dreamergirlz

[dreamergirlz]

I Got Your Name Tattooed in an Arrow Heart

Leon Kennedy x Gender Neutral Reader

Leon's returned from a mission, and the two of you celebrate his return by cuddling up together in front of a shitty movie. He's more interested in you than the movie though, and in his gazing he notices a little marking on your wrist, one he's never seen before, one that you seem to be rather keen to hide.

Or, you write Leon's name on your wrist because you're a closet sap and you miss him and you're lowkey embarrassed about it.

Tags - Fluff, like just pure fluff, kissing, minor references to past suicidal thoughts, gender neutral reader + pronouns, very domestic, you are shorter than Leon by a fair bit sorry abt that, no use of y/n, any post-Raccoon City Leon can be applicable here but I had RE4R Leon in mind, but there are mentions of him being blond

Word count - 2,381

A/N - Hiiii this is my first Leon x Reader fanfic <3 It's been on AO3 for a while but I'm finally uploading it to Tumblr too! People do such pretty formatting for these and I have no idea how to do all that so please just accept the above Leon pictures as my formatting offering. There are also no physical descriptors of Reader aside from them being shorter (I'm five foot that's why), I aimed to make this as inclusive as possible :)

The walk up the stairs was a long one, the exhaustion set deep in Leon’s bones. He’d just come back from a mission debrief, filled out the necessary paperwork thrust upon him not two seconds after returning to American soil. Hunnigan had done her best to lighten the load though, and he couldn’t be more grateful. It meant he could return home quicker, back to comfort, back to his bed. 

Back to you. 

A glance at his watch told him it had just gone eight, too early for you to be in bed. The thought of coming home and seeing your face gave him the energy to put one foot in front of the other, and it was with a sigh of relief that he opened the door and entered their home. He shucked his boots off and left his motorcycle helmet on the nearby counter, and as he shrugged his jacket off he heard your sweet voice call out his name. 

“I’m back,” he called out in reply, and there was a bit of clatter in the living room before he heard a familiar set of footsteps approaching, and then there you were and it was like a weight had been lifted off his chest. A beautiful smile was on your face, your eyes sparkling in that way they only seemed to sparkle when you looked at him. He hung his jacket up and then you were hugging him and this, this was what kept him tethered. Your arms were wrapped around him, hands rubbing soothing circles into his back, face buried in his chest. He hugged you back, held you close, resting his head on yours and breathing in your familiar scent, so refreshing and comforting after trekking in the middle of nowhere for weeks. 

“You smell like shit,” you said, cheek pressed up against him. He breathed out a laugh, tickling the top of your head. 

“I’ve smelt worse.” 

“Shower or bath?” 

He hummed. “Shower.” 

A bath sounded nice, but honestly, he just wanted to collapse with you on the sofa as the TV droned on. Lay down with you, regain his sense of self in your warmth – as much as he had left, anyway. 

“You take a shower then, and I’ll get you dinner. I just made pasta – I didn’t know you were coming home tonight so I don’t have anything better.” 

His arms tightened around you, and he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. 

“Pasta’s fine.” 

Before you, he honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a home-cooked meal made for him. You’d told him you weren’t the best cook, to not judge your basic dishes, but every meal you cooked tasted wonderful to him. It tasted like home, like love, like someone cared about him enough to cook for him. 

Pasta was more than fine. 

“Cool, I’ll get that heated up for you then,” you said, and he eased up his hold to let you go, immediately feeling the loss of your warmth and having to stop himself from chasing after it. “Now go clean up, stinky.” 

He snorted, punching you lightly in the arm as he set off towards the bathroom, your subsequent laughter washing over him like a balm.

----

Stomach full, clean, and dressed in his comfy clothes, the two of you were cuddled up together on the sofa, lazily watching a shitty B-movie. You’d started off sitting apart but sometime during the movie you’d drifted closer together, and now you were nestled in Leon’s arms, practically on top of him, you holding his hand and idly stroking it with your thumb. There were a lot of explosions and yelling going on in the movie, but Leon found his gaze drifting to you instead, like a magnetic pull. You were dressed in his old hoodie – one of the ones you’d deemed part of the ‘communal wardrobe’. He’d acted grumpy about it at the time but he honestly loved seeing you in it, and if he’d left a few more of his hoodies around for you to steal then that was between him and the God he didn’t believe in. 

His gaze drifted down to your hand holding his, then zeroed in on a marking on the inside of your wrist. 

“Hey, what’s this?” 

Curiosity piqued, he grabbed your hand and pulled it closer, making you yelp in shock. 

“Leon, give off!” 

“Just looking!” He said, curiosity piqued even more by your protests. He turned your hand to see the inside of your wrist, and his breath hitched. 

It was his name written in pretty cursive, with a heart around it. He stared at it, lips parting slightly. His first thought was that it was a tattoo, but there were some little smudges here and there. 

He looked down at you, your face redder than before and pointedly avoiding his gaze. 

“You wrote this?” 

“Who else?” You replied, which was a fair point. You tried to tug your wrist back but he held firm, not done looking at it. The heart was a little wobbly, and he could see where you’d rubbed off ink and redrawn certain parts. His name was smoothly written though, and in the prettiest cursive he’d ever seen you use. He’d made fun of your typical handwriting before for somehow being worse than his own, so this was new. 

“I... I write it when you’re not here,” you said, voice quieter than normal, as if you were going all shy on him. “Like, when you’re on missions and stuff.” 

“You’ve done this before?” He asked softly, and oh God, his heart feels like it’s about to burst out of his chest. You nodded. 

“I dunno, it’s just, like,” you’re looking at the floor like it was the most interesting thing in the world, you were definitely going shy on him, “you’re not here, so I write that and it helps. With, y’know, missing you. I usually wash it off when I know you’re coming back home but I had no heads-up this time so I forgot.” 

Leon swallowed. God, you were perfect. Dressed in his hoodie, his name on your wrist, waiting for him to come home. How many years had he spent just coming home to an empty apartment, nothing to greet him except the utility bills, no one to miss him except the mould growing on the food he accidentally left out? On every mission there would be a not-insignificant part of him that contemplated just... not coming back. Letting the bioweapon with its hands around his throat snap his neck. Letting himself bleed out on the floor. Letting go of the ledge and falling to his death. He was going to die on the job - might as well have it happen sooner rather than later. 

Then you came along, and he found himself wanting to come home. Your face flashed through his mind when he parried an attack, when he shot an approaching threat. He wanted to come home and see your face again, wanted to feel you again, wanted to live to see tomorrow if that tomorrow would be spent with you. 

“Maybe I shouldn’t give you a heads-up from now on,” Leon said, then pulled you across until your face was closer to his, laughing at the surprised little noise you let out. Your face was still red and he could see the question forming on your lips, but he swiftly leant down and kissed you with all the affection that had been bubbling up inside his chest. He let go of your wrist in favour of circling you with his arms, another wave of adoration washing over him as your lips moved against his, fingers tangling in his hair. 

I love you, he thought as he held you close.  

I love you, as the kiss deepened, you making the little noises he loved. 

I love you, as you separated for air, breaths mingling. 

You laughed softly, and God if that wasn’t the most beautiful sound. 

“This is so embarrassing,” you whined, practically hiding your face in his chest. He wanted to make a little teasing remark, but as you lay there, dressed in his hoodie, his name on your wrist, all he could think about was that he loved you too fucking much. He took your hand, stroking his thumb over your knuckles. 

Imagining how it would look with a ring on it. 

“S’not embarrassing,” he replied, “it’s cute.” 

“You weren’t meant to find out,” you went on. He laughed softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You looked up at him, and if he could have this view for the rest of his life, he’d die a happy man. 

“Yeah? Well, I’m glad I did.”

----

You were stood at the kitchen counter, chopping up some potatoes. You’d finished work earlier than Leon today and so had bought a couple of steaks on the way back home, intending to make a better dinner tonight to make up for yesterday’s basic pasta with store-bought sauce. Not that Leon had voiced any disappointment with the dinner, but you liked making his favourite meal when he came home after a mission. 

Leon had texted you to say he’d be home soon, so you put the potatoes in the oven then got ready to work on the sauce. You caught sight of his name on your wrist and smiled. You didn’t tend to write it when he was around, but he’d seemed very happy to learn of your little habit , and so you figured you might as well re-write it on your wrist today. And every day after that, you supposed. 

A tattoo would solve the re-drawing issue, but you liked writing it. It felt romantic. Plus, you got to add little embellishments, depending on how you were feeling. Sometimes little stars, or dots around the heart. You’d opted for a classic design today, an arrow through the heart. 

A short while later you heard the front door open, Leon coming into the kitchen soon after, looking tired but thankfully without that dead, empty look he got after missions. He smiled when he saw you, that beautiful smile you treasured so dearly. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said as he approached you, hugging you from behind and resting his head on you. “Nice day?” 

You shrugged, turning the cooker off on the sauce. “So-so. You?” 

“Better than usual.” 

“Oh?” You said, turning round to face him properly. There was a little sparkle in his blue eyes, a little grin tugging at his lips. It was rare to see him like this after work – it normally took him a bit to shake the work off, so to speak. It was making you smile too. “And why was that?” 

“Because,” he said, then raised his left hand and shifted his watch to reveal your name in wobbly cursive, encased in an even wobblier heart. “I had you there with me.” 

Your face broke out into a smile, laughter bubbling up as you drank in the sight. He was fully grinning too, a dorky little grin with his eyes crinkling in such a way that had your heart doing topsy-turvies. You pulled up your sleeve to show him your matching inscription. 

“What a coincidence - you were with me, too,” you said, and Leon laughed, joy evident. Seeing him this happy melted your heart, and as he took to admiring your wrist again, blue eyes alight with adoration, blond hair loosely falling over his face, framed by the overhead lighting, he looked positively angelic. 

Truth be told, he was your angel. He’d disagree, would say he’s ‘just a guy’, but in him you’d found a love you’d only dreamt about. He wasn’t perfect by any means, but that didn’t matter when he held you so tenderly when you cried, when he supported you through thick and thin, when he made you feel so, so loved.  

Watching him like that, stroking your wrist with his thumb, looking at you like you hung the stars when all you did was write his name on your wrist, you knew that this was the man you wanted to spend forever with. 

“Can I have my hand back?” You asked teasingly, and Leon’s smile turned a little sheepish as he lowered your hand, but didn’t relinquish it, instead simply shifting so he was holding your hand instead of your wrist, fingers intertwined with yours. 

“I’ll let go if you give me a kiss,” he teased back, leaning in expectantly, and you gave an exaggerated eye roll before leaning up and pressing your lips against his, smiling into the kiss. He released your hand in favour of winding his arms around your waist, and your heart fluttered as he gently pulled you closer, enveloping you in his warmth. Your hands came up to embrace him in turn and the two of you stayed there, enjoying this time you had together, enjoying each other’s touch, enjoying the feel of the other’s lips, a feeling that was so familiar but never got old. 

Eventually you pulled apart, all lovestruck smiles and little laughs when your eyes met. 

“I love you, you know that?” Leon said, thumbs stroking circles into your skin. “I know I don’t really say it often, but I do. I love you.” 

You smile. “I know.” 

“Y’know, I figured out of the two of us I’d be Han Solo.” 

“Nah, you’re my princess.” 

“I’m not dressing up as Leia if that’s what you’re hinting at.” 

“Boo, you whore.” 

Leon snorted, rolling his eyes fondly before pulling away. “Alright, I’m gonna go get changed. See you in a bit.” 

He pressed one last kiss to the top of your head before walking off, and as you watched him you felt that certain fondness swell in your chest. He was your everything, the one you loved most ardently, and who, by some grace of God, loved you so ardently in return. 

“Hey, Leon?” 

Leon turned around, having just entered the hallway. “Yeah, sweetheart?” 

“I love you too.” 

He smiled softly, and that was your raison d’être. You could see a million stars, watch thousands of meteor showers, look up at a twilight sky, and none of it would compare to the view right before you. 

“I know.”

----

[dreamergirlz]

Hi love!! Can I please req some domestic Chris Redfield headcanons ? I just think this man deserves peace and a little love 🥺 maybe some silly moments too

── 𝗛𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗰𝗮𝗻𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝘄/ 𝗖𝗵𝗿𝗶𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝗱𝗳𝗶𝗲𝗹𝗱 ✦

𝗖𝗵𝗿𝗶𝘀 𝗥𝗲𝗱𝗳𝗶𝗲𝗹𝗱 𝘅 𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

𝙈𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨: Established relationship and Chris being absouletly in love with reader!! 𝘼/𝙣: Thank you for the req!! I love this man, and this was the perf excuse to bring out my rusty headcannons ab this man 🗣️🗣️

He’s a walking contradiction.

Built like a tank, acts like a soldier, but loves you with this quiet, unwavering intensity. Doesn’t always know how to say what he feels, but you’ll feel it in everything he does.

Overprotective, but not controlling.

He trusts you, but the world? Not so much. If you're out late, he checks in with a "you good?" text. Subtle but not overbearing. But if you don’t respond within 20 minutes? He’s tracking your location and ready to throw hands.

The slowest burn.

Chris doesn’t fall fast. He falls hard. It took him a while to admit he liked you, and it took longer to act on it. But once you're his? That’s it. You’re his anchor. His home.

Acts of service is his love language.

Not great with words. But he'll fix your shit without you asking. Change your oil. Carry you to bed when you fall asleep on the couch. Make sure you eat. He doesn’t say “I love you” as often as he should, but he’ll show it every damn day.

His Nightmares.

He won’t tell you when he has them. But you’ll wake up and find him sitting at the edge of the bed, head in his hands. All it takes is a hand on his back, and he’ll lean into your touch like he’s trying to breathe again.

Tension relief = you or working out.

If he’s stressed, he’s either at the gym or dragging you to bed. Sometimes both. Rough hands, soft mouth, and a desperate need to feel something real.

He needs someone who grounds him.

You’re the one who brings him back from the edge. The one who reminds him he’s more than what he’s lost. And even if he doesn’t say it… he’s terrified of losing you.

Pillow talk is rare, but golden.

He’s vulnerable when he's half-asleep, fingers tangled with yours, voice all gravelly. That’s when he tells you the stuff he’s too afraid to say in the daylight. That you make him feel safe. That you're the only thing in his life he doesn't regret.

Mornings with Chris?

He’s up before you. Always. Sometimes it’s work, sometimes just habit. But if he’s not on duty, he’ll make coffee and sit on the edge of the bed, watching you sleep with this dumb, lovesick look on his face. Occasionally whispers, “How the hell did I get this lucky?”

He does laundry like he’s defusing a bomb.

Follows every step exactly. Separates colors like it’s a classified mission. But once, he shrunk your favorite sweater and felt genuinely devastated about it. Bought you three new ones and wouldn't stop apologizing.

Cuddles like a furnace.

Chris sleeps hot and wraps himself around you like you’re a damn body pillow. Big arms, warm chest, hand always on your waist or under your shirt. If you try to get up, good luck, he’ll grumble, pull you closer, and mumble, “Five more minutes.”

He talks to plants like they’re soldiers.

You bought a succulent. Chris named it “Private Green.” He gives it pep talks and watering instructions like he’s briefing it for combat. You caught him saying, “You got this, soldier,” once. He denies it to this day.

He has a “house voice.”

You know the one. Deep, a little raspy, but softened when he’s home with you. Like he’s still figuring out how to talk without shouting commands. Sometimes you catch him whispering little nothings when he thinks you’re asleep,

“You’re the only good thing in my life.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Random forehead kisses.

You could be brushing your teeth or reaching for something on a high shelf, doesn’t matter. He’s always sneaking in a kiss somewhere: your temple, shoulder, the top of your head. It’s instinct for him now.

He 100% keeps a photo of you in his wallet.

Even if he’s not on active duty anymore. It’s worn around the edges from how often he’s looked at it. Once you found it and teased him, and he said, “That picture’s gotten me through some of the worst days of my life.” You never joked about it again.

Sunday mornings are sacred.

No alarms. Just tangled sheets, soft kisses, and the quiet realization that Chris Redfield, the man who’s faced more horror than most, looks at you like you’re a miracle.

The man CANNOT cook.

He tries. God, he tries. But the moment there’s more than two steps in a recipe, his brain short-circuits. He’s used to structure, to orders, recipes that say “a pinch of salt” piss him off. How much is a pinch? What does “until golden” mean? Golden like a medal? Golden like a sunset? He burns toast because he forgets it's in the toaster, too focused on watching you move around the kitchen.

He’s a kitchen liability, but he won’t give up. He’s your slightly dangerous sous chef chopping veggies way too precisely.

He does push-ups in the kitchen while waiting for the microwave.

One time he bumped the counter and knocked over an entire bowl of cereal. He tried to blame it on the “uneven floor.” It wasn’t.

He thinks TikTok food hacks are genius.

“Babe look—they put mac and cheese in a waffle iron.” He says this while already plugging yours in, no warning. The house smells like regret in 5 minutes.

He makes the most atrocious smoothies.

Like spinach, protein powder, one sad banana, and… chicken broth??? You took one sip and nearly cried. He drinks it like it’s holy. “It’s good for recovery.” Sir. It tastes like betrayal.

He narrates chores like he’s in a survival game.

“Day 47. Supplies are low. The subject (u) grows restless. Morale… is questionable.” All while doing dishes and wearing your pink “Kiss the Cook” apron.

He has something against self-checkout machines.

Every time, without fail, “Unexpected item in the bagging area.” Chris glares at the screen like it just insulted his bloodline. “I scanned it, you piece of—”

Makeup shopping w/ him?

You’re swatching concealers, trying to find the right undertone, and this man just holds out his massive hand like it’s protocol. Doesn’t even flinch. You’re painting little lines of it across his knuckles, comparing shades, and he’s just standing there.

“Which one’s closest?” “That one looks kinda warm, do you want warm?”

He’s never had this kind of peace before.

And he doesn’t take a second of it for granted.

© 2025 ilovepeachicetea ✧ do not copy, translate, or repost my work anywhere.

[dreamergirlz]

thinking about crying into older! leon's shoulder. your tears wet his shirt, but he doesn't mind, all he's focused on is comforting you. he's too busy trying to make you feel better to care about something like that.

"shhh, you're okay, baby." leon whispers into your ear as you continue to cry in his lap, his big hand gently caressing your back as he tries soothing you.

he's not a man that's very good with helping others with their emotions. but he'd be damned if he didn't at least try.

his hand moved towards your hair; he gently brushed his fingers through your hair as he gently shushed you. "it's okay, love." he assured you again.

he played with your hair, which definitely helped you stop being so tense. his free hand moved to your cheek as he made you look up at him.

your eyes were pink and puffy, nose dripping, mascara running down your cheeks. you felt pathetic. leon still thought you were pretty.

"you feel better?" he asked you as he rubbed his thumb against your cheek, wiping away a tear. your breathing was still labored and occasionally you'd still sob, but you did feel better.

leon wrapped his muscular arm around your body to pull you closer to him. you nodded your head gently. "that's good, baby," leon replied, his voice gruff but his tone still gentle with you.

"everything's okay, pretty baby." leon assured you as he hugged you closer against him. his arms trap your body against his. he rests his head on your shoulder and his stubble itches you slightly.

everything really was okay now. being comforted by an older man was all you needed.

[dreamergirlz]

small words, big meanings

Character: Leon S. Kennedy

— Leon feels too much and nothing at all, you're offering what support you can for him

cw: gn!reader, rev. comfort, i imagined more re4r Leon but really any leon post-rc would work <3 not proofread cause i really just wanted to let the words flow

Leon catches himself mourning the young man he once was more than he'd like to admit. For fleeting moments when looking in the mirror, he can see the boy who was much happier, who thought he had the whole world in front of him with so much to see and do and learn. Who was about to have his dream come true, have something finally go his way after pouring so much dedication during his time in the academy.

Leon breaks a little each day he remembers that time has passed and won't ever come back. He doesn't think he'll ever smile like he did when he was 21, won't feel the lightness in his chest when walking the streets of towns and cities he's staying in. While the world changed around him, he felt like a man frozen and unable to move, like his heart beat slower than anyone else's around him, like his body morphed and changed in slow-mo and other's appeared accelerated.

Even next to you this feeling crept up in his chest, and fuck did he hate it. He didn't want to think about all the shit in his life when he had you who made things just a little easier from time to time. But he did, so fuck him he guesses.

You're not entirely blind to this either, but you can admit it's hard sometimes. It's hard to catch the shift because Leon has that stoic look on his face a lot of the time as a default, leaving you to rely on his eyes and subtle movements to understand what he's thinking. It's hard to watch the little light he mange to hold fizzle from his palms like a spark that pops off a roaring fire - there one second and gone the next.

It kills you to know you can only do so much for him.

It's something you tossed around in your mind as you watch him grab what he needs to head to the store, ingredients needed for dinner missing from the pantry. You would've gone or joined him, but he... not so much insisted, but with the way he spoke you knew he needed this. You get it, you've been there, needing a moment out of the house that became so familiar it was suffocating. So, you relented. Anything for him, anything you'd give if it even had the chance of helping him.

You're pulled from your thoughts as Leon addresses you, going over what he needs to grab one more time.

You wonder if he knows you know, if there was an unspoken dark figure standing in the room with you both that's getting ignored, or if he thinks you don't suspect anything.

After reciting the store mental grocery list, Leon turns back to head out the door with a small I'll be back, but before the door even had a chance to open you were on your feet, swallowing in hopes to rid yourself of the sudden dryness in your throat.

Calling his name, you cross the small distance and wrap your arms around him, resting your head wherever you could just to feel a little closer to him. The stiffness of Leon's shoulders eases after a moment and he looks over his shoulder at you, a brow slightly risen.

"I love you," you murmur, soft, but in the quiet room it sounded and weighted so much more. Good, they're suppose to, because there were far too many things you're not saying yet definitely feeling.

Anything Leon may have had to say dies on his tongue and he's left with just looking at you. Things that made up you started to leave that heavy feeling in his chest, twisting before his very eyes - had you changed too? Of course, you weren't always like you are now, but his eyes play tricks and the you now suddenly doesn't feel like you from this morning, or even the you from mere minutes ago, even when he knew deep in his bones you were.

"I hope one day you can see the world as you've taught me to see it, beyond the scary things it shows us everyday," you say next, and all at once that pressure in his chest eases, just a little. He hopes so too.

Wordless, Leon turns, taking your hands into his and pressing a lingering kiss to your fingers before pulling you into his arms. You could feel the tender way his lips then met your forehead, see the tension leave the slope of his shoulders, hear the breathes he took - in through the mouth and out the nose - and in that moment all you could smell was him with every breath you yourself took.

When the man who holds your entire heart and soul pulls you a little closer to him, pressed flushed against one another and his face still resting against your forehead, you knew Leon was still here with you, still fighting.

And when he pulled away after a long moment basking in your entirety, the tiniest of upturns to the edge of his lips and his own few quiet words were said, it solidified he got your message, both the one spoken and unspoken.

"I love you, too."

[dreamergirlz]

Second Reason

@purplerosebouquet asked:

"Heyy! Could you do a res4 Leon x fem reader fic where reader is his colleague/ fellow agent who has a situationship w Leon but he’s getting hung up on Ada and reader is jealous? Maybe even confronting him about it? Lots of angst but good ending 😭"

Summary : You escape burnout by turning your life around and becoming a government agent. Old mistakes haunt you and you find it difficult to replace old problems with the new, especially when you find yourself in a situationship. Pairing : RE4 Leon! × Fem Reader Tags : Angst, angst, ANGST, unreliable narrator, unethical therapy mention, hurt/comfort, slight smut, moderate strong language, slow burn (for a one shot) jealousy, open ending perhaps, reader is not okay and grew up watching cop drama. Word count: 10k A/N: I did NOT proofread it as well as I should've. It starts off as a hard read. but gets better eventually.

You always held pride in your emotional intelligence. It wasn’t superficial, you had a degree in psychology after all, so you knew it to be true. Managed to practice as a therapist for few months before taking time to reflect and turning your life around. It was quite a big stretch to jump from your ideas of becoming a therapist, leaving your straight A student persona behind, ditching those PhD dreams and leaping into a cycle of never-ending physical trainings, on your way to become a government agent. It was a shock to everybody in your life, but to you it wasn’t. Not in any way.

There were two reasons.

First, you mapped up the time, glued up a dream board and realized that it would take you years to finish your academic journey before you could actually do what you intended to. You also realized that watching a lot of daytime TV did you a disservice and planted an unrealistic idea in your head. You wanted to seek our murderers using your knowledge of the human nature. Help the police track the bad guys, interrogate them, wear expensive suits and even go out in the field wearing bulletproof vests with a real gun.

After years in university, this concept revealed itself as unattainable. It would take you decades to even get on a level where your expertise would be sufficient to write a decent report that could be used in court. And no one would ever let you go after criminals with a gun. And what was it about it that drew you in? What were you planning to do exactly in this scenario other than looking good and feeling badass? In case they actually hire you for that job, as a profiler (which would take additional years and expertise), you’d be too old to be physically fit enough for any of the badass visions. And when it came to those visions, you’d have to be too visually old to be taken seriously as a woman in the field anyway. At least some grey hair and wrinkles to get any respect from the men who stepped anywhere near military. It was not at all what you wanted.

Second reason was a bit more personal and way more grounded in reality. You didn’t like to think about it, but you had to be honest with yourself. Sometimes you wished you were a little bit less honest, just in your head. You wanted to sugarcoat things, and ignore problems and patterns, but you couldn’t. Admitting that you wish you could cloud your mind was too, a testament of seeing things clearly. You assessed the situation you got yourself into, and left. You didn’t like thinking about the second reason, it was a little too private, even for your own thoughts.

The third reason, that wasn’t mentioned, was the one you kept repeating to others. It wasn’t mentioned, because it wasn’t entirely true. After all, you couldn’t lie to yourself, but lying to others was easier. You told everyone that therapy was stressful and not at all physically demanding. You got into university with a scholarship because you were an athlete in school and the prospect of growing stiff sitting around and stressing wasn’t alluring. Stress needed a way out. You needed an active job. That was true, you knew it better than most and had a degree to back it up.

Training for becoming a government agent wasn’t easy. You did your best and still couldn’t get in the first year. Nevertheless, you weren’t known for the lack of determination, and soon enough you were an agent. Your dreams of wearing a bulletproof vest and carrying a gun were close enough to grab, if it wasn’t for all the paperwork you were hired to handle.

Didn't take long before you found out they only decided to accept you because of your degree, which to them made you a perfect candidate to process large amounts of information fast and make important connections. Heading straight into severe burnout, you nagged your way into a mission once, where you successfully managed to enter the building without drawing too much attention, and this success turned everyone’s eyes to you, becoming your golden ticket into the world of real missions, where the stakes were high, adrenaline was rushing and your actions actually mattered.

It was your dream life, bulletproof vest, a gun, you signed commands to your teammates, had a codename “Dove” (that you chose yourself) and for the first time in your life you felt in the right place doing the right thing. Your family and friends did not agree.

Every time you got back home, people would ask whether you found yourself a husband, implying that you only got into the field because “that’s where the real men are” since you must've gotten tired of those whiny boys you met in therapy and uni. You were perfectly aware that they tried to devalue your achievements and it made you want to never ever settle down out of spite, which wasn’t healthy, but you couldn’t help yourself. Poor coworkers that were bold enough to try their luck asking you out - got rejected, before you even thought of it. The idea of your family ending up thinking they were right all along and smirking about it for the rest of their lives made you sick. You were emotionally intelligent, yes. It didn’t mean that you were suddenly a robot and their toxicity didn’t get to you. Understanding and admitting this issue was a part of it, keeping it in mind was enough. Besides, it’s sensible to know better than confusing professional with personal.

You had it all figured out at first, the work/life balance thing. While most people in the filed allowed themselves to lack focus, only wishing to go back to their families, or on the contrary, spent all their time working as a distraction from not having any personal life or hobbies - you managed to be right in the middle. Hobbies, friends, self-care, education. At first.

Your optimistic desire to learn and improve yourself led to you taking on all the available courses that work managed to provide, which in turn led to you dealing with things mostly outside of your grade of training. Every time they were short on agents, you came in to help. Never alone, you were still too inexperienced and a woman. Nobody wanted to be responsible for writing you off dead. Even though your work was impressive, sending a young girl on a mission which resulted in her death cold not possibly look good on paper.

You disliked working with most agents. They happened to be arrogant, bad at commutation and for some reason always acted insulted that you were given the same task. It was never about teamwork to them. One of the agents once greeted you with a “Seems like I’m going to be your babysitter for this mission”. You knew better than to bite back, you never spared them the reaction they wanted to get out of you. Always friendly.

It took a toll on your mental health, but it wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was them being nice, making you finally feel accomplished, just to badmouth you behind your back afterwards.

Laugh about you being a burden and whatnot. You knew they just tried to keep up their image, to appear tough to other guys and to make sure everyone knew that they did not take you seriously, so their little crush wouldn't be that apparent. You also knew that everybody knew that, so it wasn’t getting under your skin most days.

Some nights it felt too unfair to ignore, so you imagined telling them off and commanding respect, like the women in those daytime shows you loved to watch as a kid. But every morning you felt too professional and too grounded in reality to pay it any mind. Maybe too small, but it was a secret you kept, unable to grant yourself at least a little courtesy, at least a little white lie, a lie by omission. Some silence that would protect you from self-doubt. Had to be cruel.

That nagging and flattery bothered you up until the moment you got paired with the moodiest agent. It was a brief time, a small task to help him out on a mission, getting into the building pretending to be barista and retrieving a package with intentions to pass it on to him. Got caught in a little bit of a cross fire and ended up helping out beyond your instructions.

He was famous for extreme cases and a cool attitude so you prepared for the worst. To your surprise, he happened to be extremely easy to deal with. A bit cold and he made a weird joke once that almost didn’t seem like a joke coming from him (or at best, for sure didn’t land). You hated that it didn’t go according to plan and prepared to hear all about how you were trusted with something delicate and created problems (even though it wasn’t your fault, it rarely was), but when you learned of his reports praising you for having potential and a fast reaction, you started seeing him in a different light.

Leon Scott Kennedy kind of proved to you wrong just when you started to think you were doomed to drown in self-deprecation before finally quitting. Your higher ups mentioned him giving you positive feedback and you didn’t waste time telling them that you found working with Agent Kennedy productive. He didn’t need your praise, so you praised your synergy. In all the best and seamless ways you knew how to, in order to manipulate them to pair you together more.

Your skills did not disappoint, soon enough you were working together every other mission. You were cautious not to seem annoying, but he had a way to make you feel at ease. He’d smile when you saw each other. He wasn’t a talker, but you didn’t feel any pressure. You were comfortable with his professionalism, it made you feel understood and respected.

After some time working, you were happy to return the favor, tolerated (a fair share of) his weird sense of humor. He’d alert your walkie-talkie with a stern “Dove.” and when you answered, he’d say “Flying high today?”

Made you roll your eyes every time. And finally, you were the one who got to feel annoyed, instead of feeling like you annoyed others.

He appreciated your attitude, sometimes he’d call you up to the shooting range at the base and helped you adjust your aim dealing with a bigger recoil than you were used to.

Maybe it was when he put his strong arms on yours, standing so close behind you without the gear being there to block his body heat from warming your back.

Maybe it was when he asked you if were okay at the end of the day. Maybe it was when he protected you from danger as his first priority every mission. Maybe it was when he trusted you with his life. Maybe it was when he wrapped up the mission before completing the task, because he didn’t want to risk you loosing too much blood due to your injury that one time.

Maybe it was when he texted you later. Lying in your hospital bed, you read “Dove. How’s the flight?”, how it made all the pain irrelevant. How you never answered because you suddenly didn’t want to say the wrong thing, but did everything in your power to hop back to your feet and get back to work. Maybe it was the shift in the energy that you felt once you saw him again, maybe it was the way you noticed how attractive his attitude was (when it was directed at everyone else but you). But you noticed that he certainly had an effect on you.

It was him who was the first to tell you that you’d have to stay put for a while, no feet on the ground, just “remote work”, as he kindly put it.

“Found a way to get rid of me?” - you joked before letting the sadness seep from your tensed up eyebrows straight into your eyes. He noticed and reassured you it’s temporary. And for the better. “If you say so.” was all he got. You were agreeable and there was nothing to discuss really. It was the first time he made you feel hurt. It wasn’t his fault, and you knew it, you were very mature after all. Emotional intelligence. But you still wanted to test if he’d feel bad about it and judging by the sigh that he let out, it worked. Smirk on your face as you walked away.

Same smirk curled up your lips when he came by the headquarters to ask how you’re doing, seeing you in hoodie with your hair down, talking to an intern, a young nerdy guy who was explaining something you pretended to care about.

“Getting comfortable?” – he asked, you weren’t sure if he was referring to your friendliness with an intern or your blunt dress code violations. Truth be told, you knew he was entering the base and let your hair down intentionally.

“Yeah…” – you put a hand through your hair, - “Keep getting headaches staring at the screen for hours and all..., hair ties do not help”.

You noticed his gaze lingering, - “Can’t catch a break, can you?” – he joked.

“Well, if everyone writing me off counts as a break, it’s all I’ve been catching.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” – he rolled his eyes, before looking at the intern, the guy's name was Nail, Neville, Niall something like that. Niall pretended to work behind you, and Leon lowered his voice, softened even, - “you know it’s not like that.”

“I know, I’m just making sure you know I don’t like it.” – you lowered your voice to match his, - “However it is.”

“Came here to make sure of that.” – there was a hint of a smile in his voice as he leaned closer to say that, before pulling away, - “Planned on disrupting your little holiday soon.”

Your eyes sparked, - “You did?”

“Can’t afford all my mentoring go to waste because of one stab wound. Ridiculous.”

“Your mentoring?” – you laughed, watching his relaxed smile for the first time, you liked that smile, - “Sure, that would be criminal.”

Getting back to work was easy, you never really needed that much time off anyway. You’d consider it a waste of time, if it wasn’t for a conformation that Leon cared about you in some way. You got bolder equipped with that knowledge.

Things generally shifted a little. His usual teasing turned into “Dove. Flying high? Both wings intact?”, he switched to a more hands-on approach, moving you around and grabbing your arms to stall you more than usual. He got more comfortable. It was like after your first big injury he got his conformation that you can handle harm and stopped acting like he was responsible for your every step, even though he never was.

Things got more easy until they got more complicated. When adrenaline got the best of you after speed climbing an abandoned military base wall to get away from landmines that were about to be triggered by a fallen satellite tower. Both heaving, lying on the floor, ecstatic that you made it.

Leon crawled his way to you, putting his hand to your side, where you were stabbed (three months ago by now), - “You okay?” - he put his hand on your forehead and brushed his knuckles over your temples, like it will give him any indication.

You sat up slightly. “Yeah…” - grabbing onto his forearm to get up, but getting lost in the vision instead. You both were high on the rush, him almost on top of you, sweat covering your faces, breathing deeply, it was only natural to put your hand on his shoulder and letting him kiss you. Kissing him back. Falling back on the floor, hearing him grunt into your lips as he fell onto you, putting your hand into his hair, pressing him closer, deepening the kiss. You made it out alive. You were so alive.

“Fuck,” – he breathed out between kisses, - “we got to go back”, - he kissed you deeper, as he let his hand grab your chest, moving it to your back, possessively, lifting you up, closer.

You held onto his arm, as if ordering it to stay there. Ordering, begging, approving… Nodding, - “yeah,” – and kissing him back. You both knew this moment might be the only one to steal. It was all there. It was all there was.

But you managed to pull away, the spell was broken and it turned into tension. And you got back without any distractions. Silent on the helicopter, both solemn in your own throughs.

Both planning on how to go about this incident, both trying to keep it professional, without ruining your partnership. Both failing as your off-duty talk turned into you kissing him against the wall of your on-base apartment, his knee between your legs, your hands under his shirt.

The story was: you both had the same monologue prepared, your ideals, sense of professionalism and morals aligned. And since it all aligned anyway, why does it matter?

You were great when it came to team work, you trusted him with your all and he met you in every way possible, every kiss, every thrust, every bite, he even came through with it every time all you needed to cum was to hear him moan.

You managed to keep it professional outside of the bedroom (or any room really where no one could see). It worked. You were too busy for proper relationships, you knew how to make each other feel good, you cared about each other, and you both wanted it. That’s what you kept telling yourself.

But you were a bad liar when it came to facing yourself. You knew damn well that you didn’t want any other proper relationships. You also didn’t want to change how things were, you did not put everything at stake for this career to throw it away on some good dick. Some good dick. Nice shoulders. And strong hands, that held you up, like they designed you and were making sure it stayed in place. Big legs and steady hips, that felt just right every time you came down on them. Firm lips, that took what they wanted. Soft voice that was sharpened with a rasp, always asking if you’re all right, if it’s okay, if you like it, if you’re close. Never had to ask, in his mind he always knew. His mind, always busy. Baby blue eyes, attentive, detached, sad. Ghosts, so many ghosts.

You wanted to take it away, you could. You saw past his exterior, you wanted to repair it, whatever it was. Your past mistakes coming back to the surface. Your second reason. Never could keep any boundaries. Drawn to all the broken things, too invested. You made a bad therapist, an even worse agent as it turned out.

But it was different with Leon, he was on the same page. There was no disbalance, no uncomfortable power dynamic, besides that in the bedroom, where he could easily overpower, holding you down, as you shake, as you pull his hair; him not letting you come down from your high before forcing another round of bliss onto your overstimulated body. No, outside of all that, there was no disbalance. You were on the same page. You were both okay. You were equal. It was better, he wasn’t your client, you didn’t have to feel bad.

You could care about him and it didn’t mean going back to destructive patterns. And it’s only natural for a person to care about another. You weren’t his therapist. You weren’t even his friend. You were just two people who understood what they..., were to each other and who were on the same page. Whatever that page was. He wasn’t letting you down this road alone. He had you. Whatever it meant.

It was special. And you felt like it was all worth it. It was scary to let your mind wonder to places he occupied, but soon enough you had trouble finding any space he didn’t. He was everywhere, like a new puzzle you tried to put together. What shaped him into this man you wanted to disappear into? What weights him down? What was he like as a child? What’s on his mind when you’re not together? What are the missing pieces? What pieces needed mending?

It was not your intention to let yourself get so wrapped up, but it was hard not to when he wrapped your legs around his shoulders, riling up the tug in your stomach with his tongue until your mind went white. So so wrapped up. Messed up. His hair, your body, your thighs, your thoughts.

You cut down on joint missions, couldn’t risk it. Seeing him in action distracted you, it wasn’t safe. He understood. It was hard seeing you in gear. It was really hard.

When you finally learned how to behave, you happened to work together more, couldn’t risk growing too far apart. Had to keep your hands to yourself, your thoughts focused on the task. Despite betting your all on these changes helping you to prioritize your career, you found yourself more ready than ever to throw it all away. Head first into his embrace, you didn’t care about your family gloating about being right, about proving it to yourself that you’re unable to keep anything professional enough. Despite every wall you’ve built. He made it seem worth it. Inviting. Safe. And if you were on the same page…, Were you on the same page? He had to be.

Where was he?

Those thoughts were doomed to be pruned before blooming because you couldn’t let the reality slip away. You had a dangerous job, even if you leave to make it more acceptable for you to be together, he won’t. And you can’t trust yourself to be okay with him putting himself at risk with no means to help out or at least to know what’s going on.

And you couldn’t forget that the only reason you happened to fall into this was out of convenience. Maybe not the only reason, but the main reason. One of the main reasons.

You were sensible, but in your head, you were retired in a house near some sea, lying on a blanket on some beach, reminiscing the old days with a smile with Leon next to you. For now, your goal was to collect as many memories as you could, make sure you have plenty to look back at. He’d be hot with grey hair. He’d kiss your temple and there’d be no ghosts in his eyes by then. You could see it so clearly. You’d love it all down. It would be perfect.

The day you wrapped up another mission (a big round number for you) you started planning the celebration. It was how it was done here. Had to plan ahead, but was way too busy daydreaming.

You knew it would be risky to have other agents, you and Leon at the same table. Add alcohol into picture, and the risk is high. But not inviting a person you owe at least half of the number you’re celebrating to, would be even more suspicious.

Little did you know, the reason why it was the worst idea ever never even crossed mind. The topic of you two wasn’t brough up until most of the guests left, the bar was almost empty, it just you and some of the agents who knew Leon “forever”, to quote them.

“So, Leon keeps snatching up all the ladies?” – came from one of them.

You had no idea if they knew anything or simply insinuated, so you looked taken aback. That’s when the guy added, - “Oh, I’m just kidding. I know Leon does not shit where he eats, not after Ada Wong!”

You didn’t know what to process first. To be relieved you were off the hook, to be disgusted by the phrasing, or to pay attention to the way Leon’s face changed after the mention of the name. He said the guy’s name sternly. A warning.

“Oh sorry, hit a nerve. He doesn’t talk about Ada.” – he finished his beer before adding, - “Would you believe our Mr. Cool over here fell for an enemy out of all people? Now he’s above it all, sure. Let that bitch walk all over and still-”

Leon stood up, - “Shut it. And take her name out of your mouth. You know nothing.”

It was your cue to deescalate the situation, but you just sat there. Silence filled the bar, and Leon walked out.

The guy who brought it up whistled, - “You’d think he’d be over it by now.”

“Hopeless romantic, that one” – cackled another, - “You must be used to his temper by now.” – He looked at you knowingly.

Before they left, you said that you’re were going to stay for a while, you had some business with the bartender. And you did, asked him for something stronger than beer.

At first you waited for Leon to come back, not letting any thoughts seep into your head. It wasn’t the best idea. You were better than this.

Did they know? Did they suspect? Was it their way to warn you?

You knew of Ada Wong, not much. Clearly not enough. It didn’t matter.

Didn’t it?

Whiskey never eased your thoughts, just made them flow more freely. It was a mistake to drink more after what happened. Another mistake.

Was it all a mistake? A thousand thoughts you desperately tried to keep at bay broke the dam and flooded your mind.

So that’s what it was about. Not about you, just him falling back to his habits. How could you judge? You weren’t exactly exhibiting a golden standard of professionalism yourself. It’s not a big deal. You both knew it wasn’t a big deal since the start, on the same page. Were you?

Suddenly everything felt disgusting, the bar, waiting for him felt embarrassing. Your thoughts right now, your dreams earlier. God, you were stupid.

You paid for the drinks and headed out. Bartender asking you something, as you turned to leave, not even listening. That was rude. Disgusting behavior.

It will all go away in the morning. It’s just too much information. Not enough information. Most people your age had past relationships; Leon was a couple years older. It’s not a big deal, he’s a young man with needs.

And you were just there to aid him with that. You had needs too. It was convenient and fair. Never gave any promises. Except that you did.

A lot of silent promises, it was convenient. Didn’t have to follow through if the only person who knew of them was you. Falling asleep was a challenge. You prayed for sleep to take away these thoughts. These feelings. You begged for a clean emotional palette in the morning.

But morning felt heavy on you on your shoulders. Sticky thoughts clinging to your consciousness and spreading like a disease. Embarrassing, grotesque, ugly.

You did your best to pick right through them and cage unwarranted ones. You were an adult.

So what, he had an ex. So, he didn’t want to talk about it with others. So, he didn’t want to be mocked. So what? It makes sense.

Was it because of her? What was it? You wanted to interrogate him, to strap him down to a chair and to get it all out of him. Make him confess it all to you. You deserved it. He owed nothing to you. You were way too mature to think like that.

You knew it was unhealthy since the start, you never learn. You needed a reality check. It felt like a slap in the face; hot, burning. Shame.

You were stupid enough to think you were special. You were stupid enough to overthink it now. Always overcomplicating. Was she the ghost in your eyes?

It wasn’t about you, it was your curiosity that made you walk into the office, wasting your day off, finding the intern you used to flirt with. By the time he got a promotion. Cut his hair differently, training weathered his frame a little, a beard making it's way to his face. Almost handsome. You tried your best to gather a crush, to cling to some dignity. It wasn’t all about Leon, your mind was capable of thinking of other people as well. And when you asked ex-intern to get you all info on Ada Wong he could find, it wasn’t about Leon as well. It was about your case. You saw him as a puzzle after all, it wasn’t personal. Just a curiosity.

Leon looked unaffected, if you weren’t there that evening he got all insulted over a mention of his ex-whatever, wouldn’t have a clue. He’s good at hiding. What else is he hiding? You thought you had your clues, not one.

Reading Ada’s files made you feel stupid. You kept thinking to all these times you thought it was sweet of him to care about you, to train you. You thought he liked feeling like he had something to teach, something to show. You were wrong, if Wong was what he wanted, he found your training sessions pathetic at best. She was better than you, better than him. Is this what he liked? You were so stupid. She was beautiful, not in the way you were.

You learnt all about how she wrapped Leon around her finger, he messed up. It was pathetic of him, embarrassing. You tried your best to transfer those feelings onto him, to project. It didn’t work. He wasn’t pathetic, he was this hopeless romantic with a ghost of a lover in his eyes. A woman who managed to steal her way into his heart even after betrayal. That wasn’t pathetic. You were, collecting any piece of information about her that you could. Now that was pathetic.

How you wanted to solve this puzzle, convinced that once you do, it will let you go. Set you free. You couldn’t possibly spend much longer on his leash. Tracking all your thoughts to him. To her.

They made you feel sick. You hated her for disrupting your fairytale. You hated him for not playing his part right. You hated yourself for allowing this fairytale to take roots.

It was stupid. You had so many guys after you in university, so many people at work who’d die to ask you out. You had all the cards when it came to dating, and you knew it. But you felt stupid and ugly. It was like all the miserable scenarios; all your jealousy seeped its way through your skin and you had to wear it heavy on your face. Ugly.

He ruined everything. He was not responsible for your feelings. You took pride in your emotional intelligence. Even that, he managed to take away from you. It was all tainted.

You weren’t jealous, just disgusted with yourself. Ashamed of being naïve. Ashamed of your thoughts and reactions. Was it even her real name? Ada Wong. Seemed fake. She surely made that up, who in their right mind uses a real name with a job like hers? If you can even count it as a job.

You wondered if Leon knew her real name. He knew of her nature, knew what she was doing for a living, he killed people for less. And yet couldn’t stand someone speaking badly of her. Left you alone.

Maybe it was a way to escape the conversation, maybe he knew something, knew these people and knew they would dig to find the truth about your affair if he stayed. This had to stop. You couldn’t afford to advocate for him just to justify your lack of maturity. You had sex because you were two adults in close proximity who happened to find each other attractive enough. That was it. Any complications will only hurt down the road.

The urge to shut off and be cold was as immature as it was natural. You could not force yourself to be any different. Couldn’t let go of the only shield that you knew, even though you knew it was childish, you knew it was wrong. You know it, you knew it all. You were smart. You were beautiful, you were capable and daring and independent. Why on earth did you do this to yourself?

You were miserable.

You had to let this go. It was in your head. Ada Wong was nowhere to be found, she was an evil, horrible person who betrayed people, a criminal with no regards for anything other than money. If Leon fell for it, he’s pathetic. You had a moral high ground in the situation regardless of any circumstance. At least you weren’t a criminal. The days you spent in therapy came to your mind. That was unethical, not illegal. It would be considered illegal in some states.

You weren’t a bad person.

Seeing Leon on duty was easier than you anticipated. Acting like you didn’t drag your dignity through the mud was harder, but you managed. Made it work.

A little more quiet than usual, but it was fitting for the mission. You flew over to another country to assist Secret Service agents responsible for president’s safety by tracking down the shooter. They knew assassination attempt was planned, but couldn’t risk to let it be carried out, so you had to track down whoever was smart enough not to die by being too bold, but dumb enough to be entangled in this mess. Not very physically demanding for the most part, a lot to do with getting into the head of someone who puts their life on a line to do something stupid.  

Daytime shows always portrayed these criminals as some genius people who had a plan and an ideology. Reality was disappointing; it was mostly poor people with no education, desperate enough to do any “job” for a promise of money they never end up seeing.  Their handlers weren’t much smarter, bribed to organize the mess you had to take care of because violence pays.

They were all stupid at the end of the day, putting their lives at risk for money. Just like Ada Wong. She was less stupid than your regular criminal, had to give her that. Maybe that’s why she was able to leave such a lasting impression. She’s just like a daytime TV drama character.

So smart and horrible, but since she’s sexy and rich, it can all be forgiven, it makes her cool. Was she rich? No idea, but she had to be, a lot of money involved in the field, if you can even call it that. Surely, she was sexy, you saw the photos that were in the system. Studied the 3D model of her face that was created to identify her under all the wigs and disguises just in case. You looked at her face for hours imagining Leon kissing her lips, what it would feel like. Desensitize yourself, so you don’t get visually bothered next time someone brings her up. To understand him better, perhaps, he was just a puzzle at the end of the day. You were invested as a phycologist; it was essentially just research.

“Missing the action?”

“What?” – you looked at Leon, who was setting up yet another spyglass set (that looked more like a telescope fit to see what was happening on Mars) in the empty apartment you were stuck at.

“Looks like you’re not enjoying our little getaway.”

“That’s not a getaway, Leon, we’re on duty.”

“Could be worse.” – a sly smile as he adjusted the lens, eyes hidden by the steel tube.

Fuck, he was hot. You knew better than to open your mouth, feeling the word vomit coming up. You were going to mention her name, if you kept talking. This whole thing turned into obsession that wasn’t healthy. Let it go.

There are ways to process those emotions. Therapists can provide valuable assistance in dealing with feelings of jealousy over a partner's ex by offering various strategies and approaches. You’re capable.

Understanding Emotions. Exploring and understanding the roots of this jealousy. Was it insecurity? Fear of abandonment? You had nothing to be insecure about. And there’s no abandonment if you weren’t an item in the first place. Knowing someone could be this close to you and not head over heels might have hurt your self-esteem. So, he was kissing your neck as your bodies collided, but it wasn’t enough to forget another woman. Like you weren’t that special. That hurt, we all want to be special. Sometimes you felt your pride suffer when a barista ignored your smile as they gave you your coffee. That rarely happened, maybe once. But you still remember. It was an issue to work on. Nothing to do with Ada Wong.

Cognitive Restructuring. Cognitive-behavioral techniques were useless on you, you had no irrational thoughts. You got high on feelings, got hurt, humbled and it was an uncomfortable situation to deal with. Your negative thought patterns associated with jealousy were mostly about your pride. It wasn’t about other people. They had no control over you.

Communication Skills. There was no point in talking about something you created in your own head. You were not in a relationship with Leon, you did not know the Wong girl, whatever her real name was. It was about you and your self-esteem issues. Thinking it through was enough.

So, building self-esteem was the way. What were you defined as that you took most pride in? It used to be your academic achievements. You gave it up. Your job? Where you really any better than hired criminals who put their lives at risk for someone else? Where you really that much better than Ada fucking Wong?

There was no pride in your job anymore. Daytime TV lied and you weren’t even the best at what you were doing. Did you find pride in your looks? Yes, but now that you were used as a fuck doll, it was pretty hard to do it. Your maturity and emotional intelligence? Not when you were crushing out because a co-worker you screw for fun has an ex he didn't manage to get over. As if it matters in any capacity. Ridiculous how you let yourself get so low. All this inadequacy and competitiveness was a result of doing a job you did not even like anymore. A burnout.

Mindfulness and Emotional Regulation. You had to regulate any and every ugly thought, filter your goddamn mind. No more wallowing.

Setting Boundaries. It wasn’t even an affair; you were just helping each other to blow off steam. You had to trust each other with your bodies at work, it worked. Could trust each other with your bodies off work; not a big deal.

Had to reframe the relationship in your head. Remind yourself of the frame.

Comparative Analysis. Ada was nowhere to be found. Hiding like a criminal, that she was. And you were there. There was no way she could realistically get in the way of you living your life, and even if that happens? She can have him and moody ass any time. You do not need his energy bringing you down anyway. She can play these mind games with him; you just liked the way his body felt. The rest was hormones, you must’ve been very hormonal when you made all these things up. And you analyzed him because you missed your true calling.

Finally, the curse is broken. You took a sip of hot green tea, relaxing into the sofa in your hotel room. It was nice to be back, to not feel guilty, to finally make sense out of everything.

A knock on the door. Leon, Leon, Leon. So predictable. You debated opening the door for a split second before realizing that it’s a perfect opportunity to prove to yourself that you can finally trust your mind to not act like a lunatic. Essential even.

“Hey, I thought…” – he couldn’t finish his excuse, before you grabbed his shirt and tugged him inside, put him up against the wall. He looked at your hands, taken aback slightly; like it wasn’t what he came for. So charming, just how you like him.

You kissed his jaw, broad kisses travelling down his neck, - “Now that’s a gateway”, - you smiled as your hands dropped to the belt and felt up his thighs, teasing.

“Yeah…”, - he swallowed, throwing back his head slightly. Like he was contemplating something. You felt his neck move under your lips and it made you think of all the ways his body could move, will move in few minutes, the bottom of your stomach feeling tense, - “I thought… Had to check up on you” – he hissed as you bit above his shoulder.

“Check up on me, huh? I got a couple ideas…” – the hands on his pants circling closer to bulge that was very much prominent at this point.

“You must have some ideas” – he let out a breath, brows knitting slightly, - “Spent so much time at the office lately.”

You laughed, so silly. Did he keep track of your whereabouts? Waited for you to be available? – “Mhm… I have friends there.” – the circle came to a point and you palmed him, squeezing lightly.

“Like that Niall guy? What’s his name?”, - he tilted his head down to look at you, fast enough for you not to see it coming, you found yourself scared you might accidently kiss his lips. It terrified you for some reason, so you sank lower.

And lower, - “You’re thinking about me with Niall?” – slowly stroking the outline clear under his clothes, - “Does it turn you on?”

“What?” – he made a face, scrunching his nose, - “No”.

Hilarious, - “What about us three together?” – a frustrated huff through the nose, - “What about us three but with another girl?” – you picked up the pace, undoing the belt with a free hand, it was so entertaining riling him up, all this frustration, he could let it all out on you.

He called your name in that assertive tone that you liked, made you laugh as you licked the skin between the pants and a shirt, - “What if it was Ada Wong?”

He said your name again, catching both of your hands in a tight grip. Had to ruin all the fun.

“Come on, what now?” – you whined, rolling your eyes.

He yanked you up to your feet and looked at you. Studying, disappointed, accusing. What did you do?

You started at each other for a moment. You didn’t do silent treatment. “What?” – you repeated, this time more genuine annoyance in your tone, - “Use your words, Leon, fuck. I’m too tired for this.”

That look of a disappointed parent. Or a pet owner, - “Get some rest then.” – so full of it as he set in motion.

���No need to react this way, threesomes aren’t for everybody.”

“And don’t,” – he closed the door before lecturing you more, - “Don’t ever mention her name."

“Fine!” – you exclaimed, raising your eyebrows, - “Jeez, thought she made you hard, didn’t know she was such a boner killer.”

“You don’t know anything about her.”

“Fine! And I don’t want to!” – he wanted to act like an angry dad, you could match. It didn’t sound at all like you wanted, you didn’t have the authority in that scream to back it up; so, you stood there in silence for a slip second, - “Get out.”

The sound of the door closing felt like a punch to the core, a sob coming straight from your ribs before you chocked it with a hand to mouth. Pressing hard, tears flooding your fingers, tickling.

So fucking stupid. Everything was so fucking stupid. It hurt that you were just another fling at work, yes. But it hurt more that she wasn’t.

You hated her. You couldn’t bring yourself to hate him. You wanted to die.

The pain in his eyes, the disappointment. Did she do this to him? The ghost in his eyes? Was she the one who could make it go away? The burn in your chest rang up your ears and breathing got harder.

If she was so dear to him, you’d find her. Set them up together. And then you’d die. Horribly. You’d fall off a cliff, rocks breaking every bone and smashing away your body parts and then some… Some wild dogs would tear you to pieces and he’d watch. And before the fall someone would shoot you like ninety times. Straight to the heart, and then you’d fall. And as those wild dogs ate your flesh, they’d growl loudly. And he wouldn’t care.

He would be happy with his glorified criminal knowing that you died for it. And you’re the only reason he got to be happy. And it would… It would haunt him forever. He would look at Ada and see your ghost. Finally, she would be the one dealing with the ghost of you staring back from his beautiful eyes.

You were mature and rational. And you’d rather be dead than live through this.

You never learned how to lie to yourself, no matter the effort. It was never meaningless to you; it was larger than what you allowed yourself to dream of. And he was never a puzzle.

He was the only person who made you feel like you had nothing to prove. Like you were worth the effort with no payback. And you had such deep respect and love for him. It hurt to admit. Knowing that your feelings were yours alone. It hurt to know that truth.

That all these times he trained you, he missed his very much skilled lover. That every moment that was meaningful to you, was just a distraction for him.

You didn’t want to be small, your ego was through so much, but maybe it was the lesson you had to learn. To let go of that thing that stalled you every time you made a mistake.

You weren’t special, nobody cares if you’re in the right, if you’re better, smarter, ethical. So, it’s okay if you fall short. That you’re going to live through this.

You are going to live through this.

Last day of the mission the weather was mockingly good. Feathered clouds hugging the sun just enough to soften the rays that danced on the ground as if they were playing hide and seek with the wind. Daytime TV always matched the weather to the feelings of the main character. Maybe you weren’t. Not even special enough for the weather to reflect your turmoil. It made you smile, the realization. Bittersweet, but you could handle knowing this truth, so you could handle the rest.

Leon was even more brooding than ever, weather didn’t pick him as the main character either. You were both doomed. Warm wind merrily moved his hair, as if it was pleading “Play with me, play with me, Leon!”. He didn’t care for it.

Leon noticed you looking at him, tucking his radio set in a pocket, he was about to say something when you interrupted, - “I’m quitting.”

The wind decided to try you this time, tickling your face by messing up the hair and exposing your neck, you smiled. That wind reminded you of a little kid. You weren't in the mood to play, sorry.

Leon nodded, said “Okay, we’ll get back to that” and picked up the radio set. Just like he would if you weren’t there. Just like he will.

Sure, but there was nothing to discuss. He could go back to whatever he wanted.

The flight home was silent. It was nice to be on a plane for a change, a private jet, not being thrown into the helicopter. You realized you never got to say goodbye to those views out of that noisy flying box. You never knew your last helicopter work transfer would be your last the last time you were there. Funny how things work. You have it all figured out and before you know it, everything changes and you don’t know whose body you’re in. Who is this strange person? What will this person do? Will it feel familiar ever again? Will it feel like home inside your skin?

Your blue-eyed partner spent the flight staring at the window, deep in his thoughts, up until he decided to occupy the seat next to you, leaving quite a bit of space, like you might not be safe to get close to.

“Hey…” - his voice soft, you’d like to remember that voice instead the one that he used earlier, - “Listen… Did something happen? Is it your family? Did something happen at home?”

The tenderness in which he carefully approached almost surprised you. You looked at him.

“You’ve been… I’ve never seen you like this. Noticed for a while… Now you want to quit.” – he glanced and looked away, not to pressure, - “You know, you can tell me”.

You slowly shook your head, - “Nothing happened.”

Silence once more claimed the cabin. It was comforting to have him around, not too close, just there, - “You spent so much time at the office lately. Reading, studying… Do you miss it? Want to go back?”

You looked at him, indifferent yet with so much pain in your eyes, tired, raised your shoulders in a little shrug. You looked so broken.

“You know… I understand. I had my moments… I was the best at the academy, put my all into it, and when I… When I graduated and it hit me that you can’t always measure… How good you did something…”

He was truly good. You could never paint him a villain in your story. Not even when he hurt you. He managed to find the root of the problem, you missing the career you left behind, dodging every shameful detail. Took your time spent studying as something upstanding instead of what it was, dignified your most embarrassing lows. You really loved him. And it tugged on your shattered heart.

“What are you doing?” – you asked him kindly, his attention fully yours, - “You don’t have to mentor me…” – you reached out and put your hand on his, comforting. It was okay.

A warm look, those blue eyes studying yours, looking for something, - “I’m not…”

“It’s okay.” – Gave him a bittersweet smile.

He took your hand in his. Strong warm fingers, brushing carefully, - “The sky is going to be lonely without you, Dove.” – you hummed, humoring the joke, - “I’m going to be lonely.” – he added, it hurt.

You sighed, - “You’ll find another.” - Took your hand away, - “You and the sky.” – There was no malice in those words, you truly meant it, - “After all it’s not your first affair at work. Won’t be last.” – it was comforting to finally accept it. Accept it to the point where you could say it and not feel rage. It broke your heart, but you’d learn how live with it. It wasn’t your first affair at work as well, after all.

Silence was cushioned by the mellow sound of the engine, white noise; after some time, he got closer and you put your head on his shoulder. He kissed your head as you pretended to fall asleep. It was something that will always stay with you. Had no photographs, it was too late to borrow his clothes, nothing. Just this one memory that wasn’t tainted by jealousy. That wasn’t butchered by an autopsy and fragmented into pieces to be devalued in a shrewd attempt to glue your ego back together. And it was nice. He was nice. It was okay.

You sat up straight when you were convinced that Leon fell asleep, looked at him, expecting to memorize his features. To your surprise, he was awake, completely still. You could swear his eyelashes were more matted than before. Your poor baby, it wasn’t worth it.

“You know… Ada.” – his voice heavy. Oh. Well, perhaps that was worth it. Perhaps she was, - “We met… Few times. She was the one who took something from me. Made it impossible to care for others.” – That explains it. Finally, the puzzle is coming along. Your goal is about to be complete and there’d be nothing left to do here. You almost didn’t want to know all the answers of why he couldn’t ever care about you, - “I spent years thinking I gave my heart in vain. I was so sure all I was good for was to be used.” – hearing him say that was devastating, - “But when I met her again. I figured it wasn’t like that. She saved me, more than once. More than in one sense. She really cared. She did. But she couldn’t act on it, fully, because she wasn’t free. It wasn’t me who was good for nothing. It was her, refusing to let go of her cage. I owe it to her, recognizing that there’s something worth breaking the rules and cages for, and if you don’t…”

“You embody the cage that trapped you?”

He nodded, - “Hollow.”

You wanted to move to hug him, to hold his hand, anything, but he wasn’t done.

“So, I owe it to her. Nobody gets it. I owe it to her to not end up the same. I know that she l…- “– he bit his lip, angry at himself for some reason, - “She loved me. I know it. She had love in her. And she walked away from it. So, I promised myself not be like that.” – there was a build up in his tone, what seemed to be a sob story about his one true love, was revealing itself a charged speech that was about to go off, - “So you may it call an affair, us, but I cannot agree with this. I don’t. And if you want to treat it that way, it’s your call. But you have to be honest with yourself.”

That was a lot to process. A lot of cracks in your theories to fill. What kind of strategy is this? What was he getting you into? This is disruptive, it made you uncomfortable.

“Understand that. I care, okay?” – he nudged your shoulder, - “Whatever it is, you can tell me. I’m all ears.”

That last phrase sounded a lot like “I’m all yours” to you at first and when the realization of what he actually said hit, you found yourself looking for an escape from that corner he got you in. You’re hearing what you want to hear again. That’s unhealthy.

That man didn’t even belong to himself. Despite what he’s saying, he’s a lot like Ada, a thought ran through your head. He saw so much of himself in her, and he didn’t like it. He must’ve seen enough of goodness in her to not give up on himself in that case. You spent so much time cursing the woman who in actuality convinced him to care about you, if you buy what he says. Did he have a reason to lie? Where you becoming just like them? Jaded.

Above all, she saved his life. You owed it to her. And in that moment, it hit you all at once. The stress you’ve been under. The idea of Leon dying, not being able to talk to him again, to touch him. Ada Wong and her love that she never got to share. Was it fair that she saved him for someone else? Where was she? How was she? Were you experiencing ego death?

Your eyes hurt, tears filling up the corners, chocked up, - “I’m so tired.”

Leon must’ve pulled you in, because for a moment, the world narrowed down to black, feeling of wet cheeks against a fabric, the sound of your heart pounding in your ears, temples pulsing, and it smelled like him. Must’ve been an awkward position, couldn’t tell where your limbs were, but you felt his hands caressing the back of your head, rubbing your back; you stayed like that till you breathing evened out, and you wiped your face, standing up and excusing yourself to go wash your face.

When you came back, he offered you a water bottle without saying a word.

Lingering sadness in the air. What a wild mess. Who are you going to be when you walk out of the jet?

“How can I help?” – poor guy looked genuinely worried, was probably convinced something bad happened and you were going through a lot. Maybe you were.

You shook your head and he dropped it.

Usually, he’d carry the bags with equipment out to the storage facility once you land, a courtesy to the staff. This time he followed you, calling your name and on land you felt more strangely claustrophobic next to him, more so than in a tiny cabin in the skies, so you quickened you pace, hearing him call your name. Dangerously bad at goodbyes, so much for being mature, you just took off and ran. You wanted out.

Leon caught up to you, trapping you in an empty hallway, both of his hands against the cold white walls, your shoulders in between, didn’t touch you, but you knew you couldn’t get away easily. You whined and closed your eyes, when will this interrogation stop? You wanted to sleep.

He got closer, studying your swollen face intensely, traced your jawline with his nose, pressed a soft kiss onto your lips, the corner of your mouth, to the side of your nose, you tried to push the man away; your palms on his chest, but he grabbed your hands by the wrists and pinned them to a wall, next to your face. So dependent and reactive, every time one of you got tougher, the other got weaker. It was obvious what was coming, you had no strength in you left to fight it, it wasn’t clear why you were fighting it to begin with. He kissed your lips, soft and intimate. A deep kiss, slow, it was the most vulnerable thing between you to this day. Heartbreaking, for no reason at all. His hand, cupped your face, as soon as he felt tears on the lips, then he took your face in both, - “Fuck, not this…” – he kissed your cheeks, stroking your jaw; rough hands suddenly tender and careful, - “Please, baby…”

You clung to his neck, hiding, gripping, he picked you up, held closely, before sliding down the wall, squeezing you in his arms, like you’d fall apart if he were to let go. It was true.

You were so scared of letting go of the life you grew to be familiar with. Scared of starting it all again. Scared of facing the truth that running away from problems was the biggest problem of them all. Scared of letting another person in, the one who had too much power over you, who had an affect on you so profound you were no longer the one in control. Scared of not letting him in and ending up alone. Scared of loud noises because of all the blood and the pain. Scared of this job traumatizing you for life for no good reason.

Someone appeared from the left side of the hallway, you heard rushed footsteps echoing and a worried voice, - “Is everything alright?”

Scared of footsteps.

“Need a medic.” – Leon’s voice firm, full of urgency.

You felt like you were going to die.

You didn’t die though, and no one did. Got looked at, got a strong prescription, got sent home. Got a service dog, kept you active as well as safe and alert when it got worse. Leon loved that dog, sometimes it even made you slightly jealous, making you laugh at how immature you could be. You quit. On your way of getting a PhD, working on most severe PTSD cases and yet still sometimes jealous over the silliest things like your boyfriend paying too much attention to your dog. It was hard to stay jealous through, catching Leon’s adoring eyes every now and then as he watched you. And he loved watching you; as you were studying, writing, doing chores, cooking, walking, playing with the dog. You never wondered what was it, never tried to read his mind. His mind was his and you trusted him with it. Couldn’t see far enough into the future, but you trusted him with it too.

_____________

I typed a lot straight to tumblr at the end there and if doesn't go through i'm gonna kms bc it will be lost forever

[dreamergirlz]

HELLO FBOY LEONS NUMBER 1 FAN BACK WITH MORE ART >_< 💕💕

He is my baby and I love him more then anything 💕

[dreamergirlz]

FINALLY POSTING THIS💞

He's so bbg

[dreamergirlz]

Another old drawing (2023)

[dreamergirlz]

Leon’s Love Languages….ᐟ ᰔ

leon kennedy x gn! reader 

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ a/n: Kinda rushed . Not proof read! (I've been busy :c) I liked writing this, I might write more like this for more characters, ada’s probably next ! >_<

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

જ⁀➴ #1 - PHYSICAL TOUCH ⊹₊⟡ 

᱖ ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎

╰┈➤ RE2R! Leon LOVES holding your hand. He does it every chance he gets - in public or not. He especially loves holding your hand in public because it lets people know you’re his. 

╰┈➤  Kisses make him MELT. Forehead, cheek, lip, neck, collarbone, doesn’t matter where. Kissing him randomly will turn Leon into a flustered mess. 

╰┈➤ He’s basically a puppy, he loves it when you play with his hair. 

╰┈➤ RE4R! Leon’s a bit hesitant when it comes to giving you physical affection, he’s shy about asking, so he does it in subtle ways.

╰┈➤ If you mention feeling sick at all - regardless of what type of sick, he’ll touch your forehead to feel for your temperature, just wanting an excuse to touch your face. 

╰┈➤He gently touches your arm when you’re talking, especially if you’re talking about something you’re passionate about because you don’t even notice his touch. 

╰┈➤ Whenever you’re in the car together, his hand immediately drifts to your thigh. 

╰┈➤ He waits for you to initiate cuddling, he doesn’t want to be seen as weak for wanting cuddles. But he’s touch starved, so he’ll cuddle you once you’ve fallen asleep if you didn’t initiate cuddles.

╰┈➤ Leon can’t express in words how loved he feels when he gets cuddles. He hates admitting it outloud, to him, it feels childish. But he feels relaxed when your arms are around him, and it’s easier for him to sleep when he knows you're safe in his arms.

╰┈➤ Older! Leon is literally a big guard dog, he’s always got his big arms around you to protect you. Touch makes him feel so special, and he really needs that comfort as much as he can get. He’s basically attached to your hip. 

╰┈➤He complains after missions/work - he’s getting old, so he’s got more aches on his body, and he loves massages. It feels so intimate but also helps him relieve stress and relax, so he’ll whine about his aches until you offer him a massage. 

જ⁀➴ #2 - ACTS OF SERVICE ⊹₊⟡ 

᱖ ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎

╰┈➤RE2R! Leon orders food to your place without you asking. He won’t even tell you so you’re taken by surprise once your favorite meal is at your door without you ever having to pay.

╰┈➤Again, he’s basically a puppy, so he carries your bags to help you out and to show off how strong/capable he is.

╰┈➤  RE4R! Leon has to resort to acts of service a lot since you two spend a lot of time apart. 

╰┈➤ So, he’ll send you texts and call you every chance he gets while away to remind you that yes, he’s alive, that he loves you and that he’s thinking of you.

╰┈➤ He notices small things. He’s always been an observer, but especially so when he started dating you. So you’ll notice that some more snacks you mentioned are in the pantry, or that there’s a refill of the perfume you mentioned you’re running low on.

╰┈➤ Leon works a LOT, he knows you hate it. He hates it too. So, he always brings you a small gift once he returns from his missions. Flowers, chocolates, giftcards, you name it. He wants to make you feel even better once he comes home. 

╰┈➤He tries his best to help you out when you’re stressed, he’ll do your least favorite chore or fill up your car with gas, anything to help you out. 

╰┈➤Leon also doesn’t care much for himself. His place gets messy often and quickly - he doesn’t have much time to clean. Which is why he loves when you return some favors back to him. 

╰┈➤He can’t hide his smile once he’s returned from a mission to a clean living space. Or when you made him some food since you knew he’d be too tired to. It makes him feel special when you do the things for him that he just can’t do himself.

╰┈➤Older! Leon likes taking care of you. He’s seen so many people die, he wants to keep you safe and protected. So he takes on the role of your caregiver. He’ll do small things to make it feel like he’s caring for/spoiling you. 

╰┈➤Breakfast in bed is usually his go to. He likes cooking for you because then he knows you’re being well fed, and he likes taking chores off of your plate. 

જ⁀➴ #3 - QUALITY TIME ⊹₊⟡ 

᱖ ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎

╰┈➤RE2R! Leon loves planning regular dates with you. He usually lets you choose what to do, but when he chooses it’s typically dinner dates or movie dates. He’s pretty traditional. 

╰┈➤RE4R! Leon savors every moment he can get with you because of his job. He’s always away and neither of you know if he’s even going to come back in peace. So he wants to cherish every moment he can.

╰┈➤Leon has trouble sleeping, so he often ends up waking before you, and his favorite moment of the day is always when he just gets to lie down with you curled up in his arms. 

╰┈➤Leon follows you around like a baby duckling. He can’t help it, he feels a magnetic pull to you, sometimes he doesn’t even realize he’s following you around. He simply likes basking in your presence. 

╰┈➤He also likes watching you enjoying your hobbies and asking you questions about it every few minutes. 

╰┈➤Older! Leon likes simple moments with you. He doesn’t have as much energy as he used to, so he enjoys going on walks with you, hugging you from behind while you cook, finding beauty in the small time you two get to share, no matter how simple. 

╰┈➤Leon loves just being able to put on a movie and just cuddle you while watching together. He’s not even paying attention to the movie, just you. 

જ⁀➴ #4 - WORDS OF AFFIRMATION ⊹₊⟡ 

᱖ ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎

╰┈➤RE2R! Leon is a lovesick puppy. He loves pet names from you, and he loves giving you pet names like “darling”, “prince/princess”, “gorgeous”. 

╰┈➤He can’t contain his urge to just ramble about how beautiful he dins you or how precious you are to him. 

╰┈➤ RE4R! Leon’s not really a man of many words. He stays quiet a lot, he doesn’t like pouring his heart out. 

╰┈➤Except when he’s drunk. When there’s a drunk Leon, there’s a cling Leon. Drunk Leon makes sure you know in detail how much he cares about you and how much he’d do for you. He makes sure to tell you he thinks you’re beautiful and that he loves you a good hundred times between drunken ramblings. 

╰┈➤Older! Leon’s never really been one to like compliments either, in his line of work he’s mostly complimented for stuff he doesn’t like/care about, like his strength. 

╰┈➤ But Leon loves getting compliments about his character, like how he cares so much about the lives of others, his selflessness, about the small things you notice about him that no one else takes their time to see. 

╰┈➤ So, the compliments Leon gives you similar compliments back. He wants to give you the same butterflies in your stomach that he gets. He’ll compliment you on your hobbies, your character traits, small details he notices about you.

╰┈➤ That doesn’t mean he doesn’t like complimenting your appearance. You swear you hear him call you pretty 17 times a day. He can’t shut himself up about how gorgeous he finds you. 

╰┈➤ But there’s nothing he loves more than whispering to you how much he loves you and how much he wants to just protect you.

╰┈➤ He also loves praising you (iykwim)

જ⁀➴ #5 - GIFTS ⊹₊⟡ 

᱖ ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎

╰┈➤RE2R! Leon is, again, pretty traditional, so he likes giving you flowers often, especially when he picks you up to take you out.

╰┈➤He’s pretty taken aback when he gets a gift from you. Growing up as an orphan, he hardly received gifts. So it was a completely new feeling getting something he really wanted as a gift from you. He felt special knowing someone took time to know him, know his interests and spend their own money on him. 

╰┈➤ RE4R! Leon feels guilty receiving gifts. He knows you took a chunk out of your paycheck to give him something. He likes giving you gifts more than he does receiving them. 

╰┈➤Leon still appreciates it whenever you gift him something he mentioned he wanted/needed because he’s not used to someone remembering small details about him like that.

╰┈➤Leon likes giving smaller gifts more often because it’s less pressure than only buying big gifts. He also does this because it’s easier to spoil you.

╰┈➤He does this pretty casually, sometimes you don’t notice it. Like, you could be out shopping and look at a book that seemed interesting and suddenly Leon’s slipped it into the cart and paid for it. 

╰┈➤Older! Leon gets you gifts in absence of time together. You’re used to him being busy, but he still really wants to make you feel special or make you feel like he cares. So every now and then, he’ll get you something special, like concert tickets, to make up for him not being there.

[dreamergirlz]

[dreamergirlz]

[dreamergirlz]

— coast2coast (pt. one) || l.s.k

pairing: life guard!leon kennedy x surfer!fem!reader

tags: surfing au! set in malibu, 1998, i wrote this with re2 leon in mind but re4 leon works too, featuring claire (and chris in later parts!), UNEDITED!! so far only fluff (unheard of...) i'll add as i go!

oh actually, my shitty attempt at knowing anything about surfing despite learning everything through youtube, google and malibu rising by taylor jenkins reid (what started this whole thing). i am NAWT a pro --- so if any of you guys actually know a thing or two abt surfing hit me up!!! i'd love to learn more!

summary: Summer is a fickle thing, sticky-sweet and fleeting, gone before you're ready. You've learnt to love it while it lasts. For you, every summer has been the same—surf, sand, salt-water tides and the hot Malibu breeze. But this summer brings a new sort of challenge, a spotlight your not so sure you're ready for, as well as a boy with golden hair, eyes as blue as the waves, and a way of making your heart rattle between your ribs like it’s desperate to break free.

word count: 2.6k

a/n: AHH HI! i'm so excited to post this one!! it's currently summer here in australia and i've been down at the beach nearly every weekend, so it was only inevitable that my fixation on surfer!leon came back full force. i have this big story all set up in my head, but i was too excited to wait to finish writing it so i'm posting it in parts!! ++ oh also i had no idea corral beach was an actual place in malibu so my version is fictionalised. just. take everything in this fic with a grain of salt i have no idea what im doing lol

i also thought it'd be really fun idea since i'm so busy nowadays, that if you guys are interested at all, you can send in little ideas for blurbs for surfer!leon, and i'd love to write them! i'll figure out ways to fit them into the story, just as little extras, but obviously no promises on writing all of them!! i'll likely just pick the ones i think fit best into the plot. i just think that'd be AWESOME!! <3

playlist⭑masterlist⭑AO3 ⭑ series masterlist⭑next part (coming soon)

California is exactly how you’d left it. Exactly how you remember it. Nothing has changed between the sand beneath your toes and the palm trees lining the scorching hot tar roads, their shadows stretching long and thin like sleepy cats in the afternoon sun. The salt-kissed air wraps around you, sticky and warm, a gentle reminder that time moves slower here. Or maybe it doesn’t move at all. 

That’s the thing about California. A time capsule—sun, sand and sky.

June, July, August, Summer melts in your mouth like a sticky popsicle, one into the next, so quick you forget what it tastes like before it’s even passed.

No matter where you are in the world, what waves you're chasing, whether it be in Oceania, the Pacific, the Atlantic, summer melts, fickle and eager.

You’ve learnt to love it while it lasts.

“Another fish and chips!” One of the waitress staff calls from the front—Bunny’s Seafood Diner has been around for as long as you can remember, a weathered little gem perched off the coast of Corral Beach, Malibu. A quick and convenient right turn off the PCH, it’s a lighthouse for road-tripping families and sunburned surfers chasing their next ride.

You flip the fryer around your wrist with a practised flourish, “On it!” You call back, before you dip the metal back in the bubbling oil, the familiar sizzle of golden fries accompanying the bustle of the late afternoon rush. The kitchen smells of salt and grease and the faint tang of fresh-caught fish, a scent so familiar it clings to your skin like a second layer.

Claire breezes past with lazy grace, bumping her hip against yours. “Heading to the surf after?” she asks, her grin as wide as the beach outside, like her mouth was made for holding sweet oranges on hot summer days. She’s balancing a seafood basket in one hand and a plate of fries in the other, weaving through the bustle with the ease of someone who’s done it a thousand times before.

“How’s the forecast looking?” You ask back instead, tossing the crispy fries into a basket lined with deli paper. 

“High tide in twenty,” Claire winks over her shoulder at you, side-stepping a counter corner like it’s second nature. “It’s gonna be perfect.”

You can’t deny that does sound perfect. After a shift as long as the one you’ve worked today, a surf might be all you need to feel alive again. You look back up at the foggy old clock on the wall—ten minutes left, five if you can sweet-talk your manager. You end up counting the minutes in your head, that familiar itch to feel the sand under your feet and the sun on your skin insatiable. 

By the time the clock hits four, you’re halfway out the door, ready to trade the smell of fried seafood for the briny tang of the ocean instead. Claire is hot on your heels, boards tucked under both your arms as she chases you across the tar road that burns under your bare feet, down the splintering boardwalk, and onto the powdered-sugar sands of Corral Beach.

The sun has already dipped far past it’s zenith, and the world feels washed in gold. Golden rays stretch out across shimmering waters, painting streaks of honey over the horizon, the heat settling into a balmy hum that sticks to your skin in a way you can only love.

You follow the shaded path of sycamore trees until the beach opens up to surfer’s paradise—a long stretch of sand, waves that swell and crash, aching to be carved into by hungry surfers. The path curves past a weathered wooden bulletin board, been there as long as you can remember, and you think it might be older than Bunny’s, if that’s even possible. 

“Wait!” Claire stops in her tracks, and you are helpless but to comply. Your eyes stay glued longingly to the beach while Claire’s squint at the array of flyers pinned up—some faded, some fresh. There’s a yoga class, a missing dog poster, and the usual surf report stapled to the corner, its ink smudged from damp fingers. But her eyes zero in on something bright and bold and new. 

“Here we go.” She plucks a flyer off the board, turning it toward you like she’s struck gold. The words Corral Beach Annual Surf Comp are printed in big, blocky letters, accompanied by a grainy photo of a surfer carving into a wave.

“Oh, no,” you groan, already shaking your head.

“Oh, yes,” Claire says, a grin spreading across her face.

Claire’s been singing the same song since you were fifteen and cutting through waves better than most kids your age here on Corral Beach. That you should be out there winning trophies and medals and 10k cheques instead of cleaning out the back of the greasy old fryer’s in Bunny’s. 

“C’mon, you have to do it!” She bugs on, waving the flyer around like some magic wand. 

You laugh, ducking under her arm as she tries to push it into your face. “Claire, come on.”

“I’m serious!” she insists, jogging to catch up with you as you head toward the water. “You’re out here every day. You’ve got the moves, the skill—everything they’re looking for.”

It’s not like you haven’t thought about it. You’ve been surfing since before you could walk. You’d grown up right here on Corral Beach, knew these waves better than yourself. You’d watched your parents chase waves like it was their religion—Bali, Costa Rica, Australia, it was their entire life. Something they loved that was inevitable for you to love too. 

“I’m just not the competition type,” you shrug, gaze drifting out to the waves curling in the distance. It’s not that you don’t want to—well, okay, maybe it is. The idea of standing out there, under the scrutiny of judges, crowds, and strangers, feels about as foreign as the first time you stepped onto a board. Surfing, to you, is about as religious as it is to your parents. An outlet, an art form, the ocean calms your restless soul when you need it most. Putting a score to something like that just doesn’t feel right.

“You’re one of the best surfers out here.” Claire presses, she does it so effortlessly. Poking and prodding, always enough but never so much as to push you over the edge. “Half the people in those comps are just there for a shot at a new wetsuit.”

You meet Claire’s gaze, hesitate, the memory of your dad paddling out at dawn or your mom teaching you how to duck dive flickering in your mind. “It’s not about that. My parents taught me how to surf before they taught me how to say mom and dad. They’d enter comps now and then, but it was never about winning. It was about the waves, the adventure.”

“And you don’t think that’s in you too?” Claire asks, raising an eyebrow as she shields her eyes against the sun.

“Maybe it is,” you say finally. “But that’s their story, not mine.”

Claire’s gaze softens for all of a second before she snorts, shoving your shoulder with her own. “You’re so full of it. You’ve got more talent in your pinky than most people out there. Just think about it, okay? It could be fun.”

You do nothing of the sort.

The second your feet are in the water, you forget all about the comp, all about your job and any other worries on your mind. Salt water seems to have that sort of effect on you. Wasting no time, both you and Claire paddle past the surf, straddling your boards in the ocean, watching as the other surfers before you take off one by one with each new wave that rolls in.

It doesn't take long before the first wave in a gorgeous set comes in, Claire’s all but primed for it. She takes off, gets into position, and pops up on her board, carving into it like it’s breathing. You follow suit as the next one comes in, and just like that, you fall into the rhythm of the ocean.

Wave after wave, you don’t stop until the sun is cotton candy pink, purple, gold. Most of the other surfers have dispersed by now, and Claire’s traded shredding the bigger waves for wading through the calm waters with her back pressed against the flat of her board. 

You, on the other hand, feel like fate is decidedly on your side. You watch as another set rolls in, the first crashing just out of reach. It peels exactly as you’d hoped, slowly to the right, so when the next one rolls in right after, you paddle with it, catch the feeling of the tide underneath you, and like it's simply second nature, get to your feet.

This is where you feel most alive. There is not a second to spare for the other noise in your head, not about the past nor the future nor anything in between other than right here and now. Nothing but the instinctual insistence of how much longer can you stay on? How much longer can you keep your balance? Lean left, right, forward. Better, longer, more, more, more.

And when you’ve finally completed your balancing act, you dance up to the nose, hovering there on the tip of your board, arms out to steady yourself like sails catching wind, and then you close your eyes and let the crash of the wave topple you off.

It’s only once you’ve resurfaced, board nowhere to be seen, that you realise you didn’t feel the familiar tug of the leash around your ankle. By the time you drag yourself to shore, breath heavy and hair clinging to your face, you see it—the measly cord trailing behind you, frayed and snapped clean.

You huff a sigh, not surprised. It had been old crap for a while now. So had the board, but it carried enough summers in its scars to mean something. A history you weren’t quite ready to part with.

Claire’s already gathering her things by the time you meet her on the sand, shaking out her towel and tossing it into her worn tote bag.

“What happened to your board?” she asks, her tone casual, but her raised brow suggests she’s caught the fraying leash.

You lift your ankle and let the cord dangle, the sad state of it all the explanation she needs.

She winces, offering you a sympathetic smile. “Ouch. Guess it’s finally time for a new one?”

It’s only when you’re halfway up the beach that you spot it again. Your board? Your board!

It’s leaning lazily against the base of a lifeguard tower, looking as though it had simply wandered off and decided to wait for you all this while. Relief blooms in your chest, and you call to Claire that you’ll catch up.

It’s only when you’re closer that you notice him.

He’s standing by the lifeguard tower, a red rescue can slung casually over his shoulder. Blonde hair catches the light, tousled and damp like he’s been in the water himself. His broad shoulders are framed by the white-and-red uniform shirt that looks a little too crisp for someone who spends their day in the sun.

You can tell he’s new. There’s a hesitation in the way he stands, like he’s trying to look comfortable in a place he hasn’t quite claimed yet. But there’s something magnetic about him, the way he surveys the beach with quiet curiosity, like he’s soaking in every detail.

And you don’t mean to stare, but you’re caught in the moment, the way he looks like he belongs there despite it all, carved from the same sun and salt as the beach itself.

You’re still staring when his eyes meet yours.

They’re blue, impossibly so, the kind of blue that reminds you of the water when it’s so clear you can see straight to the bottom, the kind of blue you could fall into and forget how to breathe. His mouth quirks into a smile—easy, natural, like he’s been doing it all his life.

For a heartbeat, the world shifts, tilts ever so slightly, like the two of you are caught in some half-remembered dream. Something stirs in your chest, familiar yet unnameable, like déjà vu soaked in sunlight. You freeze, caught like a fish on a line, just before his eyes crinkle at the corners, and he lifts a hand in a casual wave.

“Hey,” he calls out, his voice carries over the sound of the waves, warm and low, and you think there’s a hint of the coast in it—just not this one.

You blink, salt-sticky and sun-drunk, realizing belatedly that you’re still rooted to the spot. “Hey,” you manage, shifting your weight on your feet.

He doesn’t move, but his attention is all yours now, quiet and steady, as though nothing else on the beach exists, like you’re the most interesting thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

“Nice ride out there,” he says, nodding toward the water, his voice dipped in easy admiration. “That last wave—you made it look easy.”

A laugh bubbles out of you, unplanned but genuine, a flush to your cheeks at the notion of being watched and noticed. You hope he mistakes it for sunburn. “Easy? You sure you weren’t watching someone else?”

“Nope,” he says, the smile widening just a fraction. “Definitely you. The board gave it away.” He says, nodding towards the board that’s still propped against the lifeguard tower like a loyal dog.

“Ah,” you say, realising. “So it was you.”

He shrugs, sweet and boyish in his sincerity. “Figured it deserved better than drifting out to sea.”

You glance down at your battered shortboard, the paint long faded from years of sun and surf. The edges are chipped, and the wax is uneven, but it feels like a part of you. “Thanks,” you say, meaning it. “Guess I owe you one.”

And before you can really think it through, the words escape you all at once. “You surf?”

“Not like that,” he hums, tilting his head toward the waves. Not like you. “Still trying to figure out how to make it look as easy.”

“That’s how it starts,” you say, a grin pulling at your lips despite yourself. “You’ll get there.”

He shrugs, a bit sheepish. “We’ll see. I’m mostly here for this,” he hefts the rescue can with a crooked smile. “Started lifeguard training last week. Figured I’d better get to know the locals.”

“Locals, huh?” You arch a brow, a subtle quirk to your lips. “And I’m one of those?”

“Definitely,” he grins, his voice sure now, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You’ve got that look.”

“What look?”

“Like this is where you belong.”

The words hang in the air, sweet and sticky like the heat of the day. For a moment, you don’t know what to say.

“Well,” you manage, recovering with a nod toward the tower. “Welcome to Corral Beach. Try not to let it chew you up and spit you out.”

He laughs then, and it’s warm, golden—like sunlight filtering through the trees. “I’ll do my best.”

He steps back, making space for you to collect your board, though his gaze lingers, like he’s reluctant to go but knows he should. 

“See you around?” he asks, the question carrying a hopeful edge.

“Maybe,” you say, the word feeling light and easy as you turn toward the parking lot.

You don’t look back, but you feel his eyes linger, and it leaves a quiet sort of thrill in your chest, like the first rush of catching a wave.

likes n reblogs r very much appreciated <3

[dreamergirlz]

I LOVEEE THESE SERIES I GUNNA CRY AAAARARHGHHH🩷🩷

Is it possible for you to expand on your overworked series w Leon? I actually loved it sm

first request !! of course lovely, hope you like it! <3

masterlist | first part | previous part

NOT SO MESSY

✮‧₊ ᵎᵎ 🧸 ⋅ ˚✮

college student! leon x college student, eldest daughter! reader

summary: things get difficult- they pile up, and the harder things get, the further you start to drift. Luckily, Leon isn’t pushed away so easily.

cw: realistic depictions of depression, reader is overwhelmed with everything, abandonment issues if you squint (not that hard tbh) leon being a very good boyfriend :)

a/n: been having a bit of a rough time recently and when this request came in i knew what i had to do

hey!! so this fic deals with realities of depressive episodes and how the room(s) we live in reflect that. i have had depression most of my life, so I’m drawing on personal experience. That being said, if you are bothered by the mentions of “gross” depressive behavior in this fic, i.e not showering, dirty plates/moldy coffee in the bedroom, or not brushing teeth, and plan on leaving a comment about how “depression is just an excuse to be gross” just don’t. scroll on past, this fic isn’t for you :)

✮⋆˙₊⋅ ୨୧ ᝰ.ᐟ

You’re hiding from Leon.

Not a good idea in the long run, because one, he always manages to find you —always— but two, when he does inevitably sniff you out, he’ll be upset for two reasons— because you’d let things get bad and because you’re hiding it.

Your room is a disaster. It’s always the first sign. Well, the first sign is usually the general unwillingness to do anything but get out of bed, sleep, or binge watch tv, but still. Half-empty water bottles litter every available surface, accompanied by papers —both unimportant and important— and dirty dishes. You don’t even want to look at the coffee cups.

It’s disgusting. You know it is. Actually, truly disgusting. There’s mold on some of the plates for Christ’s sake. And all you have to do is stop whining and just do it. But you can’t.

You can’t.

Because letting everything else get this bad is the only way you’ve managed to keep your grades intact during this episode. Something had to give— you didn’t have the energy to give to anymore. So your room fell into complete and utter disarray and you haven’t been eating well like Leon wants and you don’t even want to talk about your shower routine.

It’s bad. Everything is bad. You hate going home to your dirty, gross room, and you’re tired of being too tired to do nothing but homework, and you’re afraid of how upset Leon is going to be when he finds out.

And you’re so frustrated. Because you’re not that girl— you can’t be the girl with the dirty, messy room and the unkempt hair and the bags under her eyes who doesn’t leave the house. You can’t— you’re more than that. You’re you. You’re that girl. The girl. Beauty and brains. You just don’t know how you let it get this bad.

And you don’t know how to climb your way out.

—

Leon hasn’t been by in… awhile.

This of course, is not his fault. Over the course of this episode, as things got worse and worse, you got better and better at keeping him away.

At first, you were ashamed. You were doing so good for awhile, before everything got bad again. And then, you started worrying— you’re pushing him away, hiding everything from him, and once he realizes, he’s not going to be happy. You’re scared of losing him because you can’t keep it together.

You don’t dare to admit it outside the safety and comfort of your own mind, but you’ve really come to rely on Leon. He’s always there for comfort when you need want it. Even when you don’t know. He knows. He always does.

A hand on your thigh, squeezing to distract you from picking on your hangnails during class. A large, warm arm wrapped around your waist, holding you tight to him. That deep rumble in his chest when he’s telling you something, his voice low and sliding around in your brain, making all your thoughts stick together.

And you’re not allowed to miss him. You pushed him away. You told him he was distracting you. You told him you didn’t want him at the apartment.

You’re not allowed to miss him. But that doesn’t stop you from doing it anyway.

You’re sitting on your bed, staring at the slivers of floor you can see and wishing it would all go away so you’d stop feeling so bad. You hate staring at the mess, hate seeing it— but you can’t bring yourself to look away. The shirt you’re wearing probably smells —you haven’t kept up on your laundry so you’ve been cycling through the same three shirts for around the house wear— and you can practically feel the tangles you’re getting in your hair from not washing it. You haven’t showered in awhile either. Your skin feels grimy.

Your gross. This is gross.

A loud knock sounds on your door and you snap your head up, frozen.

Only one person knocks like that on your door.

“Shit— uh, coming!”

You pick your way across the floor, stumbling over clothes and hangers and seriously, how many disposable water bottles can one person drink?

You finally reach the door and crack it open the tiniest sliver.

Leon’s staring back at you, his expression unreadable.

That’s not good. You can usually read them, nowadays.

Your eyes catch what he’s wearing- his uni sweatshirt and one of his favorite pairs of old, worn flannel pajama pants.

That’s not good either. If he’s wearing his comfortable clothes, it means he’s not leaving for awhile.

You stare at him through the crack in the door for a little while, unable to break the silence. He shifts his stance, rocking back onto his heels and putting his hands in the pockets of his pants.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

You don’t respond. You begin to chew anxiously on your lip, hands going white-knuckled on the door-frame.

“Princess,” He says, and you can’t tell if his voice sounds fondly annoyed or just annoyed when he says it, “You wanna tell me what’s been going on?”

You shake your head.

“Oh? Not talking today?” He relaxes his stance a bit, “Is the reason you’ve been avoiding me the same reason you won’t let me in your room?”

You resolve begins to crack. It always does that when he’s right in front of you, every part of you longing to slot yourself into place next to him, safe and protected.

You stamp down the urge.

“I’m just busy right now Leon. I’m not avoiding you.”

“Sweetheart, I stopped believing that the second you started wearing the same sweatshirt for a week straight. You’re not well.”

“So? What does that matter to you?”

“Do you really need me to answer that?”

It becomes a competition then- who’s gonna look away first. Leon’s staring into your eyes, clearly cataloguing your face, that unreadable expression still in place. You meet his gaze right back, wondering how long it will take to get him to break.

He doesn’t. He must find whatever it was he was looking for in your face though, because he smirks, crossing his arms and leaning back.

“You’re not going to outlast me, princess.”

You sag, frustrated. “I just…”

You suck in a breath, rushing all the words out at once.

“I’m ashamed and I don’t want you to see it.”

He blinks. “Your room?”

You nod. “It’s… really bad. I let it get really bad.”

“No,” He starts slowly, taking a step towards the door. “You don’t let things happen, baby. Sometimes we can’t help how bad things get.”

“But I—“

“No but’s. You’re overwhelmed. Of course some stuff is gonna fall through the cracks.”

You scrub a hand over your face and immediately regret it, the feeling of your unwashed skin grating on your already frayed nerves. “It’s gross. I haven’t showered and there’s mold in the coffee cups—“

“Don’t care.”

“But you should. It’s disgusting, Leon. I’m—“

“Hey now,” He says, voice hardening. “Don’t finish that sentence. Now, answer one question for me: do you want to keep living in your room like this?”

“No! But I can’t—“

He shrugs. “Then I’ll help you clean it.”

He says it so easily. Like it’s not a gross, hard task that he shouldn’t have to do.

You shake your head. “You don’t have to, really—“

“I want to.”

The words go straight to your chest. Warmth begins to pool and spread where they struck, tendrils curling around your fingers and throat.

“Why?” The word is lodged in your throat- you barely manage to get it out.

“Because you’re my girl,” He says, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to your lips, his warm ones brushing your chapped in a kiss so gentle you almost wouldn’t feel it, if not for the press and heat of his face. “And when my girl needs —or wants— something, she gets it. Especially when it comes to help. Okay?”

Tears begin to well unbidden in your eyes. “Okay.”

You open the door wider, stepping back and letting him see into your room. It all feels raw— you’re like an open, exposed nerve. Letting him see your room is a bit like cracking your chest open and letting him see all the messy, bloody, ugly bits that keep you going.

He steps into the room. Pauses. Looks around. Looks at you.

“You wanna do this?”

You nod, biting your lip and hunching in on yourself as he takes in the mess.

“Baby,” He says slowly, stepping into your space, sliding his hands across your waist, “What do you need from me?”

You press your face into his shoulder, breathing in deeply.

“Come on. Use your words.”

“Can you just—“ You step back, “Can you please just… sit? On the bed? I just, I just need—“

He strokes a hand over your cheekbone. “You need me to sit on your bed and tell you you’re doing good?”

You can’t help the whine that builds in your throat. Not really.

“Mmm. My poor baby.” He presses a light kiss to your forehead then walks away, sitting and immediately making himself comfortable on the sliver of open space on your bed.

He reaches for your bedside table, opening a drawer and pulling out the headphones he knows you keep there.

(You keep them there because he bought them for you. Your old headphones were falling apart but did the job just fine —most of the time— but Leon wouldn’t stand for it. The next day, you’d opened your door to a brand new, incredibly expensive pair of headphones you’d brought up wanting maybe once. So when you’re not using them for studying or walking to and from classes on campus, they live there. Safe.)

“You know listening to music makes you more productive,” He says, extending them out to you, “Leave one side off, so you can hear me.”

You take the headphones, sliding them on and powering them up- though not without leaving one ear uncovered. You put on one of your more upbeat playlists- something to keep you moving.

It’s slow going at first. Since the trash and dishes are what makes the room feel the grossest, you start with them first. Wrangling the dirty coffee cups and water bottles and other various forms of trash into the trash bag is an arduous promise, and more than once you have to tell Leon he might want to cover his nose.

He remains where he is, scrolling idly on his phone and occasionally putting it down just to watch you clean. After a few moments of staring, he’ll pipe up with a comment:

“Keep it up, princess.”

“You can do it.”

“I’ll be right here if you need a anything.”

The last one is by far the most tempting offer.

Once you’ve finished getting all the trash and dishes out —the room not only feels and smells one hundred times better already— you move on to the bigger part of the project: the clothes. They’re everywhere. And they probably all need to be washed, but doing that many loads of laundry is—

“I’ll take them to the washing machine if you sort them.”

You jolt, not noticing him standing next to you.

“You don’t—“

“Start with that pile over there. It’s the biggest. Everything else will feel easy once you finish that part.”

While you (begrudgingly) begin tackling the pile, he cues up a t.v show on your laptop, then hooks it up to your monitor so it plays on a bigger screen. Then he leaves the room, giving your shoulder a squeeze as he walks by you.

(He’d given you the monitor too. He’d told you that he upgraded and didn’t need his old one anymore, but the monitor was in suspiciously good condition. But you’re not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, no matter how guilty the amount of money he spends on you makes you feel.)

You slip your headphones off, putting them back in the drawer and use the ambience of the show you’ve seen ten-thousand times and the now available space on the bed to sort clothes in a relatively timely fashion.

You’re starting to slow down a little, a headache beginning to form behind your eyes right when a delicious smell hits your nose and the door opening signals Leon’s return.

“I bring sustenance for the princess.”

He holds two plates of grilled ham-and-cheese sandwiches. One with ketchup, and one without.

You snatch the plate with ketchup and devour the sandwich in seconds, making a grabby motion for the water bottle tucked under his arm.

He chuckles, but obliges, sitting down at your desk to tuck into his own sandwich. You go back to your folding, headache miraculously waning and energy renewed. Go figure. After a few minutes, Leon disappears with the plates and then reappears with an empty laundry basket.

You wordlessly point to a pile, engrossed in the show he put on as “background noise”, folding and sorting clothes as you go.

And so bit by bit, your room gets cleaner, and cleaner, until Leon’s taken the last of the loads down to the washing machine and you’re making your bed and you’ve got an entire season of the show under your belt.

It’s long been dark outside, and you’re making your bed now, fluffing your pillows and laying your plushies in their respective spots.

Leon comes up behind you, draping his body over your back, hands over your shoulders and chin resting on your head.

“Looks good in here, princess. I think you deserve a little reward.”

You hum, leaning back into him. “For what? Needing help to do a basic thing?”

“For being vulnerable,” He drops his head to your shoulder, burying your face into the crook of your neck, “So proud of you, baby. You were so brave.”

Your stomach is doing backflips. “You don’t have to baby me.”

“M’ not babying you. You were brave. And I am proud of you.”

He wants to curl up in bed with you and keep watching t.v, but you insist on showering first. You’re gross and you just washed your sheets.

Feeling happy, you grab one of your nicer, cuter pairs of underwear, taking your time to lather your good smelling body-wash and enjoying the warm spray. Your enjoy the shower once you’re in it. It’s just getting in that’s hard.

When you get out of the shower, you notice that the oversized shirt you were going to wear was replaced with Leon’s sweatshirt. The one he spent all day in.

You smile to yourself, throwing the clothes on and rushing out to cuddle up in bed with Leon. The second you touch the bed he’s dragging you to him, face finding the free inch of space between your neck and the top of your sternum. He takes a deep breath, warm air fanning over the soft skin there.

“You smell so fucking good.”

“Mm,” You hum, already growing sleepy in his hold, “Your sweatshirt smells like you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s really good. And comfortable. I’m sleepy.”

He chuckles, pulling the blankets up over the both of you and planting a soft kiss to your forhead.

“Go to sleep. I’ll be here in the morning.”

You fall asleep surrounded by warmth and safety. It’s the best sleep you’ve had in weeks.

ˑ . . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁

[dreamergirlz]

RE!4 LEON X JIRAI!READER HC’S - 👾

warnings: mentally unstable reader, mentions of sh, comfort, mentions of almost sui attempt, sweet leon. . .

notes: haii, im a jirai so i just thought it would be fun to write this : ) please look at the warnings before reading! thank uuu : 3

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ he takes very good care of you when you have depressive episodes, he bathes you, cooks you food, cleans and overall knows how to help you physically

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ emotionally though it’s a bit harder, he’ll try to talk you out of things, while your locked in the bathroom with a bottle of pills. he succeeds but it took a toll of him and you, but it’s okay. he’s still there

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ if ur a fashion jirai too he loves you’re style, sometimes he’ll surprise you with some new clothes, if ur going through a rough patch. or just cuz he loves you : 3

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ if you sh, the first time he se your scars he was very concerned, not mad at you, just worried, especially since they were semi-fresh. he disinfected them and helped you wrap a bandage around it, giving your arm or thigh a lil kiss after

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ when he’s away it’s hard for you, not only cuz you need attention from him but you miss him physically too. . .you miss how he holds you when you cry about whatever is making you sad : ( how he validates you when you’re sad about something small

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ he expects calls from you, if he’s free he’ll pick them up, he lets you talk for as long as you want. he just likes to hear your voice. . . and you love to hear his : )

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ if you have issues with your family he never forces you to introduce him to them, he doesn’t ask about them unless you want to tell him. he’s very gentle : )

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ he plays nso with you: 3 he’s p-chan and ur amechan !! the first time you introduced it to him he was skeptic but as soon as he realized how much you love it he played it

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ overall he’s really sweet with you, no matter how mentally ill you are he loves you. he always will <3

[dreamergirlz]

Leon Kennedy headcanon

Content: jealousy, a little bit of angst, MDNI, subtle mentions of nsfw

Hear me out—

Listen if Leon was jealous, I don’t see him getting necessarily rough and like throwing you around and leaving hickeys everywhere like a sex maniac. None of that punishment stuff stay with me here for a second instead, I see him getting very touchy, like almost aggressively touchy, but not overly rough or violent. More like insistent or energetic, liking getting a little swept up in needing to be as close to you as possible as if to prove something to himself that he forgets his own strength like:

“Leon, what has gotten into you?” You ask, as he has a firm grip on your shoulders, nuzzling his face insistently into your neck or chest, being aggressively affectionate with kisses against your skin. Pressing his body against you like he’s trying to pull you into being a part of him because he doesn’t know what he’d ever do if he lost you and his mind is immediately outlining the most unlikely worst case scenarios.

Because it throws him way too much for his liking. And he hates feeling so insecure because he knows you’d never leave him and another guy would never take you from him, but he’s constantly cycling through the what ifs.

But when he answers you, the words are so nonchalant, even if his tone of voice thinly veils how bothered he is.

He’d say something like, “huh, didn’t realize kissing your girlfriend became a crime”, as a poor attempt at a joke but you can both hear the insecurity in his voice and he hates it

So to remedy that and try and keep up his tough guy reputation, he’d spin you around and start kissing the hell out of you and really taking over in the way he knows drives you crazyyy and just being overall more insistently dominant than usual

But he’s still careful cause he doesn’t actually want to hurt you. He’s more just trying to prove something for himself that he’s the one you come to, he’s the one that makes you feel good. And he’s a little embarrassed cause he knows it’s kinda immature but he can’t help it he wants you to need him in every context that savior complex peeking out to say hello

Once he gets you in bed under him he spends an absurd amount of time insistently touching and kissing all over your skin like he’s trying to purify it or something he doesn’t really even know and he feels like a pathetic dog marking his territory but he can’t stop (he’s not ofc he just feels a little pathetic poor guy)

He wouldn’t be overly rough on you, just intense. Insanely intense, like he’s trying to give you the best orgasm of your life. Like he’s pulling out all the stops and trying to do everything he knows you like, like he’s subconsciously trying to prove he’s good enough and he knows you and your body better than anyone.

He doesn’t show or say all this very well though, he’s pretty stern faced and stoic, eyebrows furrowed in concentration during the whole thing, frowning because his mind can’t stop racing with all the self-deprecating thoughts and him being nervous about you leaving him for no reason. And he’s knows it’s stupid but he just needs this: just needs to feel and taste your skin and kiss your lips until they’re numb, and thread his fingers in your hair as he watches your face twist and scrunch in ecstasy

All because of him. He’s doing that to you.

He really wants to make you writhe and cling to him, and be intense enough that it drives you into his arms for purchase and something to cling to in the storm he wages upon you himself. Anything to make you forget how to speak and to call out his name like you need him. Like he’s your anchor against the waves he‘s responsible for.

He feels better once you’re lying on his chest, dozing and holding onto him in your sleepy state. And he feels satisfied that you rely on him for things, and that you get so cuddly after he wears you out.

And in the afterglow he’s questioning his own thought process and how he could be so silly as to be bothered by the thought of someone taking you away— because it’s never gonna happen duh

He brushes your hair back from your peaceful face and he feels his chest grow all nice and warm and a little guilty for so selfishly making you ‘suffer’ for his internal conflict

I just think jealous Leon would be such an internally angsty mess

K thanks bye x

[dreamergirlz]

OVERWORKED

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

leon kennedy x fem! reader

summary: You’re still struggling with overworking. Leon shows you when it’s time to take a break.

previous (not required but gives some context)

cw: once again, female pronouns used but reader’s features are not described, some suggestive content, dom! leon much more heavily this time, very not subtle praise kink (use of good girl), pet names, tbh rating COULD be pg-13 but i don’t write nsfw so minors ur fine :) uhhhh non-sexual sub-space if you squint?

tags/tropes: once again hurt/comfort, cuddles, leon being touchy again (reader is just as touchy honestly) soft dom behavior (leon)

a/n: a little continued drabble for those of u who asked/liked the last one !! hope u like it @cherryandsugar <3

MY ELDEST DAUGHTERS WITH PRAISE KINKS MAKE SOME NOISE 🔥🔥🔥🗣️🗣️🗣️💯💯💯

｡𖦹°‧⭑.ᐟ

You’re overworking again.

You don’t mean to, necessarily. It’s just always what you do. Work, work, work. It needs to get done, so you do it. No matter how tired you are, no matter how much you don’t want to do it. No matter how many tears get shed. It needs to get done. You have to do it. So you do it.

Leon’s been taking issue, with it though.

You’re not really sure what you are to each other, yet. He definitely finds you attractive —he tells you pretty much everyday, an almost overuse of words like hot, sexy, cute, amazing, and of course, his favorite; princess.

He occasionally comes over to the place you and a few other girls rent together and does his absolute best to be as distracting as possible. Sometimes he cooks, sometimes he gets touchy, sometimes he just sits on your bed and watches you work which is, in your opinion, by far the worst one.

When he’s not bothering you in the comfort of your own home, he’s sitting next to you in the couple classes you share, a distracting hand on your thigh that he squeezes when you get a question right— something that never fails to make you breathless and dizzy for a few minutes afterwards. Between the sight of his hand engulfing your thigh and the frequency of your correct answers, it’s a miracle you don’t asphyxiate during class.

You did come close, once. It was a week after what you’ve dubbed The Library Incident, and the professor had singled you out as one of his most consistent students when it came to turning in homework. Leon had leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear and whispered, all low and rumbly:

“Good girl.”

You didn’t get a single thing out of the lecture for the rest of class.

(You’d then given him the silent treatment, but he made up for it by you sending you his rather extensive and detailed notes from the lesson with a single text: “Better learn to multitask, princess.”)

So yeah. He isn’t a huge fan of your studying habits. Something he’s made abundantly clear.

“When was the last time you got up?” He grumbles, walking into your room with your now full reusable water bottle. You’d abandoned it in the kitchen a few hours ago. He’s such a stickler about your water intake.

“Who are you, my mother?” You pause, looking up at the mischief in his eyes and the way his mouth is open, poised to say something, likely dirty. “Don’t answer that.”

You reach out with grabby hands towards your water bottle, which you know is filled with some delicious water combination, courtesy of Leon. Shit, he’s Pavlov-ing you into drinking water, isn’t he?

He rolls his eyes, handing you the bottle. “You know, you can make this exact same water yourself with the items in your fridge. Which I put there. For you. To use. Yourself.”

“You make it better,” You answer smoothly, ignoring his sarcasm. Ooooh. It’s minty strawberry today.

“Oh?” He says with a raised eyebrow, a signature Leon smirk on his lips. The same one he always gets when you admit to liking him in some way.

“You’re such an attention whore. Isn’t that why you came over here?”

“Ouch. So touchy,” He tuts, draping himself over your back and resting his chin on your head. “But no. I came over here to drag the lovely and beautiful and terribly stubbornly princess away from her desk because she’s overworking again.”

You tense. “I can’t, Leon. Not right now. I have to finish this.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

“What happens if you don’t?”

“I get behind and then I can’t catch up and then I fail—“

“Woah, now,” He says, standing and spinning your desk chair so it faces him instead of your work. “None of that is going to happen if you take a break. We both know your work ethic is too good for that.”

You start worrying your lip between your teeth. “But—“

“Hey,” He says, a gentle, slow hand reaching out and brushing your lip away from your teeth. “None of that. Leave your lip alone.”

You wince. It’s a mindless action, the same way you pick at your hangnails and other parts of your skin when you’re stressed. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for. Just don’t want my girl hurting herself more than she already is.”

You ignore the latter part of his sentence and focus on the first. “Your girl?”

“Yeah,” He says, tilting his head and looking down at you with a small smile on his face. “My girl.”

You look down at your hands, fidgeting with the hem of your sweatshirt. “I won’t be able to sleep or relax if I don’t finish this. It— I can’t.”

He takes the side of your face in his hand, thumb sweeping across your cheek and beneath your eyelid. “I know, baby. But you work too much.”

“But I have—“

“You have to, I know. I know you’re hardwired for independence and overworking. So how about this. Take a break, lie down in bed with me, and then finish only what you’ve already started.”

You start chewing on your lip again. “I—“

His fingers deftly move down to your jaw, grabbing it firm, thumb pressing on the edge of your lip and pulling it down, away from the merciless bite of your teeth. His grip leaves no room for argument, but you don’t feel frightened or scared. In fact, your stomach is doing flips at the careful, gentle control in the press of his hands and the fondness in his eyes.

“I know I phrased that very nicely, but this isn’t an argument, sweetheart. You need to rest. Your brain needs time to recharge. What happens if you get sick from all this working, huh?”

You decide now isn’t the time to bring up that you always work through every cold, flu, and fever you’ve ever had.

“Hey,” He leans down, catching your averted gaze. “Look at me.”

He could easily turn your head himself, his fingers still pressed against your jaw, but he doesn’t. He waits for you to muster up the strength to look over at him yourself, eyelashes fluttering.

His gaze is cool and deep when it meets yours. “I am not mad at you. I am not upset with you. I just want you to take care of yourself.”

His voice, gaining that low, rumbly edge when he ushers the words sends tingles up your spine. You sigh, letting the tension ease from your shoulders.

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be.”

“I’ll try harder.”

“You’re doing just fine, okay?” He pulls you up by your hands, hand leaving your face as he tugs you over to your bed. Once you’ve sat down, he reaches back towards your desk, grabbing your water bottle from your desk and putting it on your bedside table. “You just need a little help sometimes. Everybody does.”

He motions for you to scoot over and you oblige, immediately slotting into what’s become one of your usual positions: arms wrapped around his torso, head pillowed on his chest.

“There we go,” He mumbles, hand sliding under your shirt, intermittently squeezing the place his hands always seem to find: the squishy, vulnerable stretch of flesh in between the top of your hip and the bottom of your ribcage. He rolls the skin there in his hands, a pleased hum rumbling from his chest. “Such a good girl for me.”

You shudder, hiding your blush by pressing your face further into his chest. A tingle spreads from your spine to the rest of your body.

He chuckles. “Aw, you like that don’t you? Did the same thing last time. Is that all I have to do? Is that what you need, baby?”

A small whine rip’s itself from your throat before you manage to tamp it down. Embarrassed, you try and hide your face further.

“None of that, now. Come on, let me see that pretty face.”

You shift, rolling to basically lie on top of him, bracing your hands on either side of him to lift your head, a small frown on your face and a not-so-small flush across your face.

He smiles, hands coming up to cup your cheeks. “There she is,” He practically coos, “My pretty baby.”

“You’re baby-talking me.”

“Mhm,” He says, squeezing your cheeks. “You got a problem with it?”

“…No.”

“What was that?”

You drop back down, wrapping your arms around his neck and resting your chin on his chest. “Shhh. I’m supposed to be resting.”

“Convenient that you’re listening to me now.”

“Shush.”

He grumbles, but doesn’t say anything more. He slips his hands under your shirt, palming the expanse of your skin. His fingers are hot where they press and linger, warmth spreading from the points of contact. You go limp in his hold, humming contentedly.

You’re not really sure how much time passes with the both of you like that— bodies pressed close, legs tangled together. It just feels so… nice.

You relax. You actually relax. A small part of you feels annoyed that Leon is your source of comfort and relaxation (muttered whispers in your brain whine about independence, about not relying on anyone else—) the bigger, louder part of you is so overwhelmed with how nice it feels to just… not worry. Even for a little bit. In moments like this your brain goes pleasantly blank: Leon will take care of it. You don’t have to worry, because Leon will take care of it.

The stretches of time you spend in what you’ve mentally dubbed Limbo have started getting longer. At first, you’d last five, maybe ten minutes before your brain would kick into high gear again; worries and concerns flooding your brain so quickly you usually jolt straight up.

But now? It’s easy to slip into it. To let yourself take a mental break. Check out from life for a half hour or so. And when you’re ready to get back to work, you do just that- usually a lot calmer than before Leon came around.

It’s addicting. It’s dangerous.

“How long has it been.”

“Five minutes.”

You blink your eyes open, frowning. “It has not been five minutes,” You reach for your bedside table, snatching your phone off and checking the time. “Liar. It’s been thirty minutes.”

“Is it so wrong to want to lay in bed and hold my princess?”

“It is when the princess has work to do.” You grumble, sitting off and rolling off the bed with a thud.

“It’s so unnerving when you do that. Doesn’t it hurt?”

“No,” You say, hauling yourself to your feet. “It’s fun.”

“I don’t see how sustaining bodily injury is fun.”

“You wouldn’t get it,” You say, waving a hand in dismissal.

Loud shuffling and the thump of Leon climbing to his feet has you looking back. “You’re leaving?”

You can’t quite keep the desperation out of your tone.

He looks at you, surprised. “Usually you don’t like it when I stay while you work.”

“Yes,” You say, cheeks burning. “Um. Yeah. Right yeah. I have work to do. So.”

“Princess,” He says, his voice low and teasing, “You want me to stay?”

“No, no I have to work—“

“Uh-uh,” He says, crossing the room to stand in front of you, arms folded. “No lying. Do you want me to stay?”

You look down at your sock-clad feet. “Please?”

“Aw, well how could I say no to that,” He leans down, pressing a quick kiss to the crown of your head. “Finish your work. I’ll be right here when you’re done.”

“…Can we go get slushies when I’m done?”

“Of course, baby.”

You finish your work in record time.

˙⋆✮

[dreamergirlz]

if you can do a drabble or something pretty please, i need a vulnerable leon. like i mean he comes home from a mission or something and he tries to hold it in and tell you everything is fine but he just bawls his eyes out and you pamper him and take care of him and tell him it’s gonna be okay and he opens up to you and stuff

-🪑

Hi 🪑!

I hope you are doing well!!! Sorry it took me a few days!!

Warnings: Slight angst, Fluff, Comfort, Leon deserves all the hugs

RE4R!Leon Kennedy x GN!Reader

Sometimes everything becomes too much for him, it didn't help that the rain soaked through his coat, his shoes and trousers. The mission wasn't the best either, coming back to the office spending hours being tested on for plagas, interrogating about every little detail he had to live through. They didn't understand what it was like, to live a nightmare and relive it again and again until every little detail was covered and put into a report no one would touch.

You barely heard the knock on the door the rain pelting your windows was too loud. Leon was still busy with work and said he wouldn't be able to see you for a few more days so you weren't expecting anyone. You feet thudded softly as you made your way to the door, fumbling nervously with the locks as you tried to open them. You expected to be met with someone trying to sell you something or a lost delivery boy not your soaking wet boyfriend shivering. "Oh Leon" you whispered as you ushered him inside a small puddle already forming on the floor where he stood.

He shrugged off his coat trying not to get water everywhere but the damn thing was stuck to his skin. You heard his frustrated groan as he tried to pry himself away from the fabric. Your hand was warm when it touched his face moving his head to look at you. "Hey hey stop...it's alright, let me help"

You were always so gentle, he loved that about you. Your touch was soft as you pulled the fabric, the wet sounds as it separated from him made you both cringe. He sighed once free from the offending item of clothing, a soft smile appearing on his features as you dragged him through the apartment. "Your floors are going to get wet" he mumbled, looking behind him at the trail of small puddles he was leaving. "I don't care, you'll get sick if you stay in these any longer" you spoke softly. "You will care when you slip on one of the puddles later"

"not when I have you to catch me"

He smiled at that, he was used to being depended on by everyone else but with you it felt different. It felt safer and more domestic. Maybe it's because instead of protecting your life from zombies or infected villagers - he was helping you reach a cup from the top shelf or doing the dishes after you cooked. Small things that helped him feel human.

The shower stream cleared his nose, the warm pellets of water made him jump as they touched his freezing skin. He watched as you put his wet clothes in the laundry basket, his eyes widened in surprise as yours soon joined his. You reached behind him grabbing your shampoo, fingers twirling in a signal for him to turn around. Your fingers worked wonders against his scalp, his eyes closing relishing in the way you worked through the strands. A soft hum left your lips as worked it was like you were scraping his brain free from any lingering horrors.

It wasn't until he spun back around to hold his head under the shower stream you realized he was crying, the tremble in his shoulders now noticeable. "Leon?"

You didn't know what he was on about, he had never told you the specifics of the mission but judging from the recent news channel celebrating the return of the daughter's president you could two together. "But you didn't fail, you bought her back"

Your voice was angelic, he didn't fail to notice the concern and love that laced just two simple words. His knees hit the shower floor with a thud burying his head in his hands. You watched his shoulders shake, the small scraps and bruises now prominent his skin was red from being so cold. All evidence of what he went through.

You knelt down in front of him, gently pulling his hands away from his face. Your heart cracked when you met his eyes, bloodshot and tired after a long night of trying to survive. Leon's head fell on your shoulder, holding you close. He enjoyed the skin to skin, it made him feel real. Made you feel real. "I thought I was going to fail...I was so close to losing her so many times"

Leon nodded, a soft smile on his features as he looked down at you. "I love you" he whispered. It was your turn to smile, ignoring the way the water had now gone cold. Leon's body shielded you from most of the cold water, the same way he shielded you from most of the horrors of the world. "I love you more. I'm proud of you. Always"