The mayor’s daughter - Leon Kennedy x fem! reader pt. 3
𝚂𝚄𝙼𝙼𝙰𝚁𝚈 : LONG CHAPTER* Five weeks with Leon Kennedy as her bodyguard has turned into something Y/N didn’t expect — shared coffee in the mornings, books passed quietly in the hallway, and a comfort that feels dangerously easy. But after a fall at the park leaves her injured and Leon carrying her home, one small moment in the car changes everything. Because lying awake later that night, Y/N realizes something terrifying. She might be starting to like him.
NOTE - Age gap storyline. Leon - about 34-35 Reader 25 soon 26!!!
A/N - I tried to be as racially anonymous as i could with Y/N. any hair texture etc can be long so keep that in mind! enjoy!
🎧 - In My Room - Julia Wolf
Five weeks since my father decided the best solution to death threats was assigning Leon S. Kennedy to follow me everywhere like a very serious, very quiet shadow.
Five weeks since the day I opened my bedroom door and nearly screamed when I saw him standing in the hallway like some sort of government-issued cryptid.
And in those five weeks, I had learned something important.
Leon Kennedy was a very difficult man to figure out.
Still, I had learned quite a bit about him. Most of it accidentally. Some of it by observation. Some of it by digging.
For starters, he worked too much.
That realization didn’t come from anything he said. Leon rarely volunteered information about himself unless you asked directly, and even then his answers had a habit of stopping just short of revealing anything real.
Apparently the investigation into the threats against my father wasn’t just private security anymore. His department had gotten involved too.
Which meant Leon wasn’t just my assigned bodyguard.
He was also investigating the case.
Most mornings, when I came downstairs, the house was still wrapped in the quiet hush that lingered before the rest of the city woke up.
Sunlight would just barely slip through the tall dining room windows, turning the polished wooden floors into long strips of gold.
And Leon would already be there.
Always sitting at the kitchen counter. Always the same chair.
One arm rested beside a laptop, the other loosely wrapped around a mug of coffee that had long since stopped steaming.
The first time I saw him like that, I paused in the doorway and watched him for a moment before he noticed me.
Not in the obvious way. His posture was still straight, his attention still sharp as he scanned the screen in front of him. But there was a faint tension in his shoulders that hadn’t been there the day we met.
Like someone who had forgotten what it felt like to sleep properly.
He glanced up when he heard my footsteps.
His voice carried the rough edge of quiet exhaustion.
“Morning,” I answered, walking toward the coffee machine.
His mug was filled with plain black coffee.
Leon Kennedy did not look like the type of man who waited in line for caramel lattes.
Later that week, I overheard my father talking about him.
The door to my father’s office was half open when I passed by, and his voice carried down the hallway.
“I’m paying him double,” my father said firmly.
There was a pause, like the person on the other end of the call had replied.
“Yes. Double his normal salary.”
“It’s the least I can do.”
I slowed my steps without meaning to.
Something about that felt strange.
The part where my father sounded almost… apologetic.
As if the payment was compensation for something far heavier than the job itself.
I kept walking before I could overhear more.
But the thought stayed with me.
Because somehow, I already knew the answer.
Leon Kennedy didn’t strike me as someone who measured things by money.
Something told me he would have taken the job anyway.
Another thing I learned about Leon was that he didn’t stay the entire week.
The first Friday night he left, I wasn’t particularly surprised. It had been a long week of questions, paperwork, and the occasional visit to the police department. Sometime after dinner, he appeared in the hallway with his jacket folded over his arm.
“I’m heading out,” he told my father.
My dad looked up from the newspaper.
“Yeah,” Leon replied easily. “Everything’s quiet tonight. I’ll be back Monday morning.”
My father nodded like this had already been arranged.
Leon gave a small nod before glancing toward me where I sat on the couch pretending to read.
The words were casual. Professional.
Exactly what you’d expect from someone finishing a work week.
He walked out the front door.
The house returned to its usual quiet.
The weekend passed normally.
I studied. Went to campus. Spent time reading in my room.
And before I knew it, it was Monday morning.
I walked downstairs half asleep, hair messy, a sweatshirt hanging loosely around my shoulders.
And when I stepped into the kitchen—
Standing at the counter with a travel mug in his hand.
For a second he looked mildly surprised to see me so early.
Something about the way he said it lifted my mood before I could stop it.
“Morning,” I replied casually.
I was oddly happy to see him.
He had been gone for two days.
Still, there was something reassuring about the familiar sight of him standing there.
Like the house had quietly shifted back into place.
Leon stayed Monday through Friday evening.
Then he disappeared for the weekend.
It wasn’t something we talked about, but I assumed he went back to his own place. His own life. The one that existed outside of my father’s house and the strange situation we had found ourselves in.
And every Monday morning…
What made him interesting, was his random acts of service.
We were walking through campus after one of my classes, the sidewalks busy with students moving between buildings.
Leon walked beside me with his usual calm awareness.
I was in the middle of explaining something about one of my professors when it happened.
My foot caught slightly against the pavement.
“Aw, damn it,” I muttered.
Leon noticed immediately.
His hand rested lightly on my shoulder.
Before I could process what was happening, he crouched down.
“You’re going to trip again,” he said calmly.
He lifted my foot slightly, resting it against his knee with casual ease.
Then he started tying my shoe.
Meanwhile I stood there feeling heat creep up my neck as students walked past us.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
He tightened the knot, gave it two small pats, then stood back up.
After that day, it became a habit.
Anytime he noticed my laces coming loose, he’d stop me mid-step and crouch down to fix them.
Eventually I admitted something.
“I don’t actually know how to tie them properly.”
“I was six when my mom stopped doing it for me,” I explained defensively. “And then I just… never learned.”
Leon stared at me for a moment.
“I’ll show you sometime.”
“…Okay,” I said, smiling.
After that moment, the coffee started. I wanted to do something for him too for always being so kind to me. Even if he didn’t notice.
The next Monday, I woke up earlier than usual and wandered downstairs to find the kitchen empty.
Leon hadn’t arrived at our home yet.
For some reason I found myself standing beside the coffee machine.
Just plain coffee. How I knew he liked it.
When Leon walked in a few minutes later, he paused slightly when he saw me sitting at the counter.
I glanced down at his hand.
Like always, he had brought his own to-go cup.
I felt a small flicker of disappointment. How could I forget that he always brought his own coffee?
“Oh,” he said quietly. I looked back at the pot quickly, trying to act normal.
“I figured whoever wakes up first deserves coffee,” I said quickly.
Leon glanced down at the cup in his hand.
Then back at the coffee pot.
Something about his expression softened.
He held up the cup slightly.
“Well,” he said thoughtfully, “this thing’s about two days old anyway.”
Before I could respond, he tossed it into the trash.
He grabbed a mug from the cabinet and poured himself a cup from the pot.
His eyebrows lifted just slightly.
He nodded, leaning back against the counter with the mug in his hand.
“Yeah. It’s really good.”
“Well, thank you,” I said with a small smile.
The coffee stopped coming from his apartment.
By the third Monday, Leon walked into the kitchen empty-handed.
The pot was already brewing.
He paused when he saw it.
Then his eyes shifted toward me, sitting quietly at the counter.
I pretended not to notice.
But the small smile that touched his face told me he understood exactly what was happening.
That morning, I decided to try drinking it the way he did. Plain, black coffee.
Leon watched as I took the first sip.
Then he watched my entire face collapse in disgust.
“That’s horrible,” I coughed.
Leon nearly choked on his own coffee.
He covered his mouth with his hand, trying to hide a laugh.
“Leon,” I said, setting the mug down dramatically, “this tastes like regret.”
Not just a quiet chuckle this time, but a genuine laugh that made his shoulders shake slightly.
“I am not. That is the worst thing I’ve ever tasted.”
He shook his head, still smiling.
I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t stop smiling myself.
I had started waking up earlier than usual.
Just to sit in the quiet kitchen while the sun rose through the windows.
Just to hear the front door open on Monday mornings and know that Leon had come back.
And when he stepped into the kitchen and saw the coffee already waiting…
His expression softened in a way that felt strangely rewarding.
We never talked about it.
But sometimes, when he sat down across from me with a fresh cup in his hands…
I could almost swear he knew I’d been waiting there.
The next week, I discovered we had something else in common.
It was a Tuesday evening.
The house had settled into its usual quiet after dinner. My dad had retreated to his office to finish some work, and the rest of the house was wrapped in that comfortable nighttime stillness where every sound seemed softer.
I was sitting cross-legged on my bed reading.
The book in my hands was a worn paperback copy of The Tell‑Tale Heart, tucked inside a small collection of stories by Edgar Allan Poe.
There was something about Poe’s writing that always pulled me in—the tension, the eerie quiet of his stories. His worlds felt like stepping directly into someone’s thoughts.
But that night I wasn’t concentrating very well.
My eyes kept drifting back to the same paragraph.
Eventually I sighed and closed the book, letting it rest against my knees.
The hallway outside my room was silent.
Leon had gone in the guest room a while ago.
By that point, I had noticed something about his routine.
Leon didn’t watch much television.
His phone rarely left his pocket unless it rang for work—or unless someone like Claire Redfield, Sherry, or Grace Ashcroft called him. I went downstairs to get a snack, and made my way back up the steps to the hallway to go towards my room.
This time, i noticed his bedroom door was cracked open. low light coming from it. I guessed he was still awake. For a second, and only a second, i peeked inside. He was sitting on a chair in the corner, head in his hands as he read. It looked like he had sat least four other books on the mattress.
He had on a black robe, and was probably just out the shower with his hair being slightly damp.
My face burned instantly, and I hurried down the hallway and quickly to my room.
Calming myself down, I wasn’t sure what made the idea pop into my head.
But before I could overthink it, I stood up.
I grabbed the Poe collection from my bed and scribbled a quick note on a sticky pad from my desk.
“Didn’t know you liked reading. Thought you might like this one. : )”
Then I stepped quietly into the hallway.
Leon’s door was now closed.
The thin strip of warm light that had been under it earlier was gone.
Then crouched down and slid the book gently against the door.
My heart did a weird little jump as I stood back up.
It felt oddly like leaving a secret.
Before I could second-guess the idea, I turned and padded back to my room.
The next morning I woke up feeling slightly embarrassed.
The more I thought about it, the more ridiculous the idea seemed.
Leon was already in the kitchen.
He was wearing a loose gray long-sleeve shirt, like he had allowed himself to stay in his sleep clothes a little longer than usual.
When I walked in, he glanced up.
I walked toward the coffee machine, trying very hard to act normal.
Which was difficult considering my brain was currently screaming.
I poured myself a cup and turned around.
There was a thoughtful expression on his face.
He lifted one shoulder slightly.
“Hard to miss a book sitting outside your door.”
He definitely thought I was weird.
He took a slow sip of coffee.
“It was good,” he repeated.
He reached for his jacket draped over the chair beside him, then paused.
“There’s a book that I have I think you’d like,” he said.
“Left it outside your door.”
Sure enough, when I returned upstairs later that morning…
There was a book sitting neatly outside my door.
A folded sticky note rested on top.
The handwriting was neat. Direct.
I stared at it for a long moment before picking it up.
Quietly. Without rules. Without discussion. Just books appearing outside each other’s doors.
And sometimes, when I passed Leon in the hallway carrying a book I had left the night before… There was a certain look in his eyes.
Like he was already wondering what story we’d talk about next.
The afternoon sun had already started dipping lower by the time I got home from campus.
The moment I stepped through the front door, exhaustion hit me like a brick.
College was tiring in a way high school had never been. Not just physically—mentally. My brain felt like it had been wrung out and hung up to dry.
I dropped my bag by the stairs with a soft thud.
Dad was still out doing mayor things somewhere in the city, which meant the entire place felt a little too big and a little too empty.
I sighed, dragging a hand through my hair.
“Tired,” I muttered to myself.
I wandered toward the living room, half hoping something—anything—would catch my attention.
That’s when I spotted him.
Leon was sitting on the couch, one arm resting along the back while a thin file folder sat open on the coffee table in front of him.
He looked up when he heard me.
I dropped onto the opposite end of the couch with a dramatic groan.
“College is a scam,” I declared.
Leon huffed out a quiet laugh.
“Pretty sure that’s not the official review.”
“It should be,” I said. “Five stars for emotional damage.”
He closed the folder and leaned back slightly.
That earned a small smile from him.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then Leon tapped the folder lightly.
My head lifted immediately.
“Yeah. Nothing concrete yet,” he explained, his voice calm. “But someone connected to the threats made a mistake. My team’s following up on it.”
“That’s… actually really good news.”
Some of the tension in his shoulders seemed lighter than usual.
Which made me tilt my head at him.
“You got off early today, didn’t you?”
“You know what that means?”
“I’m slightly afraid to ask.”
“You,” I said, pointing at him, “should go have fun with me.”
“You’re sitting on a couch reading a threat file.”
I grabbed the TV remote and turned the television on, flipping through channels lazily.
“We should go out,” I continued. “You work all the time. It’s not healthy.”
“My job is literally to watch you.”
“Exactly,” I said. “So come watch me do something fun.”
Leon leaned his head back against the couch.
“I have a feeling this is about to become a terrible idea.”
“I’m not dramatic,” he replied calmly. “I’m experienced.”
I flipped another channel.
A commercial filled the screen—bright music, colorful lights, kids skating around a rink in smooth circles.
He turned back toward me slowly.
“You don’t even know what I’m about to say.”
“I used to be really good at it.”
“Growing up,” I said. “I skated all the time.”
“And you want to fix that… today.”
“This is going to end badly.”
“Have a little faith in me.”
“Faith isn’t the issue,” he said. “Physics is.”
A little while later, we were walking down the block.
The evening air had cooled slightly, and the street was quiet except for the occasional passing car.
I sat down on the curb, pulling off my sneakers.
Leon watched me with the expression of someone witnessing a slow-motion disaster.
“You’re really doing this.”
I held up the roller skates proudly.
“You said you wanted to have fun.”
“I said you should have fun.”
I slid the skates on and tightened the straps.
For a second, I wobbled slightly.
Leon immediately stepped closer.
Then pushed forward gently.
The wheels rolled beneath me.
And something familiar clicked into place.
Leon watched as I rolled a few feet down the sidewalk.
“You’re actually doing it.”
“I said I used to be good!”
He shook his head slightly, though there was a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
I rolled in a slow circle around him.
“See? Just a little rusty.”
For a while we just moved down the block together—him walking, me skating.
The breeze brushed against my face as I rolled along the pavement.
“Okay this was a great idea.”
“You’ve been skating for five minutes.”
“And I’m thriving for five minutes.”
A group of little kids came racing around the corner of the sidewalk.
Not watching where they were going.
One of them collided with my side.
My balance vanished instantly.
My hands and knees hit the pavement first.
Pain stung across both palms.
“I’m sorry!” one of them blurted.
Then they scrambled away in embarrassment.
For a second I just sat there, staring at my hands.
Then Leon crouched beside me.
“You look like you’re trying not to say ‘I told you so.’”
Despite the teasing tone, his hands were already gently turning mine over, examining the scrapes across my palms.
“Battle wounds,” I muttered.
He lifted one of my hands slightly and blew softly across the scrape.
Cool air brushed against the raw skin.
The sting eased instantly.
My heart did a weird little jump.
“You’re blowing on it,” I said.
“You’re treating me like I’m five.”
“You fell like you’re five.”
He blew lightly across the other palm, his expression soft with quiet concentration.
Then he reached down and carefully removed my skates.
When he finished, he slid my sneakers back toward me.
“Candles,” I corrected automatically.
“You call your shoes candles?”
“I don’t know. It’s a thing.”
He helped me slip them back on.
Then he stood and offered a hand.
Then looked down at my palms.
“You can’t push yourself up.”
Before I could ask what he meant, he stepped closer.
Then he slipped one arm behind my back and the other beneath my knees.
Heat rushed across my entire face.
He carried me easily down the sidewalk.
No one had ever carried me like this before.
And he seemed completely unfazed.
“I’ve got you,” he added calmly.
Which somehow made my chest feel even warmer.
Leon had cleaned my hands and the slight scratches on my knees pretty well before. leaving me in my room. He had done a good job. Of course he had. The wraps were tight enough to hold but not so tight they hurt.
I slowly leaned back onto my bed with a quiet sigh.
My hands rested on my chest as I stared up at the ceiling.
The house was silent. Dad still wasn’t home, and Leon had probably gone back downstairs.
For a few minutes I just lay there, letting the day replay in my head.
The kids running into me.
Then Leon kneeling beside me.
My fingers curled slightly against the bandages.
He’d looked so focused while checking my hands. Like the scrapes actually mattered.
My chest felt a little warm thinking about it.
Then my brain jumped to the next memory.
I groaned softly and rolled my head into my pillow.
“Why did he have to do that…”
Not that I was complaining.
No one had ever carried me like that before.
And he had done it so easily.
Like it was the most natural thing in the world.
I stared back up at the ceiling.
Then my thoughts drifted to the van.
My stomach flipped immediately.
The way he leaned over me.
Our faces had been so close.
So close that if I had moved forward even a little—
My brain filled in the rest.
And suddenly the image was very clear.
My entire body reacted instantly.
Heat rushed up my neck and across my face.
I sat straight up in bed.
That thought needed to leave immediately.
I flopped back down again, staring at the ceiling.
“That was weird,” I muttered.
The responsible adult in this situation.
And I had just imagined kissing him like some kind of—
I covered my face with my bandaged hands.
“Okay. That’s enough thinking for today.”
My heart was still beating a little too fast.
Which made absolutely no sense.
Brains did weird things all the time.
That didn’t mean anything.
Definitely not thinking about that.
Eventually the quiet of the house settled around me again.
My thoughts drifted away from the memory.
But deep down, somewhere under the embarrassment and confusion…
There was still a small, stubborn warmth sitting in the center of my chest.
And no matter how hard I tried—
I couldn’t quite ignore it.
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