dreamergirlz

[dreamergirlz]

Some more AshLeon art~

[dreamergirlz]

WAAHAHHAHA THIS IS SO CUTE LIKE CAN YOU IMAGINE LEON KENNEDY LAUGHING?? it made my heart feel warmMMM😭🩷💘💐💐

THE MUTUAL PINING ERAS MENTIONING PLAY FIGHTING THATS SO CUTEEEEEEE!!!!! You gotta ambush him!!! You gotta tickle his sides!! You gotta get him with the death of a thousand kisses!!! Can you do a cute little drabble of play fighting with any of the leons?

Hi Anon!

I literally don't know how I came up with that idea originally but the more I thought about it the more I wanted it. I had Infinite darkness Leon in mind for this! But any will work ❤️

Warnings: Fluff, Tickle fight, brief mention of Ptsd, I just know Leon has the best laugh

GN!Reader

It was always nice when he got home, he often swung round to pick you up on his way back. Always wanting to spend as much time with you as he can. Leon loved the domestic feel of having you around. Your music playing in the living room out of his sound system as he finished up the washing up from dinner. You always cooked and he cleaned. Something that worked well for the two of you. Maybe you're just sick of eating burnt food and listening to him say 'its just extra flavour'

Leon liked the simplicity of washing up, it was methodic and he always had a system going on. The mindless task always felt like he was not only washing the dirt from his plates but also his hands as they would start to prune from the water. He had zoned out this time, clearly doing the washing up but his mind was elsewhere. You didn't know where he was mentally but with the grim expression on his face you assumed it wasn't good.

Normally you would not have taken advantage of this situation in fear it might trigger a worse response but as the idea crept into your head you hoped it would possibly trigger a happier memory for him to replace it with. You tried to suppress your giggles as you approached him, his T-shirt was slightly risen up. Exposing a slither of his skin to you, right in the one spot you knew he was ticklish in. You acted fast whilst he was stretching afraid you would lose your chance if he moved.

Leon gasped in shock, replaced quickly with a rumbling laughter pouring out of his chest. He spun around quickly- shaking your hands off his side to meet your grinning features. Leon smiled as your eyes twinkled with mischief, your fingers wiggling like you were cowboy taunting a reach to your gun. He had been in many stand offs but this one was by far his favorite.

It was harder to pounce now he had his attention on you; his own mischievous smile plastered on his face. "You've done it now" he laughed, his steps slow and predatory as he approached you. You chose your only means of escaping before you got pinned against the counter and fled to the living room.

Leon caught you in his arms, throwing you over his shoulder as he carried you the rest of the way. You squirmed in his arms attempting to break free from his grip before he pinned you down and gave you a taste of your own medicine. He gave your ass a playful slap, laughing at your small gasp. You yelped as he threw you onto the sofa, your frame bouncing on the soft cushions. You attempted to wriggle away but he was faster. He was always faster.

Your laughter filled the room as he tickled your sides, underarms, feet. Anything he could reach in your squirming. Tears pooled at your eyes as your chest heaved with begs for a break and the occasional sorry. Leon's laughter was beautiful. Something that he rarely does nowadays. The deep genuine chuckle he let out made it all worth it. He eventually attacked your neck with sloppy kisses, the type that caused goosebumps to ride along your skin.

Your fingers finally grasped on his own sides, his dominance faltering as you got to work. The music was washed out from the laughter. His home filled with the life and joy he always wanted. Somehow you managed to spin things around, his hips now trapped under your own as you continued your original assault on his sides. When you stopped you looked down at him, a wild smile on your features. Matching the one on his own. Your eyes twinkled with adoration at him, his heart swelling with your love. He would do anything to continue having moments like this to fill his brain. To have this so the next time he laid there ready to give up your love would wash over him like a never-ending tide so he could get home.

Your kisses were soft and delicate as you placed them around his face. Each one melts into the skin adding to memory of you in his mind. He smiled when you finally met his lips. His turn to finally pour the love her had for you into a wordless memory. He held your checks whilst you held his strands of hair. Both of your touches are firm as if you were embedding a feeling into each other's brains.

[dreamergirlz]

Did somebody ask for more??? Too bad cause you’re getting it.

Roommate!Simon Riley who loves to find you sprawled out on the couch like an octopus when he gets home from work. You’re always laid out in some odd way, a way that certainly cannot be comfortable. The blanket you’d been snuggled up with was now tangled haphazardly around your legs, and your arms were dangling off the side, head dangerously close to tipping off with them.

He likes to think you were waiting on him. That it’s the reason why you left the warm lamp on by your head, why there’s a familiar movie playing in the background. Your dinner is untouched on the end table beside you, his is neatly placed on the kitchen counter. His favorite drink is left unopened, a cup of melted ice right next to it, your bottle is nothing but a few drops of water.

Gently setting down his things, he pads as quietly as he can to where you’re laying. The tips of his fingers ghost along your spine before he gives your back a gentle squeeze, moving to the kitchen to grab his plate of food. He puts your food in a plastic container as he waits on supper to warm up, making sure to trade out your empty bottle of water for a fresh one. You’d wake up thirsty, you always did.

The microwave beeps a fraction too loudly once it’s finished. and he finds himself cursing at it, wincing when it squeaks as he opens the door. You twitch in response, adjusting your head just to squish flushed cheeks even further into the cushion.

When he comes back to the couch, he’s careful moving your feet, placing them one by one onto his thighs. He’ll give ‘em a quick little rub, patting the sides of your toes before scarfing down his dinner. He leaves the movie playing while he eats, just because he didn’t wanna wake you up, not because he likes it. Because he doesn’t.

Subconsciously, he finds his fingers tucking the blanket back around your body, and instead of tugging them away, he rests his hand on one of your calves, setting his empty plate on the coffee table.

With one hand on your leg, and the other wrapped around his stomach, he scoots down, letting his head rest on the back of the couch. He’d close his eyes. Just for a minute.

A minute turned into the end credits blasting through the TV speakers, jerking the both of you awake. He notices the way your eyelashes flutter, sleep leaving you dazed and confused. You don’t question him being there, instead just reach for his hand, fingers tangling around his thumb.

“‘m thirsty.”

Of course you were. He shakes his finger, jostling you to open your eyes again. “On the table.”

There, waiting for you, was a fresh bottle of water. You don’t question that either. “thanks,” He just grunts in response, settling back down beside you.

You keep your grip tight on his hand, flicking off the lamp after chugging your drink. He turns on another movie, for you, of course. Definitely not for him.

As sleep tugs him under once more, his side droops down toward your body until he’s resting an arm against your back, and his head against his arm. Large legs stretch out as far as they’ll go, his other hand moving to lay over your feet.

Now you’re tangled together. Two octopuses sprawled out on a small piece of furniture.

And what’s that they say about octopuses? They’ve got three hearts?

Well he was sure that was him right now. Three hearts all beating solely for you. They always would.

Guys, this is the end of my drafts. WHAT DO I DO?? Is this stupid? Too silly? Was it only cute and domestic in my own brain??

[dreamergirlz]

The last topic GOD was sooo good to have this comfort with everything that is happening, you really made my day happier :))🤍💗🥹

I hope that all of us who are going through bad times get better !💗

hiii, I saw that your requests are open and do you think you could write about how Leon Eras would act with a S/O who is going through a kind of difficult phase..? like depressive days and even anxiety attacks. it's just that (all) Leon is my comfort character so he always helps me get through hard days😭 lol. I'm sorry if this is a sensitive topic for you, hun, you can just ignore it if it makes you uncomfortable :] 💗

your writing is so sweet and makes me like DAYDREAM EVEN MORE ABOUT LEON sldjmdaljsl

Hello!

Ah your so sweet I'm so glad you like my writing 🥹I would love to do this for you! I have had a hard week so I've been thinking about this a lot as well! My Dms/Inbox are always open if anyone needs someone to talk to even if it's just about Leon don't hesitate! I have a lot to say 👀❤️❤️

Warnings: Fluff, Depression, Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Comfort,

(there is a harder hitting subject area please read with caution! It is highlighted in red and plenty of warning before scrolling!)

RE2:

Okay so this Leon is more than likely to drop literally everything they are doing to come and help you.

Like nothing is too big of an ask for him, he will drive to wherever you are

If it's an issue with your home life he'll put more gas in his car and take you on a long drive

Won't press you to talk about anything that's bothering you, is more than happy to just be there for you. Even if the silence kills him.

Best hugs.

Like I'm talking crushing bear hugs if you need them.

Forehead kisses as well, he's prone to them.

He's so smitten with you that people often tease him about it. He will take any of the teasing as long as you are happy with him and he's doing his absolute best to care

Writes messages on the mirror in the bathroom if he showers before you 'you got this, I love you'

RE4R:

In one of my other Eras I mentioned that Leon's love language is acts of service and I think it would apply here as well.

Would drop whatever he's doing (if he's nearby) to ensure that you are okay.

Massive cuddler, will get dead arms if it means you stay asleep again his biceps

In terms of Acts of Service I'm thinking like he will take the stress of things for you as you deal with it.

Like don't worry about doing the laundry or cleaning he'll have that covered.

If you as struggling to get up and out of bed he'll make sure you have something fun to do as a reward.

If you don't want to leave the house don't worry he understand, breakfast in bed it is.

Will bed rot with you if you need...he probably needs it as well.

He would help you brush your hair and teeth if needed.

Will not let you say a peep about it, like this is how he shows love. No ask is too big for him. He would rather you be here and okay than have to fold laundry for you.

Infinite Darkness:

So he's away a lot more, they send him literally everywhere in this time of his life but that doesn't mean he won't work damn hard to make sure he's still there.

He would appreciate it if you texted him throughout the day even if you are sad. Like just a small text

'not feeling great today'

When he has the time he would call you and listen for hours to you, or even talk about everything that happened in his day if you need it

If he is home, he's either rotting in bed with you or treating you

He'll carry all your shopping bags for you don't worry!

Always makes sure he smells nice for you, something that makes you chuckle when you hug if you aren't feeling great and his aftershave over powers you

The idea of him quickly spraying himself is too funny to me.

Forehead kisses! Top of the head kisses! All the damn kisses. He'll make sure you feel loved

Has a note in his notes app of all your favorite foods and drinks and will pick them up when he comes to see you to make sure you are okay

Damnation:

As long as you have breakfast for him he's there jk!

Literally drops everything, he doesn't give a shit about the government anymore so you are his first priority

If anyone tries to stop him it's a death glare or punch in the face.

I reckon he uses a baby voice sometimes but instantly cringes and apologizes when it slips out.

Is more than happy to drink with you if that's how you want to deal with things

Will prefer if you don't go any path like that but also knows he's not one to talk so he will support you just begrudgingly

Prefers to have you on his lap when you cuddle, buries his head in your neck as well just taking in you.

Wouldn't really talk unless that's what you wanted, is more of just a calming presence and is very happy to be there for you like that.

RE6:

Will focus on you more than himself.

I'm talking like makes sure you get sleep by staying up and watching you.

Big foodie so will literally eat whatever you want as long as you are eating.

Won't force you to do anything if you don't want to either, he's had that his whole life and knows how it feels.

Big on talking about the future helping you create a plan that can range to activities for the next week or even the end goal of your life.

I think he starts to struggle with a path a head and the ideals of where he actually wants to end up so having someone to plan with wouldn't just make you feel better but himself.

Vendetta:

Even though he is literally a mess himself I think he would make it his first priority to help you.

If he found out.

Don't hide it from him it would make him feel bad that you felt like you had to in order to help him (even though he's literally going to do the same)

I think Leon really needed something else to focus on in this time something to help him get pushed back on track so hearing you are suffering is like a switch flicked.

That being said it doesn't mean he's instantly ready to help you but would be paying closer attention and making changes on himself to help you. Just slowly.

Because it's a slow progress for the both of you I think it would be mainly cuddling and staying inside to help you out. Lots of physical affection as words are hard for the both of you.

I can imagine like movie nights in bed or on the couch.

I think it's more of a we are both suffering so let's suffer together type of thing.

Death Island:

Idealy the most stable out of all of them to handle something along the lines of this.

He would be the biggest brick wall for you to lean on.

Doesn't leave you alone unless he actually has to. Has even refused to work in refusal to stray away from you just in case.

He would be the type of person to be like 'lets go for a walk and get fresh air with the endorphins'

He means it in a good way though. But wouldn't drag you to do anything.

Wouldn't let you rot in bed at least making you sit in the living room or something just won't let you stay in bed.

Will cuddle you until you tell him to move.

Probably would buy you a dog or another animal to focus on something else.

Will learn any of your hobbies to do it with you.

He's the type of person to just try and keep the spark going and encourage you to still go even if you really don't want to.

Will sit in silence if that's what you need, however would end up falling asleep and ruining it by snoring.

Harder hitting topics underneath!!

Please read with caution and my Dms are open if you need someone to talk to!

Tw: Sh, Suicidal thoughts

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

This section applies to all Leon's:

If you told it has gotten this bad his initial reaction would be shock and maybe anger. But not at you.

His brain would immediately switch and go towards helping you in any way he can.

He's got minimal first aid training nothing fancy but enough to ensure that you are clean and nothing is infected.

Would listen to every single word you have to say about your situation.

The type of person to ask if you would rather rant or want actual advice.

He would actively ask you quit with the harm and take away any means for you to do it until he can trust you again.

This also includes not taking weapons into his house. He's got a mean kick if there's danger he'll swat them away.

That being said if you did somehow relapse he would not be mad in the slightest and instead care for you and help you out.

Would be heartbroken if you told about how you truly felt about the world and be there every single night.

He is not missing a single second with you

Would constantly check up on you but if you said it's too overbearing he'll apologize and step back even if he really needs to know that you are okay.

Doesn't care about scars, nightmares, trauma, substance abuse...he does it too and would actually use the opportunity to help you and help himself

Would go to therapy with you if that's what you needed or at least be around if you wanted to go on your own

Will make sure you are taking all of your meds and are eating properly.

If you need him he will be there no questions asked.

He doesn't care if it's unprofessional for Hunnigan to put you through to him during a mission he'll just treat the woman to coffee keeping it under the table

If you need him he will come

He'd rather have you than not..

Nothing is too big of a problem for him.

[dreamergirlz]

୨✧୧˚ BUSINESS CLASS ˚୨✧୧

A/N: This is a seperate oneshot that link to my series ‘The Escort Protocol’, but it work as astand alone too! Technically this would take place after chapter 3ish.

✧ series masterlist ✧ resident evil masterlist

✧Summary: You’re Agent Kennedy’s escort, and despite his initial hatred for his job, he finds annoying you a good amusement. Meanwhile he’s the bane of your existence most days. But when it comes to the end of it, you know you have each others back, and besides, an escort always needs to stay beside their agent.

✧ cw: fluff, minor injuries

✧ WC: 2.8k

You may be flying in style but the trip there was far from it. Sat on the metro at 7pm, the soft whirr of the machinery is all you can hear as it takes you to the airport across the state. The flight is an overnight one, annoyingly, and you’ll be departing at 10:30 so you told Leon to be there at 7:30 latest. Luckily for him, he gets driven there in a fancy car whilst you're stuck on this grimey ride with a bunch of men who keep staring at you strangely. This is awful, maybe you shouldn’t have agreed to Leon’s insistence on you being his escort or maybe you should’ve just stolen his gun just for this ride. You’ve got all the documents at the ready in your folder, both passports, licenses and all this other yap.It makes no sense why they need all this but then again, you’re just a measly escort; it’s best you don't ask questions. The passengers look at you like you're crazy when you double check the documents for the 4th time this hour, your hands slipping into the folder over and over again. You know you couldn’t even go back if you forgot some but you like to be extra, extra prepared, or maybe you’re just very nervous of screwing your first proper job. Either way, you’ve got about 2 stops to go now which is good, seeing as you’re right on schedule. Your fingers play the edge of your formal trousers, you’d normally just wear a skirt but you figured it’d be more comfy on a plane and a little more classy. Plus you kind of like this look; it looks like you're his bodyguard if you get an earpiece to match.

Practically, dashing out the doors when it’s at your stop, you make your way up the stairs after scanning your metro card. Flagging down a cab was easier than you expected and you ended up at the airport much earlier too; this could even be a record time.Your phone buzzes as you pull your small suitcase behind you, a look of panic covering your face as you struggle to grab your phone with your hands full. Eventually you place down your folder of documents into the side pocket of your suitcase, something you had practically squealed at when you shopped online for it.

“Hey, you there yet?” Leon’s voice rings out from the phone as you hold it up to your ear.

“Yes, my cab got me here a little faster than expected. Are you close?”

“Uh.. there was an accident on the motorway, but i’ll be quick.”

“Mr Kennedy- I told you to let me book the cab earlier-“ You murmur, trying not to show your annoyance because this would’ve been solved if you handled it.

“Call me Leon and yeah- maybe the cab only came 10 minutes ago but i’ll be there asap. Dont even sweat.”

“But-“

“Oh no- my wifi-“ One of the most experienced agents in the DSO just made fake crackling noises in your ear before hanging up on you. Sometimes you question if your job is even real.

With a groan, you check the time for check in which is only and hour and ten minutes away, but knowing him he’d need a million things before the gate opened. You’d buy some snacks in the meantime but it doesn’t really seem professional to you, and to be honest, airport food is way out of your budget. The small vending machine looks tempting though.

His promise of being there soon turns from 10 minutes to 15 which switches to 20 until it’s growing closer to eight o clock and he’s still not here. You’re typing in his number aggressively at this point, even though you’d never actually raise your voice at him in the slightest. All of a sudden two hands land on your shoulder and you scream, immediately scrambling away with your first instinct to grab the documents and nothing else. You watch Leon burst out laughing at your reaction as your cheeks burn pink— thank god this was a relatively empty area.

“Sir-“ You begin, clenching your teeth as you walk over to put the documents back.

“-Leon, and that was the most entertaining thing i’ve seen all day. Why were you even that terrified?” He chuckles some more, taking a seat in front of the large glass windows that show the planes lined up outside .

“It doesn’t matter anymore. We have twenty minutes until check in and an hour and a half for the gates to open, so you should get anything you want now. Yknow, go toilet, get snacks..”

He crosses his legs and closed the handle on his suitcase, smirking up at you. “Or you could go get it for me.”

“Or I can go get them for you.” You mimic in a high pitched voice, a pissed look on your face now that you’re halfway across the airport as you wait in the fast food line. Of course he wanted a milkshake and chips right before the plane ride and of course he’d use the fact he paid for your ticket against you. For being in a fancy airport, the service sure isn’t good and you’re sure you’ll be the last to board at this point. Finally, you get the milkshake cup and fries, walking 10 minutes until you find him listening to music whilst watching the planes get prepared for departure. You gently poke his shoulder before placing the food on the armrest of the chair he’s sat in.

“One milkshake and one fries, sir.”

“Leon, and thanks.” He pops a fry into his mouth and then picks up another, smushing it against your lips with a smirk.

“Your payment, escort.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes and munch down the fry before taking a seat in the chair beside him. “It’s not escort- and thanks, i guess? Anyway, pass me your luggage i’ll go put it through.”

He hands you his luggage which weighs a ton for some reason, and you wheel it over to the conveyor belts. Whilst you scan it in you let out a long sigh, this was going to be a long trip with him like this. Yeah, he was as strong and productive as an actual agent now but it doesn’t mean he’s actually going to act like one. When you return, he’s already sending you off again to buy him something else and something else until you feel like a tourist at this point. Why does a man need this many snacks for a 6 hour flight??

You’re bringing him the last thing he asked for, a small gift for his friend Claire who he knows is in the area. A small smile rises on your lips as you look at the one you picked out; most of these brands would be disgusting but as a girl, you know exactly what any girl would want. Chocolates—the fanciest around of course. The happiest person alive is who you would be if someone got you this; you’re practically salivating at the thought as you spot him sitting in his lounge chair. Placing the box of chocolates down, he gives you another cheeky grin and you mentally groan, waiting for his next request.

“Throw this in the bin while you’re up?”

Internally, you’re fuming as you step towards the bin nearby until you hear the strange whirring, your head turning to the source of the noise. An out of control mobility chair slams straight into you, causing you to fall to the floor with a groan. You rub the back of your head which was thankfully intact even though you couldn’t say quite the same for your shattered glasses or the large cut on your hand from said glasses

Your teeth grit at the sudden pain, cutting into the flesh of your lips as you look down at yourself. Well shit. The boarding gates were opening in half an hour and you were sitting on the musty floor with his trash smeared on you.

“Hey—escort?”

He turns around from the loud crash sound, his expression filling with amusement until he realises you’re actually hurt and then he’s throwing his headphones off and quickly making his way over to you. He feels a wave of guilt in his stomach as he helps you up, one hand rubbing your shoulder while the other picks up your injured hand carefully. “You’re okay, I'll go buy you some bandages, okay? Sit down okay? I’ll be quick, promise.”

You hold the handkerchief he kept in his pocket to your hand whilst he practically runs for the nearest pharmacy, speechless and unable to respond. With your spare hand you rummage through your own small bag, looking for your spare glasses. You were thankful you had extra obviously, but you loved that old pair and unfortunately it was in the bin now. You had one job and you just had to go mess it up, didn’t you? Anyone would know to actually look around when they walk, and now you had a damn agent fetching things for you. Now you just felt like shit not to mention you looked like it too. Maybe you should’ve quit this job, you had barely the skills for it—

A warm coat settles on your shoulders before gentle hands take yours. He sits you on the benches there, taking a seat beside you before he rips the packet of bandages open with his teeth, his eyes filled with guilt and concern as he wraps the thick fabric over the cut.

“Your um, your outfit got a little messy from uh.. my trash.” He murmurs as he pulls the collar of the leather to hide your chest a little more before sitting back, looking unusual without his own signature one. The one that sits on your shoulders now.

“You really don't have to I-“

“Shut up, you got hurt, I’m a damn agent— I can throw out my own trash.” He looks like he had just run you over himself and even though you kind of want to just go home and hide under your covers, you can't help but smile just a little.

“It's not anyone's fault. It was just an accident, no one could have seen that.”

“Will you be okay without glasses by the way?”

“I have spares.”

You pull on your old glasses, a little nerdy but not the worst and he grins at the sight.

“You know, if you weren’t so organised I'd make sure you slapped me in payback.”

You give him a playful poke, and finally let a grin rise. “I can't do that anyway?”

Eventually you’re waiting beside Leon to enter the boarding gate. His eyebrows raise in amusement and he chuckles when he sees you watching in awe at how the pair of you skip the security line due to your status. Your eyes widen and you practically turn your whole body to watch all the other passengers get swatted down, something you’d be in if it weren’t for Leon. He likes watching your reactions, it’s very amusing to him. Especially your face when he bandaged up your hand; it was all sheepish and ready to be scolded for negligence or the like. He can't help but rest his arm on your head; the height difference is not that big, but he’d get a cramp in his arm if it meant seeing you hide the glare you want to give him behind a professional calm.

“Shocked? We’re allowed in first with no fuss; just DSO perks.” He winks at you and ruffles your hair before letting his arm down as the gate begins to let first class passengers through.

You take charge as his escort, showing the documents and getting both boarding tickets checked before leading him through onto the actual plane. You can practically feel his smirk as he watches you take in the sight of first class with awe. But you’re in business class today because you’re his escort and luckily this airline has those fancy business seats in the middle. You finally reach your area, taking his backpack off of him and placing it in the overhead luggage. You place your own handbag underneath the seat; there's a ton of things useful for every situation. With a quick glance, you peek around at the perks of business class with awe. It looks so clean and fancy, even if it's a little less secluded than first. You turn to see him already getting comfortable in his large seat, reclining a little before picking up the remote for the tv. After a quick rummage in your bag for headphones, you sink into the plush seat of the chair and try to hide the obvious excitement of it all. Though, you lock in quickly as you remember you still have lots of work to do and a schedule to finalise for him. Damn, sometimes you think you should be upgraded to an assistant.

It’s one thirty am when he pokes your shoulder, trying to get your attention whilst not disturbing anyone. He watches as you shift your headphones to rest on your neck before looking at him.

“What's wrong?” You whisper, the way you tilt your head is very amusing to his tired mind.

“Aren’t you going to sleep?” He asks, quite curious although he has a bunch of other questions like if that nasty cut on your hand is feeling better. But he’s not used to such blatant displays of care; he’d barely cared about himself up until you came along and forced him to.

“No. I can't really sleep on planes.” He hears you whisper, and for some reason there's a twinge of guilt in his gut at your words. You look exhausted from everything today. He barely lifted a finger whilst you handled the entire trip and, whilst it was fun and you’re being paid, he feels a little bad.

“Well, are you hungry?”

“…I.. No- no I'm fine.”

You slip on your headphones once he nods and turns back to the movie he watches, making sure to dim your screen as much as to not disturb others. But then again, this is business class, you doubt they can be bothered by you with their dividers up. You’re tapping away at some new things, reaching to sip your water only to unfortunately find that it’s empty. Though before you can mourn it, a familiar hand places a bottle, snacks and an energy drink onto the pull out table you had propped your laptop up on.

You glance up at him with surprise before mouthing a ‘Thank you’ with a small but bright smile. He just gives you a quick nod before turning away, back to his movie.

Soon enough, a soft snore rings out and you’re met by the sight of Leon’s cheek smushed against his hand as he dozes off. In fact, pretty much everyone is asleep apart from you. A small feeling inside you tells you that the flight attendants probably think you’re insane but you brush it off quickly as you reach into the complimentary bag they provide for business class. You pull out the soft blanket and drape it over him before reaching over to turn the bright screen of his tv off. One last glance at his drowsy form has you smiling as one would do with a cute animal, you’ve never seen someone who is usually cocky this… squishy. You almost try to poke them when you hear the steps of a flight attendant and quickly turn back to your laptop, a furious wave of embarrassment filling you. Maybe you should get some sleep too and it’s only a few hours now until you arrive.

You let out a long sigh, getting up to head to the bathroom, unaware that Leon’s eyes had peeked open when you got up. He had been half awake since you rustled the complimentary bag; he has always been a light sleeper. He peeks over at your laptop, tempted to snoop before he sees the small notes app you have pinned in the corner. It’s a bunch of random things, half of which he had no idea was relevant to your work or the DSO. But then again, when did he ever actually do his paperwork? A small text catches his eye though, the bottom line and typed in only 10 minutes ago.

‘Buy Leon a travel pillow.’

He can't help but grin at that, and the bunch of other random notes you have about the job including his coffee order. Don't get him wrong, he hates this job but that doesn’t mean he can't enjoy it from time to time.

[dreamergirlz]

Imagine: Leon Kennedy x Reader – “A Quiet Moment”

The night was quiet for once. The two of you had finally found a sliver of peace in the chaos, sitting on the balcony of a rundown safehouse. The air was cool, carrying the faint scent of rain, and the stars peeked through the scattered clouds above. Leon leaned on the railing beside you, his usual guarded expression softened by the stillness of the moment.

“I can’t remember the last time I just… stopped,” he murmured, his voice low but close enough for you to hear.

You glanced at him, the faint moonlight catching the sharp lines of his jaw, the stray golden strands of his hair, and the haunted depth of his blue eyes. “You’ve earned it,” you said quietly, resting your arms on the railing. “Even you need to breathe, Leon.”

He huffed out a soft laugh, the sound rare but comforting. “Maybe. Doesn’t feel like it, though. Not with everything waiting out there.”

You reached over without thinking, your fingers brushing against his forearm. He turned toward you, his eyes meeting yours, and the weight in them made your heart ache. “You don’t have to carry everything alone,” you whispered, your voice steady but gentle. “Not anymore.”

For a moment, he just looked at you, as if trying to find the words he couldn’t say. Instead, Leon took a small step closer, his hand hesitating before it cupped your cheek. His touch was warm, steady despite the turmoil you knew raged beneath the surface.

“You always know what to say,” he said softly, his thumb brushing over your skin. “I don’t know how you do it.”

“Maybe I just know you,” you replied, your lips curving into a faint smile.

His breath hitched, and before you could say anything more, Leon leaned in. The kiss was slow at first, tentative, as though he was afraid you might pull away. But when your hands found his chest and you pressed closer, he deepened it, his lips warm and firm against yours.

Time seemed to stop, the weight of the world slipping away as the kiss lingered. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the cool night air.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” Leon admitted, his voice a little hoarse, a little vulnerable.

You smiled, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “Took you long enough.”

He chuckled, the sound sending a warmth through you. “Guess I’ll just have to make up for lost time.”

And with that, he kissed you again, slower, sweeter this time, as though the rest of the world didn’t exist.

[dreamergirlz]

Art Inspo.

Leon Kennedy x gn!artist reader

Summary: In which Leon helps Reader understand their art final and overcome art block.

Tags: fluff, tooth-rotting fluff, gender neutral reader, established relationship, ice skating date, Reader has parents lol, Raccoon City never happened and Leon is happy as a cop :)

WC: 2,860

A/N: Just a lil somethin I wrote during my breaks at work for all of y'all tackling finals season! Hope this helps ��

Dividers by @/thecutestgrotto

A tanned hand comes down on your notebook, eclipsing the numerous unfinished sketches littering the page, “What’re you doing later today?”

You nudge its wrist in annoyance, “Working.“

“You’re always working.”

“Yeah,” you nudge it again, harder this time. “That’s kind of my whole thing.”

“Can you take a break?”

“No,” you stab the tip of your pencil into the back of the splayed hand. The corner of your mouth twitches in self-satisfaction as it retreats with an irritated hiss. “Finals are in two weeks.”

You move to continue your sketch, now overworked and smudged from the intrusion, and frown. Leon drops into the seat across from you, a glint of mischief marring his otherwise hardened ocean stare. 

“So you have two more weeks to work?”

You spare him the briefest glance, swallow every rancorous remark that sits along the tip of your tongue, and shake your head with an exasperated sigh. “No, Leon. That means I only have two weeks to work.”

“How’s that any different than what I said?” He asks, leaning back in his seat with his arms crossed. You grit your teeth as you make yet another erroneous stroke on the page. 

“The perception of time: you think I have plenty of it, I know I don’t.”

“Two weeks is two weeks, isn’t it?”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, and slide further into your chair. The backing digs uncomfortably into the tight muscles between your shoulders. You’d mind if it weren't digging directly into the knot you'd been trying to work out for over a month.

The stress of finals was eating you alive. It had consumed your every thought, every move, every dream since the end of October, and despite its residence in the recesses of your brain and stomach, you had been completely unable to even approach the mountain of work you’d been assigned: two exams for which to study; a fifteen-page literature review examining the social implications of Degas’ ballet series (an elementary subject, but you can’t be bothered to consider anything more complex at this time); and an art final reflective of your evolution as an artist. You’re confident enough in your studying and writing; it’s the art piece that’s been troubling you. 

You’d spent the former half of November just trying to understand the prompt and the latter half sketching, erasing, sculpting, and evoking curse after curse in frustration because you simply loathed everything your wretched hands produced. More than once you wondered why a portfolio showcasing every embarrassing mistake you’d made throughout your time in art school wouldn't suffice. You knew why, of course; you needn’t really ask. But you wished it would. You don’t know who you are as an artist. You’d come to art school to find out. Barbaric of them to assume you’d already ascertained an answer, even if you were in a graduate level program.

“Leon, I do not have time to explain the concept of relativity to you,” you hiss, eyes screwed shut. A dull ache spreads across your frontal lobe. Your third headache of the week. “And you don’t have time to listen — shouldn’t you be, you know, doing your job?”

Leon kicks your foot and smirks when your eyes meet his, “I’m on my lunch break.”

You bite back a smile of your own, and return the kick. He looks handsome in his police uniform — the sky blue of his crisp button-down shirt does wonders for his irises. “I didn’t know crime took a lunch break.”

“It doesn’t,” he says, hands digging into his pockets, smile growing wider as he continues, “which is why I’m here: it’s criminal that you’ve been cooped up in this library for weeks without taking a single moment for yourself.”

You snort and shake your head, “That’s cheesy, Leon, even for you.”

He shrugs, “It got you to smile, didn’t it?”

You can’t argue with that. Leon stands from his seat, glowing victoriously, and rounds the table to stand behind you. 

“Just one afternoon, that’s all I’m asking for,” he pleads. He lowers his lips to your ear. In a hushed tone, he continues, “Please,” and nudges your temple with his nose, “For me?”

Warmth blossoms in the pit of your stomach. Life is breathed back into your stiff limbs as bottled sunshine flows freely through your veins. He makes you indescribably happy; you suppose you can spare him an hour or two.

Reluctantly, you nod in acquiescence. He mutters thanks between loving kisses to your cheek, jaw, and eyes. The peppering rips a bashful giggle from your throat. 

“You won’t regret it,” he beams.

“I’m sure I will,” you return, shoving him away. You take your pencil between two fingers, “Now go, I need to—“

“—to work,” he finishes. “Got it.”

Aching affection swells in your chest. It threatens to asphyxiate you, stuffs your lungs and throat with so much pillowy cotton that you don’t dare watch as he all but skips down the narrow library aisle. If you had, you’re certain you’d’ve burst.

-x-

Leon summons you to an ice skating rink later that week.  You roll your eyes as he ties your laces for you, hold hands as you skate out onto the ice on wobbly legs, and laugh raucously as he inevitably falls flat on his ass. He’s sure to bring you down with him, though. You nearly sprain your wrist as you collide with the floor, but you can’t be too mad at him. Not when his cheeks are flushed crimson from the cold, or when his eyes twinkle beneath the canopy of Christmas lights strung intricately over the expanse of the rink. 

He buys you hot chocolate in apology; you accept without hesitation. He extracts a Ziploc bag of mini marshmallows from his pocket, gives you a sly grin when you question him, and proffers a small platitude about always being prepared while dumping them into your unlidded cup. But neither of you really get to enjoy the drink all too much — the conversation is too animated. He tells you story after story about his bumbling partner. You speak passionately about your latest lecture topic. He listens with unwavering attention; you kiss him sweetly between anecdotes.

And when your knees are sufficiently bruised and your cheeks are sore from smiling and your fingers are stiff from the blistering winter air, he takes you home. 

There’s a notable shift in the air when you slide into your respective seats--Leon simply won’t sit still. He thrums his fingers along the wheel. He picks at the scar adorning his index finger. He keeps the windshield wipers operating at full speed despite the lightness of the snowfall. You try not to let it affect your mood—the afternoon had been so magical—but he won’t so much as look at you as you peel out of the car and race, hand-in-hand, up the steps to his apartment. 

Leon puts the key in the lock then pauses. His breath creates little puffs of vapor as he speaks, “So I… did something potentially stupid.”

You raise your eyebrows, “Oh?”

“Yeah, like… really stupid. Like… you-might-hate-me-because-of-it stupid.”

Your heart sinks. What could he possibly mean by that? Did he cheat? Did he betray your trust somehow? He can't possibly be breaking up with you, not after the day you'd just had.

"What?" You manage to croak.

He opens his mouth, closes it again, and repeats the processes twice more before entering his apartment. You follow him, stomach in your throat, and stoke the flames licking your ribcage for motivation—he doesn’t get to see you cry, he doesn’t get to break your heart. But the rage and sadness numbing your tongue give way to bewilderment as you step further into his sparsely furnished home.

A series of portraits, all of varying sizes, line the pristine white walls in neatly arranged intervals. They litter his coffee table, they take residence on his kitchen bar, they sit taped to the screen of his television, and the more you observe, the more you realize that there’s hardly an inch of his living space that isn’t obscured by yellowed parchment. The room is dimmed by early wintery darkness, so you can’t totally make out the etchings adorning each page; you squint anyway. After a few seconds, you turn to him, mouth agape and brows knit together in confusion. With a knowing, nervous smile, he flips the light switch to his left.

You blink a few times to acclimate to the soft yellow overhead lighting. 

He has to change the bulb, you think to yourself. If he isn’t cheating, that is. If he is, shitty lighting will be the least of his concerns. 

Though judging by his unwavering grin, he isn’t remotely worried about it now. Maybe hating the big light in the room is just a you thing. You pause your non sequitur inner monologue as your eyes finally fix on a crude portrait drawn entirely in crayon. 

It hangs directly opposite from where you stand. Deep creases bisect the page; dog-earned corners are taped flush against the wall. A large stain—water, it seems—creates an irregular ring around a smiling red stick figure. 

Mom, it reads. A blue figure labeled Dad towers over her. And a purple figure, substantially shorter than both parents, lies between both of them. 

Me!

A breath catches in your throat. You turn your focus to the next picture, a landscape this time.

Your backyard. Your pets. Your best friend. Your name. 

In crayon. 

Again.

Second grade, written neatly in your mom’s handwriting. 

You whip around to face the glass sliding door on the far-most wall. A series of still life paintings done in cheap, watery oil paints obfuscate the faint glow of orange street lights. Your nose stings. Your eyes water. You grow dizzy and overwhelmed and can practically taste the solvent with which you’d mistakenly flooded your paint. 

Teenaged frustration. Misplaced disappointment. 

Your hands curl into fists. 

Your parents had saved up for months to buy you the paints and additives. You’d wept when you’d torn off the wrapping paper, and found the paints nestled in a pile of purple tissue paper; you’d lunged and pulled them into a ferocious hug, unable to properly articulate your gratitude. You’d spent hours before an easel, crisp new paint brush tucked between chapped lips, and waited for inspiration to strike. Then your eyes had focused on your mother’s purse and your father’s jacket strewn haphazardly across the kitchen counter.

And you painted.

You painted and painted and painted until your wrists begged for mercy, and only then did you try to experiment with your newly acquired thinners and additives. But you’d mixed in too much. And your paints grew too thin. And before long, you’d found yourself on your hands and knees scrubbing furiously at the brown carpet. Tears ran down your cheeks, your chin, your wrists. 

Stupid, you’d thought. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Your mom found you thirty minutes later, your fingers cracked and raw. You’d blubbering into the crook of her neck, and explained that you’d wanted to paint something in thanks, and had blown it by ruining the paint. She’d exchanged a sympathetic smile with your father, who’d come racing down the stairs when your mother had called for him.

“What’re you talkin’ about? This looks amazing,” he’d exclaimed. You’d hiccuped a remorseful “no”; he’d shaken his head in response. He’d also shoved a Rice Krispies Treat in your mouth when you opened up to protest. It had been efficacious in smothering the acrid taste of bile on your tongue, so you’d laughed. 

You’d laughed, and your followed your dad around the house, mother in tow, to help him pick a spot on which to hang the painting. When he’d chosen the space overlooking the living room, you’d felt sheepish, embarrassed, self-conscious. But both parents made a show of admiring the piece every day. And after a few months, you joined them. 

You’d sit on the couch beside your parents and gorge yourself on home-made waffles. You’d bathe each pillowy bite in syrup, glance up every so often at the fading print, and watch buttery yellow sunshine dye your parents’ profiles in flaxen light. Pride spilled and pooled every recess until you routinely gazed upon your work with immeasurable satisfaction. 

You continue to look around Leon’s apartment, utterly beguiled and gobsmacked by the sudden influx of emotion. You become aware of your open mouth, now void of spit, and tuck a lip between your teeth. 

He’s sourced and displayed every single piece of art you’d produced since age five. And you didn’t know whether to be mortified or absolutely elated. 

“I, um… had to call your mom to get those,” he mumbles, stepping into your periphery. He gestures to the left- and far-most walls. “These,” he continues, pointing to your right, “these I saved.” 

Your mouth falls open again. 

He’d hung every portrait you’d ever drawn of him, down to the silly little doodles you’d sketched on shitty diner napkins. He’d kept a drawing you’d made of his childhood dog. 

Of his badge. 

Of him and Claire and her bike. 

Of him sitting on his window sill. 

Of him before bed. 

Every demonstration of love you’d worried he’d dismiss, he’d kept—treasured, even. The drawings hadn’t aged a day, and some were approaching six years in age. 

You approach the black-and-white portrait of Leon reading on the couch, and run your fingers delicately over the deep pencil strokes: soft jawline, strong nose, brows furrowed in concentration, the skin around his thumbs tucked between two bunny teeth. You’d drawn this after your third date. 

His fingers intertwine with those on your freehand. You turn to look at him with tear-stained cheeks. He brushes a stray drop away with his thumb, “your prompt was to explore or depict your evolution as an artist, right?”

You can only manage a bewildered nod. 

“What better way to do that than to start at the beginning?”

And you’re not sure what to do next because this gesture, this exorbitant act of thoughtfulness is just too much for your poor aching heart to bear. You flounder for words, trip over your tongue in gratitude, and when his brows knit together in fear that he’d offended you, you throw your arms around his neck and pull him into a kiss so deep, so tender that he melts into your embrace. 

You pour every ounce of thanks into this kiss, fill it with adoration and admiration and every unspoken sentiment you’d accrued over the course of your relationship. It leaves you breathless, bottomed-out, drained. You suspect he feels the same, so you move to pull away. But he brings you closer instead. 

He cradles your face with the gentility of a gentleman. He kisses you in earnest, holds you as though you’re made of glass. His fingers dig into your hips, and when it’s time to retreat, he presses his forehead to yours. 

“So you don’t hate me for putting up all your art?” 

You toss your head back and laugh, “No, Leon. I should, but I don’t.” 

He gives you a wry smile. “Even though I hung up the drawings of Robin Hood?” 

You tilt your head in confusion. He continues, “The one of the fox with all the hearts around his head?” 

Your eyes widen in horror. You make to turn around in search of the drawing, humiliation gnawing at your stomach, but Leon’s hands keep your head in place. He kisses you again, sweetly this time. You almost forget about the drawings of Robin Hood. 

Until he pulls away, cocks an eyebrow, and asks, “A fox? Really?” 

You plant the palm of your hand on his chest and shove. He stumbles backwards, sharp cackles racking his chest. You smack him with one of the couch pillows, “I was eight, you asshole.” 

Leon blocks the blow with outstretched hands, but you don’t relate. Your curses are punctuated by smacks against his torso and loud barks of laughter. He manages to catch your wrist, lightly twists so your grip on the corner of the pillow loosens, and disarms you with a fair amount of ease. In your surprise, you leave yourself open. He pulls you in by the waist, and plants another kiss on your lips. 

“So you do hate me,” he coos, voice just above a whisper. The low rumble of baritone sends a shiver down your spine. 

You roll your eyes, but smile the nonetheless, “I could never hate you, Leon. Especially not after,” you gesture around the room. 

“Visuals always help me crack cases,” he shrugs, “I thought they might help you, too.” You wriggle free, take his face in your hands, and kiss him. 

“I love you, Leon.” 

“I love you, too, sweetheart.” 

The corners of his eyes crinkle when he smiles. You giggle when he rubs his nose against yours, nearly choke on your own elation when he kisses your forehead again. You open your eyes for the briefest of moments, and look over his shoulder to see his profile etched in crayon.

You startle to attention. 

He stiffens as you stand, but his concern melts away as he notices the sparkling smile blossoming across your face. 

“I know what I’m going to paint.” 

[dreamergirlz]

Are you insane like me?

[dreamergirlz]

Safe haven

Pairings: Leon x Reader

Wc:4.0k

Summary: How Leon deals with his ptsd over the years.

Warnings: hurt/comfort, angst, depressive thoughts, suicidal intent, Leon hating himself.

An: This one follows the cannon order, so it starts with r2 Leon, r4, r6, vendetta, ends with Death Island.

Denial

Since Leon returned from Raccoon City, nothing has been the same. You've seen the man you knew die day after day, his personality changing like water to wine. And he knew it, he knew it better than anyone.

You still remember perfectly when he arrived, covered in blood, with a bandage on his arm, a face with the most terrified expression you could imagine.

The horrors he had witnessed in that place were simply out of this world. What should have been a simple first day at work turned into a living hell. There were things he wouldn't erase from his memory, the way he had to kill all his co-workers, the way he saw everyone around him die. He felt bad, guilty, even though he had no control over it.

It was a lot for one person, a lot for him to process.

A night that would mark him for the rest of his life.

In order not to involve you too much in the subject, he never went into too much detail, just briefly saying something or other. But you could imagine, the way his fear was clear on his face, his lips trembling every time he tried to talk to you about what had happened.

You saw the way he woke up every night, covered in a layer of sweat, whimpering and almost screaming in his room. He never slept properly, always woke up in a state of sheer panic, and it only got worse as time went on. It wasn't something he could control, not even he himself could believe that he had come out of that nightmare alive.

And he often wished he hadn't.

All he forced himself to believe was that it would be something momentary, an event that he would forget or at least get better with the passage of time.

But it didn't.

He beat himself up every day, unable to forget a single second of that night. He could have helped more, he could have done more, maybe he could have saved more people.

Deep down, he knew it was impossible. A simple situation where a hundred were sacrificed to save one.

There were days when he couldn't even leave the house, and he also begged you to stay with him. A panic attack that haunted him almost daily, he needed you to be there. At least he knew you would be safe by his side, and he needed you, as if you were the air he breathed.

All this was due to the fact that he couldn't cope on his own, if you didn't sleep next to him every night, he wouldn't even try to close his eyes. Because he knew he wouldn't be able to doze off for a single moment, not that he'd ever get a good night's sleep.

He often refused, refused to believe that it was real, refused to believe that it had ever happened. But every time he closed his eyes and heard the screams of agony echoing in his head, he remembered the painful reality.

It was almost customary for him to try to recover from everything he had experienced, to lift his face, wipe away the tears and force an expression from someone who was fine.

But you and he knew it was just a lie.

Everything took a turn for the worse when he was interrogated and basically forced to work for the government. It was a 'deal', he would work for the government in exchange for the little girl safety, a little girl called Sherry, who he found and saved in the middle of the chaos that night.

Although he didn't want to, he didn't think it was fair to let a girl as young as her suffer in a laboratory, maybe it was crazy to compromise his life for someone he barely knew. But that was him, the guy who put others before himself. So he accepted the 'agreement'.

He just wanted to be someone normal, to forget about that damn trauma, to forget about the pain of that night and to put all those events behind him.

But he couldn't, and maybe he wasn't ready for that fact.

The Leon of before no longer existed, maybe a small sketch left, but he would never be able to get back on his feet and be like before.

Never.

Anger

Leon's life began to turn upside down even more, after the hell that happened in Raccoon City, he was forced to go to military training, supposedly to serve the government. Even years after what happened, the night was still incredibly vivid in his mind. Every detail was stagnant in his memory, a mark he couldn't remove.

All he felt now was anger, all hidden in that sullen face that had become his usual expression. He hid behind it, hoping you wouldn't notice how cold and indifferent he was becoming. It was the only way to protect himself that he found.

And he hated that things were this way.

What he didn't expect was that he would become an agent working for the President. Everything that had already happened to him was enough, and he still seemed to be getting worse and worse.

Like a bottomless pit, he just fell lower and lower.

At this point he no longer cared about much, he was becoming more and more stressed with work and that damn training.

You lost count of how many times he came home scratched, bruised, with some part of his body purple. One time he even arrived with a broken rib, and he didn't even try to explain to you what had happened.

He just did his bandages silently, with your help. And he didn't even say a single word about it, and you worried like crazy. You didn't even know if he would arrive in one piece the next day.

It wasn't difficult to assimilate all the abuse he was suffering in that place, you had already heard a few times the way some of his training partners spoke to him on the phone. They weren't friendly at all.

All he did was hide what he felt with that sulky face, more and more you saw him becoming closed off. It was rare that he talked about his training, or his day.

Even he had become increasingly discreet about his nightmares, or even his anxiety attacks. He always thought he could handle it on his own, it was his problem. That he had learned to cope, or at least he thought he had.

Because it was the same story as always. Just a man doing what he hated, reliving the past and charting a hateful future.

And that couldn't be avoided.

And well, nothing got better when he was called to a mission in Spain, looking for the President's daughter. He didn't feel excited about the situation at all, he didn't even want to go. However, there wasn't much of an option.

He tried to warn you, in fact he didn't warn you, he just said he was going to Spain, just like that.

It wasn't hard to imagine that this caused a small fight between you, since he could at least tell you what it was about. But he didn't say.

"Don't pressure me, don't even try to look into things that's not your business." Leon hisses at you, turning his back and leaving you behind with tears in your eyes. All you heard after was the door slamming, and he disappeared for a few days.

Surely he knew the shit he had done, and every moment that passed he felt his heart tighten. His anxiety reaching its worst peaks. As he began to understand what was happening in that old village, he felt terror wash over him once again. The fear of not being able to return terrified him, he doesn't even know how he managed to stay upright in the face of all that.

He felt trapped in a nightmare again.

Another hell, he didn't even know that he would go through a situation similar to Raccoon City again, but to his displeasure it happened. Once again he doesn't know how he came out alive, he was terrified of witnessing death several times in a row. The only thing he thought about was going home, he needed a place to call home. And he needed you, in a way he couldn't put into words. So many words he wanted to say, so many things he wanted to do, especially seeing more people around him die. After having done everything he did to survive.

He needed someone.

Everything he had planned to tell you went down the drain as soon as he got home, the first thing he saw was you lying on the sofa, wearing one of his shirts.

It didn't take long for him to take off his boots, and walk towards you, he was shabby, a complete mess. It was no surprise.

He gently gave you a gentle kiss on the cheek, so as not to wake you, and sat down on the floor next to you. He intended to spend the night there, as he certainly wouldn't be able to sleep no matter how hard he tried.

With his fists clenched, his face set, a strange feeling running through his body. Once again he felt like it was a tantrum, but it wasn't.

A single tear wet his cheeks, followed by several others.

And then he realized, the reality of the facts caught up with him.

And the terrifying feeling returned.

Understanding

A few more painful years passed, and it was indeed optimistic to say that things had improved. It was as if everything was exhausting, he couldn't have fun with the things he liked.

As if his life was in a loop where he couldn't stop, he couldn't get out of it. It just kept going again and again, it shouldn't be like this.

But was.

It wasn't hard to notice how grumpy he had become. He was no longer someone of many words, and now he was even more closed off. If it was possible.

The grown beard that only showed how disinterested he was in his own appearance. He was at a point where he barely looked at himself in the mirror, his dark blond strands falling down his face. And he didn't even bother to trim his hair and leave it the way he liked it.

He didn't even look in the mirror, he hated every time he saw his own reflection. He learned to hate every one of his scars, every mark that remained from his missions, he hated with all of his heart. It was an otherworldly aversion, he shouldn't feel this way about himself, but that didn't matter. Not now.

He learned to hate himself.

He hated the way that even after all these years his traumas still haunted him, the way he still had those terrible nightmares. He hated the way he treated you, so cold and distant.

So different from what he once was.

Since it all started in Raccoon City, he always knew that the part of the soul he lost there he would never recover. But he didn't imagine things would be this bad.

It was as if no moment was good, as if everything revolved around his work and the problems that came with it. He became such a focused person that he would sometimes go days without showering, with his hair all messy and his face completely tired. From someone who hadn't had rest in days. And that person was exactly him.

He would often make minimal effort to talk to you, try to start a conversation and tell you how his day was going. But who said he could? The poor man got so used to keeping things to himself that sharing it was complicated.

The words tumbled in his mouth, he couldn't form a sentence that made any sense and didn't sound desperate. But he failed as soon as he said the first word, and just ended up changing the subject.

Therefore, he learned that nothing would be the same as before, even after all these years in which he hoped that things would change, for the better. But to his chagrin this didn't happen, and everything went downhill.

He tried his best to come to terms with all of this, since he was already someone who had seen a lot, and had already done a lot as well. But that didn't stop him from feeling bad, from feeling like the weight of the world was on his shoulders.

And it wasn't?

At that point he ignored what he felt, if he was called to a mission he would simply go, even though he was extremely upset about the matter. Because in those moments he realized that he was just an object of the government.

A powerful weapon that was capable of stopping the crap that happened here or there, and that was it. Just it.

Nothing more than a weapon.

What else could he expect? The turn things took only made the government's intentions clear, and he didn't approve at all. He was always against it, but who said he was listened to?

He had already accepted this, a cruel fate from which he had little option of escaping. He had already dealt with it.

He forced himself to believe those words.

All he could do was hate himself more and more, every time he came home tired and saw you, his heart broke.

How did he still have you by his side? How the hell was such a sweet person still willing to stay by his side. It wasn't fair.

He deserved to be alone.

Day after day he found himself looking for things to get rid of the bitterness that his life had become, what he found was drinking.

One of the few things that let him breathe, even if just for a few hours. It started slowly, but he needed to increase it.

It was an obligation, it was either that or get home and feel like the worst person in the world. This addiction started slowly, in a subtle way.

However, it then got out of control, and once again he found himself in his worst state.

"There's no turning back.." A whisper coming from him, drunk and completely out of his mind.

His life was a dead end, and he had no hope that it would get better.

Another day of remorse, another day living in his shoes.

Depression

The only consolation he found now was drinking, at least it helped the pain go away for a moment. Even though at some point he had to increase the doses more and more, he needed it to take effect.

If at any point he had tried to have some closeness with you back, that had ended in the last few months. He couldn't even take care of himself, let alone take care of you.

He was a different man, and not in a good way.

At that point he already accepted that he had lost himself, that he no longer had salvation, his mind was torturing him.

It was suffering just to be alive.

The fact that he always lost people around him, that he had to kill his own team because he wasn't able to save them. How the hell was he supposed to survive with this? How could he say everything was fine?

Everything around him was dying, like he had a curse around him or something. Not even he wanted to understand this. The weight of the years he lived in this torture was catching up to him.

And nothing could be done, once again.

The nightmares, the weight on his conscience, the memory of each of the missions. It was an unhealthy cycle he was trapped in.

Certainly an addiction wouldn't solve the situation, but what would? Pay nicely as always? Hold his head up and follow orders like a puppy?

"Piece of shit." That's what he mutters when he sees himself in the reflection of his cell phone, disappointed with the way everything is happening. How he was dealing with all of this. His appearance was different, hair more swept to the side, a longer beard. Clothes that not even he knew he would wear at some point.

But what would be the other way? How?

Disappointment, anger, depression, all mixed up in his head. He didn't know what he should do with these bottled up feelings that were haunting him day after day.

All the missions, all the people he lost, everything he experienced. How could someone go through so much like that?

How could he have gone through this and still somehow moved on?

This time he didn't even bother trying to hide from you the displeasure he had created for life, he rarely spent time at home, and when he did it was all day grumbling or drinking.

A great guilt invaded him when you cried because nothing you tried to do seemed to help, but this wasn't about you.

It was about him.

His mood only worsened when Chris called him to another mission, actually it wasn't really a call, more like a statement that he was going to another mission.

This was his life for the last few years, mission after mission, without even a moment for himself, not that he was going to do anything other than drink in the meantime.

What could have happened special this time? Another mission where he comes close to death several times, where he simply doesn't know if he'll return home in one piece. And he could swear he didn't care about it or not.

At least he thought so.

But perhaps the fact of working with people close to him this time made him see that things could be worth it again. Although it wasn't the friendliest place to think this, he couldn't deny that it gave him some comfort since he worked with people he knew, especially Chris, who was one of the few people he liked at work. Despite grumbling a lot.

He appreciated the fact that things ended well this time, for the first time in a long time.

There was still a little light in the good things, in the little daily things. Sometimes things didn't always have a bad ending.

The people around him wouldn't always fade away or betray him, that wouldn't always be the course of things.

Maybe now he was ready to start improving a little, maybe yes, maybe no. He would only know if he tried.

Once the madness of the mission was over, all he could think about was you, he could only think about seeing you one more time after everything that had happened. It was a desire so big that it couldn't fit in his chest.

You can bet he was counting the minutes until he got home, he needed to feel your presence again. He needed to know that he had people who were there for him.

He needed your comfort, your reassurance.

Once he got home the first thing he did was look for you, it was more than a desire, it was a need.

Without you even realizing it, you see him leaning against the kitchen counter, with an almost unremarkable smile. You even surprise yourself, since it had been a good few months since you had seen even a trace of a happy expression on his face.

"I'm back.." He says in a whisper, looking at you gently for the first time in a while.

You look at him a little hesitantly, wanting to give him a hug, not knowing if he wanted that or not.

A simple gesture but one that made your day, he opened his arms to you, waiting for you to do what you wanted.

Without a shadow of a doubt he needed this as much as you did.

Maybe there's still a way out. Maybe there is still a way.

Acceptance

Leon was trying, he was trying his best to be a better man. You could tell that, the way he was cutting back on alcohol, the way he was trying to be more attentive to you.

These little things indicated an effort on his part, he didn't want to hate himself anymore, he didn't want to feel so indifferent anymore. Maybe it was time for a change, he didn't need to be like this anymore.

He had people he could count on, and after all, he had you. That even after his coldness in recent years, you never left him, it was time to reciprocate.

And of course there were things he couldn't let go of so easily, especially his problems with trauma, and he already knew that it was a weight he would carry for the rest of his life.

He would never forget.

But he was also trying to learn not to be like that anymore, things could still have a good side. He could still have hope, even if it was a mere drop. Life had been hard on him from the beginning, but he needed to find some motivation. He couldn't live regretting forever, putting himself down every time.

It was time to rise again, time to pick up the pieces and rebuild. Little by little, and of course he would never be the same as before. But he could be a better person, and he would do everything he could to make that happen. You could notice this drastic change even more, since he came back from the last mission, he was different. So proof is that, as soon as he got home he hugged you, and spent a good ten minutes like that.

Probably feeling overwhelmed with yet another mission, duties that seemed to never end. But he wouldn't think about that now.

He wanted to try to be happy. At least one attempt.

Small efforts, for example trying to open up to you, saying few things, but it was a great start. He knew that if he continued like this he would be able to share his problems with you, it certainly wouldn't weigh so much on him if he could share them with you.

His mind was still a mess, but he was trying to organize himself, put his thoughts in order. It was a long and difficult road, but he wanted to bet that he would make it.

It was the glimmer of hope he had.

Leon now went out with you, took you for rides on his motorbike. He begins to realize that life could go beyond work, that not everything needs to be so bad.

You could see him smiling more, he had even gone back to making those corny jokes that never failed to make you laugh. Most importantly, he seemed content, sometimes even at peace with himself.

The desire he had to disappear, little by little was fading, and he began to gain a little more zest for life. Things wouldn't always go wrong, and he could relax a little, even try to let his guard down whenever possible.

Even once you caught him laughing like a fool on his cell phone, only to see him having fun watching a video of a dog, which in his eyes was incredibly funny.

Seeing this, you decide to give him a pet on his birthday. And you almost cried once you saw the joy in his eyes, that sparkle in his eyes that you missed so much.

"I love you." A shy and low voice, accompanied by the most beautiful smile you've ever seen. How long has it been since you last heard this? The sweet way the phrase slid across his lips. A moment so subtle but so sweet, and one that you hoped would be repeated more and more.

Life was worth it, he would make it worth it again.

[dreamergirlz]

connection buffering . . . ↺

di!leon x reader - long-distance relationship - part 2

previous part

you weren't bluffing.

you'd made the sign. wrote his name in big block letters, too confident in how you wrote the first half of his name. the 'EDY' crowds together at the end. 'E' shoves 'D' close to the end, 'Y' drawn paper thin and cocked to the side, threatening to topple off the edge of the paper. leon finds he's not too tired to laugh.

he had the whole goddamn flight to figure out what to say to you, but when he sees you standing there with that sign in your hand, scanning the crowd for a man you expect to be two inches taller, it all flushes out of him to make room for the queasy feeling in his gut. when you finally spot him (thank god; the words had gotten lodged in his throat, your name running around his mind again, again, again, lodged so deep in the crevices that he couldn't pry it free and force it out his mouth) your smile nearly blinds him. he shields his eyes with a hand, watches you bounce on the balls of your feet.

he flicks your sign with a finger. the only words that make it past the lump in his throat are, "messed up the kerning, huh?"

you tip your head, puppy-dog cute. more adorable in person. "the what?"

"kerning." silence. you shake your head a little, blank look in your eye. leon tries to swallow, feels barbs jab into his throat. ten minutes on the ground and he's fucking up already. his gut turns. he tries to blame it on airplane peanuts. "the space between the letters."

he should get back on the plane. if he flashes his badge and declares it official business they have to let him on, right? brass wouldn't be happy with him, but what are they going to do? he's leon fucking kenn--

you laugh and his thoughts screech to a halt, plane crash on the concourse. footsteps pound past him - or maybe that's his heartbeat in his ears. your laugh is prettier in person, too.

"okay, all right." your face lights up, eyes squished to make room for your smile. "why do you know that?"

mentally, he flips through a rolodex of excuses. he moonlighted as a graphic designer (false), he was really into fonts (no strong opinions, really), it's classified (outright lie). he settles for the truth, shrugging.

"late night wikipedia dive."

you laugh again. his heart is a bird, fluttering in his chest, battering itself against his ribs to get to you. what the hell is wrong with him? he hadn't felt like this in years, thought he wasn't supposed to feel like this anymore. when you were an adult you grew out of this sort of giddiness. he'd choked it down every time he'd checked his phone under the table at an intelligence meeting, dismissed it as heartburn. he's supposed to want. it's supposed to be a blaze that swallows him up. confident and bold and all-consuming. not fidgety and desperate.

he's not anxious. he's a grown man. he's met presidents, plural. he doesn't get nervous meeting people, even if they're stunning, even if his hands twitch to hold theirs.

does he hug you? kiss you? slip his hand into your back pocket and guide you out of the terminal, lead you blindly to a car that isn't his, take you to an apartment he's only ever seen portions of on a 15 inch screen, ask what he can make you for dinner in your own home? that's what he wants. skip over all of this and slide right into familiarity, fly right past all the work it takes to get there. you've done the leg work, right? you know how you feel about each other. he's here. that says enough, doesn't it?

he's eternally grateful that you reach through his thoughts and pull him into a hug. your face stuffs into his shoulder, words muffled. "i'm so glad you're here."

you inhale deeply and he swears his heart does a backflip. jesus, he needs to get a physical. this can't be normal.

it's you who loops your arm with his, you who tugs him into motion. you rattle off questions that he answers as best he can. it feels like drowning, like he can barely keep his head above water. his flight was fine, thanks for asking. no, he didn't get any sleep. he never sleeps on planes. it's a long story. he didn't need a nap, but yeah, he could go for a coffee.

you know this great place, you reassure him. really low-key. he treads water in the parking garage while you dig for your keys. you drop them - twice - and he wonders if you're struggling to stay at the surface, too.

as a last act before sinking into the passenger seat, he rescues your sign from the trash, folding it neatly and tucking it into his pocket.

he looks up from buckling his seat belt, beckoned by the way you call his name. he's still smiling when you cup his cheeks and kiss him.

by day two, he's decided you need a new apartment. he hasn't told you that yet, figures it comes off too pushy, but he would fly back down to help you move if you wanted. (if he thinks it hard enough, won't you ask him to?)

don't misunderstand - he likes what you've done with the place. honest to god, you're a miracle worker with decor. you could really shape his place up.

it's just that your front door is less than secure. your locks are ran through. it would take him less than a minute to break in. he doesn't even want to think about your windows. other than being drafty, they're just another completely unsecured access point.

you'd invited him to sleep in your bed the first night, and he had every intention of doing so. he'd just passed out on the couch before he had the chance. leon had woken with a pillow stuffed under his head, thick, handmade blanket tucked over him. it was sweet. really.

but it wasn't the same as sleeping next to you.

leon has every intention of sleeping in your bed that night. you'd filled the day with a tour of your city, pointing out your favorite and least favorite spots, telling stories that let him imagine the streets as a stage, you as the star, top billing as far as he's concerned. everything had been optional, as you'd feverishly reassured him after every stop. he could change the itinerary with one word. the only mandatory stop had been lunch with your friends. a good sign, he thinks. if you're confident enough to introduce him to the people in your life, then you see this going somewhere, right?

by the time you hit your last stop, it feels like he's emerged from a war zone. leon would know. he's been run ragged on back to back operations before, but this - the pressure of trying to be right for you, to show you who he is, waiting on pins and needles for you to sour on him and push back from the closeness he craves - this is truly exhausting.

you must feel it too, offering to pick up dinner on your way home in lieu of cooking. he waves away apologies, reaches past you to hand the cashier at taco bell his card when you try to pay. the food is gone by the time you pull your car into the parking lot.

both of you have the same idea. you're just as worn out as he is (makes him wonder if you're doing the same thing, all anxious energy, making sure to put your best foot forward, always stumbling and falling into a better impression than the one you set out to make) and bed comes naturally to mind. he slips into the side closest to the door and you stop him immediately, voice teasing.

"uh, that's my side." you poke at his ribs. the awkwardness had melted over the course of the day together. you were playful, eyes bright and laugh loud. touch came easy between you now, both playful and lingering. the comfort that had been stirred up and tossed into disarray by physical proximity had settled back in.

leon's eyes flit to the door over your shoulder. it's not a big deal, he tells himself. the odds of something happening were astronomically low.

but he knows his luck with astronomically low odds. one in a million is too risky. he's got to be closer to the door, won't be able to sleep if he's not. his hands wrap around your waist, urging you on top of him. he doesn't miss the way you stiffen, the momentary hitch of your breath, but you let yourself get swept along all the same, drape yourself over him as he guides you to.

"just sleep like this." leon shifts lower to make more space for you. he presses a kiss to your head.

it takes longer than he expected for you to relax. slowly, when his hands still at your back and his breathing evens out, your limbs loosen. your weight thickens atop him, pressing him further into the mattress. it's all he can do to remind himself that he's tired, that starting something now would lead nowhere fast.

leon stays awake until he's certain you're out cold. the door remains unbreached, your home still safe. he can't bring himself to regret his caution.

when he's finally able to sleep, he sleeps hard. he wakes to your fingers carding through his hair, his cheek cushioned against your chest, completely flipped around during the night. it's the best night he's had in years.

on day three, leon wonders if he should be more obvious.

he's been putting out all the signs, carefully curated his touch to be lingering, to make you burn for more, but each time you settle against him and offer up a contented "this is nice."

does there need to be a neon sign draped around his neck that says "take me for a spin", arrow blinking down toward his crotch? you'd let him press against your back during an afternoon nap, knee wedged between your legs, arm curled around your stomach to keep you next to him. he woke from dreams where he was bolder, where he wasn't afraid of losing you with that lingering confidence, pressed kisses to the back of your neck until that gauzy empowerment lifted.

hell, he'd woken up that morning laying half on top of you, his head nestled in the valley of your chest. you'd pet his hair til he woke from nuzzling your tits in his sleep.

he abandons subtlety during the credit crawl of eight-legged freaks, a 'classic' you had insisted on making him watch. (you'd laughed when he had commented he could keep you safe in the event of giant spiders. he hadn't been joking, but he still hasn't grown tired of hearing you laugh.)

"hey," he asks, hand curling around your thigh. his thumb smooths an arc across your skin, traces the path again and again. "do you wanna..?"

smooth, kennedy.

you look over at him with that same puppy-dog confusion that he's growing familiar with. instead of moving his hand, you draw your legs up and lay them over his lap. how the fuck is he supposed to interpret that?

"do i wanna..?" you parrot back, drawing the words out into the form of a question.

leon hates himself. he wishes he could back out of this. he clears his throat. how the hell do people broach this topic smoothly? he searches for the words, the silence stretching a little too long for comfort. finally, he says the first thing he can.

"like, sex."

real mature, kennedy, he thinks. he wishes he could backpedal, take it all back. he's certain your face warms. before he can issue a take down for his words, (maybe cut out his stupid goddamn vocal cords, if he has the time) you fumble out, "oh. like- right now? uh, i mean, do you want to?"

continuing with the maturity, he turns it back on you.

"i asked you first."

"i don't not want to."

leon shakes his head. his hand cups your ankle. "i really only take 'yeah' or 'hell yeah'."

"i just didn't think giant spiders got you in the mood."

"hey, the more legs the better."

leon knows deflection when he hears it. he's the reigning champ, after all, could play this game with you all day. but he has mercy; he chuckles, lets you get away with it and grabs the remote, declaring it's his turn to pick another movie since your choice was a mood killer.

later that night, curled up in bed with a video playing mindlessly from your tablet, you turn around to face him. he widens his arms to accommodate the movement, circles them tighter once you settle in.

"you're not mad?" you ask, pressing your face into his chest, already hiding from the answer.

"about what?"

"y'know."

"spell it out for me, sweetheart."

he can feel your breath puff against his chest, an exasperated huff. people have done this same thing to him time and time again. he always hated it, being forced to be forthcoming and earnest. (vulnerable, some people call it, but that always made him feel like a wounded bird.) now that he's on the other side, he sort of sees the appeal.

"'cause i don't wanna have sex yet."

there's a 'yet'. that's promising. he saves that little victory for later. his hand rubs slowly, reverently across the planes of your back.

he knows what he's got to say. he knows that he means it. putting the words to it is different. he needs you to understand, has to do this right.

"i didn't come all this way just to hook up."

you hum. "but you still want to."

christ, he's got to man up and say it.

"of course i do." you burrow closer to him, hands fisting against his side. he taps your back firmly. "hey. i'm not finished. i'm attracted to you, okay? like, really attracted to you. it's not- it's not just physical. i want to see if we can make this work. if what we had on the phone was real."

"is it?"

"yeah. i think so."

"sex isn't important to you?"

"it is. it's just not more important to me than you."

you pull your face from his chest, look up at him with big wet eyes. he brushes the backs of his fingers against your cheek tenderly, afraid you'll splinter and those tears will cascade down if he's anything but gentle.

"i think so, too."

you curl back into him, your touch melting from desperate to serene. leon can't help but feel accomplished - as though he's threaded the needle perfectly, cut the right wire just before the clock hit zero. gradually, his breathing falls into step with yours.

"besides," he murmurs, half-asleep. he drops a kiss against the top of your head. "your walls are thin. i don't want you catching a noise complaint."

day four is a glimpse of the life he could have, but it makes him realize what he needs to do to obtain it. the sickly feeling pools in his stomach, leaves him picking at the dinner you made. it's good, he swears. then the lie - just all the travel catching up to him.

he knows by day five that he's got to tell you everything. it's no longer a want - he needs you in his life. he's resolved to come clean.

he nearly does it over breakfast. you set his coffee in front of him, muss his hair before you take your own seat, and it almost comes spilling out onto the table.

i work in national security. i'm a federal agent. there's so much i can't tell you, but it's dangerous. god, it's dangerous. there's so much blood on my hands. it doesn't scrub off but i'm worried it will stain your skin. i think i could love you, if you'll let me. please don't say it back.

"plans today?" he says instead, sipping his coffee.

maybe tomorrow.

day six leaves him melancholy.

you'd insisted that today was for him. whatever he wanted, you would accommodate.

leon worries that his answer is boring. he wants a day in with you. an imitation of what it could be like to come home to this. the idle sounds of you milling about the house could lull him to sleep if it weren't for the words lodged in his throat.

you were doing the laundry. not yours, not his, but the, the definite article that's never felt intimate until that very moment. it silenced him to hear you refer to it that way. he's so tired of reading into every word you say, clinging onto every nuance. he'd forgotten how exhausting this stage of a relationship is. you couldn't send him home with dirty clothes, you explained, and he had no argument against that. his eyes traced after you as you puttered around, busying yourself with tidying. you're so at home. of course you are. it's your apartment. but he wants that. he wants to lift you from this place and into his own home, to watch you make yourself at home and busy yourself with the mundane.

he's got to tell you today. he can't do it over text. it's wrong.

when you finally settle down next to him on the couch, drawing a blanket into your lap, you breach the topic gently, give him a chance to do it himself. leon doesn't realize how obvious he is when he gets that look on his face, all forlorn as if he'd collapsed onto a fainting couch, hand over the back of his forehead. drama queen.

"what's up?" you ask, sitting close - but infuriatingly distant, not quite touching him yet.

"nothing. just looking at you."

bless you for trying to make it easy on him. it's always been like pulling teeth to get him to talk. he's trained to resist torture and coercion, should know better than to melt under a gentle hand or the way your body fits against his side.

you hum softly, disbelieving. so that's it, then. the silence, the 'i'm respecting your distance until you break' tactics. damn, you're good. leon takes a deep breath, chest aching with the weight of what he has to say. now or never.

"look- i'm not who you think i am."

you don't miss a beat. "in what way?"

he has to force the words out. he's acutely aware that this could ruin everything. you could kick him out. block his number, never speak to him again. good. it was safer that way. you deserved a normal life.

"i lied to you. about my work."

"yeah, i know."

"i work in security. national security."

"leon. i know."

his brain reels back a few steps, trying to process your words.

"you know?" he repeats, almost offended. how could you know? was this a set up?

you pull your phone from your pocket, tapping a quick query in. you turn the phone to him. article after article, a few interviews pinned to the top. every link is purple, clicked on and read through. the one that draws his eye is tucked at the bottom of the screen, makes his skin crawl to remember.

KENNEDY, HARPER CLEARED OF CHARGES

"i googled you." you set your phone down on the coffee table.

"and you still let me into your house?" he was serious, but you laugh. leon's brow pinches. "how long?"

you shrug, as if this conversation is about the laundry. "a couple months. ever since you told me your last name."

"months? why didn't you say anything?"

"i was hoping you'd tell me yourself. and you did, sort of."

his mind is still reeling. the drama of it all had his wound up tight. where does he put that energy?

he must look as thrown-off as he feels, because you chuckle, sweep the hair from his eyes and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

"i get why you don't tell people upfront. just don't hide stuff like that from me again, okay? seriously. i'll be mad."

it's more grace than he deserves. your acceptance churns his stomach. is there another meaning behind your words, a resentment coiling in the pit of your stomach?

you crack open your book and lean against his side. he settles his arm around you, moving slow, scared to frighten you away. only one chapter in, you pass him your phone, a take-out app order, asking what he wants. if you're mad, you hide it well.

day seven is a funerary procession. you help him scour your apartment for things he may have left behind, packing them neatly in his suitcase-shaped coffin. it's amazing how his things had flooded into your apartment during the short course of his visit. he had spread out, made himself comfortable. part of it had been testing how his belongings felt next to yours, how it all fit - the final test he had constructed in his mind. you'd passed that with flying colors, clearly. he's lost track of a shirt somewhere along the way, but he isn't concerned about it. he'll be back. he can look for it another time.

both of you linger at your front door. excuses are myriad, flowing from both sides. reasons to double back, reasons to keep his hand on your waist, your fingers in his hair, your lips on his.

but eventually the time becomes too urgent, the threat of missing his flight too real. he'd joked in the car that if he didn't turn up for work they might just send a helicopter to pick him up instead, expecting a laugh. you only smile, a wry twist of your lips that fades too quickly. you reach for your sunglasses and shove them on. the air is tense by the time you pull into the parking garage, cherry scented car freshener cloying.

“you gonna cry?” he teases.

you sniffle.

“oh my god.” he is such a jackass. “don't cry. i'm sorry, sweetheart. it's okay. jesus.”

“i just don't want you to go,” you squeak. your hands fist the steering wheel tight, knuckles turning white.

leon leans over the center console, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. he shrugs you closer to him, hushing you gently.

"let's plan another trip, okay?" he murmurs against your head, placing apologetic kisses there over and over. "c'mon. it's not forever. it's okay. i'm gonna call you when i land. we'll text, like we always do. it's my turn to pick the movie, so-"

fuck. his voice cracks. he clears his throat, blinks quickly to keep his composure.

"so, i'll pick a good one. wednesday night, okay? you, me, and a really good movie."

steadily, his promises slow your tears. the pressure of time detaches you from his hold. you're with him as far as you can go, waving him off to his gate. his heart sinks like a stone. he hates flights, never gets comfortable on them, but the way home feels longer than usual.

made it home he texts the second he's through the door. you're probably asleep. he hopes you are, at least. it's late for you, and--

yay

before he can bother telling you to go to bed, another message pushes through. his house felt empty before, but your message only deepens the feeling, hollows out the hallways and leaves his bed feeling too big, too cold.

i miss you already. call me tomorrow if you can.

leon squints at the screen.

"is that my shirt?"

you stop mid-sentence. caught red-handed - or, rather, grey-shirted.

it's your movie night since he made it back home. you're curled up in bed, your popcorn off to the side. he can fill in the gaps of your room now, knows what extends beyond the screen - and he knows that shirt. an old work tee of his that had mysteriously gone missing after you did the laundry. well-worn and soft. his name stamped on the back in big, block letters. possessive pride stirs in his chest to imagine you wearing his name.

sheepish, you promise, "i'll bring it back to you. how about next month?"

leon shakes his head. he pulls open his calendar, skimming through the busy weeks to clear the time for you.

"keep it. wear it to the airport for me so i know who to look for."

"you're not gonna make me a sign?"

"the shirt is the sign, sweetheart."

"are you gonna wear a matching one with my name on it?"

"i might." he opens another tab, googling how to make custom t-shirts. "you'll have to get here and find out."

connection restored -`♡´-

dividers from @/adornedwithlight

[dreamergirlz]

Hiii! I've been trying to find a blog that could execute this well n I feel like you'll slay hehe. I was wondering if I could get a leon x reader with it being angst to fluff? :3 I'm a sucker for happy endings/things being fixed omg. I was wondering if you could create a oneshot/scenario where leon and the reader are arguing or something (you can decide what they're arguing about or if it starts out where things are fine then leads to that) and it escalates to him raising his voice a little which makes the reader burst into tears? And he's just kinda like 'omg why did I do that im so stupid' and so the fluff comes in with him apologizing and making up for it n stuff. (I'm a really sensitive n emotional person, so any slight raise of tone, I'm gonna bawl n hide in my room 😭) I was hoping you could also kinda make the reader like literal sunshine x leon type beat, bc I'm a v extroverted n outgoing enfp 💪🏻💪🏻

Also it'd be re4 leon! (Remake him is just so...) n please make it as long as you want, if you can! The more the merrier hehehe 🫶🏻🫶🏻

Ahhhh yes!!!! We love some re4 boy with a large heaping of angst to fluff!!!

After a slip up during a mission, Leon finds out that shouting at his sunshine often leads to rain. Luckily enough, he’s willing to bring an umbrella next time.

Word count: 2,472

Warnings/content: GN reader, 2nd person (you, yours), re4 Leon, swearing, overall angst but sweet ending.

━━━━━━━━━━❂━━━━━━━━━━

━━━━━━━━━━❂━━━━━━━━━━

“So, you wanna explain what that was?” Leon’s jacket was tossed halfway across the room as you entered his apartment - your apartment. He was upset. Both of you were upset. But him especially. You could tell because he had his ‘agent Kennedy’ voice on. The one he used when the rookies fucked up.

“I don’t know, I was just-”

You were fighting with your own tongue and teeth to get your answer out. Leon wasn’t usually an angry person. Not towards you, anyway. But you’d slipped up on your last assignment - a hunt in Annecy, France. Despite being new to the DSO and still getting your footing, you’d been partnered up with your boyfriend for the latest mission. Thanks to his exceptional reputation and overall cool under pressure attitude after the incident in Spain, it wasn’t new for him to teach the rookies the ropes.

You’d both under anticipated just how many bioterrorists and B.O.Ws there would be, though. Backed into a corner with one bullet in the gun. All out of grenades, too.

“Fall back and wait at the drop off area, I’ll stay and cover you. Do not approach any of the hostiles. Got it?” He’d said, readily gripping at his knife.

You’d nodded silently.

But you’d found an opening while sprinting down one of the stone paved alleyways, catching a quick glimpse at someone coming up behind Leon as his back was turned. Sure, he could hold himself in a fight. But he looked outnumbered. Tense. You’d acted on instinct instead of backing away like he’d strictly ordered you too. A quick bullet through their skull threw their body into the clean bricks of the building, now stained with crimson red and organ splatter.

But then they all turned to you. Somehow cognitively realised you were weaker and significantly smaller than Leon - who’d now found ammo in a corpse’s pocket. You could see it behind their fogged pupils, the way they fixated on you like predators at prey.

That’s when you got jumped.

You sighed out a little to keep your composure. Your own jacket was now discarded, although in a more civil matter as you’d hung it on the coat rack next to the front door. “I was just trying to help.” It was all you could really say. It was the truth, but it still didn’t feel like enough.

“You trying to help almost put you and a lot of other people in danger. You know that right?” Hasty hands undoing the straps on his tactical gloves, he didn’t look at you. He just tossed them next to his fur lined corduroy jacket as he lectured on.

You exhaled shakily, your own hands reaching down to undo the laces on your thick leather boots. At this point you felt at a loss for words.“Of course I do but-”

He finally turned to look at you, to face you with that stoic look he often wore during interrogations. You were caught up in your own questioning, it seemed. But this time he didn’t want to get any information out of you. He wanted you to listen. “If we hadn't gotten back-up reinforcements, the blood would’ve been on our hands Y/N. What if that horde got out into the street?”

Frustration began bubbling up into your spine. “I get it, okay?”

“I don’t think you do.” Leon turned his gaze to the side for just a moment with a head shake. He closed his eyes, sighed, and then spoke once more as if contemplating his next words. “Director Winston was right, you’re not cut out for the field yet.”

Your brows furrowed in shock. You’d worked hard to get on the field, and now it felt like it was all for nothing. “What? Are you kidding me?”

“No, I’m not. You disobeyed a superior. If I didn’t make that clean shot when you were jumped we would’ve both been killed.”

“But we weren’t, and that’s what matters!”

“It was too close of a call.”

“And what, that makes me incompetent?”

Those soft baby blue eyes had sunk into nothing but loud thoughts turning into louder words.

His demeanor finally snapped in half, breaking his vow of stone as he threw his hands out in anger. “It makes you a liability!”

You flinched back at his words and volume. Especially the volume, the way his voice suddenly swept into a boom that hit every wall around you, as if making it shake. His voice was so loud that it actually felt like the room shook, and that scared you so badly. In a way it made your ribs jitter in an instant. Made that familiar sting behind your eyes begin crawling up on you as you stared at him in nothing short of shock.

Shock, and potential fear.

Dead silence.

Conflicting emotions were rising and rising, hands now beginning to shake as tears formed in your eyes. Your expression was nothing short of devastated, a hand reaching up to cover your mouth as if you were to scream. But no noise came out.

It all hit you at once.

And Leon noticed it too.

“Fuck, no- love I didn’t-”

You were gone before he could finish his sentence. Quick, hectic steps through a haze of welling tears. You heard him take a step from behind you, as if he were about to go after you, before hesitating. He didn’t know whether to run or give you space. To hold you and apologise profusely, or sit quietly next to you just so you knew he was there.

He knew you were a sensitive soul behind a joyful exterior. This little dancing sunbeam in his life. Sunbeam who pressed kisses to his chin in the kitchen as he sat waiting in front of the warming coffee machine. Sunbeam, who went along with his playful banter before leaving for a mission. Sunbeam who hummed little songs to themselves as they brushed their teeth. That squealed out and laughed when he swept them up. That kissed him with every ounce of love they had to offer. That made him feel alive again after years of misery.

Sunbeam who grinned at him when they finally passed their physical examination, securing their position in the D.S.O.

But he’d seen how you flinched back when Director Winston was disciplining some poor rookie.

That should’ve been his first sign. A sign of your sensitivity to that side of people, that anger.

You were shutting the bedroom door behind you and locking it before he could contemplate it any longer. As soon as the lock flicked you were slumping against the nearest wall, hand pressed up against your mouth to try and calm down. But like a drain pipe bursting, it all hit you in a tidal wave. Knocked the wind from your lungs as you sobbed out lowly, almost choking as if sinking into the salty current of a whirlpool. Part of you still tried shushing your blubbering, tried silencing every bawl from leaking eyes and a quivering bottom lip. You didn’t want him to feel guilty.

But fuck, what he’d said. How he’d said it. How loud he’d been.

It hit you where it hurt.

So you balled up against the clean painted walls of your bedroom, probably just as clean as the ones in France before being splattered with bioweapon blood. Eyes now scrunched shut to try in a feeble attempt to block that thought out. So with limp hands and shaken bones, you stripped out of your mission gear and got into a soft sweater with some comfortable sweatpants. Suitable depression attire, as you’d usually call it in your mocking nature. But now you were burying your nose into the green fabric of the jumper, watching your tears seep stains into the woven threading. You resumed your usual spot against the wall, and as soon as your back pressed against it the tears started up again.

Not even a second later there was three soft raps against the wood of the door. No word spoken, just a knock. A silent question that you eventually answered, hopping up on your knees to click the lock out of its place before slumping back down. Your head hung back to rest at the wall, eyes closed as your eyes kept weeping.

Leon’s presence was both felt and heard as he crept through the doorway and shut the door behind him gently. Just the sight of you on the floor, looking disheveled and above all else hurt, made the pain in his chest just that much heavier. He didn’t know what to say.

“Hey.”

You sniffled, wiping your eyes with the back of your sleeves before turning to look up at him standing above you. “Hey.” Your voice was rasped and shaky.

He licked over his lips nervously. Still not a clue on what to say to you to make this any better. “So, I fucked up.”

You gave him a broken chuckle in response. “Yeah.”

His pace had completely changed from spry anger to calmed, soft worry. Eyebrows creased as he went to sit down next to you, resting his stiffened back against the wall. Now it was Leon’s turn to struggle to find the right words. His mouth ran dry.

“I didn’t mean what I said, by the way. It- it’s not that you’re a liability.”

You just shrugged a bit. Fuck, you looked exhausted. Not even bothering to look in his direction. You just stared upwards, as if focused on some imaginary object hanging from the ceiling. “But I am.”

“No you’re not, and that’s my fault for ever putting that thought in your head. And you’re not incompetent, either. You’re still new to this. And I’m not mad at you for what happened, I just..”

“Just?”

He gave his head a soft shake, eyes shut with a soft spoken response that had you finally facing him.

“I’m so scared that I’ll lose you.”

You couldn’t give him a response. All you could do was stare at the ever mighty Leon Kennedy opening his heart up to you once again. Showing you every wound and fear as if it were another scar on his back that only you were allowed to see. Only you were allowed to try and heal.

This had affected him as much as it had you.

“I’m all good for myself getting hurt out there, don’t get me wrong.” He continued. “But if you’d gotten hurt - or god forbid you…”

Your hand went out to his shoulder, brow creasing in worry despite your tears still falling absentmindedly. It was like your body had taken the reins on this one.

“I’m- I’m terrified, Y/N.” He whispered it like a secret, staring down at the carpet with a shaking head. “You are one of the only good things in my life. Hell, you’re probably the best thing. And knowing that it might happen while I’m there - me, who’s meant to protect you not just as your boyfriend but as your partner - it- it scares me.”

You offered him a sad half-smile, rubbing a thumb over his shirt carefully. “The Leon Scott Kennedy is scared?”

He gave you a weak chuckle, his own hand resting over yours. It was his own way of saying he had you in that moment as he still didn’t know how comfortable you were with being held.

“Petrified, sweetheart. And I’m sorry I didn’t say that sooner. That it came out like…that.”

Once again left speechless, all you could do was nod in response. Then his hand moved from yours to hold your face. “Hey.”

You were both falling into that same pattern. “Hey.”

He bit at his cheek before continuing. “I want you to know this. Even if you’re new to all of this, that doesn’t make you a burden, or a hassle. It just- it scares me so much. When I saw that- that thing jump you I just couldn’t think straight. It’s like something kicked me out of gear. I felt so helpless, knowing if I missed that shot or wasn’t quick enough I might’ve lost you. That you’d get hurt beyond healing. You are the most important thing to me. It’s- it’s my job to keep you safe, Amore.”

A broken laugh crept from your throat. All it took was that sound to put Leon’s mind at ease, watching how your eyes slightly crinkled with your smile.

“You’re busting out that nickname at a time like this?” Another sniffle. He always used it whenever he needed a smile out of you, a laugh. Mostly because you loved to tease him about the fact that despite his Italian-American genes he somehow managed to burn water.

He gave you a slight smile that tugged at the corner of his cheek. “Just trying to ease the tension. Is it working?”

One last sniffle before wiping the stray tear from your face using your sweater sleeve. “Yeah. Yeah it is. I just-”

You could feel your bottom lip wobbling again, blinking back another wave of tears. “I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

“Oh, sunshine.” He softened up for you, a gentle arm dragging your body towards his so you could rest your face against his chest with every weak sob. He never stopped rubbing your back, muttering quiet comforts into your hair until the wave passed and you calmed down once more. What you had yet to realise is he was willing to sit on the floor for hours with you in times like this, just to make sure you were okay.

Wiping the last of your tears away with his thumb, he reached down to take your hand in his. “So, here’s what’s gonna happen. I’m gonna take the rest of the week off-”

You began protesting. “Winston will-”

“Winston can kiss my ass for all I care. I messed up, so I’m gonna make it up to you, okay?”

You knew you weren’t winning this argument no matter what. So instead you settled back against him. “Mhm.”

You could practically feel his smile of victory, a hand smoothing over your hair in short soft strokes. Leon sat his chin on your head

“Why do you call me that, anyway?”

“What? Sunshine?”

“Yeah.”

“I thought that was obvious by now.” He chuckled a bit. “You know about everything that happened to me. Everything I’ve seen. It’s been dark. Really dark. But no matter what you’ve stuck by my side, you’ve been my light. And god, the way you bounce off the walls, love. I’m not the only one you light up. You should see how much happier everyone has been ever since you joined the team. You’re just so outgoing, so willing to love. I love that about you. That and so much more. You’re my sunbeam, y’know?”

Your face scrunched up in questioning, to which Leon chuckled. “Does that make you my moonlight or rain cloud or what?”

He just smiled fondly, pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, and pulled you closer so your tear stained face could bury in his chest.

Because right now nothing was more important to him than the person in his arms. The one he would protect for the rest of his life.

No matter what.

“It makes me whatever you want me to be, sweetheart.”

[dreamergirlz]

Tongue tied 🪶

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

This only took me 3 months to finally get out..... 😃

ANYWAY, have some friends to lovers with Leon <3

The order is here -> 🎂

You and Leon have been attached by the hip for as long as you can remember. A secret written language is constructed by both of you to talk in class. Little does Leon know the letter you write to him years letter, encrypted in your language, contains the deepest parts of your heart and soul.

���── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

If there was one way to describe you and Leon, it would be thick as thieves. Always have been and always will be. Ever since you first met on your first day of elementary school, the two of you have been inseparable.

You remember it well; the excitement that coursed through your little 6 year old veins of new beginnings, friends and more. Finally you were a big girl, ready to take on the world with a determined smile.

With confidence, you left your parents at the entrance with teary eyes and pride radiating off of them as you strutted into the building, tightly holding onto the straps of your new, sparkly backpack.

You listened closely to your new teacher and fellow classmates as they introduced themselves, the smile on your face a constant throughout the day.

However, when you stepped out into recess, taking in the monkey bars and swings with wide eyes, something -or rather someone- was barely fitting into your field of vision.

A boy with sandy blonde hair and blue eyes.

He was a good bit taller than you, no surprise really, but he kept his head low and fidgeted with the zipper on his blue police-themed schoolbag.

He seemed nervous and weary, only ever rasing his head when a rowdy child zoomed past him.

Although anxiety-ridden, he didn't strike you as unaware. He had his back pressed to a wooden structure in the back of the playground, overlooking the open space.

Your brows furrowed when you finally realized that he was all alone, and you couldn't have that!

Everyone needed a friend. And you, on this fateful day, decided to be his.

Same as you, Leon remembered that day like it only happened yesterday. How he sat in the back of the class, in the very last corner. Or how he was quiet and timid when the teacher asked for his name and age.

But he particularly remembers when a girl with a bright smile and colorful bows in her hair walked up to him, carefully as not to spook him, told him her name and complimented his backpack.

He thanks the universe for that day, for you, because you've been stuck at his side ever since.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

Class was in full swing, the sound of your teacher speaking and the mildly uncomfortable scrape of chalk on the blackboard broke the stagnant silence in the room.

You glanced up from time to time, trying to seem like you were paying attention, when in reality you were constructing a letter to your best friend.

You were a good student, no doubt, but the urge to yap with Leon was greater than any unsolvable math equation.

So, when you two had a sleepover last weekend, you stayed up all night coming up with a secret written language between the both of you.

You hoped it would allow you to ask quite meaningless and maybe even funny questions in class without getting into too much trouble.

You hoped the teacher would write it off as nonsensical scribbles and you'd get away with a stern look.

You carefully drew the symbols you'd come up with, checking the translated alphabet that both you and Leon had a copy of in your pencil cases.

With the last stroke you stared down proudly at your somewhat neat work before folding the piece of paper and glancing at Leon with a subtle jerk of your head.

He grinned and stuck out his hand, waiting for you to place the letter into his palm. He sank back into his seat a little, unfolding the paper and discreetly turning his eyes to the note in his hands.

When he looked up again to check his translation sheet, the teacher stood in front of his desk, arms crossed over her chest and displeased expression on her face.

"What have I said about notes in class, hm? Hand it over." She said coldly, opening her hand.

Leon grumbled, his head hanging low as he hestiated.

"Give it."

Her tone was warning, and with a slight scowl on his face, he crumbled up the paper and layed it in her palm.

Promptly, she smoothed out the note and tried to read it, only to fail miserably with a confused and irritated look.

"What's this? It's just scribbled nonsense!" She exclaimed.

You and Leon both stifled a laugh, shooting a glanced at the other. The teacher scowled and the letter creased beneath her grip.

"Don't waste my time." She scolded before tossing away the paper and continuing her teaching, always keeping an eye

on you and Leon while the both of you giggled in the back.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

Those memories and many more played in your head as you sat hunched over your desk in the middle of the night, staring at a blank piece of paper. The light was starting to burn your eyes and you could feel a subtle ache crawl up your spine as Sleep beckoned you sweetly into its embrace.

You sighed deeply, rubbing at your eyes. Never in a million years had you thought you'd end in a situation like this.

The older you got, the more did your feelings for Leon change. From a strong and pure childhood friendship into a harmless crush that turned into being so in love with him that every second spend away from him was torture.

You needed to get it out. To see if he -a one in a million chance- felt the same about you and would end your suffering.

But you couldn't say it straight to his face, no, the thought alone was mortifying. The fear of rejection clasping its hand around your throat so tightly that no words would come out.

So, you thought out your options; tell him via a text message? God, the most impersonal ways of it all, a hard no.

Have a messenger deliver the news? You really didn't want to get anyone else involved, but if you had to, you'd ask Claire, a good friend from several of your classes.

And then, when you went through your old school supplies on a nostalgic night, you found the, albeit faded and worn, guide to your secret language.

And now, you had your way of confessing your love for him without seeming like a cowardly bitch or dying of embarrassment and shame.

Still, all words alluded you. You knew how you were going to say it, but not what you would say.

All these feelings that you've had felt wrong, something that should be hidden and locked away. After all this time of pushing them down, it was hard to let them spill.

It was almost impossible to release them from their heavy chains without losing control. But if you'd keep them trapped for any longer, you'd run the risk of having them wither away and die like a flower in a barren desert.

You tugged at your hair, a sound of frustration escaping your lips at your inability to think of even a single phrase.

With an unsteady grip on your pen, all you managed to get down was 'Dear Leon,'. Quite pathetic progress for all of two hours.

You leaned back in your chair with a huff, stretching your neck and shoulders from the cramped and hunched position they've been in for far too long.

Only then did it strike you as you gazed upon the many framed photos of you with your best friend, your other half.

All the memories that were confined behind glass made a smile form on your lips as you were reminded of why you loved him. Why you fell in the first place.

The words of love and passion that you held in your heart for years suddenly bubbled out of you, your hands scribbling down whatever they could.

You laid your heart bare for him, hoping he would cherish it and treat it with care and not return it to you in pieces.

And before you knew it, the page was filled with strokes and curves of the language you'd conjured up so many years ago in your youth. Your fingers were stained with graphite, leaving faint prints on the paper.

With a relieved sigh you added your signature and stuffed the letter along with a translation guide into an envelope. You'd be damned if all of this failed just because Leon didn't have his alphabet anymore.

You'd give the letter to him the next time you saw him, which you realized with horror, would be tomorrow.

You swallowed the bile that rose in your throat, slammed the door on the nerves that were creeping up your spine and sunk into the comforting embrace of your bed, waiting patiently while Sleep took your hand to lead you to your next dream.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

The enveloped crinkled under your tight grip as you watched Leon tie the laces on his shoes and throw on his jacket. You'd hung out today, the usual shenanigans.

A movie and some dinner, and, of course, laughing til your belly hurt. You prayed that he didn't notice that you were stiff as a board and sweating buckets.

You wouldn't be surprised if little salt crystals had formed on your brow.

"Alright, I'm off. I'll see you on Tuesday, yeah?" Leon spoke with a smile, closing in to pull you into a hug.

Your eyes widened and you kept your arms and the letter close to your body, resulting in a hug of such awkwardness you would've liked the earth to crack open and swallow you whole.

Leon quirked a brow at you.

"Are you feeling okay? You've been... odd."

A nervous and obnoxious giggled ripped from your throat before you could stop it.

"Who, me? Oh yeah, no, don't worry about me. I'm great. Awesome. Just peachy." You smiled, although it was so unconvincing you cringed at yourself.

He eyed you suspiciously but decided not to question it any further for now. You would tell him when you were ready, you always did.

You cleared your throat.

"I also have this for you. You need to read it at home, though. Anyway, bye!" You said cheerily, shoving the envelope into his hands and pushing him out into the hallway.

"Hey, what are you-"

he couldn't finish the sentence before the door was slammed shut and he was left dumbfounded outside your apartment.

Leon scoffed and turned the letter over in his hands but decided to follow your words and stored the envelope in his pocket.

"Weirdo." He mumbled with a smile and a huff.

You were pressed against the door, watching him through the peephole.

Leon stared directly into your eye and stepped closer.

"I know you're watching." He whispered, his close proximity giving you a hilarious angle of his face.

"Am not!"

Echoed from your side, and he laughed, shaking his head.

"See you." He waved, walking towards the stairs.

When you could no longer see him you let out a huff. Now, all you needed to do was wait and hope for the best.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

The jingle of keys echoed through Leon's home as he shut the door behind him.

His keys were returned to their place in a small bowl, and he proceeded to shrug off his shoes and jacket.

With a sigh, he plopped down on his couch, his feet propped up on the nearby coffee table with your letter in his hands.

He carefully opened the envelope, wincing when he heard the paper tear. He unfolded the paper and froze for a moment as he gazed upon the many symbols.

A small chuckle escaped him.

Of course you wouldn't make it easy on him. However, Leon Scott Kennedy was never one to back down from a challenge.

He began to decipher the language, writing down the message on a different piece of paper.

With a triumphant smile, he added the last few words.

"I've bested you once again." He murmured, looking at the finished letter.

But when he began to read it, now actually understanding its meaning, the smile melted off his face.

He was in shock, his eyes wide and lips parted as he read word for word how much you adored him. Leon's throat felt dry and his heart was beating out of his chest at your confession.

He couldn't believe it. You felt the same? You felt the torturing urge to shower him with your love only to hold back in fear of getting burned?

With the letter clutched close to his chest, he stumbled back into his shoes and rushed out the door.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

Frantic and hurried knocks on wood snapped you out of your head as you were curled up on your couch, stewing in regret and doubt.

A look through the peephole showed a panting Leon with a flushed face and a kind of desperation in his eyes that you had never seen before.

"Leon? What happened? Are you okay-" You asked, worried, when you opened the door, only to be cut off by him crashing into you and connecting your lips in a fierce kiss.

Any surprise and shock was swallowed by his eager mouth as he wound his arms tightly around your middle and pulled you close to his chest. A fire lit in your heart, a blazing flame that you knew would never be able to be doused.

You let yourself melt into his embrace as you reveled in the feeling of your lips on his. He pulled away, gulping deep breaths while he stared at you with glazed eyes.

"I'm sorry that I didn't tell you, but I couldn't get myself to say the words. I don't know what it is, but you keep me tongue tied, I-" You rambled breathlessly.

He shushed you with a soft peck and cupped your face.

"I love you too." He whispered with a loving smile, making an equally as adoring smile break onto your face.

You pulled him into another kiss, giggling against his lips.

All you've ever wanted was yours.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

I hope you enjoyed 😚

More of Leon and others -> 💫

《Leon taglist》: @k-fallingstar @vampkennedy @dmitriene @allysunny @entr4p3 @leonslittlekennedy @angelstargel

Lmk if you like to be added/removed 🩷✨️

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

[dreamergirlz]

Voicemails

Summary: When complications arise on his mission, all he has is one phone call back to you. (Death Island! Leon x reader)

Word Count: 2.1K

Notes: It really does end here, huh? 🥹 This is the last post for this month. We have officially finished Angstober 2024. Thank you to everyone who liked, commented, reblogged, followed, and sent me things to my inbox. It's going to be weird not writing for you all every day, but you'll still see me around. I'm going to take a small break and write in the background, get through requests and stuff. I'm moving house and graduating at the same time so I might not post a whole lot till I'm settled again, but then you can count on me for more than angst!

General warnings for language use, spoilers for Death Island if you haven't seen it (you should it's quite funny), and a mildly OOC Leon but we can all be saps sometimes. Warping the events of the movie to my own benefit.

Enjoy our last post of this month, sweethearts~

RiRi xx

━━━━━━━━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"You wanna make a call?" Chris grunts, looking down at him. Leon looks up at him, vision blurry and pain radiating through his body. His neck stings from where the microdrone bit him, and he can no longer feel anything from his thighs down, just a numb tingle. He has to consciously remind himself to breathe, in through the nose and out through the mouth.

"You got- you got a way?" he rasps back, eyes scrunching in confusion. Chris nods, the bigger man bucking slightly against the cell wall he's leaning against.

"Left- left pocket." he grits out. "Claire got the signal through before we got bit. It's only strong enough for one call, then Dylan's framework will probably patch it."

Leon sighs, head hitting the rusted bars of Alcatraz. This had been another run of the mill mission, find the missing scientist selling government secrets, pack him up and ship him back to the government to be trialled at court. In the true fashion of his 'run of the mill missions', nothing went according to that plan and veered off into a clusterfuck as usual. The BSAA had been involved chasing their own leads, and he had run into Jill in the sewers running from zombies. the plague that seemed to follow him like a shadow ever since he left Raccoon as a young and very traumatised cop.

He was supposed to get in and out, wrap it up so he could come home to you like he promised. As he sat there writhing, he wondered what the look on your face would be if he wasn't able to make it to the cruise that you had both planned. You had lobbied both him and the DSO for a holiday, and after many angry letters and snatching the phone out of his hand to yell at his supervisor, you had succeeded in getting him two months off. Without hesitation you had booked the both of you on a cruise, shushing him every time he had tried to protest.

If he was being honest, just sleeping at home would have been enough. He could barely remember the last time that he had sat down or stopped for a moment. The days that he was at the office or on a mission blurred together so often that he was beginning to forget what colour you had both decided to paint the kitchen, making him falter when coworkers made small talk with him in the staff room. Which side of the bed you preferred to sleep on, what bills needed to be paid first, whether the spare bedroom was being turned into an office or a workshop or not. It was when his forgetfulness led him to forget what month it was and being blindsided to your own anniversary that he finally snapped out of it.

You had been sitting on the porch steps dressed in your finery, watery eyes looking up at him as he pulled into the driveway, your knees pulled to your chest. He had jumped from the car like you were shot, the realisation of what he had done thrumming hard in his chest. "I'm so sorry" he had murmured into your hair, holding you tight. "I am so so sorry."

You had just sniffled in response and eventually gave him a weak hug back, and he clung to that like a lifeline. He swore that he would never fuck up like that again, and he intended to keep that promise.

So, he had relented to the cruise vacation, telling himself that he would be able to relax and unwind on the seas and out of service of work. They could call another agent for once, he wanted to focus on nothing but the smile you wore as you got to carry out the couple things he felt he had denied you your entire relationship. Getting to use the swim up bar, taking photos together, dressing in matching clothes for the cheesy cruise quiz nights. If that was what you wanted, that is what he was going to give you. Besides, it gave him a chance to relish in you again.

You, who had cancelled the wedding of your dreams to get married at the courthouse with him when he got called away suddenly and you weren't sure if you would see him again. You had been married within hours with the rings he had picked and you in the finest you could find on such short notice. He had thought you looked stunning, even if the lighting was the harsh LED of the courthouse and not candles like you had wanted.

You, who had put up with months of him being gone, not knowing if he was dead or alive. Who had to stay up late tracking the news for crumbs of his whereabouts, only able to make guesses to where he might have been assigned. Every death, every bioterrorist attack overseas carrying the possibility that Leon's body was among those being pulled from the carnage.

You, who he was calling right now with the jacked cell phone from Chris's pocket, dial tone droning on.

Leon had been stung last, used as nothing more than an example to show off the latest weapon in the bioterror market. Yet he was losing feeling fast, much faster than Chris or even Claire struggling in the other cell. It was like his atoms were screaming at him, writhing in him at a molecular level. Breathing felt like it was through a damp cloth, lungs having to work twice as hard to suck oxygen into his lungs. His eyelids were struggling to stay awake and fight off the black curtains that floated in the corners. he could see the way that the others looked at him, with pity and with concern. As soon as he had caught the eye of Chris, saw the flicker of fear cross the usually confident man's face, he knew that he was reacting worse than all of them.

So here he was, heart in his throat as he prepared to tell you the words he hadn't been expecting to say when he left that morning. When the line doesn't pick up he curses, waiting for the tone. He wasn’t going to waste his chance.

"Hi! If I haven't picked up, I can't come to the phone right now. If you leave a message, I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Please wait for the beep, thank you!"

He smiles to himself at the chipper tone of your voice, sounding heaven sent even through the phone. When he hears the tone he takes a deep breath, as big as he can and puts a fake smile on his face. He hopes that it makes his tone come out just a little sweeter for you, even though he knows that you'll be worried regardless.

"Hey, Sweetheart." he starts, voice raspy. "I'm sorry to be calling you like this. I just wanted to call to hear your voice. I-I missed you. I know you didn’t pick up, so you're probably busy. Now don't call me back immediately, I... won’t be able to pick up for a while. I just...damnit I wanted to just hear you." He grits out, head falling against the bars as he loses strength in his neck. He catches eyes with Chris, the older man's eyes misting over as he looks down at him before he turns his head away, the most privacy he can give him in the situation.

"I just wanted to call to let you know that I love you...and I miss you." he begins again. With his eyes closed the words come easier, the image of you flitting into his mind's eye. You look at him in his spectral vision with a smile, encouraging him to go on. He feels his chest ease, like he's actually talking to you, and the both of you are the only ones in the room. "I know you're going to worry. I know this doesn't sound good-" he grits his teeth against another hot flash of pain. "And... it’s not." he finishes. "I want to tell you…that I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I don't think I'm gonna make it home tonight, baby. I... I might not make it back from this." he tries to chuckle, but the sound is dry, and the effort hurts his chest. "Things got bad here, and it's not looking good. I think- I think it ends here, honey. If I don't make it just...just, please look after yourself."

He takes a shaky breath, and the silence of everyone around him is deafening. The scene is oddly private and uncomfortable for the others in the vicinity, while the usually ever-energetic man known as Leon delivers his verbal will. "I know you won’t want to go, but go on that cruise. You worked hard for it, and you were so excited. I wanted to go swimming with you, fall asleep by the pool and pretend it was the honeymoon I owe you. So, I want you to still go on it. Even if I don't come back...I'll ask the big man above to let me hang around long enough to do it with you, even if you won't be able to see me. I made a promise remember? No more missing big things." he whispers into the phone.

His throat is beginning to hurt, like speaking around a sharp lump every time he formed a word. "And the house is yours, it should go into your name. The car, everything, you'll have it all. I just...I just wish it could have been different, you know?" he says into the receiver, that has begun to waver by his cheek. "But it is what it is, and I guess it finally caught up to me. I'm sorry I was such a shitty husband." he says, a light tremor in his voice. "I wish I had come home to you more, not left the bed cold. I wish I could have made you more dinners and more breakfasts in bed, just to show you how much I loved you. I love you. I love you so much it hurts. I never told it to you enough, or managed to even put into actions just how much you mean to me, but I do. You mean everything, sweetheart." he chokes into the phone, a small smile on his face. "I love you more than anything, so...so don't think anything else, okay? This isn't your fault. It never was. You were the best thing that ever happened to me, you hear me? So you pick yourself up when I'm gone," he gasps out, hand beginning to waver. "You put yourself back in that saddle, and you show the world just how strong you are. Show them the person I fell in love with." he says with a smile, before breaking into a fit of painful coughs.

"Don't stay up, sweetheart. Get to bed early. I miss you, more than you'll ever know." he coughs out into the receiver before his body can't hold him up anymore and he slides down the bars until his cheek is pressing into the concrete, hand falling to his side and phone clattering against the stone. He can hear the tone end, and the automated whoosh sound as the voicemail sends. With bleary eyes he can make out the turned head of Claire, looking down at him with wobbling lips and tear-filled eyes.

"Look after 'em, hey?" he rasps out, pain in his chest stabbing as the black curtains begin to slide across his vision. Claire nods, and he can hear Chris grunt in the background. Leon falls into an unconsciousness shortly after, the smiling image of you the last thing he holds close to him as the blackness swallows him completely. As his body stills, a small smile is frozen on his face, the arrogant half tilted smirk he so loved to give you.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Typing away at your computer, you work till your eyes go square from the computer screen. You wipe a hand over your face as you review the spreadsheet that you're working on, leaning back to take a sip of your coffee. Your music blasts in your headphones, and for a quick break you pull up the checklist you've made for your upcoming holiday.

You're so engrossed in your work that you're unaware as your phone screen glows to life beside you, message popping across your notification bar.

You have (1) new voicemails.

[dreamergirlz]

He needs to wear his helmet more!! 😤

[dreamergirlz]

A Soft Spot for You

RE2R!Leon x F!Reader

Your phone buzzes into life, the once dark screen illuminated to a caller ID interface. The insistence of your persistent ringtone has you picking up your phone to check out who could be calling, though you have a clear idea of who could be the caller. The incoming phone call reintroduces noise into your home, as silence has long filled in the space when Leon had left hours ago to have drinks with friends and coworkers back at the police station. He initially planned on politely declining the offer, intending to stay at home with you as he is a homebody at heart, but your unrelenting attempts at getting him to go made him cave in. Besides, this would be a great opportunity to interact with his friends and make new memories. Your boyfriend’s smile commands your heart to take flight, even through a contact photo; his grin wide and warm, eyes squinted into joyful crescents, as he holds a bouquet of flowers close to his chest in his graduation from the police academy.

“Baby?” you ask as you hold your phone up to your cheek. You hear faint giggling, mumbling, some shuffling, and an unfamiliar male voice talking to some other person. “Hello? Who am I talking to?”

You hear some more shushing before someone finally responds to you. “Hi, I’m Chris. I’m Leon’s friend and he’s had one too many drinks tonight. He needs to be picked up, he can’t head home like this.” You’ve seen Chris before when you visited the station to get Leon cups of coffee when he had to stay in for a night shift, a tall man with exceptionally amazing arms and a neat Ivy League haircut.

“Baaabyy?” Someone drawls but this time his voice is familiar. It’s Leon and judging from the hiccup and giggle that followed, he must be a lot more plastered than Chris is describing. “I’m soooo hiccup dizzy…”

“He’s going to puke!” Chris says in an alarmed tone. “Jill, help him to the toilet! It’s going to smell like unwashed ass in here if he hurls!”

“Jill?” You ask.

“She’s a coworker,” he clarifies. “You better get here quick, he’s a mess. Don’t worry, we’ll take care of him while we wait for you. Here’s the address but call me again in case you’re confused–”

“I loooove you!” Leon’s voice distantly calls out, probably done puking.

“I love you too,” you say before hanging up. You set your phone down to gather what you need: coat, shoes, purse, some plastic bags, and your ID. With your things ready, you leave the comforting warmth of your home and head out to find a taxi. 

Finding a cab wasn’t too difficult so you got on the first one that you saw and gave the driver the address that Chris sent. The driver seemed familiar with the place so you told Chris that you’d get there in a few. Instead of acknowledging the message you sent, he sent what seemed to be several photos and videos combined. ‘You’re gonna want to watch these,’ he followed up. In all the attachments he sent, Leon’s hair was messy and sticking out; his eyelids were droopy, cheeks and ears the reddest you’ve ever seen them, his black shirt no longer wrinkle-free with his dark teal jacket dangling off of his forearms. In one (blurry) image, he’s bent over on a toilet as Jill pats his back; there appears to be a creasing frown on her face, probably from the smell in a cramped space. In another image, he’s sprawled out on a couch in what would be impossible for sober Leon to get into. In a video you clicked by random, he’s looking around for a marker.

“Dude, what?” Chris says from behind the camera. “I told you, there’s no markers in here.”

“Need to hiccup write… her name on… on my hiccup arm… can’t let anyone g-get to me…”

“This kid’s going places,” Jill mumbles from somewhere.

The next video is shakier, as Chris is now somehow chasing Leon. You don’t understand the flurry of movement until you catch a glimpse of Leon chugging a bottle of Smirnoff Ice, much to the horror of a middle-aged man nursing his beer in the corner.

“Barry, what do we do?” Chris asks, catching his breath. “How is he faster when he’s drunk?! That doesn’t make sense!”

You’re giggling hard now, a hand clasped over your mouth as you try to keep yourself silent inside the car. There’s tears brimming your eyes as you rewatch the video over and over again, a snort escaping your mouth which prompts the driver to look at you dead in the eye through the rear view mirror for a moment. In the last one that you click, your boyfriend is now leaning his forehead against Chris’ shoulder as he mumbles to himself.

“Angels, they’re– hic– real because I… have a girlfriend,” he begins.

“Mhm,” Chris follows.

“I think she can probably heal… sick puppies,” he adds. “I dunno… I– hic– love her sooooo much. My name’s jus’ a word… but hiccup when she says it, it’s like… it’s like–hic– the law… right, Chris?”

“Right.”

“hiccup she looks at me! Like… I’m her hero, or somethin’. She has hiccup the option to hiccup choose other men… but she picks me! Me, Chris!”

“She did,” Chris affirms and Leon giggles, shaking his head before another hiccup shakes his frame.

As he slurs nearly poetic nonsense, you find yourself oddly charmed by his drunk sincerity. You watch other videos, embarrassed yet undeniably touched by how aggressively passionate Leon can get while talking about you. To you, it’s unbelievable how much more adoration Leon can have when he’s drunk as he’s already so full of it when he’s sober.

“I miss my girlfriend, man.”

“You just saw her hours ago and you’ll see her again when you get home.”

“Love ‘er sooooo much hiccup I want… I want… I want hiccup a hug.”

“Okay, c’mere bud–”

“Noooo. Not from you, I want a hug from her.”

You giggle at the other pictures and videos, the trickster side in you wanting to show these to Leon at breakfast as he nurses a killer hangover. You send three sobbing emojis in response to the clips, finding them hilarious. You assumed that Leon would be the sleepy drunk type of person, dozing off in the corner once he’s had too much, but it appears that he’s the talkative type.

You get there and see that it is mostly empty, save for a few people that you recognized in the video. Chris gives you a nod and leads you to Leon, who is now being prompted to drink a tall glass of water.

“I’m so sorry for how he’s acting,” you sheepishly say as you help Leon stand up. “I’m sure he was so annoying.”

“Good to see the rookie’s treating his girl right,” Jill comments with a smirk. “He wouldn’t stop rambling on about you but it was sweet to be honest.”

“The station’s going to love this,” Chris grins. “We’re never going to let him live this down.”

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

On the quiet ride home, he clung to your arm with both his hands as he rested his temple against your shoulder. Upon arriving home, you first sit him down and undo the laces of his sneakers as he tries to fight off sleep and keep a conversation with you going. You give him another glass of water, encouraging him to finish it before taking his jacket off of his warm body.

“Somethin’ you wanna say?” You gently prod as he stares up at you, pupils inky and wide.

“You’re making me nervous,” he admits as the flush of his cheeks grow bolder. “You’re very… beautiful.” His actions are reminiscent of a teenage boy gushing about his out-of-league crush.

“Thank you baby,” you say with a wink. His eyes widen and his breath catches in his throat before he clears his throat and tries to look composed.

You help him to the bathroom to get him cleaned up before ending the night. Brushing his teeth proved to be cumbersome but it would lessen the taste of alcohol and vomit. You wipe him as much as you can before you bring him to bed, changing his clothes before tucking him in.

“Pills,” you mumble to yourself as you walk over to your side but your boyfriend, confused and teetering between sleep and consciousness, holds on to your wrist.

“Don’t go,” he softly pleads.

“Huh?” you ask. “I was just going to get some pills and water for when you get up.”

Far too drowsy to properly respond, he unwraps his fingers from where he held you and you get to fetch him what his hungover self will need tomorrow. You walk back into the room and set them down on his side before climbing into the sheets and snuggling up to him, the alcohol in his body making him a lot more warm.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

A quiet yet unmistakable sound of a groan comes from your bedroom, signaling that he’s awake. You walk inside, greeting him a chirpy good morning.

“What happened…” he asks, rubbing his forehead.

“You had too much to drink last night, “ you say. “Did you take the pills already?”

“Yeah. I feel like I got hit by a truck,” he adds.

“Well, breakfast would make you feel so much better. There’s some ready in the kitchen.”

He quietly heads over to the dining table, taking his seat and adding his serving of food onto his plate. After a few moments of silently chewing, you ask him something you’ve been wondering since you’ve woken up.

“Do you remember anything from last night?” You ask.

“No, not really. I’m never drinking ever again... my head hurts so bad,” he responds.

“You’re going to want to see this,” you say with a wicked grin as you show him the pictures and videos from last night. “I think these will jog your memory a bit.”

He’s baffled at first, confused by what he’s made to watch until his eyes widened, mortified and embarrassed at seeing himself.

“They’re never going to let me live this down as a rookie,” he says as he hides his face in his shirt.

NOTE - I was supposed to upload this last night but unfortunately my laptop died and my charger was downstairs but here it is anyway :3 this fic is inspired by "Soft Spot" by Keshi, I really love the song and have been looping it ever since I started working on it. Also this fic is another simultaneous writing project like the one before this and I worked on it within an hour at like... 1 AM coz I just got this sudden burst of creativity right before I was about to sleep. I'll try to write for other versions of Leon coz I've been writing for RE2!Leon so much 😭 Also to my smut writer mutuals or anyone who writes smut that came across this, feel free to drop any advice in my messages coz I wanna write smut (on a separate blog) but I feel so awkward typing it out LMAOAOA. Anyway, that's all <3 thank you for reading my ficsss!!!!!! I <3333333 UUUUUUUUU!!!!!!!!!!

The dividers (the ones with the heart and stars) are made by @cafekitsune , the images are made by me (sourced from Pinterest).

[dreamergirlz]

When you call Leon late one night, he knows something's up with his best friend and mission partner of two years. You're breaking down and your shitty on-and-off boyfriend's nowhere to be found, but that's not Leon's business. He's just supposed to be a shoulder for you to cry on.

But Leon's not very good at staying out of business concerning you. Feelings get involved, and he finds out he has quite a sticky finger when it comes to phone calls.

f / m, friends / partners to lovers, angst + fluff w/ hurt + comfort, mutual pining, mild?? safe sex, phone sex w/ a twist, tw: shitty bf that's not leon but no cheating i don't condone cheating, porn w/ feelings + some semblance of a plot. oh, and happy ending :) mdni.

word count: 2.7k // read on ao3

a/n: YAY GRACIE ABRAMS RELEASED CLOSE TO YOU!! idk what happened with this fic LMAO it just got way out of hand. i’m also working on "and they were roommates!"; it's my summer goal to finish that series (you can really tell how employed i am). also if you catch the touch tank lyric, i <3 u

The phone on Leon’s nightstand buzzed impatiently the way demanding, intrusive phone calls do at 1 AM on weeknights. Jesus Christ. No one called him this late at night, nobody except his favorite mission partner who only had burning questions for him the minute the clock struck midnight.

In other words, you.

He ran a hand through his bedhead, picking up your call with half a mind to tell you off for real this time before his ears met wracking sobs. The snark sublimated off Leon’s tongue. 

“Hey, hey, is everything alright? What’s going on?” his voice rose steadily in pitch the more you cried. Worry thumped in his bare chest as he sat up on his knees, “Where are you?”

“Home, I’m at home, I- Leon, he’s with her, I don’t know what to do!” You sounded like you were drowning the way your words spilled out, punctuated with gasps for air. “He turned his phone off, and his-his friends said he wasn’t with them at the bar…” you hiccuped, “and I have the worst gut feeling, it feels like-” 

His stomach twisted as you heaved for breath. “I feel like I’m going to throw up.” 

Leon’s mind whirled. He knew, to his incredible unenthusiasm, that you’d been in an on-and-off relationship for the past two years. You couldn’t let go of your boyfriend from your training days. You’d sip apologetically from your drink and wave away Leon’s scolding each time you got left in the dust, only to bounce back the moment your boyfriend promised to do better. 

You’d been his saving grace in the field more times than he could count, and it was only because of his own woman in red that Leon could empathize where others rolled their eyes at you. You and him were the same. The only difference is that he’d given up on this part of life entirely while you clung tight. Leon had gone his separate way while you pined at the crossroads. 

But he was a selfish bastard, and he was a bit like you, too. Same coin. He gave you his shoulder to cry on and couldn’t help absorbing a bit of the blame for your needy heart.

“Stay right there.” Leon murmured, forcing his anger at your definitely cheating boyfriend into something softer for you to land on, "I'm coming right now, I'll pick you up and we'll talk about it."

“Don’t, Leon, it’s late. I just called to…God, I don’t even know. You have work tomorrow.” 

“First time you’ve been concerned about my work, calling this late at night.” he chuckled, interrupting your budding apology, silver keys jangling in his pockets. “Don’t worry about it. Pretend I’m already there. I got you.” 

You laughed through your sniffles, “Stubborn ass.”

His heart lurched. “Have to be one. I can’t have you thinking you can call me crying and I’d do nothing about it.”

The snow whipped at his windshield when he pulled into your driveway. Who the hell went clubbing on a work night at 1 AM, Leon didn’t know, but as he killed his car’s headlights, he figured your boyfriend was just the kind of good-for-nothing to pull it off. He stuck his hands in his pockets and trudged to your front door.

You cracked the door open after two knocks, just enough for him to slip into your dark entryway. Leon frowned in the darkness as he let you pull him by the arm into your living room where a few tea candles flickered on your coffee table. They littered its glass surface along with a few tissues. 

“I'm sorry about the dark,” you wiped your eyes with a sleeve, “Sorry about everything, really.”

If he’d lifted your mood before he’d cut the call, he didn’t have a clue now. You looked so small, drowning in a long-sleeve shirt and pajama shorts, socked feet fiddling with a crack in the floor as Leon sat you on your couch. 

He couldn’t think. He just enveloped you in a hug as fresh tears threatened to spill over your lashes. "No. We're not doing 'I'm sorry,' alright? You have nothing to be sorry for." He gave you one more squeeze before popping the million dollar questions: "What happened? What did he do? Tell me everything." 

You crumpled into his chest. “You were right, you’re always right, Leon. God, why don’t I ever learn? What’s wrong with me?”

I’ve never wanted to be more wrong in my life. Tell me no like you always do.

“He’s been angry.” You mumbled, “Secretive, defensive…he bought jewelry that I only know about from the receipts.”

“…how long?” 

Leon wanted to fix this. Make your should-be ex pay. Hunnigan could always deal with the fallout later. She’d wipe your boyfriend’s existence off the face of the planet if he asked. Nicely. Hopefully. 

“I didn’t want to disappoint you.” You lifted your head to meet his gaze and all he could do was watch tears glimmering in those eyes he knew so well. “I didn’t want to tell you he’s been like this for a month…to be honest, I didn’t care.”

Leon’s brain wasn’t catching up as you continued, “I just didn’t want to disappoint you.”

He raised an eyebrow. 

"Disappoint me?" Leon repeated. "Sweetheart, you would never disappoint me. You're my best friend, alright?" Damn, he’d pulled out the double-edged sword, but this way, he could get you to listen. The tingly feeling was back. "Look at me."

He cupped your chin in his hand. Studied your face. 

"Why would you ever think that?" 

“…because you said he wasn’t good for me,” you choked out, words tumbling from your lips the more you gained momentum. “Because I know how it feels to be loved because you treat me like that and he doesn’t, he never did, he-”

You stopped yourself with a shaky breath, blinking up at him like a deer in headlights because there it was. 

Here you both were.

The one line you were both afraid to cross. The line between friends and everything more.

Your hands flew up to his chest, flitting from the soaked fabric of his open shirt to cover your face as you backtracked hard. “I’d make everything complicated. You don’t need that, neither of us do with this job – you don’t need me to mess up the stability you have in your life. I’m supposed to make things easier for you, like an actual friend, and instead I just cause trouble. I drag you into my mess.”

Leon could roll his eyes right about now. Said the girl who watched his back at every turn. Saved him limbs and further replacements for said limbs. The girl who started breaking him out of his shell with laughter and light the minute she stepped into his life like a hurricane, after losing Luis and the shock of Krauser’s betrayal shut Leon further into the abyss. You were the chief reason he’d stopped chasing Ada like a lovesick puppy and started seeing her as an advantage in the field instead. And you as something more.

You filled his life with so much to look forward to that he simply didn’t have the time to let the negativity in. So it was only right that he cut you off, sealing his mouth to yours to even the exchange. An eye for an eye – heart for a heart.

"There." Leon breathed out after what felt like an eternity, heat rushing to his face. "Am I messing up your life yet?"

The broken pieces of your heart kicked up like the snowstorm outside the moment Leon’s lips touched yours. The breath knocked out of you as he lifted your chin ever so gently with just a finger, your head reeling to keep pace: Leon. Here. Kissing. Kissing you.  

Is he messing up your life yet? Oh, baby boy.

“You could never.” 

A stupid, giddy smile threatened to split your face in half as your heart beat double time.

“...but I’d let you if you wanted.”

“Then let me, sweetheart,” Leon practically begged, his ocean eyes searching yours.

“I’ll stop if you say the word.”

His calloused fingers tucked your hair behind your ear as he leaned in again, drawing a beautiful gasp out of you as his tongue brushed the seam of your lips. You let him in, tilting your head, nose almost bumping his the way you chased him after he let go, everything that was suddenly too much now not enough. Leon’s heart kicked gleefully.

He hooked his hands under your thighs as he pulled you onto his lap. The strength he’d built up from his missions finally came to good use.

You blinked up at him, hungrily, pleadingly. “I do want something more. More than what we’ve got.”

“The sentiment’s mutual.” 

Leon took advantage of the fact you hadn’t done a single thing to stop him so far, purring sweet nothings into your ear as he began nipping at your neck to coax out more delicious sounds. He could play you like an instrument in the hands of Juilliard graduate; make you sing with a touch.

“Leon…I was scared. Terrified. Didn’t want to- didn’t want to lose you if I came clean.” 

You let his hands slip under your shirt to palm at your breasts, followed by profuse thanks in the form of tender touches everywhere else he could reach. Sweet girl, melting like snow on his tongue. He flipped you onto your back as you reached for him, trailing kisses down your neck as he eased your shorts down the minute you nodded yes. Feverishly. 

Maybe the warmth of your walls sucking in his fingers was what he needed to piece together why you kept going back to your shitty boyfriend when what you wanted was Leon.

You were distracting yourself. 

It was all so stupid.

“You’re never going to lose me,” he groaned; pressed a kiss onto your inner thigh, his hand locking onto your knee to keep it from twitching as you arched with every pass of his thumb over your tiny bundle of nerves. “I can’t even believe I let you keep this up for so long. Shit!”

It was devastatingly easy to bring you to climax. He followed the angle of your back arching at his touch like a step-by-step guide as he gave you one last kiss, right over your soaked entrance, and rose from his knees to sit your trembling body back up. Leon murmured for you to reach for the wallet in his back pocket, and you laughed breathlessly as you fished out a condom, kissing the corner of the lopsided grin he shot you. Angel. 

That’s one more name he’d been itching to call you.

“Let me keep you, angel. I’ll treat you right. You know that already, don’t you?” Leon kissed the top of your head, rolling on the rubber as you straddled his lap with shaky legs. His hands easily spanned the curve of your hips as you bit your lip. He didn’t want to hurt you any more than you already had been. 

“I’ll be gentle,” he murmured.

“You want to be gentle with me?” you repeated, smiling.

Fair enough question. Leon blew apart bioweapons for a living. But he could be gentle when he wanted to be.

He couldn’t help but smile back. “Yeah. Wanna take my time with you, sweet girl.”

Leon kissed you one last time before painstakingly, slowly, lowering you on his length. Really, it was because he wanted to hear you whimper his name all the more. You’re beautiful. Gorgeous. Your cries filtered into his ears sweeter than birdsong. Oh, he was going to make sure you forgot your boyfriend ever existed. You were all inviting warmth, plush walls and silk, but Leon barely had time to suck in a breath at the spectacular fit of you on his cock because of the infuriating trill of your phone’s ringtone breaking the blessed silence.

“Shut it up, Leon, I don’t wanna hear- oh shit! Oh my god,” your frustrated expression morphs into one of shock as he flips the screen to reveal your soon-to-be ex’s caller ID, “Hang up, baby.”

Leon wanted to listen so badly. You even called him baby.

“Leon!”

“Sweetheart, you said you wanted me to mess up your life? We’re starting now.”

Your eyes flew wide open as he pecked your forehead and tapped the “answer” button, bucking his hips up just enough for you to moan out loud. Your saucer eyes fixed on the phone on the coffee table; your ex just got greeted with the most salacious sound you’d ever made in your life.

“Babe, what the hell?” went the tinny male voice, “Are you…okay?”

You were okay, alright. Leon was making sure of that. One more kiss to your jaw and you were whining right into his mouth. It was just too bad the phone couldn’t pick up the way your fingers tangled themselves into his hair, but Leon was confident your mewls made it through.

“I’ll apologize later, I promise, just let me do this for you.” he whispered, angling you so he’d hit that spongy patch of nerves deep inside. You promptly dissolved into tears. Good ones this time, begging him for just a little more, doing anything to trigger that switch.

Your soon-to-be ex, however, meanwhile resorted to shouting any insult he could think of from what sounded like the inside of his car. Frankly, it was killing the mood. 

“Hey, buddy?” Leon called out as you teetered on the brink of euphoria. “It’s fine. I’ve got her.”

The noise of your ex’s muffled surprise almost made you get up in alarm, but Leon wasn't about to have this moment taken away so soon. Now, it was a matter of satisfaction for him as your ex blustered, "I'm sorry, am I hearing this right? You've got her? Who the hell are you?"

“I’m Leon. You don’t know me?” 

“I don’t know any- wait. You work with her, don’t you?” 

Leon hummed agreeably, focusing his attention on making the phone an afterthought for you as you chased your high. “Maybe. I’m just doing what you couldn’t for the past two years, you know.”

“You bitch. You’re cheating on me with a coworker? Are you fucking serious? Unbelievable…you…I’m on my way. You two fuckers better be there, I swear to God, I’m going to ab-”

Leon tutted impatiently, pressing into your clit to hurtle you over the edge and drown out the tirade with your much more listen-worthy wails of pleasure. The phone call ended, without Leon’s help, only a few seconds after the last of your cries finished echoing in the living room. 

“Oops. Think we touched a nerve, sweetheart?” he chuckled, easing you off him as he swiped a tissue to clean you up. 

You glowered up at him – shit – only to break into an incredulous grin. His heart was mere inches from falling off a precipice. Good God, woman.

“You’re crazy.” you giggled.

“Yeah? And you want me anyway.”

“Love you, anyway.” 

He grinned. 

Leon didn’t stop you from slamming the front door in your now-ex’s face (oh, how he savored saying that). He also didn’t stop you from jumping into his arms the second your ex’s car pulled out of your driveway, your bulletproof breakup face traded for the smile he’d once tried to convince himself he wasn’t in love with.

Your voice was ecstatic. "I can't believe I just did that. Oh my god, I just did that!" 

"Wasn't that fun?" he laughed.

"Really fun." 

You got up on your tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. "You know, ever since I gave you permission to ruin my life, Leon, you've been doing the exact opposite," you mused, your fingers playfully catching on the hem of his shirt. 

“I plan on keeping that promise, baby. I didn’t even have to ruin your life for you to fall in love with me.”

You arched a know-it-all eyebrow.

“Okay, okay! Maybe a little bit.” he conceded, warmth erupting in his chest. 

Yeah. If this counted as ruining your life, Leon was just fine with no rest for the wicked.

psst! find more of my work here

comments and reblogs are very much appreciated :,)

[dreamergirlz]

HONEY .YOU HAVE. TO FINISH THIS 🛐🛐

double agent! leon kennedy x reader

i actually really love this fic i wrote I'm proud of it tbh.

summary: you have been fucking your roommate, leon kennedy. little does he know you work for the british government as an agent against America, little do you know, he's an american spy. you finally tell him how you feel, with a mixed response of a fear of commitment and confusion about these feelings for the first time in 6 years, battling suspicions from both sides.

warnings: spicy smut, porn with a lot of plot

You and Leon had been participating in flatcest for the past two months and your feelings for him had been festering for at least another two before that. When you had both first moved in you managed to work your way around that awkward phase by going out at night after your shifts to grab a bite to eat and you had kicked it off instantly.

The reason you opted for a roommate was because the nature of your job as an agent had meant you were rarely home anyway, why would you waste money on rent? Not soon after meeting Leon through a mutual friend of Jill you found that he was also rarely home since he worked for a global weapons company rather high up and said he had a lot of abroad business trips, but your holidays and spontaneous days off had always managed to line up.

This week after you finished your mentally draining mission you went into Leon’s room who had just gotten back from his shift, rather than going to your own. He was at his desk finishing up paperwork at his desk and sipping at his coffee. 

“How was work?”

“Miserable.” You mumbled, changing out of the jeans and top you had changed into at work after your shower to avoid suspicion of going onto public transport, coming home in full tactical gear, and smelling like days of brewing body odour and gunpowder. You took one of the shirts out of his wardrobe and fell onto his bed, which made him smile. 

“Want to talk about it?”

“That stupid bitch Graves couldn’t stop giving me shit the entire time when he was doing barely anything compared to me, he just- Ugh. I don’t even know how to explain my co-workers sometimes, there are some truly insufferable characters.” You had told Leon that you were an aircraft mechanic as it was one of the only things you had an idea of what was going on in that profession as your dad was one, it also excused coming home looking like you had lived in a cave for the past few years when you were on the verge of passing out let alone having the energy to shower at work. 

He lets out a light laugh. “Insufferable characters? You wouldn’t last a day working with my team.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” You whisper, so quiet there was no way he could’ve heard, forgetting of his abnormally good hearing.

“Hm? What was that?” He grins, turning around his chair. 

“I think you’re the one who wouldn’t last a day at my job.”

“Oh really? What couldn’t I survive at your difficult job?”

“The imminent threat of death.” You say sarcastically, making him laugh at the irony knowing he almost got stabbed last week. “You’d blow something up for sure.” Sounds pretty accurate.

“I wouldn’t survive a day there because I’d always be distracted by you. Can’t even focus on my paperwork right now.” He says, getting out of his chair and sitting on the side of the bed to cup your face, leaning down to kiss you. You wrap your arms around him and kiss him back until he eventually drags himself away with a final kiss on your head before getting up. 

“You’re not taking me away from my work this time, I need to finish it.”

“I was going to sleep anyway.”

“I’ll join you in an hour.”

You nod and toss over, closing your eyes and falling asleep in an instant. The next time you opened your eyes, you felt the weight of Leon sinking into the bed next to you, both of you being such light sleepers. You wrapped your arm and leg over him, placing your head on his bare chest and kissing his cheek, prompting him to duck his head down to meet your lips. 

“I missed you on your trip.” He muttered in the brief interval of you both pulling away. 

“Shut up, you’re going to make me think you’re in love with me.” He only smiled and rolled over, in a position on top of you where he could slip his hand up your baggy shirt to hold your trace his fingers along your waist as his mouth slowly worked down to your neck. 

The soft pads of his fingers eventually met with the delicate mounds of your chest, gently pinching the bud and rolling it between his fingers, all whilst marking your neck. He tried to remove your shirt, but you knew his weirdly good vision, he would see your body littered with bruises, cuts and other trinkets you acquired on your body over the last week. You stop his hand, holding it in place and shaking your head to avoid any questions from him which would be impossible to explain.

“You okay?”

“Just- want to keep my shirt on today.” He nods reluctantly, slightly sensing the off-tone of your voice. 

“Something off today?” He asks while trailing his fingers down to the lower parts of your body instead.

You shake your head, leaning up to capture his lips and avoid his questions, he seems concerned but you make quick work of getting him distracted, letting his hand continue its path down your body, pulling off your shorts, slipping his hand under the waistband.

His finger traced circles on your clit, his teeth gently biting down on your bottom lip as he slips a finger into you, making you gasp and your body instinctively buck up to meet his finger. His fingers were so thick, so talented and always like heaven, he watched your face change as he started moving, you clamping around him, completely drenched. 

"Oh, you really missed me." He smirked, making you bite your lip. He slipped a second finger in, curling them up and hitting that spot inside you, you gripped onto his arm as your hips continued to move with him, his mouth back at your neck, sucking and nipping. Your free hand was buried into his hair, the other still holding onto his forearm.

He was driving you crazy, your breathing becoming heavier and louder as your nails dug into his arm, he moved faster, you were practically soaking his fingers, the sound was filthy. 

"I had a long mission." You say embarrassed. He pulls his fingers out of you and holds them in front of your mouth.

"Open."

You part your lips slightly, and he shoves his fingers into your mouth. You start licking his fingers, tasting yourself on him, wrapping your tongue around him, looking into his eyes, they were dark and hungry, watching his fingers move in and out of your mouth, watching the way you sucked and licked them clean.

"Fuck, did I miss you too." He groaned, slipping his fingers out and leaning down to kiss you, he could still taste the slight tinge of you on his lips. You wrapped your legs around him, he pulled away, his eyes scanning your neck and then back up to meet your eyes, his hand slipped up your shirt to grab at your breast, his thumb gently grazing the scab he could feel under your shirt. "What's this?"

"Don't worry about it."

"Did you get hurt?"

"It's fine, don't worry." He nods, doubtfully. You kiss his neck until he pulls away, ripping your legs open to kiss the flesh of your thighs, slowly moving up until he hits what's in between. His tongue laps against the damp fabric, you whine, he pulls the fabric aside and immediately begins lapping up at your folds, your hips moving with him, and his hand pushing down, pinning your hips against the bed.

"So impatient." He says, kissing it.

"Leon, please."

He doesn't tease anymore, burying his face into your pussy, his nose nudging your clit, his tongue flicking in and out of you, tasting you again. He pushes two fingers into you again, curling them up and moving them in and out, his other hand holding you down as he eats you out, you were squirming, moaning loudly, your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling.

"Ah- I- fuck, Leon, I'm gonna-" Your walls tightened around him, the knot in your stomach snapped, a warm and pleasurable feeling spread across your body, he slowed his pace, dragging his tongue out slowly to catch the juices running out of you, before sitting up and wiping his face, crawling up the bed.

"Fuck, I missed that." He grinned.

"Shut up." You kissed him, tasting yourself on his lips. He moves your panties to the side, dragging his tip against you to get himself wet, before lining up and pushing in, making you gasp and bury your head into the crook of his neck. "Oh, fuck, Leon."

"Shit, you feel so good." He grunted, starting to move his hips, gripping onto the flesh of your hips, you held onto his arms, feeling his muscles flex and move. His thrusts were hard and fast, the room was filled with the sound of his hips meeting your skin, the squelching sound of you both, his grunts, your whimpers, his name constantly on your lips, his praises and his dirty words, all his sweet nothings that felt so real. Fuck, he was such a good liar.

"Leon-" You moaned, squeezing his arms.

"Give it to me, sweetheart."

"Oh, Leon-!" You cried out as you came, tightening around him, feeling him twitch inside you and warmth filling you from the inside. He slowed his pace, riding out your orgasms and then slowly pulled out, collapsing on the bed next to you, quickly getting a towel to wipe you both up. He slips back into bed, wrapping his arms around you. 

“Leon…?” You ask quietly a few minutes later. He hums in response. “What are we?” You felt his body tense up instantly from beneath you.

“Where’s this coming from?”

“I mean… we’re basically cohabiting instead of being roommates.” He doesn’t reply. “Let me ask you an easier question. Do you like me?”

“Of course I do.”

“More than friends?”

He sighs. “Why don’t you just go to sleep? We can talk about this tomorrow, okay?”

You nod, trying to remain optimistic about it. You doubt there’s a chance he doesn’t like you unless he’s an utter sociopath. The way his arms wrap around you now must mean something, how he strokes your hair as you fall back to sleep.

Little did you know, Leon got barely any sleep tonight. Maybe managing to get a light rest at 5 am. He should’ve expected the question, but he didn’t. Of course, his luck evading it had run out, did he really expect he’d continue like this forever? 

He hated the idea of talking about this, he hated the idea of talking about any of his feelings. Every relationship she had ever had in his life, his parents, mission partner, his ex-girlfriends had only ever left him or died. He knew he had been lying to you as well, the nature of his job he wouldn’t even be able to disclose to you. And it would only put you in danger, no matter how much your laughter warmed his heart, your presence at night shielding him from his night terrors, the way your small little intricacies and-

He hated the idea of falling in love again, but he already knew it was too late. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have let this go on this long.

The next morning, he woke up at 9 and couldn’t get himself back to sleep, laying there regardless to give your pretty head a soft pillow. You only woke up 30 minutes later, squeezing your arms around him and propping yourself up on his chest to kiss his nose.

“Morning.”

…

After breakfast, you both ended up spending the whole day on the couch watching movies and then reading. Getting some food ordered to the house as you lazed around in pyjamas, but you could now feel a slight tension from Leon. He didn’t return as many of your touches or show as much emotion. 

You put your book down, looking up at him. 

“So my question.”

“What question?”

“The one I asked last night.”

“Oh… That question,” He sighs and closes his book, looking you in the face. “I thought it was obvious.”

“Well, flatmates with benefits… I guess the thing I’m really getting at is that I like you a lot, and I think we should be more than that.”

The moment of uncomfortable silence rips you apart slowly. When he looks at you, he can see Ada, Claire, his ex, every single woman who has ruined him, every single time it’s never worked out. He can see the pain on your face when he eventually tells you who he’s working for, and he can see the pain on your face now. 

He shifts his eyes down, and his next words come out slowly, thinking deeply about his response. “You want me… But you wouldn’t want us…”

“What? Leon, I love what we have. I love us right now.” You say, holding his hands, looking into his eyes deeply as he looks back up at you. 

“Then we can keep what we have.” He says, softly.

“Right… Okay… I’m sorry I think I was just getting the wrong idea.” You say, leaning back on the coach defeatedly, out of it as you think back disappointedly. There’s no way you could have gotten the wrong idea, were you an idiot?

“Please don’t take it the wrong way.” He said, sitting up to cup your face, only this time you sat there still, no reaction, so unlike you, it already hurt him and he should’ve expected this, yet he can’t get over it. “I like you so much, I think you’re wonderful. And it’s me, it’s not you. You don’t want me. You know how often I’m out with my job.”

“So am I, I just thought we’d go together well. Low maintenance relationship, similar dedication to our jobs, our holidays usually line up as well.”

“But that could change at any time.” He sighs deeply. “I just don’t think that it’s a good time for me to get into a relationship, as much as I would love to, with you.” He watches you bite your lip, nodding your head slowly. For fucks sake, how is it that he manages to ruin every good thing in his life? To hurt every good thing in his life when he knows that this couldn’t go anywhere? Now he’s fucking lying to you too, relationships scare him more than anything, he hasn’t even thought about one in the last 6 years, he couldn’t even admit to himself how much he loved you.

“I understand.” You said, standing up, he held your wrist stopping you from walking off.

“I’m sorry, I just don’t want to hurt you.” He knew he could die at any time, the fact he was still alive was a ridiculous stroke of luck, and it had been so long, that he didn’t even know if he was capable of loving someone anymore, it was already so confusing. “Please don’t let this affect you.”

“Hurt me? How could you possibly hurt me?” You said, frustrated with the vagueness of everything he’s said, left wondering with festering feelings and no idea what was going on. You knew something was off, you could sense it in his tone, something you had too much experience with dealing with, interrogations. 

“I wouldn’t be a good boyfriend.”

“Well that’s a lie, you’ve acted like a good one and we’re not even dating, so what are you not telling me, Leon?”

“What?” He said, incredulously.

“You’re hiding something.” His gut twists, but he can act naturally. 

“What are you talking about?”

“Is it another girl? Have you been lying?”

“No!”

“Then what is it? I’m not stupid, with all this vagueness you’re giving me, skipping around the real reason.” Fuck. He needs to come up with something. 

“I’m not.”

“Say it.” 

“I don’t-” His eyes drop down to your wrist, he was holding onto, seeing a deep scab under your shirt - his instincts take a hold of him, lifting up the sleeve and seeing the amalgamation of cuts, bruises, you pull your hand away straight away. “What is that?” He says, worried. 

“It’s not important.”

“Is that what you didn’t want me to see last night? There’s more, isn’t there?” 

“There’s not- It’s just.” He stands up, stepping towards you, and you back yourself into a wall. He puts his hand out for your other arm, not saying a word. 

“Why do you care? I’m not anything to you.” He keeps his hand out, wordlessly. “Leon.” You say, warningly. You try to sidestep him but he grabs both of your wrists, you break yourself out effortlessly, and he raises an eyebrow at how you’ve done it so easily, with the exact military technique. He slams his hand against the wall to stop you from leaving, you try to step under, getting stopped by him again. 

“What are you hiding?”

“I don’t have to tell you anything. All you’ve been doing to me is lying.”

“Show it to me.”

“Why?”

“I want to see what happened.” His hand grabs your wrist again, roughly to an extent that you can’t overpower. You quickly knock your legs between his, knocking him on the floor with his grip still tight on your wrists so you fall with him. How do you know how to do that? He thinks, and with such a graceful agility and power like you do this every other day. He rolls over, his weight on your waist so you really can’t move. To try to flip him with your hips but he keeps himself down, and although he was expecting it, you manage to do it again although with some strain. 

He grabs your ankle as you try to quickly run off him, quickly putting you underneath him again, keeping his pressure firmly on your hips and your wrists above your head. And how does he know how to detain people so easily? It’s not just his strength, it’s his calculated movements. 

“Don’t you dare.” His hand pulls up your shirt, to his absolute horror a bruise so dark it’s basically black covers half of your stomach, cuts on every inch, some long and deep. He had seen your scars, but this was fresh. 

“What is this?” He says, looking at you. He had seen some cuts and bruises on your thigh last night, which were ignored, but it was nothing compared to your top half. You turn away, refusing to look at him in frustration.

“I told you to stop.”

“What is this? What happened?” You don’t answer. “Who did this to you?” You manage to split you arms apart, breaking out of his hold, and flipping him over again, taking all of your strength.

“Leon, please. Stop it. Haven’t you hurt me enough today?” He holds your thighs down against him, not letting you get up. 

“Do you honestly think I’m enjoying this?! Do you honestly think I enjoy hurtning you?!” He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes. “Please tell me, Y/n. I can’t look at you like that, I’m sorry, I can’t. I care about you.”

“I got mugged on my business trip and I thought I could fight back because of some stupid self-defence classes!” Is what you manage to come up with. “Now can you fucking leave me alone?!” You rip his hands off of your legs, finally getting up, you feel him coming up behind you and you slap his arms away. You see a call on his phone on the couch, you stare at it until it stops ringing. Hunnigan. Then two messages. ‘Call me asap.’ ‘I need you.’

“I’m so fucking stupid.” You said, walking back to your room. 

“Let me explain.”

“I’ve seen enough.”

“Wait!” You slam your bedroom door, and he has no choice but to pick up that phone call. In a matter of minutes, he’s run out with his bag, and who knows where to. 

Hunnigan had called him about an emergency relating to a breakout of Las Plagas in the lab, and he needed to detain it. He texts you on his way there. 

‘She’s my colleague, it’s a work emergency.’ It’s been a matter of months and his job has already completely fucked up everything. But you? His head is rushing with you, with that little fight. Why were you so tactical? Why were you battered up? You must’ve been trained. He shakes his head, trying to chalk it up to some self-defence classes although it doesn’t feel right. He clears his head for the next few hours. 

You’re stuck in your room in shock about what has just happened. Rejection? Fine. Well, not fine, but it was better now than later. But he saw everything. What type of questions does that bring up? That came out of nowhere, everything built up to that 5 minutes where everything came out, every doubt brought up in those 5 minutes. And why is he trained? Dear lord.

He tries calling you, sending you a message on his way there. You don’t even know if you believe him, she might be why he doesn’t want to commit. You groan, calling Jill.

“Hey, it’s early, you alright?” She asks. 

“Are you free?” 

“Yeah, I’m going out with Carlos to the shooting range. Wanna come?”

“I’ll be over in 10.”

“What’s up?”

“I’ll tell you when I get there, it’s a lot.”

“Alright, love you, bye.” You hang up the phone, getting out immediately before you can let yourself think any more about it. Jill had no idea what you worked as, making it only more difficult to try explain things. She was waiting outside her house for you to give you a hug as soon as you got out of the car. 

“Is it Leon?” She said, knowingly. You nod. 

“Oh God, what did that idiot do now?”

“He’s hiding something from me.” Her stomach dropped, Jill may not have known about you, but she knew Leon’s job and every single detail, the fact he had somehow gotten you to catch on was even more concerning given how good he was at hiding things, although she knew how perceptive you could be, maybe it wasn’t a good idea letting you both meet each other. 

“What do you mean?”

“He’s, I don’t know… He’s hiding something. I told him I liked him because we’ve been…”

“Sleeping together?” She finished. “Thought so, we’ll talk about that later. Continue.”

“He said you don’t want me, his job, something about how I wouldn’t want us, it was just all vague and I can just tell. Then he got a call from this girl named Hunnigan and he left straight away.” Relief washed over her, oddly. Hunnigan was a colleague, at least he wasn’t actually cheating, and you didn’t suspect him. 

“You think he’s sleeping around.”

“No… But, who gets a call from their coworker on a Saturday morning saying ‘come now, I need you.’?”

“I guarantee you he’s not sleeping with her, that’s his colleague and she’s a lesbian.”

“Well then I think he’s hiding something from me, I just don’t know what. And we got into a physical altercation.” Carlos came out, he was listening from the doorway. 

“He hit you?” He burst out. 

“Carlos!” Jill shouted, slapping the back of his head. 

“I wanted to hear the gossip for myself!” He said, bashfully. 

“Let’s just talk about this inside.” She said, letting you in. 

“No, he didn’t hit me but he grabbed my wrist when I was trying to leave and saw some bruises, we fought as he was trying to see my other wrists and… he’s trained?”

Carlos and Jill looked at each other worriedly, did he just get himself figured out? 

“How do you know he’s trained?”

“I took some classes and I was a cadet in secondary school. I can tell he’s literally trained, to perfection. So what the fuck? Is he cheating on me or is he a fucking… I don’t know, some kind of mercenary, assassin, agent?” You say, finally trying to put the dots together. 

“He was a cop.” Carlos said. 

“For 1 day.”

“He trained before that, and he was the top of his class. It makes sense.” You drag your hands down your face in frustration, leaning back on the couch. His training was almost 6 years ago, why would he ever remember it?

“What is going on?”

Jill sits forward. “You’re overthinking things. His coworker called him, and he was trained in the police force. Maybe he just doesn’t want a relationship?” Which would make sense, knowing Leon who’s afraid to hurt anyone, who would have to keep secrets from you for the rest of your life. 

“He’s told me.” Carlos butts in. “He’s had a lot of difficulty with past relationships because of his jobs, being a cop, and the one he has now. His ex, of how many years he had broken up with him when he became a cop. His other one died in Raccoon City, he doesn’t have a good track record.” He thinks for another second. “You promise me you won’t tell anyone because he’ll actually fucking kill me himself.”

“I swear.”

“He likes you, he’s in denial but I swear he does, he doesn’t shut up about you and whatever you guys have been running around doing.”

“And you didn’t tell me, Carlos?!” Jill shouts. “And neither did you tell me what was going on Y/n!”

“I said he’d kill me! Because you’d tell her!” She crosses her arms annoyedly, that’s going to be long for Carlos later. But secretly, at least you’re off of Leon’s case, of course they have to do his work for him. 

“He hasn’t admitted it to himself yet but he does. He’s scared of committing to someone else again and having the same thing repeat. He’s not with anyone else, he just doesn’t know what’s going on in his own head, I don’t blame him for everything he’s been through.”

You nod your head slowly. He wasn’t playing you, you’re still confused. “So what? What am I meant to do?”

“Just give him some time. Keep telling him. Try talk to him.”

“I… I don’t know if I can after what happened. I’m still mad at him, he tackled me for fucks sake, doing everything I told him not to. I’m still having doubts.” You end up going to the shooting range with them, agreeing to just try and take your mind off of him. You find yourself frustrated throughout the extension of it, it still hurts. 

… 

Leon was stuck on the truck to the lab, trying to clear his head, but he just couldn’t. You were trained, fine, you had an excuse for that as off as he felt forcing himself to believe it. Even worse, you wanted him as more than friends, he loved hearing those words come out of your mouth, but it terrified him. It didn’t matter anyway as he already ruined his chances. 

He thinks about messaging you again, but he can’t. Those cuts and bruises everywhere on you play on his mind like a constant film on repeat, pissing him off every time it flashed in his head, it was even worse every time he thought about the fact you could let yourself get hurt. The argument had him heated enough to take it out with a rampage at work. What was going on with you?

...

Part 2 guys? I don't know whether I should continue it or not.