Leon Kennedy Fanfic - Tumblr Posts

Your Hero

Friendly neighborhood Spiderman, huh? You wouldn’t have expected your new dorky nerd best friend to be passing in the shadows of the charming hero behind the mask, hanging upside down and staring at you with odd interest. Why does he seem oddly familiar?

a/n: @candlekiss THIS HAS BEEN FORMULATING FOR QUITE A WHILE... ITS JUST BEEN MARINATING... TRUST ME THE BEST FOOD GETS MARINATED FOR LIKE THREE YEARS 😭😭😭

UR ART INSPIRES ME SM !! NEVER GIVE UP ON UR DREAMS BECAUSE THIS IS A REALLY GOOD SCENARIO WITHOUT YOUR ART I WOULDNT HAVE "to keep an angel" OR THIS FIC!! ILYSM MARI <3

tw: fluff from college leon and spiderman leon because they've both been swirling in my mind fr !!

wc: 3.3k

To be fair, you didn’t pay much attention to Leon at the beginning of the semester. You kept to your separate corners of the world; his being the potted plant near the doorway, where he stood with a bag slung over his shoulder every day, eyes narrowing at the watch on his left wrist, and…

Maybe you have paid attention to him.

It was a dance you had forgotten you’d learned, talking with him. He’s not the same guy you remember from high school, the one who always stuttered through answers and pushed his glasses up when the class mocked him.

The only person being mocked seems to be you now, three weeks into the semester, and the dip of your already fluctuating grades is enough to spur you to find a tutor. Your professor doesn’t seem to be much help, offers you a weak smile and a shrug and tells you to find resources elsewhere.

And you find it in the once, now self-assured straighten of his back as you snake around the crowd to tap his shoulder, grinning broadly.

“Heard you’re pretty good at this stuff,” you offer vaguely. Leon cocks a brow and you don’t expect the amused smile on his face to cause you to feel flustered.

“Guess I am,” he replies, and it seems that not only has his personality and appearance changed, but his voice is at least an octave deeper. It resonates through your entire body in a way that's difficult to describe. “Why? Need help?”

An awkward silence stretches between you as the implications of his altered tone sink in. Clearing your throat, you shuffle your feet and continue, "So, uh, when are you free?"

Leon taps his chin thoughtfully. "Is lunch okay for you?"

You consider it for a moment. “Wow, are you asking me out?”

He winks and you just about buckle to the ground. “Didn’t you come up to me first?”

<><><><>

The chair makes an absurdly loud sound when Leon scoots closer, hands clenched around the base of his seat, a bashful smile on his face as he waves his apologies to all the wandering, hesitant eyes that meet you.

It’s been about a month, and there seems to be no progress with your grades. You would consider dropping him altogether if it weren’t for the strange fact that you enjoy his company, cherish that he takes time from his evidently busy schedule to tutor you.

“Go on,” he prompts when you snap back to attention, startling from his fingers waving in front of you, brushing your nose. “What else did you notice?”

“There was definitely a lot of conflict in the last few scenes,” you mutter, trying to recall last night’s frantic reading that he had assigned three weeks ago.

“I don’t know, I wouldn’t really say death is conflicting, would you?” he replies dryly, dropping his head to glance up at you from under his glasses, and therefore, his long, wispy eyelashes. They reflect the dim lights of the library, seeming to sparkle and illuminate his eyes.

“... yes?”

“No one dies,” he says, stirring from his position once again to stretch his arms against the table, lying his cheek onto the muscle of his bicep, staring up at you with a puffier face. “You didn’t read it, did you?”

“... no?”

“I can’t be here forever,” he whispers, quietly, only for your ears. “You know how many things I have to be doing. Put the effort in. For me, please?”

And something about his tone is so sincere, so genuine that it makes you want to try harder, push yourself, do the homework on time and actually do something about your grades.

<><><><>

You’ve grown to consider him a friend. Your grades have lifted, as has the burden from your shoulders, head high when you stroll out of the lecture hall, and spot Leon fumbling with the vending machine nearby.

It’s a habit to startle him whenever you see him outside of classes, yet you don’t understand the strange looks you get. In any case, he is infinitely a better person than you had expected, better than everyone you had tried to get with initially.

He flinches at your touch, fingers creeping between his arm and torso, wiggling to spark a surprisingly tired laugh.

“What kept you up all night?” you tease. “Trouble in paradise?”

“Nothing of the sort,” he responds gruffly, eyes softening in exhaustion. “That would be better than what’s going on right now.”

Leon is a reserved man. He trusts you to some extent, where, on the other hand, you’re ready to give your life for him. You get attached quickly, what can you say?

<><><><>

You’ve grown used to barging into your shared rooms, not announcing your arrival, often catching Leon off guard, staring down at something on his phone before he shoves it away, that same embarrassed expression slipping off his face when you ask what’s wrong.

​​You arrive back at your dorm after a long day of classes, exhausted and looking forward to relaxing. But what’s past that door is everything that you would think not to expect.

"Oh- hey, you're back!" Leon says with a grin. But that's not all that catches your attention - your roommate has a bizarre outfit on; a brown, crinkled leather jacket, cargo pants, something that looks horrifyingly bland on him. And is that a splash of blue you see peeking out from underneath everything?

"Uh, Leon..." you reply, taken aback. "Didn't realize you were into cosplay. Something you need to tell me?"

"It’s, uhm, complicated," Leon replies vaguely, rubbing the back of his neck. "Let’s just say I have some important work to take care of."

"Right, because you're secretly the city’s hero," you deadpan, still not sure whether to believe this outrageous claim. “Well, come back soon, alright? I need help decoding chapters 18 and 24.”

“Of course,” he says with a wink. “I’ll just be a minute.”

But a minute goes by, which you expect, but then that minute morphs into a hour, and then two, then four, and eventually you’re worriedly pacing your dorm floor, awaiting a phone call, text message, anything to just know-

The phone vibrates a moment later as you rush to fish it out of your baggy pockets, jamming your finger against the notification.

Of course its not him. An unknown number, something fairly recognizable but you can’t quite put your finger on it. The hometown seems to be somewhere far away, starting digits something you don’t have the time to search up when the next text pops up.

Come outside? :)

who is this?

I just have your notes. Hurry up.

oh, thanks! gimme a sec

You remember requesting notes to study from Leon, but he gave your number to his friend, without your consent, might you add, so this must be him. He deemed this friend was far more outgoing, far more entertaining, a better person to hang out with.

You don’t expect Spiderman to be this friend of his.

<><><><>

“I’m starting to think you like me,” he jests, months later, on one of his patrols of the city. He always swings by your window, conveniently always timing his visits when Leon’s out with duties at the police station. You want to deny the accusation, but can't bring yourself to lie to the webslinger perched outside your window.

Not when those masked eyes peer at you with such care and familiarity. Like they see straight into your conflicted soul.

Not when you don’t want them to hang out. Of course not. The problem is your heart is pulling you in two different ways, down two paths that never intersect, and navigating these tangled feelings seems impossible without hurting one of them. They're so alike, yet fate keeps your two dimensions apart. You don't know how much longer your heart can take the strain.

But you bottle it all up, every little bit of you that screams to be adored, cherished in the way they both look at you, one through a mask and the other through glasses, both doing little to nothing to hide their emotions, the expressive raises of their eyebrows.

They’re definitely like each other, a little too much, you suspect.

A sigh escapes your lips. "It's not that simple. You both..." You shake your head, not wanting to put either in an awkward position. Some walls are better left unbreached. "Just focus on helping people, okay? That's what's really important."

He crouches silently beside you for a while, sensing your troubled thoughts without needing to be told. When he speaks again, his voice is gentle. 

"You seem really down. What do you say I take you around the city for a bit? Might do you some good to get some air." He nods toward the skyline glowing in the dusk. "No better view than from up high, if you're up for it."

You eye him hesitantly, unsure if facing your feelings while swinging between skyscrapers is the best idea. But it has been so long since his invitation stirred your spirit rather than your heart. And you could really use a distraction. 

Gripping his offered hand, you nod. "Sure. Why not? I definitely might not die from this." 

Spiderman chuckles, pulling you firmly against his side. "You better hang on tight then." 

A spray of webbing shoots forth and you're jolted into the air, wind whipping around you both. Your uncertain thoughts fade against the euphoria of flight.

For now, it's just you and the freefall through flooded lights.

And the handsome, mysterious, masked hero you’re wrapped around.

<><><><>

“I can’t see you anymore,” your hero mutters one night as you push the window open, eagerly awaiting his tranquil presence, the idea that he takes the burden, the pressure of school off your shoulders, sharing the weight of the sky with you.

“What?” You stare up at him and he stretches, seemingly uncomfortable.

“Can we talk?” He gestures down at the alley between your dorm building and the conveniently close laundromat, however loud the broken washing machines get.

“Yeah.” Your lips form a purse, behind them, your thoughts are clumsy and tie themselves in a bow around your tongue, presented to Spiderman as broken sentences as you approach his state.

He’s hanging upside down, face tilted curiously, in a crouching position, held by only the thinning strand of web, and you wonder how that small thing is able to carry such a physique. 

“I’m putting you in danger,” he protests a few minutes later, standing in front of you, back turned away as you lean against the brick wall, crossing your arms with a stubborn huff.

“Have I died?” You shake our head like a little kid. “No!”

"What's your endgame, huh?" he asks in desperation, wildly turning to confront you. "Why do you insist on being friends with me?"

"Are you saying you've got an issue with that?" you retort flippantly, the tiniest hint of something like pain flickering in your eyes. "Am I bothering you or something?"

“They’re all after me," he frantically explains, words spilling out of your mouth like water from a broken dam. "I’m literally the most wanted man right now!" 

"But you seem to be handling it well," you counter.

"Can't you see?!" he shrieks, voice bordering on the hysterical, and you can see the prayer in his expression, that the fear in his eyes will send you packing. "Stay with me, and you're signing your death warrant!"

“How can you be so sure?” you ask, disbelief coating your words, unable to determine whether or not he’s weaving tales to get you off his back.

“Because,” he hisses, a tight whisper, “I’ve lost too many people. Too many people I love.”

“Love?” You scoff. “You wouldn’t be this ecstatic to get me away from you if you really loved me?”

Spiderman looks at you, confusion etched on his face. “You… think I don’t love you?”

“Obviously not.”

“How can I prove it?” he asks, stepping closer, face softening, closing the agonizing distance between you with a few steps. “I can’t promise your safety. I love you too much to let you die.”

“Of course you do,” you say, waving off his words.

“How do I prove it?” he repeats, more pressing, urgent, like he needs a response before he does anything. His hands are right there, so close to your waist, and you find yourself itching to throw yourself into his arms.

“Kiss me,” you blurt out. “And I’ll know.”

You see him grin. You think he’ll take the whole mask off, but that was proving too much to hope for, but your heart still flutters when you see the bottom half of his face, faintly recognizable, but the hazy feeling in your mind that sparks from his lips only serves to cloud your thoughts even more.

His mouth presses harder against yours, hand curling around your hip, slotting in perfectly like it’s meant to be there, for what feels like another second before he pulls away roughly.

All too briefly, he tears his lips away to yank down his mask, chest heaving. "Shit, I shouldn't have..."

But the words die when you reach up to caress his cheek, seeing the flush that spreads underneath the mask. "It's okay. I wanted this too."

Leon's eyes - no, Spiderman's eyes - drop shut like he's in physical pain. "You don't know what you're asking. I can't… we can't..."

You try to reassure him but he backs away each time, out of reach, like he’s further away than you can see, deserts and oceans, miles and miles between you, even though just a moment ago he was closer than you’d ever imagined.

And you yearn to know who he is.

You suspect you’ve known all along.

How silly is it?

"When you're ready to stop running," you call softly, "you know where to find me."

And you’ll know where to find him.

<><><><>

The first piece of evidence to support your claim comes the afternoon following that night, with your squinted eyes trailing Leon everywhere, drawing a chuckle from that beautiful mouth, the mouth that, you suspect, had been pressed furiously against yours last night.

Not only that, something seems off with his shoulder. It’s held stiff at his side, and everytime you decide to be lazy and ask him to fetch something from the kitchen, he winces, grumbles something under his breath, rolls his shoulder and stalks away.

After a few days of waiting for your ‘beloved dormmate’ to open up to you, you take matters into your own hands. He hasn’t even fumbled to grab his keys from his pocket before you spring up from the couch, swing the door open and steer him over to where you were just sitting.

You peel away his shirt before he can protest, leaving him bare chested and stammering, skin burning into crimson. 

“What are you doing?” he murmurs as you press the area.

“I may not know how to read,” you reply, prodding his shoulder blade, “but I know how to treat injuries just fine.”

“Why not become a doctor?”

You shrug. “Too much work.”

He smiles, and the curve of his lip, so similar to the smart mouth and remarks you looked forward to every night is the second piece you need.

<><><><>

The third, and final, you hope, piece comes when you sigh, scrubbing a hand down your face as you enter your dorm room. Safe to say that without Leon’s tutoring due to his more and more frequent absences, occasionally showing up only to be slumped at his table, snoring softly.

Without him listening, you knew you were doomed. So you’re about to scream your ass off, chastising him, telling him to get to class quicker, that whatever he does in his free time can wait.

But Leon stands by the window in a way that gives you pause. His back is turned, shoulders hunched as if lost in thought. What really catches your eye, though, is the bit of red fabric dangling from his fingers.

"Everything okay?" you ask slowly, shutting the door behind you. Leon whips around at the sound, hastily stuffing the fabric - no, his mask - into his pocket. But not before you notice the familiar webbed pattern. 

"Fine!" he replies, a little too cheerfully to be real. "Just, uh, thinking. Hey, did you see that video of the guy backflipping off a building? Crazy stunts people pull these days."

You raise a brow. "Sure, but it looks like you've got something else on your mind. Or should I say under your clothes?" Leon pales. Without a word, you stride over and pluck the mask from his pocket, giving it a wave.

"Want to explain this?" Your tone is light, but inside your heart hammers. Finally, after weeks of prancing around the bush, he’ll give it to you straight, setting things right.

Leon stares at the mask like a deer in headlights, at a total loss for words. You've never seen him so unsettled.

"Look, I can explain," he says anxiously. "Just, hear me out before you freak, alright?" 

You arch an eyebrow, pretending to be intrigued. "I'm listening."

Leon launches into a tale - the spider bite, the powers, how he's used them these past months to protect the city from the shadows. By the end, you’re hanging onto each word - you didn’t know your friend was quite the storyteller.

"So you're really him, huh?" you say, still processing that your suspicions had indeed been correct. "My secretive roommate is the one and only Spiderman."  

Leon runs a hand through his hair. "I know it's a lot to take in.”

“Not really,” you say with a shrug.

He stares at you blankly. “What?”

“You think I couldn’t tell from that night in the alley?” you muse. “I’m not as dense as you think, Spidey.”

A slow smile spreads across his face, relief washing over your face at the fact he isn’t mad about that. "Spidey? How cute.”

You match his grin. "Now you're talking." You hand the mask back to him, crossing your arms with a stern look. “Now, I don't need your protection, Leon," you insist, softening as he flinches at your use of his real name. "We're in this together, like it or not. No more secrets, deal?"

Leon sighs, gripping the mask tighter. Slowly, he nods, relaxing his expression. "No more secrets. And you can call me Spidey, if you want."

You pretend to mull it over. "Hmm… well, now I’m not so sure it has the same ring to it as Spider-man." But saying it makes Leon's entire face light up like a kid on Christmas. You can't help but return his infectious grin.

“Alright then,” you say, unable to stop cheesing. “Now get back out there! There’s a city calling your name!”

Leon quirks a brow, and you tilt your head to question the gesture.

“Can I count on the next person calling my name being you?” he says sweetly, batting his eyelashes at you. 

“You can count on your nose being broken if you don’t get out of here in the next five seconds,” you joke and Leon seems to visibly lose the blood in his cheeks.

You find it adorable that he takes you seriously.

“Oh, and one more thing,” he says, clambering through the window, as if he’s suddenly in a rush.

“Yeah?” you reply, humming to yourself as you stroll over to him, pondering what your life will be like from now on, having a superhero as your best friend- no, you realize, looking into his iridescent eyes. Boyfriend.

“Remember to read chapter 37,” he says dotingly. Then he leans down to capture your lips and words in a quick kiss. Then he’s grinning and gone.

Vanished into the night, a shadow slung across the bright city lights.

Your hero.

Missin' You

A bad history makes for a wonderful future, right? You're willing to forgive and forget for the man you've always been down bad for.

a/n: OK THIS IS A REALLY OLD FIC... i haven't edited it too much or anything i just added some things here and there yk yada yada did stuff

first smut fic like explicit... ish... whatever. honestly this is just to address the allegations of me being a minor (UNTRUE.) and just for me to see it put out on something official !!

anyways @bunnivievve SHE MADE THE BANNER ART GO CHECK IT OUT ITS ACTUALLY WHAT INSPIRED ME TO DIG THIS FROM THE GRAVE AND REVISE IT!! LYSM GIRL <3333

tw: literal smut. like mdni seriously. also mentions of gore, death, a lot of references to spain just assume that the reader was with leon in the events of re4.

wc: 14.5k

The guy lunges for you, hands outstretched, a determined expression on his face. You step back and slam your rifle against his head, then open the door he was guarding, crushing his microphone under your foot before stepping inside. You grip your gun tightly, alert for potential threats, but it seems they forgot to guard the inside of the room.

"I'm inside," you say quietly, pressing a finger to your ear. The feel of the smooth black metal soothes you. "Permission to—"

"No," Rebecca replies immediately. "Absolutely not."

"What happened to Chris?" you ask, slightly confused as you traverse the room. He had told you he was the commander for this mission.

"I kicked him out because he would’ve said yes," she states simply.

"Sometimes I hate you." You were counting on Chris to give you permission for this. It was your only way to a promotion, which meant more money.

"Your request is denied," she repeats. "Turn back, we're sending in—"

You don't let him finish. You take out the radio that controls the communication device and switch it off. Breaking it would be too risky in case you get yourself into something.

You shoulder your rifle against your back as you press against the wall, glancing into the open doorway. You shine your flashlight once, twice, and one more time before stepping into the room with your gun raised. Almost immediately, relief floods you as you see Sherry sleeping soundly on a bed on the other side of the room. You walk around the table in the center, brushing against the chairs, growing more excited with each step.

This was it. The first mission that Chris had entrusted you with since he learned about Spain and... him. You promised that everything would go smoothly, but he still warned you to be wary of everything. Now it seemed too easy.

You near his bed, heart pounding. Then you smack straight into something, but there's nothing there. You step back, shaking your head, dazed. When you stretch out a tentative hand, fingers shaking, they graze a surface you can't see. You push your palm against it, forming a fist.

"What the…" you whisper to yourself, debating whether or not to report this to Piers. Just as you bring your hand up, you hear the distinct click of a magazine reloading and duck.

The bullet flies past your head, barely missing your skull. You can almost feel it parting your hair. Crouching to the floor, you pull out your gun. Luckily, the table provides ample cover as you stalk around to the other side, keeping your footsteps as still and quiet as you can.

"You're not as quiet as you think," a sultry female voice says. 

Screw that, then.

You grit your teeth and glance under the chair to see a full-length, ebony blue bodysuit with black accenting straps. Blond hair pulled back into a slick ponytail and piercing brown eyes scan the room as her shoes clack on the tiles, slowly nearing you.

You don't recognize her, but her voice stirs something inside you, a faint memory. Those eyes seem familiar. 

You bolt for the door, mind racing. She's too busy examining Sherry, too busy stirring her from her sleep, too slow to stop you from slamming the door behind you. About ten feet away from the room, you circle around the same pathway you used to get inside, to the parking garage just as the door's hinges give way as it crashes to the floor. The woman recoils from an extremely powerful kick, her gaze finding you.

You skid to a stop as her brimming eyes ground you to where you are. She breaks into a run, and that jolts you back to reality. Her... eyes. Sherry, that smart, smart girl sneaks around the back of the corridor to join you.

But as you faintly register her gentle touch, you’re still staring at the woman.

"Jill?" you choke out, a click of recognition. Her footsteps grow louder, more insistent towards you.

You swing your legs onto the motorcycle.

“Wait,” Sherry calls out, voice faint. “Just…”

You grip the handlebars tightly, then turn on your comms. Almost immediately, Rebecca’s voice comes through, panicked. And as everything is going to shit, of course, Sherry collapses in front of you.

"Are you stupid?" she lectures, oblivious. "Why would you turn the only way we can communicate with you off? Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

"Calm down, I'm fine," you say, glancing down. "But I think you might want to come get the target."

"Why?" she asks, and you suppose you should be grateful she only sounds slightly angry. "What did you do?"

"Nothing. She just fell."

"I'll send a team out right now—but do not move," she says sternly.

"Don't worry, sir," you reply sarcastically. "I won't go anywhere."

"They're on their way. Please—" Rebecca gets cut off as the revving of another engine startles you. You glance to the other side of the parking lot, the realization that you aren't alone hitting you. Another motorcycle shoots from the entrance, heading for you.

You’re about to make the most insignificant escape in history when you see Sherry lying facedown on the concrete. Great, they're here for her, you think, then quickly lug her in front of you. It's an uncomfortable position, but the other motorcycle is catching up the ramp quickly.

You shoot towards the exit, cradling the girl between your legs as you carefully maneuver between lanes of traffic. You make it to some abandoned wasteland, thinking that you've lost the pursuer.

Then the same flashy, ivory motorcycle bursts through the brush and skids to a stop in front of you. You quickly start the engine again, but they've already caught up. You race alongside each other in silence, and you can't tell if they're here for her because they make no move to try and get her.

You look to your side, and the motorcyclist is looking straight ahead. "Are you part of the team?" you shout over the wind. Their head snaps towards you, but you don't get a reply.

You assume that the defenses will take care of them when you get to the base, so you skip the detour and race straight for it. The walls open, but no one tries to stop the other guy. The new sentry tries to convince the seniors, but they all shake their heads, smiling, as if they know something.

Confused, you swerve around shipping containers, ditch the bike, and sling Sherry’s arms around you, carrying her inside. You can't see where the guy is, so you drag her into the base and into the elevator.

They go through all the protocol—checking identity, running tests, all that bullshit. No one seems concerned that an intruder's lurking inside the base.

What if they don't know? A realization hits you. What if they managed to evade them somehow?

There's no way, another voice, a logical one argues. How could they have? We have the best technology in the US.

Not like that’s done any good shit for you.

A few nurses roll the girl in on stretchers, and you collapse onto the couch.

"You look like shit," Rebecca comments.

"Shut up, you wouldn't know anything about it. After all, your job is to send reinforcements to people that actually need it," you say jokingly.

Your friend fakes a hurt look. "Is that how you talk to your friend?" She sits down beside you, pulling up her tablet. "You wanna know about her?"

"Why not?" She hands you the tablet, and you read the profile. "Sherry Birkin… as in… Raccoon City?”

"That's the one."

"And?" Rebecca's eyes darken, but she tries to hide it behind an innocent smile.

"I don't know, actually. We... never got the data. Only that she’s been harboring the T-Virus for a long time."

"Liar," you say, but you let it go. After all, if she's not telling you, there's a reason behind it. "I like her though. You know, a guy followed me inside."

"Who?" she asks almost immediately. It's so fast that you get slightly suspicious. "I mean... do you know?"

"How should I know?" you say, crossing your arms. "It's not like anyone tells me anything around here. Besides, he practically followed me in."

"About that..." she begins sheepishly.

"What?" you demand.

"We all took a vote," she says quickly. "And we decided it would be better not to tell you about the new arrival because of your past and all the things you've told us, and we thought you might not be happy with it—"

"Just get to the point," you interrupt. "What's going on?"

"So... that guy who followed you in? He just joined, but he's made it clear he's one of the DSO’s best agents. I don't think you know he exists because the admin made it clear we shouldn't tell you."

"And why should I not know about this mystery man?" you raise an eyebrow.

Rebecca shrugs. "Dunno. Apparently he asked to be kept secret."

"So a mystery man who doesn't want me knowing that he exists... hm, wonder who that could be." You pretend to feign ignorance for Rebecca's sake, but your mind's already formed an idea of who it is.

After all these years, he's back for revenge.

"I can't tell you," she says apologetically. "Maybe you'll meet him at that conference today?"

"What conference?"

"Girl, seriously? The one with the agents? About the mission?”

"That's today? Shit!"

"Yeah, you're getting paired up." Rebecca stands and pats her coat down. "I'm going back to the lab. I'll see you later."

<><><><>

"So..." Chris leans back in his chair, resting his head on his hands. He looks oddly relaxed given the situation. "Wesker's not going anywhere since he’s managed to cheat death twice. It won't take long to infiltrate his manor. What now?"

"Either we take action, or we sit and wait," Helena replies, gritting her teeth. She has a somber look on her face. You don't know much about her, but she seems mysterious, as if she's hiding secrets. Then again, aren't we all?

"Why are you here, again?" Piers Nivans, Chris's new recruit, asks with his eyebrow raised.

"I'm on the mission," she chides. "My partner isn't here yet."

"Do you know who your partner is?" you ask her.

"Of course I do," she snaps. "Do you think I'm dumb?"

"Can I... know, by chance?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"It doesn't concern you." She turns away from you, crossing her arms.

"So... I guess you'll be paired in case her partner doesn't show." Chris glances at the ground, his expression darkening as he mutters, "I wouldn't expect him to, anyways."

"And how do you know?" you ask quietly. Chris doesn't respond, his face stony.

The air turns awkward, and you sit in silence for a moment longer before Piers interrupts, "So, uh, captain, we should get some sleep."

"Good idea," Chris says quickly. "We need our rest." He stands up, but you grab his arm before he can leave, looking up at him.

"Wait, if Helena's partner shows up..." you trail off, hesitant.

Chris smiles wearily. "Don't worry. You'll still be with her. Trio wouldn’t hurt."

You exhale, relieved, then smile. "I'll hold you to that. Goodnight."

"Goodnight," he replies, shutting the door behind him. You can hear his and Piers's footsteps fade away, and then you glance at Helena. You open your mouth, but she shuts you down before you can say anything.

"Before you ask, no, I'm not going to tell you who my mission partner is, and I'm not interested in getting to know you."

"... I was going to ask if you could hand me that blanket."

You don't know how long you sit there. Helena stares out of the window, legs and arms crossed. You slump onto the pillow, clutching the blanket around you.

"I think that it might help if you learned that you might need to work with me," you say.

"I know," she says simply. "Phase one of the operation happens tomorrow. Get some sleep. And... don't take anything too lightly, okay?"

You don't know what she means by that. You're still thinking about it on the car ride to the manor. As you pull up, you cast a glance at her face, soft and fresh. When you woke up, she was making coffee for you both. You wonder why she switches back and forth with you.

"Alright, people, this is it. Everyone clear on their roles?" Chris’s weary tone holds an undercurrent of urgency.

"As clear as it'll ever be." You run your hands through your hair, nerves getting the best of you. Helena’s face softens, a reassuring look in her eyes. You feel like glaring at her. Your feelings about her are "don't trust her" at best.

Piers speaks again, his gaze boring into yours. "We blow this, there's no second chances. You listening, rookie?"

You stiffen defensively. "Hey, lay off, I know what I'm doing."

Chris cuts in. "Enough, we don't have time for this. Helena, you're on watch. Piers, you've got our exit. And—" he fixes you with a steely glare— "don't screw this up."

You nod, anxiety mounting. Helena peers through her scope. "Alright, looks like they're moving in."

Piers steps into position by the getaway vehicle. "Hurry it up, I don't like standing still for long."

Chris hands you your gear. "You're up. Do your job and we all go home, a step closer to beating this asshole. Understood?" You take a slow breath and check the belt, lined with tactical knives and daggers. You slip it under the hem of your dress, hidden from sight but easily accessible.

"He'll tell me the code, right?" You glance up.

Chris gives you a curt nod and a pat on the shoulder. "We're counting on you."

"Jesus, it's like you're expecting me to fail," you say, a small smile curving the side of your face as you turn away. You take a deep breath, then approach the entrance of the manor.

You could get turned away right here. The scary thought flashes through your head, almost stopping you. You could fail the mission right here. You could mess everything up.

"Excuse me, miss," a voice says, giving a small smile. The man to your right, guarding the entrance, extends a hand. "Invitation, please?"

You slip out the thin paper, the fake engravings brushing your fingers as you pass it to him. He gives it a cursory glance and nods to you. You dip your head and step inside.

The air is cooler than the summer air outside, probably due to air conditioning. Your eyes adjust to the dim lighting from the chandeliers, and you're immediately awestruck. A majestic staircase rises up and curls elegantly along the wall, its polished steps gleaming in the sunlight streaming through the windows. Intricate carvings adorn the banisters and newels, depicting scenes of frolicking angels and mythical beasts.

Even with this masterpiece, there’s still enough room for guests to mingle around the area. Built into the bottom of the staircase seems to be a bar of some sort, at which people laugh and drape their long, nimble fingers over glasses of swirling wine.

You walk slowly towards the staircase, feeling out of place. The carvings seem to come alive as shadows dance across their surfaces, leaping for you, telling you that you don't belong here.

You take a moment to wait for anyone to approach. No one does. You assume your partner must be running late and commence with stage one of the operation: find someone close to the target.

Taking a steadying breath, you near the grand staircase as a swirling sea of aquamarine silk and satin. There's a soft ballad starting to play, and you realize that if you don't find someone to dance with quickly, they might single you out.

Your eyes flit over the glittering crowd, picking out a victim turned away from you, engaged in animated discussion with several others. He turns to the side, exposing his face and laughs, flashing white teeth, then you recognize him.

James Marcus. You would pull up a profile on the man, but there's barely any information about him—known to you, at least. His white hair is chopped back in that classic old-man haircut, and you grimace, wondering if you really have to. Across the room, Chris gives you a look, his eyes holding a message. You can almost hear his voice yelling at you.

Hurry up before he leaves. Another voice argues, what if he doesn't want to dance? How will you keep him occupied and get information?

Only one way to find out. You glide over, catching the tail end of their conversation. "...simply unacceptable, the terms must be renegotiated." You try to make your presence known with what was meant to be a delicate cough, but it comes out as... well, something. It gets their attention. They glance over at you with bewildered eyes. You continue with a subtle, "Pardon my interruption, but might one of you honor me with a dance?"

Please don't have one of those other guys say yes, please, please, you repeat in your head, stealing a look at a burly man standing close to him, his suit looking as if it's about to rip.

Marcus eyes you appraisingly. Oh shit, he's going to— Before anyone can say anything, he suddenly bows. "The pleasure is mine, my lady." Relaxing slightly, you let him take your hand and lead you into the dance.

As you move in time to the orchestra, you try to feel him out, probing for his relationship with Wesker and other targets you had your eye on without arousing suspicion. His answers provide mere grains of insight, but he guards his full thoughts well.

You break away, smiling politely before heading for the bar, another face catching your eye. Just as you step towards the stools, a figure crosses in front of you, stopping directly as you glance up, slightly irritated.

"Hey," the waiter says casually, a tray of drinks balanced in his hand. He's wearing a black mask, the edges fanning out, looking soft and light. You want to reach out and touch them, but you don't. Even though you're glaring intensely at his face, he doesn't meet your eyes. "I don't suppose you're..."

"You've got the wrong person," you say quickly, stepping to the side. He copies you, blocking your path. The target, Edward Ashford, laughs and turns away, calling for another glass of fancy wine. "I think you're forgetting where we are."

"I'm not that certain," he replies smugly with a small chuckle. He still doesn't look at you. "Care for the next dance, my lady?" Great, another distraction.

You argue that if you give him one dance, you'll get back to the target faster. The ball lasts for three hours; you have plenty of time. Besides, you're intrigued. There's something familiar about the glint in this guy's eye, the fall of his hair over his ears.

You place your hand in his, allowing him to sweep you into his arms. He spins you around for just long enough to slide his tray, still clustered with drinks, onto the bar counter without spilling a drop.

You blink in confusion, but he pulls you near the clump of people, and as you move in time to the lively rhythm, he leans in, warm breath ghosting your ear. "Simmer down, Falcon. I believe we have... business to discuss."

You inhale sharply but don't miss a step. So this is more than just a chance. "I see. And what business might that be?"

"Only that I've been assigned as your partner for the duration of this mission. You didn't really think they'd send you in alone, did you?" His eyes gleam with quiet amusement, gaze flickering to the weapon hidden beneath your evening gown, a silent reminder of the danger you're facing.

"They told me," you say indignantly. "They also said you wouldn't show."

"Well, you can count on me, princess," he says, flashing a small smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, then glancing down at your dress. You feel silly in it, but Rebecca insisted it was essential to the look.

So, this is him. Your new partner, and somehow you’re slightly disappointed to find he’s nothing like who you expected, at least not based on outward appearances. You fight to control your expression. For now, you simply say, "Don't call me that. We have a lot of work to do."

"We're not going to that guy you were looking at," he says quickly, bristling. "He won't be useful."

"How do you—"

"I just do." You blink in confusion before shrugging. As you circle the ballroom again and again, searching, you notice the amount of weird looks you're getting.

"Hey, they're giving us weird looks." You look up at your partner. "What's with them?"

"Well, we're not dancing correctly," he says flatly. "Maybe that has something to do with it?"

"What?" You kick away the hem of your dress. "Why are you just bringing this up?"

"I mean, I tried getting you set correctly, but you keep slapping my hand away," he says, a twinge of exasperation in his tone.

"We— I— You—" You stutter, a faint heat fanning your cheeks. You thought he was trying to do something less civilized.

"C'mere," he says, his voice suddenly low. He puts a gentle hand on your waist and curls his other hand around yours. He tilts his head to his shoulder. "Other hand, here."

You do as he says, and for the next few rounds, people don't turn over their drinks to look at you as often. There's a foreign feeling in your stomach, igniting fire in your chest.

"Looks like Wesker's enjoying his show," he remarks.

"Maybe he just prefers operating covertly instead," you hiss. "Like we should be. Keep your voice down."

"Perhaps, but we won't get anywhere cowering in the shadows," he replies with an impatient edge that seems oddly familiar.

You frown. "Proceeding with caution is not the same as 'cowering.' Rushing in could jeopardize the entire mission."

"We need to take the initiative if we want results," he insists stubbornly. There’s something in his tone you think you recognize, but you've never met him. Of course not.

"Initiative is one thing, but not without a plan. Discretion is key here," you argue diplomatically.

He scoffs dismissively. "Plans tend to fall apart. Better to act and adapt than overthink ourselves in circles."

Engrossed in your debate, you take a step forward just as he does and collide directly into his solid form. He lets out a surprised "oof" as the wind gets knocked out of him.

Flailing your arms to catch your balance, you only succeed in further unbalancing you both. Your partner windmills helplessly, grasping for any support, and ends up seizing hold of the poor server who had been quietly passing by with a towering three-tiered cake.

The man goes toppling over with a yelp, and the magnificent confection sails up into the air as if in slow motion. You watch in horror as it seems to hover there for an eternity, the frosting and pastry suspended, while you and your partner collapse on the floor in a sweaty heap, the servant stretching his arm in a failing attempt to save his masterpiece.

Time speeds back up as gravity takes over, and with a massive splat, the entire cake slams into you and your partner. Icy frosting and chunks of sponge coat you from head to toe in an instant.

The ballroom falls deathly silent, all eyes now turning in shock to the spectacle you had unwittingly created. Through the mess obscuring your vision, you make out your partner staring back at you with equal disbelief written across his visible features.

Someone storms from a metal door, raising a spatula angrily. "L'ho appena sfornato! You know how long it takes to bake a cake?"

Meanwhile, the server whispers to himself, "I'm going to get fired, I'm gonna get fired, my life is over, I'm so done for," as if it were some reassuring mantra he was chanting.

The cream from the cake bursts forth on impact, now oozing over your shoulders and down your arms in long, dripping ropes. Your hands and legs below are caked in a technicolor mess—swirls of blue, pink, and yellow seeping through the thin fabric of your gown.

Through the haze, you see Chris push through the crowd, crouching down to help you. There's a strangled expression on his face, but he calls out to the crowd, "Sorry, my daughter and her fiancé are new to this. Please accept our apologies and we'll be headed home."

The murmur of people around you, their soft voices and judging gazes, aren't what stings and provokes your forming tears. What hurts is the disapproving look on Chris's face as he lugs you out of the ballroom, the sun heating your chilled arms, and the realization that you've failed everyone.

<><><><>

You slowly tug off the silver mask, then your billowing dress, covered in crumbs and frosting, and throw it aside. You kick your heels off and unclip your hair. It falls across your bare back in cascades of brown dotted with blue, pink, and yellow as you step into the bathroom. You switch the setting to the hottest it can go, which isn't even close to the burning, searing feeling in your chest.

Not the one you felt with your partner, but the one that slowly began to spread when you tried explaining to Chris what had really happened, and all he said was to leave.

"That's an order from your commander," he had said quietly, eyes cast downward. "Now get out of my face."

The scalding water pours over you, but does little to soothe your thoughts. You lean your head against the cool tile and try to process the events of this evening.

It looks like your own commander has lost faith in you, his dismissal cutting deep. As the clouds of steam envelop you, you try to decide your next move. You don’t know if you should abandon not only the mission, but the job entirely. It seems you can’t do anything right, huh?

A quiet knock at the door startles you. "Hello? It's... your mission partner. We need to talk." His muffled voice holds a note of concern that gives you pause.

"I don't want to hear your voice right now." If it were just you, Chris wouldn't have been disappointed. You wouldn't have failed him.

"I have plans. We can still get Wesker," he insists with determination in his voice. His tone gets you thinking. Maybe there's still a chance to prove to Chris that you know what you're doing.

After toweling off and changing into a random pair of shorts and a tank top you find in your closet, you brace yourself to face whatever awaits on the other side of that door. You grasp the door handle and try twisting it, but something blocks it.

"Hey," you call out. "I can't—"

"I know," he says suddenly. "I... don't want you to see me."

"You were the guy who followed me into the base," you say, the realization hitting you. "Who... are you?"

You hear a sound against the door, and the door handle tilts to the side, but the door doesn't open. You suspect he's let go of it, trusting you enough not to open it.

"Sit down with me," he says. You sit down with your back against the door, knees drawn up protectively over your chest.

"Who are you?" you repeat.

A weary sigh comes from the other side of the door. "Let's just say... we have a shared past with the man you're after. A past I've been trying to make right."

You offer calmly, "You don't have to face this alone. If we're honest with each other, maybe we stand a better chance of stopping him."

A long silence stretches before he replies. "Alright. No more secrets between us. I'll answer any questions honestly... if you promise to work with me as a team from here on out."

"Deal," you reply. "So, who are you?"

"A friend," he says with a smile in his voice. "But you can call me Condor."

"Really?" you deadpan. "You can't tell me any more than that?"

"Not yet, sweetheart. You'll have to wait a little longer for that."

As night falls, you decide to do some reconnaissance of the nearby training area. Moving quietly through the shadows, you spot a lone figure practicing maneuvers under the moonlight. You see the mask and know it's Condor (what kind of name even is that?).

At first, you take him for keeping his skills sharp. But as you watch closer, you begin to note subtle details. The graceful yet powerful way he flows from one form to the next, mixing kicks and strikes with fluid precision.

You had worked with agents from BSAA for over two years, and yet no one you'd trained with had this precise style. No one displayed this. It's a style you know well, one you have analyzed endlessly trying to gain any advantage in your mission together. A style belonging to only one agent you had ever seen move with such skill and poise.

His style looks like Leon's. His name sparks something inside you. Watching him just reminds you of heartache—of the months following Spain, searching endlessly for someone who didn't want you to find him, of erasing it from your mind, steeling against memories of him.

He doesn't see you observing from the treeline as he runs through an attack sequence on a training dummy, perfectly focused. But you see every telltale motion, recognizing the techniques you had practiced and perfected as partners long ago.

You continue to watch silently, taking in the bittersweet memories his fighting evokes. It couldn't be Leon, though. You had pulled up his file mere weeks ago, and the database had marked him as MIA. Maybe…

You shake your head and turn away, pressing your back and hands to the concrete wall that separates you. Your chest heaves with heavy breaths, and you feel sweat trickle from your forehead.

It's not Leon. You're imagining things. Anyone could learn such elegant moves like his. There's no chance it's Leon. Don't get your hopes up. You'll just be crushed again. You're not stupid.

Curiosity gets the better of you, as it always does. While he continues training, you stealthily make your way to the armory. Flicking on the lights, you scan the row of lockers until you find the one labeled only with a number—his designation, it seems. Taking a steadying breath, you input the code and swing the door open.

At first glance, his arsenal looks standard issue—a selection of handguns and knives arranged with military precision. But you look closer and notice subtle modifications.

Most oddly, you recognize most of this gear. Old and worn with time, but still vaguely familiar. You brush it off as having seen them in the weaponry store Chris had taken you to when you were a freshly minted agent.

Extra notches filed into certain knife handles. Markings you had seen countless times before, wielded with deadly accuracy and calm focus under pressure. But this could all be from one big brand that created everything, custom-made.

You pick up a knife and run your thumb over the distinct patterns worn smooth from years of use. A memory surfaces of your first lesson with knives, Leon's hands over yours. The thought hurts, so you push it away.

As you throw the weapon back, your eyes fall on dog tags hanging from a hook on the back of the locker. Steeling yourself, you reach out a hand to grasp them when a voice stops you.

"Going through my stuff, huh?" A chuckle escapes him, and you glance at Condor, cheeks burning. "When I said we'd be honest, that didn't mean you could go through my stuff."

"I was just—routine check," you fumble.

"I did my own check yesterday." He crosses to you in long strides, slamming the locker door shut. His hand is still firmly planted on the metal as he leans closer. "You can't lie to me. What were you really doing?"

You purse your lips and try your best not to shiver under his gaze. His eyes wander over your face, a cursory glance that stops at your lips.

"I suppose I should be asking you why you still have that stupid mask on," you retort. The curved, ivory edges of his masquerade mask seem to shine in the dim light, seemingly freshly cleaned.

He coughs and steps back, bringing his hand to cover his mouth subtly.

 "Don't let me catch you going through my locker," he says, half-joking and fully ignoring your question. You nod quickly, not thinking too hard about it, and notice the wet patch staining his combat shirt. He follows your gaze and turns slightly to hide it from you.

"Did you... get hurt?" you ask, slightly curious.

"I'm fine, it's nothing," he says quickly.

"It'll get infected," you reply, your voice a bit louder. "Let me treat it."

"I'll get a nurse to do it," he says, stepping back.

"The nurses aren't on night duty. It's just me and you," you say defiantly, stepping forward. His mouth parts slightly, face flushed, eyes wild through their mask, and he glances to the side as if someone's watching him.

"You won't—"

"No, you won't be going anywhere until I've seen to that wound," you insist, already rummaging through the nearby medkit propped up against the bench.

He starts to protest, but you level him with a stern look. "No arguments. Now sit before you lose any more blood." Reluctantly, Condor begins to peel off his bloody shirt, revealing a long gash that runs from the base of his forearm to his wrist. A flush rises in your cheeks at his bare torso on display, muscles gleaming with a sheen of exertion.

Another reason it's not Leon—Leon wasn't that comfortable with you.

If he notices your reaction, he gives no sign, focusing on the injury. But you see a hint of pink tinting his ears as he sits bare-chested before you, awaiting treatment.

Averting your eyes to the task at hand, you get to work cleaning and dressing the gash with steadier hands than you feel. Your eyes wander over his familiar yet unplaceable scars. One high on his left shoulder draws you in, a long pale line raising questions.

It tugs at something in your memory, just out of reach. You trace the scar gently, trying to place its significance. Your companion tenses at your touch, watching you intently.

"Does this wound mean something to you?" you ask cautiously. He frowns.

"It's a reminder that I'm never safe."

"Wow, uh, okay." At a loss for words, you finish dressing his gash in a bandage and order him to sleep. You watch him stalk off, raising his hand in a goodbye gesture without looking back. You also see him wince at the effort before cradling his arm and scurrying away.

<><><><>

The next day, at the dusk briefing for the mission, you lean back in your chair and sip from a cup of steaming coffee, courtesy of Helena. You sit together and watch Rebecca, Chris, and Piers argue over something on the map.

"You'll kill them if you send them there," Rebecca protests. "Just skip that sector and move to the next one. There's nothing there!"

"We're missing the intel on Irving's future plans. We used to have Sheva stationed there, but we pulled her back to train troops for the scaled invasion," Piers retorts. "Without that information, we're all going to be killed."

"Besides, I have faith in them." His eyes find you. You can't muster the courage to meet his gaze. "I'm sure they can handle it."

Condor enters the briefing room with his arm in a sling. You wince at the splatters of blood streaking across the patchy white material. Obviously, whoever treated his arm was not thinking clearly. He wears a face mask, one of the blue sterile ones. Believe it or not, it does a good job of hiding his face.

Chris stands at the head of the table, maps and reports scattered across the surface.

"Glad you could join us, Captain, even in your state," Chris says. "I know you're itching to get back in the field. Well, I may have a mission that will suit your skills and let you prove to me that you can be trusted to succeed in a mission that should be as..."

"Easy as cake?" Condor offers, a small grin quirking his lips.

"Exactly." Chris's expression mirrors his. At least he's not yelling at anyone.

"Let's get to it," Rebecca interrupts, raising an eyebrow at you. You can hear her silent question—what's going on?

You shrug as Condor takes a seat next to Helena and leans in. You do the same, eager to hear the details. Piers launches into an explanation. "Our troops had to evacuate sector five off the east, but they left valuable information behind. If this were to fall into enemy hands, we would be done for. Not to mention that without it, our whole mission would have to be rethought."

"A small strike team going undercover at night is our best bet." Chris nods to Condor. "You up for a reconnaissance mission, Captain?"

Condor nods, though he holds his injured arm gingerly. "Just say the word, Commander. I'll have our best men ready to move out at your order."

"Good man. Get some rest, and I want you geared up and prepped to leave at 2200 hours." You all stand. "Dismissed."

As you prepare to leave, Condor lingers. He looks up at Chris from his seated position. "I won't let this injury slow us down, sir. We'll get you the intel you need."

"Maybe," Chris says with a half-smile. "Don't get injured training by yourself in the first place." He nods to you with a genuine smile before turning and leaving.

<><><><>

The cover of night provides just the cloak you need as Condor's strike team moves stealthily through the forest. You follow close behind him, determined not to let his injury sideline your efforts. As his mission partner, you’ve vouched to replace the squad medic, Nathan, who will stay behind to watch over the injured soldiers that arrived from sector seven.

You creep toward the enemy encampment, relying on night vision goggles to pick out defenses and patrol routes. Condor signals a halt, then motions for you to join him.

"Take a look," he whispers, handing you the goggles. His uninjured shoulder presses against yours as you peer through and count at least three dozen hostiles milling about. They all seem to be guarding the warehouse where Chris says you would find the information. After surveying the perimeter, you pass the goggles back with your assessment. "We need to map their positions and strengths before heading in."

Condor nods. "You heard the woman. Fan out and record all details. Move fast but stealthy—we can't be spotted. Radio check-ins every 15 minutes."

The squad disperses on your assignments. You realize that you don't know any of them—not even their names, and promise yourself to ask after they return. You hang back with Condor, insisting on keeping his injury immobilized. "Don't overexert that arm," you warn softly.

He flashes a grin. "No promises, but I'll try for you, Doc."

Your heart skips. Then shouts arise almost out of thin air, and enemy fire lights the night as your team engages. You drag Condor into cover. "Time to pull out. Mission's blown. Have they got—"

"We're clear to leave, but they've gotten themselves into a bit of a problem. Turn on your radio," Condor urges.

You do as he says and almost immediately are met with gunfire and the sounds of panicked soldiers.

"I repeat, Captain, we need backup!" A woman's voice comes through only to end in a scream. The radio fades to static.

"Don't assume the worst." Condor stands up, helping you to your feet. "Let's get over there. We've got this."

<><><><>

You definitely don’t got this, you think barely a few minutes later, surrounded by seemingly never-ending hordes of zombies. It's been a while since you've seen those rotting, decaying corpses stumble toward you, but the memory of dispatching them has never been clearer.

"Leon, behind you!" you shout.

"I see them," Condor insists, plunging his knife into an attacker's throat before whirling to face the next. "Watch your six; there's more coming!"

"I've got it covered," you pant, gunning down two more enemies with practiced precision. "How many are left?"

"Too many," Condor growls through clenched teeth, blood dripping down his face from a fresh wound.

"Shit, you're hurt!" you cry out in alarm.

"It's nothing," he retorts. "Focus on staying alive—we'll worry about this later."

Your backs meet in the midst of the fray, fighting off assailants on all sides as if you’re two parts of a well-oiled machine.

"Behind you!" you warn, just a split second before it senses you.

He spins and fires without looking. You feel Condor's guard shift in turn to cover your exposure. "Thanks for the heads up."

"You're welcome," you say between shots. The crowd seems to be getting smaller, but you’re not going to say anything about it yet. "How's the shoulder holding up?"

"It's fine," Condor grinds out through clenched teeth.

Suddenly, you realize that even with dwindling enemies, your rhythm is thrown off by his compromised mobility. Condor struggles to keep up, taking more hits than usual as you fight harder to cover for him.

"We need to fall back," you say urgently, grabbing his uninjured arm. "We can make it back. The others already escaped."

"Not until they're all down!" Of course, he refuses to retreat, stubbornly fighting through the haze of pain. But his sluggish reflexes keep putting you both at greater risk.

When the last of the zombies' bodies litter the ground, the grim smile is evident in his voice, if not his expression. "Think that's the last of them?"

"I hope so." You scan the mounds of decaying flesh, gun at the ready. "Condor, you're looking a little pale..."

He opens his mouth to protest, but instead his eyes roll back. He starts to crumple to the ground before you manage to catch him in your arms.

"Shit, no!" You ease him to the ground, gripping his sides in panic. Blood pulses thickly between your fingers from the wound at his shoulder. "Don't do this to me, stay with me!"

Condor's eyelids flicker open, his gaze finding yours with effort. "Hey... get out of here. Before more come."

"I'm not leaving you," you say fiercely through tears. A weak smile touches his lips. You rip fabric from your shirt to bind a makeshift dressing, tears mingling with the blood on your cheeks. "Why'd you have to play the hero, huh? You couldn't dodge one lousy hit?"

"Had to... keep you... safe."

"Well congratulations, genius, now we're both screwed." Your breath hitches on a sob. "Just hold on, damn it! You're not dying on me, do you hear?"

Condor's hand finds yours, grip tightening with determination. "Not... going anywhere. Promise."

You press your finger to his lips, trying to draw strength from the lingering warmth of his body against your legs. But you know that out in the open, he won't last long without medical help. You have to get to shelter, and fast.

"We never got to learn... to dance," he says quietly. You bring your attention back to him.

"What?"

"Spain... you and I... you knew," he says with a small grin. "You knew... it was me." He gasps for air, and you shake your head.

"I did," you say softly. "I knew it was you, Leon."

You see the flash of his teeth in a quick smile before it vanishes, and a strangled moan escapes Leon's lips. "Just hold on, damn it! You're not dying on me, do you hear? You don't get to leave me twice in a lifetime!"

"Wish... I was... with you," he says quietly. A gentle smile tugs at his lips. "Always... knew you... cared..." His eyes slide shut as consciousness flees from his body.

The heavy thrum of approaching rotor blades cuts through your panic like a knife. You lurch your head to the sky, the sun blinding you, desperation fueling your exhausted limbs into one final sprint.

Waving your arms, you stumble directly into the landing chopper's spotlight, shielding your eyes against the blinding glare. Two medics leap out, bearing a stretcher between them.

"Please, help him!" you scream over the deafening noise, dragging Leon's limp form the last few feet. Your fingers cling to his jacket even as the medics pull him away, wanting nothing more than to keep contact.

For a second, you let yourself think that he'll be alright, then they whisk Leon aboard and settle him behind shatterproof glass, disappearing behind a tangle of cables and medical equipment as the chopper shoots skyward. You take an automatic step to follow—only to smash into an invisible barrier, your bloody hands leaving pale prints on the reinforced hull.

You see Leon's silhouetted form lost amid the bustle of medics working frantically to stabilize his critical injuries. Your shouts are drowned out by the thrumming engines. All you can do is watch helplessly through the frosted barrier, pounding your fists bloody against the unyielding glass.

A kind-eyed paramedic finally takes your elbow gently but firmly, guiding you away as an IV needle slides into your battered arm. You sag against the hull in reluctant exhaustion, unwilling to take your blurry gaze off Leon even as he starts to swim before your eyes.

The medic presses an oxygen mask to your pale face, assessing your injuries with a worried frown. You lazily recognize the face as Nathan's. But all you can really focus on through the haze is Leon’s still frame across from you, bathed in shimmering halos of light from above.

Your bloody fingerprints streak down like tears as you curl onto the cold steel floor, fingers clawing compulsively at the transparent wall between you. All the anger, fear, and desperate longing to bridge that gap come pouring out in a broken sob you can’t hold back any longer.

Through the pane, Leon remains ominously still—the rise and fall of his chest the only indication that he’s still alive. Nathan's hushed whispers are the only reason you feel safe enough to let darkness consume you. You let your eyes close.

<><><><>

It seems like the next second, you open them. Gasping for air, you clutch the arm in front of you.

"Ow..." Rebecca recoils, a grin on her face as she shakes her arm. "Well, I was going to discharge you, but it seems like your murderous thoughts have other plans."

"Never mind that," you reply impatiently. "What about Leon? Is he alright?"

"You knew?" she asks, eyes wide with surprise.

"I'm not as oblivious as you think," you retort. "Now please, tell me how he's doing."

"His shoulder was bothering him a few weeks back," she explains. "I managed to keep him resting it. But it seems fighting like that reopened the injury."

"Weeks?!" you exclaim in frustration. "Why am I only finding out about this now?"

"I thought you were already aware..." Rebecca glances down regretfully. "He was admitted about a week after you."

"So for three years, he's pretended not to know me." The fear for Leon's safety swiftly transforms into an unquenchable fury. How could he deceive you for so long?

"Calm down, he can explain himself," Rebecca says soothingly. "Let's get you to his room so the two of you can talk."

Her words do little to quench your simmering anger, but you nod curtly anyway.

"Lead the way," you say tersely to Rebecca. She gives you a worried look but compiles, guiding you out of the patient room and into the hallway.

You walk in strained silence for a few moments. Your thoughts swirl with questions and suspicions. After six long years apart, Leon owes you the truth. Why did he lie about being here? Why didn't he tell you?

"So how have things been around here?" you ask, your tone hardening on the last word as you shoot Rebecca a sidelong glance. "Is there something else that you've been hiding from me?"

She purses her lips, hesitating before answering. "There's no use taking it out on me. I should have told you sooner, I know. But Leon... there were reasons, I'm sure."

"What possible reason could justify this?" you scoff. "Unless the truth is even worse."

Rebecca opens her mouth to reply but is cut off by a shout up ahead.

"Hey Doc, think you can speed it up a bit? I think I'm dying over here."

Your head snaps forward at the familiar voice. Leon. After everything, you'd know that voice anywhere. A fresh wave of anger and hurt rises in your chest. It's time for answers.

"We're almost there," Rebecca calls back uneasily. "Leon, you have a visitor."

You quicken your pace, bursting through the door with Rebecca close behind.

Leon is propped up in bed, eyes closed as he massages his forehead in apparent frustration. "Tell them to fuck off. I don't want to see anyone right now."

"Leon Kennedy, you open your eyes right this instant," you say sternly, hands on your hips.

At the sound of your voice, his eyelids fly open in shock. "What are you—Why are you up—"

"Save it." You hold up a hand, your ice-cold glare stopping his question dead. "We need to have a long overdue talk. Alone."

Rebecca smiles apologetically at Leon. "I'll leave you two to sort this out. Call if you need anything." With that, she slips quietly from the room.

An uncomfortable silence falls as you and Leon size each other up. You've dreamed of this reunion for years, yet now only outrage remains. He fidgets under your burning stare, opening his mouth hesitantly.

"Look, I know you must have a lot of—"

"Questions? Accusations? You bet your ass I do." You pull up a chair and lean in close, lowering your voice to a furious whisper. "Start. Talking."

Leon sighs wearily, running a hand through his cropped hair. "I'm really not up for this right now. My shoulder is killing me and I just wanna get some rest."

A noise of indignant disbelief escapes you. "Too bad! You don't get to leave me for three years and then play the injured card."

"I never meant to hurt you," he insists, frustration evident in his tense features.

"Bullshit! You lied straight to my face." Your voice rises as your temper flares further. "Was our friendship some big joke to you?"

Struggling to sit up taller, Leon grits his teeth against the pain. "Of course not, you know that's not true. But I had my reasons, okay?"

"What possible reason—"

"I was trying to protect you!" he seethes, immediately recoiling as his shoulder flares up painfully.

You open your mouth to respond, but Rebecca must've already heard the commotion because she immediately rushes in with a syringe at the ready. "Alright, that's enough, you two. Leon, take it easy before you tear your stitches."

He relents with a weary sigh, allowing Rebecca to administer a sedative. Within moments, the tension seeps from his body as sleep claims him once more.

You slump back in your chair, fists clenched in your lap, overflowing with questions that will have to wait. Leon's deception cuts deep—but seeing him injured stirs regret along with your lingering anger.

"Okay, he's in stable condition," Rebecca says with a huff, stepping back and dusting her hands. Her eyes flit to you. "But he won't be much longer, by the look on your face."

You don’t want to admit it, and you definitely don’t say it out loud, but he’s gotten more attractive over the years. I mean, he was good-looking to begin with, but he aged well—taller, with darker hair and eyes, but you still recognize them with the same challenging look in them, daring you to speak out against him.

You clench your fingers together, watching the blood drain from them. "Leon… fucking Condor. You thought you were slick with that name? I'm going to fucking—"

"Come over here and talk it out?" Chris says from the doorway. He leans against the frame, a questioning look on his face as you approach, closing the door behind you. "Alright, so what's got you so worked up?"

"I won't work with Leon," you declare, arms crossed.

"So you know. Who told you?"

"Why does it matter when you hid it from me?" you retort. "I'm not working with him."

"You already have, but whatever," Chris says with a shrug. "We didn't know how to tell you, given how you react whenever he's on TV."

"That was once," you protest. "Jesus, you still haven't let that go."

Chris chuckles and shakes his head. "You acted like he was really there." A wistful look crosses his face. "Ah, I should've recorded that."

"Take him off the team," you insist. "You need me. Besides, you saw how the mission failed when he was there with me."

"That was partly your fault. And the second mission went perfectly fine. True, we might need you," Piers agrees. "But we definitely need him."

"No, you don't!" you protest. "All he does is 'protect' you when you don't need it and then ghost you for six years. And then work in your agency for three years that you only joined to spite him in the first place."

"We can still hear you," Rebecca calls from around the wall.

"Shut up!" you say, louder than you want to. Then you say to them in a quieter voice, "Look, I just can't work with him. Every time I see him... all I can think is..."

"Woah, calm down, I don't need the details," Chris says, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. You flush and swat at him.

"It's not like that! You're insufferable," you say exasperatedly.

"The admins need you to work with him," Piers says suddenly. "Wesker hasn't recovered from you destroying his image, and if anything, your actions have caused him to stray further from the media's presence. In order to get our team back, you need to get everyone to take the bait."

"You have to be kidding me," you grumble, running a hand through your hair. "There's no way I can act friendly toward that guy."

Chris sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Look, I know you two have... history. But orders are orders. This mission requires the full cooperation of our team."

"Yeah, easy for you to say," you retort. "Leon didn't ghost you for six years."

Piers chimes in, "I know it's not ideal. But staying committed to the plan is crucial. The fate of our organization depends on it. We've come too far to let personal issues get in the way."

"Be friendly or they're firing you," Chris interrupts. "You have to fool Wesker, therefore the world, into believing that you're friends with him. It's really not that hard. If the target finds out you aren't friends with him, things could go wrong."

"Then get Helena to do it; I don't fucking care!"

"I'll be visiting inside, thanks," Helena says, appearing around the corner. She opens the door and steps inside, leaving it slightly open.

"Just give the man a goddamn chance, would you?" Chris sighs, a troubled sound that makes him sound far older than he really is. "You're always so quick to judge."

"Who else is on the team?" you ask, deflecting the subject.

"Well, we're supposed to have Sherry Birkin and Jake Muller. But right now, it's just us," he says, gesturing to himself and Piers, "and then, of course, Leon and Helena."

"So we're missing, what, a fourth of the team? That's not too much. We can manage without him." You roll your eyes and avert the subject again. "So about my group..."

"You're being grouped with Leon," Chris says flatly. "We argued about this for three months and we decided that Helena's only here for backup, in case something goes wrong."

"Three months? You've known about this for three months?" you sputter, stepping back.

"Wait, why can't I be backup?" you protest.

"Because you know Leon better," he says simply.

"I used to think that too," you say sweetly. "But obviously, we were both wrong."

"We were watching you while he had the mask on—"

"Whose idea was that?" They stare at you. "The mask, I mean."

"That was this guy," Chris says, gesturing to Piers, who flushes.

"It was part Leon's idea too!" he protests. "Besides, we knew you would recognize your partner any day now."

"So you're both in on this, huh?"

"You can say whatever you want, but the moment you're back in Wesker's estate, you better act like the sun shines out of his ass," Chris warns.

You frown. "Isn't that from—"

"Don't patronize me! Now, are you on the team or not?" Chris asks. There's an expectant look in his eyes. Your gut tells you to do one thing, but the agency expects something else from you.

You let your shoulders slump, catching a glimpse of Leon's darkened blond hair from the sliver in the doorway. You shake your head. "Fine then, put me on the team."

"That's what I like to hear," Chris says, beaming, all traces of his bad mood gone.

"So... now what?"

"Now, we wait for tomorrow. You might want to get some rest. You need to look nice for tomorrow." When you tilt your head questioningly, he smiles mysteriously and heads back into the room with Piers.

The door closes agonizingly slowly, and you catch a bit of Leon and Helena's conversation.

"Heard you got grouped with my favorite rival. Trying to steal my spotlight again?" Leon manages, coughing afterwards.

Helena huffs in amusement. "In your dreams, pretty boy. We all know who the real star is around here."

"Of course I do, sweetheart."

Pretty boy? Sweetheart? Since when are they so close?

You shake your head, not wanting to look at Leon any more than necessary, and you certainly don’t want to talk to Helena. You make the decision to head back to your room. You take the elevator up, walk to your door, and unlock it, stumbling inside.

The bedroom door's open, so you shut the window to block out the moon rays. You lay on your bed, resting your head on your pillow, and try to sleep. When you wake up again, the moon has moved further down its path to the horizon, not quite reaching it yet.

Still half-asleep, you pull open your drawers and grab your glasses, wanting to catch up on the announcements you must've missed. The first thing you do is call Rebecca, hoping talking to her might ease your conflicted feelings.

"No way, you called me back!" Rebecca dramatically gasps, covering her mouth with her hand. "I think I'll have a heart attack!"

"Save it," you grumble.

“What's got you so depressed?” Rebecca asks, her voice tinny over your phone’s speaker. On the screen, her brown hair is down, smooth and tame, and she’s poking at one of her dozens of window plants, vibrant shades of crimson and navy.

"The whole mission's going to be shitty." You groan. "Honestly, I don't know what they were thinking, putting us together. I hate his guts."

"I don't think you do," Rebecca replies thoughtfully with a smile. "For someone you hate, you sure do talk about him a lot. And I’m pretty sure you knew about his identity from the beginning, didn’t you?"

"That's only because he's a prick—I would know that from anywhere—and everyone needs to know that," you say dismissively.

"Well," Rebecca giggles, "I think he's quite charming."

"Great," you deadpan. "You can have your happily ever after with him."

"Actually, I meant for you," she says.

"You're exactly like Chris."

"Ew." She makes a face, and you start to laugh, but you cut off when you hear rustling from the entrance. You cover the speaker and peer out of the door frame.

Quiet footsteps approach. You step out of the bedroom. A light flicks on in the hallway, and the person who stumbles into the kitchen is Leon.

"Wait, is that—" you disconnect the call and shove your phone into a pocket. He’s rumpled and half-awake, shoulders slumping as he yawns. He stands in front of you wearing a light blue hospital gown. His hair is a mess. His feet are bare.

Leon freezes when his gaze falls on you. You stare back at him. He suddenly stands up straight, but his face is still bleary and confused.

"Hello," he says, his voice hoarse. "Sorry. I was just... Häagen-Dazs."

He gestures vaguely toward the refrigerator, as if the name somehow explains his odd behavior.

"What?" you respond, bewildered.

He crosses to the freezer and grabs a small box of individually packed ice cream, showing you the Häagen-Dazs logo printed across the front. "I was out. Knew they'd stocked you up."

"Did you—do you raid everyone's kitchens?" you ask accusingly.

"Only when I can't sleep," Leon replies. "Which is always. Didn't think you'd be awake." He looks at you, deferring, and you realize he's waiting for permission to open the box and take one.

"No," you say firmly.

"Why not?" Leon whines, a sound you’ve never heard from him before. It's oddly satisfying for him to push back against your refusal, but after all these years, conversing with him feels like a foreign practice.

You shrug and roll your eyes, and his face lights up as he grabs the box anyway.

"Have you practiced what you'll say tomorrow?" he asks suddenly.

"Yes," you reply, bristling immediately. "You're not the only professional around here."

"I didn't mean—" Leon falters. "I only meant, do you think we should, uh, I don’t know, rehearse?"

"Do you need to?" you retort.

"I thought it might help." Of course he thinks that—he's probably been around the world, mingling with all kinds of people. He’s never thought you could handle yourself, and it seems he still hasn't changed.

You walk toward him, unlocking your phone. "Watch this."

You line up a shot of the Häagen-Dazs box on the counter, Leon's hand next to it, and the side of your face as he glances up, confused. You open Instagram and add a filter.

"'Nothing like,'" you narrate flatly as you type a caption, "'midnight ice cream with my new partner.' Posted." You hold the phone out for him to see. "There's a lot of things worth overthinking, believe me. But this isn't one of them."

Leon frowns at you over his ice cream, looking doubtful. "Does this mean we're okay?"

"Oh, no," you say, a sappy smile on your face. "We'll never be okay. What you did was unforgivable." Dramatic, but it works.

"Well, uh, thanks." His eyes meet yours, and his icy blue eyes are full of emotion, glazed like they're brimming with tears.

"For what?" you say, your voice softer than expected.

He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it, lips pursing. "For the ice cream," he mumbles quietly. It's a goddamn box of ice cream; just take it.

"It's fine. Now, are you done?" you ask. "I was on a call."

Leon blinks, then folds his arms over his chest, back on the defensive. "Of course. I won’t keep you." As he leaves the kitchen, he pauses in the doorway, considering, leaning against the wood.

"I didn’t know you wore glasses," he says finally.

He leaves you standing there alone in the kitchen, the box of chocolate-swirl ice cream sweating on the counter, and the faint wish that he had thanked you for something else.

<><><><>

The drive to the interview is hot and stuffy, and it probably didn’t help that the driver refused to put down the windows and that you were seated right next to Leon, your legs almost brushing.

In the room, stylists twist Leon's hair into elaborate patterns that fall over his eyes, casting shadows over his pale blue irises. He gives you a crooked smile with the side of his face as a makeup artist dabs his cheekbones with powder.

Leon’s wearing a sweater that matches yours, except unlike you, he looks like he’s attending a private school in England over the summer, spending his days playing polo and betting on horse racing.

You don't understand why Leon needs makeup. He already looks fine, but you suppose "fine" won't suffice for the rest of the world—or Wesker. You realize you’re glaring at him and quickly look away.

"Alright, let's go over this," Helena says quietly, crouching near the edge of the couch you're sitting on. "You need to make it seem like you've been close friends with him, kept in touch for a long time."

"Got it," you say, slightly bitter. "Why couldn't you do this?"

"Because I didn't want to."

"And you thought I did?"

"It doesn't matter what you want," Helena says, but a small smile has crept onto her face. She shakes her head and glances up at you, eyes flitting to the complex camera system. "Do what you need to. Remember what's at stake here."

You nod, and she stands, dusting herself off before walking away. Someone shoos all of Leon's artists away, sending them scrambling like a school of fish. A voice counts down, and you glance at the preppy interviewer sitting near you, smiling eerily.

"So, you two, you look cozy over there," she says, waggling her eyebrows in a way that makes you want to throw up. "Let's hear a bit about yourselves before getting to the main questions, huh?" She turns to you, wide eyes boring into you.

"Uh, hello?" you begin unsteadily, introducing yourself. "I've been working as a government agent for around five years, skilled in combat and medical fields, and have been..." You falter here.

"We've been friends for a long time," Leon finishes for you. "Contrary to what happened at the gala, we're very close, and what occurred was just a misunderstanding." He smiles warmly at the camera, and the interviewer's own smile only grows.

"So, you've been friends since the Raccoon City Incident of 1998, yes?" she asks, directing her pen toward both of you.

"Uh..." Leon's eyes cut to you.

"Yes," you say for him. "It's almost like we've known each other for our entire lives."

"Mhm, yup," Leon affirms, like the easier thing for him to do is lie with a sweet smile on his face, the smile you know sends your knees buckling and stomach fluttering.

"Now, here's the biggest question on everyone's mind," she says, leaning forward in her seat. "Two special agents working together to serve the government. It sounds like a romance novel!" She giggles.

"I'm... sorry?" Leon tilts his head, and by the confused look in his eyes, you see he doesn't understand the full length of what the woman said.

"I understand what you're implying," you begin.

"What, wait, you do?" Leon turns to you, raising an eyebrow. "What does she mean?"

"Go ahead. Tell him what I mean," she says, eyelashes fluttering. She waves the camera over, and you feel the gazes of multiple people on you.

It's Leon. He'll laugh at the implication and wave it off. He's your Leon. The one you know. You can trust him.

"She, along with the rest of whoever 'everyone' is, thinks we're dating." The room holds its breath, Leon's expression unchanging. Then he smiles.

"Are we?"

"No, stupid."

"Women," he says, scoffing and turning to look the other way. The camera zooms in on his face, and you can see a smile creep onto the side of his lips.

"Leon has very readable emotions," you say, immediately getting his attention. He snaps back to you, eyes meeting yours in a challenging glare. You sit forward, and he copies your movements, his glare cast downward as yours is cast upward. Your faces are so close that your noses could be touching.

"My partner has visible reactions to everything I do. I guess I'm just too handsome for her to leave alone," he says smugly, a smirk curving his lips.

"Fuck off, you self-absorbed prick."

Leon leans forward. "Are we giving them something to talk about?"

You meet his gaze without flinching. "No."

Leon smiles strangely. "Your reaction says otherwise."

Your temper flashes. "Don't flatter yourself. I couldn't care less what people think. What even were we?"

"You know what we are," Leon says, meeting your gaze. His eyes, however much they've darkened over the years, are still his, full of emotion. There's something different now, though. There's something guarding them, some kind of emotional barrier to keep from showing too much.

"I used to think I did," you say. "But I don't think I do anymore."

"Why are you acting like this?" Leon asks, his voice suddenly angry.

"Like what?" you retort defensively.

"Like it's my fault this happened!" Leon says. "Did you honestly think I was gonna come meet you right after risking my life multiple times to save you and Ashley? Not everything is about you! I have people to meet, duties to fulfill, and places to be!"

"Your life doesn't have to be about me!" you protest. "All I wanted was to know that you were at least alive!"

"Maybe I should've," Leon says, sounding genuinely guilty. "Maybe I should've called you once, and then let the government kill you? Is that what you wanted?"

"Government... kill me?" You pull backward. "Why would they—"

"They threatened to find you if I didn't leave you the day we got back to the US. They thought I would tell you government secrets and they would get leaked." Leon crosses his arms and tries his best to look away from you.

"But... I don't understand," you say, raising an eyebrow. "Don't they know that you always put your work first?"

"I usually do," Leon agrees. "But... Ashley might’ve gone to ask if you could be added to her team."

"Team... like, security?" you ask. "Of course they said no! What was that girl on?"

"Actually," Leon says sheepishly, "they said yes. They figured if you survived through all that with no training, you must have raw talent. They liked that."

"So... why was I not with you and Ashley for these past six years?" you ask accusingly. Leon's eyes darken.

"Because I refused," Leon admits. "I didn't let them get to you. I told them you would be too big of a burden and that I'd take all the responsibility to keep you safe." Leon pauses as he runs a hand through his hair. "Because..." He trails off. "Look, I made a mistake. I know I should have called you after those six years. But I thought that you understood why I had to do what I did. I was protecting us."

"I don't need to be fucking protected by you, Leon," you growl. "Seriously, you thought I couldn't handle myself? That I need a big strong man to follow me everywhere because I'm too weak to protect myself? Jesus fuck, I'm not Ashley!"

"You're not Ashley," Leon acknowledges, anger in his voice as he flushes. "But you would've gotten yourself killed without me in Spain, watching your back!"

"You would've died from a blood infection if I wasn't there," you retort, crossing your arms. "You wouldn't have lasted a day without me."

"Why couldn't you trust me? I knew you would survive. You just had to wait. Why couldn't you wait longer?"

"I waited six fucking years, Leon," you say, tears stinging your eyes. "How much longer did you want me to wait?"

"I don't know." Leon mumbles. "Maybe two weeks. Maybe a decade. How am I supposed to know? They don't fucking tell me anything." His feet shuffle on the floor.

"A decade?" you laugh dryly. "We're getting pretty damn close to that milestone, aren't we?"

Leon’s eyes flash dangerously. “You know it isn't that simple.”

“It was for me,” you retort. "I grew to depend on you, and you left."

Leon leans in closer, voice dropping to a fierce whisper. “If you thought I would do anything other than that, you’re more naive than I thought. You have no idea what was really at stake.”

You match his tone, eyes glittering. “Enlighten me then. Go on, tell me where you really were.”

Leon recoils slightly but quickly masks it. “Some things are better left unsaid.”

“Coward,” you spit.

“Watch yourself, rookie. You’re treading on thin ice.”

You lift your chin defiantly. “Or what, Leon? You’ll leave me again?”

A muscle ticks in his jaw. Finally, he straightens, avoiding your eyes. You regain notice of the cameraman, peeking out from behind his set, mouth slightly open. “We’re not having this conversation here.”

"Cut the cameras," the interviewer hisses, tracing a line along her throat. Her earlier giddiness seems to have vanished. “Actually, you know what? Cut all that out. He’ll have my head if that government shit airs.”

"No need." You grit your teeth. "I'll be taking my leave. Helena, let's go."

Your questionable friend stands up with you and walks out the door.

"Was that really the way to tell him your feelings?" You slump your head against the wall.

"I don't know how else to." Your eyes well with tears that sting. You swallow painfully past the lump in your throat and stand up straighter. "What's with you?"

"I don't follow," she says cautiously.

"The flirting. The pet names. You think I can't hear?"

"We have history. I don't like him in that way."

"Leon and I have history too," you reply coldly. "So I hope you'll understand why I'm quitting the mission."

"You can't!" she bursts. "We need you!"

"You need Leon more," you say flatly.

"I understand this is difficult for you," she soothes. "Working so closely with Leon again after… everything. It's a lot to process."

You say nothing, staring numbly at the floor.

Helena presses on gently. "If you feel you need space, we'll respect that. Your well-being is what matters most right now. We need to make this believable."

At this, your head snaps up in surprise. "You'd… let me quit?"

Helena nods. "This is about more than just the mission. It's about you finding your way forward, in your own time and way."

You think of this during the car ride back, in a separate car from Leon, and all the way to the base. And all you can remember is the anguish he caused when there were miles and miles between you, when you forgot the sound of his voice, crying for it at night.

So you might’ve taken a few drinks, waiting for someone to fetch you.

You might’ve let the alcohol get to your head.

What does it matter when you let Leon get to your head too?

Crying out helplessly, silently. Wishing for solace.

<><><><>

You storm up to your room, emotions raw. You throw open the door to see the person you just cannot stand, Leon Scott Kennedy, at your desk.

Leon looks up coolly. "Trouble knocking?"

"It's my fucking room, you..." You seethe, hands balling into fists. "You miserable piece of shit."

Leon raises an eyebrow. "To what do I owe this hostility?"

You step forward, flicking out your knife, all your emotions welling up inside you. You find the strength to slam him back against the wall and press the knife against his throat.

Leon grunts in surprise, but his eyes gleam with interest rather than fear. "I see you've come ready to play."

You press against him threateningly. "Give me one good reason not to end you here and now."

"Fuck, you've gotten good with that thing, haven't you, sweetheart?" The term stirs something inside you. His expression is suppressed, and he makes a strangled sound deep in his throat.

"You... you—" You break away from him, shivering. You collapse against the wall, your anger evaporating into a wave of despair so vast you think you might drown in it. Leon lowers himself beside you against the wall's solid support. His proximity feels both foreign yet familiar.

"I wasn't happy where I was." He lets his head lean back onto the wall, gazing up at the moonlit ceiling. "I hope you know that."

"Say I do," you begin half-heartedly. "What'll it take for you to be happy again?"

"You," he responds almost immediately. "I don't want you to be mad at me. God, you're all I need to be happy, doll."

You move closer. "What was that?" you say teasingly, resting your head on his shoulder.

"You heard me," he chastises.

"What about Helena?" you test.

"I..." He looks away sheepishly. "Let’s just say my efforts to get over you were in vain."

"Is that so, pretty boy?" Your lips quirk in a smirk as Leon sharply inhales, eyes fluttering closed.

"One more time," he says, his voice rough velvet against your ears.

"Hm?" you ask innocently. His eyes open, and when they meet yours again, stormy seas roil beneath the surface.

"Call me that one more time, and I swear I'll—"

"Make me, pretty boy. Prove you mean what you say."

Leon’s eyes burn into yours as he struggles to maintain control. He leans in close, whispering harshly, "Do you really want that?"

Your breath hitches at the intensity of his stare, your heart pounding in your chest. But you can't resist the challenge. "Go on then," you dare him, your voice barely audible. "Prove it."

Leon’s lips twitch into a grin, the tiniest hint of satisfaction lighting up his features. He pulls you closer, your bodies pressed tightly together. His hand moves to cup the back of your neck, his thumb brushing softly against your sensitive skin.

"I don't think you understand what you're asking for, doll," he warns softly. "This isn't what you want."

You reach up to grip his wrist, using it to guide his hand lower, tracing a path down your spine toward the curve of your hip. Your eyes never leave his, the challenge still present in their depths.

"I'm not sure you'd know," you counter, your own voice low and sultry. "But I know exactly what I want."

Leon’s breath hitches, his grip on you tightening as you slide your free hand up his chest to grasp the lapel of his jacket. Panic flares in his eyes, and he pulls away, standing up afterward. You follow his movements, watching his gaze on you.

Did you go too far? You quickly reach out for him, trying to reassure him with your eyes that you didn't mean anything, but he steps back, shaking his head minutely. His breathing is labored, his gaze never leaving yours.

"Are you drunk?" he rasps, taking a few steps away from you. At your silence, he shakes his head again. "We can't do this. We shouldn't. Not while you're like this."

But even as he tries to distance himself, you can see the fire in his eyes refuses to die down.

"Why not?" you retort, mirroring his movements except forward until you're once again only a few steps away from each other. "Because you still care about me? Because I bring out feelings you'd rather bury alive? This isn't about me being drunk; this is about you being too much of a coward to admit your feelings!"

Leon clenches his jaw, his chest rising and falling rapidly with each labored breath.

"You want me to admit it?" he snarls, narrowing his eyes dangerously. "Fine! Yes, I still care about you. I even love you. But that doesn't change anything!" His fists clench at his sides.

"Then why fight it?" you whisper, feeling boldness surge within you. Your hand reaches out tentatively, tracing along the edge of his shirt where it meets his waistband.

"Because it leads nowhere good," he growls, catching your wrist before you can venture any farther. His grip is firm, but not painful.

"Maybe somewhere better," you murmur, looking up at him with wide eyes. Desire courses through you like wildfire, igniting every nerve ending with its heated touch.

"What if I hurt you?" His eyes flash with fear.

"You underestimate me, Leon," you murmur. "I'm not as breakable as you think."

"Please, don't push me," he breathes hoarsely, his voice trembling with suppressed emotion. "I don't know what I'll do if you keep pushing."

"Why don't you understand that you don't get to decide everything? It could be my relationship too!"

Leon’s grip on your wrist tightens as he stares into your eyes, searching for understanding or defiance.

"You don't get it, do you?" he snaps, his voice low and dangerous. "I tried to protect you before, and look where it got me! Another man could've had you!"

"And now?" you question quietly, trying to reassure him with soft strokes against his palm. His heartbeats pound beneath your fingertips, syncopated with yours.

"Now..." Leon swallows hard, looking away briefly before meeting your gaze once more. "Now... I have you. And despite everything, that scares the hell out of me."

You glance up and kiss him.

The tension crackles in the air, thick and palpable. He leans closer, his voice a low growl. "And I'm telling you, I'm the last thing you need."

Your heart pounds in your chest. "Are you suggesting someone else?" you dare to challenge him.

"Fuck no." His eyes narrow, a flicker of jealousy crossing his face. Then, in a swift movement, he pins you against the door, his hips pressing against yours. The relief you feel at his answer is quickly replaced by a surge of pure desire.

"Good," you breathe, tilting your head up to meet his. You capture his bottom lip between yours, sucking gently before nipping it with your teeth. "Because I only want you, Leon."

Your words seem to break something within him. He finally gives in, your mouths colliding in a kiss that is hot, fierce, and utterly out of control.

Need pulses through you as he grasps your backside, pulling you flush against him. Your back grazes the wall as you use it for leverage, pushing closer to his strength. You wrap your legs around his waist, locking your ankles behind him. Your nightgown rides up with the motion, but you don't care. All you can think about is the way he's kissing you, the way his mouth moves against yours, the way his tongue dances with yours.

The world narrows to this kiss, this moment, this man. He is yours. Or maybe you are his. It doesn't matter, as long as he keeps kissing you.

Heat floods your body as his mouth trails down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

"God," he murmurs against your skin.

Then, you're moving. You hear a crash as your desk chair hits the floor, and the next thing you know, you're sprawled across your desk, your legs wrapped around his waist. He leans over you, his fingers tangled in your hair as he devours your mouth once more.

You kiss him back with a hunger you've never known before. Your hands reach up to brace yourself, knocking over anything and everything in your way. Time seems to stand still.

"You'll hate me in the morning," he says between kisses, his voice husky. "You don't really want this."

"Stop telling me what I want," you breathe, threading your fingers through his hair. You tilt your head, giving him better access. He takes it, his mouth moving down your neck to where it meets your shoulder.

Every touch of his mouth to your skin is like a spark igniting a flame. You gasp when he lingers on a particularly sensitive spot, taking his time.

"Unless you don't want me," you whisper, a flicker of doubt creeping in.

"Does this feel like I don't want you?" He takes your hand and guides it between your bodies. Your fingers curl around his length, feeling the evidence of his desire. You whimper, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of his need. "I always fucking want you," he groans as you squeeze him. He lifts his head, his icy blue eyes locking with yours. You see the raw desire reflected in their depths, mirroring your own. "You walk into a room, and I can't look away. I get anywhere near you, and this is what happens. Fucking hell, I can barely think when you're around." He thrusts his hips into your hand, and your stomach clenches with anticipation. "My problem isn’t with wanting you."

"Then what is?" you ask, your voice trembling with desire.

"I'm trying to protect you," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "From me."

He's right. You know he's right. But in that moment, you don't care. All you want is him.

"I don't need protection," you whisper, your voice barely audible. "I want you."

And with that, he takes you. He takes you hard and fast, his movements relentless, his kisses demanding. You move together, a tangle of limbs and desire, until the world around you fades away.

You cry out his name, your body arching against his. He holds you tight, his breath hot against your ear.

"I've got you, darling," he promises. "Let it out."

"Shit," you gasp, as the pleasure builds to an unbearable crescendo.

He takes you over and over, never stopping, until you are both lost in the throes of passion. All that matters is the two of you, lost in a world of your own.

Finally, he collapses on top of you, his chest heaving, his eyes filled with raw emotion. You look up at him, your heart overflowing with love and desire.

"I’ve never lost control like that," he says, bracing his weight on one arm and brushing your hair back from your face with the other. The move is so gentle, so at odds with what you’ve just experienced, that you can’t help but blink, then smile.

"I know. I've noticed." The smile morphs into a full-out grin. "Not that I’ve ever had something to lose control of before." He laughs and rolls you to his side, keeping you close and cushioning your head with his biceps. You look to your mahogany desk.

"Did I…"

"Ruin your desk?" He lifts a brow. "Yes."

"Oh." You can’t find it in you to be embarrassed, so you brush the backs of your fingers across the stubble along his jaw.

"To be fair, I was messing it up when you walked in. I also might've broken your dagger stand." He grimaces. "I’ll get you a new one."

You blink. “That was…” You didn’t even get the man’s pants entirely off, and your gown is haphazardly hanging from one shoulder.

“Frighteningly perfect.” He cups the side of your face. “We should get you cleaned up and to sleep. We can worry about… your room tomorrow. And one more thing."

You look up at him questioningly. "Yeah?”

“You really should try to be more careful."

"I am!" you exclaim. His eyes narrow. "Mostly.”

"Well, if you weren't so reckless, we wouldn't be having this conversation." He sighs. "If what you said about our agency got out, what would have happened to you?"

Your gaze drifts away from his, and you bite your lip. "I know."

"Good, because now you're going to listen to me." He leans forward until your noses touch. "No more taking chances. No more being careless. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good girl." He grins, a crooked curve of his swollen lips. "But don't worry, we'll figure something out."

"Thank you." You lean against him and rest your cheek against his chest.

"Of course, princess," he whispers back, stroking your hair.

"I'm sorry for what I said earlier," you say quietly.

"It's okay, sweetheart," he replies, kissing the top of your head. "We all have our moments."

"I just wish things were different sometimes," you whisper.

"Me too, baby," he responds, wrapping his arms around you tighter. "But we'll make the best of it, yeah?"

"Yeah," you say, nodding. "Thanks."

"Anything for you, princess," he mutters back, dipping his hand back between the both of you, snaking around your body.

“What are you doing?”

No response, only silence. Leon smirks, you feel it on your neck. You’ve missed that smirk, and he makes sure that you tell him.

Guess you never realize how much you miss someone until they’re gone, huh?

𝖎𝖙'𝖘 𝖎𝖓 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉...

they say water holds memory.

does blood? does it remember running under your pale skin, rivulets of crimson, if only split open to taste the fresh air? does it remember abandoning you, only to be found again in the iron sting of his tongue lapping at every drop of life that seeps from you?

recollect four tales of woe, of misery, but tragedy is such sweet, sweet sorrow. retrace your steps to reclaim what is rightfully yours. it shouldn't be too hard find what you've lost, because after all...

it's in your blood.

fortune's cookies (10/10/2024) <- slow corruption zombie!leon au

they aren't very sweet, especially when you're fooled into taking the first bite. you've dangled in fate's paws for far too long, and even when things may seem as though your fortune's changing, those cookies have something else in store for you.

re2r leon, awkward asf, ngl i needed it to feel like a hs romance yk... angst, major character death

starry eyed singer (10/17/2024) <- siren!leon au + luis angst

you're a scientist, not a singer, but when the newest experiment takes a liking to not only you, but your voice, you might just be the key to finding the rest of them. and although he's stuck behind the confines that keep him away from you, that hide the songs that he knows could have you throwing yourself into the water for him, he won't hurt you. after all, how could he? when you're his starry eyed singer.

size kink ish but there's no smut, yearning, honestly half of this is luis angst so if you have smth against him pull up because i hate on him for half of this <333, fluff and grief and coping with death

dead dove ending

threads of carmine red (10/24/2024) <- vampire!leon au {+ ada!}

they split your heart into two and the sticky sweet threads that hang between them only bring you closer to your doom. can you every truly choose your fate? or will it always be in their silky hands...?

unclarified stalking, weird fetishes (no seriously) at one point it kinda becomes a threesome but not really... blood kink bc they're vampires... major character death

ada ending leon ending

awaken (10/31/2024) <- plagas!leon au

blood runs black and with that, you've lost the man you love. you can't find him in the husk of the monster that takes him over, no matter how similar he may seem. how could you ever give up on him, though? not with those eyes that keep you awake at night.

mentions of religious beliefs, <- also forced upon, re4r leon, los illuminados mentioned, multiple references to re4r (if you don't understand i'll have smth at the end to help <3) non explicit smut + breeding kink

all fics will be released at exactly 3:00 am EST, the spookiest hour of the day. what horrors await you...? (for me its eyebags ngl)

divider credits to @strangergraphics

𝖎𝖙'𝖘 𝖎𝖓 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉...

they say water holds memory.

does blood? does it remember running under your pale skin, rivulets of crimson, if only split open to taste the fresh air? does it remember abandoning you, only to be found again in the iron sting of his tongue lapping at every drop of life that seeps from you?

recollect four tales of woe, of misery, but tragedy is such sweet, sweet sorrow. retrace your steps to reclaim what is rightfully yours. it shouldn't be too hard find what you've lost, because after all...

it's in your blood.

fortune's cookies (10/10/2024) <- slow corruption zombie!leon au

they aren't very sweet, especially when you're fooled into taking the first bite. you've dangled in fate's paws for far too long, and even when things may seem as though your fortune's changing, those cookies have something else in store for you.

starry eyed singer (10/17/2024) <- siren!leon au

you're a scientist, not a singer, but when the newest experiment takes a liking to not only you, but your voice, you might just be the key to finding the rest of them. and although he's stuck behind the confines that keep him away from you, that hide the songs that he knows could have you throwing yourself into the water for him, he won't hurt you. after all, how could he? when you're his starry eyed singer.

threads of carmine red (10/24/2024) <- vampire!leon au {+ ada!}

they split your heart into two and the sticky sweet threads that hang between them only bring you closer to your doom. can you every truly choose your fate? or will it always be in their silky hands...?

ada ending leon ending

awaken (10/31/2024) <- plagas!leon au

blood runs black and with that, you've lost the man you love. you can't find him in the husk of the monster that takes him over, no matter how similar he may seem. how could you ever give up on him, though? not with those eyes that keep you awake at night.

divider credits to @strangergraphics + logo designed by me (its arse i cant do shit)

Seven Years Close

Do you accept Leon's proposal to marry? You can't tell if he's trying to get into your bed or if he has genuine feelings.

a/n: so this was supposed to be knight leon and then somewhere along the road i was lost in lana and taylor and so now you get this asjkfwfioasajwqe do you fw me???

tw: sweetie pie fluff <3

wc: 2.9k

You cast a distasteful glance at the platter of raspberry tarts being passed around the room, servants anxiously staring up at you, wide eyes silently pleading you to take one. Taking pity, you curl your fingers around one of them and slowly nibble, leaning back against the wall.

Your twin sister, Rebecca, the heir to your family legacy, is nowhere to be seen. It’s become a rare occurrence to even see her around the estate, since she’s almost always frolicking off with one of her new suitors, twirling her hair and giggling as they make such fools of themselves, performing advanced melodies on their lutes and harps.

What good is art if there is no soul behind it? In twenty one years, you have not yet met a single man with a personality outside of the court, outside of succeeding to their family’s expectations, siring heirs before retiring to their homes on the coast, living out the rest of their miserable lives listening to the redundant waves wash onto the shore.

“What’s a lovely miss like you doing here, all alone?” You don’t recognize the voice and have to look up to match the tone to the face, and the face you see is not one you wish to see. 

The prince of the kingdom, the man every woman wishes for and sees in their dreams. Leon Kensington. Believe it or not, it hurts you every time you see him, because anytime he meets your eyes, all you can remember is…

“Take it. Don’t be shy, it’s my gift to you!”

“Good evening, Your Highness,” you mumble, the once sweet fruit tasting infinitely bitter on your tongue. You resist the urge to scrape it on the back of your hand and instead offer a polite nod, shifting your weight so you’re facing away from him. “How nice to see you here.”

“There are times when I look at you and wonder what my life would be like if we had never met,” he says wistfully, completely ignoring your greeting.

“And?”

Leon smiles. “And my breath hitches, like my body’s reminding me that not meeting you would be like living a life with no air.”

“That will not work on me, dear prince,” you drone, steeling your mind against the sweet line. As much as you wish to believe it is true, you know he’s just trying to get into your bed. “I’m not as incapable as your lovers.”

“Indeed,” he agrees, stepping even closer to accommodate for the space you very deliberately just put between you two. “It is a nice gathering, yes?” You note the subtle change of subject and resist smirking.

“Nothing I wouldn’t expect from the House of Redfield,” you jest. “They are known for their majestic sceneries.”

“I didn’t know the Duchess was accustomed to the wilderness,” he replies with fake shock, arching his hand on his chest. “I always took you for a lady afraid to get your slippers wet.”

And just like that, in one mercurial swing, you’re back to irritation. 

“Duchess is a title reserved for my sister,” you hiss from behind clenched teeth. “If you put effort into every woman you woo with your irresistible charm, you might’ve known that.”

You’re mad, but you can’t pinpoint the exact reason why. It’s not like you recognize the man in front of you. He’s older, more mature, and it shows in the defined slants of his face. But you can’t forget what you’ll always remember.

You don’t wait for a response. Instead you stroll away, seething in anger, searching the crowd for your sister. When you finally spot her usually tame, brown locks, somehow already tousled, you link your arm through hers and pull her away from the Baron Wesker, who looks far too old for her.

She lets out a yelp of protest, fixes her face and wiggles her fingers in goodbye to the man, before turning to you and huffing.

“How dare you!” she whines, smoothing out her dress. “Where are you taking me?”

“We’re going home,” you grumble. “I will not stand a second longer in this wretched place.”

“Excuse you! Duchess Claire is one of your closest friends!”

“And, unfortunately for us, she’s fallen ill, and her brother is tending to her. So unless you get in the carriage, I will be forced to resort to shoving my slippers up your-”

“I get it!” she groans. “You ruin all my fun.”

Aren’t I the only one.

<><><>

When Jillian hobbles into your room, you already know that something’s been arranged. The woman raises her eyebrows and lets out an amused chuckle when you groan.

“Are you far too busy to be bothered by His Royal Majesty himself?” she muses, handing you an envelope tightly clutched in her frayed hands. Streaks of gray already line her dusty hair. She’s old enough to be your mother, so, lacking a parental figure, you and Nysa consider her to be. 

“Your uncle has requested you attend the-”

“Absolutely not.” 

Jillian frowns. “Child.”

You’ve already skimmed the letter, and after getting past the first line, your mind has already been made up. Of all the things your uncle could force you to do under the illusion of ‘it’s what’s best for the family’, this was one you simply could not comply with.

“The arrangement for alliance between House Kensington and House Chambers? Seriously? That isn’t even my true name!” you protest, pointing directly to where the loopy handwriting, signed by the prince himself, ends.

“This is not an offer, girl,” Jillian lectures in return, her long, simple ivory dress sweeping the dust from the wooden planks. “You are expected to attend. Tonight.”

“What if I choose not to?” you reply defiantly, glaring up at her. She looks down at you for a moment, fingers tightening around the roll of newspapers in her hand before frowning and immediately proceeding to whack your back with the paper.

You scramble from your chair and she chases you around the room, pummeling you until you finally agree, panting heavily. For someone who looks old enough to be Queen, she sure is quick on her feet.

Later that evening, her nimble fingers thread your hair into complex twists, weaving in strands of worn-out gold, like a tapestry not quite finished.

“I wore these when I met my lover,” she whispers as she works, her faded eyes finding yours in the mirror. “He said I looked radiant, outshining the sun itself.” She presses a soft, tentative kiss to the top of your head. “Do not lose this one, child. I only wish to see you happy.”

You can’t tell if she’s talking about the braids or if she’s talking about Leon. Giving your hand to him in marriage seems like the worst possible idea you’ve ever had, and although you are sure you will deny everything Leon thinks of you, some part of your mind wants to make this woman happy, wants to gain her approval, wants to see her smile again, because you did this for her, no? You’ve done everything you’ve ever done for her.

The self-defense training, the balls, galas, everything you dreaded growing through your teenage years, it was all so much more tolerable with Jillian’s comfort, however weary.

That’s exactly why you put on your brightest, most stunning smile as you approach His Royal Highness, his wife, and of course, his two eldest sons.

Steven, heir to the throne, sulks in his chair, lazily slouched with his feet draped on his armrest. He is the image of one of the seven deadly sins; sloth. 

You were raised in a family where sins were forbidden and to even think of them would require serious action. Rebecca chose to ignore your uncle’s rules after your parents’ passing while you strove to stick to them, knowing that if it were not for your uncle, there would never be a future for either of you.

“Your Majesty,” you finish, curtsying in front of Leon. You feel his gaze on your neck, dropping everywhere on your body, and you feel Rebecca tense besides you, because she doesn’t know why he’s not paying attention to her.

You do. He hasn’t taken his eyes off of you since you walked in. 

While your uncle converses with Their Majesties for wedding plans, you all are excused to mingle in the common room. You realize that this is the perfect chance to leave Leon alone, therefore providing you with solitary comfort, but then Jillian flashes through your mind, and you realize you have to make this work, however uneasy you feel.

His eyebrow arches as you approach to stand next to him, while your sister shoots off to bat her eyelashes at Steven.

“You’re much more boring than you usually are,” Leon drones, thumbing the sleeves of his linen jacket. “I was expecting something more extravagant.” 

“If you wanted extravagant,” you retort, “you should’ve picked one of your bedchamber women to marry.”

“You think I want to marry you?” Leon scoffs, as if the idea’s never crossed his mind. You hope it hasn’t. “Heavens no. This is for the sake of the throne.”

“Your father thinks marrying into our bloodline is best for the kingdom?” You restrain from making a sarcastic sound of your own. “Pardon, but he’s thoroughly mistaken.”

“How so?” Leon twists to face you, eyes sparkling with a newfound curious light.

“Truly? A bastard orphan and a woman who’s already shared her bed with multiple other men,” you drawl. “Is that the ideal legacy you’d like to uphold?”

“We would be in shambles without you,” he admits, looking down at you, thin, golden eyelashes framing his pensive eyes. “And even if you don’t wish to marry me, I assure you that I will do my best to be whatever you need.”

“I… suppose I can reciprocate that,” you stumble over your words, finally coming to some kind of unspoken agreement. At your flushed state, Leon smirks.

“What if I asked for your firstborn child?”

You can’t hold back a grin. “What, are you suggesting you participate in witchcraft?”

He chuckles, a gentle, unrestrained sound that seems to resonate through you. “No, of course not. I was simply curious.”

“Hm,” you hum, debating the reality of the question. “You are the prince, yes? I have sworn my undying loyalty to you, so if you asked for my child, however heart wrenching, it is my duty to hand whatever you wish over.”

“Heart wrenching?” Leon pauses, then shrugs, laughing softly. “Have you forgotten already, my dear? Your firstborn child is mine either way.”

“Oh.” You flush an even deeper red, realizing the true meaning of his words. “Yes… I suppose that is correct.”

“Why are you always like this around me?” he queries after a beat of silence. “You seem… tense?”

“I’m not tense,” you assure, far too quickly to convince him.

“Don’t lie,” he says, voice lower, quieter. It has a new level of intimacy you weren’t prepared for. “Tell me what you are thinking about.”

“Right now?” 

He nods. “Right this moment.”

You inhale sharply. “I’m… thinking about our ceremonial day back when we were in school.”

Leon tilts his head to the side. “Why on Earth would you be thinking of that?”

“I have this image of you in my mind, as a small boy, with mud in your suit and branches in your hair, and you came up to me.”

“I… handed you a leaf,” he continues slowly, as if just remembering the memory. “Yes, I recall that day. You were wearing that lovely pink dress.”

“Do you…”

“Recall that I asked for your hand in marriage?”

There’s a beat of silence before you hesitantly answer, “Yes?”

“Can I ask why this is bothering you?”

“You are so… different, now,” you rush to finish, wanting to get all your thoughts out quickly. “You’re not the same Leon.”

“Are you the same?” he asks in return. “It has been seven years. A lot has changed, between the two of us.”

“We were so close,” you whisper, slightly dazed.

“We are close now, too,” he says, but you get the sense he’s not talking about emotionally. He’s moved to sit near you, breath fanning your nose, eyes searching yours with a familiar warmth, yet deeper. A spark stirs in your core, fading embers rekindling.

"The boy who gave me leaves cared deeply," you say softly. "As I hope the man does."

Leon smiles. "As does the woman. You still love me?"

You scoff. “Still? You’re still as cocky as ever.”

Leon grins boyishly. “Some things will never change, hm?” His hand finds yours, fingers entwining. But where innocent affection left off, desire awakens, smoldering beneath your skin.

Eyeing lips but a breath apart, Leon whispers, "May I?"

Your pulse quickens as you nod. As his lips meet yours, the fluttering flame within blossoms into a radiant glow, spreading warmth through your veins with sentiments left unspoken for too long. You finally realize that avoiding your past was the worst mistake you’ve ever made.

When he pulls away from you, curling his fingers along the side of your cheek, the longing in his face is evident, like he’s finally seeing something he forced himself to block out for so long. 

“Why did I ever let you go?” he asks, voice feather soft, but you understand he’s asking himself, pitching his regret. His expression is gentle as his gaze shifts to your hair. “Was your hair always golden?”

“I do think you have been paying attention to me over the years,” you muse, lying your head against the sofa. “I’m flattered.”

“Who didn’t?” Leon arches a golden eyebrow. “Surely you’ve noticed the amount of suitors trailing you around everywhere you go? Just last month I rode past your estate and there was a line of men waiting to call on you.”

“And they were all such boring lads,” you drawl, groaning just from the memory. Leon leans on his fist, propping himself up against the wood to face you.

“No one is as charming as me,” he says sweetly. “It pleases me to hear that you’ve finally realized this.”

“Yes, Leon,” you manage through snickers. “You are indeed very charming.”

“Yes, very well, go on,” he replies, the corner of his mouth lifting. “What else do you find lovely about me?”

“You’re truly asking for this?” Leon nods eagerly, so you consider him for a moment.

"Let's see..." you ponder thoughtfully. "Your ego knows no bounds.”

Leon pretends to wince. "You wound me, my dear!" He declares with feigned drama.

"Your hair remains equal parts charming and disastrous, as in days of your youth." He runs a hand through his tousled locks, shifting them so the sun hits them perfectly, an effervescent glow around them.

"Your smile is as radiant as the summer sun. Your eyes are as warm as a crackling hearth," you continue, gazing deep into azure depths.

"My, such flattery! When did you become such a poet?" he quips, returning your easy smile.

You cock your head sideways. "There is one quality more that makes you singular amongst men..."

Raising his eyebrows, Leon leans forward as if onto a delicious secret. "And what quality is that, pray tell?"

"Your boundless arrogance knows no competition!" you exclaim as Leon clutches his chest in exaggerated fashion.

“Wounded yet again!” he whines, but there’s a playful twinkle in his eyes. “And here I was, blindly assuming your adoration for me was sincere.” 

“Of course it is,” you say dotingly. “But someone must keep that ego in check.”

“Who better for the job than my future wife?” 

You tilt your head, regarding him with amusement. "Is that a proposal, my prince?”

"Would you accept, if it were?" Leon returns casually, yet beneath you spot profound hope. Perhaps there is a way to not only get what you want, but also to win Jillian’s praise.

“Yes. Yes, I would.”

“Lovely,” your uncle states from across the room. You peek over the top of the cushion to see your uncle and Their Majesties standing behind you. You don’t know how long they’ve stood there, and you’re not sure you want to. “Then the wedding will be set.”

“Do you know where Steven is?” I hear the Queen murmur.

“I’m quite sure he disappeared off to his chamber.”

The Queen sighs. “With the girl?”

“With the girl,” the King confirms. “I suppose this would also mean that we will need to plan their wedding, as well?”

“Splendid!” your uncle coos. “The royal family will be covering all expenses, correct?”

You assume they nod, because your uncle starts to gush about all the decorations and banquets and how your wedding will be the most stunning wedding of the century.

You cast a wary look at Leon. “Are you still sure you want to marry me?” Leon rests his hand on top of yours, looking at you with utmost sincerity. 

“Are you being serious? Because, darling, I would love nothing more than to spend the rest of my life in love with you.”

Fortune's Cookies

They aren't very sweet, especially when you're fooled into taking the first bite.

a/n: gosh there's literally so much rookie leon art going around and the fever got to me, hope you like my twist on this classic trope! honestly everyone listed below contributed to this with their rookie leon pieces, seriously i stared at them while writing it helps seriously.

@chesue00 - you KNOW it.

@faintfill - MY SOURCE OF ROOKIE LEON SKETCHES NO KIDDING

@uhlillie - i hope you know which one im talking about girl... DAMN

@bunnivievve - FOODDDDDDD just like i said rookie leon is served

(psst. if i didnt mention u in this one artist moots TRUST you're definitely in one of the other three.)

tw: cavity fluff i hope i needed to brush my teeth after writing this (probably because of all the panda express fortune cookies i ate while typing), angst bc duh and i think thats it?

wc: 7k

“Your voice will bring a smile today.”

That’s what greets you, printed in those horrible skinny red letters, paper curled in your fingers. The styrofoam boxes are dotted with grains of undercooked rice and steamed vegetables, a treat you knew you deserved after such a long day. 

And this is what fate tells you. Good thing you’ve never believed in superstition. You crumple the paper and toss it onto the tray and scoff.

Like you’ll take advice from a cookie.

But as the number of people in the store starts to dwindle, and the night shift employees trudge in through the back door, you wind up with your eyes glued to the message, wondering what kind of voice it referred to. 

It’s been a long time since your voice has brought anyone joy, hasn’t it? Your job mostly consists of reminding multiple colleagues of their deadlines, only to be promptly ignored. Your existence only comes back to their minds two minutes before their reports are due, when they forward a hastily written piece that you don’t bother to read.

“Ma’am, are you alright?” A hand waves dangerously close to your face, brushing your nose, and the contact is enough to startle you back, glaring up at the offender. Even with the harsh swinging lights stinging your eyes, you can see warm blue eyes and sunny hair. 

It feels as if the sky has descended to meet you.

Your breath catches in your throat.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you mutter back in response, clearing your throat, waving your tied words away. “All good here.”

He shifts away from you, maybe mistaking your inward gesture as shooing him away. You think of saying something about him, about assuring him, but you wonder why you feel that way. "Oh. I, uh, saw you seemed distracted. Just wanted to make sure you're okay." 

You wince, acutely aware of your frazzled appearance after the long shift. "Thank you, but I'm fine. Just tired is all."

“That’s not good,” he notes with a small frown, leaning back to press his heels to the ground. “Did you eat well?”

“Do you fuss over all strangers?” you muse.

“Oh, well, uhm, I see you a lot here, not that I’m watching you, just that I noticed that you’re here, a lot, so I thought you must like food-” 

“You talk a lot.” You raise an eyebrow, trying to cut off his flustered stammering with your motion.

“That came out a lot worse than I’d imagined in my head,” he admits with a slight dip of his shoulders. “Sorry about that, I got nervous. I don't talk to many people… or, uh, women... so I tend to be a bit of a dumbass.”

Surprisingly, as shitty as you feel, a small smile graces the corner of your mouth.

“You’re honest, aren’t you?” 

“According to a lot of people… yeah.”

“I don’t think I caught your name earlier,” you say, eyes scanning his vivid outfit for a nametag. There, pinned to his apron like a defining feature of his. “Leon?”

“That’s me,” he replies proudly. “And I already know yours!”

“Sorry?”

“Your… name?” Leon puckers his bottom lip, as if scarring it with his teeth will take back the words hanging between you. “Sorry… like I said, I’ve seen you here a lot.”

And he smiles shyly.

You’re flushed the whole way home, thinking of that sweet little smile, the way his eyes crinkled, his fresh linen scent, how you forgot how to breathe. 

And your carefully built world topples over.

<><><><>

You never expected to look forward to the little messages in your fortune cookies, but you blame it on the fact you know Leon’s handing them to you, standing behind the counter in that cute little outfit. Even if he has no idea what’s in them, you can gaslight yourself into thinking he deliberately picks the ones complimenting your smile, or telling you how pretty your eyes look.

Of course, he can tell you that all himself. You sit shoulder to shoulder with him on the stools that you think are meant to be mocking bar stools, but they have barely any space between them, so you’re crammed together.

You wait for him to move away, to tell you to put some distance between you two, but nothing comes. You watch his profile, that handsome face eat cheap noodles when he really deserves so much better.

The lights dim as the last employee clocks out. It’s gotten so late that the crickets demand entrance, chirping their redundant sound, silencing as you walk past the slouching grass like plant that tickles your bare ankles as you walk back to your respective cars.

“Well,” he says, twisting the fabric of his shirt between his fingers, like he hasn’t been talking to you for the last two weeks. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” you affirm, nodding. The grin that eats up his face is so infectious you can’t help but smile back.

The same smile drops from your face when you check your Uber texts, a system you’ve repeated so much over the last few months that it feels like second nature, but not very natural when you see that your driver had to back out of the deal at the last minute, suspiciously also taking your money with them, leaving you broke and without a ride. 

You stare at the small blue rectangle gripped in your fingers, heat rising to your face, realizing how stupid you must seem to the guy who must be pulling away right at this moment, and will he ever want to hang out with you again-

“Something wrong?” You hear his voice before you hear the knocks on his car roof, and he’s so tall that even at this distance you have to crane your neck to glower at him, and a lopsided smile overtakes his face.

“This isn’t fair,” you insist after explaining your situation, and the only response he gives is a slight shake of his head, as if exasperated. “I already paid all the money!”

“Crap, then something’s wrong,” he mumbles. “Do you usually always use all your money on the trip here?”

You falter. “Not usually.”

He arches a golden brow, a gate to your forthcoming confession. “Then…?”

“Well, I come out here to see you,” you admit quietly. “And then I go home.”

“Exactly how far away do you live?” His voice is smooth, but his expression reminds you of those times when your mother caught you doing something you shouldn’t be, doing something that shows how much you need that validation to survive.

“Not that far,” you assure, nodding your head, but you fail to convince the both of you. 

“Do you want a ride home?” he asks quietly, softly, as if the night might intrude on your conversation.

“That would be nice,” you reply in a hushed whisper, as if further backing up the idea that the moon is listening, lighting up your words, shining on his hair as you both clamber into his car.

He apologizes for the mess in his spotless car, and you assume it’s just a courtesy, but he goes on and on about how he needs to get his life together. You don’t pay attention to the words that come out of his mouth, just his mouth in general. The amount of times you’ve done this slips from your mind, just another irrelevant number in your life.

If his life is a mess, your life must be a heap of shit.

Your address tumbles past strangely parched lips, well, at least it did, a while ago. But the ride was far too short, and he pulls up in your driveway, a bewildered expression on his face, as if he can’t believe this is where you live; a humble, simple abode, just like all your neighbors.

“So, this is goodbye, then?”

“Not forever, I hope,” he whispers, voice breathy.

“Uh, okay then? But let’s meet somewhere that isn’t your place of work?”

You were joking when you said it, but it seems he doesn’t pick up on it. His eyes are dreamy and thoughtful on his drive back, and by the time he gets home, he has a plan.

He’s going to stun you.

<><><><>

“Well?”

Leon’s gone out of his way to please you. Everything you’ve said during your time together, those vague comments about your favorite type of cheese, your opinions on the amazingly random topics you’re always switching between, it’s all right there.

You hope it's a physical display of his love.

His heart is spread bare, on the checkered, classic pattern of red and white, starkly contrasting with the blades of grass that bear your combined weight, not one, but two, so closely conjoined that you feel more at ease than you have in years.

You share a smile as you indulge in the simple yet delightful cucumber sandwiches, savoring each bite as you bask in each other's company. In the far distance, birds chirp, serenading you both, as if a soundtrack to these moments that seem to tick by faster than they should.

Leon's eyes meet yours, a softness in his gaze that speaks volumes. Time slows, encapsulating you both, a delicious freedom licking up your spine.

“Didn’t know you could cook,” you remark, wiping your face with a napkin, feeling content as you lean back, lying your head on your palms.

He mirrors your action, although his head twists to meet you, eyes sparkling. “I wouldn’t be working at a restaurant if I didn’t know a few things, right?”

“Guess so.” You shrug and the afternoon wears on, the park imaginative and alive with the children that race around the playground, darting like minnows through the swings and slides.

If you had met Leon in your childhood, would things have been different? Would you still be where you are today, arms brushing, only held apart by the barrier of remains scattered between you both, a battlefield of scarred napkins and damaged plastic utensils, a war fought to keep you separate.

He is caring and decisive and rational, the most reliable person you know, and you faintly register it’s been half a year, and you haven’t progressed any further with each other. The battle has come to a standstill, and neither side dares to make a move.

You think that half the problem lies not with you, but with Leon, and what he does with all his free time. He’s not the type to laze around; you think you know him well enough to make that assumption, but you aren’t sure anymore.

Cue example one: the mysterious phone calls that have begun to grow in frequency, the ones that always sour Leon’s mood, leave him sullen and unfriendly to talk to. Eventually, you grow tired of his monosyllabic answers, and make your absence known, still wondering what goes on in his life.

With a furrowed brow, he glances at the caller ID, his expression tightening with concern. You watch as his once-relaxed posture stiffens with some unseen burden. With a sigh, he excuses himself to take the call, leaving you momentarily alone with your thoughts.

You can sense the tension tinging the area, Leon’s clenched jaw betraying the stress he tries to conceal as he stalks back to you, shoving his phone into his pocket, evidently agitated.

“You don’t need a ride home, do you?” His voice contrasts his request; he obviously isn’t in the mood to drive you home. 

“I’ll get a cab.” You shake your head, not wanting to be the instrument he releases all that pent up anger on.

He casts a shadow over you, standing tall and easy, in the dying sun he looks like a dying angel, his eyes soft and sad, skin begging to be touched. And while you want nothing more than to reach out and caress his cheek, tell him it’ll be okay, kiss his troubles away, you don’t know what you are right now.

Friends? Would a friend do that? So you offer him a supportive smile, trying not to seem deliberate, and amidst the fading light of the park and the cooling breeze that accompanies you back to your divided lives, you already regret it, watching Leon speed off, just a distant thought in your memory. 

You should trust your gut more often.

<><><><>

As the car glides through the shadowy city streets, you catch sight of the new monument in the distance, the one Leon must’ve told you about. Surprising yourself, you decide to take a spontaneous detour. You tap your driver on the shoulder, and she smiles encouragingly. For the most part, the drive was silent, but you don’t mind her soft voice explaining the history behind why they decided to construct it in the first place.

She pulls around the corner, approaching the area near the monument, but the statue quickly is pushed to the back of your mind. It’s the flashing police lights and a sense of urgency in the air that catches your attention. A crime scene tape cordons off the area, and officers are stopping all vehicles passing through.

A stern-faced cop approaches your cab and instructs you both to step out. The driver uneasily abandons her car where it’s parked, then weaves through the forming crowd effortlessly, as if she’s gotten used to the downtown mobs of people.

You, however, barely come to this side of the town, where the city lights are always attacking your eyes that are comfortable with the soft sunset across the farm, where the people are always knocking against each other like clumsy goats, everyone bustling with a purpose.

As you also try your best to push your way through the throng, a knot forms in your stomach at the sight that greets you in the center of the commotion. The blood reaches up to where your footsteps falter, where everyone steps back to avoid staining their footwear.

Splatters of crimson paint a macabre picture that sends a shiver down your spine. The wail of sirens pierces the night, flaring lights casting an eerie glow that dances like amethyst flames, illuminating the limp body that uniformed figures crouch near.

And one of those figures, someone you’d never expect at the grim scene of a murder, is Leon, his unfamiliar stony expression cast in a stark light against the backdrop of chaos.

You draw closer, questions threatening to unravel the fabric of your reality, steeling yourself for the confrontation, because you thought you were close to him, a person he could trust. Was that such a silly thought? To think that you might have had something?

Apparently it was.

“Leon?” you demand, pressing yourself into the caution tape, warning bells ringing in your mind at the neon yellow bending to your will against your stomach.

“What?” He glances up and around, scanning the entire world until his eyes land on yours, going wide slightly, and his position stumbles, as if his legs give way.

“Get up, rookie,” another cop barks. “Focus! And you, stop distracting him!” Someone bats at your face, but you just sidestep the blow and storm closer, in the tension of the moment.

If you had just a speck of your sense at the time, you might’ve forced yourself to step away, to take a few calming deep breaths, but seeing his face dappled in such an unnatural light, to see his warmth be taken away to something that’s real, something like a life gone. 

You always saw him as your solace, away from your life, something that was unreal, just for you. You forget to see him as a being of his own, with feelings of his own. And sadly, you don’t know the difference between impulsive and intrusive. 

You’re surprised when Leon rises to meet your eyes, albeit it only lasts for a moment until he’s towering over you again, and there’s a sense of authority there that wasn’t there before, eyes strict and narrowed.

“I’ll talk to you later,” he says, in such a final tone it doesn’t occur to you that you could argue back. But his voice, a splinter of your Leon, the one you know, slips through. “I promise.”

So you stand back, near the patrol cars, their wails ratting your skull, but you grit your teeth and force yourself through it, eyes directed on Leon. It’s a while before the crowd clears, presumably because the idea of a murder is enticing until they see how long it truly takes, as compared to television.

But you stand there, leaning against the side of the car that you know is Leon’s, recognizing it as the one that you’ve rode in so many times, and you wonder why he’s taken a fragment of your time here, to this place outside of your relationship.

Eventually, Leon makes frantic motions to the top of the monument, stretching to the sky before gesturing back to the body, and everyone around him offers a pensive expression and solemn nods before someone calls out something you can’t hear.

The sirens die down immediately, and everyone claps Leon on the back. He flushes and stumbles with them to the cars, and you promptly ignore everyone’s gaze on you as he approaches. But there’s someone with him. 

Feline eyes meet yours, an arm draped over his shoulder, competitive expression and this mysterious woman and Leon saunter over to you. She’s dressed in a long, beige trench coat, and her black sunglasses rest low on her nose, perched just right so that she can lift her face to offer you the most cursory of glances before turning away.

And she has the audacity to peck Leon on the cheek before she gives you a smug smile with the side of her face that only you can see before waving goodbye, somehow gracefully, and stalking away to what you assume is a fancy sports car.

“Look, I know you have a lot of questions.” Leon holds up his hands in defense, before grinning, and involuntarily, you feel the corner of your mouth quirk upwards.

“Lot of is an understatement,” you grumble.

“Talk over dinner?” he offers.

“Is this you trying to impress me?”

“I mean, I don’t know,” he says with a soft chuckle. “Is it working?”

<><><><>

“Right, and you didn’t think telling me you were a fucking cop was important?” Your spring roll is devastated, its insides spilling everywhere on your plate, bits of cabbage and carrot dotting the cardboard.

“I didn’t think it would change anything between us,” he mumbles. “So what difference would it make?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” You push away from the table, and his eyes follow you when you stand up, and his actions seem to come naturally, as an instinct, when he trails you across the empty store.

“You know what it means!” he protests.

“Maybe I don’t, Leon, so maybe you should explain,” you retort. “Explain why you thought it was okay to lead me on like that, all this time, when you have a girlfriend! Which one of us are you really cheating on?”

“What?” Now he looks genuinely confused, and his confusion seems to spark some doubt in your own defense, breaking down your sure walls. “Girlfriend? Cheating?”

His eyes are glazed over with tears, and if he starts crying, you’re not sure what you’ll do. You take a step closer, but now he’s the one to recoil away, shaking his head, wiping his eyes.

Leon inhales sharply. “How could you say something like that? I told you when we met, I’m not… not very good with these kinds of things.”

“But she-”

“Kissed me?” He scoffs. “Yeah, right. Like your mother’s never kissed you goodnight.”

You misread everything. That smug smile was her approval, on those curved lips, those narrowed eyes that were… well, just always narrowed. How could you get something so wrong?

"I... I'm sorry," you whisper, your voice barely above a breath. "I didn't know... I thought..." Your words falter as you struggle to find the right ones to express the whirlwind of relief, a gust of skittish butterflies pattering against the walls of your stomach, trying to find release.

"I should have been honest from the start," he murmurs, his gaze never leaving yours. "My job… it can hurt people. You saw. I want to keep you safe."

“You’re not mad?” you ask quietly.

Leon's eyes twinkle with a hint of mischief as he responds, "How could I ever be mad at this cute little face?" He playfully puffs your cheeks together, a gesture meant to be endearing.

Before you can fully process his teasing remark, Leon's demeanor shifts once again, his voice lower and more intimate as he adds, "Or... these lips." And with a sudden, decisive move, he leans in and presses a tender kiss against your lips.

And your fragile world topples over.

Again.

<><><><>

Leon never ceases to surprise you, that much you can definitely expect. You shut your computer, ready for your lunch break, when someone calls your name from the lower floor. That much you’ve come to expect, but while you’re gathering your belongings, someone else calls out something else.

“Hey, hurry up! Don’t keep your boyfriend waiting!”

To say you stumbled would be nice. You somehow manage to trip over the arm of the chair, end up with all your papers fluttering to the ground, but you ignore the mess and file it away for later, trying to tame your hair (an impossible feat in three seconds) as you storm down the stairs.

Your heels click on the tiles as you make your descent as graceful as can be, minus that one part where you trip and lurch forward before gripping the hand railing for safety. You see him standing at the entrance, talking to the receptionist guy, a box nestled between his arms. 

“Doughnuts?” you ask, staring at the box enticingly, recognizing the bright pink and rainbow sprinkles from your childhood. 

“Got some free time,” he says, pressing a quick kiss to your nose before opening the box. It seems that you really have everyone’s attention now. “And coupons!”

You toss him a shit eating grin to show your returned affection before immediately curling your fingers around a glazed doughnut. And eventually, once the first person timidly approaches, quietly asking if they could maybe have one, Leon beams.

“I brought enough for everyone!” he proclaims, and he steps to the side to reveal three similar boxes, all presumably stocked with the same doughnuts.

“Looks like you’re an office favorite now, huh?” you tease, nudging him with your elbow. He shifts from your impact and returns the gesture, in the process of doing so smears chocolate frosting on the underside of his nose.

“I’ll always be your favorite officer though, right?” he jokes in response.

You don’t respond, you’re too busy staring at that one smear of cocoa against his skin, and suddenly you’re itching for a napkin, so you twist over your shoulder to grab one.

“Righ-” His echo is muffled by the napkin stuffed into his mouth as you gently dab at the area, squinting your eyes. 

“Yeah, of course, totally,” you mumble absentmindedly, satisfied with your efforts. You take the excuse a little further just to stare at his amused expression, the quirk of his brow, the tilt of his eyes softening.

Your colleagues will never let you hear the end of this.

Either way, since he’s on break and he’s on the manager’s good side, bribing her with a few Boston Cream doughnuts, she allows him to hop upstairs with you.

“So, if you’re a cop,” you ask while rubbing hand sanitizer into your palms. “Why’re you working at Panda Express?”

“They lowered the income rate for the citizens of Raccoon City, including the police force,” he grumbles, swinging his legs from where he’s perched on the side of your desk. “Which I think is totally stupid!”

“So you think you shouldn’t have applied at all?” you query further.

“Well, honestly? I’m glad I applied,” he admits, and at your questioning expression, continues, “I wouldn’t have met you.”

“Hooray, taxes,” you say numbly, flipping through the giant stack of papers left on your desk, all jumbled up from your earlier mishap.

“Hooray, taxes, indeed,” he agrees.

“I was being sarcastic.” Leon scoffs, twisting over his shoulder to lean down and meet your lips. When he pulls away, there’s an endearing yet mocking look in his eyes.

“I’m not that stupid.”

<><><><>

Nothing happens that day, you don’t see a black cat anywhere, you don’t walk under any ladders, and if you do walk on cracks, well, you do that every day, so your luck must always be this horrible, right?

You’ve somehow scored this moonlit masterpiece strolling beside you, a being born from the clouds, so maybe you’re not all that unlucky.

Usually, you get a warning when bad things happen. But all you can feel is the jittery, warm feeling that you get when you’re brushing hands with Leon, trying to bring him closer to you. You think he notices, and doesn’t say anything.

You invite yourself into his car, but the first of many problems to come arrives in the form of water that splashes on Leon’s face, just above his eyebrow, and he quickly slides into his seat.

You absently brush the area, admiring his hair, his boyish qualities, and suddenly wonder if he’s always looked this young. Far too innocent for the world.

“It’s nice in here,” you offer.

He sinks back into the seat with a gentle, relaxed smile. "Well, either way, get comfortable. Looks like we’re expecting rain.”

You nod, legs unsteady, and find yourself nestled in leather beside his cologne-scented form. The engine hums to life, and he shifts gears, pulling onto the road as traffic flees.

He glances over, moonlight caressing sculpted cheeks. "What’s wrong?"

“Do you have any water?” He gestures to the water bottle in the cupholder on his left side, on the driver’s door. Your knees knock against each other as you reach over to grasp it, ducking under his outstretched arms, averting your eyes to your right rather than the other direction.

“Can I…?” You gesture to the bottle. “Or should I just like, you know, waterfall, or whatever-”

“We’ve literally exchanged saliva,” he states bluntly. “I don’t think I have a problem with you drinking from my water bottle.”

“Ugh, you weirdo.” But you’re the one drinking like a starved woman, which you suppose that you are, but that of which you’re really dragging your gaze over isn’t the water.

And you suppose, logically, Leon’s 70% water.

Water that evaporates under the heat of your eyes, drifting up to the previously cloudless sky, forming puffs of sorrow that cry back down to you, tears slamming against the windshield. You ponder how he can even see the road through the downpour.

Eventually, after grumbling under his breath, Leon pulls over, gazing into your upturned face with a question in his eyes, older than his years.

“Would you, uhm, mind if we just went to my place? It’s closer anyways, and I don’t want to risk driving any further than I have to in these conditions…”

You smile, and he can see your answer woven in your eyes.

<><><><>

Leon forgot to mention his (adoptive) parents live right next door. So of course, when they’re just out and about casually watching him through the door camera, they might just happen to say a dashing young lady walk out of his car.

And said young lady is unfamiliar to these judging, supreme figures that must decide Leon’s fate for him, because he’s just a boy. Their precious little baby.

So that’s what you assumed happened when Leon’s parents clambered out of their door, calling for you to wait, his mother pulling her cardigan around herself tighter against the chill.

And now here you are, facing two people that, no offense, look nothing like the man seated next to you, fingers entwined, foot tapping out a nervous beat on the wooden floor.

“So, darling, how’s work going?” Another placeholder question for what she really wants to know: how much do you make in a year? Do you have a degree? Did you even finish high school?

You respond with everything they must want to hear, like those questions on the backs of those 2000’s magazines with the answer that’s always right, the one that has the perfect amount of sense in it, the Goldilocks rule.

Goldilocks must have been gobbled up by the bears this night, because every answer seems to deepen the furrow forming between their brows, as if they’re in sync, and you wonder how you can manage to screw up something that should be simple.

Meeting the parents, check. What’s next, falling into the cake at the wedding? You must be planning too far ahead judging by their unimpressed looks.

“Mom,” Leon groans. “Cut it out!”

“I’m just getting to know her, sweetie,” she replies sweetly, voice dripping like molasses, and you can tell there’s a lot more she’s keeping behind her tongue. "Well, dear, do you have any hobbies or interests you're passionate about?"

"Oh, I just love cooking!" you exclaim, a spark of enthusiasm lighting up your face. Maybe you’ve finally found something to impress them with.

Leon's father leans in, his interest piqued. "What kind of dishes do you enjoy cooking?" he asks, a hint of genuine curiosity in his voice.

"I love trying out new recipes from different cuisines," you reply, your excitement palpable. "Right now I’m learning how to cook Thai cuisine!"

Leon's mother nods, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Cooking is such a beautiful art form," she muses, her face softening. "It's wonderful to see someone so passionate about creating delicious meals. Someone who can share that love with our son."

You wonder if any other girl had waltzed along, marveled at cooking with them, would they have dropped their judging character immediately, just as they had with you?

You suppose it’s a mystery you don’t need to solve.

Besides, you don’t have to worry about facades with Leon.

Of course not.

But you do wonder why he hasn’t touched any of the food.

<><><><>

You sit back, sly fingers curved around the tender flesh of his waist, pressing your head further into the crook of his arm. You watch his chest rise and fall like the arrival and departure of the sun, bringing you warmth under the blanket that restricts your movements, tucked in around you like a burrito.

He must be hot, you realize, he’s sweltering under the blanket, but when you offer to turn on the overhead fan, he shivers like he’s cold at the same time and shakes his head.

In moments of silence, you catch glimpses of a far off-look in his eyes, a horror movie long forgotten, as if his thoughts have wandered to a place you can’t reach. There’s shadows of things he doesn’t say, things you know he wants to say.

“Hey, are you good?” You shift your weight to look up at him, where you might’ve found yourself admiring the curve of his chin, or his dappled skin, but now you only feel concern.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, mouth stretching in a yawn. “My new case is taking a bit longer than I’d hoped.”

“Mhm?” you press gently, wanting to get more clarity on the situation without seeming nosy. His response is delayed, a different, pitiful expression grappling to take hold.

“Oh… the, uhm, pharmaceutical company? Something that has to do with… was it rain?” Leon shakes his head, clicking his tongue in the back of his throat. “You know what? Forget it. Tonight’s our night.”

He says ‘our’, but he pays you little to no attention for the next three hours. 

Your first thought is that you're boring him. Have you already become so insufferable that he doesn’t want to hang out with you anymore? You had expected it, of course, you’re not a very animated person, but he loved you, didn't he?

Leon’s gone quiet, silent, like he’s back in that box in his mind you can never seem to pierce. The light that used to dance in his eyes now flickers dimly, like a fading ember struggling to hold onto its warmth.

He carries himself with the same grace and poise, like a practiced act to a play you weren’t a part of, and you can’t push it away anymore. But of course, as all things in your life seem to follow, when you finally find yourself gaining the courage to confront him, he's gone.

<><><><>

Missing. And no one knows where he is. And some part of you blames yourself, you obviously must've scared him away.

“You know what’s wrong!” You bite your tongue to keep you from raising your volume, not so much fearing the fish beneath you but the woman leaning against the shipping containers, scrutinizing slender nails with feigned boredom.

If Leon trusts her, she should hear your first plea. She knows him better than you do, much to your dismay, but it could work out in your favor currently.

Her expression remains stony.

"Please," you beg, and a sliver of emotion slips through that mask- confusion? "Help me save Leon. I know you care for him, even if you can't show it."

Her crimson lips quirk. "I have… undisclosed reasons for ensuring his well-being. But my work takes precedence, and I can’t disclose anything to you." 

You glare through lingering tears. "No deals, no games. You tell me where he's investigating right now." 

A long pause, then she sighs. "Very well. It seems you really won't leave me alone, hm?" She grins coldly. "Shall we play the heroes, just this once?"

Playing the heroes is harder than it turns out to be, it seems. 

"Evening, boys. My associate and I have a… delivery." The guards blink, stupefied, then waves you through with dopey grins, mostly directed at her. Ada smirks. "Pathetic."

A floorplan materializes in her hand, every room and hallway illuminated with ghastly blue precision. "Samples are held in labs B5 through 7. Avoid guards, cameras. And try not to set anything off - we're on a tight schedule."

You dart through shadows, cautiously approaching the correct hall. Surprisingly, nothing contradicts your journey, as if the whole building’s been abandoned. Guess it’s your lucky day. 

You're wondering just how lucky you really are when you turn to usher Ada ahead, only to freeze as you turn the corner, and there, just a few feet away, he sits.

So calmly, so pristine, as if life was just as simple as sitting on the floor, in the middle of a hallway, in a building where you don't belong, after ghosting everyone who knows you for two days.

And yet there's something different. Haggard eyes stare from a chalk-white face, lips twisted in a feral snarl. That face, once so stunning you had to think about his existence, now only conveys hatred.

"L-Leon?" you breathe. But those eyes betray no recognition, only hunger. As your stare, transfixed by fright and grief, a click sounds behind you.

"Well, well. Fancy meeting you here." Ada glares down the barrel she points to Leon's head, somehow still perfectly composed. You want to rip off her head. "Now, are we all going to play nice?"

For a heartbeat, no one moves. Then Leon's eyes flicker, awareness filtering into his eyes by slow degrees, and he stands up at half that speed, as if time is against him.

But then he jolts back, as if something's clicked, and suddenly he's back with you, standing in front of you, gasping for breath and clutching you tightly.

You wait for a moment, not quite sure if you're imagining things or not, before a dry, unamused chuckle rips from your throat and slowly morphs into the laugh you're used to sharing with him.

Leon leans closer to you, resting your forehead against his, cupping your face as he stares down at you, recognition so evident in those open eyes. “How'd you find me?”

“Well, it's not like the department was going to notice,” you mumble, rolling your eyes. Ada scoffs in reply, but her head tilts to the side.

“And your endearing girlfriend here wouldn't let me get away that easily.”

You suppose her tone is light enough that you can let it pass as a joke, and at the moment you're so overwhelmed with relief that you aren't too worried about her idea of you either way.

“Seeing you… gosh,” he groans, pressing a palm to his temple, hissing. “I can barely think straight!”

“I know, baby, I know,” you coo comfortingly, keeping your voice soft so as to not alert any guards that might've pulled up around the area.

“No, I can't…” His eyes go fazed again, blank, emotionless, and once again he's slipped through your grasp like grains of sand on a beach, only there is nothing tranquil about this situation.

“Leon, listen to me. You’re going to be just fine,” you affirm, nodding your head, hoping he'll copy your motion.

He doesn't. "I...I can feel it," he gasps. Beads of sweat run tracks through the grim on his face. "It's… stronger than me..."

You grip his hand tight, ignoring the growing feverheat. "No, Leon, you can beat this. You always do." But even you can hear the desperation in your voice.

And you wait for Ada to chime in with some classic, yet somehow sassy third-wheel dialogue, but it never comes. In fact, she's vanished into the shadows, presumably already so far away you can't hear the click of her heels on the sterile floors.

Leon groans, and your attention snaps back to him, face contorting. "Go," he grits out. "Drive… and don't look back."

“I’m not leaving you here!” you proclaim, and his eyes soften in confusion as you sling his arms around your shoulder.

You're sure half the population must've heard your racket at this point, but it seems something else has gotten the security's attention.

As long as it's not you, you don't mind. Leon’s lower lip wavers, unshed tears sparkling in his eyes, and you want to peck everything that hurts until he's okay. But you can't be sure of anything until you're both safe.

The first responders always seem to pick up the prank calls from the teenagers that don't need their help, but it seems like hours go by the more Leon's blood coats your fingers, and inevitably, your phone screen.

He's stopped responding to your questions, and you fight to keep just a fragment of his conscience there with you, but his eyes, the vivid blue gone dull, meet yours and offer no further response.

When the ambulance finally arrives, they leave you outside the gates, denying you entry, with those ruby dusted hands and diamond streaked face.

You suppose you've always wanted to be the jewel in the night that races to the hospital to see their lover. And now that just seems silly.

<><><><>

Three weeks.

That's all the time he'll have with you. And even then, he's not truly there. He struggles to formulate his own thoughts, and now, whenever you see him, all you can think of is who he used to be.

As for Ada, you haven't seen her since. She hasn't snitched on you, so you suppose that it wouldn't hurt anyone to keep the events of that day between the three of you.

Two of you, now.

He isn't a person anymore. He isn't your Leon. But that's hard to remember when you've never been good at seeing what's beneath the surface, the dense, complex layers that create a person.

You see his soft, peaceful face that is like second nature to you, and you wonder if he'll respond to you today, even after hours of repeating the same truth that you know somewhere, deep down, you’ll never believe. The doctor's left the room already, decreeing two hours of treatment should do something for him, save him, much like removing a tumor.

“I went to our place, picked up some lunch for us,” you murmur, knowing he can't hear you. “You weren’t standing at the counter like always, and I almost lost it. Again.”

You can imagine him, if he was really here, chuckling, shaking his head at your questionable behavior. Not just a shell, a half of a person, but a whole that somehow also completed you.

See, this is why you failed math. Are you half a person without him, or whole?

“I got us a fortune cookie!” you say, trying to keep your voice upbeat, as if your positive energy could transfer to him, in a magical, mystical manner, and he'd come back to you.

“Let's read it, yeah?” No point in waiting for a response when you know it'll never come.

Thin, pale letters. How odd, they resemble Leon's strangely flushed face.

“Today, your voice will bring a smile.” You suppress one of those and instead roll your eyes. “Your friends can’t think of new content, can they?”

You stuff the paper into your handbag, slung over the plastic chair near his bed. You've blocked out the rest of the world, now is time for just you two, however far away he may seem. Which is why you scowl up at the doctor, slightly confused at her sympathetic look, and then your ears ring and you shift back to reality. The reality of the situation.

The reality of the flatline.

The reality that, no matter how much you thrash in the security guard's arms, Leon's not coming back. He’s gone.

In a way, he's been gone for longer than you've chosen to accept. Maybe it would've been easier to let him go sooner. You're marched straight out of the hospital, a beeline for the exit, and you have little time to shout your goodbyes.

But you've grown used to taking advice from cookies. After all, they've gotten you to this point. The sarcasm you had so long ago seems silly to you, now, the fact that a biscuit could decide your fate.

To Leon?

Your voice keeps him smiling all the way up to the clouds.

Skin Out of Stone

He frees you from the confines of the Earth you were born, yet your feet grace the same ground that his does. He pays you an homage, and doesn't expect your reaction to be so... grateful.

a/n: so erm... this was supposed to come out a long long time ago but i couldnt find my rb of @chesue00 's art (middle image in header) in my fic ideas tag and thats bc i never rbed it.

kmsing rn. but erm YES SCULPTOR LEON HAS ME THINK A WHOLE WHOLE LOT BC UR BRAIN IS SO SCRUMPDIDLYUMPTIOUS SO YES THIS IS SOMEWHAT LIKE TO KEEP AN ANGEL I THINK ITS SET IN THE SAME TONE? idfk take this and gn 🫡🫡

tw: mentions of sex, nsfw, nun too bad i think, ig implied stalking but its all in good faith trust 🙏🙏

wc: 1.3k

All he’s ever wanted to do is capture you, a moment in time, in that block of concrete delivered to him the moment you had appeared into his life, a sequence of events he knew he was tumbling far too fast towards, yet unable to stop it anyway. The curve of your hip, where he braces his palm, flattens it against the clay that so easily succumbs to his touch, unable to think on its own. It serves his purpose to adapt to his thoughts, molding to his vision.

The vision of you, standing in the golden afterglow of mysterious sunlight, dappling you in unthinkable shadows, how you would be melting honey dripping between his fingers if you would just give him a chance. But your worlds, however you might begin to appear in the stone in front of him, will never collide.

Secretly, one part of him hopes that you might see it one day, appear at his doorstep, perched over his shoulder like a songbird waiting to serenade his work, his devotion to you. But your eyes will only ever be directed at him through the vivid ink in magazines, or the pixelated photos posted of you.

He feels disgusted with the people who breach your privacy for their shameful desires, for their aching heart, but he knows that he is doing the exact same thing. But how can he help himself, when your lips are the identity of his statue, days and days of work uncovering the perfect angle.

The chisel breaks off chunks of your body, carving you from the rough edges, smoothing you like unblemished paper, the divine goddess you are. In a way, he feels just like that; a worshiper to a deity who will never know of his existence. But he reluctantly accepts his fate, in his quiet, cozy studio, and he brings you to life.

Under his fingers, under his guidance, you emerge from the stone with each tap, each chink, revealing yourself draped in shadows, ones he has never seen. He plays a torturous game with himself, itching to get back to his work when the sun rises, the furrow in his brow deepening every day he is away from his idea of you.

He grasps your chin, wishing there was living, moving flesh underneath him, but alas there is no movement. Only the tilt of your eyes glancing downwards, destined to never drag your gaze over his body, raking him with unseen flames.

Without another moment of hesitation, he inches closer, thinking if he squeezes his eyes hard enough, you’ll materialize in an ethereal manner, bringing his fantasies to life. But his nose only brushes the rough peak of yours, smooth yet never in the way skin would be.

And under the lamplight, he envisions that he is still uncovering parts of you, secret to the world, save for you and him. An empathy felt only for him, only his fingers prying away your barriers.

Your blood runs gray and stony, cold to the touch, where he runs his fingers down what he assumes to be the shape of your body, hidden in the pictures he uses as references. He thinks, a time ago, he disdained the people who did the very thing he’s guilty of at this moment.

Strange, though, his frenzy only grows with every new discovery he creates, mapping your body with the landmarks, the dips of your crescent shaped thighs, admiring how beautiful you look when you’re just… simply his.

But there comes a time when his work must end, when his brush and tools must be swept aside, so he can marvel in your glory. And where he expects to feel immense pride, he only feels guilt.

Disgust that churns his stomach, turning him inside out, skin green with envy. His references were all locally sourced, but how could he have foreseen any of this? It was a simple thing, the sweet girl who lived next door, too innocent to know the power her beauty held over him.

So his only choice of action is to come clean, to hand over the hammer that could easily destroy weeks, even months of hard, untainted work. A single blow would be all it takes, and when the hammer falls limp in your hands, he is more than confused.

He watches your lips separate, the same way he had imagined all your fluid motions, your eyebrows raised, knocking against one another as you turn to him, setting his skin on fire. And unlike you, his skin is not of stone.

“You… did this?” you ask, skeptically, as if you are doubting him. The only reason that leads him to further reveal his mishaps.

“You were too beautiful to resist,” he admits, lowering his gaze in shame. Anger thrums with his heartbeat, if only he had just asked for your permission!

But to his surprise, you turn back to yourself, a mirror image of you set in one singular moment, with your gaze pondering the floor, barraging it with your thoughtful questions, and the corner of your lip quirks upward, he hopes.

“This is a strange way to ask someone out,” you murmur, voice as soft as he had imagined those words leaving your lips. Exactly how he had envisioned it, although in his dreams, you were saying more than just that.

“Sorry?” He’s blanked out on other excuses, words to fill in the silence he wishes wouldn’t be so awkward. Majoring in art left no room for any friends, unless you counted the ones online, only known in their identity overseas.

“It’s lovely,” you settle for after a second of readjusting your thoughts. He can almost see them clicking together like a jigsaw puzzle before your silky hair casts a protective sheen around it.

He wants nothing more than to pry them back apart, inspect how your mind works, to finally see the inside of your morals, how far you’d be willing to traverse with him by your side.

“Lovely?” he asks, tentatively.

<><><><>

Truthfully, in all aspects, the conversation had seemed drawn out, bland if he might venture to share his true opinion. But when you're gliding down his skin, all his rationality buries itself into an impenetrable box and refuses to come back.

“Oh, fuck, yes, just like that,” he stammers into your ear, attempting for praise but sounding weaker than he had planned.

There's an astonished look on your face, curving your lips and sweeping the lilt of your cheekbones to the side as you pant into his neck, thighs trembling around him.

And your reluctance speaks volumes to him, so he presses back for once, speaks up to keep the one thing that's grounded him to art, keeping you sane in his presence. Or somewhat the other way around.

This time, he finds what he's looking for. With every gentle stroke, every deep thrust, he breaks you even further, exposing you to his hungry eyes. He drinks up every last bit of your vulnerable form, savoring the sounds that tear themselves from your tired throat.

He cradles you, long after you've drifted off. He knows there is no use in dreaming when he's living it right now, experiencing what it feels like to be content with just rubbing your skin, soothing the reddening patches with his cool touch.

You shift to face him, and the moonlight filters through the window to illuminate your radiating, peaceful expression, as serene as it was the day he caught you sleeping in the library. He's always wanted to see that face in his bed, facing him, with your skin pressed tightly together, slick and smooth, miles of what feels like one being.

He finally reaches out, and for a moment, he fears you will turn to stone under his touch. So he squeezes his eyes shut and waits for it to happen, for the inevitable to crash down onto him.

But it never does. In fact, all that meets him is warmth, rigid from the chill that creeps in through the walls. And he realizes something.

Your skin is not of stone, it never was.

Can I pls request one where Leon is obsessed with his wife’s small baby bump? Like especially when she wears dresses he just can’t stop staring 🧎‍♀️🌸

baby blues

—re4!leon kennedy!husband x pregnant wife!reader

— a oneshot (request)

warnings: MDNI, 18+, a lot of fluff, leon being the best baby daddy out there, reader kind of hates being pregnant at times, reader deals with some body issues and how their body is changing, leon is so sweet and supportive, gives cocky hot dad vibes, mentions of pregnancy pain, oral (f receiving), breast play, lots of kissing and praise, mentions of past sex, mentions of doctors offices, cursing, leon and reader being the cutest little husband and wife out there.

“you had tried. tried stretching, tried taking a pill and had tried sleeping. but everything hurt. everything. your feet, your head, your back and especially your breasts. it felt like something was tugging and poking at all the soft parts of your body. it was torture, almost. if there wasn’t a handsome man next to you, rubbing your back as you laid on your side. leon dulled the ache a little, he looked at you still like the day he met you four years ago, even when you were pregnant, fat and you felt like death had taken over certain parts of your body. leon still looked at you like you were the most precious thing. and it made you wanna cry, scream and kiss him all at the same time.”

— or reader gets pregnant and tries to come to terms with it and leon has no problem helping her out

masterlist taglist

an: thank you for the request anon <33 hope you enjoy it. this was such a cute little thing to write. might make a headcanon list soon just for this specific request :,)

you and leon had talked about kids, about babies.

about the joy it would bring both of you to have something made by the two of you. to make you both enjoy the ties of your marriage and love.

you, however didn’t expect to get pregnant so soon after your marriage. but leon…leon was hard to resist and your body craved him and it was your choice. a choice that you made over and over and over again.

until two lines changed his life and yours entirely, it was hard ignore how the both of you panicked. the excitement, nerves and the rushing of your heart beating accelerated as you stared at the test…four month ago.

you both had been so careful, so very careful, but in one night of heated touches and sloppy kisses, you decided to fuck the condom and just deal. thinking the birth control you took would be enough, but it…it was not. definitely not.

you dealt with being pregnant like a champ, or tried to. you were sore now, you were fatter and you felt like a truck had hit you when you simply moved to grab something.

you loved the idea of carrying a child in retrospect, when leon had pounded you into the mattress many times before, thinking and muttering all the obscene words and images about breeding you. you literally keened at the idea, but now, now that you were here and doing it, you wanted to rip this kid out of you.

you hurt every moment of everyday, you were tired and hungry and whenever you saw that stupid ASPCA commercial on the tv with the dogs, you started bawling like a child. it was obnoxious and to think it would only get more strenuous as the moments that passed was literal torture.

and the doctors appointments, the vitamins you had to take and the way your body changed. it was a lot to handle, you had leon. you had him to help but sometimes it didn’t feel like it was enough. you couldn’t dress like you usually did anymore and could only wear the sundresses and other dresses you had hanging in your closet.

it felt like you were playing dress up, but it was the only thing you were comfortable in these days. the only thing that fit over the bump. the only thing that made you feel pretty and not like an inflated blimp.

and the one thing besides the pain, the bloating and the never ending amount of morning sickness you’ve had to deal with…the one thing you held onto was by the end of it you would get to be a mom. leon would get to be a dad, that was the only thing that kept you tethered to reality these days.

but leon enjoyed the sight of you in your dresses, that was one thing that also kept you tethered. the way he still ate you alive with his eyes, scouring you still as if you haven’t changed at all. you would always find his blue eyes piercing into your pregnant frame whenever you’d slip on a dress for the day or when you were bare and just got out of the shower.

it made you more aroused then usual, the only thing worse was the leon never acted on it. he never once stopped you and brought you to your guys bedroom. he never offered to eat you out anymore. you didn’t know why he was staring but wouldn’t act. was he worried that he’d hurt you? or the baby? you didn’t know, you had no clue.

but it was festering, each look he gave you in your pretty little dresses with your bump of pregnancy was making your skin hotter everyday. you didn’t know how much longer of this pregnancy you could take if he didn’t act on his desires. most importantly, your own.

two weeks, later and your sick of everything.

your sick of walking, your back pain, the peeing every five minutes. just everything makes you annoyed or feel like your going to crawl out of your own skin. you don’t get comfort in bed, you toss and turn. you’re then frustrated because you can’t sleep on your stomach, you wanna rip this baby out of you and it’s only the four month mark.

leon is a saint though. he’s bringing you food, rubbing your feet, holding your hair back when you throw up from the morning sickness. you feel bad for being such a bitch, for being so mean and hormonal. you try not to snap or throw a hissy fit.

but it’s hard.

you’re also sick of the doctor asking you twenty million questions when you go to your next appointment. already fed up from lack of sleep and your bowel movements. the baby is healthy, so everyone is happy. just not you.

another thing, leon keeps eyeing you and basically fucking you with his eyes. another thing that’s just adding up into your short limit of patience. you wanna scream at him to just fuck you, do something. you need a release. and if you could do it on your own, you would. but you can’t even see over your stomach or much less reach it.

so your just stuck feeling pent up and frustrated with everything. until one day, one day you just snap. you just lose your shit. you don’t remember what really caused it to happen, maybe it was the fact that you saw leon wearing only a towel after his shower, practically making you drool.

but you lost it. you just lost it, for absolutely no reason at all.

“can you stop looking at me like that?” you say softly as you look over at him, your being patient, so patient at this point and it makes you wanna scream or cry. he’s digging for something in your shared dresser drawer at this point, minding his own business.

leon looks behind him, over his shoulder to where you sit on the bed. he raises a small brow, “i’m not even looking at you, baby. i’m getting clothes.” he says with a small hint of amusement in his voice.

“you know what i mean, leon.” you say in a annoyed tone as you shift on the bed, the many pillows for your back pain and a heating pad pressed up against it. you opted for a t-shirt of his and underwear, the only two things besides dresses that you could really stand these days.

he grabs his boxers and takes off his towel, you try to ignore the arousal that’s literally pooling uncomfortably in your underwear as you see it. your trying to stay annoyed, stay focused, but his dick is just right there. so far out of your reach but so close and you just want to pounce on him.

“i can’t stare at my beautiful wife now?” he says with a small notch in his brow, pulling his boxers up over his dick, making you disappointed and snap back into what was currently happening. you huff and rub your bump, shifting against the heating pad and pillows.

“no, you can.” you say with a small glare in his direction, “but if your not gonna do something about it, i’d rather you tell me then just…” you trail off when he crawls on the bed next to you, sitting beside you. “angel, you have something you wanna share with me?” he says in that low and intimate tone that gets your insides all bubbly.

you gnaw on your bottom lip in contemplation, “no. i don’t.” he chuckles lowly and moves even closer to you on the bed, putting his hand on your thigh and squeezing. “i hardly believe that, baby. no offense.” he says softly as he presses a kiss to your ear.

you were going to jump him if he didn’t stop this, he was teasing you. he had to be, it was ridiculous that he couldn’t even see how miserable this was making you. “can you just…?” you start and fail pathetically as you try to squirm into his touch more on your thigh.

“can i just what?” he says in a soft timbre into your ear, almost daring and pushing you to say it. to ask. you were beyond irritated and wound up now. everything hurt and your body felt hot. “can you please touch me?” you say softly, you sound whiney and desperate and it’s nothing like you. but a part of you really didn’t care anymore.

you hormonal, achy and moody beyond relief. you just wanted him to touch you, to fuck you even. it was getting annoying how much your body had craved him since you became pregnant.

he didn’t move his hand from your thigh, his breath still ghosting over your ear and the side of your face. “i am touching you, love.” he says with an arrogant smirk against your skin.

arrogant bastard. you thought to yourself, you were brazen in the moment. “it hurts, leon. just…please?” you practically whined in that moment, you didn’t like the teasing. not when your patience was already short enough as it was.

he pressed a tender kiss to the side of your head, “what hurts, baby?” he says softly as he rubs his hand up her thigh and over her bump, soothing tender circles over your body and the baby beneath.

you don’t even care anymore, the soothing feeling of his hand over your t-shirt was enough. your cheeks were red though and you guided his hand up to your swollen breasts beneath your (his) t-shirt that you wore.

“oh, honey.” he sighs softly in a contented whisper against your head, pressing a small kiss to your hairline. he doesn’t move his hand on one of your swollen breasts, just rests his hand there as if he’s just supporting it with his large hand over the fabric.

“leon…please, it hurts.” you hear yourself breathe out in a whimper, one of pain or of desire, you didn’t know. you didn’t care to know right now. “hold on, hold on.” he mumbled softly as he shifted next to you, getting closer to your side, he adjusted himself on the pillows next to you.

“can’t deny my pretty little wife. can i?” he says into your ear with a small nip as his hand squeezed and kneaded one of your swollen breasts. you couldn’t help the sound that came out of you, a mix of relief and desire that you didn’t know you could make.

he moves his lips to press against your neck, nipping and licking as he kneads your breasts, trying to make the pain subside as you moan. “feels s’good…” you mumble in between small noises.

“i know, i know. sorry, for teasing you all this time.” he mumbles into your neck, “gotta stop teasing you…” he mumbles again in between kisses as he presses one more kiss under your ear.

his hands working up your swollen and aching breasts, you could feel your panties practically dripping with release. you grab at his bicep, curling around the muscle there for balance. “please…” you whimper softly.

he moves his lips up to your ear, “what do you want? use your words, baby.” he nips at your earlobe and keeps kneading your breasts, alleviating some of the ache there.

you grip down on his bicep harder, your hormones from the pregnancy were going crazy at his touch. “anything…something, please.” you whine softly near his ear as you almost draw blood. you just needed a release and you weren’t going to get far with him kneading your breasts.

“how about i eat out that pretty pussy? hmm?” he practically purrs into your ear as one of his hands leads down from your breasts to beneath the covers. your soaked underwear beneath your rotund belly, he finds it. an amusing sound leaving his mouth at your ear, tracing the pads of his fingers over your wet slit of your underwear.

his words and his touches having a disastrous affect on your pregnant body, you felt like a match that he was striking with flame and then putting out. it was so much in the best way possible.

you just nod rapidly, emitting a small whine as you clutch his bare bicep harder. “okay, pretty girl.” he presses another kiss to your ear, smirking to himself. he traces your wet slit again, marveling at how soaked you were for him.

“practically drenching your underwear, this all for me?” he muses as he pulls back on the bed next to you, pushing the covers back from your body. your hand falling down to the sheets beneath you, “yes…” you manage to get out as he clicks his tongue. a growl almost rose from his mouth as he gets farther back on the bed, moving in between your knees.

he sees the wet patch that’s soaking your underwear, he knew you were hormonal from the pregnancy. but god, how much arousal could form just from you looking at him? it needed to be studied, but he couldn’t help but feel his ego and confidence inflate.

your bodies reaction to him would always be something he’d never get tired of. especially now when you were drenching your pretty panties.

“fuck, baby. missed this sweet pussy.” he rasps as he looks up at you with hooded blue eyes, his pupils dilated. you knew that look well enough to know that he was going to give you what you both wanted.

release.

you mewl, “please, leon. don’t wanna beg…” you try to reach down to yank his hands or his head closer but your pregnant belly stops you. he puts a hand on the inside of your thigh, “no begging required. i’m going to eat out my pretty pregnant wife. i’m hungry anyways.” he smirks devilishly as he massage the meat of your thigh.

he doesn’t waste anytime, your head hits the mountains of pillows behind you. your chest rising and falling fast beneath his t-shirt that your wearing. his hands come up to the waist band of your underwear and slowly pull them down over your hips and bent legs.

your bare pussy is on display now and you feel the cold air hit your most private parts, ones that he’s seen before but now…now that you were pregnant and carrying his child…things were different. you looked more delicious now, looked more like he could eat you out for days. eat you and fuck you until the baby came.

god help him.

he doesn’t waste anytime, none whatsoever. he’s going to give you what you want. he rubs his fingers through your arousal, spreading it everywhere and teasing you just a bit longer.

you whine, “leon, please…just stop. i want it.” he looks up at you from where he’s laying on the mattress in between your bent legs. “i know baby, just admiring how beautiful you are…everywhere.” he smirks to himself and presses a kiss to the hood of your clit.

you moan a little, he clicks his tongue. “so sensitive.” he muses, “good to know some things never change after pregnancy.” he whispers as he presses another kiss to your clit.

“fuck…leon…” you whine softly, clenching the sheets beneath you. your hormone fueled body making you out to be this whiny monster.

he just chuckles against the skin of your dripping pussy, “just sit back and relax, sweet girl. i’ve got you.” he says as he runs his hands up to the sides of your hips, holding you steady as he dips his head down.

he starts licking a long stripe up from your drenched opening to your clit, your head tilting back as you moan loudly. you never failed to amaze him, get him hard and all worked up. you both had that affect on each other, good to know it was still intact.

how had leon not done this yet? not touched you this way yet when you’d been pregnant? you were like putty in his hands right now.

he felt like an idiot.

a large one. 

he stuck his tongue into your soaked opening and licked, fucking you with his tongue as you clenched the sheets harder beneath you. “fuck, want…uhh, so fucking good!” you moan loudly, practically screaming.

he just keeps fucking you with his tongue, almost rutting his boxer clad erection into the mattress. he reached one hand down to rub his thumb over your clit, still fucking you with his tongue.

your back arches a little, as much as it can without you hurting yourself. a white knuckled grip on the mattress is all you have as he ravishes you, keeps his tongue and fingers working you into oblivion as you writhe and moan underneath him.

“leon! uhh…fuck…” you babble nonsense as you feel the coil start to build in your lower abdomen, you had never come this fast before. but the fact that you were pent up, more hormonal then usual and he was working you open with his skilled mouth and fingers…

you were fucked, figuratively and literally.

he took his tongue out of your opening moving the finger that was on your clit, down to your soaked opening. his fingers working you open now, sliding one in which causes you to release a long moan, his name rolling off of your tongue.

his mouth attaching itself to your clit and licking, sucking and swirling his tongue. he was smirking as he did it. knowing that he was gonna feel you come all over his fingers and face.

he could do this forever, keep you pregnant forever just so he could hear those pretty little sounds you made when you’d fall apart beneath him.

he kept moving his pointer finger in and out, swirling his tongue over your swollen clit as you moaned obscenely, thanking god and him and his mouth.

“just…yes! fuck! gonna cum!” you babble again, losing all rational thoughts as he continued to lick and rub and finger you. you felt helpless under his touch, but in the best way. the way that made you and the unborn baby inside of you feel safe and cherished, loved even.

he just kept it up, only breaking his licking at your clit to talk you through it, “good girl, pretty little wife gonna cum all over my fingers? huh?” he says with a raspy voice, his lips stained in a gloss of your arousal.

you moan softly in response and nod, your eyes fluttering open and shut, your pussy clenching around his fingers. pulling them out just to push another long inside of you and curl your fingers upwards until he found your magic spot.

you whine at that, smacking a hand down on the sheets underneath you. “there it is…” he muses in a low tone, “good girl, maybe if your really nice i’ll pump another baby into you tomorrow.” he says with a smirk.

you moan, “fuck…yes!” you yell out, the idea of him fucking you and promising to get you even more pregnant…it was making that band inside of you get closer to snapping.

“you’d like that wouldn’t you? filling you up with my big cock and pumping you full of my cum?” he teases as he keeps fucking you with his two fingers, the noise of your arousal would normally be a turn off but you were so close to release that you didn’t care anymore.

you moaned and nodded dumbly in response, his free hand sliding from your hip to rub over the swell of your belly. “pump another baby into you, fuck, you’d love that.” he says lowly.

“i-i would…fuck, want more babies…” you whine softly as you writhe more, some tears leaking out of your eyes. he almost growls at that, pumping his fingers harder inside of you and rubbing that sweet spot that makes you see stars.

he knew you were close, knew you were going to reach that point that made you all blissed out and needy. “cmon baby, come all over my fingers. know you can.” he encouraged with a kiss to your clit, his free hand still rubbing over your belly.

all it took was him talking more, working you up with his sweet words and his fingers hitting the mark over and over again inside of you. you moaned loudly, clenching around his fingers. your release coating all over his digits.

he didn’t say anything, just worked you through it until overstimulation set in, removing his fingers from you. he brought them both up and licked the release from his fingers.

you watched him with undivided attention, your eyes lazily opening and closing in the haze of your orgasm. he smiled softly and crawled from in between your legs to rest over you, pressing a kiss to your lips.

“don’t you ever think for one second that i don’t want to fuck you, taste you or do that. i love you and i love making you fall apart. you being pregnant…has nothing to do with me holding off.” he says in a reassurance, pressing another small kiss to your lips.

being mindful as he leaned over you not to disturb the bump of your belly. your eyes locked on his as he looked down at you, “i’ve just been stressed and on edge with prepping for the baby. it’s had absolutely nothing to do with you being pregnant.” he says softly, reaching a hand up and running it through the hair at the base of your skull.

“your so beautiful, so fucking beautiful. i know you don’t see it these days. but you are even hotter now that your carrying my baby, our baby.” he explains with a gentle smile, making some water prick into your eyes.

“so don’t think for one second that i find you unattractive or that i’m teasing you on purpose.” he says with another small peck to your lips, “you understand me?”

you nod slowly as you look up at him, blinking the small amount of water away from your eyes. you should’ve never doubted him, should’ve never thought that about yourself.

and he hated that, hated that he made you doubt yourself and your body for one second. you were so beautiful, you were his and he loved you. he had loved you long before you both spoke your vows in front of god and each other.

he loved you so much, as much as you loved him. so he rolled off from hovering on top to you, cuddling his body next to yours, letting himself wrap his strong arms around your pregnant body.

he wanted to hold you close to his heart, he always did inside. he always kept you there because that’s where you deserved to be. you were his wife and the mother of his (soon to be) child.

he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head, pulling the covers back up over you and him, cuddling you close. his hand rubbing over your belly with the fabric of his own t-shirt covering it. “your so very beautiful, baby. i love you so much. even when you don’t see it.” he says against the side of your head, pressing another kiss there.

you melted into his arms, your eyes fluttering close in exhaustion and in content. you didn’t feel so insecure and anxious anymore. you knew that he had been off, but he was just as stressed as you. he had to be, you were going to be a mom and he was going to be a dad.

it was a lot of pressure.

but as long as you both had each other, you knew you guys could do it. the rings on your hands symbolizing the best and worst parts of you and him, the parts that you accepted and promised to love forever.

and with him, it would never be scary. not if you had a husband like leon, and he would love you just as much as the baby inside of you.

it was a part of both of you, that could never be unloved. not if either of you had anything to say about it.

an: hope you guys enjoy. i couldn’t deny a double upload this week, my bad lol. i love you guys so much and i hope you enjoyed. happy friday!! i’m gonna be opening my requests again soon. i wrote this when i was ovulating so no harsh judgement. please reblog and like, kisses. xx.

taglist: @elihii @heartsforvin @argreion @sqiim @adollrable @leonkennedygvrl (if you wanna be on my taglist interact with the link at the beginning)



DOES ANYONE KNOW A LEON X READER FIC WHERE LEON KENNEDY IS A PRINCE IN LOVE WITH ASHLEY WHILE BEING ENGAGED WITH THE READER?!?! I CAN'T FIND IT ANYWHERE OMFG

Headcanons of watching movies/ shows with Leon

This is heavily inspired by the fact that I've been sitting on my ass and watched 3 seasons of game of thrones in 2 days.

Also requests are open! Currently working on a Death island leon fic/ headcanons

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It all started like any other day, it was a Friday night and you and leon has just gotten the break that you both desperately needed. None of you had the energy to go out for a romantic dinner, so why not relax at home and order some take out.

While leon has gone inside to freshen up tou decided to start browsing for some shows, that's when you found the one (what ever show/movie you want it to be)

Not long after leon finaly comes back with a towel in on his head fully dressed. He sees what you have on the TV and with one look, he was already hooked.

The two of you would sit down on your asses for HOURS watching episode after episode and season after season.

There would be moments in the show where the main character has a touching moment with a parent/ friend, and you couldn't help but start to tear up every so often when that would happen.

While it took a little bit more for leon to start the water works, when ever you would start to get emotional over a scene he would IMEADTLY take notice. In that moment all he would do was move closer to you and wrap his arm arround you while his hand caressed your shoulder.

Leon might not be good with his words, but he tried his best for you.

If you and leon were to ever get addicted to watching a TV show/ movie series it would be like clock work for you both. Wake up watch TV, eat and sleep ofcourse all while sitting close to eachother and making your own commentary about the show.

If it's a horror movie u best belive that Leon is going me ve the type that would say "there's no need to be scared him right here" and then ends up being the one cuddled up in your arms while waiting for the next jumpscare to happen. It's absolutely adorable. "Oh don't worry, nothis going to happen now, the ghost just killed someone so it should be some time befo-" and just like that the ghost popped up again catching you both off guard but this time you were equally as scared and holding onto leon for dear life.

You can not tell me this man wouldn't love a good rom com every once in a while and ESPICALY if it's one of those rom coms that's self aware.

"I CANT HE JUST DID THAT AFTER ALL THEY HAVE BEEN THROUGH"

" EXACTLY! he's such an ass hole, and how in the world did she not see all the red flags, the girls colour blind"

Leon would always make sure to give his two sence about the conflict in those types of movies.

_______________________________________

I had so much fun writing this and still have more so I'm probably going to make a part 2 of this soon!

leon working on me after he's done with his bike 😋

PLEADE LOOK. AT. THIS.

he is so fucking sluty in this one like look at that tiny ass waist and THOSE CHILD BEARING HIPS. And that sneaky little chest tatoo on his boobies OMG. Like i wana sit on his face so bad like LOOL AT THAT NOSE like I'll probably be done just as I sit on his face but we ain't stopping

I’m Starving, Darling

Leon S. Kennedy x reader

Summary: Being stuck together can reveal a whole new series of secrets, leaving the shared experience trapped in chains.

Word Count: 770

Warning(s): 18+ – PURE SMUT, oral sex (f! receiving), body appreciation, slight dirty talk, brief action and violence, and fluff if you squint.

A/N: RE4R is amazing and I’m SWOONING over Leon! Inspired by Hoxier’s new song: Eat Your Young. Feedback is appreciated and enjoy!

"Sacrificial lamb. You will receive our most sacred body. It begins now."

That haunting vow. The terrifying proclamation was set in stone. Written in the course of some fucked up stars, a pit rose from the bottom of his stomach.

Knowing that the worst was yet to come.

The high pitched static subsided just as Leon jerked his head to the side, waking up in a panic. Gasping for air, his blurry vision straightened while his icy blue eyes adjusted to the dinky lit room. Feeling the pounding rhythm of his heartbeat, his throat remained dry from the beginning signs of dehydration.

Glancing toward the ceiling, the static faded whilst he found his hands chained above his head.

“Oh what the fuck?” Leon whispered to himself.

Pulling his hands down, your hands rose in the air.

“Hey! Cut it out!” You said, turning your attention to Leon.

Standing from your shared position on the ground, the two of you remain face to face.

“Well you’re a sight for sore eyes.” Leon jokes with a smirk.

“Thanks. Are you okay? That big guy practically threw you to kingdom come.” You say, gazing over his form before you.

“I’m fine, Y/N. Promise. You’re not hurt are you?” He asks, stepping closer.

“No, I’m alright.” You reply, looking up at the simple pulley system keeping the two of you trapped.

Observing this with you, a lightbulb went off in Leon’s head, and he knew what to do next. Yanking at your cuffs that we’re keeping your wrists shackled, you tried to loosen the pulley wheel, but it didn’t budge once.

“How the hell are you gonna get out of here?” Leon asks, tugging on his side of the chain.

“I don’t know. You could give me a boost, then maybe we could–“ You start, but are cut off by Leon’s face filling with shock.

“Watch out!” He shouted, pulling you to the side.

Rushing toward the space where you once stood, a Ganado swings his axe in the air, hoping to hit you. Shoving your shoulder at the wooden handle of the axe, the object clatters with the cement flooring, and Leon pulls himself up on the chain before breaking the man’s neck with his boot.

Regaining your balance, your breath hitches in your chest, and Leon hastily paces toward you. Crashing his lips around your own, breathing then became impossible. Letting go of your lower lip with a bite, a gasp escapes your mouth just as he drags his lips down to the bare skin of your neck.

“Oh Leon, what’re you doing? Now’s not the time.” You retaliate, hoping he’ll get the hint.

Removing his lips from your neck, his breath is hot against your face.

“There’s always time, sweetheart. Besides, I’ve always wanted to have you tied up.” He teases, and you swear you saw a pair of red devil horns appear in his blonde hair.

Descending your standing form with feverish kisses, he squats on his knees, pulling the chain with him, so you’re just barely on your toes beneath the pair of combat boots.

Quickly unbuckling the holsters belt clip, his latched wrists undo the button of your black cargo pants before reaching your most comfortable pair of silk panties. Gently pressing his lips to the ticklish skin of your inner thighs, a preemptive moan escaped from your mouth.

“Leon…” You whimpered, in pure pleasure.

Stopping, Leon’s eyes sent a tingle up your spine.

“Ssh, sh. You look good tied up. It’s been driving me crazy.” He praised, gripping your hips in his hands.

Making contact with your clit, he pushed his tongue in between the throbbing bundle of nerves, making your body squirm. Your vision went blurry as you gripped the metal chain keeping your hands in place.

Tightening his grip around the exposed skin of your hips, you knew there would be single bruises there, but you didn’t care. Deepening the kiss around your folds, Leon slid his tongue in your hole, longing for your taste. Your head jerked back and a growl rumbled in Leon’s chest, knowing that he’d get what he wanted.

Taking his time eating you out, your walls began to close around his touch. Your knuckles went white and your body went numb while Leon chased the high of your orgasm. Moaning his name, that was something he never got tired of hearing, knowing that he was all yours. His mouth filled with the taste of you and the moment he’d unlock these chains, he would enjoy every little bit of you before continuing on in this hellish landscape.

re taglist ~

@dreamliners

@iraot

@beautifuljellyfishqueen

@balach-cadalach

@murrdxcks

@fetaneecole

@odaschopsticks

@macabrecakes

@tiredsurvivoronmain

@thecodeisveronica

@andyacklesspn

@kanzukikarin

@cloudybakery

@swimninhoney

@ashiemochi

@kennedysharper

@highball66

@jinlintai

@onewinged-sephiroth

@scariusaquarius

@momma-vi

@cilantro24

@shions-new-blog-of-stuff

@thatdummy-girl

@acupnoodle

@slaughtrx

@rpd-rookie

@oreo-leon

@xxresi-rotxx

@ashrillvenheim

@knifefightandchill

@tradgothprompto

@lottathoughts

@brittlecakes92

@mnjxs

@rebidemp-ebil

@chirikalovesjill

@paleepeaches

@dargoww

@blueyheart

@leonwifey

@arzublogworld

@ec1ips3 

@dreamingchocochan

@mothxmoons

@josieinwonderland

@winksasleeplesseye

@jl-micasea-fics

@thatgoblin

@venchai

Hiii can I request Leon visiting gn readers home/apartment for the first time and he sees their pet cat? Like how would he respond.. if that makes any sense lol.. thank youu!! ❤️

Leon Kennedy x reader -

Im crying, this is so cute, Hope you enjoy my love!

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Leon has honestly never found a cat so cute, maybe he’s biased because it’s your cat but he swears he's the cutest little fluff ball he’s ever seen, well-kept fur coat, and the cutest little meow he’s ever heard.

“Hey buddy” he coos, scratching the small feline behind his ear and his heart melts with love, he’s never been a big pet fanatic before he’s never really had the time to really look after one with his demanding job, and all.

“Oh you’ve met Miso, he’s a cutie right?” You smile walking into the living room with two cold beers, handing Leon one before taking a seat, you watch in amazement as Miso jumps up onto Leon’s lap.

“Yeah, he’s a great host, very welcoming,” Leon chuckles petting the fury friend as he lets small meows.

“I’ve actually never seen him so vocal with someone else before, he’s normally really shy,” you say, “I think he approves of you” you giggle and Leon looks up at you with soft eyes, a loving gaze.

“Yeah?” He asks bashfully with a boyish smile.

“Oh definitely” you agree, nodding your head, you watch as Miso walks over to you with a certain strut to his step, you giggle as he plops himself down by your feet, head resting on your foot.

“Such a drama queen,” you say rubbing his belly as he lets out an approving meow.

“You— erm… you staying tonight?” You ask, suddenly feeling a little shy, Leon smiles at you noticing the way you bite your lip slightly out of bad habit.

It’s not like you two haven’t shared a bed before, you’ve stayed at his before so in all honesty, the question shouldn’t make you feel this nervous, but it's Leon, and you can't help the butterflies that swarm your belly when he looks at you with those soft pretty eyes, or when he laughs and his nose scrunches a little with joy, how he's so gentle with you, it makes you feel sick with love.

“Only if you want me to sweetness” he answers, taking a sip of his beer, he never wants you to be uncomfortable, and he certainly doesn’t want to be the person to make you uncomfortable.

“Yeah of course I do, I think Miso wants you to say too” you giggle motioning to your very indecisive cat as he walks back over to Leon, and you chuckle when he jumps up onto the couch curling up beside Leon’s thigh.

“Well then guess I’m staying, would hate to disappoint you both” Leon chuckles as he strokes behind Miso’s ear, and you feel all tingly with love when he tips his head, beckoning for you to come and take a seat next to him, with his arm out, and you do because you always want to be close to him.

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hii!! i hope you’re doing super well today! i recently discovered your account and i loveee your account! i was wondering if you could do a lil something with leon and reader watching a scary movie, all cuddled up and overall some sweetness and leon being the best boyfriend? this is literally the first time i’m doing a request so i’m so sorry if this is the wrong place to ask! ignore this if it is but still, thank you so much for all the good work that you do and keep it up! 🤍

-Leon Kennedy x reader

Leon is so boyfriend! <3

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“You’re gonna miss the movie if you spend the whole time tucked into my side” he quips with a laugh, noting the way you hide your face behind his shoulder every time the music gets even a little suspenseful, the way you let out little gasps when the something unexpected happens.

You know you shouldn’t be this scared it’s just a movie, but there’s something about the way it’s shot, the camera movements, and the soundtrack that makes you feel nervous, your heart skips a beat with panic, and that’s why you hide yourself in Leon’s side.

“Yeah, that’s the point” you mumble, flinching at the screech that erupts from the tv, Leon feels a little bad, almost guilty for putting you through this, but he can’t lie he loves how you hide behind him, your nose nuzzling into his shoulder, how your hands grasp at his arm.

His arm wraps around you, hand settling on your waist as he brings you closer to him, “I’ve got you sweetheart” he says with an almost patronizing tone and you fight the urge to hit him with the pillow.

“We can change the movie if you want angel, your choice as long as you’re happy,” he says, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, there he is, your overly sweet boyfriend who’d do anything for you, constantly putting you first.

“It’s alright, you’ll protect me” you smile, looking up at him and you notice the way he smiles back, how his eyes gleam with happiness, you would do anything to make sure he didn’t stop smiling.

Leon looks down at you, his attention completely shifting from the movie to you, “Always” he whispers and there’s a certain heaviness to his words that the both of you are aware of.

Your hand cups his face, reaching up to press a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth, you notice the small beauty mark that sits near his nose and you giggle as you press another loving kiss to his cheek then another and another.

A laugh bubbles out from him as he lets you continue to pepper kisses all over his face, moving down to his jaw then neck and his hands grasp at your shoulders.

“If this is your way of getting out of watching this movie it’s not working,” he says with a smirk, and you scoff rolling your eyes with a fake offense.

“Mm, not even a little?” You ask brushing his hair out of his face, thumb caressing his cheek as you lean into him your lips ghosting over his and you can feel his gentle breath fan against you.

“Not even a little” he whispers with a smug look in his eyes.

The both of you are so wrapped up in each other’s love that you forget about the movie entirely, that is until a stomach-churning scream rips you both out of the loving moment, the pair of you jump a little at the sudden noise, and Leon’s quick to turn the movie off entirely as you try and suppress your giggles.

“I think it worked pretty well,” you say and now it’s your turn to act smug as lay back on the sofa and he scoffs, mumbling something you don't quite catch, settling between your legs, his head resting on your chest as you play with his hair and you flick through the movies until you both find one you like, with fewer jump scares.

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can i request a leon x reader, where leon takes polaroid pictures of reader and keeps some in him wallet. fluff or nsfw you pick 💕

Polaroids

{Leon keeps Polaroids of you}

This has been eating at my mind, I need him so bad!!

!18!

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Leon isn’t joking when he says he loves you from every and any angle, and he certainly wasn’t joking when he asks to take pictures of you, very raunchy pictures, for his eyes only because god knows Leon Kennedy doesn’t share especially when it comes to you.

That’s why you let him because you know for a fact they won’t be seen by anyone but him and because the idea excites you more than you care to admit.

“Fuck- such a pretty girl” You can hear the machinery in the Polaroid as it pushes out another picture, Leon’s free hand rubbing along your thigh, as you sit on his lap.

His fingers trace against the lace of your underwear, so delicately that you almost don’t even feel it, “Absolute Angel, my angel” he says noticing the way your hips grind against him in a desperate attempt to feel something, and you smile proudly when he lets out a shaky breath.

He loves how needy you’ve become, whining about how he’s ‘wearing too much’ as your hands grasp at the ends of his shirt urging him to take it off, but he’s quick to swat them away.

“Leon, take it off” you whine once more, fingers playing with the end of his shirt, it isn’t fair that he’s still clothed while you’re near enough naked sitting on top of him.

His hands continue to run along your thighs, “Such a needy thing” he says, leaning to press kisses to your neck a clash of teeth and tongue against the sensitive skin, and your hands thread through his hair urging him closer to you as he trails along your collar bones, and you can’t stop your hips from stuttering against his as his hand pushes against your lower back bringing you closer to him.

He pulls away, as he takes his shirt off and you watch how his muscles tense and move with the movement as he throws the fabric in the corner of the room, your hands instantly go for his stomach, gentle fingers tracing along his abs up to his chest, you notice the way his muscles tense at your delicate touch, Leon almost seems prideful at they way you gawk at him.

“Smile for me angel,” he says as he unclasps your bra, letting the straps fall down your shoulders, he points the camera to your chest, “Touch yourself baby” he prompts, watching as your hands squeeze at your boobs, he takes the picture, the dim flash lights the room for a second, and you hear him groan at the sight, as you once again grind against him and you can feel him underneath you.

Your fingers wrap around his wrist slowly guiding his hand towards your lap, he presses his fingers against the wet patch that stains your underwear, and he’s quick to move the camera to capture the sight, his finger circling your clit through your underwear, “Touch me Leon” you sigh and he goes dizzy with nothing but desperate want.

You honestly don’t really remember much, that was until today, so perhaps that’s why you almost have a heart attack when you hand Leon his wallet, the pictures of you tucked away in one of the pockets.

You gasp in complete shock, “What?” He chuckles at your expression, how your mouth is slightly agape with surprise, “You don’t like them?” He teases and you’re far too embarrassed to respond with some snarky comment.

“Leon, why do you have them there? I mean in your wallet of all places?” You ask, hand clasping over your mouth as you look down at the Polaroids of you, there’s one of just your chest your boobs on full display while you squeeze at them, and another, just your hips against his as you sit on his lap, and you can see how hard he is underneath you.

He laughs at your embarrassment, “So I don’t get bored at work” he whispers kissing your forehead, and you shake your head at the thought.

“God Leon- that’s so gross” you sigh, trying to ignore the way he’s looking at you.

“Oh yeah? Because I remember you taking this one” he says pulling out another picture, and your heart almost stops at the sight of your fingers knuckle deep inside your cunt, wearing one of Leon’s old shirts, and you close your eyes as the memory comes rushing back,

“That one is my personal favorite” he whispers pressing a kiss to your jaw and you go silent with shock, feeling very flushed, completely forgetting you had done that.

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Hello!! I've been reading your stories for a while and get so excited whenever I see that you post <3 You're writing style is so soft to me and it makes me giggle all girly too

Im not sure if you've done this already but was wondering if you would write about Leon and reader's first kiss together? Like how he would get all flustered and try to hide his grin from them :')

Feel free to change the premise to whatever you think will fit! Have a good day/night ♡♡♡

First kiss

{You and Leon share your first kiss}

I’m sobbing! Please I love him so very much!! He’s so boyfriend!! 💕

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“Here let me,” Leon says, taking one of the shopping bags from your hands with a smirk, you’d spent the day helping him get groceries and it was honestly more fun than you’d originally thought. You thank him watching as he sets the bags on the kitchen counter.

You help him unpack the bags, “You staying for dinner tonight sweetheart?” He asks leaning against the countertops, arms crossed over his chest.

He wants you to say yes, he wants you to stay tonight and forever because he knows he sleeps better when you’re here, he doesn’t have to worry about you if you’re right here with him.

He watches you contemplate your decision with a hopeful look in his eyes, “Yeah if you want me to” you smile lifting yourself up with your hands to sit on the marble countertop.

He looks over at you, of course, I want you to stay, he thinks watching as you kick your socked feet, “I always want you here” He smiles, and you can’t help the butterflies that flutter around in your belly.

He’s such a sweetheart, with his soft words that leave you love-sick and craving more.

Leon walks over to you where you’re sitting and he taps your knee, a silent way of asking you to lift your legs so can get into the cupboard and you do, watching him take out two glasses.

“If you change your mind let me know okay? I’ll drop you home” he tells you, and he knows you probably won't but he gives you the option anyway because the last thing he wants is for you to feel uncomfortable around him.

You nod your head watching as he pours himself a glass of water before walking over to the fridge and pulling out a small carton, “Apple juice for my girl” He smiles as you nod happily, watching as he pours the drink before handing the glass to you.

“Thank you for today,” he says with a grateful smile.

“It was actually quite fun,” you tell him, taking a sip of the juice before putting the glass down on the counter beside you.

Leon looks over at you, and there’s a part of him that can’t quite believe you’re his, someone so sweet and perfect, how you’ve healed his heart without even knowing and he thinks about all the ways he wants to thank you.

You must’ve noticed the way the mood changed as you hold your arms out for him and he gladly takes the offer, standing between your legs as you wrap your arms around his shoulders, your loving warmth envelopes him and he swears that you have the ability to make everything in his life seem perfect.

He pulls back slightly looking down at your face, his thumb gently ghosting over your cheek, and you smile at the feeling, such a small loving gesture it makes your heart stammer in your chest at the sudden closeness.

Close enough to kiss, you think and the thought makes you feel giddy with excitement, and you start to think of how his lips might feel against yours, his taste and his warmth.

The thought crosses Leon’s mind too and there’s nothing he wants more than to kiss you, but he’s terrified of overstepping boundaries, he just wants to bring you the happiness you do for him.

So he simply asks, “Can I kiss you?” His tone is so quiet, gentle and caring that it leaves you breathless.

“Yes, you can,” you say, and he leans in closer, you can feel his breath fanning against your skin, and your eyes flutter close as his lips finally press against yours, he’s so careful almost as if he’s scared of hurting you.

Your heart feels like it’s running laps around your chest, and it’s so exciting it sends tingles through your skin and you can’t help but move closer to him, chasing after his warmth.

He brings a hand to gently cup your cheek, thumb grazing against the warm skin and another sits against your hip, his heart blooms with love at how you seem to fit against him so perfectly, just like puzzle pieces.

Leon loses himself completely, and he forgets everything outside this small moment as he tilts his head slightly to deepen the kiss, his tongue against yours, and the soft noises that escape you send his heart squeezing with devotion, because god, you just make the cutest noises.

It’s a hopeful feeling that grows within you both, a kiss so sweet and exciting just like turning the page of a really good book, and you know that from this kiss will come many more just like beginning a new chapter, and you can’t wait.

He pulls back, forehead pressed against yours as both of you catch your breath, “I love you” The words flow so easily from his mouth as if they came naturally and they linger just like the kiss.

“I love you too” you smile, noticing the way he looks away from you with a bashful smirk, the type you have no control over.

He can’t bring himself to look at you, he feels like a schoolboy who’s head over heels and he doesn’t know why you leave him so dizzy, maybe it’s because he’s so enchanted by you, he could honestly name thousands of different things about you that he’s completely obsessed with.

“You can’t kiss me like that then go all shy on me Kennedy” You giggle as he hides his head in the crook of your neck, your fingers threading through his hair.

He groans against your skin, “You can’t kiss me like that and expect me to be fine” he mumbles and you can’t stop the giggles that bubble out of you.

You give him a moment before he finally looks at you again and you notice the way his cheeks are tinted with the slightest hint of red and you take pride in the sight.

“Kiss me again?” You smile, and he swears his heart stops for a moment.

“Alright” and before he can even make a move you’re already pulling him in, and you both giggle into the soft kiss, and it’s better than you could ever imagine.

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hey hey hey sweetieee!! may i please request a fluff leon×reader shopping day where they spend hours sniffing scented candles? i bought some vanilla cream scented candles and i thought that it could be a cute idea for you!! it's totally okay if you chose not to write it hun, don't worry🥹🤍🤍

Wild Orchid

{You and Leon shop for candles}

Please I love this so much, thank you my lovely!! 💕

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“Ugh, what is that?” Leon’s face scrunches at the strong smell that practically stings his nose, cringing as the harsh scent invades his senses and you can’t help but giggle at the way his eyes crinkle in disgust.

You take the candle from his hands putting it back in its place, “It’s pinewood, do you not like it, baby?” You ask watching as he shakes his head, resting his chin against your shoulder as he looks over at the various different candles.

“That’s the worst one so far” he whispers, hands against your hips, as you pick up the purple-looking one bringing it to your nose.

It was a sweet smell, almost like a dessert with a refreshing hint it reminded you of spring in a way and you hum with delight, “Hmm wild orchid” You bring the candle to Leon’s nose.

“It smells like you,” he says with a smile, the scent pleasantly lingers in his nose reminding him of that specific perfume you have, the one you were wearing when he asked you to officially be his, the one you had on when he first kissed you, and the memory makes him feel all fuzzy.

You glance over at him, his chin still resting on your shoulder, “Is that a good thing?” You giggle, putting the candle back on the self.

“Yeah of course, it’s sweet just like you” He presses a kiss to your cheek, chuckling as you start booing at his cheesy comment.

“That was awful Leon” You giggle as he peppers kisses to your jaw.

“What you don’t like it? My sweet girl” he smirks, lips grazing against your skin, and you roll your eyes pushing at his shoulder, you’re thankful that the aisle is empty.

You watch as he reaches up to the top shelf and you notice the way the muscles on his arms tense with the action, he picks up one of the few orange candles bringing it to your nose.

“Mm it’s too, festive-ey,” you say, rubbing at your nose as the smell of sweet cinnamon pricks at your senses, leaving an odd itch at the back of your throat, you watch as he takes a whiff, his eyebrows knitting together.

“Yeah definitely” He nods putting it back, and Leon notices the way you hold your head with discomfort, seething slightly in pain, “You alright? Is it your head sweetheart?” He asks thumb brushing against your cheek.

“Mhm, it’s all these candles, too much” You smile, trying to ignore the pain in your head caused by too many conflicting scents, and he nods at you with an understanding expression, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Come on let’s get you, home angel,” he says, picking up the 'Wild orchid' candle you said you liked, the one that smells like you, putting it in the shopping cart and he guides you through the rest of the store with a gentle hand on the small of your back.

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Idk why this concept makes my heart so warm but I’d love to see something where the reader asks Leon to do her makeup for fun and he’s clueless! Like a lil date night activity!

Makeover!

{Leon tries to do your makeup}

Aww this is too cute!! Thank you sm for the request my lovely!! Hope you enjoy!! 💕

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“What’s this one again?” Leon asks, fiddling with the eyeshadow palette, shutting it and closing it over and over again as the magnetic seal clicks with the action.

You’re shocked at how willing he was to say yes to the idea of him giving you a makeover.

“That’s eye shadow,” you tell him, before going over the products one by one as he nods with an enthusiastic smile, and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t excited even if he was utterly clueless about what to do.

You take a seat on your desk chair watching as he takes the foundation, “This one first?” He asks a little unsure of what he’s actually doing, and you giggle as his brows knit together with confusion.

“It’s all you baby, whatever you think goes first” You look up at him with a smile.

“Alright” he smiles, and you watch, feeling a little nervous, as he holds the bottle to your face, the nuzzle pressed against your cheek as he squirts the product on your face, and you gasp at the sudden coldness, giggling as he mumbles a small ‘fuck’

He takes one of the many brushes dabbing it across your face to smooth out the foundation that sits against your skin, he stands back admiring your face with a proud smirk before turning back to the dresser and picking up the eyeshadow pallet he was playing with earlier, and you cringe at the bright neon colours, out of all the pallets he just had to pick that one.

“Don’t be so nervous you’re gonna look so sexy” he chuckles, as he takes one of the smaller brushes dusting it with the bright pink, and your eyes flutter close as he applies the eyeshadow so gently to your eyelids, you barely even feel it, his hand occasionally brushes against your cheek as he continues to use the bright colour.

“I’m not hurting you right?” He asks so softly, and you can feel his breath fanning against your skin.

“No baby you’re alright” you whisper back, eyes still closed as he makes a joke about switching job professions, ‘government agent turned beautician’ and you can’t help the giggle that bubbles out of you.

There’s a comfortable silence that settles between you both, and the only thing you can hear is the soft music that plays from your speaker.

Your eyes open as Leon cups your jaw, “I’m not doing a very good job” he chuckles, admiring your face and he can’t believe you’re still so beautiful even if he's doing a terrible job, he presses a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth before going back to dresser picking up eyeliner with a confusing look.

He removes the cap, his eyebrows rising with shock, “What is this?” He asks, looking back over at you.

“Eyeliner” you smile, and it only confuses him more.

He study’s the product trying to make a guess on how you use it, “It goes on your eyes?- How do I?” he trails off manoeuvring his hand to try and figure out how to apply it, he stares at the brush tip with a very baffled expression.

You explain it to him, giggling at his horrified look he leans into you with hesitation and it makes you a little nervous, “Just be careful, don’t take my eye out” you tell him and he nods with a nervous chuckle and it definitely doesn’t make you confident.

His hand leans against your cheek, as he ever so gently drags the brush tip along your eyelid and he winces at how messy the line is, “Don’t open your eyes” he whispers as he does the same to your other eye, and it’s considerably worse than the other.

He pulls back laughing at how wobbly the line is, and it definitely doesn’t look the same when you do it, “Am I still pretty?” You smile looking up at him.

“You’re always pretty, the prettiest girl in the world,” he tells with a loving tone, handing you the mirror with a teasing ‘Ta-da’ and he chuckles at the boisterous laugh that erupts from you.

“Woah baby, it's a good attempt” you giggle, studying the awful job he’s done.

Leon looks down at you, how your eyes crinkle with joy and a loving feeling blooms in between his rib cage and it makes his heart flutter with adoration, the sweet sound of your laughter could brighten his day without fail always.

He picks up the makeup wipes taking one out, “Come here pretty angel” he says, wiping away the makeup gently, he knows how to do this part as he thinks back to the times when you were too drunk to do it yourself, and the cool sensation washes you with relief.

He wipes the makeup until your face is completely clean, and his big hands cup either side of your face making you look up at him, “My beautiful girl” he smiles leaning down the press a kiss to your lips.

You smile against him suddenly feeling awfully bashful, “Are you, hungry baby?” he asks, and you watch as he cleans up the space.

“Mhm, you wanna make pizza?” You ask, and he nods putting away the makeup products back to their rightful place before you both make your way to the kitchen.

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My drafts are just full of Leon, like it’s crazy.

I kinda need to clean it up, so should I post two Leon fics today?? 🤭

Also working on requests right now, so I am getting around to them, sorry it’s taking so long lovelies! 💕💕

Hiya, I love your writing so much! Could I possibly request a leon x reader fic, where the reader has social anxiety. ❤️❤️

-Leon Kennedy x reader

Hiya lovely!! Thank you so much I hope this alright, sorry it took so long 💕💕

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You’ve been quiet all week, quieter than usual ever since Leon had told you about Claire’s get-together, a tiny little catch-up with everyone, it would be nice, you keep telling yourself as your mind does everything in its power to disagree.

You want to go of course you do, they’re your friends and it makes you feel so silly for being this worked up about it, how there’s a blocky feeling that wedges itself in the back of your throat with stubbornness, and your breathing gets heavier, you hate how this has so much control over you.

The sun was out, casting its warm light over you as you look around at the garden full of people, all chatting amongst themselves and you try to gather yourself, deep breaths, you keep reminding yourself.

You didn’t want to ruin Claire’s little get-together by leaving early, but your mind was racing with horrible thoughts.

Leon notices, of course, he does, he is so attentive when it comes to you that it makes it hard to hide anything from him, and he’s quick to finish his conversation with Chris and Jill, walking over to where you’re sitting.

his hands gently clasp over your shoulder as he sits beside you, “Hey angel, you doing alright?” He says looking at you with tender eyes.

You nod your head, fingers picking at the skin of your thumb it’s a bad habit you do when you’re nervous, he notices, taking your hands in his and his thumb smooths over the curves of your knuckles.

“Yeah I’m alright, just needed a breather” You smile, looking down at your entwined hands that rest on Leon’s lap, he notices the uneasiness in your eyes, how they flicker around the small garden as if you’re waiting for something terrible to happen.

“You know, Claire banned Chris from using the grill, she says he’s a fire hazard,” he tells you, smiling at the giggle that leaves your lips, he’s good at distracting you, “Do you remember when he burned those burgers?” He asks, hands still holding yours, and a laugh bubbles out from your lips at the memory.

“Yeah, it was awful, they were so charred” You giggle, and he nods saying something about how they were inedible, and the voice in the back of your head seems to be a lot quieter.

He stays by you, hand still entwined with yours as you both sit and talk about whatever comes to mind and Leon can still feel the anxiety that lingers in your eyes, he notices the shaky sigh you let out “You ready to leave yet angel?” He asks, and his heart hurts at the sight of the sadness in your eyes.

There’s a build of anxiety that settles uncomfortably in your chest and it hurts to breathe, Leon notices the way you squeeze his hand as a group of people erupt into loud laughter, and there are so many conflicting noises it becomes so overwhelming, and you hate yourself for it.

“Come on sweetheart,” he says, noticing the way the panic builds up, he helps you up from your seat as he guides you to Claire’s empty kitchen, his chest tightening at the tears that fill your eyes.

He wipes away the stray tears that fall down your warm cheek, “I’m so sorry, I— don’t know why it’s just too much” you ramble through ragged breaths.

He shakes his head softly and his hand soothes your back, “You’ve got nothing to apologise for sweet girl, hey— you did good” he whispers, the back of his fingers grazing against your cheek.

Leon grabs you some water urging you to drink it and you do, calming yourself down, “I just- I don’t want to be a bad friend, Claire was so excited about this I don’t want to ruin it” you sigh, tears still rolling down your cheeks as you wipe them away.

“She’ll understand sweetheart, I promise you’re not a bad friend, Claire would never think that,” he tells you, pressing a kiss to your forehead, and you mumble a quiet ‘okay’

“Let’s go home, get you some dinner yeah?” He says taking note of the setting sun, and you nod in agreement as you both walk back out to the garden exchanging goodbyes, and he doesn't let go of your hand.

Claire gives you an understanding hug and it makes you want to cry all over again because she’s always been so sweet to you, and Leon takes you back to the car his hand holding yours.

“I love you, Leon,” you say, watching his concentrated look as he continues to drive.

“I love you too, so much sweetheart” His hand squeezes yours, and you eventually fall asleep whilst he drives home, exhausted from the stressful day you just had and Leon makes a mental note to let you sleep in tomorrow.

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