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bumblebeesfromvenus · 2 days

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Fate - spin, measure, cut

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🌙 Leon S. Kennedy x reader

Based on a request by @bat-yo-us 🫶🏻

《Content》: blood, injury, big feelings, Saddler being ew

After a sick twist of Fate, you're tossed into a nightmarish situation with your lover. Vows of protection and safety fall short when you're injured just to save his life.

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

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

A dull, pounding ache sat deep in your bones as you dragged your body further down the path of this hellhole.

You were exhausted, littered in bruises and cuts, and your head was starting to spin from the lack of hydration.

The mission was clear; rescue Baby Eagle and then get out of there as quickly as possible.

Neither you nor Leon had anticipated this to become a matter of days where you'd fight for your life and run from literal nightmares.

The Fates were cruel mistresses, and apparently, they took joy in making you suffer as Ashley was continuously ripped away from right under your nose.

You found her admirable and strong, handling this situation better than you did.

Maybe it was the adrenaline and the survival instinct that kept her going. Whatever it was, you needed a whole dose of it.

You were a medic officer, only sent to take care of any of Ashley's potential injuries on the flight back, not run from Infected, giants, and mutated assholes that wouldn't shut up about their God.

Leon, on the other hand, treated it like just another Tuesday, something that both impressed you and pissed you off beyond belief.

You knew what he'd seen and that this probably was just another Tuesday for him, something that never failed to make your heart ache for him.

But now, under the circumstances, you were forced to pick up a weapon.

You needed to protect yourself. Leon couldn't keep both you and Ashley safe, and no matter how harsh it sounded, she was the important one.

A faint feeling of safety returned when you took the elevator deep into the castle, reaching the Merchant's shooting range.

You slid down the wall and sat on the floor, a sigh of relief slipping past your lips while Leon practiced his aim on the wooden pirates.

You watched him closely, his concentrated expression and slightly narrowed eyes, down to his stance and how the muscles flexed in his bicep.

Maybe you could've enjoyed the sight if your doom wasn't hot on your tail.

It was like the Moirai were watching from above, Atropos sharpening her scissors with a sinister smile while Lachesis measured the string that was your life only to end it in a second whenever they pleased.

The weight of it all lay heavy on your shoulders, a feeling of dread that's been in the pit of your stomach since the beginning, only sinking deeper into your insides.

"It's your turn. Come on." Leon said, holding out his gloved hand to you.

You snapped out of your thoughts with a small 'huh?', your brain needing a second to catch up. He saw the distant and glazed over look in your eyes, and to say it didn't worry him would be a lie.

You weren't made for this.

Hell, neither was he (was anyone?), but he learned to deal with it. But you weren't supposed to see this.

Your job was saving lives, nursing them back to health with a comforting, almost matronly smile on your lips, not take them, no matter how lost or corrupt.

His heart cracked.

He became an Agent to protect innocent people from nightmares like this, yet here you were, the most important aspect of his life, the one that delicately held his heart, subjected to all the horror he tried to shield you from.

"I'll teach you how to use a gun without hurting yourself and to really hurt someone else." He smirked, although it didn't reach his eyes.

You only managed a pathetic laugh but took his hand anyway. Leon pulled you off the ground and led you to the correct position at the shooting range, angling your stance with his hands on your hips.

The simple touch made you want to melt into his arms and forget everything you'd witnessed the last few days.

"Alright," he sighed, his chest pressed to your back while he shoved one of his guns into your hands, "hold it like this, you don't want to hurt your fingers. Now, tighten your muscles, lock your elbows and don't forget about the recoil. And aim, obviously." Leon huffed a half-hearted laugh.

You mumbled a quick affirmation and exhaled, steadying your hands before locking your eyes on the wooden pirate and pulling the trigger.

The sound, along with the recoil, made you flinch. Pain shot from your wrists up to your shoulders. Out of instinct, you dropped the gun and rubbed at your sore hands.

"Jesus Christ.." you muttered.

"It's pretty hefty. Are you alright?" Leon asked softly, a comforting hand resting on your back.

"Yeah, it just caught me off guard." You chuckled awkwardly, swallowing thickly.

"No worries. Let's try again." He gave you a small smile and gently placed the weapon back into your hands.

You felt a tense feeling crawl up your spine, a feeling that often led you to being overstimulated, hoping the world would just go quiet for a moment.

You tried again anyway, pushing down any discomfort that bubbled up. Leon was breathing down your neck. He was caging you in and mumbling corrections and tips into your ear.

Those things were usually very welcome, but right now, they were driving you up the wall.

The gunshot was too loud, the recoil made the marrow in your bones shake, and all of his touches were only cutting more at the thin string of your sanity.

Your bullets kept missing, whizzing past the wooden decals as they mockingly stared you in the face.

The frustration was unbearable as you gritted your teeth. You aimed at their faces very clearly.

How come you still hadn't hit a single shot?

Leon sighed, tugging at your arms to bring them in a better position.

A position that didn't help at all.

"No- not like that. I already told you, you need to-"

"No, stop!" You snapped, flinging the gun out of your hands and shoving him off of you.

"I can't- I don't want to do this. Any of this!" You said loudly, your arms moving as you spoke while Leon only stared at you in mild shock.

"It's okay, everyone misses, you'll get it eventually. You just need to try again." He tried to encourage you with a lopsided smile but it only fueled the raging fire.

"I don't want to try again! It's not happening, okay?! This isn't my job, I wasn't trained for this- you were! The only thing I was supposed to do was make sure Ashley, and you, were okay on the flight back home. And now, I'm stuck in a literal nightmare where even the fucking dogs want to eat me and I can't catch a break!" You yelled, tears welling in your eyes as all of your emotions spilled out of you.

"Not to mention that I already feel useless as it is, and you feel the need to drill me like-like I'm some stupid soldier, telling me all the things I'm doing wrong as if I don't know them myself!" You heaved, angrily wiping at the tears that managed to fall from your lashline.

Leon watched with a frown as everything unraveled and you fell apart at the seams.

"I... I hate this. I don't want to keep running and fighting only to keep falling on my ass. I wasn't made for this! If it wasn't for you, I would've given up already and I'd be dead." You spit the words his way and he couldn't tell if it was an accusation or not.

"I'm tired and hungry and disgusting and scared and.... I just want to go home." You didn't stop the sob that ripped from your chest as it all came down, the horrors of the last few days fresh in your mind.

You hated the dirt and blood that was caked under your fingernails. You hated how you reeked of sweat and guts. You hated how your throat felt dry and your stomach twisted in hunger.

And right now, you hated him, too. You hated how resilient he was, how he managed to pull through even when there was no easy way out.

Perhaps it was jealousy that you couldn't be like that. The thought only made you cry harder because it wasn't true. You didn't hate Leon, not at all.

You loved him. You loved him so much that it hurt sometimes, but the world was a cruel place that somehow managed to pit you against him.

Leon looked helpless and stunned as you wailed, screaming your throat sore. These days would change your life forever, and only for the worst.

He could feel an uncomfortable pull in his chest, and he swallowed thickly, his head hanging low.

With each heart-shattering cry, you could feel the exhaustion take over as all your strength you had left was drained.

Leon felt ashamed, in a sense, that he hadn't taken care of you better.

You were right.

You were never supposed to be here, to see and live through any of this.

He had made the mistake of thinking your mind was like his, that you were like him.

But you weren't, and that's why he loved you.

You were the moon in his pitch-black night, giving him your sacred light to guide him to safety.

You were the sun that filled his days with joy, making the flowers bloom as your warmth tickled his skin.

You were the stars that would keep him company on a lonely evening, sparkling with love as he wondered what fascinating tales could be behind them.

You were his everything, and he had failed you.

Without a word, he pulled you into his arms, delicately cupping the back of your head as he held you against his chest.

All you could do was weep into his shirt, trusting him to catch you if your knees were to give out.

"I'm sorry." He mumbled into the crown of your head, following it with a soft kiss.

His lips moved to your forehead, gently holding your face. Your sobs had quieted down to sniffles, gasps for air and soft cries as he wiped the tears from your cheeks and the snot from your nose.

Your arms were tightly wound around his middle.

"I'm sorry for not protecting you better. I'm sorry for thinking you were like me. Ashley might be important to the government, but you're important to me. And I will make sure we get home. I promise you I'll keep you safe." He spoke softly, gently stroking his thumb over your cheekbone.

You sniffled at his heartfelt words and and rested your forehead against his sternum.

"Thank you. Thank you for being you. Even if you're reckless and care way too much about others and it makes me want to lovingly kick your ass." You giggled wetly, followed by yet another sniffle as you wiped at your nose.

Leon huffed laugh, a soft smile gracing his lips.

"Thank you for allowing me to be the way I am." He responded gently, wrapping you up in his arms once again as he rested his chin on the top of your head.

You sunk into his embrace, a soft sigh slipping past your lips.

"I love you." You mumbled into his chest.

"I love you more."

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

Your face dropped when Saddler twisted and contorted, limbs breaking while new, insectoid ones sprouted from odd parts of his body.

You watched in horror as he turned into a grotesque mutation of legs and eyes. You thought it was over. A foolish thing to think on your part. You should've expected this. After Méndez, and Ramón. Bile rose in your throat at the sight.

No matter how horrifying this was, his salvation didn't help him in the looks department.

You watched, heart pounding, as Leon threw himself into the thick of it, literally.

You stood back at a distance, doing your best to help him out with your mediocre shots. You managed to hit what you assumed was his knee now sporting a sickly looking eye.

His leg buckled and a scream ripped from his chest.

The fear that rushed through you when Saddler, or what was left of him, stared right at you with his disgusting eye was something you never wished to feel again.

The look was bone-chilling, your breath catching in your throat as you came face to face with the abyss that was the black pupil of his eyeball. Suddenly, you snapped back with a gasp, and your instincts kicked in.

You ran like you've never run before, your boots a heavy sound against the metal grate beneath your feet while your muscles burned.

From the corner of your vision, you could spot Leon with a determined scowl on his face while he continued to fill Saddler with mag after mag, hoping the lead would seep deep into his bones. Your lungs hurt as you sprinted away from Saddler.

You gulped heaves of air, hoping to get more oxygen to your muscles. Your one mistake, however, was slightly turning your head to look how far he was behind you.

He was hot on your tail, moving in an uncanny manner.

Like a broken toy, the mechanism jumbled.

One of his insectoid limbs hurled your way, your eyes widened, and in the split of a second, you threw yourself to a lower platform to evade his attempt on your life.

The air was knocked from you and pain shot up your nerves as you harshly hit the metal. You groaned and rolled onto your back, holding your side that would surely bloom in shades of blue and purple come morning.

If the morning ever came.

Leon's head snapped towards the noise and a bellowing call of your name made you turn to look at him. As best as you could, anyway.

He fed Saddler a few more bullets until he was stunned, collapsed in on himself while he spat illegible curses Leon's way, before running in your direction. You'd managed to get yourself to sit up but your gun was knocked out of your hand when you landed on the grate.

The ground shook beneath you as Leon jumped to your level, the steel bending under his weight.

He was beside you in an instant, pulling you up with a steady hand on your back.

"Are you okay?" He heaved, a worried crease between his brows.

Breathing hurt, you'd surely cracked a rib or two if they weren't broken.

"Y-Yeah, I'm good..." You forced out with a very unconvincing smile.

He gave you a sharp nod.

"Stay behind me-"

"WATCH OUT!" You yelled, watching in horror as Saddler came at the both of you with one of his pointy legs.

It was headed right for Leon, a fatal blow if you didn't act now. With only one thing on your mind, you smashed into him, pushing him out of the way as he fell with a grunt, the cling of metal echoing through the heavy air.

You had no time to get away yourself, so you were the victim of Saddler's attack as the spiny point of his limb pierced your abdomen.

It was a hot and agonizing pain as you sacked to your knees with a blood curdling scream. A raw and desperate scream erupted from Leon's chest as he watched the horror unfold in front of him.

His worst nightmare was now realer than it ever was in any of his dreams.

Everything became blurry as you desperately tried to stop your blood from spilling out of you. The crimson liquid spilled between your fingers.

You could barely make out Leon's silhouette as he heaved himself off the ground to reach you, only to be flung across the platforms by Saddler until he hit one of the metal railings with an unsettling noise.

It was like your head was wrapped in cotton, all sounds muffled as you tried to keep your eyes open.

Your breathing became shallow, and your fingertips felt cold as they slowly numbed. You could make out Saddler's taunting remarks and a kneeling Leon that had a rage in his eyes like you've never seen it before.

Your consciousness was slipping away from you, a hand still firmly pressed to the wound on your stomach even as your remaining strength was fading away.

You blinked away salty tears from your burning vision, touching your wet cheek only to leave behind a red stain.

"Leon.." You breathed out before your eyes rolled into the back of your head, and your arms fell slack to your side.

Leon's eyes burned with tears as he watched your form go limp, a sharp tug in his chest. With a newfound determination, he picked himself up, tightly gripping Saddler's staff before driving it into his large eye with a chilling scream, watching as all the grotesque lies spilled from him.

"So much for your salvation." He spat bitterly, burying one of his throwing knives right in the middle of Saddler's forehead for good measure.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

The next thing you knew you were envolped by a comforting warmth, strong arms holding you like so many times before, muffled promised whispered into your ear, the delicate stroke of a calloused thumb on your cheek and chapped lips pressed tenderly to your temple.

Your vision was dark still, only a faint string of consciousness making you aware enough to pick up on the familiar sound of helicopter blades.

Relief settled in your bones.

You'd done it. Well, Leon had, really.

Ashley was safe, Leon was safe, Saddler was gone. That was all that mattered. Your part was done.

You'd leave it to the Moirai whether to cut your string or to deem you worthy enough so Clotho would keep spinning it.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

Leon was a mess.

Red, bloodshot eyes with dark circles beneath them as he sat by your side tightly grasping your hand in his.

He hadn't slept in days, keeping himself awake with unhealthy amounts of shitty hospital coffee.

The only time he'd gone home- your shared home- was to shower and get a few things for you. And that only happened because Hunnigan was stubborn and persistent.

You looked so peaceful, a soft expression on your face as you took shallow breaths. You had all kinds of wires and tubes connecting you to various machines, but at least you could breathe on your own.

You were lucky, really, the surgeons had said the blow narrowly missed your spine. You were alive. You were stable, and the doctors were positive you'd make a full recovery.

But he couldn't shake the feeling that this had happened on his watch. He had promised to keep you safe, to protect you, and he'd failed once again.

The moment he saw you laying there limp, blood gushing from your abdomen, it felt like his heart was ripped out of his chest. That image would play in his mind over and over again until he died.

Leon sniffled and wiped a stray tear from his lashline, his thumb caressing your knuckles.

He didn't want to think of that horrible moment, but it was like that was all he could see when he looked at you. Your beautiful and angelic face now tainted with a horrific memory.

His hand found your cheek, cupping it gently.

"You're so stupid. So, so stupid. But if you wouldn't have been, I guess that would be me right now." He chuckled sadly, wiping at his nose.

"I wish it was." He mumbled, a heavy sigh following.

"Come back to me.." he whispered, his voice giving out as he brushed a stray strand of hair out of your face.

Leon pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead before he left with a heavy heart, promising he'd be back tomorrow.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

He grew accustomed to the harsh white lights and the sterile smell of the hospital.

He looked terrible.

Sleep hadn't come easy to him, especially not on the ratty couch in your apartment that you'd wanted to replace for ages now.

Leon refused to sleep in your bed without you- not when you were in that horrible hospital fighting for your life.

He resorted to wrapping one of your shirts around his pillow, hoping it would give him the bit of comfort he so desperately craved, only to stain it with his tears.

The halls seemed to glum around him as he made his way to your room, rounding the corners with a familiar ease.

He took a deep breath as he stood in front of the door, collecting himself.

Leon was falling apart every time he left the hospital. Sobbing and crying in the shower, praying to whoever was up there to not take you from him, too.

He grasped the door handle and stepped inside, only for his world to stop for a second when he gazed upon you, awake, sitting up in the bed, laughing with a nurse.

The color had returned to your face, your eyes had that sparkle back that he loved so much, and your smile was enough to mend the tears in his heart.

He must've made a startled noise, his eyes wide and lips parted when the nurse turned to look at him with a soft expression.

You followed her gaze only to have tears welling in your eyes at the state of Leon.

"Leon." You choked out, shuffling to sit at the edge of the bed, dressed in one of his comfortable sweaters.

Any of the nurse's concerns fell on deaf ears as you opened your arms for him with a pleading look and glistening eyes.

His startled expression fell, replaced by a feeling of relief washing over him as a sob escaped his chest and he rushed over to you, falling to his knees and wrapping you up in his arms as carefully as he could.

Leon rested his head against your sternum, listening to the steady beat of your heart as he cried in your embrace.

You joined him, weeping as you gently stroked his sandy locks, your cheek pressed to the top of his head.

The nurse slipped out of the room promptly and quietly, leaving the two of you to let out all the overwhelming feelings that sat inside your chest.

"I thought I'd lost you..." he cried, slightly tightening his grip.

"I'd never leave you." You hiccuped, gently pulling his face from your chest, a wet patch on the fabric.

The pain and fear in his baby blues was enough to break your heart.

"No more crying, this is supposed to be a happy moment." You chuckled wetly, wiping his cheeks with the sleeves of your sweater.

"Sorry, I just-.. you're okay." He smiled sadly, cupping your cheeks.

"I'm okay." You nodded with a small smile.

He sighed heavily, resting his forehead against yours.

"I was so scared, I-"

"Shhh, it's alright. I'm okay, you're okay. A little roughed up, but nothing we can't handle." You spoke gently, nuzzling your nose with his.

Leon nodded and swallowed. He let out a shaky breath.

"You're right. I'm just glad you're alive." You smiled softly.

"So am I." You breathed out contently, letting your eyes fall shut in comfort.

"I love you." Leon whispered, his arms loosely wrapped around your middle, minding your bandaged stomach.

"I love you more." You replied with a soft giggle, pressing your lips to his in a gentle kiss. He sighed against your lips, one of his hands moving to cup your face. You pulled away with a soft smile.

"And another thing." You said quietly, making a puzzled expression take over his face.

"I quit." You said with a chuckle, pulling a laugh from him.

To see his face light up like that and to witness the dullness in his eyes vanish made your heart swell.

"I'll put in your notice with Hunnigan." He smiled, sniffling as he stroked your cheek.

You nodded with a giggle.

You let him climb into bed with you, snuggling into his chest so he could catch up on all the sleep he's lost.

You couldn't help but smile when you heard him snore softly, his breathing steady. You let yourself slip into sleep as well, giving your body the rest it needed to heal all while you were safely in his arms.

Perhaps the Sisters had deemed you worthy enough; Clotho was still working her spindel with skilled hands, Lachesis was carefully and delicately measuring your string and Atropos was taking her time polishing her scissors to a sparkling shine, so the blades would be sharp to cut your golden thread when the times was right.

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

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

Lmk if you want to be added! Make sure I can tag you! 🩷🐝

#bumblebeesfromvenus #I mayhaps geeked out a little too hard on the Moirai #my bad fam #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy comfort #leon kennedy angst #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy fluff #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x fem!reader #leon s kennedy #resident evil 4 #resident evil #re x reader #resident evil x reader

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bl0odyh3art · 2 days

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finally writing something >~<

this is dead dove/dark content. if are uncomfortable with this kind of content or don't like it, then do not interact

warnings: Leon being perverted, Leon having thoughts of drugging his sister, ermmmmm incest of Leon....re2r Leon to be exact.....MWAHAHAHAH

Leon, Leon, Leon....what a pathetic little brother he was.

he couldn't bare the thought of his sweet older sister who basically cared and raised him leaving.

Finally moving out to college all which juggling 2 jobs on that, poor leon. he's missed her so much...a bit too much. he wants something to remember her by.

maybe a little trinket or a picture of her. maybe a pair of her panties that he could touch himself with later.

it's not his fault that your so fucking pretty. he wants you and needs you. he can't even control himself at this point. maybe sneak something into her drink...come on, Leon....

he takes a pair or two of ur panties 'she wouldn't notice...right?'

well for all he cares he came into your room and kissed you, maybe even touched up your tits some and dragged his finger through your pussy, you wouldn't know because you were sleeping.

Well, sadly you woke up to your brother all whiny in your neck, breathing so very heavily, grabbing at your tits while thrusted so far deep into you. all you could do was take it.

I DON'T KNOW HOW TO FEEL ABOUT THIS 😓 AND IGNORE ANY GRAMMAR MISTAKES IDC ABOUT IT 😭

#leon s kennedy #leon kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil smut #resident evil x reader #i'm dead

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mandalhoerian · 2 days

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sacrosanct | leon kennedy x reader | 3

< PREVIOUS | NEXT >

pairing: leon kennedy x f!reader

summary: Leon, a paladin of the temple who became a disillusioned oathbreaker, returns from years of war with a noble title and shattered faith. Once devoted to the Saintess who healed him, Leon's admiration has twisted into repressed desire—feelings he could never express, tainted by guilt and shame. Now a celebrated hero, he’s drawn back not to the kingdom’s praises, but just for a glimpse of you to move on with his life.

The god he abandoned has other plans for him.

word count: 14K

warnings: period-typical conservative values... bechdel test failure 💔

author's note: i am a liar. this isn't the end. the finale will be the next one... im sorry 😭

🌀 READ ON AO3 !

The small candle flickers in the corner of the room, casting faint, dancing shadows across the stone walls. The soft snores of the other maids fill the space around you, their breathing steady, their bodies resting in untroubled sleep. But you are awake. Kneeling at the edge of your thin, rough bed, the worn fabric of your nightdress brushing against your knees, you clasp your hands tightly together in silent prayer.

The small idol of Ethelion rests before you—a crude wooden carving of your making, stained with the blood you shed clumsily cutting into your flesh over and over in the process, no taller than your hand. It’s a far cry from the towering statues of Him that once surrounded you, carved from marble and adorned in gold. Those statues commanded awe, reverence. This one, however, looks small and sad, like the devotion of the people who crafted it was just enough to create something that could barely hold the likeness of a god.

Your hands are trembling, the beads of your prayer bracelet rattling softly with the movement. You take a shaky breath, glancing around the room as if to make sure no one has stirred. The air is stifling, the thick warmth of the shared space pressing down on you like a weight. The scent of sweat and old straw clings to the air, mixed with the faint sweetness of the single candle burning beside you.

How different this is from the temples you once knelt in. The hallowed halls of Ethelion, with their lofty ceilings and polished floors, where incense filled the air and your prayers echoed off the sacred stones. There, the light streamed through stained glass in brilliant colors, casting a holy glow over everything it touched. Here, the room is dim, cramped, and suffocating. The candle’s flicker feels more like a reminder of how small the world has become around you.

You bow your head, trying to steady your breath, the whisper of your prayer barely audible over the steady rise and fall of the other girls' breathing. “Ethelion, guide me,” you murmur, though the words feel strained, thin. “Forgive my wandering heart.”

The idol doesn’t respond, of course. It’s nothing more than carved wood, far removed from the grand images of your god that once surrounded you. Still, you pray. It’s all you know. All you should do. Must do.

The sound of a creaking bedframe startles you, and your heart lurches. You glance over your shoulder to see one of the maids, Sarah, shifting in her sleep. Her face is calm, untroubled by the worries that gnaw at your mind. You envy her.

Biting your lip, you turn back to the idol, lowering your head once more. But the words are harder to find now. Your thoughts are too loud, too tangled, too restless.

How long has it been since you truly felt His presence? Pouring into your veins like sunlight every single time you reached out to Him?

You were supposed to be His chosen one. The vessel through which His light would shine. But that light has dimmed, and you don’t know if it’s because He has abandoned you, or if you have failed Him. Maybe it’s both. Maybe you were never worthy to begin with.

Your fingers curl around the prayer beads, the cool touch of them grounding you, but they feel foreign now. When you were the Saintess, they were a symbol of your connection to Ethelion, a reminder of your place in the world. Now, they’re just relics of a past life—one that feels more distant with each passing day.

“Why did you leave me?” The question slips out before you can stop it, a breathless whisper that hangs in the air, fragile and desperate.

You grit your teeth, trying to suppress the bitterness that rises in your chest. You’re not supposed to question Him. You’re supposed to trust, to believe without doubt, without hesitation. That was your purpose, the sole reason for your existence.

Your hands drop into your lap, the weight of your own thoughts too heavy to hold up anymore.

Is this what your life has become? Praying to a god who's turned away from you, living in the shadows of who you once were? You glance at the idol again, the dim candlelight making it seem even more pathetic, more distant.

There’s no divine presence here. Just you, alone, in the dark.

The flicker of the candle casts long shadows across the small room, its light barely reaching the corners. You can hear the rustle of straw from the other beds as the girls shift in their sleep, unaware of your turmoil. This space is so different from the serene, almost divine solitude of the temple. Here, you’re surrounded by people—by warmth, by the soft murmur of life. But you’ve never felt more isolated.

Being the Saintess had its burdens, but at least you knew where you belonged. You knew your purpose. Now, you’re adrift, clinging to a god who might not even remember you. Who might have never cared to begin with.

But oh, how you love Him. How you ache for Him. Even in this moment, when grief threatens to choke you, the longing in your heart burns brighter. It stings your eyes, your throat. How desperately you want to belong again, to feel His light filling you.

It's you. You're the problem. Not Him.

You close your eyes, pressing your palms together so tightly they ache. If you just pray hard enough—if you just focus—you’ll feel Him again. You’ll find that connection, that sense of peace that once filled your every breath.

Leon's wrong.

You've grown accustomed to hard work, to physical exertion. It's far better than the hollow nothingness that's left in the aftermath of losing the divinity you'd been given. Yes, the job is strenuous. Exhausting. But it keeps you from falling back into the endless spiral of self-doubt. You're not miserable here. You're... content. As content as a person in your situation can be. And that's not nothing.

Besides, it's the best thing that could have happened to you. Compared to the streets, compared to the empty abbey in which you dwelled alone, this is a blessing. You cannot deny that. To be able to bathe and dress and eat is such an immense gift. Ethelion hasn't left your side, not for one second.

...went back to what you know best once more. Serve. This time, under a different name. A Saintess. A servant. It's not all that different, you know.

You press your forehead to the cool stone wall beside your bed, your breath coming in short, uneven gasps. You thought you could find solace in prayer, in the familiar rhythms of devotion. But no matter how many words you whisper, no matter how tightly you press your hands together, his words keep tearing at the fragile seams of your heart.

The memories rise unbidden. Days spent fasting until your vision blurred, your body trembling under the weight of divine obligation. Nights spent kneeling on cold marble floors, your prayers stretching into the early hours, the ache in your legs a reminder that your suffering was part of the duty. Every blessing you gave, every drop of blood shed from the blade into the mouths of those in need, every prayer you offered, was a part of the divine plan. You had accepted it. You had embraced it. You believed in it.

Leon's whisper sneaks up into your mind, like a snake coiling around your thoughts, And it still wasn't enough.

You shake your head, willing the thoughts away, but they cling to you like thorns. There had been a time when you thought you were content, when you believed your life had purpose. Even after losing your title, even when you were stripped of the robes, the veil, and everything that once defined you, you told yourself you were free.

I can still be of use, you had thought. I can find a way to live the way I used to. Perhaps Ethelion had granted you mercy. Gifted you with a path to follow that didn't lead to complete disgrace, to ruin.

Your eyes sting, but no tears come. You've cried too much already. Instead, you pull the thin blanket around your shoulders, huddling closer to the wall and shutting your eyes tight, clutching the idol tight. It's as close as you'll get to feeling the divine now, a piece of wood cut to look like your God, reduced to a mere object to be held.

You miss the simplicity of being used. The serenity. The fulfillment. You miss knowing that your suffering meant something, that your blood, your body, your soul, served a higher purpose, and that's all you had ever desired. And now, all that seems to be left of you is this empty husk, chasing fragments of memories like fireflies on an endless summer evening.

You glance at the other maids, their forms barely visible under their threadbare blankets, their breaths even and untroubled. They sleep so soundly, unaware of the turmoil that grips you.

You envy them. You envy the clarity of their lives, the ease with which they move through their days. For them, there is no loss of grand purpose, no heavy weight of fallen grace. They scrub floors, they mend clothes, they serve meals—and they rest. They don’t carry the burden of a god’s silence.

You thought you were free when you came here. You thought you had left the life you had in the temple behind. But Leon saw through you, saw the truth you didn’t want to admit to yourself. You haven’t left. Not truly. You’ve simply traded one form of servitude for another. For the sake of feeling whole again.

You wonder if he can see through you. If he can pick apart all the pieces you are trying to hold together. If he can see the cracks in the image you try so hard to project, the invisible scars that have been healed by Ethelion's hand ritual after ritual. But then, he doesn’t even know who you are, not really. Not like he thinks he does.

You don't know who you are, either. You've only been the Saintess, always guided by someone else, fulfilling duties for Ethelion. When the grace flowed through your veins, you were confident, firm. Calm. Resolute in the knowledge that you were the only one who could do what you did. Your mind clear as crystal. Then you lost everything. Or at least, everyone who recognized you. Your place in the world.

That's who Leon knows. He doesn't know anything of you, or the mortal who lived within you. No. He just sees you as the Saintess. Nothing more.

That's why marriage is the only way he can continue his duty as an Oathbreaker. He sees you as holy and elevated above others. And he needs to reconcile himself with what he thinks he failed to do, what he thinks he must fulfill for you, to atone for his sins. You understand. You were made to understand.

When you look at him, you can't help but see an echo of your former self, a kindred spirit bound by duty to your cause. He yearns to honor his promises, to fulfill his responsibilities, just as you once did.

Leon's a good man, with a noble heart. And his devotion is true. But it isn't because he loves you. It's because he pities you.

And you hate it. You hate it because you know you don't deserve this. This kindness. This sympathy. You're nothing but a shadow of what you used to be. A remnant of a time gone by. Your wings have been clipped. Your fate sealed. Yet here he stands, offering to take your broken, battered self in, to care for you, to cherish you, when that loyalty should belong to the new saintess. To the woman who will be able to keep his oaths intact and secure his salvation, who can guarantee his place in Ethelion's heaven.

His presence lingers like smoke from a burning log, impossible to dispel, choking the very breath from your lungs. You don't turn your head, but you know he's there, hovering at the door to the kitchen. A hush falls over the room as the servants freeze, caught between their tasks and this new development.

It isn't appropriate for a noble to be here, wandering the manor's halls uninvited, and yet... Leon seems unperturbed by the breach of social conduct, gazing about as though he were surveying his own grounds.

Finally, the silence is broken by a shuffle of footsteps, and the head maid comes forward, hands clasped together in respectful greeting. She keeps her eyes lowered, avoiding direct contact, but she inclines her head deferentially.

"Sir, how may we be of assistance?"

Leon glances over the room again, as though considering each of you in turn, and heaves a sigh. "I want to speak with her." He gestures toward you without looking at you specifically, focused on the head maid.

Your hands tighten around the cloth you're holding, wrinkling the fabric. He's talking about you, you know it. But your mind still drifts back to the previous night, to the tender expression in his eyes as he offered you everything on a platter, a feast spread out before a starving beggar. Your chest constricts painfully, and you suck in a deep breath, doing your best to calm your racing thoughts.

"Ah..." The head maid hesitates, clearly caught off-guard. "Of course, sir. If I may inquire about the reason?"

"Please don't concern yourself with it."

"Surely there must be some misunderstanding here?" The head maid counters gently, frowning slightly. "If she has done something wrong..."

"...no, that is not the case." Leon interrupts before she finishes speaking, his tone clipped.

He stares directly at you now, a piercing gaze that makes you feel like you're a mouse beneath the paw of a cat, unable to break free. The entire kitchen seems to tense, everyone aware of how out of place and inappropriate this encounter is, waiting for your response.

A shudder runs down your spine, and you fight to suppress the impulse to curl in on yourself protectively, to make yourself as small and invisible as possible. Heat floods into your face, creeping up along the line of your neck to settle under the collar of your simple cotton dress. The fabric feels too tight, too restrictive, pinching your skin uncomfortably, making sweat prickle along your hairline. Your palms are damp, but you don't dare wipe them on your skirt. It's improper to fidget. To let weakness show.

To be seen.

"I apologize," Leon continues after a moment's pause, seeming to recover his composure somewhat, "but there's something private that I'd like to discuss with her. And, uh...alone, please."

Another shiver wracks your frame. Goosebumps erupt over the back of your exposed arms, trailing up the length of your bare forearms. Your stomach roils nervously as all eyes swivel toward you, boring into the back of your skull, drilling holes straight through you. The room feels stifling. Overly hot and overwhelming, as though you're drowning in the heavy air. The taste of ash coats your tongue, and you struggle to swallow around the lump lodged in your throat. You wish you could disappear right now. Melting away and leaving nothing but a faint outline of yourself would be better than enduring the scrutiny of this moment.

The head maid takes a step back, and then another, backing up until she's standing near her colleagues, all of whom stare expectantly at you, waiting, and you can't jog quickly enough towards the door to escape the sudden oppressive atmosphere.

You hear him, quick steps matching yours as you push forward, and he places himself next to you, keeping the pace with effortless strides. The contrast between your hurried walk and his composed saunter is striking; the way his height and his strength tower over your frame, swallowing you whole with an instinctive reflex. But, unlike most men, he doesn't impose it upon you—at least, not intentionally.

"Saintess—"

The old name snaps you out of your momentary daze, and you halt in your steps, stopping to glare at him. "It's Saintess no longer."

For once, he falters, blinking. You imagine he wasn't expecting you to cut him off with such brusqueness, but hearing it used gives you an unpleasant jolt. You'd been called the same title for so long that your name was nothing more than a memory, a fading dream of what you once were. It's difficult to think of yourself as anything other than Saintess—it's hard to believe in what else you could have been in that past, without being granted such sacred gifts.

But now? Now it's something tainted with bitterness. Of what could have been, if your gifts hadn't faded like the last golden rays of sun melting into the ocean.

"Sorry. Forgive me," he murmurs quietly, looking oddly apologetic. And perhaps it's this display of genuine contrition that softens your resolve.

"Why did you seek me? Is this about what happened yesterday?"

It's subtle, but you catch a glimpse of shock in his eyes, the hint of widening in them. He clears his throat and says, "Yes. About that. I had some things I needed to clarify. Some questions."

There's a pause, a beat of silence that drags on, until it's filled with a sort of anticipation, a curious hope. You know the kind—the one that builds up within, swelling, threatening to burst out of confines. You know it well, because that feeling used to drive your prayers, your words murmured in fervent whispers, rising to a crescendo before crashing down, like a wave cresting into foamy seafoam before its ebb. But this is different. What compels him is entirely different.

"Questions? Such as?" You tilt your head curiously, trying to mask the wavering nerves. You're not used to having conversations like this, and even though his company should bring a sense of peace, it only makes your pulse flutter in nervous agitation. It's so strange to be the sole focus of someone else, and while the attention would have been coveted by your old self, now it feels uncomfortable, itchy, like something is crawling over your skin.

He glances around. The hallways are empty and quiet, but you're both alone in public, and he won't voice his thoughts unless you prompt him to. Your mind wanders to how easily he slipped into the background of the manor, hidden among the rows of people going about their day, so natural in the way he navigated the spaces around you.

So unlike how he acts around you.

Then, as if picking up on your mental whirling, he asks, "Are you happy here? Are you comfortable? I don't mean to pry, I'm just concerned that I..." He seems to fumble for words, like a child who lost his footing, then recovers, adding with haste, "I’m sorry my offer made you feel like I was degrading your position. That wasn’t the case at all."

A sigh escapes your lips. The apology brings no sense of relief or ease to your tension-ladened shoulders; rather, it leaves you feeling guilty. The shame of burdening him eats away at your gut, gnawing like a parasite growing into something vile inside you. His words from the day before replay in your ears—of the indignance at the thought of you serving, of you working as a servant.

Is this what this is? Him pitying your plight? Feeling as though it is his responsibility to 'right' your situation? It's a noble notion, but it isn't his to handle.

"You didn't offend me," you admit slowly. A part of you is afraid to meet his gaze, scared to see the pity in it. You have no doubt he means well—you could almost feel the sincerity emanating from his body, the kind that radiates from people who sincerely want the best for others, not out of an ulterior motive. You had encountered this type often, though it was in a more ceremonious setting. "Your intentions were noble."

"I'm glad." He offers a smile. A genuine, relieved one. Something blooms within you at the sight of it.

"...how is it that you’re permitted to stroll the halls as you wish?" You ask, raising your brows. It doesn't pass your notice, the way people would jump to action as soon as Leon walked in.

"Well, the Redfields are all familiar with me. I'm a guest. And not a particularly troublesome one."

"Indeed."

"So..."

His voice trails off, leaving the end of that statement hanging there, unsaid but nonetheless understood. A silence falls between you again. You can't say much about the other occupants, but even you are uneasy around Leon when he has that serious, unreadable expression.

And that's how he usually looks. With a little sadness, a touch of longing in his gaze. Maybe regret. But mostly, he wears this pensive look, as if he's lost in thought, deep in concentration, mulling over the words in his head.

Right now, his face is blank. Completely void of emotion. Just that somber stare, contemplating the situation in front of him. His expression would be unassuming and neutral if not for those troubled eyes, constantly flickering back and forth. It's frustratingly annoying, like he's weighing the options and can't decide which side he wants to go with.

Yet, you're fascinated at the same time. How his lashes flutter delicately, the creases forming between his brows as he ponders. All these little details, all of these signs, he is putting on display. Intentionally or otherwise. He used to be an open book, now it is closed, guarded and locked with no keys. You crave to peer at whatever lies within, but you've already seen glimpses. Fragments, snippets. Moments. Enough to stir your interest, though.

So when you hear him clear his throat, you find yourself glancing back up. Caught staring.

"If I may be so bold..." he begins, his tone betraying nothing. "Why stay here?"

You're taken aback by his frank question. So much for subtly.

"I don't understand..."

"I've learned that retired saintesses choose to become nuns at convents and dedicate their lives to prayer and acts of charity. Which is what I assumed you would have chosen." He crosses his arms, and you note that he has a very strong, muscled physique when the movement makes his arm and chest pop. It's distracting through his clothes, and it's making you very conscious of yourself and the differences between you both, even physically. "But here you are, doing labor that is deemed... less desirable. And I'm confused. Why is that?"

You shrug, averting your gaze. It's a difficult answer to provide, especially when you haven't given yourself the chance to contemplate it yet. But... maybe it's because he asked. It doesn't seem fair to brush him off, not when he's opened himself up so genuinely to you.

"Perhaps I am tired of prayers." That seems to startle Leon, so you continue with renewed bravery. "Is it that bad to want to experience the world, to understand humanity, instead of seclude myself away from it? And I can only do that by walking in their shoes."

The silence stretches out again, but the atmosphere doesn't feel stifling anymore. Instead, you find yourself breathing easier, leaning into the softness of it.

"Come," Leon says suddenly. He holds out his arm and gestures toward the end of the hallway. "Let me walk you to a place better suited for this conversation."

The thought of taking him up on it—of stepping away with him—doesn't horrify you like it would have yesterday. He's somehow more open now, his defenses slightly lower, his words more fluid, more casual. Relaxed. Like you're two old friends meeting for a pleasant stroll, reminiscing on times past. Or maybe just acquaintances getting to know each other better. Either way, it feels nice, and the thought warms your heart.

Something about this feels right. Natural. Almost as though it was meant to be.

And so, you loop your hand into the crook of his elbow and let him guide you out of the narrow passageway and out into the sunshine. The bright morning light blinds you briefly, and you blink rapidly, trying to adjust to the harsh contrast between indoors and outdoors.

Leon guides you towards a row of large stone benches facing the pond at the center of the garden, shielded from view of anyone walking nearby, providing the illusion of privacy. He motions for you to take a seat, and you do, scooting closer towards him as he settles beside you.

There is an indescribable tranquility about the scene before you: the sun shining down on the glistening water, the breeze rustling the leaves of the surrounding trees, the chirping of birds echoing around you. The warmth seeping through the fabric of your clothing envelops you, and you breathe deeply, relishing the fresh air. You've always been captivated by nature; there's an undeniable beauty in simplicity, in things unhindered by manmade restrictions. There's purity and innocence in it too, and you bask in the peacefulness of it all.

And with Leon beside you now, it... almost feels right. As though everything has clicked into place. As though it's meant to be like this. A shared moment. Between equals. Between people who matter to each other. You savor the feeling of normalcy in your veins, warming your cheeks, your stomach fluttering with nerves but also comfort.

This moment—this fleeting moment in time—is perfect.

There is nothing more beautiful than freedom. That much is certain.

"How are you finding life outside of the temple?" The question breaks through your haze of contentment, causing you to jerk up and turn your head in surprise.

Leon sits perfectly still beside you, watching you intently, and that pocket of small silence is striking enough for you to be confronted with how a splash of dark ink he is in the midst of the popping colors of the garden.

A long, midnight-black coat sweeps past his knees in a fluid motion, its tailored cut accentuating the figure with sharp, clean lines, the surface gleaming faintly in the light, as if woven with threads of shadow, and its cuffs and lapels are embroidered with fine golden patterns. Beneath the coat, a double-breasted vest, also black but subtly different in texture, wraps snugly around his strong torso. The vest is fastened with polished brass buttons that gleam with a soft, antique sheen, each button precisely aligned. A chain, slender and golden, drapes elegantly from the vest’s pocket, suggesting the presence of a pocket watch. At his throat, an indigo cravat is tied with meticulous care, its silky fabric mirroring the coat’s inner lining, and at its center is a dark jewel gleaming with understated brilliance. The trousers, pressed to perfection, follow the form of his legs with a tailored precision, and gloved hands, encased in supple black leather, complete the ensemble. The suit fits perfectly, and it looks impressive enough for your first guess to be that it is tailor-made. The overall effect is that of a man who commands power, presence, and authority, and the sharpness of his gaze emphasizes this impression even further.

A man dressed to impress, no doubt. For what occasion, you dare not ask. A court function, perhaps? You cannot help but wonder just how many layers there are in the clothing he wears beneath that coat—and how many hands were required to help him into such an elaborate outfit.

It's such a far cry from the white robes he wore as a paladin, with their simpler forms and design, yet it's equally elegant, in its own way.

"...is there something wrong?" Leon asks, catching you staring. He tilts his head to the side, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks. "Was that the wrong question—"

"No. It's—fine. There's nothing wrong," you interject hastily, averting your eyes from his intense stare. Ogling him like that, out in the open, what is wrong with you! It's so unbecoming, so improper! "Life's... Life has been different. An adjustment, to say the least. I didn't know how to put it for a moment there, but... yes. It's been rather, uh..."

You trail off, your mind drawing a blank, unsure what word you're searching for. The sensation is awkward and unfamiliar, and you worry he might think poorly of your lack of eloquence, but he waits patiently, letting you stumble through it on your own.

Finally, you find your voice again, saying, "I enjoy it. Here, I mean. I came here hoping to gain some experience, learn the ways of humility. It's satisfying to be useful."

His expression grows contemplative, his eyes dark and unfathomable, but he doesn't speak. This close, you can smell the faint scent of perfume on his collar, the sweet aroma mingling with the crisp freshness of soap and dewy linen, mixed with something that's distinctly him, something you can't quite identify but makes your insides twist all the same.

"And before you say anything," you add, feeling a sudden rush of courage, "I know now, yes. That it's just a different path of servitude. But the difference is that I chose this. I could have become a nun as you said. I don't know, I... I guess I just needed some semblance of control. In the absence of Him, I could choose for myself for once."

"I suppose I can understand the feeling." He nods thoughtfully. His voice is gentle, understanding. And you find yourself wishing that he wouldn't act like this towards you—a woman who's just a mere maid. A nobody. "I've had to make that choice in His absence as well. Not exactly similar circumstances, but there are parallels to be drawn."

The admission stuns you momentarily, your lips parting in surprise, but your shock soon morphs into curiosity, and you lean closer, eager to hear more of him. "You're faring way better than me, I'd say, Sir Leon."

He laughs. It's low, rich, and smooth, like silk against your skin, and you nearly shiver. "You don't need to address me like that. Just 'Leon' is fine. My... former role isn't relevant to where I am now."

There's a touch of self-conscious humor to that remark. You've never heard him sound so playful, almost cocky—and certainly not with you—but it's refreshing. Almost comforting. "Of course." You shift in your seat, turning toward him so that your knee brushes against his. It's a small gesture, but it makes his whole leg jerk for some reason. "...may I ask, how are you adjusting?"

"Better, lately." A wistful smile plays about his lips, as if he's reflecting on fond memories. "The years haven't been easy... But they were necessary. They were worth it."

"To get where you are now?" you complete for him, your expression matching his, a mirror. "Why did you choose this new path, if I may inquire?"

For an instant, he freezes, seemingly caught off guard by the question, but he recovers quickly, his face remaining placid save for a brief flash of emotion that passes too quickly for you to decipher it. His gaze turns inward, focused on some point in space beyond you, and he lets out a breath. "That's a... heavy topic. One which I'm not sure we should discuss in public."

"Oh... My apologies," you blurt out, instantly regretting having been so direct. Of course it would be an inappropriate subject of conversation. What were you thinking? A former member of the Church blatantly questioning him about his oathbreaking, of all topics. You drop your gaze in shame. "I'm sorry, I overstepped. We can talk about something else if you wish. Something less personal. Anything. You can—if you want—ask me questions in return."

"Oh, no, please don't apologize," he interjects quickly, gently. His eyes meet yours once more, and although they're still guarded, there's also tenderness and reassurance behind them. "I don't mind sharing this story with you. There just needs to be another time and place for it. Is that alright?"

"...yes, yes, absolutely!" You nod vigorously, surprised at yourself for accepting his offer so eagerly, yet strangely excited about it nonetheless. You never would have expected a former paladin to invite you to talk to him, to spend time together... Though in truth, you hardly know anything about this man before you, other than his past deeds. The thought causes butterflies to flutter in your belly.

Leon chuckles softly at your reaction. "Wonderful."

Then his expression becomes serious again as he surveys your surroundings, pausing for several beats before speaking. When he does, his voice is calm, measured, and careful. "Back to you, then... You've mentioned you chose to do this of your own accord... Do you enjoy doing domestic tasks? Having your own space, your own things?"

"Most of those, I mean, uh... I don't have my own space, but I appreciate the accommodations here, so, yes." You give him a little smile. "Sharing a room doesn't allow for much ownership. About the work... I do enjoy it most days. Sometimes I grow tired but I keep at it. And the staff has taught me a lot, so I don't feel too clumsy. You should have seen me try my first laundry session—"

A cough cuts in, and you stiffen.

Turning around, you catch a group of maids hiding behind the hedge, peeking from their shelter with reddened faces. You wonder if they have been listening in on the two of you. Embarrassing. "...We should return to the main building. Before the gossips begin."

He hesitates briefly before nodding. You notice the tip of his ears redden before he pulls away, leaving your side colder than before, and offers you his arm once more. You loop your hand into the crook of his elbow and let him guide you back onto the cobbled path back towards the house.

His pace is leisurely as he leads you toward the manor proper, guiding you along with ease. Every so often, his gaze darts around, seemingly keeping an eye out for someone approaching. Perhaps he wishes to avoid being seen with you, you think wryly, trying to suppress the hurt that thought gives you. It's not his fault. You both must maintain a certain image. It's only natural for him to not want to be associated with the likes of a servant girl. Still, as you make your way through the hallways, you can't stop yourself from noticing the odd looks you garner from the servants who pass by the two of you, and you wonder why, as he's just escorting you.

You're quick to learn, however, that you were too caught up in the appropriateness of a paladin escorting the saintess that you forgot to consider how it would translate to a noble in a maid's company, no matter her status. It takes a pointedly raised eyebrow from a knight you recognize to bring you to your senses, to realize what might be running through the minds of the household members you walk by.

A noble does not take a maid by the elbow. That's apparently reserved for a lady. And even among that select circle of women, it's for a more private audience.

The gossip has already started, in earnest.

It's not Lord Chris that calls on you later that week after the gossip reaches an all time high, but Dame Jill and Lady Claire, sisters in all but blood.

When you answer their summons, they greet you warmly and immediately whisk you away, leading you through the twisting corridors of the castle until you arrive in the courtyard, where an elaborate picnic is spread out before you. It seems as though they had it all planned out: the plump cushions, the fancy drinks and dishes, the lavish decorations. You relax that this isn't about the etiquette fiasco with Leon for a second, and figure they'll ask you to serve them instead. That you can handle—just don't spill wine on their dresses, and be prepared to pour a refill as they ask.

However, they don't ask you to stand to the side, but join them instead, sitting atop the cushions like equals. It's strange at first, not knowing where to settle down, but after some adjusting and squirming, you find yourself settled comfortably within reach, nibbling on fruit from the extravagant buffet laid out before you while sipping cool chilled juice served in elegant crystal goblets.

It's surreal. Strange and unusual, but not in an uncomfortable way. And yet, you can't shake the feeling that this is some kind of trap, that they must want something from you. You know their intentions are genuine, but your expectations were always that of service. Obedience. Not in the favor of others.

Maybe they sense that, because the topic shifts suddenly and unexpectedly.

"We wanted to have a little girl talk with you," Lady Claire says, picking up a grape from her plate and popping it into her mouth with surprising finesse. She licks the excess juice from her fingertips, her green eyes fixed firmly upon you. "You know, harmless stuff. About the terrifying creature lurking in the horizon and getting closer every day, that you call the what am I doing with my life meltdown. It's a common occurrence around a certain age. I'm sure you're familiar with it."

Although it's phrased like a question, there's an unmistakable ring of amusement in her tone. Amusement at your expense, but it doesn't feel mocking or mean-spirited in nature, only teasing. You're relieved this isn't about Leon, but horrified all the same that all of your anxieties can be summed up with that one sentence.

"I... I've heard of it," you mumble sheepishly.

"Oh Claire," Dame Jill admonishes loudly, throwing a warning glance at her friend, which Lady Claire promptly ignores. "This isn't the time to be making light of it."

"Still, though. The poor girl clearly needs some perspective and advice." The auburn-haired lady shrugs and moves on, not missing a beat, completely nonchalant. "So. Someone from your past appears, and now you find yourself plagued with existential doubts and insecurities. I know this would happen eventually. That's why I told you to aim higher in life before you started out here, but you went and got stubborn anyway. And now look at you."

She smiles as she says this, reaching out to pat your shoulder reassuringly. There's no malice in her voice, not even a hint of mockery; she's genuinely concerned about your welfare and her tone reflects that.

But that doesn't prevent you from flinching away instinctively, cringing internally at the mention of your inflexibility, and at the reminder that you do need guidance in life, especially right now.

And even if they don't know all the details, the Redfield family members are excellent at reading you like a book—already, they've hit pretty much every point with pinpoint accuracy, cutting to the core of your problems with frightening precision, and leaving you feeling raw and exposed underneath their keen scrutiny. It's unnerving how easily these two women managed to discern so much information just by observing your behavior and gauging your reactions, and it leaves you feeling uncomfortably vulnerable.

Your eyes flick nervously towards Dame Jill. She hasn't spoken much throughout the entire exchange, simply watching you quietly with a thoughtful expression on her face, but she must notice your unease, because she speaks up at last, breaking her silence.

"You can relax. We're not here to pry into your affairs. And while you should listen to Claire's words—she does have her moments where she actually makes sense—"

"Why would you say it like that—"

"We can also offer you practical advice and assistance. The world can be tough. Especially if you're a woman."

The fact that there was such care despite your comparatively low social standing warms your heart. Like they're really relatives of yours who weren’t frequent donors to your temple and got special visits to you for blessing and healing purposes. If you hadn't gotten to know them better after becoming a maid, you could have mistaken them as real sisters.

The words themselves give you pause, though. You're grateful, yet puzzled too by this unexpected kindness from these two high-born ladies, so foreign to you.

"I do love the little life I've built for myself. Even if it's mundane." You reply slowly, unsure how else to express this unfamiliar emotion bubbling within you. "It may be menial work, but it gives purpose. A sense of accomplishment."

"And what about when you want something more for yourself?" Dame Jill presses, leaning in closer. Her gaze is piercing, almost accusatory, but her tone remains calm, steady, never wavering in its intensity. She wants answers—from you.

But you don't have any.

"I don't know what I want in the first place," you finally confess, turning to look out over the gardens, feeling overwhelmed and uncertain. "I'm just trying to survive in this world. Everything's new to me—having autonomy, being able to decide for myself... I never dared imagine much beyond fulfilling His will, or whatever duties were assigned to me as Saintess. All of this... Sometimes I find myself entertaining the possibilities of certain things now, things I didn't know I could until very recently. And I don't know if I should."

The out of guilt part, you leave out of it. That’s a box of worms you aren’t willing to dump on these poor women.

Lady Claire pipes up immediately, excitement written across her face: "Then go chase them! Go and enjoy life and love and all that fun stuff!"

A sudden wave of anxiety washes over you at the mention of 'love', and you can't help but feel mortified, suddenly realizing that what you meant probably sounded quite different from her interpretation of it.

Thankfully, the young noblewoman doesn't seem aware of your slip-up, continuing enthusiastically with a dreamy expression: "Trust me, you definitely want to start living for yourself before it becomes too late, otherwise you'll end up like some of the old prune lords you see around court."

You try to contain your laughter at the sight of such pure enthusiasm, but fail miserably, letting it burst out. They both join you shortly thereafter, filling the air with melodious peals of laughter as the sun shines brightly overhead. After all that time spent being trapped inside walls all your life, to laugh so freely feels like nothing short of heavenly bliss. And it feels good. Laughter—joyful, unrestrained laughter—is something that's far rarer these days than you would ever admit aloud.

"I wasn't going to talk about this just yet but..." Dame Jill clears her throat, regaining control of herself. She straightens her dress carefully before looking back up at you with a serious expression on her beautiful features. "Leon's offer could very well be the answer you're looking for."

"I..." you start defensively, but Dame Jill raises her hand and silences you before you can finish forming the rest of your protest.

"Hear me out. I'm going to lay it out for you from a strategic and realistic angle. The simple truth of the matter is that you have limited options, given your background and current position in society. You don't have access to power, resources, or wealth. This is the reason why former saintesses stay in the convent—it's safer and easier, compared to facing the real world head on with no experience."

It makes perfect logical sense. Dame Jill is laying out the facts plainly, and even though you may not fully understand all of the nuances involved with regards to the issue of marriage in noble society, you're smart enough to comprehend what she's telling you. Your heart leaps into your throat at the thought of marriage, of Leon... and then promptly drops into your stomach once more.

"In our world, it's unlikely anyone else will ever ask for your hand unless you actively seek a match for yourself, which is why people generally arrange marriages instead. It's a miserable affair for women, because they don't really have a say in who gets picked, or what kind of person that suitor ends up being. But you... I say you've been blessed. To have found someone willing and able to provide for you financially and personally—that's rare as hen's teeth among the nobility. Leon, for all intents and purposes, is a wealthy man, one that isn't difficult to get along with."

That's true, you acknowledge silently, recalling the countless stories you've heard about the brutality of many men, especially high-born ones. If the rumors are to be believed, some wives barely avoided being locked in their rooms by the husbands they never saw, as they were forced to do as told without complaint.

But so were you made to do the same as the Saintess, in a way. You shudder just thinking of it.

Dame Jill pauses for a moment to collect her thoughts before continuing, taking in you shrinking into yourself. "What I'm trying to say is... perhaps this could work? Leon's social standing is strong. He carries great weight within Ethelia due to his achievements and is en route to become one of the wealthiest in the kingdom with all the favors he has. And from the way he ignores us when he comes to our house as a guest to tail after you tells me he wouldn't take your independence away in marriage. You'll be able to do whatever you want—visit wherever you please, hire any staff you desire, live wherever you fancy, and be with whomsoever you like. As long as you remain discreet about certain affairs, of course."

The last subtle suggestion about taking a separate lover after marriage is received with a loud snort of displeasure from Lady Claire, but the comment has served to jar you back into awareness.

"Which is to say, you'd be happy with him. From my perspective, that's the best deal any woman can ask for. In fact, it's quite literally out of a fairy tale, to be honest. An agreeable man who cares and will give you whatever you wish for. Wealthy. Great status. Do you not want that?"

Of course you would want that! That much you cannot deny. A happy, comfortable life with stability and freedom is exactly what you dreamt of during your worst hours in the convent. And Leon would be a decent husband. Kind, dutiful... handsome, honorable... you know those aspects already.

"But... At least I have my own freedoms as a commoner who has a job, no matter how small. I'd feel too bad to be financially dependent on him..."

"I went through the exact same thing, so let me tell you," Dame Jill states in a firm voice, raising her chin proudly as she does so, "Even with a dowry, I still depended entirely on my husband's good graces at first. But I managed to gain privileges and my own investments through him, and paid him back with my own income later. The system isn't perfect but it works. You have the luxury of starting on a higher foot than I did, and will undoubtedly earn better terms in marriage because of it. You should take advantage of that. If you use your cards right, you'll become independent from Leon soon enough."

You can see that argument. And you trust Dame Jill knows what she's talking about—she and her betrothed have lived together happily, and she doesn't hold his title and still retains her own surname. That must have taken incredible maneuvering on her part to achieve. She's the living monument of her argument, evidence of it working out if a woman decides to pursue her interests under the rules set forth by noblemen by using those against them. And you suppose that if it worked for her, then perhaps...

And yet, you're still hesitant, unconvinced. "How would you suggest I do that?"

"You can become a patron for artisans and tradesmen, or fund shops with your inheritance." She shrugs lightly. "Invest in enterprises and industries related to Leon's territories—there's so much potential, considering all he controls. Or join a guild to start up a company of your own. I've helped build my family's fortune through my own contributions and activities."

Oh… That would be…

Your mind is spinning at all the possibilities opened up to you by the prospect of marriage—a whirlwind of ideas and options.

Suddenly, your future is filled with exciting prospects and opportunities, whereas before, it had only seemed bleak and dull. A chance to improve upon your life, rather than settle for what you had before. It sounds tempting. So tempting that you're almost inclined to leap at the opportunity and accept it right away because of the sole hope of somehow working your way up to something that belongs to you and yours alone, free of outside influence. Something personal.

You'd be a fool not to consider it—but the idea is just too overwhelming to contemplate fully in a single day. You need time to process everything, to come to terms with how drastically different life would be if you agreed to the proposal. You need to take things slow. Start with the basics first—the practicalities of getting used to spending time around Leon and making sure he truly is what Dame Jill says.

"It's... I don’t know," you murmur softly, looking down at your hands resting atop your lap. They're clasped tightly, holding onto something invisible. Your heart. Perhaps... your hopes and dreams as well... "I wouldn't even know where to begin with any of this. All of these opportunities... What if I ruin everything? I’m not qualified like you ladies."

"All valid concerns. That's why we're here with you today and all the tomorrows to come."

A gentle squeeze to your shoulder from Lady Claire brings your attention back to them, and when you meet their gaze, you find no judgment there. No mocking. Just kindness. Understanding. Love, even.

It makes your chest ache painfully to be on the receiving end of a helping hand when you were the one extending it to others before, and you force yourself to push back the tears that threaten to form at the corner of your eyes.

You can't afford to cry now, not in front of the two people who've given you their support and guidance, who've listened without question as you poured out your fears and frustrations without judging you for expressing your emotions, who've treated you with respect and dignity despite your humble roots.

They've made sure to explain things to you in a way that makes sense—something that you appreciate immensely, since you've had no experience with financial matters outside the scope of charitable donations in service of the temple—and haven't belittled you or looked down on you for your lack of knowledge regarding these topics. You wouldn't have considered this marriage without them in the first place, wouldn't have even known what you could do with said marriage to help build up your own capital. How lucky you are to have met such wonderful women, who are guiding you towards discovering your own agency! You owe them far more than mere thanks.

And Leon... Leon certainly isn't a bad choice of husband at all.

After the day’s work has slowed to its natural ebb, the warmth of the hearth fills the maids’ quarters with a cozy, amber glow, it smells of fresh-baked bread, slightly burnt at the edges, and the faint, lingering scent of rosewater from one of the girls' perfumes. You sit cross-legged on your shared bed, your hands busy with a piece of mending, though your attention is far from the needle and thread.

The other maids bustle around, tidying up their own small spaces, chattering softly about the day’s events. One by one, they settle into the room, their eyes flicking in your direction, and you can feel the weight of their curiosity mounting like the slow build of a storm.

Finally, Maria, one of the bolder girls with sharp green eyes and a wit to match, plops down beside you with a mischievous grin.

“Alright, out with it then!” she teases, nudging your arm. “We’ve all been wondering—what's going on between you and him that both ladies called you out to talk today?”

Your heart skips a beat, though you try to keep your face neutral. “Him?”

Maria rolls her eyes dramatically. “Don’t play coy with us, girl! We’ve seen the way Lord Leon looks at you whenever he visits. Always trailing after you like a lovesick puppy, isn’t he?”

The room erupts in giggles, and the other girls gather closer, abandoning their pretense of work to join the conversation.

“He’s always hanging around,” adds Lila, her voice low and conspiratorial. “And didn’t you two have some private chat the other day?”

“That’s right!” Maria jumps in, eyes twinkling with excitement. “I heard he came looking for you in the kitchen. Just you. Alone. If that doesn’t mean something, I don’t know what does!”

You try to wave them off, but the girls lean in even closer, their faces alight with the thrill of gossip.

“Come on,” Lila presses, basically dripping with eager curiosity. “Spill it! What’s it like, having a nobleman so interested in you?”

Your pulse quickens, and for a moment, you’re at a loss for words. The thought of sharing anything about Leon’s marriage proposal feels too intimate, too unreal. How could they possibly understand?

Still, the girls’ eyes are bright with expectation, so you decide to tread carefully. “It’s... nothing like that,” you say softly, hoping to dissuade their excitement. “He’s just being kind.”

Maria snorts, clearly not convinced. “Kind? Please. Nobles don’t come slinking around after maids out of kindness.” She pauses, then leans in even closer, words dropping to a whisper. “If you bat your eyelashes at him the way he likes it, you could end up with a lot more than just kindness.”

You blink furiously, taken aback. “What do you mean?”

Lila grins wickedly. “You know what she means. A mistress! Why else would he be following you around like that? It’s the perfect setup! You’d have all the perks of being with a noble without any of the chains. Gold, dresses, fancy gifts—he’d be wrapped around your finger!”

Your stomach twists at the suggestion, a rush of discomfort bubbling beneath the surface. “A... mistress?”

The word feels foreign on your tongue, sour and wrong.

“Stop playing coy,” Maria says, grinning like a fox. “He’s clearly interested in you. And you’d be a fool not to take advantage of it. Do you know how rare it is for a man of his standing to even look at someone like us?”

The other girls murmur their agreement, nodding enthusiastically.

“And think about it,” Lila adds, her tone soft but coaxing, “you wouldn’t have to lift a finger again. No more scrubbing floors, no more serving the ladies of the house. You’d be living the high life, tucked away in some lovely estate with all the luxury you could ever want. All you’d have to do is keep him happy.” Her gaze flickers up and down your form, appraising, before she smirks. "And I bet he won't be too disappointed with that either."

A sudden surge of anger rises in your chest, hot and fierce. It’s as though they’ve reduced Leon’s sincerity to a mere transaction, something cheap and temporary.

You glance around at the eager faces, each girl picturing the life they’ve described, a life of ease and opulence. But all you can think of is Leon—his genuine concern, his careful words, his sincerity when he’d offered you a life beyond this one.

A life as his equal.

You lower your head, focusing on the piece of fabric in your lap, but your voice comes out firmer than expected. “I’m not interested in becoming anyone’s mistress.”

Maria frowns, tilting her head. “Why not? It’s not like he’d marry you, you know.”

Lila nods, shrugging carelessly. Her eyes drift lazily around the cramped room as she speaks. "Let's be real here, honey—we all want to find a good man and live happily ever after, but that's not how the world works. If we're clever enough, we can get the right one to take us to the side and let us play the lady, maybe give us an allowance, but we'll never get to wear their name or inherit any property. Might as well enjoy the benefits of being the other woman. Life's easier that way."

A quiet realization settles over you like a comforting blanket in the midst of the winter of these girls' harsh reality and what they have to live with—Leon’s offer, regardless of whether you want to take him up on it, was a lot more honoring than you'd initially thought, more than it should be, when everyone else sees it as an empty promise, a tease of something better they could never achieve.

Because Leon hadn’t offered you a life in the shadows. He hadn’t looked at you as though you were something to be possessed, something to be kept hidden. He’d offered you a future—a real future, as his equal. And it’s only now, in the face of the maids’ casual suggestion, that you realize just how sincere his proposal had been.

He wasn’t offering you luxury in exchange for secrecy. He wasn’t trying to keep you as some hidden treasure. He was offering you something far more precious than wealth or status—he was offering you respect.

He’d offered you something real.

A soft breath escapes your lips, and the tension in your chest eases ever so slightly. The girls continue to chatter, oblivious to the shift in your thoughts, still wrapped up in their fantasy of you as a nobleman’s mistress.

But you know better now. You know what Leon’s intentions truly are.

And maybe, just maybe, you’re starting to understand what you want too.

The late afternoon sun bathes the garden in a golden light, casting long shadows across the cobblestone paths that wove through the hedges and flower beds. The air carries the crisp, earthy scent of autumn, mingled with the faint fragrance of fading blooms. A gentle rustling of leaves fills the space, stirred by a cool breeze, while distant bird calls echoed from the trees, the atmosphere holding a kind of serene stillness, as if the garden itself was waiting.

In spite of the nerves coiled tightly in your chest, it reminds you of the temple's private prayer garden—your one refuge from the weight of expectations. Here, just like there, you feel a semblance of peace. This space, however, has become something different: a sanctuary from more personal burdens, from the eyes that constantly watched, speculated, and judged your every interaction with Leon.

As you walk, your fingers skimmed the soft petals of the flowers lining the path, a tactile comfort that grounds you as your thoughts swirled. The garden is quiet, save for the faint gurgling of the fountain ahead, where a lone figure sat. Leon.

He's hunched forward, elbows resting on his thighs as he watches the water trickle steadily into the basin below, completely unaware of your presence. His fair hair hangs loose around his face, partially obscuring his features, and he wears simple, unadorned clothing, a far cry from the formal attire you'd grown accustomed to seeing him in during his visits to the manor. His coat is tossed haphazardly over one armrest, vest half-undone, sleeves rolled up messily at the elbow. Even the collar of his shirt hangs open loosely, giving a glimpse of pale skin beneath. The relaxed position belies a sense of agitation and frustration, a sort of restless energy that your offer of wanting to meet him today has caused, no doubt.

This informal state of undress is a refreshing change from his usual perfectionist approach to fashion and is unexpectedly... intimate. That, combined with the way he's dressed himself down, almost in defiance, to meet you in private gives you pause.

You have no idea if he's trying to look as approachable and nonthreatening as possible or is truly so caught up in turmoil about your answer that he's forgotten how appearances make him come across, but you're struck by how attractive he looks at the moment. It's... refreshing to see him like this. Like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders.

As if feeling your eyes on him, Leon shifts his attention to where you've paused behind him, spotting you standing in the distance. His posture abruptly straightens before he rises to his feet, greeting you formally, clear and resonant, "Saintess."

"It's not—" you begin, instinctively recoiling at the title and reminder of all the demands that came with it, but stop yourself short. No sense in correcting him anymore. Not when you're so close to figuring out where to go next with him. Not when he looks like he's prepared for the worst. "Please. Make yourself comfortable."

He doesn't move.

There's an awkward silence. Then, slowly, reluctantly, you step forward. Your steps get swallowed by the silent garden, into the chatter of the surrounding foliage and ornamental ponds.

Now that you've closed the distance and you're standing only an arm's length apart, Leon stands impossibly tall and imposing in front of you. A shadow draped over you both by the canopy of the willow tree you've met underneath, sheltering you from the rest of the world. His blue eyes are dark like the sky in the moment before dusk, expression severe as you look up to face him properly, trying not to lose courage.

You lead with, "Have you noticed there's not one single lily blooming in the entire estate gardens?"

In the context of your talk, it comes off as an obvious subject change, and Leon picks up on it immediately, quirking up a brow quizzically, then casts a sweeping glance over the greenery instead, as if searching for any hint of the flowers you named. "Now that you mention it..."

"It stood out to me immediately," you confide. "I'm rather fond of lilies, you see. They're my favorite flower."

It sounds a little silly once you've spoken aloud, but a fond, "Ah," escapes his throat. Leon's features soften as he looks upon you again, listening carefully, intent to keep talking if you wish to speak more. There's a ghost of a smile on his mouth, tugging at his lips, like he wants to say something, but holds it in check.

"You'd think I would be able to convince Piers to plant some for me, but he said, first of all it's not your garden to change. Second of all, if you want lilies that much, how about you make your own garden and grow them yourself. Apparently, I was 'obsessed' with them enough to warrant such advice. I didn't have the first idea about caring for flowers, though. It was a bit more challenging than I anticipated, learning how to take care of plants—not too much, not too little sunlight, not too little water, not too many pests... I realized how fortunate I was to have florists or the servants take care of things while I was the saintess. So much to learn!"

Leon makes a noncommittal hum at the back of his throat, looking off to the side pensively, brows coming together as he runs the tip of his tongue against the edge of his lower teeth, deep in thought. You look away when you catch yourself following the motion, staring openly at the soft angle of his jawline. Instead, your gaze flicks to the rows of vibrant roses nearby.

"My gardening efforts... were mediocre at best," you laugh sheepishly.

You recall the sad, shriveling collection of greens you had managed to get from the earth. Dried out and blackened with spots when you should have known better after reading so many books on the topic of cultivating the land and keeping the flora alive and thriving, how the soil felt on your fingertips and hands as you tended to the various kinds of crops. But then you had finally grown some tender stalks and baby blooms, the barest beginnings of buds bursting forth, growing lush and strong—only to promptly die under your care. It wasn't intentional—in fact, you had done everything right, followed all the instructions to the letter—but it was still disappointing nonetheless, to watch as all your hard work withered and faded away before your very eyes.

"Years have passed, and I'm still not particularly great at it. For all the miracles I performed in Ethelion's name, I never did figure out what I did wrong to make my own garden turn out that way." You trail your fingertips lightly over the delicate petals of a rosebush, remembering how the dewdrops had clung to them like gems, sparkling in the sunlight. "Even today, I still haven't quite gotten the hang of it and just help Piers around. Growing my own lilies is out of the question like this. I still want it, that's the whole point of why I started this journey in the first place. But I guess fear of being confronted with the fact that these hands that once brought back many from death's doorstep can't even grow a weed correctly stops me from ever attempting. It's like a lesson in humility."

The wind ruffles Leon's golden hair as he stares off into the distance, thinking intently. He rests his weight on one leg, cocking it out to the side as he props an elbow on his thigh, settling his chin against an upturned palm. Those sharp eyes sweep across the manicured lawns of the estate, and you can almost see the gears turning in his head as he mulls over your words.

"You're not just talking about lilies, are you?" Leon says quietly, his tone cautious, but thoughtful. You shake your head, chewing on your lip to prevent any further emotional outbursts from betraying your composure.

You let your eyes slide shut and allow yourself a small moment of respite, inhaling deeply through your nose, tasting the fresh fall air as it fills your lungs. "I thought... A new pair of hands helping me out with the lilies would add insult to injury. Humiliating." Your fingers clench involuntarily around a rose stem, and you jerk your hand away sharply before it can snap the fragile thing in half. "After years of relying on Ethelion to supply me with lilies whenever I wanted, I thought this was the only way for me to pride myself on something for a change. Failure upon failure eventually made me realize that perhaps I'm too proud to admit that I don't have things figured out just yet—and am also ashamed to ask for assistance from others, even those that are willing to help me out when I need it. Perhaps that was another reason why I didn't even want to entertain your offer, Leon. Because it felt like giving up."

Opening your eyes again, you see him watching you intently, blue irises focused entirely on yours, attentive to every word that leaves your lips. The sight of it causes warmth to spread throughout your body, causing you to falter for a second, unsure of where to proceed next. You bite down hard on your lip, then, "And... And if... If I couldn't accomplish even something small like this, then what kind of saintess was I? What good would a failed servant of God be as a wife?"

"Goodness knows, you can be a fool, you know that?" Leon snaps without hesitation, brusque and direct. Startled by his reaction, you whip around to face him in surprise—to see his features drawn tight in displeasure. He's frowning down at you, brow creasing, nostrils flared slightly, a muscle twitching in his jawline. "Of course you wouldn't succeed immediately. You were practically a bumbling toddler released into the wild! Trying to expect such growth in a handful of years is plain lunacy. Especially with the insistence to do it without any assistance."

"I—"

"And the worst part? You don't even acknowledge how you've made strides with your limitations!"

You quiet down with the shock of blatantly being scolded by someone as kind and softspoken as Leon—or for the first time in your life, for the matter.

"Let me put it like this," he says, having simmered down. "If you want to grow lilies, you need to let go of this obsession to be some almighty perfect being that must know everything there is to know in the world about lilies before setting out to grow your garden."

You wring your hands together in front of you anxiously, still taken aback by his sudden tirade, and unsure of how else to respond to it. Part of you is annoyed that he took to calling you a fool, albeit accurately so, but the greater portion of yourself is beginning to feel guilty about dismissing Leon's assistance due to your pride. You stay silent and let him finish.

"Marrying me wouldn't make you a failure. As a matter of fact, accepting my aid for the sake of getting to try your hand at creating your own garden doesn't have anything to do with that either." His gaze grows gentler as he fixes you with a firm, meaningful stare. "Even if no lilies grow today or in the next month, all the seeds you're scattering around shall come to fruition soon enough if you keep at it. If there are an extra couple of hands helping out with the watering and weeding, then surely your efforts will be twice as efficient. The goal is ultimately what matters—making your dream become a reality and not be stifled by arbitrary rules that have never existed until now."

Leon's words hit home for you in ways that you didn't expect them to; how did he manage to come to terms with the issues you struggled with so easily?

"Did I do good?" he asks all of a sudden, shattering the moment, a shy grin appearing on his face that transforms his appearance almost instantly. He suddenly seems younger, less experienced, more like the paladin you knew him as years ago. A sweet, sincere boy, struggling between uncertainty and eagerness to do right by you. "Allegories are not my strong suit... Or is it called a metaphor?"

You chuckle weakly, "Yes, you certainly succeeded. More than you know, actually."

Those blue eyes light up in response, his mouth breaking into a broad grin that brightens his entire face and takes your breath away. Your heart does an odd skip in your chest, but before you have a chance to analyze the strange sensation, Leon leans forward eagerly. "Does this mean you'll accept?"

Taking in his expression—eyes wide and hopeful, a slight flush coloring his cheeks—you can't help but smile back with a brief nod.

"Yes?" he insists excitedly, his voice rising in pitch slightly. It's clear he isn't convinced of your answer just yet and wants some sort of verbal affirmation.

"I'd be happy to," you reply before the nervous stutter can give rise to doubts again in his mind about you. At that very instant, a flock of doves rises from the trees above and soars off into the sky, disappearing into the clouds, leaving behind only a trail of white feathers. "If you'll still have--"

"Yes!" He steps towards you quickly and envelops you in a tight embrace without warning. His arms encircle you completely, his warmth radiating through the fabric of your dress. You yelp, startled, but he only pulls you tighter against him and spins you around in the air. You cling to him helplessly, your body pressed firmly against his, and try not to think about how solid he feels underneath your fingertips.

The sudden intimacy sends a thrill through your veins, heat pooling low in your belly and spreading throughout your limbs. Then you hear him exhale loudly in your ear in relief. His hot breath tickles the sensitive skin beneath your earlobe, sending a shiver down your spine, goosebumps raising along the bare nape of your neck and along your arms underneath the sleeves. All the pent-up anxiety leaves his body at once and you find yourself relaxing in response. For a split-second you forget where you are or who you're with—only that you want to feel more of him against you...

The lightness in Leon's eyes is a rare sight, one you haven't seen since you first crossed paths again. His entire face is illuminated by his beaming grin, so bright it almost makes you forget the chill in the air. You’d said yes, and in that moment, it was as though the world outside the garden ceased to exist. It’s just the two of you, suspended in time—Leon’s arms still wrapped around you, his breath warm on your cheek.

“You won't regret this,” Leon says as he pulls away slightly, his smile never fading.

You nod, too overwhelmed to say anything more. There’s something about the way he says those words, with such sincerity and confidence, that makes your heart swell. For the first time in what feels like an eternity, you allow yourself to feel hopeful—hopeful that perhaps this arrangement could bring you both the happiness you’ve been missing.

He holds out his arm to you, a gesture you’ve come to associate with his chivalrous nature, and you take it without hesitation. The warmth of his touch still lingers as he leads you out of the garden, your heart racing, thoughts pleasantly buzzing.

A few days later, you find yourself in a carriage, trundling down the road towards Leon’s estate. The entire journey has been spent in comfortable silence, save for the occasional exchange of smiles or soft remarks about the passing scenery. You lean your head against the window, gazing out at the world beyond as it goes by in a blur of color and motion. In the distance, you spy the familiar sight of the grand cathedral, towering high above all else, its spires reaching upwards into the azure sky. Memories flash before your eyelids: of visiting the structure during the early hours of dawn, as the first rays of light filtered through its stained glass windows—of wandering within its labyrinthine passages and praying quietly in secluded corners—of the comforting scent of incense as it drifted through your robes like smoke through the rafters.

But the pull isn't as strong, or tempting as it once was, a whisper of something ancient that lives inside your ribcage.

You haven’t spoken much about the wedding yet—it hasn't even been half a week since you accepted Leon's offer—but you've already settled on doing a smaller ceremony, consisting only of the Redfields and close associates. Your side of the guest list is virtually non-existent, so you suppose the wedding preparations are going to move pretty fast considering there are not a lot of moving pieces to juggle.

When the manor finally comes into view, you’re momentarily breathless. It’s grander than you imagined, despite being in the borders of the capital and within the vicinity of other lavish estates—a grand sandstone building topped with elaborate gables, a slate tile roof, and ornate wooden trellises encasing balconies decorated with intricately carved fretwork. The lush grounds surrounding the manor appear immaculately groomed, topiary hedges and carefully pruned boxwoods lining the entrance drive, leading up to an imposing iron gate with ornate scrollwork patterns.

You have no idea how his estate in the margravate will compare to this summer home for the social season...

The carriage turns into an ornate stone drive, traveling the length of the courtyard, halting at last beside the entrance. Everything is eerily quiet for a moment, save for the crunching sound of gravel beneath wheels and hooves echoing through the open space. A young footman immediately opens the door and steps aside, and Leon descends gracefully before turning to help you climb down yourself.

You smooth out your skirts once you're on terra firma again, grateful for the moment to compose yourself after such an imposing sight. He offers his arm to you once more, and you wrap your fingers delicately around the crook of his elbow. With his free hand, he gently guides you forward, each step seeming to take longer than the last, until you're crossing through an arched entryway and stepping into an airy atrium.

Your gaze sweeps across the room, drinking in every detail, your nerves returning. The entrance hall is beautifully furnished, but distinctly masculine, with heavy mahogany furniture and a plush Aubusson rug sprawled out across the marble floor. An impressive chandelier hangs overhead, glittering with dozens of flickering candles. Everywhere you look, you're greeted by rich materials and exquisite craftsmanship—carved woodwork framing elegant oil paintings depicting scenes from history, damask wallpaper adorning the walls, polished silver sconces mounted on pillars flanking the staircase bannister...

All the finery makes your heart beat a little faster, and you're struck by the realization of just how different your current situation is compared to yesterday.

You let out a shaky breath, your grip on Leon's arm tightening as he leads you past a row of elaborately dressed footmen, their hands folded neatly behind their backs and heads bowed politely in greeting. Each of them regards you curiously, observing you with expressions devoid of emotion, as though studying some sort of exotic animal in a zoo. Up ahead, an elderly butler awaits you by the bottommost step, his stoic features arranged into a thin mask of courtesy. When Leon comes closer, however, the man's impassive facade melts into one of genuine respect, his graying eyebrows lifting slightly in recognition.

"Welcome, Your Excellency," he greets with a slight bow. "We've been expecting your return. We've also prepared lodgings for the honored bride-to-be."

Your cheeks grow warm at the use of the title, and you shift nervously from side to side as Leon thanks the old man.

"Can you send Dame Hunnigan for us, please?"

"I believe she is waiting for your arrival," the butler says, dry and monotone. "Will you require any refreshments in the parlor, sir?"

"No, leave us," Leon nods, dismissing the retainer. He then glances down at you and chuckles lightly, leaning over to mutter, "You look like a frightened mouse about to hop out of her clothes."

You press your lips tightly together, avoiding meeting his amused gaze and fixating on the floor instead, mentally berating yourself for acting so ridiculous, but then Leon continues speaking as you ascend the stairs. "Forgive me if I seem smug. That was simply endearing."

His words draw a surprised laugh out of you, the unexpected tease easing some of the tension in your shoulders. "I appreciate you taking the opportunity to poke fun at my expense."

"Always happy to serve," he teases right back without missing a beat, his grin flashing wickedly at you. There's no bite to his teasing, however, merely playfulness.

As you reach the top landing, a young woman approaches you from down the hallway with a calm and composed demeanor, lacking the urgency of the servants below. Her dark hair is pulled back into a neat bun, and she’s dressed in a simple but elegant gown, showing her higher position. She stops before you with a nod of greeting, her gaze respectful but sharp as it flickers between you and Leon.

“Welcome back, my lord,” she says smoothly, steady and professional. “And welcome to you, my lady.”

Leon’s smile remains as he gestures toward her. “This is Dame Ingrid Hunnigan, my house steward. If you require anything at all, do let her know and she will assist you as best she can. Isn’t that so, Hunnigan?"

Her posture is as perfect as a soldier's, and her demeanor is polite and collected, and yet you detect the subtle traces of power beneath. "If it is in my power, then most definitely," she answers dutifully, bowing to you with a flourish. "Please don't hesitate to contact me if you need anything at all, milady. The servants have been instructed to tend to all your needs accordingly."

Something about the way she holds herself—the confident set of her shoulders, the steely determination in her brown gaze—reminds you of Piers. You get the sense that she is fiercely intelligent, but also skilled in diplomacy and management, the kind of person that knows just what to do in every situation.

You return the greeting with a polite nod, feeling a little self-conscious under her watchful gaze. There’s something about the way she carries herself that suggests she knows everything happening within these walls, down to the smallest detail. She’s not just an aide—she’s someone who ensures the manor runs like clockwork.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” you say, feeling an odd sense of relief knowing that there will be someone to help you navigate this unfamiliar place.

“The pleasure is mine,” Hunnigan replies, her lips curving into a small smile. “I must say, we’ve all been looking forward to your arrival. It’s clear how much Lord Leon cares for you."

Her words, though spoken with the utmost professionalism, catch you off guard. You glance at Leon, who shifts slightly, his smile fading into something more reserved, almost embarrassed. There’s a tension in his posture that wasn’t there before.

“Oh, uh... yes,” he stammers, holding his right shoulder and rolling it around like it's sore and he's trying to stretch it. “I—well, of course, I—”

Hunnigan doesn’t miss a beat. “The staff is already preparing for the wedding, and I’ve made arrangements for you to meet with the dressmaker later this week. If there’s anything else you need, my lady, don’t hesitate to ask.”

For a split second you remember all your previous hesitations, but you push the thought aside almost as quickly.

Leon clears his throat, straightening himself and gesturing down the corridor. "Come, it would be rude not to show you to your rooms."

You allow him to lead the way, following a short distance behind him and Hunnigan as they weave through the corridors. It occurs to you that you've never seen the inside of another nobleman's home, aside from a tour of the palace in the royal capital—even though it shouldn't come as a surprise, given that it's been a while since you stepped foot in the temple. But even in those moments, you were sheltered from much of the actual activity that occurred daily, having private quarters away from the others, except for when you traveled with the Bishop. And even then... it wasn't like you ever came across homes or mansions this beautiful. This was something truly grand—so much space and fine furniture to fill it, the kind that probably had names for. The kind that held history within its walls and decor. The kind of residence that spoke of generations of wealth, privilege, and status.

Though, you can't seem to focus on much, Dame Hunnigan's words about how much Leon cares for you and his weird reaction to it replaying in your head over and over again, like the echo of a bell ringing somewhere in the distance. Did he really talk about you like that to his staff? And why would he...? You mean, of course he should care for you; he asked you to marry him! Still, it stirs up some conflicted feelings within you.

This marriage isn't about love, but there is love in it. Even though that might never go anywhere romantic or sexual. A connection between two people... is still love, regardless of the specifics. You know that's what you've been taught throughout your entire life—that such an agreement is built upon respect, admiration, compassion.

Maybe...

Just maybe...

"Right here," Leon says, coming to a stop in front of a set of double doors as he pushes them open, revealing a vast room decorated in shades of blue and cream. The sun pours in from large windows framed by thick velvet curtains, flooding the space with light and illuminating the plush carpets covering the hardwood floors, creating a soothing ambience.

The centerpiece is undoubtedly the four-poster bed against the wall, complete with drapery falling around the sides and pillows piled atop a silk duvet. Against the adjacent wall stands a small table next to an armchair by a fireplace, a vase filled with freshly picked lilies placed atop the mantel. Off in the corner is another door which presumably leads into the baths. There are several tall bookshelves stuffed with tomes in various languages, spanning from historical texts to philosophy to poetry, and a large oak desk sits adjacent to them. A vanity full of cosmetics is situated nearby, along with a large wardrobe standing in front of a screen decorated with intricate embroidery.

You almost blurt out something about this room being made for half a dozen people rather than one before catching yourself.

"It's connected to my room through that door, so feel free to knock," Leon adds casually, seemingly unaware of how such a statement causes your brain to short circuit for a brief moment.

"Oh," you manage to say as you peer at the imposing piece of furniture near the vanity and swallow thickly. Married couples are often required to share a sleeping chamber, and this arrangement was done for your comfort, no doubt. But it's still intimate to think about how he'll be right next door, accessible to you at all times.

"Is that acceptable?" Leon asks, dipping his chin and raising an eyebrow.

You flush, realizing you hadn't responded, and hastily nod your head, causing him to chuckle lightly as he heads back towards the exit, but doesn't leave, talking to Dame Hunnigan about something in a low tone before he shuts the doors and leaves both of you alone in this new space together.

He lingers there for a moment. You can't see his face as he says, "I wanted to... I wanted to apologize for what Hunnigan said back there. About how much I apparently talk about you whenever I'm back home. I assure you, she's prone to exaggerations sometimes, and there's always gossip running around between the maids in these sorts of places."

"Oh, that." You didn't think Leon would make such a big deal out of it—there are certainly far worse things in the world to worry about—but he seems quite bothered by it. Maybe it's a breach of his privacy? He's clearly not very comfortable with Hunnigan telling you about such matters. "I guess everyone can be chatty," you try to soothe his embarrassment. "She was probably just trying to be hospitable, in her own way."

"Yes... Well... I do care about you, of course. Just, er, well..." Leon trails off awkwardly, suddenly fumbling over his words as he tries to get them out, a light dusting of pink coloring the tips of his ears. "Not that way. Obviously. Which she's insinuating. That would be inappropriate. For us. To... To act in such ways outside of our marital responsibilities. Or inside. Which we don't have to. So, I... I want to make sure that... You know. I have invited you here under honorable intentions only. I hope that this does not put you in any uncomfortable situation. Because I wouldn’t dare feel about you in such a manner."

Despite your better judgment, his sudden rambling and odd choice of phrasing tugs at your heart strings a bit, somewhat in disappointment. Not that you would ever expect such things—you aren't expecting romance or love in this union, and that's not the purpose of this arrangement in the slightest—but there is some sense of rejection upon hearing that the man before you has no desire to pursue anything romantic. In all fairness, you may never have thought about it either if you had remained within the temple, as you dedicated your entire existence to worshiping Ethelion. Until now, at least.

"I know," you reassure him gently with a tentative smile, an inexplicable pit deep in your stomach. "There's no need to be flustered. I'm well aware of what this is, and I appreciate your honesty."

"Good," he sighs in relief, visibly relaxing as the tension leaves his frame. Finally turning around, he flashes a charming smile in response, bright blue irises glinting beneath his lashes in the warm sunlight streaming through the windows. "Would you like to sit with me for tea?"

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy fanfiction

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lovelyflora21 · 3 days

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I hate everyone else in the world (but you)

Summary: Drunk and in pain, Leon had an affinity for saying things he might not have meant to. Twice he did so. One was able to offer solace and comfort, the other the opposite.

Pairing: Leon S Kennedy x Fem!Reader

Tags: TW! Alcohol abuse, slight mentions of PTSD, depression. Angst. Hurt.

A/n: Hello! So this is my first attempt at writing again after such a long ass hiatus and break! This is also my very first (and hopefully not the last) attempt on writing a fic for Leon lol, this one’s gonna be a bit angsty! I wrote this with Vendetta!Leon and DI!Leon in mind, inspired by that one TikTok audio from Euphoria’s Rue and Jules’ scene and her infamous quote with TV Girl’s Not Allowed, playing in the background.

Hopefully you guys will like this one as much as I like writing it! Enjoy!

Wc: 1.5k

I hate everyone else in the world but you…

Was what Leon had drunkenly told her once. So lost in his drunken stupor that he’d blurted out those words in a brief moment of vulnerability and honesty. He might’ve as well said those three words instead. But it was the truth, and Leon S Kennedy was no liar. He was never good with lies anyways, why try now? And in response, she simply gave him that God-forsaken half smile of hers. Leon remembered vividly, despite being shit-faced drunk, how she simply shook her head then helped him off the couch to clean up.

I know. She whispered, more like to herself than to him. Then everything else after that was a blur.

It was sort of a routine. After that particular nightmare of a mission, Leon would drown himself in endless bottles of Jack Daniels or whatever alcoholic beverage he could lay his hands on. He was pretty much banned from the local bar he’d frequented so often, and no for the record, it wasn’t because he’d start up unnecessary shit–no. It was because of how much he’d drunk; to the point that the bartenders and keepers made it a point that they were concerned with the amount of alcohol he’d swallow in one seating.

Concerned. Leon finds it rather funny and ironic, in a way that; bars made money from selling alcohol to anyone who would be drinking them and yet here he was, getting banned all because they were concerned with him? He was a regular, he didn’t mind burning his money on alcohol! They should have been grateful! He was a regular, a paying one at that and he doesn’t start up shit! They were making money! And yet, he got banned anyway.

In reality, concerned was an understatement…

So he figured, what the hell right? He’s just gonna find an alternative, buy some from the local bodega or some shit and get shit-faced drunk in the comforts of his somber and dark, shitty apartment.

The apartment was fine before all this, decorated it minimalistically so he didn’t have too much stuff piling up and it wouldn’t be too much of a hassle for him to look after; but after the–after it happened, he just didn’t care enough to look after the damn place. Hell, he barely looked after himself. Leon was barely even showering. He’d shower once every two or three days, and didn't even care at all if people were giving him weird and funny looks for how disheveled he looked. Leon used to be pretty active and social, he would go for a light jog every morning before work or in the evenings after work, then shower and have dinner or maybe go on dates with her. But now? Now, his routine consisted of waking up in the middle of the day, eat whatever leftover was in the fridge, go back to sleep, wake up again then get so drunk he could barely remember anything then pass out on the couch then wake up with the worst hangover and repeat the same damned thing all over again. Rinse and repeat. Rinse and repeat.

It wasn’t helping him at all that the DSO was putting him on a temporary break too. He’d honestly much prefer to be sitting on his desk working on reports than rotting and wasting away like this.

But then she caught wind of this. This revelation. That the great, brave and strong Leon S Kennedy; the renowned agent that helped rescue the President’s Daughter and formed the DSO, has now become lessened to that of a drunk alcoholic. So jaded and bitter with the loss of his–no, no, he became jaded after, after…after it happened. That he resorted to alcohol rather than face his issues head on. Rather than see a shrink and work on it.

So the first time she came back around, it wasn’t easy. To have her, his muse, his flower, the only innocent and untouched being in his life, sees him this messed up and broken. He lashed out at her at first, then he broke down. For the first time. For the first time in what felt like forever, he was finally able to cry.

It’s okay, cry it out, let it all out. I’m here. Nothing’s gonna hurt you. I’m not letting you go. I got you.

Then he looked into her eyes and said it.

I hate everyone else in the world but you…

And the rest was history.

Then it was another new routine for him. She was always there, looking after him…looking after the place. Made sure he was eating, made sure he’d get cleaned up, made sure he was sleeping properly.

But he still couldn’t get over his drinking problems. Not anytime soon it seems…

Other people would have already abandoned him by now. Said it was all in vain, said he’d destroy her before he could ever get better. But she, she never gave up on him.

Until one night…

Leon had promised her, for a day, he wouldn’t touch anything that has alcohol in it and he’d finally go to therapy. It was paid and provided for by the DSO, as they should be. But he didn’t…

He never attended that one session (or the sessions before and after, she should’ve known better), instead that afternoon he went to the nearest bodega and got himself bottles of Jack Daniels. Then he went back home and got shit-faced drunk. Again. Like always.

And when she came over later in the evening, after she got off work; she was furious. More disappointed than furious, really. To find out that he didn’t go to therapy and he was drunk.

Then it was some back and forth arguing and Leon said some things he didn’t mean to.

Typical of a drunk, how typical of Leon.

See, the thing is, she was one to believe that; whatever came out from someone’s mouth whenever they were drunk meant that it was the raw and most unfiltered truth they wish they could’ve said out loud sober.

So when Leon said, “What is this now, you think you could nurse me back to the old Leon?! You thought out of all the people in this whole goddamn world, you could be the one to save me from being, from being this?! I tell you what sweetheart, you never cared about me, what you do have is a savior complex!”

It had been even uncharacteristic of Leon to say those things. And out of all the people he knew, towards her, too.

Cruel would be an understatement.

Leon wished he had stopped at that. Wished he had stopped and apologized to her after, but nope. He didn’t. Instead, when he saw her tear-filled eyes and her pursed lips, he went and sprinkle some salt on her wound.

“What now, you gonna cry and run away? Gonna cut me off too like how you cut off your other friends and exes? Right, you do. Because that’s what you always do! Run away and cut off everyone whoever said an ounce of truth to you, not wronged you–no, the truth!”

Then there was silence, save for his hard and heavy breathing that filled the space.

Leon remembers and forgets a lot of things. This is one that he’d hate to remember and unable to forget.

He remembered the way she stepped back, looked into his eyes and said it.

I hate you.

Then she disappeared from his apartment and disappeared from his life as well, after making it clear that she was done.

He tried reaching out to her, that very same night. Then the days that followed after, the weeks after. After Colorado. After New York.

She disappeared. Just like that.

So Leon gave up on looking for her.

And after a year, he thought he’d already forgotten about her completely. Thought he’d moved on.

He thought, after going to therapy, talking to his friends more and avoiding alcohol as much as possible; he’d finally move past that night. Move past her.

But it seemed he was wrong.

So when Leon was strolling down the streets of San Francisco during his free time, before his supposed mission–and he thought he’d heard a familiar voice, he couldn’t help but to look towards the source of that angelic voice. Could it be…?

And there she was. Gorgeous as always. Beautiful and bright, warm like the morning’s first ray of sunshine. A basket of flowers and groceries hung on her elbow.

So she did move away. That’d explain a lot.

Leon’s body had a mind of its own, approaching her before he could even process everything.

Hey there.

And suddenly everything came flooding back to him.

I hate everyone else in the world but you

But you, you who I’ve hurt so much more than anyone else in the world.

You who didn’t deserve the pain I had inflicted upon you. It was unfair. And I am so so so sorry. Wish I could take it all back. You didn’t deserve it. And then there was silence between him and her. Two birds, once of the same feather; and now? Now on opposite ends.

youtube

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x y/n #leon s kennedy angst #angst with a happy ending #light angst #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x y/n #vendetta!leon kennedy #di!leon kennedy #Youtube

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yjhariani · 3 months

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What if you leave a lipstick print on his helmet just because at first. Like, casually. Maybe it started off when you used his bike mirror to touch up your lipstick and he was just there with his helmet on, so you kissed him on the helmet. He didn't wipe it off or anything. However, you added a new one every time the old one gets smudged or washed off until it becomes a habit.

Now, picture this...

You just got woken up from a nap by him, seeing him looking at you expectantly with a new helmet in one hand and your lipstick in the other and not saying anything.

I'll leave it at that.

#cannot decide who i should write this for #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost #jason todd x reader #jason todd #red hood x reader #red hood #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy

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swetearss · 2 months

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sorry for always being the first like in your fic, i just check the 'x reader' hashtag constantly

#kylo ren x reader #marvel x reader #star wars x reader #art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig x reader #jason todd x reader #nightwing x reader #anakin skywalker x reader #peter parker x reader #wolverine x reader #invencible x reader #mortal kombat x reader #hotd x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #harry potter x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader

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mossyivy · 2 months

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[Any Leon but DI came to mind when writing these]

Leon but he does that little motion when you're out together. Sticking his hand out, making grabby motions so you don't get separated in the crowd.

Leon but he always lifts your chin to give you forehead kisses cause he loves seeing that little lovesick look in your eyes when he pulls away.

Leon but he always orders extra of whatever you like on his plate while you're out to eat. Giving it to you so he can make your meal just a little bit better.

Leon but when he wraps his arms around you to give your neck kisses, he always rubs his chin on your skin because he knows you like the feeling of his stubble on your neck.

Leon but he says he can never tie his tie correctly. But he always leaves the top buttons undone on his shirts because he knows you like to see his defined collarbone and chest.

Leon but he's always bringing you back gifts from assignments. Big or small he always loves watching you gush over the random things he says he thought you'd like.

Leon but he always matches outfits with you. He knows it's cheesy but he likes looking like you belong together. He's been alone for so long that he craves the validation of looking like you belong to only him.

Leon but he never forgets important dates. Even if he's away or knows he'll have to reschedule something, he always makes sure you get your favorite flowers delivered to your door along with some of your favorite treats.

Leon but he's always lost in thought. Daydreaming of the day he'll get you to say yes to him. The perfect ring he gets you, big or small. He knows you'll love it because it's a sign of his love regardless.

Leon but he's down on one knee. Somewhere beautiful and private so he knows you aren't under any pressure to say yes. The last thing he wants is to drive you away. Here he is, ring in hand, asking those four words he's been thinking about since the day he met you.

#resident evil x reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #🌿 ivy writes #leon kennedy x fem reader #leon s kennedy

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ashiemochi · 4 months

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🌱 request for Kira 💕

#leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #resident evil #leon scott kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil infinite darkness #leon kennedy x reader smut #leon kennedy thirst hours #cupid doodles #vendetta leon kennedy #damnation leon #resident evil damnation

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de3dgirl · 4 months

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i cannot breathe oml

#leon kennedy x reader #virgin leon #sub leon kennedy #rookie leon #leon kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #resident evil #resident evil 4 #resident evil 4 remake #resident evil leon

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leqonsluv3r · 5 months

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husband!leon kennedy

—re!4 husband leon x pregnant!wife!reader, a headcanon list

based on this one-shot request

masterlist taglist

an: decided to give you guys this hc list since you guys liked the oneshot so much, giving you guys a little peek of what happens after the oneshot. i’m finally moved and currently unpacking at my new place, i’ll be working on requests and opening them back up soon. hope you guys enjoy, pls reblog and like if you do <3

husband!leon who buys you all the food your body deserves. anything for his wife and his growing baby inside of you.

husband!leon who helps you plan and decorate the nursery for your child. he’s just happy he gets to be a dad, especially with you involved.

husband!leon who drives you to all of your doctors appointments, always having tears pool in his eyes whenever he sees your guys growing child on the ultrasound.

husband!leon who always lets you pick whatever you want for dinner, even if it’s not something he wants. as long as your happy and you get what you want.

husband!leon who massages your swollen feet after you complain how much they hurt. rubbing your calves and legs just to make sure your comfy. he wants what’s best for you.

husband!leon who rubs your belly when you both are laying in bed together, pressing kisses to it and talking to the unborn baby. he knows the baby can’t fully hear him yet but he’s too excited.

husband!leon who helps you pick out stuff for the baby to wear after you find out the gender. cute little onesies and footies, stuffed animals and whatever else your heart desires. only the best for his wife and his baby.

husband!leon who hangs up all the ultrasounds up on the fridge like a kid displaying artwork, he likes watching his baby grow. he’s still having a hard time believing he’s a father even if the evidence is right in front of him.

husband!leon who will go down on you because you can’t even touch yourself, making you moan and whimper. he knows the hormones make you more susceptible and more horny, he doesn’t mind one bit. knowing he’s the one that gets to ravish you when you’ve been pent up.

husband!leon who loves the fact that he can still fuck you like your not carrying his kid, practically crying on his cock as he pounds into you, rubbing your swollen tits and pressing kisses all over your body, caressing your belly. he knows you love it, giving each other what you want.

husband!leon who is the king of aftercare, especially when your pregnant. he helps you take a bath afterwards. giving you bubbles and even going so far as to getting in with you and massaging your back.

husband!leon who watches you struggle with the simple tasks you used to do before you were pregnant. if you need something from a shelf because it hurts for you to reach, he grabs it for you. if you can’t stop crying over the most simplest things, he hands you some tissues and holds your hand. he’s supporting you the whole way through this because you need it.

husband!leon who lets you lay on the couch on days your not feeling the best, letting you watch whatever your heart desires. even if it’s something he can’t even stand like the bachelorette or some bad reality tv show.

husband!leon who watches you open presents for the baby shower. your happy, opening little onesies and gifts from your guys friends and family. watching your mom cry happy tears when you open her gift; your stuffed bear from when you were a baby.

husband!leon who watches you hug your mom, stuffed bear still in your hand and tears pouring out of your eyes. he knows that you have been dealing with a lot going through this pregnancy and he’s just happy that your getting some joy out of it.

husband!leon who lets you have whatever weird craving your wanting. even if it’s pickles and frosting or peanut butter and graham crackers. he lets you have whatever you want, within reason, letting you have the cravings that make you and the baby happy.

husband!leon who when your doing the dishes, your water breaks. he doesn’t think first, he acts. he gets the bag that he’d packed and grabs you. he’s nervous but he’s doing his best to push his own nerves aside and get you and the baby to the hospital.

husband!leon who practically speeds down the interstate to get you to the hospital on time. weaving through a couple cars and speeding, all the while your hand is squeezing his in death grip as he just tells you to breathe through the contractions.

husband!leon who gets you to the hospital in one piece, your hand almost breaking his where he holds it. letting the nurse guide you into the delivery room to get you prepped for labor. your eyes are wide with pain and nerves, leon just keeps standing next to you, holding onto your hand and pressing kisses to your head the entire time.

husband!leon who watches as you push, push, and push over and over again. your doing so great and he’s so proud of you, being able to bring a life into this world, he’s never seen anything like it. he just rubs your back, the doctor kneeling in between your legs and helping the baby come out.

husband!leon who watches as the doctor tells you the babies almost here, your exhausted frame trying to push the baby out the rest of the way. he mumbles praises into your hair and ear, telling you that you can do it. you can push the baby out, you can get through this.

husband!leon who watches you do the final two pushes, the doctor helping the baby come out. leon hears the small cries before seeing the small baby being cradled in the doctors hands, his eyes watering at the sight. he looks over at you and sees how exhausted but happy you are, your eyes watering just like his.

husband!leon who watches as the nurse cleans and swaddles your guys baby, bringing it over to you. your eyes crying big tears. the baby looks just like the both of you combined, having your eyes and his cheeks. he sits gently next to you on the bed, rubbing your head. he admires you and your guys baby, how beautiful it is. how you did it, despite you thinking you couldn’t, he knew you could.

husband!leon who gets to hold the baby for the first time while you rest, talking to the baby in soft whispers, the babies only soft coos in response. “i’m your daddy, yeah…yeah, i’m your daddy…” he murmurs and watches as the baby wraps the tiny hand around his finger. “so cute…so cute…” he smiles as tears leak down his face.

husband!leon who days after you’ve healed from having the baby, you all three get to go home. leon goes from room to room with the baby, showing it its nursery and giving it a tour, even if his child isn’t going to remember this. he does it all the same.

husband!leon who changes his first diaper in the days following, who does it with pride. knowing that all his practice of learning the past nine months are going to use. he lets you rest and sleep whenever you have time in between feeding and bonding with the baby.

husband!leon who loves that he’s a husband and a father, he gets to watch his child grow. he gets to have that luxury and it wasn’t something he always thought was possible. and with you, it’s more achievable and he loves you even more for that if it’s even possible.

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bumblebeesfromvenus · 22 hours

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I love y'all, but if you want me to continue writing, you're gonna have to interact with my posts.

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leonfucker3000 · 6 months

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Gotcha

Bounty Hunter/Cowboy!Leon S. Kennedy x outlaw!fem!reader

Warnings: smut, feelings (of regret) (and slight yearning), oral sex (f receiving), vaginal sex, fucking against metal bars. 16+ because I was you once just don’t be weird

Ummm I wrote this last year in, like, March? I posted and finished it December, though (yikes) with that being said I’m sorry if the writing is…I suppose questionable? Yeah, sure, questionable. On ao3 here if you prefer that site. Not proofread btw.

oh, right, reader’s outlaw name is ‘ranger’ but it’s mentioned once. I was inspired by Leon’s Arthur Morgan mod but you can imagine him in any outfit, all that’s mentioned is that he wears a leather hat (I think). cowboy Leon is the reason I keep on going, thanks.

tumblr is a scary, new place for me. Please be kind😱

The sound of the horse's feet running in the desert sand fills the hollow night. Gunshots and gunpowder making Leon’s nostrils flare, the metallic smoke filling up his lungs uncomfortably.

Close. He’s so fucking close.

You stop your horse and bolt for the abandoned bank you robbed just a month prior and wait . It’s hot and cold, a thin layer of sweat coating your skin as you try to keep your breathing still. The weight of your revolver is the only thing that feels remotely natural, the only thing that reminds you that you have at least some control.

His horse blows and grunts as it comes to a halt, a cloud of sand threatening his vision until he bats it away. The swinging door of the bank creaks along with the wooden floorboards of each step he takes.

You can hear him grow closer, the spurs on his boots jingling—a warning, a taunt. He’s got you, and had it not been from how fucking tired you were, you would’ve kept going.

“There’s not much use in hidin’ anymore,” Leon’s gruff voice breaks the low whistling wind, “Think we both know the only way you’re getting outta here is in cuffs or in a rug dragged across the sand.”

You hold in a scoff, the bandana muffling your steadying breath. Hiding behind the wall, you hear his steps come and go, small curses falling from under his breath and muttering you can’t put together.

After a moment of silence, you muster up the courage to peek around the corner. A mistake.

“Gotcha.” His cowboy hat casts a dark shadow across his face, the dim moonlight barely making the whites of his eyes visible. His own revolver is pointed to your head, the reflecting metal almost blinding — another taunt to your capture.

“Kennedy.” You speak through gritted teeth, sour and bitter as you say his name.

“Ranger.” A humorless chuckle escapes his lips, “Not one day goes by that I don’t get sick of hearin’ that name. Can’t even get a beer without a sad sap waiting to tell their story about encountering you.”

“Good to know I’m on your mind at least. Hadn’t seen you in sometime, thought you died.” You watch as his hand tightens around the grip of his gun, his index finger sliding towards the trigger.

“I’m not gonna die before I catch you, or kill you. One or the other.” He rolls his eyes as he watches you point the gun to his leg, “Put that down before I blow your brains out. The sheriff’ll get mad at me for the mess.”

“I think he’d be happier if you killed me, really.”

“Maybe, but I think they’d rather kill you themselves, and slower.” A sigh leaves you as you drop your revolver to the floor, not bothering to put your hands up because, well, there’s no use for it. “Back up. Don’t need you gettin’ any ideas. Get in the vault.”

The vault? He doesn’t give you time to protest, taking a step forward so his gun grazes your forehead, “Fuck, alright, I get it .”

You back into the vault, the metal bars making it your makeshift jail. He closes the door shut, watching you through the spaces between the bars and giving you an annoying smug smirk, “Look at that . Behind bars is a natural look on you. Can’t believe it’s taken this long.”

Leon takes a walk around, finding the key and locking the ‘jail’. Convenient. “Y’wanna start by telling me why you’ve been doing this? They’re gonna get it outta you anyway, best to let it out now. A pretty face ain’t gonna getcha freedom.”

“Pretty?” You muse.

“Shut up.” He scoffs.

“I don’t think my reason would really make a difference.”

His eyebrows furrow, “Maybe not, but every outlaw has some kind of story to tell.”

You slump against the back wall of the vault, letting out a small groan as your hand runs down your face. If you’re going to get locked up and eventually hung, you guess it wouldn’t hurt for at least one person to know the truth. He’s not…the best person but out of everyone else, maybe he is. “My family. Dead broke. Needed the money.”

He stares at you for a moment before laughing, gripping one of the metal bars as he snickers, “you really expect me to believe that? If I wouldn’t let a bastard cheat me in poker, I’m not gonna have you cheat me now.”

“‘M not cheating you for anything, I gotta family at home. Mouths to feed, debts to pay, shit to do.”

“That’s a real shitty thing, lying about your family like that.” He grumbles, looking at you like ‘lying’ was worse than all the money you’ve stolen. The lives you threatened.

This man’s priorities seriously needed to be straightened out. You pull down your bandana and toss it to the side as you get comfortable on the floor, the bank door’s small creaks making the night all the more eerie.

When you look up, he’s still staring at you. His lips are curled into a slight snarl and, had it not been for the bars, he might’ve lunged at you.

Leon’s wondering what your game is, he knows what you do when you lie—how you look away from him and take a step back and your lip always twitches without fail—you’re not doing any of that. “Even if you did do it to keep your family afloat, what about the rest of the people you wronged?”

“What, the rich? They don’t give a damn about us, why should I give a damn about them?”

“I’m talkin’ about the public robberies. Like the train robbery down in Georgetown, or the bank in Laredo, those were all big jobs, you tellin’ me those were victimless crimes? Bullshit. There’s oughta be a casualty.”

“If there was a casualty, it wasn’t from me. I’ve never fired a gun at an innocent.”

He scorns, “but you’ll fire a gun at the people tryna protect the innocents.”

“None of them are dead, are they? They’re at home with their families not needing to worry about eatin’.”

He feels conflicted, because fuck if you’re telling the truth then he feels like an asshole all those times he’s almost killed you. A family. You have children, a husband, maybe, unless he’s dead—is that why you’re doing this?—And he’s fought with you more than he can remember. He sniffles, wiping the corner of his mouth with his thumb and shaking his head, “how old are your kids?”

It was your turn to chuckle, “i don’t have kids. Well, sort of, if you include takin’ care of my siblings.”

Guess he got it wrong. He doesn’t know if he feels better or worse, his stomach churns at the thought of your younger siblings waiting for you to come home just to never return. Never to know if you died or ran away. No, he’s sure they’d figure out you died, if you were doing this for them, why would you leave them? God he needs a drink. “You don’t gotta momma or daddy or what?”

“My momma’s sick. Daddy’s gone.” You shrug as if it’s nothing, maybe it is nothing to you but it’s everything to him. He hates that he’s so easily swayed. You being fine with this should tell him this is a lie but—

But what? He doesn’t know. You’re a criminal that has added unnecessary stress to the public, even have other outlaws mad at you for taking their money. It’s simple as to what he needs to do.

“Doesn’t matter, I’m sure after your first three robberies you woulda had enough money to feed a church for the next 5 years. Didn’t need all of that, that’s just fucking greed.”

“I don’t keep all of it. I give it to people like me. Too many families have lost their kids just because they couldn’t feed ‘em for a week. Bet they don’t tell you that, though, do they?”

He knows better. He knows that he knows better. This is a lie, he’s the law, he needs to uphold the law, no exceptions. No hesitation. “So, what? You’re a modern day Robin Hood?”

“If I say yes will you shut the fuck up?”

“If you tell me the truth I will.”

“Mother fucker— I am. You have a gun, have me in a fucking vault, I’m unarmed say for my knife, but I’ll give it to you if it’ll shut you up. what do I have to gain from this shit? You’ve caught up people for way less, I don’t have shit up my sleeve to leave.”

A moment passes, and suddenly? He hates himself.

“God damnit.” He curses under his breath, turning his body away as he groans. He can still hear the horses outside, can hear the wind chiming, playing a small song. You keep quiet, watching him pace back and forth once before pinching the bridge of his nose. “‘M gonna fuckin’ regret this.” He mumbled to himself, putting in the key and swinging the metal door open.

He shifts to the side, motioning with his head, “Go. Get. Leave.”

“What’re you doing, Kennedy?”

His lips press into a fine line as he exhales through his nose, “What kinda man would I be if I took you away from them when I had the chance to save you?” He sighs, “They need you. God knows no one else will give a damn.”

You hesitate, you don’t know why—you should’ve ran as soon as the key went in the damn hole. You grab your bandana you threw off earlier, wrapping it around your neck with a curt nod. “Thank you.”

He doesn’t meet your gaze, a small frown on his face before he speaks, “yeah, yeah, just turn your ass around before I find a reason to lock you up again.”

You tip your hat to him, walking out of the vault. Your spurs are the one to jingle this time.

“ ‘sides, I always did like the back of you.”

You planned to keep going. You really fucking did.

When you turned around, your bodies were only two feet away. You swore you walked further from him but honestly, you couldn’t tell anymore. “Those are dangerous words you’re playing with.”

His back straightens and he peers down at you, “Are they?”

“You’re a confusing man, Kennedy.”

“I don’t remember telling you I was simple.”

You tut, “Haven’t you made enough mistakes already?”

He has, he knows it. The first damn mistake he’s made was making it a point to try and capture you. A year and 4 months he’s spent on this–on you. But, really, what bad would one last mistake do? He’s already made so many, it’ll just be another bullet to his chamber. He takes a step closer, chests nearly touching as his hands twitch to grab you, feel you without the mission of needing to hurt you and take you in. “I’d say not enough.”

All those times during his chase he could’ve gotten close, on top of you, felt your breath against his as you cornered one another. He hasn't, and he’s tired of letting it sit at bay. Learning a new side of you made him crazy. Crazier.

God is he an idiot.

Your breaths fill the tense atmosphere as he takes another small step closer, was it always so hot in here?

“We shouldn’t.”

“Who says?”

“ Everyone .” You stay like this for what seems like an eternity until Leon pulls you in by the back of your neck, his free hand moving to your waist as his lips crush against yours in a hasty kiss. He groans against your mouth and your fist coils the fabric of his shirt. Your hats tipped one another’s off and fell to the floor.

After a few seconds, he is the one to pull away from you. Your eyebrows furrow as you look at him in confusion, he looks at you like it was the answer. He clears his throat and takes a step back, wiping away your kiss and he looks away, trying to deny himself of what he wants.

Who he wants so, so badly.

He struggles to speak, to move, to think. He watches you and you watch him, both of your breaths at a skewed pace.

“Make a mistake with me.” He whispers, he looks different. You can finally see his face, moonlight highlighting his sharp features. Never noticed how handsomely-pretty he was before.

God, fuck it.

You step forward this time, pulling him in by the collar of his button up and pressing your lips against his. He licks the seam of your lips and you part them, teeth clacking and tongues entwining as he grabs the wide of your hips and pushes you against the metal bars. Ouch.

He pulls away from you with a sigh, looking offended at the fact that he even had to leave the plush of your lips. His hand leaves you to unbuckle your belt with fervor and slip his hand inside your pants and panties.

His fingers slip between your wet folds and he dips his head down to kiss your neck. Small moans escape you as he slowly rubs your clit, feeling your wet slick coat his fingers. “All those pretty sounds for me? I think I’m flattered.”

You groan, “of course you’re a bitch even when doing this.”

“I take my words back, then.” He rolls his eyes and opts to bite down on your shoulder, your nails dig into his back through the fabric of his shirt and he shudders when you bite him back. “fuck, ‘s not enough. Gotta taste you.”

He drops to his knees and fumbles with your belt until it’s off and shoves your pants down, his breath stuttering when he sees the soaked fabric. He drags them off you and pulls one of your legs over his shoulder. You hold onto the bars for balance, “Jesus Christ, wait . Almost made me fucking fall—“

You’re cut off when he spreads your lips and licks a stripe from your entrance to your clit. You moan, fingers grabbing a fistful of his hair and his eyes fluttered shut. He sighs at the taste of you, “fuckin’ delicious, can’t believe I didn’t do this shit sooner.” His voice, almost a groan, wavered before pushing his face back between your legs.

His tongue lapped at your entrance and his nose bumped up against your swollen clit. His fingers dimple the fat of your thigh and his cock twitches the louder your sounds get. He curled his tongue and pressed it deeper, despite the proximity, he needed to get closer somehow.

Trying to close your legs doesn’t work, smushing your thighs against his face only adds fuel to the fire.

You nearly sob when he pushed a finger inside your cunt, thrusting against your g-spot with a quick, steady rhythm. “ Leon , shit, shit , don’t you fucking stop. “ He slips in another finger, looking up at you with half-lidded eyes and a shit eating grin.

First time you’ve said his name, not kennedy or bastard or asshole – his name . And fuck, does it sound pretty coming out of you like that, how that alone makes his cock strain against his zipper.

Filthy squelches and moans flood the empty bank while Leon eats your pussy like a starved man. His own moans escaping as you buck your hips against his face. You pull on his hair roughly and you swear you hear him whine

“Gotta get you nice ‘n wet f’me,” He muttered against your pussy and his eyes fluttered as he tried to keep open to watch you. He wraps his lips around your clit and sucks hard — a cry of his name and you’re so fucking close to coming on his face, panting and feeling uncomfortably hot.

“Too much—“ you gasp, “Oh shit, fuck, it’s too much.” You choke, uneven moans escaping you as you finally come. You expect him to pull away but he doesn’t falter. “Mnh, wait, fuck, get off, get off . ” You beg breathlessly.

Leon groaned again and pressed closer, “need it, give it to me, honey. Gonna make you feel good, just don’t make me fucking stop.” He pleaded, feeling dizzy as he got high off your taste. You attempt to push his head and mouth away but your attempts are in vain.

You let out yet another choked sob when he forces another orgasm out of you, reluctantly, he pulled away, licking his lips clean and wiping the rest with the back of his hand. His free hand rubbed your thigh to try and soothe you, asshole turned caring in a matter of seconds. “Sorry.” He murmurs, “couldn’t help myself.”

Your breaths are uneven pants as you look down at him on his knees still. “ Fuck me , Kennedy apologizing? I’m speechless.”

“Oh, we’re back to Kennedy?”

He gets off his knees while yours quiver, “It was a mistake. A fluke.”

A smirk plays on his lips, “yeah, sure. We’ll see.” He turns you around and wraps his arm around your hips and pulls them against his own, pushing you forward slightly so you’re bent over, “grab the bars.” And you do.

You can feel the outline of his cock press against you, “so fucking ready, didn’t waste a goddamn second—y’sure that was a fluke? Getting my pants all dirty, honey.” You feel embarrassed, but not for long when you hear his belt buckle clink and the sound of fabric rustling – heart racing and pussy throbbing as to what’s happening. You turn your head and see him spit and runs his hand over his cock to get it wet. He smirks when he catches you, you shake your head and look forward again. “Gotta be sweet to me or I’ll make you work for it.”

“God, kennedy–” You gasp when he slides the head between your folds and nudges it at your entrance.

“Leon.” he corrects, pushing the tip inside you, “C’mon baby, I know you can say it.” he grabs your hips to keep you from pushing back onto him. Fucker .

“ Leon.”

“Atta girl.”

He snaps his hips into you, body shuddering and your mouth opens with a sharp gasp and choked back moan. His grip on your hips tighten when he pulls out and pushes back inside to the hilt. His breathing is nothing but grunts, groans, and pants, you’re not much different – if anything else, you’re worse. “Can’t– fuck –handle it? Can rob every fucking bank but you can’t take some dick.”The way he fucks you is merciless, he wants you to feel good but also wants to punish you for everything you’ve done. Everything you’ve done to him.

He dips his hand lower to smack your ass, “Answer me. Had a lot to say just minutes ago.”

“Sh-shit, I can take it,” you shudder, “I can take it–” Your skin is wet with sweat and it gets harder to hold onto the bars, each thrust making you lose a bit more of yourself. Fuck him and fuck this but holy shit do you suddenly not regret everything you’ve ever done.

You’re mewling beneath him, happily and prettily so. “Pussy’s so tight, just needed a good dicking down.” he moans, “That all it took to get you to – fuck that’s good – listen?” he moves one of his hands from your hip to your clit, stimulating it as he fucks you a little harder, “Say my name, God, I need it.” he groans.

“Leon, Leon, Leon– ” You moan loudly, you don’t know when the sheriff is coming, but if he’s close you’re sure he can hear you easily. Your vision blurs when he touches you and your legs tremble with each spot his cock hits.

“Don’t worry, I’ve gotcha, not lettin’ you go.” Leon’s an idiot, but if his mistakes will make him feel this good again, he’ll keep making them. His composure starts to dwindle when sweat beads his forehead and you start squeezing him like a vice. Made for him, he thinks. “ Take it , fuck yourself onto me honey, atta girl.” his breath stutters.

Who are you to deny him – you do as you’re told and he moans. His hand goes up to your neck and pulls your back against his chest. Within seconds, you come around him with his name on your tongue and a scream. He bites down on your shoulder with a desperate groan before he pulls out and streams of hot come hit your ass.

He holds onto you like you’re his life line, like he’ll fall if he lets you go (he will). You two stay like that for a good 20 seconds before he lets go of you and takes a couple of steps back. He turns away from you and you can hear him zip up his pants and belt clunk when he fixes himself. You do the same, a little slower, both out of lack of energy and embarrassment.

Leon also feels embarrassed. This is the part where he’d usually get whoever he was sleeping with a glass of water, a quick bath, and ask if they’d rather go home tonight or he takes them home tomorrow. He can’t do either of that, and he’s supposed to hate you and definitely not fuck you or let you go.

He swallows, “You need to get going. He’ll be here soon and he won’t hesitate to shoot if he sees you run.”

“Right.” you whisper, taking a deep breath to steady yourself as you bend down to pick up your hat. You’re both in a daze, he looks at you, all guilty and nervous. His hair is wet with sweat and his cheeks are flushed, had it been anyone else you would’ve pushed his hair back to get a better look at him. But he’s not anyone else, and this was all a mistake . “Gonna stop coming after me now?”

A weak smile tugs his lips, “In both ways, no. Can’t promise anything.”

You fight back a laugh but return his smile, turning away so he can’t see it. He picks up his hat next and watches as you walk away from him to the front of the bank. Like a lost puppy, he follows. “Need help getting up?” he motions to your horse.

“I’ll be fine, Kennedy. You need to worry about yourself rather than me.”

“Like I said, can’t promise anything.”

You hop on your horse, ready to put all that you did with him in a box and stuffed away.

“Stay safe. Be seeing you.” he whispers.

You don’t trust yourself to speak so you nod, not looking back as your horse takes you away.

You’re a good mile out when Leon hears a horse’s footsteps behind him, then heavy human ones. “Where is she?”

“I told you to follow me quick, Chris. She’s gone. Just thought I’d give you the message personally so you didn’t have to wait here alone.”

Chris sighs and looks at Leon with nothing but hate. Ironic. “It’s not hard to do your damn job.”

“Can say the same about you – so, drinks? Need one after today.”

Chris looks Leon up and down, eyebrows furrowed when he does so. “When did you change your hat?”

He blinks, suddenly realizing his is a little tighter.

Miles out, you realize yours is a little looser.

You suppose you two will be seeing another again after all. When you do, you'll finally be ready.

#resident evil x reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x fem!reader #leon s kennedy x y/n #leon s kennedy x you #cowboy!leon #leonfucker3000

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leonstoenailunderhisbed · 6 months

Text

American Psycho Killer

Summary: Leon S. Kennedy, a man who’s taken his duty of protection very seriously. He’ll do anything to ensure the safety of people, especially the safety of one particular girl.

Warning: stalking, murdering, mentions of planned murder, mentions of drugs and drug abuse, gore (kinda), death, masturbation (m receiving), smut, creampie, yan!leon, not proofread lol, fem reader, psychopathic.

A/N: I did my research for this as I wanted this to sound a little spooky teehee :3

[part two]

“I got you under my skin” - Mirotic, TVXQ!

Psychopath vs. Sociopath. The popular argument in between psychologists.

Leon never really cared enough to get himself checked out but there were signs. He didn’t feel empathy for others, his moves were calculated and he’s highly educated. He has a well paying career, he pretends to be this normal guy when in reality, he’s psychopathic.

What defines a psychopath apart from a sociopath? Psychopaths, at least in Leon’s case, cannot form established bonds with others. He doesn’t feel guilt or sad when he sees a person die by his hands.

His job already requires him to kill so this was an easy feat. He doesn’t care. He can’t feel anything.

He couldn’t feel anything until you came along.

Leon lived in this apartment complex just downtown of a city in the state. The apartment was big and had security cameras all around. It was well guarded and the people were kind.

When he saw the new neighbor move in, he felt weird. He narrowed his eyes as he watched you from the window of his apartment loft. He was growing suspicious at his behavior. Why did his chest feel warm? Why is his heart beating fast? Why are his hands sweating?

He didn’t know. Up to this point he didn’t feel anything but you brought something to him and it made him uneasy. So he decided to keep an eye on you.

Days passed after you moved in and you settled just fine. The old lady at the end of the hall brought you cookies, a sweet old lady. She talked to Leon a few times and he didn’t think much of her other than just as his neighbor. Nothing more.

But if you were to ask him what he thought of you? Oh boy, he thought a lot of things. Both good and bad.

Being a psychopath isn’t praised in society. Only 1% of the population is considered one and no one knew he belonged to that percentage. And he’d like to keep it that way; his excuse for his behavior was his job. He always left early in the morning and came back late at night. A manipulator and a liar is what he was, and a very good one.

He’s seen you leave your apartment from time to time. You’d take out the trash, went out with your friends- he’s seen everything you do.

Leon isn’t stupid, he’s attentive and observant. He leaves no trace behind of the murder he just committed. The male neighbor across from your door saw you one day when you walked out of your door with a short dress.

The man eye-fucked you so much he literally almost started drooling. Leon cringed and found him repulsive. How dare he look at you like you were some meat on the market?

He felt anger and disgust. No one should look at you like that. No one.

So, one summer day, he made up an excuse to visit him. Something about a water pipe connecting to his sink that didn’t make it work. Like I said, Leon is a good manipulator and a good liar. He always gets what he wants.

The male neighbor invited him in and closed the door behind him. He offered Leon a beer, to which he refused. He found liquor and other substances repulsive. He walked over to the man’s kitchen sink and began to inspect it.

He noticed the man’s sink had a garbage disposal unit. That’s pretty dangerous, he thought to himself.

He walked over to where the man was sitting. The male neighbor was sitting on his reclining couch as he watched a game with a cup of beer on the stand next to him. The neighbor was so engrossed on the football game that he didn’t notice Leon slipping something into his drink.

Leon was smart. Dangerously smart. He knew everything when it came to death- he worked in the DSO, of course he knew some things. He knew the effects of alprazolam and what it does to the brain.

So when he lied to a psychiatrist about his insomnia and got prescribed some Xanax, he crushed a high dosage into fine powder and slipped it into the man’s beer.

Stupid bastard, Leon thought to himself.

He watched as the male neighbor took a sip of his drink and Leon waited. Xanax is a powerful drug, can cause hallucinations and make your brain become a little too calm. You’re bound to fall asleep at some point. And with the amount Leon dropped into his drink, he knew he’d knock out sooner than later.

After a few minutes of “tinkering” with the man’s sink. He got up and went to check on the man again.

And sure as hell did the man find himself in a profound slumber. His snores layering with the sound of the TV.

Too easy, Leon smirked to himself. He put on some elastic gloves and made sure he wore shoes that wouldn’t leave footprints. In case things would get messy, of course.

He poured the man’s drink down the sink to get rid of the evidence. He then thought hard about how he should go about this.

There’s many different ways one can commit murder but Leon wanted the cleanest one. So he came up with one.

He brought pans to the stove and made it seem like the man was cooking something for himself. He partially cooked a stupid egg and left it there. Leon went back to where the man was sitting and dragged him out of his couch and towards the kitchen. Since this man’s place was small, the kitchen and dining area were joined together. He sat there man down on the dining table, which happened to be near the stove. He took out the man’s phone and put it in the man’s hand to make it seem like he was using it.

Leon went back to the kitchen and continued to prepare the scene. He took out bottles of alcohol the man had and poured them down the drain to make it look like he’d had a few drinks. He took a single cup from the cup rack and filled it up halfway. With the cup and bottle of whiskey in both hands, he walked back to the table where the man was sitting and laid them on the table. He took the half empty cup and smeared the man’s lip on the rim. You must cover every single detail.

He even poured a little alcohol into the man’s already parted lips. Leon walked back to the stoved and kept the gas on. Now all he needed to do was wait and let nature do its thing.

Leon walked out of his apartment, pretending to still be talking to the man since there was a camera on the corner of the hall. As the door opened, the camera couldn’t record that Leon had been talking to himself. It made the act believable.

With a smile, Leon walked back to his place and stayed there.

A few hours passed and it started to get dark outside, each resident was inside their unit and ready to go to sleep when the fire alarm began to sound. Everyone was forced to evacuate the premises as the firefighters came to the scene.

You saw as the ambulance brought out a stretcher into the building. Someone was still inside, you thought to yourself as your eyes widened and your heart rate increased. You tried to move but felt someone’s hand on your arm, it was Leon.

“Don’t. It’s too dangerous,” he replied in a serious tone as he stared at you with those cold blue eyes. You pinched your brows together. He was right. If you were to try and save the person, you’d die in the process. You nodded defeatedly and he let go of your arm. He stood there watching you- analyzing you.

You had a good heart, he thought. Too good for his liking. That made you an easy target for people and he loathed the idea of people exploiting your kindness. He vowed to protect you, to mark his hands dirty for you.

As the EMT brought back the stretcher, you could see a person lying there lifeless. All the other residents immediately started to mutter amongst themselves, some started to cry and others gasped in shock. You simply stood there, wide eyed and jaw slack. Leon’s expression remained unchanged as he watched you react to the man’s death. The man deserved it, he thought to himself.

Couldn’t you see that he was protecting you? You’ll come around eventually, he thought.

As the ambulance left the area, the firefighters started to clear the smoke as the police arrived. The police began to do their investigation as the firefighters checked the unit and deemed it good after clearing out the fire and the smoke. One police officer began to make her way to the apartment as the other stayed behind with the residents to ask questions.

Leon was a smooth talker. A trait most psychopaths had. He could get himself out of any situation and he could lie. So when the police asked him what had happened, Leon simply replied with, “I’m not sure. I went to his apartment to check his water supply as my sink stopped working and he lived next to me. I noticed he was making himself some food but I was too busy checking our pipes. He reeked of alcohol and barely spoke to me,” Leon’s tone was different. He sounded likey he spoke the truth.

You couldn’t help but listen to his words. To you, they are true. You saw him walk out of the man’s apartment.

The investigation was deemed as self-manslaughter. The police believed that the man suffered from deliberate alcohol poisoning which caused him to pass out in the process of cooking himself some food.

This made news headlines. Everyone believed the story but they thought the man was stupid enough to cook while he was drunk. Many of the residents believed it, he was a known alcoholic. Leon was never caught.

He was watching you from the window, months after the incident occurred. You had just come back from your college lecture. Leon knew. He stalked you, he followed you.

He knew your weekly routine. Monday through Thursday you had lectures. On Friday, you did work study. And the weekends were reserved for your personal time. He felt proud of you for balancing your life. You lived healthily and he couldn’t help but feel proud at your decisions. He knew you were smart enough to take care of yourself.

He knew the campus you went to, he knew the classes you were taking, he knew your major- he knew everything. But he pretended like he didn’t.

So when he saw you in the parking lot, right next to his car and you had trouble with your groceries, he couldn’t help but feel like your knight in shining armor. With his hardened expression, he asked you in his stern and serious voice, “Need some help?”

You smiled sheepishly and nodded, “Yeah… you don’t mind helping me?” You scratched your head awkwardly. On the inside, he found it adorable. But on the outside, he maintained his cool. He nodded and walked over to your car to retrieve the bags of groceries you bought. He was so strong he carried all the bags to your apartment door. You thanked him graciously and invited him inside.

“You can put them on the table, I’ll assort them,” you said as you took of your jacket and hanged it on the rack right next to the door. He nodded and walked over to the dining table, where he put all the bags with food. He took this opportunity to look around your place.

You kept it simple. It was nice, colorful, but nice. You had tons of books on your shelves, he took a mental note that you probably liked to stay indoors. He noticed the way your laptop and a few papers were scattered on the couch and coffee table, you were studious and dedicated to your education. He silently applauded you in his head. He liked that about you. You had goals and ambitions.

“Thank you, again. I owe you one,” you walked up to him and gave him a warm, genuine smile. He looked down at you and nodded again. Pretty smile, he thought to himself.

“It’s no problem, let me know if you need help with anything. I’m a couple doors away,” he replied with his usual serious tone. He remained unchanged, at least to you. To him, he felt like he about to combust into pieces. You were perfect, absolutely perfect.

Days went by and you found yourself talking to Leon more often. Or at least on the days you could. Leon was gone most of the day, he told you about his hectic work schedule and you couldn’t help but feel bad about him. So you decided to make him a small dinner with a note.

You left it on the front door of his apartment and walked back to yours. When Leon came back from work, it was 2:27 a.m. As he climbed up the steps of the stairs, he noticed something on his front door and felt slightly confused. He hasn’t ordered anything. He grew cautious and slowly approached his door. But then he saw your name on a sticky note. He quickly picked up the lunch box and walked inside his apartment.

Walking to his dining table, he read the note you left. Even your handwriting was perfect. The little swirls of the letters, almost writing in cursive made him want to keep you all to himself. He brought the piece of paper to his nose and sniffed it roughly, the paper crumbling in his hands as he could smell your scent on it. He groaned in pleasure as he could imagine your soft and small hands picking up a pen and write something just for him.

Just for him.

That thought alone almost set him off. He couldn’t eat dinner, not with the growing erection in his pants. He put the dinner you made in his freezer and quickly walked to his bedroom. He sat down on his bed and unbuckled his belt, throwing it somewhere on the floor. He pulled down his pants and boxers and watched as his cocked sprung freely, hitting his abdomen with a thwack.

His left hand held the piece of water with your handwriting and your scent while his right hand traveled to his cock. He brought the piece of paper to his nose again and closed his eyes in pure delight. Your scent was intoxicating- sweet vanilla with a hint of coffee. He grunted and moaned at the thought of your hands picking writing this note. He could picture your small hands wrapping his big cock, rubbing his base up and down as your scent infiltrated his airway.

His muscles tensed up as the thought of having you in between his legs made his cock throb. His stomach coiled as he felt himself nearing his orgasm. He could imagine your mouth sucking on his cock as he rammed his hips deeper down your throat, making you gag on him. He’d grab your hair and pull you closer to his pelvic area, having his blonde pubic hair rub against your face as you took his cock like a good girl.

He growled your name as he came in himself. White ropes shooting down at his palm as he tried to collect his cum and prevent it from staining any of his furniture. He sighed softly and laid his back on the mattress as he thought of you.

You drive him wild, he’d do anything for you. If it meant having you as his.

And that’s what drove him to kill more people. One day, he overheard you while both of you “coincidentally” went to get the mail from the lobby. You were speaking on the phone to a friend and he tried to make it seem like he wasn’t listening. But he was.

He heard you talk about how your ex is pestering you and giving you a hard time. That you cried last night because you two had an argument while he tried to get back together. His blood ran through his veins as you mentioned you cried.

He’d kill anyone who made this sweet and perfect angel cry. And that’s what his next murder was going to be. He went back to his apartment and began to stalk you again. As a government agent, he had privileges the common folk didn’t have. He was able to run a background check on you and found out your ex. To his surprise, he was your first and only relationship so far. He knew this guy probably broke your heart as your first relationship will always be your worst one.

He narrowed his eyes in anger as he found the man who broke your heart. And jotted down the information he had on him- his address, his workplace, his contact information, etc. Leon found everything thanks to his job.

When you heard news about your ex dying, you were shocked to see that he died from overdose. You’ve never known he was a drug addict, or at least that’s what Leon made it seem to be.

Leon drove all the way this man’s house and observed his routine. Your ex went to work, came back home, and went to the bar. An alcoholic, this made it easier for him.

Leon walked into the bar with his casual clothes, he spotted the man sitting on the bar counter with a drink already in his hand. He walked over and sat next to him as he ordered himself whiskey.

Your ex was already stupidly drunk, flirting up some poor girl who was just trying to talk to her friend. So he’s a creep too, he thought to himself as he took a sip his drink.

Why do you always find yourself around creepy and perverted men?

Leon looked around and made sure no one was watching him as slipped some stuff into his drink. Leon then continued to sip his drink and even chatted up the bartender.

The more your ex drank, the closer he got to an overdose. Turns out if you mix alcohol with prednisone, the effects could be fatal. Your ex would develop a liver damage that could potentially end his life if he kept drinking like he was right now.

It was getting late and Leon paid his tab. It was 11 PM and he decided he should go home. He wasn’t drunk, not yet at least. So he was perfectly capable of driving back to his apartment. But not your ex.

It was nearing closing time for the bar and the poor bartender saw your ex passed out on the counter. She didn’t know what to do but she tried waking him up.

Unresponsive. Her eyes widened slightly as she over to his side and checked for a pulse.

Flat line. She called the police and reported the death.

The police declared it suicide. They believed he voluntarily took drugs and alcohol at the same time.

In your mind, you were in denial but then you slowly began to think to yourself. He’s been acting weird and out of the ordinary when he’d talk about getting back together. It all made sense now. His aggressive behavior, his short temper… he was a drug addict and an alcoholic.

You attended the funeral, of course. And when you came back, Leon had been unlocking his door. He saw your puffy eyes as you had your heels in your hands. You looked like you’ve been crying- which you probably were. Leon paused as he stared at you, he nodded once at you, acknowledging your presence. He then spoke up in a tired voice, “Rough day?”

You nodded as you blinked slowly, “You could say that.”

He hummed in response and looked back down at his doorknob. Then he looked back to you, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Leon himself was tired as he just came back from a tough mission, but he would never be too tired for you. He pushed his exhaustion to the side and would rather take care of your needs for you.

You sighed and nodded slowly, “I could use a drink.”

He invited you over to his apartment and let you sit down on his couch as he took two glasses and one bottle of Jack. He walked over to the couch and set down the glasses and the bottle on the coffee table as he sat down next to you.

He began to pour for the both of you, not wanting you to work any more than you’ve already had.

“Cheers,” you muttered under your breath as you clanked your glass with his and chugged the liquid down your throat. The burning sensation almost making you forget about the mental strain you had.

He watched you as you set down the glass back down on the coffee table. Even in this state, you looked absolutely beautiful. He couldn’t wait to have you for himself. To prove to you that what you needed was a real man.

One thing let to another and you found yourself pinned under him on his bed. Your legs spread open as your knees rested on his shoulders. The head of his cock abusing your cervix, bruising it with brute force as he pulled out and pushed back in harshly. His balls smacking against your ass as his arms caged you under him. Your hands were on his shoulders, nails clawing deep into his flesh as the bed creaked from him pounding into you. The headboard hitting the wall behind the bed as he pulled out and forced his cock back into your tight walls. Your cunt clenching around his member as his hands gripped on your hair, forcing your head up so he could hear your stupid blabber.

He pulled out and rolled you over to your stomach. His left hand gripped on your waist as his right hand gripped the back of your neck and pushed your face down the sheets of his bed as he rammed his cock from behind you. Your ass jiggling as pounded harsher and harsher. Making sure you knew who you belonged to. He’d fuck you until you couldn’t walk.

You kept moaning his name against his pillow. Drool falling down your lips as tears rolled down your cheeks from the pleasure. You felt him even deeper from this position. His left hand gripped on your waist as it then traveled down to your ass and smacked, almost immediately seeing his hand print show in a pink and red hue on your skin. The burning sensation of the slap only made you more needy for his touch. His left hand found your hip and forced your body to clash against his as he fucked you straight to bliss.

Stars clouded your eyes as you whimpered and moaned. He cock throbbed and twitched inside of you as it stretched you. It hurt but it hurt good. His right hand gently squeezed the back of your throat, causing you to moan.

“Fuck- Leon- ‘mma cum-“ you spoke breathlessly in between moans and whimpers. He leaned down to whisper in your ear, “Cum for me,” he pressed a kiss on your shoulder blade as he felt you squirm under him. Your body convulsing as your orgasm took the best of you.

Your pussy clamped and clenched around him, wedging him with your juices. He didn’t stop, however. He kept pounding into you as the squelching sound echoed through his room.

He grunted and growled as he felt himself about to cum. He began to speed up and he let go of your neck. Now that both of his hands were on your hips, he gripped the fat of them and forced your body in and out of his cock. Bruising your cervix as your ass hit his hips. The sweat making your skin glisten under the shitty light of his room. You looked even more beautiful when he was fucking you like this.

His hot and sticky cum spurted out of his cock, coating your walls with a part of himself. In his sick and twisted mind, he branded you. He branded you with his essence and he didn’t regret it. He pulled out and heard you moan dumbly as he watched his cum slowly drip down the lips of your cunt to his bedsheet. He’d have to clean them but he didn’t care. He gave your ass a gentle squeeze as he patted your back for you to lay down. He knew you enjoyed it so much since you were on the brink of passing out.

You closed your eyes and felt as Leon cleaned you up. He took your hand and placed a gentle kiss on you knuckles. He was grateful to have you.

He wouldn’t mind killing again. Now that you were his in his mind, he’d go as far as killing every man who’s ever laid eyes on you.

For you, he’d become the world’s best serial killer.

1K notes · View notes

miss-oranje-disco-dancer · 3 months

Text

slipping through my fingers

pairing: ex-husband! leon x ex-wife! reader

tags/cw: hurt/comfort, smut, fluff, p-in-v (unprotected), breeding kink, chris and rose make an appearance, exes to lovers, periodic pov switch

summary: previously absent-father leon comes back into reader's life when he decides to step-up as a father to their daughter, june

a/n: this is a commission for @mikadayo !

wc: 5.3k

taglist:

@rigorwhoring

@dilfprayers

@porcelainseashore

@xoxoloveless

@admirxation

@pawrincss

@onlyasimp4-2dbitches

@pr3ttyd0llie

It was supposed to be over. It was over. You finalized your divorce with Leon and got full custody of your daughter, June. It's hard being a single mom, but making the choice to become one was an easy one. You'd do anything for your little girl, and that includes making sure she has a stable home life, which was something she'd never get with Leon.

He had his chances to see her. You were willing to let him have her on Father's Day and New Years Eve, even Spring Break once, but he never took you up on your offers. Work was always too busy.

Whenever your daughter asks about Daddy, you tell her, "he's busy working to make sure the world stays safe."

"He's gonna make sure there's no monsters under my bed ever."

"That's right, honey. No monsters can get you because your dad is gonna make them go away."

She doesn't know about Umbrella, STRATCOM, the DSO, or why he was sick for a little while and had to go to a special facility before he could come home. ‘Parasite’ is not a word in her vocabulary.

But one fateful Saturday morning, Leon - older and more sober - stands at your doorstep.

With a coffee mug in your hand and slippers on your feet, you open your front door, assuming it's a neighbor who got your mail by mistake or a kid selling girl scout cookies. But, luck isn't on your side today.

"Good morning," he says, all cheery and nonchalant.

"What the Hell are you doing here?"

June - who seems to have phenomenal hearing this morning - chimes in, "that's a bad word, ."

"I'm an adult, so I can say bad words sometimes," you say, hoping it will be enough of a response for her, but her nosiness prevails.

Peering out from behind you, she realizes who you're talking to, and pushing past you to see him, she exclaims, "Daddy!"

"Hi, sweetheart," he says, picking her up and giving her a kiss on the forehead.

Full of excitement, she talks a mile a minute. "I missed you so much. I have to show you my Barbies and my science project and - Oh! we're having pancakes for breakfast because makes them on Saturdays with chocolate chips and-"

"Slow down, June bug," he says with a smile identical to hers. "Let's do one thing at a time. First we have to make sure that your mommy is okay with me hanging out with you today."

"Of course she is!" June says, turning to you. "Right, mommy?"

You sigh. "Of course I am." You make a face that only Leon can recognize as annoyance. Not anger, just irritation. You wanted him to make an effort, right?

Leon listens eagerly to everything about My Little Pony and the ant farm at school while you clean up breakfast and make yourself slightly more presentable. Leon looks better than you'd like to admit, and whether it's to spite him or to impress him, you decide you need to look decent in front of him too.

"Can I talk to daddy for a minute, honey?" you ask.

"Okay, but only for five minutes because we're gonna watch a movie."

You can't help but laugh at the fact that she tries to hog her father - your ex-husband. A man who was once yours, who you used to love.

"Okay five minutes," you tell her, as you give Leon a nod in the direction of the kitchen.

From the kitchen, you drag him out the back door, onto the porch and you can see in his face that he is prepared for the talking-to that he's about to get.

"You can't just show up unannounced,” you whisper-yell at him in the way that parents do.

"I know, but I was in the area and-"

"No. You should've called me."

"I did, but it went to voicemail."

"When?"

"A few hours ago."

"I was asleep."

"How was I supposed to know that?"

"I always sleep in on Saturdays.” It irks you how he forgets the simplest things about you, and you almost let yourself get consumed by the urge to keep arguing, but then you remember why you’re both standing here. “This isn't even about me. You can't do this to her."

"Do what? Hang out with my daughter? She's happy. Look at her."

"She's happy now, but what about when you leave? What about when I have to calm her down when she's crying because she misses you?"

"Just tell her I'll be back."

"But that's not fucking good enough, Leon! That doesn't mean anything. You've been gone for years."

"What do you want me to do? Leave now?"

You peek inside to see your baby girl smiling to herself.

"No."

"We'll figure something out, babe, I swear."

"Do not 'babe' me. We're not doing that."

"Okay, sorry."

You can't tell if his ‘sorry’ is an apology or a way to get you off his ass for the time being.

Leon knows this isn't the ideal scenario, but he prays that the old adage, 'better late than never' proves itself to be true.

He really is sorry.

Sorry. It never comes out quite right, his mouth is still learning how to mold itself to fit that word. He hopes the look in his eyes gives way to the fact that he means it.

Regardless, you cut your lecture short after peering in the window at June who is patiently waiting in front of the TV for him to come back.

Leon rarely ever relaxes. His job puts him constantly on edge, waiting for the industry's latest bioweapon to tear his head off. But, with June in his lap, the two of them both fall asleep while Mulan remains on the TV.

You wake June up for lunch, which stirs Leon as well - he never likes having his sleep interrupted but when he finds out you've made macaroni and cheese (and he's allowed to have some), all is forgiven.

That afternoon, Leon feels you staring him down like he's an inmate and you're a prison guard. He feels a little guilty, though he's committed no crimes. He shouldn't be here, he should be home, away from the sacred space you've created for his little girl. If he loves her, he'll let her go.

No. He said that about you, and so far, it hasn't worked.

If he loves his little June bug, he'll hold her tight.

So, Leon comes back the next weekend, announced, like you asked, though maybe he should've been a bit more specific about his intentions.

"Are you guys gonna watch a movie?" you ask. "Or are you gonna show dad your new toy?"

"Actually," Leon cuts in, "I was thinking about taking her to the fair."

Leon’s not a man who typically walks around with a mind full of adventures - you were always the one to plan the dates you went on together. This idea came to him when he looked up 'things to do near me with children', and found an article that mentioned the county fair.

"The fair?" You look apprehensive.

You were never this way with him, you would go anywhere with him - at least, in the beginning, back when you were absolutely smitten with him. God, he misses those days.

But, maybe Leon should have considered the concerns that you might have about him taking June to the fair. However, the website he consulted didn't give him any instructions on 'how to convince your ex-wife to let you bring your child here' - the only directions consisted of an address that he could type into his GPS.

"Yeah, I heard it's this weekend and I think it would be a fun time, you know, we could ride some rides, get cotton candy…"

"Cotton candy!" A voice from behind Leon calls.

"I'm worried about June getting on those rides, I mean, they can't be entirely safe."

"I promise, I'll make sure she's safe."

"Mommy, please." It seems to be June who convinces you, though Leon does mimic her pouty puppy dog face.

"Fine, but you need sunscreen, and I don't want you eating too much junk food." Leon tries his best to keep up with all your instructions, though he misses some, in particular, he forgets your insistence that he "keeps you updated the whole time."

"Got it," Leon tells you, overconfident in his listening skills when he's got an excited little kid pulling him out the door.

"And you better not be taking her on that bike, Leon Kennedy!"

"Can I have your car keys?" he asks sheepishly.

You grab them off the counter and hand them to him. "If you crash my car so help me God-"

"I won't." Not while his girl is with him. He drives under the speed limit with her buckled in her carseat. (You had to help him with that, and honestly, you seemed grateful that he asked you, rather than doing it himself and risking messing it up.) Leon knows you think he’s a fuck-up.

The fair is a 5 year-old's dream. (Also, a grown man's dream, though Leon would be reluctant to admit that.)

"Can we get a funnel cake, daddy?"

“Hell yeah, we can."

"Mommy says 'Hell' is a bad word."

"She's right. I'm sorry for saying it." Maybe you'll accept a funnel cake as an apology, he thinks.

June gasps, and Leon's protective arm flies out of his jacket pocket to wrap around her, stopping in its tracks when she says, "they have fried Oreos!"

"They make those?" Leon has died and gone to heaven, he's sure of it.

The fried Oreos taste 'fucking amazing', though Leon stops himself from saying that in front of his daughter. They're truly the pinnacle of American cuisine.

The fair is like a casino, both in the sense that it drains your wallet and makes you forget how long you've been there. They have the spinning teacups, the petting zoo, the carousel, everything a child's mind could dream up.

"I remember your mom and I kissed at the top of one of these once," he tells June when they're on the ferris wheel.

"Ew! You could've given her cooties!"

"Cooties? You still believe in those?"

"Yeah, if a boy touches you, you can get it."

On second thought, cooties absolutely exist. His little girl isn't having a boyfriend until she's 25.

"Oh yeah, sorry, I forgot - you can get it when you're a kid, but I was an adult when I kissed your mom, so we didn't get cooties."

He spares her the details of what really happened on that ferris wheel. His daughter will never hear that story.

That Saturday is one of the best days of Leon's life - second only to June's birth.

That is, until he drops her off at home. You are pissed like he's never seen before.

"Oh, you're alive!" You take June in your arms and kiss her on the cheek.

You do not look as happy to see him. "Leon, I was worried sick about y- her!"

He hears the almost slip of the tongue. You. You worried about them both. You worried about him.

"I'm sorry." And, he means it, really.

"Mommy, it's okay," June assures you. "Daddy won me this." She hands you a teddy bear.

"How'd he do that?"

You look at him, almost suspicious, but he gives you a proud smile, and says, "I won the game where you have to throw darts at the balloons."

"No way! Those are rigged."

"Nope. You're just not as good at them as I am." They probably are rigged but Leon's job has given him superior aim and reaction speed.

Your reluctant smile says you're impressed with his skill.

And, that smile widens when he says, "I got you something too."

"Oh yeah?" The look you give him is one he’s always treasured. He’s always dreamed about making your eyes light up like that again.

"Here." He hands you a styrofoam takeout box, and watches you as you open it.

"Funnel cake!" Though you always say June got her smile from him, he swears you smile exactly like she does.

A funnel cake? How are you supposed to stay mad at him like this?

When Leon is about to exit after saying his goodbyes to June, you stop him. "I'm gonna go put her to bed, and then we're going to have a talk."

A lecture. Not the kind of ‘talk’ he likes.

"Mommy, I want daddy to read me a story."

Leon might have a convincing face, one that works on you nine times out of ten, but June's works ten times out of ten.

You give Leon a pleading look - something you wouldn't have expected to do since your divorce - and he says, "yeah, of course."

"I expect you to be good," you tell June when you hug her goodnight. "You know the rules: brush your teeth, put on your pjs, one story, and then lights out."

She nods, though you expect her to push the envelope. And, you expect Leon to cave to her wishes. But you have a date with that funnel cake, and maybe even a beer - you never drink when June is around, but you realize, when you find one in the back of the fridge out in the garage, that you're beginning to trust Leon. If, God forbid, you ever got even the slightest bit drunk, you know he could take care of June.

Leon finds you on the porch with a half-finished beer and an empty box where the funnel cake used to be. You smile like a child in that you're completely unashamed, or unaware even, of the ring of powdered sugar around your mouth.

"I thought you'd save some for me," he says.

"You thought wrong."

"It's kinda funny that you're the one with the beer in hand. It feels like it was always the other way around."

It’s not that funny at all.

"That's 'cause it was."

He pauses - you half expect him to apologize, but he doesn't.

"How was she?"

"Good. She fell asleep while I was reading to her."

"The first book?"

"Are there usually more books?"

"Unbelievable! She always begs me for 'one more story', and I'm such a softie. I always give in."

He laughs. A beautiful laugh. "What can I say? I'm a man of many talents."

"She was probably tired from her long day out." You give him the 'you're in trouble' look that June never gets.

"I'm sorry. We were having a great time."

"I almost called the police, Leon. I thought you two had died."

"Died? She's safe with me. Always." He pats his hip where Matilda resides, holstered under his jacket.

"You brought a gun into my house? Into my baby's bedroom? I don't want that thing anywhere near her!"

"Chill. The safety's on, and she can't get to it without getting past me, and I've got fast reflexes."

"Oh yeah? I could just-" You reach for the gun, but he grabs your wrist. Then, you think you can catch him off-guard with the other hand, but he's one step ahead, immediately grabbing your other wrist before it gets anywhere near the gun.

"No, you can't."

"You expected me to do it."

"I expected the second hand after the first. I'm just paying attention."

"Let go of my wrists."

"Will you behave?"

You scoff. "Yes."

You don't want to 'behave', you want Leon's hands pinning your wrists to the bed. You shake off that thought quickly.

To 'prove that you can outsmart him', you try to grab his gun again when he lets you go. Of course, he stops you. You've never gotten past him. Not when you used to 'play-fight', not when you tried to sneak up on him, not now.

"What do you think you're doing?" He's trying so hard not to laugh, you can see his lip twitching.

"Fine. You proved your point."

But he doesn't let go yet. "Do you wanna know what I told June earlier?" he whispers.

"What did you tell her?"

"When we were on the ferris wheel," he enunciates every syllable in 'ferris wheel' and you already know where it's going before he says it, "I told her we kissed on one of those a long time ago."

He must see your worry because he adds, "don't worry, I didn't say anything more about what happened."

About how his hands were under your skirt, and his fingers were knuckle-deep inside you.

“You better not have told her about that."

"I've always kept it a secret. Just between us... and probably the guy operating the ride and people waiting in line who saw your shaky legs and blushing face."

"Shut up!"

"That was my line." He lets go of your wrists, and you're too stunned to do anything.

It becomes a routine - Leon comes and sees June on the weekends. You know it's going to end one day. He'll leave you both behind. He always does. Sometimes it's work, sometimes it's other things (though you always tell June it's work).

You wait for him the next Saturday. You've never really set a specific time for Leon to come over because that would be setting expectations, and you've learned that with him expectations just lead to being let down. But, he's later than usual. The pang of anxiety is a familiar one.

Finally, he shows up, and when he pulls into your driveway, you nearly cry. You care because June cares. At least, that's what you tell yourself.

"I think my little girl should come stay with me for the weekend," Leon says, and you wonder if saying it in front of June is a strategic move on his part. You can say no to him, but not to her.

She jumps up and down with joy. You'd think she was just told she's being taken to Disney World, not her dad's apartment.

"I don't know about this..." You try to shut the idea down. "I mean, you don't even have a carseat, Leon, how can I expect you to have a toothbrush for her? Do you even know how to comb her hair? And, what about her allergies?"

"She's allergic to peanuts and bees, I remember. Her blood type is A positive. She likes watermelon-flavored toothpaste. And Chris told me what shampoo he buys for Rose and how he does her hair."

You're impressed to say the least. "And what about-"

"If I need anything, I'll call you. Okay?"

"I expect you to call me anyway."

"June bug, will you remind me to call if I forget?"

"Yes," she says, standing up straight like a soldier.

Would you normally trust your five year-old to remember something crucial? No. But, you know she'll want to say goodnight to you. You're surprised she's willing to stay over at someone else's house, let alone excited about a sleepover. She's always been attached to you. You and June have existed as a duo since she was born.

It takes you at least an hour to pack everything. You fill two suitcases - and admittedly, it is hot to watch Leon carry them both to the car with no trouble.

But that rush of arousal lasts for two minutes maximum. You watch them drive away and realize June left without hugging you goodbye. She usually hangs onto your leg like a koala bear and you have to peel her off of you. You only got a wave from Leon.

It's like her first day of kindergarten all over again - when you teared up at the bus stop watching her climb onto the school bus.

The only thing that gives you peace of mind is that your baby girl is probably over the moon right now.

She is, and so is her dad.

There's a singular moment of nervousness on June's part when Chris comes over with Rose. His giant frame and resting face can be intimidating to adults, so he's like the boogeyman to children. Ironic because he's a good father figure, one Leon looks up to.

Leon tries to coax June out from behind him where she hides from Chris, but the one who successfully gets her to feel safe enough to do so is Rose, who is only a bit older, and a bit taller than June.

“Don't worry. He's not scary. He fights monsters."

"My dad fights monsters."

"He also plays Barbies sometimes."

Leon stifles a laugh.

"Let the record show that I play as Ken," Chris insists.

June comes out of hiding to announce that, "My dad is Chef Barbie."

"Is that right?" Chris says, shooting Leon a look that says, 'who's laughing now?'.

"Well, I would've been Lifeguard Barbie but she was already taken."

The afternoon consists of Lifeguard Barbie saving Chef Barbie, who cannot swim, and ends up in the hospital where she is taken care of by Doctor Barbie - played by Rose - and with a grand finale and a costume change, Chef Barbie and Ken get married.

Dinner is pizza, which Leon did not expect to be as much of a hit as it was. You'd think he cooked a fancy steak dinner if you saw the look on June's face.

"Mom never orders pizza at home!"

"Really?"

"She says it's bad for you."

"Let's not tell her about it then."

They also agree not to mention the ice cream sundaes that are served for dessert.

Both girls fall asleep in front of the TV. Chris carries Rose to the car as she sleeps soundly in his arms. He's become accustomed to that, but it's new for Leon to get to tuck his baby girl into bed like this. He can't remember the last time he carried her.

When the heartwarming feeling subsides a bit, he realizes he forgot to call you. Shit. He's going to be in trouble.

Leon calls you from his bedroom, so he doesn't wake June.

You sound eager to hear from them both, and he feels awful when he hears your disappointment that you're only going to get to talk to him.

"Do you want me to wake her up?"

"No, no. If she's asleep, don't. I'm just glad you guys had fun."

"We did. Thank you for letting me take her."

"Yeah... Goodnight, Leon."

And, he can't hear the sadness in your voice, so he doesn't understand why you end the phone call so quickly. He expected you to want a rundown of the day, but sleep comes over him and he brushes it off.

It was a bad choice to watch Mamma Mia that night. You have to pause the TV to grab the tissues when they get to Slipping Through My Fingers. It hits a bit too close to home.

Why aren't you like Meryl Streep? Would it be better if you didn't know who June's father was and you moved to a small town in Greece?

Realistically, no.

But halfway through the tub of ice cream you devour, you're convinced you've done it all wrong.

You were the strict parent but you were also the fun parent because you were the only parent. Then, Leon comes around and swoops your daughter up - and with his ever-present charm, becomes the light of her life.

It's the next weekend when your heart is truly broken- when June is supposed to go to your parents house for the weekend. She usually loves staying with them because they live by the lake and she's finally old enough to swim - with floaties of course. Often, it takes some convincing to get her out the door as she's apprehensive to leave her mom behind, but this time, she says something different.

"I wanna go see daddy," she cries.

"You'll see daddy next weekend. Plus, you had me yesterday."

"I don't want you, I want daddy!"

Though she's the child, you're the one who sobs like a baby. You consider calling your own mother to calm you down.

You don't even feel like yourself anymore, you don't feel like June's mom anymore. the woman your daughter looked up to, the person she loved more than anyone. Now, you feel like you're no more than a woman who lives in the same house, a woman who drives her to soccer practice and packs her lunches. Dad takes her on adventures and lets her stay up late. Mom is an evil dictator who enforces bedtimes.

You gave Leon a key to your house the weekend before. A familiar one, one with a keychain that used to be his. He used to live here. He missed it. He missed you.

He comes over on the weekends for you both, though it takes him time to fully accept that. Leon remembers you saying that June would be at her grandparents this weekend, but pretends that he doesn't.

When he arrives he lets himself in, and he finds you crying in the kitchen. He's not sure whether to feel better about being here or worse. He wants to cheer you up, but he worries he'll fuck up somehow. He usually does.

"What's wrong?" he asks, though he knows he'll need to do more than that to drag the truth out of you.

And he's right. You respond with a simple lie. A classic. "It's nothing. I'm fine. I just had a hard week at work, that's all."

He places a hand on your shoulder, comforting but begging you to turn to him. "You know I'm here for you, right?"

"You're not here for me. You're here for her. And that's all right, Leon. That's how it's supposed to be. You two still have a special relationship, but us - we have nothing anymore."

"That's not true. We might not be married anymore, but you're still my daughter's mother, and I'm still your daughter's father. We have the best baby girl. Both of us."

He looks into your eyes when he says it.

"And, I wish I could take credit for her being the greatest child I've ever met, but you're the one who raised her - up to this point."

He can tell that the last phrase throws you off. You don't cut him off, you don't try to push him away.

"I want to be involved. I know I fucked up. Big time. I fucked up catastrophically. But, I want to be there for my girl… and for my other girl, if she'll let me."

"I'm not your girl."

But you were, and the spark is still there. The lack of passion was not your reason for divorce. Your immense love is what kept you together for so long. You were - are - head-over-heels for him. Love - it's incurable.

Now, Leon recognizes the situation for what it is, and swears he'll step up and be a father. But people lie sometimes. Leon has a thousand times now.

Something in the back of your mind says, one more time. Hope, delusion, optimism.

And, June, as much as her words hurt you, you've never seen her so happy.

You explain it all to Leon while he holds you in his arms like you're his baby girl. Because you were. Because you are.

"She doesn't love me anymore."

"She loves you so much. Just because she loves me, doesn't mean she doesn't love you. She's got a lot of love in her heart. She's a sweet girl like her mom."

Somehow, he always manages to make you feel flustered even when you're crying.

"You're easy to love," he whispers.

"Are you saying that-"

"Yes, I'm saying it. I lo-."

You kiss him to cut him off before he can say it. You don't want to have to say it back - because you'd be telling the truth, and sometimes the truth is hard.

At first, he doesn't kiss you back, and you think you've fucked up, but for once, you've caught him off-guard.

You make out like teenagers on your living room couch until Leon insists on carrying you upstairs. "I don't care if we don't go any further than this, but I'm old - and I want to take you to bed, in one way or another."

With Leon, it never stops at just making out even though you know he'd never pressure you to do more. He makes you feel insatiable.

"Fuck, baby," Leon groans. "I missed being inside you."

Inside you - without a condom. You love him that much.

"I missed this too," you say between moans. "I couldn't get off without thinking about you, about what you do to me."

He lifts your legs and hooks them upon his shoulders, and the new angle makes his cock rub against the most sensitive part of you with every stroke. Your mouth falls open and your head falls back onto the pillow as you let out a gasp of pure pleasure.

"Yeah? Tell me what you've been thinking about." He doesn’t stop fucking you while he speaks, the dirty talk only spurs him on further.

You can't tell him anything. The only word you have in your mind is ‘Leon’, and even that gets stuck in your throat. He's reduced you to downright pornographic moans.

He slows the roll of his hips. "Want you to tell me," he says.

"Leon," you whine and reach out to grab him - but your efforts are in vain, he has you at his mercy in this position.

"Tell me."

"Every time I touched myself, I thought about when we were trying to conceive… It was the best sex I ever had."

"We can do that again, baby. Just say the word."

There's nothing that Leon wants more than to cum inside you, you know this.

"Please."

"You want me to put a baby in you?"

"Mm-hmm."

He doesn't even make you beg because he can't stop running his own mouth. His filthy, beautiful mouth. "I remember how gorgeous you looked when you were pregnant. God, I wanted to fuck you the whole time."

"I told you that you could have me whenever you wanted me, however you wanted me. I told you I wanted it rough and you wouldn't give it to me."

"I had to be gentle with you, baby. Couldn't risk it."

"You're still being gentle."

"'Cause you're so precious."

"You're not gonna hurt me, Leon. I want you to be rough with me."

And that's his cue to press your legs to your chest - you know he can fuck you faster and harder in this position, but you swear he manages to bury himself deeper inside you than before, too.

It's a good thing you're alone in the house because otherwise Leon would have to find a way to shut you up. He could easily clamp his hand over your mouth, but he lets you whine unrestrained, begging him over and over for 'more'.

"You're gonna wake the whole goddamn neighborhood, baby."

"I don't care. I need you."

"Fuck." He snaps his hips into you with increased vigor. He must not care either, not enough to stop.

You try to tell him how good it feels, and moreover, how close you are to the edge, but it gets lost in a sea of moans.

It doesn't matter, though, because your walls tightening around him tell him all he needs to know.

"You're squeezin' me, baby. Not gonna be able to pull out if you don't let up."

"Don't pull out."

"Yeah? You sure? You want me to put a baby in you?"

It's all rhetorical but you nod at every question. You wrap your legs around him, forcing him to stay inside you, and you don't let him go until well after your high has subsided.

In the post-orgasm haze, you say the words you meant to hold back before. "I love you."

And he doesn’t hesitate to say it back.

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