[adore-laur]

MASTERLIST

—please reblog and comment! you’re reading these stories for free, so it's the least you can do.

—links with bullet points are extensions or flashbacks related to the original story/series.

—some stories contain nsfw content (indicated by an asterisk), so read at your own risk.

—do NOT plagiarize or post these on any other platform. these stay on tumblr and wattpad only.

DAD HARRY

— highly recommend reading in order!

part one | part two* | part three*

california dusk

skin

you make it feel like christmas

milestones

the first day home

mother's day

third time’s the charm

rendezvous*

winds of change

blurbs

——

HARRY & SAWYER

southpaw

fruitcake

pitcher's promise

sunstruck*

summerboy

roses

devotion*

him

her

——

GOLD RUSH SERIES

part one | part two | part three | epilogue

• auld lang syne

——

MULTIPLE-PART STORIES

foxtail | deux cadeaux*

• beauty

• blurb

home is a feeling | come home to my heart

pink velvet* | cloud nine*

bullseye part one* | part two*

rewind part one | part two | part three

——

STAND-ALONE STORIES

crystal shop boy

orange slices & pocket lemons

the way of love*

get mine, get yours*

facade*

joyride*

silent treatment

get over here

[adore-laur]

A SOUL WORTH SAVING: PART TWO

read part one here! please give feedback <3

——

That was a close one. Too close.

After the tense confrontation with Victor—and his cowardly escape—Leon found an alternate route to flee the attic. It had involved a lot of blocked exits and backtracking, but eventually a ladder revealed the way out. He never let go of you for fear that you would disappear from his sight. Unrealistic, but he wasn't taking any chances after what happened.

Bypassing Victor's office proved to be a challenge because of your insistence to just take a quick peek. But from how you relied on Leon's body to stay upright, he denied you with a pat on your hip and steered you in the direction of the double staircase leading down to the care center's first floor. Thankfully, you cleared all the enemies beforehand, so it was a quiet, stress-free journey back.

With your half-hearted navigational guidance, Leon located the safe room you found earlier, a spacious guard office behind a white ornate door. He set you on a faded yellow couch and checked your scalp wound for any bleeding. It looked much better, but it was a constant reminder of his failure.

Now, Leon surveys the space for cameras or traps. It's dimmer inside compared to the overpowering lobby lights, and he hopes it helps your dizziness subside. One wall sconce and a vintage hanging lampshade illuminate the room. There's a brick fireplace nearby with a few logs, which he plans on using later after he shuts the lights off when you go to sleep. Filing cabinets and other bureaucratic furnishings border the walls. The drapes are closed, preventing lightning flashes and silver moonlight from creeping inside. It's still storming.

The only oddity that catches Leon's eye is a red glow at the entrance of what looks like a basement. The obscure door appears sealed shut, so he's not too worried, as long as nothing crashes through it. To his relief, the place is secure enough to spend the night.

Leon checks his wristwatch. 11:49 PM. If there are no interruptions of the rabid zombie kind, he plans on letting you sleep before continuing the investigation in the morning. Together, this time.

Guilt has been burrowing in his chest ever since he awoke in the attic. Seeing the wound beneath your hair, a signifier of Victor's gall to harm you, equal parts angered and saddened him. He feels it's his foremost duty to protect you on partner missions. He knows you can fend for yourself; he knows how courageous and competent you are, but one mistake on his end can put you in a lethal situation. And that's exactly what happened today, all because of his impatience and automatic instinct to kill what he deems evil.

"You're brooding."

Leon tears his vacant gaze away from the fireplace and glances toward you as you tuck your knees into the couch cushions. "Are you cold? I can start a fire."

Your lips flatten, clearly unimpressed with his immediate shutdown of a conversation about his current emotions. "Sure," you say, not fighting him on it.

He nods and begins collecting papers that are strewn about the desks and tables. After giving them a cursory look-over to ensure they're not needed for evidence, he crumples and tosses them into the fireplace, then pulls a matchbox out of his back pocket. Once the papers shrivel with glowing orange embers and the logs burn brightly, he lets the warmth seep through his damp clothes as he finds himself deep in thought again.

What would have happened if Victor ran into you first? With nowhere to hide, you would've been caught in his snare, and even if you called Leon for help, he likely would've been too late. To Victor, you were of no value—just someone to discard, and it makes Leon sick to know you risked your life after he was choked unconscious.

If you died in the same building as him, he would never forgive himself. Never. He doesn't want to live without—

"You know, silently staring into the flames only adds to your brooding."

Leon frowns, shifting his sulky stance. "I'm not brooding." Even to his own ears, he sounds defensive. He probably looks pouty too.

"I've known you for ten years, Leon. What's wrong?"

He doesn't speak for a full minute. It isn't until you tap the couch in invitation that he sighs and says, "We shouldn't have split up." He sits beside you, his elbows digging into his spread thighs.

"We had to," you reply. "Otherwise, we'd be stuck here a whole week trying to explore everything."

He cracks his knuckles. "We've done week-long investigations before."

"Yeah, when you weren't infected."

Leon closes his eyes and rubs his palms down his face, frustration flaring within him. He remembers when you found out. Stubbornly, he managed to hide the external physical symptoms of the virus for a couple of months, but he could only wear his leather tactical gloves outside of missions for so long. You grew suspicious but still joked around, thinking he had a gnarly rash or tendonitis from getting older. When the virus next appeared as a blatant black splotch on his neck, large enough to sneak past the shirts and coats he wore, there was no dismissing your concern.

On a late August night, after a covert agent meeting, Leon drove you home to your apartment (you had fractured your foot on a previous solo mission, and he assumed it was the gentlemanly thing to do) and told you everything he knew—which, frankly, wasn't much. But you sat there and listened with the attentiveness he's come to appreciate. Didn't push for more details. Didn't look at him any differently.

And when he carried you to your door on the third floor, reminding you to ice your foot and take your prescribed medications, you hugged him. Tightly and in a way that felt like you were drawing out the goodbye.

Thank you for telling me, Leon. You're brave.

That night, Leon felt his heart come alive again.

"Can I see it?" you ask softly over the crackling fire when he doesn't reply. He knows you're referring to his neck, currently covered by his shirt collar.

"It's not looking any better, if that's what you're wondering," he says, breaking out of his reverie. There's nothing worse than admitting weakness, but it's the truth—every passing day, he's a step closer to death.

"I realize that. I just want to see." The beautiful tenderness in your expression makes it goddamn difficult to refuse.

"Go ahead," he grumbles, leaning back against the couch and unzipping his quarter-zip shirt. Cool air hits his chest, but everywhere else on his body is heated by your close proximity.

You inch closer and reach your hand out. For some reason, Leon can't look at you as your fingertips delicately sweep across the black spiderweb bruise on his neck. He feels vulnerable, a prickliness sparking his nerves. He's still grappling with the reality himself. But beneath that, it feels like there's a current of electricity rushing through his veins from your touch. He clenches his jaw and concentrates on the low table that digs into his shins.

When your thumbnail grazes the mark, Leon hisses in pain, instinctively grabbing your wrist.

"Sorry," you whisper, hastily withdrawing your touch.

He releases you. "You're fine, sweetheart." The affectionate name slips from his mouth naturally, and he sees your breath hitch, but the moment passes quickly. God, when's the last time he called you that?

"How often does it hurt?" You refocus on the wound, just with your eyes this time.

"Sometimes it's numb; sometimes it feels like being burned alive." He doesn't reveal the coughing fits he's been having. Or the persistent ache in his ribcage.

Determination hardens your face. "There has to be more information about it. We need to check Victor's office."

"We will," Leon says calmly. "Tomorrow."

You roll your eyes. "We're heading out at six a.m. sharp, okay?"

"Yes, ma'am." He stands and lingers near the door, pushing his pistol into his holster. "I'll keep watch until sunrise."

"Leon, you need rest too."

"But how can I be sure you won't sneak out while I'm sleeping?"

You have the audacity to look perfectly innocent. "I would never."

"Yeah?" He zips his shirt back up. "If I remember correctly, in 2018 you left me alone in a Kyoto hotel room to investigate that hibachi chef some more. And then you proceeded to get swarmed. Heard it right outside the window and had to come save your ass."

"That was..." you trail off, seemingly surprised by his memory. "Okay, that was a mistake. I was feeling bold. And hey, Kyoto's not meant to be experienced in a hotel."

"Right." Leon raises his brows, a smile threatening to break free. "I think it's time for lights out."

"But I like talking to you."

He unleashes a combination of a self-deprecating chuckle and a wheezing cough. "That's something someone with a concussion would say. Oh, wait."

You laugh unabashedly, and it heats his skin more than the fire ever could. It's not often his dry humor is met with a positive reaction. And it's not often he sees this relaxed, loose side of you. It's times like these where he's grateful for the easy rapport.

"I'll try to sleep," you say, sliding your boots past your ankle. "If you get tired, let me know and I can take over night watch."

"Doubtful," Leon says, shutting off both lights, leaving only the fire casting flickering shadows across the room. His mind is racing at high speed like a bullet train. Sleep won't shroud his senses anytime soon. "Let me know if you experience any more symptoms."

"So stubborn and demanding," you mutter to yourself as you settle sideways on the couch, getting comfortable. He hears it clear as day, and he allows himself one small, fond smile before he sits against the point of entry, his knees bending. "Good night.”

"Night," he says, the back of his head lightly thumping against the door. Knowing you're safe and about to sleep soundly nearby calms his pulse just a little. Fuck, what a day it's been.

Sometime throughout the next hour, Leon begins dozing off with heavy eyelids and limbs. No part of him wants to accept that he feels utterly worn out. A fatigued feeling penetrates his very bones. But he'll keep surviving—there's no other choice. Even as the virus slowly takes control, he's not going to go out as a hopeless bystander. He was born to die trying.

When his brain finally quiets and he's halfway to an unanticipated slumber, he hears footsteps grow close. Even with his eyes closed, your presence is made known by the comforting scent and natural warmth your body emits. Either you're sleepwalking, which wouldn't be uncommon with your concussion, or you're bored and can't find a way to fall asleep. Well, at least insomnia cripples the both of you.

All at once, Leon feels your hand cover his forearm that's resting across his abdomen. You trace the veins under his sleeve, a healing touch that momentarily distracts from the perpetual pain dully thrumming underneath his marred flesh. In the foggy space between awareness and sleep, he hears your voice hushed with vehemence. "We'll find a cure. I'll do it myself if I have to."

Leon aches to reach for you, to tell you to stop worrying about him, but he knows it would be hypocritical. The urge to care for you runs deep. Your vulnerability is never easily given, so he keeps his eyes closed, his breathing steady, and relishes your softness. If he gives in and says something equally damning, there's no going back.

Then, as if in a distant dream, the last thing that enters his consciousness is your breath ghosting against his ear with a confession. "You're a soul worth saving, all right? The world needs you. I need you."

If only he could believe it and have the guts to tell you the same.

——

[adore-laur]

hello!! leon request:)) ive been dying to see a leon xreader partner. maybe they met at the DSO when he started. now they’ve both moved up, its been awhile. you have to work on a mission and paired together. leons surprised you’ve grown more easy on the eyes. hehe just have fun w it🫶🫶

A SOUL WORTH SAVING: PART ONE

——

Eyelids fluttering, you gradually float back into full consciousness. What was previously black behind your retina now bursts with fuzzy redness, making you wince, senses on high alert. A harsh fluorescent surgical light shines directly on your frame slumped in a chair. It's a stark contrast from the endless eerie halls you were roaming earlier in Rhodes Hill Chronic Care Center.

You're still piecing together your whereabouts when, through blurry vision, you register Leon sitting across from you. He seems to be awakening too, confused by the bright, sterile room—an attic of some sort. You notice his hands are tied behind his back, which diverts your focus to the thick rope also bound tightly around your wrists. Your mouth feels as dry as a sun-drenched cotton ball, and an aching pulse throbs near your temple. How long have you been out?

In an effort to understand your surroundings quickly, you close your eyes again and recall your most recent memory.

Flashlights shining down the corridor. A hood lowering to reveal the monster you dreaded meeting. Leon shoving you behind him. Near death.

You remember watching Dr. Gideon choke Leon in the air until his body went limp, followed by your primal scream as you drove your tactical axe into the bastard's back to no avail. Unaffected, he threw you against a door with a force only something inhuman could exert, your skull hitting solid wood and knocking you out cold.

Then you were met with an empty black void.

To find oneself in such a situation would be considered preposterous to any normal outsider, but you've acclimated to the horrific sights your job presents. Leon Kennedy is your long-time investigative partner under the Division of Security Operations. For nearly a decade, you've worked independently and together on classified missions to battle bioterrorism across the globe. Last week, Leon was assigned to investigate Victor Gideon, a former scientist linked to cryptic deaths of victims from the Raccoon City incident. With Leon's worsening infection, you were a last-minute addition to the mission. You borderline begged to be recruited since the thought of him taking on such a monumental task alone was too anxiety-inducing.

The sprawling care center is a maze of rooms filled with mysteries at every turn. Leon reluctantly agreed to split up to cover more ground. He was in your earpiece, though, his deep voice detailing any interesting evidence he managed to find in the east wing and checking in to ensure you weren't in too much jeopardy. Communication is necessary on partner missions, and you're no stranger to the benefit of two minds solving complex cases.

Secretly, you revere Leon. While he isn't much of a talker, he's dutiful, reliable, and a steady presence when matters intensify. Under pressure, he's the one who's there to remind you to exhale and stay sharp. He's unfazed by a lot of things, at least on the outside, and his hardened exterior is a complimentary counterpart to your more compassionate-forward personality.

And not that it's important, but he's extremely easy on the eyes. Distractingly so.

Brain now clear from the haze, you refocus on Leon. His biceps and forearms flex as he blindly fusses with the restrictive rope. His gaze, a stormy blue that matches the color of his compression shirt—which you're shocked hasn't ripped yet from how it's practically painted on every buff ridge of his body—is narrowed in frustration. Since when did he get so... big? Ten years ago, he was strong and in shape, but this version of Leon is, for lack of a better word, jacked. You don't know his fitness regimen nor do you really know what he does in his spare time to achieve his physicality, but you can appreciate the signs of a man who takes care of himself.

"Ah, you're finally awake."

A clear, commanding voice cuts through the muted ringing in your ears. Heavy footsteps thump on the wood floors behind you. On your right, a tall figure walks past you and stops by Leon.

Victor. A frightful sight to behold.

"Two investigators looking for me," he says, almost sounding pleased by the fact. "How flattering."

You look at Leon to find him already concentrated on you. He can be so hard to read sometimes. If you were to guess, you'd wager that he's holding his tongue to refrain from taunting Victor. Or scheming. The stoic lines of Leon's face reveal nothing, but you know the gears are turning in his mind, forming a solid strategy to escape safe and sound.

"And you," Victor says, walking toward you slowly. He lifts his pointer finger and traces the slope of your cheekbone. It's a featherlight touch but feels grimy nonetheless. "Such a pretty thing you are."

You remain silent as Leon grunts and slightly shifts in his seat—to restrain himself from moving or speaking, you're unsure. It echoes in the quiet room, every noise amplified to instill fear. The snakeskin trench coat creaks as Victor hovers near you like a spectator at a museum. The buzz of the fluorescent light makes you nauseated. Your ragged breathing rattles your chest. He didn't drug you, did he?

Behind his high-tech visor, Victor surveys you unsettlingly, and you feel it even through the multiple lenses blocking the mutated grotesqueness underneath. "Alas, it's not your blood I need. Too pure to advance my research."

Victor grabs a scalpel from a nearby tray and turns to Leon, circling his chair. "You are my specimen." He strokes the black infected mark on Leon's neck—the mark he tries to cover. "A foolish but valuable one."

Leon continues staring straight at you, the epitome of calm but with a hurricane brewing behind his steely gaze. "A pretty one too, I hope," he retorts dryly.

Now's not the time for mockery, you attempt to communicate through your expression. His humor is harmless when it's directed toward snarling mindless zombies, but the menacing man in front of him is dangerously clever and unpredictable. No need to poke the bear.

Victor chuckles darkly under his breath before making a swift, shallow cut on the side of Leon's neck, blood instantly pouring from the wound. Not enough to make you panic, but enough for your fists to ball up. Leon might look unbothered by whatever Victor's twisted version of treatment is, but you note his eye twitch and the soft groan catching in his throat, and something protective crawls inside your heart.

You impassively tug against the rope that's itching and biting at your wrists, attempting to break free somehow. It's a bad day to have kept your only hidden spare blade in your boot.

The moment Victor turns away to set down the bloodied scalpel, Leon subtly mouths, Distract him. He clearly has a plan, and you're damn good at causing distractions while he takes the lead. It’s why you work so well together.

You nod once, sitting up straighter. Infusing your voice with as much innocence and fragility as possible, you ask, "Is... is there a restroom I can use? I'm feeling sick."

Victor stills. Assuming he's collecting Leon's blood, you mentally count the seconds it'll take for him to finish and turn around. But it doesn't matter, because Leon has already released himself from the rope binds and is lunging toward Victor with renewed strength.

With a powerful shove and a subsequent roundhouse kick, Leon sends Victor stumbling back into a tray, catching him off guard as metal tools topple to the ground. In one quick movement, Leon grabs his confiscated pistol from the far counter and aims it at Victor, but it's too late. He's already escaping the attic, retracting the mechanical stairway, once again just out of reach as the last-hope gunshot Leon fires pierces the air.

Your heart pounds at supersonic speed, leftover adrenaline providing a palpable energy in the room. There was nothing you could do but watch Leon take on Victor single-handedly, a risky choice but necessary to avoid a failed mission. A dead D.S.O. agent is a worthless agent.

Leon rushes over and kneels beside you. "You hurt?" he murmurs, looking up at you as he efficiently saws the rope with his knife. God, his eyes. You're so used to them being apathetic and stern, but up close, the softness that widens them ever so slightly has you lost for a second.

"I—I hit my head pretty hard." When your hands are finally free, you lift one to your aching temple. "Maybe a gash?"

"Here, let me see." With gentle fingers, Leon combs through your hair to search for a scalp wound. His other thumb and forefinger hold your chin to angle your head side to side.

"Dried blood," he says, more so to himself. "Doesn't look too bad. I'll find something to keep it covered once we find a way out of here."

"You're hurt, Leon."

He huffs and says, "I'm fine. Just a small nick and a bruised windpipe."

You almost laugh at his nonchalance. "I tried to get Victor, but he must be impenetrable. I thought he was going to kill you.”

"You did well." Leon stands and finds a nearby med-injector, inserting the fluid in his neck wound. A quiet, relieved moan hums in his throat. It doesn't go unnoticed that he tended to your lesser wound first.

"Thanks," you whisper, meaning it in more ways than one. The simple praise means a lot coming from him, but you'll never show it. "And thank you for the backup. That could've gotten ugly."

You managed to hold your own in the west wing until you saw Victor prowling the halls, no doubt seeking the cause of the raucous gunfire you and Leon had been causing. You hid in a nearby storage room, turned on your earpiece, and told Leon your location.

I found him. Top floor hallway, where his office is.

On my way. Don't confront him yet. Wait for me, all right?

"It's why I don't like splitting up on these types of missions," Leon mutters, doing one last pass through your hair. By that he means dealing with humans rather than zombies, who have proven to be far more destructive. "But this place is goddamn ginormous. Just glad we're both still alive."

You don't miss the double meaning. The virus Leon has is worsening each day, eating away at his soul—a soul you have grown quite fond of over the years. As a work partner, he never wrongs you with disrespect or abandonment. Sure, he can be standoffish and a tough nut to crack, but you always feel safe in his presence. Protected. There's nothing that suggests he doesn't value your company. And to see him struggling, coughing, and wincing through pain is devastating to witness.

It's why you begged to join the mission. You want to find the root of the virus and to at least get an idea of how to stop it from spreading. While Leon is more focused on a police officer's disappearance, you feel an urgency deep in your bones to unearth more about the virus so people can change their fate before their minds are too far gone.

Selfishly, you also don't want to imagine a future in the D.S.O. without Leon as a stable fixture. Missions are more fun with a partner. It's a coming together of skills and smarts. It's thrilling to be trusted by the government and to now be considered an elite agent operating at the highest level in your field after climbing up the ranks for so long.

And, truthfully, you have a soft spot for him. You really do. He's a good man. Morally sound. You trust him with your life.

"What now?" you ask, standing from the chair on shaky legs. The room tilts, and you're about to tip over from imbalance when Leon grasps your elbows to steady you.

"Hey, I gotcha. You all right?" He slowly sets you back down in the chair.

"Dizzy," you answer hoarsely, vision swimming.

"You said you hit your head?" he says, hands bracketing his hips. The black chest rig buckled across his abdomen pulls tight against his him.

"More like slammed my skull into another dimension. Well, Victor did."

Leon's jaw clenches, the muscle rippling across his stubbled skin. "Probably a mild head injury, then."

"Shit. How did we manage to get knocked unconscious in two different ways?"

He doesn't entertain your lousy attempt at levity. Instead, he gets on knees in front of you again. "Any pain?"

"I mean... It feels like a kick drum is being played inside my head." You shrug. "So, yes.”

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

You mentally push past the blurriness and try to downplay your symptoms. "Two beautiful gloved fingers." Would a concussion-free you have said that? Probably not, but it's worth seeing one of Leon's rare half-smiles aimed your way.

"Any ringing in your ears?"

"Earlier, yeah. Not anymore."

Leon nods, absentmindedly rubbing the red rope burns on your wrists. "I'm not a doctor, but at the very least, you have a minor concussion. I didn't see the impact, but..."

"My brain got jostled," you finish for him.

"Right," he replies tersely, like he's mad at himself for being unable to stop what happened while unconscious. "We're not investigating any further today. You need rest."

"Give me an hour and I'll be back to normal. We don't have time to waste."

Leon raises the collar of his shirt, hiding any signs of his infection, like he heard your unspoken concern for him. "No. We'll hunker down in a safe place and get back to work tomorrow. Okay?"

To argue with Leon Kennedy is to convince a brick wall it’s concrete. Stupid and fruitless.

"Okay," you say, a little startled by his conviction. "Maybe I should start calling you Dr. Kennedy. You're very thorough."

He shakes his head, offering you his hand to grip. When you take it, you swear you feel him squeeze your palm as you lean against him. "Not happening. Now c'mon, let's get the hell out of here."

Following him obediently—and dizzily—you can't help but wonder if he's this nurturing in other parts of his life.

All you know is that tonight you'll likely dream about his soft stare that pinned you in place and the gentle way he ran his fingers through your hair.

——

[graciehart]

big shoutout to everyone who reblogs things and an extra round of applause for people who leave little notes in the tags

[neil-perrys-suicidal-tendencies]

REBLOG POSTS❗❗ COMMENT ON FICS❗❗COMPLIMENT FANART ❗❗LEAVE LITTLE NOTES IN THE TAGS❗❗ BOOKMARK FICS YOU LIKE❗❗ TELL AUTHORS WHAT YOU LIKED ABOUT THEIR FICS❗❗COMMENT ON DECADE OLD FICS ❗❗ADD YOUR OWN ANALYSIS IN LONG POSTS❗❗ENGAGE❗❗ INTERACT❗❗ BUILD A COMMUNITY ❗❗

While people don't work for engagement, it certainly doesn't do any harm..

[adore-laur]

honestly wasn’t super aware of this fandom until you posted but you’re one of my fav writers so I read and 1. you still got it and I love everything you write and 2. Maybe I need to get into this fandom….

hey me neither! i’ve never even played any of the games lol. i appreciate you giving it a shot, and thank you for the kind words!

[adore-laur]

what a happy coincidence that my favorite fic writer would write for another fandom that i also love😭 i could cry happy tears i absolutely loved the piece you posted

oh wow that’s awesome! i wasn’t sure if there’d be a crossover between the two. thank you for reading and sending a message!!! <3

[adore-laur]

Will you ever write again something related to Harry?

i don’t want to say no definitively, but unfortunately, i just don’t have a connection to him anymore. at least not one that inspires me to write. truthfully, i haven’t written anything in a year except for what i posted yesterday. but that’s a good sign i think! just right now for harry-related writing, it’s tentative

[adore-laur]

A PLACE TO CALL HOME

— so this is a new fanfic venture for me… like everyone else, i think leon kennedy is sexy and needed to write something. please reblog/comment!

——

Your phone pinged and illuminated in the dark bedroom. Instantly, your heart pounded with a mixture of fear and delight. No one in their right mind would message you at midnight except for the man you had been patiently waiting for. But with that came the chance of good or bad news.

Leon had been braving the ruins of Raccoon City for almost two weeks now. Ten days without him felt like a lifetime. His exact whereabouts were unknown, and with the activated virus burrowing deeper in his bloodstream, not knowing if he was alive with a beating heart and light behind his ice-blue eyes was agonizing. Anxiety clawed at your chest with each hour that had passed after his departure. Desperately, you had pleaded to go with him. To at least be nearby if things went wrong. He was growing wearier, and despite your ineptitude with a weapon, you wanted to help him investigate the violent threat that was slowly spreading in his and others' systems. To find something—anything —about the mysterious disease's origins. Beyond that, there had to be a cure. You needed there to be one so that Leon didn't have to suffer an excruciating end. And while your husband seemed to accept his fate, you weren't so keen on living in a cruel world without his protection.

Leon did everything in his power to keep you far removed from his work, but you saw the reality play out on the news broadcasts. The unfolding destruction, the helplessness, the mass confusion. Knowing he had chosen to revisit the horrors he experienced decades ago was a true act of heroism. So, with admiration for his valor, you had reluctantly let him go with a tearful goodbye on the front porch of your secluded home.

You closed your eyes, picturing his face that night. In the dim shadows, you remembered the stubble on his jaw, the few silver hairs peppered there catching the light. The purple hue under his eyes, significant of the years he devoted his life to danger. The dimple on his chin you loved to press your thumb into. Each beautiful age line indenting his skin while he stared at you like time was running out. An unspoken conversation had brewed behind his stormy gaze, and you had felt it pierce the most vulnerable parts of your flesh. If this is the last time I see you...

"I love you," Leon had said, his voice rough yet sincere. "I'll be back. And you'll stay right here."

There had been no room for argument. It had been a hopeful vow to return to each other—not unscathed, but merely alive. And in his declining state, it was all you could have asked for.

Truthfully, the black marks snaking across his neck and arms petrified you. They seemed to shoot farther across his veins each day, swelling like ink in water. The pain was affecting him too. He tried so hard to hide it, but you had noticed every wince and groan when you hugged him goodbye. The stubborn man he was, he had pushed through it and lifted you in his arms, holding you for five straight minutes before driving off in his Porsche with one last glance at your melancholy expression.

Leon hadn't kissed you then for fear that he would transmit the disease to you. It had been a month since you felt his full lips against yours. How intensely you craved them, but you knew better than to risk it, what with the uncertainty and rapid progression of the virus. The torturous stages and how quickly it could attack one's system were a deadly combination. It was best to be overly cautious.

With a deep breath and a prayer to whoever was listening, you opened your text messages.

Leon: Homeward bound. Expect a car to pull in around 2 a.m. You don't have to wait up for me. Get some sleep, please. I'll be quiet.

You let out a small sound of relief and covered your face, wanting to break down with joy. Miraculously, you felt the anxiety drain out of your body. Leon wasn't able to communicate with you often during his investigations, mainly for your and his safety. Didn't want anyone suspicious knocking at the door or trying to track calls. The last time Leon contacted you was eight days ago when he reached an extraction point. He had provided you with a simple "I'm safe." And then it was radio silence, which only made you more fraught with dread. Who knew the situations he had found himself in?

A minute later, your phone pinged again.

Leon: The doors and windows better be locked.

A tear slipped down your cheek as you smiled widely. He took home security very seriously for obvious reasons, and with leaving you alone, there were strict instructions he expected you to follow. You would follow that one, but as for being told to get some sleep, you were too wired to lie still for long.

You walked over to Leon's closet, adrenaline humming underneath your skin. Sliding the metal hangers to the side, you grabbed one of the few T-shirts Leon had left behind. It was plain; the faded navy cotton was well-worn, and you were guilty of wearing it to bed on more than one occasion. The whole closet smelled like him, a familiar musky scent that you had dearly missed engulfing you.

You picked out a pair of grey sweatpants and laid Leon's version of pajamas on the edge of the bed for him to change into once he arrived. You imagined he would want to take a hot shower and crawl under the blankets wearing something other than tactical garments and gear. He had experienced insomnia for the past couple of years. From the virus to his trauma to never feeling like he was truly free from harm, you wanted to offer the things that comforted him.

Back in the closet, behind his clothes, was a shelf that housed Leon's leftover belongings—printed pictures of private moments in your marriage, half of them gone and tucked away in Leon's backpack; a pistol for self-defense that he had taught you how to shoot using beer cans as targets; and a sealed envelope carrying a handwritten letter you had been informed to open lest Leon never returned. With a forceful blink, you hid it on the top shelf so you wouldn't have to think about it. He was alive—hopefully healthy and home for good.

But most importantly, in a velvet jewelry pouch was Leon's gold wedding band. He had left it here for safekeeping, not wanting to lose it in the chaos and action of his endeavor. It symbolized his loyalty to one day permanently shed his agent duties and be a husband. He separated the two roles as much as possible, and as much as you loved the stoic, sarcastic side of Leon that crept through after missions, you much preferred the warm, affectionate man you married in the backyard with only the sycamore trees as witnesses.

You took the pouch and set it atop his folded clothes on the bed. Perfect. All ready for him.

There wasn't much else you could busy yourself with while waiting, so you headed to the kitchen and decided to cook Leon a hot meal and passionflower tea. You didn't even want to ask what he had been eating. Or how little.

With a contented sigh, you placed a pot of water and a kettle over the stove burners and then tried to make the house more welcoming. You lit a jasmine-scented candle, turned on the lamp near the doorway, and straightened the kitchen chairs. It was raining steadily outside; the pattering was a nice ambience for the otherwise quiet space.

It became awfully lonesome whenever Leon was away, but you couldn't complain when he was out there battling monsters far beyond your comprehension and risking his life for the greater good of humanity. So, the least you could do was make this a place for your husband to call home.

——

At 2:12 a.m., a flash of headlights reflected off the windows in the bedroom. From the second floor, you peeked past the open blinds and looked down to find Leon's sleek black Porsche slowly pulling in the driveway. Your pulse quickened as you stood frozen in place, willing your brain to compute that he was really here.

Sweet solace.

From your view, Leon stepped out, the epitome of casual and confident. He wore a black leather jacket, the fur color making him look more like a fashion model than a federal agent. His gloved hands hauled a duffel bag from the passenger seat, his fringed, rain-soaked hair shielding half his face. His movements were fluid, which was a promising sign.

God, you had missed him.

Like a slow-motion scene, Leon craned his neck, his gaze finally finding yours through the window beaded with raindrops. He gently shut the car door behind him without breaking eye contact, a slight smile transforming his face, like he was humored by your choice to stay up waiting for him. He looked content and rejuvenated. Was he healed?

You grabbed the jewelry pouch and stuffed it in your pocket before racing downstairs, nearly tumbling on the hardwood floors in your socks. You made quick work of unlocking the double-cylinder deadbolts and then swung open the door.

Leon stood there, duffel bag at his feet. Every part of you wanted to jump into his arms, but first, you assessed him. No limbs missing. No visible blood, bruises, or bites. Just his handsome face staring at you expectantly with a lightness to his posture you hadn't seen in a long time.

"Leon," you whispered disbelievingly, your hand slowly reaching out to touch his cheek.

He leaned into your palm. "Told you I'd come back for you, didn't I?"

You laughed, taking in every inch of him. "I knew you would. I knew—"

Before you could finish, Leon embraced you with the strength of a man reborn, and your senses absorbed every little thing. Hearing the creak of his jacket as his biceps tightened around your shoulders, a shelter of warmth and protection. Feeling the gentle rise and fall of his broad chest. Smelling leather and rain, along with his signature scent. Seeing your breath condense in the crisp October air, your lungs expanding with euphoria.

When Leon eventually pulled away, he had a gleam in his eyes. "Check this out." He tugged his jacket's collar down, revealing the skin of his neck. Normal, clear skin. No trace of black marks. Then, he yanked off his gloves, revealing unmarred flesh and prominent veins.

You gasped and said, "It's gone." Your brow furrowed with equal parts confusion and relief. "Like magic."

Leon huffed a laugh. "Met an FBI analyst who saved my life. We found an antiviral deep beneath Raccoon City. I thought it was a bioweapon at first." One side of his mouth quirked. "It's a long-ass story."

Your mind spun with his concise, albeit vague, rundown of events. "What the hell happened?" you asked, searching for answers but not knowing where to start.

"I'll tell you everything later. Not exactly a pleasant bedtime story."

"But—"

"Hey," Leon said softly, bending to meet your worried gaze. "We're safe. I'm not infected anymore. That's all that matters, yeah?"

You gripped the belt loops of his black cargo pants. "Who had the cure? Why would someone keep it a secret? How did you—"

"Will you kiss me already?" he interrupted. "I haven't seen my wife in ten days. I know I probably smell and look like shit, but I can only be a gentleman for so long."

Speechless, you scoffed at his sass but obediently found his lips. Sinking into him, you draped your arms around his neck and let the heat of his kiss alleviate every ache your heart battled during his absence. Leon cradled your face, nipping your lips just the way you liked. He was restraining himself, you knew, because he was exhausted and didn't want to promise anything further tonight. So you let him take gentle yet hungry sips, pulling soft moans from your throat.

Leon drew back just an inch, resting his forehead against yours. "Hi, sweetheart," he whispered.

"Hi." You stole another kiss. "There's a bowl of minestrone and some tea waiting for you in the kitchen."

"I thought I told you to sleep. You didn't reply to my message, so I assumed you listened."

"I was pacing around the house like a madwoman."

He groaned good-naturedly and kissed you hard, nearly knocking you off your feet. "Let's go inside. Don't want you catching a cold."

Leon leisurely led you through the threshold, one hand clutching yours, and you relished the masculine sway of his hips and his combat boots clunking on the floor. In his outfit, he looked too big, too menacing for such a cozy home, but you knew once he slipped into his pajamas, he would fit here perfectly like the last piece of a puzzle.

He shed his coat and sat at the kitchen table, pulling you onto his sturdy thighs with an arm braced around your waist. Claiming you, needing you glued to him as he began eating his meal with the same fervor as a ravenous wolf. You just watched how his eyes closed as the warm liquid met his tongue and how the tension in his muscles loosened bit by bit.

"Thank you," Leon said gruffly after scarfing down half the soup and wiping his mouth with his sleeve. "For taking care of me."

"Always." You kissed his temple, and with one look at his bare ring finger resting on the walnut table, you pulled out his wedding band from your pocket. "I also took care of this."

Leon hummed, squeezing your hip. "Good girl. Would you do the honors?"

You grinned and took his palm in your own, your diamond wedding ring glinting under the ceiling light. His skin was calloused but clean, and he watched intently as you glided the metal band across his finger until it was snug and back in its rightful place.

"There," you said quietly. "That's better."

Leon flexed his hand, healthy veins and tendons straining prettily. "I thought about getting a tattooed ring for when I'm away."

"Plan on leaving so soon?" The thought made you apprehensive. You still had so many questions, so many reasons to not feel entirely settled.

"God, no. No. I actually..." Leon shifted in his seat, clearing his throat. "I think I want to retire."

You stroked your thumb over his chin, an intimate act of comfort. Vulnerable moments didn't come easy to him. "Really?"

"Yeah," he replied. "I've done all I can do. And I want to be here with you, in our home, away from the mayhem."

The house you had bought together was on the East Coast, far from any big cities. Leon valued privacy, and it was respected here. With his past, he never had permanence, and your shared home was one of the few possessions he could truly hold onto. When the world around him fell into catastrophe, you were there waiting, a steady fixture in his life.

"Okay," you said calmly. "Whatever you feel is right."

"It's right. I need to take some time to, you know, process everything."

"Of course. We should go on vacation and have an actual honeymoon."

Leon had the nerve to look offended. "What, you didn't enjoy that cabin in the woods with no indoor plumbing?"

You lightly slapped his shoulder. "Stop." To be fair, he had picked the location with the intention of thinking it would be romantic. Sweet in theory, but never again.

Leon smirked, then became pensive. "No, I'd like that. A real honeymoon, I mean." He swallowed nervously. "Maybe... maybe start that family we've been talking about."

Your heart leaped, bursting with love for his transparency. "There's no rush, Leon."

"I know," he said. "I just think I crave more purpose in my life. Purpose outside of serving the government. I want to be needed in a different way."

Needed as a father.

Nodding, you closed the conversation for the night with a kiss to his cheek, wanting him to be present and take life one day at a time. There was a lot for him to heal from. "Can you at least tell me one thing about what happened out there?" you asked.

"Sure, baby."

"Is it over?"

He took a sip of tea, then exhaled heavily. "It's over."

“And you'll tell me everything in the morning?"

"That's two things." Leon peered out the dark window. "And it's technically already morning."

"Only you could be a smart aleck this early," you teased, ruffling his hair.

He looked back at you. "Only 'cause I missed you. I'd show you just how much, but I'm running on approximately zero hours of sleep."

You adjusted your legs over his lap. "Take me to bed, Agent Kennedy."

He lifted you with ease and headed toward the upstairs bedroom. "That's former Agent Kennedy to you."

You laughed, burying your face in his neck, and the sound of his accompanying laugh nestled deep in your bones, a lovely sound you had dreamt about.

In the quiet of the bedroom, Leon was out like a light as soon as his head hit the pillow. He slept for nine hours, never waking once.

You also slept peacefully by his side, knowing the nightmares and memories of whatever atrocities had happened in Raccoon City couldn’t rupture the resilient life you had built together.

——

[adore-laur]

i miss youuu! hope you’re okay 💛

hi! i’m still hanging around. just don’t have time or inspiration to write anything right now. thanks for checking in! <3

[adore-laur]

Your writing is so beautiful and cozy 🫂

thank you so much!

[adore-laur]

omg love seeing you on my tl even if it’s just a poll. hope you’re doing well 🥰🫶🫶❣️❣️

hi! i’m attempting to write something right now and kinda wanted to see what readers prefer. it’s a slow process, but i’m feeling some inspo 🤍

[adore-laur]

what is your preference when reading fanfics?

reader insert / second person (y/n and “you”)

first person

third person (original main character)

Voting ended onAug 30, 2025

[adore-laur]

dadrry would def have his baby girl on the counter as she brushes her teeth too ☺️

oh gosh you’re making me want to write something about this!!

[adore-laur]

HELLOOOOOO DADRRY

[adore-laur]

we missing you babe!!! hope you’re doing well

i’m well! 🤍 thanks for checking in

[adore-laur]

idk why but the dadrry series reminds me so much kayla kosuga (she’s a youtuber with 2 daughters and she just gave birth to her son) idk why but i feel like the mom in the dadrry series reminds me so much of her even the kids (not the dad obviously cause no one can beat dadrry) even her vibes are like very similar like loves the beach and idk every time i read your dadrry series i always picture her family but with harry as the dad😂😂 (no hate to her actual husband tho he’s a great person)

oh wow! i’m not familiar with her, but i will definitely check her out and see the similarities for myself :)