AO3 works tagged 'Leon S. Kennedy'

unholy worshipper

2026-04-29T15:27:51+00:00

"clipped wings for a bird never meant to fly."

that's what they had said to you as they plunged the ugly, serrated knife into your wings. the pain seared, fire ripping from your skin in hateful waves. you scream until you couldn't hear anything over the pain, throat torn raw. the knife hacks away at your back, blood running in red rivulets down your legs.

"we remove these holy wings from a tainted thing, so that she may never return."

the voices had risen into a chant, echoing through the marbled halls and gilded windows. light shone through the stained glass above you, mother mary's tears illuminated your face in shallow blues. it created a strange disconnect; having your light torn from you as the mother and child watch in stone-faced pity.

"His will is truth, and as we cast you from heaven, God cries for you."

strangled cries wreak from your throat as your wings fall to the marbled floor with a wet thud. the appendages spatter blood in an ugly painting, red against white a pristine oxymoron in the room of God.

"thanks be to god."

you awaken with a strangled gasp, blood welling in your throat as your back pounds in pain. each heaving breath feels like a monumental effort, your body screaming in protest with every minor movement.

the surface under you feels solid, the texture feels close to a hardwood that you'd find in the pews of the commune. you run your fingers across the surface, voice scarce except for choked, quiet sobs.

the absence of your wings made your whole body feel off balance and nude, back stinging in awful pain and loss. every second spent without feels like punishment in of itself.

shifting slightly to decrease the tension on your chest, a sharp spike digs into your neck, and blood flows down your throat. with shaking hands, you meet the river, palm attempting to wrap around your neck and stopped by an unseen obstruction. but you know what it is, even without the recognizable hum under your hands.

your halo, now inverted around your throat and restricting your breathing. you swallow thickly, the bob of your throat bringing another drop of blood with the motion.

dim light filters in through small stained-glass windows, bringing slivers of light into the room in even intervals. blues, greens, and reds all culminate in a warm glow on the carpet lining the nave. it feels rough around the edges, littered with something that could only be described as humanity.

a few more silent moments pass, the throbbing of your back grows slightly more bearable as you lay prone on the altar, blood staining the wood red in ugly patches. each second feels dreamlike, something intangible and unreal in your stupor.

the loud creak of an old, unoiled door draws your attention to the narthex, head raising slightly to witness the intruder of your temporary sanctum.

the muffled dropping of cloth reached your ears, bedraggled breathing followed by unsure steps that echo through the church like gunshots. as they approach your resting place on the altar, you can make out the features of this human.

shaggy brown-grey hair that frames his face in curtains, blue-grey eyes that dilate upon your figure, lips opened partly in uncertainty and disbelief, short stubble mottling his chin. dressed in a priests robes and drapery, the man kneels in front of the altar, hands shaking as he stops in front of you.

"what in the.." his voice is exasperated and breathy, gaze sliding up and down your figure, landing on your bloodied back and throat encompassed by your halo. "how..?"

he swallows thickly, brain running a million miles a second. he quickly assesses the situation, trying not to panic at the sight of you, glittering under late-afternoon sun.

‘okay, angels were real. that means god is probably real. there's an angel on the altar with no wings and a halo digging into their throat. i should take care of that.’

warm hands dip under your neck and thigh, cradling you chest-to-chest as you're brought to the rectory and lain on a card table. shoes scuffing against tile chirps in your ears absently, and the clink of bottles and the tap of tin catches your attention.

"just hold on so i can clean and wrap these," the man's voice sounds uncertain as he rolls you onto your stomach.

"sorry:" he apologizes, and you hear his breath hitch at the sight of the ugly, scarring stumps where your wings should be, something loud and ugly in your chest arising new and dangerous. anger. rage. defiance.

shaking hands dress your wounds carefully, each tender stump stings with alcohol and disinfected with warm, soapy water. something soft dips past your collar, and you nearly moan in relief as the spikes lay off your skin.

a blanket is draped over your body reverently, covering up your nude form. before your eyes dip closed, a tiny thanks whispers past your lips.

the man nods, then slips away into the bedroom.

leon feels like he's going into a second midlife crisis.

he had stopped his job in government work after seeing the complete mishandling of a tornado that ravaged the south. he had begged and pleaded to send aid, that the citizens were not adequately prepared, but the forces at be didn't care for begging. he was forced to watch helplessly as thousands of people succumbed to preventable deaths.

he had become a priest in hopes to help people, but ruth every sermon, every confession, he was reminded of humanity's ugly side. fathers who confessed to infidelity, mothers who admitted to abuse they faced and sobbed into his arms, children who asked why their parents hated them for trying to live as themselves. it made his chest boil with rage.

yet, here he is, confronted with the knowledge that angels are real and he has one in his rectory. flashes of your pallor complexion, blood that painted your skin in red swaths, halo turned choke-collar with spikes that dug into your skin make his heart race with something other than pity.

a feeling he had long abandoned in place of his profession.

heat pools in leon's gut as he leans against the headboard, wood and spring mattress creaking under his weight. undoing the buttons of his garment, the heaviness of his clothes falling from his shoulders a welcome separation for his heated body.

his trousers pool at his hips as he frees his aching length from his boxers, pre dripping at the tip in anticipation. leon moans, a roll of his hips and smear of pre across his cock makes his body shiver.

slowly, he pumps himself, using his pre as lube for his weeping member. low moans and keens emanate from his throat, unable to contain his blasphemous pleasure.

each thrust of his cock into his hands brings him closer and closer to deliverance, leon's head thrown back as he approaches his peak. it isn't long, pent-up heat making this quick chase of relief more like a game of tag.

with a final thrust and a low whine, leon comes into his hand, spend erupting onto his chest and navel in obscene spurts. heat freezes his body in tension, white clouding his vision as pleasure overrides his body.

leon pants as he comes down, heat still radiating from his skin. the room feels to hot, and with a disgusted sneer at his own weakness, leon lifts the sheets into a pile and tosses them to the side of the room to be burnt. changing his pants and wiping down his chest, leon feels slightly cleaner, but still tainted irreparably.

how can a vessel of god bring such sinful desires?

is your mere existence corruption?

he scoffs, making his way back to the rectory's small kitchen, where you lay still on your side, chest rising and falling with each uncertain breath. leon's eyes linger for too long on the blanket that slips from your naked form, golden scars carved into your chest. how cruel, he thinks, eyes slipping lower before he can stop himself, that even angels are forced to tarnish themselves.

a strange feeling stirs in his chest, something thorny and possessive as he watches your sleeping form.

no one else deserved to witness you. if he kept you reliant and hidden away from lecherous gazes, then you'd be his to keep. no one else deserved to witness an angel from heaven.

only his. his angel.

worship dipped into reverence, and reverence dipped into obsession with each passing moment. the last vestiges of sanity were held at bay by the heat that lingered as a simmer in his gut, waiting and patient.

leon walks to where you lay, posed like a baroque painting under the dim lights. arms splayed on your hip and above your head, blanket wrapped like a toga around yoir body, expression peaceful and laden with sleep. he plants a chaste kiss on your forehead, whispering to himself as he pulls away.

"holy bird stuck in a sinful birdcage." leon whispers, tracing the soft skin of your shoulder with his calloused hands. "you don't even know what you've done."

Endless rain

2026-04-29T15:25:54+00:00

Chapter Text

chapter 1

Grace Ashcroft awoke to the metallic tang of rust-smelling rain.

Curled up in the corner of her single bed, wrapped in two heavy blankets, she still couldn't stopped the cold that seeped into her bones. Wind carried icy dropled onto her face; shivering, she reached out to shut the window, the room fell into muffled, airless quiet.

She realized with irritation that she had once again spent the entire afternoon in a sore, aching sleep. The blue glow of the screen stung her eyes, she opened her unread notifications——five of them were from Leon, which made her secretly pleased.

18:01 – Leon

How was your afternoon? Mr. Steven said he didn’t see you in class.

It’s raining in Seattle again, isn’t it? Don’t blame yourself if you caught a cold.

There’s Tylenol and ibuprofen in the third drawer of the bedside table.

18:03 – Leon

Remember to wear the thick boots in the storage room.

I’ll be back the day after tomorrow. Ready for spring cleaning? 🧹

The broom emoji made Grace laugh despite herself. When did Leon start learning how to use emojis?

18:31 – Grace

I took the afternoon off, sorry. I had a bit of a headache. But I’m .

Please don’t worry about me.

Grace regretted sending the second sentence. Before she could delete it, her phone buzzed:

18:31 – Leon

🤗 No need to apologize.

Call me anytime if something’s wrong, alright?

Get some rest.

I bought you limited-edition corn chips in New York—you’ll like them :) 💗

Grace stared at the little pink heart, momentarily dazed. He was always like this—unconditionally, promptly, and without complaint responding to all her small needs. Two years ago their conversations had been as awkward as a British menu; she used to take three deep breaths before calling him.

Now she pressed and held the message to send him a heart in return. Pulling the blanket around herself, she slid off the bed, her limbs heavy, as though filled with lead.

She made herself a salad in the kitchen, then placed a cup of cold milk into the microwave. A small sheet of paper was taped beside it—the appliance instructions Leon had written two years ago. It was terribly unnecessary; Leon knew every appliance inside and out. He nearly could fix anything—circuit breakers, dishwashers, pipes, even the heater she had once broken. Beyond that, he seemed to know a little about everything, like a walking, all-purpose manual.

“Leon, what exactly is your job? Don’t tell me you’re an electrician?”

She had teased him once. Leon always reacted lightly and casually:

“Administrative investigator, you know that.

Though I have considered a career change.”

His documents were in order, and his explanation sounded natural. Grace was convinced for a whole year and three months——until the night of a street riot, when she saw him take down four armed men alone, movements smooth as water. Only then did suspicion begin to gather above her like a storm cloud.

The more she tested him, the more Leon resembled a dutiful father: accompanying her, listening to her, encouraging her to invite others over.

You should have friends besides me and Sherry, he would say.

He tried to fix her lifestyle too—sleep, exercise, diet. Going to the gym with him was torture, mostly because everyone stared—at his exaggerated muscles, to be precise. To set an example, he even took time to cook himself—and the taste was surprisingly good. Every time the fridge filled with frozen pizza, she knew he was leaving on another trip.

This time is full two weeks.

Before leaving, Leon declined her offer to accompany him to the airport and gave her a warm hug instead. Her mood sank the moment he let go. For the next week she clung to that lingering warmth, living day by day in a dull, leaden haze.

Everything felt like before she met him—she didn’t dare turn off the lights, didn’t want to go to school, didn’t want to move, didn’t want to do anything. Fear seeped in like mold, filling the hollow spaces inside her.

Grace struggled to breathe again. She clutched her ribs.

Damn it. She thought she’d gotten better.

The rain kept knocking tirelessly on the glass.

One, two, three, four…

five… six… seven…

“Counting?”

Grace looked up. A low, magnetic voice fell beside her ear.

“I don’t like rain either. Especially thunderstorm nights.”

A tall man sat down next to her, following her gaze toward the window. The messy branches outside were tapping against the wall again and again.

“I’m Leon. Leon Kennedy.”

The rain continued to fall. From the Wrenwood Hotel until the next day’s dusk.

She no longer remembered how she ended up being brought in by the police. She remembered their hands clamping her wrists, how she kicked and screamed—how she desperately wished her mother would wake up, yet her own voice suddenly died like a short-circuited telephone. Something was burning—an acrid, rotten stench invaded her lungs. Muscles and organs convulsed uncontrollably—Then suddenly, she felt nothing at all. Her mother remained still, dried blood at the corner of her lips. Grace stared at her—

“…uh… ah!”

A ringing exploded in her ears. She clutched her head, breath ragged. Panic fractured her nerves until a warm, steadying pressure touched her back. Leon crouched in front of her, immediately gripping her shoulders with both hands. She could feel the warmth through the fabric.

“It’s okay, I’m here. You are alright,” he soothed softly.

Something wet slid down her cheek. She suddenly buried her head into his arms and burst into tears, from shrill cries to faint sobs, until her voice turned hoarse.

“I… I’m Grace…”

She gasped for air. Leon looked at her gently; in his pale blue eyes she saw sorrow and tenderness. His lashes trembled slightly near the fine lines at his temples.

“I’m your guardian.”

He let her tears soak through his shirt, lightly patting her back.

“If you’d like, we can get in the car. It’s far too cold here.”

“…Okay.”

She held onto Leon’s shoulder and walked out of the infirmary, feeling blood return to her limbs. People in uniform watched them silently. Leon opened a black umbrella, sheltering her beneath it.

A faint scent of cologne mixed with gasoline drifted to her nose.

“…Leon, where are we going?”

“Home.”

“…Alright.”

The sound of rain seemed to stop; a few remaining droplets slid down the fogged car window.

She drifted into deep, silent sleep to the hum of the engine.

tbc.

provider

2026-04-29T15:32:47+00:00

“Mmf, fuck-” The soft moans that came with a deep shudder, blonde hair sticking to her face and her glossy, glazed over lips, a strand of spit hanging off the edge of her bottom lip where she had been kissed hard and deepened red.

“Oh- Ohh!” Her voice pitching and breaking at the end, naked chest rising and falling deeper with each desperate gasp, the points of her perky, pink nipples standing straight out and just begging to be sucked on or held.

“Mmmmm, yes…” How she moaned with her hazy blue eyes half closed and rolling back, the way her naked hips tipped down and to the side at the same time, a sensual sway, errotic sway, begging, just begging for it.

“Put it in…” She bit her lip and her eyebrows rose up, furrowing together cutely. Her damp skin smelled sweet and deep. Like sex. The scent she was giving off, thick and heavy, it was turned on- She smelled like wet pussy. Like her cunt was made of honey. Drippy.

All Chris wanted to do was put her dick inside of this girl but she was so fucking hard, too damn hard.

Her big dumb alpha cock throbbed hugely in her hand making her blush with embarrassment. It seriously looked bigger than it ever had. It never got this big, even when she had rutted or fucked with betas in the past before. It was like all of these omega pheromones were affecting it, making her alpha dick engorge deeply and swell to a size that made her ache.

“Fuck..!” Chris growled through her teeth. She held her cock aligned right up to her omega, her good, good omega girl, who was laying down on her back, naked and waiting, begging for her with legs open and pussy on full display.

God… Chris sighed harshly as a shiver wrecked through her body. It was so hot, so fucking hot, her girl was the hottest thing she had ever seen and all she wanted was to be inside of her and give it to her until she was raw and shaking.

“Leon… I- I don’t think-” Chris swallowed nervously, gingerly pushing the tip of her thick tip against the plushness of her girl’s lips. The lips gave softly against the firmness and Leon quivered against her with a sharp gasp. But when Chris leaned in a little more she felt the resistance of her tight hole and she groaned, stopping herself from pushing any further.

“Ugh! Chris..!!” Leon slapped her hands down against the sheets, eyes opening wide. They had been through this so many times before! The disgruntled omega pushed herself up onto her forearms and stared down meanly at the alpha sat back on her knees and heels, right between her open legs. Chris was holding her cock looking kind of stupid like she didn’t know how to put it in even though they’ve done this countless times- Fucked.

Leon glared at her hot, sexy alpha, still in her black sports bra, the way it pushed her cleavage together and sweat ran down the center of it where her dog tags hung against. Chris’s arms were so well toned and defined, very muscular for a girl, her flat abs and smooth belly, her dark pubic hair and her huge cock sticking straight out of her lap held right over her pussy and she wanted it, wanted her alpha so bad..!

“Just put it in, Chrissy! You know it’ll fit, it always does-”

Chris barked back anxiously, her brown eyes shimmering with worry. “I know, I know! But it really seems like it won’t fit this time! Look, it’s too big…” Chris whimpered with pleading eyes. She didn’t want to hurt her precious omega! Having a cock was something she never asked for. She never asked to be an alpha.

It was something she resented about herself for a long time until she met Leon, her sweet omega girl, the only one who could show her it was okay to be like this, alpha and omega, together, like this… The way they were supposed to be…

Chris just had a lot of complicated feelings about being an alpha. Having a cock felt like having an inherently violent thing attached to her. And she never wanted to hurt Leon with it! She didn’t just want to thrust her long, hard, huge cock into her and stab into Leon’s sweet softness with it, that plush, pink softness that she loved to finger and lick. She knew her cock was too big for that tiny omega pussy to take without any pain.

But Leon wouldn’t stand for it. She was smaller than Chris, yes, but she was strong too, built and toned and defined. She wasn’t some weak, wilting flower of an omega. It was her pride as an omega to be able to take her alpha’s huge cock all the way to the hilt. And it was a stretch Chris gave to her with her cock that felt good.

Chris couldn’t understand it because she wasn’t an omega, but it felt so fucking good for Leon to have her tight pussy stuffed thickly with Chris’s alpha dick. Even if Chris took a cock in her own body, it wouldn’t feel the same because she was made and wired differently as an alpha. So Leon had to teach Chris to trust her that it felt good for her and that she wasn’t hurting her when they had sex.

It hurt more like this, when Leon was so horny and so ready and Chris was so close but refusing to give it to her. “Ohh!” Leon whined pathetically, balling her fists up in the sheets. The tip of her cock was nudging up against her wet lips but going no deeper and it was going to make her go feral and lose her fucking mind.

Neither of them were in heat or rut but the sex still felt just as intense, full of pheromones that turned them on to each other and made them want more, so much more, depth, bodies, fuck, each other, the need, so climatic, always them, just them, more of them, they wanted more, more, more…

Even when they weren’t in heat or rut they were liable to go round after round, making out passionately for hours while Chris slid her dick or her fingers inside of her, smoothing against her silky insides and savoring, appreciating, in awe how wet she could get and stay just for her.

Leon fucking dripped for her. She never knew the true bliss of being an omega until she met her alpha, Chris.

And now she fucking needed her to stop being such a wimp about it and put it in..! “Just try, Chris, I fucking promise you it’ll fit.” Leon pouted at Chris with a cute, mean furrow of her brows. She reached down between her own legs and pointed her fingers in a downward v shape, spreading her lips open for the cock barely just touching her lips.

“Oh!” Chris shuddered, hit with a hot wave of Leon’s omega pussy scent. It made her mouth water and her eyes darken over. Her cock throbbed in her hand, the tip brushing lightly against Leon’s smooth, exposed entrance. “Mmm!!” They both moaned and flinched at the same exact time like the same line wrapped around their bodies, yanking at the same time, an intense force, pulling them together.

“Just make them kiss,” Leon whimpered, squeezing her eyes shut. She knew Chris hated the sort of “violence” around penetration. So out of sheer desperation to make Chris more comfortable with it she started referring to the press and force it took to get her dick inside of her as “making them kiss.”

It was really kind of dumb and embarrassing but also sort of unbearably hot and romantic to think of their naked, hot, sweating, unprotected girl parts as “kissing” when Chris pushed her tip down into her tightness, through her hole and into her raw pussy.

Chris groaned, nodding her head, trusting her omega because it would be extremely disrespectful to her if she didn’t trust in her enough to take it if she said she could. She just… Didn’t want to hurt her… Adored her so much… Perfect Leon, her girl, her omega, all hers… “Hah… ahhhh.. uhnnn, Leon…” Chris grunted softly, holding her dick steady as she pushed the tip against Leon. Leon was still holding herself open for Chris, showing her exactly where to put it and where she wanted her to go.

“Mhm!! Mhm!!” Leon nodded her head quickly. She felt that push, that brief resistance, fucking immense pressure as Chris’s swollen alpha tip nudged against her, press… The thickness of it… Big… Hot… Dripping pre against her omega slick… Their sex fluids mixing… Mixing right on her open, exposed pussy…

“Mmh… hhmmm… mmmmmmh…” Leon blinked crookedly, eyes rolling back as her eyelashes fluttered deliriously. “It’s going in… Le, girl, it's going in…” Chris whispered slowly under her rough, dark breath. Chris watched with heavy eyelashes as her cock smeared gently against Leon’s hole, nudging for a moment like it wasn’t going to be able to go any further and then like magic, the fucking soft sound it made w e t as Leon’s pussy gave gently for Chris, letting her slide it in.

“Fuuuckk…” the two girls groaned, connected now. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Chris panted under her breath, letting go of the hold on her cock to reach up for Leon’s hip and thigh. One hand held her hip, gently guiding her down towards her, her other hand on her sweaty, warm inner thigh to keep her leg open while she watched.

“Chrissy..!! Hah! Ahh..!” Leon whimpered and cried, squeezing around Chris as soon as she started to slide in. Her omega pussy wanted to wrap all the way around that massive alpha cock, claim it and stain it with her scent, her unique pheromones, so the whole world would know who that dick belonged to. Hers, all hers, Leon panted, closing her eyes and gripping the sheets tight.

Once Chris was inside she couldn’t help it. Leon felt so good, so smooth, pure velvet, like rubbing her dick inside of an angel, heaven, like she was fucking something too good, so raw, something made for her- Fuuckk, fuck, fuck, Leon was made for her, that’s literally how she felt, her alpha hormones raging to claim and own and mark and possess the gorgeous blonde omega girl wrapped around her dick.

“Fuck, babe, fuckk,” Chris groaned, gazing down as she watched her cock slide in and out of Leon. Her rough voice dragged all over Leon’s body, making her writhe slowly, shifting her hips, tilting him into her lover girl’s hand, against her alpha’s dick, all of her, every side of Chris, she felt her, moaned for her, her tits rocking softly against her chest as Chris slid all of the way in.

“Here, Le, here,” Chris hooked her hands under Leon’s pale, toned thighs and used her strength to lift them easily, muscles flexing as she draped them down over the tops of her own thighs so Leon’s legs hung open around her waist.

“Hahhh…” Leon smiled crookedly, moaning cutely as she was pulled down around Chris’s cock and their bodies locked up against each other. Her pussy made a wet sound around the thickness inside of her like it was happy to be brought closer to Chris too. She liked when Chris manhandled her like she weighed nothing.

Leon was tall for a girl, strong for a girl too, especially for an omega girl but Chris was even taller and even stronger- much stronger- than she was.

Chris was fucking built, a muscle mommy as Leon liked to tease her affectionately. Chris could do anything to her with that ripped, fit, muscular goddess body of hers, put her in a fucking head lock for all Leon cared, she’d probably just cream herself on the spot for it anyways. Mmm, Leon shuddered. Her pussy quivered around Chris and they both sighed shakily, pleased as could be just to be connected to each other.

Omega… Chris’s body thrummed all over like she was vibrating, just glowing.

Alpha… Leon whimpered sweet, filthy little sounds, begging with her body as she laid there like the pillow princess she was, stuffed with Chris's huge, alpha cock. She tightened around Chris without even trying, making them both moan and shiver.

It was like everything just made sense when Chris was inside of her. They knew it was just part of the way their bodies were made as an alpha and omega, to be wired to seek comfort and completion in the sex of each other, but it was more than that, so much more than just chemicals and biology.

It was them. It could only be them. Chris didn't want this with anyone else, even if Leon wasn't an omega she would still pine pathetically for her. Would yearn endlessly for her, on and on, if she wasn’t hers. Do anything to make her her girl.

“Hah… hahh…” Chris panted roughly as she placed her shaky hands on Leon's hips. She fucking worshipped her. “Mmh, mhm,” Leon moaned, nodding her head. “Fuck me, Chrissy, I'm ready- Mh!”

“Ohhh,” Chris groaned, nodding her head as she pulled back gently on Leon’s hips. She tilted her own hips forward. Leon moaned, nodding her head back. “Y- yeah-!” Her voice broke a little as her pussy took in more of her alpha’s dick. Slick coated Chris’s cock and made perverted schlick sounds as she moved against her insides.

Chris’s long, shaggy brown hair was half up in the ruined ponytail she wore, the other half of it all strewn around her shoulders, her bangs too, sticking out and all messed up from Leon pulling and grabbing at her from earlier when they were making out. Whenever Chris got home from the gym particularly sweaty and in need of a shower, Leon was all over her before she could finish getting out of her clothes.

It was just an omega thing, a hormonal, scent based thing- Chris’s body odor drove her wild. Leon was known to be a panty sniffer, stuffing her face into a pair of Chris’s used underwear, marking herself up with her alpha’s deep, musky, sweaty girl scent, getting it as deep down into her lungs as she could which just embarrassed Chris to the high heavens.

No matter how much Chris scolded her for it Leon just did whatever she wanted anyway. She may be the omega in the relationship but she was no pushover submissive. She wasn’t going to let anybody, not even an alpha, tell her what she couldn’t do if she wanted to do it. The thing just was that Chris was shy about letting Leon go down on her. Her alpha parts embarrassed her.

So Leon compromised by burying her face into Chris’s worn panties instead when she felt like it. Chris found it insufferable but as long as Leon was happy, she was happy. It was her duty as alpha to satisfy her feisty little omega. She just wished sometimes maybe Leon could make do with rubbing her face against her sweater or tshirt instead like a normal person…

Oh, Leon…

”Mmm,” Leon tilted her lips against Chris’s lap and Chris was brought back to attention. Her desire was surmounting. She gazed down all over her omega’s naked body, so perfect and laid out before her for the easy taking. So easy… Chris growled a little, her alpha showing. She could feel her cock pulsing gently inside of Leon’s velvety smooth walls and she growled softly, lips parting to show the tips of her alpha fangs that became more pronounced during sex.

”Mm! Mhm, please,” Leon responded to those deep rumbles in her alpha’s chest like she could feel them inside of her pussy itself. Her body softened against Chris the more Chris showed her alpha. It made her fluttery and full of pressure deep, low in her belly. Her omega showed itself in return for the flash of Chris’s fangs and the throb of her cock deep inbetween her legs.

Leon slid her hands down over her body, fluttering her eyelashes as her pussy dripped around Chris, a hot flash washing over her body as she murmured, going omega for her alpha, “Pup me, Daddy.” She used her fingers to make a heart shape on top of her lower stomach for Chris, right over her womb, right where she wanted Chris to put her pups.

Oh..! “Fuck!” Chris cursed out loud, body flinching harshly from the intensity of what that image of her girl did to her. “Hah-!” Leon whimpered, feeling Chris’s cock jump inside against her sensitive walls. Her face worried lewdly and she put on a show, panting for Chris while letting her tongue hang out, holding her fingers that started to shake in that little heart shape.

“Yeah, girl?” Chris's eyebrow rose up with the corner of her lips. A sexy darkness lowered over her narrowed eyes and her alpha fangs revealed themselves a little more with the way she grinned, devilishly, hungry, like a wolf. Her cock hardened up against Leon’s insides at the invitation that she could not deny. “You wanna make puppies, baby?” She looked down watching her cock disappear inside of Leon while she grunted with each shallow thrust.

Her untamed, wild dark hair hung around her muscular shoulders as she started to pump off inside of her girl, her hot breath fogging up the air. “Mhm! Mhm!!” Leon nodded her head and smiled crookedly, her eyebrows worrying up into a cute feverish expression as all the love hormones drenched her already ridiculously horny, omega system.

“Pup me, Chrissy!! Do it, I wanna have your cute little puppies, so many of them, mmm please!” She begged again, calling Chris by the pet name that she only let Leon call her. Nobody else. Ever. She was only Chrissy for her girl.

All Leon could think about when she got like this was Chris rawing her out, taking her alpha girl deep inside of her, her huge hard cock, reaching in her as far as she could to shoot out her cum and give her pups, a full litter of puppies, cute puppies from Chris that all had her pretty dark eyes and her gorgeous dark hair, little Chrissy puppies inside of her she could feel growing and wriggling around inside of her, in her womb, right where Chrissy put them just for her because she adored her so, so, so much, Chrissy chose her to carry her pups so that made her special and gave her purpose and her life meaning.

But that was how she got when she was high off her omega hormones and her adoration for her alpha queen- Of course they were both on their own version of suppressants so they couldn’t actually get pregnant. Which was just perfect, because they could have that wild, hard, raw, breeding sex without actually worrying about becoming a set of young parents.

Leon was only twenty two. Chris had just turned twenty four herself. There was no way they were ready to start a pack of their own together just yet. It didn’t change the way it made them feel for each other though. Desperate and impure of heart. So hard and so wet.

They delighted in teasing each other with the promise of getting pregnant all the while knowing it was impossible. They were safe with each other. Safe to play like young lovers do.

“Oh fuck, fuck yeah girl, yeah, I got you,” Chris groaned, suddenly adjusting. She grabbed Leon’s legs right under her knees and used her strength to easily lift Leon up, dragging her up on her lap and throwing the omega girl's legs wide open, straight up against her chest, pressing back on them so she folded slightly while Chris herself sat back on her heels and knees for balance. “I'll put some pups in you.”

“Hya- ahh!!” Leon called out cutely, her pitchy voice breaking as Chris grabbed her and positioned her. Leon loved when she didn't have to do anything, just got to lay there and take the full force of her alpha’s cock.

“Mm!! Chrissy!!” Leon moaned loudly, not even trying to hold her voice back, not giving a fuck if the neighbors heard. Let ‘em hear Leon shivered to herself, gazing up at Chris with a loving, perverted glimmer across her hazy blue eyes. Let them hear how good my alpha fucks me.

Government Dog and Two Faced Vixen

2026-04-29T15:51:29+00:00

by Blauhare

It all started in the workplace. She's trying to be a congresswoman as a cover for her actual work in CIA. Trying to running away from her complicated life in politic throne and entertainer all at once, or running away from her family. Bioterrorism is something that always haunting her life and she's trying to erase her guilt from the past. Leon S. Kennedy with his own complicated problem and haunted feelings met her amidst the bridge of their silent chaos. Who think it's a good idea when two broken people catching feelings with each other when no one wants to do something about it? Feelings are scary.

Words: 5462, Chapters: 2/?, Language: English

Series: Part 1 of Resident Evil B: Universe

heated

2026-04-29T13:47:40+00:00

by Anonymous

kennecroft art

Words: 0, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Categories: F/M
Characters: Leon S. Kennedy, Grace Ashcroft
Relationships: Grace Ashcroft/Leon S. Kennedy
Additional Tags: Fingering, Art

You Know Me Too Well

2026-04-29T14:27:57+00:00

Chapter Text

Beautiful, clever and rich, Evangeline Winters had lived 21 years unchallenged. Un… bothered. There had simply never been much that could possibly rise up to vex her.

She was the youngest of two children, and not the heir of anything at all—that role befell her older brother, Ethan. He had been the lord of Hartfield since before Evangeline was born. Their father, the late lord of Hartfield, died seven months before she came into the world; and so even the death of her father had not vexed her, for she never knew him.

Due to the… fragile nature of her parents marriage, gossip rags spent months circulating rumours that William Winters was not the father of Evangeline, and that his wife cheating had driven him to suicide. This did not vex Evangeline either, for no one could blame her for her mothers supposed transgression—and because it became increasingly obvious that Evangeline and Ethan did share the same parents. As they aged, they looked more like twins than siblings, despite the three year age gap between them.

In fact, Ethan was likely the reason so few things challenged or bothered her. Their mother was absent at best—busy playing the role of New York socialite and running the biggest fashion magazine in the world. So Ethan was, in many ways, both brother and father to Evangeline.

He was her friend, too. They spent terms away at separate boarding schools, and rarely got more than a few weeks together at a time, yet they were, somehow, in every sense but the physical, inseparable.

And it was only therefore she didn’t immediately respond no, fuck you? to a four A.M. text begging the question could you cox the rowing team until october?

Evangeline stared at the text in perfect disbelief. No. Obviously not. Why would she want to do that? She had met his so-called team on multiple occasions, and every time she had been utterly appalled at the state of their masculinity. Twenty-eight heathens. Gross toddlers raised by nannies and then shipped off to all-boys schools until attending university forced them into the company of women—and other socially adjusted people.

To spend the entire summer with the team, in Oxford of all places, sounded about as appealing as stepping on nails. But. She did love her brother.

So she asked: what happened to the last one?

Got sent down. Harper’s recruiting right now, so by Michaelmas we’ll be up to speed again. But my boat is short a cox for summer practices, and for HRR, came Ethan’s quick reply.

Evangeline sighed.

Why was he even awake, texting her, so late? She could picture him, in his dingy room passing a spliff back and forth with Leon. No doubt this question was one they had posed together, a spine curlingly annoying plan they had concocted in the haze of Miss Mary Jane.

The mental image made her roll her eyes. She supposed she couldn’t blame them for being awake when she was, too.

A heat wave had its grip on the whole country; the air in her room was stifling, and despite the French-style balcony doors standing wide open, the curtains weren’t moving at all. There hadn’t been wind in days.

Evangeline rolled onto her back, the pink silk sticking uncomfortably to her skin. Laying there, in her large bed on sheets with a ridiculous thread count, in a room that was almost bigger than the student flat she’d shared with Sherry and Sheva in Edinburgh, Evangeline was annoyed—frankly. So she said,

What about the cox from the second boat? Or the third? Can’t they step up? Don’t you have subs?

I can explain it later. But please say yes? Please!!!

The phone vibrated again with another message—twelve please in a neat stack.

She groaned. Despite her annoyance, she’d known she’d be travelling to Oxford the second he texted her. Which Ethan definitely knew, too.

Fine.

Ethan replied with a string of exclamation points. Then, can you be in Oxford tomorrow?

I’ll be there by lunch. Come to the flat, bring food.

In the far reaches of her mind, she had already agreed to cox for them. For one major reason. Evangeline did not want to go to Oxford to cox a rowing team—something she had no experience doing… But it wasn’t like she was booked and busy.

Graduation had come and gone, making Evangeline an anthropologist on paper. But there was no job lined up, and she had no boyfriend wanting to whisk her away to Capri. Her international uni friends had absconded the UK as soon as humanly possible, and Sherry had run off to London with her boyfriend. Terribly rude of her, seeing as she only had said boyfriend because of Evangeline.

Evangeline believed herself very skilled when it came to people. Seemingly like a sixth sense, she had an innate ability to see just the thing someone needed. Or the person, rather.

When Sherry Birkin, broke up with (not so) secretly gay Lord Piers Nivans of Waddesdon, Evangeline knew her friend needed a pick-me-up. Someone as far from a snobby athlete as possible; or at least as far as was deemed appropriate. Jake Muller was the perfect candidate—a little older (which Sherry liked), cool and mysterious (in his own words), and a singer-songwriter in the making.

The matchmaking was a great success, obviously, because now Sherry had abandoned her. For weeks at least.

By all means, Evangeline was entirely unoccupied, and if anything coxing would be a way to pass the time.

Really the only con was the rowing team itself. They were jocks, and jocks were like Neanderthals. It was a subculture that had always confused Evangeline, because why would you tie your identity so closely to a ball? Or a boat.

That thought made her pause. She pushed herself to sit up, the sheets peeling from her sweaty skin as she went.

There was already a little ball of excitement fluttering in her chest, like her body already knew the thought spiral she was about to ride.

There was something… vaguely anthropological brewing, wasn’t there? A summer ethnographic field study, immersing herself into a subculture she was unfamiliar with. She could literally write a paper—she had meant to do an independent study since her first year of uni, but never got around to it; this could prove the perfect moment! Masculine dysfunction in its natural habitat, or, What do men who have only known men do when a woman is suddenly near the top of the food chain? The coxswain was in charge—they steered and led, that much Evangeline knew.

Suddenly Ethan’s proposal seemed intriguing.

Grinning to herself, Evangeline abandoned her bed to pack. The pros were clearly outweighing the cons, but there was one thing left to factor in.

Leon Kennedy—Ethan’s roommate and more significantly, his life long best friend.

She had known him almost her entire life, and just as she had her sixth sense, he had his own—an unexplainable knack for figuring out when she was up to something. And he always disapproved.

It had been years since she met him in person, but even over the phone he was able to read her like a book.

A little over a year ago, she had phoned Ethan—as she did almost every day—to tell him about her budding success with Sherry and Jake, but Leon had picked up. Evangeline barely got past hello before he asked what she was up to now; in that annoying little voice only he could manage.

Evangeline left him to hang in the middle—not a con, certainly not a pro, simply… a fact. A variable she wasn’t sure what to do with.

With Leon out of the way, the scales tipped easily in favour of the pros.

The cherry on top would be if a new opportunity for matchmaking unearthed itself. Surely one of the poor guys on Ethan’s team needed a girlfriend.

As an anthropologist, Evangeline—of course—loved to speculate. That was just what anthropologists did, they speculated about everything and anything—but Evangeline loved to speculate about love.

What was love? A reproductive strategy? A social contract? A culturally sanctioned delusion? Some anthropologists argued it was a modern Western invention—that romantic love as we know it didn’t even exist in ancient societies. Others said it was universal—a survival mechanism, like sugar cravings or the fear of heights.

Evangeline saw herself as being allergic to love. She could look at it, smell it, maybe even have a little taste, but too much and an annoying itch developed under her skin. Her face got red, her heart beat heavier, faster. It was uncomfortable.

But it was so wonderful to look at—the way a birch was beautiful when it swayed in the wind, and frankly deadly when that wind carried its pollen your way.

꒰ ･｡ﾟ ✦ ･｡ﾟ ꒱

There was no one to meet Evangeline at the station in Oxford—though she wasn’t surprised. Ethan and Leon were probably nursing nasty hangovers—if they were even awake yet—so she opted to take a cab into the city, to the flat the family owned.

Dearest mummy Octavia insisted it was for if she ever wanted to visit Ethan, though she never had—too busy hosting fancy parties in New York. Or, sorry, working as editor-in-chief of Vogue, obviously.

The flat was empty, and the air was stale when Evangeline entered. Despite its perfect location and many amenities, Ethan didn’t live there. For some strange reason he chose instead to room at college with three other men.

Young men living together unsupervised… It was a concept Evangeline did not subscribe to.

She shot her brother a message that she’d arrived, and a reminder to bring food to stock up the empty kitchen, before she dumped her bags in her room. Then she settled at the kitchen island with a book of Sudoku. It was a hobby she had picked up at uni, mostly because she looked smart doing them.

However, she had realised she was actually pretty fucking good at it—and anything she had a knack for was terribly fun.

An hour passed before there was a key rattling in the old lock. Her pulse rushed suddenly, and her hand clenched around the pen—ink beading at the tip as it sat unmoving against the paper. The beginnings of a three bled into a blob of blue.

The sudden anxiety startled her. It was such a rare feeling. What could even be the source?

Her eyes peeled away from the puzzle to stare towards the hallway. She heard muffled voices, and the door shutting.

It wasn’t Ethan she was nervous to see, obviously. He was her brother; she had seen him just weeks ago at her graduation.

Perspiration made the pen slippery in her grasp.

It was Leon’s fault, though she hated the thought of him making her so nervous. Not only had he been a constant part of her childhood—almost a second brother—she was also not the worrying kind. That was Ethan’s thing.

It had been three years since she saw Leon last. She wondered how well he remembered her, and how accurate her own memories of him were.

The floorboards in the hallway creaked under their weight, voices growing louder.

She wondered if she should meet up with them or stay at the island.

Staying seemed more nonchalant. Like she didn’t even care that they were there. Which she didn’t.

Because Ethan was her brother, and three years ago she probably would have said the same about Leon. Maybe stepbrother—if that didn’t sound so gross.

Evangeline clicked the pen three times before chucking it into her pen case—both pink, both matching the short, strappy sundress she wore. She inhaled. Exhaled. Flipped a page in the Sudoku book.

Ethan’s voice was clear, followed by Leon’s low laughter. Before she knew it, they rounded the corner, suddenly right in front of her on the other side of the island.

The second Ethan realised Evangeline was waiting for them in the kitchen, he opened his arms for a hug. “You lifesaver,” he said in lieu of hello as he came around the island to pull her into a tight hug. He pressed a kiss into her hair and sighed. “Missed you.”

She inhaled again, and took comfort in his familiar scent: Dior cologne and beneath that, Hartfield.

“Missed you too,” she said. They broke apart, grinning at each other. “You need a haircut,” she told him, looking at the shaggy, blond strands that fell in front of his eyes and grew over his ears.

“In September,” he said. “Before freshers. That’s the only time you have to look good.”

“You’re way too old for that,” Evangeline told him with a snort, even though he was only twenty-three. He just grinned wider.

“That’s what he tells me too,” he said, pointing over his shoulder. At Leon.

Obviously.

But her eyes lingered on her brother’s messy hair for a long moment before she turned to look at his best friend.

Leon Kennedy had matured since Evangeline saw him last. Of course he had. But, Jesus.

The Leon in her head was tall and still lanky, his face dotted with acne and a splotchy beard that refused to grow evenly. The man before her, however, was nothing short of an Adonis.

Still tall, of course, but broad shouldered and muscular. The sleeves of his t-shirt struggled around his biceps, and tan, thick thighs stretched for miles from the hem of his too-short shorts. He was clean shaven, and acne scars made him look disarmingly kind, but his pale blue eyes were sharp and his lips were turned into a smirk. Like both Evangeline and Ethan he was blond, his hair cut in choppy layers that fell across his forehead in long, uneven strands—long enough to hide his eyes a little.

Around his neck, a golden chain gleamed in the sunlight coming through the windows. She knew there was a little cross pendant attached to it, though it was tucked away beneath his collar.

Cute.

He was still doing the whole Catholic thing.

“Evangeline,” he said with a smile, and the raspy depth of his voice almost startled her. “How kind of you to grace us with your presence.”

Had it really only been three years? Not ten? Twenty? Not that he looked old for twenty-three, just that he looked like a man, and not the awkward teen that had followed her brother around like a duckling.

The revelation required a lot of reorganising in her brain. Leon was maddeningly handsome suddenly. Not conventionally pretty—his jawline was too soft, his mouth too serious. But his face was clean-cut and symmetrical, with a strong chin and even features, angular and athletic.

“Right,” she said, dumbfounded.

“Your hair grew,” he said—like it would be news to her.

She nodded. “It does that.”

Ethan butted in, heading straight for the fridge. “Is there food?” he asked.

Thankful for the distraction, Evangeline pulled her eyes away from Leon to narrow at the back of her brother’s head. “I told you to get food on the way, didn’t I?”

“I must have missed it,” he said, staring at the empty fridge like food could simply materialise in there.

“Ethan,” she sighed—fond despite his mistake.

“You grew too,” Leon said then.

Evangeline faced him again, and almost regretted it. “Considering the fact that women typically stop growing before turning eighteen, I do doubt that,” she told him.

“You seem taller.”

“Older,” she supplied.

“Maybe. Still short enough to cox, though.”

“Evie, food,” Ethan whined.

“Get some,” she said. “Order something, or pop over to Waitrose.”

He slammed the fridge door and turned to Leon. “Let’s go, then.”

Leon gave him a two-finger salute, following easily. Halfway back into the hallway, he turned to Evangeline with a grin, “good to see you again.”

“You’ll be back. With the food?” she said.

Ethan grabbed Leon’s shoulder and pushed him forward. “Right. Full fridge?”

“Yes, please.”

Before they were entirely out of view, Ethan turned and said, “tell Sherry I pity her. London stinks, and Carlos Oliveira is an ass.”

Evangeline rolled her eyes, planning to do no such thing. London was great, and though she’d never actually met him, she knew Carlos Oliveira wasn’t an ass. He couldn’t be. He was rich, handsome and everyone raved about his kindness. A rare gem, if anything. He was Jake Muller’s cousin, and to say Evangeline hadn’t been completely aware of that when she spun her plans for him and Sherry would be a lie.

Alone again, she returned to her Sudoku. Ethan and Leon would be a while; if there was anything she’d learnt from knowing them both for so long, it was that they were incredibly slow when they did things together. So she completed her funny game of numbers before she moseyed her way into her room to finally unpack.

A summer in Oxford, surrounded by the men she set out to study, of course required a certain… uniform. Not just for the rowing practices, for which she had packed short shorts and tight shirts, but for every day as well. Ethan’s teammates weren’t just his teammates, they were his friends. His brothers—a bond she also intended to study as part of her research. They would hang out, surely, go to parties or whatever, and she’d need to look good for that, too! So short skirts, her cutest tops, and highest heels. It wasn’t what she would usually wear, at least not in the combinations she was planning, but it was a requirement for the experiment.

Experiment. Study. Research.

Evangeline wasn’t really sure what to call it yet. Nor did she really know what the goal was, or exactly what she was studying. But one thing she had learned doing research at uni was that that stuff didn’t really matter. Just pose a simple question, then collect data and see where it takes you.

So her simple question: what will happen when a woman is thrown into a subculture of men who only know men? Near the top of the food chain, no less.

Sub-question: could she possibly take one of these men and turn him into the perfect boyfriend for a lucky girl?

Sub-sub-question: could she change all the men from sweaty jocks to upstanding, feminist citizens?

That would do for now, she decided.

When her bags were emptied and the wardrobe stuffed, she pulled a notebook from her purse, and a matching pink pen, and wrote the questions on the first blank page. Notes were important for ethnographic studies—they were all she would have to go on in the end when she wrote her paper.

Perhaps she should do a master’s? Maybe a whole doctorate… Evangeline Winters, PhD. She’d be like a real-life Elle Woods. Perhaps. It would surely be quite… taxing. For sure it would take a long time.

Ethan and Leon returned two hours later with the shopping. Evangeline was on the couch with a book when she heard the key rattling in the lock again.

She met up with them in the kitchen just as they lifted the bags onto the counter.

“Thank you,” she said in a sing-song-y tone. “This is great.”

She avoided looking at Leon, simply was not used to the sight of him. Not like that. There was too much going on in her brain to process the unfamiliar thoughts cropping up.

Ethan arched an eyebrow as he began unpacking. “You should have come with us,” he said.

It certainly wouldn’t have taken two hours if she had.

“I had to sort out my clothes,” she said simply.

They unpacked the groceries together, and Evangeline forced herself to not complain about their choices of products. It became easier and easier not to, especially as she realised how comfortable she was. The earlier anxiety washed away, though she never understood where it came from in the first place; it was her brother, and his best friend—constant pillars in Evangeline’s life. Of course it was comfortable. Familiar.

After everything was put away, Leon—a surprisingly adept chef—cooked up a simple stir fry and they settled in around the table in the kitchen.

“So,” she said, using her fork to point at each of them. “This coxswain business. Tell me.”

“Alfred Ashford got sent down for plagiarism. Coaches and Cindy are recruiting now, and we’ll have someone by Michaelmas, but we need someone for summer and the regattas we’re signed up for. Y’know, like, Henley?” Ethan explained. There was spinach stuck between his front teeth, but Evangeline didn’t comment on it—neither did Leon, though she could tell he had seen it too, judging by the way he grinned slightly every time it showed.

“And no one on the team could step up and do it?” she asked. “What about—what’s his name… Billy? Doesn’t he cox?”

“Billy is a little too tall and heavy for cox the upper boat. And Little Steven who coxes third naturally refused. He knew it’d be his fault when we lose,” Leon said. “Upper boat needs someone short, light and loud.”

“But why ask me? Is your coach aware that your twenty-one year old sister, who’s never been in a rowing boat before, is about to be the coxswain?”

When Ethan’s face turned sheepish, and his food suddenly seemed to be the most interesting thing ever, Evangeline knew she was about to hear something she’d rather not.

“First of all, it’s a shell, not a rowing boat,” Leon said. “And what Spencer knows is that Ethan’s twenty-one year old sister, with years of rowing experience, is about to be the coxswain.”

Evangeline stared incredulously at them both. “I’ve never even seen you race.”

“You have,” Leon said.

“No!”

“Evie, at some point you must have,” Ethan said. “I’ve rowed since I was, like, five. You’re telling me you’ve never been to a race? Didn’t you come here not even that long ago for the race against Cambridge?”

Evangeline scoffed gently. “I was here, yes, I did not see the race.” Because she had somehow ended up in the bed of a tall, dark, depressed cellist who clearly wasn’t over his girlfriend. God, was he gorgeous, though.

“You saw us win Princess Elizabeth, back at Eton,” Leon said. “I know it. I remember.”

Try as she might, Evangeline couldn’t find any memory of that. “I don’t think I did.”

“You did,” he pushed. “You tied a ribbon around my oar. Said it was like a princess giving a knight a token before a joust.”

“That’s silly,” she argued.

“Very,” Ethan agreed.

But Leon just shrugged. “We did win.”

Evangeline roped them back into the argument at hand. “That doesn’t mean I’m qualified to be the coxswain. I can’t believe you lied to your coach!”

Ethan threw his hands up as if to say so what? “I had no choice. I’m the only one with an available sister the right age. We could have asked Claire—”

Immediately her eyes narrowed and she was quick to cut him off. “What? I’m sorry, why was sister a requirement?”

Ethan and Leon exchanged a wary look, and it was quickly shaping up to be the worst conversation she’d ever had with either of them.

“You tell her,” Ethan mumbled to Leon. His tell-tale worry wrinkle creased his forehead.

Leon laughed. “She’s not my sister.”

“She was your idea.”

“Someone tell me before I stab you with my fork,” she threatened.

At length, Ethan replied, “we had a team meeting last night, to discuss what to do with Alfred getting sent down. ’Cause obviously we need a coxswain. No one in the team wanted, or could, do it. You have to be short. Light. Hunk suggested someone on the women’s team—”

Leon cut him off to add, “but that was out of the question, because Serra slept with half of them, and they all hate him.”

Evangeline rolled her eyes. Of course.

“And then we thought, maybe someone from another school, but that just felt off. And they probably need their own coxswains anyway, so… No luck,” Ethan continued. “We were all out of options, honestly! Because new recruits, that’s not our business, that’s the coaches. So, like, what to do? But then Little Steven suggested someone’s sister. Someone hot. Eye candy.”

Her jaw almost hit the floor. “You fucking perv. You said me?” she asked him.

“No! God, no!” Ethan protested.

“I did,” Leon said. “You’re short. Light. Loud. I thought you were perfect.”

That was almost worse. Almost.

“This is ridiculous,” she groaned. “It would be one thing if there were no expectations, but you’re telling me your coaches think I have experience? I’ll humiliate myself.”

“No matter what, it’ll be an improvement from Alfred,” Leon said.

Evangeline huffed. “I should have said no to this.”

“Why didn’t you?” Leon asked, cocking his head to the side. There he went again. Somehow completely aware of her.

Evangeline met his narrowed eyes with openness.

She couldn’t tell them about the study—that would ruin it. It was very important that her subjects didn’t know they were being studied. If they did, they might alter their behaviour, giving her false data and a false conclusion. Perhaps it was a little bit unethical, but so was most research, honestly.

So she said, “something to do for the summer,” hoping it would satisfy Leon’s curiosity.

There was a gleam in his eye that told her that maybe it hadn’t, though he didn’t call her out on it. “Perhaps you will love it.”

“Perhaps,” she said—aiming for nonchalance. “Is there a schedule?”

“Of course,” Ethan said. “I have a copy in my bag in the hallway. We’re having a pizznic in Hinksey Park at eight.”

Evangeline blinked. “A what now?”

“Pizza picnic,” Leon supplied.

She wondered briefly if that was just how Ethan and Leon worked—if her brother said something ridiculous, and Leon translated it. Somehow she’d never noticed it before.

“You won’t be the only girl,” Ethan said with a smile. “Coach Spencer’s daughter is staying with him for the summer. Well. He called her his niece when he told us all, but Victor and Gideon told us it’s his daughter. Just not his wife’s. Her name’s Grace. Ashcroft.”

“And she’s not the coxswain because?”

“She’s way too tall,” Leon said.

She almost glared at him again. They behaved like a hive mind. Like annoying comic relief cartoon characters. Did they think they’d die if they didn’t take turns speaking?

Many, many times, Evangeline had suspected they might be more than friends, but they were both straight. Neither had ever had a serious girlfriend, though.

Homoeroticism within male bonds was almost something to expect. Did the jock-part affect it? She almost assumed so. Leon and Ethan were not only friends, they were also teammates. They practised together, they sweated and bled and failed and succeeded together—the highest of highs, and the lowest of lows.

Surely it affected them.

They really did behave like they had one singular, shared brain. Leon picked the green beans out of the stir-fry, and Ethan wordlessly scooted his plate over to accept them.

Were they always like this?

Perhaps uni had made it worse. They were roommates, too. They spent literally every hour of every day in each other’s space. It sounded exhausting—it was a wonder they hadn’t grown tired of each other yet.

“I’d love to attend your—pizznic,” she said, the word foul on her tongue.

Grown men acting like children. Pizznic. They probably cried laughing when they came up with that one.

“We’d love to have you,” Leon said.

“Yup,” Ethan agreed. “The team is looking forward to meeting you.”

She sighed and twirled a noodle onto her fork. “I bet.”

Eye candy. Sure.

From Different Angles

2026-04-29T13:29:11+00:00

The first time he met Leon, he saw himself, but instead of the cocky exterior that he plasters on himself, he sees something who hides behind his charisma. Both options are dangerous to those that are wearing their masks. After that very short, but tense meeting, he couldn’t get the man, Sherry’s father, out of his mind. He grew even more concerned, when he was called on another assignment so soon after returning from China, barely having time to wrap his injuries before he was carted off to the next assignment.

When Sherry sat him down, and told him what he thought, he was honest for the first time in a very long time. The depression was there, and his concern for her was through the roof. They came up with a plan, being there whenever they could be, doing what they could to make sure he was aware they were there for him. He wouldn’t let Sherry lose that man, not to something like his mind.

There were a few times when he scared them, after his mission in Alcatraz causing Jake to stress so much about the man he started to consider a father. He made sure any time Leon was alone, that he wasn’t really alone, and soon he realised that he was telling the man things he never thought he would ever utter. He made sure it wasn’t one sided, getting Leon to talk to him just as much as he talked, and they grew close. Leon tells him things he knows he would never tell Sherry, knowing that he had the misguided feeling of not worrying her. So he kept those moments close to his heart.

He stopped going on as many missions, knowing he no longer needed the money, decided to start going for the right reasons, not just for money or because he could. The one mission he did go on, was when he was asked by Ingrid Hunnigan to go on a blackout mission with her. He asked no questions until they got to Tall Oaks, and that's when he learned her truth. She couldn’t help him unless she was his handler so she made sure that remained, but she had questions and Tall Oaks had answers. It was then when he realised how many people wanted to help Leon, to rally behind him.

By the end of the mission, Jake had a new respect for Hunnigan and a new friend. They kept in contact after the mission, collecting notes. When Sherry was ready to go nuclear, he decided not to say anything, knowing Hunnigan already knew what was going to happen. She sent him a smiley face when she got what she wanted, and so he sat back and waited, and it didn’t take long before she started coming to gatherings.

Jake despite his cocky nature knew his strengths and his weaknesses, he had to work as a mercenary. But the one thing he refused to see as a weakness are those that he cares about. So when he sits next to the woman he is going to make his wife who is smiling at something Chris said to Leon, and the man he sees as a father relaxes. He is exactly where he is supposed to be, surrounded by those he loves.

Sooner or later… we must venture beyond our biological family to find our logical one… if we are to live without squandering our lives.

A found family is every bit as beautiful as a born family. Even more so, perhaps. Stories are about choices, after all, and to choose to be family is as wonderful a story as can be told. - Dan Gemeinhart

The Plunge

2026-04-29T13:30:29+00:00

It took six months for a memo to appear on his desk at work in relation to you. He almost didn’t open it for fear of what it said. But open it he did and his eyes glazed over as he read the reminder that while agents were, in a surprise to everyone, human and technically permitted relationships, that these relationships needed to be navigated carefully. A temporary fling shouldn’t be privy to the workings of the organization or the details of his job. If the relationship was serious then he’d have to inform HR, there would be some recommended safety training of various types—on and on it went.

The very thought of those things made his heart hammer in his chest. He hadn’t been thinking that far ahead just yet. It had only been six months, even if those had been the best six months of his life. It had also just been easier to live mostly in the moment and see where things went.

Perhaps more important than the reminder had been the attached dossier. That in particular made his stomach sink as, in reading your name in the title, he realized that someone had conducted a background check on you. At the same time, a sense of relief washed through him as he read a report that merely affirmed his understanding that you were just a regular person. Like you’d said, you worked an office job at a non-profit organization and had a few short stories published in a couple literary magazines under a pseudonym.

After that day, six months eventually became a year. One year became two and then almost three.

Around that time, he started thinking that maybe this was it. He found himself unable to imagine a life that didn’t involve you. A life where coming home after a mission didn’t mean coming straight to you and the apartment he had all but moved into.

During assignments, he compartmentalized and approached the work with a cool objectivity. While that detachment allowed him to complete his missions, he found it left him prone feeling empty inside in the aftermath. It had come to his attention that when his feet finally started carrying him home to you, he felt vitality begin to stream through him again.

There was a life for him beyond all the fighting—all the death, carnage, and destruction.

He had come to realize he needed you to remind him of that fact. Even if it was just for a night where all he got to do was sleep in the same bed as you.

And so he had started to wonder if maybe it was time to ask you a particular question. The two of you had briefly talked around the subject of marriage over the last couple of years, at least expressing mutual interest in being married some day. For him, that had been a surprising conversation the first time around. Not because of anything you said but for the fact that when he said he wanted to be married at some point, he realized he meant it.

All the pieces were there. He just needed to pull the trigger.

On the night Leon decided to take the plunge, the two of you had been having a pleasant dinner in. Complete with candles and a homemade dinner of all his favorites (which was basically anything you made, really), the two of you were sitting on the carpeted floor, facing each other over the second-hand wooden coffee table in your living room. Dinner was mostly eaten, the small amount of wine he’d consumed just enough to give him some extra liquid courage.

He had done his best to conceal his nerves. Based on the curious glances he caught from you, he must not have been doing a very good job.

Eventually, he said your name quietly, half like a question.

Your eyes flitted up to him. “Hm?”

He cleared his throat before speaking. “There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

Apprehension tightened your features. “Okay,” you said. You then tentatively laid your hand on the table in his direction, palm up and open in invitation.

He could see the relief loosen your features as he took your hand in his. Realizing it might (rather ironically) sound like he was trying to break up with you, he pressed on.

“You know I work a job I can’t talk about and that sometimes I’m gone for a while.”

You nodded, questions already swimming in your eyes. “Yeah, I know.”

“Despite all that, you’ve put up with me these past few years. You’ve let me crash here more nights than I can count to the point that I don’t even really know why I still have my own place anymore. You’ve seen what this job does to me, even if you don’t know exactly why.”

The times he’d shown up with a busted lip or ripped stitches came to mind. That one time with the knife wound. He had tried to hide all of that for a while before realizing hiding it meant waiting to heal before he saw you. And that, as it turned out, was more unbearable than he was willing to accept. Especially when you never asked too many questions beyond wanting to know if he was okay and how you could help. Even more so when you took the initiative to keep a stocked medical kit just in case because of him.

He watched your throat bob with a thick swallow. “Yeah, it’s been…interesting at times,” you said vaguely.

He chuckled nervously. “That’s one way to put it. I can’t help but feel like I’m not good for you—that I should try to maintain some distance,” he said, the words feeling like acid coming off his tongue. “Only for some reason I just can’t. Okay, maybe not can’t. The truth is that I don’t want to.”

“Then don’t,” you said immediately. “I don’t plan on going anywhere.”

Your cheeks flushed a lovely pink.

He nodded, a smile teasing at his lips. “I thought you’d say something like that. That stubborn streak of yours is one of those many things I love about you.”

Finally, a smile tentatively took hold on your face.

He adjusted his hold on your hand. His throat felt tight. “I don’t know if you’re always going to be safe with me. There’s a possibility that if you stay with me, you might get hurt because of the type of work I do.”

“I’ve realized that. Or at least thought about it. I’ve also accepted that.”

Part of him couldn’t help but marvel at how easily you said that. The conviction in your eyes was astonishing. He could only hope that it lasted after he fully explained what he actually did for a living.

When the words came, they were like an avalanche, picking up speed as they went. “I need you to understand before you even consider fully committing what that means. Not just vaguely understand but fully. I trust you that even if you change your mind about—about us, you won’t tell anyone. I just need you to go in with your eyes open.”

Now it was your hand that was gripping tightly. “Tell me, Leon.”

And so he told you what he did. That he was a government agent for an organization that specialized in counter activities against bioengineered viruses and resulting bioweapons. The kinds of missions he went on and the kinds of mad people and monsters he faced. How he had (mostly reluctantly) come to be a member of the organization after the incident in Raccoon City. How he had been in Raccoon City for his first and last day as a police officer. How what had happened in that city wasn’t quite what had been depicted in the news.

Halfway through, he realized that he should’ve asked for some water or more wine. Luckily for him, you were accommodating enough to give him what was left in your glass when his ran dry. And while your face paled at his descriptions of what the reality of fighting BOWs really looked like, you didn’t pull away. Not even when he haltingly explained when he had recently been infected by and cured of the plaga parasite during a mission to rescue the President’s daughter.

He remembered those painful days after his return from Spain. Not only physical pains but the fact that he hesitated to touch you for a few days, memories of his recent encounter with a parasitic infection sporadically contaminating his waking thoughts and even his dreams. You had been unbelievably accommodating at the time, so patient as you waited for him to get over his paranoia over the “tropical disease” he had caught.

He had wanted so badly to tell you then that the thought of coming home to you had pulled him through some dark moments that time. Depending on how this conversation went, maybe he would.

In the end and in the silence that followed, he couldn’t read your expression. Your grip on his hand held firm and he couldn’t tell if it was just his palm that was sweating or if it was yours. Or both.

If she’s going to break up with me, might as well rip this band-aid right off.

“Well?” he prompted gently, attempting to smile just a touch. Just enough to be welcoming to whatever came his way.

Even if it was the end of the best thing that had ever happened to him.

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Cleared your throat. Opened your mouth again. “Well, looks like my guess that you were CIA was a crap one.”

The levity of your tone had him nearly choking on his own spit.

You continued, “Leon, I already knew that you were out there fighting the good fight. I didn’t have to know the specifics to know that whatever you were doing out there, it was to make the world a better and safer place. Knowing you, it couldn’t possibly be anything less. And if you can do all those amazing things, deal with what you do, and at the end of the day want to come home to me…” You trailed off, tears suddenly brimming in your eyes as your breath hitched. “Then I’m honored in more ways than I can describe. I’m the luckiest woman alive to have met a man like you.”

You could have punched him in the gut and it would have had about the same effect. Even if it was the very sort of thing he had dreamt in his maddest dreams you would say, the words still left him speechless.

Now it was your turn to prompt him, squeezing his hand and blinking back the tears. “Leon?”

He found his voice. “Then—then that’s it, I guess. What do you say?”

You gave him a look. A look that clearly said you knew what he was saying but wanted him to articulate it explicitly.

He laughed anxiously. “Okay, okay, I’ll rephrase and say it properly. Will you marry me?”

You beamed like sunshine piercing through the clouds on a rainy day. “Of course I will.”

“Good, then I’m going to kiss you. If you don’t mind.” He really wasn’t sure how his voice could be so steady when his heart was galloping away in his chest. Even the adrenalin of a good scrap had nothing on this moment.

“I sure hope that’s what you’re going to do.”

Planting his other hand on the table, he leaned over until his lips covered yours. Those lips that had agreed to marry him were so soft. He kissed them with renewed fervor and kept doing so until long after he had you under him in bed that night.

You, his wife to be.

Naturally, the way the proposal had unfolded didn’t involve a ring. It also hadn’t really involved a plan. Leon’s plan abruptly ended at the part where he asked you to marry him. The engagement ring was easily remedied after an afternoon shopping around for one the following weekend. Then, even though he knew the answer and you were giving him an amused smile the entire time, he got down on one knee with the ring box and asked you again to marry him.

Honestly, your answer was just as thrilling the second time as it had been the first.

The plan after that?

Well, as it turned out, neither of you really wanted or needed a real plan. He had no family to speak of and you had hardly any family that you spoke to. With so few friends between the two of you and a sibling that you only sometimes talked to, it dawned on the pair of you fairly quickly that maybe a whole ceremony was unnecessary.

As it turned out, all you really needed was a license, a courthouse, and a witness.

Leon let you pick whatever date you wanted, which wound up being a few months after the proposal. That gave him time to completely move in, get rid of his apartment, and fully embrace when every night at home was a night with you.

The witness wound up being one of your few friends, one who also did some amateur photography and agreed to take some pictures for the pair of you.

By the time the civil ceremony neared the finale, Leon thought his face was going to crack from smiling so much. You had elected to wear a white midi dress cut to perfectly flatter your figure and a shoulder-length veil. He wore a dark suit and a tie that matched the color of the dominant flowers in your bouquet. The entire time, he couldn’t stop staring at you if he tried. Quite frankly he hadn’t the slightest clue what had been said during most of the ceremony, so intent he was on just admiring you and basking in the fact that this was really happening.

Those traditional vows struck him right in the chest when spoken by you. When you looked into his eyes and fiercely declared that you would stick with him through sickness and in health, his heart about stopped. The way you said those words left no doubt in his mind that you meant them. After all, you had taken care of him all the time these last few years.

He tried to match your ardor with his own vows, clasping your hands so hard he feared he was on the verge of breaking them. He meant every last word he said that day.

He would care for you at all times. Regardless of wealth or whatever health problems may come your way.

He would share your burdens with you.

He would be faithful to you until his dying breath.

Mentally, he added one about making the world a safe place for you. After all, this moment right here was the sort of thing that he fought for. So that people—even people like him—could find someone who looked at them with unabashed adoration and love like you did him.

You stared at him through the gossamer veil, your eyes shimmering with tears and a smile that must be hurting your cheeks by now. He only could guess that based on how his own cheeks were starting to feel painfully tight. And yet somehow he still couldn’t stop.

“By the power invested in me by the state, I pronounce you Mr. and Mrs. Kennedy. You may kiss the bride.”

Leon finally released your hands, folding back the veil with trembling fingers. He slid a hand behind your head, mindful to avoid disturbing your coiffure. With a light touch under your chin, he brought your head both up and back. Closer and closer, he brought the pair of you together until he was officially kissing his wife for the first time. In his head, all he could hear beyond a wordless roar of joy was a five syllable phrase.

Mrs. Kennedy.

It struck a profound chord in him even when he knew the judge was going to say it. After all, it had been one his few requests. It just sounded so lovely that he couldn’t help but whisper as he pulled back, “Mrs. Kennedy.”

You inhaled sharply, eyes wide as you shuddered. Your hands grabbed fistfuls of his suit, your bouquet discarded on the floor.

“Say it again,” you ordered.

He said it again, this time slower. He punctuated the new title with another soft kiss. Then breathed against your lips, “My Mrs. Kennedy.”

You emitted a sound he could only describe as the epitome of glee, throwing your arms around him and kissing him with the force of a whirlwind.

A lightness bubbled in his chest, fizzing its way up and out of him in the form of unbridled laughter. Wrapping his arms around your waist, he spun you about, kissing you again and again.

In the background, your friend’s camera shutter clicked away, capturing those moments for all time.

some sunny day

2026-04-29T13:30:27+00:00

Leon can't remember the last time he's felt this tired.

That was technically a lie, he could remember a time where he felt this tired, memories of Raccoon City flitting through his minds' eye as he trudges down a stone corridor for what felt like the millionth time that night. Maybe 'tired' wasn't the right word - exhausted, drained maybe. His legs were burning from exertion, back aching from hefting equipment. He felt like he'd been run through a meat grinder, the constant fighting with the endless ganados and other assorted nasties that never seemed to stop coming starting to sap him of his energy.

How many of those things are even in this place? he thinks to himself with a scowl, shrugging his aching shoulder a bit to adjust the Riot Gun currently slung over it. Do they have a freak factory somewhere around here that I don't know about?

At this point, he'd been searching for Ashley on and off for hours, though it felt more like days had passed with how long he'd been running around the remote area. It was hot, muggy, the rain coming down in sheets on and off as the night droned on. He could feel sweat dripping down his neck, plastering his hair to his forehead along with a healthy dose of rainwater that didn't even help cool him off. If he never saw Spain again, it would be too soon.

It was his duty though, he thinks dryly as he walks. His mission, one that came with only one option for response. He didn't have much choice in the matter, he never really did, and that's what pissed him off the most about the situation. He survived one hell just to be thrown into another with every ounce of autonomy he managed to scrape together in Raccoon City ripped away, a picture of Sherry Birkin dangled in front of his eyes with the promise of her being safe if he 'agreed' to work for them - the government, his government. The same government that was just as guilty as Umbrella was for the hell he endured in the first place. He wants to believe it's because he cares about his country, a sense of patriotic responsibility, but he knows that's a lie. His only thought as he went through hours upon hours of grueling training and missions, the rookie cop getting beaten out of him and replaced with a reluctant special agent, was Sherry sitting in a cell somewhere he couldn't reach.

Leon grits his teeth and shakes his head, dispelling the thoughts. He needed to focus, a different blonde haired girl currently needing his help. Damn his bleeding heart.

He'd managed to initially find Ashley Graham held in a room in a church, to which she tried to attack him with a candelabra, which he had to admit was fairly quick thinking on the college girl's part. Once he'd calmed her down, they managed to escape, though not without several attempts from the members of the cult trying to kidnap her once again. That tall freak, Méndez or whatever, was one persistent bastard in particular. His hand drifts up to rub at his neck where he'd felt a stinging sensation upon waking up after that hulking giant of a man had knocked him unconscious.

One failed extraction due to weather and a final confrontation with a man who really should not have been as tall as he was later, Leon and Ashley had managed to escape the village and found themselves at the entrance to a dilapidated castle, where Luis - a man that Leon had been forcefully introduced to earlier that day after rescuing him from a burlap sack - had contacted him. Luis and him had been separated after freeing each other from having been kidnapped, but Leon had found out fairly quickly afterwards from Hunnigan that he was former Umbrella and suddenly found himself regretting rescuing the man at all.

Bafflingly, though, Luis had helped him and Ashley after their escape from the village, fighting off a mob of ganados with Leon and helping them get away. He'd even divulged the source of Ashley's mysterious illness when the girl had doubled over in a fit of coughs that spattered blood into her hand. A plaga was what Luis had called it, and Leon had found himself paying close attention as he remembered how he'd collapsed in the boat hours earlier after coughing up blood himself. He started paying attention to how he felt; how exhausted he was beyond what was reasonable, his head spinning and something in his spine tingling every so often. Luis explained that it was why the villagers were the way they were, under the control of a parasite that burrowed into their brains. Suddenly the moment in the church where he and Ashley had both heard the voice of what he could only assume was the leader of the cult commanding his flock to find them made much more sense.

There was hope, though; a potential cure. A surgical procedure to extract the parasite as long as it wasn't too far along in it's inhabitation. They just needed to put their trust in Luis in order to get it, which Leon reluctantly agreed to do.

He'd swallowed back his growing unease and put his focus on Ashley - his mission. He questioned Luis on why he was helping them. Luis had stood there for a moment, not facing either Leon or Ashley, before replying, "Because it makes me feel better."

Leon had ignored his irritation at the vague answer and begrudgingly accepted it.

Upon contact, Luis informed Leon that there was apparently a suppressant for the plaga; something to keep it at bay for a little while - to keep it from growing. He'd told Leon and Ashley to meet him in the courtyard before sending him a document detailing the initial symptoms of the plaga's development.

Mild abdominal pain.

Hemoptysis.

Dizziness.

Loss of consciousness.

Leon had done his best not to create a mental checklist for himself.

After further fighting with even more infected (he really was tired of getting bug goo all over his clothes) and managing to make it inside the castle, they were confronted by one of the shortest people he's ever had the displeasure of meeting.

What was it with this place and height differences?

The man introduced himself as Ramón Salazar, not that Leon cared about who the guy was, and demanded that Leon hand Ashley over to him. Leon wasn't exactly interested in doing that, and had politely declined. Apparently Salazar didn't appreciate that, though, and suddenly they were fighting infected once again.

They'd traversed through the castle, though Leon had taken an accidental detour after falling through the floor and becoming unwillingly acquainted with a chained man that really wanted to dice him into little bite sized pieces. He killed it, escaped, and so it went until they reached the courtyard where Luis had told them to meet him. They'd barely even taken a step when Ashley stopped in her tracks, hands lifting to her head. Leon had turned, concerned, but upon asking if she was alright she suddenly pitched forward and collapsed into his arms. His heart had dropped, panic setting in, but it hadn't lasted very long before he was being attacked by the girl, who had managed to get a hold of his knife. He blocked the swing and the blade sliced into his hand, but he hadn't cared in the moment as his focus was on Ashley - or, whatever was controlling Ashley, her voice suddenly calm in a way it hadn't been all night.

"Temperance, child," the plaga had said, Leon freezing as unfamiliar eyes gazed back at him. The change in personality had shocked him in the moment, but before he could really process it, the gate slammed down between them and Ashley returned. She stared at him, her eyes widening in horror, her mouth opening and closing as if she was at a loss for words. Her eyes welled with tears and she briefly looked down at her hands before dropping the knife like it had burned her and running off. Leon had regained the ability to move, lurching forward slightly and calling out to Ashley, but it was too late and she was long gone.

Thus started his second attempt at finding Ashley Graham.

Leon sighs and slows to a stop, running a hand through his hair. He grimaces at the grease and grime clinging to the strands and tells himself that he would be taking a nice long shower the moment he was back in the States. That sounded nice, that and a hot meal. His stomach grumbled as if in response to this thought and he made a face. The only thing he's eaten since arriving was the occasional fish he managed to get his hands on. He's never touching fish again after this.

He glances around, the hallway deserted and quiet, and decides he can at least afford a small moment of respite before continuing. He leans against the wall heavily and rests the back of his head against the cool stone, staring at the opaque glass windows across from him. He'd lost contact with Hunnigan a while ago, the reception out here apparently lackluster, though it's not like this was the first time in his life he flew blind somewhere. He didn't exactly have USSTRATCOM just a call away back in Raccoon City and he did just fine. That's what he tells himself, at least. He doesn't think about the fact that he'd only been a year older than Ashley is during that.

Ashley shouldn't have to deal with that though, he thinks with a frown. She deserved to have a normal life filled with all the things a twenty year old college student should be doing, not this.

Ashley.

His shoulders slump and he rubs at his eyes with his uninjured hand. He'd seen so much that went so far beyond Raccoon City just within the course of a few hours and it made his head spin. Heads exploded on command, the creatures growing inside being revealed as tendrils twisting and lashing around from the stumps, zealots worshiping the ground the parasite walked. At least with the T- and G-Virus, no one had formed a freak religion around them. That he knew of, at least.

He huffs a breath through his nose and scrubs his hand across his mouth, feeling slight stubble scratching against his fingertips. He needed to shave.

He stands there for a moment, staring blankly at the window. He was so damn tired, his body aching like he'd just gone through the beating of his life - which wasn't exactly inaccurate to say after the sheer amount of times he's been shot at, swung at, punched, kicked, thrown against walls, et cetera.

It wouldn't hurt to close his eyes for a moment, right?

He blinks sluggishly, exhaustion pulling at him so temptingly. Just for a second, he thinks to himself as he lets his eyes fall shut. That's all.

The hall falls silent save for his own breaths, his shoulders relaxing as he takes the moment to just breathe. When was the last time he slept? It had to have been before he got here, at least. God, he missed his shitty bed in his even shittier apartment.

He hears the wind blowing outside, whistling quietly and battering the old stone walls. Light rain was pattering against the windows, the fires lighting the torches on the walls crackled almost soothingly. The castle was blissfully quiet for the first time since he'd gotten there.

He almost starts to drift off where he stands.

Then.

Click.

Leon's eyes fly open and he moves faster than he can process in the moment. His hand darts to his pistol and he pulls it from the holster lightning quick, spinning around and aiming at the source of the sound. What greets him though was not what he had expected.

"Leon Kennedy. I had wondered if we would ever meet."

Leon blinks, staring at the man opposite him who was also pointing a gun at his face, albeit much more calmly than Leon was. Blonde hair combed back neatly, not a strand out of place, a handsome angular face and high cheekbones that looked like they were stolen straight from a Michelangelo statue. Extremely overdressed for their current surroundings, the man was wearing a faded blue dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a grey vest, grey dress pants and nice shoes - all paired together with a leather shoulder holster not too dissimilar to the one Leon wore.

Topping off the out of place outfit was a pair of sunglasses perched on the bridge of a long nose despite the fact that it was the middle of the night. They obscured the man's eyes from view, but Leon felt very distinctly pinned by the man's gaze despite that. He shifts, but doesn't lower his weapon.

"Do I know you?" Leon asks, watching the man closely. The man tilts his head slightly, as if observing Leon right back, and the corner of his mouth twitches faintly in what looked like amusement.

"Perhaps not, but I know you," the man replies, his voice low and smooth in a way that made Leon feel some kind of way that he ignored. "The rookie from Raccoon City. Barely a cop on his first day and yet somehow managed to survive an entire city filled with the infected." The man's lips quirk up briefly. "An interesting deviation of expectations."

Leon grimaces slightly. "Yeah, well, I guess I'm just full of surprises," he quips in response, swallowing back his growing unease at the situation. "You seem to know a lot about me for a guy I've apparently never met."

The man's face had fallen back into an unreadable neutrality, Leon once again feeling uncomfortably studied despite not being able to see the man's eyes behind the sunglasses. "I've been tracking your progress on the island ever since it became clear that you were more than just a passing irritant," the man says, not acknowledging what Leon had said much to Leon's annoyance. "You've left quite the path of destruction in your wake, Mr. Kennedy. I'd almost be impressed if not for the fact that you've been making things increasingly more difficult for me." The man regards Leon, as if he were observing a bug. "I suppose your reputation does precede you, as much of a nuisance as you've become."

"I'm flattered," Leon responds dryly, though he does take note of the rest of what the man was saying. Making things difficult? What the hell was this guy doing here? "Is that why you're here pointing a gun at me? Or is this just your way of saying hello?"

The man quirks an eyebrow, and it's like Leon can feel the man's gaze flick down to Leon's own gun still pointed at the man's head. Leon glances at his gun as well, feeling his face heat up in embarrassment. Nice, Kennedy. He doesn't lower the gun, though, pressing his lips together slightly. "So, are you here to kill me then?" he asks, watching the man tilt his head once again. It was unnerving how calm the guy was. "If I'm causing you so much trouble."

The man was quiet for a moment, watching Leon, and Leon tried his best not to shift under the man's obscured gaze. His expression didn't betray much, and the stupid sunglasses didn't exactly make for reading expressions much easier. He'd probably be great at poker, Leon thinks to himself as he shifts a bit where he stood.

"I had planned to, initially," the man says finally, casual in a way that Leon was sure really wasn't fitting for an admittance to planning his murder. "You were an obstacle; an interference. I would have sent someone else to do it, but she seemingly has an unfortunate attachment to you."

Leon blinks. She?

"She wasn't willing and insisted upon your supposed usefulness, which is quite out of character for her to do, and so I decided to take a look myself," a twitch of the man's lips before falling back to neutrality, "to see what was so special about you that made her so unwilling to eliminate you when asked."

Leon frowns at this, not having a clue of who this guy could be talking about. The only person that really came to mind was someone he watched die six years ago, so there was no way it could be. Could it?

Leon was quiet, processing, and the man seemingly allowed him to do so as they both lapsed into a brief silence only broken by the rain tapping softly on the windows. A few seconds pass before Leon finally speaks, lifting his chin slightly. "So?" he prompts, causing the man to raise an eyebrow. "You find anything interesting?"

The man doesn't say anything immediately, almost seeming to consider Leon. Then, "I did, curiously enough," he says finally. "You were the top of your class at the police academy with exceptional marks, highly recommended by your instructors, with glowing reviews from everyone who was spoken to about you." Leon blinks in surprise. "You were sent to the Raccoon City police department upon your request, and were expected to start your first day on the job the day that the infection in the city reached its peak. By what I can only assume to be dumb luck, you were late, and thus missed most of the carnage that occurred."

Leon looks a little offended by the dumb luck comment, but says nothing, a little taken aback by how much the man seemingly knew about him.

"You arrived at the city towards the end of the destruction and somehow managed to fight your way through hordes of infected with only academy training," the man continues, like he was reading off a report and not reciting Leon's personal hell. "Not only were you able to survive the infected residents of the city, but you were able to survive specific Umbrella creations that were engineered to be, ineloquently put, killing machines." A huff of breath escapes the man, something almost amused briefly appearing in his expression before disappearing as quick as it came. "An unexpected variable for them, I would assume."

Leon shifts his weight from one foot to the other. "I guess I just like to exceed expectations," he says. The man has no outward reaction to Leon's words, and Leon presses his lips together slightly. Awkward.

"Despite your blatant lack of field experience, you were able to fumble your way through the police station, through the sewers, and into the NEST facility." The man continues as if Leon had never spoken, Leon looking a little indignant at the man's words, but this isn't acknowledged by the other whatsoever. "Once you infiltrated NEST, you managed to stumble into something that was.. far above your pay grade, I would say." The man raises an eyebrow. "Am I correct in that assessment?"

Leon stills, the anxious knot in his stomach tightening. Images of Sherry flit through his minds eye and he adjusts his grip on his gun, but he doesn't respond, though the way he tenses was enough of an answer on its own. The man seems to agree by the way his expression shifts into something almost pleased, like that told him everything he needed to know.

"You survived multiple encounters with one William Birkin before eventually killing him, despite his self inflicted infection of the Golgotha virus which had mutated him beyond recognition," the man goes on, ignoring Leon's discomfort. "You escaped NEST, and Raccoon City as a whole, before the facility was destroyed after the self destruct sequence was activated and the city subsequently was wiped off the map in a precision missile strike." A pause. "You also were not alone in your escape."

Ice drops into Leon's chest, but he still doesn't say anything, just staring at the man as his grip tightens on his gun.

"A child was with you - a young girl," the man says, never taking his eyes off of Leon. "Sherry Birkin, William's daughter." He seems to watch Leon shift, Leon's expression becoming unreadable beyond the anxiety and anger gleaming in his eyes. Still, Leon says nothing. "You and her were then detained by the United States government, you being charged with quite a few serious crimes, and you were.. persuaded to join their ranks in a secretive anti-B.O.W. program due to your experience."

That finally causes Leon to react, white knuckling his gun now and clenching his jaw, breaths coming out a bit heavier. The man tilts his head at this, and it pisses Leon off even more.

How the fuck does he know that?

The man smirks. "I seem to have hit a nerve."

Leon bares his teeth slightly. "Where did you get that information?" he demands, his gun starting to waver as his hand began to tremble faintly.

The man speaks once again as if Leon hadn't said anything, regarding Leon with an air of curiosity that made Leon's blood boil. "I wonder how someone who was barely even an officer was able to uncover such a thing?" the man says, the smirk still playing across his lips. "Umbrella was filled with incompetent men, but one thing they were not was careless about informational leaks." The man's smirk widens slightly. "No wonder the government considered you a threat."

How the fuck does he know that?

Leon's eyes widen a fraction, panic now mixing with the anger as his breaths start to quicken. The man was watching him all the while, expressionless in his observation of Leon, and it just made Leon angrier. "You have no idea what you're talking about," Leon growls, and the man chuckles as if Leon had said something particularly amusing.

"Don't I, agent Kennedy?" the man replies, causing Leon to tense even further, his breaths getting heavier as he stares at the other man with anger gleaming brighter in his eyes. "I know that they held you for days, interrogating you for information, trying to pry out every little detail they could manage about how much you knew of their involvement with Umbrella." Images of interrogation after interrogation - blow after blow - flash through Leon's head as his finger twitches over the trigger of his gun. "I know that they threatened you - threatened little Sherry - for hours, waiting to see if you would crack under the pressure." Leon's head started to spin, the mention of Sherry making his heart pound in his chest. "I know that the only reason you're even here is because they told you that they wouldn't harm a hair on little Sherry's head if you just.. cooperated."

Leon was breathing hard now, chest heaving, his grip so tight on the gun it was almost painful. He squeezes his eyes shut then blinks them open, focusing his gaze on the man, who was seemingly watching Leon's every move - every breath, every little tick. It made Leon feel exposed; raw, vulnerable. His head was spinning faster now, a faint disorientation starting to form at the edges of his mind, but he stays firm. The man doesn't say a word, letting what he said linger in the air between them.

Leon was shaking, though not from fear. He felt like he'd just gotten off the worlds worst Tilt-A-Whirl, vertigo making his equilibrium feel like it was careening to the side. The anger still persisted, though - still burned hot in his chest as he looked right back at the man, who was looking right back at him - studying him. Who the fuck was this guy?

The muscles in Leon's jaw work as he grits his teeth, trying to push past the dizziness. "Who are you?" he manages, voice strained. "What do you want?"

"I figured it would be obvious, Mr. Kennedy," the man says, and Leon so desperately wants to snap back that it really wasn't, "You're an anomaly; a deviation in what was assumed to be a meticulous plan. A rookie who managed to do what others in your shoes have failed to accomplish." Leon shifts, almost being able to feel the man appraising him despite not being able to see it. "I want to know what makes you so special."

Leon bares his teeth slightly. "My charming disposition," he deadpans, voice dripping in sarcasm, "and my endlessly shitty bad luck." He glares at the man. "You didn't answer my other question."

The man quirks an eyebrow. "Doesn't the government train their dogs to recognize their enemies?"

Leon bristles. "We don't exactly chat about past flings over drinks."

The man's lips curl at the edges. "Interesting. Though, I suppose I shouldn't expect much more from a government who would threaten a civilian into service. They aren't very subtle, are they?"

Leon's eye twitches.

"Do they really not tell you things, agent Kennedy?" the man asks in an almost mocking tone, and anger once again swirls bright and hot in Leon's chest. "Do they keep their rising star in the dark? It does makes sense; why reveal everything to a mutt being trained to heel?"

Leon's finger again twitches over the trigger, vertigo now coming in waves. "I guess whoever you are, you aren't really at the top of their priority list," he says, and instead of the intended effect of angering the man, the man just grins.

"Oh, I highly doubt that, Mr. Kennedy," the man says, making Leon frown. "I think I'm quite high on their list, actually."

Leon rolls his eyes. "Good for you," he says dryly. "Still doesn't answer my question."

The man tilts his head as he looks at Leon. "I think it does," he says, not helping Leon's annoyance any. "I think you know exactly who I am, whether it be from a whisper or an overheard conversation." Leon frowns more at this. "Maybe even from a shared acquaintance of ours. A certain Redfield, perhaps?"

Leon pauses.

Redfield?

Claire?

The man must notice the way Leon's expression changes, because he seems particularly pleased with himself as silence falls between the two men, nothing but the wind whistling quietly being heard. Leon's heart was pounding, however, thumping in his ears like the cadence of a drum. "How do you know Claire?" he asks, and the man's eyebrows raise slightly.

"We've met briefly," the man responds, "though I'm actually far more familiar with her dear brother, Chris."

Leon's brow furrows, something nagging at him now. Chris? He's never met the man before, only ever spoken to him once through email, but something about that felt familiar in a way he couldn't place. Leon doesn't respond, trying to think now as his gaze drifts to the side. He combs through his memories, past conversations with Claire that featured her brother in some way; emails, phone calls.

He thinks, gaze lifting once again to look over at the man, who was watching him quietly with a once again unreadable expression. Then, something clicks, and he remembers a conversation he'd had with Claire over the phone late one night not long after she'd returned from a mission of her own.

"I still can see his face, Leon," Claire says quietly, her voice wavering slightly. "The way he looked at me - at Chris."

Leon adjusts the receiver where it was propped between his shoulder and his ear, lifting a hand to ruffle his messy hair slightly as he blinks at the wall blearily. It was the middle of the night, the phone ringing having woken him from an already fitful sleep, and he'd answered it only to be greeted by a very upset Claire. Nightmares is what she told him, and he'd understood immediately. "You said the place blew up, right?" he asks, voice still slightly rough from sleep. "Maybe he died in the explosion."

Claire snorts humorlessly. "That bastard isn't dead," she says, Leon pressing his lips together slightly at the change in tone. "That's what we all thought the first time around, but look how that turned out."

Leon frowns, shifting to lean against the wall. "The first time?" he asks, and Claire briefly goes quiet before responding to his question.

"I always forget you weren't around when everything started," she says, and Leon huffs softly in response. "You know S.T.A.R.S., right? From the RPD?"

Leon hums, rubbing at his eyes. "Yeah," he replies, "Everyone at the academy wanted to be them." Including himself, but he doesn't say that. Claire laughs softly.

"Yeah, most everyone did," she replies, almost sadly. "Chris was S.T.A.R.S., though I'm sure you know that. They were initially investigating all the weird deaths happening around the city, but after stuff got bad, they got sent into the Arklay forest to investigate reports from there."

Leon's eyebrows raise. "I remember seeing stuff about that," he says, recalling snippets from newspaper articles he'd read in his free time. "It was why I requested to be sent to Raccoon City."

There was a pause on the other end of the line and Leon feels his face heating up in embarrassment. He moves his hand to rub at the back of his neck awkwardly. "I'd.. y'know.. thought I could help out some."

Claire was quiet, then she chuckles. "Sounds like you," she teases, and Leon puffs out a breath of air in reply. "Chris's group, Alpha, was sent after they lost contact with Bravo," she continues, her voice turning serious once again. "He was their captain." Leon didn't need to be told to know who Claire was talking about. "He led them to that mansion, in the forest," she says, voice quieting. "He knew what was going to happen, it was all part of his plan." Leon can see clearly how Claire probably looked in that moment, staring blankly at her wall. "He led them there to die, Leon. All of them."

Leon swallows hard. He remembered reading the articles in the paper about what was dubbed 'The Mansion Incident' weeks after everything had happened. They'd reported on what the survivors saw, what they found, but it was like no one listened - like no one cared - until it was too late. He's quiet for a moment before asking, voice soft, "What happened to him?"

"Died," Claire replies without pause, and Leon blinks in surprise. "Chris saw it happen, killed by his own creation." Leon can picture the little shrug of her shoulder. "Chris never believed it, though. I guess he was right."

Leon pauses, hesitating. Then, he asks softly against his better judgment, "Are you sure it was him you saw in Antarctica?"

He immediately regrets it when he hears Claire's sharp intake of breath.

"I'd recognize Albert Wesker anywhere."

Leon pulls himself from the memory, and realization comes crashing down on him. Files, papers, conversations in hushed tones he'd managed to catch snippets of before he was seen and the whispering stopped. Pictures of the same face over and over again flitting through his mind's eye, all with the same flat expression, all with the same blonde hair and sunglasses staring up at him.

Dread begins to creep up his spine in a cold chill.

"Wesker," he breathes, and the man - Wesker - grins.

"I see the commendations on your observational skills weren't horribly exaggerated," Wesker says, and Leon swallows back his growing sense of foreboding.

Albert Wesker; former S.T.A.R.S. captain, former Umbrella researcher, current bioterrorist threat.

Wonderful.

Leon tries not to make it completely obvious that the pit of his stomach felt like it had dropped out, adjusting his hold on his gun and shifting slightly where he stood. Wesker was watching him still in that way that made Leon feel far too exposed for his liking, a smirk still curling his lips. "What do you want?" he asks, though it wasn't nearly as harsh at it had been before.

Wesker tilts his head slightly. "I thought I had made myself clear before," the other man says, and Leon clenches his jaw despite his stomach twisting into knots. "I want to know why everyone seems to want to keep you around. Why you can't seem to die when you're supposed to." Wesker takes a step forward and Leon swallows hard, gripping his gun so tightly his fingers hurt, finger once again hovering over the trigger. "Even my associate, ever detached, was making your case to me. Despite the fact that your presence here was impeding my work - her mission - she still argued your usefulness." Something in Wesker's face shifts slightly, his brows twitching down in a movement so brief it could be missed by someone not looking closely. "So much effort for someone seemingly so unremarkable."

Leon manages to find it in himself to glare in response to that. "I guess I'm just really in demand nowadays," he quips, and Wesker's eyebrows actually do furrow at this now, something that makes Leon pause.

"Yes, I suppose you are, aren't you?" the other man muses, seeming to be looking at Leon far more intently than before, making Leon feel uncomfortably like he was being studied. The rain was falling heavier now, a steady rhythm against the windows. Leon shifts uncomfortably, glancing over Wesker's shoulder at the door behind the other man, but he doesn't hear any of the cultists nearby. It was just them and the rain.

A few beats of quiet pass, then Leon says, bringing his attention back to Wesker, "So, what? You're just confused why people actually want me around?"

Wesker shakes his head. "I'm confused as to why people seem to insist that you're useful enough to be kept around," the other man replies. Leon makes a face.

"Great," he says flatly. "You really know how to make a guy feel special, don't you?"

No reaction from Wesker, though Leon was learning to not expect one anymore. "Everyone who comes across you," Wesker says, once again ignoring that Leon had ever said anything, "former instructors, peers, even my own associate." Leon tenses as Wesker takes another step forward. "They all seem to put emphasis on your usefulness. Your skill." Wesker's lip twitches faintly. "It was why the government kept you around, isn't it? That apparent usefulness."

The anger from before that had died down from the shock starts to simmer again in Leon's chest. "You're talking as if that's something I wanted," he says, and Wesker smirks.

"Oh, no, I know it isn't," Wesker replies. "I know they put a gun to your head, all of their promises given behind the trigger. So much effort for a rookie who fumbled his way through an outbreak." Wesker tilts his head. "They seemingly saw potential, though - not that they're handling such a thing very well." Wesker's smirk widens slightly. "Brute force doesn't quite foster the kind of loyalty they're wanting from their mutt."

Anger flares and flickers in Leon's chest once again, the dizziness from before returning. "That's pretty rich coming from you."

Wesker grins, cold and sharp. "I think I would know how to foster one's potential better than those imbeciles ever could," he says. "My S.T.A.R.S. were proof of that, despite their unfortunate ends."

He led them there to die, Leon.

"Perhaps that's why you caught my attention," another step, Leon resisting the urge to take a step back in response, "why I wanted to see Leon Kennedy for myself, to see what all the fuss was about," another step, Leon's free hand twitching at his side. "I know potential when I see it, even if it's being wasted by those who don't know how to cultivate it."

Leon's breaths were quickening once again, his gaze flicking across Wesker's face. Wesker seems to find this amusing. "Perhaps, in a different world, you would have been one of my S.T.A.R.S."

All of them.

Leon is hit with a confusing mix of emotions at what Wesker says, swallowing hard as old ghosts of dreams float past if only for a second. What felt like a lifetime ago in the academy, he'd wanted to join S.T.A.R.S.; dreaming about it and using it to motivate him. He'd fantasized about joining their ranks, making a name for himself. He'd wanted to do something with his life - to be something someday.

He clenches his jaw. "Considering what you did to them, I think I'm happy about the missed job opportunity."

Wesker smirks. "As if this fate is any better?" he asks, and the anger building in Leon's chest flares up once again. "Beaten into submission? Threatened into servitude?" Leon's head was spinning again, dizzy like he'd been spun in circles. The anger in his chest was growing hotter and hotter with each trembling breath he took. "Tell me, Leon," Wesker says, smirk turning into a cruel grin as Leon tenses at the use of his name, "did they show you pictures of young Sherry Birkin when they held that gun to your head?"

Leon was pulling the trigger before he could even think about what he was doing, something finally snapping inside of him. The gunshot rings out in the small hallway, but Leon could hardly hear it through the ringing in his ears - almost like church bells. The bullet just passes through thin air, though, the space where Wesker had been standing now empty. Leon barely has time to feel shocked before Wesker reappears in front of him once again, much closer now than before. He inhales sharply, stumbling back, but Wesker looks unphased - if not amused.

"What the fuck–?"

Wesker looked like he was about to say something, opening his mouth with that stupid smirk still on his face, but then he pauses in his tracks, stopping short and looking at Leon strangely. Leon could barely process what was happening, still reeling from whatever the fuck had just happened and staring at Wesker with widened eyes, though it was becoming increasingly harder to focus through the rapidly gathering fog in his head. His heart was pounding, his hands shaking making the gun tremble in his hold. He was dizzy again, the world spinning on its axis, and he felt sluggish as he sees Wesker's expression shift to something Leon hadn't seen before on the other man's face thus far - surprise. Leon blinks a few times - why were his eyes burning all of a sudden? - and he watches through blurry vision as Wesker stares at him before the surprise morphs into realization, then into something like fascination. Wesker lowers his gun, and Leon swears for a brief second he sees something flash behind the lenses of Wesker's sunglasses - an orange flicker that was gone as soon as it appeared.

They stare at each other for a long moment, something about the way Wesker was looking at him now making Leon far more uncomfortable than any of the smirking or unreadable looks had before. The ringing in his ears was getting louder and louder, his eyes still burning, and his knees felt dangerously close to giving out on him-

beware of false prophets beware of the wolves beware beware beware-

Leon blinks, shaking his head as thoughts unprompted interrupt his own. What the fuck?

His movements seems to break Wesker from whatever spell he'd been under, and the other man straightens slightly. "Perhaps you're of more use to me than I had realized," he murmurs, mostly to himself, but Leon caught every word.

Before Leon could even try to formulate a response to that, Wesker was gone, leaving only a slight breeze and a faint whiff of expensive cologne in his wake.

Leon stands there, staring at the spot Wesker had been standing just seconds prior, trying desperately to process what the fuck had just happened through the fog in his head. He blinks several times, then looks down at his gun, staring at it before looking back up again at the now empty hallway.

As he stands there looking at the place where Wesker had been, he suddenly remembers why he was here in the first place. Ashley. He needed to find Ashley.

"Fuck," he swears under his breath, taking one more look around him before turning and quickly starting towards the door in front of him. As he walks, though, he can't shake the nagging feeling that this wouldn't be the last time he saw Wesker while he was in Spain.

"After the Sirens"

2026-04-29T12:48:38+00:00

Chapter Text

The rain hits the window in steady, exhausted waves—like the city outside is finally running out of things to scream about.

You sit on the edge of the safehouse kitchen counter, a half-finished cup of something warm between your hands. It’s gone cold. You don’t care.

The mission was supposed to be simple.

They never are.

Footsteps echo down the hall—measured, careful, like whoever’s coming in has learned the hard way not to startle people anymore.

Leon Kennedy appears in the doorway a second later.

He looks worse than he’s pretending to be.

Jacket damp. Hair still slightly messy from the rain. A faint bruise along his jaw that he hasn’t bothered to acknowledge.

“You’re still up,” he says, voice low. Not a question. More like he’s noting a fact he already expected.

You shrug. “Could say the same about you.”

That gets a small exhale from him—almost a laugh, but not quite. He steps inside, closing the door behind him with a quiet click that somehow feels louder than it should.

For a moment, neither of you speak.

It’s the kind of silence that only exists after everything goes wrong and you both made it out anyway.

Leon leans against the counter across from you. Close enough that you can see the tiredness he tries to hide when he’s on duty. Close enough that it stops feeling like “agent Leon Kennedy” and starts feeling like just… Leon.

“You hurt?” he asks finally.

You glance at him over your cup. “Nothing new.”

“That’s not an answer.”

You huff a quiet breath. “Neither is ‘you okay?’ in your line of work.”

That earns you a look—brief, assessing, softening at the edges when he decides you’re not about to collapse on him.

“…Fair,” he admits.

Outside, thunder rolls like something distant and angry.

Inside, the quiet holds.

Leon pushes off the counter slightly. “You should rest.”

“So should you.”

A pause.

Then, a quieter addition from him: “Yeah. Probably.”

He doesn’t move right away, though. Neither do you.

And for a second—just a second—it feels like the world outside the safehouse has stopped trying to take things from you.

Leon’s voice breaks the moment gently.

“I’ll check the perimeter,” he says. “Then I’ll sleep.”

You watch him turn toward the hallway.

Then, before he disappears, he adds—almost like an afterthought:

“…Don’t disappear on me, alright?”

It’s not dramatic. Not poetic.

But it lands heavier than anything else tonight.

And when he’s gone, you realize your cup is warm again in your hands.

Circumstances

2026-04-29T12:57:03+00:00

Heat spreads through every capillary like an electrical charge the moment your lips touch the pulsing vein on Leon’s neck, and your hand feels the rough texture of the T-shirt under his jacket as it slides lower and lower with every passing moment. His neck smells of cologne, his breath of alcohol, not strong enough for him to give himself to you completely tonight, but enough to relax just a little while you kiss him and caress his body through his clothes. Enough for him to lift his chin slightly, giving your lips the go-ahead to touch the delicate skin of his neck, to suck on it, to bite it, feeling his hand gently squeeze your shoulders, as if he were begging you to both love him selflessly with all your heart and to be more careful with him, allowing himself to find comfort in the closeness of another person for the first time in many years; enough to give your fingers the freedom to caress his skin beneath his clothes, without fear of being hurt by you.

Today was a tough day for him. He wasn't doing any heavy physical labour; quite the opposite, in fact – he was sitting in the restaurant all day, knocking back whisky. Occasionally he would eat a steak and grilled vegetables, chewing his food slowly, without any pleasure, as if he were about to throw up. After downing yet another glass of alcohol in one go, he called the waiter over to order another, only to be refused. His sarcastic remark, delivered in a raised voice in response to the refusal, hands reaching for the waiter’s shirt collar in a feeble attempt to make him change his mind, the immediate reaction of the restaurant’s security, as a result of which Leon was thrown onto the table, with his back colliding with its wooden surface – all of that seemed to be enough to bring Leon to his senses. The fog in his head seemed to clear instantly, and he apologised, fished far more banknotes out of his wallet than were needed to pay for his food and drinks, and left. All this time you were sitting a little way off, never taking your eyes off him from the moment of that outburst until you spotted him in the hotel corridor, sitting by the door to his room, giving you a perfect opportunity to take him in from every angle. You immediately noticed how much weight he lost since you last saw him about five years ago, and that, although his hairstyle didn't change at all, he seemed to have dyed his hair black. You kept staring at him for several minutes until he finally looked in your direction. He squinted, tilting his head and opening his mouth slightly, as if that would help the process of recognition; a couple of moments passed before his eyebrows relaxed slightly as he recognised you despite his gaze being slightly clouded by alcohol. A bitter smile touched his lips, and he looked away.

‘Why do we always meet under such circumstances?’ he asked, his tone a mixture of irritation and bitterness, directed not at you — never at you — but at himself.

‘What circumstances?’ you asked, taking a step towards him but still keeping your distance. ‘When you embarrass yourself in public? Like when we first met in the bar, when you left your wallet at home and looked like a lost puppy in front of the bartender until I paid for you?'

He smiled. Shook his head.

‘You haven’t changed a bit. Still love kicking me when I’m already down.’

You shrugged.

‘It’s a surprisingly effective way to get you back on your feet, Leon. I can’t help it.’

A warm, fuzzy feeling washed over you when he smiled. You followed his lead. He stood up, staggering slightly, and fished a keycard out of his trouser pocket. The door to the room beeped as he swiped the card across the panel beneath the handle, then turned to face you.

‘You coming inside?’ he asked, his hand resting on the door handle.

You nodded and took a step towards him. You two had a lot catching up to do.

His stomach flutters with every touch of yours, his breathing faltered, forcing him to pull away from your lips to let a breath of oxygen into his lungs, and then press his mouth back against your parted lips. His stubble scratches your chin, nose tickles your cheek, thumb caresses your jaw; you gasp and open your eyes just as he shamelessly sticks out his tongue and licks your lower lip. You smile involuntarily, letting him taste your lips for a bit, then press your lips together again and close your mouth around his tongue, intending to suck on it gently. He won’t let you. He takes a step back as your heart starts racing. You begin to feverishly recall the events of the past thirty minutes: him drinking alone in the restaurant, the argument with the waiter, him falling onto the table, meeting you, the suggestion to go to the room to have a chat, a conversation that didn’t last a minute, because you knew him too well – you knew you would hardly make him feel better with words, you knew how all your previous encounters ended, you knew how much he craved simple human touch, and so you tried to help him in any way you could. You’d been taking the initiative all evening, knowing that Leon would never have done so, but seeing his reaction, you suddenly felt as though all your vital functions were coming to a standstill. Did you do something wrong? Were you too pushy? Was all this touching and kissing the last thing on his mind right now?

Leon finds the surface of the bed with his hand and slowly lowers himself onto it.

‘My head’s killing me,’ he says quietly, his face hidden behind dark strands of hair. ‘Sorry. Shouldn’t have drunk so much.’

You kneel down in front of him so you’re at his eye level, and place your hand on his knee. Leon avoids eye contact – his gaze wanders everywhere but at you.

‘Hey,’ you squeeze his knee tighter, forcing him to finally look away from whatever interesting thing he’s spotted on the light green wall of the room and look at you, and your eyes finally meet his. ‘I want you to relax for at least a couple of minutes. I... I want to help you with that. I really do, you know. Will you let me?'

He blinks and lowers his head, his eyes are anywhere but on you again. They’re on the wall, they’re on the blanket he’s clutching, they’re on your hand on his knee. Leon hesitates. Leon frowns and presses his lips together. Every cell in his body wants to scream ‘yes’, every cell in his body craves to be loved, to be desired, but the words seem to get stuck in his throat, and his fingers grip the sheets tighter. He exhales, his breath trembling.

His closed eyes, a slight nod and a quiet 'okay' are enough for you to lift yourself slightly, placing your knee beside his hip, pressing your lips against his, and falling back onto the bed with him. You hold his jaw in your palm, pressing your lips against his, running your tongue along his gums and not giving either of you a single second to catch your breath, as if breathing at that moment ceases to be a basic need, replaced by the desire to satisfy a hunger for warm human touch.

Suddenly, your vision starts to blur and your head spins from the lack of oxygen, forcing you to pull away from Leon to take a breath, but he immediately lifts his head from the pillow towards you, trying to reach your face with his lips, pressing his mouth against yours once more until the oxygen in his own lungs runs out.

'Leon,' you breathe out as your chest begins to ache from the lack of air; you lie down on your side next to him and lean towards his neck, leaving a trail of warm kisses where his pulse is racing so wildly, and slip one hand under the back of his neck, so that his head rests on the crook of your elbow, whilst the other finds his stomach; you lift his clothes slightly to reach his trouser belt, unbuttoning the fly and bypassing the elastic of his underwear, moving your fingers carefully and slowly towards his pussy, already so wet and hot for you. Leon takes a short, sharp breath and closes his eyes the moment you touch his slippery clit with the pad of your middle finger, never taking your eyes off his face.

'Ah, f-fuck–' Leon breathes out, his back arching slightly, his thighs clenching around your hand as he reaches blindly for your hand and squeezes it with weak fingers in a feeble attempt to make you slow down just a little. His eyes are closed, his brows furrowed, lips seductively parted, and you can’t help but cover them with your own. The bed creaks and sags under your weight as you find yourself on top of him again, this time a little lower, so that your breath burns his pubis. You grab his thighs with your tenacious fingers and pull his jeans down together with his underwear. He lifts his bottom off the bed, raising his hips to make it easier for you to remove his clothes; his skin is so close to yours you can’t resist giving him a warm kiss just above his slit. He exhales sharply.

It’s wet and warm between his legs. Hot, even. The skin on the inside of his thighs is soft, supple, almost weightless when your lips touch it, first leaving light kisses on it, then sucking it gently, leaving round pink marks which you then lick with your tongue, as if apologising for the pain you inflicted. The longer you fiddle with his thighs, the more the heat of his pussy burns your face, and at some point you can no longer hold back. Your elbows on either side of his knees, fingers gripping his thighs, which he spreads slightly, presenting you with the view of his pussy – a sight that makes your mouth water. You lean down, burying your face in his wet folds, your lips closing around his swollen clit. His thighs push back involuntarily and clamp around your head; a moan dies in his throat, turning into a trembling sigh that escapes his lungs.

Your thumbs caress the skin of his delicate thighs with monotonous movements. It's loke you’re telling him, ‘Relax, I’ll take good care of you, I want you to feel good.’ The movements of your lips grow more intense as they eagerly take hold of his clit, as if making out with it. You stick out your tongue, sliding it over his clit, swollen and slippery, towards his entrance, touching it lightly, teasingly, almost weightlessly at first, then more intensely, more insistently, drawing a stifled gasp from Leon’s chest, as if the two of you were in a hideoud and weren’t allowed to make a sound.

‘Don’t hold back. No one can hear us.’

You know it wasn’t about shyness or shame, or fear of waking the neighbours sleeping next door; years of suppressing his own desires made him believe he had no right to feel this good, and you know you couldn’t change his mind, couldn’t make his feelings change in just one night. But you would've really regretted it if you didn't try. Even for just a couple of minutes.

Leon nods slightly, swallows, his head falling back onto the pillow. You can feel his muscles relaxing, just a little. You lean down towards his pussy, glistening with its own juices and your saliva; your palm rests on his pubis, thumb massaging his blood-engorged clit.

Your frenzied tongue is everywhere – licking the juices from his entrance, circling around it but not entering yet, filling the room with slushy sounds, gently caressing his inner lips, tracing circular motions around his clit, as if competing with your lips, which are sucking him with equal fervour. The moment your tongue finally settles at his entrance, it becomes almost impossible to tell where your saliva ends and his juices begin. He lets out a plaintive moan, his hips twitching as your tongue enters his warmth for the first time. It’s hot, slippery and cosy inside him. You stick out your tongue and press your lips against his clit again, moistening it with his own lube and your spit, then come back to his entrance. You fuck him with your tongue like this, closing your eyes and picturing the look on his face at this moment, his furrowed brows, parted lips, and misty gaze, and feel a heat rising between your legs.

‘God,’ you breathe as the air in your lungs runs out, ‘Your pussy's so wet it’s sucking me in all by itself. I don’t even have to do anything, can you imagine that?’

'Jesus,' he groans, whether from embarrassment or arousal.

You enter him again, humming with pleasure at his taste and his warmth. Each thrust is met with a timid groan; his hands rest gently on either side of your head, holding your face between his legs.

'Come on, baby,' you whisper, then press your mouth against his swollen bead again, looking up, trying to catch his expression. 'Relax. Do it for me, will you? I’ve got you, Leon. I’ve got you, alright? Will you cum for me, please?'

This is precisely the moment when Leon finally gives free rein to his feelings. All the tenderness he's held back over the years, all the weariness accumulated within, all suddenly bursts forth in a torrential flow – through his tenacious fingers gripping your hair firmly yet gently close to your scalp so as not to hurt you too much (you feel like crying at how deeply Leon cares for you at this moment, even though he should be the one to be taken care of); his hips, rising above the sheets warmed by the heat of sweaty aroused flesh, striving to get even closer to your loving, tender lips; sighs caught in his throat, as if for a moment something short-circuited in his brain and it forgot to give his lungs an order to breathe, which eventually burst from his chest in ragged, trembling moans.

'Ah!.. H-hey, it's too much... Too much, too fucking much...' Leon isn’t even speaking anymore, just gasping; his fingers grip your hair tighter as hips arch even more towards your mouth.

You can feel how close he is when you start to sense his pulse in every part of his body – in his stomach, in the slippery folds of his pussy, in his wrist which you’re holding between your fingers. Your sweaty palms grip his thighs, digging your nails into them, as you feel as though his arousal is being transmitted to you through the air, causing even more warmth to gather somewhere in your lower abdomen.

His breathing quickens, pulse begins to throb even more intensely in every part of his body. Your thumb gathers moisture from his entrance and spreads it over his clit, tracing circles on it faster and faster with every passing second. You hiss as his fingers grip your hair too tightly and his hips lift one last time above the sheets towards your welcoming mouth, as the long-awaited orgasm shakes him, wrenching a sweet, ringing moan from the very depths of his lungs.

‘Hey... hey, hey, hey, that’s enough...’ Leon pleads in a hoarse whisper, his weakened fingers clutching your head, still nestled between his legs, as you run your tongue around his swollen, overstimulated clit, gathering the remnants of his orgasm, forcing his hips to press into the sheets as you collect his wetness with your mouth, feeling it mix with your saliva and run down your throat.

His hands don’t let go of your head until your lips finally stop torturing his cunt. You lean towards his warmth one last time and run your tongue along his slit, before rising to meet him at eye level and covering his lips with yours, letting him taste himself as you slip your tongue into his mouth. His brows are furrowed, his lips parted, the lashes on his closed eyes quivering, his chest rising and falling as he still tries to come down from the high of his release. His hand rests on his own chest, trying to calm his heartbeat.

‘Everything alright?’ you ask.

‘Ah...yeah,' Leon whispers, still breathing heavily.

You’re still leaning over him, gently stroking his cheek with your thumb, your other hand resting over his on his chest, when he opens his eyes and you notice how unnaturally shiny his eyes are and how he looks away, blinking more often than usual. There’s no escaping your question – he knows it, and you know that he knows.

‘Leon, if you want to say something–'

'No, it's nothing. It’s just...' he closes his mouth, and you notice his lower lip trembling as he squeezes your hand a little tighter than he ought to, 'It’s been too long since I... since it felt so good to be with another person... since I was touched so...tenderly.'

His gaze finally meets yours as he exhales shakily, clutching your hand to his chest even tighter.

'Thanks for that.'

His eyes are two pools of azure, filled to the brim with an expression of unspent love and tenderness, the kind that had been building up inside for too long, turning into the source of pain. Instead of answering, you lean in; your lips meet Leon’s, his hands reach for your waist, clutching your body so tightly as if afraid that you’ll slip through his fingers if he loosens his grip even slightly, that you’ll vanish like an illusion, a figment of his imagination, a creation of his mind, inflamed by alcohol and worn down by loneliness.

And you will indeed vanish. A little later this evening, when the excitement of his exquisite orgasm subsides a bit and he feels the alcohol he drank earlier lulling him to sleep. Or perhaps you’ll stay the night, falling asleep on his chest to the steady beat of his heart against your ear. You’ll wake up at the break of dawn and, after giving him a gentle kiss on the shoulder, tiptoe out of his room, leaving you both wondering under what circumstances your next meeting will occur.

Team Bonding

2026-04-29T12:26:30+00:00

Leon was on edge. He’d been on edge for weeks, months more so, but today especially.

The day had started normally. Then, as time passed, it quickly became apparent something had put the major in a foul mood. If the looks he shot his way were any indication, he’d bear the brunt of it soon enough. Leon shifted where he stood. His eyes locked with the ground as his mind wandered through memories hunting his thoughts.

He shivered. He could almost feel the residual touch on his skin everywhere Krauser had touched in the last few months. He’d grown more and more handsy, calling him for ‘private sessions’ nearly any time he felt like it, and the marks were growing harder and harder to hide. Not just the physical ones.

“Kennedy.” Leon barely suppressed a flinch, looking up to Krauser. His eyes were dark, brows deeply furrowed. “Join me for demonstration, if you’re not too busy spacing out,” he barked. Snickers surrounded him as he made his way forward. He tried to hold Krauser’s gaze but failed, breaking it to look at the ground quickly.

It wasn’t long before he found himself in the dirt, his backside nearly burning from Krauser’s body heat. He struggled just for show. He knew fully well by now that nothing he could do would free him from his hold.

“My office, 20 sharp,” Krauser growled low in his ear. Leon stiffened. He moved away. “How about you try this time, rookie,” he announced, readying his stance.

Leon pushed himself off the ground.

—

Why was he here again. The mere sight of Krauser’s quarters was enough to send his body into fight or flight.

God, he did not want to be here right now. He considered turning back, as he often did, but Krauser was already in a bad mood, and who knows what he would do if Leon didn’t listen. Listen, he thought, like a goddamn dog. He shook his head, erasing the thought from his mind. It was fine. He could handle it. He’d handled it until now. Barely.

His mind was frantic, like switching from station to station in a dead zone in hopes of getting anything to distract from a long and exhausting journey.

Maybe… maybe they could talk it out? Maybe if he listened well, Krauser would calm down. The thought disgusted him a little, hating the fact he was even considering giving up the fight entirely, but he wasn’t actually sure he could handle Krauser in a bad mood despite how much he tried to convince himself otherwise. It was bad enough when he wasn’t.

Leon swallowed, trying to will himself to knock on the door. He shifted back and forth, staring at the handle. Before he resolved himself to knock, the door flew open, revealing a pissed-off Krauser within the frame. Was he just about to come get him himself?

“I said 20, you’re late,” he snapped, making Leon shrink. “How long have you been standing there?” Leon’s eyes flickered down.

“I just got here,” he lied, unsure if telling the truth of having been hovering around the major’s door for a while would be worse or not. “Someone tried to talk to me, and I tried to explain I had to go but-”

Krauser grabbed his shirt, almost throwing him inside, before slamming the door shut. Shit. Wrong answer.

“I’m sorry, I’ll- I’ll be good, I’ll make up for it! What.. what do you want me to do..?” He stammered. He’d never stuttered more in his goddamn life. Krauser stalked towards him, and he couldn’t help but walk backwards to keep distance between them. “Just tell me what I can do, I’ve- I’m better with my…” mouth. He couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud.

His lower back came into contact with an edge, hands flattening against it. Leon peered over his shoulder quickly. Krauser’s desk. When he looked back, Krauser was in front of him, a stern expression carved on his face. Leon swallowed. His mouth was dry, as if it had been stuffed with cotton balls.

“Turn around,” Krauser ordered. Leon hesitated. Yes, he said he’d do as asked, but… he was scared. Krauser grabbed one of his arms, twisted it around, and slammed him face-first against the desk. A soft ‘ow’ left his lips as he turned to rest on his cheek. His nose burned, he hoped it wasn’t broken. His eyes watered almost like muscle memory, suddenly thinking back to the first time. This was eerily similar. Bent over this desk with a bleeding nose was when Krauser had turned from a mentor to a threat.

It wasn’t much longer until his shirt was pulled, the cool air forcing goosebumps on his skin as Krauser stripped him without care. Leon didn’t dare move. Though he slipped on what little he could feel of the ground when a hand flattened in between his shoulder blades, pressing down to keep him in place, while Krauser fought with his belt. Leon balled his hands on the desk, jaw tight and lips trembling while he stared at nothing. The details were getting blurry anyway.

The coldness of the desk was a sharp contrast to the heat emanating from Krauser. He almost wondered if it was possible to feel anger. What on earth could have possibly happened. Why was Krauser so furious.

Leon’s thighs trembled with the effort it took not to book it, or kick. He shivered when cold air hit them as Krauser let his pants fall, pooling around his boots. Krauser’s desk was high enough to force him to stand on the ball of his feet. The lack of pressure and stability only made him feel more vulnerable. Was this really all he was good for?

Krauser’s hand slipped upwards until his calloused fingers wrapped around his neck. Leon expected the cold liquid that usually predated the unavoidable, only it never came. No, instead Krauser pressed the tip of his cock against him, already pushing as Leon tensed.

“Wait!” He blindly reached backwards, grabbing the air. “You can’t go in without- without..” Krauser nearly growled, the pressure increasing. He’d never actually done this before, only threatened to so Leon would beg. Except this time, the threat seemed more of a promise.

“Spit it out.”

Leon struggled to breathe, barely catching a glimpse of Krauser in the corner of his eye. “Not without lube,” he took a stuttered breath before forcing out a “Please?” Krauser paused for a moment, and the next, searing pain split him open. “Ow! Stop!!” Leon cried, almost trying to claw up the desk. He raised to the tip of his toes, clenching reflectively and whining loudly at the burn that radiated from the action. “Out! Out, out, out, get it out!!”

“You’re too loud,” Krauser complained. His grip left the back of his neck, snaking around to wrap over his mouth. Krauser’s hand was so big; he only needed three fingers to cover it, his index instead resting on the bridge of his nose.

The next cries Krauser forced out of him when he continued to push against the resistance were muffled by his hand. It stifled any and all attempts at calling for help. Not that it had ever worked, either. Leon wasn’t even sure what he would do if anyone were to find out. He felt dirty enough already. He didn’t need anyone else seeing him like this. Especially not his troop. As much as he did hope someone would intervene, help him.

As if seeking better leverage, Krauser pulled him backwards, Leon’s neck straining as he grabbed onto Krauser’s wrist with a whine. A groan emitted from behind him, followed by a sigh.

“I should’ve done this sooner,” Krauser said, a rumble to his voice that made shivers course down Leon’s back, “You’re tighter like this.” Leon’s dull and chewed-up nails dug into Krauser’s flesh, not doing much to rid of his hold. Krauser pushed further without care for the blinding pain that shocked Leon’s system, pulling back only to drive his hips forward even harder.

Leon’s yell was almost more of a growl, one fist hitting the desk while he fought to get Krauser’s off him. He tried to beg through his fingers, the words muddled and incomprehensible. Fat tears were already flowing from his eyes. He’d never cried this quickly before. He would usually at least try to hold it in, but the pure shock that accompanied the violent intrusion was too much to fight. It sent flashes of heat through his entire body, overwhelming him.

Normally, even if Krauser didn’t bother prepping him properly, he’d at least pour some lube, ease the initial entry. Not this time. Krauser’s hips met his after the next thrust, and Leon didn’t know if he was just imagining feeling his insides shred with every movement, or if he could actually feel it.

Krauser roughly grabbed a thigh, holding on tightly enough to make his leg flinch, before his grip settled on a hip with just as much bruising force. The pressure reached all the way to his bones. Krauser kept him in place as he gave a shallow, yet forceful thrust, a suspicious amount of ease in the action given the lack of care for any sort of prior preparation. His thumb rubbed against his back. Krauser hummed.

“You’re losing weight,” he commented matter-of-factly, “You need to eat more.”

Leon whimpered, trying to breathe through the snot and tears. He was half numb with pain from his hips down, legs trembling and struggling to hold still. He still attempted to push up even though he could barely feel the ground. With Krauser’s next thrust came a warm sensation trickling down his inner thighs.

He begged for Krauser to stop against his hand, trying to make him understand he was bleeding. Though he already knew that never stopped this from happening. He raised his legs one at a time, as if it would distract him from the pain, but if anything, the movement only worsened it.

Krauser pulled his head further, forcing his back to arch, while leaning down himself. He grunted in Leon’s ear, the bruising hold on his hip keeping him still as he ground against him. Leon choked on his whimper. He tensed when Krauser mouthed over his tears. He seemed to have a fascination with them, which always caused discomfort deep within. The same went for the way he enjoyed touching his scars and injuries, and especially loved his moles.

Every time Krauser touched or traced them, it felt like he was permanently inking himself under his skin. Like a bad tattoo. Hell, every touch felt like a stain he couldn’t wash out.

Teeth sank into his shoulder, eyes widening as it went numb for a moment, sparks spreading to every connected nerve. The noise Leon made only spurred him on, biting hard enough to actually break the skin. Leon’s free hand immediately came to push against Krauser as much as he could. He’d never drawn blood before.

Once again, memories flooded his mind. He’d grown somewhat used to Krauser’s bites, but this? Drawing blood? That was completely different. The grunt Krauser made didn’t help, either. Leon reflectively kicked back, letting go of Krauser to pat the desk in hopes of finding anything to defend himself. His fingers closed around nothing while Krauser simply tilted his head, biting the base of his neck.

Leon gave up on trying to find a tool, blinked away the dark walls of the police station, and focused on getting Krauser off of him. He elbowed Krauser’s ribs with all the strength he could gather, effectively making him pull away. Blood dripped down his skin. The sensation unwelcomely familiar. Krauser roughly twisted his arm behind his back, holding it in place.

“Fucking brat,” he growled, “I thought we fixed that.” He punctuated his point with a harsh thrust, the desk’s legs scrapping loudly against the floor. Leon cried into Krauser’s hand, trying to apologize but unable to. “Stop complaining. If you can’t behave, you don’t deserve sympathy.”

Behave. Sympathy. All of this was just lie after lie. Leon knew Krauser wouldn’t be gentle whether he ‘behaved’ or not; that sadistic fuck enjoyed the struggle. Loved the way Leon writhed when he’d hurt him. It was part of why Leon had learned to repress his instincts when being bitten. Krauser had just… never done it hard enough to break through his fear before.

Another powerful jerk drew a loud whine from Leon, nails still digging uselessly in the skin of Krauser’s wrist while an inferno of pain spread in his guts. He closed his eyes tightly, restrained arm flexing in the void. Leon just now realized that every sniffle smelled like iron. Was it from his bleeding nose or the fresh wounds on his shoulder? He wasn’t quite sure which was better. He was completely and utterly miserable.

“Major Krauser, I’m sorry to barge in but- Oh!”

Leon froze, eyes shooting open as he looked to the side, seeing a member of his unit by the door. Krauser also paused, but made no other move. The soldier’s eyes darted between both of them while Leon struggled weakly, his thoughts completely blank with the exception of the desperate need to hide.

“I’ll- I’ll come back later,” he said, shifting backwards towards the door.

Krauser leaned to Leon’s ear. “Looks like our little secret is out.” He straightened. “What did you need, soldier?” Krauser asked, nonchalantly. Leon frowned, trying to look at him. He couldn’t be serious. Was he really going to talk while in this situation? As if it wasn’t bad enough already, he began moving again, though not as brutally. That did not stop the pained whimper it drew out of him.

Pure embarrassment flushed Leon’s cheeks. Okay. He was serious.

The soldier stood at attention awkwardly, obviously trying to avoid looking down from the major’s face. He asked a question Leon couldn’t be bothered to listen to, too busy freaking out internally about the entire situation. He tried to subtly hit Krauser’s leg, earning a forceful thrust that had him crying out. His hand slipped from Krauser’s wrist to the desk, nails scraping on the surface as he balled it. The next pump was more of a punch, churning his guts painfully.

“Stay still, Kennedy,” Krauser growled before turning his attention back to the soldier. Could he feel the way his heart beat against the inside of his ribcage? Because Leon sure could.

Leon protested, knowing damn well nothing he said could stop this. He also knew that, despite being muffled, ‘stop’ and ‘please’ were quite easy words to make out. The longer this went on, the more apparent it became that even with his obvious struggling and discomfort, no one made any move to stop this. He’d known this would be the case, but that didn’t stop it from hurting.

Krauser was just using him, like a toy, while having a casual conversation with someone else as if Leon wasn’t right there, underneath, bleeding from everywhere and struggling to hold back his tears in a desperate attempt to keep some semblance of dignity. Hide his weakness. He really hoped the soldier couldn’t see the blood running down his thighs. Or how truly pathetic it was that he even let this get so far.

“Enjoying the show, private?” Krauser spoke. Leon startled, glancing at the man. They briefly met eyes, and Leon immediately looked down at the desk instead. Krauser stopped moving and shifted his grip, pinching his cheeks, then forcing Leon to look back. He hiccuped involuntarily, an honest sob threatening to escape from his throat as he realized he did seem to ‘enjoy the show’.

“I- I’m not sure,” the soldier replied, his eyes darting back and forth.

Krauser stilled, fully inside. “Would you like a taste?”

What.

Leon struggled a little. Was Krauser actually proposing what he thought he was?

The fingers around his jaw tightened painfully until Leon gasped, afraid his jaw would break, and Krauser slipped his thumb into it. He kept pressure on his bottom teeth, forcing his mouth open.

“He isn’t good,” he started, pushing his mouth a little wider, “But we’re working on that. He won’t bite.” Leon whined, rapidly losing the battle to keep his tears at bay. “If he knows what’s good for him.” He shook his head, making pitiful eye contact with the soldier.

Without a word, he stepped forward. Leon’s stomach twisted into knots. No, please, anything but this.

Leon moved away when he stopped in front of him, shrinking into Krauser. The major responded by trapping both of his arms behind his back, one hand holding both wrists, then fisting the back of his hair tightly. Leon immediately shut his mouth.

“Stay,” he ordered. Leon stilled. Not like he’d made much progress making distance anyway.

“Please don’t do this, I don’t want to, I don’t want this, please!” Leon begged, unsure who exactly he was talking to. As usual, his cries were ignored. The man looked behind him questioningly, then undid the front of his pants. Stubbornly, Leon closed his eyes, and he kept his jaw tightly shut once his begging proved futile. He ignored Krauser’s command to open. He shook his head when repeated.

Krauser gave a rough pump, the sound of skin slapping mixing with the scraping of the desk, before his voice rumbled dangerously close to his ear, “I wouldn’t gamble with your life, rookie. Failure to obey orders might take your place in the force. Who knows what would happen to you then, hm?”

Leon’s face twitched. He felt his lips tremble before his jaw fell slack with a choked-back sob. He still refused to open his eyes, hyperventilating in anticipation.

“Stick your tongue out, we’ve been over this.” The hand in his hair tightened, pushing his face forward. Leon just barely covered his bottom teeth. The first thing he did when the spongy head touched his tongue was turn with a gag. Krauser sighed, once again pinching his cheeks and forcing him to face the man. “Your fellow men work hard, they deserve some downtime, don’t you think?” Krauser growled. Leon hated the fact he could hear the smirk on his lips.

This time, when his mouth was breached, Leon couldn’t move away. He made a noise, refusing to close his lips around it. The taste of salty skin made his stomach lurch.

God. This could not be happening.

Leon shook his head until the soldier pulled out. A frustrated grunt rang above him while Krauser slammed his face down against the desk.

With a brutal thrust that had the edge of the desk clash with his hips, Krauser spoke, “Last chance to obey before things get a lot worse for you, Kennedy.”

“Please,” Leon sobbed, making tear-filled eye contact with Krauser, “Please, anything else, I don’t want to, I’ll do anything, I’m sorry, just- please!” There he was again, begging like a whore.

The shuffle of boots caught his attention, and he saw the major’s eyes shoot up. They stopped.

“Don’t worry, he’ll listen.” Leon tried to swallow his sob, but failed. Krauser was talking as if he didn’t even matter. As if this wasn’t one of the worst things to ever happen to him. Supposed luck was rarely on his side.

“Fuck,” Leon coughed when he was simply put back into position.

His entire body shook as Krauser resumed thrusting, the soldier entering his mouth yet again. Leon clenched his fists behind his back. He gagged at the taste. Leon stayed still, whole body tense and trembling. The soldier started slow, shallow thrusts that mostly just rubbed against his tongue. Leon made no effort to please, letting him do the work.

Meanwhile, Krauser had been going harder and harder, each deep thrust not only making his face scrunch from white-hot pain, but also forcing his body forward, deeper onto the soldier’s cock. Krauser let go of his arms. Leon didn’t even try to fight back. He had no chance two-on-one. At this point, all he could do was sit there and take it. Krauser’s hands both came to hold his hips, his grip tight enough for Leon to worry he’d just turn his pelvis to dust. He could swear he felt Krauser in his stomach, trying to replace his insides with himself.

He choked when the soldier pushed deeper, drool joining the tears pooling on his chin. There was too much going on for Leon to keep up, so he focused on breathing and ignoring the pain. Or at least, tried to. Every thrust made him choke harder, more tears slipping from his eyes.

Fingers uncertainly tangled his hair, the soldier moaning softly over him. Leon so desperately wanted to thrash out of his grip, instead digging his nails into his palms. The thrusting in his mouth grew firmer.

“There you go, soldier. Don’t be scared to break it.” It? “Are you using your tongue?” Krauser asked, merciless rhythm not faltering for a second. Leon didn’t reply in any way, trying to determine what Krauser meant by it. The new pace now disturbed his breathing. He was growing lightheaded.

A soft moan made his nose twitch in disgust, the man going deeper. “Not really…” he mumbled. Every pump pushed against the resistance in Leon’s throat, threatening to force deeper.

Krauser shifted, and the next thing he knew, he couldn’t breathe. Krauser had pushed him all the way, nose touching the soldier’s lower abdomen while he gargled.

“Oh- fuck,” he moaned, holding on tighter to his head while jerking his hips. “Fuck this feels nice.” The sentence was quickly followed by a groan and a satisfied snort from Krauser.

“See? He can take it. He was made for this.” Leon wanted to deny the claim, scream, beg, and cry, but he’d done all of that before, and it never helped. “Look at him,” Krauser commanded. Leon knew it was directed at him. He hesitantly looked at the soldier through his wet eyelashes, but didn’t manage to hold his gaze for very long.

This was all too much. Somewhere deep within, he’d at least hoped Krauser wouldn’t let anyone else touch him. He’d commented on their stares before, and Leon did feel tension in the way they looked at him, or the ‘jokes’ they’d made about his lips or his hair. A part of him was, in fact, scared this would happen one day, but that Krauser would stop it. Not that he’d instigate it.

He gagged as the soldier picked up the pace, going as deep as he could get with every push of his hips. It wasn’t nearly as bad as Krauser, but it certainly wasn’t any better. For his pride and for his body.

“Fuuuck, fuck, shit, fuck,” he groaned, pulling Leon’s head even harder when he switched from pumping to a shallow rutting. Leon nearly threw up on the spot, only distracted by Krauser withdrawing nearly fully before plunging back in, making his whole body lurch. “Almost- almost there…”

Leon was starting to suffocate. He hadn’t gotten a good breath in a while now, and his lungs were making themselves known about it. They were tight, empty. The chokes he managed to inhale around the cock in his throat were not enough to alleviate the feeling. The fact that every single time Krauser’s hips met his, the air was effectively knocked back out of him didn’t help, either.

With a twitch and a moan, Leon found himself immobilized as the soldier held onto him tight. He tried to swallow, unsure what else to do, but could only choke as he pulled back. His lungs burned when Leon gasped desperately, coughing up the various fluids in his mouth onto the desk.

“There you go. Feel better, soldier?” Krauser asked while taking hold of Leon’s hair once again. He tilted Leon’s face upwards, one more cough leaving him as he looked at his comrade. The man nodded, his gaze fixed on Leon’s lips. “What about you, rookie?” Krauser teased, forcing his head back, “Why don’t you tell him how much you enjoyed it?”

His blood ran cold. He felt his eyebrows twitch and pull somehow deeper together. “I- I don’t..” he rasped, voice rough and broken. Krauser gave another overly aggressive thrust that had Leon crying out. He sniffled, looking up only for a second before mumbling, “I-I like it.”

“You don’t sound very convincing,” Krauser pushed, repeating the previous action.

“Ow! Ow, fuck, okay!” Leon nearly yelled, the pain Krauser inflicted on him had his vision go white for a moment. “I liked it! I loved it, I did, I- ow, fuck, please!!”

“Good boy,” Krauser grunted before letting go of him, instead placing his hand between his shoulder blades and using the leverage to somehow go even faster. Leon couldn’t help but whimper sounds of pain with every thrust, beating the desk with his fists like that would fix anything. Leon tensed as Krauser’s pace stuttered, deep thrusts switching to a powerful rutting. “Just like that, good.”

Krauser finally slowed, Leon firmly pressed against the desk, panting and shaking while Krauser emptied himself inside. The faint rocking kept him on edge, unable to relax or tune out the pain.

Leon stared at the wall, refusing to look at either of them while like… this.

Krauser sighed, finally coming to a stop. “You’re dismissed,” he said bluntly. “I have matters to discuss with Kennedy here.”

Leon hiccuped, shifting uncomfortably while the soldier’s footsteps grew distant. He didn’t move or say anything until the door closed and Krauser pulled out. He had the feeling the rush of liquid flowing down his trembling thighs wasn't only from Krauser.

“Why?” Leon whispered, staying unmoving where he lay. He flinched, Krauser’s fingers carding through his hair. His other hand rubbed his lower back almost sweetly. It felt even more violating than everything else up until now.

Krauser hummed. “Consider it team bonding.”

Only When its You

2026-04-29T10:56:07+00:00

Chapter Text

Chapter 1:

Her

It was a classic story, how you two had met. A drunk man at a bar gets too touchy-feely and pushy on a girl, girl doesn’t like it. Tells the drunk man to fuck off. Another man, who is just as drunk, walks over. Tells him that the lady said she is not interested, and he should fuck off as he was told. He doesn’t listen, takes a swing. Before the girl couldn’t even blink he had the drunk man turned around with his arm twisted around his back. Walk away or I’ll break it. Drunk man listens, walks away. The girl thanks him, and he asks for dinner.

From the very beginning of the relationship, Leon warned you–don’t expect too much from him. At the start, things were great. He treated you gently, as if you were made of porcelain.

He laughed with you, made time for you, and told you things about how he grew up and his past; how he survived Racoon City. When he had a bad night and the nightmares were too much for him, you were the first person he called–sniffling on the other end of the phone. He told you he just wanted to hear your voice. You would talk for hours, until eventually falling asleep together on the phone.

He never gave you a reason for those late night calls, but you gathered it was from the trips he would take. Weeks, sometimes months, he would be gone. Working. He didn’t give you an explanation and you didn’t ask.

He would always come home to you in the end, with flowers in hand. When he did he would give you tender kisses. On your lips, on your forehead, on your stomach. He told you that he loved you often, and when you two made love he talked you through it–making sure you were taken care of.

But eventually, you understood why he had said that; why you shouldn’t have expected anything.

The worst of it happened when he came back from Spain and the relationship he had with a bottle was better than the one he had with you.

He didn’t try to hide it, his alcoholism.

He rarely kissed you anymore.

He started answering your calls less frequently, almost never saying ‘I love you’ before hanging up. You began to notice he smiled less when you said something stupid, something that had always made him laugh before. He often disappeared, and was never at home. You would sometimes find him at a bar, sitting alone with his thoughts. You begged him to come home; he rarely listened.

After a while, you started to get used to his absence. It would shock you when you found him at your apartment when you came home from work, sleeping on your couch with an empty bottle on the coffee table or in the kitchen with a glass of whisky in his hand.

Communication started to become scarce, sometimes a grunt is the only response you’d get when you attempted to make conversation.

You tried to help him come back to you.

You begged him to seek counseling.

You offered kindness; held his hand or ran your fingers through his hair when he was asleep and heavy with inebriation.

When he shook and cried out in his sleep from whatever terrors were in his dreams, you held him close and whispered: it’s okay. Shh. It’s okay, you’re safe.

He never remembered the next morning.

Leon knew perfectly well that he was the one who was ruining the relationship. He had said so himself one night, when you were in bed. He had wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close, and he was sober. The shock of it made you tense. His lips had grazed the back of your neck in a light kiss before he spoke. He said it wasn’t fair to you–this behavior. That you deserve better, that he wasn’t good for you. In the end, it was him that broke up with you. He was gone one day and he never came back. It was like he had never existed. His stuff was gone from your apartment, his number came back not in service when you called. He even took pictures out of their frames.

Leon Kennedy had simply vanished from your life.

It would be six years later before he walked back in.

Bitter Pasts

2026-04-29T11:27:20+00:00

Chapter One

2021 --- Location: Classified

"Captain I'm not sure this is a great idea." Morgan muttered into her earpiece, her eyes darting off to the side where Ramirez sat in the driver's seat. The retrofitted Jeep bounced over the ruts and potholes in the road, rattling her teeth with every hit.

"Our intelligence is solid," Chris Redfield's voice crackled in reply. "This is just a simple training run. If Ramirez is going to join us after this, I want him ready."

"When are any of us ready for this?" her voice was warn with exhaustion. She'd been in this life since Raccoon City. Since her mother decided Umbrella was more important than blood. There was no being ready, there was no getting used to it.

"I didn't mean it like--"

"No, I know Chris. I'm sorry." sighing, Morgan dropped her head back against the headrest. "I know he's ready, as ready as he can be. He's young. Jesus, Chris, he's got a kid on the way. He should be away from all of this."

"I agree, and we've talked about this. He wants to stay in. He has good reasons, can't say I agree with them but," Chris' voice cut for a moment before crackling back over the air. "You know as well as I do what this work means to the world."

"Valor. Justice. Blah blah blah." Morgan cracked a small smile, watching the ruins flash by the window.

"Funny."

"I learned my sense of humor from you Captain. Keep it clean and keep it dry. That's how we stay single." the joke was a constant between them. A little bit of sibling like teasing to help each of them get through the day. It didn't help her sleep at night. "I can't help but feel like I'm walking back to a bunch of ghosts I wanted to leave behind."

"Colton.. Morgan.." Chris' voice was gentle, and oddly patient. "I wouldn't send you back there if I had other options. You're the best person to go back to San Lucian. Everything scan we've run, every drone we've flown over has shown the place is empty. There's no sign of Umbrella, Tricell, The Connections.. The list goes on. What was left behind though can be just as valuable as the files you've been siphoning from your mother."

And I'd still rather be stealing files than going back here..

Her thoughts aren't bitter just, tired. Her mother had been in bed with Umbrella and The Connections since the 90's. Everything she had done..

"You still there?" the question reminded her of how long she had fallen silent for. Old memories were haunting her like the ghosts she knew she was going to find in San Lucian.

"Yeah I'm still--" she only has a moment to brace herself against the dash of the Jeep. "Look out!"

The dark shadow lurching into the road, hidden by shadows in the setting sun, rammed into the front of the Jeep. Metal twisting and crunching upward, Ramirez grunting in pain as his head thumps into the steering wheel. Chris Redfield yelling her name over and over as the world goes dark.

"What do you want me to do?" the question is simple, the answer far more complicated. He didn't want to know the answer, not really. If Chris was here it meant one thing, he was being pulled back into some shit.

"Leon you know I wouldn't be here if it weren't important. Dammit don't give me that look." Chris hit his fist off the table between them in frustration. People around them cast their gazes at their table, whispers bubbling up in the bar. "Listen," this time his voice is quieter, body leaning forward. "I have two missing people."

"And that involves me how?" Leon picks up his glass of whiskey, annoyed further as Chris takes it from him before he can let the liquid slip down his throat. "I was enjoying that."

"I need you sober. I need your help." from the look on his face, it actually pained him to say that. A small consolation for Leon's missing whiskey. "I have two missing people, it's been two months and we can't find anything. It's like they vanished without a trace."

"This sounds like a problem for you, Chris, not the DSO."

"About that.." Chris shifted uncomfortable under Leon's words. "They were in San Lucian."

"Christ.." the word is low, blue eyes dropping to the table. "Why the hell would you send them there?"

"I can't tell you that."

"The fuck you can't." Leon growled, gaze meeting Chris. "You came to me, I need to know what the hell I'm going to get into."

Rubbing at the stubble on his chin, Chris sighs picking his words with care. "They were spying on The Corporation, finding remains of files left behind by former Umbrella scientists. We learned that San Lucian had a few.. Things.. That could benefit us in shutting them down, for good."

"Things." Leon lifted an eyebrow. "If this has to do with Umbrella and The Corporation you're going to have to be a little more specific. San Lucian was an Umbrella ran town for Raccoon City scientists. Things could mean anything."

"Formulas, research papers, the works. Dirty little secrets they thought they had buried when they leveled the town." Chris decided to be a little more blunt. Truth was he was at the end of his rope trying to locate Colton and Ramirez, he needed Leon's help.

"So why come to me? Your team is much more suited for dealing with this than I am." even with the DSO backing, which he doubted he would have, it was going to be difficult.

"Yeah, that's what I thought." after a moment's hesitation, Chris downed the stolen whiskey. He

shrugged at the scowl Leon shot his way. "What I know about their disappearance is, something, or

someone attacked them and took them."

"San Lucian was wiped off the map. Who would be there?" even before he can get an answer, Leon's mind supplied it for him. "You think one of the usual suspects?"

"It's the only thing that makes sense with this," Chris places his a device on the table. On the screen are photos of the Jeep, twisted and indented from the impact. Large slashes run along the doors, claw marks. Blood covers the hood, dark and filled with a strange substance. More blood covers the driver's seat, some on the passenger. Large footprints lead away from the crash, but there's no sign of any kind of human presence other than the two missing Hounds. "Rebecca ran tests, it's positive for the

T-Virus. There shouldn't be anything there but there was, someone was waiting for them."

"Three days.." Morgan takes the edge of the broken mirror from her cell and carefully carves another notch into the wall beside the bed. "Three days in the dark with those damned... Noises."

She didn't want to admit it to herself, that those "noises" were familiar. That the alarms that had been blaring for hours before the power simply died, had also been familiar. Sleep had been restless since the power had cut, more restless than it had been since she woke in whatever hellhole she'd been dropped into. Memories of Raccoon City came to her more when the dark was absolute. When she couldn't wake and make out something familiar, when she couldn't see some kind of light.

"Three days.. Fuck." dropping the mirror on the edge of the bed she goes back to working at freeing one of the metal rods from the foot board. She had used bedding to try and loosen it at first, and when that failed she used it to pad the strikes from her foot. The less noise she made the better. At least she damn well hoped so. "Three days and that fucking red dot from the camera is still some how on."

Which meant there had to be power somewhere, but why? Why would the power be out on this floor but still active in another part of the building? What was this place and why was she here? "And where the hell is Ramirez?"

With one more frustrated kick, she knocks the rod free cringing as the metal clatters against the tiled floor. Down the hallway the noises double, thumping begins on some unseen door. She had to get out of here, but that meant finding a way through the bars of her jail cell doorway.

"Right.. One thing at a time.." she mutters to herself if only to help break the darkness, to keep herself sane. Grabbing the rod from the floor, grateful her eyes had begun to acclimate to the dark, she moved to the door. She had been working at it for days, trying to figure out what she could use to attempt to pick the lock. At least they had been smart and hadn't kept the lock electric, maybe that would help on this floor. But what about the others if power went there?

Hearing footsteps, she backs away from the door. Torn between calling out and remaining in the dark in fear, she grips the rod tighter. Blood throbbed painfully in her knuckles, fingers cramping, arms shaking from the exertion. She was hungry, her stomach having given up growling in favor of a

constant hollow ache. Chances were she wouldn't have the energy to swing hard but, it was better than

nothing if one of those things got in there some how.

The steps grew louder, clearly not sneakers, something heavier. Too heavy to be a female, scuffing rubber soles on the floor. A beam of light. Someone alive? How?

Before she can think of the possibilities the light swings into her face, blinding her sensitive

eyes. Wincing and hissing at the shock, she lifts a hand to block the light.

"Mind pointing that elsewhere?" she takes a step back when she notices the shadowed outline of a gun under the beam of light. "Maybe point that gun elsewhere too while you're at it. Unless you plan

on using it, then make sure your aim is good."

"Are you bitten?" the question catches her by surprise, as does the voice. It's not accusatory, not

filled with anger like it had been with the scientists she'd been dealing with. At least it was a gun this

time and not another damned needle.

"No." she swallows, slowly lowering her hand as the light is lowered just a little. "As far as I know I'm not infected. I've been getting all kinds of shit injected in me, blood taken out of me. At this point I feel more lab rat than human. You?"

"No," the word is final, not open for any other questioning. "I'm looking for someone, a Lieutenant Colton."

Morgan almost laughs at her luck. Maybe it's not even really luck at this point so much as hunger induced hallucination. "You've found her."

There's a soft sound from the other side of the bars, the light dipping further like the man finds her answer amusing. "Figures you wouldn't tell me it was a woman, Chris."

"Wait.." Morgan rushes forward a step, stopping at the bars. "Chris Redfield sent you?"

"That's one way to put it." he turns, light aiming down the hallway. She can't make out much but she can tell he's tall, looking capable with how he held himself. "Seems you've made a few friends."

This time Morgan is the one who laughs. "Yeah they're really friendly. At least they keep to themselves. Look, I appreciate this rescue effort and all but.. Who the hell are you?"

"Leon Kennedy, DSO."

DSO? Kennedy? Jesus, Chris you weren't fucking around.

True Destiny

2026-04-29T10:46:08+00:00

Chapter Text

Zeno landed on the concrete and grating at the bottom of the gigantic silo that was the Central Refining System. Above his head, PANDORA exploded with Elpis still locked within, and large chunks of rubble and metal frame came crashing down. The deadly drop had snapped his spine, but fortunately the Progenitor strain in his body healed his misaligned vertebrae instantly. Still, the excruciating pain had carved a grimace deep into his features, and he noticed an alarming, bitter flare of Raccoon City Syndrome.

Elpis had been his hope to suppress the disease and amplify his powers, but now he was left with an absolute debacle and simmering fury.

Utilizing his inhuman speed to dodge a few falling debris, Zeno quickly scanned around and realized that there was no way out but up. His leather coat had slipped from his shoulders and gone missing during the fall, along with his phone and, most importantly, cigarettes, which he heartily craved right now as pain relief.

Sighing deeply, the man brushed some dust off his now grayish suit jacket and smoothed a silver wisp of hair back before striding toward a mound of rubble heaped against the wall. He climbed as high as he could, then crouched into a half-squat, and launched himself up toward a thick, dangling cable. In mid-air he seized the cord. It snapped taut, sinking sharply under his weight, yet he managed to hold fast. Using it, he swung across the gap to grasp the edge of a suspended piece of landing and hauled himself up. There, he saw a railed tunnel - the exit he was looking for.

Once out of the crumbling silo, Zeno reached into his inside pocket to fish out a tactical earpiece. He put it on and radioed:

“Elite, do you copy.”

The comms buzzed before it came online. “Loud and clear, sir.”

“Status report, now.”

“Yes, sir. Four squads plus backup, all wiped out, sir.” The operator’s voice was low.

Zeno had to bite down an angry growl, knowing how grave the cost was. Among the dead was 3A7, his top man and personal guard, trained under his very watchful eye. The New Grim Reaper put to an untimely death, all thanks to that vexing DSO agent, Kennedy, and the prodigal daughter, Grace.

Oh, Grace, he could not believe the ingratitude in that young woman. He had shown her nothing but courtesy, trying to guide her to her true destiny. Hell, even he himself was surprised by the amount of compassion he had shown to a soul who shared the curse of manufactured birth but thrived anyway, just like him.

“Mission aborted. Dispatch a helicopter to the western exit immediately.”

“Right away, sir.”

No doubt BSAA would have sniffed the turmoil here by now. Though the internal strife in that organization might buy him some time, there was no use dawdling over a lost cause.

Once Zeno stalked through the heavy door, it locked behind him automatically with a click. The oak paneled and floored chamber was rather small, claustrophobic even, as it was windowless, dark except for a banker’s lamp on a mahogany bureau facing the opposite side of the door. Had it not been for his super night vision, he would hardly be able to see anything with the shades still glued to his face. Beside the lamp was a small wooden speaker with a protruding tiny camera on the top of it. There was no chair in the room, and it was obviously intentional.

Forced to stand, Zeno scoffed, a sharp pain pulsing through his nerves. He drew out a cigarette and lit it with an ornate sterling silver lighter. Taking a long, deep drag, he waited.

It had been less than 10 hours since his evacuation from the burning underbelly of ARK, barely enough time for him to relocate, shower, and much to his relief, change into an impeccably tailored suit. The Connections owned this property, registered to some insignificant person, of course. They would call it a safe house, but to Zeno, it served more like an enclosure.

Suddenly, the camera beeped and tipped to focus on him.

“You have disappointed us.” A distorted voice announced.

“Gideon’s research was obviously wrong. All those clones since 2005 did not inherit a shred of Spencer’s memory, and the ‘key’ - Grace Ashcroft didn’t know the password.” Zeno replied flatly, breathing out a thin wisp of smoke. So much time and money dissipated, he was not going to take the blame.

“So you were deceived. We cannot see how that reflects better on you. ARK was lost, so were the production lines and contracts. You have cost us, immensely.”

“I wasn-” The black viral infection spasmed on Zeno’s neck and left temple, a jolting pain cutting him off a meaningless retort. He was already in deep trouble, and giving in to wrath would not help, so he offered, “There has been no report of Gideon’s body, and the last time I received his call he was still breathing. If he has deceived us, then I’ll find him and make him pay.”

There was a short pause. “And what about Ashcroft? How can you be sure that she did not know?”

Zeno’s thoughts slip back... to his little conversation with Grace in front of PANDORA. She had indeed looked clueless. Later Kennedy barged in, shot off the crane, and swept her onto a real-life action thriller. When she returned, something had changed her mind. Another missing puzzle piece – it might not be wise to mention it now.

“She admitted that she didn’t know.” He answered drily, aware of how thin his argument sounded.

The speaker fell silent for a few seconds before the voice came back. “Credulity, it has always been your greatest weakness. Nonetheless, she destroyed Elpis, and you just... let her walk away?”

Zeno was speechless, a pang of rage roused in his heart. He had been presented with the opportunity: Grace’s wrist clenched in his death grip, his left hand free to punch right through her cranium within a split second. Why didn’t he do it?

“The DSO agent got in the way,” he managed an excuse, “but he’s done causing us trouble.”

“Ah, right, Mr. Kennedy, plagued by that nasty disease. He saw to the elimination of one T-501 unit and disposed of many BOWs in repository. Another instance of your incompetence, Zeno. Besides, was it not your initial task to ensure the DSO remained at a distance?”

Teeth clenched, Zeno crumbled the half-finished cigarette in his gloved hand. His head throbbed like it might split open.

“You see, this recount of failure has been quite tiring. Bring Victor Gideon and Grace Ashcroft to us, and we will decide what the truth is.”

The man turned to leave, but his torture had not ended yet.

“And Zeno, do hurry please. We would hate to see you expire due to that unfortunate illness.”

Finally, the door unlocked, and Zeno stormed out.

Grace Ashcroft had to stop typing momentarily to squeeze her eyes shut, sheltering her eyeballs from the painfully bright screen. To her dismay, that only brought her back to ARK, where a kind DSO operative had sacrificed himself saving her, even though they had technically only just made acquaintances. She could still see those last few minutes:

The agent knelt on the floor, one hand pressing flat at his abdomen, the other hanging limply at his side. The black webs of viral infection were spreading through his face at an alarming speed, the dark death clashing violently with the seeping red streaking his lower lip. Pupils slightly dilated, his blue eyes fixed on her as he murmured something that was too distant to hear, and then they lost focus, staring blankly at the slender muzzle until...

Grace opened her eyes to continue inputting:

Leon Scott Kennedy was executed by Zeno, a high-ranking member of The Connections. We were able to recover what remains of Kennedy’s body after the explosion at ARK, but there is no evidence indicative of Zeno’s...

“Grace! Grace Ashcroft!” A voice cut in, startling her. The blonde swiveled on her chair to find Mr. Dempsy standing by her booth.

“My office.” The man said, and before he turned, added curtly, “Please.”

This seemed all too familiar, but Grace quickly followed in tow, not letting rumination set in.

“Have a seat, Grace.” Inside the office, Dempsy had already sat down, elbows on the desk, hands clasped in front of his lips.

Sitting across from her boss, Grace monotoned, “The report is almost finished. I just...”

But the man put a hand up and interrupted, “Grace, are you doing alright?”

Grace blinked, confounded. Was she doing alright? Well, she was saved, alive, back in harness, working nonstop for days, so she guessed she was indeed alright.

“O-of course. Like I said, I’ll be able to deliver the report tomorrow - no, tonight. And...”

“Come on, Grace.” Dempsy shook his head, frowning. “Don’t try to fool me. I thought you needed some work as distraction, but this is too much - you’ve been through too much. Just send me the report and go home, rest. You need it.”

Grace looked past the man, gazing at the large, dark windowpane behind him. A woman with disheveled hair and hollow cheeks stared back with blood-shot eyes. She opened her mouth to argue, but Dempsy’s stern look told her it was no use defying an order, so she just nodded and left the office.

The underground parking lot was dimly lit by fluorescents. Grace dragged herself to her car with heavy legs. The moment she sat behind the wheel, her forehead dropped onto it, and she exhaled deeply. She had stayed in office for three days, writing the report. While she had failed to save Leon, at least she could do what she was good at: analysis and paperwork. But now that she could no longer hide behind the guise of workaholism, her mind spiraled downward in the vortex of regrets.

She kept thinking if everything would be different if she had not destroyed Elpis. By reading through the files at ARK, she had made an assumption of the true password, though now she could never know if her guess was correct. That fact that Leon had wanted her to destroy it did not ease the burden any bit - what kind of a coward would she be to point the finger at the hero who died saving her?

Finally, Grace lifted her head from the wheel, her brows drawing together in a deep furrow. Her reflexes were slow after three days’ desk work, and her head throbbed with every movement. Perhaps it was not a good time to drive, but she could not go back to office and listen to Dempsy fussing over her out of concern either. In the end, she crawled to the backseat and curled up like a baby, allowing herself to pass out in the faint leathery scent.

Grace could smell leather, cologne, and light nicotine. She felt so light, as if she was floating, dreaming. The buoyancy had a slow but steady pace to it, carrying her deeper into sweet, blessed oblivion. Yet, there was something lurking beyond the veil of unconsciousness, a tightening in her chest, a creeping weight pulling her down. No, she did not want to face it, not now, not ever. So she plunged, immersed in the sea of soothing nothingness for as long as she could...

“...jeopardize everything. Had you taken care of him at Rhodes Hill, we wouldn’t have the DSO dog chasing after us at all.”

A man’s berating voice instilled consciousness back into Grace’s mind. She was lying supine on cold, smooth floor, a freezing contrast to the warm embrace she had felt... how long ago? And where was she? She wanted to slip back into darkness, but it was too late. She had fainted, and the last person she saw was...

“A severed arm? Well, I can hardly believe that would be a problem - you’re a doctor, after all.” The voice moved closer. “Time to get your job done; eliminate Kennedy!”

Grace’s eyes snapped open. She pushed her torso upward with both hands and, kicking her feet against the floor, scrambled backward until her back hit a metal railing. Breaths caught in her throat, she fell into a coughing fit, but she managed to dart a wary glance at the man and then begin to scan her surroundings. They were on the central platform within an immense cylinder structure, on the wall of which lined countless yellow spheres - incubators, Grace realized, from the files Zeno had showed her back at the RPD.

“Grace.” Zeno tilted his head, one brow an arc of amusement. Slipping his phone back into one pocket of his black leather coat, he turned to approach a device at the center.

“You’ve awakened at perfect timing. Come, let me show you your true purpose.”

Taking a deep breath, Grace forced her pounding heart to slow and then struggled to her feet.

“Wh-where are we?” Her voice trembled, slightly.

“The purpose of our trip, the destination of your fate. You’re here at ARK, to unlock Elpis.” Zeno extended an arm, his gloved finger directing at the central device.

It was a cylindrical apparatus, its sunken top nearly ringed with conduits as thick as Grace’s arm. On the front face of the cylinder was a small box, underneath which many red wires stemmed out and disappeared into the device’s protruding flanks. Eyeing Zeno for any sudden movement, Grace slowly approached, and the small box flipped open, revealing a screen and keyboard.

She looked back at the patiently waiting man. “Wait, wh-who were you talking to just now? What are you gonna do to Leon?”

Zeno furrowed his brows, his eyes hidden by the shades. “That remains to be found out. Go on, enter the password.”

I can do this, Grace told herself, I need to save Leon. So she keyed the password.

The apparatus hummed, followed by a tremor that vibrated through the entire silo, and then... nothing.

“What did you do?” Zeno hissed through his teeth.

Grace leaned forward, bracing her hands on the device. Her eyes fixed on the screen, widened in disbelief. This is not right. “This is not right. I swear-”

Cold fingers dug into Grace’s wrist. Desperate to explain, she spun around and bumped into a chest clad in dusted, black nylon combat shirt. Grace would have screamed, but her breath caught in her throat. Trembling uncontrollably, she moved her eyes up, slowly, compulsively. The stubbled chin, bloodied lower lip, blackened cheeks, sculpted nose, all so familiar, except for the eyes - the striking blue eyes, now a milky glaze of the dead, and they locked onto Grace’s teary ones. Above them, the woeful bullet hole, like an oversized maroon bindi, ringed with shredded flesh, charred by powder burns.

The lifeless pale lips did not move, but Grace heard it loud and clear: Why didn’t you save me?

No! She wanted to yell back, but her throat was too tight. Shaking her head frantically, she tried to pry her wrist free, but the deceased only pulled her closer. As dark blood started to trickle down from the wound, the mouth opened, stretched, and expanded inconceivably wide, wrapping her head in an expanse of necrotic tissue.

Finally, in that rotten darkness, she screamed.

“NO!” Grace bolted upright with a raw throat. Her head whipped around wildly, trying to see through the wall of flesh, yet there were only original seats and windows, beyond which was the dimly lit parking lot.

Suddenly, a vibration made Grace flinch, but she soon realized it was her phone buzzing. She fumbled for it and looked at the screen. It was Sherry.

One day after the ARK incident, the older blonde had visited the FBI Midwest Field Office to inquire about the details of Leon’s death as his friend and a representative of the DSO. She had been gentle with Grace through the entire occasion, and the younger woman could still feel Sherry’s warm, gloved hand on her back. Now, seeing her name on the screen, Grace keenly recalled why the other woman had worn the black leather glove.

As calmly as she could, Grace greeted, “Hey, Sherry, how are you? You need some documents or...”

“Grace, are you at home? I need to talk with you, off the phone.”

【昂右/昂中心】EUPHORIA

2026-04-29T10:27:30+00:00

by ShanghaiLily

这是周五的晚上，克里斯要加训，克莱尔作为志愿者去参加为ASD儿童捐款的慈善晚会，他们的监护人贝克和史蒂芬也受邀出席，Leon才能这样光明正大地带阿尔法回来睡觉。很显然所有人都有自己的事要忙，只有里昂，闲躺在丝绒面料的沙发上，半张脸埋进柔软的靠垫，电视画面在他雾蓝色的虹膜上折射出一个迷幻的光圈。

Words: 4679, Chapters: 1/?, Language: 中文-普通话國語

Fandoms: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage Sex
Categories: M/M, Multi
Characters: Leon S. Kennedy, Jack Krauser, Luis Serra
Relationships: Leon S. Kennedy/Chris Redfield, Leon S. Kennedy/Jack Krauser, Leon S. Kennedy/Luis Serra
Additional Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Bottom Leon S. Kennedy, Leon S. Kennedy Has a Vagina

A Happier World

2026-04-29T10:28:00+00:00

Leon had been welcomed with open arms. He was such a good kid and a perfect addition to the department. Ironically, he joined at a very turbulent time with the chief. As it turned out he'd been corrupt, bought, and just plain dirty.

Leon had actually run into the FBI agent that had been sent to investigate on his first day. He'd then subsequently been brought in by her to help investigate. According to her report on it later, he'd been a fresh set of eyes with no prior loyalties, thus the perfect candidate for helping her look into it.

And help he did, the two of them dug up everything within a week. Leon's intuition and ability to sniff out things that didn't add up. In combination with Ada’s ability to sweet talk her way into places. Well, they made quite the team.

After the whole ordeal she promised to come visit and make sure everything got back on track. Leon had been thrilled and said he'd be happy to see her again.

It was no secret in the precinct that Leon had been gone on her the moment they met. After everything she was pretty much all he could talk about, not that anyone could really blame him. Ada was something else, and the two had taken a bullet each for the other during the whole ordeal.

But it was funny nonetheless to see how hung up on the woman the rookie was. When asked about how everything went down, he does like more than sing Ada’s praises and downplays his own.

It's a few weeks later that she appears again, she walks through the front door to the sound of clicking heels. Leon, who'd been standing around talking with a few of the other officers, turns to her and all but runs over.

“Ada!”

The woman chuckles and looks him over as he stops in front of her.

“Hi there rookie, told you I'd be back.”

Leon just smiles wider, “You did.” He then turns more serious as he looks her over, “Are you ok did everything heal right?”

Ada rolls her eyes but pulls her sleeve down enough for him to see the now healed gunshot wound. “You worry too much, I'm fine.”

The remaining tension melted away from Leon as he completely relaxed. “Well excuse me for worrying it's not like you saved my life or anything.” He said dryly.

Ada huffed lightly but didn't argue, “Well what about you Is everything back to normal?”

Leon gestured around, “I'd like to think so Marvin took Irons place and we've had a lot less issues since.”

Ada hums a pleased noise, “That's good to hear.” A beat then, “What about your gunshot wound?”

Leon melts slightly and there's no hiding his light blush. “Now who's worrying too much?” He grumbled.

Ada was unmoored and just raised an expectant eyebrow. Leon folded quickly after, “I'm fine same as you.”

She nods satisfied, “I was going to go get lunch. Do you want to join me?”

Leon perked up but wilted slightly a second later. Before he could overthink it Marvin waved him off. “Go ahead Leon, we'll see you back later.”

Leon nods and turns to the woman, “Where do you want to go?”

She is already walking out the door, “I saw a place on my way in.”

Leon just hurried after her.

“Our rookie is absolutely in love.” Elliot observed

“Yeah he is and it seems to be reciprocated.” Marvin agreed with a fond smile.

Ada started appearing sporadically after that and every time Leon perked up and greeted her excitedly. Sometimes she stole him away, other times she brought him something to eat or some other treat. It was a few months deep into the pattern when on her way out she kissed him.

He didn't react beyond squeaking slightly. Clearly this isn't exactly new, but he's still not exactly used to it completely. He watches her leave and only tears his eyes away at a pointed clearing of a throat.

“So, it's official then?” Marvin questioned.

Leon smiled softly, his eyes locked on the ground, “Yeah…God I'm so lucky.”

As time went on Ada became a familiar face and one the whole station looked forward to seeing. She was a kind woman, if a bit clinical. She was smart though, and it wasn't uncommon for some of the officers to ask her opinions on cases. She always had good insight.

Leon himself was more sure about the whole relationship too, and it didn't take long for the nervous energy to start subsiding. He'd greet her with a kiss and ask how her day had been as she all but preened.

If he came in with marks on him they'd tease him, but he was never even slightly ashamed. “It's proof she's happy with me. Means I've done something right.”

No one could exactly argue with him on that, the kid had a point. Ada clearly adored him after all it didn't take a genius to realize that she was not your typical woman. Very strong-willed with little filter and even less patience for anything she deemed unimportant.

Leon had to be doing something right if a woman like that insisted on going out of her way to visit and bringing him things occasionally. Hell, sometimes she'd stop by when he was stuck after hours just to keep him company.

There had been a number of times they'd seen people try and flirt with him. But Leon was utterly blind to it, the attempts not even registering. It was always funny to watch. Ada herself had been witness to it before, and she'd barely paid it any mind. She wasn't jealous or even felt the need to stake her claim content in the knowledge she already had him.

Years went by and eventually Leon wasn't exactly the rookie anymore. He'd cemented himself as one of the best officers they had, and the STARS unit was eyeing him something fierce. Though he had little interest in joining even if he'd become good friends with them.

According to him he wanted to help out the everyman, and so that's what he did.

Ada remained a permanent fixture as well, and it was always funny when the new rookies got to first meet her. Like time repeating often they'd see her walk in and all but stumble over themselves. Marvin, who'd watched the whole thing, just patted the kid on the shoulder.

“Don't even think about it she'd eat you alive.” He warned.

The kid just furrowed his brows like it was something to still consider. Well, he'd learn soon when Leon appeared. And sure enough like magic, Leon popped up a minute later. Marvin had to wonder if he had some kind of sixth sense when it came to Ada. He always seemed to know when she showed up even when she didn't tell him she was stopping by.

He greeted her like always overenthusiastic and adoring. Ada tried to hide her joy with it but couldn't quite manage it.

The rookie watched on somewhere between envious and awed.

Written in Blood

2026-04-29T11:10:39+00:00

October 7, 11:12 p.m.

Grace Ashcroft was a peculiar woman. She didn't have a soul mark over her heart, making her an anomaly in the world.

Everytime a person is born, the parents, guardians or the government takes a drop of blood to offer to the Godess of Love, blessing the child with an Afrodite's flower over their hearts, and if their soumate is already born, their ritually given name was branded below the flower. Not having a flower could mean only two things: the goddess of love doesn't want to bless that person, or they never went through the ritual.

Alyssa Ashcroft would always look sad when Grace asked about her blessing, telling her it was better this way. That she could chose her own destiny. Grace didn't want to choose her destiny, she wanted what everyone else had, true imortal love, the bond of souls. She cried herself to sleep so many times during her teenager years, thinking herself unworthy of someone to love her unconditionally. Why was she unlovable? Why must she endure life alone since her mother were murdered? The TV and the internet were forever obsessing about soulmates, and she couldn't escape all the propaganda even if she tried. Her heart ached from loneliness and need.

Grace was scrolling reddit when a post drawn her attention. Someone that escaped a cult against the mark of the soul after an adult, and discovered you can do the ritual yourself after your maturity, generally around 20 to 21 years old.

Grace's blood ran cold. Could it be.... could Alyssa hide from her that she never went through the ritual? Why would her mother do that to her? Grace was trembling, her anxiety sparkling. She took deep breaths, trying to calm herself. The ritual was simple enough, just a drop of blood nicked with a silver blade in pure honey inside a silver plate, asking Afrodite to bless her soul and accept her chosen name, Grace Ashcroft. As an adult, she could name herself and not need anyone to do it for her.

Excited, Grace grabbed an old silver plate she used to store her keys once she arrived her apartment, and searched for her mother's antique ornated letter opener, that she knew was sterling silver. She cleaned the plate, poured honey in it and disinfected the sharp silver tool. Grace winced when the blade pierced her finger and seven drops of blood had fallen in the honey.

"Afrodite, Goddess of Love and Beauty, I come to ask for your blessing, may my soul name be recognized and my soulmate found!" She said with a trembling voice. The blood started to mix with the honey and glowed, and she felt a sharp warmth over her heart, making her look down to her cleavage, where one thin red line started drawing the shape of a rose, meaning her ritual was accepted and she received the blessing.

When the rose was complete, Grace felt elated when a name started to appear on the same red thin line, elegant and cursive. Leon Scott Kennedy.

Leon was driving back to the DSO, distracted by the soft rain and tired from an unknown infection that already killed five people, thinking about how that was it. He was dying at 49 years old, after a life of pain fighting a biological warfare. He was exhausted, but he thought gladly nobody would really miss him. He had his red rose all his life but never received a name. He accepted fate didn't want to give him a soulmate. Nobody deserved to witness the shitshow that was his life.

He felt calm, the calm of a man that accepted his fate. He knew he only had a few days to live, a few painful days, and he could finally rest and forget all the pain. Leon only felt sad he couldn't save Sherry, and she was going to leave her loving husband too soon.

"Sherry?" He called her.

"I'm here." She responded. He could hear the sadness in her voice. "We're together until the end."

"I know." He said simply.

His chest started to burn, he felt a thin warm something passing under his soul mark, writing a name over his skin.

"FUCK MY LIFE!!!!" He screamed, swerving the car a little on the road, shocked.

Because of course he would find his soulmate's name only days before dying, and of course they would be a fucking baby to his half century.

"Leon, what is wrong? You've scared me!"

"Just me being fates bitch again, Sherry. A name just appeared in my skin."

"What? Who are them?"

"I have no idea yet. Didn't look."

He stopped his car, because of course after all these years he would want to know who they were. An elegant cursive red line spelled a name over his racing heart. Grace Ashcroft.

His mind wandered, somewhere in the world, two loving parents were naming their baby Grace, and he felt nauseous. Would they search him, find he was an old man and forbidden him to come near their baby? Maybe even file a restriction order? He knew people that saw their soumate became drawn to them and would always ache be around each other. Not that it would be a problem in his case, he would be dead in less than a week. Still, he wished to see her only once before dying. He even knew a case were a woman in her twenties kidnapped her ten year old soumate after the parents filled a restriction. Even if people couldn't feel sexually attracted to an age inappropriate soulmate, the longing to be close were still unbearable, both suffering when kept apart.

"Want to share the name? I can look for them." Sherry offered.

"No. Better not. She is a newborn, Sherry, and I'm dying."

"A female, then. Still, wouldn't you want to know her before... you know?"

"That would be too cruel."

Because even if she was a child, if they locked eyes she would ache for his presence. He'll be dead and she will suffer for the rest of her life from the emptiness, may even die from the loss. He knew some children that lost their soumates had their mind broken beyond repair forever, if they didn't die too.

"It's your choice, Leon. I'll respect that. Can you at least tell me her name?"

"Grace." He thought it's a beautiful name.

Grace felt stupid. She knew his name, but was too nervous to try and find him. What if he didn't like her? She was too plain, too coward. She couldn't sleep last night, couldn't even focus on her work today, too distracted, too clumsy.

She was so shaken that she only noticed she accepted a field mission without back up to the hotel were her mom was brutally murdered in front of her when she was already walking the Wrenwood streets.

"Leon, you there?"

"Yeah. Send me the address" He asked.

He drove distracted by the sixth body of a Raccoon city survivor, distracted by the pain from the infection, and distracted by the name in his chest. He almost missed the giant man with the unconscious, young, small and fragile woman thrown across his shoulder, lazily walking away from the crime scene. The only reason he noticed was because something in that knocked out girl pulled his eyes. His heart ached with the primal need to save her, protect her. He didn't understand why he felt so strongly about this girl. Maybe it revolted him to see a male treat a woman with such disrespect. Maybe it was the way his hand squeezed her ass in a predatory way. He didn't want to think Victor Gideon would rape the anonymous girl, but he didn't trust the guy to not be a pervert. His instincts screamed that man was definitely a pervert, his heart racing with the urgency to rescue the blond girl.

He fumed thinking he failed the mystery girl. Victor took her and he didn't want to think what he was going to do to her. He had an address thanks to Sherry, but that never meant he would be there in time. His heart sank thinking about her bloody naked body under that monstrosity. He needed to be fast. She was his.

The thought hit him like a train. Why was he claiming this girl he never even saw before? Never talked to before? Never looked her is the eyes before. He was confused and scared and in so much fucking pain already. His nerves were like barbed wire.

That nurse was full of shit but he still followed her through a corridor filled with dead bodies. When a code six was announced, and the place started to swarm with infected he lost all hope of finding the blond girl. He was very surprised to see her alive and fighting a mutant BOW. He was furious when the thing grabbed her ankle and tossed her against a radiator, her cry of pain making an uncontrollable rage arise inside his chest.

He run after her, shooting the thing in the face until it was a pulp of brains and blood.

"Over here." He commanded her and she run past him and into the light. When he was sure the grotesque thing wasn't getting up, he went after her.

"You ok?" He asked, but she flinched away from him as if he was one of the threats. He was more hurt about that than he would ever admit. "Leon Kennedy, DSO." He introduced himself and her neck snapped very fast to look at him.

Their eyes met and something shifted inside him. As if this blond, fragile, battered and bloody girl was the reason of his existence. She stared at him, mouth agape. "Leon Scott Kennedy?" She asked.

【Chreon/克昂】今夜坠入爱河

2026-04-29T09:53:24+00:00

by OneDayIwillBe

*re9之后的一个普通的夜晚
*克里斯第一人称，其实感觉完全说梦话…
*本篇掺杂大量个人角色理解，如果不喜欢请及时退出！

Summary：看吧，衰老也没那么吓人，你还是很漂亮，我们也还是在一起。

Words: 1329, Chapters: 1/1, Language: 中文-普通话國語

Fandoms: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Categories: M/M
Characters: Leon S. Kennedy, Chris Redfield (Resident Evil)
Relationships: Leon S. Kennedy/Chris Redfield

合集｜才懂你想念的表情

2026-04-29T09:49:08+00:00

by ROMY_Mistakenly

一个昂乙合集，随便写点，大家也随便吃吃，非体验派写作但是有大量个人喜好

Words: 1423, Chapters: 1/1, Language: 中文-普通话國語

Fandoms: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Categories: F/M
Characters: Leon S. Kennedy
Relationships: Leon S. Kennedy/Reader, Leon S. Kennedy/You, Leon S. Kennedy & Reader, Leon S. Kennedy & You