mirainwonderland

[mirainwonderland]

Sometimes a girl just needs her hair washed…

Tags/synopsis: pure fluff, a little one-shot for when you just need someone to take care of you, hints at mental or physical struggles I tried to be non-specific so that you could {insert personal issues here} and omg what’s this Mira’s favorite snack reveal anyhoo, i hope you enjoy even tho it’s not proofread oops. It felt like wringing blood from a rock trying to write this but I’m gradually getting back in my groove I think. K pls like and comment I love hearing from you guys 🥺👉🏻👈🏻 muah k bai 🥰

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It was just one of those days.

It had been one of those weeks.

“I thought you were gonna wash your hair?”

You look up from your phone, glancing over your shoulder to where Leon leans in the doorway. The way a weight feels like it’s being laid on your shoulders just from a handful of words make you breathe a soft sigh.

“Yeah… I’m going.” You turn back to your phone and thumb a few more social media posts.

It was just one of those days where getting out of bed felt like climbing Mt. Everest.

Leon lingers in the doorway, watching you for a few more moments. He’d tracked all the signs, and knew you were headed downhill by Tuesday. And now, a rainy, late Saturday morning brought him no satisfaction in the justification of being right. It was just a rollercoaster he rode with you; one you were sure he would get off a long time ago.

But he hasn’t. He’s still here dealing with you and your issues like it doesn’t bother him. You almost feel like it should.

“Do you want some help?”

The offer makes you set down your phone and stare lethargically at the wall. The thought of getting out of bed and dragging your ass anywhere— even if it’s across the hall to the bathroom— feels bigger than you can handle.

“I know you have a hard time laying back on the edge of that tub.” He adds when you don’t answer right away. You puff out your lips in thought.

“Yeah, but then I have to get up.” You whine. His chest rumbles in that comforting way as he laughs. He crosses the floor, and the edge of the bed dips beneath his weight. A rough hand on your arm is gentle as it soothes the length between your shoulder and elbow. Your eyes flutter as his lips leave a kiss against your hair.

“You’ll feel better with clean hair.”

“I know,” you pout.

“Five minutes max. I’ll help you.” Another kiss against your temple. “C’mon.”

Another sigh, and you drag yourself and the ten ton boulder on your shoulders out of bed after Leon. The even floor to the bathroom feels like a fifty degree incline. You stand in the bathroom doorway like a clueless robot as Leon turns on the tub’s faucet and sets the water temperature.

“I don’t wanna do this.”

“It won’t take that long. C’mere.” He takes your arm and guides you over the tub. It’s awkward and uncomfortable to lay back over the side. He kneels on either side of you and slides a hand under your neck to support it. The feeling of his warm torso brushing yours and his fingers massaging in your hair as he runs the warm water through it makes some of that mental muscle ache relieve.

“Ow.” You whimper as the edge of the tub jabs into your back.

“I know.” Leon soothes in that evenly deep voice of his as his fingers rake through your roots. He’s careful not to get the water in your face or ears. Each brush of his fingers feels like a little bandaid on the endless list of problems you consistently feel dwarfed by.

Maybe a girl just needs her boyfriend to wash her hair every once in awhile.

He shuts off the water to grab your favorite shampoo, the one that smells like lilacs. You watch his face as he massages it in, a focused look carved into the features.

“Feel good?” He doesn’t take his eyes off your hair when he senses you watching him.

“Mhm.” You’re quiet. He doesn’t like when you’re quiet, but at the same time he’s glad that you feel comfortable enough around him to not feel the need to always have to put on a show. He glances down at you just long enough to flash you a rare, subtle smile.

He’s so handsome… and warm. You hook your hands around the back of his elbows to help support yourself. But you also feel the need to just have him close. It’s reassuring for no particularly explainable reason. Your eyes close once more as the warm water flushes the soap from your hair and down the drain.

His fingers tug on your strands as he applies your conditioner. There’s a pressure in your chest that’s making it hard to breathe normal, and you can’t decide if that’s good or bad. Your breath hitches noticeably in your lungs, and you feel the vibration in his chest as he murmurs to you,

“Almost done, baby.” It’s reassuring and calm, telling you that you can hold on a minute longer because there’s an end in sight.

One more rinse, and he’s wrapping the towel around your head and lifting you off the tub like you weight nothing. You grab onto him on the way up.

A sound akin to a sob leaves your windpipe as air floods your lungs. He squeezes your hair dry with the towel. You feel the warm brush of his lips against your forehead as he takes it away and hangs it on the rack.

“Good job, sweetheart. Proud of you.”

His hands are gentle, patient as they blow-dry your hair. They’re just as gentle when they pick you up and carry you out into the living room. It may not be as productive to sit in front of the TV, but he doesn’t give a shit. Anything’s better than you holed up in your room all day.

Favorite fuzzy blanket? Draped over your lap. Emotional support pillow? Tucked up against you. Forehead kiss? Right where it’s supposed to be against your temple.

You grab the edge of his t-shirt, reluctant to just sit and watch him pull away.

“What’s up?” His fingers card through your clean strands, tips rubbing the scalp soothingly.

“Don’t go away,” you mumble.

“I don’t have to go away.” His fingers gently work out a knot or two from the hairdryer. “You want me to cut you a peach?”

“Yeah.” Attention grabbed, your eyes bounce up to meet his.

“Okay, I’ll go cut you a peach. But you have to let go of me, okay?”

You look down where your hand is clutching his shirt, and you reluctantly peel your fingers off. His hand pats your head, gently smoothing back your hairline.

“Okay. I’ll be right back.” He leaves an extra kiss on your forehead to soothe his clingy baby, before you watch him walk the few paces away to the kitchen.

“You want some of those takis too?” He calls from the kitchen, and he can practically see you perk up at the mention of your favorite snack.

“Yeah.” You sit up on your knees to try and see what he’s doing in the kitchen.

“Stay there, I’ll bring them to you.”

It takes ages (2 minutes) for him to walk out of the kitchen with your bowl of fresh peach slices and a bag of the Trader Joe’s takis that you like so much. He sets them in front of you on the coffee table watching you practically bite the bit in impatience.

He flops down on the couch next to you, and to his surprise you don’t go to the food right away. You crawl toward him, looking for comfort in your favorite spot against his chest.

“Thought you wanted to eat.” He hums opening his arm to accommodate you. His fingers lightly stroke the top of your head before smoothing down your back as you settle in.

“This first.” You mumble against his chest, absently watching whatever trash reality show is on the TV at the moment.

He chuckles, hand rubbing rhythmically over your back. You’re so predictable. And in his world, where almost nothing can be predicted on the waves of chaos and death, you’re his lighthouse.

“That’s my girl.”

[mirainwonderland]

I beg of you capcom please don’t hurt Leon anymore, I don’t care how ‘poetic’ it would be for him to die in Raccoon City he’s been through enough

[mirainwonderland]

Part II

This is how I imagine Leon in a zombie apocalypse AU (like TWD or TLOU) would go.

A/N: Yay it’s finally here!! I’m so sorry it took a minute. I wrote it out and thought it was trash, and kept procrastinating proof-reading it. Until I finally proofread it and I was like wait no this is decent. Anyhoo here’s PART I (tags and/or trigger warnings there), if you haven’t read it, go read that first. Also if any of you want to be tagged in any future parts (or any random one-shots I do in this universe) let me know! Also do you guys want me to use Y/N, or should I just be self-indulgent? Lmk. K, bai and as always I love the feedback! ☺️

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Dead. Silence.

Nothing to be heard but the hollow footsteps of boots on the floor, and the incessant draft that shafts in from broken, sloppily boarded windows. A loose pipe rattles in the breeze.

The fact is unnerving.

A hospital would have been full of people when the infection hit. And if the staff were unprepared, it would have spread here the fastest. Floors and floors of people in close contact: it wouldn’t have been hard for whatever caused the infection to contaminate its surroundings like wildfire.

But what caused it?

Leon grits his teeth as he focuses an eye down the barrel of his shotgun. That was another reason he was so eager to get to Washington DC: information. The infection is much like the others he’s encountered before in his life, but there’s things about this one that seem uncharted. Inky blue instead of black veins, foaming drool leaking out of the corners of mouths, blood trickling from the corners of eyes.

Subtly different, equally horrifying.

Of course, to anyone else it wouldn’t matter that much. To Gus creeping alongside him, it probably didn’t matter if the veins were neon orange— he’d send a shell through their mindless brains anyway.

But to Leon… it gnaws at him. A churning desire to understand, to fix this like he’s been able to do so many times before, in spite of how relative ‘fix’ had been. To not let it come to a whole nation dropping to its knees.

It couldn’t end like this.

But where had the infection even come from?

To be honest, Leon had expected some sort of Umbrella signature written all over it. But the more infected he stared down at gunpoint, the more bloody eyes he saw full of hunger and madness, the more it felt like this wasn’t Umbrella’s doing at all. He felt it in his gut, and it was puzzling. It was terrifying.

This time was different.

“Shit.” He mumbles under his breath when two solitary infected wander the hall at the turn of the corner. They didn’t even have time to begin salivating before a quick, merciful bullet through the skull lulled them into a final, everlasting rest.

“Odd, thems are the only two we’ve seen so far.” Gus mutters, voicing the concern weighing on Leon’s mind.

“Goddamn it all.” Leon lowers the gun to his chest and spreads his feet apart in the middle of the hall, shoulders dropping. The irritation in his breath is evident, and Gus pauses to regard the younger man as he looks around at the carnage, with no sign of the bastards that caused it.

“Whatsamatter?”

Leon’s jaw ticks. “It just doesn’t make sense.”

They both look down the hall. The breeze whistling through a shattered window does nothing to inspire confidence.

“Let’s check them other floors before we jump to any conclusions.” Gus nods toward the stairwell.

They can’t bother getting too comfortable, but Leon relents, starting for the stairwell. This shouldn’t be the hill he dies on. They’ll just get the supplies they need and go. Mind churning with each step up, his shoulders just gather more and more tension. Still, in the back of his mind he can’t help but feel like this is easy.

Too easy.

A few strays linger in the halls. It’s the same story on the first four floors. The further up they go, the more the building reeks.

Dear god, he refuses to believe that this is the future.

Once they get to the fifth floor, something is immediately different. There isn’t an undead soul on the floor, but a grotesque chorus of noise filters through the thin ceiling. Leon and Gus glance at each other, not a word needing to be exchanged as soon as they step out of the stairwell.

They both hear it. They’ve found their answer.

“Guess we know where the party went.” Leon turns heel back toward the stairs. “Let’s check it out.”

Gus grabs his shoulder.

“What, are you crazy?!” He hisses.

Leon pauses to glance at him before pulling away to press forward. The smartest thing to do would be to leave. They probably have enough supplies to get them at least to DC. And willingly walking toward the groaning droves of infected borders on stupidity. But something in his gut won’t let him leave it alone. There’s got to be a reason a horde of them are congregating up there on one floor.

“We’ll be careful.” Leon doesn’t even turn around to speak, shouldering open the stairwell door again. “Let’s just take a peek and see what it’s all about.”

Gus grumbles something about the lack of brains around here, and follows.

They get up to the sixth floor. Peeking through the small oblong window in the metal door, he sees the horde.

There’s probably thirty of them. He hears Gus whistle under his breath. They’re gathered on the far end of the hall, trying to claw their way into a room. Room 608. They look mindless, but they’re smart enough to sense something they want.

“Okay.” Leon whispers, keeping his eye on the horde as he turns his body toward Gus. “Here’s what we’re gonna do.” He turns his head. “I’m gonna open this door on the count of three.”

He turns back to the window, nodding his chin toward one of the patient rooms closest to them.

“Make it for that door there. 602. There might be some of the bastards inside but we’ll handle ‘em. Got it?”

Gus looks bewildered.

“Have them zombies eaten the last bit o’ brains you got?!” He whisper-spits. “What the hell are you tryin’ ta do?”

”Just trust me. Ready?”

“No.”

“On three. One. Two. Three.”

Leon shoves the door open with his whole torso. He expected it to make some noise, and sure enough, a few of them turn in their direction. The smell of fresh meat makes them salivate, drool rolling down their chins and spittle flying as the most inhuman shrieks rip through their vocal cords.

“Go, go, go!” Leon shoves Gus toward the target door.

They stumble inside, finding it mercifully empty, and Leon slams it shut, locking it and barricading it with the first piece of sturdy furniture he can get his hands on.

“Fucking hell!” Gus wheezes, hands on his knees as he tries to catch his breath. “What are you doing now?” He groans as Leon shoves open the window.

“I’m gonna get into that room.”

“Are you crazy?!”

“Maybe a little.”

“What the hell for?” Gus hisses, while Leon fumbles with the straps of his pack and swings it off to the ground. “We’re like six stories up, you know. We should’ve been long gone by now!”

“There’s a reason that horde is trying to get into that room.” Leon slings his shotgun over his shoulder and climbs up onto the window sill. “And I’m gonna find out why. Stay here.”

He grabs onto the window frame and hauls himself up onto the ledge that runs along the side of the building. It’s a long way down, and he averts his gaze from looking that direction as he begins to inch his way along. He counts the windows, eyes fixing on the one to 608.

His boots have good grip. Gus leans out the window, watching him nervously, and Leon only dares to glance back at him once.

Fuck, this better be worth it.

He’s not scared of heights, but like any sane person, he prefers his two feet on some good solid ground majority of the time.

The progress is painstaking, but he finally makes it. He can’t open the window from the outside, but he expected that. A calculated swing of the butt of his shotgun shatters the glass. A few stray shards twinkle their way down, down, down over the side, reminding him that yet again: it’s a long way down.

One more glance at Gus six doors over, and he hops inside.

He pushes the drawn window curtain out of his way, using the meager light filtering in from the window to give him a little luminance. His boots tread carefully on the glass littered floor, shotgun ready.

At first, he sees and senses nothing. It’s quiet, it’s dark, and for a moment he’s confused as to why the infected are trying to get in here. The window was closed and locked, the door—

His eyes flicker over to it. It’s obviously barricaded. *Hm.* Not very well, but apparently it’s been good enough to hold back the weight of a 30 head horde.

And that’s when he sees them.

Feet.

Bare feet.

They’re small— smaller than his, anyway— and they’re peeking out from behind a dividing curtain. They’re very dirty, with a few minor cuts, and the soles look a little red-stained. But no sign of any disfigurement or those ugly, inky veins present— that he can see. Leon lowers his grip on his gun, keeping it accessible, as he takes quiet, cautious steps toward where the curtain bunches in the corner.

His fingers wrap around the muslin material carefully, quietly. Not wanting to scare whoever might be behind it, he peels it back slowly.

And he’s met with the biggest eyes ever, round like saucers with fear. They’re set in a pretty face under all that dirt and blood smudges on the skin. She’s… dressed in a hospital gown. Unbrushed hair frames it all in an oddly nostalgic picture that reminds him of himself the first time he ever saw such horrors.

Shit. A young woman.

“It’s okay.” He lowers his gun, pushing the butt of it down so the barrel points to the ceiling as it hangs off his shoulder. He sees the scissors clenched in a white-knuckled hand, shaking in a grip that’s too frozen to use it.

She’s probably harmless, but she’s volatile. And she doesn’t look immediately trusting. He does his best to make himself look approachable, and offers a hand out to her, palm down.

“Wanna give me those scissors?” He slowly works his hand towards them. “I’m not gonna hurt’cha.”

His voice is soft, and non-threatening. He watches her gaze drag from him down to the scissors in her hand like she’s remembering that she’s clutching them.

“What’s your name?” He tries to coax some sort of response out of her, but she seems frozen. That, or she doesn’t wanna tell him.

He can understand. She doesn’t know him. Even if it might feel a little relieving to find another survivor in the middle of the kingdom of the undead, trust is a rare commodity.

It’s a fact of life he knows well.

“I’m Leon.” He offers, hoping that knowing his name might help her out a bit.

His fingers finally reach the handle of the scissors in her hand, and a gentle nudge with the tips is enough to get her grip to loosen. He takes the instrument from her, tossing it away out of reach. It clatters on the floor, and he sees her shoulders loosen just a bit.

“Are you hurt anywhere?”

This gets the barest head shake, but hey, at least he’s getting somewhere. He glances toward the window he came through.

“I’m gonna get you out of here, okay?”

It’s gonna be tricky, but he has to get her back out the way he came in. It’s that, or straight into the mouth of the beast; which isn’t even an option considering there’s an obviously zero chance for survival. He curses the fact that they left the radios in the truck. That would have come in handy right about now.

“How are you with heights?” He looks back at her, and watches as her eyes widen, looking between him and the window.

*Does this girl speak at all?*

“Yeah, I know.”

He takes her arm gently and pulls her over to the window. A loud bang against the door makes the already loose hinges groan, and he realizes that the time limit for escape plan is fast running out.

“Just don’t look down, got it?” He says without waiting for any sort of response. He pushes her up onto the window sill ahead of him, glancing back at the door as the shrieks on the other side grow louder with hunger.

They can hear him in here. The door groans.

“Go.” He pushes her out onto the ledge and climbs up after her.

She’s frozen looking down at the ground and he nudges her to press against the wall.

“Don’t look down.” He drapes one arm across her chest like a seatbelt to make sure she doesn’t fall, pinning her to the concrete. Adrenaline is pumping in his veins like a madman’s rush to all of his limbs.

They barely get a room over when a crash echoes in the space and time between them and room 608. The time window was smaller than he thought. The horrible screeches and raspy groans of the infected reach their ears as they trample into the now vacant room. Leon’s arm digs into her chest as her head whips around to look.

“Don’t look at them. Eyes forward,” he commands. His tone is calculated and focused, ignoring the flailing, clawing arms that reach out from the window into the air. They’re not coordinated enough to follow. Any that try will drop to their death. He urges her along.

Progress feels even slower on the way back; but relief floods his chest when they reach the open window and Gus’ gruff hands are pulling her inside, off the ledge.

The room is louder than when he left. He hops down inside too as the door groans under the weight of a dozen more infected.

“Shit.” Leon mutters, running a hand through his hair as he grabs his pack again. He rests a knee on the floor. “There’s too many. We have to get the hell out of here.”

“How, King Solomon?” He doesn’t miss the sarcasm so obviously laced in Gus’ tone. He rummages through his pack. “In case you ain’t seen, we’re surrounded at the only damn door!”

Leon glances at the girl, who’s crumpled on the floor between the two of them. She’s looking at them. Watching. He looks back up at Gus.

“Then we’ll climb out the window.”

“I ain’t gettin’ anywhere near that window!”

Leon yanks some rope out of his pack and stands up straight, nodding toward one of the hospital beds.

“C’mon. Help me tie it to something.”

“Are you a blunderin’ idiot, boy?!”

“Now!”

The hisses and groans are getting louder, more hungry with each line of dialogue thrown between them. The door groans.

They don’t have a lot of time with this one either. Gus wisely shuts his mouth, jumping into action to help Leon secure the rope to the heater.

“Alright.” Leon grabs his pack and slings it back on over his shoulder. “Gus you go first.”

“I ain’t—“

Leon grabs his arm and manhandles him to the window. “Unless you wanna be zombie meat, get on the damn rope!”

Something in the door makes a loud pop, and Gus thinks better of arguing.

“Alright, alright, I’m goin’!”

He heads down first, with Leon taking up the rear. Leon can hear the door splintering from the open window above them. He hears Gus cursing loudly down below. With breathless lungs they reach the level about two stories down, and Leon shatters a window with a couple .

And just like that, the chaos is over.

They sit on the floor, catching their breath. Dead silence once again falls on their ears like an unsung funeral song. Gus is the first one to stir from the floor.

“Right about now that damned silence is pretty nice.”

Leon looks around. His eyes land on her, arms wrapped around her body in that drafty hospital gown.

“You alright?”

A nod is all he receives, again. She doesn’t even look at him.

“What’s yer name anyway, girl?” Gus nods.

They both pause to look at her. Leon tilts his head, curious to see if she’d answer this time.

Her eyes are fixed on the floor. There’s something going on with her. And it’s not that she doesn’t trust them.

Her lips part, shoulders curling.

“I don’t know my name.” She mumbles.

Leon and Gus exchange a look.

“You don’t know your own name.” Gus deadpans as he pushes himself up onto one creaky knee.

Another small shake of that messy head.

Leon’s gaze drops down to her wrist, a crumpled hospital wristband adorning the dirty skin. He reaches out, wrapping his fingers around her arm to pull it to where he can read.

“Y/N.” He announces. Her head lifts, and he gives her wrist back to her. She cradles it, looking at the blood splattered wristband. Her quiet whispers read off the name and the date of birth written there.

“You don’t remember anything about yourself?” Leon reiterates, and is met with another quiet head shake.

Great.

He feels bad for her. He wonders what her story is, and realizes she probably does too. He can imagine how she must feel. Not just finding herself in a terrifying world with no answers, but suddenly not knowing who she is at all.

He knows what it’s like to not know who you are. Not in the sense of forgetting your name or your social security number, but what the identity crisis is like. What it feels like to be molded into the perfect machine for someone to dictate your every move. To be nothing apart from what you were trained and brainwashed to be. There’s a loss of identity in that, too.

Standing to his feet, he grabs her arm and helps her to hers. Gus follows suit, adjusting his pack.

“Let’s get out of here. Don’t particularly care to be someone’s lunch.”

“Yeah.” Gus grunts. “I’m a lil’ attached to my brain myself.”

Leon sneaks glances at her as they scour the remainder of the building down to the ground floor. Having her with them might complicate things a little bit. But if they can find a car to get them to DC, it might not be so bad. Once there, he can turn her over to someone who will make sure she gets the care she needs.

Still holding on to hope that there’s answers at the capital, he takes the first step back out into the street.

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Tags: @daliastar @moonlight-kisses-blog @fuckshitwhatisnttakenalready

[mirainwonderland]

“It’s just a dream.” He whispers into your hair as you shake in his arms. “Dreams can’t hurt you.”

The room is dark enough to smother a man, no moon streaming in through the leaks in the curtains. He’s warm, he’s solid, he’s safe. You cling to him as apparitions of nightmarish memories haunt you, hanging over your head like a guillotine ready to drop. You press impossibly closer to his beating heart.

He’s calm. He repeats the words like a mantra into your ear, like they’re familiar. Like they’re a chant to conjure up courage where there is none. Like he’s said them a hundred times before.

“It’s just a dream.” He gasps breathlessly, hoping the sound of his own voice can bring him back to reality. Drenched in cold sweat, he grabs his shaking shoulders. “Dreams can’t hurt you.”

Knuckles white, stretch the cotton of the wet tee. Each breath is an insufficient effort. He rakes his hands through his damp hair, but no matter how many times he’s squeezed his eyes closed to shut out the screams, he can still see their faces. All of their faces; rotting, moaning, growling, inhuman. A frightened girl, a backstabbing mercenary. He catches a glimpse of his own face in the mirror, the whites of his wide eyes visible in the dark. Hair sticking to his dripping forehead. It’s been weeks since he took off the uniform, but somehow it will always be stuck on his skin.

Racoon City is gone.

But he’s still here.

Dreaming.

“It’s just a dream.” He murmurs to you as he pets your sweat-damp hair.

“And I’m right here.”

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[mirainwonderland]

Stolen Kisses. Secret Touch.

A/N: hi hi I’m back surprising you all and myself with a Dante Drabble you didn’t think Leon was the only unreasonably older man im down bad for did you (ok well mostly) i just saw the last picture on Pinterest and it gave me this idea so here’s a napkin and bon appetit

Tags: angst, some fluff with NSFW mentions and mature language MDNI, minor blood/pain kink (?)

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The room has fallen quiet. The scent of sweat and sex lingers in the air and on the bedsheets. There’s no speaking, no moaning, no heavy breaths or slaps of skin.

Just quiet.

An unusual commodity in the company of the devil.

You lay on his chest, rough hands rubbing the backs of your arms as you brush the lines of his face with your fingertips. It’s a wonder to you how docile he is in the moment; the typical loud-mouth, shit-talking son of Sparda placid in your bed. It makes you feel things you know you shouldn’t even allow yourself to think about, much less feel.

The two of you were much too different to even justify finding yourself naked in bed together. Dante was wild, unpredictable. Untamed and untamable, he was not the kind to be tied down by anyone or anything.

And you… you were his opposite. Quiet, soft, and domestic. A vision he feels like he corrupts just by touching. He has no right to leave those bite marks on your skin, no business making you scream his name and decorate his back with scratch marks.

But here he was. Addicted to the taste of the purity he tarnishes.

He knows he’ll just end up breaking your heart, and you know you shouldn’t even be giving him the chance. But his lips taste just good enough to sin for. And your body is sweet enough to die for. His hands slip down it, feeling along the curve of your back as his teeth nip your shoulder.

You suck in a breath as he digs the sharp edges into your tender skin. Just when you feel like he won’t go deeper, he does. He scrapes them along the ball of your shoulder, hands tightening around your arms when he feels you squirm.

All he does is hurt you, but the pain feels like heaven. It makes your eyes roll back and your brain go numb, and all you want are things that no good girl should ever want.

You open your eyes when he pulls back, resuming his position against the headboard. Your gaze drops down to his face, studying yours for a reaction. There’s a ghost of that smirk that you know so well, but it grows no bigger than subtle.

“What was that for?” You murmur slowly.

His eyes drop down to your shoulder and the teeth marks he left there, thumb soothing over them.

“A little reminder.” His voice is as sandy as his hair is wind blown.

You shake your head ruefully, but you don’t hate it. After all, if you did you would have told him to leave as soon as you’d finished.

His hand slides up to wrap around your throat, making you hold eye contact with him. His thumb flicks your chin, and you’re reminded of the delicate balancing act that is your relationship. Of the games you two play for a little satisfaction and a warm body to sleep next to at night.

His thumb drags your bottom lip before sucking it between his teeth and biting down. You close your eyes and let him draw blood. He licks away the crimson drop with his tongue, tasting the metallic flavor of you on his lips. The tender flesh throbs.

“Do I need this many reminders?” His behavior never really surprises you, even though it makes every nerve in your body ache.

He chuckles, a low, rich sound in the hollow of his chest.

“That one was purely for my own pleasure.”

He pulls you in by your throat, biting down on your top lip now, more gently, before sucking it into his mouth and licking his way inside.

Your hands settle against his bare chest, curling as his tongue curls in your mouth. It was always this way with him, but now a part of you felt a deep sadness that you just couldn’t really explain.

No, that’s a lie. You could explain it. It’s because you could scream his name for a night but never hear him call you ‘mine’ out of bed. It was your fault that you let yourself fall so easily. It was silly to feel that way, but you had warned him.

You had warned him and he still fucked you anyway.

Fucked you and all of that common sense right out of your body. It was royally stupid to allow this to continue. But you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away, toss him his jacket, and tell him to get out.

No. You found yourself pining for him to stay the night. To allow you to cuddle up into warm skin and doze through your fitful dreams until he inevitably got up before the crack of dawn and slipped out.

Stupid feelings are screwing you over harder than he has.

You feel like you’re in a dream when he finally pulls back with a wet pop, releasing your lips with a final flick of his tongue over them. Your eyes open slowly, and when you look at him you can’t help but reach out and touch some of that silky ash hair.

“Stay?” You whisper, hating yourself for knowing you’ll be irrevocably disappointed if he refuses.

His expression is like a shrug, nonchalant and permissive as if he doesn’t care.

But if he didn’t care he would have been gone a long time ago. If he didn’t care his thumb wouldn’t still be rubbing over the bruise he left on your lip.

“If you want.”

You scoot down, knowing that allowing yourself to be too vulnerable and tender in front of him is a bad idea. But you can’t help it. The chemicals are flooding your brain and pulsing with a soft afterglow, and it’s making you feel safe and sleepy. Your head lowers to rest against his shoulder. You’re tentative as you get comfortable, as if one abrupt move could make him change his mind or put a wall up and push you away.

But it doesn’t, and he cradles you in the crook of his arm. His lips brush your forehead, and your eyes slip closed.

“Wake me up when you leave?”

“Sure.”

But you know he’s lying. And he knows you know he’s lying. He’ll grab his sword and slip away before daybreak, as quiet as a shadow. He’ll act indifferent toward you if he encounters you outside of this room.

And even though it’s slowly breaking you, the here and now is what’s keeping you in this cycle of yours. You know he’ll never change. He’ll never be the type to settle down. And you’ll never be the type to truly be okay with this fuck-and-go arrangement he’s established.

But for now you’ll take the stolen kisses and secret touches that he offers you behind closed doors. And maybe one day you’ll be strong enough to let him go.

[mirainwonderland]

NOTICE: As more and more fanfic writers are using generative AI for their works (you uncreative dweebs), I hereby swear on everything I hold dear that I have not and will NEVER use generative AI in ANY of my written work. Everything I post will be organically and creatively my own.

[mirainwonderland]

"I didn't comment on a fic I liked because I don't think the author would care or remember my comment anyway". fanfic writer here, I still remember comments I got on my fics from seven years ago. I still think about them and they still make me smile. your kind comments are what motivates us and what helps us keep writing.

I personally know writers who take screenshot and print out comments they got from their readers.

TL;DR comments matter to us writers more than you think. if you like a fanfic, never be shy to let the author know ♡

[mirainwonderland]

He won this hat at the egg festival and wanted to show you

[mirainwonderland]

Contents: Apocalypse AU, OC (side character), kind of self insert but I didn’t specify details so that you can imagine what you want, some body horror but not over graphic, afab reader (you/your fem OC/whatevertheheckyouwannaimagine are the “she” mentioned because yes I have lore for that too)

A/N: I think about Leon in a zombie apocalypse a lot. Like the world has been taken over completely, and he sees everything he’s been fighting against his whole life win. What would that be like? What would happen? Soooo here’s how I imagine this would start. this is also very self-indulgent because I’m a sucker for dystopia and i need to self-insert my ass off Let me know if you want me to continue this. Idk if this will be consecutive if I write more set in an apocalypse, but if you want me to continue this bit of it I will cause I think you know where this is going I just wanted to give a little taste. otherwise I’ll bounce around in the timeline probably I’ll probably do that anyway. I imagine either RE4R Leon or ID Leon, either works and it depends on the scenario. Indulge yourself how you will. Okay I’m done ranting bye please tell me if you liked it

Word count: 1.5K

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The slam of a car door rings in his ears like a gunshot kickstarting the beginning of a race.

A race he’s been running all his life.

He hauls his backpack up onto the open tailgate of the beat-up old pickup, as the breeze on a cloudless day whips his sweaty white t-shirt around his waist. He jerks open the zipper, looking for the faded blue button-up— the only one he has to his name anymore. Pulling it out and slipping it on, Leon secures his pack, tugging the straps taunt and slinging it over his shoulder.

“Fucking dammit!” Gus kicks the bald tires of the truck as he comes around the side. The old geezer’s whiskered face scrunches up into a toothy (minus a few) look of dismay and disgust. He tugs off his cap and wipes the sweat off his balding forehead, staring down the road into the muggy eastern heat.

“This damned truck was supposed to last us ‘til we got to to the next town.” He sets his cap back onto his sandy-silver hair, hands on his pot-belly sides. Leon glances up from what he’s doing, looking at the wooded area that surrounds them on both sides of the ghost town highway. Not an ideal place to be stranded. A great place to be ambushed.

“Yeah well.” He sounds more nonchalant than he feels about the vehicle, as he secures the pack buckle across his chest. That truck gave them an increased chance to actually *make* it that far, because now on foot the odds were going to be slimmer.

“No use crying over an empty gas tank.”

Gus growls in frustration, kicking the tire again for good measure, knocking the cap off the hub. He goes to the back for his own pack as Leon lifts the shotgun out of the bed.

“How much farther we gotta go?” Leon slams the tailgate closed.

“‘Bout 30 miles or so, I reckon.”

Great. He’d figured the truck would run out of gas before they got to the next town, but he had hoped it would have only been about 10 or so miles out.

“This is gonna take all fucking night.” Gus grumbles as he secures his backpack.

“Better start walking, then.”

***

A cry of distress echoes down the dingy, abandoned hallway, crawling with groaning infected.

A human cry.

She jolts upright in the hospital bed, the room dark and musty. Coughing, the smell of rotting flesh chokes her lungs, pungent and impossible to miss.

She lifts her hands to run through her hair, a strangled cry of pain falling from her lips when the action rips the IV out of her right arm. An IV long run dry.

Whimpering, she cradles the bleeding wrist to her chest with her other hand, eyes darting around the bleak room.

She looks for the call light, but the glowing button has long since dimmed. Everything is dead silent. No heart monitors with their incessant beeping, no wheezing of oxygen machines.

“Hello?” She calls out tentatively, hoping a nurse will come to her aid and tell her why there’s no light in her room, no power. Was there a surge? Will it come back on soon?

She doesn’t even remember how she got here. Hell, she doesn’t even remember her name. Scared and confused, she throws the bedsheets aside and gingerly lowers her bare feet to the floor.

“Hello?” Again as she creeps toward the door to her room. An eerie feeling settles in her back and creeps up from the base of her spine.

“Anyone?”

Something is horribly wrong. She can feel it.

She reaches out for the doorknob, just waiting for something to happen as she turns it quietly. The hinges squeak as it slowly swings open, and she cringes, the adrenaline building up in her body like a bathtub approaching overflowing.

She peaks down the hallway, the space even dingier and stretching on forever.

She steps out into it, the trashed state of it sending chills skittering down her spine. Vital trees, caretaker stations, medical supplies and trays are scattered everywhere like a tornado had come through. Something dark splatters the white floor and walls. Her eyes trail slowly down her body to her feet, lifting her soles to check the viscosity of the liquid she stands in.

With a horrified cry she recognizes the coagulated blood. She stumbles backwards, catching herself on a toppled, bloody gurney.

Her vision blurs in and out, and she can hear her breathing echoing in her ears like she’s in a tunnel. She pushes herself up off the gurney, shaking like a leaf as she takes careful, cautious steps down the hallway, trying to make out what’s ahead of her in the dark.

She hears noises in the distance. Grunting, growling, moaning. She’s never heard sounds like these before, and she’s trying not to let it make her panic. Were they dogs? If they were, they didn’t sound well. And dogs couldn’t have done all this by themselves.

“Hello? Is anyone there?” She calls out once again, her heart beating in her throat, hoping against hope that something familiar would answer her.

She detects movement in the shadows, and suddenly two shiny eyes appear in the dark, looking at her. She freezes, petrified like stone and as still as a statue. She doesn’t know if she should call out to it again, but something in her gut tells her it’s not human.

Her body grows taut when the eyes begin to move toward her, down the hallway to where she can see through a little bit of light filtering through the window in the small hours before dawn. As the creature steps into the light slanting in to the hallway, she swallows her heart.

Grey, blue veiny skin on human limbs and a half-rotting human face. The horror catches in her throat as it limps toward her. The ‘thing’ is wearing scrubs. She’s not 100% sure she’s even seeing right. Disbelief makes her pause. Her feet feel like they stick to the bloody floor, slipping under her as she attempts to scramble backwards.

She backs up in front of a window to a patient’s room, a loud slam against the glass echoing down the hall. An even more emaciated creature in a hospital gown— just like hers— bangs against the glass, letting out the most inhuman growls and snarls. It claws at the window, writhing and straining to reach her through the barrier as if it was ravenous.

Her scream reaches the street.

***

Early hours of the morning, dusk barely paints the sky with color. Two figures creep into town, wary of the streets that crawl with undead.

“I was beginnin’ to like them peaceful stretches like ten miles ago.” Gus grumbles under his breath as both men creep down the street with guns at the ready. Abandoned cars and debris litter the streets, some places impossible to get through unless you climb over them.

“Yeah not many campers this time of year.” Leon mutters, skilled eyes scanning every shadow and alley they pass. “They’re all here.”

Gus glances over at Leon, eyeing him appraisingly like he’s been doing for the past few days.

“Now why do you wanna get to DC again so bad?”

Leon doesn’t even look at him as he replies. “Need to know how widespread this thing is.”

Gus is quiet for a second, his gaze narrowing.

“You know… you don’t seem all that disturbed by this whole ‘Walkin’ Dead’ bullshit we’re suddenly smack dab in the middle of. You act like you seen this shit before.”

Leon glances over at him, but doesn’t offer an explanation. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“At this point, I might believe aliens were real if you told me you’d seen ‘em.”

Leon turns back to staring down the barrel of his gun as they slink down the street.

“There ain’t even any guarantee that the capital isn’t overrun with whatever this is. We’ve come hundreds of miles, and we’re met with endless livin’ mummies.” Gus huffs, clearly full of questions and annoyed that Leon won’t give the answers the older man is convinced he has.

“That’s why we’re going to DC.” Leon replies, nodding in the general direction of the Capital. “It’s only been about three weeks, there might still be some hope.”

Gus scoffs. “Keep lookin’, son. I ain’t found any yet. If we could find even a shred of electricity in this whole state I’d say ‘hell yeah’. But we’re coming up dry wherever we go. No electricity, no cell towers, no *nothin’*!”

“We don’t know that for sure. There’s a lot of land in this country. There’s gotta be some that’s untouched.”

“Well good luck finding it.”

Few undead roam the streets as they make their way through the outskirts. Leon nods down toward Gus’ boot when he notices the older man has begun to limp again.

“How’s your leg?”

“Eh, it’s actin’ up again.” He grumbles, hobbling along beside Leon.

“We ought to get something to put on it to make sure it heals properly.”

“Yeah? Where do you propose we get that?”

Leon pauses, glancing up at a tall building that rises above the rest, the ‘H’ already missing from the sign at the top. He motions toward it with his chin, lowering his gun.

“The hospital.”

[mirainwonderland]

Should I write about this chat

Leon core:

[mirainwonderland]

Content: MDNI, jealous Leon, afab sub, m dom, Leon x reader, cunnilingus (f receiving), unprotected, p in v, smut with some plot

Words: 3.4k

A/N: via request to expand on my headcanon of jealous Leon I come bearing this offering. (Thank you @daliastar) I hope I expressed how I think he would react well. If you enjoy it pls like and let me know, I love hearing from people ☺️ oh and if you have a request, send it over, I love ideas! :D okie bai have fun RIP you

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“What was that all about?” Leon tries to make his tone sound controlled and unbothered. It’s not working out so well. He tugs off his jacket trying to feign nonchalance, but there’s a fire burning beneath his rib cage.

“Hm?” Your oblivious little response makes the jealousy flare up even hotter, but he bites it back. It’s not like it was your fault. He doesn’t want to be that kind of guy anyway—that immature little prick that takes his insecurities out on his girlfriend.

You turn toward him, unbuttoning your dress as you do, and he finds his gaze drifting low over the sliver of your chest and bra that’s becoming visible with each button freed.

Goddammit. That’s his. That’s all his! Every inch of that goddamn gorgeous body is his and his alone, and nobody or nothing is gonna get a sneak peek at his girl.

He snaps himself out of it before you notice his internal petulant tantrum that he’s desperately trying to keep just that: internal. He takes a deep breath and tosses his jacket onto the back of the chair, reaching for his belt next, hoping you won’t notice how he’s all but yanking it off like a sulky kid.

You haven’t noticed a thing. Hell, you’re not even looking at him as you focus on changing out of your outside clothes.

“That guy we ran into.” He tries not to spit out the words and make it obviously venomous. “Where do you know him from again?”

He’s attempting to sound interested rather than interrogating. And thank god you’re not paying close enough attention to see the boiling jealousy behind his eyes.

“Oh. I told you. Knew him back in college. Same classes as me or something. Can’t really remember, actually.”

Leon watches your back as you walk over to your vanity and pull your hair back, dress hanging open.

“You… go out with him or something?”

Your little laugh tells him that you haven’t caught on to the slight cyanide in his tone.

“Oh god no! He wasn’t really my type. I don’t think he sees me like that anyway.”

Leon stares at your reflection in the mirror hard, like he can’t even wrap his head around how fucking dense your big beautiful brain is sometimes.

“Oh he definitely sees you like that.”

You pause in taking off your makeup to look at his reflection in the mirror with that dry, disbelieving expression you give him. The little pink on your cheeks that’s not from your blush doesn’t make him feel any better. You shake your head with an unconvinced smile.

“Don’t be silly Leon.” You return to scrubbing off your makeup.

He watches long and hard while you do your skincare. Your face glows as your delicate fingers apply that face oil you love so much. He feels his dick stiffen with mixed feelings of jealousy, possessiveness, and thoughts along the lines of, Only I get to see her naked like that. Face, body, everything. Just me.

Dammit, he hates himself. More than anything right now, he hates himself. But it’s like something else is possessing him as he watches you slip out of your dress and go into your closet for something more comfortable to wear.

That’s it. He really can’t stand it anymore. He tosses aside the belt in his hand, not caring where it lands, and follows after you. He corners you in the closet, approaching from behind you where you can’t see him just as you’re pulling a pair of your favorite lounge set from your drawer. He catches you, big arms wrapping around you from behind.

“No.” He says, voice sounding tender in your ear, but laced with an intensity you pause for. He intercepts your hand, taking the pjs from you and tosses them back in the direction of the drawer. “Don’t put on anything else.”

His lips trail over the back of your neck.

“Leon…” You kind of laugh, bewildered. Your hands come to wrap around his forearms. “What are you doing?”

One hand reaches behind your hair to pull out the clip you’d pulled it back with and let your soft strands fall down around your face again.

Beautiful.

“You didn’t see the way that guy was looking at you?” He forces his voice to sound more concerned than jealous. “He was undressing you with his eyes.”

His lips and nose brush your temple as he stares straight ahead, remembering the interaction from earlier.

“You really need to be more careful, Y/N. Guys do stuff like this all the time.”

He gives your temple a kiss. He feels the jealously bubbling in his gut, making him clench his teeth and hold you a little tighter.

“Leon, he wasn’t—“

His jaw clenches so hard, he’s surprised that his teeth don’t shatter in his mouth.

“C’mere.” He says more lowly and calmly than he even expects to. He tugs you around to the mirror he’d hung in your closet, just for you. He makes you look into it with him behind you, your body clad in nothing more than the bra and panties you’d put on this morning.

“Look at her.” He refuses to let go, even a little bit. He nuzzles the back of your neck again, mouth at the skin there and nuzzling your hair aside so he can reach more.

“Watch her face.”

He slides a free hand around the front of your throat, holding your jaw securely in his hand to make sure you’re watching. You watch as your eyes lid and your cheeks flush the color of obscenity. Your lips part but nothing comes out. He noses your hair aside and nuzzles the side of your neck.

He bites down on the skin, and holds you a little tighter when you jerk. Your mouth opens in a silent ‘Oh!’.

“Leon, what are you-“

“Tell me to stop.” He blurts, cutting you off. His face is lifted from your neck and he’s staring you down in the mirror.

“I-“

“Tell me. To stop.” He says, slower this time, emphasizing every word. He feels like an absolute asshole. He feels like even if he asks for consent a million times he’ll never truly make you realize that what type of feelings you allow him when you say yes. Do you know you’re consenting to his jealous tantrum that makes him wanna smother you with his body?

“You… don’t have to stop.” You say carefully, a little curious and bewildered of whatever this is that seemed to come out of the blue.

It didn’t really of course, you’re just a sweet little oblivious girl—his girl, and he loves you to death. But sometimes. Sometimes he wishes you could know how he feels. Not to make you feel bad but so that you can give him the reassurance he doesn’t know how to ask for.

But he’s too good at hiding things from you.

He grits his teeth, studying your expression in the mirror.

“What am I gonna do with you…” He sighs, shaking his head almost disappointedly. You feel a pang in your chest. He’s not disappointed with you of course, but with himself.

He grabs your jaw with more intensity than before and forces it to tilt to the side so he can kiss at your neck. You grimace, waves and waves of shivers migrating down your spine to pool in the bottom of your panties.

He wants to prove it to himself. That he’s it. That he’s the one you come to for everything. That you won’t ever need another man again. He knows it’s awful, but he wants you to rely on him for these things. He wants to be the one you come to at the end of the day and curl up with, or take your clothes off for. Whichever one you’re in the mood for, he’ll be here. He’ll do it.

He kisses your neck and your shoulders, and massages your skin with a firm touch of his hands. You wince a couple times when he’s too forceful, but you never open your mouth and say anything. You never complain. Secretly, you kinda like it; and part of you can sense that this is something he needs.

He’s too lost in his own internal conflict and jealousy to even register his own strength. He can’t stand it. He didn’t want to be so direct and vulgar, but you’re not moaning enough. You’re not squirming enough. Not making enough of those faces he loves to see.

His hand slides down your stomach and disappears into your underwear. You gasp and stiffen when you feel his fingers brush you, and wide eyes meet his blue ones in the mirror.

“Tell me no.” He whispers, his breath fluttering your hair. His heart thuds so hard in his chest he fears you might feel it. He’s challenging you, but deep on the inside he’s afraid he’s pushing it. He almost wants you to push him away and smack some sense into him.

But you don’t. You just maintain eye contact with him and slowly shake your head.

“Fuck.” He breathes, low and drawn out in your ear as his hand cups your mound and his thumb brushes over your clit.

Your reaction sends waves of satisfaction through him, and for a moment it’s enough to numb the feelings of self-loathing and jealousy. You jerk against him, letting out the sweetest moan as your face twists into one of those expressions he loves so much. His arm muscles twitch, holding you a little harder to keep you still and anchored to him, unable to bear the idea of you even having a millimeter of skin not touching him.

“How are you already wet, baby?” He hums in your ear, almost not sure how to feel about it. Was it him? Idiot, of course it was. But… you didn’t like that guy at all… did you? That guy didn’t turn you on, even a little bit, did he?

With all his compliments and flattering language and-

He grunts again, this time a more aggressive, irritated sound. He shoves his nose against your ear, breathing heavily into it. Your spine twists in his hard grip.

“It’s me. I made you like that. Didn’t I, hm?” He feels stupid. He know’s he’s out of his head with even thinking this, and he feels so guilty. He almost feels like he’s not even worthy to be touching you.

Almost.

“Tell me baby.” He growls into your ear.

“Y-yes, Leon. Wh-“ You don’t even know how to react. You’re sort of lost on what’s going on. Why he’s suddenly like this out of the blue. Who else would do this to you?

“Damn right I did.” He stuffs two fingers into you, loving the sharp little cry you make and the way your body snaps in his arms. He tightens his grip and brings you back against his chest.

“Leon, what the hell!?” You cry out, but it comes out on more of breath of ecstasy than any real sort of scolding. What the hell has gotten into him?

“Don’t question it, baby. Just tell me how good it feels.”

You moan again.

“That’s right. Just like that.”

He grunts in frustration as he watches you in the mirror. As he watches the way his hand moves underneath your panties and how he can’t see anything with the fabric in the way. He pulls his hands out just long enough to tug the cotton down off your legs and watch them slide down around your ankles. Then he’s plunging the two fingers back inside you.

Your back curves against his chest and he catches you, wrapping his free arm around your chest, pinning your arms with it, and dragging his nose and lips up the side of your face.

“That’s it.” He praises as he closes his eyes for a minute, just listening to you and breathing you in. He opens them to look back in the reflection and watch his fingers slide in and out of your twitching channel. He watches with tightening jeans how willingly you take his fingers.

He feels a pang of insecurity. He knows his brain is feeding him lies, but he thinks about how easy you are for him. Would you be easy for someone else?

That’s stupid, Leon. You idiot. He scolds himself for having the intrusive thought. He immediatly feels horrible for even thinking it. He knows you’re not that kind of girl. He remembers how hard it was to get you to open up to him when you guys first started exploring intimacy together.

That coaxes a sense of pride into his chest. How willingly you give yourself to him. No other guy could be as lucky. No other guy would ever have this. Such a pretty girl, moaning and clenching on his fingers. His pretty girl.

“Look at you, dripping down those pretty legs.” He breathes in your ear, making you shudder. He pulls his fingers out with a little whimper from you.

“Can’t let it go to waste, can we?”

He licks his fingers clean.

He spins you around and sinks down to his knees, letting your back hit the cold surface of the mirror. You writhe and pant against it as he throws a leg over his shoulder and licks up all the trickles of nectar down the inside of your thighs, making his way centerward. He nibbles on the soft skin as he goes, making you gasp and choke and shudder, over and over again.

He places a confident, flat tongue against you and licks the entire surface of your opening. The tang of your juices slides down his throat, and the noises you make force his eyes closed as he savors taste and sound.

“Leon!”

“Easy, baby. I know it feels good.”

He does it again a second time. Fucking hell, you taste good. He wraps his lips around your clit and sucks. It makes your insides clench, and you double forward at the intensity, catching yourself with a hand on his shoulder. You grip it, hand fisting into his shirt.

“Mm.” He moans against your heat, sending vibrations through the already swollen and puffy bundle of nerves.

He’s determined. It’s the only revenge he knows how to enact at this point. It’s too bad you’re on the receiving end since you didn’t even do anything wrong. But he knows that you’re not ever gonna actually complain about this later.

He swirls his tongue around your clit, bringing two fingers to prod more gently into you than the first time. He takes his time, gently probing around inside you for that sweet spot. He knows he finds it when you practically melt on him like ice cream.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Give me more of that. C’mon.” He pulls away from your puffy clit long enough to murmur that gentle encouragement. He returns to sucking and biting gently on the sensitive nub, as he rubs his fingers encouragingly against the spot inside of you.

If he can’t make you cum with nothing more than his mouth and two fingers, he isn’t a man worthy of the title.

Every breath is a moan from your lips at this point. You feel the tension in your tummy growing tighter, and you’re desperately trying to reach that peak. You focus on his ministrations and his coaxing words, chasing that illusive feeling.

“Leon!” You’re fingers fly to fist into his hair for something to anchor to and feel like you have a little bit of leverage; even if control is just an illusion at this point. But you’re okay with that, you don’t want control.

You want to lose it.

“Please please please please!” You chant quietly under your breath as you focus on the rise. It climbs higher and higher and each breath fills your lungs to bursting as your mouth falls open wider.

“That’s it, baby. Give it to me, sweetheart. Come on.”

He can’t take his eyes off your face. He grinds the pads of his fingers down on that sweet spot inside and sucks on your clit with everything he’s got. And he watches you explode.

It’s mind-numbing. Your body jerks hard and suddenly against the mirror and your wails of ecstasy fill the small walk-in like a symphony to his ears. He laps up your release like it’s a fountain of water and he’s a man dying of thirst.

He stimulates you through it until you grow limp against the mirror. He’s on his feet as you pant against the reflection and his mouth is on yours in a blink, forcing your taste into your mouth as he grips your arms tightly.

All the fight has gone out of you anyway, and you feel weightless. You just take it, allowing him to hold you there as long as he wants. You gasp for a deep breath when his lips finally release yours, and slump into his arms.

Fuck. He looks down at you all dazed in his arms, and he immediately feels like such a dick. He does feel a little self-satisfied though as you nuzzle your face into his chest and cling to his body like you need him to stand.

Because you do. It’s all thanks to him and he feels good.

“I’m so sorry baby.” He murmurs in your ear as he gathers you up in his arms, because he knows it’s not over. He can’t just leave it here, much as he knows in the back of his mind that he shouldn’t be so pushy and cruel. But he just can’t help it.

He carries you over to your guys’ bed, and lays you down more gently on it. His clothes are abandoned on the bedroom floor and as he sheds the remainder of yours off you, he kisses your forehead.

Your hands slide gently up over his arms, and it makes him feel so strong and powerful, and desired.

“You want me?” He whispers softly against your lips.

“Mhm.” You nod your head against the pillow as he positions himself over you.

“Spread them a little wider for me then, baby.” His hand grips your thigh.

You obey and he settles between your legs. You feel his tip brush against your sensitive folds and you jump.

“Shhhhh…” He hushes, his hand coming down to grip your jaw and run his thumb over your cheek. He takes your bottom lip between his in a deep but gentle kiss, and holds you there as he slides himself in.

You gasp into the kiss, twitching and sucking in over-sensitive breaths through your nose as he takes it inch by inch. Your toes curl, and your nails dig into his biceps. When he bottoms out, he finally releases your lips, letting you pant beneath him and catch your breath and your bearings.

“Mm… nn-… Leon.” You breathe, your tongue feeling thick and your head feeling numb. All you can do is breathe heavy and look up at him through pleasure-lidded eyes.

It’s the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen.

“I know, baby. I know.” He coos as he gradually starts to move. He leans down to kiss your lips again, to leave them all over your cheeks and jaw.

“Tell me how you want it.” He rumbles against your skin.

“I don’t—“ Your head lulls back and forth on the pillow as breathing takes precedence over words. “—I don’t care. Jus’… it jus’ feels so good.”

God, he could explode right now. You feel him twitch inside you when you give him free rein to do what he needs to do.

His hips speed up a few notches. Skin slaps against skin as he pushes your legs open wider to an intense moan from you. Then he increases the harshness of his thrusts, slamming into you until he feels like it’s a rhythm that matches his frustration with every bit of himself that’s afraid of another man taking you away from him.

He nips your kiss swollen lip.

“You’re my baby.” He breathes.

“Your baby.” You echo, eyes as starry as your brain feels. Not a thought in your head except how he feels inside you.

“Mhm. Fuck— yes you are, aren’t you? My good girl.”

“Your good girl.” Your arms come up to wrap around his neck. “For nobody else.”

The tightness in his chest soothes a little bit, the tension he’d been carrying pushing out through his lungs. He watches as you succumb a second time, crying out his name as you shake underneath him and cling to him like he’s your anchor.

He doesn’t even mind the scratch marks. God knows, he loves them.

A semblance of peace washes over him, and he almost doesn’t even care about the release when it washes over him too, a moment later.

He got the release he was looking for.

[mirainwonderland]

Hi,hope you are well and doing fine. So ,today I was playing Stardew Valley, loving the spring,and although it rains a lot,the sound it's very soothing. I was on my way to see( my crush and in the game because it reminds me of Leon. Don't know why. Maybe because he works ? I don't know.) Alex,and I had the urge to get in Tumblr ( to read specially Leon's fics ofc.) ,and then I read your fic,your most recent one. As if your fic about Leon acting intense when jealous didn't already made me imagine somethings and making me wanting to kiss him more than I usually do,your last fic made me feel my cheeks burn. Gosh ,how bad I just wanted that to happen! Gosh, you write such yummy bits. I can't help but wanting to ask if you could,at least just , I don't know,write a short one shot of the continuation of your last ? Goodness, I really wanna keep being able to read your delicious thoughts.

You are so sweet 🥹 this means so much that someone likes what I spew out of my brain. Also loving that we both love Stardew Valley and RE! I really should post more content about how that’s going because I’m doing a Leon play through rn cause he deserves a little peace and quiet.

Anyway my head immediately went to the ribbon one shot (Read Here), so I wrote a continuation for that, I hope that’s okay! I haven’t written smut in a hot minute, so idk how good this is it flew out of my fingertips at like 1AM don’t y’all come for me lol. I’ll see if I can’t cook up some inspiration for the others you mentioned ☺️ thank you for the request and enjoy <3

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Tags: MDNI, smut little to no plot, Leon x afab reader, kinda vanilla actually, doggy (i think?) and prone, cunnilingus (f receiving), technically unprotected but not explicitly stated (?), m dom x f sub implied, praise praise praise (so much yummy praise and being talked through it ugh)

2.5k words

Enjoy :)

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“Leonnn!” You’re half-laughing, half-whining tone isn’t deterring him much as he marches down the hall with you in a secure grip. He bounces your legs draped over one arm, reminding you just how stuck you are. You’re going nowhere, and the only struggling you can do is wiggle your torso and kick your feet. Which isn’t very effective, by the way. Halfway there, he puts you down, and you think for a minute that he was just bluffing after all and is gonna let you go.

Wrong.

He readjusts his grip on you and slings you over his shoulder like a delicate sack of potatoes. Even when he’s rough he’s gentle, and you have a heartbeat in two places all of a sudden.

“Leon!” You squawk, but he just chuckles, and you can feel the rumble through his shoulders. It vibrates through your body and makes it tremble in anticipation.

Begrudging anticipation, of course. Which unsurprisingly won’t last that long.

“No, put me down!” You whine as he kicks open the bedroom door and crosses the floor.

“Sure, babe.” He huffs as he all but throws you on the bed. You bounce on the mattress. Hands still bound together flop above your head and the fingers of one of his big hands wrap around them, keeping them put. He leans over you, settling a knee against the edge of the mattress.

“How’s that?”

You puff out your cheeks in annoyance, but it melts away when he gives you a soothing kiss. Your frown relaxes, even if the slight petulance in your eyes lingers for a beat longer.

“You’re mean.” You say, without the previous bite in your voice. Your eyes scan over the lines of his face, studying the expression that regards you so intimately now.

“To you? Never.”

He tugs open your neckline and descends on your neck with nothing short of an open mouth and a wet tongue. Your eyes slide closed, an agreeing sound slipping from your lips for a change. His mouth his hot and soothing, the way his tongue laves over the skin. He kisses up toward your ear, letting his breath hit the shell in the way he knows sends goosebumps down your spine.

Sure enough, you shiver.

“Yeah… you’re a pretty package, alright.” He hums into it, forcing another shiver through your vibrating bones. You’re all wrapped up in a pretty little bow just for him. And you look so flushed and innocent beneath him, with the tip of your nose matching your cheeks, that he has to bite back a groan himself. His jeans feel a little tighter.

His hand on your wrists slides down your forearm a bit, stroking the sensitive skin on the inside with a gentle thumb motion. That produces a satisfying sound.

A sound he likes a lot.

Your whole body jerks, and you writhe beneath him, your body rolling with the waves of sensation and electricity he sends through you with that simple touch.

“Leon that tickles!”

“Yeah, you like that?”

“Stop!” You stifle an amalgamation of a laugh and a moan.

The corner of his lip lifts. He leans up over you so he can trail his lips down the inside of your forearm, making you twitch. Your wrists writhe in their silk prison. His chest touches your nose, and his scent fills your lungs and numbs your brain.

“C’mon, Leon. Untie me.”

“Now where’s the fun in that?”

Normally he’s not such a menace. But work’s been hell, and when you’d distracted him with that pretty little ribbon of yours he just couldn’t help himself.

He gives your forearm a little nip, and then he’s pulling back again. He looks down at you, with his arms braced on either side, and studies your expression for a minute.

“You wanna stop, you tell me to stop. Understand?” He searches your eyes, double checking to make sure you really want this.

“Okay.” You say, the sound of your voice so cute and meek, he has a hard time not getting hard.

“Okay.” He repeats, leaning back to he can tug his shirt off, eyes fixed on you watching him with rapt attention. You want this, he can see it in your eyes. You’d tell him if you really didn’t.

His shirt is off his back and on the floor, and he’s leaning in again, sweeping his tongue into your mouth. You breathe in sharply through your nose, choking on a moan as he comes in stronger than you expected.

But it’s not unwelcome.

Your bound hands come down from above your head to rest against his chest. It’s about all the touching you can do, and you whine at him for it, giving him those eyes that say ‘please, baby’. He’s almost half-inclined to untie you at the pathetically cute look on your face, but he digresses. He has plans, and you’re not gonna foil them.

“You’ll be okay, sweetheart.” He kisses behind your ear as a soothing apology.

He goes to tug off your tank top, and realizes too late that it’s damn near impossible with your hands tied together like they are. He sucks in a breath through his teeth, knowing you’re gonna hate him for this— but he does it anyway.

There’s a prominent SNAP as the straps are ripped off your shoulders, and your tank top is tugged down and off your body.

“Leon!”

“Shhh, sh sh sh.” He immediately swoops in to soothe you with kisses everywhere. “I’ll buy you a new one, baby.”

You can’t really be too mad. He kisses you to shut you up, and trails his tongue down your neck to pepper more smooches over your braless chest.

It’s easy to forget about the ruined tank top.

“Ah!” Your back bows half an inch off the bed.

“That’s it baby, sing for me.”

Your pink buds stiffen, and he nudges his nose against one of them before taking it into his mouth. Your eyes roll back and your vision goes static for a moment as the sudden rush of pleasure has your back arching again.

He works down your body, kissing and touching all the skin he has access to, and uncovering more. He works down to the waistband of your sweats and tugs them off without ceremony. The whole while, you whine his name and writhe underneath his ticklish kisses like you’ve never been touched before.

He nudges his nose against them when you’re left in just your panties, breathing you in through the damp fabric. A dark flush comes to your cheeks and you close your eyes, only to feel his hand snake its way back up your body and gently nudge your chin down toward him. On instinct you open your eyes.

“Ah ah, baby. Look at me.”

Your whole body feels like it’s trembling from the inside. Like a shiver that won’t quite come to fruition, making your muscles clench and groan with delicious tension that makes you want to make noise. You bite down on your lip, clenching the sheets in your hands above your head.

He mouths your clothed folds, making you whimper and jolt. His teeth snag the edge of your panties and peel it aside, nuzzling his way underneath.

Your eyes roll back when his tongue licks a long strip up the entire length of your sex. You let out the most satisfied moan, and get the sexiest grunt vibrating against you in return.

“Fuck baby, look at you.” He mumbles from against your mound. His tongue licks again, lapping at the path of your nectar to its source. His tongue slides inside shallowly, making you moan and clench the sheets a little harder. Your knuckles turn white.

His tongue laves lazily in and out for a moment, until his hunger takes over. He brings his hand up to hold your panties to the side so he can take a proper bite out of you. And then his tongue goes to work again, with a mission this time. The sounds he draws out of you are pure sin and sugar.

His mouth wraps around your clit and sucks on it, earning a satisfying reaction. His tongue circles it, trailing the tip of it down through your slick folds to your entrance. He teases and prods you without really giving you what it is you want. His tongue slides inside, teasing that sweet spot by barely touching it with the tip of his tongue, and then he retracts it again.

And again.

And again.

“Leon, please!” You pant, unable to squeeze your legs closed and relieve some of the tension he’s creating. He holds your thighs open, getting his fill of your sweet flavor.

“I know, baby. Just be patient.”

He comes up, wiping his chin of your juices, his hair slightly disheveled. God, he looks so sexy like this, and there’s nothing you can do about it. So you whine your heart out.

He chuckles, passing the back of his hand over his mouth.

“I know. I got you.”

His clothes (sans boxers) are gone in the blink of an eye, and he leans over you again. You pout up at him, so turned on you’re gonna fucking scream if he doesn’t just give it to you already.

Just as you think he’s about to lean down and give you a taste of yourself, his hands grab you and flip you over onto your hands and knees. You can hardly get out a startled cry before his weight is over top of you, caging you in under him. He has your head between his arms as he braces himself up on the bed, sensually rubbing himself against your dripping slit through both your underwear as he breathes against your ear.

“Yeah, just like that. Easy, girl.”

You gasp and moan, trying to keep yourself upright underneath his weight with your hands tied together.

“Leon-“

“Good girl. Hold that position for me.”

He reaches down behind you, fingers gently skimming your naked side on the way down, making you twitch and shiver. You’re shaking under him, and it’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

He loves pushing you to your limit. If he can make you utterly exhausted by the end of this, then he’ll cuddle you a happy man.

His fingers hook the waistband of your soaked panties, and pull them off you in a smooth practiced motion.

“Easy, baby.” He encourages as he fumbles for his own, working them off too so nothing is standing in between you and him. His boxers hit the floor.

“Atta girl.”

He doesn’t give you much of a warning. One second his palm is soothingly massaging your ass, the next minute, he’s halfway sunk into your tight heat.

“Oh!” Every muscles in your stomach clenches, your ovaries moan in pleasure. You flutter around him as he slowly sinks himself all the way in and bottoms out. Your head drops forward, heavy breaths and moans mingling together as you try to maintain form.

“C’mon baby. Good. You’re doing so good.” He coos when he feels you clench around him. Fuck, you feel good. His mouth leaves soothing kisses across your shoulder blades. He nuzzles the back of your neck.

And then he’s moving.

Slow, lazy pumps at first. In and out. In and out in a predictable rhythm. But once you’re adjusted and he just can’t take it anymore, he speeds up.

The chorus of your moans is music to his ears as he thrusts into you from behind in time with your rapid heartbeat. You start shaking even worse, and it just fills him with a sense of pride that he’s doing his job right. Your head spins, and you really don’t think you can hold yourself up anymore.

“I can’t-“

He watches you closely. He knows your tells. He drops a kiss to your shoulder.

“I know.”

He pushes you down so you’re prone, stretching your pretty ribbon bound wrists above your head. You sigh as your flushed cheek meets the mattress gently. His arm slips underneath your tummy, arching your hips and curving your back. He presses his forearm into you, putting pressure on your tummy just the way he knows gets you.

His thrusts get just a little more powerful and insistent.

You whimper loudly, high-pitched and needy. The thin sheen of sweat gathering on both your bodies is making you stick to each other, and he loves it. Every part of you can’t get enough of him. He feels a wave of self-satisfaction wash through him that makes his chest feel warm, and his dick twitch.

“That’s it. Pretty girl. You gonna cry for me?”

You nod frantically against the sheets, the knot winding up tightly in your abdomen.

“C’mon then. Be a good girl.”

“Ngh! Hah hah!” You grunt, panting hotly against the sheets. “Leon, please-!”

“Let it happen, honey.”

“I need it!” Your chest jolts against the bed.

“I know. Whenever it comes. Just let it, okay?”

The way you’re erratically squeezing and clenching around him, he knows he doesn’t have that much longer either. He grunts through his teeth, gripping your waist tightly, his fingers digging into your soft skin.

“C’mon, c’mon.” He coaxes. He leans forward, rubbing his nose against your spine. He presses a few kisses down it. He feels you tighten up and he straightens again.

“That’s a good girl. Let me see you.”

And that’s when it snaps like a rubber band. You bury your face in the sheets and scream as wave after waves of mind-numbing sensation shakes you to your very core.

“There—” He pants. “—there she is.”

You clench down hard, and take him with you. He grunts as his hips jerk forward, the tension snapped for him too. The world turns white as his vision blurs and his muscles convulse. Just watching the way you tremble beneath him gets him grunting in your ear and biting the shell.

Everything feels so quiet after that. All that’s left is your heavy breathing. No more slapping of skin, or high-pitched moaning, or anything really. Your brain feels numb and quiet and the world feels reverent in the silence of the afterglow.

Sheets rustle, a soft kiss on your lobe. He gets off you, rolling you to your side so he can see your face. The back of his finger touches the apple of your cheek gently, and you let your unfocused eyes close softly with a gentle smile.

“You alright?” He hums, his voice a low, sexy vibration in his chest. He sounds a little raspy in the aftermath, and it’s your favorite thing.

You manage a nod and he gets up, tugging your hands free from the ribbon. You feel boneless and mind-numb, and you’re not really sure you want to leave this feeling behind anytime soon.

“Leon?” You murmur as you lay there while he cleans both of you off with his t-shirt.

“Hm?”

“Can I be your pretty little package again?”

You hear a deep, throaty chuckle. He leans in, and leaves a soft little kiss against your nose.

“Anytime you want, baby.”

[mirainwonderland]

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Thinking about RE4R Leon staring.

Just staring at you and appreciating his girl. Her curves and her hair and her little smile while she’s enjoying herself, perfectly unaware that he’s so entranced with her and that he can’t believe this fucked up life was kind enough to give him you. If there’s any emotion on his face it’s subtle. But in his head he’s going a million miles a minute about alllll the fucking things he wants to do to you.

When you notice him staring, you’re so unaware of the dirty thoughts that swirl around in his brain. You smile that sweet smile at him, noticing he’s slightly zoned out and his brain somewhere else. You poke his nose or pinch his cheek or ruffle his hair and go,

“Where’s your head?”

In the gutter.

But of course he can’t tell you that. He’ll probably show you later.

Nah fuck it. He’ll show you right now.

He grabs your chin and kisses you out of the blue, wondering what you’d taste like with a different flavor than that strawberry icecream on your lips.

He’s got to mentally slap himself before he gets carried away.

He slips in a little bit of tongue before he pulls away, biting your lip and leaving you a little bit stunned and flustered, blushing to the tips of your ears.

“What was that for?” Your voice cracks a little, clearing your throat when it comes out raspy. Icecream forgotten.

He takes the spoon and the half-eaten bowl out of your hands and leaves it on the table, taking your hand.

“Come with me and I’ll show you.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

[mirainwonderland]

I’m a Phone Call Away

Tags: fluff, slight angst if you squint, minimal swearing, nothing crazy

Word Count: 1.2k words

A/N: I feel like I didn’t put the effort into this i should have so I’m sorry if it’s a little lackluster 🥲 it might be fine i just wrote the idea i had in my head and here we areee so here have this x

· · ───────── ·𖥸· ───────── · ·

Hey…

I know… you probably don’t want to hear from me right now. Heh… I’m probably the last person you want to hear from. But…

I just need you to know: I worry about you. I love you… so much, sweetheart. You know that right?

…

Long breath.

…I’m givin’ you some space. ‘Know you need it. But you only get so much of it, you hear? Cause whatever we have is gonna work, okay? I’m not letting you get out of this that easy. And no argument is gonna change that, yeah?

…

Okay well… I’ll… try and call you tomorrow night. I… hope you pick up. Uh… I love you. Bye.

Your phone hits the bed as soon as the preverbal click echoes in your ear, ending the voicemail. Rolling over onto your side, you face away from it, heart weighing down into your heels.

You don’t have a justification really. Don’t have a reason to be isolating yourself from him, from the world at large. You try and tell yourself it was a petty conversation that hardly breached into argument territory, but your heart just won’t agree with you.

It hurt.

And it was stupid.

…and you miss him.

Screw you and your sensitive ass.

It wasn’t just that though. You’ve been feeling off lately for weeks. Everything irritates you, your chest feels like you’re carrying around a weight, and you’ve cried too many times to count on both hands. You’re so overstimulated; nothing tastes good anymore. You felt lost and confused, and you didn’t want to drag him down with you any further.

He had enough to worry about anyway.

And it didn’t really help that he hadn’t listened to you the night or the argume— discussion. It was a lively discussion. If you start thinking it’s an argument, you’ll just spiral and freak yourself out with relationship ending fantasies.

Your screen lights up, a gentle ping behind you, but you don’t turn. You know it’s probably a text from him. He’s worried about you. You haven’t talked to him in two days, which is not like you at all. You know the only reason he hasn’t just shown up at your apartment is because he’s been so busy with work lately.

That, and he’s keenly aware of the fact that something is off, and you seem to be pushing him away. He doesn’t like it, but he understands the need to breathe.

Only you don’t want time away from him. Not really. But you don’t know what you do want. You’re a walking dichotomy, and it’s scrambling your own brain. You feel awful. You curl up a little deeper in your sheets, wanting to sleep away the headache that never seems to go away.

But sleep hates you too.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Leon lets out a long, heavy breath. He sets his work bag down on the couch with a heavy hand, yanking open a few extra buttons of his dress shirt. His chest heaves for a couple good breaths, the hair on it peeking out from the open front.

If you’d told him several years ago that he’d find a girl who would stress him out this much by holing herself up in her room for two days, he would have laughed in your face and downed another drink. He didn’t need anybody, or get that close to anybody, even though deep down he knew that was a bold-faced lie.

Now he’s not afraid to admit it. He’s not heard a word from you, and it’s got him pacing the floor, and lying awake in bed all sweaty. His jacket hits the back of the sofa and he rubs a hand over his stubbled jaw.

“Fuck…” he mumbles under his breath. He’d left you the voicemail this morning, and still nothing from you. Not that he necessarily expected you to come running into his arms the moment you heard it (well okay a little bit), but he hoped for at least a text—some acknowledgment— that you’d gotten it.

He understands though. He’d been feeling like something was off with you for awhile. And he’ll admit that he didn’t really listen to you that night in the car. It had just escalated into an argument, and really it was all his fault. You had been trying so hard to call out to him for help in the only way you knew how, and he failed to come to your rescue.

What a jerk.

Boyfriend of the year.

Great job, Leon.

He heaves another tired sigh, his shoulders drooping, as he meanders into his bedroom with his hands shoved into his pockets. He wants nothing more than to get out of these itchy clothes. He’d love even more to have come home to find you hanging out in his apartment like you often did. But of course you weren’t, and Leon didn’t know why he was disappointed.

His shoulders crack as he stretches them, his shirt hitting the floor. He avoids his reflection in the mirror, not really needing to feel any worse than he already does.

He flops down on the couch in front of some shitty television, with a shitty bowl of instant ramen in his hand, letting the TV land on a random shitty channel. He stabs his fork into the noodles, twisting them around the prongs, trying not to turn up his nose at how much he doesn’t want a bachelor dinner tonight.

Not when the ghostly memories of your cooking still haunt his kitchen with their smells.

Not when he can hear the echo of your laugh as you two curl up on his couch to eat and watch Gilmore Girls.

He misses that stupid show.

His discards the noodle cup on the coffee table, hardly touched, when his phone buzzes. He feels tired. It’s probably Hunnigan or someone who can’t conceptualize that work days have endings to them. It was already insanely late, what did they want now? He answers it without looking.

“Yeah, what?” He sighs, not trying to hide the weariness and deadpan beat of his voice.

There’s a long pause on the other end.

“Um…hey.” Comes the extra quiet murmur he recognizes right away.

His heart jumps and sinks all at once when he hears your voice. He instantly feels bad, straightening up on the edge of his couch.

“Baby— hey.” He grabs his phone a little tighter, hating himself already for answering the phone the way he did. “Sorry, I didn’t realize it was you.”

Another long pause.

“You okay…?” He prods when he’s greeted with quiet breathing, not wanting to push too much, but eager to bridge that gap you’ve created. He knows your pride always takes an unnecessary beating when you lay down your sword like this and reach out for help. He always told you you didn’t need to be ashamed, but you still got that lump in your throat and the burn in your cheeks.

“I… can’t sleep.” Those familiar words crackle from the other end of the receiver. A sign of surrender, of your walls going down. Of your hand reaching out to him through the phone and wanting him to respond. He’s not gonna fuck it up this time.

“Can you come over?”

He’s already on his feet, slinging on his jacket.

“Yeah, sweetheart. Sit tight. I’m on my way.”

[mirainwonderland]

TW: Violence, gore, angst no comfort, body horror, death

Synopsis: Is he really in control?

A/N: I put off posting this for sooo long because I don’t normally write things this heavy and gory. But I wanted to explore the chaos and darkness that lives in his mind. The heaviness, the self-distrust, and the dark self image he has :( anywho so if you can’t stomach dark themes scroll away bestie

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

With a grunt, he shoves himself up in bed, body covered in sweat. His heart is hammering against his chest wall at a sickening pace, making him rub his chest and clutch at his shirt. In the dim moonlight he turns a forearm over, eye tracing anxiously down it for any trace left of those black veins that haunt his dreams.

Nothing.

Exhaling slowly, Leon’s shoulders slouch as he rubs his hand down his clammy face. It’s almost the same damn thing every night. He glances over at your sleeping form next to him, breathing peacefully in bed on your side. The subtle moonlight falls over the curve of your body under the blanket, and the sight alone is enough to bring him a small sliver of peace. It’s not enough, but it’s enough to make him take another steadying breath. Normally his jolting awake would make you stir too, and although a part of him ached for the comfort of your voice, the bigger part of him is glad he can protect you from this nightmare of his.

He’s careful as he sets aside the covers to stealthily sneak out of bed. He’d hate to wake you now. Each step to the bathroom feels like a tightrope walk that’s rigged against him. He grabs onto the edges of the sink once he’s inside with the door closed and the light on. He hangs his head over it, feeling uncharacteristically weak. He doesn’t like it.

It’s been more than a month, and still all he can hear in the restless hours of the night are Luis’ last breath and Ashley’s screams of his name. Screams of agony and terror as she’s forced to drink a cup she never asked for. And then gradually her screams distort into different ones.

Yours.

He can still hear them as he stares at the drain.

Leon!!!

He flinches, eyes squeezing shut. Sweat beads down his forehead.

Leon!!!!! More screaming. Help me!! Leon please!

It’s not real, it’s not real. He repeats the mantra in his head, hands shaking as they grip the edge of the sink so hard his knuckles turn chalky and pale.

He sees your face. He feels the hard, cold ground against his chest as he’s held down. It’s your mouth that’s forced open, it’s your choking and crying he hears as that black liquid trickles from the goblet down the sides of your mouth and down your neck.

It’s so fucking real. It’s-

LEONN!!!

His eyes snap open and his head jerks up with a grunt, and he’s met with his own reflection in the mirror. His own inky-veined, black-eyed, monstrous reflection. He hardly recognizes it. The veins, branching down his neck, his arms, choking the life of his blood out with its viscous poison.

He yanks up his shirt, watching the large pulsing veins net over his abdomen, slithering beneath his skin like a coiling snake. Like it’s getting ready to strike, but he doesn’t know from where, or when it will.

“Ngh!” He suppresses a grunt of pain as it suddenly rips through his entire body and he staggers, edge of the sink hitting his elbow as his hand slips from its death grip on it. He leans heavily on his forearm.

Breathe—fuck. Just breathe.

His ears ring as pain shoots through his skull. His brain fuzzes around the edges, and he clutches at his head, feeling like he’s losing it. He coughs into the sink, blood splattering on the porcelain and around the edges of his lips. Black, inky blood.

Oh God, if you even exist—

A soft knock sounds at the door. It’s like he can barely hear it, and your voice sounds so far away. It’s like he’s in a tunnel, and he stumbling around only partially deaf.

“No, stay out!” He manages to snap, stumbling for the door to make sure you don’t open it. He can’t tell what he’ll do if you get close. It was bad once before, it could be worse now. He knows he’s not in control of his own body, and the last thing he needs is the guilt of your blood dripping from his hands.

He’s already held too much blood that wasn’t his own. Felt the stickiness on his own skin, watching it slip through his fingers like mucus. He didn’t need to be responsible for the blood of the one good thing this cruel life has allowed him.

But his body feels like it’s locking up, each muscle and joint no longer free to move at the dictates of his own will. He doesn’t reach the door in time, and watches with a sickening heart as the door opens. Your face, etched with concern comes into blurry view, reaching out to him. Everything in him wants to recoil, but he can’t.

His body isn’t his anymore.

It’s a horrifying feeling to hear the most precious thing in the world to you cry out in pain by your own hands, gripping her arms so tight they might break. It’s even more sickening to hear bone crackling as you throw her against the bathroom wall, like a mere spectator inside your own body, unable to control it. All you’re allowed to feel is anger at such an innocent, delicate creature that’s only ever been gentle and sweet with you. Who didn’t deserve your possessed hands around her neck, your body pinning her down to the bathroom floor.

He watches in abject horror as your hands tighten around his wrists, your face turning red before it grows ashy, as you’re deprived of the oxygen you need. You can’t scream, you can only choke and look in him the eye, rasping his name and pleading for him to let go and have mercy.

The confusion in your eyes is what stabs his heart over and over again. Your gentle, loving boyfriend with his hands murderously around your throat. For no reason other than bloodlust that doesn’t belong to him. It’s like he’s screaming inside his own head, but none of the mechanisms are listening to him anymore.

He watches with terrified desperation as he drains the light from your eyes bit by bit. As you gradually stop struggling. As your hands gradually loosen from around his wrists. The last thing you’ll know of him is violence. And he can’t even beg for understanding, for you to stay, for himself to stop.

Forgive me.

Just before the light completely fades, a surge of anger empowers his limbs, and the sickening snap of an innocent neck lays you still beneath him.

His body loosens and he falls forward, catching himself on the tile on either side of your lifeless body. He’s himself again, he’s in control, but the moment is too late.

“No no no no no…” He gathers you up, desperately trying to breathe life into your limp body as if it could be done by shaking you, by lifting you. Like he would will your autonomy back into your body again.

But he can’t. And his worst fear came true. He claws at your body, his voice breaking as he pulls you close, gripping you tightly like he can make you come back to him if it hurts enough. His cheek presses against yours, which already feels cold and lifeless against his hot skin.

“Baby— fuck, no!“

What has he d—

With a heavy grunt, he snaps up in bed, t-shirt and pillowcase drenched in sweat. Panting harshly, choking on his own spit, he grabs his chest tightly. The worst nightmare he’s ever had, just that: a nightmare. His heart is pounding against his chest wall at a sickening pace, his hand is gripping his shirt like he’ll rip it. In the dim moonlight he turns his forearm over, looking for the blood that had felt so real on his hands.

Nothing.

“Leon?” Your voice in the dark makes him jump, and he’s glad you can’t see his face or the sheen of sweat covering his skin. Your hand touches his damp shoulder, gently rubbing it, and he flinches, a part of him afraid that the dream was a bad omen. A warning of what he really is.

A murderer. A machine trained to kill, not to think or feel. Not to distinguish between innocence and guilt. They just all die anyway no matter what he does.

“I’m fine… Y/N. Go back to sleep.”

Afraid to even look at you, it takes all of his willpower to keep the contents of his stomach. But he can’t run from himself. No matter how many times he’s tried.

[mirainwonderland]

Summary: you have an anxiety attack and he comforts you

Content: depictions of anxiety and panic, comfort, fluff, established relationship. Brief mentions of blood but nothing graphic

A/N / Disclaimer: I lowkey hate this 🥲 but if you struggle sometimes like I do, here’s how I think Leon would help you (I think he knows what he’s doing because he’s been through them too 🥺). Little disclaimer that everyone is probably different and I just wrote based on the anxiety experiences I have. Sending love and hugs to anyone who deals with anxiety everything’s gonna be ok <3 muah k luv you bye

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Longest day of your life. You’re more exhausted than a mother of five in a coffee shortage. Yet here you are, lying awake, stiff as a board in your bed, staring at the ceiling. A car goes by on the street outside, the light filtering in through the blinds and casting shadowed stripes across the walls and ceiling. You swear you can hear the ticking of the clock in the kitchen from here, and you let out a puff of air through pursed lips.

It’s driving you insane.

How many hours past midnight have you counted again? Oh right, 20 minutes. You feel like you’ve been lying here for eons, counting the even breathes beside you. You’re a little jealous watching Leon sleep peacefully beside you. Usually this is a him problem, and not yours. Not even the consistent, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest has calmed you. Usually his presence made you relax, and from there you’d grow sleepy.

But not tonight for god knows what reason.

You really do know, though. The day you’ve had keeps replaying over and over in your mind. Everything seemed to go wrong, your anxiety was horrible, and to add insult to injury you’re pretty sure your period is coming in a couple of days.

The joys of womanhood. Isn’t it fun?

You blow another breath through your mouth. All jokes aside, you feel like you’ve been doing worse lately. And the worst part about that is that you feel like you haven’t been able to tell Leon about it. You don’t really know why. It feels kind of humiliating to admit you’re not doing good, and you can’t figure out how to even broach the subject in the first place.

So you stay quiet, suffering alone in your silence like a devoted martyr to your anxiety. You wonder how holy you’d be by now if constant internal panic was measured in penance of some sort.

Leon hates it when you do that. He’s told you so many times to just come talk to him. And even though you want to, you can’t seem to break down your wall of pride and let him in. Even though the little girl in you is screaming for someone to hold her when the room goes dark, you still can’t bring yourself to tug on his sleeve and ask for help. You feel like a pick me begging for attention.

You sigh and sit up. You can’t stand your thought process anymore as it drifts to this uncomfortable territory, and you throw back the covers to go get a drink of water. It’s your own greatest enemy, your mind. And the worst part is, you can only run from it for so long. Because no matter how much you bottle things in, it will catch up with you sooner than you think.

You flip on the soft oven light for a little guidance, but not enough to chase away any traces of sleepiness that might be lingering as you fill a glass with cold water from the sink. Your head kind of hurts as you turn to rest against the counter and take a sip of water. Your chest tightens as soon as the water hits your stomach and you don’t really feel good.

You try to brush it off at first as low blood sugar or something. But it doesn’t go away, and becomes a little more insistent, and suddenly your chest aches.

Shit.

Your hands start to shake as that familiar feeling creeps back in to compress on your ribs. It’s a sick feeling, like you’ve eaten too much cake or like you’re really thirsty but no amount of water can help. As it gets worse, you feel like you can’t breathe. You hadn’t had an episode in a while, but all that stuffing your feelings nonsense got to you. Not healthy.

You go to set the glass down on the counter, but you don’t quite clear the edge and it knocks the water out of your hands. The loud noise of it shattering on the tile irritates you more, and your shoulders jolt. Every nerve feels on needle-point edge, the sudden overstimulation making your head feel like it’s gonna explode.

You press a hand against your chest, breathing having grown rapid as your vision blurs around the edges.

“Hey.” You don’t even see or hear him until Leon has your shoulders and speaks right in front of your face. Your shoulders jerk again when he grabs you, and your hands fly out to grab at something. They find his arms.

“I-I… I can’t breathe…!” You tremble, your head growing light and tingly from the shallow panting.

“I know… I know, easy.” Avoiding the broken glass, Leon lifts you effortlessly onto the counter. He’s calm, his voice deep and even and a little rough from sleep.

“I-… I can’t—“

“Don’t think about it.” His voice an anchor somewhere in the haze of reality you’re struggling to get back to. “Take a breath.”

You try. Your lungs are shaking. It hitches, and you almost feel worse. He takes your hand and lays your palm flat agains his chest.

“Like this.” He sucks in a deep demonstrative breath through his nose, out through his mouth, making sure you can feel the way his chest rises and falls with the motion. “You know how, baby.”

“I-I can’t!”

“You can. Do it with me, c’mon.”

You focus your energy and your frayed concentration on the way his chest feels under your hand, the way the warmth creeps up your arm. On the way his breath sounds and feels. On the way the air feels spilling into your own lungs.

Gradually you regain control.

Leon tilts his head, trying to get a look at your face in the dimness of the stove light.

“‘Okay?” He murmurs, and you nod, letting your eyes crack open and your head fall back forward to look at him. You’re suddenly aware that your feet hurt and feel kinda sticky.

“C’mon.” He reaches for you, and you wrap your arms around his neck as he carries you carefully out of the kitchen and down the hall to the bathroom.

The light blinds you when he turns it on, and you squint and blink as he sets you on the counter, and your feet in the sink. The amount of blood on your feet scares and sickens you, but Leon lays a warm, gentle hand on the back of your head as he sets the first aid kit next to you.

“It’s okay. Don’t look.”

He makes sure there’s no shards of glass in your skin, he cleans the cuts gently and disinfects them. You watch quietly as he bandages them up, wrapping up the balls of one of your feet.

The silence is a little unsettling. Is he mad? Obviously he’s probably not too mad about the glass. He’d probably say it’s replaceable. But now he kinda knows there was something bothering you, and you clearly didn’t talk to him about it before it got bad.

“Sooo… what no lecture?” You finally blurt as he ties off the gauze. He glances up at you as he lowers your foot from the counter.

“For what?” You watch as he washes his hands in the sink and puts the first aid kit away.

“You know… for not… talking to you sooner, I guess.”

He gathers you into his arms again and you wrap yours around his neck as he flips off the light and carries you back to bed. He kisses your temple on the way back down the hall, watching as your eyelids droop sleepily when you don’t sense any tension in his body.

“Maybe tomorrow morning.”

He carries you back to bed and tucks you in. Laying down beside you, he holds his arm out for you to come a little closer and curl up under it. You scooch.

He rests his hand on the back of your head, his thumb brushing your hair behind your ear.

“I will say this though…” He murmurs deeply as you look up at him from your little spot in the sanctuary of his arms. “You know you can come to me, you know you’re not a burden and I like being there for you.”

He smoothes his thumb over your hair.

“I love you… k?” He presses a kiss to your forehead.

“Okay.” You reply in a little voice. You know he’s right. You know he means what he says. Leon’s not the type to waste words on sentiments he doesn’t mean. And hearing it again makes you feel a little silly for overthinking it.

“Okay.” Another kiss. “Get some sleep, yeah?”

This time, you’re out like a light.

[mirainwonderland]

When the residents are too evil so you inherit your late grandfathers farm and raise chickens instead