Shock' Is Being Betrayed By Your Child Who Marries Someone Of The Same Gender, Rendering You And Your

“ ‘Shock' is being betrayed by your child who marries someone of the same gender, rendering you and your paper thin beliefs meaningless. ”

this mf lune when it comes to writing gas in 2 k words:

don’t say it’s unholy, if I let you come hold me (pt 1)

⟡ -- leon finds you drowning your grief in the back of a bar just outside of town. but don't worry, he won't blow your cover.

w/c: 2.1k

warnings: themes of coping with grief and depression, implied underage drinking and unhealthy coping mechanisms, vendetta leon, leon is just a wee bit morally grey here just due to the point in his life this is staged during, no sex but explicit language, leon is readers dad's coworker/friend, angst - eventual sex

a/n: okay, I've been sitting on this baby for a hot minute just because of how self indulgent it is iaqhdsiuwsjih. I wanted to make this longer before I released it, but I think I'm going to just continue this in parts (and even then, don't hold me to that lol judgwiuhd !!). again, please heed warnings, and if you are uncomfortable with any themes presented, please just don't read!

playlist: unholy (hey violet), disconnect (she wants revenge), discipline (nine inch nails), paralyzer (finger eleven)

You shouldn’t be here.

By all legal and ethical means, morality aside, you should be at the library, studying for a final you know damn well you won’t be passing. Or better yet, at home. Maybe poured over a mug of tea, that blend your mom has made you since you were a kid. Some shitty romcom playing in the background, ignored as you doze off surrounded by papers, scattered around the dining table like any other honorable, dutiful college student. Not some… dingy, shithole bar outside the parameters of your hometown.

(One you know your dad doesn’t frequent with colleagues. One you know is just outside the radius of people that would see you here, know you enough to know you shouldn’t be here.)

Maybe you would be back home right now, studying until you felt like your brain was going to melt out of your ears, if not for what happened. The “would’ve” “could’ve” and “should’ve”s are stacked high in your brain, like a mountain of now unattainable possibilities laid bare, slain by the events of recent nights. Something so chilling, so bone shattering and brain dissolving you just can’t manage to wrap your head around it. 

‘Shock’, right? 

That was the operative term for the numbness that has recently buzzed dully in your limbs, the heaviness of your own weight whenever you roll out of bed every day. The term itself is thrown around so flippantly, so easily outside the walls of a hospital, a clinic. General medical common knowledge be damned, everyone knows what shock is.

'Shock' is being betrayed by your child who marries someone of the same gender, rendering you and your paper thin beliefs meaningless. Generations passed down worth of indoctrination gone moot by one, unholy union. It’s coming home and finding your husband in bed with another woman, that blonde bitch at his front desk. The one he told you not to worry about? Yeah, that one. 

It’s the unspeakable, the unimaginable striking. It’s blinding, horrid in how it leaves you.. Empty. You’re compelled to apologize for its effects on your nervous system.

Sorry guys, I promise I’m sad. I know I don’t look it, I’m taking it out on all this- shit lying around. I’ve been meaning to throw this out for ages you know. Guess I finally have a reason now, huh? No, I don’t know how much sleep I’ve gotten the past week, it’s probably fine. I’m fine, don’t worry about me. That’ll make me feel worse. Now, if you would, let me go finish my manic episode in peace, will you-?

Could you blame this too as to why you finally dug out that fake ID your friends coerced you into agreeing to?

This wasn’t like you, not one bit. I mean, really, sitting in the back of some gnarly bar, surrounded with the sorts of people Daddy always warned you about? The sorts of people that only came out after dark, that hung around till dawn when they would then go back to dwell in whatever crevice of the city they called home until dusk? Maybe this was moms genes catching up with you – the predisposed ones you always knew would come to bite you in the ass. Maybe you should go check your eyes, don’t people's pupils dilate when they’re manic? “Crazy eyes'' those people on Tiktok would call them, right? 

“Unwidin’, huh?”

His voice calls through the air between you like he might’ve well been standing yards away. It takes you a moment longer than maybe appropriate to track his distance, his place at your side at the bartop. Glancing over, you first get a look at his hand, gesturing to the drink in front of you, the cigarette dangling between your fingers. The one that was currently beginning to slip in your weakened grip, speaking of. 

They’re long, nimble. Broad hands, worn at the tips, smooth along the meat of his palms. Even under the hazy atmosphere surrounding you, you can make out the glint of the watch up his sleeve – probably expensive, if the quality of the leather of his jacket sleeve has anything to say about it. Look at you. Even buzzed like this, you were spotting the finer details. A daddy’s girl with daddy’s tolerance.

Despite yourself, you nod numbly, head heavy on the bracket of your neck. A sign directly arguing with the idea of your tolerance – or rather, lack thereof – but it can't be as noticeable as your brain is attempting to trick you into believing, right?

Leon settles into the stool next to you, and you don’t so much as cast him a proper glance. Maybe that’s why he finds himself sitting down. You looked out of place, like a damn kicked puppy with your head drowning in a few shots worth in the back of this bar. It was a wonder no one else had approached you up till this point, especially given the time of night. It was hard not to feel like your guardian angel. 

“We both know this ain’t the healthiest way to do it.” He says as he flags the bartender down.

Touche, mystery man. 

Well, alright. Technically you knew the guy. You vaguely recognized him as one of Dad’s colleagues through the haze of your buzz. It was too sweet to interrupt, you find yourself completely unfazed in the face of the inevitable consequences that would come from your fathers colleague finding you here.

If anything, you couldn’t complain.

His voice was nice. Beyond “nice” actually. If you were any more wasted, you’d take him for a certain type of actor. More specifically, the ones you listen to late at night. The ones that speak to you behind pseudonyms and expensive microphones, nestled into crevices of the internet any mentally stable person wouldn’t dream of wandering into.  

You know better than to entertain that thought for more than a few seconds, even despite the dregs of nicotine floating through your blood coaxing you towards such a mental image. 

Finally, you brave a glance over your shoulder at him. He’s pretty. Real pretty. How are you only just noticing how sharp his eyes are? They look darker under this bar's lighting, that typically professional, almost playful glint in his gaze nowhere to be found. It had been a few years since you’d last seen him… maybe it was age finally starting to jade him.

Not that you knew the specifics. He was easily older than you by a decade and some change. And clearly all too happy to bypass all niceties in this situation. Damn. Did you look that bad? He was pretty enough to be an angel, but that didn’t mean he had to act like one. Maybe he felt bad for you. Maybe he had a better head sitting on his shoulders than a better half of the people in here. 

A huff of soft breath leaves through your nose, tendrils of smoke swirling out of your system with the action. Shaking your head, you dip it, taking another long drag from your quickly burning cigarette, an excuse to try and string together some sort of response that won’t make an ass out of you. Or actually, anything that didn’t scream “you’re hot and I don’t know how to conduct myself around good natured, attractive men” would do just fine. Those damn eyes of his… it was a mistake, letting your gazes lock. His eyes alone were enough to make your stomach flip. 

“Well,” you mutter, not daring to look back at him. “This is better than my plan b for the night.” 

You don’t so much as flinch when the bartender comes over, taking an order he murmurs in a tone you want spoken against the shell of your ear from behind. Your periphery catches the actions of the bartender pouring his order into a short glass, bronze in color.

Whiskey. Of course.

Reaching for the middle of the table, you stub your cigarette in a conveniently placed ashtray. Sure, you were a little fucked up in a way you’ve never been before tonight, but you had manners. 

Meanwhile, Leon is doing what he does best. Observing. He tries his best not to make it obvious how he watches your hand wobbles when you lift it. He watched the subtle change in your expression when he called to you, how your head bobbed when he sat down. Anyone else would be paying attention to how quickly you recoiled with the action, as if self conscious of your dragged reaction time. However, he had spotted the tension in your slouched shoulders. A reaction rooted in self preservation, a fear of judgment. It was enough to tell him just how many shots you probably had in your system. 

He was no stranger to girls like you, ‘situations’ such as the one he was currently sitting next to.

It was a familiar, cliche dance – the unspoken, drowning struggles of a near stranger on display, insecurities risen to the surface like hemorrhaged blood under thinned skin. It was written all over you. You were scrappy, worn paper, and he was the storm settling overhead. Baring your weariness and struggle and strife to his blind eye, painting you transparent. He could see right through you. You were running from something. Likely attempting to drown, bury it somewhere deep if not for just a night or so. 

“‘Plan B’?” he questions, tone calm, even almost lighthearted. It betrays his sharp gaze, perceptive and on guard as ever. As if he were approaching an injured doe in the wild. Not that he’s done much hunting lately. He’s found that meat off the streets bleeds more freely than the skin of doe’s and rabbits does in present times. 

A wry smile tugs at your lips, almost as if you figured he’d press the topic. It was already too much to ask that he didn’t mention your connection to his coworker, how Leon knew you were definitely not supposed to be somewhere like this, and he had managed to uphold that silent prayer.

Maybe your otherwise handicapped condition was blurring whatever lines that stood between you right now, the lines that constructed what he should be doing, finding you here without a legitimate ID.  He should be outing you to the bartender, dragging you out of this place by the scruff of your neck with your dad dialed into his phone.

He shouldn’t be… entertaining you, right? Could you go so far as to call his complacent presence.. Encouragement?

Taking a seat beside you, joining you in your mission to drown your ache, your pain. Keeping you calm under his gaze, as if a sedative rolled off him in gentle waves. His throat bobs around his sip of whiskey, and you can’t help how your gaze lingers on the action. 

“Plan B consisted of finding someone to fuck me into next week,” you mutter dryly, as if the admission of your half hearted ‘plans’ for tonight left a sour taste in even your mouth. It wasn’t who you were. This wasn’t what you did. For fucks sake, you weren’t even supposed to have gotten this far, knee deep in an actively self destructive decision. But life sure did have one hell of a way of knocking you one hundred eighty degrees in the other direction, didn’t it?

No. That’s an excuse. A shitty one, at that. It's an excuse you've heard your dad mutter under his breath when he slouches into the couch with a beer in hand.

This is a poor choice, and you knew this was a poor choice. And yet, that didn’t stop you from walking your happy ass into this bar, nose up and full of talked up confidence you poured into yourself in the parking lot. No amount of tugging and pulling and pleading your guilty conscience did on your brain would stop you, not this time. You knew that getting into an Uber to haul you outside the lines of town would seal your fate to the whims of this bar. How classy. 

If Leon was a worse man, he’d take your words at face value. (Or maybe he’s just damned with all that thorough training he’s been rung through. It’s practically impossible not to read people nowadays. Even alcohol has ceased to debilitate him of this begrudgingly equipped set of skills that was all but pummeled into him.) 

His gaze wavers. Flickers, almost with a wash of amusement for a moment. You were trying oh so hard, taking that clipped, short tone with him, all but puffing your chest with this aura of  mental toughness you likely wanted to think you had. It was cute, really. But oh, the lacing of desperation in your tone... The sweet vulnerability in your breath… every hairline fracture your already cracking front is bleeding. 

He doesn’t have to be a bloodhound to want to dig for more. He just can’t help himself. 

thank you for reading! I have emergency commissions open, so if you enjoyed this piece, please consider taking a look at my menu or rb’ing :^)

'•.° You would always be Leon's first choice. Sure, he COULD pull every person in Resident Evil (if he knew how to) but he doesn't because he has you.

The one person who was been with him since the beginning. The one that loved him unconditionally, no matter how much he changed. The one that saw him as a their first choice.

Why wouldn't he choose you out of everyone? All the others could gush over him like crazy but he only has eyes for you, his future fiancé that would be with him for the rest of his life.

He would wake up every morning before you, no matter how early that might be, to catch a glimpse of you before leaving for work. He loves watching you sleep, how peacefully you breathe and how steady and calmly you heart beats underneath your skin. Everything about you is perfect to him, and everything about him is perfect to you.

In his whole world is only you, and not a single person could ever come close to competing with you, for your are constantly on his mind and in his heart. He would always tell everyone how tasty the last dinner was you made for him when he returned home late, how you were kind enough to do all of his chores since you felt like he deserved a break, how you always were so kind to him even when worked stressed him out. He doesn't even notice just how much the talks about you and it's the most adorable thing ever. He's just so content with you being his that he doesn't even recognise when other people try to flirt with him.

For him, there's only you~

that wip list is the archive of a modern day plato

yo plz do a leon piss kink

HIII NONNIE!! :3 i totally will ^_^

pissgust is among us.. therefore i will be posting a piss kink leon fic soon! it’s been listed in my wip list for a bit now! >_< so defo stay tuned for that <33

if there was a leon writing competition of tumblr i just know your trophy shelf is plentiful 😭 keeping us fed award 🏅

pls all of them are so good… leon banter is just so cute and i think he’s portrayed very true to himself in every piece 🩷

- Resident Evil masterlist -

Leon Kennedy x female reader one shots

Hitched (fluff) Disinhibited (fluff, tiny smidge of suggestive language) Code Pizza (fluff) Pinned (fluff, bit of spice) Promises (fluff) Bliss (fluff - contains reference to periods) Home (fluff, mentions of blood, death) Wilderness (fluff) Travel Pillow (fluff) Imperfections (festive fluff) Traditions (festive fluff) Guacamole (fluff) Elevation (fluff, mentions of panic attacks) Crash (fluff) Pink Gingham (fluff) Cramped (fluff) Forever Hold Your Peace (angst, reader x Chris Redfield, x Leon) Sliding Doors (continuation of the above, bit of fluff, angst) Swipe Right (commissioned piece, fluff) Scoot On Over (fluff) Trunk (fluff/mild spice, mentions of panic attacks, kidnapping and blood) Too Many Beds (fluffy nonsense) Swingin' (fluff)

Leon Kennedy x female reader series Dove (DI Leon - slow burn fluff, angst, mentions of death and blood) Dove part two. Dove part three. Dove part four. Dove part five. Dove part six. Dove part seven. Dove part eight. Dove part nine. Coffee Blend (Yandere/toxic relationship, 18+***) Coffee Blend part two. Coffee Blend part three.

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

*last updated 28th June 2024

this is soooo me and him…

High and horny

ooc younger leon x milf reader | usage of 'miss' and 'ma'am', kinda Leon's pov but still written in second person, weed again, P in V, loss of virginity (corruption?) 🔞 Implied mommy kink.

He's not sick or perverted, he swears! But he's almost 20 now and still hasn't stuck it in a girl yet. It's not his fault his hormones are outta whack and his testosterone is all backed up or some shit... Can't help eyeing down his own friend's mother. There's something about you... tits maybe your kindness, your maternal tenderness he's never found anywhere else. His mother is a distant woman, never had much of a knack for being loving, gave Leon a scewed sense of relationships. What is love supposed to look like? He didn't know until he met you.

Girls his age were so self-absorbed. He tried dating after being semi peer pressured towards the end of high-school - didn't go well. Got made fun of for being awkward and inexperienced...like ok..how is he supposed to get experience if nobody will date him?? You though. Oh you were the epitome of sweetness. Soft and warm and all the things he fantasised about having in a partner.

Sadly, he doubted you'd give him a second glance. To you he's just some some kid that hangs around with your son. So what if you ruffled his hair everytime you opened the door to him or had surprisingly deep conversations on nights your son had fallen asleep long before Leon had headed home. And it's probably totally normal that you invite him to stay longer, taking him out into tne backyard to smoke weed. You were just... a cool mom. You probably teach all your son's friends how to smoke...

He tries to make himself believe it, he really does. He doesn't want to lose a friend because he's being a horny loser. And god, he can't begin to imagine the humiliation if he's reading the situation wrong. What if you really only see him as a child? You're like.. twice his age. Which is definitely NOT hot at all and definitely doesn't make him spring a boner so fast he almost faints from the blood rush. And he most definitely doesn't jerk it to milf porn as soon as he gets home from his friends place.

It's all over for him now though. Somehow ended up in your fucking bedroom because his friend had to go over to his girlfriends place, ditching Leon. He was gonna leave. Honestly. He was! It was you who suggested he should try out the edibles you made. He doesn't really know how or why he ended up cuddling under your covers, his dick throbbing in his sweats cos of how close you are. Stupid hormones, stupid pot, stupid teenage naivety.

And ohhh when you 'accidentally' lean over to grab the tv remote, chest smushing against him and your face dangerously close to his dickprint...he can't cope. "Uh. Y'know actually...I should get going" he mutters, trying to flee. You grab his hand, intertwine your fingers. Intertwine.

"Don't go" you sound so lonley. You are. Been a single mom since...conception. It's tough and you've tried hard to be strong and stoic but shit...the weed and Leon...it's all coming out. "I like your company" maybe cos he's polite and not the average dickhead friend your son brings around. Between work and regular mom-duties you don't get to have friends let alone romantic endeavours. It's wrong, oh so wrong, to be putting all your loneliness onto this young man but you can't carry it alone any longer.

Leon can't turn you down. Not when you're looking at him like he's an angel sent from heaven to bring you salvation. You need him. He's never ever been needed before and he likes it. He likes it so much he kissed you. It's rushed and your teeth connect almost painfully but you don't pull away. You don't pull away.

And now he's groping you, so horny he hasn't got it in him to be nervous or ashamed. You tug his hair, making sure he stays deep in the kiss, which makes his cock pulse. When you do let him free he smiles like a lunatic, hands pawing at your tits "please ma'am" he whines, not even knowing what he's asking for.

Somehow you seem to know better than he does and you take off your shirt. Bra too. He groans and inches his face towards the plush mounds of flesh like a dog excitedly waiting by their food bowl for their owner to give the go ahead. You grab his neck and practically shove him into your boobs, he giggles in pure joy. This is every nineteen year olds wet dream. A face full of titties and a hot woman to boot. He basically motorboats you, though he doesn't quite intend to. He's just so frantic with kissing and licking and sucking that he can't settle on one for too long. "Lee" you laugh.

With a soft grip on his shoulders you guide him on top of you. He's so nervous but also sooo happy. You talk him through it, teaching and guiding him. Just like a mother would. That makes him weirdly turned on - more than he already was and he's starting to think he's actually twisted because who gets turned on my that...?

"Are you sure this is okay, miss?" He gives you the biggest puppy eyes, so desperate to please.

"M'sure baby" baby? Oh he's not gonna last.

Your gentle hands remove his aching dick from his clothes while he shakily tugs off his shirt. "Ah-" he gasps at the feeling of your fingertips squeezing his shaft. "F- fuck. Ma'am ple-please it's sensitive"

"S'alright darling, I'm just gonna help you put it in ok? That okay, sweetie?"

He nods, too caught up in the thought yes! Im finally gonna feel pussy! No more being a sad virgin for me to give a fuck that you're eyeing his lean body like a hawk.

Rubbing his tip over your hot, wet cunt makes him tear up. S'too much already. "Oh fffuuck" he groans, gripping the headboard for support, how embarrassing would it be if he suddenly dropped all his weight onto you? Can't have that. He doesn't even mean for it to be as sexy as it is - the sight of him above you, panting like a dog, eyes screwed shut in pleasure he's not even sure he's allowed to feel.

"You wanna fuck me, baby?" You coo, coaxing him to open his pretty blues again.

He does. Letting you do the hard part - finding the hole. "Ohmyfuckinggod" Leon hisses, the tight suction of your walls puling futher tears from his ducts. "Miss, I- shit ah"

"You're ok. It's okay honey" you murmur, locking your legs around his slim little waist. "Go at your own pace, I'm here for you baby"

Feels so good to have somebody to look after again. You've been isolated so long, even your own son barley speaks to you. He'd probably never speak to you again if he knew you were fucking his best friend.

Leon is babbling to himself, incoherent, face hidden in between your tits. He whines loudly each time he wills himself to thrust in or out. It's slow. More like love making than fucking -not that'd he'd know the difference.

"M'gonna- I'm- hhngh can I cum, please miss?" He cries. Those tears breaking past the dam and splattering onto your pretty chest.

"Mhm, I've got you sweet boy. Let it all out" you whisper, rubbing his back in circles. "Mommy's got you" it slips out.

Leon makes a mix between a growl and a whimper as he orgasms. His sticky cum painting your insides. Makes you glad you got that hysterectomy years ago.

He's crying, doesn't even know why but he is. You soothe him, peppering him with kisses until he calms down. "I'm sorry" he repeats over and over. He's mortified. Crying from sex? So terribly unsexy. Yet you look at him with nothing but admiration. Makes him all flustered and shy and maybe that's the reason he cried. He's never been cared about so deeply he feels unworthy of it.

You murmur kind, loving phrases into his ear as you cuddle. Post nut clarity sets in and Leon can't help but be so fucking ashamed. 'Mommy's got you'?? That's what made him cum? He's such a sicko. Definitely gonna burn for eternity but at the same time... being a sinner never felt so fulfilling.