#Re fanfic

[clitorphosis]

SPIT TO SEE THE SHINE

Vendetta Leon S. Kennedy x reader |18+ MDNI. DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, KIDNAPPING, DUB CON, smut, age gap (reader is in 20s, Leon is 37) female reader, abusive relationship, implied alcoholism, stockholm syndrome, creampie, unprotected sex, vaginal sex, use of ‘daddy’ (not a lot), implied erectile disfunction lmao, victim blaming, fingering, implied physical and sexual violence, forced breeding.

Summary: life gets lonelier after 30s, the realization hits harder Leon and the way to cope with it is to get his hands on alcohol… too bad booze tends to encourage him to not be a good man - ending up with a younger girl in his apartment. Maybe it is a grave mistake, but Leon is just a man and who doesn’t make them? notes: uhm, this may be a lil bit self indulgent, sorry for that :3 I DONT CONDONE THIS BEHAVIOR IN REAL LIFE!!! reblogs, asks and any kind of feedback or interaction are really appreciated! :3

tags: @withonly-sweetheart

Mama has told you not to trust strangers, the concern was referred to the men, but your ears have never held her words for a time longer than a day. Nor did you remember her words when an attractive, older man noticed you and was nice enough to ask you out. That night was supposed to be a little date, giddy and happy jumping into the front seat of his car. That’s the last thing you remember. Eventually, you can not fathom how this happened - the day later your head hurt as you were forced to swallow the hard pill: you got kidnapped by your date.

The first month was insufferable and painful, slowly growing out of your ‘rebellious attitude’ and memorizing his body language like a child in an abusive household. His gaze is everywhere, keeping you locked up in the room when he is not present, a reminder to you that there is no free choice. The food, clothes, and your free time were defined by Leon’s mood and taste which… Liked to swing, creating a mess for you both, not knowing if he was genuinely ashamed of what he had done. You hated him, dreaming about the day when his throat would be sliced, painting your hands with red just to breathe in the air of freedom.

Mama knows best. No, Leon knows best.

Sometimes Leon is mean, without hesitation, sharp words can be thrown at you when he is drunk. Blaming his misery on you. Trying not to be affected by them, not enough to avoid some of them as they cling to your mind - circling as a reminder.

“You deserve this, what did you think a man would want from a woman?”,

“you are better dead”,

“you asked for this”. Did you actually?

Sometimes he is the nicest guy around here. Showering you with tenderness and care, trying to have a normal conversation, but not daring to look into your eyes. Ashamed probably, which was bittersweet and pleasant, but confusing too. Like a couple. You promised yourself to not change the way you feel about him, even if he is sweet. Not like you have a lot of options now.

Certainly, Stockholm syndrome wasn’t going to avoid you, it didn’t take long either. You aren’t special and Leon looked so lonely, returning after work mostly devastated. The expression someone would have had while grieving over something not obtainable. Not even daring to look into your face, ignoring you until his hands do not reach the booze - drinking himself until his mood changes to a handsy one. Physical or sexual. Sometimes both. And Leon is lonely, he told it himself once. Naturally or not, anger has changed to pity, while hate is mixed with something affectionate towards him. You can’t help yourself.

As someone has said - from love to hatred is one step.

So the routine has become clear after a month of staying here, sitting on the floor and watching TV while Leon is behind you. Big brother is watching you - no, Leon is watching you. Drunk or not, monitoring whatever is on the screen is appropriate in his eyes. Not for too long you were concentrating on the blue gleam coming from the screen, illuminating both frames in the living room, now like a natural thing for you both - his fingers end up in your panties to rub your clit in slow and lazy circles. His chest is pressing against your back, focused on your expressions and squirming. His calloused fingertips press harder against your sensitive clit, to hear your voice. Your body is the biggest enemy here - like a Pavlovian dog, reacting to his touch quickly and eagerly. The skin of his fingers is wet and soaked with your slick already, in no time, filling the room with squelching and wet sounds as your moans become harder to keep to yourself. Writhing and trying to shift away, but your body tends to become immobile most of the time - there is no fight or flight, just freeze.

“You look so miserable. It is reassuring, so cute too” In misery, together. His tone is the one someone would use for a dog. Always using that one with you, but you are not a dog. Not like you have any other choices right now, other than taking like a good girl and not lamenting.

If someone would have asked you, Leon is shameless with you, not the one to be shy after a bottle of whiskey, even if he can’t get it up sometimes. His fingers nudge your soaked hole, which aches for his attention. It clenches around nothing, pathetically and you disappointedly whine at the emptiness inside you.

“Come on, open your legs, be a nice girl for Daddy” Leon cooed. His lips brush over your ear, not giving you a chance to do this by yourself - forcing your legs roughly to part wider. “So much better now”

Your hips shift, arching your back as his two fingers intrude into your pussy, curling sweetly inside it to push them at your favorite sweet spot - to enforce more moans at every jolt of pleasure hitting your body. Leon likes that, watching you squirm and open your mouth like a fish desperate for air cause of him. His grip on your jaw is tight, painful even - there are going to be bruises tomorrow and he will be apologizing like a madman.

“Daddy has been so miserable these days too, fucking Redfield is always hassling me.” You don’t know who is that. The sound of his hand fumbling with his belt and the fly of his jeans reach your ears, a loud noise of them falling on the floor. “Can’t even have a vacation, what would you do without me, baby?”

“Ughh…!” you choke on your moans. There is no thought behind your eyes, your entire attention is on your pleasure. Feeling overwhelmed at every thrust of his fingers, writhing in his hold while he is roughly pumping into your drenched hole, an uncomfortable wetness clings to your inner thighs - begging to fuck you already.

“Fuck, I am so sorry, sweetheart, but you are so wet. I can’t. Just the tip, okay? Sorry,” he groans breathlessly, giving hot and quick kisses on the side of your head. Sweet touch. His gaze darkens and his body presses harder against yours, feeling his erection press against your ass. “just… this hole is dripping, and you don’t look like you don’t want it”

You are so close actually, every thrust hitting your sweet spot, curling, and keeping the quick pace of his fingers make you almost drool while focusing on approaching orgasm. Too bad that isn’t on his to-do list. As much as he wants to see you cum, on his fingers or not, - his own pleasure is much more important, especially when his dick is hard. Whiskey dick isn’t so easy to get up these days. His fingers roughly withdraw from your soaked hole with a squelching pop, denying your orgasm. The emptiness returns and your sensitive pussy clenched around nothing again - aching to be filled again.

“So messy,” Leon mutters out, shoving his index and middle fingers in your mouth - forcing you to clean them, your tongue rolls and wraps around them, tasting yourself before he finally pulls them away. “asking for bad things to happen”

You can swear to God this made your clit throb. Wetter than you can ever be, or you are hallucinating, hoping this isn’t the case. Thoughts are quickly brushed aside when his cock is pressed in between your pussy lips, bumping against your aching clit while he rubs himself against your soaked and needy cunt that coats his flesh in your slick, lubing his length in it before he pushed his cock into you - Leon is not really a patient man. Yeah, just the tip, of course. Your velvety walls easily swallow his cock, stretching inch by inch with pleasant pain and letting it slide as he pushed in quick motion until his cock got buried deep inside you. Balls pressed against your flesh, while you can’t help but tightly clench around him, his chest is pressed against your back. Relishing how tight and warm is your pussy, the best and most calming feeling for Leon - to fill you with his cock for his own pleasure. Your hair gets tugged roughly, making your head roll back while Leon starts moving slowly. His cock drags against your walls, pulling out until only a tip remains inside.

“See? Only a tip” Leon mocks you, before slamming back in, bottoming out in one thrust. You whimper and squirm, but his hold on your hair is hard - the only way to keep you under his control. His hips start pounding into you, falling deep into the pleasure connecting your bodies. “Your pussy just feels so good, weren’t you made for this, mmm?”

His movements stutter as his pace slowens when his blue eyes make eye contact with the TV. You didn’t really catch on what was happening until his hand tugged your hair, directing your half-lidded gaze to the point of his interest. The sight of your image on the news, big words on the red background: MISSING PERSON. The former shelf of yourself is staring at you both, smiling brightly - not knowing there is no future for you. The volume is turned off. In this household, it is common knowledge that Leon doesn’t let you watch the news, every time getting agitated and avoiding you even more, when sober, which doesn’t last long after that. The mood swing was quick, every time it was like a loud thunderstorm, his hips make another thrust - cock hits your cervix and forces out a loud moan, involuntarily, when Leon’s cockhead grinds against it.

“This is bullshit, you know?” He hisses into your ear, giving another rough thrust to make you gasp pathetically, as he presses your head against the TV screen. “no one is coming for you. Why? Cause you are forgettable, baby, no one needs you”

“S-stop, Leon” you mumble in between moans and trying to keep yourself aware of what is happening. “T-too much, p-please!”

Your body feels like it is on fire due to the mix of emotions he provokes, your cunt grips his cock tightly while aching for your denied orgasm from before. His hand gives a hard slap on your sensitive clit, making you arch and flinch. Your pussy flutters, gripping him tighter.

“Shhh, I am doing a favor here” he mutters, yanking your head back, forcing you to look at the news while his pounding grew more erratic, intensifying wet and flesh-hitting sounds. His voice is loud in your ears, muffling other sounds, overwhelming as his cock keeps making rough thrusts into you with every word - to punctuate them. “Keeping you here, taking care of useless you that can’t do anything right”

He buries himself deep again, pausing again to relish in the feeling of his cock filling you, while your wet walls engulf him nicely - like a drug, inviting him to stay there and never pull away. Slick drips down your thighs, and his nose brushes behind your ear before nibbling on the soft cartilage. His hand gives another light slap on your pussy, the tightness of your walls almost makes him cum.

“Maybe a baby, what do you think about it, mm?” The idea makes him throb, sliding in and out more erratically. As if he cares about your opinion right now, his fingers tug your hair harder, but his words make you flinch harder. Tears prick behind your eyelids.

“No-no-no. You can’t cum inside, no!” He is not wearing a condom. Bad, too bad. Begging comes out naturally for you now, in between your moans. Fear coats your voice, as the idea sets in quickly - being trapped here cause of an unfortunate kid. “Not the baby! Leon, please! I’ll be good, please!”

“Of course, I can. Shut up. You like this” Leon hisses, keeping your head in a firm hold, so your eyes are set on the old photo. It doesn’t feel right, but you can’t stop yourself from making noises, shifting so Leon would hit a better angle. This somewhat combines with a shame, at every hint of it your mind shoves it away. “You can’t look at yourself, too bad. Dripping even more after my words, like a whore.“

Wanting to cum, focusing more on the pleasure of his dick filling your hole - feels so wrong, but good. Like your body shouldn’t enjoy how Leon’s hips keep pounding into your soaked cunt, hitting the pudgy spot and making you repeat his name like a prayer, but your own mind and body are the biggest enemy, betraying you. His own balls tighten, as a reminder of his so soon approaching orgasm.

“You love me right, baby?” Leon whispers, voice coming out breathy and brushing against your ear shell. His calloused fingers crawl back to your clit, flicking and rubbing it roughly and unsteadily. Trying to keep the feeling of that warm tightness sucking in his cock.

“I love you, Leon, o-oh!” you hum, nibbling on the lower lip and arching, letting more noises when his dick hits your sweet spot so sloppily and messy now, chasing his orgasm. And him circling your clit with his calloused fingertips makes your legs tremble - so close to tripping and falling flat on the floor. This makes your mind fuzzy, shoving away the fear of being pregnant. Leon is nice, right? Nice enough to push you against the cold screen of the TV, it doesn’t have its use anymore. That photo faded with the news, after all. “I love you, love you,”

Your voice comes out shaky and high-pitched now. His eyes are set on your disheveled look, with light traces of tears as you repeat the confession erratically, filling his mind with them. Making this normal, you love him, so he can allow himself to not feel so guilty, right? With a final and rough thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, giving chaste and soft kisses to the back of your head. Your body shudders eventually too, your walls spasm harder around him as the hard feeling of orgasm hits you, pleasant shockwaves dumb every bad thought in the head. His cock throbbed, letting a loud groan and finally spurting ropes of cum into you while keeping messy circles on your sensitive clit, prolonging your orgasm and making you more overwhelmed with every flick. The warm essence fills your hole, Leon pulls out his softening cock with a wet pop, watching how his sperm slowly oozes out from your pussy. His mind is light, the hint of booze keeps guilt from emerging.

Words of love don’t feel like a complete lie now, as pleasant memories overwhelm the bad ones. They become almost an empty spot in the back of your mind, leaving only a foggy feeling of hate and dread. And your brain is weak for the bliss, hammering every moment deep in you - craving for more. Hate won’t bring you out of this, maybe affection will. Your hand grips weakly his wrist, you won’t be able to bear the loneliness after sex tonight.

“Don’t leave me” Your mouth is quicker than your mind, not processing anything right now. Leon breaks out in a weak smile, but his gaze isn’t capable of keeping eye contact right now. Still, he scoops you in his arms without a second thought. Remaining silent, feeling your weak body in his hold he can’t help but pepper chaste kisses on your forehead. Trying to prolong the sweet and guiltless moment for you both.

You should have known better than to accept that date with him.

[luverine]

𓇢𓆸 Ache

Mdni

Every waking moment is torture around you, away from you even.

He looks at you across the dining room, your smile, body, mind, energy. He can’t help himself.

Admiration is one thing but he is devoted to you, though you have no idea, his heart aches In silence.

The air from his lungs feels foreign, his mind is consumed by thoughts of you, his body craves your touch.

At night the yearning is unbearable, the room feeling too cold and too warm without you, he’d do anything, anything for you to give him a sliver of a chance at your love.

You look back at him in the dining room, your hands tremble,he’s so intimidating, so distant, yet you’d do unspeakable things, just to call him yours.

If only.

Levi, Erwin, Jean, Reiner, Leon, König, Aizawa

Likes, comments, reblogs appreciated ‹𝟹

Inbox open!

[sheepispink]

The Perfect Pair

WC: 7.6k Tags: fluff, marriage of convenience, leon kennedy/ reader

Summary: Leon can barely hold himself upright most days and you've finally decided to ditch the DSO life in pursuit of happiness. However, that'd mean leaving all those beautiful tax benefits and medical insurance behind. Turns out Leon and Chris are pretty persuasive, landing you as Leon's 'wife' but you cant help but start to feel something more, unaware that Leon's already set his eyes on you for life.

It’d been a long day at work, the usual really— Chris had roped him into dealing with another bioweapon appearance, thus leading him to take a helicopter to some trashy place, locating the bioweapon, and promptly knocking its freaky nature out of action. Now he lugged his weary feet home to the apartment you shared, his stomach craving a taste of something only your skilled hands would prepare for him. After a short elevator trip that thankfully alleviated the ache of his feet for a moment, he reached the front door and, with a quick fumble with the keys he had inserted the right one inside, opening the door.

“I’m home.” He calls out, his raspy voice filling the silent yet serene space before him. He somehow grew used to this; the sight of two sets of keys on the hook, the vast difference in style as he places his shoes on the rack, and the two coats on the bannister, one far smaller than the other. “Smells good..” He mumbles beneath his breath, making his way towards the kitchen where you stand, back facing him as you work your hands through a ball of minced meat.

“Welcome home.” You turn to meet his hungry gaze with your typical warm smile, heart warming at the exhausted look on his face and even more so that he’d soon find relief in the food you had made.

“You’re lucky, we had just enough mince meat in the freezer for your favourite beef burgers.” That was a lie. You had woken up early this morning and decided he had looked far too tired recently, and it’d been far too long since he’d had his favourite meal. So, as any good wife does, you wanted to make him feel better and took to the nearest supermarket, picking up all the ingredients you needed and some for a tasty dessert too. He always denied that he enjoyed sweet treats, but he would always be the first to finish them, whether it was a sweet chocolate mousse or a tasty doughnut you picked up on the way home.

He chuckles, his hand disappearing into his work jacket as he slips off the leather and lays it on the back of a wooden chair. It then migrates to his collar, tugging on it to alleviate the heat through his body, which is proven by the thin layer of sweat covering his limbs.

“Oh? Thanks, I was sure you finished it last week when you gave Kitty a gourmet meal for once.”

This home wouldn’t be complete without its resident cat, a Siamese fur ball that Leon graciously named ‘Kitty’ though he has no doubt referred to it with a million different names anyway.

“I guess I must've missed a bit. I really treated her for nothing.” While he was smirking, your mind was far from the lightheartedness of this conversation, currently panicking over his words. He had seriously caught you out there; of course you finished the mince, last week but was he actually accusing you of lying or worse—did he know? As you let out an awkward chuckle, he speaks up again, undoing his belt with one hand as his other grabs a glass from the shelf to fill with water. “I’m not complaining though; they really are my favourites for a reason.” He drinks down the glass of water in one swig, letting out a satisfied breath before rolling his shoulders back. “I’m gonna take a quick shower—I don't want to drown your nose with my sweat.” He chuckles again, finally leaving you alone in the kitchen again as he takes his path up the stairs to your shared bedroom.

To say your relationship with him was complicated was a massive understatement; it was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, feelings that felt illicit, and signals that were impossible to decipher. Well, for you it felt like this—you’re not so sure about him. In fact, for someone who sleeps beside him nearly everyday, cooks him meals, eats dinner with him, and even drops off his lunch, you barely knew anything about the man.

This all began when you decided to quit the DSO, finally having enough money to move to a more peaceful job with flexible hours and still end up supporting yourself. You had only worked in communications at the DSO, but that was still a pain in itself. Before you left, they had an informal work dinner. A bunch of agents and other workers came along to a diner for some food before heading to mess around at a karaoke place before the weekend hit. With so many people around, it grew far too hot too quickly, and you soon wandered the halls seeking a breath of fresh air before you heard your name called by an agent. The voice belonged to Chris Redfield–your superior—who was beckoning you to come over, cigarette in hand, to where he stood with Leon right beside him. They were both your superiors in the work field but were perceived as far more important due to the missions they accomplished and lives they saved.

“Yes..?”

You were more confused than scared or anything of the like—why did they even want to talk to you? It’s not like you often saw them. Even so, you walked over to them, trying to reduce the awkwardness when you slipped your hands into the pockets of your jacket, tilting your head slightly.

“You’re gonna leave soon, right?” Leon asks, taking a swig of the golden whisky in his glass whilst Chris blows another puff of smoke off to the side.

“Yeah, I wanted to move onto a different job, a quieter one that isn't so taxing.” You shrug, having only thought out a bit of it so far.

Chris and Leon shared a glance at each other before Leon spoke once more, rolling back his shoulders a little. “You see, I have a bit of a predicament, and Chris thought you could help.”

Before you know it, he’s explaining how busy his work is and that he barely gets home in time for a sip of water before he knocks out, and you’re not really sure how this is your problem until Chris butts in.

“So basically, he needs a wife. You, on the other hand, won't have any of the perks of the DSO since you’re leaving, which includes medical insurance, tax benefits..” He trailed off as you started to ponder it, you really would lose a lot of the things you had grown to exist around. It would be very difficult to manage, and you can't say you’d miss a lot of those perks greatly. The two men give each other a glance as you speak up, nodding along. “You’re right, I will miss out a lot, but I really don't want to stay here longer..” Before Leon can even try and slide it in, Chris has already blurted it out.

“Well, you won't lose anything if you marry him.”

So, after a bunch of awkward talks and surviving interrogations from your coworkers, you ended up with a small wedding, which was mainly done to please your own parents rather than yourselves. Now you’re here, almost a year into this non formal contractual marriage, and your feelings are muddled. Very muddled. It’s hard to not catch feelings when you’re somewhat of a hopeless romantic yourself, or maybe the teenage girl mentality came back full force now you have a lot more free time. You owed him a fair amount to be fair—he didn’t realise how stress-free your life was these days. Wake up, eat a healthy breakfast, maybe watch some television too, head down to the small little bakery you own and teach the part time teenager there before wrapping up at four o'clock and heading home again. Your skin had cleared up, you were actually able to sleep in on the weekends and actually do whatever you want— pick up new hobbies, eat proper meals, and read books to your heart's content.

What you’ve concluded is that your life has drastically improved and you are more relaxed than you’ve ever been. The problem with that is that with the new addition of all this free time and air to breathe in, you’re able to actually think about the man you’ve married. In simpler terms that you tried to deny for a year now, you’ve caught feelings—a lot of feelings for him. That’s why you’re currently stuck in a conundrum; you’re technically allowed to pursue said feelings, as you’re married and no longer ‘colleagues’ needing to act professionally, but does he want the same?

The pan starts to sizzle, snapping you out of your daydreaming as you place the flattened patty into the oil, lightly frying each side. Being his wife meant looking after him as much as he did to you, so cooking was often your chore to handle. Even though you were more than happy to do most of the chores, he’d still help with the dishes after dinner and often cooked when he could—when he was exhausted from another mission. Plus, he did his own laundry. He would’ve done yours too, though after the first time he tried, your cheeks had flushed immediately when he handed you a pile of your freshly washed underwear and t-shirts, and you quickly told him you’d do your own.

The staircase groans as he steps down the stairs, his movements a lot slower now that he had let the tension ease from his muscles in the shower. So far, you’ve managed to cook four patties, which was more than enough to satisfy his stomach and yours. But you had an extra two for his lunch tomorrow and because he tended to have a third burger “just because it’d be a shame to let it go to waste.That’s when you hear him curse softly under his breath, turning back to glance at him in confusion. “What’s wrong?” His hair is damp, still dripping with water onto the white tee he wears. It’s loose and the one you bought him last month when you went on a shopping spree. You try to ignore the way your eyes naturally drift towards his chest; a small sliver of his pale skin peeks out where his hand disappears under his shirt, rubbing his abdomen in a strange way. “Did you get hurt?” You continue, turning down the heat on the hob so you can turn to face him better.

“Oh? This?”

He lifts the shirt a little, revealing the bruise on his right side of his stomach, and also gives you a perfect view of his toned abs. Damn. “It’s not as bad as it looks..” He mumbles, but his eyebrows are still knitted in a frowning gesture. “I’m annoyed because I missed an opportunity..”

That makes you blink, wondering what he could’ve missed in the time he went for his shower and came back here. Did he get a phone call? Or perhaps something happened this week you hadn't picked up on?

“An opportunity?”

“Yeah. I completely missed the chance to ask you, ‘What's cookin, Good Lookin?’. Damnit..”

Did the corniest line to ever exist really just make your chest tighten for a second?

You can’t deny the fact that the line itself had made your lips part as you stood there dumbfounded. Leon had a history with corny one-liners; in fact, whenever his colleagues happened to see you, they’d always mention whatever stupid thing he said during a mission. He’d say it to you occasionally too, usually random puns that he’d quietly snicker about, but he’d never quite openly flirt with you like that. Was it supposed to be a joke? Was it real? You couldn't tell, and so you quickly turned back around before your patties ended up burnt.

“O-of course only you would worry more about that than your own injuries.” His snickering is obvious behind you as you place the cooked patties onto a small plate. “Stop pestering me and go sit down at the table.” You feign annoyance, grumbling as you hide the furious flush of pink upon your cheeks. Unfortunately for you, he didn’t intend to give up that easily, walking up behind you and peering over your shoulder with his hands planted on the counter on either side of your waist.

“That was a good one, c’mon.” He argues, the most exaggerated pout on his face quickly disappearing when he watches the burgers sizzle in the pan. He loves your food so damn much.

“That was not a good one, shoo.”

Thankfully, he ends up leaving you alone in favour of Kitty, who had just woken up from her nap— eager to play with him even if it just means chasing after a wrapper he had thrown across the room. You place down two plates at the table, as per usual, along with a plate full of salad, a bowl of fresh chips you fried, and the small plate of patties— six to be exact. Then, you place down the two fancy glasses you bought last week and grab your usual favourite canned drink while grabbing a Coke Zero for him. Finally, you place Kitty’s dinner on the floor which she runs over for, immediately gobbling up the food. “She’s just like you.” You giggle, watching as she hungrily wolfs down the food, thus making him groan in return. “I do not eat like that.”

Dinner is the same. You’ll ask about his day in which he usually retorts in grunts and moans about the government, incompetent workers, and that woman.. Ada. Just the mention of her name used to make him go quiet back when you worked at the DSO, and even in the first few months of your “marriage”, he would shrug off the subject quickly. Now he talks about it here and there, mentioning how she suddenly appears and always seems to know his location. For some reason, it puts a sick feeling in your stomach, like someone is dragging their nails across the flesh of your insides.

“Ada.. was there. Ever since I saved the president’s daughter, it’s like she’s followed me everywhere. She helps me.. but then she claims to not care..?”

His words stopped registering in your mind after a while as your teeth grit against each other and you absentmindedly dipped your chip into ketchup over and over again. You can’t believe he could be so naive. She had played him once in Raccoon City, faking her identity and using him to her advantage. The same played out in Spain even if she ‘saved’ him. You didn't care about her damn motives; she worked for the enemy, and it irked you—she just used whatever she could to gain her benefit, and it seemed like no one could stop her.

“Earth to my beautiful wife, hello?” He waved his hand in front of your furrowed eyebrows and the obvious scowl upon your face. “You look like you just ate something you find disgusting. I thought you liked this too.”

You immediately realise you had zoned out, your face shifting to something sheepish before you finally stick the ketchup-soaked chip into your mouth. You didn't even get a chance to process what he just called you.

“No, it’s not the food; I was just thinking. Sorry, it’s nothing.”

That only serves to make him all the more curious, though he doesn't push it, instead continuing his story. “Where was I? Oh, right, then Ada shot—” He cuts himself off as your eyes immediately narrow, and you lower your head, picking with your food again subconsciously. It doesn’t take much to piece the clues together, his lips twitching upwards as a smile threatens to spread. Though he wants to test his suspicions one more time.

“Wanna hear something crazy? Ada tried to kiss me again.”

“What?!” You immediately sit up straight, the scowl returning just as fast and teeth grit, but it quickly softens when you see the smirk on his face.

“I knew it. You hate her, don’t you?” Leon always saw right through you, thankfully not with your growing feelings yet, and it made it all the harder to keep his marriage… Well, just as a contract.

“Fine, maybe I don’t like her. So what? She’s not exactly the most moral person.” You say, shrugging your shoulders nonchalantly as you take a bite out of your burger and chew it down. “She helps Umbrella, can you really blame me?” That only makes his lips twitch again, and he leans his elbows on the table, eyes trained on every feature of your face.

“Are you jealous of her?” That almost makes you choke on the burger, and you have to take a large gulp of your drink to swallow down the rest of the food, your face immediately pinkening. It can’t be possible—there’s no way you’re jealous of that cunning, manipulative, hot, extremely hot woman. How did she even look that good?

“Ha— she should be jealous of me.” You scoff boldly, finishing the last of your burger soon after.

“Oh, and why’s that? Because you’re the one wedded to me?

A moment earlier, your heart would’ve described his face as a perfectly carved sculpture, the ones that people bid thousands to place in their homes because not showing off such a perfect creation would be a crime. Right now, he wore a sly grin with his eyebrows raised as he eyed you suggestively.

And that look was very punchable.

“Because I'm living the dream. I’ve got a bakery, a ton of free time, and I guess you’re there too, I suppose.”

With a roll of your eyes, you dismiss his words quickly, even though the faintest blush on your cheeks betrays your true thoughts. What if you said yes? What happens then?

“I should’ve known you wouldn’t give me that satisfaction.” He feigns a pout before his grin returns as he takes a massive bite into his second burger of the night. Of course, he just has to make an exaggerated moan, one elbow leaning on the table as the other covers his face dramatically.

“This is heavenly, you know? One day I swear I'll start dreaming about these burgers.”

There he goes again, babbling on about Lord knows what and his corny lines again. You can't help but flash a small cheeky smile, winking as you pour yourself a glass of water from the pitcher.

“Another reason for her to be jealous of me.”

Once the dinner has been packed away by his speedy hands, he’s returned to make the couch his home again, stretching his whole body against the length of it like a cat would. You’re placing the dishes into your dishwasher before inserting a tablet and putting it on for three hours. As you walk over to wipe down the table, you notice his eyes have fluttered close as he groans and gets comfortable on the cushions. You can't say you didn't feel a tinge of affection—well, much more than that, like a heap almost—every time he crashed out like this, completely exhausted from a mission. “Weekend tomorrow..” You remind him with a gentle hum, swiftly removing any stray stains off the table. “Don’t you want to have a good sleep, y'know, in bed?”

He lets out a muffled grumble in response, burying his face into the cushions before he reluctantly sits up, making you smile a little more—you’d scold him regularly about lying down after eating. “What movie d’ya wanna watch?” He says even if he would usually wander his way to the bedroom after you said that. It’s been at least a month since you had been together like this to watch a movie. A lot had changed in that month, specifically your growing feelings for him. Perhaps distance really does bring fondness, you think.

“I don’t mind; you like action, no?” You finish wiping down the dirt from dinner to glance over whatever he’s doing on the television, only to find him flicking through your favourite genre of movies. Shoving down the warmth on your cheeks is near impossible as you speed walk back to the kitchen. Were these signs? Were you reading too much into it? Your teeth graze against each other nervously as you look up to see him waiting expectantly on the couch for you to join him. What the hell is happening right now? He had always gone to bed immediately or scrolled through his phone for a while— so what’s with the sudden change?

Moments later you’re sitting beside him on the couch, knees tucked to your chest as he presses play on the movie he picked—the one you had mentioned you wanted to watch when it first got announced that it was in production. Despite your excitement, you could hardly concentrate on the movie when he was practically centimetres from you. He was leaning back against the cushions, one arm resting around the back of the couch where you sat and the other comfortably against the armrest. If you had just moved your head back slightly, you would brush against his arm. If you did that, would he wrap it around your shoulders? Just the thought makes you shudder a little, your chin moving forward to sit comfortably on your knees. It was like you were a teenage girl again, sitting in the movies with your crush while you wondered if he thought of you as a friend or something more. You couldn't even believe you were acting like this—hell the two of you were married legally, not to mention you were both grown adults! Who cares if he had just stretched out his arms, his shirt riding up, and you could see the scars on his stomach? Your breath hitching when he had shuffled up to you was completely unnecessary; the warmth radiating off of him was irrelevant, no matter if the characters were kissing on the screen right now. You practically jump when he pokes your shoulder with his hand, your head snapping to him instantly, and you can barely even form a noise when you see how close his face is to yours. His eyes had to be one of your favourite things about him, or was it the messy mop of dirty blond hair on his head? It could even be the sharpness of his jawline, the lines of wear beneath his eyes, how perfectly his nose seemed to be carved, or perhaps, crazily enough, the way his voice rang out in your ears in the mornings.

“Do we have any dessert? I’m craving something sweet.”

Every step back into the kitchen is like torture from how hot your cheeks are, the cold fridge air doing nothing to soothe the embarrassment as you grab the microwave puddings you had bought today. You can't believe you had been so flustered by the proximity that all that had escaped you was a strangled noise before you just hurriedly nodded and escaped to the kitchen. Those five seconds between the poke and his words felt like a millennia— an incredibly romantically tense millennia— where for those whole five seconds, you stupidly thought he’d kiss you right then and there. You fan yourself as if that’ll soothe the metaphoric rush of warmth in your face right now, incredibly embarrassed by your own thoughts and desires. When you sit back down again, you quickly hand him the hot pudding and sit further away from him this time. If you even felt that again, you felt like you’d simply explode altogether.

Unbeknownst to you, he was now wondering if you were annoyed that he had interrupted, and he frowned as he glanced down at the plate with just a singular spoon. Weren’t you going to eat too? Not to mention, you were all stiff and sitting further from him than before—now you’re really twisting the knife in his heart. First he had agitated you by teasing you about Ada, then he laid on the couch right after dinner like you always told him not to do, and now you even refused to eat dessert! Maybe he isn't putting enough effort into all of this as he originally thought. After all, you did a lot to run a bakery in town and still cook, clean, and look after his cat. So, he decides to take a shot and scoops up a particularly chocolatey part of the pudding, the part he always eats first, and holds the spoon up to your lips.

“I know you’re mad, but you can't deny this.” He plasters his typical boyish grin, nudging your lips with the metal of the spoon. But he’s caught off guard when you pull back in surprise, waving your hands around frantically in denial. “H-huh? I ate a lot of sweet things today already—”

“Shut up. Don’t you dare even say you’re on a diet either; you’re perfect already.”

He pushes the spoon against your lips which you accidentally part in surprise at his words, the warm chocolate filling your mouth immediately like an instant boost of serotonin.

“See, it's good, told ya.” He says smugly as you swallow down the tasty pudding and sauce. That’s only for a moment before he notices the smudge of chocolate around your lips from his struggle, casually wiping away the crumbs with his thumb before licking it.

He had just wiped the crumbs.

He wiped it from your lips.

He wiped it and then licked it off his hand.

He didn't even think twice.

“I-its not bad-” That was all you could mutter out before he committed the crime, and now you were left dumbstruck as you watched him casually lick his thumb and then take another spoon of the dessert—the same spoon you just ate from. He leans back against the couch again, about to shove another in your mouth once he gets comfortable enough, though he quickly realises that you still haven’t spoken since. “You can’t still be mad; I’ll shove another one in your mouth, you know—” At that, you know you’re sure to blurt out the truth, and you scramble up, about to make an excuse about needing a glass of water, before your wrist is caught in his hand, and you’re promptly pulled back against the couch again.

“Hm? Where are you going, pink cheeks?”

He says it teasingly, instantly making you flush all the more. You couldn’t understand how anyone could even be so casual about these things, not that you had little experience in the area, but seriously— he had literally just licked the chocolate on your face. That was an indirect kiss!

“Do you do this with all your friends?” The frown on your face is suddenly a little harsher, accusing, and suddenly there's a hint of betrayal. That only serves to confuse him more, you’ve been acting off for a while now, had he cheated in his sleep or something? “What? You’re not my friend, though? That's not comparable.”

He doesn't even see you as a friend? You can't help the way your heart drops in a way you’ve never felt before in your life; it almost hurts the way he can just so easily dismiss you after all the time you’ve spent together—contractual or not. “I- I see how it is..”

“See how what is? You’re not making much sense.” His eyes narrow as you suddenly turn your head away from him, arms crossing firmly on your chest, but what doesn’t escape him is the sudden daze in your eyes. Gently, his hand grabs your chin, squashing your cheeks as he forces you to face him, and his mind instantly clicks all the pieces together.

“.. (Name).” He says firmly, making you let out a small hum in acknowledgement, unaware of the way your eyes are suddenly a lot wetter than they had been before.

“What did you drink earlier?”

“What? All I drank was water, mostly.”

“What about when I told you about Ada, was that water?” Your eyebrows furrow as you hear him repeat her name again, immediately growing more frustrated. “What about her now?”

He lets out a heavy sigh, wrapping a firm arm around your shoulders before he forces you to settle against the couch against him. “You drank some of my drink, didn't you? You were way too annoyed to even notice the whiskey I mixed in.”

The thought immediately clicks into your head; everything is suddenly a lot clearer now, even though you still weren't quite sober yet. Plus, you were pretty much a lightweight when it came to his strong stuff. It perfectly explained the warmth spreading through your chest, the uncoordinated actions, and the way nothing seemed to follow the way your head wanted it to. “S-still, you said I’m not even your friend.” Gently, his thumb rubs the tears that have formed in your eyes and tucks you close into him with his arm snugly around you. Just in case you decide to face plant off the couch as you seemed to want to do before. “You’re not my friend; you’re my wife. Who else would I treat like that?”

“I’m not your real wife though.” You slowly look up at him, turning your head, so your glossy eyes can stare up into his, searching for the right answer— the truth.

“Those papers seem pretty real to me. The way I feel is also pretty real to me.”

He grins at you like he hadn't doubted that fact for a second, and he hadn't, not since you both had signed and received the certificate, one he sometimes sneaks a small fond peek at whilst you’re sleeping. Not that he’d tell you, at least not yet.

“But— I’m not your wife; that’s my title, but I don't act like that.”

“So? I still love you as anyone would with their wife; do you really think I wouldn't fall for you? You’re even more perfect than I imagined.”

You’re momentarily stunned into silence, not quite expecting that but still not believing it quickly, your tipsy mind making you say things that you never would before.

“That's because I do everything for you— not that I mind b-but, I just act like a good partner. You don't feel romantically for me.” You huff, your teeth gritting together as you pettily narrow your eyes at him. What you hadn't considered is that he’d tuck your hair behind your ears, carefully pull you into his lap, and take one of your hands in his. He fondles your hand beneath his, his thumb rubbing gently over the skin before he brings it up to rest on his cheek, smiling fondly at you.

“I’ve been busy, I know. It’s quite hard having an agent as a partner, no? I already regret all the love I've lacked to give you.” This time, you’re positive that your cheeks are reacting to him, breath hiccuping when he turns his face in your grasp. His lips press a kiss to the palm of your hand before intertwining that hand with his and holding it against his heart.

“You just had to go get tipsy, didn't you?” The warmth of his hand on yours as he squeezes it gently is like a drug, one that squeezes your heart at the same rhythm whilst his teasing voice dances in the air around the two of you.

“Not my fault you always have to have a glass with dinner..” You grumble, not happy with how fast he had proven you wrong even if he had just confessed to his deepest feelings. He finds it quite endearing how stubborn a little bit of alcohol can make you. ”Alright, we can blame me for this one. How about you finish this pudding with me, and we can get you settled in bed, how does that sound?”

Before you know it, he’s wiping chocolate stains from your lips again as you sniffle in his lap, mumbling some nonsense about your so-called lack of lovelife while the movie plays in the background. He enjoys all your little comments about the movie, even when you subconsciously glance back at him when the couple starring do something romantic. Taking you up to bed is easy enough considering you’re only just bordering tipsy at the moment and you hardly weigh anything compared to the things he usually deals with. Your head just lolls lazily as he helps you upstairs, your eyes slowly blinking up at him when he sits you on the edge of the bed. “What pajamas do you want, pretty girl? How about your favourite?” The water he helped you drink before had sobered you up a little so you’re starting to feel better already. However, your mind is still a little hazy so you just nod along, not minding if this is the first time he undresses you.

Making sure to be gentle with you, he strips you down to your underwear before helping you pull on your warm sweatshirt and plaid pants. His lips twitched upwards when your own fingers tried to beat him with dressing yourself, finding it adorable how you still insisted on doing everything yourself. He could just put you to bed, but after watching for countless nights how you slave away at your skincare routine and keeping your teeth brushed well— he’d feel awful if he broke that. Before you know it, you’re sitting on the sink as he gently holds your jaw, his other hand using the electric toothbrush to clean your teeth. You’re a little uncooperative, swerving your head away at first until you just settle into a sleepy calm and he handles you with no problems. In no time he has you back on his lap, sitting at your small vanity as he carefully attempts to remember the order of your night time routine. What even is this? He thinks as he picks up a suspicious looking serum, labelled as snail mucin and gives it an experimental sniff. He thought it’d smell worse to be fair.

“No, you have to put the toner first and then the serum.” You mumble at him, gently tugging at his hands with your fingers and before he knows it, you have a toner pad all up in his face, wiping over his nose and cheeks before you cover the rest of his face.

“Hey- i’m meant to be doing your skincare. I don't need this stuff.”

He almost feels a pang of hurt in his chest as you raise an eyebrow at him, as if accusing him of having bad skin. With a huff, he removes the toner pad from your hands and throws it in the bin before gently pulling at your cheeks. “I have great skin, thank you. Dont give me that look.”

You immediately frown and attempt to puff your cheeks, causing him to have mercy and let go before he grabs a new toner pad and repeats your actions to yourself.

When you come back to your senses, your head is smushed against a pillow whilst he changes by the closet behind you. Your thoughts don't feel as hazy as they used to be, and you’re even starting to contemplate everything that happened earlier. Did he really mean what he meant? Did he actually like you.. romantically? You physically cringe at your own thoughts and hide your face behind your hands, groaning just quiet enough that he doesn't quite hear it. Sleeping next to him had always felt odd to you, but you always slept at different times so it never really felt romantic in any sort of way. You liked to stay up late and he liked to get a decent rest before the next morning. It was only recently that you started glancing at his sleeping face beside you, admiring the peace in his expression when he lost himself to his dreams and no other worries. Otherwise, it just felt like a roommate, nothing more nothing less.

But now his trousers were falling to the floor behind you, and you were laying in bed not quite falling asleep nor attempting to stay up. Suddenly, he wanted to sleep with you, not only beside you. It suddenly felt all too real that you two were actually married, actually partners and actually slept beside each other each night. What next, were the notes you left in his lunch romantic too? In truth, you were slightly freaking out but that might’ve been the alcohol making things a hundred times worse than they should’ve been, especially since you had started crying unannounced earlier. That’ll play in the back of your mind forever but for now you’re focused on his soft footsteps as he approaches the bed, dressed in a much looser shirt and pants. He always slept like this but this time he looks down at you, one finger gently poking your cheek as he sits on the other end of the bed.

“I actually prefer to sleep with my shirt off. But we always fell asleep at different times so I never got to ask your permission.”

He hums quietly, the finger now gently rubbing along the soft curve of your cheek instead.

“You can.. I don't mind.” You say quietly, eyes trailing over his form as he settles himself against the headboard right beside you. Touching you.

“Are you sure your cheeks won't get too red?”

He teases, hand moving towards the top of your head to gently card his fingers through your locks. You push yourself up to a sitting position, letting out a soft yawn as you do so before you blink at him hazily again. This time, you press forward and place your hand on his abdomen, absentmindedly rubbing your finger there back and forth. “I want to see your injuries.”

Not even he can stop the way his face softens at that and he tucks you into his side again, his other hand pulling the shirt up and over his head to discard onto the carpet beneath the bed. This view is only for you: his paled skin, the fresh scars, the old scars, fading bruises and fresh bruises, stitches that fall out and others that are pulled tight but most of all, his body. All for your eyes only, only for you. Your hand runs gently over the outline of his newest bruise, a deep purple that covers the entire expanse of his hip. It’s blooming into something worse and you’re sure it’ll hurt more tomorrow, not that he’d ever complain about that anyway. “You always come home with injuries, and you just play them off. Don't they hurt? Don't you want me to care for you?”

You say quietly, voice even softer now that you’ve sobered up, and he just lets out a breath, his face turning to watch the way your brows furrow and your lips press together. To have someone fuss over him like this is something he never thought about much, but it didn't mean he hadn’t craved the idea before. Yours was genuine worry, and you always held that genuine care for him. But it felt different now, more natural, more intimate. Like he was the only one you would worry about like this— he loved that feeling.

“I don't ever want you to worry about a thing, even if I do like the way your eyebrows crease when you do.” He chuckles softly, leaning down to press his lips affectionately against your hair before sitting back up properly again. “I suppose if you really want to.. I couldn't deny I'd be flattered to have you care for me.” The curve of your lips is what makes him smile as well, finding it all too endearing how easily a grin can form on your face.

“You’re such a flirt..” You mutter, trying to play it off and wiggle out of his hold on you, only serving for him to raise an amusing brow at you. “I’m only making up for what I can’t do to a tipsy girl.”

“I’m not tipsy..” You argue, sitting up a little straighter which makes his arm gently rest on your lower back instead.

“Oh? Really now? Let me test you then, since I used to be a policeman.”

“Fine, give me what you’ve got.”

“Sing the alphabet backwards if you’re sober.”

You instantly splutter, shaking your head quickly.

“Hey! Not even a normal person can do that. I knew you didn't actually like me.” He has to stop himself from rolling his eyes up at your grumbling, squashing your cheeks to make you shush.

“Is it really a crime that I don't want you to forget our first kiss because of some stupid whiskey?”

“Your stupid whiskey.” He finally rolls his eyes at your retort, gently pushing you back into bed and pulling the covers up and over you. “Alright fine, my stupid whiskey. Now, be honest with me, are you sober?”

The little frown on your face has disappeared with the hope his question brings, and you nod quietly, wide eyes looking into his.

“Are you very sure?” You were definitely sober now, his voice immediately lowering to a rasp as his hands travel up to cup the soft curves of your cheeks as they begin to turn pink. Just like that, he’s the man you’ve fallen for all over again, soft strands of fair hair framing his chiselled face as if they’re perfectly placed to put you under his spell. His index tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, gently rubbing the skin of your cheek with his calloused thumbs. His skin is so rough and yet you can't help but feel he is so soft at this moment; his eyes are like gentle waves, looking at you so fondly that you finally remember to reply.

“I-i'm sure.”

He doesn't hesitate, leaning in closer until his nose just touches the tip of yours, eyes locked onto every small movement you can even think about doing. “Can I?” The nod you give is the green light he’s always dreamed of; this day is all he has ever thought about since you joined his life. You let your eyes flutter closed, feel the warmth of his breath that tickles your skin as he draws closer and closer until his lips meet yours so gently. You have to physically stop yourself from giggling, probably the alcohol still trying to make a fool of you, but you just can't believe he’s the one wrapping you in his touch. Likewise, you wrap your arms around his neck, and he lets out a small gasp when you suddenly gain the strength to meet him upright, almost as if you’re threatening to pin him instead. Of course, he couldn't just let that slide easily. So, as anyone would, he pushes you back down into the mound of pillows, causing you to squeal as he leaves his touch all over your face, fleeting kisses painting your skin a rosy red. “You better not forget this in the morning.” He scoffs playfully as your eyes squeeze shut, giggles that spill out your mouth while he gives the affection he’s craved to gift to someone for years.

His job is hard, his life has been hard, and even this marriage initially felt the same. It wasn't so much the fact that he had essentially tied himself down to someone he barely knew, it was the realisation that he would never find his one person. That's why he did this after all, it seemed like it’d benefit the both of you and the day where he’d actually have a woman by his side slipped away with each mission. You, you were different though. You may have been an agent before, but outside of work you were the sweetest thing. Always subconsciously fussing over him, delaying sleep to prepare his lunch no matter how much he insisted you didn't need to, taking a personal duty to look after his cat, and still not being afraid to ask him when he seemed low or uncomfortable. You were everything he never had, even the annoying nagging of trying to get him to not lay on the couch after he ate or the fact that's his third whiskey yet.

Corny lines, the occasional flirty remark, dragging you to watch a movie— he wanted to do all of that before so you’d become actually his, actually the one he could say he loves and loves him back. But things got in the way, life got in the way, and he was starting to see his opportunities dissolve with each tired return from the mission. Despite his grumpy attitudes some days, his exhausted look as he collapsed into bed at eight, you still managed to fuss over him all the same— never once did you treat him differently, if not for the fact you’d cook him a slightly nicer meal after missions.

He was still busy, yes of course, but somehow he had managed to win you over. Maybe it was his silly jokes, though he’d seen you stare at his hair many times before so maybe that caught your eye. In any case, he’s happy to give any part of him to you, if not all of him. So when he’s pressed the last kiss on your nose and pulls the covers high over you, he tucks you into his chest, a final kiss to your temple as he looks down at your angelic expression. The way your smile curves at literally nothing but his touch is enough to make him fold right there, but he doesn't right now, squeezing you against him.

“Goodnight, sweetheart. I love you.”

He whispers out, and you can't ignore it, eyes snapping up to look at him just from those three words. He sees the wonder in your eyes, the way they question the truth and if this really is real. Then you nod slowly, tuck your head into his chest, nestled against the beat of his heart.

“I love you too.”

[scarsrealm]

bundle of joy. | RE6 dad! leon scott kennedy.

<<<fluff>>>

***

You slept beside Leon, with your head on his chest and his hand resting on your back. You two were in a deep, comfortable sleep. Unfortunately, the perks of having a baby took that away from you and now you would frequently have to get up in the middle of the night to go tend to your daughter.

You and Leon both woke up to the loud sounds of your daughter crying, you sighed loudly realizing you had to get up. You sat up slowly but were soon met with Leon’s hand stopping you. “It’s fine, I’ll get her.” He said, tiredly. "No, Leon. I'll go, you can go back to sleep," You told him. "I can get her for you, you need the rest," Leon said, starting to get out of the bed.

"Leon, really, it's okay." You told him. Leon got up and stretched his arms, "No, babe, You have a shift in a couple of hours and you need to get your rest," He said, looking at the time on the digital clock on the bedside table. You smiled and laid back down in the bed, "Okay, thank you, baby." You said and gave him a kiss.

Leon smiled and kissed you back, "It's no problem, honey," He said. Leon yawned again as he made his way out of the room and into the nursery. When he reached the nursery he smiled seeing his little girl in her crib, "What's wrong, princess?" Leon asked. Her crying subsided a little and she just stared at him, he leaned over the side of the crib and picked her up.

He cradled her in his arms, she began to start whining again, "Hey, it's okay," Leon told her, bouncing her slightly. He walked around the nursery while holding her, "Let's see, are you hungry? No, I don't think so, mommy fed you not long ago." He checked to see if she had a fever and sure enough she did not.

Leon looked at his daughter and she looked up at him and began to cry again, "Oh, baby," Leon sighed. She continued to cry and he tried to calm her down by talking to her but it did not work, "Come on, baby, what's wrong?" He asked. He looked around the room for her pacifier, but he could not find it. "Damn it," He muttered under his breath. He walked out of the nursery and down the hallway to his and your bedroom.

He walked in quietly, not wanting to wake you up. He made his way over to your bedside table and pulled out the top drawer and grabbed her pacifier. He held her with one arm and placed it in her mouth, it calmed her down greatly and she stopped crying. Leon smiled and bounced her lightly, "That's my girl," He said, kissing her forehead.

"There you are, Leon," You said, smiling.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up," Leon apologized, making his way over to the bed. You looked at your baby and smiled, "She's a daddy's girl, isn't she?" You asked, reaching out and touching her little cheek. Leon chuckled and smiled.

You and Leon smiled and admired the beauty of your baby, "You know, she really is something," Leon told you. You nodded in agreement and continued to look at her, "I never thought I would be a father, but I am now and I love it. It's like the best thing ever." He continued, his eyes not leaving his baby at all, he was in awe.

"You're so good with her, Leon. You're such a good father," You told him, your hand resting on his thigh. "I try to be," He said. He was still holding her, he looked over to you and smiled, "I think we should move the bassinet in here, we could make some space. What do you think?" He asked, smiling at you.

"Yeah, she seems to like being in our room," You said, smiling. Leon smiled too and looked back down at his daughter. He kissed her forehead, "You like being in here, huh?" He asked her. She cooed and started kicking her legs wildly, she thought it was playtime.

“Hey, what are you kicking me for, huh?" Leon said, in a playful tone. His daughter just looked at him and kicked her legs again. You laughed and smiled, "She just wants to play with her daddy."

Leon smiled and bounced her again, "Well, daddy needs to sleep, so let's go back to the bed, okay?" He said. He stood up and carried her out of the room and went to the nursery. He put her back in her crib, which she was not too fond of. She started whining again and Leon knew why, "Come on, honey, you have to go to sleep," He said, stroking her hair.

He picked her up again and she calmed down a bit, "Shh, shh, it's okay, baby," He soothed her, rocking her gently. She quieted down after a while and Leon smiled, he looked down and saw that she had fallen asleep. He put her back in her crib and tucked her in, "Goodnight, sweetheart," He whispered.

He looked at her sleeping peacefully and he smiled, he thought she was the most beautiful thing. He turned off the lights and quietly left the room, he shut the door and walked back to the bedroom. You were still in bed when he came in, you were trying to go back to sleep. "She fell asleep," Leon said.

You looked up at him and smiled, "That’s good."

Leon nodded and got back in bed, you snuggled up against him, "I can't wait until she starts walking," You said, wrapping your arm around his torso. Leon chuckled and wrapped his arm around your shoulder, "I can't wait either," He said, he looked down and kissed the top of your head. You smiled and laid your head against his chest, "I love you, Leon," You told him.

"I love you too, baby." He responded, kissing the top of your head once again. You and Leon laid there, falling asleep together and you could not have been happier.

***

a/n: you guys need to write more of re6 leon (btw i LOVE dad leon)

[duvernost]

just a little nibble….. @donnasmeatballs

[icarustypicalfall]

Exciting don't you think?

masterlist • ao3 • follow for more

Leon Kennedy x fem!reader

summary he is too oblivious to notice, bless his foolish heart and pretty eyes.

warnings re2 leon Kennedy, sorta open ending? fluff, mentions of murder and serial killing, short drabble :3

note my hyper fixation is alive y'all, i am not over the infinite darkness leon, but re2 leon is so sweet. sorry if it's inaccurate this is one of the rare times where i post something other than the cod fics. enjoy and ily

**

“[he] is only slain by stab after stab, and loves on till the last drop of life blood drips away”

Raccoon City, what a magnificent place to be! The soft notes of jazz filled the air, permeating your car as you gracefully cruised through the night. Darkness reigned, with a sprinkling of stars and a glowing moon casting its ethereal light upon the road. It was a wonderful night, such a night as is only possible when we are young.

Ah, speaking of youth, you spotted a youthful-looking police officer on the side of the road, gesturing for you to pull over.

Darn it.

Trouble was certainly brewing. You were well aware that the curfew had already passed, a precautionary measure implemented by the government to safeguard citizens from a recent spate of serial killings. They were secretive about the details, as always.

With a heavy sigh, you glanced in the rearview mirror. Thoughts raced through your mind as you turned off the engine, coming to a halt just as the officer approached your vehicle.

Taking a moment to double-check the weapon holstered at his side, the officer—Leon, made his way towards you. A gentle cough escaped his lips before he rested his forearm on the window, knocking lightly to signal for you to lower it.

As you complied, a sweet smile adorned your face, emitting an aura of innocence. The cold breeze crept under Leon's skin, causing him to shiver. He couldn't help but be captivated by your alluring smile and daring attire, a testament to your mischievous nature. Despite his best efforts to maintain composure, his heartbeat quickened as he mustered the courage to speak, attempting to avoid any stammering. "Your registration and identity papers, miss.."

You obliged, handing him the requested documents and, for a fleeting moment, your fingers brushed against each other. Your mischievous self reveled in his bashfulness, as his cheeks flushed, and he retreated to his patrol car to inspect your records. Meanwhile, you remained still, leaning against the window with an impish grin.

Leon returned, his voice barely above a whisper as he returned your papers. "It is past curfew, miss. May I know why you are out?"

Your smile grew wider as you locked eyes with him, finding him rather intriguing. His baby blues avoided your gaze as he fidgeted with the door. With a grin, you replied, "I was with a friend, officer. I assure you, I am a good girl."

Leon gulped, nervously rubbing his neck as the blush continued to stain his cheeks. These formalities were unfamiliar territory for him, making him all the more flustered. Softly, he whispered, a gentle smile gracing his lips as he leaned closer to the window. "Alright, miss... I mean, call me Leon."

You asked, finding the play rather too attempting not to."Tell me Leon, do you always work alone so late?"

He shook his head, feeling his insides flatter with warmth, none had really shown interst in his job before. He replied in a hushed tone still smiling.

"No, I usually don't work alone at such late hours. This is my first time."

Ah, still so young, you thought to yourself.

No, not him.

You nodded, sealing his cheek with a tender kiss. Leon blushed once again, pulling away and watching in awe as you started the car. "Take care miss!"

He called out, and you laughed, "I do enjoy a little danger, Leon."

He observed as you drove off, his heart fluttering with an unfamiliar sensation. Unfortunately, he was oblivious to the crimson stain on your shirt or the axe resting in the back seat.

The following morning, Leon couldn't believe his eyes when he saw your picture in the newspaper. The headline screamed of the capture of the notorious serial killer who had slain a cop while being stopped during the curfew.

You did that in order to silence the persistent officer who had stopped you right after Leon. Caught red-handed, the only thing on your mind was those mesmerizing baby blues... too precious, too angelic. You contented yourself with leaving a mark on his cheek and etching a core memory in his heart.

[another-fanfic-haven]

Perfection

Link to the previous part Word count: 720 And a song :) KMFDM - Megalomaniac

You always aim for perfection, to be the best, to be first, and to be at the top of the line.

And so, you ended here as a mere rookie in the Special Tactics and Rescue Services. You tried to set your place as the someone; the youngest, the smartest, the most courageous. But it all failed. You weren't the youngest - Rebecca was by two years. And who was the smartest? Of course, it was your Captain. Let's not even start with the courage. That list would be too long, and you - at the very bottom of it.

There was one thing you excelled at - technology. Even Brad Vickers, the IT specialist was starstruck by your abilities and how you stayed glued to the screen, seemingly busy, until he noticed you used the devices to chat on Usenet and play Telnet games. All after you completed your job for the day, of course. For an untrained eye, it looked like black magic - letters and symbols flying across the screen with no sense or reason, but for you? It made perfect sense. That was your intention, to stay busy, then go home, hopefully without being scolded. You didn't have much to return to, anyway. A small studio, which you had to share. Brilliant. At least it kept the bills low.

You envied them. The look in your eyes as they returned from their missions, more often than not in soiled uniforms, scratches, and other random injuries. They seemed so proud. So victorious. You wanted that for yourself. Why did they never take you for the missions? Hell! Even Rebecca from the Bravo team was out and about more often than you! And she's just a medic! And you are well. Even if you don't know what part were you playing in the S.T.A.R.S.? An IT guy, perhaps? Computer magician? Or just someone to fill the space, ready to be made redundant on a whim.

And so, your hate and disdain slowly grew within you, making your blood boil, watching them from over your workstation screen, hearing their voices retelling the stories. God. So annoying.

You preferred the silence. If you didn't finish a task during the day, you'd eagerly stay overtime to work in piece, at your own pace, over a cup of coffee.

"What are you doing here so late?" A voice rang behind you. Before you could react, you saw someone's hand resting on the desk, just next to the keyboard you've been typing on. Your body froze - your Captain was right behind you. You ought to be standing up in attention, greeting him properly. Not freeze in place!

"I'm finishing something up, apologies." You managed to utter, feeling a lump forming in your throat. You wanted to disappear at that moment more than anything. To hell with that assignment! Tomorrow's another day.

Albert straightened up, leaning his body weight over your chair. You heard him smirk, then... felt a pat on the shoulder? His hand lingered just a while too long, but oddly not uncomfortably.

"Good job. Don't overwork yourself." He stated the last phrase seeming like a command.

You sat there for a moment longer, frozen. You just got praised? It certainly sounded like it.

You heard him chuckle, probably shaking his head. He probably stood a couple of steps away now, his arms crossed on his chest, his eyes locked on your posture from behind these dark glasses.

You were too shy to look up, maybe for the better. You just heard him hurry back into office, disappearing into the distance, stopping for a moment.

"Get some rest. It's an order, rookie." His voice carried through the deserted office before his steps disappeared around the corner. The way he pronounced your nickname, there was a hint of kindness instead of the usual snicker or a jab from your colleagues.

You nodded frantically, not sure whether he saw it or not.

You looked around the office - the buzz of the lights filling the silence, creating an even more lonely feel to the room. You turned your workstation, cleaned up the mess of papers on your desk, and turned to the exit.

That was one hell of an evening now, was it? Perhaps that cold captain is not that bad after all.

[bitbugbites-re]

𝙿𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚛 𝙵𝚊𝚌𝚎 | 𝔠𝔞𝔯𝔩𝔬𝔰 𝔬𝔩𝔦𝔳𝔢𝔦𝔯𝔞 𝔵 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔯

Game nights are fun. Especially so when you mix "Sex Chocolates" and Go Fish.

a03 link

word count: ~2.7k

gender: fem! reader

cw: NSFW, FLUFF // aphrodisiacs, kissing, neck kissing, foreplay, vaginal sex, no use of y/n, reader-insert, sex chocolates??? not even finishing a game of go fish smh

a/n: do my author notes boost my aura. be honest guys

p.s. -- if you’re only interested in the smut, you can scroll down until you reach the thin black bar lololol

“Is this elephant blue?” the man beside you questioned, his slimy facemask beginning to lift at the edges that covered his stubble-coated jaw. 

Raising a brow, you glanced at the card he was observing, as you began pressing your hand to the wet, papery skincare sheet that rested on his face. The card, indeed, had an image of a baby-blue elephant on it, drawn in a simplified, cutesy manner–not to mention, it was accompanied by an ‘s,’ and the word elephant in all lowercase. You patted his face once more, ensuring the facemask was placed smoothly onto his warm skin, and then answered his question.

“Yeah, it looks pretty blue to me. Why?”

Pressing his lips into a fine line, he shook his head, a loose strand of hair untucking itself from one of the millions of barrettes placed in his hair. They ranged from a million different colors, to a million different decals, to a million different sizes. His favorites, he claimed, were the red chili peppers–because they were, as he claims, “hot and spicy,” like him.

“Have you ever seen a blue elephant?” he asked, his tone sardonic. “I mean, really–what is with this blue elephant propaganda? They’re gray. Or brown–either or.”

Looking over at him, you stifled a laugh and simply smiled. “I didn’t know this was something you were so passionate about, Carlos.”

Chuckling under his breath, he turned to face you, grinning. “Oh yeah, I’m real serious about this stuff. I mean, what are they teaching the children, y’know? That elephants are blue? It’s just not right.”

Rolling your eyes, you slapped his shoulder softly. The card he was holding was part of a children’s Go Fish Alphabet card pack, one which you asked him to pick up on his way home from work–Well, sort of. You hadn’t asked him to get an alphabet set of cards meant for teaching toddlers letters and animals, but cards were cards. You suppose.

“So we’re playing Go Fish tonight?” you asked, switching your sitting position, your legs brushing against the scratchy, beige carpet. 

“Not unless you know how to play poker or blackjack with these things,” he said, his tone lighthearted as he began shuffling the deck. 

“Ha, ha,” you exclaimed, your voice filled with sarcasm. “What would we bet, anyways? I don’t know how I feel forking up my cash to a guy who uses his money on Go Fish Alphabet cards.”

Whipping his head towards you, he feigned a hurt expression. “How could you say that? These are precious cards my wonderful girlfriend asked me to get. It was money well spent.”

Laughing, you reached over for the flimsy bowl of popcorn, aching for a handful–or two, or three–of the hot, buttery snack. You threw a singular popcorn at Carlos, watching him scramble for it unsuccessfully. It fell to the distant floor, to which, he quickly retrieved it and stuffed it in his mouth anyways.

“Eeeeewwww,” you teased, scrunching your face at him. He only scooted closer to you, using his thick arm to close the distance as he lifted his body that lay sideways. 

“Give me a kiss, pretty girl.” 

You faked a scream before getting up and attempting to run. He was quicker than you, though, and before you could make it out of your room, he had his arms wrapped tight around your waist, the scent of his skincare sheet wafting from behind. You felt him shift and interlock his fingers, pressing his hands against your stomach, pulling you into him as his head lowered to your neck, pressing kisses to it softly. 

You flinched from the drastic temperature change of his facemask meeting your skin, and started to wack his arm with haste. “Cold, cold, cold–” you repeated, sucking air in through your teeth.

He quickly pulled back, removing the skincare sheet and balling it up in his fist, before quickly shooting it toward the trashcan. Surprisingly, he didn’t miss.

You felt him untwine his fingers, his dominant hand rising to his face, only to do a singular swipe from his forehead-down to wipe the moisture off, before wiping it on his pants and returning his hand to where it was originally placed. You quietly murmured to him that it ruins the point if he touches his face after the mask, but when you felt his lips pin against your neck again, you lost all resolve to criticize his boyish actions.

“I got something else for us,” he mumbled, his voice low as well as without much focus on his actual speech; he continued working on your neck, and without a doubt, you felt a growth press against your backside. 

Your cheeks felt warm, and it was starting to get difficult to hold your eyes open, his touch feeling like a massage. “Hmm?” you mumbled, feeling him slowly drag a hand from your stomach, to your waist, to his pocket. 

He pulled out what sounded like a wrapper, and when he held it out in front of you, you saw that it was a candy labeled ‘Sex Chocolates,’ with bold, red lipstick stain decals over black packaging.

You blinked a couple of times, rereading the name, mostly unsure why the company would straight up name–what you assumed was a brand of herbal aphrodisiac chocolates–quite literally, ‘Sex Chocolates.’ It would be like if a toilet company named themselves, ‘Toilet.’ 

Just toilet.

You shrugged away the thought upon hearing Carlos speak, which you had no doubt was to clarify just what he was holding. Not that it needed much introduction.

“I was thinking,” he paused, moving his hand to raise your palm and place the candy in it, “we could each have one of these before playing our game. First one who caves, loses.”

Smirking, you began unwrapping the chocolate in your hand. 

This was going to be a piece of cake.

It was not a piece of cake. 

You were now sitting there, your heart feeling like it was about to burst out from your chest, while Carlos was sitting happily surrounded by the millions of barrettes he removed from his hair, analyzing the few cards left in his hand. “Got a lowercase ‘s,’ for squirrel?”

You shook your head, but to be honest, you didn’t give a single damn any longer about this game or his all-lowercase squirrel. You weren’t sure if those chocolates were really what they advertised or if they were just a placebo, but something was happening to you, that was for sure.

Maybe you had tricked yourself into thinking that they really do work, and as a result, they did–but no matter, because you had already caught yourself eyeing up Carlos like he was meat on a stick, multiple times.

At first, it was his arms that stuck out to you. The way his veins protruded, how his muscles flexed as he messed with his cards. You imagined how every single hair on his arm would feel as you ran your hand up it, and how your palm would follow the curves of his firm forearm, to his thick upper arm, to his broad shoulder. 

Next, it was his brows, strangely enough. You liked the way they moved, the way they would crease along with his forehead, how they showed every single emotion or thought that he had–how he had no poker face.

And now, it was his stomach. The way you could see a sliver of it due to his shirt being raised slightly, his untamed happy trail exposed so innocently. How around, only a mere centimeter, the band of his briefs peeked out. And god, not to mention, how you could see a bit of one of his v lines. 

Yup. You were done for.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you’re suddenly snapped out of your thoughts by the growing smirk on Carlos’ face. “Having trouble focusing, Pipsqueak? There’s no shame in calling it quits.”

“I’m good,” you stated, despite the horrible urge to squirm into his lap and beg for him to leave his mark over every single spot on your body.

You wanted his tongue everywhere. In your mouth, fighting for dominance; on your breasts, teasing you along with his teeth; on the palm of your hand, trailing to the veins on your wrist; and on your–

“Shit, it’s really getting to ‘ya, isn’t it?”

Your eyes met Carlos’ once again, and you watched as he inched closer to you, his face now mere inches away from yours. 

“Whenever you’re ready,” he said, his voice low and sultry, barely above a whisper. “I’m yours.”

Within seconds, your lips crashed into his. The fact that this meant that you would lose the game was the absolute last thing on your mind right now, while the first thing, was everything you wanted Carlos to do to you–what you wanted to do to him.

As his velvety lips accepted your desperate ones, you pictured the two of you in every and any way imaginable. Missionary, in the bed, with your head trapped between one of his king-sized arms and his domineering head in the crook of your neck, panting with each thrust. On his face, with fistfuls of his black hair between your fingers and your beating clit brushing against the breath from his nose, begging you to cum. Cowgirl, on the floor, with your palms resting on his dense collarbones and his throbbing cock deep within your core.

Just to name a few.

You felt his facial hair rub against your cheeks, before suddenly, Carlos had you pinned by the arms to the floor. He then rose to his knees, hovering over you, looking at you through his bottom lashes with a lustful expression. Taking in a sharp inhale, he tilted his head and smiled smugly.

“I win.”

You simply stared up at him, your breathing quick, unable to contend his statement. You assumed he would gloat a little more, but surprisingly, he ended up helping you up fairly quickly. Once he did, he led you to the nearby bed, pulling you onto his lap–it didn’t take long at all for you to start grinding on one of his thighs, your head buried in between his neck and shoulder. You were so desperate for him, that you felt a little like a pervert as you rubbed yourself off, the musky scent of his skin being the only thing that filled your nostrils. 

“Calm down, Girl,” he said, softly placing his arm on your waist, holding you to him. His voice was light, and it sounded like he was genuinely starting to get concerned. “You are okay, right?”

Nodding your head into his shoulder, you let out a whimper as you found your sweet spot, dragging your hips slowly, back and forth atop his leg. In response, Carlos flexed the muscle within his thigh, pressing it up slightly, so that more pressure was provided. This time, you let out a gasp, and reached your hand up to the collar of Carlos’ shirt, gripping it as if you were holding on for dear life.

Fuck, you wanted him so bad.

“Carlos,” you breathed out, “I need you.”

Within an instant, Carlos had you on the bed, flipped on your back, with his knee pressed to your heat. He kept it there, letting you continue massaging yourself on him, as he pulled his shirt over his head with both arms. Mesmerized, you watched as his abs stiffened and relaxed with each move.

Next, he shuffled his pants and briefs down to his mid-thigh, sighing as his hard cock was released from its confines. After he did that, he removed his knee from between your legs, earning a whine from you, before then pulling your shorts and underwear down for you. Once they were completely off, he returned the two of you to your original positions, where he sat on the edge of the bed, and you sat facing toward him on his lap. His hand moved down south, softly caressing the side of your thigh, before eventually pushing between your folds and inserting a finger slowly. 

“Woah, you’re soaking,” he exclaimed, shocked by how wet you were already. Instead of gawking at this discovery, he simply inserted a second finger and continued trying to help relax the muscles in your core. It didn’t take much longer for the two of you to feel ready for the next step, to which Carlos slid his slick, thickset fingers out of your core. 

You raised your hips as he stroked himself slowly, positioning the head of his cock so that it aligned to the entrance of your heat. And then, you got exactly what you wanted.

He helped you lower yourself down onto him, and with ease, his manhood sunk deep inside you. Surprisingly, he was more vocal than you. With a couple of groans, he threw his head back, one of his hands positioned behind him, while the other held onto you tight. “Fuck, Babygirl, you feel so good.”

You began to move, slowly raising and dropping your hips, taking him in, then out, in, then out, over and over again. As the pattern continued, you deviated by wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him. He reciprocated, and the two of you focused on your interlocked lips for a while, until eventually, he pulled back, moving one of his hands to caress your cheek. With hooded eyes, he moved his thumb over your lips, rubbing them gingerly. 

“Show me your tongue,” he instructed, leaving his thumb to rest on your bottom lip as you opened your mouth, following what he commanded. “That’s a good girl.”

Carlos moved the tip of his thumb to rest on your tongue, letting you suck on it gently as you continued to ride atop him, his eyes greedily watching you use him how you liked. 

You continued like that for a while longer, until soon enough, he moved his wet thumb from your mouth to your clit, and began to rub in constant, circular motions. A warm pit began to grow in your stomach, and within no time, you were tightening around his cock, on the verge of cumming. 

“Cum for me pretty girl,” he said, his voice strained as he was beginning to lose himself as well. “I’m not going to last much longer, and–I want you to cum first,” he groaned, having to slow his pace and flex his lower half. He was holding back an orgasm. 

Listening to his words, you moved your head to the crook of his neck, and shut your eyes as you focused on his thumb circling your clit. You came quickly, and as you did, Carlos filled your ears with plenty of praises and compliments–for being so good, and for being so patient.

Once you had finished, it was his turn. He let you collect yourself for a minute before leaning back, placing his hands on your hips, and thrusting wildly into you, as if he had lost all of the control he had previously.

“Fucking, god,” he groaned, the bed shaking wildly as he continuously ravaged you. You watched him as he got close, the way his throat strained, the way he panted and cussed, the way his entire face was scrunched. Not long after, you heard him let out a loud whine, his cock twitching and throbbing as his thick cum poured out into you in warm loads. 

It took a minute for him to catch his breath and pull out, but when he did, you felt his cum start to slowly drip out of your core, coating all over his cock. He didn’t even seem to notice.

Still trying to catch your breath, you glanced at Carlos, wondering how he was faring. He seemed more exhausted than you despite the chocolate affecting you more, and that resulted in a laugh from you.

Confused, Carlos looked up at you. “What? What’s funny?”

You continued to giggle, laying your head on his chest, and cuddling into his sweat-stricken body.

“Maybe you do have a poker face, after all.”

[blood-red-ocean]

Alcina Dimitrescu X Sick (Fem) Reader

As requested by @alcinaslittlemaid! I hope you feel better soon ♥️

(I wrote this on my phone at volunteering so please excuse any typos/formatting/grammatical errors! I'll fix it at home if I need to.)

Genre: Fluff/Comfort

Category: F/F

Relationships: Alcina Dimitrescu/Reader

Word count: Approx. 1000 words.

Summary: You've come down with one hell of a flu, and you find yourself plodding to Alcina's quarters for comfort. Fluffiness and soft Alcina care ensues.

The Lady's bed dwarfed you as you lay in the centre of it, drowning in blankets and your own misery. When you'd awakened that morning, you felt like you'd been used as a chew toy for a Lycan, every muscle and joint in your body aching. You barely remember waking up in your own bed and miserably trodding out of your room and down the halls, blanket wrapped around you as a cape - what you did remember was your surprise when you entered the Lady's chambers, crawled into her bed, and were met with no strict words or resistance, only with an arm draped over you and a surprisingly soft voice. 

"Oh, draga... You truly aren't faring well, are you?" She had said, her voice breaking through the sickness-induced brain fog and prompting you to nuzzle into her embrace. She chuckled softly and you vaguely mentally registered her brushing some of your hair away from your face, tutting as her fingertips brushed your forehead. "You're positively burning up... We can't have you roaming the Castle in this state, now can we?"

You shook your head and coughed a little, wincing as your lungs protested the action. The Lady had tucked the numerous blankets around you as you hid your face your face in her embrace, her fingertips alternating between running through your hair and running up and down your spine. She hummed thoughtfully, murmuring to herself as you slipped in and out of a light doze. 

"Miranda, maybe...?" She paused. "No, Miranda wouldn't work. Donna, perhaps... Draga mea?" She was speaking to you now, and you didn't lift your head, just made a small sound of acknowledgement. "I need to retrieve something. It's of... Vital importance. Be a brave little thing and stay here, yes?"

If you had been more present, you would have noticed the lilt in her voice, and pieces together that she wasn't going to retrieve something for herself. As it was, you were exhausted and your mind was consumed by brain fog, and you could only whimper as she pulled away from you. She shushed you and caressed your cheek, whispering to you. "Do not fret, Iubita mea. I will return before you realise I've left. Be a good girl and stay here, for me."

And stay there is exactly what you did. The blankets covering you were heavy and soothing, the scent of the Lady's perfume making your senses come alight - or at least as well as they could, with your nose blocked. The crackling from the fire in the corner echoed around the room, gently lulling you back to sleep every time you woke up. Your sense of time was shaky in your sick state, and you weren't sure how long it had been since the Lady left the room. Just as you were thinking maybe you should drag yourself from the blankets and back to your own bed, the door swung open and the familiar sound of her heels on the hardwood floor blessed your ears. The sound came closer and there was a shuffling, followed by the bed dipping beside you. You distantly felt her hands patting the pile of blankets on top of you gingerly, and suddenly you felt them slip under you, pulling you from your little cave. 

"Now, now," she murmured in response to your indignant grumbling. "None of that. Come here, draga." 

She pulled you into her lap, where you curled up into her, your hand gripping the collar of her nightgown to keep her there. You closed your eyes and pressed your face into her, but not before you caught a glimpse of what she had brought in with her. Beside the two of you on the bed was a wooden tray, bearing an assortment of pastries, fruits, some honey and two cups of tea. One of them looked like regular herbal tea, and the other seemed to almost shimmer. You made a confused noise in the back of your throat and looked up at her. 

"That, dragostea mea, is a concoction of Donna's own creation." She lifted the cup to her nose and inhaled deeply. The sight of the teacup in her larger than ordinary hands made you smile weakly. "It is a combination of healing herbs, some roots, and some berries for sweetness. Come, draga." She held the cup to your lips and added, "It will make you feel better. You have my word."

You placed your hand over hers and obediently sipped the steaming liquid, blinking in surprise as the mixture of spices and sweet, tart berries exploded on your tongue. You kept drinking, the Lady rubbing your back and murmuring to you in Romanian as you did so. When the teacup was empty she pulled it away and replaced it with a sweet pastry, which you nibbled on thankfully. True to her word, you started to feel better, your mind clearing along with your sinuses. You realised with renewed clarity where you were and you blushed deeply, attempting to sit up. 

"I-- Thank you for looking after me, my Lady. But I--"

"What did I tell you about calling me that, prințesa mea? You can call me by my name. It's okay." 

"Alcina," Using her name felt powerful, intimate. "I really should be returning to my quarters, I should rest--"

"Nonsense." Alcina held you closer to her, her grip around you tighter. She smiled sweetly at you. "You have a raging fever, ursuleț. No, no, I really do think you need to stay here. You need to be properly taken care of." 

You didn't have it in you to argue, or even think about leaving her arms. You closed your eyes and let yourself slump against her, and you felt yourself drifting off again as she ran her fingers through her hair and rocked you, singing a lullaby in soft Romanian - singing you softly to sleep. 

[diaryofasentimentalist]

— i dial drunk // ex!leon

pairing: leon kennedy x reader

tags: angst, exes, drunk dial, very mild sexual content

summary: your ex calls you in the middle of the night to reminisce on the good times, but you'd rather not. (2.7k)

a/n: lots of jumping between the current phone call and their past memories so just mind the verb tense!

The ringing finds you in your dreams, a vexing trill that you can’t seem to find the source of no matter how long you search, that doesn’t stop no matter how long you wait it out. When it finally pulls you from your sleep, you reach over and silence the tone without so much as twitching an eyelid. The grating vibrations of your phone against the nightstand continue as the call finishes ringing out.

Another shrill tone startles you, shattering the silence as soon as you feel yourself drifting off again. Groggily, you pat around on the nightstand until you find your phone again and bring it to your ear, eyes barely cracking open enough to find the green 'accept' button.

“Hello?” you mumble into the receiver, eyes straining open. It’s pitch black. Nowhere near dawn. Good news never comes at this hour.

“God, I missed the sound of your voice.”

That voice you’d know anywhere snakes its way into your ear, straight down your throat and into your chest, where it settles around your heart, squeezing tightly. You’re wide awake now, burning eyes forcing their way open, pulse quickening as you lay still in bed, paralyzed.

“Leon,” you say hoarsely, your voice still thick with sleep.

Your name echoes back to you on a sigh, your chest constricting at the homesickness of it all.

“I told you not to call me anymore,” you say, measured and even in spite of the way it feels like you can’t breathe.

“I know, baby,” he says, words slightly slurred. “But I jus’ missed you… wanted to hear your voice again…”

“You’re drunk.”

It’s not a question or an accusation, just a statement. It’s in his voice, in the way he called you multiple times at such an hour. In the way he’s calling you baby again, telling you openly how much he misses you. Leon has too much good sense— or maybe just pride— to pester you when he’s sober. Even on the rare occasion when he’s run into you in public since the break up, he just watched you from afar, a strange expression on his face. Get enough alcohol in him, though, and he’s right back to the desperation of the day you first left.

“S’that obvious, huh?” he says with a low laugh. The sound triggers the thing that has settled in your chest to tighten once more, sends another stabbing pain straight to your heart as you stare up at the dark ceiling. “Sorry, baby. I know you hate it when I drink.”

“Hated,” you correct. It doesn’t matter. Even if he remembers this conversation when he’s sober, it won’t stop him from talking the same way next time he drunk dials. “I don’t care what you do anymore, Leon, so long as you leave me out of it.” You shift onto your other side, breaking through the strange paralysis that had overtaken you. The digital alarm clock on your nightstand is waiting to greet you. 2:23 AM. “But you can’t even do that. God, do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Nighttime?” he offers, sounding unbothered. “Did I wake you? We always used to stay up this late.”

Your breath hitches in your throat as an involuntary wave of memories floods through you. There were a lot of late nights when you were together. The lack of consistent sleep schedule never bothered you then. You were always just happy to be spending time with him in whatever way. Sometimes you’d be out on the balcony, lights off, clinging to one another as you talked on the wicker settee. Sometimes you’d watch late night tv, lying on the couch with him on top of you, nuzzling into your neck while you traced patterns into his back beneath his shirt. Sometimes you’d lie atop the mound of pillows on the bed, his head buried between your thighs as you gasped and sighed and moaned his name, fingers tangling in his hair.

“I have work tomorrow,” you say coldly, bidding the images to stop. “Goodbye, Leon.”

He cuts in before you can hang up, carrying on as though you hadn’t said anything at all. “Remember when you got that craving for muffins at midnight?”

Of course you do. You’d been having another late night with Leon, the tv droning on in the background while the two of you dozed on and off, when he’d finally suggested the two of you retire to bed. A commercial for some cereal came on just before the screen went black, and the second you saw the mock breakfast spread, that was it. You needed a muffin. Leon laughed off your suggestion at first. As soon as he realized how serious you were, though, he’d pulled you up and to the kitchen, and you’d gotten to work. His offers to help you culminated in him keeping a hand firmly planted on your waist at all times, watching you measure the ingredients out, and kissing the back of your head every so often. But you were at his apartment, and he wasn’t much of a baker, and so you’d only realized halfway through that he didn’t have all of the things you needed, no brown sugar or vanilla or even cinnamon.

Feeling defeated, you’d relented that you could just finish tomorrow. Wordlessly, Leon left the kitchen, returning a moment later with his keys jingling around his finger and tossing you a jacket. He took you to the nearest 24-hour supermarket, your hand never dropping his as you led him along the aisles, giggling. Even now, you recall the distinct domesticity of it all, how you’d felt so normal, like you could have a real life with him some day.

Leon kept a hand on your thigh the whole drive back, taking the long way home just to prolong the moment, and you were so glad you could watch the wind from the open windows rifle through his hair just a little longer, drink in the sight of the passing street lights flickering across his skin. When you finally got home, he was touchier than before as you finished your baking expedition. The moment the tray was in the oven you were upon him, legs wrapped around his waist as he hoisted you onto the counter, pulling you closer, always closer. You’d been so distracted that you’d let the muffins bake a little too long until the smell reminded you what you’d stayed up for. The edges had started to burn, the cinnamon crumble on top hardening just a bit too much, and you’d insisted that you could do better, but he assured you—

“Best damn muffins I’ve ever had,” Leon rambles on. “Been to a million bakeries, can’t find anything like them…”

Why is he telling you all this?

Why is he making you remember?

Now that the memory has started, you can’t stop it, the scenes rolling in your mind like a film. After indulging in the baked goods, he’d carried you to his room, house still smelling of cinnamon and vanilla. It must’ve been well past three by the time he was laying you back against the bed gently, but neither of you were tired. The earlier impatience in his movements had dissipated, and he took his time with you, his hands caressing your body while yours explored his with equal devotion—

“I miss how you felt in my hands,” he says suddenly, as though his thoughts have followed the same natural trajectory as yours.

You remember his hands on your hips, firm, secure, anchoring you to him. The way his calloused palms felt against your smooth skin. The way his touch dripped with reverence, like he was perpetually caught between the desire to treat you like something delicate and the desire to have more of you, that hungry conflict always reflected in his piercing blue eyes—

“I miss how you looked under me,” he continues.

You remember throwing your head back, how he’d dip in to kiss along the exposed column of your neck before littering affection across your face. How it would suddenly stop, sometimes, and when you’d look up at him expectantly, you’d find him gazing down at you in equal parts awe and adoration. The moment you reached up for him he’d come back down and—

“I miss how your lips fit against mine.”

“You’re so selfish,” you interject, unwilling to entertain this any longer, afraid of what might happen if you do. “Waking me up on a work night so you have someone to reminisce with?”

“I know, baby,” he says, a self-deprecating laugh tumbling through the phone, twisting your stomach. “I was a shit boyfriend and I’m a shittier ex.”

That’s not true. He was a wonderful boyfriend, except when he wasn’t. He was always affectionate with you, except when he wanted to be alone… always warm and patient with you, except when he would withdraw… always understanding and attentive, except when he’d drink… It’s just that the times he wasn’t there for you were so hard, and over time, they’d gotten more and more frequent. Nothing you did to try to reach him, to be there for him, to support him, ever seemed to get through to him. Eventually, it was all too much.

Yet anytime you hear his voice, it’s always the good that comes to mind. It overwhelms you, makes you question why you ever left. A single word from Leon makes you curse the day you walked away. Only when you’re alone, in silence, away from the inexplicable effect of his presence, can you truly remember how the lows felt. The isolation of it all, the pain, the waiting. The disappointment over and over and over again.

The rest of that night comes to you now, floating in through the open window with the August breeze. How strange to think that was a whole year ago. After making love, he’d held you for a time, and you were content there, as sweaty and warm as it was, but he’d carried you to the shower with him. It was mostly silent, save for the pitter-patter of the water against the tile. He lathered your hair for you, and you scrubbed his back, pressing kisses against his wet shoulders. By the time the two of you were toweled and dressed in fresh clothes, it was late— or early— enough that you’d decided to stay up and watch the sun rise. You’d snuggled closer to him out on the balcony, the early morning air chilling you slightly as your still wet hair dripped onto your shoulders. He’d pulled you in, his body a natural furnace, and wrapped you in his arms.

God, you’ve never felt that safe anywhere else.

“Yeah, you are.” The words are laced with forced venom, and it burns to speak them. “That’s why you shouldn’t call me anymore.”

“I know.” There’s a pause on the other end. “You should block me.”

His words shatter something inside you. “Shut up.”

“I mean it,” he drawls. “You could just block me. But you won’t.”

“Leon.”

“Because you still think about me, too, don’t you?”

“Seriously, shut up.”

“And if you blocked me,” he rambles on, “then you’d really never hear from me again.”

“Go fuck yourself, actually.”

Laughter filters in and out of earshot, like the receiver keeps drifting from his lips, but he doesn’t say anything else. The silence stretches on for one minute, two. A part of your conversation from that night on the balcony strikes you.

“Why not?” you’d asked him, tearing your gaze away from the brightening horizon to stare up at him, at the distant look in his blue eyes. Somehow, the subject of past relationships had come up. It wasn’t something either of you really cared about, but he’d just disclosed that he hadn’t really had a long term relationship with anyone before you. Most women left before things got serious, he’d said, and he never asked them to stay, to give it a real shot. He shrugged, using the motion to tug you closer.

“I can’t ask that of anyone. I don’t really deserve to. If someone wants to leave, I get it.” He glanced at you from the corner of his eyes, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “That means you, too, when you finally get sick of me one day.”

“Never,” you said, leaning up to plant a kiss on his cheek as he chuckled. A few strands of sandy hair tickled your nose. “You’re stuck with me, you know that?”

“Oh, darling, I know. I’m afraid I’ll be stuck with you long after you’re gone.”

The offhand remark didn’t make sense to you at the time, and when you asked him what he meant, he refused to elaborate, merely remarking on the emerging colors in the sky.

You get it now. And if you’d got it then, you would have been afraid, too.

Time moves on for everyone else, but not you two. Something happened when you stormed out of his apartment on that rainy night back in April, staining the fabric of time, marring your life with an inescapable loop. Just when you start to feel normal, you’re forced to relive the raw heartache all over again, as if it’s only been four days, not months, since you left. It happens every single time his name pops up on your caller ID. Every so often, when you think— with a surge of dread that you refuse to acknowledge— that he might finally have moved on, he calls again.

Never to ask you to come back, though. Never to ask you for another chance.

Just to reminisce.

Hot tears stream out of the corners of your eyes, landing on your pillow with muted plops. You make no effort to stop them or wipe them away, silent for fear that your voice will betray you if you try to speak now. You hate it, but even crying in bed like this makes you think of him, the feeling of his chest against your back, his silent strength when he’d comfort you during moments of weakness.

“Leon?” you call, wondering if he finally passed out. Hoping that if he did, he’s at least in bed, or on the couch, or somewhere safe. Warm. Not huddled outside of some seedy bar, or hunched over the filthy curb.

“I may be selfish, sweetheart” he says finally, his voice husky, “but you’re just cruel.” You can only blink up at the ceiling, tears momentarily stayed as you wrack your brain for what he’s responding to. “You answer my calls just to tell me how much you don’t want them.”

If the fight weren’t draining out of you, you might snap back at him that he doesn’t have to call in the first place, that he should take a hint, that he should delete your number altogether. Instead, all you can do is let his words hang there while you contemplate them.

Maybe it is cruel. When he calls you like this, asking if you remember, he’s asking something more. Questions he could never verbalize, but that remain implicit in what he says. Do all those little moments mean as much to you as they do to me? Do the memories haunt you like they haunt me? Do you miss it like I do?

Leon won’t ask you to come back, no. But he wants to know if you’ve ever considered it on your own.

“Goodnight, Leon,” you say suddenly, forcing the words past the painful lump in your throat. You can't keep doing this, can't keep letting him tear you down just because he's found himself at the bottom of another bottle. “I hope you learn how to take better care of yourself one day.”

“I hope you find someone better to take care of one day.” At first, you think he’s just scrambled up your words in his drunken stupor in an effort to throw them back at you. But then he speaks again, and you know he meant exactly what he said. “Hey, I’m glad you left. Happy for you, I mean. You deserve better than me." Something terrible is building up in your chest, threatening to climb up your throat if he doesn't stop. "I love—”

You hang up before he can hear the way your breath shudders.

[molnyash-art]

Luis thinking of Leon while kissing another man? More likely than you think 😏❤️‍🔥

New chapter of the serennedy fic me and @nadiasna7 are working on is already out on AO3 🔥

[wisecrackingeric-2]

(I’m Just A) Sweet Transvestite

Word count: 21,807

Rating: T

HEYO IVE FINALLY POSTED A FIC FOR THE FIRST TIME IN M O N T H S !!!!!!! I’ve been working on this thing since I wanna say November?????? I dunno but this fic means a lot to me and I am S O glad to FINALLY have it done so if anyone reads it I love you forever <<<<333

Summary under cut:

“…What..?”

Leon turned around to face Luis, eyes still watery and hands still shaking. He didn’t know how to feel. He still felt frightened. But Luis must’ve noticed his change in tone and softened expression and gave Leon his signature grin and a wink.

“…You’re- you’re also….?”

Luis gave him a shaky smile, trying his best to keep his tone lighthearted through his worried eyes.

“Takes one to know one, cariño…”

_

Leon has gone his entire life holding his secrets close to his chest. If he admitted to anyone he was Transgender, he’d have no chance of become a cop. So as a result, Leon had never been able to engage in any of his own communities- until an Umbrella scientist named Luis Serra Navarro he met at the station slips him his number and the name of a Queer Nightclub they could go to together.

But little does Leon know that him and Luis share the same secrets. And just maybe, with some support, Leon can open up to Luis about his own, too…

And fall head over heels for Luis while doing it.

[sheepispink]

⋆˚｡⋆୨✧୧˚ 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑬𝑺𝑪𝑶𝑹𝑻 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑻𝑶𝑪𝑶𝑳 ˚୨✧୧⋆｡˚⋆

Series Masterlist

Chapter 1: First Impressions

wc: 2.7k

It’s been three months since you first started your job at the division of security operations, a dream you’ve had since you were little. You’ve always wanted to be part of something meaningful, even if you were just a small function in the code. Speaking of code, you hoped to be on the technological side of things, never having really been a hands-on person—well, at least not confrontational hands-on like this job requires. You’d figured it was the perfect choice; what job wasn’t desperate for another programmer? The research you did on this place was insane; you wanted to make the best impression and land a job straight out of university, and your hard work paid off because pretty soon you got that letter. It was an assistant position for some random manager. Okay, maybe it wasn’t exactly what you hoped, but everyone started somewhere. Besides, experience gets you places you were sure you’d learn something in the time you spent working under them. Right?

Wrong. You rock back and forth on your chair for the third time that hour, absolutely bored out of your mind like a little kid restrained from toys. Sorting out the filing cabinets was suddenly the least of your problems when they gave you access to at least a hundred emails to read through. Not to mention your manager practically gave you permission to respond to them however you see fit (not without a glare and warning if you said something stupid, though). Every day you clicked a stupid delete button, the more you started wondering if this was an internship or just absolute hell. Once you hear your manager’s footsteps approaching again, you sit back up with a long sigh, knowing you could either continue this work or sit in a toilet stall and play games on your phone. The latter was looking more tempted by the second, but you quickly reminded yourself that you’re 23 now, and this is work! Clicking on the first email, you’re quick to delete another empty report from an intern.

Your eyes flitter over the next few emails, clicking away mindlessly before you pause..an escort is needed? Only two emails in, and this one seems a little different from the usual data assignment in an Excel document. This one was addressed by another manager, and damn, their title sounds fancy even if you don’t know what the hell it means. You sit up in your seat as your finger runs against the mousepad of the laptop, scrolling down the page. This could well be the stupidest thing to consider. Who would actually consider being an escort to some random agent all the way to Miami?? And stay there until he’s done?? In your own hotel?!

You, that’s who. You didn’t care if he made you carry his luggage or if you did paperwork for the whole plane trip. This could be your big break, working with an actual, experienced agent. If you could just help him out a smidge, that could take you a mile in your work! Peeking over your desk, you make sure your manager isn’t looking before quickly writing back the most sophisticated response along with a quick mention of your name as a candidate. You’d probably be screwed if he did find out you practically promoted yourself on his behalf, but realistically, he won’t. The chair creaks as you lean back again, groaning softly as you remember that an email response will definitely take a week to come back.

Before you know it, you're already switching departments and knee-deep in a tonne of new documents to fill out for the trip. Why the hell hadn’t this agent gotten his passport renewed?! ‘Does he never go on holiday?? Is he an overworker or just the biggest shut-in ever??” You weigh up all the options as you step your way into the small desk space they allowed you to occupy, your hands preoccupied with a laptop, papers, and way too many things in your head. Oddly, this busy office block feels like home, like the corridors of your university cafeteria. This also means you know how to manoeuvre through this situation with ease, getting to your desk quickly and efficiently with no awkward interactions. Though you used to take your time and wish you’d bump into the love of your life and he’d pick up your books, you wanted this job so badly that it was out the window. Thankfully, this had been one of the best first weeks you could have so far; it was practically second nature—

You bite your lip so hard that you can’t tell if the pain is from the blood on your teeth or the hot coffee seeping through the back of your new shirt. Groaning softly, you turn to face the culprit, hoping that they’ll be nice about it like you were. Accidents happen, you think; maybe he just slipped. After all, there’s probably a bunch of interns here too; they’d be in a much worse position than you. But there's no culprit waiting to say sorry or offer to fix your shirt—only a man swerving through the crowds with a suspicious coffee mug that is only half full as he rushes through. Great. Not even a prince charming who will pay for your dry cleaning.

It’s only a few days later when that same man walks by again, and again, and again, until eventually he stops in front of your desk. You lift your eyes from the small little corner you own, stacks of paperwork before you, just because the agent you were escorting was that important.

“Hey- you’re my escort, right?”

And unfortunately, that agent was this man before you. Yes, you would have thrown a fit about the coffee; yes, you would have refused to work with him or forced him to apologise. But damn, you just really wanted that job.

You nod your head, sitting up a little straighter as you push away any of the burning distaste for him and give him a polite look. “Yes, I’m your escort.”“You sure..? I mean.. you kind of just look like any odd intern, no offense. Actually, the interns get a better desk than you.” His blue eyes pierce into you, one hand rubbing at the stubble on his jaw as he raises an eyebrow at you. Only now have you actually gotten a full look at him and his well… unkept appearance. His hair is tousled, stray pieces fall over his face, and dark bags tug his eyes down. If you had to predict his future, you’d be sure he’s on the path to being the embodiment of a die-hard metal fan. You also had a pretty confident guess he’d end up being the boyish lazy agent upon seeing how he grabs one of the sweets off your small pot and pops it into his mouth.

“I can show you the documents, Mr. Kennedy, if you really want—I’m pretty sure I'm your escort.” His words had annoyed you a little, but you couldn’t just get angry at him. He’s practically a veteran agent, and it’s clear that he doesn’t even know you existed before today; no one really has.“I’ve had enough of doing paperwork; I’m just glad you’re doing mine. So, what have you got planned for me, escort?” He’s a little sassy, it seems, definitely not what you had expected, but you just had to remember to stay professional and keep to expectations. You stifle a sigh as you begin talking again. Maybe this really was a bad idea.

At first it didn't seem to be too bad; you’d carry his important documents stiffly as you escorted him to the meeting with another high ranking official or the like. Even if they were boring, you had to remind yourself that life had its stepping stones, and you’d just have to work yourself through this one to be able to comfortably pay your rent this month on top of chasing your dream. He’d disappear some days off on a mission before he’d come back looking far more grouchier than before. It only seemed to worsen as you soon came to realise that, in the simplest words, Leon had just as much hope left for himself as Chris Redfield did—which was in the depths of hell. You’ve watched him be shouted at numerous times in the passing days over lost work, unfinished reports, denial of missions, and straight up.. slacking off. It was concerning to say the least, and you’re starting to regret all of this already. Most days he barely even had a routine, too hungover from last night’s drinking session to think twice before he started another one at midday.

“Um.. Mr. Kennedy?” You have to speed walk just to catch up to his long strides as he heads towards the exit of this DSO building, already beelining for the bar. “What?” His voice is sharp and barely restrained as he slightly turns his head only to catch a glimpse of you and your meek face trying to ask him something. “Oh, it's just you, escort. What do you want now?” He raises an accusing brow at you as if you had just interrupted something so very important with something that seemed to have the significance of the size of an ant.

“Well, I need you to fill in these documents—“ You begin before he cuts you off, rolling his eyes at your words. “So? Just put it on my desk. Can’t you escorts do anything right?” That only makes you grit your teeth in anger— how dare he insult you because of his grouchy behaviour? “Mr. Kennedy, you told me that last week, and you still haven't done it!”

“Exactly, I told you to do that. So just do it.” With that, he reaches the double doors that lead to exit the building, pushing past into the evening air and leaving you dejected in the lobby.

You couldn’t just let that go, obviously not, so you’d return to his desk every day and slap down another high stack of paperwork onto his desk. If that's what he wanted, so be it—he can deal with it when he practically can't see over his desk. You have a smirk on your face as you contemplate that, imagining him huffing as he goes through the stacks.

However, you’re only met with horror as you realise he’s not even at his desk, already heading down the corridor with a bottle of beer in his hand again. What the hell? You want to scream right now because there is no way you could have landed a job this badly. Yeah, you’re a bit of a hard worker, but this is the DSO—you have to be one. This occurs more and more frequently, watching as he just saunters down to the bar again or maybe to the balcony for a smoke; either way, he doesn't intend to look at a single word of the work set out for him.

It gets to the point where you have Chris coming for you too, asking where the hell the mission reports are, but all you can do is show him the place where Leon’s desk is, the reports overflowing. The agent begins to dislike you after that, scolding you for “snitching” him to Chris and then stating he’s had enough of your persistence. So, instead, he tries to annoy you and slaps twenty dollars in your hands. “Go buy me a bottle of beer, and then i want you to go to that diner down the road, order the special, but specify that I want no mayo in the burger and a seedless bun”

So of course, you trudge yourself down the road to the diner, pickup the food all while cursing him out before returning only to be met with another twenty dollars and another order. This repeats again, and again, and he seems to seethe each time you give him that same unfazed look upon your face.

In the past four weeks of this job, somehow you had dropped from earth to hell and then lower. It was like he was actively trying to kick you out of this place, and if you didn't have the paycheck and a dream right now, you’d go in a heartbeat.

You didn’t realise the severity of the situation until you’re panicking on a Monday morning, trying to find him because you both have to be at a meeting in ten minutes and he still hasn't clocked in for his shift. You’ve practically begged every security employee to tell you if they see him, knowing that Chris might just have your head if you don't get there in time. It’s even worse that the meeting is twenty minutes away from the DSO building you’re always at—this is a guaranteed failure. The phone goes to voicemail again, so you reluctantly decide to just attend the meeting anyway. You usually weren't allowed to sit inside with him, but the least you could do was give them an apology to save the DSO some face. Even if they wouldn't take ‘I have no idea where he is’ as an excuse.

You stop outside the building, cheeks flushed from the cold since the traffic was so bad outside you had to jog over to the building. Taking the lift up to the meeting room, the other attendees give you a dirty look, assuming you were some stupid intern in the wrong place. Their looks almost made you cower, but you know you aren't doing anything wrong. “Excuse me, sir.”

You stand awkwardly in front of the meeting’s host, your body awfully rigid from your next words. “Yes?” He looks at you with disdain, not expecting to be spoken to by some kid.

“The agent I'm escorting here, Mister Kennedy, will be a little bit late or may as well not turn up at all. I.. uh, hope you understand?” You attempt to explain, not really sure how to word this.

What you didn't expect was for the man to grow furious, slamming his hand against the wooden table, which immediately made the entire room stop their menial chatter to stare. “What do you mean he’s not coming? He’s our top agent.” He barks out, and you have no idea what to say, backing up from him as you fumble.

“I’m sure he’ll be here soon, but—“

“You’re only sure? What kind of escort are you?”

The red that coats your cheeks is humiliating, deepening with each second the silence continues on for. You grit your teeth, muttering out apologies as fast as you can before he eventually dismisses you, and you’re halfway down the stairs before you know it. The back of your hand wipes your face, small tears forming in your eyes at all the gazes fixed on you.

If that hadn't taken the cake, you didn't know what did. To think that he was getting away with all of this was a severe understatement; he was slowly deteriorating his own life from his habits. He’d been kicked off missions permanently now, and then work for him started slowly dwindling. It sounded good—less work right? Wrong. He was practically a week away from being fired altogether, which also kissed your job bye bye. The interns had already begun to snicker about it, even going as far as to ask you questions about him as well. As much as you hated his guts for his behaviour, you hated the sneers on their faces even more. It was the third time you’ve given them a dirty look now, even going as far as silencing one with a sharp glare. You couldn't help but scoff, a mere intern trying to mock an experienced agent? Who the hell did they think they were?

However, after another week passes with little to no improvement, you couldn't deny that the longer this continued, they wouldn't even have someone to mock anymore. The issue was, what the hell could you even do? Chris had fully given up on him at this point, as had most of the operatives here, and as much as you hated it, it seemed like you were his last hope.

————————————————————————

Next Series Masterlist

[jacklucian2000]

꣑୧Wesker x Fem!Reader - car troubles꣑୧

Warning smut !!

The cold rain poured against the hard glass of your car. Your headlights caught onto nothing but the empty road. The road was empty, you were slightly wet from being out in the rain, the car was still heating up and no one would see if you hit the gas a little. Slowly a sixty went to a seventy and a seventy went to an eighty. You could feel the speed of your car. It was freeing and exciting. It wasn’t so exciting when your vehicle had to come to a stop—a hard stop against the body of a human. As much of an empath as you were, the only thought you had was an unthoughtful one to help them and hope their family doesn’t press charges. You walked out of your car slowly and with a slight jump. Your mind already flashed images of a gray body with a bloody broken neck. It probably wouldn’t just be the neck that was broken. You peeked around and there was a man, hunched over, freezing cold. You were petrified at his survival. Were you drunk? Was this real? You felt that you should poke the body with a stick but there was no doubt in your mind that that man was alive. You stepped forward, his gaze following you. 

“Could I… hitch a ride?” The man grimaced. As you were left clueless, Wesker found himself injured and vulnerable. He was weak. He shouldn’t provoke a situation he had no control over to become worse. His powers were new he didn’t know how much his body could take. Whether getting impaled was a one-time deal.  

“Uhh, sure…” You looked around. He looked fine. Would the court believe him if he pressed charges against you for hitting him with a speeding car? The man stumbled into your backseat and you looked to see your bumper was dented. You repeated after the man to start your car and drove forward for a bit. The rain began to turn to snow. It was cold and getting colder. Your car stopped and smoke rose out of your front car hood. You tried to start it again but nothing happened. You walked out and opened your hood the man came out and opened the cap to your coolant. 

“You used water in your cooling tank during a blizzard?” The man was crossed and you felt ashamed. You looked down then looked back up. 

“It’s not your car.” 

“You’re my ride.” 

“You’re the one walking in the blizzard.” You mumbled.

“What?” 

“Huh? Nothing. If I have service I can call a towing company.”

“I can just walk.” 

“I don’t think whatever is infecting you will survive the cold.” Wesker turned around.

“What do you mean?” He grimaced.

“It’s cold. I don’t think you’d make it that far.” Wesker sighed. He could feel it. He could feel the virus plaguing him. It was retreating his body, becoming dormant. He was hallucinating now. He needed the virus. He needed to be warm. He needed to help the virus. He needed the virus to help him survive. His injuries were too grave not to have assistance from his outworldly companion. He walked back to the car and entered the back of it. The heat was slowly leaving the vehicle. He lay across the backseat feeling his body slowly die. You paid no mind as you were on your phone trying to get reception. The closer to the woods you were the better reception you had. Finally, on the edge of the forest, you were able to call. A husk man’s voice answered. 

“Arklay County towing company.” 

“My car is dead on the road. Could you tow it?” 

“Yeah, where?” 

“Ninth Street?”

“Outside our towing building?”

“Can I put you on hold?” You walked to the car and opened the door of the car. “Hey sir, what street are we on?” 

“Sir? You look the same age. And you act like there isn’t a road sign two feet from here!” You looked over the car and uncovered the speaker of your phone. 

“We’re on…” you squinted your eyes. Your glasses never really matched your prescription. “I think Oswell Street.” 

“You think?” 

“Make sure they know what street you’re on.” The man in the car remarked. You turned your attention back to your phone. 

“Yeah, Oswell Street. O- S-” 

“Ok, I’m sending a guy.”

“N-Near the Arklay Mountains and it’s next to that one mansion from the old guy.” You looked around for more landmarks but when you glanced down at your phone he had already hung up on you. You opened the door of the car once again. “ Are you cold?” 

“Yes.” 

“I think I have some blankets in the back. Do you want some?” 

“Yes!” The man shouted. You walked to the back of the car. It was random camping equipment your brother put in the car. He acted like it was his car. You threw the sheets into the back seat and then entered with him. 

“Do you want my jacket?” The man scowled but nodded. 

“So what fool puts water in their coolant tank?” 

“Me.” 

“I’m asking for a name.” 

“Sheryl?” 

“Really?” 

“No.” You paused. “ I’ve been told I share too much information with others. Your name?” 

“John Doe.” 

“Oh.”

“My name is Albert Wesker, I’m the captain of the Raccoon city police.” You smiled at Wesker cheeky and merry. You snuggled under the blankets with him and felt his hot breath crawling down your neck. 

“Do I have your consent?”

“Huh?” 

“Do-”

“We don’t know each other.” 

“It might be the last time I see you.” Wesker could only think of what would happen to him if the law took a hand. He’d find himself escaping prison and gaining a high profile. 

“Can I have your phone number?”

“When I find a pen and some paper I’ll give it to you.” You nodded and at that point, you were exercising your patience. He rested his hand on your hip and softly kissed your lips. You pressed your body against his and let him lead. He pushed you below him and slid his hands up your shirt. He felt your tender breast and rubbed his thumbs over your nipples and pressed down, squeezing. His hands paid attention to your chest as his knee found its way between your thighs pressing against your groin. You clenched your thighs around him as you would a pillow in your night awake. He kept his mouth occupied with yours but his hands moved down to unbutton your skirt. He pulled it down and then pressed his palm against your clitoris as his fingers penetrated your wettened entrance. With no patience left, he unbuttoned his pants only letting out his cock. You could feel its warmth against your quim. He began pushing the tip in. You felt a sense of pain but he could tell. He tried a different angle and finally moved his lips down to your neck. You could feel his glare traveling out the window then back down finding comfort in the crevice of your shoulder. He tried to penetrate again this time it went in pleasurably. It felt uncomfortable but good. He started slow as you got used to that odd feeling that was neither arousal nor pain. He pushed in deeper and there you felt it. As he felt the walls clench he pulled out to force back in. You moaned at the unexpected action. He went back out and forced back in you. You repeating the same moan. A throaty growl as he hit the end of what there was. His pace quickened and he threw your legs above his shoulder and pressed them forward against you. He only went faster your moans gaining pace as well. You couldn’t control it. You wanted to pull back but you forced yourself to remain still. The feeling of being so controlled was so arousing. Wesker had nothing but control. His grip on your thighs. His teeth biting down on your neck. The steam your body’s created. It laster shorter than expected. Your walls constantly squeezed around him and he released deep inside. The moment held still in a shaky pleasure with a complete moan that was released as well as your orgasms. His body slowly fell and rested upon you. You used one of the blankets as a pillow as you rested back. Hours passed and a man knocked on your window. You were freezing and seemed not to mind. You pulled up your skirt from under the blanket and went out to talk to the man. 

Days passed and you and Wesker kept in slowly dying contact. He seemed to be less interested as the two of you spoke. Wesker felt anxious every time you’d text. He couldn’t know why but eventually your conversations halted and all contact was lost.

[lemkanada]

How they would react to seeing you in their clothes/Uniform.

Resident Evil Characters (Leon S. Kennedy, Albert Wesker, Chris Redfield, Carlos)

Edition One: He was blessed this morning.

Warnings; Fluff, leon marking y/n a bit and some kissing with a bit of suggestive things but that's it.

•。‿｡'.•。‿｡'.•。‿｡'.•。‿｡'.•

Leon S. Kennedy

He's never thought that his coat (RE4) could have looked that attractive on someone, but oh boy he realized he was wrong when he saw you.

It was still kind of early when you woke up, you tried to go back to sleep but couldn't even after multiple tries. I mean, how could you go back to sleep when there was this handsome, no, gorgeous man sleeping in front of you?

You took your time admiring his face and the parts of his body that wasn't hidden by the sheets. You smiled as you started counting the beauty marks on his soft skin, sometimes eyes lingering a bit longer on his perfectly shaped upper back and arms, since he was sleeping on his stomach. After a bit, you reached to gently move some hair out of his face to take a better look at his sleeping expression. It was peacful and soft, for a man that usually has his eyebrows pinched into an serious and intense way, it really was a nice sight to see. He always was serious around people, well except whenever he' was around you. Also, must I say that he can only sleep that well when you're around, in the bed with him.

After a moment you sit up, moving your hair out of the way so you can give his forehead a very soft peck before getting up. It was now October which meant that it was going to be kind of chilly, or rather it was. Your own arms wrapping around your petit(ish) form to try and keep some warmth, you look around for something warmer than your tanktop and little booty shorts. You quickly spot the perfect clothe, Leon's jacket, and so you walk over, pick it up and put it on snuggling into it at the warmth it immediately gives you. After zipping it high enough, you started tiptoeing away from the bedroom and into the bathroom to brush your hair and rinse your mouth, stealing a few sniffs here and then so you could smell your boyfriend's cologne on it. After doing so, you went to the kitchen to start making some coffee/hot cocoa (for the non-coffee lovers 💜) for you and Leon when he would wake up.

• •

You ended up making some breakfast after a moment, thinking, hoping that the smell would attract your boyfriend out of bed. You knew that he had just come back from a mission not too long ago, but since he was back you wanted to be with him as much as possible. You had missed him, so it was natural after all. When you were mostly done with the food and your own drink that was half gone from sipping it here and then, you heard a knock. At first you hesitated in answering or not, because instead of being at your place like you two usually do, you slept at Leon's for once.

After a bit of hesitation you decided to answer, not wanting the person to end up waking up the sleeping beauty. You pulled down the jacket to be more presentable, even though it was already down to your mid thighs, and walked over the door. “Hello, there is a package that arrived for...Mister Leon S. Kennedy.”, You heard coming from the other side of the door. You started unlocking the multiple locks that were on the door, thanks to Leon's job that made him paranoid, not that you cared or that it was important right now.

As you were doing this, you didn't know that your boyfriend had woken up, searching for you in the bed with one arm, eyes closed. When he realized that you were gone, he grunted and got up only wearing sweatpants but he didn't care. It was not like his body wasn't a body heater anyways. He was always the one to keep you warm when you got cold, since he rarely ever got really cold. He went to the bathroom quickly and when he came back out he smelled the food, leading him to the kitchen and to where you were. And when he saw you and what you were wearing, he froze for a bit, cheeks quickly warming up, lips slightly open from the surprise as he stared at you.

-

“Good morning, I know I'm not Leon Kennedy but let me take it for him. Thank you.”, You said as you smiled softly up at the man who looked like he was in his beginning 30s. He smiled back as he handed you the package which you gladly took. His eyes looked down at the big fluffy jacket you were wearing and that clearly looked way too warm for the current weather. This made his eyebrow raise as an amused chuckle escaped him and he commented. “I didn't know it was that cold already...Shouldn't you have someone war—”, He stopped talking quickly when he looked behind you. Before you could do anything, you felt two big arms wrap around your waist and pull you backward a bit into a chest, one that you knew all too well. Now you knew for sure that he was up.

Before you could even say anything to the man, Leon let out a low tired grunt into your shoulder and gave the stranger THE look, one you didn't see but clearly was meant for the man to leave asap. As soon as the mailman was nowhere to be seen anymore, Leon grumbled a small “It's cold outside, close the door...Please.”, The blonde says without making any move to pull away from you so you giggle and step backwards, closing the door with your free hand.

“Good morning big guy, what's up with you?”, You asked but then added. “Come on, let's go to the table, I made you something warm to drink.”, When he didn't pull away you knew he had no intention of pulling away from you, that'd he'd stay cuddled against your back and arms around you so you started to walk slowly toward the table, shaking your head amused. What a big baby you've got there, a very handsome one at that. Like he could hear your thought, Leon lifted his head up and stared at you from your shoulder. You turned and gave him a short kiss to which he quickly and happily answered by kissing you back, a bit more eagerly than you...well he had his reasons.

When he first saw you, in his jacket, he thought he was still dreaming. He didn't know his jacket could look so hot and you were the reason behind it. Welp, his favorite jacket will be used even more from now. He'd think about you in it every time hed look at it or get a small whiff of your smell during missions, his break and even when—ahem.

Seeing his girlfriend in the brown jacket made him feel two ways, possessive and very very attracted. Seeing you in his clothes made him realize how real your relationship was, how you were his and his only. Not going to lie, it also made his thoughts go south for a bit, till he simply let it get pushed to the side(for now) by those warm feelings, butterflies in his stomach. So of course when he saw the mailman looking at you—even if it were with no bad intentions—, he couldn't help but get possessive of you and so he did what first came to him, a glare, then become baby and get as close to you as possible. And now that he had you close he didn't want to pull away, unless...it was to get any closer to you.

You two ended up staying in front of the table for a bit, him not wanting to pull away but you ended up giving one of his arms a small tap then lovingly caressed his arm. “Le...I need to finish making the food, it's pratically done. Okay?”, You say, only for the said male to pull you a bit closer and lean to give your neck and jaw a kiss with a small displeased groan. But it quickly changed into a hitchy breath when you leaned your head to the side to give him more access, it was almost as if you were asking him to. He ended up leaving a mark or two on your soft skin so people knew who'se you were, bonus enjoying the little sounds that came out of you.

After that he leaned his forehead down against your shoulder with a sigh, trying to contain or more like control himself and all of his rushing thoughts. He finally ended up letting you go only to sit down on a chair with a small pout, drinking what you made him. He knew that his pout was an "irresistible and adorable" expression that always won you over, even if it didn't exaxtly fit his grown man's face. He would do it for you, and only you, when he wanted something. He purposely would stare at you as you finished the breakfast for the two of you, pouting everytime you glanced at him, making you know that he was unhappy with not being able to cling to you. When you didn't look, his eyes were very much looking at your outfit and the rest that perfectly (to his eyes) fitted, licking his lips a bit before rubbing his face trying not to look too much even though he already was. You knew he was staring, how could you not feel his intense stare, but you tried your best to ignore it, cheeks warming up. Oh you were so into trouble, well if you called it that. Not that you minded the trouble when it came to him.

As soon as you were done and had the two plates in hands, he moved the chair beside his closer meaning he wanted you to sit right by his side. You wanted to tease him a bit more by not sitting, but his face made your heart waver and you gave in to his demand. You smiled and sat down by him, putting the food down as his arm quickly found your waist and he pulled you close. He then hugged you to him with both arms, face snuggling into the crook of your neck as he said in a loving voice. “Thank you for....Being with me still. Don't ever...Leave me please. And also...You can wear my jacket anytime.”, At the last sentence, he leaned his head back up and glanced away cheeks becoming a small tint of pink(well more than they already were).

That only made you smile more and wrap both arms around his neck, one hand going into his hair, leaning close to his face. “You know, I'm the most thankful, thank you for choosing me when you could literally just get any other girls in the world...I love you Leon S Kennedy...”, You whispered the end, inching closer to his face till he closed the distance and kissed you first. It was full of love, tenderness, and a hint of desire. You kissed for a bit till you two pulled away to breath, his forehead ending on yours as he whispered back. “What do you mean? I'm the luckiest guy ever. Couldn't ask for better, for any other girl. Although...You're a bit of a tease.”

And here was his signature teasing grin, the slight tiredness making it even more attractive, but you still rolled your eyes playfully at him. “What? I was colldd.”, You said before laughing softly at the "are you serious, with my jacket?" face he was making. “Okay, okay I might have wanted to try it on too....But its a small reason why.”, you said while showing your fingers that were almost touching, it being that much only. He shook his head and leaned back for a kiss only for you to put your finger between his lips and yours, smiling playfully at him, eyes glittering the same way. “Woah there Le, we need to eat before it gets cold. And I say....Firstonetofinisheatinggetstochoosewhatwedotoday.”, you said the last sentence quickly only purpose before starting eating not letting him time to understand what you said.

When Leon realized what you said, he gasped in false offense at you cheating and started eating first. You didn't look at him but from how he was speaking you knew he was grinning. “You really chose the wrong opponent y/n, baby you will never win against me.”, You two really were going at it, fighting over who gets to choose what you were going to do....Even though, inside you both knew what was going to happen after and that was not only because of him, but what you secretly meant to do too that morning.

And how you guys had so much fun, how you were able to make that Agent laugh and do childish things with you only meant two things. You were meant for him and you were the light of his existence, one he never would want to seperate from...Especially not when he gets to get very close to you. ;)

———

I apologize for any of the grammar errors I might have done, English is not my first language. 🙏

Liking or/and Reblogging if you liked would mean so much to me, letting me know you enjoyed what I wrote. 🥺

[desired-misery]

RE4R [Missing Scenes of Survival, Ashley's POV]

...

Leon kills him, too, in the same manner, except this time he drags the body off into the shadows cast by the church, back to where he was poised to strike off to the side of the stairs. Leon rolls the man’s torch into a puddle and then steps on it, extinguishing the flames with a hiss. He kills so easily. His breathing is steady and slow in her ears, which gives her something to focus on as Leon crouches again like a predator lying in wait.

It is not as horrible as Ashley was thinking it was going to be to watch someone die— be killed. The stormy night must be helping; she is far enough away that she cannot see any blood splattering through the rain. The noises are awful, but if that is all she has to bear she can do it, she has to. Her heart is pounding in her chest and her breathing is louder than it was, but thanks to the strength of the rain she isn’t worried about being heard. Leon said it was normal to react like this. There is some small relief in knowing she does not have to stay perfectly calm— Leon is expecting her to freak out, he even said she could, just a little. She does not have to fight to bury her emotions unless it becomes overwhelming.

If this is what she has to endure to get home, Ashley thinks she will be able to do it. She is going to have to crouch right by the bodies, though, but she can do that if she keeps her eyes on Leon and goes quickly. She waits, holding tight onto the stones making up the outer corner of the church and watches for Leon’s signal. Another man heads down the stairs, oblivious to his missing companions. This one is muttering to himself, too. Ashley wishes she picked Spanish, not French, to study because she wants to know what on earth these people are saying. The talking gets louder as Leon approaches from behind, silent and quick, like he has done two other times already. 

 Leon is in the middle of pulling his knife back out when someone yells. Both she and Leon look towards the church yard gate to where a woman is waving a torch and pointing at him.

“Shit,” Leon mutters, as clear as day in her ears, and then he is standing, shooting. Loud, deafening—

[~19k, massive WIP]