#yandere jill valentine x reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mo0nfairy · 9 months ago

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ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ UNCHAINED MELODY, PART SIX !

summary :: surviving raccoon city together, you catch the affections of leon kennedy, ada wong, jill valentine, and carlos oliveira. six years later, you reunite with them and realize their obsession with you has increased tenfold.

chapters :: the masterlist.

word count :: 12.3k.

content warnings :: mdni! yandere!leon, yandere!ada, yandere!jill, yandere!carlos, gender neutral reader, smut (not involving reader), murder, death, violence/gore, suic1dal tendencies, suic1de attempt, alcoholism, weaponry, panic attacks, ptsd, hallucinations, & sleep paralysis.

leon kennedy's yandere traits are . . .

clingy, heroic, & territorial

──── Leon Kennedy hates sunlight in his eyes. Yet still, he finds himself basking in the warm rays.

When the sun hits the window just right, ensnaring the room in its golden hues, he bathes in its light the same way he'd lay in a hot bath. The lulling warmth melts his muscles and eases his body. After he falls asleep in the office after another unsuccessful investigation, your sunset is there for him. When he passes out after a drunken night at the bar, your sunrise is there for him. You're looking down at him always, embracing him in splotches of sunlight.

For a while, Leon thought he knew what it meant to be alive. To touch the hands of guttural pain; to feel the jagged juts of his past nestle against him. But, after that horrid night six years ago, after the exposure to sunshine he did not know existed, he truly touched the scorching surface of rock bottom.

And it is killing him. All because of a singular person.

Y/N L/N. The name he will never forget.

Leon remembers your exuberant eyes, your adorable mannerisms, the glimmer of your smile; he will never forget how you sparked the beginning of his life in Raccoon City.

He remembers the orange lights had swayed in his vision. How everything was stuck in a blistering sea of vertigo. Listening to the fire crackle and creatures groan, Leon coughs from the tickle caught in his throat. There is a weight pressed to his chest, something akin to a cushion. White. Artificial fabrics, a plastic touch. An airbag, maybe?

September 28th of 1998. The memories all return to him like a violent supercut. The yell of his name, the squeal of the brakes, the collision afterward. His precious Jeep Wrangler had now been flipped upside down and he was now caught in the savagery of the aftermath. The blood rushing to his head has the world swirling around him, lulling him into another state of unconsciousness. Leon touches the passenger seat with his red hands, terror ensnaring him upon realizing the seat was empty.

Something blurry in his trail of vision grips his attention. Through the shattered window, a figure stumbles through the brume of the flickering streetlights. Blue glares frame the dirt-stained "R.P.D" sign and the figure hastens towards its doors.

A whimper of your name is stuck on his tongue, as words get trapped in his congested throat. Don't leave me. In Leon's efforts to escape, his foot gets caught on the gear shift. He pulls with all his might, despite the twists and strains his ankle endures. Y/N, please don't. Shards of glass fall from his hair as he wrestles his way out. A few pieces manage to leave shallow nicks against his flesh. Come back to me.

Leon then plummets to the wet pavement, finally free of his demolished car. Frivolous debris and fresh corpses litter his path. His newly-purchased white sneakers (which he bought solely to show off to you) are splattered in the disgusting matter. Stumbling, he is able to persevere through all of this and he quickly trudges through the wreckage.

Leon barrels through the doors of the R.P.D. and surges through the police department. Bullets pierce through the skulls of pedestrians and coworkers roaming the building. Blood paints his body like rainfall. All while he is searching for the face that will end the torment reigning havoc through his mind.

The holding cells are inspected thoroughly while Leon's disposition is one of acute desperation. The adjacent areas are consumed with infected prisoners, all of which he promptly executes. Much to his dismay, however, the rookie does not find you sitting at a bench or clinging to the rusted bars. It is all empty, leading him to become more frantic in his search for you.

Something navy blue then captures his attention. Left on the floor of a cell is a name tag. Something small and wet with blood.

Leon takes the object into his fingers. His heart wrenches when he reads the name stamped on the plastic. The familiar "Mizoil Gas Station" is printed above "Y/N L/N".

A gasp fills the empty silence. Y/N... Where did you go? Why did you leave me?

"Hey.”

He jerks around to the intruding voice.

"Who is that?"

"Stay sharp."

Behind him is a rotting face with dead, paper-white eyes staring right through him. The zombie towers over him, growling for a bite. Leon yanks Matilda from his holster. The action is swift. Adept. Exactly the way he was trained. The echo of a gunshot permeates through the large expanse and fuses with the squelching sounds of brain matter oozing from the zombies' open skull. The corpse falls to the grimy floors with a thud and once more, silence returns.

The click of stiletto heels treads closer to Leon. On the threshold of the prison cell, a woman walks into his train of vision.

Ada Wong.

Finally, a human! Leon thinks to himself. He is quick to take advantage of the company of a normal, uninfected person. The pestering questions he has all tumble out out his mouth like an avalanche of blabbering nonsense.

"Please, you have to help me! I-I'm looking for someone!"

Her lack of articulation urges Leon to continue.

"My name is Leon Kennedy."

He takes a breath before continuing.

"The person I'm looking for- they, um- they're about... this tall." He holds his flat hand up to demonstrate your height. "Their eyes are Y/E/C. Well, maybe not like an exact shade of Y/E/C. It's more like a softer, prettier-"

She scoffs, cutting him off from his incessant rambling. Turning her heel, Ada begins to walk away from the pathetic mess she stumbled upon.

"Wait! Their name is Y/N!”

The woman halts.

“Y/N L/N! Please, you have to help me find them!"

Body tense, her eyes peer at him through the dark barrier of her sunglasses. Her arms weaken, once sternly folded over her beige trench coat.

"They're my partner... Please..."

Ada's lips part. From them, a sharp inhale.

Leon begs her with desperate worry, encompassed in a vehement frame of mind. His plead is spoken with such clarity, Ada can only assume it as truth. And the prospect of you belonging to someone else cuts like a dull knife. It is gross, it is nauseating. Unnatural. Like worms slithering around in her stomach, trying to escape the heart-shattering effect this information has on her.

Then, there is the anger. The betrayal is like a song too loud, the resentment like sheer alcohol on her tongue. Everything manifests into a spirit so overwhelming that Ada cannot find air to breathe. This blanket of rage stirs with her sorrow like two conflicting chemicals. The reaction sparks something iniquitous.

So, in turn, she does what she does best.

Lie.

"Y/N is dead."

A silence settles in the room.

Leon stares. That is all he does.

He stares at Ada and tries to scrutinize her to find some other truth. Anything other than this.

"Ambushed. No possible way of getting them out of that mess..."

Ada speaks with defective emotion. The words land mercilessly and hit with ruthless force.

A harsh ringing noise permeates around Leon. He covers his ears, blunt nails digging into his scalp. He shakes his head no, as though he merely disagrees with fact. It's not true. It can't be! Losing grasp on the only good thing in his life is something he will not accept. He refuses to.

You are his sun. What is existence without its warmth? What will happen to Earth without its necessity?

How can he possibly survive without you?

Ada rolls her eyes at the dramatic scene now playing out at her hand. She ignores her own hypocrisy, of course. If she had learned of your demise, only God knows what blood-curdling reaction she would have. When it comes to Leon, however, every blink of his eye and twitch of his muscle has her riddled with irritation. Does he not know how lucky he is? Ada would endure any pain if she knew she had the comfort of calling you her lover. It is a dream she would kill to make reality.

Leon soon collapses to the floor. A shot of pain courses through his knees from landing harshly on the cement. His hand clutches over his heart, absolutely gutted by the torment forced upon the organ.

Ada then leaves this lie where she puts it down. She struts out of the prison cell, thus continuing her search for wherever in Raccoon City you may be.

You do not need a boyfriend. Especially one as pathetic as Leon Kennedy.

The man in question has been rendered into a puddle of blubbering nonsense. Questions still fill the silent air. How, when, why? Why did it have to be you? The one person on this disgusting planet who did not deserve it. Why couldn't you have just stayed with him and let him devote his life to protecting the precious gem of your life? Why? Why? Why?

Leon has already lost so much, you were the very last thing keeping him afloat. You are his life preserver in the middle of the ocean. He has now succumbed to the thrashing waves, as he was always destined to be swallowed by the sea. Saltwater permeates his lungs and his limp body sways with the lulling current. As though this is what his life was always meant to be: crawling after happiness just to have it yanked away when he gets too close. In the end, his sugar-sweet delusions will always sink down to the ocean floor.

Tears do not escape Leon, no matter the weight of the pain. He does not care for anything but you. Now that you have left him, nothing else matters. Therefore, no emotion can be elicited from him anymore. He has been touched so violently by this intensity, it eradicated any surviving nerves.

His handgun had been left on the ground, a few feet away from him. Assumably falling from his grasp after his knees gave out. He takes the weapon and it shivers in his trembling grasp. It's blurry in his gaze, as his entire vision is overwhelmed with stupor. Should he? God knows he wants to. What is there left to experience in life without you there with him?

As he guides the barrel of his gun to his temple, the static ringing in his ears accelerates in volume. Somehow, though, Leon does not feel fear. He does not feel anything. No dread, no despair — just sheer, hollow nothingness. It infuses his entire body like a roaming virus, ensuring it does not leave any traceable fragments of emotion.

A quivering finger hovers over the trigger. One pull and he will be free.

Leon presses his finger down.

Click.

Nothing.

Click. Click. Click.

Nothing happens.

Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click.

"FUCK!"

Leon chucks the gun to the ground. His yell comes out guttural, a touch away from being a growl.

The clatter of Matilda's impact is not enough to appease him, as this swamped nothingness is more than he can endure. In a fit of defeat, Leon balls his fists and punches the cement floor. Agony surges through his entire hand and blood smudges his knuckles. The sound of his bones cracking still does not satisfy him in the slightest. Nothing can aid him now. Absolutely nothing.

With heavy legs, Leon stands to his feet. He holds his broken fist close to his chest and limps out of the empty prison cell. As he meanders through the station, he finds a set of car keys to a police cruiser on the corpse of his former co-worker. Despite claiming the title of "hero" when he first earned his badge, he does not intend to help anyone tonight. He couldn't save the only thing he ever loved, what kind of hero fails to do that?

The screaming of pedestrians and desperate pleas for help fall on deaf ears. The vehicle's engine rumbles and Leon's dead eyes stare at the road ahead. He leaves Raccoon City forever in his dust.

Six years have passed since the night you were taken from him. Leon wants to die, that much is for certain. The only thing preventing him from giving in is the fact that people need him. They all fail to see that he needs you, as he always will. Besides, he’s got some last few words he wishes to tell Umbrella before he bids this life farewell.

This is his life now. And in a morbid way, he thinks it is romantic. He read somewhere that if a swan dies, their surviving mate will fly into the sky and let themselves plummet to their death. Is that you and him? Should he put the final puzzle piece in your happily-ever-after and end it all? When the sun shines through the window and he wakes up without you again, however, Leon cannot romanticize the empty shell he is trapped within. He is desperate to know why you couldn't have taken his body with you on your way to heaven. Why death couldn’t have brought him eternal peace the very second you passed.

These several years have been spent drowning in alcohol. Leon has no preference for whatever booze he consumes, either. Anything that will make him forget it all will do the trick. At the bar with concerned bartenders or in his almost-empty liquor cabinet at home — he’ll take whatever he can get his hands on.

All his nights are now spent beneath the golden lights of the local bar. Dawn is spent crying on the kitchen floor with a queasy stomach. His days are all the same, too. Saving the lives of helpless citizens, he never forgets how the glimmer of gratitude in their eyes should have been yours.

This night in particular was no different. Leon has nearly drunk the entire bar's alcohol supply in hours. He imbibes a glass of whiskey and cringes at the cheap taste. Too sweet. Poorly made. He does not mind this, however, as anything that can ease the pain is satisfactory enough. And just like any other night, Leon is thinking of you. He watches the ice cubes dance in the cup, arms lazily resting on the sticky countertop. If only things were different, then he wouldn't have to be in this shit-hole right now. He could spend all his nights with you, instead. God, he misses you.

"You look lonely."

Leon didn't have to look up from his glass to know what was happening. At a place like this, it was inevitable.

He never took to heart whenever his coworkers teased him with names such as "pretty boy" or "Leonardo DiCaprio." It seemed to be a "chick magnet," as they so called it. So, when another stranger approaches him with that familiar glint in their eye, he knows what they want from him.

"I can fix that."

Leon looks to where the woman is sitting beside him. Like he does with every courting, he searches her for any remnants of you. If he were honest with himself, these people served as a good distraction. Enough bottles and he can delude his fuzzy brain into believing it was you standing beside him instead of another stranger.

The sight is blurred from his intoxicated state, but his judgment is clear as day. Her face shape and height contrast from yours. She is an inch or two shorter. Her smirk is sensual, not as toothy and adorable as your vivacious smile. Her body is entirely different, as well. Too bony, with wonky proportions that were nothing like you. The only similarity was her eye color. Your exuberant shimmer was missing, but the collection of hues shared puny similarities.

Eh. Good enough.

"Daddy! S-So big- fuck!"

The blaring sounds of heavy rock playing outside the motel room do not ease the headache Leon has, nor does the vociferous calamity of this woman. She doesn't sound anything like you. Too submissive, too goddamn insufferable. In his head, he can only imagine the dulcet sounds he could pull from your pretty lips. This woman was ruining that heavenly fantasy.

"I told you to be fucking quiet."

He uses his strength and pins her harder against the squeaking mattress. Insufferably irritating moans are muffled upon shoving that loud mouth into the pillows. Leon squeezes his eyes shut and puts all attention to the image he has painted in his mind.

You'd be different, much different. He can only imagine you beneath him like this. Harsh demands formed from your dulcet voice, commanding his every move and action. Telling your puppy dog to make you feel good with the promise of a reward — the thought alone never fails to send a shiver through his body. Leon is sure your golden voice praising him is all he needs to die happy.

"Fuck, 's too much. Daddy-"

The reverie shatters as quickly as it was formed. His calloused hands find the woman's hair and he forces her further into the pillows. She is not opposed to being treated roughly in the sheets, discernible in the way her moans and mindless babbles increase in volume.

"Shut your fucking mouth!"

Leon would be different, too. Much softer than this. He would handle every inch of your skin like he's unmasking an archeological masterpiece. God, he couldn't treat you roughly even if he wanted to. Ruin every orgasm of his, leave his body littered with bruises and scratches. He would be a slave to your every whim, as pain at your hand would bring him bliss like no other. And in return, Leon would still touch your body with the same glass-like softness he is only ever capable of treating you with.

He buries his face into the stranger's shoulder and inhales the scent of their perfume. It is nauseating and nothing like you. Artificially sweet and too strong. Leon desperately fills the plot holes in his fantasy and imagines you dolling yourself up for him. Maybe after a tireless day at work, he would arrive home to you greeting him with a surprise. Where you got all dressed up for his eyes only and allowed him to indulge in your body again and again and again and again.

He can only imagine the look in your eyes when you call him your puppy, your husband, your good boy.

The thought sends him over the edge.

It is not a euphoric unfolding. It is sharp. Gross and weak. It is merely something to help him get by, even just barely. At least tonight Leon was able to finish inside a warm body instead of the plastic toy he keeps in his bedside drawer.

He doesn't even remember the name of this stranger. However, that doesn't matter when loud whines of your name jump out of his throat instead. The word tumbles from his mouth as though if he spoke it enough, you would materialize into this bed with him.

The unsatisfied woman does not overlook this. Another person's name shamelessly moaned by the man she thought she would have some late-night fun with, is he serious? She rolls her eyes and escapes from his sweaty hold. As she dresses herself, rehearsing how she'll tell this horror story to her friends, Leon stays on the bed. He does not try to stop her from leaving.

The afterglow is feeble, but he merely pretends it is as strong as he knows it would be with you. He wants to ensnare his body around yours and reaffirm just how deeply he loves you. He just wants to be with you again, no matter what the circumstances are. In the sheets after Earth-shattering sex with the love of his life or back in the grimy streets of Raccoon City, he will take anything if it means looking into your eyes again.

The door closes with a slam. Leon is now alone. But, then again, how could he notice? It is what the past six years have looked like, after all.

2,327 days and counting since he lost you.

If you asked him all that time ago where he thought he'd be right now, he would answer with the hope and happiness he only had then. He'd sit cozy in the little cabin in the woods you and he would occupy, he was sure of it. Summers would be spent in the sunlit lakes and Winters would be spent huddling for warmth by the fireplace. Years would pass like this. All laughter and kisses, snuggles, and healing hearts.

These fantasies haunt him like a horror-flick ghost floating around an attic, as it is what his life could have been had he not failed to protect you. He could have you in his arms this very second, but because of his God-awful driving skills, your body was left behind in the rubble of Umbrella's mistakes. It is what he devoted his entire career to now: tearing down that damned corporation. It is why he is in this motel room, to begin with, where he rots in these musty sheets and sleeps with people he can't remember the names of.

Images of you and him sharing smiles flicker through his brain and lull him. Your eyes are the last thing Leon sees before he falls asleep.

It is a light slumber. He does not dream, he is merely unconscious. When he wakes an hour later, it is like he has not slept at all. As if the short period of time passed in a sheer blink. This is what his sleeping schedule normally looks like nowadays, complemented by the heavy, storm-grey bags beneath his eyes.

The sheet draped over his waist leaves him cold. The Winter weather creeps into the room and engulfs his naked skin in goosebumps. When Leon tries to grasp more of the cheap blankets to drape himself in, he is at a loss when he finds himself unable to move. Almost as though a weight had forced him back onto the bed. He can't move even a muscle; he is wholly and utterly paralyzed.

There's a soft footstep that permeates. Leon's eyes dart around the room, but there is nothing to perceive in the dark emptiness. When he tries to open his mouth and question if that woman has returned, his jaw remains locked shut.

Another footstep. He searches for anything to defend himself from whatever monster lurks in the shadows.

Then, another step. There is no doubting someone is in this room with him. He tries to regain mobility of his body, scrambling to use his fists or to find his gun.

"Leon?"

Something blooms within him. A vibrant, healthy flower persevering through the fiery ashes.

"It's me..."

Home. That is the only word Leon could use to explain your voice. Like the swirling scent of oven-fresh cookies made by his grandmother. Like the imagination in his mother's voice when she read him a bedtime story. Like the scent of freshly mowed grass when he plays outside after school. The cadence and inflection of your words bring a sense of comfort like no other. Honey-sweet in the purest form.

Through the dust-ridden curtains, the hues of streetlight seep into one corner of the room. You step into the light, midnight shadows framing your features. You're dressed in the exact clothing he last saw you wearing, in the absence of all that blood and grime from that night. Those beautiful, beautiful eyes bore into him as you step closer. Sitting down on the edge of the mattress, a smile grows on your lips and robs him of all coherent function.

Leon can't but wonder if this was it, if he had died on this disgusting motel bed and you were finally taking him back into your arms. He doesn't even mind losing all sense of mobility, as long as you keep looking at him like that. Neither his face nor his body can physically react to the rush of emotion that comes with your presence, but it is more than perceptible in his eyes. Sky-gray irises drowned in oceans of fervor. Baby blues overwhelmed with shimmering, flamboyant love.

"If only you had just heard me out, then I could actually be with you right now." Your words, as heavenly as they sound, confuse Leon.

You tuck some fallen wisps of blonde hair away from his face and he swears it is real. His heart hammers like a snare drum. This is real, it must be real, it has to be.

"If only you had just looked at the damn road instead of me. Then neither of us would be in this mess, would we?"

Something shifts in your gaze. That smile he loves so much is torn away and replaced with a scowl. There is now a perceptible rage in your expression, drowned in hollow emotion that clenches his heart.

"And look at you now! Cheating on me with someone you knew for three fucking seconds!? Like everything we have means jack shit to you!"

No, no, no, no, no! It's not like that! She means nothing, she is nothing! He only used her as a placeholder for you! There isn't a single redeeming feature about her that compares to you. Jesus Christ, how could he want anyone else when you exist?

Leon tries to respond, he really does. He wants to tell you how sorry he is, how badly he wishes he could go back six years and change it all. How many hours he has spent with his hands clasped in prayer, apologizing relentlessly to the sky and hoping you'll hear him from down here. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry.

You stand from the bed, hands balled into fists at your side. "You're not gonna say anything? Just lay there and look at me like I'm nothing but-!"

A figure then barrels at you from the shadows. Your infuriated rant was cut short with a gut-wrenching shout when you are knocked to the ground. Saturated flesh peeking from dead skin and groans of hunger plunging from their slack mouth — a zombie had leaped from the darkness and sunk its teeth into your shoulder. Blood spouts from your wound and cascades down your body. You plead for Leon to help you, that he not leave you behind like he did all those years ago. And so desperately, Leon tries to.

A scream is locked behind his closed mouth as he tries to wrestle his way back to you. It pries and fights to escape, as though the force of his shout would be enough to convince this brainless creature to leave you be. Eyes blown wide with dizzying panic, all he can do is watch. His toned chest, sheen with sweat, rises and falls with rapid movements. Muffled whimpers of horror escape from the subtle crease of his mouth.

With every beating second your life fades away, the more Leon latches to any vigor he can grasp. His efforts to save you are overwhelmed in sheer desperation. He cannot let this happen all over again; he cannot lose you a second time. It would kill him, he is sure of it.

Something twitches in his finger. Then his foot. And for a moment, hope flickers in his mind. He can save you and atone for what he failed to do before. When the squelching sounds of flesh torn asunder fill the silence, that hope wears thin.

Like a bag of sand, Leon is able to drag his limp body across the mattress. His jaw weakens, to where sounds of despair are granted the ability to escape in roaring fervency. Off the side of the bed with the speed of a slug, he hits the ground with a harsh thud. Hauling himself onto his stomach, a verbiage of your name leaves his mouth.

He begins to crawl helplessly to where you are, only to stop in his efforts when he finds nothing. The lights from outside still seep into the room and the racket sounds of rock music still play from a room over. But, you have vanished. Leon stares at where you had fallen, scrutinizing every detail for any resemblance of you.

Misery strikes like a gunshot through his chest. Why did he fail again? Why can't he be enough, even for just once?

Why do you always leave him in the end?

He is alone again. Sat by himself on top of the soiled motel carpet and used condom he had frivolously thrown across the room. But, once again, how could he notice? It is what the past six years have looked like. And now, it is what the rest of his life will likely be encompassed in — empty solitude and hopeless dreams of you.

Leon does not sleep for the rest of the night. He is far too restless from the stressful events, terrified of watching that scene play out all over again. The digital clock on the bedside table provided minimum light, where the vibrant red numbers tick away. All he does is lie in this mess, watching the hours drift away.

A dark blue soon ensnares the sky. Birds squawk and sing. Dawn has finally arrived and so does the sun, bathing the room in its glowing orange and pink hues.

Your sunrise welcomes him, once again. The warmth and its serenity fails to placate him, though. Sitting here, he realizes how much of a fool he was to believe it was you in some form. The very second you left, you took everything warm and bright with you. You left him cold and empty and lifeless. You nestled the sun behind your resting eyes when your life faded away.

Cuddling up with you in that imaginary cabin is the only thing that can vitalize him. Two cups of steaming tea, watching the wind sway through the trees from the porch. Oh, the things Leon would take to bring this fantasy to life. To bring you back into the warmth of his arms is all he could ever need, where you will be safe and forever alive.

6:02 AM on the clock, Leon is expected at work in the following hour. Without a morsel of energy left in his feeble body, the thought of standing on this grimy floor overwhelms him with disdain.

Despite how badly he wishes to beat all scientists involved with Umbrella to a bloody pulp, he must take a course of action that abides by legal standards. To do this, Leon must work behind the scenes, ensuring every nail and screw is fastened with flawless finesse. This slow journey toward his goal of tearing Umbrella to shreds has taken a toll on him. No punching bag to take his rage out and his anger nestles itself into his body. Once Umbrella is six feet under, only then will he grant himself permission to join you and let Earth reclaim his body.

Today, Leon is now a part of the Torrents: a Capture-Force team designated to take down Umbrella's rumored return and prosecute those working for them. He has been assigned to replace someone on the team upon their suspension for "severe mental issues,” or whatever that entails. Alcohol heavy on his breath and bags beneath his eyes, Leon arrives at work for the day. He walks through the doors of a sanctuary Umbrella was confirmed to have been located at but has since fled from.

"You're late."

Leon doesn't care to look at the voice, as he already acknowledged and dismissed the vibrant "7:39 AM" on his wristwatch. They should be grateful he was even here in the first place and not rotting in bed.

"Not exactly rooting for employee of the month. Do I look the type?"

Leon's comment causes him to let out a quick huff of laughter. This new guy is much more amusing than his previous coworker, after all.

"Tyrell. Call me 'T."

He takes his hand out for Leon to shake, which he ignores. Tyrell stuffs his hand back into his pocket upon his refusal to reciprocate. An awkward silence settles between them.

"Leon. But, you knew that already."

The blonde then walks away from his new acquaintance. He can't recall the last time he had one, no less a genuine friend. The only person he put honest effort into discerning was you. Everyone else was just painfully bleak background noise stood behind your radiant aura. There is no one in the universe he wishes to befriend anymore, not when you're gone.

Leon treads through the building in search of the office organized by the team. Working behind a desk provides him his wanted rest, but taking part in the action scene provides an acute distraction. With his hands covered in blood and his fingers reeking of gunpowder, it is the most peace he can feel. Punch after punch, shots upon shots — the thought of you is eased little by little. The memory of you still lives on, but it is ephemeral moments like this where Leon can forget it all.

Several workers walk through the halls with heavy boxes marked "EVIDENCE". Others photograph imperative scenery around them, while some are busy scribbling on their notepads. Leon passes all of them without a second thought. However, two of his coworkers in particular capture his attention.

They both guide a surviving patient through the hallway. A young man holding a file in his hands and a perceptible fear in his eyes. The man then swiftly, albeit pathetically, throws himself at Leon and the file is shoved against his chest upon impact. A few of the files' contents slip from the folder and splat against the tiled floors. Hands curled around the sheepskin hems of his jacket, the man begs Leon for his help.

"Please, you have to help me! I-I'm looking for someone."

Leon's stare is harsh. Cold and empty. Any living creature would surely keel over beneath that terrifyingly vacant gaze. The man, riddled with desperation, perseveres through this fear and continues to plead.

"They're my best friend... Please..."

The guards quickly shuffle over to the scene. Their hands grip the man's shoulders, but do not apply any further pressure. They look to Leon, waiting for the demand of their superior.

And without breaking eye contact, Leon speaks.

"Get him out of my sight."

They do as told, nearly shoving the man to the ground in their efforts to escort him out of the building. The hopeless gleam in his eyes should have sparked some form of guilt within Leon. Looking into that man's eyes, however, he feels nothing. Leon instead shifts his gaze to the ground. There, right beneath his boot, the sight of something causes his heart to quicken. Swiftly taking it into his gloved hands, his breath is then yanked from his chest.

In the polaroid is no other than you.

Snow engulfs the ground and you’re dressed in a large coat that practically swallows you whole. Pine trees blanketed in the white matter surround you. With chunky mittens on, you form a heart with your hands. Snowflakes descend from the sky, a few landing on your shoulders and knitted hat. Behind you, a stack of plastic sleds. You're captured with that smile of perfection on your face, the very smile that could rival the sun.

How...?

How did he have this? Leon could've sworn he had every picture of you...

He crosses the hallway in several large strides and finds him in mere seconds. With every sliver of strength in his body, Leon tears the man from the grasp of the guards and shoves him against the wall.

"Where did you get this!?" His voice has been reduced to a gruff timbre. A horrifying whisper.

Gesturing at the Polaroid, the man looks at him in bewilderment.

"W-What are you talking about-?"

Leon's forearm pushes against the base of his throat, pressing harder and arousing choked gasps from his throat.

"I won't ask you again..."

"Me! Me, I-I took it! I took the picture!" The man, wide-eyed and terrified, desperately exclaims the truth. However, his answer seemed to be the exact opposite of what his interrogator wished for.

Calloused hands clasped around his collar, Leon pulls the man back before shoving him back into the wall. A blood-curdling crack, then a grunt pervades the air. The unmistakable scent of iron diffuses from the man's skull, inevitable from the force of the hit. Leon practically snarls through his heavy breaths.

"When!? When'd you take this fucking picture!?"

The man slurs out his answer, now rendered delirious from the strike his head endured.

"Jan... January... La-Last January..."

The world then shatters around Leon.

The tumultuous clamor of everything falling apart before his eyes robs him of any coherent, proper function. These past six years play out like another nightmare. Every sip of alcohol, every aimless nightmare, every mediocre hookup — it all crumbles and joins the rubble of the destruction.

This whole time... This whole time you...

His vision blurs as the revelation settles, swimming through a void of vertigo and devastation. A sharp ringing permeates around him. It complements the sound of his hyperventilating breaths and hammering heartbeat. The firm grasp he once held on the man weakens, to where he scrambles away from Leon and his violent antics.

This whole time you were...

Alive...?

Leon turns his feet and stumbles away. Sweat seeps down his face and then his neck, staining the musk-stained clothes he had not washed in weeks. The sheer luminosity of the white lights, white walls, and white floors do not aid him in his attempts to soothe his sorrows. There's a sudden tightness in his chest. Leon brings his hand up to the painful ache, falling in his efforts to mend his affliction, once again.

"Are you alright, sir?"

The new voice could easily be spoken from miles away. Vanished and impossible to discern. Leon tries to clutch the walls to maintain his stability, but this inevitably fails him, as the shock derived from this epiphany sends his weak body to the unforgiving ground.

"I'm dying..."

He can hardly recognize his own voice. It is now a higher, fearful pitch than he is used to. The other person speaks once more, but he cannot perceive what was said. Their words are merely a quiet boat in a thrashing ocean.

"I can't breathe. I can't breathe."

This feeling of realization bubbles in his chest and infiltrates every inch of his form. His chest is overwhelmed with panicked breaths. Up and down, up and down. The stranger then sprints away from Leon. Their shouts for a doctor are distorted, now an echo Leon cannot discern.

Voices from his past speak to him from all directions. As though the very walls surrounding him were taunting him. Mocking every failure of his.

"Leon- LEON-!!"

"And look at you now! Cheating on me with someone you knew for three fucking seconds!?"

"I wanted to. I wanted to kill him."

"Ambushed. No possible way of getting them out of that mess..."

"If only you had just looked at the damn road instead of me."

His world has been torn to paper-thin shreds. Then, it all goes dark. Leon is left alone and unconscious in this vast abyss of nothingness.

Tyrell sighs in frustration. He wonders why this team has such a knack for hiring people with "severe mental issues".

A harsh cut to reality is what Leon was next met with. Inside this shoebox-sized hospital room, ragged belts are restrained around his limbs. Doctors rush in and out of the blinding-white room. A myriad of drugs course in his system, intended to ease the rampant panic pumping through his body. The aftermath of his panic attack was fresh, yet still, all Leon could think about was you.

How you, his sunshine, his sweet baby, have been alive all this time.

Leon thrashes and fights against his restraints, as though you were just outside the door, waiting for him to come scoop you in his arms and close the distance between you at once. For the umpteenth time, several nurses race into the room and sedate him. Again, he is forced into another fit of unconsciousness. This routine will go on to repeat numerous times. Knowing you are out there somewhere, alone, makes for a man inconsolable.

Several days pass before Leon is brought to a state of mediocre tranquility. His heart is still rampant, but with fear of more time wasted without taking proper action, he abides by the doctor's demands. He will do anything to get to you, after all. Kneel before God, succumb to the Devil. Face him with the most torturous, humiliating, gut-wrenching fate with the promise of your return and he will simply smile in response. Leon will lay with blood painting his teeth and purple bruises caked into his skin, unhinged with euphoria knowing you are the prize at the end of the tunnel.

Mere picoseconds had passed before he sprung into action. He is swift to return to his work. Fervently, he begins scouring through every detail Umbrella left behind to pinpoint the exact location you reside at.

The most valuable piece of evidence was security camera footage. A prominent clue that made Leon's stomach coil like a snake ensnaring itself around its prey. Outside of the window to your bedroom, the night-vision camera highlights the scene of two intruders. With careful ease, they pull your unconscious body through the room and flee to the adjacent forest with you in their arms.

Jill Valentine and Carlos Oliveira are their names.

Or, as Leon prefers to refer to them, two names that have now been added to his lengthy list of those who will face his wrath.

The team has theorized the two have been working for Umbrella and were assigned to sneakily escort survivors to a new location. Due to this, patients still in this present location are now being sent to a hospital guarded by the Torrents. A place where they will be kept far away from Umbrella's grasp. What the team can't piece together, however, is why the two never came back to take more survivors. They had plentiful opportunities, but you, Y/N L/N, are the only missing patient. Or, as the team has now assigned your code name as, "Baby-Eagle".

Now, Leon is coursing through Spain. Guns strapped in their holster, knives out at the ready, and a reveling rage in his eyes — he counts every second spent away from you. The chilling temperatures gust against his skin like sharp teeth as he practically tears the country asunder. All that matters is finding the face that has been stamped in every dream of his for the past six years.

Alive. Alive. Alive.

He still can't believe it. You are alive.

If Leon grants himself permission to revel in this fact, he will lose what little control he still possesses over himself. God knows how much he needs the slivers that still remain. These feelings, despite all, have kindled strength Leon never recognized. A new spark; a fresh, riveting chapter. Emotions which only you, some sort of sorcerer, are capable of conjuring.

A day has now passed of his relentless search. More and more does fear cradle Leon. Like a warm blanket nestled around his heart, he is horrified by the silence that ventures through the land of Los Iluminados. The mere thought of potentially stumbling across you, lifeless, is enough to evoke a gag from the back of his throat. He cannot handle that. He cannot lose you again.

The dim light of dusk irradiates the loading docks. Every rushed step Leon takes causes the decrepit surface to moan weakly from the weight. He scrutinizes every shipping container, every nook and cranny, every barrel splattered with yellow paint. He becomes increasingly more ridden with desperation as his lasting hope begins to flicker.

Leon turns a corner and finds it: the sight he has been crying every night to see for six years. His mouth speaks before his brain can emulate these soul-crushing sensations.

"Y/N...!?"

You turn your head to the intrusion. Leon is shocked he had not died right there beneath your gaze.

You, his epic, undying love, rest there as though Botticelli painted you as the focal point for 'Birth of Venus'. Sat against some paper sacks like Venus stood on her scallop shell, Leon has never seen a sight quite as perfect as this. Strikingly similar to the pearl Venus resembles, you and her are pure and exquisite as you are brought to life. In a way, it is precisely the events which take place now. Six years wrestling with the burden of your death, only for you to be reborn before his very eyes like the natural, divine God you are. Absolutely, irrevocably perfect in your stance.

Leon stands frozen in place. Staring at this work of art, this utter masterpiece mere yards away from him. He is then taken aback when he feels something wet trickle down his cheeks. What he assumes to be rainfall is actually... tears?

All these years, he has begged the universe to feel his emotions. Or to feel anything, for that matter. It will not bring you back, as he wholly prayed for every night, but it would bring temporary, weak relief. Right now, as though you had some form of superpower, Leon cries. He cries like he has never before. His face twists into an ugly scrunch; he can feel the hot tears and stringy snot seep down his skin. He listens to the gut-wrenching sobs protruding from his chest and holds his hand over his heart, overwhelmed by the intensity the organ is enduring.

Despite the tragic scene, Leon has never been happier. The journey these six years have taken him on has been rough. Irrevocably soul-crushing. Seeing you here, beautiful as you always were, makes everything worth it — utterly, indubitably, and completely.

Then, someone else interrupts.

Ada Wong, a few years older, steps into view. Guarding you from the unwelcome intruder.

The epiphany strikes like a broken heart. It is not betrayal, as he has never trusted Ada. Rather, it is a flood of humiliation. It is absolute shame, unadulterated and pure. How could he have been such a fool?

All this time, Ada had kept you with her. She was the reason he was apart from you; she was the distance that stood between two soulmates. That must be the story, right? She sunk those acrylic claws into your pretty skin and took you away from him, spewing lies about your death and granting Umbrella access to you.

Leon is hit with this epiphany. Hit with what he perceives to be the truth. And it makes him alive with rage.

"It was you, wasn't it...?"

The silence is shattered by his voice. Sewn with fury and nestled deep inside him. His attention, once solely devoted to the love of his life, has now been shifted towards someone else. The one he believes to be responsible for these six years of sheer agony.

"This whole fucking time-!"

In one swift motion, Leon storms over with his fingers clenched to his holster. You stand from the paper sacks and use your body as a shield between Ada and him. Your hand ghosts over Leon's chest to prevent any more unwanted violence. And how unaware you are of the sheer impact your physical touch has on this man.

For a moment, just a fleeting second, Leon is able to overlook the context of the circumstances. Your hand barely makes contact with his body, and from them, he can feel your warmth. The same warmth he has been chasing after; the same warmth he has killed himself over and over to try and retrieve again. It is like a gentle breeze, like tepid bath water. Somehow, your simple touch has pacified his rage as though it were merely child's play to you. Something Leon never thought was feasible.

And just like always, Ada Wong is there to shatter yet another trance.

"Have you really gone so far off the deep end, that you think you could ever amount to being their boyfriend? You truly believe you deserve that title?" Ada laughs. A deep, mocking chuckle. "Are you really that delusional or just naturally blonde?"

You look at Ada and speak for the first time.

"'Boyfriend?'"

An expression of puzzlement is plastered on your face. In return, their heads whip to stare at you, brows furrowed while searching for confirmation.

"I don't know what you're talking about. Leon was never my boyfriend...?"

Their confusion deepens. Ada questions how she could have so foolishly fallen for a fantasy this dumb boy created. Leon questions why you are telling her such lies. You've been dating for almost seven years now, what are you talking about?

"Y/N/N, you don't have to lie to her. You know I won't let her hurt you."

Now, it is your turn to be just as perplexed as they both are. What the fuck is he talking about?

As you're busy scrutinizing him for an explanation, Ada grasps hold of your forearm. Protectively and with softness, she guides you away from the deranged antics of Leon. You lean into her touch in response, as your trust in her is stronger than whatever you feel for him. Especially after the events you and Ada have both endured today.

The man in question, however, does not favor this action. With a swiftness that makes you dizzy, Leon shoves her off of you. Ada falls to the ground from the force of his strength but gracefully springs to her feet. Eyes narrowed and hunting knife in hand, she is ready for battle.

A shriek then falls from your mouth when Leon takes his pistol from its holster but is replaced with shocked silence when Ada kicks the gun from his grasp with her stiletto heel. A stab towards his chest is easily blocked by his meaty forearm, but she still manages to retaliate and surges a punch across his jaw.

Everything happens so fast that it is impossible for you to keep up with the speed of it all. When Ada drops to her feet, encasing her leg around Leon's ankles and sending him to the floor, the loud clamor of his harsh landing takes you back to a few days ago. That bang! is all too familiar. The fire of gunshots out of Jill's gun and the pounding of their fists against flesh — these memories return more harshly than before. Your heart hammers with dread and adrenaline, as though the same inner turmoil has returned yet again.

Once again, who do I choose? The clingy customer at Mizoil, the overly affectionate Superwoman, or myself?

In a state of pure instinct, you do what you predominantly fail at the most. Run.

You don't anticipate how close they may be behind, or if two of your past lovers may be waiting somewhere in the forest. You do not pay these thoughts any attention, for that matter. Focused entirely on the path ahead, you run like you never have before. And if it weren't for the rampant adrenaline coursing through your system, you could say you've become familiar with this forest. It is almost ridiculous how much you have raced past all these trees. Burning lungs, numb legs and all — oh, this is really getting old.

When a sudden force knocks you to your feet, you can feel yourself begin to succumb to lethargy. The relentless sprint and post-laser-induced pains have become too much for your body to endure. Shifting your gaze up, however, you are met with a burst of energy when you see that you have collided with... A person?

Thick gear is strapped to his strong body. Glasses are rested upon the bridge of his nose. This is the first stranger you have seen in months and you do not know how to handle it.

"Oh, shit. It's really you..." His concerned gaze peers at you through his foggy eyewear.

When his fingers ghost over your arm, you flinch away from him. You do not mean to do this, but your body, riddled with turmoil and trauma, reacts before your brain can.

"It's alright, it's alright..." His voice goes softer. "My name is Tyrell. I'm here to help you."

He reaches a cautious hand out to you, as though you were a feeble, terrified animal backed into a corner. Your trust has been worn thin, but whatever fight left in your system has entirely perished. You cannot run anymore; you cannot defend yourself. If this is death, then you will welcome it with open arms. At least you can say you've made it this far.

Lifting a shaky hand up, you let out a gentle gasp when you make physical contact with him. With tender encouragement, Tyrell brings you to your feet. Your tired legs wobble as though you were a baby fawn. Touch that does not inevitably follow with romantic expectations is something foreign to you. This level of kindness has almost become a stranger. Although you would never verbalize it, his touch feels good. It is a comfort; a softness.

Before you know it, your eyes flutter shut. Your body fails you and you collapse into Tyrell's arms. Now, unconsciousness comes as a solace, instead of that familiar trepidation.

And so engrossed in their own feral need for dominance, neither Ada nor Leon had taken notice of your sudden disappearance.

Fresh bruises and blood splatters permeate their bodies. What neither of them realizes about the other is that Leon fights hard, yes, but Ada doesn't fight fair. In a matter of several seconds, she takes the man to the metal floors, once again.

Leather heels pressed to his neck, she points his own pistol to his face.

"Now stay down."

Leon has never been one to back down. Even with death staring directly into his eyes, never once has he begged. However, with you here, alive, he can't bear to be torn from you again.

"Don't... Please, I-I'll do whatever you want. Just please don't take me away from them. Not again..."

Ada is nearly struck dumbfounded by this new side of him. Leon Kennedy, the savior of the president's daughter, one of the few survivors of Raccoon City, is begging for his life? What has she done to this man? Or, above all, what have you done to him?

"Tell me what Umbrella wants with Y/N."

Leon's eyes trail off behind her, seemingly searching for something with frantic movements. Her words had merely gone through one ear and out the other. His silence is only met with frustration.

"I've kept you away from them for this long." Her finger moves to hover over the trigger. "I can easily turn those six years into forever."

"Where did Y/N go?" Leon cuts her off.

Ada nearly snaps her neck with how fast she turns around. Dark eyes scanning the loading docks, her stomach sinks into a sea of dread when she cannot find you. Leon scrambles to his feet and searches alongside his nemesis. Shouts of your name echo into the gloomy skies; their hammering hearts could rival a war drum.

From here, yet another search for you begins. And between them, there is now an unspoken agreement, a newfound alliance. Although their plans rarely come to fruition, they have both found a conclusion together. The two are now wholly focused on the scheme they will achieve or die striving for.

Find you, ensure your safety, and keep you forever in their arms.

A warm, wet rag pressed against your forehead is what you awaken to next. The sudden shift into consciousness causes you to jerk back. Your eyes burst wide, scrutinizing as much of your environment as you can.

You're finally out of that dark forest. Now, you've been rested upon a dilapidated couch. Damp clothes are still stuck to your body, but a thick comforter has been draped upon you. The golden lamplight highlights Tyrell, who sits on the coffee table beside you. With a bowl of water and a rag in his hand, he looks at you with a concerned gleam in his gaze.

You are brought to a mild sense of ease once you comprehend your surroundings. You do not have it within you to trust anyone, but for some reason, this man has brought tranquility you cannot explain. Safety has become a rarity. And you gobble every breadcrumb of it you are able to garner.

"Welcome back." He jokes. His tone is still quiet, as it has been. Careful.

Your throat aches, but you still speak.

"Where am I?" You nearly cringe at how scratchy, how pathetic your voice is.

"My house." This does not calm you. Tyrell notices.

"Hey, no one can get you in here. You are safe, I swear it." His assurances help ease you. He, once again, takes notice of this before continuing.

"I'm sure you have a 'lotta questions for me, huh? I got some for you, too."

"Umbrella. What do they want from me?"

"That's a good question because I don't know either. It's what we're trying to figure out." You furrow your brow, to which he answers to your confusion. "I work with a team called the Torrents. We've been tasked with locating Umbrella and finding any survivors. You were top of our list, 'Baby-Eagle'. Now that you're safe and sound, my teammates can finally get some sleep."

Your smile grows at that nickname. God, when was the last time someone elicited a genuine smile from you?

"We think they may have been testing on some of the patients they have. Do you happen to know anything about that?"

Then, the dread settles with the realization. Jill and Carlos were right this whole time. When you would travel to the ends of the Earth to defend that corporation, it was all for a lie in the end. When Jill and Carlos saved you from them, you paid them back with cruelty and distrust. You left them both in the dust when all they wished to do was save you. Should you have ever left them?

"What about Carlos Oliveira? Jill Valentine? We know they had, um... taken you. If you're willing to talk about them, I'm all ears. 'Got all night, anyways."

There Tyrell goes again. The voice of reason in a bubble of incoherent regret.

"All I-um... All I remember is being at the sanct- er, Umbrella. I drank some tea and then I woke up in Jill and Carlos' house. The next several months, they-uh, they convinced me we were in a... relationship, of some sort. Matt- or Umbrella, found us in the end. They all hurt each other. Real bad. Then, I ended up here." Your words are quiet and broken, but Tyrell manages to pick up every cracked piece of your voice.

"Okay. I see..." He nods. "Do you think Jill and Carlos could have possibly been working for Umbrella?"

This question leaves you taken aback, evident in your dramatic reaction and scrunched face.

"God, no! They despised Umbrella. And I... I defended Umbrella. I thought they helped me, I thought they were the good guys. Every time Jill and Carlos talked shit about them, I would get so-" You interrupt yourself with a coughing fit.

Reaching to his side, Tyrell holds a plastic bottle of water in his large hands. The prospect of drugs floating through the liquid fills you with apprehension. However, with your throat on fire, you eagerly take the bottle and nearly down the entire beverage. Tyrell is one of the good ones, he wouldn't do that to you. You're sure of it.

"It's alright. You don't have to answer any more of my stupid questions, don't worry. All you 'gotta do is rest."

If you were more conscious and without the weight of fresh trauma, you'd make a joke of how he should be a voice actor with such a soothing voice like his. Tyrell's hand finds your shoulder and softly guides you back down to the couch. You ignore the unfamiliar, teenage-love-like bolt of electricity that flows from his touch and you follow his lead. When your head hits the rough fabric of the pillow, you let your heavy eyes fall.

When a door down the hallway bursts open, you cannot tell if you had been asleep for hours or if you had slept at all. Without Tyrell's presence, that all-too-familiar sense of terror returns. When you are barely able to discern his muffled voice through the walls, that terror is slightly diluted with ease. The context is what lies outside this room still has you riddled with fear.

Then, like every cheesy romance film you've ever seen, Leon Kennedy stands on the threshold of the living room entrance.

You are barely allowed a mere second to process his presence before he is barreling for you. His arms, thick and warm, ensnare around your waist. He exhales your name with a breathless tremor, burying his head further into the crevice of your neck. And you melt into him. After everything you've been through, a hug is something you are in dire need of. Leon croons in response, latching onto you tighter. Nestling himself closer against you like a touch-starved, needy puppy-dog.

"Oh, sunlight... I was so worried...!" Although this man has suffered drastic changes in the six years you've been without him, he never seems to have let go of that saccharine tone. Unbeknownst to you, you are the only one capable of summoning that side of Leon.

Although you feel safe in the comfort of Tyrell's home, there is still that stagnant terror fizzing in your stomach. A myriad of questions overwhelm your brain. What has happened? How much time has passed? Where is Ada?

You weaken your hold on him. He does not like that. "Leon. Please, I need to know-"

"Shh..." He interrupts, his hands trailing up your form until they grasp hold of your face. His grip on you, tighter than ever, shifts so he can gaze into your eyes.

"Just let me look at you..."

And that he does. Seconds, then minutes pass. All Leon does is stare directly into you. As though every inch of your irises were being studied to memory by him. As though he was pulling the depths of your soul to the surface of your eye, all for him to gawk and goggle at. It should make you blush and avert your gaze, as the characters normally do in those romance movies. However, you can't bring yourself to. You feel uncomfortable and scrutinized. As though you are restrained to a metal table for strangers and doctors to poke and prod at.

The doorbell then rings and the echo roams through the halls. You are broken from this entrance with Leon, but he is not. God, how could he?

With you here, all the cruelty he has been faced with is now wrapped together in a pretty bow. It was all a present, he now realizes. Everything that has happened led him to the personification of utmost, perpetual happiness. So, you must forgive him if he finds himself staring for too long (not that he even realizes, for that matter). It is impossible to fathom the flood of euphoria rushing through him, hence the dumbfounded, love-struck expression stamped on his face.

"Y/N..." He exhales, honey dripping from his voice.

Although he does not wish to close his eyes, Leon cannot imagine a better time to kiss you. Where the music swells, the candles glimmer, the moon gleams. It is what he has been dreaming about for six years, after all.

Just as Leon leans in, his intentions are cut short. Someone else, once again, interrupts.

Tyrell avoids the death glare from Leon and focuses on you, oblivious to how this action is the root of Leon's fury.

"Hope I'm not interrupting anything. Someone was just here for you, Y/N."

Carlos and Jill are the first people who enter your mind, here to take you back to the affection-ridden toxicity of their humble abode. When Tyrell holds his hands out and displays what this stranger left, however, you're taken aback.

"She claimed to be your wife...?"

Tyrell informs you with uncertainty in his voice.

"And she left this."

What he then gives to you is a plushie, one you remember all too well. It is an opossum, the very same opossum you cuddled with every night during your time at the sanctuary. You've missed him very much whilst you were stuck with Jill and Carlos. Despite your expressed wishes, they never made the effort to retrieve your darling opossum. Why cuddle some measly fabric and cotton when you can cuddle them instead?

You let out a sigh of relief. Thank God it is not those two at the door.

The only striking difference in your fuzzy friend is the blood-red ribbon tied around the opossum's neck. Wedged between the silk and faux fur is a folded piece of paper. Both Tyrell and Leon watch as you open the letter, digesting the contents written on the surface.

In red ink, "Wait for me, petal..." is written with flawless, cursive handwriting. Beneath, a dandelion is drawn. The pappus drifts through the wind and scatters across the paper.

Ada?

Why is she here? Where has she been?

Or, more importantly, how the hell did she find your opossum?

A rough, sharp gasp sprouts from Jill's throat when she awakens.

A flickering light sways above her, the sight blurred in her tired gaze. Her body aches from the awkward position she was unconscious in. Lifting her weakened body up, Jill discerns several bodies, painted in blood and grime, that had been splayed in a frivolous mess. There are miscellaneous documents scattered amongst this violent disarray. Shifting her distorted gaze, she finds two metal doors that had been sprung open. How the hell did she get inside of a truck? What caused it to crash in the first place?

Using the dented walls for support, she stumbles forward. Black dots dance in Jill's vision for a moment, before returning to a hazy blur as she staggers out of the vehicle. With an abrupt grunt, she collapses into the mud. Her hands, stained with dirt, hold her ribs in an attempt to ease the stagnant pain.

For this simple moment, Jill is alone in the world. When the most important thing in her life finally flashes through her mind, the pumping of her heart accelerates.

Y/N... Where did you go?

Memories of her last encounter with you return, as well. It harbors terror like no other. She speaks your name and it sprouts from her throat in a desperate call.

Jill's breath quickens when she discerns a voice. The indubitable sound of someone crying for help echoes through the forest. She turns to the source with hope and worry shimmering in her eyes. Oh, it's her baby, her butterfly! You need her help!

"Y/N...! I'm coming..." Her voice is weak, but her attempts are the entire opposite.

Jill limps through the forest, clambering over wreckage with frantic effort. Averting her blurred gaze to the sound of cries, her face drops when she finds something entirely different.

That doctor you are evidently so infatuated with is stuck beneath a pile of rubble. His face appears as though it had been sunken in. Drowned in a mess of gore.

And sitting on top of the doctor is no other than Carlos Oliveira, whose fists are painted in that same gore.

His clenched fists plunge into Matt's face over and over and over again. His teeth are barred and bloodied like some sort of animal. His voice is several octaves lower than ever before, all guttural growls and grunts like some sort of rabid creature. It is something Jill has never seen before. Not in Raccoon City, not when they took you from the sanctuary, not even when she took you out for a ride on her motorcycle. He is now a monster in its absolute form.

However, Carlos is not something she is concerned with at the moment. She hurls herself over to the two and shoves Carlos off of Matt. He falls to the ground with a loud thump and a harsh curse. Jill ignores his dramatic reaction, before climbing atop of Matt and ensnaring her hands around his red-stained neck. Jill then proceeds to interrogate him of your whereabouts.

"What did you do to them? Where the fuck did you take them!?" Jill does not recognize herself, either. Her voice has morphed into a low, violent tone, an inflection she never knew she was capable of producing.

Matt does not respond to her pressuring questions. He chokes and gurgles on chunks of blood, teeth, and spit. His eyes, now puffy and swollen from the relentless blows they have endured, gape at her in confused terror. However, not that Matt could even be given the chance to respond. Jill glances at the sudden movement in her peripheral and is met with Carlos' fist striking her cheek. The force of the punch sends her to the dirt.

"This is all your fucking fault, Jill!" Her ears almost ring from the sheer volume of his shout.

Once again, it is a side of Carlos she has never seen before. She can take a punch, that's for damn sure. God knows she's handled worse. But fuck, is he out for blood right now.

"If you had never taken Y/N outside, they never would've wanted to leave in the fucking first place!" The tremble in the back of Carlos' throat jeopardizes his intimidation factor. Of course, he is crying, Jill sighs to herself.

Her lanky fingers press into the damp ground to stabilize herself. Before she can bring herself back to her feet, however, something catches her eye. A single document among the millions. She takes the closest one into her grasp and reads through the classified contents. With that damned Umbrella logo in the corner, Jill is fully aware of what evil, corrupt plans await her in the following passage.

As Carlos sobs like a child behind her, whimpers of "my baby" and "come back to me" filling the silent air, she scours through the information printed on the page. Three names are stamped in bold: Jill Valentine, Carlos Oliveira, and Y/N L/N. More survivors collected from Raccoon City, they claim. There are reports of your physicality and state of being, accompanied by their predictions on how you'll react to their new testing. "Las Plagas" is what they refer to it as.

At the very bottom of the document, most imperatively, is a series of coordinates to their new location.

With this newfound, fruitful information, Jill trudges over to Carlos for additional aid. When she finds him practically tucked into a ball, sobbing his lungs out, she cannot restrain herself from rolling her eyes.

"Get up. Get up, pussy, come on-!" When she tugs on his arm, he pushes her harshly away from him.

"You don't understand!” Brown eyes, overwhelmed with tears, glare at her in accusation. “I can't live without them..."

Jill is swift to counter back. "Neither can-fucking-I! And we will never see 'em again unless you man-up and fuckin’ listen to me!"

This grabs his attention.

"So, are you just gonna sit there and fuckin' whine about it or are you gonna help me?"

With a sniffle, Carlos nods in agreement.

"Good. Now get your shit together and find me a goddamn map."

Jill does not waste another second before springing into action. She begins with a thorough scrutinization of the scene of the crash, searching for any specific landmarks that will inform them of their current whereabouts. When all she finds is a street sign made of decaying wood that reads "Los Iluminados," she knows her luck is wearing thin.

When Carlos announces with a cracked voice his discovery, Jill limps with urgency to him. Nestled beneath the passenger seat is a map, crumbled and stained with filth. Jill yanks the paper from his hands and searches for the street they are currently stuck on, while also discerning the coordinates Umbrella had disclosed in their document.

Meanwhile, Carlos chokes out demands left and right. Asking her what all of this is for, and how this will help him in his efforts to reunite with his sweet bumblebee. Despite his irritating questions, she does not respond to him. She is too engrossed in her own head, manipulating her detective skills.

"There." Jill finally breaks her fit of silence.

Presenting the map to Carlos, she points to where the coordinates line up.

"That's where Y/N is."

A beat passes as Carlos, too, inspects the contents before him. Then, he snatches the map from Jill's hands. He storms off in the direction she advised with a desperate vengeance in his disposition.

When Jill takes a step to follow him, something clutches around her ankles. With a sharp gasp, she looks down to identify the sudden matter. When the hopeful fraction of her mind told her it could be you, she was met with disappointment when she finds Matt. Whining and pleading for her help, blood still oozing from his butchered head and seeping into the mud below.

Jill stares at the man with absolutely nothing in her eyes. She, instead, snatches a loose, sharp twig from the mess of detritus scattered around. Before Matt can obtrude another helpless plead, she drives the stuck directly into his eye. Blood squirts from the fresh wound like a fizzy soda. One last gurgle for air and his body finally goes limp.

She spits on his corpse. Then, Jill turns back to follow Carlos on his trail.

Wherever you may be, she will find you. Even if it kills her.

⁺ 🎧 , 🪷 you are currently listening to . . . ⁺ 🪺 , 🎵 ꪆ

THE BONUS TRACK !

❝ I TRY TO FALL FOR HER TOUCH,

BUT I'M THINKING OF THE WAY IT WAS . . . ❞

long wait but we back again babyyyyy

gif creds :: leon.

2K notes · View notes

mo0nfairy · 3 months ago

Text

ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ UNCHAINED MELODY, PART SEVEN !

chapters :: the masterlist.

word count :: 23.3k

content warnings :: mdni! yandere!leon, yandere!ada, yandere!jill, yandere!carlos, love triangle, kidnapping, violence/death, ptsd, suic1dal tendencies, alcoholism/alcohol use, invasion of privacy, unprotected s3x, non-c0n, master k1nk (reader is called this), mommy k1nk (ada is called this), p3t-play, drugging (use of aphr0disiacs without knowledge), face-sitting, squirting, s3x toys, & physical restraint.

──── Yellow light bleeds through your closed vision. When you blink away the remaining clumps of sleep in your eyes, you find yourself in the passenger seat of a vehicle. Your stomach twists with newfound fear, as though your body were wringing a wet towel.

Before you can question how you somehow time-traveled to the tea-induced unconsciousness forced by Jill and Carlos, a voice permeates the silence.

“Morning, sunshine.”

Nearly snapping your neck, you turn your head to find Leon Kennedy behind the steering wheel.

With a soft grin on his face, he shifts his gaze from the road, to you, then back again. He’d much rather stare in awe at the way your chest rises and falls with tranquility, but alas, he cannot. He’s well aware of what occurred the last time he drove with you. Like Hell will he allow anything of the sort to happen again.

“Oh… So, it wasn’t a dream.” You mutter sleepily, some lasting despondency dragging with your sluggish speech.

Lowering your head, you discover your opossum plushy nestled in your arms. Still adorned in the silken ribbon from earlier, but missing the handwritten note from Ada tucked beneath.

Leon most likely crumpled the paper and tossed it in the garbage, always the territorial dog he is. You still remember the savagery in his eyes whenever you’d speak to coworkers at Mizoil about recent gas prices or late paychecks.

Speak of the devil, Leon is quick to save you from your inner turmoil.

“Stay with me, Y/N. ‘Promise you’re safe here… You’ll never need to worry about anything ever again...”

He rests his hand on your knee, massaging soothing circles into your flesh. You’d surely succumb to the lulling motions and fall asleep, had your brain not been wrecked with surging questions.

“I-I don’t understand. What’s happening? Where are we going?”

Leon’s hand finds yours. Calloused fingers interlock with your shivering digits, lightly squeezing your palm as a means of reassurance. A firm reminder that he is here. Always. And he will not be leaving your side anytime soon.

“I have a cabin up in the mountains. The safe house. Our safe house.”

The last time you lived with someone in the woods, it ended very poorly. You pray Leon does not share any notion with your previous partners.

Despite these worries, another special someone remains on your mind.

“What of… What about Tyrell? Will he be joining us?”

Trying to shield the hope in your tone was a lost cause. Especially when spoken to a secret agent of all people, who studies every twitch and timbre in your voice as easily as a picture book. All of which tells him you like Tyrell.

Leon’s knuckles bloom in hues of white the tighter he clenches the steering wheel. Jealousy like never before courses through his bloodstream.

Even in the presence of others who are not afraid to show their attraction to you, he never encountered emotions so grand. When it is you who displays the perceptible favoritism, Leon has to physically restrain himself from whipping the car around, speeding back to Tyrell’s home, and beating him to a bloody pulp.

You, safe and sound in his humble abode, and that man, rotting six feet under — that is really all Leon could ask for. Maybe even the death of a certain red-obsessed mercenary, but as tenacious as she is, there is no hope for such a fate.

“Nope. No Tyrell. Gonna be just us for a while.”

The disappointment that washes over your face is catastrophic for Leon. It is almost enough for him to consider tearing himself apart to become the version of Tyrell you adore so much. Carving away at his features, nails and hammers to his flesh, and plucking every piece of his personality to claim as his. Anything to make you think of Leon alone in that regard. No one else.

“Hey, I swear you’ll enjoy it here.” He cannot tell whether he’s trying to assure you or himself of this. “We’ll have bonfires, hikes, car rides like this. I’ll even take you on a canoe ride around the lake, if you’d like.”

“And what about after that?”

He pauses, casting a quick glance of confusion your way.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what will happen once all of this blows over and we can leave the safe house? When can I live on my own?”

Leon tenses. He does not like this topic; he’d rather speak more of the romantic dates you’ll have in the mountains together.

Mornings will be spent watching the fog settle across the surrounding forest, hands interlocked with one another and enjoying steaming cups of tea and coffee. Nights will be spent cuddled by the campfire, indulging yourselves in sugary kisses smeared with melted marshmallows and sticky chocolate.

He’ll spend his days with you nestled in his arms as he rows you around the lake, cooing over the way your heavy eyes droop and you drift off to the sound of gentle waves.

After six long, tortuous years, you’ve finally returned to him and dipped a toe into the thrashing waves of his life. And like some famished, deep-sea creature, Leon’s hand ensnares around your ankle and pulls you into the depths. Seized in his arms and to never part again.

Here, life will become what Leon has always wanted it to be: sunlit and alive.

“Hey, watch out!”

You’re shocked you hadn’t launched out the windshield by how violently Leon slammed on the brakes. His arm stretches over your chest in an attempt at protecting you, the aggressive and desperate motion enough to bruise your ribs.

When he looks to identify what danger intends to take you away from him, he finds a raccoon. How fitting. The critter scurries across the road before vanishing into a nearby array of bushes.

“Are-Are y-” Leon swallows a scratching cough. “Are you okay?”

The stunned silence is accompanied by his stuttering, shaky breaths. His trembling hand finds your shoulder. Grasping tightly, as though you would wrangle yourself out of his grasp and limp away. Just as he watched you do in Raccoon City.

You do not answer him. Instead, a smile creeps onto your face before you burst with loud laughter. The sight sends electric bolts straight through his chest; the mellifluous sound filling his ears like warm, oozing honey. A sound so heavenly, in fact, Leon finds himself laughing with you, despite the hammering speeds of his fearful heart.

You raise your opossum in presentation with a sun-bright smile still stamped on your face. “I think the little guy just wanted to visit his friend.”

You’re sent into another series of adorable laughter and candy-sweet giggles. Leon studies every tone of your amusement and stamps them into his memory. He has seen many versions of you, yes, but never complete happiness. Sheer, unadulterated, beautiful happiness. And he solemnly swears to keep this emotion perennial, for now and forevermore.

When your laughing fit dies down, only then does Leon begin to drive again. As he accelerates forward, you look his way and begin to absorb his appearance.

He does not look very different than he did before. Perceptible creases deepened on his skin and have replaced that baby-face he was once notorious for, however.

“’There something on my face?”

You flush upon realizing how long you had been dissecting his appearance. Fortunately, that witty humor of his mends any lasting embarrassment.

You had almost forgotten about the newcomer in town you met several years ago. When you see his chapped lips stretch into that pretty-boy smile, you’re reminded of how that rookie at the R.P.D. still lives inside him.

“I’m sorry, you just… You don’t look any different than when we first met.”

Now, it is his turn to blush.

His eyebrows raise in shock. He turns his head to search your face for a sign of a joke. Though, with how focused he is on the road ahead (and his poor luck with driving), he is granted no opportunity. The silence that settles tells Leon all of how truthful you are.

To make matters even worse for him and his flustered self, you continue your thorough inspection of his appearance.

That dull, pallid color casted upon his face has restored its lively, childlike tint. Now, you can fully see that rosy flush cloud his creamy skin.

His eyes are a misty blue with scattered specks of gray. The most prominent feature of his eyes, however, was the life within them. And back on those loading docks, you witnessed first-hand as that liveliness returned.

Beneath their glittering luster holds the last few remnants of innocence he still has. For too long, they had been vacant and soulless — a permanent scar of that day in September. Excitement, adventure, and ambition now glimmers with every blink. You look into them and can only find that young man who visited your gas station to offer clumsy pick-up lines and hefty tips.

“I’d tell you to take a picture if I didn’t mind you staring at me so much.” Leon’s voice has deepened to a gentler husk over time. Aged like a fine whiskey.

The wind passing through the window tousles with his hair, capturing your attention. You notice how the color of his hair has changed over the years, as well. The dark tones of his roots now fading into a dimmer blonde.

To answer his statement, you reach over and sink your fingers into the strands and ruffle the locks. He laughs in response and playfully pushes you back to your seat with tender effort. From here, you finally halt your scrutinization and return your gaze to the forestry outside.

That adoring, lopsided smile remains permanent on Leon’s face for the rest of the car ride.

And that very smile is entirely formidable, you conclude. Time passes by and still, this happiness of his does not falter in the slightest.

It has now been over three months since you stepped foot into Leon’s cabin. More notably, it has now been three months since you’ve stepped foot out of Leon’s cabin.

You’ve become accustomed to the routine of waking up to gloomy clouds and shadowed sunshine. As you stir awake now, you study the bedroom you currently reside in.

On the bed, where you lay, cushiony comforters are embraced by fluffy, knitted blankets. Leon is satisfied with sleeping with one pillow, but he bought several more for you to sleep with, of which you use heartily. Only a fool would miss the way he wishes you’d use his chest to rest your head on instead.

Fairy lights are woven around the wooden beams supporting the ceiling. Directly beneath is a rug stretched across the floor, where the original intricate design is now convoluted with dirt and grime. A lit fireplace is centered directly across from the king-sized bed, protecting you from the bitter temperatures outside. Not that the protection is necessary, as you can always find a certain warm body draped around you.

Outside, a porch ensnares around the walls of the exterior, where two rocking chairs are situated right beside each other. They overlook the layer of fog resting upon the adjacent lake, surrounded by miles and miles of pine trees.

Through the front entrance, you step directly into the living room. The interior is elucidated by soft, golden lamplights. More knitted blankets and pillows adorn the surface of the handmade couch. A hand-carved bookshelf holds the weight of a myriad of books.

The living room goes hand-in-hand with the kitchen. A wooden stove, rustic pots, and even more ancient kitchen utensils scatter around the small expanse. Tucked in the corner of the kitchen is a timber table with a candle as a centerpiece, joined by two wooden dining chairs.

Down the hall and opposite of the bedroom is a bathroom akin to the size of a shoebox. A stone-walled shower contains all your preferred soaps and washes, as well as Leon’s classic scents of amber and cedar-wood. There is a mirror strung above the log-supported sink with, what you could swear is, a blinking red light tucked in the corner of the glass.

Relaxing and cozy is this cabin, yes, but it is all a temporary living situation. Then, you can step into the real world and see what life has to offer you.

At least, that is what Leon claims.

What you are unaware of is that in these six years without you, wrecked by your death, Leon built this cabin as his final resting place.

His time was devoted to operating his plans of destroying Umbrella and slaving the hours away on this property, crafting every ounce of love and detail into the estate. After his goals reached success, Leon would venture back here where no one would find him. Then, he would end his life.

When he reaches the afterlife, he will find your soul there. Waiting for him. You and him would then spend the rest of time with one another, happily haunting the halls of your humble abode.

These plans have, of course, fallen short when he learned your precious heart was still beating. Now, Leon intends on residing in the cabin for the rest of his life, indulging in the rays of sunlight held in his arms.

There are still a few finishing details that require his aid, some last screws to be fastened and whatnot, but it will remain of utmost perfection as long as he is here with you. Then, when your long, amazing life inevitably reaches its final chapter, he will end his life right beside you.

Leon intends on spending eternity here with you. No matter what shifts and changes may occur in the trajectory of your lives.

Picturesque as his beloved cabin is, you’re still overwhelmed with the feeling of being trapped. And God, do these feelings puncture you with guilt. All that he has done and sacrificed for you, just for you to return his efforts with rejection and discomfort – you’d hate yourself if you were him.

Even though you perceive your desires as selfish, you still can’t help but wonder how fruitful your life could be if you were to be alone-

“Jesus, fuck-!”

Shifting your vision to your right, you swear your heart nearly collapses into itself when you find Leon. Chin rested on his palm, you had caught him in the middle of watching you. Intently.

His staring does not cease upon your frightened reaction, either. It remains just as it was, with a new grin spreading on his face. You’re just like a baby mouse, eyes blown wide in fear of the vicious world around them. Too fucking cute.

Face hidden behind your hands, you catch your breath and question him.

“Jesus Christ… How long have you been watching me?”

With a lighthearted titter, he answers.

“Not for long. Just over three hours.”

With every day the fog settles, you have come to learn several new things.

Oh, how Leon Kennedy loves the sight of Y/N L/N.

It is evident throughout every day, where fragments of his obsession are sprinkled into every moment you spend together.

Eyes still glued to your every move, his burly arms encompass around your waist and pull you closer to him, chest now cemented to your back. Languid kisses are littered across your jaw like confetti dispersed upon a stage.

Ever since you arrived here, Leon always insisted on sharing a bed with you. Even going as far as to exclaim in faux dismay: “Oh, no! There is only one bed!”, as though he had not decorated the cabin himself.

He further asserts how sleeping beside you is the best course of action in keeping you safe from any creeping danger. When he then takes your chin between his two fingers and presses a hard kiss to your mouth, moaning in fervent contentment, you fail to see how this is meant to “protect” you.

Despite this, you have grown familiar with these sleeping arrangements beneath the sheets with Jill and Carlos.

Speaking of those two, their memory stirs your stomach.

You do not know if Leon is aware of their existence and what you endured under their care. You don’t know where they currently are, either. If they are even dead or alive…

These thoughts are immaterial, you assure yourself. They are far, far away and will never lay a finger on you.

Nagging thoughts like these are especially assuaged in the morning, where you can cook breakfast for you and Leon. Even just the sight of a pan in your grasp would be enough to get Carlos sweating, further proving the two are not lurking in any hidden corners. He’d surely die just seeing you mere inches away from a knife block.

Sure, it may have had to take a few voluntary cuddles and some puppy-dog eyes, but eventually, Leon caved and gave you permission to cook. Despite how ecstatic you are to receive some form of autonomy, you always remain careful in your efforts. One nick to your skin and this privilege will be yanked from your hands before you have the chance to enjoy it.

Now, you stand here in the kitchen, poking and prodding at the sizzling eggs on the stove. Although you are certainly no chef, you managed to pick up a few skills while watching Carlos prepare your meals. Leon always praises your culinary works, nonetheless. The clean plate he leaves behind tells you such.

Leon himself is currently outside the residence, gathering lumber for the bedroom fireplace. It is one of the rare occurrences where you are granted solitude, so you revel in the time as thoroughly as you can.

He sought after time off work for the sole reason of never spending a second without you. Wearing the badge of surviving Raccoon City then saving the notorious Baby-Eagle has earned him many points with his superiors, granting him permission to bring home the bacon without partaking in any labor.

You joke to yourself about becoming the classic 50’s housewife as you set the table.

Two plates of steaming omelets with a cup of tea for yourself and a glass of sparkling water for Leon. He alluded to his problems with alcohol on one occasion, but he informed you of how he was receiving help. This ‘help’ remains a mystery to you, but you assume his choice of beverage plays a role in this assistance.

Although the problems you face are much different than his, you can’t help but wonder if you’ll ever receive help when you finally leave this-

“Fucking christ!”

When you turn your shoulder to set your apron away, you swear your heart, once again, nearly collapses into itself when you find Leon. Standing just at the threshold of the kitchen, watching your every move. Intently.

All he does is shoot you that same grin, complemented with a light chortle, before sitting down at the table. God, how long was he standing there? Did he even leave the cabin!?

With a deep breath, you join him at his side. Before you can even take hold of any cutlery, something tugs at your chair. You glance down to find Leon’s hand ensnared around your chair leg, before he pulls you closer to him. Now shoulder to shoulder, he plants a prolonged kiss to your cheek as a silent way of thanking you and an apology for startling you, before digging into his meal.

You then begin consuming the works of your hard work, as well. In the midst of eating, Leon speaks about the plans for the day ahead. And for the umpteenth time, he broaches the idea of enjoying a boat ride around the lake.

With the shimmering hope in his eyes, you know very well of what he is asking you. After all, you remember your first boat ride very well.

Watching the fish swim through the murky waters, listening to the birds sing and frogs croak, sinking your fingers into the stream and toying with the waves – enjoying the nature outside serves as a lovely memory.

Much to Leon’s shock (and yours as well, if you are honest), you halted his rowing and pulled him into your very first kiss. As stingy as your affection is, he clung to whatever slivers he could grasp. And to receive something as breathtaking as your kiss, he could have sworn the world shattered around him.

Ever since then, the desperate man has been nudging you in the direction of giving him another. Or any scrap of affection, for that matter.

You take your last sip of tea and agree to Leon’s advances of a boat ride, ignoring the elation that floods his face in response.

Some time out of this stuffy cabin is what you have been needing. Maybe you’ll even give him another kiss in the end. As much as you hate to admit it, your lover is quite handsome. Also very fun to kiss. Annoyingly so.

Unfortunately for Leon, the boat ride you enjoyed that morning was devoid of any physical affections. As the day continues along, however, you can’t help but wonder if some affection is what Leon needs. Maybe then, he’ll be satiated, and finally, you’ll be granted more time to yourself…

As dusk settles in, though, you begin to notice a perceptible excitement within Leon. It is nothing out of the ordinary, as he always harbors some form of elation around you. Tonight, however, this gleam sparkled differently.

An hour managed to pass by, spent scouring through a book you plucked from the living room bookshelf. And so absorbed in the wondrous world of ‘Woodworking 4 Dummies’, you had not realized how long it has been since you last saw Leon. This phenomenon was strange, as your puppy-dog is always at your hip like a tight belt.

You are only enlightened on this peculiarity when Leon enters through the front door moments later.

He is adorned with that familiar shimmer in his eye, but you also notice how he has his hair slicked back. You can easily recall the occurrence where he laid his head on your chest and you ran your fingers through his blonde strands, before impulsively telling him he looked sexy with his hair pushed back.

Embarrassed, you prayed he was too drowsy to hear your spontaneous compliment. When you found a mountain of hair gel in the bathroom a day later, you realize then how wrong you were. Though, who are you to complain when you’ve got good eye-candy standing right in front of you?

“Sunshine! ‘Got something for ya.”

Your book is robbed from your possession and tossed onto the couch surface, where your attention is then forcibly diverted to Leon. Exactly where he needs it most.

His hands, soft as they always are, guide you to your feet. They are then placed over your eyes.

“Is it something that I’m not allowed to see?”

A kiss to your head, he answers. “Not yet. Gonna have to let me be your legs for a while. Unless you want me to carry you there?”

Please say yes.

“Lead the way, Mr. Kennedy!”

The disappointment he feels fades quickly as he begins to guide you out the front door.

The bite of the early-night chill crawls up your arms. If it weren’t for the strong chest pressed against your back, you’d surely succumb to the shivering temperatures.

“I would’ve brought a jacket if I knew we’d be taking a stroll.”

The breath of his chortle fans against your ear.

“You’ll warm up soon, sunlight. Trust me.”

Through several short-lived twists and turns, you are soon halted in your tracks. Any attempts at piecing together where on the property you may be fails you, as you have no recollection of stepping this far from the cabin.

“Any wild guesses?” Leon’s voice nearly touches your brain with how close he is to you.

The specks of golden light peaking through his fingers hints to what may be the answer.

“Uh… A campfire?”

He laughs again. “We already have one out front.”

“Yeah, but the s'mores the merrier, right?”

He responds to your god-awful pun with more laughter and another kiss to your head, before finally pulling his hands away from your face.

From there, you absorb the sight of a newly built hot-tub. It bubbles with scorching water and you can almost feel your muscles ache with want. Beside the tub is a fireplace, alive and flickering with fire. There are towels folded upon the surface, where they absorb the heat to embrace you soothingly after a nice soak.

Surrounding the hot-tub is a tall, solid black fence. Perfect for complete and total privacy. Not that anyone could step within a mile radius of the home without Leon knowing, but you digress.

Clean, skimmed wooden planks trail from your feet to the hot-tub. Searching further, you see an array of fairy lights strung upon the trees above. Their lights twinkle and illuminate the new addition to the property.

So engrossed in dissecting the new sight, you forgot about your puppy’s incessant need for your attention. You almost forgot he was even there to begin with until you feel his arms ensnare around your shoulders, tugging you closer to him.

Another kiss to your cheek and you finally fill the silence with your voice.

“You built all of this?”

He answers with an ‘mm-hmm’ and sways you both from side to side. You do not question his abilities, more-so the time frame. He’s constantly latched to you like that damned Las Plagas, where in his schedule did he find time to do all of this?

“Goddamn, how good are those woodworking books?”

You’re almost convinced to take up comedy with the way he laughs at your dry attempts at humor.

“You should know. You seemed pretty focused on it back home.”

Home. It’s a comforting phrase, but even in your subconscious mind, you don’t interlock that word with the cabin. You aren’t sure why.

“Nah, I’ll stick to the omelets. I’d probably chop my fingers off if I tried what you do.”

Leon shudders. The playful energy is drained the very moment those words leave your mouth. You should’ve known how sensitive he is to such ideas, after all. You almost turn to apologize, but he responds before you can even clutch the chance.

“Good.” He swallows dryly. You swear you heard a sniffle somewhere in there. “Don’t need any of those curious fingers around my table saw. Rather you just keep them on me.”

You answer the flirtation with a giggle and a “shut up!”, before shoving him off of you. From there, Leon begins to undress himself. You watch his efforts with a furrowed brow, before questioning him.

“O-Oh, now? We’re gonna use it right now?”

That grin on his face, always permanent, grows into a smile. “I built it for you. Didn’t bring you all the way out here just to stare at it.”

“Touché.” You answer.

Since you do now own a swimsuit, as you have minimal clothing for yourself back in your dresser (due to the fact your entire wardrobe still remains at Jill and Carlos’ estate), you begin to undress yourself, as well. It hadn’t crossed your mind that this was the first time Leon has seen so much of your skin, as you are more preoccupied in imagining how relaxing it will be to finally sink into the warm water.

Leon, in question, nearly gets caught in his pant legs and topples over from the sight of you. He wants to be witty, for his brain to form another charming one-liner that would snag your heart. But alas, seeing every blemish, every scar, every stretch of skin on your body has rendered him speechless. Those pesky undergarments of yours may be in the way, but even just a glimpse of your ankle is enough to get him drooling.

While Leon stands there with his head in the clouds, you rush over and finally step into the searing, muscle-melting embrace of the hot-tub. When you look to see why a certain blonde has yet to join you, you find him just standing there. Eyes the size of dinner plates.

You do not refrain from commenting on this. “When you said you didn’t bring me all the way out here just to stare, I thought you were talking about the both of us.”

A few blinks and Leon is finally brought back down to reality. There’s a subtle blush dusted on his cheeks, but yet again, he does not take his eyes off of you. With a light chortle, he finally climbs into the tub and adjusts himself beside you.

You take notice of the old pair of swim trunks he had worn beneath his clothes, which surely had been collecting dust in the bottom of his dresser. The heavy muscle gain over the years makes it rather tight around his thighs. You quickly avert your eyes away from the sight, but Leon is not as stingy when it comes to his staring. Especially when it is you before his gaze.

Enjoying the steaming temperatures, you then proceed to ramble about frivolous matters. With how peaceful your days have been (as well as how much time you spend with Leon), there is not much glamor or drama to enlighten him of. Still, you always manage to find some topic to blabber on about.

For tonight's subject: eggs!

You are rarely given the privilege of pursuing your hobbies and exploring beyond that point rarely ever happens. Anything perceived dangerous in the eyes of Leon is immediately off the table. Cooking, as baby-proofed as it is, has become a newfound interest for you. Specifically the art of cooking eggs, as your morning omelets still weigh in your stomachs.

“-And that’s why you should always use butter instead of oil when cooking eggs. I’ve learned it makes the eggs a lot more creamy, while oil just makes it, kind of, goopy, in my opinion. Bonus points if the butter you use is unsalt-”

So engaged in explaining the art of cooking eggs, you hardly comprehend Leon and his current state. Your tangent is soon brought to a sharp halt when you cast a glance at Leon.

You find him staring, once again. Only this time, not a single inch of your chest is free from his scrutinization. You peer down to look at yourself, assuming something of sort was wrong with it. When you find nothing but your normal body, you finally conclude his actions to not be at fault of you, but simply Leon thinking with what’s in his pants.

Looking back at him, knowing smirk on your face, you point your fingers up. “My eyes are up here, y’know.”

Leon abides by your comment and returns his gaze to you. Then, in his best attempt, he tries to flirt.

"If being gorgeous was a crime, you-you'd be guilty as... as... shit, I... I'm sorry."

You’re taken aback by his odd reaction. You have never seen Leon Kennedy nervous, no less stutter before. You’re positive you’re the only person on Earth to witness such.

“Right… So, as I was saying, it’s also best to use unsalted butter while cooking eggs. Not only does it help cook better, but gives you the opportunity to add in your own seasonings. Especially with how picky you know I am when it comes to-”

There he is, doing it again!

Staring at your chest as though it were a delicious buffet and he had not eaten in days.

Just how much is he even listening to you, anyway? If you asked him, do you think he’d be able to reiterate even just a word of what you said? What if you used this to your advantage?

With this newfound idea sparked in your mind, you begin to tell a ridiculous, fabricated story of the morning you had.

“Yeah, so after I cooked us eggs, I went outside and actually ran into the chicken who laid it.”

You search for any sign of confusion and find nothing. So, you continue.

“Then, she started to berate me! Squawking and screaming, “How could you!? You cooked my baby into a tasty breakfast!?””

Complemented by your eccentric motions and exploration of different octaves, you pantomime the comical story to Leon. Still, all you receive is a monotone, periodic “uh-huh” from your ever-so-immersed lover.

“And then she started running after me, pecking at my ankles no matter how fast I ran! She actually chased me all the way up that mountain back there. I even asked a squirrel to help me, but he just acted like he didn’t even see me, that bastard! When we finally reached the top, I just…“

Further insight on your vibrant morning borders on your tongue, but when you cast your gaze further down, you find an unmistakable sight through the fizzing bubbles: Leon using his hands to shield his… problem away from your attention.

From here, you finally cut your tale short. You giggle to yourself before forcibly snagging his attention away from your chest. You grasp his chin and pull his gaze to meet yours.

“I thought I told you my eyes were up here…”

A foggy film hazes over his eyes. Mouth slightly agape, he nods lazily in agreement. Does he like it when you’re in control? When you’re rough like this?

As you ponder over it, you realize you have never really taken control before. And knowing you’re gonna be stuck in this cabin for God-knows how much longer, you might as well have some fun with it, right? Besides, you’ve caught a glimpse or two of what’s hidden in those pants. Maybe some sweat is what you truly need to ease into this new lifestyle.

Even when holding his chin hostage, his eyes do not stop themselves from searching for what they want. They shift down to your lips and lock onto the sight. Of course, you know fully of what he is asking for. Though, it wouldn’t be fun if you couldn’t drizzle in a little pain with pleasure.

So, you play against him in his most favorite game: freeze and stare. You do so and watch as he squirms like a worm through thick soil.

As you watch Leon crumble from something so mere as intensive eye-contact, a knowing smile quirks at your lips. The sight of your pearly whites, especially when exposed in his favor, is what pushes Leon to snap. His mouth waters at the prospect prodding at his mind, as though he were thirteen years old again, reading the raunchy romance books he snagged from one of his orphan caregivers.

Leon leans in to kiss you, but you nod away from his advances. The further you push away from him, however, the more Leon chases after you. Soon, there is no room for you to escape. And his mouth practically bruises your own from the force of his scorching kiss.

You try to speak his name to capture his attention back, but there is no room for conversation. Not when your senses are overwhelmed with the clashing of lips, saliva, and gut-wrenching devotion.

You sink your teeth into his bottom lip in a final attempt at halting his zeal. This action brings you success, yes, but only chucks buckets of fuel into the rampant fire burning inside Leon. He’s said it before, after all: pain at your hand would bring him bliss like no other.

And that it does.

His jaw drops with a sharp gasp. From there, you listen as Leon whimpers into your mouth. He chases after the warmth of your lips again, but you do not let him indulge by establishing firm restrictions. This resistance only causes more trouble, as Leon grows impatient with each passing second without you close.

“Please… Need more…” His voice raises in an octave you don’t recognize; a tone that encapsulates the hunger he is overwhelmed with.

“Take them off.” Your demand is curt and sharp. It is a new disposition you do not recognize, but something Leon is absolutely enthralled by.

Always your obedient puppy-dog, not another second is wasted before Leon is practically ripping his swimming trunks from his waist. The array of gurgling bubbles shields what lies beneath the water surface, but you compensate by allowing your eager fingers to explore for themselves.

Pressing a sharp nail into the muscle of his thigh, you slowly tread your feather-touch upwards. Leon’s chest rises up and down with rapid breaths, as though he were the first to cross the finish line after a miles-long marathon. Just waiting, waiting for you to touch him in the one place he needs it most.

You indulge him once more with your much-awaited kiss. While doing so, you are able to easily remove yourself of your undergarments, as you were not wearing much to begin with.

Leon tries to slither his tongue into your mouth, but always the sadist you are, you decline this effort. You are not focused on his pleasure for now. You’re more interested in learning what will be buried inside you soon. Testing the waters, per se.

When your thumb skims against the skin of his heavy balls, Leon nearly keels over. You’re then ensnared in the tight embrace of his Herculean biceps. Despite the debauchery sewn into his bones, puppeteering every move of his, he still remains tender with his actions. The notion to treat you with the utmost softness is unbreakable, even when he is suffering at the hands of devastating carnality.

Meanwhile, you drag your finger down his hardened length and estimate every inch he possesses. You ignore every shiver that cascades down his body and conclude the measurement lies somewhere near 7.5 inches. Leon lies on the thinner side, but compensates with just how intimidating the straight, narrow length is, leaving no room for any curves or arches. In contrast to this, his head is fat and irritated, desperate for your attention.

While you remain engrossed in your thorough studies, Leon begins to paw at you with his greedy hands.

“Please. Master, please…”

Master? You’ve never heard that one before…

You share a hearty chuckle and beneath the touch of your fingers, you feel his dick jerk in response. A thing for humiliation? You’ll jot that down for later.

With a swift roll of your eyes, you shuffle your legs over to straddle him. His hands clutch on to your shoulders in a fervent attempt at keeping you close, to a degree that almost brings you minor pain. Much like a normal dog, Leon often forgets the weight of his strength and how large he is. Especially when he is blinded by his own ravenous lechery.

“Do you want me to fuck you?”

Leon shudders and weakly nods. It’s almost comical how a few heated touches can cause all that famous wit to ooze out his body. However, it is not the response you wanted.

You tightly grasp hold of his face like a parent scolding their child. He gasps from the harsh contact, but the way his eyes sparkle tells you he is a fan of the rough treatment.

“Speak.”

With a jagged groan, a collage of messy words spill from his mouth.

“Yes! God, yes, there is nothing I want more. Master, please give it to me!”

Satisfied with his answer, you use your free hand to take hold of his length. Goosebumps adorn his shivering body in response. With one last deep breath of preparation, you then guide his bulbous head past the tight barrier of your wet entrance.

Your jaw drops from the sheer stretch. Despite how much you could have prepared yourself for penetration, it still finds fresh ways in taking your breath away.

Leon is not in any better of a state, either. Arguably, much worse.

Gasps pervade from his mouth as he desperately tries to verbalize just how soul-crushing you feel. He might as well have ascended onto cloud nine where his lonely skin can be embraced in the fluffy, sunlit expanse.

The further you sink yourself down, the more his brain becomes smeared with melted concupiscence and the feeling of absolute, irrevocable love. Leon has to restrain himself from snagging back your control and just fucking into you until the sun rises. Poor thing doesn’t know how much more he can take before he snaps.

When you finally do bottom out, you have to impede a wince. He may be able to reach places your measly fingers could only dream of finding, but fuck, will he take some getting used to.

A choked gasp of your new title bridges on the edge of Leon’s lips, but is quickly halted by him. Even when he is in the position he has dreamed of obtaining for years, those nagging thoughts still manage to creep in.

Leon fears the aspect of losing control and the consequences it may garner. What if someone is out there? What if they’re watching, just waiting for him to give in to the pleasure? All so they can swoop in and take you from him? What will he do if he loses you again? Would he even survive-?

A gentle bounce of your hips and all worry is flung into outer space. Leon lurches forward, burying his head into your neck and digging his blunt nails into your shoulders.

While you remain focused on adjusting to the new rhythm, Leon is reciting a mantra of “don’t cum, don’t cum, don’t cum” through his hazy head.

“There you go… Good boy-“

Well, that didn’t last long.

That’s all it takes for Leon to plunge over the edge.

“M-Master! Fuck, uhn-!”

He bleats out an obnoxiously loud cry, as though he were the lead star in a world-famous porno.

Sweltering heat pervades through his stomach in an inordinate fervor. Thick, heavy ropes paint your walls white and fill you to the very brim. Hands gripping every chunk of flesh they can reach, Leon revels in the weight of the pleasure.

Never has he been able to cum so quickly. All efforts with the toys in his bedside drawer or the blurry faces he’d bring to bed were rarely brought to fruition. If he were ever brought to that peak, it was always a pitiful release.

One thing remained constant, though: it was always you on his mind.

Tonight, however, euphoria could not have come quicker when his senses are overwhelmed in all of you and your perfect self.

With such meek effort, you’ve now reduced Leon to a gooey puddle of ecstatic, dazed shivers. You take his newfound silence as embarrassment for lasting several seconds inside you. The truth is, you have stunned him into an enraptured state of silence. Still, you’ve accepted the fun has ended and begin reassuring him of any drifting doubts.

“You’re okay, puppy… Did so well for me…” You whisper, leaving a trail of gentle kisses down his jaw.

Leon’s rapid breathing has now eased, with the occasional whimper managing to escape. Tears build in his baby-blues. His grip on you is weak, but still maintains that vehement desperation you’re so familiar with. Inert is now his disposition, all with just a few pumps inside you.

Six years have been spent in isolated misery with the memory of you poisoning his mind. To finally feel the caress of your love, Leon can’t restrain the tears that begin to fall.

Your reassurances remain soft and your kisses drag further down his skin. His chest, riddled with scars from his past, does not remain untouched by your care. This includes the jagged cut above his collarbone that he received during his search for you in Valdelobos. It had healed since, but it is perceptible in its hues of purple and red. You kiss upon the wound, complemented by the subtle drag of your teeth.

You’re caught off guard when you feel Leon’s hardened length spasm within you in response. You devote your attention to that sweet spot and drag the warm sponge of your tongue on the scar, relishing in the moan it evokes from his throat.

Sucking into the marked skin, Leon starts again with his pathetic stammering.

“Pl-Please…” he cries out. “You’re killing me…”

You press a tender kiss to the fresh hickey as a silent apology. Slowly, you then begin to grind your hips to gently ease him into round two. Your efforts for a forgiving transition fail you, however, as those needy hands dig into your flesh as some desperate query for mercy.

Leon shields any absconding sounds of his by hyperventilating through clenched teeth. Once again, however, that scrap of self-control is torn from his grasp with another bounce of your body.

As your motions continue, Leon takes hold of the hand you rested on his shoulder. He buries your fingers in the heaps of short hair on the back of his head. His eyes are locked on yours through it all. Where else would they be?

“Pull. Please, pull on-”

You yank on his hair with all your might and watch in reverie as his jaw goes slack. A few moans part from his gaping mouth before he can collect the correct words to speak.

Taking your other hand, Leon guides it to his neck and applies the pressure he’s been dreaming of for years.

“Sq-Squ-”

You abide once more and compress your fingers down on the most sensitive areas of his throat. And you almost crack a joke about how he’d do well in a Hentai with how perverse his reaction is.

His tongue lolls out of his open mouth and rests against his chin. His eyes roll so far into the back of his head, you wonder if they’ll be stuck there forever. All of this over some slow grinding? You could assume him to be a virgin over such dramatics.

For a moment, you decide to soften your movements. With his track record, you doubt he’ll last much longer with such efficient motions. Instead, you take advantage of that loose tongue hanging lazily from his mouth.

You begin to suck on the lax muscle. The response it garners from Leon is immediate. A torrid moan pervades muffled, but the volume is still enough to shudder through the air.

Every twist and turn of his hot mouth is sloppy, as he is too twitterpated to use his lips accordingly. His hands, weak and idle, clasp your jaw and hold you in place. Leon has kissed many others before, yes, but none like this.

Then finally, finally, you begin to ride him. The attention reserved to his mouth is robbed from you, as Leon’s head droops backward and hangs over the rim of the hot tub. His body goes limp, slack arms falling from your body and to his sides. That mouth, overwhelmed with pooling saliva, lets out a raucous series of “ah! ah! ah!” with every thrust you impel into yourself.

He becomes blinded by his appetency. As he stated, being victim to the fusion of heaven and hell at your hand brings him bliss like no other. And through the clenched curses and pitiful whimpers, the universe finally grants him the ability to speak.

Soon, all fantasies he’s had surrounding this moment begin to spill out of his brain. Every meager attempt at masturbation, every tedious one-night stand, every sexual desire never brought to fruition — one crack in the dam leads to every thought of you gushing out with no hope of control.

“You have no idea...” His voice is a mere squeak; you barely discern what was even stated. “No-No clue… ‘Needed this ever since I saw you at that f-fucking gas station!”

Fire burns scorching in your gut.

“Spent six whole fucking years chasing after this. Never-Never thought I’d find it… Never thought I’d find you.”

Every thrust baffles you, as no one, not even yourself, has been able to reach so deep. Complemented by the intensity and verity of his words, you’re surprised it all hadn’t made you cum prematurely, as well.

A particular rough pump hits a good spot inside you, a spot you had not known existed. A moan gasps from your throat, of which you try to muffle to no avail. Leon takes notice and immediately fills the silence with more pleads.

“No, d-don’t hide. Wanna hear you, master. Ne-Need it…”

Paired with those pretty eyes, shimmering as though he were a dog presented with a juicy bone, that was all you needed to let go. You angle your hips to abuse that spot relentlessly, relishing in the immediate gratification it ignites within you.

Soon, you’re no better than him in regards to sound release. The last time you heard yourself like this was when Carlos was buried inside you, but Leon does not need to know about those past excursions.

Leon, in question, was none the wiser. Overwhelmed with ecstasy, he continues with his blabbering about every wet dream you played the lead role in.

“Wanna- Wan’ you to put a collar on me. ‘Wear the ears an’ a leash. Have you pl-plug a tail inside me.”

The idea of adorning the Leon Kennedy in all those garbs is almost enough to make you laugh. A man of such strength and power would really let you do that to him?

“Wan’ master to cum in a bowl. ’Make me eat it.”

He lifts his head to rest his forehead against yours. His eyes gaze into yours with an intensity that touches your bones.

“Survive on it…”

His statement almost unnerves you. The entire time you thought he was dead, that is what he occupied himself with? Thoughts like this?

With your free hand, you return the grasp you once had on his hair and you yank on the strands in an attempt to get him to shut his mouth. His eyes roll into the back of his head and he cries obscenely, but does not dare separate the distance between you both.

Through gasps for air and prevailing moans, the blabbering continues.

“Luh-Lock me in a cage. Tie a vibe’ to my dick and just sit there, just f-fucking watch me fall apart.”

Yeah, he definitely took your ‘puppy-dog’ nickname too literally.

You’re sure if you told him to bark, he wouldn’t think twice. You don’t even know if you have the heart to fulfill all these fantasies, no matter how pretty he’d plead for you.

The lack of vocal indication of your end has taken a perceptible toll on Leon, as it seems. He eagerly awaits for your reply, to see your face stretch into a sneer, for you to tell him he is a disgusting mutt who doesn’t deserve another second in your presence. The mere thought could make him cum again right there.

“Master, please! Wan’ hear your voice.”

You hadn’t even noticed your sudden inclination to silence. After all, you have been rendered speechless from his previous statements. And with a face like that, you don’t have it in you to deny Leon of what he asks for.

“Yeah? Feelin’ good?”

Oh, he could just melt beneath that voice.

Leon is positive he almost does with the way he can’t bring himself to answer you with words, only returning your question with another onslaught of whines and snivels.

Now that he has you where he has only dreamt of holding you, it’s too much for him to handle. Even when faced with the most formidable, revolting creatures on Earth, the utter severity of it all couldn’t even begin to compare with what you offer him.

“F-F-Fuck! Master, gonna-gonna make me-!”

You halt, reducing your violent thrusts to gentle pumps. And the sob it earns you is nothing short of beautiful.

For a moment, you find yourself worried over the visceral reaction it pulled from him. If it weren’t for the lust fogging his brain, he’d adorn you in wreaths of reassurance and adoration. Leon has been victim to so much pain over the course of his life, but none of which compare to this. It hurts, but fuck, does it hurt good.

“… Need… Need you…”

And God, will he do just about anything to be a victim to it for the rest of his life.

“Make… Make me cum first, then maybe I’ll consider letting you finish inside me.”

His eyes, peering into yours, darken in response. Just how long has he been waiting for you to throw a demand like that his way?

Years, you conclude, based on how he obliges with whiplash-inducing swiftness. Leon takes the labor off your shoulders and pounds against that spot that turns your body to melted goop. The noises you make, like sheer heaven pouring into Leon’s ears, intensify when you bring much-needed stimulation to your sex.

“Wan’ make you feel good. ‘S all I ever wanted.” He whines through sniffles.

His nails cling to the meat of your hips, whisking you closer to his chest. You’re positive by morning, you’ll look as though Wolverine chose you as his prey.

The tears bridging in his eyes now seep down his cheeks, face twisting as sobs begin to heave from his body. Leon hasn’t cried since the moment he saw you on the loading docks. What is there to cry about anymore? With you there, the sun in an empty void, how could he ever be brought to tears again?

Now, however, he cannot refrain himself from sobbing his eyes out. Every wail escapes with a hiccup as he desperately restrains himself from disobeying your word and finishing inside you. Six years spent chasing after an orgasm had not prepared Leon for what would happen when he’d be forced to prevent that peak.

“I’ll get you there. Mmph- ‘Puppy will get you there.”

That tether keeping you stable weakens with every thrust plunged inside you. Your brain is sheer mush, your body is enfeebled, and the knot in your gut stretches until it becomes too much for you to hold.

A sharp curse gasps from your throat as you let yourself go and into the arms of sheer rapture. You clutch onto his shoulders as your orgasm courses through your body. And to be the one responsible for such intensive, euphoric feelings within you turns Leon into a man lost to the whorls of insanity.

“Fuck-! Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” He trails on like a broken CD.

“Y-Yeah? Feels good fucking into me like a bitch in heat, huh?”

You don’t even know who the person saying these words is, as it all tumbles from your mouth like second nature.

Leon does, however. And God, he couldn’t be more in love with them.

“Come on, you’ve earned your reward. Breed me, puppy.”

Just like that, all Leon needed was another sugar-coated command and he is cumming his brains out.

“Fuck, I’m-!”

Leon fills you up once again, practically squirting into you like a bitch. The remnants left with no room excrete from your heat and flow with the bubbling water.

Drool pools underneath his tongue, snapping in strings as his mouth opens to cry out for you. All sorts of curses and proclamations of love tumble from his weak jaw. His brows pinch upwards as his gaze remains locked on yours, relishing in the sight he’s fought tooth and nail to retrieve.

The blurry memories of those pitiful one-night stands bid their last goodbye, firmly replaced by the ground-breaking, earth-shattering pleasure only you are capable of conjuring.

And once again, that staring problem of his has not halted, even when he has been reduced to a whiny, woozy mess.

Leon lays there, limp as a wet noodle, and just marvels at the sight of you before him. Every inch of your body is scrutinized through his eyes, once again.

All the fantasies of you on top of him, none of it compared to the genuine sight. Strikingly beautiful as you always are. It is better than seeing daylight for the first time, better than seeing a rainbow of hope after a tragic storm, better than watching all your desires and dreams unravel before your very eyes. It is everything.

All you can do is remain seated on his lap and admire the work, or rather, destruction, you have caused.

“Leon?”

Nothing.

“Leon…?”

No response.

“Hey, pup.”

You pat your hand on his cheek, finally capturing his attention.

Dazed, he answers with a lazy “huh?” while still refusing to cease his staring.

“I’d tell you to take a picture if I didn’t mind you staring at me so much.”

He huffs out a dazed chuckle, gaze still buried into every inch of you it can reach. With no verbal reply, you laugh to yourself when you realize you’ve managed to fuck the wit and humor out of Leon Kennedy, the king of all cheesy dad-jokes.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”

He nods weakly in response.

You now dread the thought of dragging the dead weight of this burly secret agent all the way back to the cabin.

Night has now consumed the sky, shedding the light of the moon and its glittering stars across the land. After a swift shower with an affectionate, semi-conscious Leon, the two of you return outdoors.

The campfire outside crackles with heat in front of the hammock strapped beneath two trees, where you and Leon currently lay.

His head is buried into your neck, desperate for the comfort only your touch can provide. With the occasional sloppy kiss to your jaw and drowsy, love-struck praise, you realize you have rendered one of the most powerful men on the planet to a mushy mess of devotion.

Holding the light of his life close, affixed by the sounds of chirping crickets and swaying waves, he is soon rocked to sleep like a baby in a crib.

Despite the soothing environment, however, you cannot find it within yourself to join Leon in his state of slumber. Instead, your brain is plagued by concern.

Foolishly, you assumed drowning Leon in affections would grant you a moment of solitude. Just satiate his hunger and you’ll catch a break, right?

Wrong!

Your efforts have only intensified the avidity coursing through his bloodstream. Where his muddled mind can only conjure words of your beauty, your psyche, your perfection — just you, you, you, and only you.

But, what about you?

What do you crave? What do you want most?

As the idea simmers in your brain, you conclude what you want most is to start anew. Move to a different city, reconnect with old friends, adopt a furry friend, maybe even return to school or pursue a new career field.

It does not matter what choices you make down the line, as long as you have a choice to begin with.

And maybe when the time is right, you can pursue romance again. You cannot explain why, but your mind then drifts to Tyrell and you start to wonder if he-

“Oh! God, you startled me…”

You dip your chin and find Leon in a new state of complete consciousness. Staring at you. Intently.

Almost as though he could read your mind, he had roused from his sleep the very second your thoughts traveled in the opposite direction of him. Another smile stretches on his sleepy face, nonetheless. His finger draws up to your face and he boops you on the nose.

With a content hum of laughter, Leon then snuggles closer to you and proceeds to drown you in another suffocating array of kisses and nuzzles.

“I missed you…” He exhales.

With a glance of confusion, you question his confession.

“What? I’ve been here the whole time?”

Your bewilderment is not alleviated, as Leon only doubles down on his confession.

“I really, really missed you…”

Just when you think he cannot get any closer, he forces himself further like a python ensnaring around its prey. Almost as though he were trying to forge the two of you into one person.

You hereby make a promise to yourself that if you are ever granted the chance of a new beginning, you will never adopt a dog.

When you wake the following morning beneath the sheets of the bedroom, you are met with the same routine. Hazy sunlight, singing birds, lively fireplace — all the essentials to a morning spent in the cabin.

This time, however, you feel someone affectionately dragging the joint of their fingers down your face.

This strikes odd, as you always wake before Leon. He was never a deep sleeper before bringing you into his bed, always flinching awake to gusts of wind or creaks in the floorboard. With his thick arms around your waist, trying to wake him was now a fool’s errand. That is, until you leave his side. You are convinced he has some form of sixth sense devoted to ensuring you are close by. There is no other coherent explanation for this superpower of his.

As he continues to caress the jut of your jaw, you keep your confusions at bay and your eyes locked tight. You hope with careful effort, you’ll succeed in pretending to be asleep.

“Told you I’d come back to you.”

That is not Leon.

Your eyes launch open to identify the voice, only to find no other than Ada Wong sitting beside you.

She is dressed in her famous red garbs and dark leather. Acrylic nails grazing over your flesh, she pets you as though you were a sleeping kitten curled up in her lap.

“Ada!” You exclaim, voice woven with shock and relief.

You escape the expanse of Leon’s strong grasp, albeit with struggle, and bring her into a hug, of which she joyously accepts.

The act of affection given to her was platonic. A greeting of an old friend, nothing more. The embrace you initiated, however, quickly becomes a bit too intimate for your liking. With glossy lips a little too close to your neck and hands treading further and further down your back, you pull away from her before she can conjure up any ulterior ideas.

Though, knowing Ada and her love of romance, those very ideas have most likely forged a home in her mind.

“This is the ‘humble abode’ Leon spoke so proudly of?” She questions, studying the room with a perceptible sneer. “He has you living like a dog.”

“It-It’s not so bad! I actually find it quite cozy here.” You defend the unconscious man beside you. “It’s nothing like your million-dollar mansion, though, I assume?”

Ada breathes out a light chortle. How badly she missed you and that playful nature, as groggy as it may be in the wake of dawn.

“Well, would you like to find out?”

She has to restrain herself from pinching your cheeks when you fail to hide your flabbergasted expression.

“L-Leave? You want me to leave with you?”

A surge of fear envelops your body when you contemplate the prospect. Awakening to an empty bed would surely send Leon into a state of crazed hysterics. You’d be overtaken with guilt knowing he’s ripping the planet apart trying to find you.

“Yes. Pack your bags. My chauffeur is waiting for us.”

Chauffeur!? Is she serious?

“Oh, I barely have any clothes to pack. We can just catch up here, right?”

Your lazy excuse is an attempt at convincing Ada to stay within the safety of the cabin, all to placate Leon. What you have forgotten in these few months is just how headstrong she is. Also, how easy it is for her to twist your works to her liking.

“That is alright, we can travel naked. I certainly don’t mind.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Leon interjects her salacious ideas, granting you no time to react to her remark. “I know it’s different from what you’re used to, but we don’t need diamonds to be happy.”

Turning to look at him, you’re taken aback by how overcome with annoyance he is. It is the first time you have seen him so irritated in months, in fact. Not since the two had their cat-fight back on the loading docks.

When he shifts his gaze to you, however, that aggravation washes away and is replaced by content bliss. It seems to be his permanent expression whenever his vision is blessed with the sight of you.

“All we need is each other.”

Leon’s arms find their way around your waist, once again, sprinkling ardent kisses upon your shoulder. You can only imagine the intensity in his eyes when he casts another glare her way.

“Oh. How sweet.” Aversion seeps from Ada’s words as though she were spitting out a chunk of rotten fruit.

It is only now that you begin to connect the dots. They are short and curt with each other, yes, but their interactions are devoid of the violence from before. You can’t help but wonder to yourself if they had planned this?

You are not granted much time to ponder on such trivial matters. Not when Ada is dragging you out of the cabin, Leon hot on your tail.

She assures you there is now no need for packing a bag of any sort, as you will own a full closet and whatever luxuries you desire at her place of residence. The obnoxious flaunting does not go unnoticed by Leon, either. You wouldn’t be surprised if he had caught sight of his brain with how hard he rolled his eyes.

With that being said, Leon is not entirely innocent in his efforts to establish dominance over his enemy, either.

You barely make it a few steps off the front porch before Leon yanks you into a bruising kiss.

With both hands grasping your face, he ignores your muffled whimpers of rebuff and deepens the kiss to an impossible degree. Under the heat of such intense vehemency, however, that facade he crafted to ingrain insecurity into Ada crumbles at his feet. Even the strongest of creatures would melt beneath the veil of your affection, that is an undeniable fact.

You will not be gone for long, but Leon cannot fathom a mere second without you close by. How is he meant to function when you’re under the care of this serpent?

The woman in question is swift in separating you from the lovesick maniac assaulting your mouth. Ensuring your safety and comfort is now a muscle reaction in her, she has come to learn.

Once he finally parts from you, only then does he realize tears have pooled in his eyes, threatening to spill down his face.

“I love you.” Leon confesses.

You do not respond. You do not know what kind of feelings you possess for him, but uttering those words back to him would feel foreign. Now that you think about it, you cannot recall the last time you were positive you genuinely loved someone…

“I love you so much, sunlight.”

Ada has now resorted to dragging him away from you, fully expecting him to tackle you like a dog who has not seen their owner in months. Knowing him, an action of such would not be out of character.

“I’ll see you soon, Leon.”

With that, you begin treading towards the location of Ada’s chauffeur. She begins to follow you in your steps, but is halted when a rough hand clutches her forearm. Harshly, she is pulled away from you by Leon.

Out of your earshot, he whispers into her ear through clenched teeth. Voice now austere and venomous.

“One mark on them and there is not a single place on Earth you’ll be able to hide from me.”

With an amused eye-roll and wicked grin, Ada responds to him.

“Careful, Leon. You know I don’t fight fair. Play your cards wrong and I’ll have them begging to stay with me.”

Leon is not given the chance to fulfill his desires of beating her skull into the mud and leaving behind a gore-ridden disarray. Not when she swiftly escapes his violent grasp and follows behind you.

You remain oblivious to the blood-soaked tension between your two lovers as you send a final wave to a heart-shattered Leon. You then reach the doors of the vehicle Ada was chauffeured in and marvel at the expensive sight.

The steel walls of the car are dark and polished, as though the chauffeur had driven here directly from the dealership. Said chauffeur circles around the car to where you stand. He does not spare you a glance as he opens the door for you, reserving his vision for the costly intricacies of his oxford shoes and fitted suit.

You cast a glance of uncertainty to Ada, who returns your confusion with an affirmative gesture. A grin creeps onto her face in response. She likes you relying on her for clarity. Just her and no one else.

Wiping off any excess mud on your shoes in the dewy grass, you carefully (moreso clumsily) enter the vehicle. You perceive the interior of the car to be just as lavish as the outside.

The seats are imbedded with exorbitant, brown leather and encompass the entire backseat area. Curtains guard the tinted windows, as though you were a celebrity being escorted to some prestigious event.

In your intended seat is a velvet-coated bin filled to the brim with all sorts of goods. Expensive lotions all in your favorite scents, several new LEGO sets, a vintage polaroid camera, as well as… A hankerchief? Why would you need one of those back here?

Shifting your gaze further, the car head unit displays a GPS, detailing the fastest route to Leon’s cabin. You’d think this car was taking you to the moon with how futuristic the interior is.

The partition closes before you can examine the technology further, leaving the backseat in complete isolation. The engine is quiet as it rumbles to life.

Ada then joins you in the backseat, closing the door firmly.

“Seatbelt.”

It takes you a moment to discern what she said, that being an unbending demand. When you finally register her words, you oblige and rush to fasten your seatbelt.

“Wow! I’ve never been in a car so- mmph!”

Ada pulls you into a kiss before you can finish your sentence.

It is a soft affection, but even a fool couldn’t miss the aching relief seeping from her muscles. God, did she miss you.

It is a contrast to kisses from Leon, as well. Her lips are smooth and plump, instead of that chapped, neediness he always overwhelms you with. In addition to this, every advance and nudge of Ada’s mouth is luxurious in effort. Hell, even her lip gloss tastes expensive.

The kiss is short-lived, much to her dismay, as you soon pull away from the second onslaught of greedy ferocity for the day.

“You must have a lot of questions for me.” Ada leans back into her seat and crosses one leg over the other. “Ask away.”

Still frazzled from the sudden affection you were pulled into, it takes a few seconds for you to compute a proper response.

“I… I’m not even sure where to start. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

Ada raises a brow, relishing you caring for her well-being. Lord knows how obsessed she is with yours, after all.

“I guess I’ll start by asking… Um, where have you been?”

Maybe it was the exhausting ride here, maybe it’s the breakfast she forgot that morning, shit, maybe it’s just the weather, but Ada cannot find words to speak when you’re looking at her like that. She concludes it is at fault of the long, torturous time spent without you, immediately met with whiplash upon indulging in your kiss.

“Working. Cleaning up the mess in Valdelobos.”

How she has cleaned the said “mess” remains unbeknownst to you. No matter what the context is, you can always rely on Ada to be vague with her words.

“What about…” You hesitate. “What about Jill and Carlos? Have you seen them?”

Even though your days have been overwhelmed by Leon and his clingy antics, the memory of that cursed picnic still lurks in the back of your head. You still do not know where they are or if they are even alive.

“Taken care of. Nothing you need to worry your pretty head about.”

“Okay… That’s good to hear.” You sigh with relief. “And what of today? Where are we heading to?”

“My penthouse. Top floor. Perfect view of the entire city.”

Penthouse!? You’ve seen your fair share of apartments, as you lived in a roach-ridden studio back in Raccoon City. But, you’ve never even breathed within a mile radius of a penthouse!

“Oh! A-A penthouse?”

You swear you can visibly see the hubris permeate her expression. The pride Ada feels upon your reactions to the fruits of her work is nothing short of euphoric.

“Correct.”

You cough out a nervous laugh. “I don’t- I’ve-I’ve never been in a penthouse before. I don’t think I’ll really… "Fit in”, y’know?”

“Nonsense. It’s exactly what you deserve. What you need.”

“Okay… And what about after that?”

She pauses, confused by your question.

“I don’t understand.”

“I mean, what will happen after I leave your penthouse?”

“You’ll visit Leon provisionally, before you return to me.”

“No! I-I mean, when do I get to go off on my own? Make a life for myself?”

Ada tenses. She does not like this topic; she’d rather go back to boasting about her riches and reveling in the way you fawn after them.

“I…” You begin, before cutting your tangent off short.

You are well aware of the hardships both she and Leon have endured for your well-being. The last thing you want is to be seen as ungrateful.

To alleviate these worries, you place your hand atop of hers in assurance. In the process, you fail to notice the spike her heart endures from the sudden affection.

“I’m grateful for everything you and Leon have done for me. Really, I am. But… But, I think I’m ready to fly the nest now.”

And just how foolish can you be, Y/N?

Ada can’t let you go. How could she ever? She can’t, she can’t, she can’t, she can’t, she can’t, she can’t, she can’t-

“I can’t!”

The shout is abrupt and causes you to flinch away from her. In response, Ada quickly takes your hand back into hers. Her touch is soft, as it always has been, but the desperation is almost palpable.

“Not… Not yet, petal. It’s too dangerous.”

Your heart hangs heavy in your chest.

More hiding?

When will this chapter of your life finally conclude? When can you shift your worries from four love-obsessed soldiers to feeding the alleyway strays and finishing your taxes on time?

When will it all end?

Will it ever end?

This question looms in the head as hours, days, week, months tread past you.

Despite your wishes to start anew, you’ve been forced into an organized routine with Ada and Leon.

One week will be spent at Leon’s cabin, relaxing in the heart of mother nature while enjoying hot-tub nights and fried egg mornings. Once that week comes to an end, you’ll be flown out to Ada’s penthouse, where luxury and extravagance never cease.

Begrudgingly, Leon is given permission to join you on the private jet ride to Ada’s estate, soaking in the last few hours he’ll be granted with you. She cannot bring herself to blame him for this, as much as she wants to. She is also latched to your side for the agonizing drive out to Leon’s cabin, as well.

The two will then share a few sly glares and indulge you in some final, saddened acts of affections. Then, you are handed off to the other like divorced parents trading off kids in a grocery store parking lot.

In this time, you’ve become accustomed to the juxtaposition between waking up on flannel sheets, then silken sheets.

The windows of Ada’s opulent bedroom expand across the walls and welcome the light of the morning sun.

Fluffed pillows support your tired head. The mattress you’re sprawled out on is spacious, allowing you to stretch your limbs comfortably. An incredible contrast to your tiny twin back at the sanctuary. The lavish, bamboo comforters you’ve ensnared around yourself atone for all those lonely nights spent clinging to thin blankets.

You search through the mess of blankets to find Ada, but your efforts are brought to no avail. Much like her partner-nemesis (or whatever she’d personally name Leon), she is normally the sight you’re met with the moment you awaken.

Unbeknownst to you, though, Ada still fears she may wake to cold sheets; to be met with another firm reminder that this is all just another sugar-sprinkled dream and you are far away. To have you here, safe and warm, closer than ever before — it is the most picturesque definition of ‘too good to be true’ a dictionary could articulate.

Now, to awake in complete isolation, you had forgotten what it felt like altogether. Addled by this, you leave the heavenly embrace of the bed and set out on finding Ada.

Sauntering out of the bedroom, the marble floors feel like a fresh sheet of snow beneath your bare feet. All the more reason to crawl into those cozy, warm blankets and let the world drift away.

The walls and floors you tread by are painted a deep black. The only contrast to this darkness are the blood-red accents and the surrounding greenery. Plants, all varying in shape and size, adorn the hallways you amble through.

A few of Ada’s servants are awake bright and early to tend to these plants, squirt bottles and thermometers in their possession. You approach one of them and ask for Ada’s whereabouts, but they ignore you. As though they are stiff, tin-made robots, solely devoted to the task at hand and nothing else.

From there, you shake off the odd encounter and hasten forward, continuing your search for your missing partner.

For the umpteenth time, you walk through the hallway that has haunted your thoughts for these past few months. In this hallway are two doors, mirrored directly across from one another. Both are locked, despite your efforts to enter. You cannot help but wonder what you’d find inside…

As you pace down the staircase, you’re soon hit with the perfusing scent of a steaming meal. Like some starved carnivore, you follow the smell through the grand hallways, before you finally halt in the dining room.

You often joke to Ada how she’s decorated the room as though she were expecting to dine with the Addams family. Gothic and luxurious — those are the two words best used to describe the dining room.

The heavy chandelier dangling above flickers with lit candles, irradiating the jewels strung to the golden encasing. Black, velvet-encased chairs are aligned across the edges of the mahogany table. The chairs on the far ends contrast the others with their shimmering, golden trim. Two chairs meant to support the weight of royalty.

The table is now littered with a variety of breakfast foods. You find crepes, both sweet and savory. Also known as Ada’s favorite, which you noted long ago. Fresh, steaming breads, complemented by your choice of rich butter, fresh jam, or sweet honey. Fluffy Belgian waffles are stacked on a plate beside more bottles of maple syrup than Canada has ever seen. There is even an ostrich egg platter, surrounded with crispy meats and vegetables to plunge into the thick yolk.

You’ll have to ask Leon to add ostrich eggs to the grocery list so you can force him through another rant about eggs.

As you scrutinize all the contents on the table, a server then enters the premises. Just like the others, he does not make eye-contact with you. Almost as if he was afraid to do so, afraid of you.

He grasps the frame of the sumptuous chair and drags it out for you, beckoning you to sit down. You hesitate, questioning him with a pointed finger to your chest and a whispered “me?”, before your brain finally computes and ushers you to abide by his request.

When you sit, you are not permitted the chance to choose your serving of luxurious foods. Not when the servant begins intricately building your plate for you, skimming down a mental checklist of exact proteins, fats, grains, and everything incorporated into a healthy breakfast.

Without making eye-contact, once again, the servant sets the plate down before you. And like some ravenous animal, you do not wait for him to leave before you’re sinking your eager fingers into the dish. Everything is spectacular in its rich, delectable flavors. Surely a breakfast fit for royalty, of which you have not convinced yourself you are yet.

A pair of arms then wrap around your chest, guiding you back into a doting embrace. Glossy lips press an ardent kiss to your temple.

“I’m glad to see you finally awake, petal.”

With every day the fog settles, you have come to learn several new things.

Oh, how Ada Wong loves the touch of Y/N L/N.

It is evident throughout every day, where fragments of her obsession are sprinkled into every moment you spend together.

And you cannot differentiate whether the burning of your cheeks is from the sudden affections or because you were caught devouring your meal like some mess-obsessed toddler.

Ada strolls to stand beside you, dragging a pointed finger across your shoulders as she saunters. With a sticky face, you watch as she curls her fingers beneath your chin, shifting your gaze up to meet hers.

“Cute.” She utters, caressing the narrow line of your jawline.

She loves this sight of you under her like this. Like a wide-eyed bunny, scrutinizing every move of the big, bad wolf. Too fucking adorable. Her fingers then find your head, petting the surface as though you were her personal lap-dog. Pretty and pliant beneath her, exactly where she loves you most.

“I’ll be gone for most of the day, unfortunately. Work stuff.” Her hand grasps your chin, holding your vision to hers. “Think you can keep yourself occupied without me?”

You nod obediently, most certainly a sight for sore eyes.

She chortles. “Good...”

With one last prolonged, impassioned kiss to your forehead, Ada then departs and sets out for the day's tasks.

Despite your imperative stance in her life, you are still left in the dark about what exactly her “work” is. All attempts at questioning result in failure. What you are aware of, however, is how time-consuming it all is. Honestly, you’d think she was having an affair if she didn’t drown you in love and riches every chance she got.

One major (and ridiculous, in your opinion) component of Ada’s richness was the vast indoor pool of the penthouse. You’ve never even seen her in the room itself, so you always question the purpose of its existence.

These matters are immaterial to you now, however, as you strip down to nudity and launch yourself into the crisp water. Here, your body is free from the fervent hands of the clingy customer from Mizoil and the overly affectionate Superwoman.

Lap after lap, you adjust to the bitter temperatures and find tranquility in the repetitive routine. This was a pattern you favored, since it is rare you are granted time for yourself. So, you savor what slivers of solitude you're given as you swim through the sky-blue waves.

Body now weary, you reside in the middle of the pool and float there. With no stimulation from the lovesick creatures surrounding you, the thoughts haunting the back of your head creep forward. Here, they whisper the truth.

Despite how magical it may be to surround yourself in glittering riches and adoring affections, your true desires reside and rot deep within you. How badly you want to start fresh somewhere far from this mess, but how guilty you feel for secretly wishing to reject all this luxury.

Then again, these may be the feelings Ada and Leon wish for you to be tormented with. For you to trust them wholly, before yanking the rug from beneath your feet. Tossing you back into the arms of Jill and Carlos, to Umbrella, hell, maybe even the Saddler, if his formidable self managed to survive your laundry list of lovers.

Maybe that is what Jill and Carlos had done in your last interaction, as well. Selling you to Umbrella for the hefty pay they’d surely return them. All the blood splatters and crocodile tears must have been a show to convince you they had no say in the transaction.

Your head begins to ache as these theories pervade through your head. Your trust has been worn thin in these recent months, even the trust you instilled into yourself. Maybe if you just sink lower, let yourself be consumed by the weight of the frigid waves, then all of it will end.

If you end your life, maybe then you’ll finally be at peace.

“Y/N?”

“Jesus-!”

Your arms latch around yourself in a desperate attempt at shielding your naked body.

A glance forward and you find one of Ada’s numerous servants, eyes laser-focused on her feet and nowhere else. You can only imagine what kind of lethal punishment would be in store for this poor worker had she indulged herself in the sight of you. All it would take is some stuttering words and tear-filled eyes and Ada would have all the heads in the world on a stick.

“Um- Ms. Wong is on her way home and wants to see you first thing. If you will, please, uhm- please get dressed and meet us in the living room.”

She scurries off before you can respond.

You figure you’ve swam enough laps around the pool and around the swirling calamity in your mind. From there, you frantically dry off your wet skin and dress yourself before another unwanted guest can see your exposed self.

Through the numerous hallways, you finally arrive in the living room. Dark in its overall appearance, with the familiar accents of red and greenery. Before you can wait for Ada’s arrival, however, something catches your eye.

On the coffee table is a bouquet of flowers. Red roses entwined with strands of dandelions and baby’s breath.

These gifts have become a daily routine, at this point. You’ll find Ada’s favorite roses and your running-inside-joke dandelions nestled beside each other. Oftentimes, she’ll take a stray dandelion and tuck it behind your ear. Overtly romantic per usual, which proves to be Ada’s permanent disposition.

You shuffle around the table to sit upon the adjacent sofa, but find yourself hesitating in the process, afraid to soil it with your mere fingertips. Yes, you have seen lavish furniture, as Carlos and Jill put their cash towards whatever ensured your comfort and safety. However, you have never seen luxury quite like this.

Carefully, you descend your body onto the surface. The couch is soft, but sturdy. Not a thread out of place, nor a wrinkle in sight. Expensive, that’s for damn sure.

“Full-grain leather. Organic cotton. Hand-crafted. Purchased it from a designer in Italy.”

A voice pervades through the silence. The flat, yet soft tone could only be possessed by one person.

You turn over your shoulder to find Ada Wong.

Her body is adorned with a trench coat made of dark leather, framed with a fur trim. A few metal clinks and she unbuckles the coat, tossing it toward a near servant. Beneath the garment is a red dress. Skin-tight, per usual, and worn with those stilettos she's never seen without.

And inevitable with every interaction you have with her, Ada is wearing that sultry-sweet smile and those bambi-soft eyes — a fashion statement only sewn by your hand.

Trailing your gaze off behind her, you see another servant at her side. In their grasp is a tray holding the weight of several wine bottles, as well as an array of burgundy glasses.

“Italy has always been a second home.” Ada is quick to snag your attention back onto her. “Most of your closet is sheer Rome.”

She saunters over to you and drapes herself onto the couch, as though she were posing for a painting and you were wielding the paintbrushes.

Without breaking eye-contact, Ada snaps her fingers and points an acrylic nail to the marble coffee table. The servant, with enough swiftness to avoid dropping the platter and facing her wrath, places the platter down. From there, they begin with their eccentric presentation.

“Tonight, we have a sample of the classic Chardonnay, paired with the vibrant Semillon Sauvignon Blanc. Both extravagant in flavor, but contrast in their-”

“Leave.”

The word is sharp. And still, Ada’s eyes are locked on yours.

All servants, deflected as one may be, simultaneously bow to her. They all proceed to frantically trip over themselves to take their leave.

The doors close with a gentle click, leaving you to inevitably be lodged in the jaws of the beast they fear. It certainly doesn’t help when she stares at you as though you were some feeble prey, ready to be torn into bloodied ribbons.

Those dark eyes tread from the tip of your head, then inch-by-inch down to your feet. Trailing back to meet your gaze, Ada fills the silence.

“So, tell me, which do you prefer? White or red?”

Confused, you furrow your brow and tilt your head like a puppy. It takes everything within Ada not to pounce on you right then and there.

“Like, the color?”

“The wine, petal.” A breathless chuckle drags with her words. You’d feel like an idiot if it weren’t for the enchantment drowning in her eyes.

“Oh! I-uh… I’ve never really tried out much alcohol before.”

“You’ve never drank before?”

“No, I-Well, I have, but only once. One of the therapists at the sanctuary was sneaking in vodka, so me and my friend snuck it into my room and drank it. That-That was a long time ago, though…”

Your friend. You have not thought of him in months.

“Did you sleep with him?”

“Wh-!? No! No, it was never like that! He was just my friend, only that!”

Ada chuckles. A deep, thrumming sound.

“I’m teasing you, Y/N. Just can’t help myself when you get all nervous like that.”

She then grasps one of the several bottles from the platter. Sagrantino, a bold red wine. Directly imported from Umbria, Italy. The silence in the room is filled with the pouring of alcohol.

“Well, I prefer red, but that’s just my preference. Got all night to find yours.”

Glass now in your hand, you twirl the stem around in circles and watch as the wine swishes around in hues of deep crimson and purple.

“Go ahead, petal. Drink.”

Ada has a certain timbre in her voice that lulls you, as though she were a siren. No matter what demand falls from her mouth, you find yourself complying to every wish of hers.

So, you drink.

The aromas of violets and berries envelop your tongue, blended with its dry texture that leaves behind a subtle spice. It is a tad overbearing, yes, but delicious in flavor.

A few more sips and your body is overcome with a sudden warmth. The clothes you are wearing feel stuffy and beads of sweat begin to build beneath them. You’ve been tipsy before, maybe even bridging on fully drunk, but nothing has ever garnered this reaction out of you.

Did just a few sips give you heatstroke or something? What is happening to you?

“If you hadn’t slept with him, then who did you sleep with?”

The question appears out of nowhere. Too occupied with studying this sudden heatwave, you do not respond to her.

“The two that held you captive, maybe? Surely, they couldn’t hold themselves back?”

Ah, yes. Jill and Carlos. Just when you think you can abandon them in the previous chapter of your life, they slither their way into the new pages and engrave themselves with the ink.

Begrudgingly, you answer. “Yes, I-um… I slept with both of them.”

“Interesting.”

A pregnant silence settles as Ada’s fingers dance around the rim of the wine glass. Her gaze has yet to leave yours.

“When I found you in Valdelobos, you had bite marks on your neck. Who gave them to you?”

Your brain tells you to lie and blame the Los Iluminados with their hungry teeth. However, the prospect of being dishonest to Ada and the inevitable consequences that would follow prevent you from being untruthful.

“Jill. She gave them to me.”

The expression on her face is indistinguishable. If your other suitors learned of your sexual partners, they’d wage a war on the entire planet. Ada, however, is different. She seems… amused by it all.

“Figured.” She answers. “And how did Jill treat you?”

As stated before, there is no space for dishonesty with Ada preset. Even if you sprung to your feet and raced out the door, she’d find the answers to her curiosity one way or another.

“She was rough. Really rough. Jill, she-she didn’t like to explore, either. We did the same thing every time.”

“Did what every time?”

Ada’s unadulterated attention is latched onto every syllable you speak. Almost as though this were some sleepover in a chick-flick, where you were telling your B.F.F. of how you lost your v-card to the dashing quarterback you’ve had a crush on all year. All that’s missing is the glossy magazines and microwave popcorn.

“She went down on me. It was all we did, all that she wanted to do. A-And not that I’m complaining or ungrateful! But…”

“But…?”

“But, I-I always- I think I always wanted to try… More.”

“And what does more entail?”

“I-uh. Erm, I-I don’t- I think-“

“You wanted to go down on a woman?”

You’re sure your skin must be hotter than the surface of the sun by now.

“Yes, but, I-I’ve never even done it before, so I know I’d suck at it, anyway.”

Her fingers find the hem of your shirt and she begins to fidget with the fabric.

“Would you like me to show you how…?”

You scrutinize Ada’s features for some sign of a joke, but you find nothing but sincerity. Her fingers then tread lower, nails grazing the edge of your thigh in a teasing approach.

“I could give you some private lessons…”

The thought of doing that to any person, no matter an ex or new fling, has a surge of heat pervading through your body. Your chest rises and falls with rapid speed, heart racing with acute palpitations. Seriously, what on Earth is happening to you? It was only a few sips of alcohol and some littering flirtations, none of what is happening to your body is normal!

The glass of wine you once held is nearly shattered with how swiftly Ada takes it from your hands. The wine she indulges herself in has been abandoned, as well, joining your glass on the coffee table.

Ada is more interested in what this newfound, aphrodisiac-induced side of you has to offer, instead.

Yes, guilt rots in her stomach for what she has done. This guilt remained present as she stalked the servant who crushed the pills into a white powder before spewing it into the wine bottle. However, any lucidity still inside her had perished the moment she reunited with you in Valdelobos.

Of course, her actions inevitably resulted in the aphrodisiac coursing through her system, as well. Not that she even needed the hearty drugs or liquid courage, to begin with. You merely sigh and Ada is clutching her thighs together.

And this is certainly the case when her lips finally meet yours. It had begun as a gentle exploration, a symphony of sensations that ignited a light fire within her soul.

When the aphrodisiac finally strikes her, however, there is no room left for tenderness.

Mouth still latched onto yours like some sort of parasite, her clawed hand presses to your chest and pushes. Your back meets the plush surface of the couch and Ada does not waste another second before she’s caging herself around you.��

When her acrylic nail ghosts against your nipple, you let out a sharp whine. In response, Ada freezes. She has heard you cry in pain, misery, exhaustion, but never in rapture. And she had not anticipated the impact it would have on her. If anything, the sound you made was more of a light gasp, but still, it had conjured some feral despair she did not recognize.

This intensity stirring in her stomach may have been charged by the aphrodisiac. Morseo, maybe it is the fact she had not satiated any sexual desires in several years. Ada hadn’t even orgasmed once, for that matter. No physical touch, no bedroom fun, no playing around with toys — absolutely nothing.

Despite her sultry nature (and contrary to all your obsessive partners), Ada has never actually fantasized of taking you to bed, either. This task persevered as her most difficult mission. Especially on lonely nights, you became no better than a devil on her shoulder, persuading her to sin.

If Ada indulged that tiny Y/N with thick horns and a sharp trident, she knew she wouldn’t waste another second before claiming you as her most precious, most imperative, most prized possession.

Now that you are finally here, under her, just like she has always wanted, all that longing and suffering comes bubbling to the surface.

“Ada? Is-Is everything okay?”

Your lips are puffy from the relentless passion they have endured, shimmering from the mess of saliva and lipstick stains. A lazy haze engulfs your eyes, as well, illuminating that playful glint she is so enamored with.

“Please… ‘M needy…”

She could assume you were weaponizing your charm by how effortlessly weak you make her.

“Stand up. Follow me.”

Ada is curt with her demands, as she has always been. This time, though, there is a perceptible desperation soaked into her tone.

Your legs wobble when you stand, as you are still woozy from the fervid intimacy. Ada maintains a tight posture, but it wouldn’t take a genius to notice the lack of sophistication in her stance. Words fail to describe just how delicious it was to feel your body against her. Even for just a moment.

She then grasps your hand, guiding you out of the living room and through the many hallways that follow through the spacious penthouse.

Both you and Ada finally halt in front of the two doors that have haunted your curiosity. Fortunately for you, one half of this curiosity of yours is alleviated.

Ada temporarily releases your hand and strides toward the door on your right. With several beeps to the keypad, the light shines green and the doorknob clicks.

“Come now.”

Another demand of hers is brought to fruition immediately. You interlock your fingers with Ada’s as she leads you past the threshold. And all of the theories prancing around your mind regarding what you’ll find ultimately failed you. Instead, you find the exact opposite.

If you were to Google ‘red room of pain’, a picture of this room would be the first result.

The walls, ceilings, and floors are all painted black, embellished with accents of Ada’s signature red. The lack of windows in the room are compromised by mirrors, which cover every surrounding wall. There’s even a wide array on the ceiling, which provide a full view of all possible angles. A purposeful decision, surely.

The dark candelabras scattered around provide minimal, golden light, as well. Some are positioned on surfaces, while the standing few are nestled in the empty corners.

Directly centered in the room is a canopy bed, also painted black. The drapes strung upon the four posts contrast in hues of deep red. The comforters, lavish in their appearance and texture, share these same hues, as well. You do not look over the notable design of the headboard, either. Perfect for any preferred form of restraint.

Behind the bed and against the wall is a tall, intricately-carved cabinet. The contents within are a mystery, but you can only assume it has to do with the activities intended to take place in this room.

To the right is an electric fireplace tucked in the corner. Draped before it is a tiger skin rug with the head intact, jaw wired ajar to flaunt the display of sharp teeth. The fireplace is grouped with a set of two leather chairs, hugged by another spacious leather sofa. The texture is deliberately chosen for easy clean-up, you assume.

In the far left corner of the room is a short platform supporting the weight of a clawfoot bathtub which is, yet again, colored black. The edges of the golden claw feet are painted in a maroon red, as though they have been soaked in blood. A detail demanded by Ada, you have no doubt.

Two robes are hung on the wall behind the bathtub. One is silken in the hue of red, while the other is fluffy and is purchased in the exact shade of your favorite color. Surrounding the bathtub are a collage of soaps adhering to your preferred scents. You have learned to no longer wonder how she knew such minute details about yourself. At this point, it would be strange if she didn’t know something about you.

“While you were busy with that mutt, I was here. Working on all this.” Ada stretches her arms out in presentation, showing off the renovation.

While you’re busy scrutinizing the new environment, you fail to notice how you’re neglecting the needs of a certain someone. A bad habit of yours, you have come to realize. Those acrylic claws ensnare around your forearm with enough firmness to grasp your attention, before guiding you to stand before the mirror in front of the bed.

When you meet her gaze in your reflection, you fail in your efforts to not grow flustered. Ada’s eyes, normally adorned with softness, have now been overwhelmed with salacious fervor.

When her fingertip meets the skin of your neck, another gasp is pulled from your chest. A noise she relishes in. Her other hand fiddles with your shirt, sharp nails just begging to tear through the fabric like some rabid monster.

You are not far behind her in terms of desperation, so you abide by the desires she does not verbalize and you remove all of your clothing.

You fail to register Ada’s downright feral temperamen in response. The shivering of her hands, the heat radiating from her body, the heavy breathing over your shoulder – it is all too much for her to handle. Her eyes don’t hide this truth, either, as they have nearly gone all black from the dilation of her pupils.

Ada’s hand hovers over your skin, afraid to take that step, the very step that will destroy any remnants of self-control she still clung to. It’s nothing short of a miracle that she can still restrain herself from sinking her teeth, her claws, God, every toy in her closet into every inch of plump skin she can reach.

You, however, grow impatient from her hesitation and place your hand atop hers, pressing it firmly against your naked waist. Leaning further against her chest, you finally break the silence.

“’Wanna taste you, Ada. Please.”

She shudders in response. Unbeknownst to you, she had completely forgotten about that promise she swore to you minutes ago. How could she think of anything else when perfection in human form is pleading for her touch?

“On the bed.”

You swear you hear a tremble in her voice, but you chalk it up to your wild imagination. Ignoring it, you abide by her wish and stroll over to the bed. The surface is plush and welcomes you into its soft embrace. You adjust yourself comfortably on your back, relishing in how the soft comforters caress your naked skin.

When you hear the sound of that dress falling to the ground, you shift your gaze forward. Now, it is your turn to gawk at someone’s nudity.

Yes, you may have fantasized about what she may look like beneath all those red dresses, and the images in your mind palace certainly did not fail you.

Her tits are perky, nipples pretty and pink, and they sit tight on her chest; they’re the kind of pair other women would drop thousands of dollars on to obtain. Beneath them is a set of light abs that are rose-tinted with flushed nerves. They lead to her hip dips, which frame the goods between her legs you’ve been dying for a taste of.

“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?”

Wit run dry, you have no response left in you but a meek nod.

Those model-worthy legs then saunter over to the bed. Your heart stutters miserably as Ada crawls on top of you again, now closer than ever before. She touches up the pillow beneath your head to ensure your comfort. Despite the fervor racing through her veins, the sake of your well-being always perseveres as most important.

“There you are. Comfy?”

You answer with a weak “mm-hmm” and she responds with a sweet chortle. God, she can’t get enough of you.

Ada inches further until her thighs encase your head, hovering over the face that has haunted her mind for years. Anyone with a brain would spill gallons upon gallons of blood for this sight of you, she is sure of it.

Slick drool seeps from her folds, landing onto your lips. Eagerly, you lap up any remnants you’ve been granted and revel in the flavor. A pinch of natural sourness, but sprinkled in with the expensive soaps lining the shelves in her shower. Far better than the wine you have since forgotten about.

Ada then points to various spots of her pussy, speaking in direct tones. “You lick here, kiss here, and suck here. Understand?”

With a quick nod, you wait in anticipation for her to indulge you in what you’ve been aching for. Her hips, shaky as they surprisingly are, finally descend.

At first, you begin your work with weak, nervous kitten licks. Ada is not a fan of this stage fright, however. Her acrylics dig into your scalp and yank.

“I said use your tongue.”

A laugh of amusement parts from your mouth (inevitably squeezing her fragile heart). You finally spit out a glob of saliva onto her and plunge your tongue straight into her dewy heat, lapping up every sliver of her you can obtain. And the reaction it garners festers a burning fire in your stomach.

She stutters on the edge of her words, her head dipping back. “God… You’re a natural, petal...”

Ada’s hips begin to rock the second your lazy lapping hastens into zealous slurping. With a tighter grip on her, you plunge your tongue past her entrance and slurp the creamy slick. The sounds you are able to pull from her are deep and throaty, but smooth and sexy. They meld with the sounds of the bed creaking beneath the weight of her incessant motions.

You continue with your efforts, thrusting your wet muscle in and out, in and out, in and out. Without another second to process, a sudden gush of liquid splashes across your face. It surges across your face and down your neck, staining the lavish pillows.

Is she squirting?

Even as you grant your tense jaw a break, the liquid continues to spurt from her. Ada’s fingers reach down to rub herself in circular motions, causing the pressure to hasten like a popped bottle of champagne. With your tongue lolled out of your mouth, you manage to garner some of the excess into your mouth, of which Ada aims herself toward.

When the dam is finally eased, another demand is thrown your way.

“Mommy needs more, baby.”

Mommy? You’ve never heard that one before.

“Time to start working on that clit, yeah?”

Aware of her impatient strike, you hurriedly begin to leave a series of obscene mwah’s on her puffy clit. Ada throbs with every careless kiss you leave behind, growing more irritated the longer her exact wishes are not brought to fruition. You should’ve known not to disobey her word, even when your intentions were in the right place.

Your attempts to ease Ada into the rough treatment of your tongue were met with her smushing herself into your face. The muffled squeal of surprise you let out is short-lived and instantly replaced by the lewd squelches and slurps you work into her clit.

Your head vigorously shakes back and forth, side-to-side against that sweet spot. The motion sends white-hot pleasure tickling up Ada’s spine, evident in the sloppy grinding of her hips and the pornographic sounds pervading the room.

You’re barely granted air to breathe, but Ada has been blinded by her own need. Drowning you in her scent, her taste, her warmth is nothing short of the most picturesque wet dream come to life. The way her slick is coating your face, arousal dripping down your neck — there is nothing left to do but abandon any and all control left behind. She just wants more, more, more, more, more, more, moremoremoremoremore-

“Oh, God!”

Ada has fully resorted to using your face as her toy. She hardly recognizes herself, humping that magical mouth of yours like some mutt in heat. Then again, you’ve always had a knack for weeding out parts of her she didn’t know existed. That is especially the case now, as that newfound heaven sits right at the horizon and morphs her into a creature crazed.

“It’s coming…!”

Ada gushes into your mouth, overwhelming your senses with her, her arousal, and all her juices. Her jaw drops and her eyebrows pinch as the searing pleasure courses through her body. Her thighs, shivering and sweaty, clench around your head and keep your head in firm place. Her back arches and her hips buck from the intensity, as though some demonic spirit tore her soul straight from her chest.

She’s never seen herself squirm like some sort of dying insect, but when it is your touch she is met with, it only makes sense this is the reaction it’d garner.

Ada has had her fair share of one-night stands, but fuck, they had nothing on this absolute rhapsody you bring her. To be overwhelmed in the touch of you is absolute perfection. It is better than touching the fluffy belly of a lamb, better than blankets fresh out of a dryer, better than the plastic encasing of a life preserver while trapped in a thrashing sea.

All of it comes to head as her orgasm engulfs her, all by the works of you and your marvelous, outrageously-perfect self.

As her breathing evens out and her body reduces to a puddle of jelly, Ada’s brain finally produces a rational thought. Only now does she realize she had been crushing you beneath her weight. With swift, Ada-Wong-style finesse, she crawls away from your swollen mouth. Her heart throbs as she blesses her vision with the way you look now.

Oh, there you are. Sweet petal.

She could topple over that edge once more as the sheer sight of you now. Drunken eyes dazed, mouth all swollen, and rendered to a pussy-drunk mess. It should be a crime for that pretty face to be covered in anything other than her dripping cum.

The fog clouding your brain begins to clear, as well. Lapping up any last few remnants of her still on your face, you begin to discern your surroundings. Specifically that of Ada. Her thumb caresses the jut of your cheekbone. Her lips, smeared with lipstick and drool, scatter ardent kisses down your jaw.

When you look at the expression stamped on her face, you have to stifle a laugh from how stupefied she looks. As though you were in some cartoon and she had been whacked with a sledgehammer. Blue birds circling around her head and all.

“I…” Ada begins, but cuts herself off with a dry swallow. “Mommy wants to try something with you. Will you let her?”

You nod in response, but that is not enough for her.

“Say it.”

Another sharp demand is sent your way, but this time, it is framed with the newfound desperation you conjured within her.

With a gulp, you answer. “Yes, mommy.”

“Fuck.”

Did she just curse? A woman sworn to a distinguished, controlled disposition has, for the very first time, sworn in front of you? Ada is taken aback by this, as well, evident in the laugh of disbelief she exhales.

Promptly, she then leaves your side. Not without a few last caresses to your skin, however. You remain in place within the sea of comforters, listening as she takes out equipment from the cabinet behind you.

The efforts put into trying to discern her intentions through the mirror ahead of you are met with failure, as Ada always loves a good surprise. Especially when it is wrapped in a pretty bow for the love of her life.

“Do you trust me?”

You answer with a nod. Another mistake.

“Words.”

“Yes. I trust you.”

A grin spreads on her face, the one you know all too well.

“Perfect.”

Ada returns to your trail of vision and her hands grasp your foot. She waves a red, silken bow playfully, before using it to latch your ankle to the adjacent bedpost. Another strand of silk is ensnared around your other ankle and fastened to the separate bedpost, binding both of your legs completely.

The last time you were tied up like this, it ended with you writhing from the oscillation between pain and pleasure. All you can do is pray Ada has the mercy you begged from Jill.

And as though she could read your mind, Ada begins to speak about her.

“Since your ex-girlfriend lacks substance, I guess it’s up to me to show you what genuine pleasure is.”

You don’t even want to think about what Jill Valentine is occupied with at the moment. Wherever she may be.

“Y’know, she’d kill you for what you’re doing to me right now.”

Ada quirks a brow, something sinister sinking in her eyes. She smiles at you with that infamous, evil grin.

“Let her try. She wouldn’t be the first.”

The first? What does that mean?

You are given no time to dwindle on this statement, not when Ada finally presents how she intends to bring you that “genuine pleasure”.

She withdraws a vibrator as though it were merely pocket change for a cashier. One of those big, wand-like ones you’ve seen in porn.

It’s mortifying to admit, but on lonely nights in the sanctuary, you’d sneak off into the computer lab to watch those kinds of videos. You only stopped when a security guard intruded your personal time to identify all the “strange” noises he heard. So, although your experience is limited, you’ve seen enough in those videos to know the impact that toy can have.

“This one’s my favorite. I have no doubt I can make it yours, too.”

On top of the stunned silence you’ve been forced into upon seeing that toy, Ada then shows you her second method of bringing you pleasure no human but her can ignite.

A thick, curved, blood-red dildo is held in her dark acrylics. Bulky veins are carved into the rubber skin, spreading all the way to the bulbous head.

Coursing through the images in your head, you search for some resemblance of your past partners and find several similarities. Though, you find differences, as well. It stretches into a similar length to Leon, but is passing him by an additional inch. It possesses the same girth as Carlos, but the curve is more subtle and purposeful than his obnoxious size.

Had Ada somehow known this? Did she add this specific toy to her varying collection for this reason?

“You look like you’ve got something to say…”

The woman in question scrutinizes your body language for any semblance of emotion. Fear? Arousal? Maybe even both?

“No, I just- I’ve never seen… toys in real life, before.” There you go again, stuttering through another confession.

Even when you’re tethered up like a feral animal and entirely naked on display, you’re still shy with your words.

“You’re adorable like this.” Ada leans in close to you again, lips grazing over yours. “I could just eat you out…”

You’re hauled into a searing kiss before you can process her words. You’ve almost forgotten how every kiss of hers is exceptional in erasing any coherency still in your brain.

“Oh… Another day, petal. Another day.”

Even though Ada could continue with the flirtation for centuries, she decides to put an end to the banter and watch in reverie as you fall apart. She guides you to sit up, and obedient as you are, you comply and follow her lead. She then nestles herself behind you and guides you to lay down against her chest.

“There you go. You’re perfect…”

Ada’s praises certainly do not ease the scorching mayhem in your body. Her hands, gentle as they normally are, spread your legs apart with one swift, rough motion.

“Don’t hide from mommy. Understood?”

You answer her demands verbally, as you have since learned Ada does not favor hushed responses. You don’t think you could handle being bent over her knee right now, ass bruised raw. At least, not for tonight.

With that, Ada takes back possession of the thick dildo. A hushed chortle fans against your shoulder when she feels a shiver race down your spine.

“Nervous?” She laughs, as though your body wasn’t practically screaming at her to bring it gratification.

The dildo is first splayed across your stomach. The base touches below your pubic mound, while the tip lands just above your belly button — an accurate display of how far it will reach inside you.

“See. Not too bad, right? I’m sure Leon could go even deeper.”

Of course not. Fuck, she knows exactly what she is doing! And somehow, she knows his exact size, as well.

“Wan’ it…” You whine. “Mommy…”

If you skimmed through the pages of a dictionary for the meaning of ‘starstruck’, you’d find that face stamped into the page. She gasps, as though you had given her that title by your own accord and conjured the idea yourself. Who knew some measly, kinky nickname could bring the Ada Wong to her knees?

“I wanted to tease you more. Watch you writhe and squirm for me, but how can I resist you?” Her fingers curl under your chin and shift your gaze to hers. “Hmm?”

“Don’t-Don’t resist, then. It’s hot when you let go.”

You feel Ada pulsate again beneath you. If you had known you possessed this much power, you would’ve let her between your legs a long time ago.

“Oh, yeah?”

She spits out a wad of saliva onto her hand and treads lower, circling the rim of your entrance and providing lubrication.

“Want to see mommy let go?”

Ada draws you into another kiss, reveling in the way you whimper for more. The abuse of your mouth did not end with just her on top of you, clearly. She ventures into more aggressive efforts, biting into your lips and sucking on your lax tongue. Those cat-like claws reach for your nipple, pinching and playing with your sensitivity.

The tip of the dildo poking at your dripping entrance catches you off guard. You are not granted another second to process before it passes that barrier, stretching you out with its thickness. The kiss is broken as a pathetic cry gasps from your slack jaw, eyes rolling into the back of your skull.

“M-Mommy, fuck-!”

The visceral reaction you have only intensifies the deeper Ada sinks the toy into you, protruding gentle thrusts to ease you into the severity. And she is just eating up every sound and shiver she can pull out of you.

Your brain and body are now entirely controlled by your libido as she accelerates from her slow, torturous rhythm. All misty and sweaty, you reach your hand down to rub a sensitive spot she had neglected in favor of your abusing your poor guts. She slaps your hand away harshly.

With a glance of confusion, still masked in sheer desire, you look to see how Ada still has that familiar look of animalistic fervor on her face.

"Ah, ah, ah. Can't touch what belongs to mommy."

From there, you resort to clinging to the sheets as if you were hanging from a tall building and this bed was a saving hand. All you want is more, more, more.

“Not fond of that, are we?” Ada laughs as though this were all some funny joke. She licks a stray tear cascading down your cheek. “You’re okay, petal. Mommy will take care of you.”

You swear you felt your heart do a cartwheel when you see her reach for the vibrator. Fucking finally. Holding it up for you to see, Ada clicks the button and the vigorous vibrations spring to life.

“This what you want?”

“Yes!”

That damned chortle of hers is dark, so goddamned sinful. Yet still, it festers an unknown, desperate ache inside of you.

The toy lurks down, your hyperventilating breaths hastening with every passing second, before finally making contact with your sex. And all those awful, poorly-made pornos were right about these things: they’re fucking lethal.

“F-Fuck, yes!”

You swear you can feel your melted brain ooze out of your ears, replaced by some sex-hungry fiend who's receiving their first fill in years. The quivering motions of the vibrator and the thick girth plunging into your gushing heat has your back arching, just the same as all those pornstars.

And Ada — oh, she couldn’t be happier to be here with you.

There is no high quite like those desperate hands clinging to her naked skin for stability as you lose yourself to euphoria. She could die right in this moment; some random past enemy of hers could barge in and blow her brains out. Still, it would not be enough to even waver the state of nirvana pervading all her senses. It is more than she could have ever asked for.

A sudden heat permeates throughout your sex and robs all attention of yours. It is a sensation you have never felt before, even when your ex-partners were buried inside your body. Ada can sense it, as well.

“That’s it! Come on now!”

One last squeal of “mommy-!” and you’re toppling over the edge of orgasm with no promise of salvation.

It plunges into you like a parasite and strikes like a harsh punch to the gut. The intensity prevails and perfuses through your abused, numb body. It’s all just you, your weak form, and the vehemence coursing through you. The delectation leaves no inch of you untouched, either, as though it were a greedy poison scavenging for any last sliver of you it can touch.

Through the strength of it all, Ada clings to you tighter and guides you through the land of cloud nine. It is all almost too good to be true, this idyllic moment. She stalks your reflection in the mirror and reprimands herself for not installing cameras to capture this perfect, once-in-a-lifetime moment.

Any lingering doubts Ada had of whether keeping you with her was the best decision for your well-being have all been squashed. Christ, if it wasn’t settled before, it certainly is now.

You are never escaping Ada Wong. Whether you like it or not.

Because God, you are lethal.

And Ada has never known what it would feel like to be on the receiving end of such violence, with ecstasy and delirium carved into the knife you brandish. This knife remains lodged in her chest long after you’ve both succumbed to mind-numbing pleasure, the sharp metal twitching with every beat her sensitive heart passes.

Your skin is warm and soft from the muscle-soothing bath taken after, complemented by the taste of Chardonnay and chocolate-covered strawberries you both enjoyed while soaking in the bubbles.

You’ve now been nestled beneath the covers back in the master bedroom. You’re dressed in silken pajamas and teetering on the edge of unconsciousness, laid upon Ada’s chest and listening to the lulling rhythm of her heartbeat.

After a long period spent with Ada forcing you to give her kisses, she finally grants your groggy self some much-needed rest. Her hands still leave loving caresses on every fraction of flesh she can reach, nonetheless. She has to stifle a chuckle when you’re out like a light in mere seconds.

Much like any other night, Ada’s mind is overwhelmed with love. All of which babble and ramble about you, you, you, and only you.

The head that possesses wit and character like she has never seen before, cheeks she squeezes like an adorable baby when she just can’t resist, lips that are surely capable of killing a man with the emotion they can provoke — all attributes that constitute the enigma Ada loves most.

A neck that conjures the dulcet melody that is your voice, shoulders forever adorned in a blanket of her kisses, a chest that protects the heart she’d tear the world asunder to keep safe — all attributes that constitute the angel Ada loves most.

Arms that always pull her into a sugar-sweet embrace after a torturous day at work, hands that could rival a kitten’s paw with its sheer softness, hips that with one sway could surely turn all evil in this disgusting world to good — all attributes that constitute the deity Ada loves most.

Sex that even the greatest poets couldn’t utilize all human languages to encapsulate, legs you’d find etched into renaissance paintings hung in grand museums, feet that strut straight into her life and robbed her of all clarity — all attributes that constitute the one with full possession of Ada Wong and her weak heart.

The one she has loved wholly for over six years and will do so forevermore.

“Sweet dreams, petal…”

One last kiss to your forehead and Ada falls asleep just like that. Lips pressed against your skin and cocooned in the warm shell of her devotion. Just the way it should be.

Just the way it will remain for eternity, no matter what she has to do to keep you in her arms.

Once more, with every day the fog settles, you have come to learn several new things.

Oh, how Leon Kennedy and Ada Wong love Y/N L/N.

It is evident throughout every day, where fragments of their adoration are sprinkled into every moment you spend together.

Life with these two is a humble routine, but sporadic in the same breath. You receive whiplash from the constant oscillation between a cozy cabin in the woods to a sky-high penthouse in the city.

Ada is suave and sneaky, always maintaining a sharp eye for anything out of place and utilizing it to keep you close by. She’ll tuck a flower behind your ear with an ardent kiss, before demanding her workers to clean the bloody footprints left on her pristine floors. With a few more well-placed touches and expensive gifts, you’ll remain oblivious to the violence that treads behind the scenes. Exactly how Ada needs it, where your protection and happiness is ensured.

There is no need to take that aloof, red-adorned exterior to heart, either. Not when the other locked door across the lust-induced room tells a different story. Just don’t be surprised if you see her venturing past that threshold in the dead of night, hours drifting by without her parting ways.

Leon is the closest human personification of a loyal guard dog. Hooked to your side, you have no choice but to endure the suffocating protection and affections he forces onto you. It certainly does not help when you find him lurking in dark corners, staring at you like some Peeping Tom, before showering you in candied praises and gratitude for mending the shattered remains of his heart.

There is no need to take that territorial, puppy-dog exterior to heart, either. Not when the cameras littered around the cabin tell a different story. Just don’t be surprised if you feel the presence of eyes looming over your shoulder, watching your every move in complete entrancement.

Time continues to pass of this routine and these facts further cement themselves into your life.

The year is now striding through September, where the Summer heat eases and you’re cradled by harsher winds and descending leaves. It is troubling to believe it has nearly been a whole year since this fiasco began, but you have managed to survive this long, if that proves anything.

As another week spent in Ada’s residence meets its end, you nestle yourself on one of the many luxurious couches and watch as the sun sets over the horizon. Here, you anticipate Leon’s return.

Despite how much easier it would be to travel by yourself, Leon insists on coming here and joining you on the plane ride to his cabin. Strange, but as clingy as he is, you do not find yourself surprised by these antics. He is meant to arrive the following morning, as well, but you can’t recall the last time he has ever followed these rules.

Just as you anticipated, a whistle pierces through the air and grasps your attention. When you turn toward the sound, you find Leon Kennedy. Adorned in that familiar sheepskin jacket and lopsided, love-induced smile. He whispers your name breathlessly and makes a swift dash toward you.

The way he engulfs you into a tenacious embrace, any outsider would think he was a soldier finally returning to his devoted spouse after years apart. In reality, it has only been a week. But, what the strangers outside are unaware of is how a single hour is too much for Leon’s weak heart to fathom, hence his obnoxious disposition whenever he greets you after mere seconds apart.

And just as predicted, his lips then meet yours in a grueling affection. No matter how much time passes, you’ll always find yourself astounded from just how needy and demanding his kisses are. As though he were trying to consume you whole; as though he were trying to become so close, no one will know where you start and he ends.

When Leon’s empty hunger is finally (albeit temporarily) satiated from your lips, he then reverts to peppering an onslaught of more kisses across your face. On your nose, cheeks, forehead, eyes, jaw — he revels in the boisterous laughter it summons from you. Music to his ears, he always finds himself remarking.

Before your giggling fit can ease, Leon then positions himself mere inches away from you. Much to your horror, he indulges himself in his most favorite game: freeze and stare. A game you have become quite familiar with.

"There you are… Just let me look at you..."

And that is exactly what he does. Watches you. Perusing every detail upon your face and gushing over the raw beauty sewn into your flesh. There is no denying how horrifically obsessed this man is with you, that is for certain.

Uncomfortable beneath his scrutiny, you scour through your brain for a plausible reason to escape this. With the excuse of needing to retrieve some items you had forgotten to pack, complemented by asking if he’d like to help you obtain such, Leon is folding like a cheap suit and abiding by whatever demands you throw his way.

Like a dog on a leash, Leon follows your lead as you venture up the marble staircase, down the hall, and through the door of Ada’s in-home office. Per her request, she asked you to pack heavy for your return to his cabin.

You fear it implies you will be stuck in those woods for God-knows how long, but with the perceptible elation in her expression, stronger than ever before, you know this theory weighing in your brain is not feasible.

Knowing Ada, she would never be so joyous to leave your side. Especially when it is Leon Kennedy taking her place.

Nonetheless, you brush off the peculiarity and do exactly what she asked of you. And what you certainly couldn’t part from was your beloved opossum plushy, who had made a home in Ada’s office on the leather sofa.

When you take the plushy into your grasp, you take the moment to smooth out the ruffled tufts of faux fur on his body. You adjust the ribbon ensnared around his neck and ensure he is in spectacular shape. Who knows, maybe on the drive back to the cabin, you’ll both stumble into another lady raccoon your furry buddy may want to impress.

One last pat to the opossum’s cotton-filled head and you adjust him comfortably in your bag, engulfing him between the several quilts and pillows you intend to bring with you. It is a lengthy trip back to the cabin for the three of you, after all.

When you turn around to leave, expecting a certain secret agent to follow close by, you’re shocked to look over your shoulder and find the exact opposite. Instead of clinging to you like a pesky illness, per usual, Leon hovers over Ada’s desk, instead. Entranced by something he had plucked from the surface.

“Leon? What is it…?” You question, taking careful steps toward him.

When you halt beside him, you find his shuddering body overwhelmed with heaving breaths, evident rage latched to every rasping exhale. You peek over his broad shoulder to see what conjured such a tyrannical reaction out of him, only to just be met with bafflement.

In his grasp are two small strips of paper, shivering in his shaky grasp. One-way plane tickets to Rome. Yours and Ada’s names stamped on the sheets. Scheduled for that very night.

While your brain is scouring about, searching for some logical explanation, Leon has the entire story painted for him in exquisite detail.

Ada intends to take you from him. And never in his life has he touched a surface of fury so scorching.

He has never been fond of her, but he has grown to trust her in this period of time. Only in the capacity regarding you, yes, but there was still some level of trust evident.

She’s a damn good fighter, after all. He knows she’d protect you by all means necessary and to never lay a hand on you, but he should’ve known she’d eventually manipulate her tools to take you away from him.

Leon should’ve known she’d resort to such drastic measures in the end, as he planned on doing the very same. He intended to take advantage of his role in the Torrents Capture-Force group and send an army of trained soldiers to assassinate her. Plain and simple. Then, he’d be granted his desire of eternity by your side.

Now, there is a loose thread in his plans. And it is wearing a red dress and leaving gloss-stained kisses upon the skin of the one he loves most.

Leon does not utter a single word. Instead, he chucks the crumbled fragments of paper to the ground and rushes past you, vanishing from the office in several large strides.

You follow suit, while trying to assure him of how it was surely a mistake. In your head, you concluded the tickets were intended as a surprise vacation, but Ada had simply left Leon’s ticket in a different location. None of your efforts succeeded, as Leon continues on far ahead of you.

Before you can begin your descent down the stairs, though, something strange catches your eye.

Those two locked doors, mirroring each other.

You know what lies behind one of the doors, where Ada has restrained your limbs and reduced your brain to puddled mush more times than you can count. You have yet to see what lies behind the opposite door, however.

As you stand here, you find that very door unlocked and ajar.

Curiosity getting the better of you, you abandon your attempts at assuaging Leon’s emotions and shift your attention to the door. When you take a peek inside, just a mere peak, your heart plunges into your stomach the second your eyes adjust to the contents of the room.

The floors, walls, and ceiling are entirely made of cement, accompanied by a cheap lightbulb swaying from above. As though someone was just in here.

The entire expanse is empty, besides the two metal chairs centered in the middle of the room. The leather restraints around the arms and legs of the chairs are now loose. All that is left upon the metal surface are stained splatters of deep-red blood.

Instead of trying to find a reasonable conclusion, your brain falls silent. All you can do is stare in stunned silence as your heart rages in violent, accelerating thumps.

You are only torn from this trance when a shout echoes from downstairs. It is met with deafening silence, accompanied by what you think is an occasional grunt and bang through the thick walls. One last glance of uncertainty into the room and you finally turn tail, rushing down the stairs and toward the source of the roaring sound.

Stumbling into the living room, chest rising and falling in rapid rhythm, you find yourself frozen in place once again when you discover the very last thing you expected. Leon has been thrown to the ground, evident in the shattered coffee table and surrounding clutter.

On top of him is Carlos.

He looks like a feral animal, snarling and barring his teeth as though the blonde beneath him were prey he has been dying to sink his teeth into. His fists just plunge into Leon’s bloodied skull again and again and again and again and again and again and again and-

A soft hand meets your forearm, causing you to whip around to discern the sudden presence.

Behind you is Jill.

Battered and bruised, covered in a mess of infected cuts and wounds, a gasp of your name bridges on her lips. Through her brutalized appearance, you find sheer euphoria sparkling in her blue eyes at the sight of you. Just like how she has always seen you: a drop of purity through the drowning blood.

Before a breathless syllable of your name can reach the air, you’re shoved out of the way and Jill is tackled to the ground. You identify Ada through the flash of speed, crawling on top of your injured ex-lover and beating her within an inch of her life.

Underneath the weight of the chaos, all you can think about is how you’ve already seen this movie before. You have a track record of running, you have a track record of staying. But, hey, third times a charm, right?

Should you flee and pray to God this group of secret agents and detectives never find you? Or should you use what little combat skills you have and attempt to fight off four military-trained soldiers?

When push comes to shove, however, you do know one thing as a definite fact.

You never should’ve stepped a fucking foot into Raccoon City.

⁺ 🎧 , 🪷 you are currently listening to . . . ⁺ 🪺 , 🎵 ꪆ

THE BONUS TRACK !

❝ I REARRANGE MY MEMORIES

I TRY TO REWRITE OUR LIFE . . . ❞

here is what i imagined leon's cabin to look like: one. two. three. four. five. six.

and here is what i imagined ada's penthouse to look like: one. two. three. four. five. six.

(also, i saw this pic of leon with his hair slicked back and……………. you couldn’t pay me to not somehow implement this here….)

gif creds :: leon & ada.

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