LAMBS TO THE SLAUGHTER, ii
leon kennedy x religious f!reader
word count: 3k
summary: realizing parents don’t always know whats best.
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18+ MDNI. DEAD DOVE. religious themes, religious trauma, neglectful/abusive parents, physical abuse(not by leon), mentions of bruises and physical injury, age gap(reader is 19, leon is 27), reader tries coffee for the first time. there will be smut in future chapters.
a/n: sorry for making you guys wait, i wasn’t really contented with the first version i made of this so i decided to redo most of it, which didn’t turn out that good either. anyway, i hope you guys enjoy, likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated.
you had returned from leon’s house, the familiar scent of home enveloping you. the floral aroma of your mother's cleaning products mingled with the rich scent of your father's coffee, yet neither could dispel the unease that clung to you. the house was empty, amplifying the loneliness that settled like a weight in your chest.
of course, the chores. you still needed to finish them before your parents returned. you rushed to sweep the kitchen floor, hastening to the laundry next. the clock ticked ominously, each second a reminder of how little time you had.
but leon’s image haunted you, an uninvited specter in your mind. you tried to forget, to focus on your tasks, but your hands trembled as you attempted to fold a shirt, the fabric slipping from your grasp. frustration welled up within you, a sigh escaping your lips, as you envisioned his eyes, his smile, the warmth that seemed so foreign in your own home.
you moved onto the dishes, hoping the mundanity of the task would distract you. but the clattering plates only evoked memories of leon’s chuckle, his voice echoing in your thoughts, a gentle reminder of the fleeting moments you shared.
and despite your efforts, the chores remained unfinished. the broom leaned against the wall, dishes piled high in the sink, and the laundry lay untouched on the living room floor. the weight of your failure pressed down on you, a physical ache that matched the emotional turmoil.
you couldn’t recall how it happened, your mind always foggy afterward. one moment you were rushing to complete your tasks, the next you were lying on the floor, pain throbbing in your head. vision blurred, you struggled to sit up, the room spinning around you. you reached out, steadying yourself against the coffee table, the cold surface grounding you in reality.
that's when you noticed them — bruises blooming on your arms, smaller ones on your knees, cuts shallow but jagged on your knees and elbows, and tiny splinters embedded in your fingers. each mark a testament to the chaos that reigned in your home.
your parents towered over you, a sight you'd grown used to. their faces were contorted into rage, though you weren't entirely sure what you had done to deserve it. their anger was a constant companion, an ever-present threat.
your father grabbed you by the hair, yanking your head back painfully. "ain't this all you had to do before we came home? 'ts not so hard, is it? don't get what you had to do that's so much more important than what we tell you." you opened your mouth, but only a groan emerged, the pain throbbing in your head, each word a dagger to your heart.
your mother knelt down, roughly grabbing your chin to force you to look at her. "don't you dare act like you're hurt, missy. ain't nothin' hurt. you just want an excuse not to do your chores." her grip tightened, nails digging into your skin.
"we'll give you an excuse, you spoiled brat."
your mother kicked you hard in the side, a shout of pain escaping your lips. your father dragged you to your feet, his grip iron on your upper arm. he wrenched you toward the staircase, each step a reminder of your helplessness.
"up to your room, young lady. don't wanna see you down here till morning." you stumbled up the stairs, each step sending jolts of pain through your bruised body.
you remember it vividly, collapsing onto your bed that night, tears pricking at your eyes, attempting to sob quietly in the darkness of your room.
a storm brewed closer, and you sat in your disheveled cream-colored dress, swinging your legs from the trunk of a tree that stood between your house and his. your face was streaked with dirt and wind-blown hair. you gazed into the distance, fingers tracing lazy patterns on your thigh, oblivious to the world around you.
the front door creaked open, but you remained unaware, lost in your thoughts.
"hi, neighbor," you heard. your head snapped down, eyes meeting his, a flicker of surprise crossing your features.
"hi," a small peep escaped your lips, your voice barely above a whisper.
he stood there, looking up at you, concern etched on his face.
"everything okay up there?" he gestured vaguely at the branches surrounding you. you opened your mouth, but no words came out. just gasps and wheezes. your lungs felt like they were on fire. and all you managed was a quiet hum, just enough for him to hear.
his attempts to climb the tree were futile, making it halfway before he stood on the ground. "you know, there's a perfectly good porch down here. the grass is really nice this time of year too." his voice was gentle, a stark contrast to the harshness you were accustomed to.
you awkwardly shifted on the branch, attempting to cover your legs, the bark digging into your thighs through your dress. "how'd you get those?" his eyes lingered on your bruises, concern deepening.
"i— i'm not supposed to talk to you," you try to avoid eye contact. "sorry."
his brow furrowed slightly at your whispered response. "oh, come on. don't be like that," he leaned against the trunk, looking up at you with intense blue eyes. "talk to me." his voice was low and gravelly, sending shivers down your spine, a strange comfort in his persistence.
"i can't," your voice barely reached his ears, but he caught it. "i'm not supposed to tell."
"not supposed to tell what?" he sounded genuinely curious and a little amused, like he thought you were playing a game. his gaze drifted over your face, taking in your flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. "honey, you can tell me anything. i'm your neighbor, remember? you even bought me cookies. we're friends now."
you glanced down, then back up, then down again. your eyes darted around, worried someone might be watching. when they flicked back up to him, your brows furrowed, eyes frightened. "please, you can't tell anyone, okay? i'd get in so much trouble if my parents found out i told you..." you trailed off, biting your lip. your hands curled tightly around the branches above your head. you trembled slightly, the fear palpable.
"i promise, i won't."
"you gotta tell me why you're so scared to talk. what's going on at home?" his eyes... they just kept looking at you, seeing right through you. you swallowed hard, mouth suddenly dry. how could you explain? they'd hate you more if you told. and leon... he'd probably think you were weird. or broken. or worse.
but he asked. and he seemed like he wanted to know. and you really didn't want to cry in front of him. so you took a deep breath and told him the truth. "my parents... they hit me. only sometimes. when i don't do what they want." tears pricked your eyes, and you bit your lip hard, trying to hold them back.
you weren't crying. you weren't crying. you weren't... a sob escaped your throat, and soon you were hiccuping and sniffling, clinging to the branches as you cried. he just looked at you as you cried. "sorry."
he didn't say anything. didn't move. just kept looking at you as you cried. this was so embarrassing. but it also felt like a relief, finally telling someone the truth. even if that someone was a boy from next door you barely knew. after a few moments, he finally spoke.
"you know i'm here for you, right? you can talk to me, about anything." his voice was gentle now, not gravelly and teasing like before. "care to come down now?"
"can't," you timidly shook your head and turned away slightly. "it's almost dinner."
the wind whipped through the branches, the only sound echoing through the neighborhood. you looked down at him, his gaze fixed on you. the tears wouldn't stop. "please don't look at me like that," you sniffled, wiping your tear-streaked face with the back of your hands, wishing the ground would swallow you whole.
his lips parted as if to say something, but he was interrupted by the door squeaking open, your mother calling out.
"dinner's ready!” the sternness in her voice made you go rigid. your eyes widened, and your hand quickly slapped over your mouth to hold back a whimper. there wasn't much time left. you clambered down the tree, wincing with each bruise pushed to its limit.
halfway down, he reached up to help, his hand grasping your arm to steady you. your feet planted on the grass, you were met with a reassuring smile. "i'll see you later, yeah?"
"okay."
you turned back to your house, swallowing the dread building in your stomach. your mother stood at the front door, arms crossed, a stern look on her face.
"where've you been?" she snapped as you approached. "dinner's been waiting, you know."
"sorry," you swallowed your words. "i— i was outside. in the garden."
"in the garden," she repeated, a hint of suspicion in her voice, masked behind false care. she scrutinized you with her piercing gaze, taking note of your messy hair, dress covered in twigs, dirt stains. the evidence was all over you, each mark a silent accusation.
"well, c'mon then. no point in standing out here all night," she snapped. "go clean up. you're filthy."
later that night, after dinner and chores, you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. thoughts fixated on leon. the way he looked at you. the way he listened. the way he didn't judge. his presence was a balm to your wounded soul, a flicker of hope in the darkness.
hours ticked by, sleep eluding you. every time your eyes shut, images of him popped into your head. his intense gaze, the small quirks of his expression, the timbre of his voice, and that slight, warm smile. each memory a lifeline, a reminder that someone cared.
you rolled over, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself, trying to push away the strange feelings stirring within. the uncertainty gnawed at you, a constant companion.
eventually, after hours of tossing and turning, sleep came at last. but it did not bring peace. your fears came to life in your dreams, the pain and dread all too real, haunting you, a relentless reminder of your reality.
the following morning, rain pelted against your window, the sound echoing through your small room. the weather matched your mood, a reflection of the storm within. groggily, you lifted yourself off the bed, body covered in aches and bruises from the previous day.
the rain continued, drumming against the roof. you stood at your window, staring into the gloom, mind wandering back to yesterday. to leon. to the way his presence had offered a momentary respite from your suffering.
a flash of lightning illuminated the sky, followed by a clap of thunder. you flinched, heart racing. the pain in your body faded as unease washed over you, the storm outside mirroring the turmoil within, each rumble a reminder of your unrest.
your groggy mind struggled to shake off sleep's haze. you sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. the nightmare's memories lingered like a bad taste. rain lashed the window, creating a steady rhythm that filled the morning air, a symphony of sorrow.
carefully, you climbed out of bed, feeling the throb in your body, and pulled on the first outfit you found, not bothering to change into something clean. your hair was a mess, eyes heavy with unshed tears, the weight of the previous day still hanging over you.
you hesitated at the door, the rain's sound intensifying. but something pushed you forward. maybe it was the need for distraction, the curiosity of seeing leon again, or just the need for human interaction. the need to feel less alone.
you made your way to his house, shivering as cold droplets soaked through your clothes. the front door creaked open at your knock, revealing leon in all his disheveled glory. he looked as tired as you felt, but seeing him lifted a weight off your chest, a small comfort amidst the chaos.
"hey," he greeted, voice rough from sleep, his eyes warming as he took in your bedraggled appearance.
"hi," you smiled awkwardly. "i hope you don't mind, i was hoping we could kind of..."
"i don’t know, talk… i guess."
he blinked, slowly registering your smile. he stepped aside, allowing you in, his presence a silent reassurance.
"mind? are you kidding me? you're soaked. come in." he led you into the living room, closing the door behind you, the warmth of his home a stark contrast to the cold outside.
you shivered again, and he noticed, throwing you a towel. "here, dry off a bit." as you wrapped the towel around your shoulders, you noticed his eyes lingering on you, his gaze seeming to strip you bare. it made you shiver for an entirely different reason, a strange warmth spreading through you.
"i was just about to make coffee. want some?" he asked, gesturing to the kitchen, his voice a gentle invitation.
"no, thank you."
"are you sure? i just brewed a fresh pot," he stands there expectantly, hands resting on his hips. his gaze bores into you, studying you. like he's trying to figure out what's going on in that head of yours. you shift uncomfortably, feeling self-conscious under his scrutiny.
"okay," he eventually drops it. "so, what're you doing here this early?" he gestured, his curiosity evident.
why did you come here? oh right. to distract yourself. and also, because you sort of wanted... to see him. "i just... i had some free time, and i thought..." you trailed off, unable to meet his eyes. this felt so awkward, so vulnerable. he filled the silence with his understanding.
"no need to explain," he said. his voice was casual, but his eyes held concern. he studied you for a moment. "i get it."
the way your hair stuck to your face, the slight trembling in your fingers, the faint tinge of pink on your cheeks. you were vulnerable, and he sensed your deep troubles. he crossed his arms, leaning against the wall, his presence a silent support.
"you're shivering," he pointed out, voice concerned. "are you sure you don't want coffee?"
you shook your head. "i don't drink coffee," you cleared your throat. "my parents don't let me."
he quirked a brow, confusion and disbelief washing over his features. but his response held no judgment, just a matter-of-fact tone, his concern evident.
"your parents don't let you?" his voice was calm, yet his words carried a subtle bite.
you nodded. the tension was palpable. the silence that followed was filled with understanding, deeper than words. he saw through you, understood what you weren't saying, his gaze a silent promise.
"you're kidding,” he continued. "what kind of parents don't let their kid drink coffee?"
he said it half-jokingly, but not to tease. he was genuinely surprised at your strict situation, an absurdity to him, his disbelief a reflection of his concern.
"it's just coffee," he muttered. "not like its hard drugs or anything,"
"yeah," you chuckled uncomfortably, the sound a weak attempt to lighten the mood.
he stepped closer, leaning down to get a better look at you, eyes searching your face. "your parents... they don't let you do a lot of things, do they?"
"no," you mumbled, eyes shifting away. "but they say it's what's best for me."
his jaw clenched, eyes narrowing as you confirmed his hunch. your relationship with your parents wasn't healthy, a truth that weighed heavily on him.
he scoffed softly, pulling back. "right," he said, voice dripping with cynicism. "because your parents clearly know what's best for you, huh?"
"of course they do," your voice cracks. "they're my parents—“
"so what? being a parent means controlling your kid’s life?" he scoffed. "bullshit."
despite his bluntness, he didn't raise his voice. he wasn't angry, just frustrated. he wanted you to see the fallacy in your logic. it was difficult for him to witness your treatment, his concern a silent plea for you to see the truth.
he paused, gaze softening. he saw how much you held back, the tension in your shoulders, the nervous fiddling with your shirt's hem, each movement a silent cry for help.
"i—" you wanted to say something, but your voice was strained, just quiet squeaks, the words caught in your throat.
his face softened, realizing pushing further wouldn't help. his concern a gentle reminder that he was there for you.
"how about that coffee? i'll even make it decaf, so you don’t get those caffeine jitters," he smiled. "sound good?"
you nodded. "yeah, okay."
satisfied, he headed to the kitchen, returning with a steaming mug. placing it in your hands, he ensured your fingers were securely wrapped around it before letting go. his actions were gentle but firm, fearing you might crumble if too rough, his presence a silent comfort.
"careful," he cautioned. "it's hot."
the rain had stopped, replaced by a gentle patter of raindrops on the windowpane. finally, you broke the silence.
"thank you," you said softly. for the coffee, yes, but for everything else too.
tags: @lottiies @arcane5019 @crowleyco @catnipchannie
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