zou-rs

[zou-rs]

Break up part 5

Smuttt

Leon gently cups your face, his calloused thumbs caressing your cheeks as he gazes into your eyes with an intense, smoldering look.

“I've missed you so much, baby. Six long years without your touch, your taste, the sound of your voice moaning my name...”

He leans in close, his lips brushing against yours as he speaks in a low, husky whisper.

“I'm going to worship every inch of your body like it deserves. Show you how much I need you, crave you. “

Leon starts trailing soft kisses along your jawline and down your neck, his hands roaming your curves possessively.

Leon sinks to his knees in front of you, his face level with your core. He nuzzles into the apex of your thighs, inhaling deeply.

“Fuck, I can smell how wet you are for me already. It's intoxicating.”

He parts your folds with his fingers, revealing your glistening pink flesh.

“So pretty and swollen, just begging to be touched. “

Leon leans in and drags the flat of his tongue up your slit in one long, slow lick. The sensation makes him groan.

“Mmm, delicious. I could eat this sweet pussy for hours.He seals his lips around your clit and sucks gently, flicking the sensitive bud with the tip of his tongue. Two fingers push inside your tight heat, pumping steadily as he works your clit with his mouth.

You feel like you’re in heaven, you can’t help but whimper “ L—Leon “

“That's it, baby.” He cooed

Leon redoubles his efforts, sucking harder on your clit while his fingers curl inside you, rubbing that special spot that makes your toes curl.

He can feel your walls starting to flutter around his digits, telling him you're getting close.

“Cum for me, love. Let go and let me feel this sweet cunt spasm on my tongue and fingers. You're so close, I can feel it. Just surrender to the pleasure, baby.”

He doubles his pace, finger-fucking you hard and fast as he alternates between broad licks and targeted flicks on your throbbing clit.

The obscene wet sounds fill the room along with your escalating moans.

“Leon please..” you don’t even know what you’re begging for anymore but having spent six years without him is making you extra needy.

You come with a loud moan and his name on your lips and before you know it he’s already hovering over you, looking at you so lovingly.

“ you’re so goddamn beautiful “ he whispers and you feel like crying.

Leon stands, scooping you up in his strong arms and carrying you to the bed.

He lays you down gently, hovering over you with a tender expression.

“I love you so much, sweetheart. More than words can express. Making love to you again after all these years... it means everything to me.”

He settles between your thighs, the thick head of his cock nudging your entrance.

Leon captures your lips in a deep, passionate kiss as he slowly pushes forward, sheathing himself fully inside your welcoming heat in one smooth thrust.

“Oh fuck, you feel incredible. Like coming home.”

He sets a steady, loving rhythm, savoring each roll of his hips against yours. One hand cradles your face while the other grips your hip, holding you close.

“I never want to be apart from you again, baby. You're mine, always and forever.”

You scratch his back because you can’t help it. The feeling of him pushing into you, his scent, his weight on top of you.. it’s all making you dizzy.

“ I missed you, I missed this” you whisper against his mouth.

He kisses you deeply, groaning into your mouth. “ come for me baby, give me your pleasure.

And you do. You come like you never did for the past six years and he follows you shortly after.

He’s still on top of you when he says. “ You’re never breaking up with me again”

And you can’t help but chuckle.

————

You woke to the smell of him first.

That soft, clean scent of his skin—warm cotton, gunpowder, and something just him. Your cheek rested on his bare chest, rising and falling with his steady breath. The morning light slid lazily through the curtains, painting golden stripes across your back and his shoulder.

For a moment, you forgot the pain. The years. The lab. Wesker.

There was just this: his arms around you, the weight of his hand at your waist, the ghost of a kiss still on your lips.

You shifted slightly, enough to look up.

Leon was awake.

He didn’t say anything—just looked at you like maybe he thought you were a dream. His hair was a mess, eyes heavy and blue with something too deep to name.

“You’re really here,” he said finally, voice hoarse with sleep.

You reached up and brushed his bangs from his forehead. “Yeah. I am.”

His hand slid up your back, slow, like he needed to feel you to believe it. “I didn’t think I’d get you back.”

You swallowed hard, throat tight. “Neither did I.”

The silence stretched, but it wasn’t empty. It was full of the things you didn’t know how to say: I’m sorry. I missed you. I never stopped loving you.

His fingers traced lazy circles on your spine.

“I wanted to find you sooner,” he said quietly. “I just—”

“I know,” you said. “I didn’t want you to see me like that.”

Leon’s jaw tensed, and he pulled you a little closer. “He hurt you.”

You didn’t answer.

He didn’t push. But you could feel the storm behind his eyes. The quiet rage. The guilt.

“I’m here now,” you whispered. “With you. That’s what matters.”

He kissed your forehead. “I’ll never let him near you again.”

You believed him.

There was a knock at the front door, sudden and sharp. Both of you froze.

Leon’s body tensed instantly. He sat up without a word, bare chest still marked with your nails, and reached for the gun beside the bed.

You sat up too, heart pounding.

He turned back once, eyes dark.

“Stay here.”

You nodded, clutching the sheet to your chest as he moved silently down the hall.

The knock came again. Slower. Heavier.

Your stomach sank.

Something told you that this peace—this fragile morning—was only temporary.

And whatever came next…

It was going to change everything.

———-

Sorry guys this is kinda cringe 😭 it’s my first time ever writing smut lol let me know if you want this fic to continue. And comment what you like or hate about this fic.

[zou-rs]

Breakup part 4

The car was silent except for the hum of the engine and your own pulse, hammering louder than the tires on the road.

Wesker’s grip on the steering wheel was calm. Too calm. Like he hadn’t just ripped you away from the only man you’ve ever loved.

Your wrist throbbed where he’d grabbed you. You pressed back into the leather seat, breath shallow, eyes locked on the city lights blurring past the window.

“Where are we going?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t answer at first.

“I told you,” he said eventually, “you were never meant for ordinary things.”

His voice was too smooth. Like poison wrapped in silk.

You swallowed the panic climbing your throat.

“What do you want with me?”

He finally glanced at you. His eyes gleamed unnaturally behind his glasses, something not quite human swimming beneath.

“I want what I’ve always wanted,” he said. “Control. Balance. And you, darling… you’re leverage.”

You stiffened.

“You used me,” you breathed. “This entire time…”

He gave a soft, amused chuckle. “Don’t look so shocked. You were the one who came to me. Broken. Unloved. Willing.”

Your chest ached.

That wasn’t fair. That wasn’t true.

You had needed a safe place—but Wesker was never safety. He was a cage dressed as a home.

And now Leon knew.

Your eyes burned thinking of him. The way he looked at you. The way he held you like the world was ending and all that mattered was one more second with you.

You had whispered “don’t follow me,” to protect him.

But he would.

You knew he would.

Wesker looked forward again, unfazed. “You should know your little hero won’t survive if he tries to come after you. I’ll kill him.”

You snapped your gaze to him.

“No, you won’t.”

He tilted his head, intrigued. “No?”

“Because if you do,” you whispered, voice shaking but firm, “you lose your leverage.”

That made him laugh.

But his knuckles twitched on the wheel.

He didn’t like that you were right.

You sat in silence for a few miles, until you caught a glimpse of what lay ahead: a compound. Black glass. Security towers. Hidden deep in the woods like a buried sin.

And your heart dropped.

Wherever you were going, you weren’t coming out easily.

But Leon would come.

You believed it with every fiber of your soul.

So you started counting. Doors. Turns. Landmarks.

And you slipped the silver pin from your sleeve.

Wesker hadn’t noticed it when dragging you. And maybe, just maybe, Leon would find it. If he was coming…

He’d know the signs.

You had to believe that.

—-

The room was cold again.

Not from the temperature—but from the way Wesker looked at you. Clinical. Sharp. Like you were a puzzle piece he had almost all the edges for. A beautiful thing he hadn’t finished breaking.

You sat still on the padded table, wrist strapped lightly—not tight enough to hurt, just enough to remind you. This was not your body anymore.

He stood in front of you, perfectly composed in his usual black, gloves spotless. A tray beside him gleamed with metal instruments and syringes—your new lullaby. You didn’t flinch. Not anymore.

His eyes flicked to yours, unreadable. “You’ve been tolerating the serum well. Remarkable, really.”

You didn’t answer. That earned you the smallest smile.

“Still silent,” he mused. “Even after all this time.” He reached forward, fingers cool beneath your jaw as he tilted your head, exposing your neck. “But your body speaks volumes.”

The door opened with a soft hiss.

Ada Wong walked in like a shadow with red lips. Her heels clicked against the floor, her movements sharp and coiled. She wore a black coat over red silk, like a woman stepping out of a dream you never asked to have.

“Your test subject’s awfully quiet,” she said dryly. “Did you finally break her?”

Wesker didn’t look at her. His hand was still on your throat, thumb ghosting over your pulse. Not cruelly. Gently. Too gently.

“She isn’t broken,” he said flatly. “She’s adjusting.”

Ada raised an eyebrow. “You sound like you’re proud of her.”

“I am,” he said.

You turned your face slightly toward him, and he met your eyes.

There it was again—that flicker. Not affection. Not quite. But something colder. Possessive. Reverent. He didn’t look at you like you were human. He looked at you like you were his masterpiece.

Ada approached, her eyes sliding over you with polite disinterest. “She doesn’t look special. Just another pretty girl who got caught in the wrong web.”

“She’s not another anything,” Wesker snapped.

The temperature dropped. Ada’s smile vanished.

You looked between them, confusion slicing through the numbness. Did he just defend you?

Wesker returned to his work, voice clipped. “Prepare the sequence. If you’re capable.”

Ada glared but moved toward the terminal, her gloved fingers tapping briskly.

You flinched as Wesker pressed a needle against your arm. His voice softened, a whisper close to your ear:

“This might sting.”

You hated that his tone almost felt like a warning. Almost like care.

The serum burned. It always did. But this time, you stayed upright, breathing hard as your vision shimmered. Your bones ached, but your head stayed clear.

“Better,” Wesker said, satisfied. “She’s adapting faster than projected.”

Ada muttered something under her breath.

He ignored her. All his attention was still on you—watching, admiring. Studying you like you were a storm he created and couldn’t stop worshipping.

You didn’t cry. Didn’t speak.

But inside, something was building.

Your name still existed. Your memories. Your fire.

And if Leon ever came…

You’d burn the whole damn place down.

——

Leon’s apartment smelled like him.

Clean linen, faint cologne, coffee and gun oil. But beneath it all… safety.

You curled your knees up on his couch, oversized sweater swallowing your frame, a blanket pooled around your feet. The lights were dim. The rain outside tapped softly on the windows like a lullaby.

It had been three days since he brought you home. You hadn’t left his sight once.

Leon was in the kitchen now, moving quietly, making tea like it was muscle memory. His shoulders were tense, even in peace. You knew he was waiting—waiting for you to say something. For you to fall apart. For the world to collapse again.

But instead, you asked, softly:

“Do you hate me?”

His hands stilled.

He turned around slowly, brows pulled together. “What?”

You swallowed. “For going with him. For kissing you and then—leaving again.”

Leon crossed the room before you could flinch, kneeling in front of you.

His voice was rough, low. “Don’t do that. Don’t twist it. You didn’t leave. He took you.”

“I could’ve—”

“You survived.” He looked up at you, jaw tight with emotion. “That’s all I ever needed you to do.”

Your eyes welled, throat aching. “I missed you.”

“I missed you every goddamn day,” he said, like a confession. “Six years, and I still looked for your face in every city. Every mission. I thought I could move on. I couldn’t.”

You leaned forward until your forehead touched his. His hands settled on your thighs—gentle, grounding.

“Wesker… he did something to me,” you whispered.

Leon closed his eyes for a beat. “I know.”

“And it’s not over.”

“I know that too.”

You exhaled, shaky. “Then why does this feel like a dream?”

His fingers slid up to cup your face. “Because for once, we’re safe. For now, at least. And I’m not gonna waste it.”

Your lips brushed his.

The tension that had been hanging between you both finally snapped—softly, sweetly. His kiss was slow, like an apology and a promise all at once. Your hands slid into his hair as he leaned into you deeper, parting your lips with a careful urgency he’d held back for years.

“Come to bed,” he murmured against your mouth.

You nodded.

He stood and pulled you gently into his arms. He didn’t ask if you were ready—he didn’t need to. He’d follow your lead. He’d wait forever, if you wanted.

But tonight…

You wanted to remember what it felt like to be touched by someone who loved you.

And under the soft light, with rain still whispering against the glass, Leon led you to bed—slowly, carefully—and kissed every scar like it meant something.

Because to him, it did.

—————————

Please leave a comment if you’re interested in part 5. Also are you interested in uhm some smut chapter ?

[zou-rs]

Break up part3

“Are you gonna introduce me to your new friend, darling?”

Your boyfriend’s voice was smooth, too smooth, laced with mockery under the charm. He stood in the doorway of your apartment, perfectly composed. Not a wrinkle in his suit, not a crack in his expression.

Your heart stopped.

“Albert” you breathed, stepping toward him instinctively. “He’s not—he’s not my—”

But Leon’s eyes had already locked on the man in front of him not believing his own eyes. He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Not at first.

When he heard you had a boyfriend he only checked out his name Albert Jacksonville. He never— he never dared to check out his photographs because he couldn’t hurt himself anymore than he already was but now he wishes he did.

Then he said, low and sharp, like a man remembering a nightmare:

“Step away from that man. Now.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Now, Y/N.” His voice trembled. With fury. With panic. “Get away from him.”

You turned to look at Albert, who raised a single brow, amused. “Interesting. I was hoping to see this reunion.”

You look as confused as you feel. But Leon..

Leon thinks he’s going to faint because how is this possible.

Standing before him is the “ domestic “ version of Albert wesker himself..

Leon took a step forward, every part of him coiled like a weapon. “That’s Albert Wesker. You don’t know who he is?”

You stared, confused. “That’s Albert. He—he’s been my boyfriend for almost a year, Leon. What are you talking about?”

Wesker chuckled, the sound sending a chill up your spine. “Oh, Leon. Still as dramatic as ever. You didn’t tell her, did you? About Raccoon City. About what came after.”

Leon’s jaw clenched. “I didn’t need to. Because she wasn’t supposed to be involved in any of this.”

“She already is,” Wesker said, stepping closer to you. His fingers brushed your shoulder—gentle, protective, possessive. Leon snapped.

“Don’t touch her!”

You flinched. Wesker didn’t.

“Leon,” you whispered, shaken. “What’s going on?”

Leon’s voice broke. “He’s the reason for everything. Raccoon City. The viruses. The experiments. He’s the monster we were fighting.”

You looked between them. The man you had loved since childhood. The man who had comforted you in the dark. And the man who now stood beside you, suddenly unfamiliar.

Wesker’s smile was razor-sharp. “And yet… here I am. Living with her. While you’ve spent six years watching from the shadows.”

Leon’s hands curled into fists.

“Y/N,” he said again, softer this time. “You have to come with me. You’re not safe.”

Your mouth went dry. “This is crazy. You’re scaring me.”

Wesker tilted his head. “Tell me, darling. Who do you believe? The man who left you without a word… or the one who stayed?”

Silence stretched.

Your heart beat like thunder.

Silence stretched.

Your heart beat like thunder. Your eyes flicked to Leon—his shoulders tense, his chest heaving like he was holding back an explosion. His eyes were pleading, desperate, like he was begging you to remember him. Remember the boy who used to sneak through your window with flowers from a gas station and freckles that matched the stars. The boy you left behind. The boy who became something else.

And then you looked at “Jackson.” No, Wesker. And suddenly, it all started to feel wrong. The way he never told you about his past. The way he always seemed to know where you were. The coldness in his touch when you cried. The way your friends stopped coming around.

Your mouth opened, but no sound came out.

BOOM.

The front door exploded inward.

You hit the ground before your brain could catch up. Leon had already thrown himself in front of you, shielding your body with his own. The air was thick with dust and smoke.

From the ruins of the hallway, something inhuman stepped into the light.

It was twisted. Wet. Crawling. One eye glowing bright red in the dark. A malformed B.O.W., barely contained rage and mutation, the kind you’d only seen in nightmares—until now.

Leon didn’t hesitate.

“Get to the back room!” he barked.

Wesker didn’t move. He was watching the creature like it was his pet.

“I didn’t call for company,” he muttered, annoyed. “How sloppy of them.”

Leon’s gun fired twice—clean, practiced shots right into the thing’s shoulder. It didn’t stop. It lunged.

You screamed, scrambling on your hands and knees. Leon caught you and dragged you behind the couch, covering you with his body as the creature crashed into the living room like a wrecking ball.

“Y/N—look at me.”

You did. His face was bruised, bloody, terrified.

But still your Leon.

“I’m gonna get you out of here, okay? But you can’t trust him. You never could.”

“Leon,” you whispered, voice trembling. “What the hell is going on?”

His jaw tightened. “There’s no time. But I’ll explain everything—if we survive this.”

From behind the smoke, Wesker chuckled, completely unbothered. “How romantic.”

The creature roared.

And then Wesker turned to you, utterly calm.

“Darling… are you coming with me? Or with him?”

Your heart twisted violently. This wasn’t just about love anymore. This was about survival. About the truth.

And then— “ funny. I wasn’t asking” declared Albert

Glass shattered.

Someone—or something—was coming in through the window.

You turned, gasping.

Another one.

Leon looked at you, blood splattered across his cheek.

The building groaned around you, walls cracked and bleeding smoke. The air stung with heat and gunpowder, but Leon was the only thing you saw—standing just a few feet away, torn between fury and desperation.

His eyes found yours, wide with something deeper than fear. Love. Regret. The ghost of every soft moment you once shared, now resurfacing like a wound that never healed.

His voice cracked through the chaos.

“Come with me,” he said, hoarsely. “Please.”

Your feet moved before your mind caught up.

Not to Wesker.

To him.

Just one step—but it meant everything.

Leon didn’t breathe as you ran to him.

You collided with his chest, and his arms wrapped around you like he’d been waiting six years to do it. Your face buried into the crook of his neck, trembling. For one second, one small and stolen second, the world was silent.

His hands held you tighter.

You pulled back only to take his face in your hands.

And you kissed him.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate.

It was a goodbye—etched into skin, sealed with breath and trembling lips.

He kissed you back, confused, overwhelmed, holding you like he could stop time if he tried hard enough.

Then, you leaned in—heart pounding—and whispered into his ear:

“I’m sorry. Don’t follow me.”

His whole body went still.

“What—?”

You slipped from his arms before he could react.

And Wesker was already moving.

You barely turned before his hand wrapped around your arm with inhuman speed. Leon shouted your name—his voice shattered—but you were already being pulled into the shadows, like a ripple swallowed by black water.

“Y/N!”

You looked back one last time as Wesker dragged you through the door.

Your lips moved.

He didn’t catch the words.

Then you were gone.

Leon stood frozen in the smoke, lungs refusing to work. His arms hung uselessly at his sides. The echo of your kiss still burned on his mouth, scorched into memory.

He had you for one second.

And now…

You were gone.

Again.

The rage unfurled beneath his skin like a firestorm—slow, cold, devastating.

You’d chosen him. You’d kissed him.

And Wesker had taken you anyway.

Leon’s fists clenched. His eyes burned as he turned toward the doorway where you’d vanished.

You told him not to follow.

But his boots were already moving.

He would tear the world apart to bring you home.

——-

Sorry it’s messy 😭 leave a comment if you want part 4

[zou-rs]

Breakup PART 2

Six years later…

Leon S. Kennedy isn’t the same man.

He’s not the nervous 21-year-old rookie who cried into a bottle of cheap whiskey and passed out on the floor the night before his first day. That boy—with the soft blue eyes and chin dimple and hopelessly in love heart—died in Raccoon City.

What came out of it was something colder. Sharper. A man built from smoke and steel and sleepless nights.

But even now, after six long years of blood and orders and bone-crushing guilt, his heart still knows only one name.

Yours.

He remembers the way your voice cracked when you broke it off. He remembers the trembling plate of chocolate smiley-face dessert he had made for you that night. He remembers thinking you were his home—his future. And then, in one sentence, you were gone.

The city burned the next day.

He survived. By sheer chance, by terrible fate. He stumbled through hell with bloodied hands and a broken heart, shouting your name through empty streets and flaming wreckage. When he found a phone, he dialed your number like a man possessed—again and again and again until finally, mercifully, you picked up.

Your voice.

He collapsed against a bloodstained wall and cried, gasping your name like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

You said you were safe. You had left before the chaos began. And then—you hung up.

But it was enough. It had to be.

Then they came for him.

The government. The mission. The threats.

He remembers the cold weight of the photo they placed on the table in front of him. Your face. Your eyes.

“If you don’t work for us,” they said, “we’ll find her. She’ll make an excellent test subject.”

Leon didn’t hesitate.

“I’ll do it.”

And that was that.

The training was brutal. The missions, unending. He bled, broke bones, clawed his way through warzones, nightmares, and things worse than death. And every time he thought he couldn’t go on, he whispered it to himself like a prayer.

For you.

Even when he was drugged and tortured.

For you.

Even when he heard you had started seeing someone else.

For you.

Even when he saw that blurry tabloid photo of you smiling on some balcony with someone who wasn’t him, it still didn’t stop. It just hurt more.

He never contacted you. Not once. But he always knew where you were. Not in a creepy way, not out of obsession. Just… to know you were alive. Breathing. Safe.

He had made a promise. Even if you hated him. Even if you never wanted to see him again.

And tonight, after another mission leaves his side bleeding and his back screaming, he sits on a hotel bed in some nameless safe house, staring at the last photo he took of you. The real one. From that last night. You laughing in his hoodie. The one with the academy logo and the stupid ketchup stain.

He touches the screen, thumb trembling.

He whispers the words he never got to say:

“I’m sorry I wasn’t better. I’m sorry I let you go.

————————-

You never planned to never see him again.

That night—when you told Leon you needed a break—it wasn’t meant to be forever. You just… needed time. A breath. Some kind of pause from drowning in your own mind. Depression had made everything heavy, even the bright, beautiful boy you loved since you were both in middle school. He was too pure, too golden-hearted, too good. You were sure if you stayed, you’d eventually drag him down with you.

You thought space would help. You thought he’d go to Raccoon City, do amazing things, and you’d heal in the quiet. Maybe you’d find your way back to each other.

But the universe had other plans.

Because the next day, Raccoon City was gone.

Just… gone.

You still remember the panic. The cold sweat. The deafening silence when your parents turned up the TV and the news said the city was under quarantine, and then the broadcast cut out.

You remember trying to call him, over and over. You remember praying—actually praying—to any god that might listen. Begging for just one more chance to say you were sorry. That you didn’t mean it. That you still loved him.

But you never got through.

You thought he was dead.

Until weeks later.

You were home. Still barely functioning. Still waking up in tears. You pulled your curtains back one early morning, and there he was.

Leon.

Standing in the yard.

Same place he always stood when he used to throw pebbles at your window. His hair was longer now. Messy. He looked thinner, older. Tired. But it was him.

You didn’t think. You just ran.

Sprinted down the stairs. Flinging the door open with a scream building in your throat.

But he was gone.

You stood barefoot on the porch, heart hammering, lungs burning.

Gone.

After that, it kept happening.

You’d see glimpses. A figure across the street. A familiar silhouette outside the corner shop. A flash of blue eyes in a crowd. You thought maybe you were losing it. Maybe grief was tricking you.

But some part of you knew.

Leon was watching. Still keeping his distance, still looking after you even when you didn’t deserve it. You wanted to run to him, fall into his arms, sob out every word you’d held back for years.

But you didn’t.

Because you were a coward.

You kept telling yourself it was just coincidence. That he didn’t want to be found. That maybe he did hate you after all.

Eventually, the sightings stopped.

And life moved on, in the way that it does when you’re numb. You moved to D.C. with a man who isn’t Leon. You didn’t love him. You still don’t. But you moved in because your family was getting tired of worrying. Because pretending to be okay seemed easier than explaining why you weren’t.

Your boyfriend isn’t cruel, not exactly. But he’s sharp in all the wrong places. Cold where Leon was warm. Dismissive. You feel lonelier with him than you ever did when you were actually alone.

He doesn’t notice the way you flinch when he raises his voice.

Doesn’t know you still sleep in the hoodie Leon gave you on your 17th birthday.

Doesn’t know you check the news every day, hoping, praying, that maybe—

And then today, it happens.

The headline explodes across your feed:

“Presidential Mission: Unknown Agent Saves First Daughter.”

You don’t care about politics. You barely register the details.

Until you see him.

The photo is blurry. Dark. He’s bloodied, tired, barely recognizable.

But you know him.

That chin dimple. Those shoulders. That look.

Leon.

Six years later, and it’s really him.

You drop your phone. Your lungs feel like they’ve collapsed. You fall to your knees in the bathroom, shaking, sobbing into your hands.

He’s alive. He’s alive. He’s still alive.

—-

After Spain, after that hell — the screams, the rot, the parasite in his chest trying to eat him alive — all Leon could think about was you.

Not the mission.

Not Ashley.

Not the president’s praise.

Just you.

It had been months since he let himself check in. Since he’d driven by your street like a ghost in the dark, headlights off, windows cracked just enough to catch a glimpse of your laughter through a window. But ever since you’d started seeing him — that guy who never smiled at you the way Leon used to — Leon couldn’t bear it.

Couldn’t stand the idea of you being touched by hands that didn’t know how you hated mint gum and loved thunderstorms. Of someone else kissing the tiny scar on your eyebrow. He’d rather chew glass.

But tonight… tonight he couldn’t stop himself.

Spain had taken everything from him. His body was still sore from the Plagas. His hands still shook. The government said he was fine now, that it was under control.

But Leon didn’t feel fine.

He felt like a grave.

So he came here — just to see you. For five minutes. Just one glimpse. Maybe you’d be walking to the store again in those fuzzy socks you always wore with the ripped hoodie he gave you back in ‘97. Maybe you’d lean out your window like you always did before bed.

He didn’t even get to the curb before the door opened.

You stepped outside.

And walked straight toward him.

At first, Leon thought he was hallucinating. He blinked, heart stuttering. Maybe the parasite wasn’t gone. Maybe he was still in the lab. Still strapped to a table.

But no.

You were real.

Real and walking toward him with the softest, saddest look on your face — like you knew he was coming. Like you’d been waiting.

And he panicked.

He hadn’t planned for this.

He looked like hell — hoodie soaked from the rain, hair still damp, eyes rimmed in red from too many sleepless nights. He hadn’t spoken to you in six years, and now here you were, five feet away, and his voice was gone.

“Leon,” you breathed, stopping in front of him.

Your eyes searched his face like they were trying to memorize him all over again. His throat worked around your name, but nothing came out.

“I saw the news,” you whispered.

He laughed, bitter and broken. “Great. Guess the government forgot to blur my face this time.”

“You saved the president’s daughter.”

“I didn’t come here for congratulations.”

“I know.”

Silence.

The kind of silence that stretches years wide.

Leon stared at you like he’d never seen you before. You were older now. Tired, too. But beautiful. The same softness in your lips. The same kindness in your eyes. And underneath it all, a guilt that mirrored his own.

“You shouldn’t be with him,” he said quietly. It came out like a confession.

You didn’t argue.

“I know,” you said, voice cracking.

Leon looked down. His hands were clenched in his pockets. If he let them out, he was afraid he’d touch you. Afraid he wouldn’t be able to stop.

“I tried to stay away,” he admitted. “Thought I was doing the right thing. Thought you were happy.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You didn’t call.”

“I thought you hated me.”

He finally looked at you again.

And it was devastating.

Because all he saw in your face was home.

“I never hated you,” he said hoarsely. “I was in love with you. I still am.”

You sucked in a breath.

“I broke up with you to protect you,” you whispered. “I thought I was the one ruining your life. I didn’t know it’d be the last time— I didn’t know Raccoon City—”

“I looked for you that night,” he said, voice cracking. “I thought you were dead. I was crawling through blood and fire, screaming your name, thinking I lost you forever. I—”

He broke off.

His eyes were glassy now. His shoulders trembled.

You stepped forward slowly.

And wrapped your arms around him.

Leon didn’t move for a moment.

Then, like gravity finally caught up, he fell.

Right into you.

His arms wrapped around your waist like a vice. He buried his face in your neck, breathing you in like a man who had been suffocating for years.

“I missed you,” you whispered, clutching the back of his hoodie. “So much. I never stopped.”

“I’m not the same,” he said against your skin. “I’m not the boy you left.”

“I’m not the girl you loved.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you. His hand came up and cupped your cheek, thumb trembling as it traced the shape of your face.

“Doesn’t matter,” he whispered. “I’d still choose you. Over and over.”

For a second just as he was about to damn it all to hell and kiss you. His lips almost touching yours, trembling.

Two hearts beating loudly..

just as he was about to think maybe just maybe he could be happy too…

A voice cuts through the night, low and steady “ you gonna introduce me to your new friend or what darling ? “

Your boyfriend stands at the entrance of the building looking both calm and angry but with a false smile simmering in his eyes.

———————-

Sorry for the long intro guys😭

Part 3 anybody ??

[zou-rs]

Break-up

The famous breakup that happens before his first day of work.

ANGST

The apartment smelled like pizza and cheap cologne. A candle flickered on the table, almost burned out. Leon was all dimples and nerves, bouncing on his heels as he waited for you to come in.

“Okay, okay—don’t freak out,” he muttered to himself, pacing in socks on the kitchen tiles. “You got this, rookie. One more night, and tomorrow you’re an officer.”

He was glowing. Just a baby-faced 21-year-old with wide blue eyes, a chin dimple you loved to kiss, and a soul too soft for the world he was stepping into. You almost couldn’t breathe when you saw him standing there, holding a little dessert plate with a smiley face drawn in chocolate syrup.

“For you,” he said with a grin. “Pre-celebration. Tomorrow’s the big day.”

God.

You hated yourself.

You took the plate in trembling hands and smiled like your heart wasn’t cracking open. He didn’t notice at first. He was rambling—about his uniform, about being scared, about wanting to make a difference. He was glowing. He was proud. He was everything you didn’t deserve to ruin.

And yet.

“Leon… can we talk?”

The way his face fell—so innocent, so confused—nearly killed you.

“Talk?” he said softly, shifting closer. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, no, nothing like that. I just…” You couldn’t even look at him. “I think I need a break.”

Silence.

You’d read about heartbreak. Seen it in movies. But nothing prepared you for the moment when Leon S. Kennedy, Rookie Officer and Sweetest Boy Alive, went completely still.

“A break?”

You nodded.

“But… why?” His voice cracked, and suddenly he looked so small. Like a kid pretending to be brave in a grown-up’s uniform. “Is it… because I’m leaving? Because of the job?”

“No,” you said quickly. “You’ve worked so hard. I’m proud of you, Leon. I just… I need time. For myself.”

You could see it happen. The hope draining from his eyes. The freckles on his nose looked duller somehow. His hands fell to his sides.

His hands fell to his sides.

His lips parted like he wanted to say something—like he was reaching, grasping, begging for something to hold onto—but nothing came out.

Then, quietly:

“We can figure this out. If something’s wrong, we can fix it, can’t we?”

His voice cracked on fix. He stepped forward, cautiously, like he was afraid you’d run. His eyes were glossy now, wide with panic.

“I’ll call less if it’s too much,” he rushed on. “I’ll—I’ll take fewer shifts, I’ll stay in town more often. I’ll do anything, okay? Just don’t—don’t leave me now. Not tonight.”

He was trembling. You could feel it in the air between you.

“Leon,” you whispered.

But he wasn’t done. His words were falling out like a dam breaking.

“I love you. You—you’re the only thing that feels real in all this. I’m going to walk into a city tomorrow that I don’t know, do a job I’ve never done, and I’m scared out of my mind. But I thought I’d come home to you. I thought you’d be there.”

You tried to hold back your tears. Tried not to fold.

“I’m sorry,” you said.

And just like that, something in his face broke. His shoulders sagged, and he took a step back like you’d physically hit him.

“…Okay,” he whispered. “Okay.”

He didn’t try again.

⸻

You left.

He didn’t follow.

But he didn’t sleep that night.

Leon tried to drink the pain away. He made it three shots in before his hands started shaking. Five before the photos on the wall blurred. Seven before he started crying—loud, gut-wrenching sobs into the sleeve of the hoodie you’d left behind.

At nine, he texted you.

“Please come back.”

At ten, he deleted it.

Somewhere around midnight, the bottle was empty, and so was he.

⸻

He never heard the explosion. Never heard the sirens.

When dawn broke, Leon S. Kennedy was lying half-dressed and unconscious on the bathroom floor.

And at 8:00 AM sharp—two hours after he was supposed to report for duty—Raccoon City started to burn.

⸻

When he finally dragged himself awake, head pounding and throat dry, it was nearly noon. His phone had died sometime in the night, and when he finally got it to turn on, the service was gone. The streets were silent. Too silent.

He stumbled outside in the same wrinkled clothes from the night before, still reeking of whiskey and heartbreak, and stepped into a ghost town.

Abandoned cars. Bloodstains.

Gunshots in the distance.

“Hello?” he called out, voice hoarse.

No answer.

The police station he was supposed to walk into at 6:00 AM was half-destroyed by the time he made it to the steps. His name was still on the roster sheet pinned to the wall—LEON KENNEDY. NEW RECRUIT.

It fluttered in the breeze as he stared at it.

He was supposed to die this morning.

If he’d gone in—if he’d gotten up early, left like he planned, done everything right—he would’ve been gone before sunrise. Like the rest of them.

His knees buckled.

He fell to the floor, alone, sobering fast with the weight of it all.

Heartbreak had saved his life. YOU had saved his life.

And now he had to survive.

——

PART 2 anyone ??

[zou-rs]

Legend and scarlet end up together. Alternative ending. Caraval

The soft hum of conversation swirled through the ballroom as Scarlet stepped into the party Legend had invited her to, her sister Donatella twirling beside her in a shimmering blue dress. Scarlet wore red — striking, but not by choice. It felt like she was wearing her heart on the outside, a bleeding wound disguised in silk.

“You should be thanking me, you know,” Tella said smugly, eyes scanning the crowd. “Everything I did — it made you tougher.”

Scarlet said nothing. The pain from the game still wrapped around her ribs like a corset too tight to breathe in. Yes, Tella had done it to save her from their father. But the betrayal still stung. Everyone had played a part in the grand performance — everyone except Julian.

He was the only one who hadn’t left her completely alone.

“Scarlet, look,” Tella said, nudging her. “Julian.”

He stood near the stage, deep in conversation with another performer. His presence was like a candle in the dark — familiar and warm.

Scarlet made her way over. “Hello, Julian.”

He turned, a grin tugging at his lips. “Well, if it isn’t my Crimson.”

“You always call me that. Why?”

“Because it suits you better than Scarlet. Crimson’s bolder.”

She smiled faintly. “I think I prefer it coming from you.”

His expression softened. “Scarlet… I’m sorry. For everything. For lying. Legend told me to bring you and Tella to the island. That was supposed to be it. But once I saw you… I couldn’t leave.”

Her chest tightened. “So you took Dante’s place.”

He hesitated. “Yes. It was supposed to be him who got close to you. Not me.”

She flinched at the mention of Legend, of Dante. “He conspired with my sister. Put me through hell. And never even showed me his real face.”

Julian’s smile turned knowing. “Oh, but he did.”

Scarlet blinked. “What?”

“Legend likes his secrets. But I’d bet anything you’ve already met him.”

Her brows furrowed. “You’re not—?”

He laughed. “No, I’m not Legend. But he’s my brother.”

Her heart stumbled. Of course. That’s why she’d felt the strange connection — why Julian always seemed just close enough to the fire without getting burned.

He stepped back into the crowd. “Enjoy the party, Crimson. I think tonight will be… unforgettable.”

Scarlet drifted toward the drinks table, her head buzzing. Tella twirled nearby, flushed with laughter. “Scarlet, come dance with me!”

“You’re drunk,” Scarlet said, smiling despite herself. “Sit down for a while.”

But her thoughts were elsewhere — on Dante. The one man in the game she couldn’t quite figure out. The one who’d looked at her like he saw more than just a player in someone else’s story.

The doors opened again, and there he was.

Dante.

Tall. Dressed in black. A girl on each arm and a grin like he knew every secret in the room. Her heart betrayed her — skipped, flipped, betrayed her again.

Tella followed her gaze and squealed, “He’s so handsome! He said you were beautiful, you know. But you rejected him, and now he’s wounded. Poor thing.”

Scarlet rolled her eyes. “Tella—”

But her sister was already gone, running toward him like a child after a flame.

Left alone, Scarlet turned her back on the scene and reached for a drink. One. Then another. The crowd blurred, her chest tightened — and then warm hands wrapped around her waist, spinning her away from the world.

She gasped, a hand covered her mouth, and a body pressed against her back — firm, familiar, dangerous.

A voice like velvet and sin whispered in her ear, “There you are, little dove. Still think you can win the game?”

Scarlet froze.

Legend.

The man who’d broken her heart. The man who never showed his face. The man who lived in her dreams long before the game began.

He removed his hand from her mouth.

“You,” she hissed. “You played me. Conspired with my sister. You’re a monster.”

His mouth hovered near hers, his hands firm on her waist. Her body betrayed her — shivered under his touch.

“My dramatic little rose,” he murmured. “You say monster, but I see salvation. You’re no longer the girl who obeyed every command. I didn’t trick you, Scarlet. I transformed you.”

Her eyes burned. “What about Tella?”

“She was always a pawn,” he said softly. “Her only purpose was to lead you to me.”

Scarlet scoffed. “Of course. I’m the fool who believed the game was real.” She looked away, but he caught her chin with two fingers, gently guiding her gaze back to his shadowed face.

“You’re not a fool,” he whispered. “You’re brave. You’re fire. You’re mine.”

She flushed, angry at her own reaction. “Maybe this is another illusion. Maybe I’m still in the game.”

His chuckle was low and amused. “Jealous, little dove?”

She gaped. “W-what? Jealous? Of what? You and Tella? You could be hideous under that hat for all I know! At least Dante asked me to dinner and called me beautiful. And he’s very—”

He stepped closer, voice a purr. “Ah, so Dante caught your eye… Not Julian?”

She opened her mouth to retort, but the shadows receded from his face.

Her breath caught.

“Dante…” she whispered. “It was you?”

He smiled — the same smile from her memories, but now with something crueler beneath it.

“Yes, love. I may wear Dante’s face. I may bear his name. But I am Legend — in flesh and fire.”

He leaned in, his voice a low promise. “And you, my little red rose, have held my attention from the moment I saw you.”

Scarlet’s voice was a whisper. “I’d rather die than let you toy with me again. I’m leaving. Taking my sister. In the morning.”

His grin darkened. “Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong. When Legend wants something, he takes it. Though… perhaps I’ll let you go. For a price.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What price?”

“A kiss.”

Her face flushed. “Never.”

He leaned in. “Who said I was asking?”

And then his mouth was on hers — commanding, devouring. One hand tangled in her hair, the other holding her like she belonged to him. Her gasp was his permission. She hated herself for the way she kissed him back.

It was too much.

Too hot. Too real. Too everything.

He nipped her bottom lip, then soothed it with his tongue, smiling against her mouth like a man who had already won.

When he pulled away, he was gone.

Vanished.

In her hands, a letter shimmered with gold.

Dear Miss Scarlet Dragna,

It was a delight having you in my Caraval. I must inform you that, due to a blood deal made with your sister, the winner of the game belongs to me.

She believed that winner would be herself.

But I have always had my eyes on you.

Prepare to leave with me at dawn.

Yours,

Legend

Scarlet’s heart thundered. She wanted to scream.

But if there was one thing the game had taught her — it was how to survive.

And if Legend was coming to take her, then he’d have to deal with the woman he helped create.

As Tella returned to her side, laughing and asking about Dante, Scarlet only smiled.

Across the ballroom, she could feel Legend watching her — that maddening, wicked smirk curving his lips.

He’d taken everything.

Now, it was her turn.

“No more running,” she whispered to herself.

[zou-rs]

Chaotic morning

Fluff

1020 words

Rhysand’s morning naughty plans get ruined.

The warm sunlight slid softly through the massive glass windows, casting a golden glow across the bedroom. You stirred beneath the silk sheets, scowling before your eyes even opened. Ugh. Of course the sun had the audacity to wake you at this hour. You were just about to groan—miserably, dramatically—when a low, purring voice broke through the quiet.

“Do you need me to take vengeance on the sun for daring to interrupt your beauty sleep, darling?”

Right. You forgot there was an arrogant, smug, and unfairly attractive male sleeping next to you.

With a sigh—long-suffering and full of regret—you turned your head. And there he was. Rhysand. Your mate. Your husband. Shirtless, smirking, lounging in bed like the smug bastard he was. One muscled arm tucked behind his head, the other lazily running through his messy dark hair. Tattoos curled along his chest and arms, glowing faintly in the sunlight. He looked far too pleased with himself for someone who had kept you up half the night.

“Ugh. Don’t talk to me,” you rasped, voice hoarse.

He chuckled. The bastard had the nerve to chuckle.

“Oh, darling. I do love it when you’re grumpy. Did I wear you out?” His violet eyes sparkled with mischief. “Do you need a massage? I can be very thorough, you know.”

You opened your mouth—about to curse him out in seven different languages—when the bedroom door slammed open.

Cassian.

Of course it was Cassian.

“I brought the thing you asked for!” he announced at full volume, clearly not caring that you were trying to sleep. Or, you know, not wearing pants. Rhys’s head thunked softly against the pillow as he muttered, “There go my naughty morning plans.”

“Get out, brute. I’m naked!” you shrieked, grabbing the sheets.

“You lie,” Cassian grinned, not even bothering to look away. “But hey, I don’t mind blessing my eyes with—”

He didn’t get to finish.

A small body barreled past him and launched into the bed—right into your arms. Tiny wings flapping, wild black curls bouncing, and tears spilling from wide violet eyes.

“Mamaaa!” your three-year-old son wailed.

You sat up, heart stuttering. “Nyx, sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

He sniffled dramatically. “Uncle Cat”—Cassian groaned—“lifted me upside down by my leg and said my wings are useless unless I prove myself. But—but I told him Daddy will fly me anywhere I want, even to the mountains, and that Daddy’s wings are bigger anyway. So he threw me off the wall!”

“You what?” You gaped at Cassian. “You threw my baby off a wall?!”

Cassian looked deeply offended. “He’s a little gremlin! I did not throw him off the wall! I saw him sneaking out of the nursery and I tried to catch him, but he blasted me with his magic—he gets that from Rhys, obviously—and ran off!”

Rhysand, who was now fully sitting up and grinning like an idiot, raised a brow. “You blasted your uncle with magic, little bat?”

Nyx nodded proudly. “Just a little bit. Mommy, you should’ve seen how he flew backwards! Boom! Like a watermelon!”

Rhys let out a laugh, deep and delighted. “That’s my boy. Quick thinker. And he’s right, by the way—my wings are definitely bigger.”

Cassian snorted. “Your wings aren’t that big. In fact—”

“Nope,” you interrupted, grabbing a pillow and tossing it at Cassian’s head. “Out. Both of you, take your wing-measuring contest somewhere else. My head is pounding.”

Cassian caught the pillow, but winked. “Fine. But if you ever need someone to test Nyx’s flying skills, I’m your male.”

“OUT!”

The door finally closed behind the brute, and you sagged against the pillows, Nyx still clinging to your chest. He was already sniffling less, his tiny fingers playing with your necklace.

Rhys, still shirtless, pulled you both closer. One arm around your shoulders, the other stroking Nyx’s curls.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asked softly, voice now all gentle shadows and midnight silk.

You nodded, brushing a kiss to your son’s forehead. “He’s fine. But I might kill your brother.”

“Our brother,” he corrected with a grin.

You hummed. “Only by marriage.”

“He’s technically your brother-in-law,” Rhys drawled.

“He’s technically an idiot.”

Nyx giggled between you, the tears long forgotten now. “Uncle Cat is silly,” he agreed.

“You’re not wrong, baby,” you whispered. “But next time, just come straight to me if he tries to toss you off anything again, okay?”

Nyx nodded solemnly. “Okay. But can I prank Uncle Azriel next time?”

You exchanged a look with Rhysand, who was trying—and failing—not to laugh. “We’ll talk about that after breakfast.”

“Yay!”

As your son squirmed happily into your lap and launched into a detailed explanation of his prank plans, you leaned back into Rhys’s warm chest, smiling softly.

Mother above, you were tired. You were grumpy. You were sure you still had chocolate in your hair from last night. But this?

This chaos?

This was your chaos. Your family. And you wouldn’t trade a single moment of it.

Rhys pressed a kiss to your temple and whispered, “You’re glowing, darling. And not just from the sunlight.”

You elbowed him lightly. “Don’t start.”

“Who, me?” he asked innocently. “I’m an innocent male.”

“Liar.”

He only grinned wider.

—————

This is literally my first time writing anything and English is not my first language so again sorry if it’s cringe or boring😭

I had a friend help me edit it a little bit .

[zou-rs]

A late night grocery run

Warnings : fluff

Summary : a rainy night , midnight and weird pregnancy cravings .

The soft sound of rain dripped outside the tall glass windows of their new, fancy apartment in D.C.

It was almost midnight, and she was curled up on the big, cozy sofa in the living room, wearing one of Leon’s old hoodies — the one that reminded her of his academy days years ago.

With one hand scrolling through her phone watching oddly satisfying snack videos, and the other rubbing slow circles on her swollen belly, she was almost seven months pregnant now. It felt like she was carrying a giant watermelon, if you asked her. Despite the back pain, nausea, and puffy face, she was oh so grateful to be right here, right now.

She never cared much for children back when she was a teen, living in a crappy apartment with her sweet boyfriend (yes, of course it was Leon), but now, after they’d suffered through years of pain and trauma, a child from the man she’d loved since she was a kid was all she wanted.

She was so into her thoughts and the videos that she didn’t realize Leon had stepped out of the shower. He was now walking toward her, wearing only sweatpants, blessing her with the sight of his muscular arms, chest, and abs — bare and still slightly damp.

He grinned as he sat beside her on the sofa, pressing a soft kiss to her lips.

“I see you stole my hoodie again, leaving me all shirtless on this cold night,” he murmured in a low, hoarse voice — rougher now, raspier, so different from the boy who used to babble cheerfully all day.

“Well, it’s comfy. And it smells like you. Besides, your son demands it,” she said playfully.

At that, he softened. He chuckled and placed his hand gently on her belly.

“Hey there, little guy.”

He rested his head on her shoulder and peeked at her phone.

“What is this? Chocolate-covered pickles? Baby, what is this crap?”

His adorably horrified expression nearly made her burst out laughing. She kissed his chin dimple and said, “First of all, don’t come near me with that damp hair—hey!”

He shook his head like a puppy, scattering little water droplets onto her. She gasped.

“Leon! Fine, then. I was gonna be merciful, but now I won’t be.”

He grinned. “Oh yeah? And what devious plans do you have for me, my love?”

She got a mischievous but sweet look on her face.

“Um… so, about those chocolate-covered pickles. Your son craves them. He says if he doesn’t have them right now, he’ll be mad and kick me all night long. You wouldn’t want me to suffer, would you, baby?”

She batted her lashes at him with false innocence. Leon sighed, because he was — and always had been — a sucker for her.

“God, sweetheart, it’s almost midnight. And it’s raining…”

She gave him the full puppy eyes. He melted.

“Fuck. Fine, fine. I guess I could make a run to the grocery store.”

⸻

Fifteen minutes later, they were both dressed in soft hoodies and pajamas, walking hand-in-hand through the chocolate aisle of the grocery store.

She held her belly with one hand and Leon’s bigger hand with the other. He pushed a cart full of chocolate and jars of pickles with his free hand.

“Sweetheart, do you need anything else? Let’s get you some healthy snacks for you and the baby. This stuff is gonna hurt your tummy…” he muttered, eyeing the pickles like they were radioactive.

She laughed. “Actually, baby… I’ve been craving vanilla ice cream with red pepper powder.”

Leon looked so horrified she actually cackled.

“What? Baby, no!”

⸻

An hour later, they were curled up on the sofa again, listening to the steady rhythm of raindrops. She happily munched on a thick pickle coated in chocolate and chocolate chips, groaning in bliss.

“Ugh, this is so good. Here, baby, take a bite,” she said, shoving the thing in front of his mouth.

He was about to fiercely decline — but the hopeful, excited look on her face stopped him. He opened his mouth and took a bite. For a second, he almost gagged… but when he saw her eyes light up, he softened, swallowed, and smiled.

“I love it, baby.”

She squealed and said smugly, “See! I told you it’s delicious!”

She kissed him, leaving a little smear of chocolate on his lips. He paused, licking it clean, then chuckled softly and shook his head at his crazy, beautiful wife.

⸻

( I don’t know if anyone is reading this lol but this literally my first time writing anything and English is not my first language so .. sorry if it’s cringe or anything 😭)