#leon kennedy/reader

[elvinapandra]

POV : you have been scrolling for the past hour and all you see is SMUT

Please...life is lot more than fucking🙏🏻

[dollyspink]

older!Leon Kennedy x f!reader

warnings: age gap, hurt comfort, suggestive, probably smut

summary: Leon gets a call and leaves you confused then makes up for it;)

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

… …

You and Leon are on a couch in the living room. You’re seated on Leon’s lap straddling. Your tongues fighting lazily with each other.

It’s a sweet moment, really, but you still can’t help but feel the sensation in your panties. Not your fault he is so hot:((

You feel him getting harder so you press against him.

He laughs a little to your mouth saying:

“You’re always so eager aren’t you”

“Can’t change” you say back as biting his lip.

You start kissing again, now it’s more lustful than sweet. It’s the perfect timing for…

“Bzzzzz!”

You whine while slowly pulling away from him.

He picks up his phone.

“It’s important honey I’m sorry” he says while patting your hip so you move so he can stand up.

“I gotta take this” he says quickly before answering the call. He goes out of the living room to talk.

You sit on the couch. Now alone playing with the hem of your shirt and making an unhappy face. This unfortunate nature of his work.

So you wait and wait. Ugh how much time already past.

He finally comes back. You know it’s not his fault but you’re still a bit sad. He came from a mission only a few days ago and they already want to take him aways from you. It was supposed to be a moment for him and you only not… his phone and some dude on the other side.

You look up at him with that worried eyes of yours. He knows what’s up.

“Oh baby don’t make that face” he says while kneeling in front of you. He takes your hands in his much bigger ones and kisses them.

“I’m not going anywhere now” and more kisses.

“I’m yours and only yours now” he says as his hands change placement from your hands to your knees.

“I just don’t wanna lose you” you say while touching his face.

“Don’t you worry about that baby” he says while he starts kissing your thighs. His whole head already underneath your skirt as he kisses your clothed pussy.

You’re melting underneath his touch and let him do his thing.

The best apology ever;))

… …

[yurozo]

ink-related natural disasters (leon kennedy restaurant au oneshot)

summary: it's your first shift, and leon's been asked (ordered) to show you the ropes (fuck up tremendously in front of you on numerous occassions). no warnings, gn!reader.

a/n: my first request!! i hope you guys like it :D if y'all want me to continue the restaurant au let me know!

"does the cheese pizza have dairy?"

it's only half an hour into his shift, and leon's already contemplating on the different ways that he can permanently end his career in food service. lighting himself on fire in the middle of the floor is currently the most viable option, the candle is right there and if he moved his arm down just far enough-

"yes, ma'am. the cheese pizza does have dairy in it," he answers instead, mouth pinched into a thin smile. the pen between his fist cracks a little at the last word, earning a much easier end than the man holding it.

"then i won't get it," the woman says, looking back down at the menu with a huff. "i'm allergic."

for all of leon's strength, he can't help the little sigh that comes out of his mouth then. the man sitting at his table gives him a sympathetic look, and it's only then that leon does actually feel a bit bad.

not only does he have to deal with a woman who apparently never passed third grade english, he's currently responsible for training the new person coming in tonight. in all honesty, he's not quite sure why wesker gave him the responsibility. he's certainly hasn't been here the longest, not the most strict, and about three shattered glasses currently in the garbage isn't exactly giving a testimony to his self-assurance.

he's fucked. leon's going to have some half-baked college kid show up, stand behind him ominously all night, and ask questions until his head hurts. wesker didn't even allow him the chance to say no-- just glaring through the world's darkest sunglasses before storming off to his own office.

the only hope for him is that the tips are decent enough for him to put up with it.

the woman sitting in front of him, who he has so aptly named public enemy number one, finally finishes her order. leon offers a quick goodbye, snapping the notepad shut with his best attempt at a smile. he walks away, looking for the next open source flame is until he freezes right as claire walks by him.

what might just be the most beautiful person he's ever seen in his life is currently at the front entrance.

you're there, chatting with jill at the hostess stand with a nervous smile on your face and a notebook tucked to your chest. as cliche as it is, the restaurant really does seem to come to a standstill-- conversation seems to dim, everything seems to move in slow motion, and leon suddenly feels like air isn't getting into his chest.

if you're actually the new hire, he is truly and royally fucked.

claire giggles to herself as she finally breezes past him, muttering something under her breath that goes completely over his head. he couldn't give less of a shit what she's saying, because now jill's pointing at him, and you're looking at him with a smile and bright eyes.

it's a miracle he isn't a puddle on the floor yet, but that's neither here nor there. not when you're now walking towards him, and leon still hasn't thought of something cool to say.

"hi," you greet him softly, quickly rattling off your name and qualifications while leon is still a million miles away. "you're leon, right?"

he blinks at you slowly. "huh?"

"leon." you clarify, the slightest hint of a grin curling at your lips. jesus, you're cute even when you're clearly pitying him. "jill told me that i'm supposed to shadow you on the floor."

"i'm leon." the words leave his mouth a little too fast, the syllables blurring together in a barely perceptible haze. he gives himself a mental smack on the forehead. "i'll take care of you."

at least he has the mind to smile, even if the plastic of pen number two shatters completely in his fist.

-

he learns four things about you in the span of two hours. one, that you're incredibly smart. after about three tables you've already picked up on the general routine, the menu prices, how to describe food that you don't even eat.

two, you have a great sense of humour. or he's just on a roll with his jokes. regardless, you've laughed at every shitty one-liner that left his mouth tonight, and leon feels like he's on cloud nine.

number three, you're gorgeous, and in a way that everyone else is noticing too. tables are significantly nicer to him when you're standing politely behind, as if they too want to be on their best behaviour to win your approval. get in line, he always thinks bitterly.

and finally, you're friendly in a way that almost infuriates him. mostly because he can't tell if he's actually winning brownie points with you, or you're just entertaining the man training you. every piece of information about yourself is carefully folded and tucked away in his brain for safekeeping, just in case its the former.

"you know, i should set you up with my daughter, i think you'd love her." the old lady at his table speaks up, reaching across the table to pat his arm. "she's a real gem."

"okay," leon sighs, "how about instead, i get you that appetizer?"

you stifle a laugh behind him, but he can still feel the puff of air on his back. leon can feel you move behind him until your head is peeking over his shoulder, pretending to be very interested in whatever he's writing on the ticket.

you're so close-- he can feel your hair brushing against his cheek, feel the warmth of your shoulder right against his back, and thats when disaster strikes.

ever so glorious pen number three creaks under the weight of his grip, before pronouncing its death by exploding ink all over both his hands and the ticket. all he can do is mutter some half-formed apology to his table before running to the bathroom with his metaphorical tail between his legs. you follow closely behind, but not before giving the customers an apologetic smile and a sickly-sweet apology.

again, infuriating. been here a couple hours and you're more of a natural than he is.

any hope of brownie points with you is draining alongside the ink dripping onto the ceramic. when he looks up at himself in the mirror, he can't help but internally cringe at his appearance. fully-formed eyebags, hair tousled from a nervous habit he's too tired to break, and now ink all over his sole work shirt. he's been looking like this in front of you this whole time, no wonder you probably think he's truly lost his mind.

you appear behind him through the mirror, just over his shoulder again. "you really should take it easy on the pens. they didn't do anything wrong."

a half-hearted laugh rings between the both of you. you reach for the paper towels to start getting some of the blue residue off. the way you touch him is soft, way too caring for someone you just met. he thinks that's the part he likes the most so far.

the heart on your sleeve, not too unlike his own.

"so much for taking care of you, huh?" he chuckles, staring down at the way your hand is holding his with the other rubbing the ink off his palm.

"you did great, don't worry," you smile, glancing up at him. "let me return the favour."

-

still trying to will the blush off his face, leon furiously uncrumples the ticket and sticks it in front of luis.

"sancho, what the hell is this?"

"it's the order for 37, what does it look like?" he barks back, a little too harshly for something that is most definitely his fault. if luis is offended by his tone of voice he certainly doesn't show it, just tilting his head at leon like he's got him all figured out.

"it looks like you wrote this with the pen in your mouth," he laughs, sticking it above him anyway. "what's got you so distracted?"

before leon can give him some sort of half-witted answer, ada steps up to the counter, glaring at the piece of paper above her like it personally offended her. "you're an idiot, kennedy."

leon just sighs, "tell me something i don't know."

[uncouth-the-fifth]

good morning, charlie - Leon Kennedy/Reader

read it on Ao3.

Pairing: Agent!Leon/Detective!Wife!Reader Tags: domestic fluff with the tiniest dustings of background angst, married life, hugging, kissing, and snuggling. Words: 3k (yes, I'm capable of keeping something this short) Notes: read this in a WWE announcer voice: THAT'S RIGHT! UNCOUTH HAS COME CRASHING BACK INTO THE RING AFTER YET ANOTHER MONTHS-LONG HIATUS. i'm magical, truly. here is the first Leon fic I promised last month! There's so much I want to say about this little drabble, but I'll save that for my curious ppl on Ao3. this is going to be a big 180 from my spn content, and I sincerely hope that's okay with the public 😭 for my RE people: enjoy domestic Leon bullshit!

At two in the morning, Washington D.C. is pouring everything it has into crafting the coziest atmosphere of all time. A pleasant window-tapping storm had rolled in right around when you resolved to stay up working. Some late-night radio host is making soft, fizzing chatter in the next room, and coupled with a stellar view of the city from fancy floor-to-ceiling windows, you have a prime opportunity to pass the fuck out.

Unfortunately, you have made some spectacular life choices that don’t mix well with a full night’s rest. Nope, no sleep for you. Despite all of fate’s attempts to stop you from being a cop, (including throwing a city-wide outbreak at you on your first day), you are still here, gripping your job with both hands. At two in the damn morning.

Since scrubbing your eyes hadn’t woken you up the first five times you tried it, you give it another shot as you pace the length of your living room rug—from the coffee table you’ve stacked with files, then back to the whiteboard pasted top-to-bottom with pictures of missing young women. The whiteboard had been Leon’s idea. After the fourth time you’d transformed a flattened cardboard box into a morbid case-board for work, he’d cajoled you into letting him buy one for the apartment.

But I won’t be able to stab the tacks into it, you’d pouted.

Oh, the agony, your husband had drawled. He was a master of delivering a good, dry look.

You’d propped your fists on your hips and tried your best to look serious. The red yarn connecting everything isn’t just a detective-movie thing, y’know! It’s actually really useful. And I need my tacks to stick the yarn in—

Leon had cut cleanly through your building sass with another look, this time one glimmering with humor. Then I’ll get you magnetic ones, detective. Don’t you use whiteboards at the precinct anyway?

You’d grumbled. Because, yes, you did use whiteboards at the station, and they did have the little tacks with the magnets on the bottom. But you’d refused to deal with Leon being all smug (he was unbearable pretty when he was right), and had teased back instead, Whatever, nerd. Why don’t you and the other two angels go call Charlie already?

The reference had gone clean over Leon’s head. Of course, he hated being left out of a joke, so he’d roped you over by your wrist and pinched an explanation out of you until you were squealing with giggles.

Summarizing Charlie’s Angels to Leon had been a lot like offering a paper rocketship to an aerospace engineer. But, hey, picturing him running around in skimpy outfits and escaping action movie explosions on a motorcycle is a whole lot more fun than… than the real deal.

You don’t want to think about what his missions are really like. Not that you’re even allowed to know in the first place. Being Leon’s wife permits you a government-issued phone with his handler’s number, and on antsy days you can push Ingrid for details if you want. But after so long you’ve learned it only hurts both of you—for her, in the inability to answer, and for you, in the excruciating pain of being unable to know. Where is he? That’s classified.

She can’t always tell you when he’s coming home, either. So much of your life is hinged on her check-ins, and even more is forced to live off a simple, He’s okay.

For the seventh time, you scrub at your tired eyes and suck in a deep breath. You’d gotten that fabled text from Hunnigan—he’s okay—earlier today, and like always you crawled through the rest of your shift roiling with anticipation, waiting for Leon to materialize back into your life.

You force your gaze back to the whiteboard, littered with notes and pictures hung up with magnetic tacks. The faces of five missing women bore back. The ten-ton weight of your caseload slams down in full, and again, you scold yourself for floating back into comforting memories of your husband. These girls have lost all comfort in the world since they were taken. Your Captain gave you the responsibility of finding them, and after all you’ve been through, after all the other cases you’ve closed, there can’t be any room for failure. Think.

Your legs ache from being on your feet all day, chasing leads, but dropping into Leon’s armchair for even an instant will just have you nodding off again. More pacing it is, then. This is your pattern for the next half-hour: pace, re-read witness statements, turn, sip your coffee, pace, cross-reference alibis. He’s okay. Two of the girls were taken from Queen’s Chapel, two from Takoma, one from Woodridge. He’s fine. The last victim breaks the profile. What’s different about her? Why take her? Think think think— You know what Leon would do. He was the kind of person you could put in front of a problem, and no matter what he would find a way to shoulder his way through. With physical force, sure, but mental force too. He would sit and just look at the puzzle, and sheer willpower would lead him to some kind of answer. But you’d been pushing and pushing for days now, pursuing every lead, pressing every witness, yet nothing will give. The whole thing feels like a punching bag you’re beating at over and over again, knuckles raw and bloody—

Keys rattle just outside the front door.

First the big deadbolt scrapes open, unlatching with a heavy thud, and that sound alone is enough to shock you awake. More than any coffee could. Then comes the doorknob. Leon hasn’t even turned his key before you’ve twisted the lock open, yanked the door out of your way, and sent it whipping into the jamb with his keyring still swinging from its slot. You give him one full blink to register that it’s you before you’re throwing yourself on him without a single lick of shame, legs and all.

Of course, Leon bears your weight with grace. He grunts out an oof! when you come in for landing, and the living, breathing sound drains into one gruff laugh. You’re scooped up under the thighs and teddy bear squeezed against him. He reeks of cheap motel soap and something faintly coppery—then mint, a whole world of plush, wet spearmint when he nudges your face up with his nose and lays a hello kiss on you. The taste of his gum and the scratch of his stubble on your chin make your skin feel like it’s fizzing, inside-burning-out, every inch of you stood on end by his static charge. Jesus, this guy. He feels like fucking magic, and you’re confident that the laws of physics don’t quite apply around him. Everything in the room, in the too-big apartment that’s painfully empty without him in it, tilts toward Leon.

You shove your face nose-first into his neck and clutch the back of his jacket in both fists. Swallowing hard, you manage, “Hey, angel.”

“Good morning, Charlie,” Leon says.

If you had any resolve for today left in you at all, the wash of his sizzling butter voice would squash the last of it. You’d been trying to be sweet, but your husband has to be funny about fucking everything, of course. Even after weeks spent apart. You love him so fucking much.

“Don’t tell me you found time to watch that stupid movie.” Your voice is muffled by his coat, and you’re grateful for an excuse to hide.

You’re moving. Leon carries you inside, his wedding band pressing into your leg and his other big, warm hand spooned around your back. “Boring plane ride. I wanted to get your jokes.”

Your front door is toed shut, and with all the efficient maneuvering of a proper agent, Leon gets the place locked up behind you. Somewhere in all the commotion he’d dropped his go-bag by the welcome mat, and you hear the dramatic thunk, thunk, of his fancy work loafers being kicked off beside it. Only then does he slip you onto your own feet again.

Your hands slide down his arms as you make contact with the floor. Somewhere in the back of your mind you’re aware that he’s damp from the rain, but that fact hangs in the little alternate universe he’s made in your front hall. Standing there and being able to look at him straight-on, Leon doesn’t feel real. It’s like your constant thoughts of him have manifested a ghost in his shape, mimicking the smiley rookie you remember.

He greets you with a quiet, beaten-down smile, and you understand immediately that the world has thrown its fair share of punches at him, too. You’ve both had a shit week. The Kennedy surname just brims with good luck, huh?

Your hands work on autopilot as you take him in, slipping under the fabric of his jacket and lingering over his thudding heart. His warm blue gaze swims over your face, and you can almost hear the clicking mechanisms in his head as he forces himself out of operative mode and into home mode by looking at you.

“It’s a really bad movie,” you say, choked up.

Leon’s jacket hits the floor with his shoes. There’s a swath of ugly, purpling bruises crawling up his bare arm, old enough to be greening at the edges, and your stomach churns when you see it.

He taps your chin up, pulling you away from the damage and back on him. His voice rolls over you like bourbon in a glass. “Absolutely. So-bad-it’s-good, even. We should watch it, make fun of it together. Like, why the hell does…”

Leon flawlessly falls into an analysis of the movie’s poorly-written espionage elements. The movie you made one offhand joke about several weeks ago, mind you. He’s pulling at straws, saying whatever the hell comes to mind to make you laugh, so exhausted he’s literally swaying on his feet. You can’t believe he’s trying to distract you with something so trivial, but this is your husband. One flash of that weary closed-mouth smile, one brush of those callused hands down your wrists, and your whole world resumes its orbit around him.

You laugh at the jokes he’s obviously crafted for your benefit, a weak chuckle your heart isn’t in. With his hands looped around your wrists, he guides your arms around his neck and welcomes you back into the toasty bubble of his touch. Leon’s even warmer from being tucked underneath his coat. Pure goodness and safety glows off him like a fucking nuclear reactor, and it dawns on you that you haven’t felt safe at all since he left. Anyone can be plucked off the streets here.

One more scratchy kiss and then he’s leading you deeper into your apartment. No one on Earth would believe that he’s a chatty guy, but he talks the whole way through. Too often he’s left to sit in his own mind on missions, and you’re treated to two week’s worth of his backlog in the next ten minutes. All the little things he wanted to say to you. The streams of smart-mouth commentary he was famous for at the academy are all inner monologue now, but you’re confident the Leon radio show still runs twenty four hours a day. He chatters so much in his head that it slips out of him like water sometimes—

“…that close to an explosion would disintegrate you, but fuck physics I guess—“ Leon interrupts his own flow of thought to squint at you. “Quit looking at me like that. It’s unfair how pretty you are when you’re tired. What was I—not like the laws of physics apply to that movie anyway, but…”

—and you’re stupidly charmed by it. He talks to comfort himself, and because the two of you are one unit, one person to him, he does the same for you.

With your hand tethered in his, he clicks off the radio in the kitchen. One of Leon’s side-stories replaces the random late-night station that’d been playing, floating over the din of the rain like bass over relaxing drums. He pours out the dregs of your coffee. He closes the files full of gruesome crime scene photos on your coffee table, and you watch, barely able to keep your head up, as he flips your whiteboard over to its blank side. You’ll get his second opinion on the case tomorrow.

Leon sweeps the place with you in tow, and once the security system’s armed and you’re almost sagging against him, the lights come off. Though you’ve had plenty of time to adjust to the Leon that returned home from training, you’ll never get used to the little alien ticks it’s given him. He navigates to your bedroom in complete blackness. He avoids the creaky floorboard just outside your door without seeing, deathly silent. The broad presence of him looms in the dark.

One wall of the bedroom is nothing but paneled glass, throwing a long square of dark blue moonlight over your rumpled comforter. While the view of the Potomac and Capital Hill is stellar from up here, you’ve always felt out of place among the things Leon’s generous salary has earned the two of you: a flat with a private elevator in the nice part of town, fresh-off-the-press sports cars, a getaway cabin up north. So much of it you end up enjoying by yourself. It only ever feels worth it when he’s here, smacking his elbow into the digital wall-panel that controls your A/C.

“—s’ supposed to be a touch screen,” he sidebars himself for the tenth time. Softer, Leon adds, “Brush your teeth. I’ll be right there.”

You rope your arms around his middle and press your face into the heart of his back, careful of the bruises he’s doing his best to hide. “Wanna wait for you.”

Leon doesn’t protest. There’s more little beeps as he screws with the temperature of your mattress or something, deciding, “We live in a damn spaceship. Are we too good for plain old-fashioned buttons now?”

Apparently you are, since old man Leon fails to figure out how to crank the heat up. You let him play with it for a little while longer (it’s not his fault he’s rarely home), and then intervene with a few quick taps when things get dire. The heater hums to life under the floor a beat later, and he turns in your grip to scoff, mystified by your vast and incredible knowledge.

“My smart girl,” he hums.

Just that is enough to chip off a piece of your strength. Had he said that to you over the phone, a million miles away in god-knows-where, your knees would buckle. He is the only one who talks to you like that—with so much simple, uncomplicated love. Too tired to put your thoughts into words, you flatten a hand over his heart and kiss the sun-freckled nape of his neck.

“Clingy,” Leon mutters. You’re pretty sure it’s supposed to sound dry and funny, another one of his jokes. But then he’s smoothing both of his palms down your arms in two long handsy swaths, and the gesture tells you everything about just how clingy he’s feeling, too.

His stories make getting ready for bed an even slower affair. You couldn’t mind if you wanted to. As you help him out of his starchy dress-shirt button by button, he surprises you with a rare explanation of where he’s been for the last weeks. The UK. Truly, your husband is the special secret agent to end all special secret agents: he talks around his job as if it was a bump he’d hit on the way home, entertaining you instead with his Leon-ified vision of London. Touristy as shit. Loud as shit. Smelled like shit.

“Just like DC,” he chuckles, and then a second time when your fluffy head pops through the collar of the sleep shirt he’s dressing you in.

It’s too much rough, cinnamon spice laughter for one woman to stand. You duck away to brush your teeth and groan into your palms like a schoolgirl over him, but sure enough, Leon trails you, fingers chasing the hem of your shirt (his shirt) in a sleepy daze. He always keeps you in view. Nervous, maybe, to have you out of his sight.

This tradition continues when the two of you crawl into bed. Your eyes have adjusted to the darkness, and so has your body, able to sense him on the stupidly expensive mattress beside you. He thinks you can’t tell, but his gaze roves over you again and again—down your back when you flop face-first into the plush bedding, over the slope of your shoulder when you wiggle under the covers. Leon draws you into the glorious halo of his body heat with a gentle hand on your belly. If you could bottle this feeling, the whole world would be sick and stupid for him in hours. Minutes even.

You feel so safe that the word doesn’t even come to mind. Just vague, peaceful shapes of things you know, home, sleep, cologne, cozy. His work-rough palm with his body-warm wedding band slips under your tee to sweep over your ribs. Then comes Leon’s face, just on the right side of stubbly as he shoves it between your shoulder blades without a single lick of shame. The breath he takes of you is so heavy that his whole frame shudders with it, top to bottom.

You remember how you’d burrowed into his jacket the second he got home and think, You are me and I am you. We’re always on the same page.

With that, the stage is set. DC’s faraway glittering cityscape lights up all the raindrops on your window, and you watch them run as the two of you melt into one another. Leon’s warm breaths slow across your neck. Time for you to deliver your line.

You wet your lips and murmur into your pillow, “Do you want to talk about your mission?”

Legally, he can’t say yes. Government secrets, bureaucracy, yadda yadda. Leon isn’t always emotionally ready to crack open a coffin he’s just finished sealing, either, but while it is his job to close your case files for the night, you’re his wife. You’re the only person who can knock on that door. With how little choice he has left in his life, you try to give him options whenever you can. Regardless, you know the man you married—strong-willed on a mythical fucking level, and just as self-sacrificing. He’ll always try to spare you.

Sure enough, Leon says, “Tomorrow. Do you want to talk about your case?”

You shake your head at him, exhausted to the point of dizziness. “Tomorrow.”

A tender kiss is pressed to the nape of your neck, and the whole world goes silent for the perfect, husky whisper you’ve ached to hear. You feel his wry smile against your skin. “We’re always on the same page, baby.”

[damnedbeauty77]

leon kennedy x fem!reader

!MDNI!

cw: smut, p in v, reader a little traumatised, vanilla and protected, swearing. idk how to do this

summary: reader meets leon, her possible future boss, in a bar with jill and chris.

notes: this is my first time writing smut, did proofread and edit before publishing, if u have any ideas for improvement just dm me x

words: 2.1k

———

i sit at the bar, leaning over to ask the bartender for a pink gin. what can i say, it looks pretty. my friend went home with some girl already, leaving me with myself at 10.30 at night.

it's fine. it's whatever. i could meet someone. i could have fun.

"hi there."

a guys takes the stool next to me.

i smile. he's cute. he has light, silver-y hair, parted to the side in a messy style. very much, my type.

"hi there." i respond lightly. i might be little drunk.

"i'm leon. what's your name?" he asks, putting an elbow on the bar to tap his fingers on his wood. i have to stop myself from giggling.

"y/n... are you going to buy me a drink?" i twirl my my hair lazily and leon almost copies my movements, brushing his hair back with his left hand. i wonder if he has a bald spot.

"of course. what are you having?"

"well, i'm actually looking to try something new. ive been drinking gin since i was 16. what would you recommend?"

"well, for a pretty girl like you, id have to say a cocktail. vodka, maybe... sex on the beach?"

...

"you work in the bsaa? i literally applied there yesterday!" i laugh. "yeah, well, kind of. i work with them in the dso."

my mouth drops a little in shock. "no way, you're leon kennedy? one of the—"

"founders, yes." leon sighs, laughing. "i really didn't expect all of this to come up when i decided to come talk to you."

i stop and blink a little. i forgot what he was really here for, at least for a moment. "well, shit. sorry. i mean like.. we can still go somewhere, if you want." his eyes widen a little. "no, no i'm sorry. i like talking to you. i was going to ask for your number- my friends are still here." he signals to a table in the corner of the bar. a man and a woman laugh together as they drink.

i smile. "oh, i've been keeping you from them."

"not at all, they told me to talk to you - encouraged me."

"well i hope you don't have a bet going, because i was starting to like you."

leon laughs. "really?"

"don't be smug. do you still want my number?" it feels so normal. "yes."

i wrote it out on a napkin and gave it to him.

"can i meet your friends? that guy is pretty hot." i tease him, making him bit his lower lip. a tinge of jealously emanates off of him. "i thought the girl would be more your type." he replies. i nod. "she is."

i follow leon to the table. he introduces me.

"this is y/n." he says to them. "hi. it's nice to meet you." i reply. "that's chris redfield, and that's jill valentine."

"hi." the girl says to me. oh my god, she is actually really gorgeous. "sit with us." she says, opening the seat next to her as leon takes a seat next to chris. i look at chris. he makes eye contact for a second, then looks away as he drinks his beer.

"i love your jacket." i tell jill. she's wearing black leather, i'm assuming faux based on her haircut.

"thank you, i got it from a thrift store, i think..." she replies. knew it. "i love your top. it's really sexy." she says. i look down. i'm wearing a black mesh top with a black bra underneath. "oh shit. i really forget whenever i wear this shirt.. then wonder why everyone is staring at my tits." i take a drink. i notice jill looking at my tits for a second before clearing her throat. "totally. i see the appeal." she says. then she puts a hand to her head in embarrassment. i laugh. "you're very brave."

"chris, y/n said she was applying to the bsaa." leon changes the subject, turning to me. "he works there right now."

i straighten up my posture, "oh well, i hope you forget everything i do tonight and put in a good word for me."

chris nods. "I'll ask about you." he replies. i feel a bit shouldered. is he emotionally unavailable? is that why i'm so attracted to him?

"what do you do, now?" jill asks me. "i was in the airforce, for just about 4 years." i say. "i've been kind of working a bunch of different jobs, i was in the nypd, until last month."

"airforce. you hear that chris?" jill laughs a little, looking at me. "i was in the airforce as well, when i was younger." chris elaborates. "what base were you?"

"active duty. but honestly, they kind of kept me behind the scenes. i can fly a jet, but i guess i'm just better on a computer."

"see, us girls gotta stay together." jill pushes my shoulder. jesus christ, how many drinks has she had?

"yeah, of course. girl." i smile. "what do you guys do?" leon spluffs. "oh, you know. just bsaa stuff. bioterrorism, security..." he trails off. "what are the two a's again?" he asks chris. he laughs a bit, letting out a little sigh.

...

by around 12am, i start to feel exhausted. we've been talking and drinking for hours, and i just want to... i don't know. go home? but i want to stay with them at the same time...

i check my watch. "it's getting pretty late. i think i might go home." i look at chris for a reaction. he does give me a look of respect, i know when to stop.

"no way, you've drank way too much. i'll call you a cab." leon protests.

"no, no, i only live like a mile from here."

"then i'll walk you home." he insists. i smile. "really? you'd do that?" jill and chris talk in the background. leon smiles in return. "yeah. of course."

i nod.

he walks me out the bar, at one point placing a hand on the small of my waist at one point, making me let go of consciousness.

"you know, i'm staying just down that way." he points with two fingers to a lane next to us. "if you want, you can stay at my place for the night."

my face totally flushes. "um, i wouldn't mind that." not the first time ive fucked someone i met the first night after meeting them. leon's nice though. i think he would call me.

"okay.. good." he says. he turns to me for moment, looking into my eyes. then, kisses me softly. i feel blood rush to my brain in satisfaction and arousal.

"thanks for coming to talk to me tonight. i probably would have left if you didn't." i tell him, putting my arms around his neck as he lets go of my ass... when did he managed to slip his hands there??

he leads me down the streets, his hand around my waist as he flirts shamelessly. then as he's about to open the door to go inside, he stops and looks at me.

"this isn't.. going too fast, or anything, right?"

"i'm fine with it as long as you are. we don't have to do anything you don't want to."

"no, no- i want to. i want to." he almost whines. his tone makes me smile. "good." i repeat him, kissing him again as he fumbles to get the door open.

he tastes like liquor.

i clear my throat, leaning into him. "can i go freshen up?"

he stammers a bit, face red. "yeah, the bathroom is down the hall to the left." he says. i nod, kissing him again before going. i wash under my eyes a bit for makeup, do my business, wash my hands again, then go back out.

leon is on the couch, tv on. he's put on closer. one of my favourites that i mentioned in the bar!

"oh my god, this movie is so sexy." i say, sitting down next to him. "well, i wanted to see what the fuss was about." he says, leaning back and taking a smoke.

"natalie portman, is the fuss." i say, placing my head next to his shoulder on the couch. "wow. you're right. they are all hot." leon laughs a bit, putting a rough hand on my thigh. he draws circles with his thumb over my skin. i look up at him, biting my lip.

i start unbuckling his jeans quickly, kissing him again, this time it looks sloppier, messier. "fuck, y/n." he groans as i palm him through his black calvin kleins. "these are hot.." i comment. "did you know you'd come home with someone to fuck tonight?" i ask innocently. he denies it. "wanted you as soon as i saw you."

i take off the mesh top jill complimented earlier. leon runs his hands all over my hips, waist and plays with the straps on my bra. i take off his shirt before he can do anything with my bra, then strip down my skirt as he pulls down his trousers. he lies sideways on the couch as i crawl over him, kissing his neck, trying to find the spot that makes him moan the most. "do you.. do you have a condom?" leon breathes out.

"yeah, hold on." i say, turning to the side of the couch with my bag leaning on it, opening it rapidly to take out the condom.

i rip it apart, seeing as he's already hard, i put it over his dick without even thinking. it's pretty big. like 7 inches at least. leon fingers me from underneath me, pushing my thong to the side. i moan and kiss his chest, licking a strip from above his dick to before the little line of blond hair at his bellybutton. he loves that, gripping my hair and pulling it up a little. "should i give you head or something, before?" he asks quietly. i shake my head. "i'll be fine. thank you, though." i smile through kisses down his chest, his fingers brushing over my clit. i line myself up as leon takes out his fingers, sinking down on him as i grab onto him shoulders. he sits up a bit, taking my waist with two hands to guide me back and forth on his dick. i roll my hips, kissing him roughly as i run my hands through his hair, combing it through my fingers. his neighbours had to have been hearing us.

leon rubs my clit with one finger as i start lifting myself up and down on him, legs wrapped around him at this point for the best angle. "please, please say my name." he asks quietly. i smile. "what? i can't hear you, baby." i tease him, kissing his ear. he leans his neck back, kissing my lips. "say my name, y/n." he asks again, a bit more commanding this time. and perfectly, he hits my g-spot with a thrust. "leon.. ughh, leon." i moan softly, and he replies by digging his nails into my back. "can i go on top.." he asks a little shy. i nod, letting him push me into my back, landing my head flawlessly onto a loose pillow. he pushes into me again, going significantly faster as he holds up the back of my knees beside his hips.

i see his eyes close for moment, and i feel his dick twitch a little in me. is he about to cum? i can barely read his face.

"fuck, you feel so fucking good." he says. i lean my head back a little, encouraging him to drive as far into me as possible. "oh my god, leon.." i groan, grabbing onto the sofa, scratching the fabric. i moan loud as i cum.

leon quickly follows with a low guttural groan to pair with his stalled thrusts.

i give him a kiss as he pulls out, almost immediately passing out on the couch. he throws the condom in a trash can, collapsing next to me, still naked.

"that was good. you're really good at that." leon says, wiping his forehead a little. i smile, thanking him. "it wasn't your first time, right?" i joke. he laughs, shrugging. "first time having sex with someone i met the same night. also, first time having sex pretty drunk." he confesses, making me laugh a bit. "my apologies if i have trouble remembering this. if i get the job, i mean."

"fuck, i totally forget that you might be working for me in a week... don't mention it to HR, right?" he slides on his boxers again. "so, you're my dirty secret now?" i ask. "if it helps to think of that way, then absolutely." he puts his shirt back on. "you want something else to wear? can't imagine that's comfortable." he points to my tight lace bra and panties.

"if you got a big shirt, i'll take it. want to finish the movie?"

"sure, but you'll have to catch me up." leon smiles coyly.

[reds-fluff-extravaganza]

Leon Kennedy x Reader

Requested over on ao3! Leon has a bad day, and reader comforts him!

As soon as Leon had come in to work, he had a feeling it was not going to be a good day. He was nearly late as his alarm went off later than usual and he couldn’t find his keys, which were hiding from his view, got coffee spilled on his jacket, and a few other things that happened throughout the rest of the day, including the air conditioning system going out for a few hours, which made the whole place unbearably hot. The only person that was decent to him today was Hunnigan, but that was after she noticed he wasn’t having a good morning.

So when it was time to leave, Leon did not think twice about it. He grabbed his things and left work with one thing on his mind: coming back home to you. He knew you would be there for him, to comfort him. As soon as he got home, to your shared home, he made his way inside. Once inside, he shut the door behind him and set his things aside.

“Welcome home, Leon.” You called out to him from the kitchen, once you had heard the door open and shut.

“Thanks,” he answered as he made his way to the kitchen, walked over to you, and hugged you from behind, which made you chuckle a bit in response and look back at him.

“Rough day?” he only nodded in response, nuzzling against the top of your head.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Leon. Do you maybe want to talk about it..? I’ll try to help make it better.”

“Alright,” he was a little hesitant, but he let you go from the hug, so you turned around to face him. You then proceeded to hand him a bowl.

“Here, I made some cowboy soup for dinner. Food always helps after a long day, or at least.. I think it does.” Leon was quiet for a moment as he took the bowl from you, before he asked,

“…why is it called that?” This only made you chuckle in response as you shrugged.

“Honestly I have no idea. I like the sound of it though.”

“It does have a ring to it”

“I think it’s based around what cowboys ate, taking canned vegetables and putting them over an open fire. Something like that.”

“Huh… you learn something new everyday I suppose,” you laughed a bit and nodded, making your way over to the table.

“Now let’s sit down and eat, and you tell me about your day.” You two sat at the table, you listening to Leon talk about his day, you occasionally nodded to acknowledge him and that you were listening, and you occasionally said something in response.

“It seems you had a rather… fun day at work,” you shook your head, “but at least it’s over now. Let’s clean up and we can cuddle on the couch, yeah?”

“Alright,” he chuckled a bit and stood up, helping you clean up the dining room table and with the dishes.

“Go get into something more comfortable, and we can find something to watch or something, okay?” Leon only nodded and made his way to your shared room, changing from his current outfit to a simple t shirt and pants before making his way back to the living room, where you were waiting for him. You smiled faintly as you heard him step into the room, looking back at him.

“Better?”

“Yes, thank you.” He made his way over to you and sat down beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and bringing you closer to him.

“Y/n.”

“Hmm?”

“…thanks. For making my day a little better.”

“Of course, Leon, it’s what I’m here for.” You leaned up and kissed his cheek, but of course he took this opportunity to kiss you. It was just a short, simple peck, though, you didn’t mind.

“I love you, Y/n.”

“I love you too, Leon.” You then rest your head on his shoulder as you turn your attention towards the TV, which you had turned on to something for you both to watch, as you cuddled on the couch for the rest of the evening.

[plushverse]

Can you do a fluffed headcannon with Leon from Resident Evil about the reader who gotten injured or the reader wanted to make sure Leon didn't get hurt during their mission. Because the reader is always concerned about him.

Leon my beloved!!

*You’re always concerned about Leon when you two go out on missions, though you try not to let it show too much since you know he’s capable of taking care of himself

*however, during your recent mission with him, you had gotten injured while trying to help him out

*Leon had to keep you safe for the rest of the time you two were out, which made you feel bad and you apologized several times

*”Don’t worry too much about it, Y/n, you were just trying to keep me safe. Now it’s time to return the favor.” He would tell you as he wrapped up your injury for now, until it could be properly addressed

*you of course make sure you aren’t being a burden to him, despite being injured, you will still help Leon as best you can, though he tells you not to push yourself

*he may not always show it, but Leon does worry about you like you do with him. You just happen to show it more than he does.

*so anytime you get hurt, he immediately gets to you and makes sure you’re okay before moving on, and if necessary, he’ll carry you, which you tell him isn’t necessary

*though… you don’t mind it too much, as you may sneak a little kiss or two whenever you can, which does lighten his mood just a little bit.

[labrxnth]

Prison Break- (Leon Kennedy x Reader Series)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

CW: Death Island Spoilers (obviously), suicidal thoughts/tendencies

WC: 1840

Summary: You and your co-worker Leon Kennedy are sent on a mission to rescue a kidnapped robotic engineer Dr. Antonio Taylor. The journey for him leads the two of you to somewhere you thought you would never go, Alcatraz.

A/N: God I loved Death Island. I saw it in theaters on opening weekend a few weeks ago and loved every minute of it. This is me trying to remember the lines and small plot points of this movie from weeks ago so sorry if I get some stuff wrong.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* : ｡ﾟ☆. ───

San Francisco was beautiful this time of year, but unfortunately you weren’t here to sight see. The shops lining the area were littered with “FOR SALE” signs and different colored fronts. The streets, admittedly, needed a little bit of getting used to driving on with the hills and trams. While you were busy looking at the foliage and people passing, your partner was talking on the phone and your ear coms. 

The two of you certainly were a sight. You dressed in a black leather jacket, jeans and boots with a Panigale V2 Ducati with red accents; your partner, Leon Kennedy, with a blue bomber jacket, black jeans, boots and the same model Ducati with green accents. Together, the two of you made sense. You went together like Bert and Ernie if Bert and Ernie were weapons trained by the United States government and molded into whatever they needed you for. 

And just like Bert and Ernie, the two of you refused to talk about your feelings for each other.

It was just easier that way. If you two went without saying your feelings for each other, no one would get hurt. The fantastic duo you two were would continue to thrive and not feel awkward. 

The sight of a white van flying past the two of you brought you back from your daydream and thoughts. The very same white van the two of you were tracking. 

“He’s early,” Leon grumbled and turned his bike on.

“We’re counting on the two of you to get him back.” Hunnigan’s voice cut through your ear com. Your thumb flicked the engine of your bike on and through the earbud you heard Leon reply with a chuckle. 

“You sure do love to rush me,” He retorted and the two of you took off behind the white van. 

“Tell me why the hell we’re rescuing Dr. Taylor. Didn’t he weaponize his robotics?” You asked rhetorically through your ear piece. The two of you were weaving in and out of traffic, keeping a close distance to the van. Whoever was behind the wheel definitely knew you were after them. 

“Because we’re just the grunts, we do what we’re told,” Leon replied and sped in front of you. 

“Ha ha.” You replied and kept an eye on your rearview mirror in case anyone was coming from behind. The road was slightly busy, making the driving not as hard as it could’ve been, thankfully. Eventually the van brought you two to the highway, making following it easy and a straight shot. 

Out of the corner of your eye you saw another truck getting interestingly close to the chase. “We got company,” You said over the ear com to Leon. 

“Great, switch,” Leon replied. With ease, the two of you swapped; you speeding ahead of Leon and him dropping back. The Ducati was purring under you, matching your every move smoothly like butter. 

Leon had dropped back and out of the corner of his eye he saw a woman get out of the truck boxing you two in. The woman jumped out of the truck, landing on the back of his bike and putting him into a headlock. With a gag of surprise, he tried to steer the bike and deal with her at the same time. 

Looking through the rear-view mirror, you could see Leon struggling and turned your head over your shoulder to see what was happening. Hitting your brake, you dropped back so his bike was in front. Sliding into your back holster, you slid your Beretta out and tried to shoot the woman in the leg, trying to get her to let go of Leon. 

Using her leg, the woman steered the bike towards a semi truck and ran along the side of it, flipping to the front of the bike, in front of Leon. She started throwing punches, while Leon tried to dodge it, attempting to not crash the bike. With her now in front and so close to Leon, you were too scared to shoot her, afraid of hitting your partner. 

She launched herself over his head, hitting the front brake with her heel. Leon’s bike instantly braked on the front tire, sending him flying over the handlebars. 

“Leon!” You said, shooting the woman in the road. She jumped back into the truck she came out of. Your eyes went to Leon who rolled on the pavement, lessening the hit to his body. He eventually got to his knees and took his Sentinel out of the holster, scanning everywhere. 

“Leave me, I’m fine,” He replied over the ear coms, watching you pass him. “Get Taylor!” He barked. 

You sped towards the white van holding your target. “Hunnigan, it’s (L/n). Leon needs a transit while I keep chase,” You said over the ear coms. 

“And why would he need that?” Hunnigan’s voice asked. You could see her pinching the bridge of her nose at her desk by the tone of her voice. 

“Do you have to ask?” You replied, chuckling. “Seriously, when will you guys stop letting that man drive?” You asked snarkily. 

“Hey, I’m a fine driver!” You could hear Leon reply over the radio. “.... Man, I loved that bike…” He said, the frown on his face audible. 

“When you survive a mission without crashing something, lemme know,” You retorted and kept your eyes on the truck and the van trying to sandwich you. The white van was slowing down as the black truck was speeding up. You drove to another lane, trying to get around the van. The van slammed into the bike and you steered it clear. The van hit you again and sent you flying towards an exit. With a stutter, the engine on your Ducati started to smoke. You used the momentum of the hit to push you towards the exit, giving up on catching Taylor. 

“Fuck…” You said under your breath as you pulled the bike over. Your eyes watched the van and the truck disappear, bringing your target with them. Your finger went up to the radio in your ear. “Leon, when you get that transport pick me up at the next exit. I got rammed.” You said and crossed your arms, looking at the engine. 

“And you gave me shit,” He retorted.

“Shut up,” You grumbled back. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* : ｡ﾟ☆. ───

Leon pulled up to you on another bike, a shit eating grin on his face. “And who’s the best driver now?” He asked teasingly. 

You stood up and put a hand on your hip, staring at him. “Yeah, yeah, scooch,” You said and waved your hand for him to move to the back seat on the bike. 

“Really?” He asked, but scooted back anyway. He knew better than to challenge you on something like this. It usually ended up with you winning anyways. 

“Alright, hold on, pretty boy,” You said teasingly and got on the bike. “You get to be the passenger princess now,” You added and grinned. Leon’s arms hesitantly wrapped around you and you could hear the groan under his breath. 

“This is embarrassing,” He said slightly. 

“I’m making you sit behind me, not wear an apron with polka dots and bows,” You replied and snickered. 

“Don’t get any ideas,” Leon replied curtly and tightened his grip around your waist. 

After a little bit of driving in silence, you looked at Leon through the rearview mirror. “Hey, you saw her face. She looked really familiar, who was she?” You asked, meaning the woman who tried to paint the pavement with Leon. 

“You remember Arias?” Leon asked, getting closer to you. 

“Yeah?”

“It was Maria,” He replied and looked forward. 

“Oh,” You said, suddenly getting quiet as you were thinking. “What the hell does she want with Taylor?” You asked. 

“If I knew, we wouldn’t be heading back,,” Leon said and nudged you a bit. 

“True, I guess,” You said under your breath and focussed back on driving. Eventually the two of you made it back to the AirBNB you booked and parked the bike. “Your ass is lucky that you’re a DSO founder. I don’t think they’d put up with the bill you run if you weren’t,” You said, tapping his arm as you got off the bike. 

“What can I say, I’m certainly special,” He added, his signature smirk on his face. 

You looked over your shoulder at him. “Is that the word you use?” You asked. The two of you got in the condo and you took off your leather jacket. 

“So, you wanna break the news to Hunnigan?” Leon asked, shedding his bomber jacket. He walked over to the couch and pulled his phone out, looking up something. 

“Absolutely not!” You replied. “I can do no wrong in her eyes and I wanna keep it that way,” You said and walked to the fridge, grabbing two bottles of water. Walking over to the couch, you handed Leon a bottle. “It’s all yours,” You said and grinned widely. 

“Wow, thanks,” Leon said sarcastically and watched you sit down. You absentmindedly fixed his hair, combing a few strands down with your fingers. He leaned towards you more while he dialed Hunnigan’s number, letting you fix more of his hair. Your fingers ran through his long brown hair, noticing how, when the light hit it, it almost looked blonde. 

“Hey Hunnigan, got some bad news. Both me and (Y/n) lost Taylor. Someone crashed the party and we had to deal with them,” He said, putting the phone on speaker and putting it on the coffee table. You bent your legs so you were sitting criss-crossed and kept playing with his hair, paying attention to the conversation. 

“Did you get a good look at the license plate? I can track where it went through traffic lights and records,” Hunnigan said, almost expecting the mission to go wrong. It was never easy for you and Leon, something always went wrong. At this point, Hunnigan expected it. 

“Yeah, it was a New York license plate,” You said and proceeded to tell her the number. After a few seconds, Hunnigan hummed on the other end. 

“Got it. Traffic light cameras show that they made their way towards one of the islands,” Hunnigan replied. 

You and Leon met each other’s gaze, almost as if saying the same thing. There were only two islands in the direction that the van was going. 

“Get your gear ready, you two are headed to Alcatraz,” Hunnigan added. 

“Got it, thanks Hunnigan. We owe you,” You said and watched Leon hang up. 

“Alcatraz….” Leon said and leaned back on the couch, putting his arms behind his head. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips as his crystal blue eyes met the ceiling, studying it as the gears turned in his head. 

“You ready?” You asked and grinned.

“Ready for what?” He asked, looking at you. 

“A prison break,” You replied. 

“You bet your ass I am,” He said and grinned. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* : ｡ﾟ☆. ───

Catch it early on my AO3!

[dylan-o-yumm]

Little Moments (Part 2)

It's finally here! Im so sorry for the wait but you have all been very lovely and patient, I hope you enjoy the second and final part of Little Moments. Feedback is ALWAYS welcome! AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46338547/chapters/122848546

Warnings: Talk of trauma and PTSD, talk of break-in’s, reader is done with Leon’s shit, SMUT, unprotected sex, cream pie, kitchen sex 

Word Count: 9k

Part 1, Part 2

“I don’t think I’m ready to share everything…”

“That’s okay, dear. Just say whatever you’re willing to say. This is a place to share and cast judgment aside. You’re safe here.” An elderly woman smiled at you comfortingly, her wrinkled hands shaking as they held onto her cane. Her eyes weren’t the only ones on you, there were men and women all sitting in a circle, every one of you sitting on a cold grey chair.

You were in a rather spacious room, it was well lit and the children’s drawings taped to the walls brought a comforting vibe to the space. However, the air conditioning made the room a few degrees too cold, causing goosebumps to rise on your skin as you hugged yourself and looked at a spot on the floor as everyone else’s eyes remained on you.

You swallowed your nerves and cleared your throat.

“I went on a vacation to Spain a few months ago,” you started, releasing a shaky breath and rubbing your arm to rid your skin of the little bumps. “On my second day there, I was kidnapped. I was… held hostage in this small house that reeked of rotting… fruit.” That was a lie, it smelled of rotting flesh but you couldn’t say that to a bunch of small town people who were comfortable living in ignorance. You couldn’t blame them for living that way though. Ignorance is bliss.

“I managed to escape after three days, and hid inside a barn for about… just over twenty-four hours I think. There were people everywhere, but I stayed hidden because I was so scared of what they would do to me if they found me,” you stared through the floor now, becoming distant as the memories plagued your mind.

You couldn’t share too much. Perhaps you had already shared too much. People couldn’t know about all the horrors, the monsters, the infections, the mutations. But did that mean you had to bottle everything up for the rest of your life and slowly turn yourself crazy? Wondering if what happened back then was actually real or if you just made it all up in your head. Having no outlet…

“Whatever… Long story short, I obviously survived and got out of there…” you wouldn’t be here to tell the tale otherwise. You didn’t want to speak any more about what you went through, all these people needed to know was that you had a traumatic vacation. They couldn’t know about Ashley or Leon or Ada. You got as much off of your chest as need be, and now you could openly talk about your feelings, right? — Which is what you had come here for.

“I still feel like I’m there, though.”

No one interrupted you, giving you the floor to say whatever you needed or wanted. That was what this place was for, to open up about things you couldn’t open up about to family or friends. Other people who understood what it might feel like. Maybe not fighting against monsters and mutated people, but they knew the struggles that came afterwards. The trauma, the PTSD. All the people sitting in a circle with you had trauma of their own, and they were all dealing with it somehow.

They were brave for being here and opening up. So why didn’t you feel brave?

“I'm constantly on edge. I'm scared of the dark again, to the point where I need to turn on all the lights in my home- so I'm pretty sure I’m building up one hell of an electricity bill…” you scoffed lightly but no one else found it humorous. Some people slowly nodded along, knowing almost exactly how you felt.

“Whenever I do manage to sleep — which is very rare these days— I have these horrible nightmares where I’ll wake up screaming and thrashing in my bed… I’ve actually worried my neighbors a few times,” you remember the first time it happened. Police had knocked on your door and asked if you were okay. They then came into your home and searched around, no matter how many times you said you were fine and no one else was in the house with you. Having the police check the house however, did bring some comfort.

A few nights later it happened again, but instead of the police, it was your neighbor. They asked if you were okay and you apologized profusely for waking them up a second time. They seemed nice and understanding enough. Until the fifth time when they knocked on your door and tiredly begged you to get help.

Today was your first day out of the house in weeks.

Your eyes stung with tears yet to be shed.

“I feel like I’m losing my mind… I don’t want to live like this. I just want to know when it’ll get better.” A broken, half amused, wet sob escaped past your lips which brought you back to the room you were in. Everyone’s eyes on you started to feel so much heavier and unsettling. You couldn’t help but shrink back into your seat and avoid eye contact with every one of them.

“It does get better. The healing process is different for everyone, dear,” the old woman spoke up again, her smile was sad but comforting. You wanted a hug from her. You were able to meet her gaze for a short moment before looking at, and keeping your eyes fixed on the bottom of her cane. “I hope you’re very proud of yourself for all that you have survived. I know we are all proud of you… isn’t that right, everyone?”

The people around you murmured soft encouragements and nodded in agreement.

—————————————————————

You were emotionally drained on your walk back home, being so lost in your own head that you barely remembered walking at all. First you were at group therapy, and suddenly you were back home, standing in your driveway. You had headphones in your ears but there was no music playing, no podcast, just the sound of silence — blocking out noise of cars passing by or people chatting or birds chirping. Nice and quiet.

You liked the quiet when you weren’t inside your home. When you were inside your home the silence gave you time to think, to be alone with your thoughts. You didn’t like being inside your home anymore. It was too isolating. You didn’t like being alone, you didn’t like being so on edge all the time, thinking there were monsters hiding in every shadow. Yet when you were inside your home, it was hard to leave it.

You stood on your driveway, staring at your home. You were stalling, you didn’t want to go inside just yet. You wanted to stand out in the sun for a moment longer, and feel safe a moment longer. It was an odd sensation to feel safe on the street, but not inside your own home. Maybe something to do with enclosed spaces?

Thankfully you remained outside for a moment longer, or you would have missed the shadow of, what seemed to be, a person walking past your kitchen window. It was brief and you wanted to play it off as your mind just playing tricks on you. Maybe a bird flew past and you mistook it for something else? Maybe the curtains on your kitchen window caught the wind? But no… the uneasy feeling in your stomach was enough to know…

To know that someone was inside your house.

Or… something was inside your house.

Your blood ran cold and your heart started beating rapidly inside your chest— if you were to look down you would have seen the thump thump thump of it hitting against your chest hard and frightfully. You needed to go inside and neutralize the threat, that’s what Leon would do, and that’s what you needed to do. The thought of calling the police hadn’t even entered your mind but you didn’t want to wait around for them anyway. Who knew what that thing was doing in your house. How long they had been inside there for.

Had they been in there before you left for group therapy?

That thought terrified you.

What if they had been hiding somewhere while you were inside? Watching you while you watched tv, while you slept, while you ate and showered. While you were vulnerable... Surely you would have known right? You would have heard something, smelled something. If it were a monster, you would most likely be dead by now.

You needed to stop thinking about ‘ifs’ and ‘buts’ and actually do something. You needed to take back your home.

You crouched down and grabbed the closest item to you, which was a solar powered garden light that was stabbed into the dirt — pointy and sharp, a good enough weapon to stab monsters with. Now you just had to sneak inside somehow without getting caught. To be light on your feet and keep your shaky breaths subtle and, preferably, silent.

Thankfully the front door was unlocked, so opening the door quietly only took patience and a steady hand. You were concerned however, because you really thought you had locked the door on your way out. How did this intruder get inside your home? The thought that they had been inside your house all along really started to weigh on you and stress you out even more than you already were.

Slowly and gently opening the front door, you left it open behind you as you carefully stepped inside the house. You raised your arm, pointing the end of the garden lamp up and ready to strike or stab whatever was inside your home, whatever was stupid enough to think you wouldn’t put up a fight… To be honest you didn't know until this very moment that you would put up a fight. You figured you were the cower and hide type, but perhaps the horrors of Spain prepared you for moments like these.

One foot in front of the other, you made your way down the hall and away from the entrance of your house, staying on your tippy toes and being cautious of your weight placement. All it took was one wrong step and your position would be discovered by the enemy. And it just so happened to be your luck that, even though your steps were light and careful, one wrong step on one particularly loose floorboard had you almost crying as panic came over you.

You winced and moved your foot off of the squeaky floorboard, knowing not to step there again. However you didn't know if you had already been found, you couldn't see or hear anyone so maybe you were in luck? Or maybe there was a deaf monster lurking about. You remember Leon telling you about Lickers and the Garradors who were blind but had sharp hearing skills. Maybe there were some monsters that couldn't hear well but could… see through walls or smell you from a mile away?

No.

You still had the element of surprise to your advantage, you just needed to be more careful.

It only took you a few more careful steps until you were in the kitchen, which is where you saw the intruder through the window. You held your weapon tightly in both your hands now, preparing to strike down or lunge forward into a body that could and would probably kill you. But not before you put a couple holes in them.

The floorboards creaked again, but this time, not under your weight.

You yelled and swung your weapon as a figure made its way into your peripherals. You aimed to plunge the sharp spike into the skull of your intruder, however, your arms were unable to come all the way down, something blocking you from eliminating the threat. Your wrists were caught in a strong grip. A strong hand, a male hand, holding you tight and bruising your skin.

The hand pinched and twisted, angling your hands at an awkward angle. You held onto your weapon for dear life but the hand simply twisted your wrists even more until you were forced to drop it and wince in pain. The weapon clattered to the floor noisily and you gasped as you tried to twist your hands back the right way. You needed to get out of this and fight and scream and make a scene so that hopefully your neighbors would call the police. But right before your lips parted, a scream building up in your belly, your eyes met his…

“I knew you were here but I couldn’t pinpoint where. Keeping the front door open was a smart move — the sound from outside muffled your noises,” Leon quipped, his eyes squinting slightly as he cracked his neck.

You were completely stunned. Calmer now that you weren’t fearing for your life, but stunned nonetheless. What the hell was Leon doing in your house? How did he get into your house? He probably knew how to lockpick but all you had seen him do was kick down doors with his own damn feet. And you don’t remember seeing any boot prints on your door.

“You didn’t want to call out to me and let me know you were here?! I was just at a fucking PTSD therapy circle thing! Now is not the time to be scaring me like this!” You yanked your hands out of his grip and angrily took a step back away from him.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, though he didn’t sound disingenuous. It had been a few months since you had last seen Leon. His hair was still straight and styled in a way that shaped his face nicely, his eyes were the same deep blue you loved to swim in, his brow was a little more tense than you remembered. However the main difference was the slight prickly stubble on his face. It made him look more mature, more jagged, more hardened.

You huffed, hands on your hips, glaring at him. You gave yourself a moment to calm your racing heart, to get out of your fight or flight mode.

“Why are you here? I thought I’d never see you again,” you couldn’t help your snippy and impatient tone. You had said goodbye to Leon, you had prepared to never see him again, to move on and find someone new. You had almost stopped thinking about him and pining over him and now here he was standing in your kitchen? Uninvited?

“I just… had to make sure you were okay,” He answered a little bashfully, forcing himself to hold eye contact with you but you could tell he was a little nervous and maybe even embarrassed.

“Why would I not be okay?”

“Well, you live alone for starters,” he stated bluntly and gestured loosely around the room as if to say ‘I don’t see anyone else here to keep an eye on you.’

“Thanks. I'm aware,” you sassed, rolling your eyes as if he were just rubbing it in your face that you were single and living alone. Did he live with someone? He was single… right? He wouldn’t have kissed you back at the hotel if he had someone at home waiting for him. Leon was a loyal guy, it didn’t take a genius to figure that out.

Why did you care though? You had your chance and he was the one that walked away from you. You didn’t think you did anything wrong to make him walk away, so maybe he just wasn’t into you like that. Maybe you were a lousy kisser and he didn’t have the heart to tell you. Maybe he was holding out for Ada.

“You’re not happy to see me,” he stated. It wasn’t a question.

“You shouldn’t be here, Leon!” You snapped, your eyebrows raising into your hairline, pleading with him to understand where you were coming from — how confused you were and how painful this would turn out to be. You had just gotten over him, and now he was back? Which could only mean you would have to get over him all over again. “When you dropped me back off here all those months ago, and you turned around and left, that was meant to be the last time I saw you!”

“I thought you’d be happy? Especially after how we left things at the—“

“Don’t even get me started on the hotel room incident.” You quickly cut him off, hands on your hips and a sour expression on your face. He looked so innocently confused, maybe even a little hurt. His eyes weren’t very expressive, he was rather good at hiding his emotions, though if you looked close enough, you could see right through him.

“That makes it sound like it was an accident,” his brows pinched together and you hated that you thought he looked cute.

“Wasn’t it?” You shrugged, having an expectant look on your face. You wouldn’t be disappointed again, you couldn’t be. It was too hard getting over him the first time, you couldn’t do it again. Not now, not when you had finally started trying to do better for yourself.

Leon was silent for a moment.

“I don’t know.” He finally answered, quiet and dejected.

It hurt.

Knowing that he might say it was a mistake, might consider it to be a mistake. It wasn’t like you two slept together, it was just some kissing, and hugging… and sleeping, but no sex. It was a gentle, tender moment between two lost souls who just survived something that might as well have been out of a horror film. You needed Leon at that moment and you thought he needed you too, but maybe it really was just a big mistake— something that would only hurt your feelings again and again and again.

At least with Leon, he knew your pain and you knew his. Maybe not all of it, but you were bonded through trauma. It wasn’t like you could date any random person and expect them to deal with all your baggage that you carried off that damn island with you. Leon at least had the same type of baggage as you so there was an unspoken understanding between the two of you, something that no one else could have with you.

But you couldn’t fool yourself. It wasn’t meant to be, and even Leon knew that.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and forced down the burning sensation that lingered behind your eyes, threatening to bring the tears. You would be an immovable rock, staring down Leon Kennedy where he stood.

“Why are you here, Leon?” You asked once again... slower and quieter, but more firmly this time. He would not feel welcome here and you would make sure of it. It was for your own good.

“I kept having this dream— nightmare.” He forced the words out like he was ashamed to admit he had any nightmares at all, but you’d be more concerned if he didn’t, given his line of work. You can’t see all that horrible shit and then come out perfectly fine on the other side. You weren’t okay and you had experienced, maybe a quarter, of what Leon himself had gone through. “You were all alone here, and… I had to make sure you were okay.” He continued.

“A nightmare?” You asked skeptically, wondering why that meant he would want to come here. So you continued, “about me?”

He nodded his head. “You were hurt. Needed me,” he stood stiffly, trying to remain cool, calm and collected, but whatever he dreamt about had clearly shaken him. You could see the nightmare playing behind his eyes, the way his eyes felt muted and dulled, and his features slackened as if just the memory alone took all the energy from him.

Whatever he had dreamt about you, it was enough to make him worried. So worried that he would drop everything and come all the way here, on his day off, just to see you. So worried that he couldn’t even tell you the details of said nightmare. He knew it was just a nightmare and that you were safe… He wasn’t here for you, he was here for himself. To ease his own fears. At least you knew he cared for you somewhat.

You decided not to press him about what happened in said nightmare, you weren’t sure you wanted to know anyway.

“How’d you get inside?”

“I remembered where you kept your spare key,” he responded, a little life coming back to his face, obviously glad for the topic change. And his answer relieved you, knowing that there wasn’t a smashed window somewhere or a faulty lock on one of your doors. You thought about moving the spare key from under the doormat but then, how would Leon find his way back inside then? That was, if he was even planning on coming back.

Did you want him to come back?

Him being here was already confusing your mind and your heart.

“How did you get here?” You continued questioning him.

“I rode here. Motorbike,” he gestured outside with a faint tilt of his head. You looked out the kitchen window and sure enough, there on the side of the street curb was a sleek, black motorcycle with a black helmet dangling off the handlebar. You scoffed at the thought of him riding all the way over to your home on a motorbike — however then you realized you didn’t even know where he lived, so maybe he was rather close by and the ride was shorter than you were expecting? You just assumed Leon was too far out of your grasp, physically and emotionally.

“Is that meant to impress me? Mr. Leon Kennedy rides a motorbike?” You turned back to him and cocked an eyebrow. He was subtle in the way he was smirking, his eyes constantly on you and watching your reaction, even when you turned to take one last glance at the bike sitting on your curb.

“Is it working?”

“No.” Yes.

“Then no.”

You huffed, looking down at your shoes for a moment to take your eyes off of his gorgeous blue ones. You really had a weakness for them, if anyone could resist their charm, you’d think them psychopathic.

“Did you check in on Ashley too?” You asked, feeling a pang of jealousy at the thought of him going to check in on her before he came to check on you, but you didn’t let it show on your face.

“Ashley has bodyguards.” So that was a no, you gathered. He only came here to check in on you? No one else?

“Is that why you’re here…? To be my bodyguard?” You questioned, crossing your arms over your chest and tilting your head, trying to maintain your minimal patience attitude.

“No. I wish I could, but I can’t.” He scoffed and your heart cracked a little, not because you wanted a bodyguard but because his words echoed in your head. They had been echoing in your head for the last few months.

“There it is again. ‘I can’t.’” You scoffed back at him.

“Again? What do you mean?” His brows pinched together in confusion.

“Back at the hotel. While Ashley was showering. You know, before the incident. You told me you can’t… Can't what, Leon?” You reminded him, staring deep into his soul and knowing you were making him uncomfortable by putting him on the spot, but you didn’t care. He made you uncomfortable by breaking into your house unannounced, so if he wanted to do that, you would pay him back by grilling him for the answers to the question that you had been pondering for months now.

He sighed and his posture sagged, your words immediately took ten years off of his life. He had an answer but he didn’t know how to say it, it was complicated— everything about his life was complicated.

You stood there staring at him for a few long seconds before he finally spoke up.

“You know what.” He told you in a quiet but stern voice.

“I wanna hear you say it.” You quickly retorted. Because after all these months of pondering, you had a good idea of what he had meant back then. It didn’t take a genius to figure it out, Leon was a selfless guy. And he had been acting selfless for as long as you’d known him, except for today. It wasn’t very selfless of him to come see you.

So he didn’t say anything, he didn’t respond to you, but he didn't have to.  

You signed.

“It’s my choice, you know.” You folded your arms over your chest and told him blatantly how it was.

“Don’t these things usually need two people to be in agreement?” He sassed.

“It is my choice,” you stopped him from talking, not wanting to hear his witty remarks and cheesy one liners. “If I want to sit and worry for weeks or months while you’re away on a mission, that’s my choice. If I want to put my life in danger just because I want to be around you more, that is my choice.” You explained angrily, wanting him to either get it through his thick skull or to leave your home.

He huffed a short, heavy breath, resting his hands on the kitchen counter as he leaned forward and dropped his head down, his chin almost touching his chest. “You don’t even know me.” He sounded sad, and you realized that he probably felt like a lot of people didn't really know him. He was never in one place for too long, he didn't seem like the kind of guy to have friends outside of work, only because his life was his work. No one knew Leon personally.

“I know enough.”

“No. You don’t. I'm just some guy who saved your ass. Ever heard of trauma bonding? It’s when you-“

“I know what trauma bonding is!” You quickly cut him off, knowing that what he was saying could potentially be true – you did experience a lot of trauma alongside him. But it felt like more than just a trauma bond… Though how could you ever truly know? “I haven't known you for a long time but I don’t need to… You’re gentle and kind. You made Ashley and I feel so safe. You put our safety above all else.”

“It was my job-“

“I saw the way you spoke to Ashley after she attacked you. When she was scared of hurting you again. I saw how much you hated seeing her in pain when we were in Luis’ lab, how you held her hand through it all, even though you were seconds away from being infected yourself… Forget the fact that you saved our lives. I’m focused on the little moments. The moments where you weren't just doing your job.”

“I can’t…” he refused to meet your gaze but you didn’t give him the chance to shut down. Not yet. You stepped closer to him.

“When Luis died. You lit a cigarette for him. You comforted him in his last moments even though he was a pain in the ass… You also ended Krauser’s suffering. You didn’t care about how it would affect you, you just knew that you had to be the one to do it. And even though he kidnapped Ashley and he tried to kill us multiple times… I believe you when you say he was a good man. Because I trust you, Leon.”

He was still quiet, refusing to look at you but you could see his face, see the way he took in your words and the way his body relaxed slightly. Maybe it was all obvious to you, how good he was, but that didn’t mean he didn’t need to hear it.

“I’m never going to have a decent night's sleep again because of all the shit I've seen, but if you told me you needed me to go back to that village for whatever reason. I would do it in a heartbeat. I would do it… all over again. I’d do it for you.”

“I would never ask that of you,” he whispered, finally looking up to give you a shy glance through his hair.

“That’s all you got from my speech?” You cocked your hip and frowned.

“No. I just… I don’t want you getting hurt.” He turned his body to you completely now, one hand resting on the countertop while the other hung by his side, itching to reach out and grab you. You stepped to him again, holding eye contact even when you could tell he was feeling flustered and embarrassed. Your chest was close to pressing against his.

“It’s my choice. Hurt me.” You whispered back.

His eyes remained on yours, you could see every emotion running through his mind, every thought, every feeling. He was fighting with himself for the first second — trying to convince himself out of whatever it was you were trying to get him to do. Trying to convince himself that he should just leave your home, he checked in on you just like he intended to, you were fine and safe. He could leave now.

However, his mind wasn’t as strong as his heart was.

Like two lions lunging at one another, you and Leon pounced at the same time. His hands grabbed your face and your hands buried themselves in his dirty blond hair as your faces squished together. Teeth clacking against teeth, nose pressing against nose, trying to bury your way into each other's skin.

His lips were on yours but the both of you were pressing so hard into each other, you could only feel your top lip being sandwiched in between your gums and his lips. So hard that your lips swelled almost immediately, as did his. Not that you had a chance to look in a mirror or even part from him long enough to see just how swollen his lips were, as you were too busy pushing him back into the kitchen counter while toeing your shoes and socks off.

His back bumped into the counter and something clattered onto the ground, you didn’t take a moment to care what it was, even if it was your most prized possession, you couldn’t care at that moment. Leon’s hands remained on your face, holding you softly and sweetly no matter how hard his lips pressed against yours, but you wanted him to touch you elsewhere.

Instead of using your words, your hands slid out from his hair and down his neck, over his pectorals and down to the hem of his shirt. You kissed him a moment longer before slowly pulling it up, holding your lips against his for as long as you possibly could until the hem of his shirt had been lifted up to his chin, which meant you had to pull away to take it off.

Finally now you could get a look at his puffy lips, his flushed face, his lust-filled eyes. The both of you panting heavily to catch your breath as you lifted his shirt off of him and discarded it on the floor. Your hands immediately touched his warm skin, feeling the curves and definition of his abs. He was hairless, smooth and a little shiny from the thin layer of sweat he was building up, but you couldn’t take your eyes off of the v-line dipping into his jeans.

Leon’s hands came back to your face, gently cupping your cheeks and brushing your hair behind your ear. Your eyes were torn off of his body and pulled back up to meet his gaze. Panting softly now, having filled your lungs with enough air, you reached up and took his left hand in your right. His eyes watched his hand as you moved it off of your face and down past your neck. Your eyes however, remained on his.

His hand flattened out once you guided him to your chest, though where you wanted him to tear your clothes off or grope you mercilessly… he instead paused for a moment to feel your racing heartbeat. His lips parted and he breathed out softly but just heavily enough for you to feel his breath on your skin.

“Leon?”

“Are you sure about this?”

You huffed, tilting your head to the side disappointedly. His self doubt was not going to ruin this moment. You took his hand, peeling it off of your chest and bringing his open palm to your lips where you gave him a soft yet lingering kiss. His eyes softened at the gesture and you could make out a hint of a smile on his face before you then guided his hand back down to your chest, over your right breast.

His hand slowly closed around the clothed mound and squeezed softly. “I guess that answers that question.”

You smiled, a soft chuckle coming out your nose before your hand stopped guiding him and instead went back to burying itself in his soft hair. His face remained quite red as he watched what his own hand was doing, massaging and rubbing your breast with soft, gentle fingers. You couldn’t help but find it so endearing, the fact that you told him to hurt you and yet his touch had never been gentler.

“Are you a virgin?” The words slipped out of your mouth before you could stop them, a teasing smirk unable to while itself off your lips.

“What? No. I just… We’re in the kitchen, I’m not sure w-“ you cut him off instantly with a scoff, smacking his hand away from you playfully and turning your back to him. He was worried that he had offended you or hurt you somehow, but he watched as you jumped up onto the kitchen counter, sitting down with your legs spread the perfect amount for him to come stand in between.

He didn’t move just yet as he continued watching you. Your hands grabbed the hem of your own shirt and pulled it up and over your head, tossing it on top of Leon’s shirt that was also discarded on the floor. The sunset behind you, streaming in through the open window, surrounded you and made your body glow. Leon finally moved forward and took his place between your open legs.

“I don’t have to tell you what to do, do I?” You teased him a little more and his eyes had never looked so young and innocent. It was incredibly hard to believe that this man had killed a whole village full of zombies. Yet here he was, pressing against you, his jeans tight and his zipper digging into his groin painfully. He shook his head no, to answer your rhetorical question, but his hands finally started moving again.

Starting on your thighs, his hands slid upwards, his thumbs coming incredibly close to where you throbbed and craved his touch. But his hands followed the round of your hips and settled on the waistband of your pants. His forehead rested against yours as he looked down, watching as he tugged the fabric down.

“Lift your hips,” he told you and you obeyed, leaning back on your hands and raising your pelvis as Leon slid your pants down your thighs. They stopped around your ankles but Leon didn’t want to bend down and leave your space for even a moment. So you watched and gasped as his boot came down between your ankles and stomped the material down in one swift motion, having them off your body and on the floor in an instant, but something about the action made your body even more tingly.

Left in nothing but your panties and your bra, Leon looked down at you and admired your body while your hands grabbed at his belt and loosened his pants. Once he was free enough that the zipper was no longer digging into him, he stopped you from what you were doing and suddenly captured both your wrists in his firm grip.

“Leon? I’m sorry, am I moving too fast or something?” You worried yourself for a moment but Leon settled your fears with his lips on yours. His kisses were remaining hard and rough, but everything else about him was gentle and loving. Your eyes fluttered shut and his grasp on your wrists lessened a little, but he pushed forward with his lips until you were about to fall backwards out the window, only he released your hands in time for you to place them behind your back and save yourself.

“Stay like this,” he whispered, and you realised he had just done that on purpose. He wanted you to lean back and take what he gave you, he wanted your hands behind your back and no longer focusing on him. He wanted you to relax and enjoy yourself.

His hand started on your stomach, thumb stroking your skin and following the dip of your navel. You watched his hand, lips parted and a soft gasp escaped your mouth. He was barely touching you but he had already set your skin ablaze.

Your heart started pounding faster and faster as Leon’s hand lowered down to your panties, sliding over the top of the fabric and settling between your thighs. The subtle touch over your clit had you jolting and bucking your hips, desperate for more of his touch.

His eyes met yours for a short moment, making sure you were okay, before his fingers slipped your panties to the side and started stroking your wet folds with his knuckle.

Your head tilted back and you sighed, turning into liquid under his touch. He watched you with hungry eyes, continuing to stroke your slick folds until his finger was covered in your fluids, lubricating him enough for the tip of his finger to dance around your hole. You bit your lip and lifted your head back up to watch as he, ever so slowly, sunk the tip of his index finger inside your tight walls.

“Oh fuck,” you moaned breathily as you spread your legs open even wider. Leon slid his finger in until the heel of his palm was flush against your clit, curling his index finger to find the soft and spongy spot inside you that had your toes curling. He was slow and deliberate with his movements, keeping his finger inside while doing a come hither motion, making you wetter and wetter until a second digit prodded at your hole.

“You feel good,” he whispered breathily while watching his own fingers slide inside you and coax out your arousal, completely transfixed on the sight while you laid back and enjoyed what he was doing to you.

“It’ll feel better when you use your dick—“

“Shhh… we’re going slow. I’m gonna make sure you’re ready first… I’m not going to hurt you,” he promised, leaning in and pressing his nose to the space just below your ear, breathing in the scent of your shampoo and body wash as he closed his eyes and melted into you. His lips were next to touch your skin, leaving soft open mouthed kisses against your neck while he continued to finger you nice and slowly.

His breath was warm against your skin, and his lips were soft like pillows. He had you shuddering and whimpering when he added his tongue into the mix. He started out with gentle kisses where the tip of his tongue lightly teased your skin, moving around to find the part of your neck that had you giving him the best reactions. Once your breathing got heavier, he flattened his tongue and licked a long, slow stripe up to your ear before nibbling your earlobe into his mouth and sucking softly.

You couldn’t help but dig your heels into the counter to pull your body onto Leon’s fingers more, doing your best to grind against his palm as you got completely lost in your pleasure. Your walls fluttered around his two fingers as he thrusted them into you and curled them just right, you wanted more though. You wanted him to roughly fuck you with his fingers, to plunge as many fingers as he wanted into you while the sound of squelching filled the room. But he was so gentle instead, so soft and sweet.

His free hand that had been gripping your waist moved around to the small of your back. He trailed his palm up your spine slowly until his fingers skilfully unclasped your bra in one swift movement. He quickly tore the fabric off of your chest, freeing you from your bra so your breasts were on full display for him. That was a little rougher than he had previously been and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make your cunt clamp down hard on his fingers.

Leon pulled back from his assault on your neck and ear to get a nice long look at you, admiring your breasts and pert nipples. “Fuck,” he sighed and you blushed under his gaze, but he soon had you moaning and panting once again as his head dived down to press kisses along the curve of your breasts before latching his mouth onto your right nipple.

And it was then that he finally started fingering you with a bit more force and speed. With his tongue swirling around your hardened nub and his fingers fucking into your tightness, you held back a squeal as your legs instinctively shut and clamped around his arm. He didn’t care much however, as he was strong enough to continue the work with his fingers, speeding up more and more and more until you had to squeeze your eyes shut and your whole body tensed up.

“Leo-fuck! Slow d-down! Fuck fuck fuck!” Your whole body curled up as Leon continued finger fucking you at such speeds your mind had completely gone blank. Your hands left the kitchen counter and had wrapped your arms around his neck, forcing his face to be trapped against your breasts. He growled against your skin and you fought the urge to kick your legs and accidentally hurt him as a wave of boiling hot pleasure waved over your whole body. Starting at your stomach and then spreading outwards to the rest of your limbs.

You came with a grunt, almost sounding angry because how dare he be so fucking good at that. How dare he make you feel so fucking good before you had even dared to touch him, before you had even seen his body. You came and he still had his pants on. How dare he!

Though you didn’t have much time to calm down from your first orgasm or to even cuss him out for his stupidly skilled fingers, before he was slipping his fingers out of you and fumbling with his belt to lower his pants.

He let out a choked sigh as he revealed himself, the cool air kissing the hot, angry skin of his cock as it sprung free and slapped against his lower stomach. The tip just reached his belly button and smeared a little mess of precum across his navel which almost had you salivating and spreading your legs even wider like a needy pornstar.

You watched as he grabbed himself, using his wet fingers — wet with your cum, to lubricate himself. You could watch his hands move and stroke himself for years, he was clearly a little shy doing so in front of you, but you were far too excited to feel him inside of you that you had no room for embarrassment at the moment.

“You comfy there?” He asked, one hand stroking his cock while the other reached out and squeezed your inner thigh.

“Yes. I mean no, but if you make me wait any longer we’re going to have a problem,” you huff desperately, and he either didn't much care for your comfort or he saw the way your cunt was throbbing and weeping, begging to be stuffed, because he didn’t bother suggesting you move to a more comfortable spot. Instead he fought a smirk and cocked his head.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Lining himself up with your needy hole, he rubbed against you a little, feeling the tip of his cock catch on your opening. His hands then took your hips and he pulled you onto him instead of pushing himself into you.

He stretched you open nice and slowly, pulling silent moans from you as your lips fell open and your head tilted back. He wasn’t too thick that it hurt— or maybe he had just prepared you really well, which of course he did. He definitely wasn’t thin either though. The more he slid inside you, the more full you felt, like he was morphing your insides to the exact shape of him.

Your elbows, which were propping you up on the counter were sore and red and your tailbone could have been better, but that was all a problem for later. Right now, Leon was reaching balls deep inside you and his needy, shy expression as he held in his desperation to moan aloud, was far more enticing to pay attention to than any kind of pain your body was in.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, keeping him trapped deep inside you for the time being. You could feel him pulsing, feel him twitching. Though he could also definitely feel you pulsing and twitching too, as your walls gripped him and begged him not to leave. He didn’t look like he wanted to leave, not as he brought his lips to the curve of your collarbone and left featherlight kisses on your skin.

Slowly, he pulled out. And slowly, he pushed back in.

Though with each new thrust, he gained a little more speed and force. Each clap of skin against skin became louder and quicker in succession. Like a round of applause slowly ramping up after a moving performance. He soon found his preferred pace and stuck with it, needing to pull back from your collarbone so he could get a good look at your face to make sure you were enjoying yourself.

Your eyes were mostly black, no colour in them as your pupils had blown wide in lust. You always thought that you’d be more excited watching what was going on, getting to look down and watch as Leon impales you on his cock, or watch the way the muscles in his arms contract and shift as he grips you and guides your hips. However, you couldn’t take your eyes off of his. And he seemed to have the same problem.

Locked in a stare, you could see every emotion he was feeling, as he could see every emotion you were feeling. You could see how his eyebrows crinkled slightly, how his lips refused to touch as little moans and whimpers escaped him. But you could also see how he looked at you, how you knew he never ever wanted to hurt you. How he was scared to lose you.

His eyes had never been so expressive.

You lifted yourself up enough to shake your arms out a little, having lost feeling in them since resting on them. But the moment they came down on Leon’s shoulders, he was all you could feel. And thankfully, he seemed to read your mind as his hands scooped you off of the counter and held you against his body. You could feel more of him, get more contact this way. You could feel his warmth and smell his musk. He could hold you like this.

However, he was a few steps ahead of you. Holding you snuggly so as not to hurt you as he lowered you down onto the kitchen floor, he hoisted one of your legs up, high up so that when he slid back into you, you’d feel every inch, every vein, every twitch and muscle spasm.

You cried out, arching your back both from the feeling of him massaging your insides and the cool tiles of the kitchen floor pressing against your skin. You gripped at his back and shoulders desperately while he panted and whimpered into your neck. You could tell he was clenching his jaw when you heard him moan softly. Knowing your body made him feel so good made you feel even better.

“I’m so close, Leon. Don’t stop,” you whisper to him and he makes sure to keep doing exactly what he’s doing. He massages your insides and the tip of his cock continues to brush against your g-spot, and not that you need any added pleasure to help you reach the finish line, but his pelvis rubbing against yours and just barely creating friction for your clit makes it all the better.

“Yes, Ma’am,” he grunts back, his hands in your hair, gripping and caressing your locks. He doesn’t warn you when he’s about to cum but the surprise is what sends you over the edge.

He moans quietly but that only makes him sound more delicious as his hips stutter and his balls tighten. You feel each pump of his cock as thick ropes of cum paint your insides, leaving you feeling even more full and warm than before, which you didn’t know was even possible. He doesn’t stop moving though, knowing he came before you did, he doesn’t give up. But you’re cumming right there a second after him anyway.

You held your breath as electricity spread throughout your body. Your thighs tense and stiff as they twitched and shook, your backside clenched, your lips parted wide as you moaned loudly. You couldn’t see anything but white light as Leon continued thrusting slowly, rocking his hips against yours. He was watching your expressions closely, listening to the beautiful sounds you made. He wanted to see you like this again and again and again.

Your eyes closed and you let out a shaky breath finally, getting your breathing back to normal as the energy in your body slowly fizzled out. The pleasure felt like it lasted hours before it finally began to lessen, leaving you a puddle on your kitchen floor as Leon held you in his arms. The ground was cold and unpleasant but you wanted to stay here forever. With Leon.

“Oh my god…” you breathed out, reopening your eyes to look up at the man who just turned you into putty.

“Not God. That was all me,” Leon quipped lamely with a wink, which, to your annoyance, had you smiling widely and chuckling at his dumb joke. He wasn’t usually cocky and full of himself like that, but hearing him say something so corny made you somehow fall for him even more. Or maybe you were just biased after that amazing orgasm.

You rolled your eyes and playfully swatted his upper arm, to which he smiled back at you, clearly proud of himself as he rolled off of you and slipped out of you. You sighed at the feeling of being empty now and brought your knees together, feeling your mixed climaxes oozing out of you and down your backside where it inevitably dirtied the kitchen floor. Leon rolled over onto the floor beside you, his hand finding yours and softly intertwining your fingers together.

“Haven’t done that in a long while,” he breathed out as you both looked up at the ceiling. “Glad it was with you.”

Your heart fluttered at his words but you also felt a pit growing in your stomach. Was this just a casual one time thing for him? Were you just the closest person around for him to stick his dick in?

No. You saw the look in his eyes while he was with you. That was more than just casual sex that he could have had with anyone. He wanted it to be you, and you wanted it to be him. You weren’t sure if you believed in fate but this felt like it needed to happen. Not one moment felt like a mistake.

Was this love?

Love is complicated and messy but also beautiful, warm and safe. And you never felt safer than when Leon was by your side. Leon himself was complicated and messy, you knew it would be a long twisted road to get to your destination with him. There were no detours, no straight roads to where you wanted to go, but you were okay with that. It made the end goal more rewarding.

What was the end goal though? Getting married? Having kids? Sharing a house together? Apparently you weren’t even sure about the destination. But that didn’t matter.

“Will you stay?” You asked softly, staring at the ceiling, holding your breath as you waited for his reply. This would determine everything, wouldn’t it?

“If that’s what you want.” Leon nodded, turning his gaze to your face, he admired you for a brief moment before you turned to look at him as well. You brought your interlocked hands to your chest, pressing the back of his palm against where your heart would be.

“Are you dumb? Of course I want you to stay.” You frowned softly and squeezed his hand desperately, as if you were determined to never let him go. Like concrete welding you together forever.

He remained facing you but his eyes lowered to your intertwined hands, watching while he felt your heart beating against the back of his hand. How fast, how strong, how scared it was.

“I don’t want to make any promises that I can’t keep. My job, it will always be an issue. No matter what kind of relationship you want to have with me… But I will try. I’ll try my best to be here for you.” He was determined. And that was all you could ask for.

“For us,” you smiled softly, rolling onto your side to get closer to him. Your lips found his and you kissed as the sun set. Hours ticked by spent in each other's embrace, holding one another, sharing the same space, loving each other.

Love is messy and complicated. But the little moments like these make it all worth it.

[loinzandfeels]

for dead dove readers tw smut

can someone PLEASE write a oneshot that’s like leon specifically re4, with a reader who gives him a bj but hes tied up and blindfolded because she thinks shes ugly? and he agrees. then another time when they actually do it, she puts a pillowcase over her head.

I NEED TJIS

[saintfaux]

[dollyspink]

ANY! Leon Kennedy x f!reader

warnings: mentions of smut, wearing gloves

summary: I was thinking about death island Leon but feel free. Leon is a freak for dressing you up in his clothes;)))

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

… …

It’s getting hot. He’s on top of you while only wearing his boxers and you are left with your see through bra that he’s just taking off. As you’re about to pull his underwear down he tells you to wait. You get up on your forearms and wait.

He gets his gloves. The ones he always uses for work, the ones without coverage on fingers. He sits on top of you.

"Give me your hands honey” he’s always so gentle and patient, well as long as you want it. He starts getting them on your hands.

“They look better on you” he says as you look at your gloved hands and trace them through his body.

The leather texture makes him feel good, it’s surprisingly cold.

“Does it feel good?” You ask quietly.

“Mhm yes yes” he pants.

You guys switch and now you’re on top. Caressing his body with these leather gloves and bare fingers. His muscular body tenses up as he holds your hips.

He opens his eyes and is mesmerised by what he sees. His girl, his angel looking girl wearing the gloves he uses to do such horrible things but you somehow make them look cute:))

“You look better in them than I do” he says while watching you softly.

“Yeah you said it before” you say softly with a slight giggle, he does the same.

After that at all became even more steamy.

Oh what a night it was, Leon needs to dress you up more in his clothes.

[yurozo]

the monomyth, (leon kennedy x reader)

the exodus, also aptly known as retirement, has been sending leon for a loop. you are there to pull him back down to earth. (smut/fluff/overuse of greek references)

a/n: 18+ readers only! anyone under eighteen will be personally chased by me at full running speed. i am very much a classics nerd, as will be glaringly obvious in about three seconds. i love you nerd leon, no one understands you like i do.

shoutout to @vaaaaaiolet who was forced to listen to me ramble about this fic for three entire days

a single structure repeats itself in an endless loop of tragedy and non-tragedy, operating through the cycles of aristotle’s poetics in order to create a universal narrative of the roman hero. prologue, parados, episode, stasimon, and exodus– recycled and reused to form the endless configurations of misfortunes that befall the heroes. what is pervasive, and often tragic, about these heroes is not their moral struggles against the physical evils, but instead an internal and divine battle against a common enemy– time. 

ultimately, what defines the perfect tragedian hero is the prevailing feeling of inescapability. they cannot run from the ties of fate that rely on them as a catharsis for conflict, and instead must emotionally resolve themselves to their social positions as a weapon for the gods, regardless of the institution’s ideology. this priori of obligation forced by an infinite and perfect consciousness is what makes the tragic hero tragic; this life is not one that they choose for themselves, but one they are forced to live until that last grain of sand slips through the hourglass. 

leon’s eyes had started to burn thirty minutes ago, long ignored in favour of another jstor binge at a truly ungodly hour of the night. he, at least, had the chivalry of keeping his phone brightness on the lowest setting, screen carefully tilted away from your resting eyes. 

this whirlwind of information had started with the myth of perseus, followed by odysseus, and then a countless amount of papers analyzing the hubris of the tragedian heroes. supplementary material for tomorrow’s breakfast conversation, so that he can talk at length over eggs and coffee across from your bright eyes and eager expression. 

that’s what always killed him, just how genuinely interested you were in whatever he said. god knows that was especially rare, particularly from the other women in his life. claire was always half-listening whenever he lost himself on a tangent, and don’t get him started on trying to get ada interested in anything he had to say. 

but ada was long gone, and claire was always delighted on your talent of getting leon off her back. 

how contentedly boring his life has gotten that the most exciting part of his day is your opinion on his recent fixation, just to listen to you fill in all the missing pieces he never realized were absent. you were like that in almost every aspect of his life, the golden glue that slowly puts poor humpty dumpty back together again. 

wrong type of mythology. regardless, you were something he never realized he desperately needed until that warm feeling of being content started filling his chest. a passing comment on his resemblance to a greek god had established this whole spiral– a form delicately cut in marble and praised over the centuries for the countless deeds committed in a long war to protect his people. 

perseus, maybe. or odysseus, but that was too easy. too cliche. leon was never one for divine glory, instead preferring the silent type of satisfaction that came from finally putting some good back in this world. or preventing more terrible things from happening, more like. a careful balancing act, another stupid cycle of finally feeling like a person again until he can get home and stop the dreams of people screaming in your ever-so-loving arms. 

bellerophon is the final choice. a figure riding into battle against the monstrous chimeric beast with only a tamed ally and a lead-tipped weapon. a hero that was never satisfied, choosing bigger and bigger fights until he falls from the heavens and into the dirt below. a god angered at his success, a product of an institution that brought him into a war he never asked for as a weapon, and left him crippled to wander the world alone when he ascended too far. 

maybe retirement really was getting to him. this so-called period of exodus, a final parting song and the materialization of the final crisis. 

you stir in your sleep then, arm sliding across his chest until your head is tucked against his bicep. he moves to rest his arm  underneath your head instead, which instead of achieving its original purpose of comforting you, only causes your eyes to blink blearily up at him. 

“get off wikipedia,” you mumble, shifting the blankets until it sufficiently covers the both of you. another thing he never noticed, how cold his legs were, sprawled uncovered on the mattress. this kind of comfortable routine is where you and leon thrived, so used to each other’s presence that accommodation was natural. “you should be sleeping, we have a big day tomorrow.”

“i’m on jstor. totally different site.” he supplies unhelpfully, earning a stern glare in return. his lips peck your forehead a moment after in apology. his version of proskynesis, a gesture of reverence towards his god that showed him admiration instead of ire.

“i was thinking of taking the bike,” the change in subject is nonchalant, like it’s not three thirty in the morning and you’re definitely functioning enough for idle conversation. 

“hell no,” you grumble, sinking further into the mattress. “i’m not getting on that thing with you.”

leon shifts until he’s on top of you, now wide awake and grinning slyly down. “not a fan of my chariot?”

“while i usually do love riding you, that thing is a death machine.” the glimmer of amusement in your eyes now match his own. finally, you’re actually awake. an unspoken question, a command, given from the divine to its mortal instrument. “and i’ve seen the way you drive it. i very much value my life.”

“that’s different. i can’t exactly go slow on those things when there’s rabid dogs chasing me.” he alleviates his statement with a slow string of kisses down your neck, soft and gentle like he can’t snap someone’s neck with his bare hands. “and i’ll be careful. promise.”

“like you promised not to get hurt in alcatraz?” your rebuttal doesn’t phase him, his mouth still preoccupied with tracing down your neck until his fingers start to pull the collar of your shirt down. 

“extenuating circumstances,” he mutters, lowering himself down the blankets until his mouth is in line with your hips. divine fate, maybe, or some other twisted machination of a higher being that decrees his near-death every six months. it’s hard to stare up and curse at the gods when they brought you to him, his own piece of olympus pliant in his hands. 

your hips lift off the mattress as he pulls at your shorts, another directive he is all too happy to follow. hunnigan would be furious at his obedience, like a dog all too happy to head the leash. 

“besides,” he continues, lips brushing against the frail skin of your upper thighs. “i’m officially a retired man. long past my prime.”

why does tragedy exist? is it purely to show the power of the gods, that they so fiercely defend the threads of fate that control every aspect of their existence? is it simply a consequence of the endless cycle of war invited by a world whose very frame requires an institution to desire it? regardless of its source, a world born of this mindset cannot escape an endless cycle of war that legitimizes a world-destroying violence, with no true winner other than the institution that began it. 

his clothes are pulled off quickly, following yours. scraps of fabric thrown haphazardly around the room, ignored in favour of hands tracing along the contours of your body. gentle, reverent. nails tracing down every scar, every piece of evidence that you are real, that you are alive, and there’s nothing within these four walls that can take this away from him too. 

“not too far past to not be horny in the middle of the night.” you huff, curling your hand in his hair to pull him back down to you. his breath ghosts over your thighs, his tongue darting out instinctively to wet his lips. 

“i’m a simple man,” he lowers his mouth to you, licking a premeditative stripe up your folds. “got a beautiful wife in my bed. just can’t help myself.”

the hand in his hair pulls him closer, and leon understands the simple action for what it is. a cue to stop talking and get to work, to use his mouth for something other than popping off one-liners at inopportune moments. a man’s place is on his knees, and all that.

where leon is rough in every aspect of his life, he is always careful with you. he eats you out like it’s somehow the last time he’s ever going to do it, and the first time he’s ever tasted anything so divine. equal parts eager and careful, even as his fingers prod at your entrance. 

you jut your hips up again, and he slips two in easily. every part of you is familiar with every part of him. his tongue and hands start a rhythm, a soft push and pull that slowly eases you to the peak. a peaceful trek to that coiled tension starting in your legs, thighs squeezing around his head in the way you know he likes. 

that one took a while for him to admit; that he liked the feeling of being crushed between you. it was a long-drawn experiment on how far on the pain threshold he could bear before it got too much for him, until it started to push past pleasure and more into the drowning in the too-high waters of a lab territory. years of experience has taught you where to stop, his secret little tells that no one else knew about burrowed deep into your memory for safekeeping. 

that furrow between his brow deepens, and you know to ease off a little. he kisses your clit in a silent thanks, before his rhythm resumes. while leon may not feel the decreased stamina of age yet, you are too aware of your limits to handle two orgasms, so you have the mind to pull him off before that point of no return. 

leon sprawls on the mattress next to you, hands gently easing you up until your knees are bracketing his hips. not usually his preferred position, considering his penchant for control. 

“my back hurts,” he mumbles softly, bringing your hand up to his mouth to kiss along your knuckles. “want you to ride me.”

“if you make another chariot joke, i’m seriously going to hit you.”

“ye’ of little faith,” his hand drops yours to line himself up with you, and a gentle push of his hips drives the tip of him into you. “i never make the same joke twice.”

your only answer is a shuddering gasp until you gain your bearings enough to sink down onto him fully. he lays still for a few seconds, letting you get used to the intrusion. his breath stutters in his chest as your hands lay flat onto it, right palm splayed right over his heart. 

an uneven thump, beating so fast in his chest that its a god-given miracle he hasn’t keeled over yet. 

there’s a unique type of mythmaking when it comes to the tragic heroine. it is a story of fear; innocence; fall from innocence; catharsis; being desired by the right people; being desired by the wrong people; by dangerous people; by excitingly dangerous people. revision is a privilege given to so few who desire it, and to be tender-hearted in a world defined by tragedy is to die. 

and yet, the fruit of consideration when it comes to tragedy is not the moral resignation that comes with that acceptance. instead, it is a revealing of the self’s utter dependency on others. the reason that tragedy works is that character is built through this adversity. just as the nature of goodness appears in the face of moral evil, tragedy shows what is fragile and ultimately human about us. 

but you are not a god, and he is not a myth. there is no divine fate here, only a random calculation of ethereal and clunky moments that controls so much of his life that he just has to live it. that dependence is the one good thing that has come from all the fighting, and the aching, and the loneliness. a perverted sort of serendipity that leon thanks the heavens for every waking moment. 

he is real, and you are real, and that’s enough for him. 

both of you are moving in tandem, chasing the upcoming release with a soft desperation. his hands are firmly grasping at your hips, kneading the flesh there like its the only thing tethering him to this reality. that heat of pleasure starts to coil in your gut, and judging by the twisted expression on leon’s face, he’s not too far behind. 

“please,” he gasps, shoving you down until your chest is pressed against his. “i need-”

“i know,” you answer softly, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips that delightfully juxtapose the depraved way his hips are slamming against yours. 

it’s like falling  down from the heavens, except this time there’s no splatter of a body onto the earth. only a light feeling crawling through his limbs, like that final moment of peace before succumbing to the darkness. if the gods had asked him now for a sacrifice, he would have gotten on his knees all over again to keep you. when tranquility was once the bane of his existence, now it is the center of it. 

you tense above him, like a goddess struck in stone until you are returned to the flesh, crumpling on top of him. a soft cough escapes him, a wheezing sound that signifies that you are most definitely crushing his lungs. the forces that be roll the both of you to the side until you’re facing each other, his hand unconsciously reaching for yours under the mattress. happy, warm, and sated– leon’s husbandly duties have officially been achieved. 

“i love you,” he whispers, and he doesn’t even realize the tear escaping his eye until you gently wipe it away. every part of him now is soft and malleable, even the parts so carefully hidden from everyone else. 

“love you too, old man.” 

a final kiss to your forehead before he tucks you into his chest, “we’ll take the car tomorrow.”

two more hours until he can eat eggs and drink slightly shitty coffee, and finally fill you in on his newfound epiphany. his arms wrap around your half-conscious figure, body curling around you like something to protect. you hug him tightly in return, bare skin soft on your cheek. your arms hold him like he is sacred too. 

[uncouth-the-fifth]

i'd like to report a crime - Leon Kennedy/Reader

read it on Ao3.

Pairing: Agent!Leon/Detective!Wife!Reader Tags: anxious work stress + leon comfort!!, leon being a fucking goober Notes: when i'm at work I'm always picturing him swooping in to save me...... leon kennedy if you can hear me please protect me from 9-5 hell... and like I said before, I would LOVE requests or prompts for this fic, I have so many ideas but I can't commit to any of them lol.

Standing in the bullpen at work today, you had a thought. Maybe they called it “medieval torture” because that was a whole lot catchier than “a shitty day at the busiest police precinct in Washington DC.”

It certainly felt like medieval torture to you. Before you’d even stepped into your big girl pants this morning, you knew that today was going to suck. Plain and simple. Suck. Yet another presidential event was bringing the Secret Service’s jurisdiction into your already hectic station, meaning that big square dudes in suits were going to be breathing down your neck until quitting time. You had three huge active cases that needed your attention. One of those cases came pre-packaged with a deeply annoying lawyer, who, in your professional opinion, has his head shoved a foot up his ass. He will absolutely be showing up to bother you today.

And worst of all: in your haste to get to work (Leon had put some serious effort into making you late), you’d accidentally worn a pair of super uncomfortable shoes! So now every waking moment of your existence was bonafide torture.

Clamping your jaw, you glance up from the paperwork in front of you and check your watch. Three o’clock. Right, okay, you can work with that.

You slap your hands down on your desk as you push out of your seat, and it gets a satisfying yelp out of the man sitting cross-legged beside it. He bristles up like a porcupine and nasally complains, “Where are you going, Detective Kennedy? You said we could—”

“Coffee, Douglas,” you bite back to said lawyer.

The last thing you want right now is some of the lousy, watered-down coffee from the station’s breakroom, but taking mini-breaks at your desk is just not an option anymore. Douglas has been camped out there from the moment you clocked in, and since you both refuse to budge, he’s going to stay there. Breakroom it is. You wince the whole way there, cursing your shoes from hell.

Someone forgot to start another pot of joe, so you have the absolute pleasure of doing it yourself. A small blessing in disguise, really. You give the glass pot your best thousand-yard-stare the whole time it heats the water, and just when the outline of it is starting to burn behind your eyelids, you’re jolted out of your glazed reverie by a cheerful, “Detective Kennedy!”

The officer appears at your side like she was there the entire time, and you wouldn’t put it past her—Giana is the latest in a long line of rookies who have imprinted on you over the years. Good kid, but a little on the overeager side.

She gives you a sympathetic frown and launches into way too much bubbly talking for your aching head to handle. “Heyo! Man, it’s crazy today, huh? You look beat, detective. Hey, think of it this way—just a few more hours and we’ll be home free! Any fun plans tonight?”

The question triggers a movie-style flashback sequence in your mind, complete with black-and-white visuals and some tasteful dream fog. Leon, your husband, boredly poking around the aisles of a new Target by your place. Leon discovering the boys' toy section. Leon, your beautiful, amazing husband, going starry-eyed at the massive NERF Elite Titan CS-50 Toy Blaster, which you’re pretty sure you need a license to operate.

He’d tapped the Nerf box like a boy on Christmas morning. “150 foam bullets, baby.”

But it would take a lot of energy to relay all of that to Giana. So instead of explaining that you’re having an epic Nerf duel with Leon when you get home (no headshots, loser makes dinner), you cooly answer: “...Spending time with my husband.”

Giana hums. “It’s so weird to me that you’re married…” (Thanks.) “I can’t even picture you not grinding away at some case.”

The coffee machine burbles out its last sad spit of coffee. You pour a good amount into your mug, smiling, “Oh, Leon’s just as bad. We’re both married to our work. He’s just my favorite mistress, s’all.”

Giana opens her mouth to launch into another cheery tirade you can’t catch up with. You like the girl, but on top of being way too eager, she’s also painfully see-through. For example, you don’t even have to turn around to know that a gloriously hot guy has just walked into the bullpen behind you. It’s written all over Giana’s owlish look over your shoulder. Hell, you can even clock that he’s heading straight this way—not only does Giana cross herself to bid away impure thoughts of the stranger, but she evaporates into smoke out of pure shyness.

“Look out!” She stage-whispers.

Aw. Poor girl, you think as she waddles away. Considering who’s going to be unloading a clip of foam bullets into you later this evening, (what a strange double entendre), you’re basically immune to hot guys. You can handle this.

“Excuse me, detective, I’d like to report a crime?”

All sense of professionalism poofs off your face at that familiar voice. You whirl to face your husband, and in one swift slash, the ten ton weight of your stress is slapped clean off your back.

Leon’s resting stare has slowly been absorbed by his Serious Agent Face. But today, he’s smoldering less in the business way and more in the off-duty model way. In a white tee, jeans, and racing-striped leather jacket, he certainly looks the part, clean-shaven and dewy-skinned. Fuck him and his unblemished skin. What Umbrella moisturizer was he using back in the day, dammit?

You’re capable of joking again and fall flawlessly into the bit. “Of course. What kind of crime, beautiful?”

He isn’t really able to look flustered, but you think you get close to the impossible with the way his head tilts at that line. You notice that he’s hiding something behind his back.

“A theft,” he answers. The tiniest smirk twitches on his mouth. “My heart’s been stolen.”

…What a fucking cornball. The tragic part is that you find the joke pretty funny, and not completely in the ironic way. He waits for you to giggle and twirl your hair or what-the-fuck-ever, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction, ducking into his quick hug to grin into his shoulder.

You groan at his awful joke. “Jesus. You need a fork for all that corn, Leon?”

“I take mine off the cob,” he drawls in your ear. With that voice, he could make anything sound suggestive.

You’re about to pout at him for failing to return your hug, when you draw back and see that his hands are full. It’s then that Leon presents his bounty to you, bowing his head and holding his trophies aloft like a knight giving respect to his princess: in one hand, one of the stupid expensive coffees you like, and in the other… your comfiest work flats.

“How?” is the first thing your fish brain manages to say. Because, truly, how does he always know? The coffee, the shoes— “Did you put a tracker in me? One that tells you everything I’ve been complaining about all day?”

You go slumping down into the nearest seat, mystified by him. Leon sets the still-steaming coffee down in front of you and kneels, stooping to help you out of your shoes-from-hell. The strap around your ankle has rubbed the bone raw even through your tights. He gets the clasp loose on the first shoe with little fussing, then soothes the skin with tender brushes of his thumb.

“Mhm,” he hums. All you can see of him from this angle is the layers of color in his hair, deep browns and ash blondes blending into one another. The smug pride in his voice is obvious—he loves knowing he’s read you well. “Tells me when you’re hungry, too. Have lunch with me?”

Please god, your body begs. Just picturing it loosens some of the tension in your neck. Like last time, the two of you would play-fight over where to eat, and your cute little delivery boy would go pick up the winner. That way, you wouldn’t have to waste a single moment of your allotted thirty-minute lunch. Leon would pull up a seat at your desk (maybe scare Douglas off with a flash of his badge), and you’d get a blissful, uninterrupted dose of him. Enough to get you through the rest of your shift.

He’d be too deep in Professional Agent Mode to babble like he does at home, but Leon’s raspy chuckles and his hand on your knee would tide you over til’ five.

…But no, the universe is never that kind to you. You wince at Leon’s offer and drop an apologetic hand to his shoulder, still knelt at your feet and working on your other shoe. He’s too good to you. “M’ sorry, baby, but I think I’m gonna have to work through lunch if I wanna get home on time. Rain check?”

He doesn’t mind. He throws a squinty warning stare your way, not happy that you’re getting dangerously close to overworking yourself, but he understands.

A sly smile creeps onto Leon’s face as he helps you slip on a flat. “I could talk to your Captain. What if you were pulled away for a ‘federal emergency?’”

“Then I think me and my Captain would implode from stress,” you laugh. “He’d think I’d been drawn into some national crisis or something.”

Leon scoffs. “That’s only happened, like, once.”

The other flat welcomes your poor, aching foot like a jacuzzi hot tub, and you take a deep magical sip of the overpriced coffee he got special for you. It trumps the watery breakroom joe any day.

For a minute you’re so stupidly happy that you could easily punch a boulder clean off a cliff. Hell, you might even twirl your hair.

“One too many times!” You groan. Since he’s being all cute and kneeling at your feet, you can’t resist poking him a couple of times to be silly. In the chest. In the cheek. In the heart. Stage-whispering, you accuse, “I think you just like having excuses to work with me.”

Leon finishes helping you into your shoes, but he’s in no hurry to leave his spot. One of his rough hands finds yours in your lap and toys with your wedding band, twisting it, testing the groove where it’s been sitting for a few years now. Those big blue eyes fix on your face. You’re married to the guy, but something about being the subject of all his naked attention makes you feel like shrieking into a damn pillow. He’s the best. Judging by that mean little smile on his face, he knows it’s true.

He gives your hand a little squeeze and points out, “I was your partner before anyone else. We never got our buddy cop beat—so yes, I will shove myself into your world since I can’t pull you into mine.”

You’re grateful he still thinks that way. Getting him to talk about Raccoon is harder than pulling teeth, but this—your partnership, whether that be as cops in an imaginary second life, or as husband and wife—never fails to pry him right open.

You’d been asked before if it was frustrating, how your paths had split after the city had blown. The two of you had come from the same spot and endured the same things, but where Leon had soared up, you’d kept to what you knew. No part of you envied him for it. In his mind, the two of you were still the same unit you’d been then, endlessly loyal to one another. You watched Leon’s back and—clearly, he watched yours.

“You’re my favorite,” you tell him, sweetly petting his chin. “I’m gonna fucking destroy you at our Nerf duel when I get home.”

All the buttery tenderness wipes from his face, and in an instant he’s on his feet, clapping a scarred hand down onto your shoulder and bending to whisper fiercely in your ear. “I’d like to see you try.”

He smushes a kiss to your cheek, waves a friendly, “See ya,” and melts back into the current of the rowdy bullpen. You hate to see him leave, but by god, you love to watch him go.

A few seconds after Leon says his goodbye, Giana, your rookie, peers around the open door of the break room. Her patchy blush goes all the way down to her uniform collar. “...Nevermind. I can definitely picture you married, Detective Kennedy…”

-

Ask to be added to my Leon taglist!

[colmiillo]

I'm not just a bitch, I'm a bitch with a backstory

[l0velysmut]

family: “why are you just sitting in ur room smiling at ur phone?”

me who’s been reading smut about fictional characters for the past 6 hours: