#leonscottkennedy

[ellieslaces]

𝐥𝐞𝐨𝐧 & 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐲

afab ; wc:499

idk what anyone says. leon kennedy’s favorite kind of sex is vanilla sex. he just likes the simplicity and intimacy of missionary. you can’t change my mind on this.

there’s something so sweet and raw about being chest to chest, foreheads touching, heavy breaths mingling in the heat of the moment that’s really only achievable in missionary. the way his hips would grind into yours, each thrust deep and powerful, but still tender and sweet. the way he can see your face when you fall apart around him. he can hold eye contact as he speaks to you in filthy, sickeningly saccharine whispers. his large hand intertwines with your own over your head, holding your hand sweetly while he desperately pounded you into the mattress. he liked how he could bury his face into the crook of your neck, pressing soft and encouraging kisses to the skin of your neck. he could smell you - your perfume, the body wash you used, just the scent of your skin. in moments like these, he liked to memorize those smells. he loved that in this position with his head ducked into the crook of your shoulder, he could hear every little noise you made. every breath that hitched, every gasp, every whine and little whimper. all because of him and how he was fucking you. it was just so raw, limbs tangled, breaths mixed.

or maybe cowgirl. a step further from missionary, but still a little vanilla. the way your soft, lovely thighs caged his hips. how your body was on display for him to gaze at and touch and worship. his hands would be everywhere - running along your arms, cupping your breasts, thumbs ghosting over your nipples, fingers trialing down your belly, grasping your hips as you moved on him. it was a little less work for him, until you got tired at least. you always tried, always put up a good fight. fucking yourself on him for a good while, hands planted on his chest to steady yourself. his large calloused hands guiding your hips. when you’d begin to grow tired, things would shift a little. his hands would grasp your hips a little firmer, his hips beginning to piston up into you. his movements much harsher and powerful than your own. he also loved cowgirl because he had a full view of seeing your face when you came. how you’d cry out his name, nails digging into the skin of his chest. he loved it because you would collapse on top of him whenever you were finished, exhausted and tired from working him and staying upright like that for so long. he liked the soft moments after missionary and cowgirl, where you’d lay atop one another. after cowgirl, you’d drape yourself over him, exhausted from such activities. in missionary, he’d lay atop you. your fingers running through his hair.

sure, you’d get freaky sometimes, but for leon, the best and most fulfilling pleasure came from the simplest methods sometimes. and they were certainly the most intimate.

©️ ellieslaces | 2025 | i do not own the character of leon kennedy, only this work

[chamarts]

in a tiktok this guy scored more than 1000

[itsrobusta10]

The sillies

[yourallie]

his hair slicked back has me feeling things *✧･ﾟ

[strawberrysnoopy]

me in c.ai when Leon says he was a hungry man, and he needs to be well fed. (he was talking about eating my pussy holy shit)

[rpd77leon]

34\•✓³ Leon ♡♡♡

[gloriaregalisblood]

Angel for him

Warning: gentle reader; age difference; headcannons

Like a little girl who needs constant care. Leon's heart skips a couple of beats when he sees you looking like a little angel.

Somehow you reminded him of Ashley, although there were significant differences between you. Starting from appearance ending with character. But Leon finds himself unable to take his eyes off you.

You're like his princess while Leon himself associates himself with some villain who has his eye on you.

It's hard to have a casual conversation with you, but Leon finds a way to do it in the bookstore where you often go. Just strike up a casual conversation recommending you some kind of detective that you later buy.

Leon will unobtrusively ask about your name and shake your thin palm that looks so cute in his hand. His skin is a little rough and rough from the constant use of weapons, but yours is too tender.

He likes to accompany you home, because he is so calm that no one will harm you. Perhaps he will allow himself to touch your back when he says goodbye to you at the threshold of your apartment/house.

He will make compliments on purpose so that you will be embarrassed. He likes the blushing look of your face and the way you tuck a strand behind your ear, looking away after a compliment.

He's a real gentleman. He will not molest, say obscenities while you are just building a relationship, or strain you in any other way. Leon needs you to feel comfortable with him.

Small gifts in the form of souvenirs? Leone likes to see your smile on his face when he hands you the keychain he bought on his way home from a mission. Just a sign of attention to you on a weekday. Later it will be books, outfits, jewelry. Leon loves to give his angel gifts and feel how your hands close around his neck as a sign of gratitude.

The closer you get, the more he becomes attached to you. He likes to lie with you on the couch with the sound of the TV. He doesn't care what you're watching, whether it's a stupid show or a snotty melodrama. Leon will probably just take a quiet nap holding you in his arms.

He loves to bury his nose in your hair.

At night, he likes to hold your body to him. He has big problems with sleep since the days of Raccoon City, so he will just warm you up periodically by kissing your temple, cheek, neck or shoulder. Your serene sleeping appearance calms him down. Leon will sort through the strands of your hair while you sleep, glad that an angel like you paid attention to him.

Coffee or tea in bed? no problem

Leon likes it when you take his stuff. In fact, you look so cute in things that are too big for you. He just can't help but flirt with you.

This man just loves your hair. He will gently touch them constantly looking for different excuses: to do a head massage after a hard day; to help unravel a complicated hairstyle; a joint shower is what Leon loves most.

"My little angel", "Sweetheart", "Bunny", "Sexy", "Sweet girl" are the nicknames that he will call you and very rarely by name.

He has a difficult job that he hates to talk about. To return to your arms is like a blessing from above. Your concern for him puts him in order a little. Leon is even touched by how light and cute it has become in his apartment from all these souvenirs and soft blankets. It's like you filled his apartment with your warmth.

It follows that he will never be rude to you. Especially during sex. He will quickly study all your preferences and will be happy to experiment with your permission, but he knows on a subconscious level exactly what not to offer and what not to do if he wants to be with you.

All those pastel pajamas of yours make him smile. Of course, he knows that you have sexy underwear, but seeing you so homely causes him some hitherto forgotten feeling. It's a pretty nice feeling.

Do you have a decorative rabbit or an affectionate cat as a pet? Leon is not a big fan of pets, but he will allow you to take the pet with you when you move in with him.

However, he will have to pay more attention to ensure that your animals do not accidentally fall under his feet. Leon doesn't want to be the cause of your tears at all.

He's a fan of your cooking (if you know how to cook), if not, then it's not a problem for him. He's being paid too well to handle this little nuisance.

Do you have some kind of chronic disease? Leon will regularly take you to the doctor for examinations and buy you medications if you need them constantly. If you just accidentally picked up a cold or another illness, Leon becomes paranoid who will surround you with his care and a good doctor.

Most likely, he will be a little afraid of your age difference at first, but only because he is worried that you will feel uncomfortable with him. Leon doesn't have much free time and he is often not aware of current trends, but he is ready to listen to you when you tell him about something new and incomprehensible to him.

When he has a vacation, Leon will offer you to go somewhere with him. He does not mind lying all day both in the hotel room and in actively visiting all the excursions and facilities that interest you.

If you go somewhere together Leon always holds your hand. He will not show emotions, but he needs to know that everything is fine with you and you are not lost anywhere in the crowd.

Do you have any phobias? Leon is ready to protect you from any of your fears. Spiders, snakes, fear of heights or something else, but Leon is always ready to pick you up or just kill your fear (if it's an insect).

And comfort if it has brought you to tears for some reason.

You're his greatest asset, which he wants to protect from all the shit that comes across in his work. In his understanding, you are too pure and innocent to see this live, so Leon will never talk about his missions.

In fact, this guy dreams of a family and if you accidentally get pregnant, it will certainly scare him and make him worry, but he will not blame you for anything. In fact, he will do everything to protect you and the baby, and he is most likely the man who does not want you to have an abortion, at least without discussing it with him.

But in general, Leon is a supporter of safe sex.

He feels that he is responsible for you.

He is always on your side when it comes to any conflicts between you and a third party. Even if you are wrong. He will not allow you to insult or humiliate, but at home he will try to gently convey his point of view, which may not coincide with yours.

It will allow you to carry out beauty procedures on yourself. In fact, he likes it, he just doesn't talk about it and he will even remind you to put that white bandage on his head so as not to dirty his hair. It looks funny especially if he's waiting for one of your face masks to dry on his skin.

[kingsriren]

Happy anniversary to Resident Evil 4 Remake ❤️

(some shots that i took for this special day 🫶🏻)

[crimsonmoth]

if i woke up and found him waiting like this beside me, there's nothing that could pry me off his body. 😏🔥

[leonsfiancee]

a break. - leon s. kennedy.

Leon is a very determined agent. He successfully handles all of his missions, though it’s hard, he still manages to complete them without mistakes. While on a mission, you realize how hard he works and you offer to relax him for a bit..

leon kennedy x female reader

•••

“You know, it’s a good time to take a break.” You said to him. He shook his head slightly, his blue eyes focused on the gun in his hand as he sat in the chair. You sighed, leaning against the table. You could see his hair covering his forehead, making you want to gently brush it off.

You could remember the first time you met him. He looked so young and innocent, but now he seemed a little more tired, determined. It pained to see him so stressed, you wanted to relieve him, even if it was for a moment.

You watched him as he continued to reload the gun, not saying a word. His lips were curved into a frown, and his eyes looked so tired. You walked closer to him, gently touching his shoulder.

He quickly snapped his head towards you, looking up. You gave him a smile, his eyes staring at you in shock. He looked down and then back at you, his mouth ajar. “We should keep going. We can rest once we finish the mission. It's important that we stay focused. We can't afford to waste any more time."

You looked at him, not wanting to let go of him. You could see the exhaustion in his eyes, it hurt your heart to see him this way. You took a step closer to him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

You leaned in close to him, your chest pressed against his. You felt his arms wrap around your waist, holding you in place. You could feel his heartbeat speed up, his body tense. “No, no, no, we shouldn't... Not right now." He tried to protest, his voice hoarse.

"I think that's exactly what we should do, Leon." You whispered in his ear, your fingers gently stroking his hair. He closed his eyes and sighed deeply. It felt good, and his body needed it but his mind kept screaming at him, telling him that this wasn't the right thing to do. He couldn't just stop working, even for a moment.

He was too busy. His life wasn't meant for him to relax. He was always fighting and risking his life, doing what needed to be done. That's what his job was about. He couldn't allow himself to enjoy things. He couldn't afford to be distracted.

His thoughts were interrupted by the feeling of your soft lips on his cheek. He could feel his face heat up, his breathing getting heavy. You were so close to him. Your body pressed against his. He could feel your warm breath on his skin, making him shiver.

He opened his eyes, looking into yours. Your gaze was soft and caring. You graze your thumb against his cheek, smiling.

"Please, Leon. Let me make you feel better." You pleaded with him, your hand cupping his chin.

"I..." He started, his voice shaky. You slowly go down, sitting on his lap. He gulps, his body tensing.

"Just a little break. That's all." You cooed, brushing your nose against his. He feels you tugging at his pants, pulling them down.

He gasps, grabbing your hands, stopping you. "No, no. D-dont..." He says, his voice low.

"Come on, Leon. It's just a break." You insist, leaning in closer to him. You take out his member, slowly stroking him.

"We shouldn't... I can't..." He whispers, “fuckk.. please.."

You smile, leaning in closer to his face, kissing him softly. He lets out a soft moan, his hands resting on your hips.

You continue stroking him, his breath becoming heavy. "We'll only have a few minutes." You tell him, moving your hand faster. He groans, his hips bucking forward.

"Oh god." He moans, his hands tightening around your hips. You feel his grip getting tighter, his cock twitching in your hand. "Please..." He whispers, his body trembling.

"You want me to stop?" You ask, your hand moving faster.

"N-no." He breathes out, his head falling back. "Oh god, please don't stop..I-I don’t care anymore, j-just don't stop."

You smile, leaning forward, kissing his neck. You slowly move up, sucking on his earlobe. He moans, his head resting against the back of the chair. You come back down and kiss his tip, “Mm, Leon.."

You suck his tip, swirling your tongue around it. He moans loudly, his hips bucking forward. His eyes roll to the back of his head, his body trembling.

You move down, taking him completely into your mouth. He lets out a loud groan, his body shaking. You feel his hands squeezing your hips, his nails digging into your skin.

"O-oh my god..." He groans, his whole body trembling.

You bob your head up and down, swirling your tongue around his tip. He lets out a long, loud moan, his hands gripping your hair tightly.

"O-oh... fuck!" He cries, his hips thrusting up, his cum spilling into your mouth. You swallow, licking your lips.

"Mmm..." You hum, moving your head up and down, slowly milking him. He was too sensitive, his body twitching and trembling.

"O-o-..oh..fuck..n-no..n-n-no more.." He moans, his hands leaving your hair and grabbing your shoulders.

"Are you sure? It seemed like you really liked it." You tease, smirking.

"No, no..don't.." He breathes out, his body shaking.

You pull away, looking up at him. “Okay..." You say, smirking.

"O-oh.." He whimpers, his body relaxing. You quickly pull his pants up for him, smiling. His eyes were closed, in that moment, he wanted to stay in it forever.

You stood up, fixing yourself and looked down at him. He was completely exhausted, his eyes closed, his breathing heavy.

"How do you feel now?" You ask, smirking.

He lets out a shaky sigh, "I feel amazing."

You lean down, pressing a kiss to his cheek, "Good. Now, let's get back to work."

Leon nodded, his cheeks turning pink. “R-right..yeah.” He sighed, still trying to collect himself.

"I told you that you would feel better after." You chuckled.

"Y-yeah..thanks." He says, his cheeks burning red.

~~~~

a/n: idk 😭

[hhshio]

aeon doodles 🫶

[ellieslaces]

𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐦𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐰. 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: umbrella’s hunger games

𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: leon kennedy x fem!reader

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: the morning of the annual Hunger Games has arrived. the start of possible weeks of horrors curated by the Umbrella Corporation. the mutts, the twenty three other children you must fight and kill to survive. only, there’s a bump in the road — your newfound obsession with District Twelve’s male Tribute

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: harsh language; heavy violence; gore; infanticide; class discrimination; usual hunger games/resident evil themes; heavy themes of gore; heavy themes of murder and infanticide

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: sauuuuur I got motivation. this is taking a year and I love it. please enjoy. it’s about to get so sad

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5.62k

𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 : bury a friend ; billie eilish

previous chapter ; next chapter

Sunlight was a loss in the Capitol. Many rooms were windowless in favor of large, paper thin, wall mounted screens. Showing scapes of forests, beaches, mountains, bustling towns. All hiding the natural beauty and warmth of the sun. Something the body craved, something the body needed to live. And it was yet another thing they took for granted.

The sole thing being life. The people of the Capitol did not understand what it meant to live. What it meant to be alive. To barely survive in harsh conditions. They didn’t not appreciate the fragility and the beauty of breathing. Of how quickly that breath could be snatched from your lungs at any given moment. That life was not measured in the fashion or style of clothing, the taste and smell of food, the color and texture of home furnishings. Life was measured by action. By purpose. By the ability to understand the meaning of it all. This was devastatingly lost upon them in the sea of glamor.

But it was not lost on you. Not as you laid in the plush bed the Capitol had for you in the apartment you stayed in for the duration of your stay. Eyes trained on the ceiling for most of the night and well into the morning. In a matter of hours you would be placed in a deadly arena with twenty three bloodthirsty children. Of course the idea scared you.

But what filled your mind was not predictions of what the arena would look like. What the mutts Umbrella cooked up in their labs would be. What horrors you’d see. How many people you’d have to kill. All you could think of was the Goddamned interviews.

Another step taken in the early days of the Games to make them more entertaining. Each Tribute was dressed up in the finest clothing made by their stylist. They were each given a five minute allotment of time to talk with the Capitol's most beloved media personality — Karl Heisenberg — and win as many people over as possible with smiles, flirtatious remarks, and witty comebacks.

It was the part you maybe most dreaded. Maybe more so than the actual Games. Fight, you could do that. You could fight people, you could maybe kill, you could definitely survive in the wilderness. But be charming and make people like you? That’s a tough one. Social cues were not your strong point. It was hard to be yourself when a large part of your authentic personality hated the Capitol and the Games.

You couldn’t exactly get on the stage and talk about how unjust the whole concept of the Hunger Games were. How inhumane it was to send twenty four children into an arena full of horrors to fight to the death. It wasn’t right. But that’s not what they wanted to hear. They wanted to hear about your favorite color, what your favorite part of your visit to the Capitol had been so far, your love life, how you planned to win. All things you didn’t feel like discussing with these people.

But, it seemed Heisenberg wasn’t as superficial as you suspected. Being from District One — and the female Tribute — meant you were first on the stage. He greeted you with an eccentric smile, shaking your hand gruffly and presenting you with flare. Yeah, yeah, the dress was stunning. Whatever.

He sat you down, asked about your home life, asked about how the Redfield siblings found you — oh, you were the favorite of the year for that story alone — and what you expected of the Games. It was only when he asked how you were feeling, truly feeling about tomorrow that your facade faltered.

He seemed so genuine. Like he really wanted to know what you’d say. How you felt. If you were as scared as he thought. And you were.

“Well, I, I supposed I’m worried.” You’d said, hands folded in your lap as your voice took a softer tone.

“How so, dear? Scared to lose? Scared to die? Scared… to win?” Heisenberg asked, leaning forward, pointing the mic softly toward your mouth. He gave you a moment, allowing you to process.

“Scared of the crown going to the wrong person.” You settled on, your words intentional, finally meeting his gaze as you spoke.

“And, and who would be the wrong person, if I may ask?” He asked, his eyes locked on you. It seemed he’d forgotten all about the crowd in front of you. The flare and grandure of the interview process.

“Me, maybe. Or, someone who doesn’t deserve it.”

“And you don’t believe you deserve it?” Heisenberg asked, his voice almost incredulous. Everyone knew you were a fighter. A skilled one. Raised by Chris and Claire to be deadly.

“I don’t know.” You decided on, nodding slightly. You really didn’t know. Because why would you deserve it? What had you done to deserve riches and a Victor’s Crown? Nothing, that’s what.

Oh how that had been the wrong answer. Not in terms of the crowd’s response — they loved that, actually. Thought you to be some humble, honest, pure fighter. Who was deep inside ready to do what it took to win the Games when push came to shove. No, no. It had been the wrong answer for Claire.

All you wanted to do was linger backstage and watch the remaining Tributes’ interviews. Get a good grasp on who each one was. You had a vague idea, of course, after spending three days observing them all in training. But this, it was more of a direct look as to what they wanted. But of course, Claire couldn’t let you be.

She’d berated you, told you — with a certain amount of kindness of course — that your answer hadn’t been right. You made yourself appear weak. You made yourself look as if you wouldn’t try in that arena. But, that had been the opposite of your plan.

Of course you had a fucking plan. And the fact that Claire couldn’t see that, well it was a little hurtful. Chris and Claire were supposed to be the two people who knew you best. And Claire couldn’t see that every move, every word, and every answer in that interview had been intentional. Honest, yes, but also intentional.

That night held no sleep for you — or any of the other Tributes, really. For a few hours you tossed and turned violently, attempting to lull yourself to sleep by humming a song from your District. Then you took to an old method the matron at the orphanage you used to live at taught you. Going through every letter of the alphabet and coming up with two names for each. When that didn’t work, and it usually did because it was so fucking boring, you realized sleep was not your friend that night.

Instead, you laid in bed, eyes trained on the ceiling, running through each Tribute’s answers for their interviews. Gauging what you could expect of each one in the arena.

Of course, Piers was someone you hoped you could trust. You were from the same District and very rarely did two Tributes from the same District turn on one another. So, you didn’t exactly expect betrayal from him. But, that did not make him any less dangerous. And to think he would not be would be a stupid mistake.

As the sun rose and shone golden rays through the cracks of the sunshades, you finally decided just to be awake. This would most likely be the final time you see this room. The fuzzy rug beneath the bed, the slick polished wood of the floor, the smooth eggshell of the walls, the large windows which overlooked the central of the Capitol, the lush bathroom with its many scents and warm water, the plush bed in which you slept in for the past few days. Oh well, goodbye. You wouldn’t miss it all that much.

Feet hitting the floor, you decided to distract yourself by getting dressed and making your way to the dining room. Eat, you needed to settle the roaring nausea in your stomach that had persisted ever since you walked off the stage last night. You assumed you’d be the only one, the only soul in the apartments. But no, you were greeted by Piers. It seemed your fellow tribute had the same idea. And the same problem.

He offered a weary smile as you sat down across from him. The avox came along and set a plate of food in front of you — bran toast, yogurt dusted with granola and berries, and a rare cup of coffee. You ate in silence across from Piers, not particularly in the mood for idle chit chat. It was the day of the Games. It wasn’t a time to laugh and joke and have small talk with someone you’d be expected to compete against — and maybe kill — in a matter of hours. And really, the silence was nice. Until he opened his big mouth.

“I didn’t mean to get you into trouble the other day.” Piers said, his voice as strong and confident as always.

Your eyes raised slowly to look at him as he sat across from you — dull brown hair cropped short along the sides of his head, strong jaw that made him look fiercer than he actually was, and grey eyes. Your eyes met, his intentional as they stared into yours. He was being honest, you knew that. He hadn’t meant to get you into trouble. Because what good would that do him? You weren’t in the arena. Yet.

“I know.” You mumbled, spoon scooping up another serving of yogurt just for it to plop back down defeatedly.

Piers sighed, clearly not wanting that answer. But it was a good one. You acknowledged he hadn’t meant to do you harm, but you also hadn’t necessarily forgiven him either. Not that there really was anything to forgive in your book. He frowned.

“Chris just always talks about how good you are. In training, I mean. He always says you’re… kind too.” He pushed further, not without a gentle tone. “I guess I just thought he’d wanna know. That you did that for the guy from Twelve.”

“Leon,” you said before you could stop yourself. It wasn’t Piers’ fault. But, he should know these peoples’ names. The people he would kill. “His name is Leon. And the girl’s name is Helena.”

“Right, Leon. I thought Chris would be proud of you for helping Leon.” He nodded and shrugged weakly.

He wasn’t necessarily wrong. Chris had a penchant for being proud of nearly everything you did. He was soft on you, he was always perceived as the stronger and tougher of the Redfield siblings. But, he had a soft heart. And it was especially soft for you. So, of course he’d be proud of you wanting to help someone have a better chance. Even if it lessened yours.

But, again, it wasn’t Piers’ fault. It wasn’t his fault that you cared so much about someone you hardly knew that you found yourself in constant trouble with your mentors. You tried to be a good person — it was hard though. Especially in a situation such as your own. In a place where you would have to fight and kill for your life. It wasn’t fair. It should be easier to be good.

“I know,” you nodded, voice soft and slightly bored. It wasn’t that Piers was boring you, really you were just exhausted.

A stretch of silence passed between you two, the only sound was the soft scrape of silverware and the sound of the flatscreen in the common area playing ambient sounds. It was nice, actually. A good moment to gather your thoughts, to just be. To be human a little longer, before you had to become inhuman. It wasn’t long before Piers stood, likely going to prepare for when your stylists would come to escort you. He paused by where you were at the table, his face contemplative.

“I hope we can trust each other in there. I, I wouldn’t mind having you by my side.” Piers said almost softly, his eyes cutting to meet yours.

You looked up at him from where you sat, brows pulled together in slight awe and confusion. He expected to trust you. He wanted to trust you. “Me too, Piers.”

With your nod and agreement, he smiled a ghost of a smile before he walked off, leaving you alone in the silence of the dining room.

The halls were frigid — or maybe it was just cold sweat from your fried nerves. There was a sterile atmosphere to the halls you walked through, trailing a few steps behind Hunnigan as she guided you toward the room she was to prepare you in. The air was tinged with an intense weight that made you shiver. It was like you were walking down the hall to your death. Which really, you could be.

Hunnigan paused in front of a white door, pressing her thumb to a reader and the door sliding open. The room was just as bright and uneasy as the hallway. The door silently slid shut behind you as you stepped in, the emptiness of the space sudden and strange. The cool and silent air raised the hair on your arms as Hunnigan guided you to sit on a bench in the corner of the room, walking to an all white armoire. She slid the doors open, pulling out an outfit you assumed was to be your attire for the area. It hung on a hanger in dull colors.

It did look comfortable, however. Grey and black and dark blues, sleek fabric of a top and pants. She motioned for you to come forward, and you reached out, feeling the material between your fingers. It was thick but breathable, zippers adorning different parts of the fabric. Around the biceps, below the knees. At the back of the neck rested a hood, a zipper along the back of it to make it removable. A cloak that draped over the shoulders and chest was resting on the hanger as well, seeming to also be removable. It was obvious the gamemakers had designed the attire for maximum body coverage. Which made you wonder — what awaited you in that arena?

Hunnigan gently urged you to undress and then assisted you in pulling on the clothes. The pants were thick yet breathable, the fabric somewhat ruched at the ankles just above where the cuffs were tucked into your boots. The top was as you expected — clinging to your skin and durable. Warm but not suffocating. She pulled a pair of gloves that went up to just under your elbows, the material thick and tactical like. She fastened a sort of fanny pack to your chest, the two straps crossing your body — one over your shoulder and the other around your chest.

“I would expect humidity,” Hunnigan began as she continued to prepare your attire, then your hair. “This fabric is good for repelling moisture and keeping you warm but not overheated. The cloak comes off and fits in the pack. There are a few minor supplies in there, one small knife and a water canteen. That’s all they gave you this year.”

The fact that they’d seemed to want to prepare you for brutality with a weapon made your chest tight. So they expected a bloodbath. And of course you did too. These tributes were brutal.

You turned to her, brows creased as she finished securing your hair. You inhaled deeply, swallowing as you met her gaze. “Thank you, Ingrid, for being so kind to me. You, you understand I didn’t choose this.”

Hunnigan nodded, a sort of solemn smile on her lips as she turned around and picked something up off the table in the middle of the room. “You didn’t choose this and I know you don’t want it. But, if I could bet, it’d be on you.”

Her words were kind, and you knew she wouldn’t bet on you because she wanted the riches if you won. No, you knew she’d bet because she would want to assist you in that arena as much as she could. You smiled gratefully as she turned back around, a necklace dangling in her fingers.

“From Claire. She wanted this to be your token.” She held up the necklace you always saw Claire wearing — silver with a large feather that held a turquoise stone at the top, a twin but smaller feather right beside it. There was a slight difference though. A small circle rested on the other side of the feather, a charm that Chris usually wore as well. You had both of them now. Your chest tightened as Hunnigan clasped it on your neck, tucking it under your shirt.

Wetness pricked at your waterline, throat going tight. Claire loved you, and any beration you’d received the past week had been only for your benefit. You were her family. And she didn’t want to lose you. You knew Chris loved you, he never faltered to tell you. To bestow his pride on you. They were family. And you may never see them again. You swallowed as you looked up at Hunnigan, her hand coming up to rub up and down your arm.

A chime sounded, an automatic voice announcing sixty seconds to launch. Bile rose in your throat. This was it. The tracker had been injected on the jet an hour before. Your arm still sore from the sudden and large injection. Sixty more seconds before you were to face the twenty three remaining tributes and unknown horrors of the arena.

“You can do this, okay? Just run. As soon as that cannon goes off, run.” Hunnigan encouraged, very similarly to how Chris and Claire had instructed you to.

Run. They had told you to ignore the cornucopia and run. Make a break while you could. There would likely be packs of supplies on the outer lying ring far from the center. Grab one and bolt. That was your plan. Don’t take part in the bloodbath. Don’t make hasty allies, don’t go toward weapons, don’t be stupid. Run and make a plan.

Thirty seconds, the voice announced. A cold sweat broke across your brow, an unsettled chill running up your spine. You inhaled, stepping forward and embracing your stylist. She wasn’t family, hardly a friend. You’d met days ago but she’d been there for you. Came to understand you. You were grateful to her.

“Thank you,” you whispered one final time, face buried in her neck. She wrapped her arms around you as well, holding you close. It seemed she knew you needed one last action of comfort. One last reassurance that you were human before you were sent into the arena.

“Good luck,” she whispered back, only letting go when you pulled back. Despite yourself, your eyes were teary as you stared at the woman. You sniffled, steeling yourself as your arms dropped. You walked toward the tube, face to face with it as the voice again announced ten more seconds.

With a deep breath, you entered, the glass sliding up and sealing you in. You turned, making eye contact with Hunnigan as the ticking of the clock went town from ten. At one, the platform began to raise, your stomach roiling, your heart racing. This was it.

The sky was gray, the air humid with sprinkles of rain. A cold chill ran through your bones as the platform jolted to a stop inside the arena. Your eyes squinted, adjusting to the light sheet of rain clouding your vision. Where were you? A city, likely. In front of you rested the cornucopia — spilling with a bounty of supplies and food and weapons. Swords, knives, javelins, spears, bows, arrows, hammers, and really any weapon you could imagine save for firearms. Those were forbidden.

A flat voice rang through the air, announcing sixty seconds. You had a full minute to take in your surroundings, find the closest pack of supplies, and decide which direction you’d go before you could step off the pedestal. Even the wrong shift of weight before the time was up could lead to an explosion. It was supposed to be fair, no head starts.

Your eyes glanced along the surrounding area, attempting to see which tributes were in your line of sight. Your brows furrowed when you spotted Piers, his eyes dead set on the cornucopia. A shiver ran through you at the look in his eyes. Pure dedication and determination. He wasn’t going to lose this. Your head snapped forward, aching to look away from him. A clock tower loomed behind the cornucopia, tall and proud. Many would likely try to take residence there. Make a stand to own the cornucopia and its contents.

Thirty seconds. Your eyes searched around you, looking over your shoulder. A road arched off to the side, a broken street sign reading Raccoon Street. And pointing to the north, an arrow on a sign pointed to Victoria Street. Likely the best option. Most would stay for the bloodbath. Try to get supplies and weapons. Try to make a stand. Not you. You needed to be smarter. You hoped Leon was smart.

Leon. Your eyes snapped forward again, searching for the District Twelve tribute. The lack of success made you chest tight. He was probably positioned behind the cornucopia. God, you hoped he wouldn’t die in the bloodbath. Wouldn’t try to get to the cornucopia first.

Ten seconds. A deep breath, a rolling out of your shoulders. You needed to be ready. The monotone voice counted down from ten, a boom sounding at the one. Your feet lurched off the pedestal, racing toward one of the outer rings of the ensemble of supplies. A pack on the outer rings wouldn’t hold as much as one from the inside. But what it held would be enough. Just for a few days to make a plan then come back.

Your eyes were set on a pack, your hand reaching out to grasp the handle. You hoisted it up, slinging it over your shoulder as you quickly pivoted on the slick pavement. Both straps secured on your shoulders, you began to run away from the clock tower. You didn’t dare look behind you because you could hear it — the bloodbath. The sounds of yelling, screaming, fighting. The slick squelch of blood, the sound of bodies hitting the pavement. It made your stomach twist.

You were nearly out of the circle of pedestals when you slipped, your feet sliding out from underneath you. A gasp ripped from your throat when you realized you hadn’t slipped but been yanked back. Your back hit the pavement, the air expelling from your chest as a body loomed over you. Your eyes peeled open, going wide as you saw Richard — the boy from Eight — coming down to hold you to the ground. You thrashed, kicking your legs as his knees rested on your shoulders. His eyes narrowed down at you.

“Entitled bitch,” he spat, quickly raising the small knife that was identical to yours — the one that came in your packs. You moved your head to the side, his slash that was aimed for your throat cutting across your cheek instead. The cut stung as his opposite hand came to grip your face. “Showin’ off in the training like that. Just couldn’t help actin’ like you’re better than us, huh? Imma wipe that fuckin’ look off your face.”

Your eyes widened further as his hand gripped your neck, effectively cutting off your breathing and tilting your head back. His knife angled at the side of your mouth. Oh God, you were going to die here. Like this. At the hands of a misogynistic asshole. You kicked and trashed under him, but he was kneeling fully on your shoulders so you couldn’t move your arms. Dread filled your chest as he lowered the blade, eyes squeezing shut.

But the pain never came. Only a quick thump and a splatter of hot wet on your face. Your eyes flew open only to see Richard coughing up blood and falling to the side off your body. A knife — a throwing knife was lodged in his chest. Impeccable aim. You propped yourself up on your elbows, looking behind you, eyes searching only to land on Piers.

He nodded at you, motioning and mouthing for you to go. You nodded, not second guessing as you ripped the knife from Richard’s chest — also swiping up his knife from his pack — and running. You weren’t taking any chances. Your breathing was ragged from the adrenaline and how Richard had been nearly choking you. Your feet skidded on the pavement as you rounded the corner of Raccoon Street onto Victoria Street. Almost away, you were almost away.

Until you weren’t. A surprised yell fell from your lips as you skidded to a stop on the slick pavement, eyes wide with shock and confusion. What the fuck where those? A small number of people stumbled around the street, their movements slow and uncoordinated. You stood there, watching. Then one turned toward you. That wasn’t a person. The skin along its face was worn and greyed, one eye missing while the other was a cloudy white. Different wounds that looked nearly decayed littered its body. It wasn’t alive, but it was certainly undead.

These were the mutts this year it seemed. Your breath quickened as it paced toward you, letting out a shriek. You stumbled backward, looking around for a different direction. To the right was a dead end. To the left pointed toward Woodbine Drive. Woodbine Drive it was then. You took off toward the left, footsteps quick and heavy as you ran. As few other of the mutts littered the street, but none moved fast enough to catch you. You veered right quickly onto Woodbine Drive, relief flooding your chest as you spotted a building. A hospital. Perfect, a good place to rest and catch your breath.

Rain pattered on your head, your hands shakily coming up to pull the hood over your head. Water coursed down your face and beaded along and off the fabric of your clothes. Almost there. The doors to the entrance of the hospital were close, and you skidded to a stop as you neared them. You swung one open, inhaling deeply as you rushed inside, the door slamming shut behind you.

Your heart threatened to beat out of your chest as you stood there, back to the door as you slunk down to the floor. It was going to be a long games.

Extra! Leon’s POV of the bloodbath!

The air was thick and heavy, rain pattering down in sheets that obscured his vision. Leon blinked a few times, his eyes adjusting to the change of light, blinking away the raindrops that settled on his lashes. So this was it, the arena for this year’s Games. He frowned, looking around as he soaked in his surroundings. The cornucopia stood proud in the center of the circle of tributes. A collection of supplies, food, packs, and weapons spilled from its mouth in a hypnotizing fashion. It made him crave what was there.

Except he knew it’d be stupid to take its bait. Only morons went straight for the cornucopia. Or careers. Careers. Where were you? He’d long since spotted Helena to his right, her eyes set and determined on trying to get as close to the cornucopia as possible. He didn’t see you though. You must be behind the cornucopia.

Only forty more seconds. He needed a plan. Well, he had a plan. Run, that was his plan. He didn’t feel like dying in the bloodbath. That’d be stupid. Besides, he wanted to stay alive long enough to get you as an ally. Though as much as he’d thought about it, he still couldn’t understand why he wanted you at his side during the games. You were good at combat, he’d witnessed that. But maybe it was on a more personal level. Either way, he needed to stay alive.

Thirty more seconds. His eyes landed on Richard from District Eight a few pedestals to his left, his eyes searching the area. A deep unsettled feeling seeped into Leon’s chest. He’d remembered he’d overheard Richard talking about you a few days ago. Just after your demonstration at the knife stand. How he’d thought you were spoiled and entitled. How you must think yourself better than the rest of the tributes to show off like that. How you were the first he would go after in the arena.

Shit. Leon hadn’t warned you. He’d never gotten the chance. You switched to private lessons before he got the chance. He knew good and well you could take care of yourself. But Richard was particularly nasty, didn’t seem to play fair. And you had no idea he was coming for you. Maybe, if he was lucky, Leon could find you before Richard and protect you. Or at least warn you. But who was he kidding? He couldn’t protect you. He couldn’t even hold a knife right until you showed him how.

Twenty seconds. The rain made things more complicated. It didn’t help with seeing far and the slick of the pavement would make running worse. He’d have to be smart with his movements. With his chase to find you. Ten seconds. The voice rang through the air, counting down from ten. Each number was a knife to his throat, aching and stinging until the cannon sounded and he could jump off his pedestal.

Leon ran toward the cornucopia, swiping up a pack along the way, sliding it over his shoulders. As he ran, he unzipped the pack at his chest and pulled out the knife. He needed to find you. Helena was okay, she could take care of herself. She’d already grabbed a pack and began to run toward the clock tower. Leon rounded the cornucopia, pausing for a split second to survey the area for you. Any sign of you. Your hair, your voice. Anything.

He heard a yell from behind him, a flash of blonde coming from his side. He dodged just in time, a blade ringing by his ear. Eyes wide, Leon turned, spotting Rachel from District Two. Her eyes were harshly narrowed as she swung at him with a sword again and again. He stumbled back, beginning to run again. She let out a growl, stopping as she spotted a weaker tribute. She disregarded him as he ran, obviously not caring too much about killing him specifically when she could have an easier catch. He didn’t stick around too long to hear the squelch of blood and the thump of Cindy’s body.

His only focus was finding you before Richard did. Leon paused, a breath leaving his lips as he saw you running from the cornucopia, a pack on your back as you ran. You seemed set on getting away. He was almost relieved until he saw a figure yank you back by your hood.

“No!” He shouted as you fell back, your head hitting the pavement in a sudden jerk that made his stomach churn. Fuck, Richard got to you first. He watched as the tribute from Eight terrorized you, cutting your cheek and then gripping your throat tightly.

Leon broke into a run then, but he was still too far to get to you in time. But he could damn well try. He froze when a shimmer of steel whipped through the air toward Richard. It plunged deep into his chest, the boy freezing before he coughed up thick bubbles of blood, the wetness splattering and dribbling onto your face. He fell onto the pavement by your body. You sat up in record time, head swiveling as you looked around. Leon’s gaze landed on your savior at the moment yours did. Piers.

He had never been so grateful for someone as he was Piers in that moment. Piers had saved your life when Leon couldn’t. He watched as your friend — he assumed — urged you to run. Leon’s gaze snapped back to you, watching as you stood, scrambling to run down Raccoon Street and skidding to the left toward Victoria Street.

He lurched forward, intending to follow you. But someone cut him off, skidding to a stop in front of him with a spear pointed at him. He cursed under his breath. He’d have to find you. He backed up, turning swiftly on his heel and running away from the bloodbath, in the opposite direction of where you went. Maybe he could circle around. But for now, he needed to get away from the cornucopia.

Leon ran down Raccoon Street, running straight until he reaching the intersection of Raccoon and Warren Street. He paused, assessing where he should go next. Straight would be best, he’d be less likely to get lost that way. He continued forward, stopping at the first building he saw. R.C. Radio Station, the sign above it read. He decided it was his best option. Best to get away from the tributes and whatever mutts there could be.

He ran toward the lot where the building was, coming to a stop in shock. Mutts. He frowned, they didn’t look like mutts from a distance. They looked like people. Until one that was to his right inched toward him with a screech. It was undead. Skin rotted and peeling and mouth half torn open. It’s throat was missing. So this was what Umbrella had cooked up this year. Fucking perfect.

Leon didn’t hesitate to make his way to the radio station, throwing the door open and shutting it, searching for something to block the door with. He used a chair, lodging it under the door handles. He was safe, secure. He could think of a plan now. A way to get to you.

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The freaks.

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ACT ONE: The Photoshoot, Part Four of Four.

warnings: tobacco, smoking, alcohol use, briefest mention of using alcohol as a coping mechanism, mentions of infidelity (as always), ada slander at times (sorry), texting for a while, leon's a bit of a perv, sex, pussy, balls, dick, yeah you get the gist.

(a/n): sike bitch you thought.

FINAL PART OF ACT ONE: THE PHOTOSHOOT.

Your husband was on the dining room floor, groaning in pain, with blood spattered across the kitchen tile from spitting the drips of blood that fell down his throat from his nose. Leon had fucked him up, hard and good. His nose was broken, he had a black eye, his lip was busted open like a button on a shirt, and he had some beginnings of a cauliflower ear. Jesus, Leon gets the damn job done. That must be why he's deployed all the time. "We should..." Leon pauses, wiping some blood from his own unbroken nose with a sniffle. "...take him to the emergency room. I fucked him up pretty good." You nod in agreement, placing your hands on your hips as if you're looking at some new problem that you found in your garden. Like some field mice have been getting into the blackberry bush again. Whatever. You've seen him in worse cases. I mean, there is that time where he tried to kick someone's ass for not playing pool the right way off of three obscenely large tall boy beers. You should've left him then, but now he's on your kitchen floor with his ass beat and his hot ass friend looking down on him. "We should. I think that'll be a good idea. Are you okay? Any impairments?" He shakes his head, loosely gesturing to the black eye that had begun forming, his eyelid peppered in tiny red spots and a smear of a maroon red near the tear duct. The kicker? He wore it so strongly too, like it hadn't bothered him at all, and let's be honest, it hadn't.

You near the front door of your house, pulling the noisy keys out of your pocket to unlock the door. Leon was behind you, hands awkwardly stuffed in the pockets of his denim jeans and tapping his feet. He looked out of place to be awkward. Black-eye clad with dried blood in the nooks and crannies of his skin. "Never realized how pretty your house was, sweetheart." There was a sudden flush in your cheeks at the nickname, not used to people calling you such names of endearment besides the photographers or shoot directors in a weak attempt to get you to pose correctly. You thank him quietly, unlocking the door and pushing through. You waltz over to the kitchen in a spent fashion, noticing little droplets of blood on your kitchen tile. You know you should be mad. A satisfied wife would be furious that someone had laid hands on her husband. You? You were giddy. Like someone had finally understood what a cunt your husband could be and did something besides laugh it off. You expected Leon to tell him to fuck off or make some snarky remark in defense of you, but telling you that he'd fuck you? God damn, it made your head spin. Yes, you've been replaying this thought in your head for the past few hours and the little flashes in your mind of Leon defiling your loyalty had your panties all twisted up. And he beat up your husband over some little thing like he had been waiting for his opportunity his entire life.

Capital H Hot.

You go through the rounds of patching him up, making silent conversation to ease that burning in the pit of your stomach. The conversation had been chock full of apologies from Leon, saying how he was sorry on saying he'd fuck you. "I'm sorry." He begins, and you raise your hand up to stop him from saying anything more.

Sorry? Why on god's green earth would Leon be sorry in saying he'd fuck you if your husband wasn't doing the job correctly? If anything, the statement had set your skin ablaze with salacity and your mind buzzing with impure thoughts of him fucking you against their marital beds. "Don't apologize." You spoke, eyes accidentally shown to be half-lidded, hiding it behind the "fact" you're looking down at the splat of blood on his cheek. "If that's what you truly mean, say it. It's not a crime to find someone attractive, the only thing wrong is if you act on it." His mouth is left open for a few beats before making the two parts of his jaw meet again. He couldn't tell if it was an admission that you had been feeling the same turmoil he'd been feeling. Those sleepless nights. Staring at the ceiling next to your spouse while they sleep, desiring what they cannot have in another bed. Your patience was pinching, the thirst through your thighs turning into a ticking time bomb, and to rephrase the previous points, your cunt was in unbearable need to get fucked. "Then I guess I want to fuck you." There was no dancing around it. No I'm attracted to you in a friendly "that's the way it is" type of way. Straight to the point. I want to take off my goddamn clothes and fuck you. I want to be intimate with you in the most perverse ways possible. You should slap him. You shouldn't have tended to his wounds. You shouldn't have let him into the comfort of your home.

But you did. Because you want the same thing as Leon. Sex. Not the cheap sex your spouses have been trying to give you for your entire relationship. Sex.

Your hand strays from his face, sucking in a breath when you wipe up the rest of the dried blood. He hopped off the counter, his finger subtly swiping against you hip to stave off that insatiable beast in him that wants to fuck you.

"Come to my room." You whisper, your chin barely brushing over your shoulder, clad in the bland cardigan you wore to keep yourself warm from the chilling night thus far. And you sound like you're inviting him for sex. And he doesn't want to fucking reject you.

"Is this okay?" You hold up an old college t-shirt to him, bringing the fabric closer to his still clothed chest. The shirt was one of your husband's from long ago. You had honestly thought about tossing out the shirt in a yard sale but never had the time or will to do so. "Should be." He pulls off his shirt in a languid motion, slipping the ratty tee over his head instead. Your eyes catch Leon's trail of hair, well groomed and cut down not too long ago judging based off of the short stubbly hairs on his abdomen. "Rude to stare, silly girl." You mumble out a quiet "sorry" to him while leaving the bedroom, presumably changing into your own pajamas. But before you can get two feet out the door, he's tugging on your wrist. "Stop." His voice is quiet, lustful with that slight demand. Your eyebrows knit together in confusion, wondering where he's suddenly getting the gall to tug on your wrist like this when he was just begging for forgiveness so much earlier. Your confusion unwrites itself on your face when he takes off your husband's shirt. He's shirtless again, the long scars and fading bruises and cuts from missions he's taken a few weeks prior visible on his skin. Your eyes don't fail you when they settle on the happy trail you were drooling over moments ago. "Why are you looking at me like that, hm?" He asks, moving closer by a smidge, you wouldn't have noticed if your senses weren't already heightened by the arousal you've been feeling since he first came over for dinner. Damn him, keeping you wound up like a clockwork toy and expecting you to prance over like some whore. "You're married. I'm married." He's getting closer, lips tracing towards your cheekbone and getting closer to your ear. "Honey, has anyone ever told you how wrong that is?" You swallow down so goddamn hard, your esophagus might as well have been torn to shreds. "Leon—" He interrupts you, pulling away from your cheek and letting his eyes flit over your body, tutting his tongue as if he's disappointed you're not naked already. "I'm not finished, sweetheart." "Do you know how torturous it is? Looking at you while you're married and you don't even have a fucking clue as to how bad I want to fuck you against every surface of the home you share with your husband? Even though I cannot have you? You're such a fucking tease, making me want you like some goddamn degenerated pervert." His lips tease the skin near your jaw, breathing in your essence like he was stealing it for himself. "And Ada. Oh, she's no fucking help. Treating me like I'm some whipped dog for her. Even when she's never there. She doesn't know I dream of you every time she's away."

You can't even speak. This was such a far cry from the Leon you knew. This was the same man who always had snarky comments and sarcastic one-liners that made you laugh, who respected you, who talked to you like you had known each other since birth. Then again, yearning is an insane drug and Leon's a loyal addict. "Say something before I go insane, sweetheart." He whispered, nudging your head to the side, allowing access to your pulse, rapidly beating under sweaty skin. You don't say anything. Your hands just weave themselves into his hair, tugging and pulling him closer when he's brough into a passionate kiss. Your hands are about to reach for his belt when his phone buzzes. The first time, it's ignored in the heat of the moment. Maybe just some old friend asking to meet up later this weekend. You're in the middle of pulling the belt off, his hands greedily grabbing at your tits and ass when the phone buzzes again. "Need you." He whispered, biting your cheek like some wild animal. The buzzing of texts eventually turn into a consistent vibration of a phone call. Pulling out his phone, Leon realizes it's something he can't just ignore for some pussy. "We need to stop." You murmur back to him, trying to wean yourself off of kissing him. Stop, stop, stop. Even though you don't want to and the only thing you'd enjoy is having him bust your head in against the headboard while telling you how much he loves your pussy.

But he pulls away, stopping the kneading on your ass and your tits, much to his displeasure. For a minute, you're left panting and with the ever lingering feeling of his strong calloused hands all over your skin. You stare down at the emboldened caller ID. Ada. You rewet your eyes by blinking, eyes going dry by staring wide-eyed at his phone. Is he gonna answer that? You hope not. You want him to finish what he started and especially after all of those admissions of lust to you as well, there's no going back. He sighed, picking up the phone while you walked out of your own bedroom. You feel sick. You're supposed to love your husband but your pussy is fucking throbbing at the way another man's hands explore your body. His best friend, no less. He's supposed to be the strong and outspoken man yet he's on a leash for his wife who treats him like shit. And for the first time, you finally mutter a fuck you to Leon you mean with your full chest.

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