#leon in orbit | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

konigbabe · 1 year

Text

like real people do

Pairing: ID!Leon Kennedy x fem!teacher!reader | single dad AU

Word count: 5.8k

Tags/warnings: no y/n; fluff; eventual smut; p-in-v; slice of life; gendered female reader; gendered female anatomy; original kid Kennedy character

Summary: He's the sun, and you're the earth, drawn into his orbit; yet, he's your student's father. Handsome. Confident. Alluring. But off limits–at least he should be.

a/n: Inspired by @yeyinde’s ask. Also, canon ID!Leon is around 29 but Leon in this '"universe" is aged up to be in his 30s (age won't be specified but I imagine him to be in his mid-to-late 30s).

divider by @benkeibear [source]

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The voice in your head keeps telling you to be professional, the thought of spending an evening with this man hard to resist; his confident, easy-going demeanor, the way he doesn’t give up easily– “So? It’s just dinner.”

The innocence of children always manages to brighten up even the darkest of days, their smiles and eagerness to learn contagious; filling your heart with positivity. It's a feeling that's hard to come by as an adult; life's challenges tend to chip away at your soul and slowly rob you of that childhood magic.

As the clock strikes five and your shift comes to an end, the school falls into an eerie silence. A lingering sense of relief washes over you when leaving the building; you've done your part in shaping young minds.

Walking out the front door, the warmth of the sun caresses your skin, its rays sliding around your bare arms like silk.

Twisting the key in the lock, your eyes catch a glimpse of slight movement from the corner of your vision. Turning your head, you see a little girl perched on the concrete steps below, her delicate features illuminated by the warm glow of the sun.

Her hair, a cascade of light brown waves, frames her chubby cheeks and the crown of her head is adorned with blonde highlights that shimmer like golden threads.

She turns to you when you address her, slowly stepping down to her level.

"What are you still doing here," you sit down, her small backpack creating a wall between your bodies.

As you sit side by side with the little girl, basking in the comforting embrace of the sunlight, she kicks her legs up; eyes up front, both of you watch the cars pass by on the street.

The Washington Spring air’s filled with the sweet scent of blooming cherry blossoms, carried on a gentle breeze that rustles through the trees. The distant sounds of children playing in a nearby park mingle with the honking of cars and the chirping of birds, creating a symphony of noise that signifies the arrival of spring in the bustling city.

"Waiting for daddy," she says with a hint of excitement in her voice.

The little girl looks up at you, her eyes full of wonder and innocence. You can't help but wonder about the mysterious Mr Kennedy and his absence; an enigma surrounding his name.

Like a forgotten toy left on the shelf, the girl's father remains absent from any involvement in her education. Despite several months passing since her admission to your class, there has been no sign of him. No parent-teacher meetings, no Father's Day celebration, nothing.

An enigma.

"Speaking of," your voice trails off for a moment, "How’s your daddy doing?" you question her. You shouldn’t; it goes beyond your job description to put a kid in situations like these. But still–

Her eyes, a vivid shade of cerulean, sparkle like sunlit water as she gazes at you; smile wide upon the mention of her father, the young kid toys with the straps on her bag.

"He’s busy."

A pang of understanding pinches your heart.

–his presence (or rather the absurd lack of it) keeps gnawing at your brain.

"He fights monsters," the girl adds after a moment of silence; her tone more serious. It's as if she's describing a mythical hero, fighting off beasts in some far-off land.

"He seems to be busy quite a lot," you smile to ease the topic; well aware that the girl, as bright as she is, surely catches on as you keep asking the same question every week, "is your mom coming to the parent–teacher meeting?"

The girl shakes her head before she speaks, "I don’t know my mom."

Oh.

You know you shouldn’t push more; well aware of the unprofessionalism you’re displaying.

"The woman who picks you up–"

"–aunt Claire," the kid corrects you, "I’m sorry for interrupting, miss teacher."

You smile, trying to put her at ease. It's clear that she's been brought up with good manners.

Lost in how to answer her, you almost don't hear the sound of a car approaching. The girl jumps up, her face alight with excitement. A low rumble reverberates through the air as a sleek black SUV glides up to the curb, its shiny exterior reflecting the warm rays of the sun.

The tinted windows obscure the view inside the car, adding an air of mystery to the vehicle. As the car comes to a stop, the quiet hum of the engine fades to a gentle purr, and the driver's door swings open.

The girl grabs her backpack at the same time a man steps out of the car; you’re able to only see the light brown hair decorating his head.

"Daddy," the girl yelps in excitement. You stand up, dusting the invisible dust from your jeans.

He stands tall, his broad shoulders stretching the fabric of the crisp white shirt, tucked tightly into the blue dress pants. A single button undone on his collar, revealing the curve of his clavicles. The sun glints off his aviator sunglasses, hiding his eyes from view. He approaches the little girl with a warm smile as she runs into her father, you presume; standing still, watching the situation unfold before your eyes.

Lowering himself to her level, he extends his arms, inviting her in. She eagerly accepts, wrapping her little arms around his neck in a welcoming embrace.

"Hey there, pup," you manage to hear his voice; low and soft. Gentle. "Sorry I’m late; got held up by paperwork. Y’know the drill."

The kid chuckles before pulling away, a sound so pure and innocent it brings a smile to your face.

Standing back up, his face turns towards you. You're struck by his imposing presence, the way he commands attention without even trying. His chiseled jawline is dusted with a light stubble, giving him an air of ruggedness. He moves with confidence towards you, one hand enclosed with his daughter’s.

The girl tugs at the sleeve of his shirt, introducing you before he even reaches your standing point–to which he smiles gently.

"Well, nice to meet you," his hand extended in greeting, "I’m Leon Kennedy. Her dad," he nods towards the girl.

"Mr Kennedy," you murmur, taking his hand in yours; noting the callouses on his palm.

As your eyes travel up his arm, they catch sight of a fresh bandage peeking out from under his slightly rolled up sleeve. But it's not until you look up at his face that you see the true extent of his weariness. Small scratches mark his jaw, subtle hues of purple and yellow decorate his cheekbone like a watercolor painting.

It’s clear that he's been through a rough patch. Makes you wander back to the girl’s words–

("He fights monsters.")

–and maybe he does. In some twisted sense.

"I actually wanted to speak with you," you release his hand, feeling the warmth of his skin lingering on your fingertips., "are you free next Tuesday? Around one PM?"

"Am I in trouble," he chuckles; the stretch of his lips exposing a slight scar on his lower lip.

The girl tilts her head, eyes studying you intently. You can't help but notice the slight beauty marks across her neck, the softness of her features, the way she looks up at her father with curiosity.

"Not really; I just need to discuss some matters with you."

"Okay," he responds, a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his lips, yet he remains stoic. Posed. "Sure."

"I’ll see you then," you nod and take your leave, but not before stealing a few glances at his back as he turns away from you. It’s impossible not to notice how his broad shoulders strain against the fabric, or how his hair cascades over his forehead; tousled yet somehow perfectly in place.

The weekend flies by, the days blurring together until suddenly it's Tuesday.

Despite his daughter's reassurances from yesterday that he'll be here, the uncertainty of whether he'll actually show up still grips you tightly.

A knock on the open door disturbs your grading.

"Mr Kennedy," you remark upon his arrival. The pen falls onto the desk with a clunk; back straighten, you invite him to sit on the chair prepared for him beforehand.

He’s dressed more casual–the black, expensive looking leather jacket squeaks against the wooden chair as he sits down after a simple "Hello". The faint but distinct aroma of sharp, citrusy notes wafts from his collar; the refreshing and invigorating aroma that catches your attention before your eyes trail to the bandage on his wrist.

Clearly seeing the way your eyes subconsciously linger on the piece of medical tape, Leon puts his other hand over it, shielding your view. Silently focusing your attention back on his eyes; the same blue hues as his daughter’s.

Sitting before you, legs spread apart, the undeniable similarities between him and his daughter are glaringly apparent. The way he holds himself commands respect, his posture erect and confident.

"Mr Kennedy, there’s something I wanted to discuss with you in person."

Fingers interlocking as you lean on your elbows, his gaze following your every movement like a predator stalking its prey; almost as if he’s sizing you up. His eyes watchful.

"Okay," he responds casually, a hint of question behind the simple word.

You clear your throat before continuing. "Your daughter is a remarkable child," a small smile accompanying your words. "She's well-behaved, intelligent, and often surpasses her peers."

Leon nods, lips pressed together.

"Got that from her mother, probably," he remarks. Almost bites back. Jaw tightening.

Leaning back, your fingers drum a quick rhythm against your desk.

"But we’re not here to evaluate your daughter; but you, actually, Mr Kennedy."

Leon’s brows arch up, highlighting the soft surprise that flashes across his face. The subtle shift in his expression does not go unnoticed by you.

"Didn’t know I was being evaluated," his voice trails off.

You nod in acknowledgement, sensing the man's confusion.

"You’re aware of our school assemblies, right?"

His face remains stoic, so you continue.

"Father's Day, parent-teacher meetings, career days, sports day," you list a few, hoping to spark the idea in the man’s mind.

"So," he leans back against the chair, arms folded on his chest.

With an exhale, upon your failed attempt to make him take the hint, you resolve to explaining the school rules to him.

"Our school mandates that the child’s parent or legal guardian be present at at least three of those assemblies per school year. You haven’t been present on any of them, not even last year."

He lifts his chin slightly and raises his eyebrows, eyes fixed on you with a look that suggests he's waiting for more information or an explanation.

"There’s actually a policy within out school that allows teachers to prohibit the child from participating in certain activities or events if a parent is not present–"

"–you’re kidding," Leon interjects, his tone laced with disbelief.

Raising your hand, you stop him from continuing, "and your daughter is a great student, so I don't expect that to happen to her. But with your continuous absence, she's at risk of being excluded from certain activities."

"My job keeps me busy. And I don’t really have a say in it," Leon retorts.

Arms still folded across his chest, his brows furrow in frustration. Defence sets inside his flesh; jaw slightly twitching, his eyes bore into yours.

"Maybe her mother could–"

"–not an option," he stops you before you manage to finish the sentence.

You nod in understanding. Leaving forward, you hope to appeal to Leon’s sense of responsibility a little more.

"In that case; we’re having a sports day this Friday. If you could just show up to support your daughter, I could mark it as you being present."

Leon chuckles, his voice smooth. Looking out the nearby window, he stares into the field right next to the school for a moment, deep in thought. The sunlight filtering through the window casts a warm glow on his sharp features, highlighting the intensity in his eyes.

Silence passes before he speaks up, "Wouldn't a dinner suffice instead?"

You clear your throat and try to compose yourself, feeling your heartbeat pick up at the unexpected request. "That's not very appropriate, Mr Kennedy, " you say softly, attempting to hide the fluttering in your chest. "Let's see each other at the soccer match."

"Sure. I’ll see what I can do; is that all?" he asks, head turned to the side. You gaze upon the now exposed wound on his jawline, vaguely resembling a cat’s claw scratch. The bruise colors on his cheek faded over the past few days.

"Yes," you assure him.

"Y’know, this whole thing could’ve been an email."

You smile wryly, "Would you react to that email?"

Looking back at you, there’s a flicker of mischievous dancing in his eyes. Leon's gaze holds yours for a moment longer, and you find yourself drawn to the subtle crinkles at the corners of his eyes, evidence of his amusement.

"You got me there."

The sun blankets the field in gold, casting elongated shadows of the children as they scamper around in pursuit of the ball. It’s still quite early. The air’s crisp and fresh, carrying the scent of freshly cut grass and; sound of excited cheers and shouts echo throughout the surrounding area.

It’s comforting. Soothing in a way.

With a group of teachers, you watch the little girl darting across the field, her movements resembling that of a graceful gazelle as she expertly maneuvers the ball. She weaves in and out of the other players, a look of determination etched on her youthful face.

A chorus of her name echoes across the field, drifting like a wispy trail of smoke. The other kids cheer her on as she makes her way towards the goal, her tiny frame seemingly defying the laws of physics with her quick and nimble movements.

A round of applause erupts when the ball meets the back of the net. You watch as the little girl’s teammates rush to congratulate her.

"And who is that," a woman’s voice tears your gaze away from the cheerful moment, hands stopping mid-clasp.

Curious, you look at her. The other teachers already gazing to your right. To the parking lot.

Leaning against the sleek car, its design demanding attention; even from further away, he exudes an air of quiet confidence that's impossible to ignore. Eyes covered by another set of sunglasses, the same leather jacket strains against his folded arms.

Mr Kennedy.

Leon Kennedy.

Something about him always seems to draw attention; to captivate anyone who catches a glimpse of him.

It’s odd. Uncanny–

You should know better than to think in such a way about your student’s father.

–and you wonder if it’s just you who feels that way.

As the group of teachers chatter, a voice pipes up, "Is he someone's father?"

"He has to be," the conversation carries on, "or he wouldn’t be here–"

"–or he’s a creep."

Turning to face the person who said it, you scoff at the teacher before speaking up.

"He’s her dad," You nod in the direction of the girl with a beaming smile on your face, as she energetically waves at Leon. His response, though polite, is less enthusiastic, evident by the restrained movement of his hand.

Escaping the gossip, you follow the white boundary lines of the field towards your target, the soft grass crunching beneath your feet. Leon's eyes are fixed on the field, his sharp features softened by the spring glow.

But he's quick to notice your approach, turning his head ever so slightly to the left. It makes you feel naked as he shamelessly watches you coming closer.

"Mr Kennedy," you greet him.

As you approach, the warm spring breeze ruffles your hair, the sweet scent of blooming flowers mixing with his heady aroma. Posture relaxed, his broad shoulders almost blend with the darkness of the car behind him.

"Just call me Leon."

Eyes back on the field, a tinge of carelessness in his voice, a small tug on his lips. Hesitating momentarily, you put your hands in your pockets.

"I’d rather stick to being professional."

It makes him chuckle; voice rumbling with amusement–

"You’re making me feel old," he teases.

–making your chest tighten. His words brush against your ears like the gentle rustling of leaves on a cool autumn breeze.

The lightness in his tone, the hint of playfulness, stirs something deep within you.

It’s your turn to return the light laugh. The sound mingling with the chirping of birds in the distance.

"It’s good that you’re here. Your daughter seems to appreciate it as well."

Leon's eyes flicker to his daughter, still surrounded by her teammates; a small smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

"Yeah," he says, the warmth in his voice evident, "she’s been talking about this game for a week."

"She’s really talented in sports."

A cool breeze brushes against your skin as he removes his sunglasses. Eyes reminiscent of the clear waters of a mountain lake–the color seems to deepen and intensify as he looks at you, drawing you in.

"That she got from me," the corners of his mouth curve up into a charming smile. His voice deep and smooth, like a glass of well-aged whiskey. You can sense his confidence, the way he carries himself with ease, and it's hard not to be drawn in.

It's alluring. The way he exudes a sense of self-assurance.

Smiling lightly, hand resting on the cool hood of his car, you both watch the children race each other. Cheers fill the soccer fields.

Even in momentarily silence, it’s comfortable–

"Well, she certainly inherited some good genes, Mr Kennedy."

–there’s no awkward cluster around the two of you. It’s natural.

It draws Leon’s attention back to you. Arms folded, his fingers sneak around his bicep, gripping gently as he shamelessly looks at you. His face a canvas of chiseled features and sharp lines. reminiscent of a Greek statue carved out of marble. A faint scent of musk and cologne lingers around him, blending with the sweet aroma of blooming flowers in the air.

"Just so you know, miss teacher," his voice soft melody that lingers in your mind, "the dinner invitation still stands."

It’s tempting.

The words hang in the air, tantalizingly close.

A whistle cuts through the sounds of the soccer field, interrupting the moment. Leon’s attention briefly flickers towards his daughter, checking as the little girl sprints towards the two of you, before returning to your face.

"And I should remind you, Mr Kennedy, that it’s not very appropriate to ask your daughter’s teacher out."

The voice in your head keeps telling you to be professional, the thought of spending an evening with this man is hard to resist though. His confident, easy-going demeanor, the way he doesn’t give up easily–

"So? It’s just dinner," his tone is almost conspiratorial, as if he's sharing a secret with you.

–it makes you feel alive.

(Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. It’s not strictly forbidden.

Only frown upon. Harshly.)

It's like he's the sun, and you're the earth, drawn into his orbit.

"Daddy," his daughter doesn’t hesitate, jumping straight into her father’s arm; yet Leon isn’t phased at all, hoisting her into his arms, "Did you see my goal?"

"I did, pup," arm sneaking underneath her knees, you notice the bandage gone, "you killed it."

"Miss teacher," the kid addresses you, hand sneaking into her dad’s hair to hold him tightly while looking up at you with bright, curious eyes, "Did you see me? Did you see my goal?"

"Of course," you answer with a warm smile, "you did great. Seems like you got good genes for it."

The little girl beams with pride, hugging her father even tighter. Leon chuckles, the sound low and rich, and nods his head in agreement.

"I’ll see you on Monday then; pleasure seeing you, Mr Kennedy," as you turn to leave, you can't help but feel a twinge of regret.

The low hum of chatter fills the air, punctuated by occasional laughter and the clink of glasses. The dim lighting casts a warm glow over the wooden booths and bar, giving the place a cozy feel. The smell of fried food and beer lingers in the air, adding to the ambiance of the traditional American pub.

From a corner, a live band plays classic rock tunes, and the patrons nod along to the rhythm, singing softly under their breaths. It's a perfect spot to unwind after a long workday, catch up with friends. Or even make new connections.

Your little freedom.

Away from responsibilities. From the stress of daily life.

This is your escape, your sanctuary, where you can let loose and just be yourself.

Coming to the bartender, you order another round for the group you’re with, only to be taken back by a familiar voice saying your name.

Turning to look at the man by your right, the white stripes on his jacket contrast against the dim, warm ambiance of the room. Fingers tapping on the rim of the glass of whiskey, he takes a sip, his gaze fixed on you; the amber liquid catching the light, casting a glow across his features.

"Mr Kennedy," you exhale, almost in disbelief by the sudden situation.

Mind whirling with surprise and curiosity; the bar is chill against your exposed arm as you lean onto it, turning to look at the man by your side.

"Wouldn’t expect a teacher to be in a bar on Friday night," he smirks, the corner of his lips curving up in amusement.

"We’re not as frigid as people have us to be," you replied, feeling a smile tug at the corners of your lips.

Voice like a smoldering flame, waiting to be ignited, he tilts the glass towards you, "Oh, really."

The allure of his presence tangible.

A gravitational pull.

"Well, Mr Kennedy," the words roll off your tongue smoothly, "I suppose we all have our ways of letting loose after a hard week."

He chuckles, the sound deep and throaty; making your pulse quicken, heartbeat pick up. "I couldn't agree more," he says, taking another sip of his drink.

You study him for a moment; taking in the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles, how his hair fal across his forehead in a disheveled yet stylish way. There’s something undeniably attractive about him, something that draws you in against all odds–

–like a moth to a flame.

Life has a funny way of working out.

You should stop.

But ‘should’ doesn’t exist in the moment of impulse. In the realm of desire. Pure, unblistered passion. The temptation to follow desire is too strong–

The world falls away.

–and all thought of 'should' dissipates.

Leon's hands slide around your thighs, gripping the flesh firmly as his body pushes against yours. Pinned to the wall; his lips trail the pulse of your neck. The tip of his tongue leaving wet patches on the heated skin.

The sudden intrusion of reality makes you gasp,"What about—".

It’s Leon’s hand on your breast; squeezing, teasing the clothed flesh through the thin material, thumbing at the erect nipple, that earns him a moan. His daughter’s name spilling over into a sound so soft. Inviting.

Like a hummingbird.

A content hum echoes in his chest; pressed tightly against yours. Feeling the muscles contract beneath you, respond to your movement; to the way your hips press against the growing bulge in his pants.

"—she’s stayin’ at my friend’s," he mumbles against the curve of your collarbones, teeth grazing the firm area.

With a strong grip, your fingers entangle in his hair. The texture soft and silky, like running your hands through fine threads of spun gold.

"Isn’t she young for sleepovers?"

It makes him look at you. Eyes glazed over; hungry. Primal–

He pulls you into an embrace, arm wrapping around your back, his palm cupping your ass. The heat of his body seeps through your clothing, searing your skin with its intensity, his breath ghosting over your lips as he whispers, "I really don’t wanna talk about my kid right now."

It’s a command rather than anything else.

Followed by your clothes.

He has you bare before you make up your mind.

–causing your skin to crawl.

With every touch, every whisper, every breath, he leaves you feeling more exposed, more vulnerable.

Limbs tangled together, lips pressed against each other; there’s no beginning and no end. When one begins, the other follows, like an unbroken circle of passion and desire.

Utter consumption by the fire inside you.

Leon’s hands feel scorching. Each stroke branding your skin.

He splits your apart, fills you to the brim. The head of his cock kisses the innermost parts of you as you stay seated on top of him. Nails scratching the firm muscle of his breastplate; he grips your sides. Digs his fingers into the soft, plump flesh there.

Teeth nip at your chin. Gently nibbles accompanied by your hips circling on top of him.

Cascade of groans, grunts and moans echo throughout Leon’s bedroom; each sound building on the other to create a crescendo of pleasure. The mattress beneath you creaks and strains under your knees.

Lost in the feeling.

His words a salacious melody; sung in a sultry whisper followed by his teeth, nibling at your earlobe; securing your grip on his shoulders feeling the strength of his muscles as he guides your moves.

Up and down. Up and down.

Circle your hips when your pelvis meets his. When your ass touches his thighs; when his fingers dig into the round flesh.

The rhythm builds, the tension mounting with every breath. The ache of desire deep inside, a longing that can only be sated by him. With each movement, you feel closer to the edge, your body aching for release.

Leon whispers encouragement, his voice like a caress against your skin. Head buried in the crook of your neck, your arms tighten around his shoulder. Face buried in the top of his head, the scent of him fills your senses; a heady, intoxicating aroma that envelops you in its warmth.

You breathe him in, savoring the subtle notes of bergamot and spice, the rich undertones of musk and earthiness.

Leon’s name leaves your lips in a soft, breathless moan, a prayer to the god of pleasure.

His lips brush against your collarbone, lingering there for a moment before trailing lower, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Skin erupting in goosebumps as his breath tickles your chest, your body bows like a taut bowstring, a supplication to his touch. Offering yourself up to him completely.

Hands roam over your body, tracing the curves and planes of your skin with reverent fingers. As if he knows just where to touch you.

With a strong pull and push, your back meets the hard mattress. His hands move over you like a painter's brush, each stroke bringing out a new hue of pleasure. Hips grinding against yours.

Pressing your body closer to his, chest to chest, he rocks against you. The intensity of his movements leaves you gasping for air, a low moan escaping your lips as you feel yourself getting closer to the edge. His hands grip your hips tightly, fingers digging into your skin as he continues to rut into you.

Long lost is the slow motion–

Your pelvis meets his in a harsh, demanding thrust.

–now he’s chasing his own high. His own release.

His hand slides to cup your jaw, grip your shoulder, eyes boring into yours; intense and unwavering, as if he’s trying to read your thoughts through the depth of your eyes. Consumed by the heat of you.

Head thrown back, you close your eyes; unable to match the fire in his as he grinds against you; his breaths ragged gasps, the only sound in the room the soft rustling of sheets and the slapping of skin against skin.

Leon knows he won’t last long. Not with the way your mouth remains agape, nails digging into the firm tendons of his biceps; heels digging into the flesh of his ass, pushing him deeper. Demanding him to go harder.

You just look so pretty underneath him.

Fingertips trace the warm flesh of your curves. They move slowly, mapping the supple contours of your body with precision; each touch deliberate, a way of committing the curves of your form to memory.

The sensation is electric, every nerve ending on high alert.

His thumb finds your clit, circling it with teasing precision, a feather-light touch. Pushing your hips into his, he obliges your silent demand – adding a bit more pressure with each pass. The slow, steady rhythm of his touch in bright contrast to the sharp thrusts.

Building the tension inside you, until you feel like you might burst. But he doesn't let up, not yet. He's savoring every moment, enjoying the way you writhe beneath him.

Your breath hitches, body tensing as he works you with an almost clinical precision. The ache between your legs grows, spreading through your entire body. He watches you, gauging your reactions, and adjusts his touch accordingly.

The way he focuses on you, with a singular, unwavering intensity, is both thrilling and terrifying.

As for Leon, every movement, every sound, is calculated. He wants to make this last. He wants to make you lose control.

His muscles tense as he drives into you, each thrust bringing him closer to the edge. His breaths come in short gasps, matching the rhythm of your moans. The heat between you intensifies, a physical force that binds you together.

With one final push, final flick of a thumb, he takes you over the edge, his name on your lips.

Clenching around him, walls fluttering, his thrusts grow slow. Leisurely.

As if he’s tantalizing himself. Savoring the feel before he lets go with a groan; a guttural sound that echoes through the bedroom; body spasming. The two of you entwined in a moment of pure, unadulterated bliss.

There should be some sort of regret.

Standing by the foot of Leon’s bed, still searching for your clothes amid the scattered chaos of the apartment, covered by a random shirt you’ve found on the ground (that’s definitely not the one you’ve come with), you can’t help but be drawn to the sleeping man lying before you.

The sheets barely cover the curve of his lower back, and even in slumber, the muscles of his back remain visible; the outline of his physique remains defined and sharp, even in relaxation. The memory of his back muscles beneath your palms lingers on your skin, as if he were still present with you in that moment.

There’s no regret.

Exiting the bedroom, you walk past the kitchen into the hallway. The emptiness of the space is palpable, with nothing adorning the plain white walls; no family photos or decorations to add personality. Only the essential pieces of furniture remain. The floor creaks beneath your bare feet as you open the door closer to you–

(It’s almost like he doesn’t have anyone.

A sense of desolation creeps in you.)

–and are met with a blinding contrast to the rest of the apartment. Rainbow colored sheets neatly tucked into the small bed, pillows in shape of various animals. Light furniture covered in school supplies; and a photo decorating the nightstand.

You pick it up, immediately recognized the two people. It might be the first time you’re seeing Leon actually smile, wide and bright. Happy; with his daughter tightly wrapped in his arms. Faces pressed together, smiling at the camera.

"I hope you're not trying to steal anything," Leon's voice interrupts your reverie; low and husky, still laced by the morning sleep, "I don't have much, y’know."

As you pivot to face him, you can't resist noticing how his bare feet stand out against his fully-clothed form. Hair tousled and messy, only adding to his rugged appeal.

An irresistible wave of attraction washes over you as you scrutinize his appearance, and his playful tone only adds fuel to the fire.

"Don't worry, I'm not after your prized possessions," you reply with a smirk, feeling emboldened by his proximity.

Leon's eyes twinkle mischievously as he steps closer to you, his warm breath brushing against your cheek. "Well, in that case, what’re you after?"

"I was just looking for a bathroom."

Leon's gaze lingers on you, lips curled up in a half-smile. "The bathroom’s down the hall to the right," he points with a nod of his head.

You nod back, trying to ignore the electric sensation that courses through you at his proximity. "Thanks," you say, stepping past him towards the direction he indicated.

As you walk down the hallway, you can't shake off the feeling of emptiness that you felt earlier. It's clear that Leon lives a minimalist lifestyle, but the lack of personal touches leaves you with a sense of melancholy.

Entering the bathroom, you take a moment to splash water on your face, trying to compose yourself before facing Leon again.

His voice echoes through the small apartment as you make your way towards his voice, entering the kitchen; you're struck by how immaculate it is. Everything’s in its place, and there isn't a single dish out of place. The countertop is spotless, the sink free of any debris, the stainless-steel appliances gleam in the light.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee fills the air with the morning sun streaming through the windows, casting a warm glow over the room.

"I’ll pick her up in an hour," Leon stands in front of the refrigerator, two mugs in one hand, bare feet making a soft thumping sound against the linoleum floor. His hair’s still tousled from sleep, his t-shirt is wrinkled, clinging to his muscles as he holds the phone to his ear.

There’s a certain charm to his disheveled appearance that you find appealing.

Looking at you, he makes no effort to stop the call, instead a playful undertones his voice as he hands you a mug and motions towards the coffee machine, "yeah, just woke up. Had a long night."

Shaking your head at his words; he watches you with a small, amused smile, the corners of his lips twitching upwards.

"See you then. Bye, Claire,” he ends the call, turning his full attention to you.

"Y’know, miss teacher," he pours himself a glass of water, "if you just wanted to skip the whole dinner thing, you should’ve just said."

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glass-noodle · 6 months

Text

lab merman AU part 13 🚙

Time for our boys to make a valiant escape!

[prev] Part 13 [next]

Taglist under the cut!

Taglist:

@dokidokisadness @extraordinaryandroid @dirty-droid @bluewolven @maddsmallow @aesthetichoney2111 @marilady @iwonderwh0 @rurousha @thatsgoodweather @famouswolflamppaper @clocks-declaring @shaed @binxwells @nothinggathers @treeffles @akakonight @djeris @timebird84 @averyshittyseal @jayfirebird @username-is-required @go-flow-bro @leelany-world @ray-the-orbiter @cosmogyral-cat @a-space-in-the-void @flitewulf @canofworms95 @fandomhell97 @scurvioli @reality-was-stolen @kibikikou @celinamcm @zenithier @kibze @neverlet @idlebirdsparagon @nekojetto @unstablerk800 @fearlessjones @basenikon @jei-rifni @isu0 @nota-deviant @leon-lemon0 @tartrazeen @ranunculus-bloom @katlakitty @temporary-enthusiasm

Feel free to let me know if you would like to be removed from the list at any point. Taglist is closed for now, sorry!!

#hankcon #lab merman au #detroit become human #dbh #dbh fanart #detroit become human fanart #Hank x connor #conhank #hannor #dbh connor #dbh hank #dbh Tina #Connor rk800 #dbh rk800 #Hank anderson #Tina Chen #mermay #glass art #noodle art

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ghostkennedy · 11 months

Text

Original Sin

~Leon Kennedy x fem! Reader~

Word count: 3402

Shoutout to @myrarenee for sending the request that inspired this and being down for my idea <3 This one’s for you.

Content warnings: religious iconography, smut, sexual content, submissive reader, married leon, affair between reader and leon, cheating leon, degradation, praise, faint misogyny if you squint, strip tease, vague masturbation, handcuffs, blindfold, gagging reader, using his wife’s vibrator, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, begging, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, reader blacks out for a minute. also wanted to note this references addiction, smoking/drug use in terms of comparison to someone’s feelings. none of those things actually take place, but it is described a bit!

anywaysssssss, enjoy this one. leon and reader have no shame

!!!!!!!!MINORS DNI! GHOSTKENNEDY IS STRICTLY 18+!!!!!!!!

Obsession. Fixation. Infatuation. Compulsion. The way you’d drop to your knees before him without him ever asking wasn’t something you could’ve anticipated. You weren’t ashamed to call it what it was: you had a fetish for this man. The moment you laid eyes on him, something within you changed–something clicked. And you knew that no one else would ever compare to him. Others could give it their best shot and they’d never reach anything beyond a bleak dullness next to him. What’s one measly, useless star compared to the fucking sun? Nothing, that star would always mean nothing.

And Leon S. Kennedy was your sun. From the day you two met, your universe began to orbit around him. Placing yourself in his life, forcing yourself into his path. It had been enough for a while, but you wanted–no needed more of him. You craved him like a smoker craves a hit, needing to feel the burn throughout your chest and lungs. If you could shoot him directly into your bloodstream, you’d wear your collapsed, abused veins with a smile. Your salvation was somewhere within his flesh and blood and you were more than eager to tear him apart in search of it. You would dig it out from somewhere between his thighs and that is where you’d finally be saved.

You’d dropped your sneaky links and casual flings. If you had to take a guess, you maybe had another 40-60 years of your short existence. And from this point on, all of it would be dedicated to the only man who could ever make a life worth living. You’d found your faith, so why waste a single minute on such mediocre things when you could be falling to your knees and praising the holiest of bodies. His flesh was forged from nicotine, his blood flowing with amphetamines. Maybe the addictive personality was deep in your genetics, but addiction never looked so beautiful. You were made to worship him; you’d never been so sure of your life’s purpose.

Obsession. Fixation. Infatuation. Compulsion. The way he’d abandon everything he’s ever known and keep you locked away for him only wasn’t something he thought he was capable of feeling. How your eyes darkened when they connected with his for the first time. It’s as if he had lived his entire life with it merely passing him by, and now he could feel the blood pumping through his veins and the breaths he took expanding his lungs. He was lost in the pitch black in the dead of the night and you were the moon finally poking through the trees.

And you were his moon. You were the light shining down on his skin, pulling him from the darkness that engulfed him for centuries. The world went from a blurry fog, to pristine and crisp. He could make out every little detail of textures in the walls, to the patterns in the carpet. He had ascended from a mere man to an ethereal being, just because of one look from you. He felt as though he was being mind controlled by you and you were fixing his broken pieces into something somehow worthy of you. He was in a daze, transfixed by his new affliction.

That night when he went home with his wife, he plowed into her while imagining you beneath him. He thought of his cock spreading you open and ascending to the Heavens above through the waves between your thighs. Every moan or noise that fell from her lips morphed in the air between them into how he hoped you would sound beneath him. Your pussy that was made just for him would grip him so tight and milk him dry of any sins or imperfections. His soul would be cleansed within you. The same soul that fell from his body every time he came while thinking of you, and you alone.

You were the reason people were tempted away from their faith, being pulled away and into the unholy sin of worshiping a false idol. And if one day he has to be brought forth in front of the jury as they cast judgment and assign his punishment, he won’t have learned a damn thing. He could be taught lesson after lesson, delivered punishment after punishment, and his soul would still follow you to his own demise. He’ll always chase after your torment and torture that you serve for him and him only.

That’s what brought you two to these less than holy places. Dingy pay-by-the-hour motels, gross bathrooms, poorly lit closets, both of your cars–just about anywhere you could hide away from watchful eyes and cure the craving for one another. It didn’t matter how rough the terrain may be beneath you two, you’d always fall to your knees for each other. You would always be the one habit he couldn’t kick no matter how much he tried. Well, he assumed that would be the case if he had ever tried to kick the habit, or even considered it.

It was risky for him to sneak you through the backdoor of his marriage home while his wife was visiting family. But after much discussion, you both had come to the conclusion that you couldn’t find it within yourselves to care. If that made you terrible people, then you were completely okay with that. It just added to the compatibility you suppose. He was made terrible and unholy, yet sculpted in your perfect image.

“You’re one to talk about my obsession with you. You’re the one getting on your knees for a married man,” Leon spoke as he eyed your body up and down. You wore his favorite dress because you loved how it always riled him up. He loved when you wore it for him because he knew it was all for him, such an obedient thing you were.

“And what would your wife think, huh? How every time she turns her back, you don’t hesitate to shove your cock inside of another woman?” you crossed your arms over your chest, taunting him. He rolled his eyes and shifted his eyes back towards the TV.

“One woman wasn’t enough to please you. You need your cock buried deep inside of me, often several times a day. You’re obviously out of control. I sleep with one man and I’m the issue?” you continue taunting him. You just had to know how far you could push him before he gave in and defiled you where you sat.

“I’m just a man, sweetheart. Dangle a bone in front of a dog–,” you cut him off with a loud laugh. He turned back to you and raised his eyebrow at you, challenging you almost.

You stood up from the bed, the same one he shares with his wife, and slipped the straps of your dress off of your shoulders. He stared at you with intense eyes, as if he was trying to eat you alive with just a look. You weren’t wearing a bra, so when you pulled the dress down until the top was bunched around your waist, your breasts were on full display for him.

You continued pulling it down, shimmying it down past your hips, letting it fall at your feet. You turned around and slowly slid your panties down your ass, letting them glide down your thighs as you shook your ass to aid in taking them off. You peaked over your shoulder and saw Leon staring directly at your ass, causing you to smirk.

Once you were free from any clothing, you turned back around and threw yourself back onto the bed. Legs spread unashamedly. He inched closer to you and as he went to reach out to you, your hand darted out and stopped his wrist.

“Prove this self control you’ve been boasting about then. If you touch me in absolutely any way, you lose,” you told him as you pushed his hand back to his side.

He scoffed out at you, “Are you serious?” He stared at you as you confidently nodded back at him. “Well, in that case,” he spoke as he stood up, slowly beginning to unbutton his shirt, “If you touch me, then you lose.” You watched hungrily as he undid every last button and let the shirt fall behind him. He slowly worked his pants and boxers off and you ate it up with your eyes. His hard cock sprung out, already begging for you.

He sat back on the bed, relaxing back into the pillows as if he didn’t have a care in the world. But it was all an act he was putting on for you. He knew you were stubborn, it was just in your nature, so maybe if he could irritate you enough, intrigue you enough with his disinterest, he surely could get you to give in first. So he went back to mindlessly watching TV, although he couldn’t pay any attention to the show that was playing. All he could think of was the sight just to the right of him and trying to discreetly stare at you from the corner of his eye.

This went on for a few minutes, before you decided you needed to up the ante. You started to run your hands up and down your body, a small whimper leaving your lips. Leon’s head snapped as he watched you tease your nipples between your fingertips.

“What have I told you about touching yourself?” he growled at you.

“What are you going to do about it, then? Come punish me? Touch me and lose? I think you know just as well as I do that you hate losing,” you tested him. Your hands abandoning your breasts and gently caressing your stomach as they slowly moved lower and lower. He followed every single one of your movements, as if he was in a trance.

You caressed your thighs, spreading them all the way open as Leon eyed your wetness. After a few seconds you snapped them close, hiding the sight Leon was desperate for the most. He bit his lip as his brows furrowed in irritation.

You rubbed your thighs together, giving yourself the vaguest bit of friction. You were so needy that even the faintest ping of pleasure had you throwing your head back and whining. Plus, it’s not as if you were holding yourself back at all. You allowed yourself to feel every little bit of sensation from your little touches here and there.

And you just carried on exactly like that. It was hard to hold any sort of self control when you were working yourself up so much. But reminding yourself of who you were also working up, yet refusing to look at, was all the encouragement you needed.

You barely opened your eyes and peeked over at Leon. You could see the sweat building up on his chest and forehead. His hands were clinging to the sheets beside him, his knuckles going white from the intense grasp he held on them. You saw him gulp deeply, his Adam's apple bobbing and tempting you deep down into your core.

You closed your eyes tightly again as you spread your thighs for him once more, gently caressing your soaked lips with your fingertips. Your teeth were biting into your bottom lip so hard that you felt like you might draw blood, but it was the only thing grounding your mind down to Earth currently. Your middle finger swiped over your clit just right and you arched your back and whined even louder than you had before.

Just as your eyes were about to flutter into the back of your head, a harsh grasp pulled your hands from your body, holding them above your head as you were pinned down to the mattress with his body hovering over yours.

“You think I give a fuck about losing?” he laughed as he brought his lips to your ear, “As if I won’t punish you either way? Make you pay for being such a fucking tease.” His voice was full of venom. His patience was more than just wore thin. It was crumpled up and had run away, somewhere far fucking away from here.

“Doesn’t matter to me,” you lowered your voice until it was barely above a whisper, “loser.” He looked at you with a look of disbelief, before he laughed loudly directly in your face.

“I’m going to have so much fun making you eat your fucking words,” he sneered as he looked directly into your eyes. The darkness of his pupils nearly consuming his eyes, his irises nothing more than a hint of his usual blue.

He slid open the drawer of the nightstand directly to your right, pulling a pair of handcuffs out. You raised your eyebrow at him as he used one hand to click them open and shut teasingly. He roughly pulled your hands up to the headboard and secured you to the iron bars with the handcuffs.

He begins rummaging inside the drawer again as you nervously fiddle beneath him. Before you can process it, he’s securing a blindfold over your eyes, encompassing you in near total darkness. You were breathing heavily as he dragged some sort of piece of fabric over your mouth.

“Is this okay?” he said as he shoved the fabric in your mouth, successfully gagging you. You nod in response and he caresses your cheek gently before lightly slapping it. “Now be a good whore for me,” he whispered before you heard him press a button and some sort of device kicking on.

It doesn’t take you more than a few seconds to recognize the sound of a vibrator before he’s running the device down the valley of your breasts, past your belly button, and swirling the device around on your inner thighs. You were desperately arching your back and thrashing around beneath him, the cuffs clinging loudly against the metal bars of his headboard.

He laughs directly next to your ear, startling you. You didn’t realize how close he’d brought his mouth to your ear while he was teasing you.

“Let’s see how many times I can make you come with my wife’s toy. You’re such a dirty fucking girl, letting someone’s husband fuck you with her toy,” he speaks into your ear deeply. You whine desperately and he continues, “And you’re going to fucking love it. Her husband’s cock isn’t enough for you, is it? You have to steal all forms of her pleasure, hmm? You can’t help but plague her life with your slutty pussy.”

As soon as the last word leaves his mouth, the vibrator is directly pressed to your clit, causing you to moan out loudly as the waves of pleasure crash through your pussy. And he’s so fucking right, every single word he said. You shouldn’t want this as desperately as you do. It’s depraved, her husband using her toy to get you off in her bed. But as your climax fast approaches, you can’t help but arch your back and fully take in the pleasure.

Your first orgasm crashes through you, your body trembling against the vibrator as you desperately try to get in enough air through your nose. He pulls the toy away from your pussy for a few seconds before he presses it against you again. You’re basically screaming into your gag as your eyes roll back at the sensation returning so soon.

“That’s it. A whore like you can take it, can’t you baby?” he chuckles. “Yeah, you fucking can. Cream all over this toy for me. Show me what a filthy girl you are. I fucking love how filthy you are for me, you dirty fucking girl,” he grinds his hard cock against your thigh as you climb up to another orgasm.

Just when you think you’re gonna be held on the precipice of release forever, your second orgasm finally crashes through you. You throw your head back as tears pour from your eyes and past the bottom of the blindfold. Your heart feels like it’s going to burst through your chest, but he’s nowhere near finished.

He once again gives you nothing more than a few seconds to gather yourself, which helps nothing, before he presses it against you again. The pleasure is so painful, but so good too. You’re sobbing as your entire body tenses up against the toy again.

“Look at you, already about to come again for me. What if my wife saw how your pussy weeps for me, huh? What if she walked in right now and saw how happily you give yourself over to her husband? You have no shame. A shameless little slut. My shameless fucking slut. All fucking mine,” his words sent you over the edge again.

You were completely his, he’s absolutely correct. It didn’t matter how his life appeared, who it looked like his heart belonged to. He belonged right here between your spread thighs. Not just his cock, but all of him. You knew you were selfish, you knew God should smite you right this second because you definitely deserved it, but you wanted all of this man. You’d suffer through an eternity of damnation to spend your time Earth side beneath Leon.

He sat the vibrator down on the bed beside you before he pulled your gag out. You greedily sucked in big gulps of air into your lungs. He gently sucked on your neck as he ran his hard cock up and down your messy, drenched folds.

You’d never been someone who ever wanted more than one orgasm. Just one was always enough to wreck your body and have you satisfied, unable to handle anything else. You couldn’t stand the overstimulation at all. But just as Leon had completely uprooted your life, he changed your needs too. You’d always crave every bit of him you could get. When you two were alone together, you somehow committed all seven deadly sins unapologetically.

“Beg for it. Beg for my cock or I’ll leave you here like this,” he said as he yanked on your handcuffs to emphasize his point.

“Please. Please fuck me. I need your cock, I need you,” you whined out as he chuckled at you.

“Such a greedy fucking pussy,” he said as he shoved his cock all the way in. His balls smacked against your ass as you wrapped your legs tightly around him, pulling him in deeper. “Can’t get enough of my cock, can you? It’ll never be enough for a whore like you,” he growled.

“It’s never enough, fuck,” you moaned loudly, “Give it to me. Need you to give it to me all the time. I’m an empty whore without you.” Leon began thrusting roughly into you. He fucked you deeply into the bed below you. So deep, it felt like you might push through the mattress and descend straight to Hell. Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world either. You could commit your sins of the flesh, commit your adultery, with him forever. You’d be all he needs.

“Fuck, your pussy is so tight, so wet for me. I’m gonna come already,” he moaned out before bringing his mouth to yours and kissing you intensely. You were so close too, just a few more thrusts and you’d both be done for. He reached down and grabbed the vibrator, bringing it to your clit and that was it for you.

Your walls clenched tightly around his cock as you come undone again. Your eyes roll back into your head as sobs leave your throat. You weren’t sure what happened next, but one second you were coming around Leon and the next you were opening your eyes to a concerned Leon trying to get your attention. You blinked a few times as your senses came back to you.

“Holy shit! Not you blacking out from my cock,” he chuckled before kissing you again, “I’ve never come so hard in my fucking life.” His hands cling to your cheeks as he smiles down at you, his expression filled with satisfaction and something else you couldn’t quite identify.

If you were Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, you still would’ve committed the original sin. You would’ve damned the word with the knowledge of good and evil. And it wouldn’t have involved a fucking apple.

~masterlist~

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dmitriene · 8 months

Text

— intoxicated confession.

᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ «do you wanna talk?»

᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ «but i'm not thinking straight»

᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌«i guess i'm gonna pay for this»

᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌«do you wanna talk?»

summary: an unexpected turn of events turned an evening of doubt and detachment into a beautiful moment of affirmation and intimacy. content: fuckboy re4 leon kennedy x gn reader tags: fluff, emotional hurt and comfort, mentions of alcohol, established but confused relationships, hugs and kisses. author's note: heyy!! so, basically, i was inspired by art that belong's to @glacierclear where leon is fuckboy)) and i wanted to go further with this idea and write a fanfic, hope you'll like this one! enjoy your reading) 🔗

HE was a captivating blend of rugged charm and unconventional style, his striking features and unique fashion choices creating an atmosphere of undeniable intrigue.

His face had sharp angles and a strong jawline that exuded confidence and determination, dark shadows often lingered beneath his piercing bright blue eyes, hinting at a life of adventure and challenge, those eyes held a depth of emotion and a sense of mystery that left a lasting impression at anyone who met his gaze.

His hair was disheveled and unkempt, as if he had just emerged from an exciting adventure — it framed his face in a way that added to his rebellious charm, making him look like a man who refused to conform to social norms.

One of the most distinctive features of his appearance was the piercing on his tongue, it was a bold statement of his refusal to conform, a rebellious streak hinting at a desire to challenge convention, the glint of metal on his tongue was a subtle reminder that he was not an ordinary, «run of the mill» man.

There was an atmosphere of extraordinary charm and undeniable magnetism surrounding Leon's appearance, he carried himself with a confidence that attracted people, leaving them captivated by his unique combination of ruggedness and rebellious style — whether he was flirting with every girl in the room or simply standing in silence, Leon's presence was impossible to ignore, creating an atmosphere always filled with anticipation and curiosity.

His swaggering gait, demeanor and the knowing sparkle of his bright blue eyes made him stand out from the crowd — these eyes attracted people like moths to a flame.

Leon didn't just flirt with girls — he practically had a magnetic force that attracted them like bees to honey, every interaction imbued with a teasing charm that made hearts flutter and cheeks flush.

Your first meeting with Leon was simply strange and unexpected, he boldly approached you, a playful smirk dancing on his lips as he unleashed his flirtatious charm, the circumstances were unconventional to say the least, but his audacity intrigued you despite your initial doubts, there was undoubtedly something attractive about him that was difficult to resist.

When you decided on this unconventional relationship, doubts began to swirl in your mind.

The unpredictability of his life, the constant presence of other girls in his orbit and his flirtatious nature made it all seem surreal, it was a relationship that defied logic and reason, but you were drawn deeper into his mysterious world.

Leon's courage and free spirited nature created an atmosphere of excitement and uncertainty, every moment spent with him was an exhilarating roller coaster ride filled with unexpected twists, it was a life far from your comfort zone, and yet it was undeniably intoxicating.

For you, the relationship with Leon was shrouded in an atmosphere of uncertainty, you met him under the most unusual circumstances, in a chance meeting where he flirted with you shamelessly, his actions were bold and confident, leaving you both excited and intrigued, and more like a scenario that seemed straight out of a love story, a whirlwind attraction that defies explanation.

You didn't cling to the relationship, partly because you weren't sure of its true nature and partly because you didn't want to be hurt by unrealistic expectations, the atmosphere of your relationship was defined by a delicate balance between passion and detachment, a tightrope of emotions.

In the midst of this uncertainty, it is impossible not to be drawn to Leon's charismatic presence, his bad boy persona was like a powerful magnet, drawing you into a world that was both exciting and mysterious, you succumbed to his charm and willingly entered into relationships that challenged conventional norms.

It was a whirlwind romance that kept you on the edge of your seat, never quite sure where it would lead, but unable to resist the irresistible pull of the bad boy who entered your life in the most unexpected way.

The atmosphere of that period, when you and Leon were dating but living separate lives, was characterized by a delicate balance between attraction and uncertainty, it was a paradoxical mixture of desire and detachment that hung in the air like an unspoken truth.

The physical separation between you meant that your meetings were infrequent, creating a feeling of longing and anticipation whenever you met, Leon's active lifestyle of unpredictable adventures and social antics often kept him away for long periods of time, this added an element of unpredictability to your relationship — making it difficult to predict when you will see each other next.

Amid this backdrop of sporadic encounters, you refrained from fully investing in the relationship, you were aware of Leon's magnetic charm and his penchant for flirting with others, which led to constant doubts, it was as if you were both dancing around the unspoken question of exclusivity, preferring don't face the possibility that he might be involved with someone else besides you.

What was going on between you was a delicate balance of desire and detachment, a mixture of emotions that left you both hesitant to fully commit to a business, you didn't hold on to the relationship partly because you were afraid of getting hurt and partly because you accepted the fact that Leon's lifestyle might lead him to explore other relationships.

The rollercoaster of emotions, doubts and delight from communicating with him created an atmosphere that was both inspiring and nerve wracking.

This mindset created an atmosphere of both attraction and apprehension, where the charm of Leon's charismatic personality battled the uncertainty of where your relationship really stood.

Until that fateful evening.

᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌━━━━━━━━━━━━

There was an atmosphere of loneliness and routine in your apartment that evening, the soft glow of warm lighting creating a cozy atmosphere, creating a cozy haven where you were absorbed in your own affairs, the muffled sounds of the outside world seemed distant as you went about your business, blissfully unaware of the impending changes.

And suddenly your phone rang, breaking the silence of the room, your interest increased, you picked up the phone and your heart began to pound when you recognized Leon's name on the caller ID, you had no idea what prompted him to call, but a mixture of curiosity and anxiety drew you into the conversation.

As you raised the phone to your ear, you were greeted by the unexpected sound of Leon's voice, sad and slightly slurred from the effects of alcohol, his words, once confident and flirtatious, now carried vulnerability, almost like a puppy's, the contrast was startling, and you momentarily speechless.

— «Babe.. can you pick me up?» he muttered, tenderness slipped from his lips, an expression of affection that you had not heard from him before, it caused a surge of emotions in you, a mixture of surprise and tenderness, without thinking twice you agreed to pick him up from the bar, the insistence and sadness in his voice did not leave you another choice.

Leaving your apartment, you stepped out into the night, the atmosphere changing dramatically — from the comfort of your solitude to the anticipation of what awaited you at the bar, your car became your refuge, the purr of the engine accompanying your racing thoughts as you drove to your destination.

Approaching the bar, you noticed Leon, his silhouette framed by neon lights, the atmosphere here was in sharp contrast to the tranquility of your home, the bar was full of chatter, the clinking of glasses and the noise of conversations, it seemed that Leon navigated this world without much effort, but today everything was different.

When he got into your car, the atmosphere inside changed again — from the bustling noise of the bar to a tense, intimate silence, the only sounds were the quiet hum of the engine and Leon's uneven breathing, you glanced in his direction from time to time, your heart pounding with anxiety and anticipation.

Leon's gaze from the car window seemed distant and pessimistic, sharply different from the confident personality you were used to, the air in the car was laced with unspoken emotions, a feeling of vulnerability neither of you had experienced before as you drove him to his apartment, the world outside blurry, clouded by the weight of his unexpected call and the uncertainty hanging in the air.

The dialogue was marked by a drastic change in Leon's tone — from a flirtatious bad boy to a vulnerable, almost fragile man, his gentle word «baby» brought up a lot of emotions that resonated with you, it was a departure from his usual confident demeanor and it surprised and touched you both.

Your willingness to take him without hesitation spoke volumes about the connection between you two, the unspoken understanding, care and willingness to be there for him created an atmosphere of genuine care and affection that transcended the uncertainty that had plagued your relationship all along.

As you drove, the dialogue between you was sparse but filled with unspoken feelings, the silence spoke volumes, conveying a shared sense of vulnerability and the newfound depth of your connection.

The decor in Leon's apartment was a mixture of dimly lit coziness and the lingering smell of alcohol, when you walked inside, the soft, warm lighting created a calm atmosphere that was in stark contrast to the noisy bar you had just left, the subdued atmosphere felt like a sanctuary — a refuge from the outside world.

You led Leon to the couch and helped him sit down, the silence in the room was filled with unspoken emotions as you turned away, intending to leave, uncertainty in the air and you wondered if this moment would be another fleeting encounter in your relationship.

However, the atmosphere changed suddenly, without warning Leon's arms wrapped around you from behind, his strong embrace pulled you closer to him, the feeling of his chest on your back, his face buried in your neck sent a shiver down your spine, it was an unexpected, intimate gesture that took your breath away.

His voice, soft and full of emotion, broke the silence — «Please, don't leave..» he muttered, his plea touching your heart with surprising ease.

The vulnerability in his voice was palpable, a stark contrast to his usual confident demeanor as he continued to speak, his words a gentle, sincere declaration of love and gratitude.

— «I really love you..» he whispered, his voice barely louder than a sigh, the words hanging in the air, a confession that seemed to hang by a thread, waiting for your response.

Your heart fluttered at his words, your own emotions stirred by the sincerity of his voice, you couldn’t resist the urge to stay.

Slowly, you sank down onto the couch next to him, gently stroking his fluffy hair with your fingers, Leon snuggled up to you like a lost puppy, seeking comfort and reassurance in your presence.

When you leaned down, your lips gently pressed against the top of his head, it was a soft, gentle kiss, a wordless confession of your feelings — «I love you too» you whispered, and your voice was full of warmth and tenderness.

The words expressed your emotions, confirmation that your connection was sincere and deep.

The atmosphere at that moment was full of intimacy and vulnerability, the room seemed to close around you, enveloping you both in a bubble of affection and love, the dim light cast soft shadows on Leon's face, emphasizing the seriousness of his eyes, the room was filled with a quiet, soothing hum of your shared emotions, creating a cocoon of tenderness and connection that transcends the uncertainty of your relationship.

In this intimate space, the air was filled with unspoken feelings, and the dialogue, although quiet and whispered, was a powerful testament to the depth of your feelings for each other.

He began to speak again, his words still slightly slurred from the alcohol, but filled with a raw honesty that was both surprising and touching — «I am tired..» he admitted, and his voice reflected emotions — «Tired of behaving this way, like i don't care.. i never wanted to let anyone get too close»

The atmosphere in the room seemed to change again, the walls he had carefully built around his heart were crumbling, revealing the man underneath the fuckboy façade, it was a vulnerable moment and you listened to him intently, your heart aching for him.

Gradually, Leon's words became a mumble, a rambling narrative of his life, his choices and his regrets, he spoke of the burdens he carried, the expectations placed on him, and the loneliness that led him down this path.

As you sat next to him, his head resting on your shoulder, you could feel his weariness, both physical and emotional, his words a desperate plea for understanding and acceptance, an acknowledgment of his longing for something deeper and more meaningful.

You listened without interruption, allowing him to share his innermost thoughts and fears, as if a dam had broken and his emotions flowed freely, in that vulnerable moment you realized that the image of the bad guy was just a mask, a shield that he used to protect himself from peace.

Finally, as he spoke, the weight of his words took its toll, his voice became softer, his sentences became incoherent mutterings, he poured out his heart and weariness took him.

With tenderness coming from a place of deep affection, you leaned down and kissed the top of his head again, a quiet gesture of comfort and care.

The vulnerability he showed brought you closer, creating a deeper connection between the two of you, in the stillness of the night you closed your eyes, deciding that the morning would be a smarter time to discuss things further.

As you both drifted off to sleep, the dim room maintaining a sense of peace and acceptance, that night became a turning point in your relationship, a moment of deep revelation and connection.

And as you lay there together, you knew there would be time to deal with the complexities of his past and the future of your relationship when the morning light came, bringing with it a sense of clarity and hope.

[ taglist: @roseglazedlens, @sporeghost, @scar-crossedlvrs, @daydreamrot, @valsthea ] dm me if you want to be tagged in my works or open my taglist.

please, don't copy my works as your own, and if you want to post them somewhere else - contact me.

reblogs, likes and comments are very much appreciated, thank you for reading! ♡

#[ ✒️july writing ]#resident evil leon #leon scott kennedy #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy comfort #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy re4 #leon kennedy x y/n #leon s kennedy #resident evil 4 #leon kennedy x gn!reader #leon kennedy fic #leon kennedy fanfic #leon resident evil

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melancholy-diary · 10 months

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My unpopular opinion about Leon :

I literally want to ride him till the planets stops orbiting. Till his magic stick and the inside of my punani is WHITE. The way I'd hop on that shit like it was a bouncy castle GRAH. Going 299 792 459 m / s you can call me light the way id turn into a fleshlight for him BAHAHAHAH

#resident evil #leon kennedy #leon kennedy smut #re2 leon #re4 leon #leon s kennedy #re4 remake #leon kennedy fluff

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mychoombatheroomba · 3 months

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Let You Down

Between the Bones (Leon x GN! Reader) - Chapter 12

You should have known better.

(Cross-posted from Ao3)

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Index

TW: angst, flashbacks/nightmares, guilt, terrible emotional responses to feelings

You remembered hearing about how comets could get stuck in orbit around a planet, pulled from their path by the force of gravity if all of the factors were right. It was something you’d heard in school at some point, in another life. It was impressive to think that something could be hurtling lost through space and still manage to get dragged off course. How could that even happen? How could everything in the universe line up just so - enough to stop such a force? To trap it?

Now, you were starting to understand it.

Over the next few days, neither you nor Leon mentioned what happened, and you, for one, were glad of it. You weren’t sure what there was to say, anyway. Not when you both had other things to focus on.

You were thankful for the preparations for assessments, because it was easiest to look Leon in the eye when you were giving a correction, or going on about what he might have to expect in the coming weeks. You might even have been able to pretend it hadn’t happened at all, were it not for the way you felt his eyes on you when he thought you weren’t looking. Or the way your own mind would conjure up some delicious impossibility when you let your guard down.

Luckily, you’d had a year to learn how to fend off dangerous thoughts. Training was your weapon, and it had worked well enough so far.

The trouble was in the company you kept. It was difficult to keep your mind off of Leon when he was at your side so often. At mealtimes and in your personal hours, you found your mind drifting. Even as the two of you sparred, or shot, or pushed yourselves through the obstacle course, imagination crept in. You would glance his way, catch sight of him straining against you in a fight, or aiming down the barrel of his pistol, and then you’d feel that pull.

Then, you started feeling it even when Leon wasn’t around.

You thought about sparring with him, pinning him to the ground and dragging your lips across his throat. You’d imagine him making those wonderful noises, looking at you with that same intensity he had when he fought.

A momentary desire. A want that could be handled. That’s how you liked to think of it, because that was easiest.

It was harmless enough, you thought, because how the hell would you make it work, anyway? You were training almost constantly, and even when you weren’t, the base was under constant surveillance. You were still technically a Sergeant, even here. Whatever Leon’s official rank was, you were fairly sure that you were a step up the ladder, and the rules were clearly set against that kind of fraternization. Even if Leon wanted you in the way that you wanted him - a possibility you were trying hard to talk yourself away from - there was almost no way the two of you could act on it.

I wouldn’t worry about something that’s not going to happen.

You’d said that to Leon, and now you could take your own advice.

And yet, you worried anyway.

At a point, you stopped being angry with yourself about it. That point came not too long after you reported to Major Krauser after a night watch.

You’d woken up before everyone else, readying yourself to be more exhausted than usual for the rest of the day. It was a long shift, as always, because there was seldom anything going wrong on base. The worst case scenario was usually a recruit trying to sneak out at night, or writing letters when they shouldn’t be. Still, you’d learned long ago to take the job seriously, and so you kept a watchful eye over the base as you went, noting that little nook by the officer’s barracks and on the west side behind the mess hall where you knew the cameras were blind.

Places where you’d seen soldiers hiding out for a smoke, or to steal a drink, or . . .

If indeed there was a world where you and Leon were to act on whatever was between you - if there was anything between you - then you supposed it might be there, in the blind spots of the cameras, when no one was looking. As you finished your watch, you couldn’t help but imagine that world, letting yourself indulge in the thought, however admittedly shameful a thought it was.

You felt like you were getting away with some great crime, in a way. Or, you did, until after you gave your report and Krauser didn’t dismiss you right away.

“You and the rookie,” Krauser began, and you felt your blood pressure skyrocket, your mind going on high alert. There was only one rookie he could be talking about. “You’ve been spending a lot of time together.”

Your thoughts bombarded you in quick succession.

He knows-

How the fuck would he know?

He knows-

You’ve only been thinking-

“Yeah,” you nodded dumbly, trying to assess both what emotion the Major was speaking with and how guilty you looked. “I’m trying to get him up to speed.” You almost considered praying that he wouldn’t ask any of the questions you dreaded. Then again, whatever higher powers that were up there had never been merciful to you before, why would they start now?

“You’ve done a good job,” Krauser said, and you wished you could enjoy the compliment. “He’s not hopeless anymore, I’ll give him that.”

“He’s never been hopeless,” you defended, your affection for the man in question squeezing the words out of you.

Krauser noticed. You could see it in his eyes - the way his mouth tightened. Still, he shrugged in the end. “Maybe not, but he’s actually keeping up, now. Hell, he’s doing better than most of his unit. Even if he’s soft.”

That bit, you weren’t sure you could argue with. He’d jumped in to save you from being hurt, after all. He’d asked you about who you were as a person, what sort of music you liked. Who you wanted to be. Leon was not the hardened soldier that everyone else on base was. Maybe that was what endeared him to you, in a way. And maybe that was what scared you about him. How long would that soft side of him last?

“He’ll get there,” you said, your voice quieter.

“Not if he’s never challenged,” Krauser asserted, and you couldn’t help but furrow your brow. Every day in this place was a challenge. What the hell more did the Major want from him? “I know you’ve been giving him advice,” the man went on, “and that’s alright. Good, even. But I’m going to have your unit help me with their test, and I don’t want any details spilled. Understood?”

Ah. That was what he wanted to talk about, then. Maybe you were in the clear, after all. “Understood, sir.” You said it because you were so relieved he wasn’t asking about you and Leon on a more personal level. Then, a beat passed, and you thought about what the Major was implying. “What are we going to be doing?”

“We’ll start getting you ready for it tomorrow,” Krauser said, and that didn’t make you feel better whatsoever. “I’ll go over it when we meet for afternoon drills.”

That was all the explanation you were going to get for now. Whatever it was, if your entire squad was going to be involved, then it was probably going to be bad. Different than your own assessment had been, all those weeks prior. Knowing Krauser, probably more brutal. You had something new to think about now, at least. Something constructive. Something attainable.

“Am I dismissed, sir?” you asked.

You were more than a little surprised with the answer. “Not just yet,” Krauser shook his head, taking a step closer. “The rookie. He tell you about Raccoon City?”

The question caught you off guard in a way that Major Krauser so often did, with words or weapons.

“You know?”

Stupid question. “I read his file. What they'd let me see. Know you two have some shared experience.”

“. . . Yeah, he told me.”

“And you told him?”

The sky was bleeding a rising red. Bleeding just like you. You smelled smoke-

A shadow passed over the sun-

A red beret above you-

A gruff voice. “This one’s still alive!”

You weren’t supposed to have spoken about it, you supposed, but that didn’t change facts. “Part of it, yeah.” Krauser would either understand or he’d write you up. Maybe that discipline was what you needed. Maybe it would knock your head back into gear-

“Good.” Krauser nodded once with approval, and again you were a little shocked. “Need you two to stop feeling sorry for yourselves. If you have to pull each other out of the muck to do it, that’s fine by me.”

A few years ago, that comment would have lit an inferno in you. It would have burned you up with rage, because who was this man to tell you how to live with your own grief? Who was this bastard to say that you couldn’t mourn for the life and the people that you lost? You were different now, though. You’d served for long enough to know a hardass drill sergeant’s talk when you heard it, and you knew Jack Krauser well enough to know when he was pushing you forward instead of holding you down. This, however harsh, was the former.

“Will do, sir,” you nodded, almost smiling. You have been doing a lot of that, lately.

Krauser didn’t quite return the look, but that was alright. He just nodded, seemingly content that he’d made the points he wanted to make. “Dismissed.”

⧫⧫⧫

He knew it was a dream.

It had to be, because there was no way you were actually underneath him, hands clutching at him. Looking up at him with wide, dark-fire eyes. Your fingers wove in his hair, pulling him down-

Down-

Until his lips were against your own.

Oh, it was a dream. One he’d been having more and more, lately. And however wrong it was, however Leon knew it improper to be thinking of you like this, he let himself drift through it. Get lost in it. It was so much sweeter than his dreams had been of late, how could he not savor the little whispers of his name from you?

How could he not let himself sink into that bliss?

How could he not try to memorize the way your hand felt as he took it in his own?

The way you clung to each other like a lifeline-

The way your breath hitched-

The way the world seemed to fall away-

“Did you forget about me that quickly?” The words turned his blood to ice. It wasn’t your voice. No, he would know that voice anywhere. Dreams were the only place he could hear it, now.

He wasn’t kissing you, anymore. You were falling away from him, the ground giving way . . . and then, you weren’t you. Just as she had so many nights before, Ada was looking up at him, her gaze as dark as the emptiness that waited for her, if Leon let go. So, he held on, knuckles turning white, wishing that he could change the past.

But this was a dream. Not real. Just a reminder of hard truths.

Most nights, though, when he dreamed of Ada falling, she seemed accepting. Afraid, but accepting. Now, as her hand slipped from Leon’s, there was nothing but accusation in her eyes as she fell down-

Down-

Until she was gone, like she had never truly been in the first place.

⧫⧫⧫

Whatever nonsense you were planning, it was curbed when you saw that Leon was sitting by himself at lunch.

It wasn’t unusual. What was unusual was that when you moved to join him, he glanced up at you, and then looked back down just as quickly. His jaw tightened. He gave you a mumbled greeting, and then went quiet.

“You alright?” you asked, and he took a breath before he answered.

“Yeah. I just didn’t sleep well.”

You knew well enough what that meant, no one better. Krauser’s words lingered in your head, joining the concern that was already there. However else you were thinking of Leon lately, he had been there for you. Least you could do was return the favor. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He looked up at you, conflict plain in his expression. Whatever was happening in his mind, his answer was simple. “Pass.”

You’d both long since learned to respect that much from each other, so you nodded and let the subject drop. Even if you wanted to dig deeper. Even if it was plain that Leon was far from “fine”. But you were the last person alive who could accuse someone of hiding what they were feeling, or not wanting to talk about it. You’d been doing it for a year now, after all.

“Knives today?” You asked, when the silence grew to be too much.

Leon just nodded.

⧫⧫⧫

Leon understood how you could get so lost in a fight, now. He knew why you would spar to clear your head. There was so little room for other thoughts when you were truly in the moment, when all you let yourself think of was the blade you were up against. The blade, and not the person.

Easier said than done, when you were the one holding that knife.

Still, for the most part, Leon found that he was able to keep his thoughts on the combat. Moves and countermoves. You’d advance, and he would block. Answer your attack with one of his own. It all started to blur together, his mind rushing to keep up with you. It was getting easier. He almost forgot the dream that had him in a chokehold all day. Then, everything would get muddled when you would pause at a safe distance, your eyes finding his own as the two of you planned your next move. Or, when in the heat of the moment, the two of you would find yourselves locked together, struggling to get a knife around the other’s guard.

Those were the moments when Leon’s will would falter.

-his lips were against your own-

-you clung to each other-

-her hand slipped from Leon’s-

He swore beneath his breath as your knife smashed against his fingers, and he took a moment to shake the pain from his hand.

“You sure you’re alright?”

You would be able to tell that his mind was a mess. Right now, though, he wished that he was a stone wall. Unreadable. He didn’t want you to so easily tell what was happening behind his eyes. “Yeah,” he lied again, “I’m alright.”

The look you gave him spoke for itself. That’s bullshit.

Even with that look, though, you didn’t push him. Because you were, beneath all that training and cold steel focus, a good person. Leon knew it, even if you likely wouldn’t agree. He knew it, and it made things all the more difficult. If you were just some emotionless soldier, intent on molding yourself into a killing machine, he could have ignored what he was feeling. Instead, you were . . . well, you.

“Okay. Just focus on me, alright?” you said, your voice quiet and steady and just a touch too compassionate. He shouldn’t begrudge you compassion, but his emotions were a jumble as it was.

Still, he followed your command, doing his best to quiet his more traitorous thoughts. It got easier when, after a quick exchange of attacks, he managed to get his knife through your guard, pressing the tip of its blade to your chest.

Victories were coming more and more often now, but each time Leon won against you, he couldn’t help but feel proud. Even now, when his mind was all shadows and doubts. Of course, encouragement from you didn’t hurt, either.

“There you go,” you praised as he stepped away. You were smiling.

God, your smile.

“You know, you’re getting pretty good at this.”

The compliment did raise his mood, despite everything. “Good enough to pass assessments?”

“You’d better be, or what the hell have we been doing this whole time?” It was said with good humor, and it made Leon huff a little laugh.

“Fair enough.”

“You’ll be fine,” you reassured him, and he had no choice but to believe you, when you were looking at him like that. “That said, you up for a challenge?” you asked, the concern on your face being replaced with a grin.

He loved it when you smiled like that - it made your eyes light up like a devil that meant well but was going to leave a trail of fire behind them anyway. You were trying to distract him, he figured. Trying to get his mind off of whatever was bothering him the only way you knew how. A challenge with you was usually more of an impossible feat - something he could strive for, but never quite achieved. Still, because he needed that distraction, he found himself nodding. “Sure.”

With that, you slid your knife into the pocket of your fatigues. Armed versus unarmed. Same way you’d fought him on that first day. “Let’s see how many wins you can get in a row.” You bent your knees, getting into a ready stance.

Leon felt the corners of his mouth curve upward. “Wouldn’t it be more of a challenge if you were armed?”

“Well, maybe I wanted a challenge, too.” You swiped at his knife hand, knocking it out of the way for a stomach jab.

Leon blocked. Slashed at your arm. Near miss.

He pushed the offensive, just as he’d been taught. By Krauser. By you.

You tried to catch his wrist, but he twisted away. Instinct guided him to his first victory - a knife slashed across your belly too fast for you to avoid in time. You didn’t wince away from it, and Leon was glad of that. In fact, you gave him an approving nod. “That’s one.”

The second victory went to you, when you leveraged the knife out of his hand and the unarmed bout that followed ended with you locking your arms around his neck from behind. “And one for me,” you said, and he could feel your breath hot against his ear before you let him go. You’d been on top of him hundreds of times, now. Why was it now that feeling you against him set his blood pounding?

He knew that, on some level, it was because of the whispers of fantasies he’d indulged in of late. Dreams that he’d let play out when he shouldn’t have.

Focus.

Another round. His win. He switched hands as you tried to bind his attack away, caught you first in the arm, and then later in the well between your neck and shoulder. You were breathing heavy, your eyes filled with what Leon could only hope was determination.

On and on the two of you went, fighting with everything you had. You had more wins, overall, but it was no surprise. The fact that Leon was winning at all was a step in the right direction.

And as the two of you fought, Leon felt the despair that had been dragging him down all day begin to fade. Each of your little smiles, or jabbing comments pulled him into the moment. The here and now. You didn’t give him the opportunity to think of the past, because if he let himself slip, he would lose.

That became abundantly clear when you stripped the knife from his hand and came at him. Now he was on the defensive, his body alight with electricity as he realized the danger he was in.

You slashed at him once. Twice. Leon just barely got out of the way in time.

A kick sent Leon backwards, and he rolled to come up on all fours just in time to see you rushing him.

The sun had set. The only lights were the street lamps overhead and the dim light coming from the officer’s bunkhouse. Still, it was enough to catch on the blade of your knife as you brought it down on him, holding it in reverse like the fang of a spider ready to pierce his skin.

The light caught the blade in your hand, yes, but it also caught the handle of the one still in your pocket.

Leon took the chance without thinking, rising onto one knee and moving one arm to block as the other went for your hip. Your eyes widened as he closed his fingers around the knife, and you moved to stop him too late. He pulled the weapon free of your pocket, cutting an imagined line across your stomach before holding it to the inside of the leg that was forward. Right where the femoral artery ran beneath the skin and muscle - a place that would bleed you fast in the real world.

So close to a more compromising position, that Leon nearly froze as he realized just where he’d placed that knife.

Nearly.

Instead, he found himself keeping the blade there, and looking up at you with an almost-grin of his own. All that kept it from a full smile was the uncertainty of what your reaction would be to the move. You looked surprised, yes. But there was something else there, too. Something darker that danced where the lamplight couldn’t reach. Even if you’d just lost the fight, you looked otherworldly standing over him. “Smooth move, pretty boy.”

Something in him tensed at the nickname. Sparked. He was losing the fight against those thoughts of his. Had to push through. “Sorry,” he said, even if he didn’t really mean it. “That was kind of cheap-”

“No, it was smart.” You lowered your still raised knife, and Leon let his blocking arm relax. He let his knife fall away, too, glad of the low light hiding the redness in his cheeks and ears as he rose. “If it’s there, might as well use it.” Even so, you went and put the knife back on the table where it belonged. “Now, let’s see if you can find other ways to surprise me.”

Leon took to the challenge eagerly and won the next round in doing so. Your head tilted back on instinct as he rested the knife against your neck, and there was no anger at the defeat to be found. You were both tired. You shared the same quick breathing and pounding hearts. Sweat beaded at your brow, the same as it did at Leon’s. The day was almost over. All that to say, Leon wasn’t surprised when you grinned at him over the knife. “Think you can make it to three?” you didn’t move away as you spoke.

What he’d dreamed of didn’t matter anymore. Only this moment did. However dangerous it was.

“Do I get anything if I win?”

You didn’t break his gaze as you answered. It let him see the way your pupils dilated, and with the way his blood was pounding in his ears, there was no guilt to be found at the way it made him feel. “I’m sure I’ll think of something,” you said, and Leon knew that he had to win.

And so, the last fight of the evening began, set to the tune of the radio as it always was. Leon paid the music no mind, because the dance that the two of you were locked in was something else entirely. Something that no music could ever hope to score.

It went on for a long time - Leon swinging the knife at you, and you avoiding it. You stepped back and to the side, but never forward. Never towards him. After hours of you teaching Leon to get in close, Leon knew that you were planning something. The wildness in your eyes only confirmed it.

Wild and alive - so different from the way you’d looked on that first day. He’d thought you were ice, then. Now, he was staring at a crackling flame and couldn’t look away.

You exhaled as you retreated from another attack, stopping just short of the wall of the officer’s barracks. “What are you doing all the way over there?” Leon asked, fairly sure that you’d spoken those exact words to him at one point or another.

You just shrugged, keeping your guard up. “Waiting.”

“Could be waiting a while.”

There was that devil-grin again. “Then come and get me.”

Leon knew it was a trap. You’d all but spelled it out for him. Still, he advanced, taking a few more swings. If he could get you caught against the wall, then he might be able to get the upper hand. Slash, slash, and thrust. The last one aimed at your heart, meant to get you to back up.

He supposed that he should have known not to back you into a corner.

You reached for Leon’s arm before he could pull it away, trying to trap his hand against your chest. So you could pull the knife free, he thought, but was quickly proven wrong as you turned and dropped down. Your back to his, your free arm bracing against his own, and Leon had only an instant to prepare as you leveraged his body over your shoulder.

The impact came hard and fast, and his entire body shook with the force of it, and he couldn’t help the yelp he made as the air was knocked from him.

He felt the knife get pulled from his grip, but he was lucky enough to get his feet under him quickly. Dazed, he forced himself around the moment he could. His free hand found the back of your knee, his shoulder bracing against your stomach just as he felt the knife come down on it. He probably could have stopped there, called it a defeat, but he was already moving and there was no stopping his momentum as he pushed all his weight against you, pulling your leg forward at the same time. You toppled over, your back kicking up dust as you hit the ground.

The struggle that followed was a blur. All Leon could think was that you still had the knife, and that he had to get it away. Down and away. Your surprise was probably all that saved him.

He pushed himself up and forward, arms moving against yours. Grunts and groans, the sound of boots scraping at the dirt, and then metal hitting the ground as Leon pinned your arm down to the side.

His forearm came down over your throat, stopping just short of applying any real pressure. The rest of him was atop you, keeping you firmly against the ground. He was so caught in making sure you couldn’t escape, in the way his head was still spinning from his fall, that it took several seconds for him to realize that he’d won.

When that realization came, though, it didn’t matter. Not when you were looking up at him the way you were. Winning didn’t mean a goddamn thing, because his face was so close to yours, and your eyes were dark - so, so dark - as they searched his own. A fire so dark it burned black. A sea so deep, he couldn't see the bottom. Couldn’t even imagine it.

And both of you were at its edge, silently asking each other the same question.

Should we jump?

He didn’t get to answer the question for himself before he felt your lips against his.

You’d kissed him.

For reasons he couldn’t fathom and didn’t care to, you had kissed him.

The moment was stretched and pulled every which way, and Leon could only struggle to grasp onto something he could make sense of. Closed his eyes so the rest of him could get a clearer picture. He was aware of the way he took a sharp breath when he felt you against him. Your body was beneath his, and the warmth of it was suddenly so strange. He wanted to sink into it all the same. Get lost in it. He had to move the arm at your neck when he felt you straining against it. And your lips . . . he couldn’t help but move his own against them, tasting the dust you were both covered in. He couldn’t help but breathe his dream into reality, happy to do it for once.

Happy because how long had he wanted to press his mouth to yours? How many weeks had he imagined this moment in one way or another? How many nights had he dreamed of your hand weaving through his hair, pulling him down-

Down-

Until she was gone, like she had never truly been in the first place-

The memory struck him like a bullet, tearing clean through him so fast he didn’t fully realize it had hit him. Ada. Her lips against his. Her eyes looking up at him. Accusing. “Did you forget about me that quickly?” That wasn’t a memory, but it stung like one. It rotted away at him, poisoning him with one thought above all else.

How could you?

And in the moment of panic that followed, Leon pulled back, like he was flinching away from something hurting him. He didn’t even fully realize that you’d stopped moving your lips. That you’d taken your hand from his hair.

All he knew was that you didn’t chase him when he pulled away. Instead, he found your eyes distant.

“We can’t do this.” You said it like you’d known it all along. Like you knew whatever was between you was moments away from dying, and there was nothing you could do to save it. Or, maybe, like you were steeling yourself to let it go.

“I’m sorry-” he said, but you shook your head. Didn’t let him try to explain the disaster of his thoughts.

“There’s nothing to apologize for.” Your voice sounded empty. That mask of calm was back on, and Leon felt like he was watching you slip through his fingers, too. “Can you let me up?”

Leon did as he was asked, his body moving while his mind stayed behind, trying to pick up the pieces. To figure out what had just happened. To staunch the bleeding, even if it was too late. He only remembered to give you a hand when you were already halfway to your feet, and if you saw the offer, you didn’t take it.

He had to say something. Had to explain-

Saying your name caught your attention, but you didn’t hold his gaze for long. “I didn’t mean-”

“Don’t worry about it.” You didn’t let him finish, and it ran a line of frustration through him. Before he could even think to protest otherwise, you were continuing on, your words strung tight, ready to snap. “Let’s call it a night, yeah?”

He could have refused.

He could have insisted that you talk, that you clear up everything that had just happened. That way, he could tell you why he’d pulled back. Maybe learn why you’d let him. But lights out was soon, and there wasn’t enough time in the world to explain himself. If you even wanted an explanation. So, in the end, Leon just nodded, his words just above a whisper.

“Okay. Good night.”

⧫⧫⧫

You watched him go, trying hard to ignore whatever was squeezing your chest. Constricting it. Panic and longing in equal measure, you supposed.

You’d stopped it.

You’d stopped before it could get worse.

That was what mattered.

You were safer this way. You both were.

You busied yourself with putting the knives away. Straightening yourself up. Then, when you were sure you were well and truly alone, you let yourself hunch over, bracing against the locker where the training equipment was kept. There was too much to think of; you couldn’t get a lock on any one thing. It all came at you sideways and backwards, and there was nothing you could do but take the blows because you should have known better.

You should have fucking known better.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Index

A/N:

The lads are struggling, I apologize for their lack of emotional awareness. Or maybe their emotional hyperawareness. All this to say, they've both got enough emotional baggage to sink a cruise ship, and god I wish they could see a therapist about it.

Also, if the song had come out by 1999, Leon would absolutely listen to Let You Down by Dawid Podsiadło while angsting about Ada and the Sergeant. I certainly listen to it while angsting about them. But then again, I just listen to that song while angsting about anything. Thank you very much, Cyberpunk Edgerunners.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy #jack krauser #resident evil x reader #resident evil 2 #resident evil 4 #resident evil #between the bones #gender neutral reader #leon kennedy x you #no y/n #angst

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mintharan · 4 months

Text

I've been burdened with terrible visions. Walk with me.

It struck me how Spawn Astarion with Duke Wyll and Ascended Astarion with Duke Wyll could work as negatives of each other.

For instance, Wyll marries spawn Astarion, they are so happy everyone around them gets hit with the fallout. Wyll singlehandedly makes nightly soirees a thing. "I just think parties should happen at night, there's no point in holding any kind of grand event during the day if you really think about it." Just so Astarion can attend and be the centre of attention and speculation.

Everyone wonders about the Duke's mysterious husband who never goes out during the day. Rumours abound. "I hear Duke Ravengard is extremely jealous and doesn't let his husband out of his sight, locks him up inside the house so none may gaze upon him." "Nonsense, I hear the man is actually a pale drow and the sun hurts his eyes." "More nonsense, I hear he's an insufferable prick who thinks everyone is beneath him and only comes out at night because the sun makes other people's flaws too apparent."

You get the gist of it. Astarion delights in having all these rumours about himself, and tells Wyll to stop trying to dispel them. "Darling, the people of Baldur's Gate get bored easily, let them speculate, it's better than starting yet another cult." They adopt Lily Aurora, who Astarion raises to be a menace. Wyll thinks she's just darling even as people look in horror as she attempts to chew the furniture.

It's all very sweet, despite Astarion's occasional maudlin periods about not being able to go out into the sun.

Now, Ascended Astarion and Duke Wyll get exactly the same story, except no one's happy about it.

This works best imo if they were together before Astarion's ascension and then Wyll broke it off. In this case he'd choose to become a Duke out of an extreme sense of duty to protect the people of Baldur's Gate from the monster Astarion had become.

They would orbit each other constantly, Wyll reminding Astarion that he couldn't go too far without consequence and Astarion testing the limits of Wyll's feelings for him (the love was still there, just twisted).

Eventually the loneliness gets to them both, but mostly to Wyll, who can never get over Astarion, and in a moment of weakness gives in. It feels like a victory to Astarion at first, but like everything else about Ascension he soon realizes it's hollow.

Wyll isn't happy about compromising his morals, even if it's for love, and he despairs in not recognizing the man he fell for in Astarion. Wyll tries to end it many times, but Astarion has him wrapped around his finger, with sex, but mostly with the mimicry of the romance they enjoyed during their early courtship.

Astarion fears one day he'll leave him for good and that he'll be alone. Again. Haunting the halls of his former prison with only his memories for company.

So he brings Lily home, and at first Wyll is horrified but soon he finds comfort in the child's presence. He stays home for longer periods of time. Less 'Duke' duties take him away from Astarion. He's a fucking genius, he solved it.

Except it's obvious Wyll loves the child more than he loves Astarion. He takes to being a father like a duck to water, and while he's home more often all his time is spent with their daughter. His daughter really, he seems to think Astarion will be a bad influence on Lily if he as much as breathes near her.

So his grand plan backfired and now he's so jealous he can barely see straight. He wishes he could take back the damn girl and return her to the Ilmater priests.

But then he remembers. Cazador had made good use of a father's love for his daughter when he made Leon do everything he wanted to keep Violet safe.

Astarion starts doing the same, manipulating Wyll with veiled threats to Lily's life. Wyll knows exactly what he's doing, but he's powerless to do anything. Astarion got the child on his own, they're not married, Wyll has no rights to her.

But he could have, Astarion reminds him. Dangling the promise like a noose. If he agreed to become Astarion's consort, he could have everything.

"Have I not been made into enough of a monster?"

"Darling, at least we'd be monsters together."

It all comes to a head when Astarion threatens to turn Lily instead. "Think about it, she'd be your sweet child forever. She'll never grow up to blame you for anything."

Wyll gives in, allows Astarion to turn him and becomes his consort. They get married, it's a grand event, with the whole city in attendance.

Astarion is triumphant, Wyll is resigned. He becomes more accommodating to Astarion's whims, and Astarion wonders if that's the result of his influence over him through their bond, or Wyll finally accepting the love he can give him.

It kills him that he'll never know.

Astarion has everything he ever wanted, he just wishes he could be happy about it. Wyll still dreams about the shy kisses they traded on an empty beach with only the moon for a witness. Another life.

#bg3 #wyllstarion #bloodpact #wyll x astarion #astarion ancunin #wyll ravengard #i should write these fics especially the ascended scenario #but i'd rather read about them ;-;#also lily aurora ravengard it's such a wyllstarion name are you kidding me #in my hc in the happy version Wyll chose Lily and Astarion Aurora #i mean aurora: literally refracted sunlight during the nighttime??? hello can anyone hear me??#there's the other latin and literal meaning of 'dawn' which is also fitting #in the ascended version he chose both names because he was subconsciously thinking about leon's daughter violet #another flower name #and aurora again it just works #i know there's wyllstarion truthers at larian and they are doing the MOST #i salute their efforts

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hheaven-sentt · 4 months

Text

glass in his palm

summary: sunk into flesh, meant to scar | leon kennedy x gn!reader

word count: 2.2k

warnings: angst, angst, angst, more angst, no happy ending (oops), depictions of injuries that are self inflicted (nail biting and finger picking, touching broken glass), self destructive behavior, anger and sadness, mentions of smut but no depictions, mentions of alcohol consumption

notes: back to back baby yeah | ao3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You wonder what time it is in Paris. You’re staring out the window, watching the city lights, the rain, and the cars that pass by on the street below. You hear their honks and see the blurry red of their brake lights, and you wonder what time it is in Paris. Your fingernail beds have been bitten and torn bloody, raw, aching. Your nerves are exposed, heart on your sleeve–a very dangerous place for things to be.

When you were a child, pretending was your favorite game. You’d spend hours with your friends in the backyard, skin baked by the summer sun while you pretended to be princesses, or a single mother of three, or the owner of a hotel. You did that every single day just because you enjoyed it so much. Your hair would bleach under the sun, your skin would fry, and you would be president of the world for a few hours while the Earth spun on its axis toward damnation. Maybe, because you did it so much as a child, that’s why you’re so good at it now.

You tear another piece of skin from the cuticle of your nail. Blood pinpricks in its wake, and you wince at the sting when you flatten your tongue against it. You wonder what time it is in Paris. Is Leon in bed or is he working? Is he drinking like he’s not on the job, but is covered in gear with enough weapons to satisfy a small armory stuck to him? Is he with someone? What time is it there? You know that it’s almost eight in the morning in London, so Paris could only be a few hours ahead of that, right? You glance at the clock sitting beside you. It’s nearing three. You let out a lengthy sigh. You stand abruptly, finding the lack of traffic distracting. You slide your empty glass from the windowsill, a few remnant drops of liquor sliding around the bottom.

You feel pathetic. You could almost guarantee that he hasn’t thought about you. At least, not in a way that matters. You hazard a guess that he’s thought about you beneath him at least once. The thought, although exciting, makes you frown. You feel pathetic. You’ve been staring out the window for the better part of two hours, worrying that he’s not sleeping enough, wondering if he’s hurt, hoping that he took his meds in the morning, and you know that he hasn’t spared you a passing thought.

Is something wrong with you? What about you turns him away? The rational part of yourself says that he’s just wired that way, that he’s not capable of that sort of connection. But then why does he always show up at your door, or pull pretty sounds from your mouth in the early hours before the sun is awake? That has to mean something to him. It means something to you.

You stand over your sink. The faucet doesn’t leak anymore, not after Leon fixed it. Rage bubbles into your system with a vengeance, and you hurl the glass across the room. It shatters in an instant, shards flying to rest at your bare feet. They glint against the soft light coming from the rangehood above the stove. So pretty against the bland gray-green of your kitchen linoleum. You sink to the floor beside the pieces. You press your palm to them, blinking when they sink into your flesh, meaning to scar you.

You’re hopeless. You hate him more than you hate yourself, though. And you know you’ll forget the hatred the moment you see him, the second his gaze connects with yours because you’re pathetic and hopeless. There’s something about him that makes you gravitate to him. You orbit him. You stare at the shards of glass stuck in your palm for a moment more before brushing them away. They clatter back to the floor without a second thought. A bit of blood seeps out of your palm from where the glass was, but you swipe it down the length of your bent leg, smearing your sweatpants with the red.

You rest your head against the bottom row of cabinets. It’s easy like this, blissful amidst the chaos.You fall asleep like that.

When the sun streams across the floor, reflecting off the glass, you hear the front door open. Like a Pavlovian dog, your mood shifts. You feel him before you see him. He’s standing in the archway of the kitchen.

“What the fuck happened here?” he asks. You lull your head to the side to look at him. His expression shifts when he looks at you, like he’s concerned. “What happened?”

“Drank too much,” you lie. “Must’ve dropped the glass and fallen asleep,”

He levels you with a version of his gaze you’ve never seen before. He still has his boots on, so when he approaches you, the glass crunches beneath his feet. He extends a hand to you, an open palm that you can feel before you touch it. You would recognize him in complete darkness. Wordlessly, you take it, and he hauls you to your feet. He’s careful to keep you away from the glass as he helps you out of the room. You feel like a ghost in your own home.

“What’s going on?” Leon asks. You look at him tiredly. You don’t want to be around him, but you know you’ll crumble if he walks through the door. He smooths a hand over your hair, bringing it to rest along your jaw as he forces you to look him in the eye. His gaze dances around your features, searching for injury. “Talk to me,”

“Right, because we’re known for talking,” you say, words a bit more harsh than sarcastic. He knits his brows together. “Been a rough few days. Just need a shower, or something,”

When you try to move away from him, his grip tightens. “You’re really not going to tell me?”

“I must’ve forgotten that you’re Mr. Forthcoming while you were away,” you bite. His hand drops from your face. “You’re not gonna tell me why you were in France for the last three weeks?”

His expression neutralizes in an instant. You nod slowly, pursing your lips, and say, “That’s what I thought,”

He takes a step back from you, and you take this as your cue to run a bath. You sigh once the bathroom door shuts behind you. The running water is enough noise for now, but it will be too quiet once you sink into the water. You stare at yourself in the mirror for a moment. Your eyes are a bit more sunken than usual. Your skin isn’t as bright. Have you lost weight? This generally happens whenever Leon is gone for an extended period of time, but never like this. You look down at your hands, nails chewed to the bed, bloody and raw. Your palm is dirty from last night’s break. You run it under warm water to wash away the dried blood.

You wonder, briefly, what it would be like if Leon stayed. The times he’s here are when you’re at your best. He’s funny, makes you smile, does the dishes, treats you right. He riles you up because he knows he’ll be the one to bring you back down. He knows your body better than you do at this point. You know his just as well. You know that he has a sweet spot just below his ear where the hinge of his jaw is, or that he likes when you drag your nails down his back.

You hate that you want him. You hate that you need to be around him or you become a shell of yourself, lonely and agitated. Maybe be less of a ghost if he would promise to come back, promise that he’s yours, instead of disappearing without even saying goodbye. The thought makes you angry, rageful. You stare at yourself in the mirror. Tears stream down your face, your jaw is clenched, and you can feel your breathing get more and more labored. You hate this.

A soft knock comes from the door. You wipe your face a few times to appear normal, and turn to shut the bath faucet off. When you open the bathroom door a crack, Leon is peering in at you, opening your chest up like a cavern; soft blue eyes bore into you like they mean to discover what’s hidden beneath rather than scrape from the top.

“I was in Paris for work,” he whispers. You blink at him. You know that. “Got called in on an assignment,”

“Those aren’t really answers, Leon,” you say. He sighs, an air of frustration floating about him. “Half truths don’t count,”

“We’re not built for full truths,” he returns.

Pain radiates throughout your chest, crawling around your shoulders and snaking down your arms. Pins and needles prick across your skin. Is it anger or rage? Maybe, but it’s also realization. The waiting and yearning is pointless. Leon has never intended to be truthful with you, not then and certainly not now. You swallow thickly.

“What are we built for?” you ask. Leon’s brows knit together in confusion like he doesn’t fully understand the scope of your question. “God, Leon, can’t you see I’m drowning here?”

He pushes the bathroom door open at this. You can hear the bath faucet dripping faintly in the background, but it’s mostly drowned out by the roaring of blood in your ears. He looks at you–really looks at you–and you feel exposed, vulnerable.

“I can’t sleep,” you say, voice cracking and shaking. “Can’t eat, can’t stop thinking. Did you know that I spend most of my time worrying about you? Bet you didn’t, since all you ever seem to care about when it comes to me is whatever comfort you can find, right?”

Leon doesn’t say anything. His fist flexes and clenches at his side, and you take a lengthy inhale before leveling your gaze on him again.

“You don’t return my calls,” you say. “Don’t ask how I’m doing. Don’t promise you’ll be back. You just take from me, don’t you? I guess I’m guilty of having too much to give. You tell me nothing about who you are or what you do, and expect me to open my home and my legs in return. I have spent the last eight months with a complete and total stranger,”

“You don’t understand-”

“No, I don’t,” you interrupt. He opens his mouth a few times before choosing to remain silent. “And at this point? I don’t want to understand. I just…want it to be over, honestly,”

“Over?” he repeats. “You want me to leave?”

“Doesn’t really stop you all that often,” you say, shrugging. “Look at me, Leon. I’m a mess,”

He chews on his lower lip, choosing his next words carefully. “Look,” he says. You blink at him. “I care about you, I mean, clearly. But I’m not sure what you expected. I told you how this was going to work, and you let me in anyway,”

You want to scream at him. “Yes,” you say calmly instead. “I let you in anyway. I let you in regardless of whatever stupid self imposed risks you’ve evaluated because it was you. You were worth that to me. I find it hard to believe that you can take care of me when you’re here, but forget that I exist when you’re gone. I’m sorry that I can’t do that, that I can’t separate my heart from my actions, but I think it’s really unfair for you to assume that I could,”

“I am trying,” Leon says. You look him in the eye, and you see something waver there. His tough facade is starting to crack and dissolve. You feel bad for being so upset, maybe you’re overreacting. “I am trying so hard to learn how to love you better,”

You feel a pinprick of pain at your thumb, and you realize you’ve been digging at the nail cuticle for however long you and Leon have been fighting. You smear the blood over the nail in an attempt to wipe it away.

“Is this what you do to yourself when I’m not here?” Leon asks, reaching to grab your hand and inspect your fingers. “Just take yourself apart over and over again without bothering to put the pieces back together?”

You stare at him. “I am trying to figure out how to without you,”

“Don’t go,” he pleads, voice barely a whisper.

“Don’t make me,” you reply. “Because I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I really don’t want to,”

You want him to feel a fraction of the aching pain you’ve felt these last few months. You want him bruised, beaten. You want him to sob in a chair in the middle of the night because he can’t sleep without knowing you’re alive. You want him to hurt.

“But unless you can fix this,” you say, taking a step away from him. “I don’t want to see you ever again,”

He frowns, but ultimately nods. “If you think that’s what’s best for you,”

“I have to look out for myself because I know you won’t,” you whisper. “I don’t want to be the guinea pig you try out new coping methods on,”

His nose twitches with what you assume is anger or frustration. But he leaves.

#m writes #my fics #x reader #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil #leon kennedy #fanfic #resident evil fanfic

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