Jj's Puffs - Tumblr Posts

shattered illusions - leon kennedy x reader

<><><>

his skin is paler than it’s ever been, cheeks rosy but hollow, hair flumping in wet strands over his forehead, where a sheen of sweat glistens as younear his bed.

“leon?” you whisper, fingers ghosting your lips.

“sweetheart?” he responds, eyes still closed. “is that you? i’m... not dead?”

“no,” you murmur. “you’re still here.”

“with you,” he sighs, but it doesn't sound like relief.

“you didn’t tell me,” you say, but it comes out more like a question.

“what was I supposed to tell you?” he retorts, voice quieter than you can bear to hear. “that my uncle got me addicted to that shit? now I can’t quit? now I'm stuck lying here pathetically, like this?"

“i could’ve helped,” you say, heart clenching in your chest. “i could’ve done something.”

“you couldn’t have,” he replies, shaking his head slightly, as if the very motion pains him.

“you’re not dying,” you say, more urgently, as if trying to convince yourself that if you say it enough times, he'll stay, as if it's in his hands.

“i am. and since I'll die here, i hope the eyes of heaven forgive me.” fluttering eyelashes open slowly, exposing the azure gems that are his eyes. “i hope whoever is up there forgives my sins, so when you die, i can live the rest of my days with you.”

you stare at each other for a bit longer, the steady beeping of the machine and the gentle whooshing of air playing peek-a-boo with the curtains the only sounds in the room.

“me?” your voice cracks, like you're just growing up, like the moment will forever be hung in time, but the grief that threatens to overwhelm you is stronger than the realization that he loves you.

“yes, you.” he chuckles, voice hoarse. “i did the wrong thing. i’ve done so many bad things. i know that. you don’t… have to stay.”

“i’m not leaving,” you say quickly. “i’ll be here.”

“we lost so much time,” he says faintly, staring up at the moldy ceiling. he cranes his neck to check you're still there, and the expression on his face is a mix between hurt and regret. “i should’ve said something, hm?”

“you dumbass,” you say, unable to alternate between sobs and laughs. 

“don’t cry,” leon hushes, his right hand lifting to cup your cheek, calloused, rough fingers wiping at the corner of your eye. “don’t cry for me.” 

“i’m not.” you blink once, hard, fast, trying to keep him in this moment with you, scared that if I close your eyes again, he’ll be gone.

“sleep,” he says soothingly, as if reading your thoughts. “i’ll be here when you wake up.”

and with that string of a promise, you lay your head down near his torso, covered in the flimsy blanket, and drift off to sleep.

<><><><><>

this is to prove to that one anon in my inbox that's been waiting for a week im sry girl i have a lot of shit going on but js know im getting there. i love you sm for sending in ur amazing request <3333

i'll make a part two if u want just let me work on other shit <33

GIRL DO KISS PROMPT 4!!!!! I meant to send this sooner but I had to do farm stuff 😔

farm girl problems 😔😔 (i live in the city i have no idea what farm problems are)

i took this from thg au im writing (i see u anon im sending u lil messages trust!) so its angst duh... i apologize... ik its supposed to be an apology and technically it is!!! i hope u like it!)

❛  04 .   a  kiss  to  apologize .

The smell of damp earth fills his senses as Leon pushes through the foliage. He has to find you, has to make this right. Breaking through the treeline, he spots you sitting by the lake, your brown tunic matching the looming pines. 

You don’t turn as he approaches, eyes fixed on the still water. Leon's chest tightens. Stopping a few inches behind you, he whispers, "Darling, I'm sorry."

Silence greets him, thick like the humid air. Leon kneels, reaching out to gently brush your shoulder. "Please, look at me." 

Your defiant yet sad gaze meets him as you turn. Eyes shining with unshed tears, your lips pull into a small pout. God, she’s beautiful. Leon cups your cheek, caressing soft skin with his thumb. 

"I was wrong. You mean everything to me." Without waiting for a reply, he closes the distance between you and offers an apology, a plea for forgiveness, pouring it all into the tender press of lips, praying you understand. 

After a moment of hesitation, you lean back into him, and for the first time since you made your way into this hellscape, he feels genuine happiness.

But he doesn’t know you are only doing this, playing along, for the camera nestled in the trees above you, panning across your faces, capturing every moment.

He doesn’t catch the clench of your fingers, turning them white.

the “can’t sleep?” and “you look really pretty right now”

FULL FIC HERE

hehehe this is a sneak peek of the hunger games fic that is 10k in and not even half way done 😔😔 and its not edited either

tysm for sending this in ily 🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽

<><><><>

"Can’t sleep?” Leon murmurs as you rouse, blinking some light into your vision. Your joints are stiff from the unforgiving stone that blankets you.

You rub your eyes. "I don’t think I’ve slept very well since we got here," you sigh, rolling your stiff neck.

Leon watches with quiet eyes. "C’mere." He shifts to make room for you in the small, cramped area, patting the space next to him. Leaning into his solid warmth brings strange comfort, comfort you are unaccustomed to.

“You look really pretty right now,” he murmurs, almost to himself, and when you crane your neck to glance up at him, there’s a dreamy look in his eyes as he gazes back, a lazy smile spreading across his face.

"Half asleep?" you joke.

"You look pretty no matter what." Curled fingers graze your back, drawing tired muscle from knot to knot. You tense, unused to kindness from killers, mind flashing back to the way he had killed Glimmer, yet you let tension seep away under gentle pressure.

When was the last soft touch? The last time you had let his hand touch your skin, heat mingling between your bodies? You lie your neck onto his shoulder, feeling him tense for barely a second before relaxing.

His breath fans your hair, smelling faintly of pine and earth. Your eyes flutter shut, forgetting just for moments your fate, and here in the dark, you forget that he might just be trying to kill you.

But, as all things do, it ends, and dawn looms with its crimson streaks. You are both marked for death, lambs led to slaughter, destiny undecided.

And you know you can’t let him choose what happens to not only you, but also your family. So you pull away from his warmth, almost immediately missing it, feeling the chill seep into your heart.

“I should… go hunt,” you explain quietly, but the hurt that presses through his neutral expression is something you have grReluctantly, I rise at dawn's light, needing solace yet wary of false shelter. Leon sits gazing into the embers, eyes hooded.

"Go then," he murmurs, volume rising fluidly. "I just don’t get it.”

“Get what, Leon? We need to eat.”

“I’m here for you, for free, and last night I proved to you that we don’t have to fight.”

His words sting, reminding you who you have to protect above all - those beyond these walls of blood. Your fists clench at your side, as taut as the cords in your wary stomach. "Nothing is decided here, not even-"

"Trust?" Leon fills the sentence with wry amusement. "You don’t seem to trust even yourself, it seems."

Anger flares to life in your chest, his steady calm that dares your truths that you left unsaid, because that’s how you know to survive.

Your voice strikes like a flint against steel. "You might want to be thinking about your own survival, because your charming words mean nothing against bloodshed.”

His eyes flash, gray from moonlight, mouth hardening.

“Charming words are all I see you relying on, little bird. Will you still burn as bright as you think you are now, if it weren’t for me?"

His jab finds its mark - doubt you dare not voice aloud. Your jagged fingernails pierce the tender flesh of your palm, making crescent shaped, vague silhouettes of your anger. "How dare you say that? You don’t even know me, let alone what drives me to win!"

"Enlighten me then," Leon sneers, temper unleashed. But for a moment, a heartbeat, something flickers behind his granite eyes - regret? But he doesn’t stop.

"Is it because of your family? Or is the sick excitement I know you get from spilling blood by your pretty hand?"

You pause, taking in his words. You blink at him, face softening, releasing your hand from its anguish, unable to believe that he, of all, chained to this prison just as you are, could see you in such a light.

Your vision seems to dim red as a choked whisper claws free, "How… how could you say something like that?"

Silence hangs curdled between us as grim understanding sinks in, evident on his face. And you stand, brushing the underside of your thighs, biting your tongue, trying to convince yourself that you don’t care, that his words didn’t deliver a sting.

But the venom is already coursing through your blood as you walk away, leaving him alone, whispering your name.

random ambulance leon x reader puff

hehe inspired from my irl experience, read abt it here!

There’s always been a faint, musty smell to Goodwill that you didn’t quite hate, but didn’t quite love either. It’s a neutral, blank scent, emanating from the books that you scan on the bookshelves.

An old lady hobbles towards you, tilting her head in confusion as you pick out yet another romance novel. Safe to say, you’re a sucker for cheesy love stories.

The girl that’s been hovering around you for some time now finally approaches you, tilting her gold-rimmed sunglasses to the point of her sharp nose as she looks you up and down.

“You look nice,” she comments vaguely.

“Thanks,” you reply. “So do you.”

She eyes the stack of books nestled in your arms against your chest, and strikes up a conversation about them. Surprisingly, despite her initial appearance, she shares your appreciation for novels and gives you good recommendations.

You’re just mustering up the strength to ask for her number, to continue your conversation long after you’re gone from the store when her phone rings.

She mumbles into the phone, a few quick words, before rolling her eyes and stuffing it back into her neon purse. You raise an eyebrow but say nothing, wanting to respect her privacy.

“My dad had another heart attack,” she drones, as if this is a normal occurrence, as tedious as the simple task of drinking water. “Nothing serious.”

“What the fuck?” You stare at her with wide eyes, only eliciting a shrug from her.

“The ambulance is outside,” she says. “Wanna go check on him?”

Still half paralyzed from the shock, you nod, letting her link your arms together as she tugs you into the searing afternoon sun. One hand stays protectively curled around your precious books as the other rubs her palm soothingly.

You realize you still don’t know this girl’s name. But before you can ask, you notice a guy, a few inches taller than you, back facing you standing near the back of the ambulance, conversing with a short, pudgy woman with tears streaming down her face.

“Go ask him what happened,” your friend, at least you assume, urges you, snatching your books from you and nudging you forward.

“Why don’t you?” you retort.

“I don’t want to seem weird,” she replies simply.

You don’t understand that logic, but without questioning it, you approach the guy, realizing that he’s much taller than you had first expected. He seems to be consoling the teary-eyed woman, who looks similar to the girl behind you. Must be her mother.

“What happened?” you ask, waiting for him to finish. The guy straightens at the sound of your voice, and when he turns, you lose the ability to speak.

He’s striking, especially with his face dappled in the shadows, highlighted by the flashing red and blue that dances across his face. His voice is lower than the bar holding you back from jumping on him the moment he speaks.

“The man’s going into cardiac arrest,” he explains. “We’re prepping to take him to the hospital.”

“How fun,” you say absentmindedly, letting the words flow from your dumbass mouth freely. You don’t catch the meaning of your words.

His face turns stony, serious, all business. “Actually, it’s not very fun.”

Your girl seems to have forgotten about her initial fear and comes to stand beside you, resting a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Wait, could I hop in? That’s my dad.”

“I was going to say that I wouldn’t assume that you’re his daughter,” he says, tilting his head towards you before nodding solemnly. Your friend casts you a knowing look before waving, never to be seen again, at least not by your eyes. 

Your books have returned to their original place, where they belong, and the guy keeps casting longing looks at them, so you offer to let him see them.

The way he perks up at the idea is so heartwarming, nearly as sweet as his soft chastises of your opinions, of what he thinks each book will offer. His eyes seem to sparkle, like pools of ice slowly melting as he warms up to you.

Eventually, you’re both sweating like dogs under the summer sun, however unrelenting in August. Your father’s calls reach your ears, asking you to grab some of the heavier bags from your shopping spree.

“Well,” you say, fumbling through your tongue, which seems to have twisted itself into a bow and is currently presenting itself as a present to this gorgeous hunk of a man. “That’s me. Bye.”

“See you around,” he says simply, raising a hand to wave. 

You feel the urge to clarify, “Oh, well, I’m not from around here.”

The corner of his mouth curls upward in a smug smile. “Well, if you ever need a hero to save the day, you know who to call.”

His words shouldn’t send butterflies swarming against the walls of your stomach, dainty little legs pressing, pricking, drawing blood that rises to flush your cheeks. You hope you can dismiss it as the heat.

He grabs a small card from his front pocket, tucking it between two fingers and holding it out to you. You grab it, duck your head, and rush away.

Later, at home, when you’re back in your hometown, you sink into your couch, about to throw off your jacket. You feel the card, sharply pointed at your arm, and take it out. You study the number before dragging your eyes to the name printed in bold.

Leon Scott Kennedy.

taglist (? if i started that would ppl be interested?) : @leonskittenbunny @rigorwhoring

hear me out. nsfw mentions ahead

<><><><>

re6 leon in which the events of re2 never happen, he doesn't become a police officer until chris recommends it to get over a break up, smth abt finding your purpose or fuck tht

he's got no idea what he's doing in the goddamn room, six months of training later, but theres a shiny new badge on his chest and a can do attitude that disappears as soon as he twists over his shoulder to check out his t.o.

shit, you must be at least, what, a decade younger than him? he has to hold back a scoff when sergeant dismisses the room, and suddenly he's left alone with your silent, wide eyes looking up at him.

you keep him behind you in your quick, clicking steps, allowing little time for the questions he asks, trying to pry that little shell of yours open. but you're unrelenting, in the way that he is, in your serious posture and his amused demeanor.

a demeanor that "has no place on the force", you tell him a week later, just after he's turned the corner and tripped over the felony you handcuffed just seconds ago.

he huffs and puffs on the ground, but he knows that you're the big bad wolf in his story. and he's not about to swap roles to become little red riding hood.

so after crashing at chris' penthouse with a cooler full of cold beer, a recovering heart and heavy thoughts, he realizes that he can do so much better. become what you expect.

and the man that walks in the day after? well, he's not the same old man whose back you were snickering behind when he got the captain's office and the locker room mixed up, courtesy of your fellow cops.

you feel more like a cheetah around its prey than a partner to him, especially with the snarky banter that flows easily, the subtly thrown smiles and winks during an ambush, his awkward yet sweetly charming demeanor.

and guess who can really judge a book by its cover? well, in this case, you suppose by its age.

to be honest, the only thing stopping you from pouncing is the number printed next to his name on the file that's two months late, sending all you've known about him into a loophole.

it appears that sometimes, the force of objects thrust into motion cant be stopped, and the events that ensure one night during a late night study of the rook book ends up with a pair of boots tangled in his sheets.

the thrill of getting caught is delicious, hell, its the reason you became a goddamned cop. but you've been denied that thrill all your life, and when it finally comes to you in the form of this glorious man, you should've realized there would've been some kind of problem.

your crazy big hint was the sun-crinkled eyes, salt and pepper stubble and old man advice, but that's hard to think about when his mouth is buried between your thighs, and even harder is to remember the question he asked beforehand, now somehow expecting an answer as he smothers your hips in wet, sticky kisses. blissfully broken and gazing at the book with glazed eyes.

because how the fuck are you supposed to memorize how to identify a gun when that was the best head you've gotten in years? but when he finally sinks into you with a groan, you realize that there is one gun you will always be able to identify on sight.

better pray that doesn't show up on the quiz though.