Leon Kennedy Fic - Tumblr Posts

This is so hot...🍟🍤🍚🍱🍢

ɴᴇᴡ ᴍɪꜱꜱɪᴏɴ.

❝ 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 ❞ 𝘩𝘶𝘴𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘪 𝘭𝘦𝘰𝘯 𝘬𝘦𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘥𝘺 𝘹 𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘮 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳.

❝ 𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 ❞ 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘢 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘓𝘦𝘰𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘶𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘦.

❝ 𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘴 ❞ 𝘕𝘚𝘍𝘞, 𝘚𝘔𝘜𝘛, 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺 𝘧𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳, 𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘹 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘰 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵, 𝘶𝘯𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘱 𝘪𝘯 𝘷, 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘱𝘪𝘦, 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘮𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘹, 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘶𝘭𝘨𝘦, 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘱𝘭𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘯, 𝘱𝘦𝘵 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘴, 𝘥𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘭𝘦𝘰𝘯, 𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱𝘴.

❝𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘳'𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘦❞ 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭, 𝘨𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘪 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺 𝘧𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵, 𝘴𝘰𝘰.. 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘭𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘵)

 ✎ 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵. 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘴. 𝘢𝘰3. ˑ༄

The moon hung low in the night sky, casting a soft, silvery light through the windows of the cozy bedroom you shared with Leon.

Years had passed since the day you first met him and your love had only grown stronger over time, but despite getting engaged, life always stopped the two of you from taking the next step.

Leon's life as a government agent was full of danger and chaos — his missions took him to the darkest corners of the world, and it often seemed as if he was married not to you, but to his job.

You understood his desire to help humanity, but there were times when you wanted something more, something that would strengthen your bond beyond mere words and promises.

That night, Leon returned home from another mission, tattered and tired, he slid into bed next to you, his warmth enveloping you as he pulled you closer.

His hand, heavy and soothing, slid under the fabric of your nightgown, caressing your skin and stomach with a tenderness that sent shivers down your spine as his slightly calloused fingers traced patterns across your flesh.

You turned to him, your lips finding his chin to kiss him tenderly — «Hey» you whispered, and your voice was filled with anxiety — «Are you alright?»

Leon's lips touched your neck, kissing and biting your skin, his stubble tickling you deliciously — «I'm more than okay» he muttered into your skin — «I missed you, baby»

His words made you tremble, but before you could respond, he continued in a hoarse, laced with desire voice — «You know, i was thinking about something while i was on this mission»

Your heart quickened, curiosity took over — «What were you thinking?»

Leon raised his head and looked at you intently, his blue eyes shining with something dark, primal, even — «I was thinking about how good you'd look with our baby»

The words hung in the air and you felt your heart skip a beat.

Was he serious? Did he mean what he said?

It was always a distant dream that you both talked about in quiet moments, but reality never seemed closer.

Your surprise must have shown on your face and Leon remained silent in response, instead he silenced your questions with a hungry, possessive kiss.

His lips captured yours and you responded eagerly, wrapping your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss, while he was running his tongue over your lip as he shifted his body, encouraging you to roll onto your back.

There was tension in the air, Leon's hands roamed over your body, awakening your senses, tracing every curve and contour, and his fingers left a trail of fire, so you couldn't help but arch under his touch.

He broke the kiss, his breathing ragged as he looked down at you — «I'm serious, i want to start a family with you, i want to wake up every day and see you and our baby»

Clear tears welled up in your eyes and you reached out your hand to touch his cheek — «Leon, i've always wanted this too» you whispered — «But i didn't want to push you to do something you weren't ready for»

He kissed your forehead tenderly — «I've been ready for a long time, i just had to come to terms with it, realize that there's more to life than just missions and dangers, i want a future with you, a future with our family»

You nodded, and this time your words slipped from your lips in a hoarse whine — «Yes, Leon, please»

Leon looked down at you, his expression unreadable for a moment before a small smile touched the corner of his lips and he leaned down again, gently kissing your forehead.

A wave of warmth spread through your body, relief and happiness mixed in your chest, you couldn’t help but smile widely and reach out to capture his lips with yours in a passionate kiss.

The desire and love between you intensified, your bodies pressed against each other, the kiss became deeper, and Leon’s lips continued their burning trail, moving from your mouth to your collarbone, leaving a trail wet, needy kisses.

His breath danced across your skin, making your body shiver in anticipation and you moaned softly, running your fingers through his hair, urging him on.

Leon's hands roamed over your body, strong and possessive, leaving a trail of warm tingling in their wake, and you felt the heat building between your legs, craving his touch.

With a low growl, he pulled back slightly, his voice hoarse with desire — «I want you, right here, right now»

His words took your breath away, the intensity of his gaze sending a shiver down your spine, and you nodded, unable to formulate coherent words as you were overcome with excitement.

Leons's hands skillfully removed your clothes, the thin fabric of the nightie was thrown to the side, exposing your aroused body to his hungry gaze.

His lips moved down to your neck, leaving a trail of hot kisses and possessive marks, marking you as his, nipping and licking each new mark on your flesh.

As he moved down, his tongue trailed across your collarbone, his hands gripping your hips possessively, his touch, firm but gentle, sending waves of pleasure through your body and arching your back, you silently begged for more, yearning to feel him inside you.

His lips touch yours again, but this time in a more fierce, hungry kiss, his tongue plunging into your mouth with insatiable need, intertwining with yours with wet vulgarity.

The kiss deepens, his hand sliding down to the top of your thighs, his fingers finding your wet cunt and he moans into your lips, the feeling of your wetness driving him even further into the rut.

Without hesitation, he thrusts two fingers into your sopping cunt, curling them to touch the sensitive spot deep inside, stroking your walls and making you arch into a silent moan.

— «Mhhmgh, pleaseplease, Leon»

The room fills with the sounds of your moans and wet, lewd slurps as he thrusts his fingers in and out of you, and Leon's own cock strains in his sweatpants, aching to be released, to release the full weight of his arousal deep into your hole, painting your walls pearly white.

With a sudden, excited moan from his lips, Leon removes his fingers from your throbbing cunt and lifts you up, helping you position your legs on either side of his hips.

The fabric of his sweatpants rubs teasingly against your wet, puffy cunt, teasing and tormenting you as his hands grip your hips tightly, his gaze locked on yours as he releases his leaky cock, positioning his throbbing shaft at your entrance.

His shaft pressed against your smooth, wet folds, running his tip up and down along them, noticing how your little bud was throbbing, and whimpering mewls escaped your lips.

— «Pleasepleaseplease, need you inside s'much»

Your whimpers are interrupted when he enters you in one smooth motion, filling you completely, his throbbing cock bumping with it's tip against your cervix, withdrawing delicious moans from your lips.

The sensation was overwhelming, a mixture of pleasure and painful need, his thrusts were strong and deep, set to slam against your cervix to fill you, each thrust bringing you inexorably closer to the edge.

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mixing with your moans and his grunts of pleasure, Leon's hands found their way to your wrists, pinning them above your head as he continued to mercilessly thrust into your wet warmth, his voice hoarse with possesive need.

— «Gonna fill you up nice and full sweetheart, make you carry our sweet child»

The unusually rough intensity of his actions and words only fueled the fire inside you, bringing you closer to the edge with each thrust, causing your walls to clamp around him like a vice, sucking him deeper, like your womb itself begged for his cum.

The room was filled with the smells of sweat and sex, the sounds of your bodies merged into a symphony of desire, you felt a cnot of intense pleasure contracting inside you, ready to unravel at any moment, every time his tip bumped deliciously against your cervix.

With a quiet groan, Leon picked up the pace, his thrusts becoming more insistent and faster, slamming his balls into the already reddened flesh of your ass as his cock throbbed, hinting to the two of you of his approaching orgasm, while your stuffed cunt squeezed around his shaft.

He plunged deep inside you, burying himself in exactly that delicious spot when his body trembled with relief when he spilled his seed, stuffing your pussy deep inside with ropes after rope of his hot cum, marking you as his, making sure that you'll definitely take it all, lazily thrusting with rolling hips the last few times.

The feeling of his climax sent you over the edge, and your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, consuming your senses, making you mewl desperately and arch your back with shooking legs.

As the waves of pleasure subsided, Leon collapsed next to you, both of you panting, bodies still intertwined as the remnants of his cum dripped down your thighs.

He pulled you close, his arms wrapped protectively around you as one of them found its way to your stomach, stroking it and the slight bulge, his voice full of love and satisfaction — «I love you and can't wait to start a family with you»

You smiled, nuzzling your nose into his chest, feeling the warmth of his embrace, giggling quietly from the unexpected feeling of satisfaction — «I love you too, Leon, our future is going to be amazing»

And with that, you both fell asleep, curled up in each other's arms, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead, no matter how difficult.

taglist: @roseglazedlens, @scar-crossedlvrs, @daydreamrot, @valsthea, @kennedyswhore, @ovaryacted if you want to be tagged in my works or open my taglist.

fic where knight leon’s armour falls of please 🤣

wowowow first fic request i will never forget you anon 🙏🏽

ANYWAYS HERE YOU GO POOKIE I HOPE YOU LIKE IT SORRY FOR THE LATE REPLY IF YOU WANT ANYTHING ELSE IM FREE!!

<><><><>

(really short fic under the cut --- wc: 0.8k)

Eyeing the man in front of you warily, you fight the urge to scrunch up your nose. There's something about him that speaks miles of nonsense, especially when he mentions his talent with the lute. The last thing you hope for is a private performance; you've already suffered through so many of them that you feel you may as well play based on what you've seen.

You shake your head. As Rebecca inhales sharply, she nods, waving the man away, ignoring his protests and claims. Her eyes are framed in disappointment as she turns to face you when the doors slam shut and she twirls to address you.

“That was the last one,” she complains. “I sent out a request to the entire kingdom, and this is how you act? I’m ashamed to call you my sister.”

“I didn’t ask for a bodyguard,” you retort. “And nevertheless, if I am to have someone trailing my every step, I would rather have a sweet, charming man rather than an intimidating beast.”

You shudder. Rebecca is not moved.

“We cannot afford to risk your safety, sister,” she says, her voice softer. “You must understand this. And if another man comes in, promise me you will accept, no matter who he is.”

You consider her for a moment. You suppose extra company, however threatening, couldn’t hurt anyone. You give a tentative nod and feel slightly better as she beams. After her convincing words, you don’t know how long you both stand. Just as your legs are beginning to tire, and you’re just about to ask to leave when the doors swing open.

The man standing in the doorway is… disheveled, is one way to put it. His sunlit hair lies in a messy pile atop his head, forming a sort of halo around his pink ears, the only thing you can see as he keens over his knees, panting heavily.

He holds up a finger, and for a bewildering moment, all that is audible in the room is the sound of his steady, quiet pants. Then the door closes behind him and he straightens immediately at the sound, as if standing to attention.

You examine his face. His jaw is sharp, his eyes round and wide, drinking in the vibrant decorations your sister ordered to be put up. His hands tremble slightly at his side, the only part of him visible through his armor aside from his face.

Unlike other knights that stepped up earlier, his suit is tight-fitting, showcasing his lean body. It twists fluidly with every awkward moment he makes, almost looking as if it’s about to slip off.

You’re wondering exactly how one comes up with such an idea when your sister nudges your side, hard, and clears her throat with a sweet smile.

“Right,” you say, louder than you mean to. “And what is your name, good sir?”

“I am Leon of Kensington House,” he replies in a smooth yet wavering voice. “I’m very honored to be in your presence, Duchess.”

You raise an eyebrow, slightly amused. “Is that so? You have indeed heard of me?”

“The townsfolk of Arklay sing your praises,” he says steadily. “It would be hard not to hear of your work.”

Rebecca smiles. “That is lovely indeed. Tell me, have you ever worked as a guard before?”

“N-No, ma’am. This is my first job.” His voice sounds bashful, yet proud at the same time, as if this is already his first achievement.

You, on the other hand, are still not sure. He seems like quite a charming young man, just what you were looking for, but you couldn’t see a personality yet. To you, he was no better than a man, however gorgeous, with a hidden motive. For all you knew, he could be-

The extremely loud clunk brings you out of your thoughts, peering up at the ceiling. Slowly, as if building your anticipation, you drag your eyes back down to Leon, where he stands frozen, tense, chest exposed.

The breastplate of his armor lies in front of him, shaking a bit due to the impact. Leon flushes, red creeping up his neck and blooming across his cheeks. He frantically apologizes and crouches to pick it up, only to have the greaves pop off, rattling as they hit the ground.

Now you can’t contain your laughter, coming in peals as Rebecca lifts a hand to her face, smothering a grin as Leon rushes to pick those up too, crowding them to his chest. He’s gone fully red now, redder than the freshest strawberries in the garden, eyes big and apologetic.

You feel bad about his slightly humiliated look, but you also revel in it.

Because you know that he’s the one you’re looking for.

You turn to Rebecca, and you see it in her anticipating expression too. “He’s perfect.”

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.”

dearest devotion - leon kennedy x deity!reader (nsfw warning) (cont. from this)

Leon finds that you're not much different from the humans, skin soft under his hand, eyes half-lidded as you gasp, head thrown back as he relishes in the opportunity to touch you. He does not know how to touch you, but he goes based on instinct, based on faith. 

"I'll give you a holy body." He rasps.

"Give me that holy body." You gasp.

His fingers tangle with yours in the sheets, devotion bleeding from his skin onto yours, heart melted out of his chest so that it could reach yours. His skin burns from touching yours, lungs burning in his chest unforgiving as his skin is pressed to yours, lashes gentle against your collar as he worships you as he should.

This is better.

His lips pressed to the back of your ear, chest pressed to yours, body one with yours— this is better.

The feeling of you around him until you're chanting his name as though he were the god, the sound of his desperation fills like a hymn at service in the air, prayers of his devotion filling your head under him.

All he knows is to devote himself.

All he knows is to serve you.

OK THAT ONE LINE "being a kennedy puts you on a hitlist and your blood runs blue" ANGELIC MAJESTIC NO WORDS.

ANDNDNDNND WHEN HE TELLS YOU WHO TRIED TO KILL YOU WHILE HES LITERALLY LIKE INSIDE YOU?? WHAT??? HELLO?? BEST IDEA EVER LIKE THAT WAS SO HOT 😍😍

anyways vivi you should be very proud of yourself because GODDAMN can never go wrong with a vivi fic!

When you run out of his work summit on the brink of tears, you can't believe that Leon hasn't picked up on how he hurt you. His only option is to apologize, but you're not listening to a word he says. So he'll just have to make you watch.

mdni i'm so serious. married f / m smut where porn is the plot THERE'S LORE I SWEAR, sour then sweet dom leon, mirror sex, EMOTIONS, aftercare :3 + 1 bad pun

a/n: anon req'd reader w/ praise kink. i really thought i did something and then i read it and i wanted to die. it isn't my writing if i don't try turning smut into shitty poetry.

word count: 2.9k // read on ao3

“I’m apologizing now, aren’t I?”

“A little late for that, Agent Kennedy,” you seethe. 

Your metronome heels keep time with the irate pounding of your heartbeat. This California Ritz-Carlton hallway stretches like the goddamn Shining and you can’t seem to get away fast enough from your husband. He’s too damn good at his job, and you’re too smart to pretend that this dance the two of you are playing at is anything but a distraction, an impediment.

You are a distraction. You’ve been an unwelcome one all night.

So you’d cut it short yourself.

One keycard slice through the sensor and the sanctuary of your hotel room opens up to you, messy with the aftermath of black-tie preparation. You step up to the vanity; plant your palms on its wooden surface and stare straight ahead as if to admire your ruined mascara. It’s a formality, really. It’s not as if you need the mirror to remind you what happened in this room. Tonight began with indulgent kisses afraid to smudge dress shirt collars, hands squeezed for courage, Leon in perpetual pursuit of the train of your gown. Big dreams.

“You wanna talk? We can talk.” Leon shuts the door with an exasperated sigh. “Don’t make this difficult, sweetheart.”

“I didn’t do a damn thing,” you hiss. You stare daggers at his reflection.

“Really?” His shoulders drop. “Then what was all that with the storming off, the- oh baby, don’t look at me like that.” 

Leon’s arms wrap around your middle while his nose buries itself in your diamond-laced neck. He’s good at that, that sneaking thing without leaving so much as a whisper to signal where he’s going. The higher-ups at the DSO call it stealth. You just want the man you married to tell you what the hell he’s doing before he makes a fool out of you. 

“I didn’t mean to upset you. I swear,” he whispers, kissing softly down your neck. “Didn’t mean it at all, I’m sorry. What’d I do?”

You scoff. 

He’s testing the waters. A rough thumb finds and starts running down the divot of your spine, thank you backless Mirror Palais ballgown. Pass the smoking gun back and forth, pretend not to see the shrapnel from the bullet holes. You don’t pay Leon any heed as you stoically unhook diamond pendants from your ears, and he frowns.

“I said I was sorry.” 

“I shouldn’t need to tell you what you did, Leon.” 

Shame simmers sickly and strong in the pit of your stomach. You teeter on the edge of snapping altogether and consider throwing his blankets on the floor for the night – you will, actually, as soon you take off all your evening regalia. In your haste, your nails end up nicking Leon’s nose when he tries to murmur another weightless apology.

The kisses stop leaching onto your collarbone. “Don’t play this game with me, sweetheart.” 

“So now you’re calling me immature?”   

“Isn’t that what you call running out of my work summit? Making me chase you down?” Leon counters, running his hands down your sides in a last-ditch effort to diffuse the situation. Thinly-veiled irritation finally seeps into his tone. “What exactly did I do?”

And gosh, does that get the tears going. He’s so blind it hurts.

You tug pins furiously out of your hair in an effort to keep an impending outburst at bay. “You practically had me on a leash!”

Not once had he let you out of his sight in that dreadful ballroom. In front of all those international representatives and agents, people whose reputations preceded them, Leon had kept you attached to him with a heavy hand on your waist, glued to his hip like an untrustworthy child he’d lose track of at a supermarket. Coughs had quickly turned to snickers behind your back. You’re no agent, sure, but you could expect to have some kind of autonomy, right? 

The guest badge you’d flung over the hotel room bed glints tauntingly now, respected by every security detail except the one whose chest your back is currently pressed against. It’s humiliating how untrustworthy, how incapable he made you look tonight.

Leon blinks. “You’re saying I think you can’t handle yourself?”

“You don’t have to. You showed me all night.” 

Tears drip down your cheeks when he relents, his arms lifting like fog over the Golden Gate, and if you’re finally free from his clutches, you might as well take off this suffocating dress. It’s gauzy and gorgeous and completely worthless despite the stack of bills Leon paid for it, however giddy you’d been when he’d brought it home. 

If only you could reach the tiny zipper perched on your tailbone. 

Leon, ever the perceptive one, however, never passes up an opening whether it be zipped or not. He’s got a handy index and thumb; he puts them to use. He’s your husband after all. 

“Right, okay,” he exhales sharply, tugging the chain as your back bows forward, “I did this all wrong. I thought you’d catch on when I should’ve just shown you instead.”

“Show me what?”

A hand inside your newly agape gown. A palm pivoting south to the curve of your hip, pressing, searching. Leon presses his lips to your neck in answer, but this time, it’s urgent in a way that doesn’t quite feel like remorse. He hisses.

“Tell me to stop and I fucking will, but this is my last resort considering how bad I seem to be with my words, sweetheart. How many times have I told you I’m sorry?”

“You-”

A squeeze on your hip. A direction. 

“I need a number.”

The door, your neck, seconds ago.

“...three.”

“And not one of them made it inside that pretty head of yours,” Leon scowls. “Doesn’t look like words are either of our strong suits. Chin up for me, doll, and pay attention ‘cause I’m only asking this once.”

So you do, you lift your face to meet mascara-rimmed eyes in the mirror along with Leon’s sapphire-blue ones that glint right behind, and his palm drifts up to cup your jaw from underneath. He tilts it back and forth. Kisses his teeth. 

“Tell me. How am I supposed to let my wife loose in a room full of criminals just like that?”

What?

Leon circles your cheekbone with the pad of his thumb, pulling away quickly. Too early to indulge in this kind of affection. “Thought I asked you something, doll.”

But you hesitate, and so Leon must disappear. His final instructions are to face forward.

He dives to the floor, locking rough fingers around your ankles only to slide them up to the backs of your shins. He goes under so quick that there’s a breeze; you’re granted mere seconds to watch Leon’s blond head duck underneath the floor-length train of your dress and by then, it’s far too late to notice the fire. 

Leon loves starting those.

He also doesn’t wait. Invisible flames lick up your bare legs from Leon’s dragon mouth. Red hot kisses trail up your thighs – he drops a sweet one on the inside of your right knee, makes you buckle momentarily – and these stubbled kisses of his have a tendency to sear any skin on their skyward path. You can’t remember when your elbows propped themselves on the vanity, out of instinct, maybe, to keep the floor of your stomach from falling out at the very first sneak of Leon’s tongue inside the drenched lace gusset of your panties. 

But you can’t afford to be surprised, can you? Not with the line of destruction he’s left behind on his way to his destination. They say it takes one to know one. 

You clutch the edge of the vanity’s shelf. Suck down sobs in your throat fluttering into something indecent.

“I need you to talk to me,” he whispers with his lips pressed to your pussy. The vibration echoes up your spine, jerks your head back. “You’re all clammed up. Keeping secrets.”

Air gushes down your throat. “And you’re not?” 

“Of course I am, baby, but I’m explaining, aren’t I?” 

Kiss. Kiss. Suck. 

You keen with your mouth shut.

He noses at your clit, prompting you. “So, where’s your explanation?”

Another quality the DSO prides itself on is your husband’s ability to sweet-talk himself out of a tight spot. That seems to includes in between your legs. Your thighs clench together in a final attempt of defiance when his mouth makes contact with your cunt. Your reflection in the mirror starts to swim at the first swirl of Leon’s tongue, and he makes quick work of you with his goal being none other than to dangle the promise of more to come, literally. 

Thumbs tuck into sensitive folds, and you’re gone. Shaking at the first breach of Leon’s fingers inside you. You spread apart at his will. He dips into arousal now impossible to ignore, and when sparks finally light at the hot air Leon blows over your spasming pussy, he commits his second unforgivable sin of the night: ducking right back out at the crest of your orgasm.

You have principles. The mirror reflects Leon’s swollen lips, tousled hair damp with you when he rises from his knees, and above all this, you clench your teeth. Face forward. 

He wipes his mouth.

“That’s one.” 

The other two remain rhetorical.

You’re being lifted bridal-style when the seal on your mouth finally breaks. “Leon,” you tremble in his arms, “where are we?” The summit, the people; you chase his mouth for any explanation. “You’re working with criminals now?” 

“Yes and no. Arms up,” Leon rasps, and tugs down what remains of your gown, crashes his mouth onto yours. 

You taste yourself in his kiss. Surely that’s not an answer, is it?

“Tonight was a mission,” he continues in his feverish haste, quickly laying your naked body onto the bed before kissing down your breasts.

 Pride gets tossed on the floor next to your undergarments, his crumpled dress shirt. 

“The DSO couldn’t guarantee you wouldn’t become collateral for this mission if things went south and I didn’t want to risk it. So I took you with me.” 

“You brought me to a- oh! ” 

Two thick fingers push into your sopping cunt. You squeal, clutch the sheets. Leon presses the ribbed flesh nestled deep inside you, carving out room for himself from his kneel at the foot of the bed. He gouges deep and you writhe. Your arousal shimmers on his fingers when he finally pulls them out and you find that have nothing to say about that.

“Go on,” he coos lowly. “Don’t get quiet now.” 

Your head whirls. “You sh-should’ve told me they were dangerous.”  

“And where do you think that would’ve gotten us, sweetheart? I didn’t want you panicking. Blowing cover. I had you to take care of and intel to gather, I couldn’t think straight myself. Letting you out of my sight could’ve meant losing you.”

Fuck. You don’t need a mirror to remember how antsy Leon had been before going down to the ballroom. 

Hands squeezed for courage. Hand on your waist. 

The vanilla and leather on his skin had reeked of nerves, and you? You’d written it off.

“I wanted to keep you safe.” Leon looks up at you now, eyes glinting in the dim light. There’s a new softness in their blue depths, a sincere apology. “I just wish you'd believe me.” 

By all intents and purposes, Leon Scott Kennedy is sorry.

There’s been a lapse in judgment. Your elbows sit you up from the bed to fix it. Cupping his cheek, you lean forward to meet Leon’s waiting mouth in a long overdue embrace, one he can melt into with relief. There’s no bitterness on your tongue now. Just sweetness in the seconds you take to breathe your forgiveness into him. The clink of his falling belt promises no punishment.

“But you can’t let me off the hook just yet,” Leon murmurs when he tugs free from your latch on his bottom lip, “I hurt you, angel, and I never wanted to. Tell me I can fix it.”

He can. Your husband can fix everything, the world included. You sigh your approval, yes, yes, more, because forgiveness feels incredible as he lays your shoulders down, sets your hips straight when you twist them the first time he teases his cock’s weeping head over the soaked seam of your pussy. 

“Don’t take your eyes off the mirror for a second,” Leon instructs.

He plants his palms on the sides of your head. You whimper; swear you won’t.

“I mean it. Watch yourself, and maybe then you’ll understand how crazy you drive me.”

So begins your descent. 

You’re drowning, crying for air when Leon sinks into the liquid warmth you’ve saved for him. There’s so much of him to take, tight, tight, tight – your mind is a melting record. You’re breaking. Can’t disappoint him again. When your overwhelmed cunt nearly pushes him out, Leon just chuckles. He cants his hips to compensate, goes at it again. That should be enough to tell you how the DSO’s finest agent never lets a detail go amiss. 

“The Belgium ambassador started tailing you by the fountain." 

And to your astonishment, he starts rattling off half the world map. 

“Got rid of him quick. Then there was a – oh, sweetheart, you’re gonna kill me – Swedish agent, don’t remember what I did to him.” 

A roll of his hips. Your nails down his back. 

“Someone from Germany tried to dose your champagne. Another from Argentina, shit, ” his thrusts grow erratic the longer the list grows, “two from Russia, a Japanese spy – perfect fucking pussy, oh my God…”

Your husband takes you on a trip around the globe. He’d traveled to the ends of the earth in that ballroom, kept your back bulletproof with just his hand, the one that was once a collar to you. Turns out being a Kennedy puts you on a hitlist; makes your blood run blue. 

“Too much!” you sob.

You can’t take the responsibility. 

But here in the dark, here with Leon, there’s just pleasure. Opulence. The back of his head is a blond crown in the vanity mirror, the diamonds on your breasts sparkle with each bounce from Leon’s cock slamming home. Even the gooey mess you’re leaving on the chiseled marble of his lower stomach shimmers. War paint from a battle won for you.

Your head falls away from the mirror and Leon guides it back without losing his rhythm. “Mm-mm. You need to see your face when you break.” 

Never has a threat sounded so loving on anyone’s lips, you imagine. 

Your hands tangle into his hair, you grow quiet, you clench. You’re close. This, he can feel.

His lips curve into a weary grin. “Wanted you to see why I had eyes on my baby all night. My pretty girl, all mine.”

Lucky you. 

That somehow does you in. Every word of praise Leon utters makes it clear that no, he did trust you, does trust you. He trusted you enough to know you could hold your own in that lion’s den downstairs, trusts now that you’ll forgive him for a misstep born of love. And with that realization, your pleasure rides helium high. 

“Shit, Leon!” you cry.

Electric pressure builds in your sensitive bud, the one Leon rubs frantically now. Gasps from your wide open mouth sweeten the air like perfume and Leon wishes he could breathe it all in, you’re beautiful when he turns you into a wailing mess. All for him.  

“This one’s two, angel,” he groans when you flutter around him. No way. 

His cock had put you in a trance, so warm and filling is it inside you. You’d forgotten about the deal entirely. 

Your cries increase precariously in pitch. “Oh, please, please, you can’t, Leon, I have to-” 

“Hold on!” 

Leon presses you into the sheets one last time to free the pretty songbird singing his name. You sprout wings in the looking glass.

The afterglow is golden. The sunset is long gone but it glows in your hotel room all the same, wrapped in silk sheets and Leon’s arms.

“You’re beautiful like this, you know?” he hums, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. 

“What, all sweaty and gross?” You wouldn’t expect him to know. He’s gorgeous. Leon is gorgeous when he makes love to you.

He nods, laughing when you roll your eyes. “Really, you do. Enough that I had to spend half my mission clawing bad guys off you. But I got it finished, and so did you in the process, huh?” 

Leon drops a kiss to your forehead, murmuring one last I’m sorry, his fourth one.

Shit. 

You scramble to hide under the sheets, leaving him cocking his head after you in utter confusion. “Wait, wait, what’s the matter?”

“I can’t do any more, Leon, I’m gonna pass out.” 

“Do any…?”

“You only left off on two!” 

Leon snorts. You soon feel a warm press on the top of your head: a sugary, schoolboy-sweet kiss.

“There you go, baby. That’s three. Apology accepted?”

And when you poke your head out to give Leon a kiss of your own, you make sure he knows it’s for apology number four.

He shouldn’t be so surprised you noticed. It’s not like you can take your eyes off him either.

psst, find more of my work here!

comments and reblogs are very much appreciated <3 take care and i love you!

hes so cunty like bro is so full of himself (real) anyways you wrote him SO RIGHT like when i tried playing re4 og it was like "this man would definitely smirk at you for no reaon" and rando shit like that so CHARACTERIZATION? ON TOP

THE BLOND KEN LINE?? >> chefs kiss

will shamelessly admit after reading this im going to stalk the rest of your account forever 🥰🥰

pretty fly for a white guy

✎ There has always been a thing between you and Leon. But you didn't give in, yet you screwed up, taking something treasured that belonged to him as a prank and ending up losing it. Oops. The years somehow got in the way till you saw him at a party. The same cynical man and all he wants is his sweet revenge.

cw: getting it in a bathroom, creampie, snitching panties (as a souvenir), unprotected sex, fem! reader, MDNI

bonus(ish): i just imagined the OG re4 Leon and thought yeah let's write something about his brat azz

find this work on ao3

The music is blaring. The blood is running red hot, and the alcohol is falling out of the air. It’s free for you, you’ve joined some kind of a charity and it’s the kind of boon you can enjoy for no charge, it’s that kind of a night. What else can you do when there are bone-crunching gusts of wind blowing through your bank account?

It’s another thing to swallow your pride and agree to be here. As an ex-agent. And why’d you leave? Well, depression. One word. It’s more or less enough. Of course, you were, and still are, a competent woman. But even the shitload of money you made wasn’t curing your post-mission blues.

Resign and use the money you have left to buy a jungle house and a country life away from the city, away from the racket. The kind of life that every agent aspires to, or people who have fucked up at some point in their lives wishing they could reset everything.

In the midst of all these faces, all the while, you feel so numbly alone. Everyone knows about everyone else, but not sober enough to give a shit. Just like Chris Redfield, who’s now in communion with the karaoke machine. He’s clearly stoned. Or Jill, who’s sitting next to him, and the only thing she’s doing is tipping her bottle of hooch over her head. Definitely worth a look. Worth going up to her and striking up a conversation with her. No matter how dumb drunk you are, old friendships are always of inestimable value.

“Aaaanddddddd I uuuuuuuhh—” Chris is humming a Celine Dion song in an earworm of a pitch, and you’re hunkered down next to Jill, sipping your Merlot. A huge bottle is already gone. You're definitely in deep doo-doo.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Will this guy ever shut up?”

“How exceptional is Chris’ tipsy ass.”

“Like his voice?”

Inebriated laughter tends to be more hysterical, which indeed it is, since you are getting quite enough judgmental looks from other tipsy and judgmental eyes. So what? Chris’ voice and singing is bearable, but your laughter is not.

Jill storms angrily to her feet and leaves you sitting where you are. As if she’s never been so methodical in putting the others in their place, she clenches her fist and knocks out the first person who happens to be in her way.

Then that blonde secretary woman from those movies hits her heels and shouts a long “FIIIIIIIGHT!” at the top of her lungs in her treble high-pitched voice. Is this what this is? A high school? Grown people, men and women with jobs and in charge of protecting the country are fighting like immature adolescents.

“Chris! Jill’s in a fucking fight. She just punched the shit out of a guy!” You frantically point to the crowd. But the guy is so banged up that the microphone falls out of his hand, and he collapses, ass out, like a Sim passing out on the spot from lack of sleep.

“You’re kidding me?” Like a farmer who has lost everything in a tragic fire, you slam your palm on your forehead in abject despair. The familiar voice ringing in your ears and the hand on your shoulder are rather startling, if not downright unexpected.

“Take a look at this mess.” He spins you around with a shallow swoop. Hah. Of course. That face.

A cocksure smile, blond Ken, and gun-metal eyes. Leon.

The man you haven’t seen in years and whose face you realize is ashen from the grind of the time, has rendered him jaded, but handsomely. How the hell?

He claps his hand against each other as if he's picked up something dusty and lets fly your shoulders.

“Oooff. One hell of a scrap.”

“Yeah... About that. Jill got caught in the middle. Uh, we’d better help.” No sooner do you step in than he jerks you by the arm and shakes his head as if you've just made the world’s most irreversible fuck-up.

“Tch, not so fast, dummy.”

Yup. On to the mayhem. Your and Leon’s kerfuffle is a cluster of turmoil within a monolith of tumult. The thing is, on a mission years ago, you snatched a knife that he owned, a souvenir of a man named Marvin. And why did you do that? A little prank between the two of you. Till you mislaid the knife and sucked all of Leon’s goofy humor right out of him. That flirtatious, carefree man was long gone, and he became a bitter, frustrated man.

Yeah, you were quite in tune with that playboy side of him. He flirts with everyone, for God’s sake, as if tomorrow is the last day of the world and he just can’t leave like a lame virgin before diving into a hole. In this throng of women came the receptionists, Ingrid Hunnigan, and then you.

One rejection, followed by another, and then you. A rejection plus a resounding bitch slap right across his cheek.

Such 'a one at a time ladies' moment.

You are the cherry he wants to pop, so to speak. A pretty, pretty girl who would nail a dynamic Leon while he fucks and whack the dew out of him as he goes in raw to hit the hilt. His fantasies are sordid enough to be taboo, but fortunately Leon has no qualms about airing them and watching your ears flush red with sheer indignation. You’re the one directing the flow of blood to his dick, and you’re the one stimulating him to give him a mean boner. That’s a big yikes.

“Jill can take care of herself. Gotta give credit to our super cop.”

“So what? You’re just going to dump your friend in the middle of a fight?” The tremor in your voice, the touch of sheer aggression and the scowl he had grown inured to is a thing he has missed about you.

“Eh. No trouble. The tigers are playing around. ‘Cept that big boy,” he motions with his head to Chris and his fat bum as he lays on the floor.

“Some friend you are.”

“Yeah. Like you, a decent friend who didn’t lose anything that’s sentimental to me.”

“You’re seriously still there? Jesus Christ, Leon.” With little regard for your words and the implications behind them, Leon pushes you away from the crush of people with his gloved hand on your back. Seriously, the gloves must be important. Even during a fancy event, he’s got those fingerless ones, like those ones he wears during the missions. Quite effectively, maybe perfectly, he drags you out of the room, because when you express an adverse reaction, nothing but a raspy gasp comes out of your mouth.

“Well, shame on you. Haven’t even done anything yet and you’re already gasping like you got hot and bothered.”

Trouble personified. Maybe he should have a third name or something, right after Scott. The sound of the ruckus, the staccato of the music, the click of your frantic heels on the slate tiles. Everything is abrupt but at some level thrilling.

Spine-tingling because it’s an enigma how exactly you ended up in this bathroom, perched upon the basin of a sink in a marmorean surface. Your dress is hiked up, your dainty thighs and legs are proffered to him, wobbly legs tangled around his hips. The panties are already a wet manga and, on the floor, your tits jutting out of your low-cut cleavage, free since there is no bra to hold them up. Are you shooting a porn movie or is it just a small reunion between old friends?

Freshly filed fingernails scrape like rakes on his back, the glove of his gun-wielding hand is soggy, his cock slams into that spongy spot deep inside, as if it’s always been there, , slipping in and out. That same stroke can knock you off balance, or worse, knock you fall, but the grip of his free hand on your hip is assured. Yet it doesn’t inhibit you from jolting.

Brazenly. You can’t reproach the way his eyes drifted to your tits, the way they bounce with every thrust, it would be a felony in Leon’s mind, if he didn’t pay attention, if he didn’t appreciate them.

“You little cunt. Could’ve taken me every night if you weren’t stalling me so much in the first place, day and night.”

“What more do I have to do to get you to shut up?” Your teeth kiss your bottom lip and the hand that was wrapped around the base of your throat no longer grips your hip. You're on your own and on top of that you’re now lightly getting choked. His slick hand brushes the loose tresses that have tumbled in front of your eyes back from your scalp and probes the glazed glow in your vision. This face, this glare, this body, everything is his handiwork in Leon’s eyes. Those fantasies of his are finally real, much more exquisite than he imagined in his head.

“Nothing. Pussy’s so fine, I’ll bet she hasn’t taken anything as good as me.”

You don’t make a peep; you just stifle those pathetic whimpers, tasting the coppery tinge of the blood on plush flesh. Like an inspired artist, he decides right then and there to fill you up. You definitely deserve this, after all. And of course, his big mouth won’t shut up.

“No retorting? Too fucking big for you?” And yes, right then your eyes roll back to your skull, a labor to your cervix, more thrusts, bruising. You cum on the spot. The clamor outside breaks into peals of laughter, Leon's panting and potentially dirty words are wasted as bullets whizz past your ears, deafening you in the process. In that split second he releases your neck and yes, your beaded necklace is severed in pieces so fast that you barely register how it happened. The whole thing is too chaotic, he’s still buried, twitching inside. But a shot that fills you to the hilt, he cums inside, leaving everything. The kind of mess that you’re gonna be leaking of him for days.

“There you go, beautiful. Nice and all clean, took me prettily.”

Before you know it, he pulls out of you, zips up the fly and snags your panties off the floor. A puckish grin on his lips, the azure of his eyes twinkling with tenacity.

“What?!” He mouths, feigning a pure state of stupefaction. “Is this a little gift from you for making me hold on for so many years?” He gives a dry fit of chuckles, and just casually smacks your already overstimulated cunt.

“Oh, how sweet. Hell yeah, I’ll take it.”

To Keep an Angel

He fell from heaven into your arms, but he cannot stay. Perhaps if you hadn't acted so hastily, if you had waited a little longer, you could've been reunited...

a/n: OMG BASED OFF THE LOVELY ART IN THE BANNER?? MY AMAZINGLY TALENTED FRIEND @candlekiss SHE LITERALLY COOKED SO HARD IN THIS PIECE... I SWEAR... I LOVE HER SM I HOPE THIS BROUGHT JUSTICE TO UR HARD WORK AND DESERVED PRAISE <3333

tw: depictions of blood, vomiting, death but its nothing like too serious ykw i mean?

wc: 1.4k

it is part of his beauty.

this quality… of not truly being here.

dreamlike.

If you had blinked, you could’ve missed him that day, when you were simply lounging on your porch, and he was a flash of light, as if the sun had descended to visit you.

His lips had twisted in a pained grimace as he stumbled away when you tried to approach him, in awe of his opalescent eyes and flaming locks of hair. Blood stained the feathers of his wings, and although it was highly acceptable for you to freak out, you beckoned him inside.

You wondered if his existence was a secret, something to share with your dreams at night, for not a soul to hear. You did not tell anyone, because who would believe the hermit living at the top of the hill, overlooking the urban cities. 

Even so, it took a very long time to earn his trust. He would not allow you to touch his wings until you insisted that an infection would arise, and even then, he sat facing away from you, skin heating everywhere you brushed, as if he was not accustomed to a human touch.

“You are not betrothed?” he queried a few days later. “My understanding of maidens your age is that they rush to marry.”

“We’ve evolved past that, dear,” you said, muffling a laugh. “I have not yet found a man I wish to marry.”

“What do you wish for?” he asked in that soft, gentle way of his. Casual, like he’s comfortable around you now. “In a partner, I meant.”

“I suppose…” You ponder his question for many beats, a rhythm spelling out in your head. He tilts his head, awaiting your answer. You offer him a broad grin.

“I am going to marry someone who makes me feel like a poem.”

You saw the angel in the marble and carved him out, feeling what you couldn’t see. More and more of his arcane personality came to life under your soothing hands, under your care.

As days turned into weeks, you regarded him more and more as the same blood of yours, no different from you. His wings were absent in your mind, only coming alive at his occasional mumbles of stiff feathers. 

Behind his stoic facade, a mystery to you, there was a vulnerability, a silent plea for compassion.

You learned his name, enjoyed the flow of a different language on your tongue. He spoke of a world far beyond your comprehension, of realms where time flowed differently and the very fabric of reality was shaped by the dreams of beings older than the stars.

As you tended to his injured wing, a gradual transformation took place within him. The once-proud angel who fell into your life broken and bleeding, began to show glimpses of his true self – a being of light and shadow, of hope and despair.

“Must you go?” he had asked one day as you prepared to leave for your job in the city. He stood in front of you, dressed in a robe you found somewhere in heaps of clothes stuffed into your closet, lips a breath away.

“I will return,” you assured him, gaze flickering from his translucent, shining eyes to his shy, moist lips. You return back to your original thoughts, smiling. “This, I swear.”

“I will hold you to that,” he had replied, a youthful smile of his own lingering on his face. 

<><><><>

“You cannot keep an angel.”

The stars fall hopelessly to his words, to their bittersweet tang, the clouds parting for the golden ladder he stands in front of, through the night’s ghastly mist. His soul glows. He seems to be an ethereal being, the truest idea of his identity, with that coy, divine smile on his archangelic face.

“Must you leave?” you plead, grasping the loose tunic hiding the radiance of his skin, where your fingers grace the smooth, bare surface, warmth tingling from the regal shades of azure and violet draping his lean figure, dappling his face in shadows.

“We are, all of us, children of the heavens.” He twists to spare you a cursory glance, eyes holding the secrets of the universe, reflecting the cosmic dance of galaxies. The velvety darkness envelops him like a cloak, washing out the circles under his eyes. “You showed me the worth of my heart.”

You do not yet realize the torment you have caused, tugging him back, many times over. He has overstayed his welcome, somewhere he is not meant to be. He itches to fly, for the breeze to ruffle the feathery wings he is blessed with.

“But as you are bound to the earth, I am bound to the sky, forever and always,” he explains, voice tinged with sorrow, a harrowing melody on his lustrous tongue.

“I trusted the shelter of your wings.” Much to your dismay, he flinches at this, shifting to stand further from you, as if your presence pains him. The celestial breeze sways the warm hues of his aureate hair.

“You are, I think, an evening star,” he says softly, words carried by the wind. “The most fair of all.”

“That is untrue,” you sniffle, wiping your tears away, wishing there was an ocean to wash them away. A raging sea to drown it. Anything would be preferable over this heartbreak. 

“You are. Just as my heart will forever be wrapped in the most luxurious silk,” he sighs, pausing before adding, “and of course, your undying love.”

“Will I ever see you again?” You step away, the light burning your eyes, a memory forever in your mind, like strands of words spelling out a story. 

He does not look back, does not answer your question. It hangs between you, an ivory string connecting you both. You envision it attached to the small of his back, below his shoulder blades, unfurling in anticipation. 

It hurts you, of course, but you’ve had him far too long. He was, in the simplest way, never yours.

But you were always his. Always entranced by the childlike wonder he sparked in you when he allowed you to brush your fingers along his wings, absently fiddling with his mess of blond hair. 

If he were human, you could’ve kept him. Cherished him as you would a medal, or a trophy from a competition. But the ring resting above his head and the feathers that were born to ascend kept him away.

What must you do?

To keep an angel.

<><><><>

To keep an angel, you realize, you must summon him. How one summons an angel, you did not know, and forced yourself not to care. But there was an ache planted deep in your heart that only he could weed away, cleanse your turmoil.

The tremor of your fingers matches your racing heartbeat as you prepare to cast the spell that would summon the angel back to your side. The air crackles with dark energy, in its purest form as you chant the incantations, your voice a trembling whisper in the silence of the night.

As the final words leave your lips, a surge of power sweeps through the room, the very fabric of reality twisting and warping in response to your command, the cold winter months outside easily forgotten.

A voice as soft as summer rain. A smile like a breath of spring. This is what you wish to see in the portal between worlds, but you do not. Horror flashes across your lover’s eyes.

He reaches a hand out, wincing like the action hurts him. You can feel the planes of your dimensions tilting away from each other, quickly slipping through your curled fingers, pressed hard to your chest.

A sudden, sharp pain blooms across your stomach, forcing you to keen over. Black splatters across the floor, coating your tongue and lips in a foul substance. And you split away, stepping back suddenly, but your body stills.

Your body, cold and gone, just like that, lying limp on the ground. 

Your angel kneels beside you, his touch gentle as he cradles your lifeless form in his arms. Tears glisten in his eyes as he gazes down at you, lost in his thoughts. He does not hear you shouting his name.

When you stagger towards him, confused, you are stopped. There is a wall between you both now, watching him as though he is encased in a gilded cage, wings spread to soar, the most majestic of songbirds.

Your touch, never felt.

Your voice, never heard.

Your eyes, empty.

You are forever separated, your souls destined to wander in different realms, never to be reunited in this life or the next.

And you will never return.

Back to the Sea

The mysterious stranger on the boat happens to be your roommate and you can't help but wonder who he is. Something about him captivates you, but what happens when an artist loses his brush?

a/n: so... this is all @chesue00's fault. dont get me wrong ilysm pookie but i cannot tell you how much this was going through my head the entire day like i wanted to get home so badly and write this i almost told my teach to fuck off... but thank u ur so talented it hurts like that inspired me sm and thats what art should do! ty! <333

tw: angst?? bc its not my fic unless its got angst (hopefully...) uhm mentions of like illnesses and the flu and stuff but idk help

wc: 5.2k - yes im not even kidding i wrote this all tdy and its not even grammar checked will do that later hehehehehe <333

As the sun dips below the horizon, casting a warm golden hue across the vast expanse of the ocean, you sit at the edge of the ship, gaze fixed on the endless waves stretching out before her. The gentle sway of the ship beneath you, the salty sea air mingling with the haunting cries of the seagulls soaring overhead; it all served as a reminder of sorrow and loss that clings to you like a heavy shroud.

You take it between your fingers, as if you can feel the harsh, unforgiving ivory material form under your hand, and wrap it around yourself tighter, cherishing the small bursts of warmth you get from sitting up here.

Each wave that laps against the side of the ship fails to cover the whispers of the crowd steadily disappearing around you, pointing fingers shamelessly, wondering why a girl your age is sitting, all alone, staring wistfully out at the cerulean abyss.

Someone clears their throat behind you. The last thing you want is to be bothered, so you twist over your shoulder to dismiss them, but somewhere up your throat, the words clump together into a soft gasp.

You have seen him around the ship, when you were first boarding, but you didn’t get the best look at him. Now that you do, you know one thing as true as the sky is blue.

He’s breathtaking. His eyes, reflecting the azure of the ocean, flash with lightning quick irritation, as if your presence inconveniences him. The curve of his lips set in a straight line, tightening almost imperceptibly, jaw clenching ever so slightly.

If you weren’t looking so hard, you could’ve missed it all. 

But how could you miss anything he does, when each ripple of his feature is like a brushstroke? An artist’s slow, deliberate intentions, painting the man in front of you.

“You are taking up the seat,” he mumbles, so quietly you almost don’t catch it. “Apologies,” you respond, shifting to make room for him. The dip between his eyebrows deepens and you find yourself frowning back. “Is something wrong?”

His gaze clouds, turning a muffled shade of gray. “No.”

You hum in response before turning back to the ocean. The heavy silence writhes between them, its unseen grip tightening with each breath. Your mind churns, sensing dark depths his haunted eyes warn away.

So you stand and stroll away, not sparing a glance at the brooding figure. You don’t wish to descend into his sorrow. You have enough of your own, and the tension crackling between you is nearly tangible. 

You know well that behind every handsome man, there is a troubled mind.

And the windows to those thoughts are the eyes.

<><><><>

“If the brothe bee to sweete, put in the more wine, or els a litle vineger.” 

You recall this line from a cookbook your mother once owned as you stare down at the barely distinguishable liquid in a bowl in front of you. Chips of wood flake off and dissolve into the mess of what you think are minced vegetables pooling at the bottom. Though the bubbles of oil faintly remind you of home, nothing else is the same.

You can’t remember the last time you had traditional soup, from the homeland, where everyone's the same as you and food is plentiful, rich in the scent of tangy spices and fresh vegetables and ripe fruit, where the forest birds sing sweet melodies in your ear.

But you are no longer there. It will, as all things do, fade with time, resolving as just a landscape drawn in your head, reduced to nothing but scribbles.

With a sigh far too troubled for your age, you gingerly push the bowl away, careful not to slosh any of it over the edge. You know you are being picky; food is food, and starvation will slowly creep up on you when you least expect it.

But it is better to starve than throw yourself from the starboard, letting the choppy waves consume you. Hunger takes time, crescendoing pain and ache until you cannot bear it. Suffering will suffice, at this moment.

And across the dining hall, the small room housing yet a few late night eaters, you spot him saunter in. Long, black trench coat brushing his ankles, a hat you did not see that now casts shadows upon his chiseled face.

His overalls strain with effort and crumple into wrinkles as he sits a few tables away, raising a hand, wordlessly summoning a bowl of soup that carries from tentative hands. He waves the aged woman away, and perhaps he does not catch the longing look in her eyes.

She has not seen a man so divine in years. Her time at sea has clouded her judgment. This is yet another reason why you must traverse the ocean blue, to prevent the jobs piling up at what you thought was your home, near the port, where the docks carry back the ashes of your family.

You used to love the ocean, the beach, the shores. When the sea hurt you, your father would kiss the tears away, murmuring soft assurance in the shell of your small ear. Although she was nearly a decade older, your sister would never decline an offer of yours to hunt for the little creatures that popped up from the swirling sand, watching them disappear underneath your slow hands.

You miss them. Influenza never failed to take, take, take; the greedy fingers latched on to your family before you could arrive home that day to sick corpses so pale you could not recognize them.

The doctor had suggested a traditional burial,but you knew there was one more thing the sea needed. You lit the pyres, watched their souls mingle with the smoke that gasped for the clouds, and waited.

When all that was left of your loved ones was charred, ivory dust that seemed to sparkle back at you, unaware of its fate, you gathered it into a pot that your grandmother gifted you.

The ocean rejected your offering, at first. It veered away, pulling water from the shore lines, but you stood fast. And it came back, gathered what was already gone, and took it away from you.

The sea never fails to remind you of what you’ve lost.

But here, on the ship, a marvel of engineering, keeping you afloat, you are not truly with the sea. You will not make yourself mold to the pitiful, lonely girl everyone expects you to be. 

With that resolve, you cradle the soup back to your chest, staring it down with defiant eyes. The ocean will not have another victim, you will make sure of that.

It burns your throat all the way down, saltier than the sea. Bile raises to combat it but you force spoon after spoon into your stomach. All that remains from your battle is the wood, which you tried your best to separate from the soup, but you are sure that you definitely swallowed at least some of it.

As the thinnest definition of dinner warms your insides against the cold that threatens to seep in, your eyes find him across the galley. He sits alone, as always, nursing a tin cup and gazing into its contents as if answers lay within.

You recall your chance encounter in the night, the rare moments of grace amid tumult never far from his eyes. Though he often keeps away from the streams of people, you have the feeling it has less to do with aloofness than wounds not easily unveiled.

As if finally sensing your gaze, his eyes lift and meet yours across the dusty space. There seems to be no cracks in his steely expression, his stormcloud eyes, but there is a flicker of emotion - curiosity, or perhaps kinship's first stirrings. 

You offer the barest nod before returning focus to your meager meal. Yet all the while, currents stronger than the sea pull at your thoughts, drawing them ever back towards that quiet figure and mysteries that beg to be revealed. You tilt your head to the side, rubbing fingers down your neck, feeling your pulse race underneath your skin. Massaging the area, you force yourself to relax.

You force yourself to believe that those eyes haven’t jarred your thoughts.

<><><><>

“I must… have the wrong room.” Those same eyes stare back at you, hands trembling slightly around parchment yellowing at the edges, swirling with confusion. “I apologize.”

“It wouldn’t, by chance, be 930, would it?” you ask. 

“Er… yes,” he admits with a dip of his head, looking almost embarrassed by the situation. “I suppose I’ll go request another-”

“It’s quite alright,” you race to say before you can stop yourself. “I do not mind.”

A small corner of his mouth lifts, if only for a second, and when his expression goes back to being neutral, you find yourself wanting to coax more emotions from him. 

You help him get settled in, telling him he could take the bed on the right. When he’s finished fussing with the sheets, you sit on your respective mattresses, awkwardly staring down at your hands.

"I... thank you," he finally replies, his voice soft. "I did not expect to find understanding here."

“Your name, sir?”

“Leon. Your name, I already know.”

“How fascinating.”

“You are a… popular subject of gossip upon this vessel.”

“Why are you traveling to England?” you ask, finding yourself making small talk to switch the topic. “Are you simply traveling?”

“Yes.” 

“Where is your hometown?” His eyes glaze over with the familiar homesickness you can recognize.

"My home lies in a small village far from here," he replies, gazing into memories only he could see. "A quiet place, surrounded by green countryside and simple folks." His eyes find yours with rare openness. "And you? What brings one so young to cross the sea alone?"

“I’m paying my lovely aunt a visit,” you say vaguely, trying to make your voice light. But he must hear the undertones of it, because he cocks his head to the side, arching a golden eyebrow.

“Is that so?” he muses. “I hope you enjoy your trip.”

“I’ve noticed you carry that briefcase around quite a bit,” you say, quickly changing the subject. “Is it dear to you?”

He laughs, a warm, rich tone that sparks something in your heart. 

Maybe… just… maybe?

“Not so,” he explains. He leans over to grab the case resting on the nightstand and clicks it open. “This is the reason I am traveling, you see.”

You peer over the top of the rusty case to reveal… pencils?

“You are… an artist?” you ask, slightly confused. You hadn’t taken him for a participant of the fine arts, but at your query, his eyes seem to light with an inspiration not previously there.

“I have lost my flame,” he says slowly, cautiously, as if placing his words carefully. “I thought England would fix… the problem… but perhaps… you could help me?” At your face, he bites his lip. "A smooth sea never makes a skilled sailor, as they say."

“Who has ever said that, and who am I to decline a stranger in need?” You chuckle, and his grin seems to usurp his entire expression. 

“You need not do anything,” he rushes to say, hands flurrying to unpack the materials carefully stowed away in the briefcase. The determined, set look on his face is enough to convince you, and even if it hadn’t, realistically, would you be able to say no?

He stills suddenly, observing you, sweeping over you, drinking in everything, as if to absorb your being. When his gaze meets yours, he smiles and it truly reaches his previously emotionless eyes.

“You are… perfect,” he whispers. He holds his pencil up, bottom lip disappearing as he frowns, grumbling in frustration. “But this lighting is… not quite correct.”

Leon eyes the room, then stands suddenly. You watch him, watch him drag a chair from the small writing desk over to the foot of his bed, planting it firmly. He points a finger to the empty space, gesturing for you to sit there.

“What exactly are you planning?” You ask with a smile.

The one he returns matches your curiosity. “We shall see.”

And that is exactly how, a few minutes later, you sit with your legs crossed, hands folded over one another in your lap, with a soft smile decorating your face.

“You must stay still,” he chastises, gazing at you with a languid look in his eyes, voice dreamy, as if he sees something in you that you can’t.

“You have not yet answered my question.” You ignore the red blooming up your neck at his fluttering gaze. He lounges further into the bed, hiding more of himself away, spinning the pencil between his fingers.

He looks almost thoughtful as he scribbles away, muttering to himself, lost in a trance. You lean against the dresser, resting your body weight on it, feeling yourself relax.

His eyes move back to you, and he jolts, like something drastic has changed. His hands fly rapidly across the paper, gaze locked onto you. He smudges something with his finger, erases something here and there, and eventually, he huffs a sigh and leans back, looking somewhat satisfied with the paper.

Intrigued, you stand from your position, stretching your stiff joints. “May I see?”

Leon snorts a laugh. “Of course not.”

“It is my portrait, no?” You grin. “Show me.” Without another word, you lean over the foot of the bed, over the elaborate carvings of wood, and try to sneak a peek at the paper.

He lets out what you can only describe as a boyish squeal, and yanks the pad away from you, clutching it to his chest. “I said no!”

Leon tries his best to play-keep away from your hands, folding the paper carefully in half as he stuffs it into an inner pocket of his shirt. When you try to reach for it, instinctively, he flushes a red hue that matches the crimson of your bedsheets.

“Apologies,” you whisper.

“It’s alright,” he whispers back.

The air has gone back to tense, anguish, as if you are both hurtling towards something you cannot stop, racing towards a finish line in a race you do not wish to compete in. When he climbs into bed, wordlessly, you wonder what you did to deserve this torture, to have a masterpiece sleeping a few feet away. 

He purses his lips and blows out the flame in the lantern standing proud on your nightstand, murmuring a quick goodbye.

As your eyes adjust to the absence of light, you watch the blanket blow out around him, creeping over his body, hugging him tightly. His snores come quickly, gentle and quiet, not bothersome.

You sigh and close your eyes, wishing for the relief of sleep to come as fast as his.

<><><><>

Strangely enough, someone rouses you from your sleep, something you didn’t expect. Breakfast calls were a luxury reserved for those with money, but you weren’t going to complain. Missing the first meal of the day had serious consequences in your household.

This isn’t your household, though. These aren’t your rules.

And that definitely isn’t a handkeep’s fingers clutched around your arm.

“Leon?” you murmur, rubbing your eyes, savoring the fuzzy corners before every comes into focus with sudden clarity. He stands beside your bed, gaze darting here and there. 

“Oh… you are awake,” he says as he isn’t the reason it is so.

“You woke me,” you state blankly, blinking up at him.

“I suppose… well,” he mutters, then sighs, shaking his head. “Never mind that.”

“How often does this happen?” you ask quietly, sitting up. “Are you plagued by night horrors?”

“I am not a child!” he snaps, then immediately softens, regret pooling in his eyes. “It is just… I thought you had left…”

“Yet I am here, no?” you say, slightly bemused. The tips of Leon’s ears turn a salmon pink as he lets out a shuddering breath, nodding. 

“I see that,” he says with a small smile, sitting beside you, leaving enough space to respect your privacy. You return one with just as much carefully measured emotion, not wanting to scare him away, wanting him to open up.

As gray dawn spreads its thin wings slowly over calm waters, he recollects himself. He tells you fragments of his past, picking up pieces of his past until it fits into a puzzle perfectly. An orphan, talent stripped from him by the urge to survive.

You faintly think that he should also be a writer, because the way he tells his story is akin to the way an author paints a scene with just words. You can see his parents in the shadows, echoing in his laugh, in the slant of his nose, the pucker of his chin. 

He shrugs, twisting to face you. “I almost died, there, on the streets.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

His eyes meet yours, “So am I.”

Seeing him in such a vulnerable state, you can’t help but feel inclined to share what truly happened to you as well.

“I’m not… just visiting my aunt.”

A ghost of a smile graces his lips. “I was thinking as much. Tell me, what is the true purpose of your visit.”

“My family recently passed from influenza. Only sorrow trails me in the States. Perhaps returning to my hometown will provide… solace?” You offer a dry laugh, but Leon’s expression goes stony as he takes your hands into his.

“I… did not know,” he says, sounding as sincere as you’ve ever heard him. “I made such a joke without understanding the full context… I apologize.”

“It is really nothing,” you rush to assure him, but more so because the crestfallen look on his face is something you do not wish to bring upon. “I forgive you.”

“You are still tired,” he says with another sigh. “I will wake you for breakfast. Sleep.”

He’s right. Too sleepy to protest, you clutch the blankets around you and shut out not only the slowly growing beams of sunlight from the window, but also the relief that emanates from Leon’s very being, flooding over you, bringing you the peace that lets you drift off.

<><><><>

You wake to frigid air seeping through cracks in the ship's walls, clouds hiding the sun’s bright smile. Throwing off your thin blankets, you grasp the warmth, hoping it still lingers. But your hand meets only cold, empty fabric. 

Panic rises in my throat as you rush from the sleeping quarters. Out on the icy deck, figures hustle to and fro under a pale, stormy sky. Your eyes scan for one in particular, relief flooding through you as you spot his lean form near the rail, gaze lost to the sea. 

"Leon," you call softly so as not to wake the other sleeping passengers. When he turns, worry is etched into his brows. You brush it off with a shaky smile. "I had feared the night's dangers had claimed you at last." 

“At last?” His lips turn up in return, reassuring you with his movement. But you can see the shadow neither of you could outrun, not with Death stalking your decks in his grim dance. 

Drawing near, you trace his stare to the horizon, limitless and cold. You stand in front of him as he lingers behind, hesitating, arms outstretched. 

“I wish to fly, one day,” you say jokingly. “But I suppose for now, swimming will do.”

“I cannot swim,” he admits quietly. “I never will.”

“Of course you can,” you insist. “Anyone can-”

“Not everyone has lost their brother to the sea.”

 The answer burns, searing your back in the way he delivers it, venom in his voice. But eventually, he sighs, as if giving in, and you can feel him get closer.

“May I?” You admire that he asks before anything, and when you nod, he wraps his arms around your waist, pushing you gently against the railing that you clutch tightly. He rests his head on your shoulder, craning his neck to stand comfortably.

Then he speaks again. “My deepest apologies. As you can tell… I miss him.”

"Then we'll face such fears together," you say with such finality you believe it yourself. "None are meant to wander depths of sadness all alone. But your brother's memory lives on you - a gift more precious than any sea could claim. I know this. And what are you doing now?”

Slowly, you can feel his lips curl upwards against your neck, sparking at your words, growing into that smile you’ve come to cherish. 

“You wish to fly? This is as close as I can get you, beloved.”

With a grin of your own spreading across your face, you outstretch your arms, leaning into the wind, wanting to let it carry you both away. Your fingers trace the sharp line of his jaw, coming to rest on his beating pulse that lives on despite all the world has tried to steal away.

You don’t know what overtakes you, the immense feeling of admiration you feel for him, that might be what spurs you to lean in. And, much to your surprise and pleasure, as soft morning light limns sea and sky in a hopeful blend of blue, your lips meet in a kiss - brief, chaste, yet speaking everything you need to hear. 

“At least I’ll have you,” he says, melting back into your embrace, tightening his arms around your hips. “One thing the sea will never take.”

But you should’ve known.

The waters are never done taking.

<><><><>

You do not know when the screams started. All you know is that they came with the rough tides, crashing against the boat, with the crackle of thunder and smoke hissing in the air. Everyone rushes to cram into the sleeping quarters, but living near the port all your life, you know better. You know exactly what is happening.

The boat is sinking.

And strangely enough, your first thought is to find Leon. He had asked you to wait a quiet moment on the deck, and you had both dismissed the rolling clouds, steadily creeping towards you while he disappeared below the deck.

You had been hoping that he would show you his art. Now you hope that you can get him out in time. But before you can scrunch up your dress and scramble into the quarters, someone grabs your arm.

You do not see the face. You know it is not Leon, he is infinitely calmer and more gentle than the rough fingers of whoever your captor is. As you struggle to look up at the face, you are tossed into a boat that hangs on the side of the ship.

“Women and children first!” a gruff voice calls out, presumably the one that just manhandled you. You try to protest, saying you need to go back, but the small boat fills up quicker than you expect, and eventually you are being slowly lowered down onto the choppy waves.

You stand on tiptoe, trying to make out any sign of Leon on the ship, hoping he makes it out okay. The people rowing the boat harshly yank you down before pushing away from the boat. Every stroke they make takes you farther and farther away, until the dense fog shrouds the entire ship from your view.

And the unexpected happens. You hear a loud crack and the boat immediately splinters into two. The women and their children huddle to one side, the bigger side, while you and some other girls stay put, eyes fixed on where you last saw the ship.

With no one to steer, you veer back towards it and it comes into view, only this time, it is on fire. Flames lick the sides, hissing where it meets the salty sea, climbing up the ship. And you see the mess of blond hair that you so desperately recognize.

“Leon!” You shout, screaming for his attention. His eyes snap to your general direction, scanning the area with a wide, panicked expression before landing on you. Almost immediately his face softens before it returns to its stony, default look.

You are confused for a moment before he quickly surveys the area. A raft hangs from the side, unused, calling his name, and you realize with shame that your boat is starting to sink, dipping into the water.

You and the other girls lean to the other side, pleading for help. Summoning all fading strength, you yell his name once more as waves close over your head. Darkness swallows your cries, drowning them in the murky ocean depths, yet in your fleeting consciousness, your trust for him remains like the anchor you wish him to be.

Breathless, gasping, you break the surface amid a sea of shrieks and sinking debris. There through the smoke a ragged shape appears, slicing swift as any bird towards you. Strong hands grasp and haul you aboard the makeshift raft, lying there to cling and spend your remaining prayers in thanks to Leon as he attends each soul amid the roiling deep, ferrying them from the ocean’s inky grasp with steady hands and calmer gaze.

“Are you alright, dear?” he calls to you after the third and final girl is pulled to safety, gasping for breath. “I did not expect this situation whatsoever.”

“Neither did I,” you murmur, spitting the remnants of the salt in your throat back into the sea, like returning a gift. “I suppose we will be alright now.”

Leon’s face crumples. “I’m afraid not.”

You groan. “What is it now? Is it the sharks from the depths? I will fight them with my bare hands, just you watch!”

You watch his expression flash through amusement, then back to pain. “We… I…”

“What troubles you so?”

He gestures a hand to the sea around you, to the drenched figures, far too many for the raft to carry. You realize this with the drop of your heart.

“There are too many of us,” he says apologetically, like he’s only hurting you. “One of us must leave.” 

For a second, you consider pushing one of the girls off. Anything to keep him. But you realize that your selfish thoughts should not take control. You grab his hands, clutching them tightly, holding them to your chest.

“Then it shall be me.”

Leon offers a weak smile. “No.”

“No?” you sputter. “What- it was not a question!”

“It will not be the answer either, my love,” he says gently, prying his hands from yours. “I will be the last. Please make sure of that.”

And before you can plead for him to stay, his weight shifts and you can feel the raft rising again. He casts one more, sorrowful look at you before he glides into the water, descending effortlessly. You reach for him, and your fingers brush his knuckles before he disappears forever.

Before he is gone. 

Yet another loved one.

Lost to the sea.

<><><><>

You wait for an indeterminate amount of time, waiting for the news to arrive one day at your aunt’s doorstep, that he is still alive, awaiting your arrival in some uncharted region. But no such idea comes. And eventually, the denial washes away and you are left with the loss that nothing can fix.

You rock in the chair of your living room, the smell of your aunt’s soup no longer bringing saliva to your mouth, but tears to your eyes, because now everything reminds you of Leon.

The bell rings outside and you can’t bring yourself to rise and answer the door with puffy eyes and tear-streaked cheeks. Your aunt knows this, so without sparing you another look, allowing you your privacy, opens the door just a smidge.

She makes conversation with the person standing outside before turning back to you with a soft smile. She hands you an envelope, and you cannot lie when your heart races up to the sky, finding purchase in the fluffy clouds.

You cannot find the words to thank her, but she knows this as well, and walks away without another word. When she disappears behind the kitchen corner, you rush to open the letter.

The first words send your heart plummeting back to where it was, perhaps even crashing through the layer of obsidian and burrowing itself in a place where it will never return. But upon scanning the rest of the thoughtful, heartfelt message, there is a tug that forces you to check the rest of the envelope.

And when you unfurl a piece of paper, long since forgotten in your brain, you muffle a cry with the back of your hand, the parchment trembling in your five, shaky fingers.

It is the portrait Leon drew of you. It made its way back to you.

You know, after seeing this, there is one thing you must do. You lie the paper down on the round table beside you, careful to preserve it.

You wash up, put on a dress your aunt lent to you, a blue, rippling thing that seems to reflect the ocean waves back at you. You tie your hair up, wanting to look somewhat presentable. 

And you call out a goodbye to your aunt, who’s smile you can hear in her voice, evident as she waves from the kitchen, ecstatic to see you out and about. But there is only one place you must go. One thing you must do to find the closure you are aching for.

Back to where it all started.

<><><><>

Tears that are the crystals of salt found in the ocean's depths stream down your face, as unnatural as the mixture of saltwater and freshwater, where one stops, another begins.

In the ocean, you slip from your skin, thoughts descending down a mad spiral, the spirits watching as you mingle with the essence of saltwater stinging your sunburned skin. The night air does little to nothing to cool your thoughts.

Is he there? In the droplets that cradle the back of your hands, trickling from the pool cupped in your palms. You can see him standing, just a few feet away, knee deep in the water, as constant as the waves and as calm as the tides.

Leon’s hair waves in the moonlight, a silent greeting to you, cerulean bathing his face in a ghastly blue, making him seem more and more like the ghost he is.

You raise a hand, out of instinct, choking back a sob. 

A smile curves those salty, timeless lips.

“You left me too,” you whisper through tears, crystals disappearing under the crescents of water brushing against your shorts. “Why can life not just be… easy? Simple?”

Leon chuckles, face softening in sympathy. “Did you forget what I told you already?”

You lift your head, rubbing granules of sand against your nose to muffle your sniffling. “What?” His grin is somehow both brighter than the moon and darker than the water you can’t see through.

“A smooth sea never makes a skilled sailor.”

Reap What You Sow

part one

You've been reaped, and your partner is not the man you want to be spending a bloodbath with. But what if he's nothing like what you expected?

a/n: for the anon that's waited SO patiently for it... im still working on figuring out ur identity but im a bit slow... so.... i hope u like it i had to reread the book for this and WEUIORWPDOSWEIOR i have trauma from thg trust me

tw: major character deaths (if you can guess who ily <3) mentions of blood, gore, illnesses, blah blah all that stuff yk

wc: 7.8k

part two here!!

legacy, what is a legacy?

planting seeds in a garden,

one you’ll never get to see.

Autumn always brought the whispering winds, a tapestry of gold and crimson spinning through the forest, leaves dancing down from their lofty trees, becoming carpets of color rustling with ease.

Everyone sleeps in late today, wanting to spend as much time huddled with their family before the threat looming over you finally comes back to bite you.

The air grows crisp, a bite of cool delight, as you trudge through the fresh foliage, feet shuffling through the leaves fluttering onto your hunting boots. The last thing you need is to scare away potential game with your loud footsteps.

In the woods is the one place where your facade can fall, where you can shout all your frustrations at the lake below you, calming down as you stare down at it, blurred by your dangling legs. The ledge has always been precariously unstable, but anything to kill time before the Reaping.

Leaning back on your palms, you glance up at the sun searing your face, burning through your dark tunics that help camouflage you during hunts. You can’t consider yourself a good hunter, but at least what you bring in keeps your family from starving.

You strip the nearby bushes of their leaves, their raspberries, the leaves that you had once cultivated with your mother when she was still around. Although it wasn’t allowed, you both made a habit of sneaking into the forest after all the Peacekeepers had finished their patrols to check on your garden. 

You never told her, but you could never resist plucking a few unripe berries from their steadily growing stems, now grown wild and untamed. The taste of the young, still growing fruit from your childhood still lingers in your mind, and over six years later, make it near impossible for you to enjoy the sweetness of the ripe raspberries now.

A melodious chirp breaks through your thoughts, and you twist over your shoulder to see a familiar mockingjay approaching. Its vibrant blue and gray feathers shimmer in the dappled sunlight as it hops closer, a curious glint in its round, beady eyes. With a gentle nudge, you offer it a ripe berry, watching as it eagerly pecks at the fruit, savoring the succulent juices with delicate precision.

“You’re chipper today, aren’t you?” you ask it, keeping your voice light. Just as you expect, the muttation tweets back in the same tone, as if repeating your words back to you.

Only, coming from such a free, unshackled spirit, it means nothing.

<><><><>

The nicer part of your district is in the area shadowed by the forest, where none of the residents dare to step foot into what they deem unsafe. If only they knew the danger of hunger.

You pass the bakery, catching the eye of the baker’s son, uninterested, casting shadows on his face as he glances down at his mother’s feet. Her shouts are audible through the thin glass showcasing the elegantly decorated cakes.

You don’t know the boy, but you feel pity for him. Not once in the years following your mother’s death has your father raised his voice at you. He has resigned to heavy sighs of disappointment, which sting more than angry words, you’ll admit.

You stand before the same house in the Victor’s Village, the nicest houses of the entire district, crammed into one courtyard. Most of the houses are empty due to there only being two Victors in the history of the Games; Haymitch Abernathy, a drunken man you don’t socialize with, and Leon’s older brother, whose name you aren’t bothered or inclined to learn.

You raise your hand to knock but pause, praying he doesn't answer, that he’s not home, and that his mother, a much kinder, forgiving woman, comes to the door. After an agonizing moment, the door creaks open and, just your luck, his imposing form fills the frame above.

The first thing you notice is the red, blaring welt resting calmly on his face. You faintly wonder what happened before realizing that you don’t care. Neither does he, apparently.

“Back to grovel, little bird?” he sneers. 

“Actually, maybe I’ll just head to Haymitch,” you reply, making a show of the flimsy basket holding multiple, freshly snared rabbits. “He might have a use for fresh meat.”

You don’t miss the way Leon immediately clears his throat, leaning against the doorframe. “I suppose we could make a deal.”

Eventually you’re satisfied with the amount of money in your hands, and Leon looks equally ravished as he nods to you politely before closing the door in your face. You catch his eyes darting to your lips just as it creaks shut fully.

Whatever’s wrong with him shouldn’t bother you, right?

So why does it?

<><><><>

Chris raises an eyebrow at the offering. You nudge it towards him, and a smile slowly spreads across his face, overtaking his expression.

“It’s taken quite a while, huh?” he teases.

“You know how much it means to me,” you cheese. “And I want you to have it, just in case…”

“You’re not getting reaped,” he says, as if he’s already predicted who will be safe, like he knows. “Your name isn’t even in there that many times.”

You nod, face warm. "Just in case."

His grin fades. "Don't say that. Your name is drawn just a few times."

"Still a chance," you mutter grimly. "24 slips is 24 too many."

Chris takes your hands in his. "Listen to me. I survived, didn't I? You're stronger than any tribute here. You'll come back and we'll hunt together, I promise it."

His steady gaze gives you strength. You force a smile. "Okay. And may the odds..."

Your hunting partner, close friend, embraces you. "The odds don't matter. You do. Stay strong - I'll see you after."

Of course, the odds seem to be planting themselves directly against you. But you don’t mention that as you walk to the square, shoulder to shoulder, trusting Chris enough to watch your siblings as your father makes low conversation with the other miners.

<><><><>

The odds definitely hate you.

When they call your name, no one moves. You can feel the girl next to you stiffen, as if sensing your breath cut short, hand brushing against yours as you weave your way through the perfectly aligned rows of sixteen year old kids, kids that you went to school with.

If it were any other reaping, you would’ve looked down at them with scorn, glaring at them with a scowl, because no one wants to die, but no one volunteered for you. But the Quarter Quell brings with it new surprises, one being that the tributes reaped may not be replaced.

You suppose you should be glad it isn’t one of your siblings, because where you stand a chance, they would die immediately. Admitting this to yourself is how you temper your own fate. On the other hand, the other twist the Quell brings is that if you die in the Games, guess who also suffers?

Your family is publicly executed. You wish a slow and painful death to whoever thought of that, to President Snow, for picking it. Watching the competitions every year was something you could never stomach, choosing instead to cower in the other room, hands planted against your ears to block out the sickening screams of the dying tributes on screen.

"May the odds be ever in your favor," Effie says with a grin far too jovial for the situation, and you know that its her job to encourage you, but they ring hollow given what lies ahead. 

As you walk toward the stage, your breathing comes quick and shallow. A boy with dark hair catches your gaze, his expression as grim as yours. "It will be over soon," he murmurs, though you're not sure if he means the reaping or your life.

Reaching the steps, you turn to face the crowd, fists clenched. The escort swirls the strips of paper in the empty fish bowl, as if this is simply a game to her. She pinches one between her fingers and drags it out slowly before unfurling it and reading aloud the name.

“Leon Kennedy,” she declares. 

Of course getting reaped isn’t the last of your misfortunes. Although you don’t directly know him, you know what he’s capable of. He climbs on stage beside you, jaw working as if chewing over angry words. 

"No use raging at them now," you mutter under your breath.

Leon barks a short, bitter laugh. "I guess you're right. Small comfort, that." 

You don’t speak after that, settling into tense silence as your escort waits for the applause that never comes. The depressing gazes of all your loved ones, the people you know, and the people who don’t know you exist, proves to be too much, so you shift your eyes to the ground, pointed at your toes.

There is one more pair of eyes that land on you, eyes that you don’t wish to meet. But when Effie requests for the “lucky kids” to shake hands, you force yourself to drag your gaze from the ground, up his slender legs, the tendon that stretches when he looks down at you, challenging you silently, to his fingertips outstretched, waiting for your hand.

And when you finally shake on it, you remember just who he is to you.

Leon.

<><><><><>

You freeze in your movements, cradling the assortment of berries closer to your chest, the handkerchief tickling your chin. Pale, icy eyes trail down your body, sizing you up, searing everywhere they grace.

You know him, but he doesn’t know you. You’ve seen him, one of the nicer looking kids at your school, always well groomed, arriving to class on time and getting only the best grades.

But no one is perfect, and his flaws are in his arrogance, which doesn’t get any better when all the girls fawn over him, tripping over one another to catch even a flit of his eyes. What would they think now, of him watching you, a poor, peasant girl. You have to hold back a smile at the faint thought passing your mind.  

“Well,” he remarks, unable to hold back the smirk that tugs at his lips, “looks like I’ve finally caught the little bird pecking at my garden, hm?” You flush madly. So he has noticed the previous times you’ve snuck through the fence, collecting his family’s plants. 

"I…I meant no harm," you say meekly, lowering your gaze. "I was only gathering bits of food to help feed my poor family." Playing the pity card is a new low, even for you, but the consequences of mistakes ring through the square often, burned in your eyes, the whine of a leather whip, the sound it makes when it meets tender flesh.

"Hmm, is that so?" he considers, stroking his chin, grinning. "Maybe I’ll let it go, just this once. But you’ll have to pay up."

“I have no money,” you say quietly. “I… cannot pay you, at least not right now. Please, just two weeks-”

He cuts you off with a wave of his hand, eyes fixing on your trembling lips. "A kiss, sweet bird, and I'll let your theft go. What do you say?”

Perhaps you’ll suffice to get whipped. Anything over that.

“No,” you say firmly, stepping away, further into the sanctuary of the forest. “I won’t do that.”

“So you won’t mind if I tell the Peacekeepers?” he muses.

“I only took a little!” you plead.

“And I’m not asking for much in return, am I?”

You hesitate, torn between duty and danger. But survival demands sacrifice. Holding back a troubled, irritated groan, you allow him to step closer, lift your chin and capture your mouth with his own, firm but fleeting.

"Now fly home to your nest, little birdie,” he taunts as he breaks away from him, wiping your lips frantically, trying to get rid of the sweet taste of fresh bread and butter that mingled from his tongue to yours.

Does he kiss everyone like this? So hard, fast, as if he’s trying to consume you whole? You feel pity for all the girls he’s left behind with broken hearts, like lost puppies following him everywhere. 

The last thing you expect is to be longing for it again, reaching for the feeling of being held like that, of being wanted, desirable. And you find that nowhere else but with him.

Of course, that feeling only dims slightly when the Peacekeepers knock at your door the next day, pretending to lecture you about theft, but there are no consequences, surprisingly. You suspect it must be because half of your best customers are the officials, the ones meant to enforce the rules, since everyone in the area is desperate for meat.

You did what he asked.

He ratted you out, either way.

So why can’t you stop thinking about him?

<><><><>

Your father’s weary face is what greets you first in the velvet setting of the Justice Building, before flurrying footsteps escape the guard’s clutches and long, thin arms wrap around you, tears immediately staining the flimsy fabric of your tunic.

“I’m so sorry, dear,” he whispers to you, and as the twins reluctantly pull away so he can gather you in his arms, embracing you to what, horrifyingly, feels like the last time you’ll inhale his musty, familiar coal scent that lingers everywhere in the house.

“Chris will bring you food,” you instruct as soon as he meets your eyes, stepping away. “Don’t turn it down. When I get back-”

“When?” he muses, a sad light twinkling in his aged eyes. “You’re this confident?”

“You heard them!” you hiss, exasperated. “I have to come back. They’ll kill you if I don’t.”

“Don’t worry about us,” he insists. “I’ve already planned everything out.”

“What does that even mean?” If it were anyone else, you would’ve missed the subtle flit of his eyes to the Peacekeepers standing to attention behind you, listening in to your conversation. You realize there is something he cannot say with them here.

So you soften your face, cradle the twins into one last hug and use that as an excuse to pull him back in. Your father’s voice is so soft you can barely make out what he’s saying over the twins’ sobbing.

“District 13, we’re going to find them.”

“They’re dead,” you murmur. 

“If you come back, you know where to find us,” he says, adorning a sweet, solemn smile on his face as he withdraws, adjusting the collar of your tunic where it slants to one side. “Do you understand?”

The way he’s speaking makes it clear that he could be talking about anything now, so you attempt to match his expression, keeping your tone light. “Yes, Father. I’ll try my best.”

He pats your shoulder, nodding. “I know you will, my girl.”

When they call that time’s up, you ignore the twins’ protests and kiss them both on their cheeks, waving goodbye to their tear streaked, chubby faces, trying to imprint the image in your head forever.

The next person that comes in is someone you don’t expect. It’s Claire, the younger Redfield sibling; your hunting partner rarely discusses his little sister, so you don’t know her aside from seeing her during classes.

She offers no meager response, no subtle greeting, only grips your hands tightly, entwining your fingers with her own, pulling you closer. “Well? What’s your strategy?”

“I’m sorry?”

“For the Games?”

“I mean, I have to train hard-”

“No.”

“No?” You frown at her command, raising an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“There’s only one thing that you have to do,” she explains. “It’s how Leon’s brother won the Games way back when.”

“And that is…?” you prompt.

Her eyes are steely, unforgiving. “Keep Leon alive. The rest will come later.”

You’re frozen into a shock for about a second before you harshly release her hands, rough with years of hard labor, stepping away from her. “Excuse me?”

“You have to fool him into believing that you want an alliance!” she grumbles. “And I don’t think I can take any more of Chris’s groveling if you die.”

“Chris doesn’t grovel.” A corner of her lip quirks up.

“You don’t live with him,” she retorts, albeit gently. “Listen, don’t get yourself killed out there. You’re a smart girl. I know you can win.”

And she’s grinning and gone, a shitload of emotions dumped onto you, and a new outlook on the Games, and your potential partner. You’ve seen that method multiple times from the Victors, however convincing, and you nod to yourself.

You've got a winning shot if you have him, you know that.

You let a lazy smile overtake your face.

Well, at least until you kill him.

<><><><>

Of all the people in the Capitol, your stylist, by far, has been your favorite.

Your hands tremble as Cinna leads you to your prep team. Effie assured you this is his first year as a stylist, and he has "big ideas" to make an impression.

"Everything will be alright," he says gently, meeting your fearful eyes in the mirror. His deft hands make quick work of transforming you into someone else, someone you don’t recognize.

As your raw nerves are plucked and primed, Cinna talks soothingly of his plans. "The fire theme is overdone. I want to show you not as a beast to fear, but as a symbol of hope that cannot be extinguished."

Looking in the mirror, you gasp - you’re swathed elegantly in a flowing carbon-fiber gown that resembles burning coal embers. Wings of delicate gold wire sprout from your shoulder blades like a phoenix rising.

"Cinna, it's...incredible," you breathe.

He smiles warmly. "Panem will remember you, but not as a killer. You’re going to be our dream."

Your old fear returns as you reach the chariot. But seeing Cinna’s admiring grin from across the stable, you stand tall, finding courage in his vision.

And then Leon approaches, flanked by his stylist and prep team. They beam at you, drinking in your matching outfits, which you don’t remember agreeing to. But even you can’t disagree that you stand out from the starkly contrasting duos of tributes. 

Your heart pounds as the chariot ride nears. Catching you tense up, your panicked expression, Cinna tilts your head up with his finger. 

"Chin up, girl on fire.” He exhales. “Own who you are."

You climb up the ivory steps, paintings of flames licking the side of the chariot, spreading onto the horses’ flanks, matching the design on your perfectly trimmed, crescent shaped nails.

“Girl on fire, hm?” Leon says jokingly, although his voice is quiet. Neither of you have interacted since the Reaping, and it feels strange to be talking to a man that once held your life in his beautiful, beautiful hands.

“I think I’m gonna throw up,” you mutter as the chariot lurches forward, unused to the sudden jolt of movement that doesn’t require you to use your legs.

“Seriously?” You lift your head just enough to catch Leon giving you a concerned look, just as the new day’s rays hit his face, bathing his skin in an ethereal glow. You don’t expect him to tug you upright as the crowd gets a glimpse of you, entwining your fingers tight with his.

The way he clutches your hand makes you smile, drunk on a feeling you shouldn’t have, so you use your free hand to wave. The roar shakes you to your core - but it's not hatred, it's adoration. You’ve stunned them all. You beam at the cheering colors.

You test out blowing a kiss to one part of the crowd, where you see a little girl jump and scream for your attention, and everyone reaches out as if they can grab it, holding it close to their chests, as if there’s something caught in the space between their fingers and palm.

It gives you a sense of unmatched power, knowing that everyone is looking at you, that the Careers are definitely glaring at you, because they are so used to getting all the attention that now that you are captivating everything with the golden, flaming arches unfurling from your back, they aren’t pleased.

For once, you’re glad that you have Leon to grip, eyes flickering from the firelight of your wings, dancing down his simple, elegant suit that seems to blend with the darkness and reflect the flames.

You realize that his hand has gone white, so you move to release your grip, but he pulls you back, a pleading look mingling with the fireflies blinking in his waning eyes.

“Please,” he whispers. “I might fall off.”

You laugh softly, but the cameras don’t miss anything. You both have been getting a significant amount of screen time compared to the other tributes, so when you finish your rounds, waving up at President Snow, the distaste curling your tongue disappears when Leon hops down and offers you his hand.

You accept it gratefully, cameras lingering on you both before switching to another duo. While Cinna gently removes the flaming wings, smiling proudly, Leon twists to grin at you, so genuine you could fool yourself into thinking that everything that comes out of his mouth is true.

“You’re pretty cute when you’re on fire,” he says simply. “You should wear gold more often.”

“You don’t look too bad yourself,” you say before you can stop yourself. And then you remind yourself of what Claire said - he’ll be planning to kill you. You have to kill him before he can get to you.

So because whatever you sow, you must reap, you lean closer, knowing all the tributes are glowering at you, the attention undoubtedly set directly on you, distributed unevenly. You cup his cheek gently, deliberately, enjoying the flash of confusion rushing through his eyes.

And you peck a soft kiss to his jawline.

<><><><>

Just like the opening ceremonies, your training uniforms correlate with one another’s perfectly - looking out of place with everyone else wearing totally different things.

"Remember, these next days will determine your survival," Haymitch says as we enter the Training Center.

You steel yourself, knowing the horrors that await below. But seeing Leon’s steady, calm gaze as you descend among the other tributes, sizing each other up like prey, you realize that there’s nothing to doubt.

Rather than cower, you both stand tall and match strides, sticking with each other through every station. Of course, there are things that Leon is better at than you lack in, and vice versa. But instead of tripping you up, he helps you through it, just as you return the favor by explaining how to properly tie a knot, identify edible plants and start a fire.

No one will doubt your alliance. If anything, you wish for people to join your team, however temporary. But there is only a shadow trailing you everywhere, a boy that reminds you of your little brother, with his square, soft jawline and wide, innocent eyes.

He can’t be older than nine, so you take pity on him and keep your voice louder so he can overhear. Against all odds, you don’t want him to die.

Just like you don’t want Leon to die. You catch yourself watching him more and more, oftentimes keeping an eye on him while he stretches, admiring the tight coils of his body, so perfectly sculpted, like a statue from marble.

He must feel you looking, because he cranes his neck to spot you peering at him, then chuckles as you rush to finish your double knot from rope.

Leon doesn’t miss any chances to make snarky comments, whether it be during spear throwing, or the twenty minutes spared for lunch. 

But you never underestimate how dangerous he can be. Glimmer gives you the barest definition of a sneer, and within moments, with just a flick of his wrist, a knife sails past the tribute's throat. 

Her expression, plastered with shock, shows her thoughts.

Message received.

Slowly but surely, day by day, you earn everyone’s respect, however hesitant or however grudgingly, but you never miss the way they whisper as you stroll past, conversing with one another about which activity you’re going to excel at today.

“So, tell me.” Haymitch leans back in the dinner chair, hands resting on his stomach as the hazy look in his eyes fades away, the effects of the wine he had thirty minutes ago wearing off. “What can you do?”

“She’s the hunter.” Leon shrugs. “I can’t do much.”

“You carry around all that coal,” you point out. You’ve watched him from the forest, where he wheels the barrows filled with heavy, dusty blocks of coal back and forth, a fine layer of coal dust settling over his skin.

“Of course. My greatest weapon,” he deadpans. “Coal.”

“I meant your strength,” you grumble. “Be optimistic, can you?”

“You’re telling me.” Leon chuckles.

“Enough bickering,” Haymitch groans. “So, hunter, what’s your special gift?”

“I can… uh… well…”

“You’re not making this easy for me, are you?” Haymitch shakes his head, massaging the bridge of his nose. “Can’t you use a bow?”

You shake your head.

“Knives? Daggers? Spears?”

“Leon can use a knife,” you add. 

“Real helpful,” Haymitch drones. “Okay, here’s what’s about to happen. Leon, you’re going to teach her how to use a knife. And she’ll teach you to hunt. Deal?”

You’re pretty sure that’s what you’ve been doing, but for the last day of training, you agree to at least try your mentor’s advice.

Which is how you find yourself in this situation.

You sneak a glance back at Leon, who seems occupied, so you turn your attention back to the knife, gingerly picking it up and trying to mime a stabbing motion on an invisible target. Your face flushes crimson when you hear some restrained laughter behind you.

"Shut up!" you cross your arms and pout, turning away from him. "You’re supposed to be teaching me, not laughing at me."

You hear footsteps behind you, and before you can look over your shoulder, he's crossed the room and is standing against you, his arms encasing yours and fingers gracefully planting themselves against the hilt of the knife.

You glance up at him, but he clicks his tongue.

"Eyes down here, birdie," he says, and his low voice in your ear sends flames shooting from where his fingers meet yours and up your spine, straight to your head. Your chest twists as you suddenly have a name for the fire that ignites in the pit of your stomach, unmistakable and blunt against everything else fighting for a spot in your head. "Hold it like this."

"Got it," you mumble, your voice coming out even quieter than expected. Your pulse thrums under his, blond hair brushing the side of your cheek, azure eyes darting from you to the knife.

Leon abruptly pulls away, and you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. He takes an edged breath, and your heart slows. You palm the knife in your hand, turning to face him and twisting it through your fingers slowly.

"Careful," he murmurs. "You might cut yourself."

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you attempt dryly. 

Neither of you laugh.

<><><><><>

It irks you, to say the least, that none of the Gamemakers are paying attention to you. They’d rather make small talk about how divine the feast spread out in front of them is, or what they’ll be doing over the weekend, and it pisses you off.

So you reckon that to get their attention, you’ll need to show them you’re worth watching.

Their obliviousness makes you smile inwardly as you will your heartbeat to slow as you stalk towards the jovial crowd, drawing closer with each steady breath. Under cover of noise and distracted chatter, you were gaining.

The group is joking about how no one has impressed them yet. You’re about to change that. You crawl the final length on hands and knees, careful touch mapping the terrain so each advancement felt natural. Upwind, you find cover behind a silk curtain draped over a table and readied yourself. When laughter rises loudest, you strike.

Your arms wrap tight around a target, not quite caring who it is, twisted in an inescapable hold, your other hand covering their mouth to muffle their cries. The rest of the Gamemakers gape at you as you release the woman in your grasp.

She stumbles away, collapsing to her knees, gasping for air. The other examiners stare in both amazement and fear, searching your eyes soundlessly. 

“Thank you for your consideration? May I be excused?” Without waiting for an answer, you bow slightly.

And you take a step back, letting the shadows accentuate your face, saluting with a grin before melting back into the shadows, feeling worse about yourself than you were before.

You don’t expect the smile on Haymitch’s face, nor the slight amusement on Effie’s when they exchange a look as you explain your story.

“Well,” Leon says with a huff. “Now mine sounds boring.”

“You let your anger get the best of you,” Haymitch deduces, nodding. “Good. We can use some spirit.”

“But you said I needed to compose myself.”

“You’re forgetting something.”

“What?”

Haymitch leans back, a faraway look coming over him as if recalling another time, another Games. "We’re both still human. It’s in our nature to best those looking down on us.”

There seems to be an underlying meaning to what he says, but you don’t bother trying to figure out what it is. Instead, you tilt your head at Leon, gesturing for him to continue.

“How’d you do?” you ask politely.

“Not bad,” he admits. “Nothing showy like you. I just did what I did to Glimmer.”

“Immediate 12,” you say, shaking your head in fake remorse. “You exposed yourself to her, too.”

“But she’s pretty dumb,” Leon argues. “I think she’ll be out quick.”

He’s not wrong, you can say that much. There’s definitely competition, you know that, but there are certain tributes you know you don't need to stress over.

Leon admitting to his inferior performance startles you. He's changing, adapting to the game of puppetry they're slowly starting to implement onto you, preparing you for the games.

And you keep your eyes forward.

<><><><><>

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 been attending private school over the summer, spending his days playing polo and betting on horse races, a luxury only District 1 has.

You don't understand why Leon needs makeup. He already looks fine, but you suppose "fine" won't suffice for the Capitol’s games. You realize you’re glaring at him and quickly look away.

"Alright, let's go over this," Haymitch drawls, standing 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’m not your mother."

"Aren’t you mentoring us?”

"That depends on how today goes," Haymitch says, but a small smile has crept onto his face. He shakes his head and glances down at you, eyes flitting to the complex camera system. "Do what you need to. Remember what's at stake here."

You nod and mimic the action before he walks away. Someone shoos all of Leon's artists away, sending them scrambling like a school of fish. And they’ve called your names, the district interviews being set with both tributes. In what world they assumed this would help the kids about to die to open up, you couldn’t imagine.

You see none of this confusion reflected in the preppy interviewer, Caesar Flickerman who is sitting near you, smiling eerily.

"So, you two, you look cozy over there," he says, waggling his eyebrows in a way that makes you want to throw up. "Let’s hear a little about you two, huh?" He turns, wide eyes boring into you.

Your intro is somewhat unsteady, the way he’s worded the question throwing you off. "Well, uh… we’re…”

"We've been friends for a long time," Leon finishes for you, leaning back in his chair and spreading his legs. It sends warning bells ringing in your head, the informal posture, but you only hear the crowd swooning, so maybe it has something to do with his charming personality. He smiles warmly at the camera and the interviewer's own only grows.

"You’ve been friends since your childhood, yes?” he asks, directing a pen towards the both of you.

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

"Yes," you say for him. "We've pretty much known each other for our entire lives."

"Mhm, yup," Leon affirms.

"Now, here's the biggest question on everyone's mind," he says, leaning forward in her seat. "Your story, from what I can tell, has its rocky start, but from what we can see on the cameras, something is blossoming between you. I mean, you both got an 11! Something doesn’t seem quite right.” As if on cue, scripted, the audience laughs. Caesar waggles his eyebrows cartoonishly. “Care to explain?" He lets out a boyish giggle.

"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 man said.

"I understand what you're implying," you begin, “but-”

"Wait, what, you do?" Leon turns to you, raising an eyebrow. "What does he mean?"

"Go ahead. Tell him what I mean," he says, long, curved eyelashes fluttering. He waves the camera over and you feel the gazes of what feels like the entirety of Panem on you.

It's Leon. He'll laugh at the implication and wave it off. He’s just some guy. You don’t care what he thinks, do you?

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

"Are we?"

"No, stupid."

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

"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 lovely partner, as you can see, 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. "Wow, are we giving them something to talk about?"

You meet his gaze without flinching. "No.”

He smiles strangely. "Your readable reaction says otherwise."

Your temper flashes. "Don't flatter yourself. I couldn't care less.”

“So, you two, hm?” Caesar Flickerman interrupts, glancing at you both, raising an eyebrow inquisitively, most likely trying to change the subject. “I didn’t expect that, now did I?”

“Neither did I,” Leon mumbles, trying to make it seem like a joke with a quirk of his mouth. “But here we are.”

Since you’re not responding, the interviewer keeps the questions to Leon, who responds with as much wit as he can muster.

“You should be proud to call such a…” Caesar struggles to grasp the right word for your personality. “Fierce young lady, your partner.”

“She isn’t my partner,” Leon replies casually.

“Then who does she belong to?” Caesar leans in, propping his head on his elbow. The fact you’re being objectified by this man, while you sit right in front of him, makes you want to lean over and punch him, crack that chiseled jaw, but Leon just scoffs.

“No one. She’s her own girl.”

You stare up at Leon, who looks back down at you from the side of his eye, slanting to meet your height. Something about that comment feels both complementary and insulting, as if he can’t decide on his opinion of you.

Maybe he’s trying to make up for what he said earlier. Or maybe he doesn’t care. You’ll admit that it bothers you slightly, the fact that he’s so unbothered by everything and that anything he says doesn’t pass you.

Then, finally, your interview is over, the buzzer ringing in your ears.

“That seems about all the time we have, folks.”

You don't know what to expect, but it's not the roar of protests that greet you as you stand and exit the stage, seething but as formal as you can manage.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Haymitch doesn't look any happier than you feel, but you dismiss it with a shrug.

“They could perceive it as…” Cinna shakes his head. “Trouble in paradise?”

“What part of this situation is even close to paradise?” You blanch. 

“The food?” Flavius suggests, voice as close to a helpful chirp during a quiet hunt, doing nothing to quash the anger that sears the back of your neck.

“Wait, seriously, listen to me-”

“The last thing I’m doing is listening to you, Leon,” you hiss. You turn back to your mentor, hands brushing.

"You both are excused," Haymitch mutters at your expression.

<><><><>

But something doesn’t sit right with you, so you storm over to Leon’s room, knocking rapidly.

A loose white shirt hangs low beneath his hips, covering his thighs and presumably shorts. He opens the door with blurry eyes, rubbing them, blinking down at you, tilting his head in confusion. “Need something, sweetheart?”

You scowl at the pet name and push your way past him. He gets the idea and closes the door behind you, locking it before turning to face you. His fingers tangle his already tousled mess of golden hair as he exhales slowly.

“What… happened back there?” you ask tentatively. 

“Haymitch… he wants us to play the romance card.”

A beat of silence passes. “Even if not one, but both of us die?”

“I guess it brings in more sponsors?” Leon shrugs helplessly, yawning, mouth stretching into an ‘o’. “Is that all you have to say?”

“What you said back there, did you mean it?” Leon arches an eyebrow. “About me… being… my own person?”

“I mean, yeah?” He cups the back of his neck and stretches, flexing his bicep. “It’s not like we’re complete strangers.”

“Of course not,” you mumble. “How could I ever forget?”

Leon chuckles. “Don’t tell me you still haven’t gotten over that.”

“Might be simple to you,” you say, “but I could’ve died.”

“Because I kissed you?”

“Because you ratted me out!”

Leon shakes his head. “That’s where you messed up. I didn’t say anything.”

You pause. Everything that you’ve assumed about him over the past six years, judging his character because of the strong belief he put your life in danger, seems to vanish. “You didn’t?”

“That was my brother. He saw us.”

“He did?” you exclaim.

“You didn’t think you were the only one to suffer the consequences, did you?” He attempts to keep his tone airy, but there’s something heavy behind it. Immediately, your mind goes to the morning of the Reaping, to the red on his face, to the close bond between the baker’s wife and Leon’s mother, and you make the connection.

“Oh, shit, Leon,” you murmur. “I’m so sorry.”

“Still want to be coached separately?”

Your lips twist into a grimace. “That’s not what this is about.”

The only response you receive is a small shrug. “Anyways, there’s nothing you could’ve done about it.” His eyes sparkle with unshed tears, but he keeps his voice steady. “I hope you know that even if you hadn’t… you know, kissed me, I wouldn’t have said anything.”

He ducks his head, not wanting to see your hesitant nod.

“I’m not a bad guy,” he says quietly, as if trying to convince himself. “It’s just… all anyone would talk to me about was my brother, the second Victor of District 12. There was no one for me.

“And you came into my life, just… there, and you were separate from the life that I had, all adoration for my brother. You gave me attention.”

“But what are we?” you press, more insistent. “I can’t play a game with you like that. I need to hear it straight.”

"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 confusion. There's something different now, though. There's something guarding them, some kind of emotional barrier to keep from showing too much. Something he’s keeping.

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

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what it means.”

"I don't know." Leon mumbles. "How am I supposed to know? You don't fucking tell me anything, and it’s been almost a decade." His feet shuffle on the floor.

"A decade?" You laugh dryly. "Well, we are getting pretty damn close to that milestone, aren't we?"

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

“But it is,” you retort. "You don’t care.”

Leon leans in closer, voice dropping to a fierce whisper. “If you think I don't care, then 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 how much you care."

"Why can't you just-

You lift your chin defiantly. “Just what, Leon?”

A muscle ticks in his jaw. “Get out.”

“You know what?” You brush past him, feeling his eyes linger on your back as you open the door. You don’t spare him another glance. “I think I will.”

<><><><>

The gong sounds and you launch from your metal circle, sprinting toward the Cornucopia with the others. Adrenaline surges through my veins as you spot a backpack and dagger nearby.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see one of the boys tackle another to the ground. A sickening crunch and the cannon fires - the first death in mere seconds.

Grabbing the supplies you were eyeing, you spin to flee but freeze in horror. Two Careers have Leon pinned, knives flashing as he fights like a cornered animal. Without thought, you whip your new dagger at the nearest attacker. It sinks hilt-deep in their neck with a wet thunk.

There is only a moment of shock before Leon retaliates, slashing at the second boy. Before long, they’re both crumpled on the ground as Leon picks through their freshly deceased bodies.

Your eyes meet amid the screams and clashing steel. For an instant, understanding passes between you blood-soaked survivors. Then you nod, turn, and run as fast as you can from the massacre, finding safety from the pounding of boots.

You rush into the thickening forest as more cannons boom, signaling the end of the initial slaughter. None pursue you further into the shadows of the trees. You slump against a trunk, chest heaving.

And yet your thoughts wander to how Leon is faring, to the crestfallen look on his face that surely must adorn his expression, because you could’ve allied with one another.

But you know it’s best this way.

There can only be one winner, after all.

<><><><>

You’ve had your eye on her since you woke up. She’s too loud to miss, like a clumsy deer separated from its family. She crashes into everything, making a racket, and she risks giving away your location, too.

So you track her.

Your footsteps are light, albeit not completely quiet. Still, your victim, the girl from District 5, has not noticed, and you adapt to the shadows, moving as one with them, as if you’re truly just back on a hunt in District 12.

How proud would Chris be of you? He would finally accept your hunting tread, finally praise you, stop teasing you for scaring away potential game. You long for his comforting presence here, but he is not here, and the one person who is…

Well, the person who just happens to be one of your next targets.

But for now, you watch the girl that stalks towards another clearing. She waits, cautiously glancing around every two seconds, wasting precious time. You’re just about to take another step towards her when you notice the subtle change, unmissable to your trained eyes; the shift of colors in one specific area.

The leaves are brighter, less natural, as if placed there intentionally. You do not say a word as the girl fails to see the thin strings glinting sunlight in her way, sharp and silent, waiting for her. One at her feet trips her, and before she can catch herself, the strings slice into her skin. She lies there, whimpering, held up by the threads, before the one pressing at her stomach finally cuts through.

She tumbles down, dripping crimson. A moan passes her lips, pained, like an injured animal, but somehow, she manages to take a breath and twist her body around, craning her neck to assess the damage.

For a second, it seems as though all is okay. And then the lower half of her body slips down, and crumples a few inches away from her. Her entire digestive system, coated in glistening blood, splays out in front of her, slumping into the dead leaves.

From this angle, you can see her open her mouth to scream, but only a gurgle comes out as her mouth fills with blood. She catches sight of her bow, the one she wore to the interview, the one you had noticed her clutching dearly to her chest, lying on near her fingertips, and she strains to grab it.

Something snaps in her neck and she twitches for a moment before going still. Everything goes silent, as if nature itself is witnessing this moment.

The beautiful girl whose clumsiness was her downfall, whose name I never knew lies on the ground, a horrible, gruesome sight left of the woman who was once a daughter, a sister, a friend. She does not move again.

But the shadows around her do. And from those same shadows I hide in emerge the Careers, brutish, beefy boys that I had not paid much attention to at training, because you were too busy looking at that little brat.

You wonder which one of them has the brains to set up such a complicated, subtle trap, so cleverly placed that you might’ve missed it if she hadn’t already died. Just as you resolve to watch them cackle at the poor, dead girl, you notice another figure slip from the shadows.

And once they step into the sunlight, dappling their face in aligned patterns, you almost drop your knife onto the ground.

The boy standing there is someone you don't expect.

Leon.

Reap What You Sow

part two

You've been reaped, and your partner is not the man you want to be spending a bloodbath with. But what if he's nothing like what you expected?

a/n: for the anon that's waited SO patiently for it... im still working on figuring out ur identity but im a bit slow... so.... i hope u like it i had to reread the book for this and WEUIORWPDOSWEIOR i have trauma from thg trust me

tw: major character deaths (if you can guess who ily <3) mentions of blood, gore, illnesses, blah blah all that stuff yk

wc: 3.6k

part one here!!

The first thing you feel, stupidly, is betrayal, but you hadn’t been together in the first place. There was no thought out alliance, even if that was what Haymitch was hoping for in the endgame. 

“Nice one, lover boy,” one of the boys teases. “Next time, make sure it's your girlfriend. Can’t recognize one girl from another, huh?” 

“He’s just that desperate,” one of them replies, and they all break out into laughs, sounding amazingly like a pack of coyotes. Leon stares down at his feet, gripping the coil of thin, white wire wrapped around his fist. 

“The faster we get rid of her,” he grits out from behind clenched teeth, “the better chance we have of winning. She’s smart enough to survive unless we take her out.”

“Take her out? Wow, Leon, ever the romantic one, aren’t you?” one of the girls muses. But Leon doesn’t smile like you expect him to, and the only emotion that overtakes his face is disgust as he scowls.

“Let’s just get moving,” he growls.

You see in Leon's stony gaze not hatred - but shame. For a moment, your eyes meet, and you understand. This is not the end, he promises silently.

Calming your racing, pounding heart, you slip back into the trees, vanishing on the wind. 

You can feel the camera on your back, tracking you, and you realize that you’ve kept your face as neutral as Leon’s, so just to keep them interested (and to bring in more sponsors), you tilt your head towards the afternoon sun and smile knowingly.

Let them figure that out, you think. 

You keep your footsteps vague, letting them track where you were - not where you’re going to disappear to as cunning guides your unsteady, unsure steps toward victory.

<><><><><><>

You’ve fared pretty well, you think, for the past three days. Your snares are doing well, and you’ve stayed close to the river. Luckily, the Gamemakers haven’t thought of targeting you for your little stunt, and you feel grateful for a moment before realizing that you’re still in danger.

A drift of voices carries on the breeze, and straining your ears, you snatch the faint sounds of celebration from the Careers' camp. Though your mind screams not to, you creep closer - and there, lying on the wind, come the first hints of Leon's ruse. 

"...tracks lead east. Could have ditched the knife, gone after bigger prey."

A derisive snort. "Girl's got more sense. Doubt she went after a damn bear with her dinky little knife."

But Leon persists, voice dropping low and persuasive. "Unless she's more desperate than we thought. And these woods are full of desperate souls..."

You see his silhouette move with subtle gestures, painting a picture only you could see is false. Slowly, so slowly, he nudges their guesses astray, south, then west into thicker forest. 

By the time their supplies were packed to give chase at dawn, Leon had spun such a tangled web even you almost believed his stories. 

And in the cloud of lies he wove to protect you, you start questioning whether or not the man you know is there, beneath the killer, if a shred of mercy remains.

He gives no sign of knowing you watch. You don’t know if he knows you are there, but that night, you say a silent prayer of thanks for this small act of unexpected grace.

<><><><>

You breathe deep as forest mosses muffle your footsteps, senses sharpening for the soft calls of potential allies. You want to seek out the little boy that followed you around during training, but so far, you haven’t seen him. But another sound comes floating through the wood - a broken, mournful murmur that pricks your heart.

Tracing the plea, you find Leon alone amid the ferns, face buried in his hands. At your approach he scrambles up, fingers clawing for the hilt of a missing blade.

"Come to finish it yourself?" he hisses, agony written plain before the mask slams down over his face.

Slowly, showing empty hands, you meet his wild eyes with a steady gaze. "Calm down, I’m here to help. You… don’t look too good.”

Leon sways, strength waning as exhaustion takes hold. Something flickers in his eyes as he collapses to the side, slowly curling into a fetal position.

Your hesitation is apparent, but immediately disappears when he hits the leaves, fingers slackening from your fists. You glance around, peering deep into the sheltering green, wary of enemies, but none arrive.

Then your facade breaks and you fall to your knees, surveying where his injury is, and spot the blood seeping from his shoulder.

“What happened?” you ask quietly.

“They found out I’m sick,” he whispers. You can’t resist flinching back a little, and he manages to grin before grimacing. “Cato stabbed me.”

“Why didn’t you run?”

“He saw you were standing there and sent people after you.”

You stare down at him, eyes blank before you frown. “But how’d you get hurt?”

“I killed them.” A groan passes his lips. “On second thought, save yourself.”

“I’m not leaving you,” you say as fiercely as you can through tears. You don’t know why the thought touches you, the fact he cares about you enough to betray his, however temporary, allies, just for you.

You would’ve assumed he would have laughed, joined them, even. A weak smile touches his lips. You rip fabric from your shirt to bind the makeshift dressing, tears mingling with the blood on your cheeks that got there from your frantic wiping. “Why’d you have to play the hero, huh? You couldn’t run away?”

“Had to… keep you… safe,” he rumbles, voice hoarse, parched.

“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, hear that?”

Leon’s hand finds yours, grip tightening with determination. “Not… going anywhere. Promise.”

<><><><>

“What about the other girls?” you query, spooning soup between his lips, wincing as he swallows it with increased difficulty. His condition is getting worse, you can see that. You gently dab cold broth that you made hours ago from his ashen lips. 

Leon's labored breath grows more ragged, his burning gaze holding yours with haunting intensity. “What other girls?”

“Save your breath,” you reply, shaking your head. “It’s not important.”

“It’s important to you,” he says quietly, rubbing his finger in circles over your knuckles. “So tell me.”

“All those girls you dated back home, did they ever mean anything to you?” You drag in a fractured breath. “Do I?”

The royal crown of his hair dips back to grace the stone walls, breaths coming in puffs from his lips, twisted in a frown as he tilts his head to look at you, hooded eyes and furrowed brows asking you a silent question you can’t understand.

“Why are you looking at me like that? I’m thinking,” he rasps.

“Think faster,” you grumble.

He chuckles. “Bossy. Well, I guess the first girl I loved was my tutor,” he muses. “Not really my tutor. Just a girl that was smarter than me.”

“Was?” you ask, tilting your head.

“She died of some illness,” he says dismissively. “I loved the attention she gave me, treated me like I was her special little boy, even though that was part of her job. No, I didn’t love her, not really.” He meets your eyes steadily. “Not how I love you.”

And it’s moments like these that have you questioning whether or not he’s being serious, because his eyes are glazed and his mouth is set so seriously. Would he trade steel for softer weapons, if you grant his wish?

Gently, you lay your palm against burning flesh, unsure if you’re offering true solace or a cruel illusion, reflecting the confusion that you feel at his words.

“But you have every guy’s attention back home,” he breathes, almost a sigh. “I don’t stand a chance, do I?”

I can almost hear what Haymitch is undoubtedly thinking back home, begging me to say out loud, for the cameras that are definitely watching us.

“I might have their attention, but you’ve always had mine.”

And as if on cue, a silver parachute blows in on the breeze, landing near your crossed legs, silky fabric brushing your hand as you eagerly unwrap it.

“Look what Haymitch got you,” you say teasingly as you reveal a vial of what you presume is medicine, must be for his cold.

You pour it into his soup, swirl it around until the spoon generates enough heat to dissolve the sticky, ivy colored liquid. Leon’s nose crinkles when it meets his tongue, jaw working as he swallows.

<><><><><>

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

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

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

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

“Half asleep?” you joke.

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

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

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

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

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

“I should… go hunt,” you explain quietly, but the hurt that presses through his neutral expression is something you have grown used to seeing.

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

“Get what, Leon? We need to eat.” 

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

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

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

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

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

His eyes flash, gray from moonlight, mouth hardening.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

<><><><>

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

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

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

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

"I was wrong. You mean everything to me. You would never do something like that, I know." Without waiting for a reply, he closes the distance between you and offers an apology, a plea for forgiveness, pouring it all into the tender press of lips, praying you understand. 

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

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

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

<><><><><>

As the midafternoon sun breaks its unrelenting heat, you both stalk through the forest, looking for the last tribute, the last one before you’ll inevitably have to decide the victor between you both.

The sound of the river drowns out any other noise, the rush of water serving as a reminder of the weapon at your disposal.

Your opponent stands near the bank, eyes slanted dangerously. You recall yesterday, seeing Clove’s stoic face in the sky, flanked by puffy clouds. You also remember their bond, how close they were, horrifyingly similar to you and Leon.

Before long, you’re thrown into unwanted combat. Blood decorates the blades of grass dancing around your ankles, back to back with Leon as Cato’s fury seems to consume the arena.

Somewhere, deep inside you, a part that isn’t occupied with surviving, you feel pity for him, because in his howls of pain come grief, a silent plea to put him out of his misery.

As Cato lunges towards you with fierce determination, you act quickly, sidestepping his attack and delivering a powerful blow that sends him stumbling backwards towards the river's edge. 

Leon catches wind of your idea, and with a swift and unwavering hand, he pushes Cato into the cool, rushing waters below.

<><><><>

And we lie there, waiting for the river to calm, for the ripples gracing the muddy banks, right as twilight drapes the world in soft purple. 

The arena lies still, a haunting quiet settling over the blood-soaked ground. Shadows dance in the fading light, the remnant of the District 10 boy casting long, eerie shapes that stretch to meet your feet. There is no one left as the hovercraft picks him up too, leaving you both alone in the arena, surely being documented.

You see his hand grip the dagger jabbed between the lower fabric of his shirt, tearing a hole, precariously close to his stomach. Without thinking, your own knife flies to his neck just as it slips from his fingers into the river, breaking the calm surface of the water with no sound.

Hurt flashes across his expression before his eyes slant dangerously, tilting your knife further towards his neck, pressing it into the unscathed, fragile skin covering his throat. You hear yourself let out a childish sound before yanking it away, or at least try to.

Leon’s grip stays strong, fingers curling even more, drawing a thin rivulet of blood you’ve seen him cough up far too many times. With his other hand, he dips a gentle finger in the red, hissing quietly before smearing it in the shape of a cross on his neck.

“So you don’t miss this time,” he says dryly. 

“I wasn’t- why would I-” 

“Do it,” he whispers, voice dropping an octave lower as his face hardens. “It has to be me.”

“You’re not leaving,” you insist, trying to pull the knife from his grasp. “I can’t let you die!”

“I’m already dying,” he says softly, a sad smile adorning his face. “You didn’t think medicine would fix it all, did you? Besides, you said it yourself, didn’t you? Only one.”

“And it can be you!” you insist. “You’re not listening!”

“There’s nothing to listen to, sweetheart,” he replies, dropping his hand to cup your cheek, staring into your gaze longingly, honeyed eyes sparkling with pain.

“I’ll kill myself!” you blurt out, pulling away from his touch. “I-I can’t live without you.”

“And your siblings? Your family won’t make it,” he says gently. “They’ll be gone.”

Your thoughts are everywhere but home right now. “It can be different.”

“Fine.” Leon looks up to ponder the night sky, and you make the mistake of relaxing your hand, letting the knife rest loosely in your fingers near his chest. He notices this, those keen, sharp eyes and that smart, beautiful mouth curving up.

He does not grimace when your blade, still in your hand, plunges into his stomach, straining under the effort of burying the knife deep into his skin. His blood paints your hand a sickening shade of crimson, dripping from where your bodies connect. 

You can’t bring yourself to remove your fingers, frozen with shock. Leon lets out a fractured exhale, and through his parted lips you can see the ocean of ruby washing his teeth.

He collapses onto you, forcing you to collapse to the ground, laying him down on the dead foliage, where you had both tread mere hours ago, talking about your futures and how it would be the ideal, perfect life.

But now here he is, sprawled on rotting leaves, strawberry blonde hair fanning out in an ever-spreading pool of crimson, drenching your clothes, but you don’t care.

You press yourself closer to him, holding him like a child in your arms, the world around you fading into a distant whisper, leaving only the sound of his breath - shallow, yet steady, like the gentle flow of a tide. 

The light in his eyes flicker, a candle fighting against the dark, wax dripping down its body similar to the way blood runs down his body, painting his figure in a slick, reflective liquid that shines the moon back at you.

“Leon,” you whisper, trying to bring him back to you, chanting his name into the crook of his neck, where you had felt the tip of your blade press, kissing the hurt away.

“I’ll always love you, little bird,” he mumbles, glassy eyed, blood going cold, seeping from everywhere, coating your skin, quickly drying into crumbling material. 

And when he’s finally gone, after the minutes have stretched into hours, upon days in which the sunshine bathes his skin in a holy glow, the mockingjays chirp a hollow, solemn tune before the forest goes silent.

One gives the warning call, but you do not move. You can feel the hovercraft shielding you from the cheery sun, providing shade for you and the cold body in your hands.

For all the talk of killing him first, it seems he has killed you first, just by leaving you alone. And perhaps you will see him when they allow you mercy.

Why should they give you mercy? This is what you are thinking when your fingers find the blade. You hear Claudis Templesmith frantically calling to the hovercraft to do something, anything, but no one can stop you.

You have already been declared the winner. There is no one to harm your family. No one to harm your hunting partner, who awaits your return eagerly, but there will be no return. And, some selfish part of you knows that you’ll already be dead, unable to care if they die.

The blade slips into your skin effortlessly, as if knowing that this has always been its true purpose, knowing it is finally home, nestled in your body.

You lie beside your fallen lover, acknowledging it when he’s gone seems cruel yet inevitable, tracing circles on his still chest, as you had when you had slept together in the cave. The memory seems faint, distant, even, as if it had happened years ago, not days.

Your life disappears with your breath. The last thing you can remember doing is curling your fingers around Leon’s, entwined forever, captured in the scene of your death.

Destined to always reap what you sow.

random ambulance leon x reader puff

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

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

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

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

“You look nice,” she comments vaguely.

“Thanks,” you reply. “So do you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why don’t you?” you retort.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Leon Scott Kennedy.

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

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.”

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)



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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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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hi, i love ur writing ! could u do where leon compliments reader and reader is like "u dont have to say that, u know i am not beautiful" basically like reader being insecure, then leon comforts her and showering her with compliments. :) 💗

-Leon Kennedy x reader

Thank you for the request my lovely! Hope you enjoy! 💕💕

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You’re wrist deep in cookie dough, kneading it under your palms with your sleeves rolled up to your elbows as you let out little huffs, Sherry had a school bake sale and you were more than happy to help offering to bake her some cookies.

Leon always admired that about you, the way you were so kind and caring, you’ve helped him a lot through these past couple of months and he thinks you’re just perfect, inside and out.

He walks over to you, brushing a stray piece of hair behind your ear, “Hey beautiful” he says, pressing a kiss to your cheek while you roll the chocolate chip-covered cookie dough into balls.

He doesn’t miss the way you wince slightly at the nickname, how you seem to go in on yourself, you’ve been like this for weeks now, avoiding his touches, even at night you seem to sleep further away from him, he hates it.

“Hey, do you think two batches are enough? Or should I do another?” You ask trying to divert the conversation in a different direction, Leon notices the way your eyes seem to be fixed on the cookie dough, “I don’t remember how many children are in Sherry’s class”

He can see the concern that laces through your eyes, and he knows the worry goes far beyond Sherry’s school bake sale, there’s something much deeper in the way, something that makes you brush his love off.

“I think two batches are plenty, Sherry’s gonna be over the moon,” he says, noticing that you haven’t preheated the oven as he turns it to one-eighty degrees, “You wanna go grab some dinner after you’ve finished pretty girl?” He asks frowning at the way you wince.

There’s that look that flashes over your face again as if his words are venomous, and it breaks his heart, and he dreads to think about the horrible words you’re telling yourself.

He stands there for a moment, watching as you put the second batch of cookies in the oven thinking about how to approach this because, in all honesty, Leon doesn’t know how long he handled this distance you’ve wedged between the pair of you.

He waits until you set the timer, washing your hands and drying them off, until talking to you letting out a sigh as he prepares himself.

“Can we talk?” He asks, leaning against the countertops, his eyebrows pinched together when you don’t look at him.

“Sure, what is it?” You turn over to where he’s standing, arms crossed over his chest.

His hands go to rest against your hips, and he hates the way you seem to flinch from his touch as if his hands were poison against you, his chest tightens at the way you nibble on your bottom lip as you push away from him.

“What’s going on? Talk to me” he says, his tone soft and caring and it makes you want to burst into tears because the last thing Leon deserves is the way you’ve been treating him lately, constantly pushing him away every time he reaches out for you.

And you hate how much power your insecurities hold over you, hate how it’s now affecting your relationship, it kills you.

“Hey, don’t cry angel,” he says, noting the tears that fall down the curve of your cheeks, and you squeeze your eyes shut, you felt so undeserving of such a sweet nickname.

You shake your head wiping your tears, “Don’t do that Leon” you cry, wrapping your arms around yourself, and he looks back at you with confusion.

“Do what?— y/n?” He asks, trying to understand why you were suddenly so upset, “Hey, beautiful tell me what’s going on?” His hands go to reach out for you but you’re quick to push them away.

“You don’t have to keep saying it, I’m not- I’m not beautiful or- or pretty, so just stop— please” and he swears he can feel his heart shatter, the remnants poking in his throat, and it’s hard to listen to your sobs.

He doesn’t know how to approach this, he’s terrified of making it worse but the way you hold yourself as pitiful sobs escape your lips breaks him in ways he never thought possible.

“Can— can I hold you?” He asks, relief washing over him as you nod whispering a small ‘okay’ and his arms wrap around you holding you close to him as he lets you cry into his shirt, his hand soothing your back.

“I’m sorry Leon, I’m just scared- I’m scared that you’ll look at me the way I do” you mumble and he shakes his head, pressing a kiss to your temple. It pains him to know that you look at yourself with anything other than kindness.

“Sweetheart, hey look at me,” he says, hands cupping either side of your tear-stained face.

“I love you- so much it’s scary, and I need you to know that okay? You mean the world to me” he promises, with such a loving look in his eyes and you can't find the heart to doubt his words.

"You're the most perfect person in the world, so beautiful inside and out, and god, you're so pretty, so so pretty, you- you leave me breathless" he smiles at the teary chuckle that leaves your lips.

You smile back at him, and you know there isn’t much he can say to erase your insecurities, it’s a deep-rooted problem you have to face alone, but the way he showers you with his love helps more than he’ll ever know.

“What can I do to make it better? Anything and I'll do it” he asks, you let out a breathy giggle and you almost convince yourself he’s not real, he can’t be.

You reach up to press a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth, and you slowly come to realise that, Leon really does love you and it was foolish to think otherwise, “There’s nothing really, just be patient, and don’t leave me” you murmur resting your head back against his shoulder, he hates that he can’t help you more.

“I’ll never leave you, ever” he promises, a gentle hand smoothing over your hair as he holds you against him.

“I’m sorry for being so awful to you, m’sorry for pushing you away,” you tell him with a slight wobble to your voice.

“You don’t need to apologise, you just gotta tell me what’s up, yeah? That’s what I’m here for” he tells you and you let out another wet, teary chuckle nodding your head and he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

A minute passes by, as you both stand there holding each other before the timer goes off, and Leon pulls away as he takes out the cookies, and you can tell by the look in his eyes that’s he tempted to take one.

“Don’t even think about Leon, these are for Sherry’s bake sale” you remind him, as he still admires the delicious chocolate chip cookies.

“I’ll make another batch just for us” you wink, bumping your hip against his as he moves out of your way, and he smiles at the way you don't move away from his touch when his hand falls to your waist, you giggle at how he stands behind you watching intently as you put the cookies into little individual bags, fancy ribbon and all, and he can't help but think just how lucky he is to have you in his life.

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Hello!! I requested the First Kiss story and I cannot emphasize how much I absolutely loved it 😭♡ It was so soft and fluffy omg </3

Another idea I had was Leon catching you wearing one of his clothes for the first time and he thinks it fits you perfectly even tho it's oversized or something like that :00

Tysm and have a good day/night!! <33

Is that mine?

{Leon’s first time seeing you wearing his clothes}

SOBBING!! thank you for requesting again my love!! 💕💕

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Leon Kennedy doesn’t hate without reason, and a good reason at that, it’s safe to say that he hates working late, and he hates being away from you, but when he walks into the house to be met with you in a pair of shorts and one of his shirts, well, he can practically feel the hatred leave his body.

It might just be his new favourite sight, the way his shirt hangs on against your body, how the fabric drapes off your shoulder ever so slightly, he thinks he might just lose it completely.

“You’re finally home!” Your arms wrap around his shoulders as you pull him into you, his head resting against the crook of your neck.

It’s such a small thing, but the thought of you picking out one of his shirts and putting it on just makes something inside him tingle, and it renders him completely speechless.

“I cooked up some dinner, there’s leftovers in the fridge whenever you’re ready” You let him know with the sweetest tone he’s ever heard and surely you’ve got to know what you’re doing.

Your hands gently cup his face and your thumb graze against his cheek, and hum softly at the feeling of his slight stubble, and before you can skip off into the kitchen, his hands grab for your hips pulling you back into his arms.

“Is that mine?” A stupid question, he obviously knows it’s his, it’s so very clearly his.

You look up at him, “Oh, yeah I missed you today so I just...” You trail off your hands motioning to his shirt you’re wearing, and he can’t help the smirk that splays across his lips.

His hands grasp at your sides, dipping under the shirt as he pulls you impossibly closer, and his heart skips a beat at the idea of you missing him, rummaging through his draws for a shirt, his shirt.

You giggle as his hands run over your belly then to your back, gentle fingers grazing along your naked skin, as he leaves soft kisses against your jaw down to your neck.

“You should’ve called me sweetness, I would’ve left work early” he whispers into your neck, god he’d missed you so much.

Your fingers weave through his hair as he continues to pepper your soft skin with his warm kisses, “I can’t do that Leon, your work is important” you tell him feeling a little breathless at his loving actions.

“Not as important as you are angel” You go giddy at his words.

His eyes flicker over your body for the fifth time and there’s an odd sense of pride that settles in his chest, you’re wearing his shirt, and he just can’t seem to shake the feeling, and maybe that’s why his hands are still roaming your body.

“You look so fucking good in my clothes, you should wear them more often” he smiles as he nuzzles further into your neck, and you chuckle hearing his stomach grumble in protest, he was hungry.

You try to push away from him but it’s pointless as he just holds you tighter, “Come on, you need to eat baby” you giggle as you guide him to the kitchen with him practically glued to your side.

He stands behind you with his chin resting on your shoulder whilst you dish up his dinner, “Leon, what’s going on you with?” You chuckle as his lips trail down your neck lingering on the sensitive parts, and you squirm at the soft feeling.

“Nothings wrong, I just wanna be close” he mumbles against your skin, “I like it when you wear my clothes” he adds, just above a whisper.

You giggle as you awkwardly move to the table to set his plate down, “Yeah I gathered that baby” you smile as he sits down on a chair, and before you even have time to turn around to get him a drink his hands are already grasping at your hips.

“Come sit” he says patting his thigh with a hopeful look in his eyes, “We didn’t get to have dinner together” he looks up at you with a smile and you don’t miss the almost playful look that flashes through his eyes.

“I’m not sitting on your lap while you eat Leon” you chuckle feeling a little bad at the way his shoulders drop ever so slightly, “I’ll sit next to you, just let me get you a drink,” you tell him, brushing his fringe from his eyes and he nods with a grateful smile.

You get him a drink before taking a seat next to him and his hand immediately rests on your thigh as if out of instinct, “You already ate right?” He asks, and you nod with a smile watching as he eats, and you both sit there talking about your days, with his hand soothing against your thigh, and he doesn’t leave your side for the rest of the night, you take a mental note to wear his shirts more often.

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