends, anyhow. Why?" His voice sounds fatigued.

A thankful sigh escapes you, in both relief and partial malevolence. How many times would you have to come to drag Leon out of random pubs before he actually drinks himself into a drunken stupor that he won't get out of, even with someone by his side to help him? If he didn't want to get better, then there would be nothing for you to do. You could push someone to do something for their health, but the longer it would go on, the more they would resent you because it's not what they honestly want. "Just wondering. We're here, by the way."

There was another hum of acknowledgement that came from Leon, and it made you wonder if it was all his vocal cords wanted him to say at this time. Drawing the key from your car and turning it off, you get out of the vehicle, both the passenger and driver's side doors closing at the same time. Guess Leon had the same idea as you. You watched as Leon strolled up the steps of his apartment, and, biting back your dread, you pursued behind him, locking the car—does Leon even know cars have automatic locks now? Of course, he does. What a stupid thought—behind you.

"Pardon the mess," Leon chides as you walk into what would have to be the cleanest apartment you've ever seen in your entire life. Not only was it clean, but it was absolutely empty. Save for a few knick-knacks and a sofa in the middle of the living area, adorned by a plain mat and a glass table that separated the sofa from a simple television mounted to the wall. A cosy little place; but you guess Leon wasn't the one for sentiments. Another thing you learned about him that he did not and most likely would not tell you.

You watched as he walked over to the sofa and seated himself down, spreading his legs out and groaning when he hit the soft cushions. "Hey, hey, if it's not too much, could you grab me a glass of water?" There was a juncture of stillness before he began to force himself up off the Davenport. "No, that's not fair for you. I'll fetch it myself."

"No, I'll get you a glass." You vocalised, holding your hand out as if that would preserve him from leaving. He let out a sigh but accepted your advances. You took off your shoes at the entrance—Leon didn't even take off those filthy boots of his—and made your way to the kitchen space. In jaw-dropping shock, it was equally as barren. "I have, uh... I have a question," you called out as you pulled a glass from the cabinet, turning on the cold water to the faucet as you did so.

"Shoot." "I probably shouldn't say this, but... It's been eating at me, you know?" You finished filling the glass and strolled back out to the living area. "What's with you and Ada? Ada Wong?" You observed as he gently took the glass from your hand, but sagged his head down low as if you had struck a sore spot. "I'm sorry, I really shouldn't have asked." "No, it's fine..." He hissed through clenched teeth, taking a sip of the cold water. "To be honest, I don't fully know myself. There's something inside of me that can't let her go no matter how hard I try, a part of me that will always be yearning for her, but... I don't know," Leon laments, taking another gulp from the glass, "If only things were different, you know? Maybe we would've made it work."

He rubs the bridge of his nose, seemingly about to pass out from fatigue, the eyebags that hung beneath his eyes make him seem at least 5 years older than he truly was. "I guess it wasn't made to be." He leans back on the sofa, a small crack of his lower spine unexpectedly catching your attention. The fat inside your cheek was caught between your teeth to prevent the pitiful whimpers that might escape. She really meant that much to him. Leon surely was a dedicated person, especially when it came to the people he cared about. That was something you were always sure of, right from the beginning.

"I think that her, uhm... the way of her living, makes her seem like she doesn't care about you. I think she cares about you more than she lets on. If the situations were different, I know that she would love to be your friend." You took notice of the yawn that escaped him after you voiced that, followed by a chuckle of disbelief. You didn't know how to comfort someone in this position.

You breathed heavily through your nostrils, "Or even something more, you know?" You crouch down near the end of the sofa, one of your hands setting itself on Leon's thigh, gripping it reassuringly. "Maybe in another life, you and Ada are together." You maintained a smile on your face, but it was beguiling. You would only hope that Leon would merely accept it as it is, and you believe that he did, given the rugged chuckle that jerked his body. "Maybe, in another life, you two are married. That's a funny thought, isn't it? Leon Kennedy, settling down. Little Leon and Ada's running around."

Leon pats your hand with his. His rough fingertips and the palms of his hands set your heart aflutter. "I would've loved that," He pauses for a moment, "I bet they would look just like me." You could see the fond expression on his face, his shoulders drooping as if he was reminiscing or recalling a tender, distant memory. One that didn't include you, apparently. Leon holds a peaceful expression on his face and closes his eyes, humming slightly to himself. He isn't quite asleep, but he seems droopy.

"I'll get you a blanket, Leon. You deserve some sleep." You pat his thigh a final time and stand up fully, staring at him for a moment before blinking and turning around, leaving him seating there as you leave. You would only hope that there was a spare blanket in the hall closet. Leon didn't seem to spend too much time in his apartment either way, so you were sure that there would be extra blankets lying around. Your hand opened the hall closet slowly, and of course, there was a thick, fluffy blanket just lying there, folded haphazardly as if someone was in a hurry. It would've been funny if it wasn't so depressing. Gently, you grasped it and started to shake said covering loosely as you sauntered over to Leon's leaning form. You allowed him to lie down on his flank, before covering him with the blanket.

"Thank you," you heard him mumble negligibly through the other dazed murmurs you couldn't quite understand as well as the rest. You would've been tired, too, after all that drinking. You gently gave him a pat on the head—despite its soft texture, his hair always appeared greasy—ruffling the short, straight locks of hair that adorned his head. You dared to never ask him the colour; the first time you did, he just plainly stated that it was blonde, despite what you thought at the time.

Leon slowly began to let out snores, to which you started frowning, dragging your hand away from his now-sleeping form. He was peaceful; he deserved it. He deserved a good night's rest. Without the sorrow and angst etched into his skin, Leon looked so at rest and like he had not a care in the world.

"Maybe, in another life, you could've been given the life you desired and deserved."

[skull-fvcker]

[skull-fvcker]