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[dashingcavill]

HC Masterlist

Henry Cavill :

Henry 1 / 2

A two part story of the reader being an actress on the set of the witcher and finding love with Henry while he comforts her after her jealous boyfriend broke up with her and had made a scene in front of everyone.

A secret love story ( coming soon )

A short story about an Interview with Graham Norten, reader and Henry are doing to promote their movie while secretly dating each other.

Jealous ( requested )

Henry‘s Gf is visiting him on the set of Enola Holmes and when he finds out how much time reader and Sam spend together he gets jealous and a teeny tiny bit insecure.

Lucky winner

You and Henry play among us and it starts to get slightly heated.

Nightly cuddles

You wake up late at night but can't fall back asleep right away but Henry is there and wraps you up in his strong arms for some sweet nightly cuddles.

Falling for you

You and Henry are visiting his family for a few days and when he watches you interact with his family so wonderfully, he realises how hard he has fallen for you and still does.

Happy ( requested )

Henry is being the worlds best husband and daddy. ( First child )

Henry ( requested)

Birthday fools ( requested)

Henry forgets about his girlfriend’s birthday and has to make it up to her afterwards.

Adventures with you ( requested )

Henry has gotten some time off of work for the first time in a while and the both of you decided to go on holidays together.

Bad boy blues ( requested )

At a mutual friends party bad boy Henry tries to get back his girlfriend.

Don’t forget ( requested)

Reader gets jealous of Henry’s friendship with his ex girlfriend.

Sherlock :

Lady Marci Allen 1 / 2 ( in the making)

The story about the young Marci Allen who finds the love again and again in the brother of her best friend, Enola holmes. Join Marci in the whirlwind of her feelings with the famous detective Sherlock holmes while working with him to find her best friend and his little sister and her best friend.

His better half ( requested)

Sherlock meets this one woman who stands out among every other on a case where her best friend‘s body is found dead and they work together on this one, getting closer and closer.

Never alone / 2 / 3

You and Sherlock are in a secret relationship but you’re younger than him so his brother send you to boarding school with Enola and Sherlocks comes to visit you.

Out of the ordinary (requested)

Reader gets teleported into the victorian age and when she thought that she might be crazy, at a small cafe in London she met Sherlock Holmes. What will life bring for the two of them after they met for the first time.

Make a difference (requested)

Sherlock doesn’t know how to express his love to his wife so he writes her a love letter, to tell her how much he actually loves her.

Geralt:

The witcher and his girl / 2 / 3 ( coming soon)

Geralt and reader attend princess‘ Pavetta‘s proposal banket and endure boring talks, intrusive men and women until they get to be content with one another.

Silent prayer / 2 / 3 ( coming soon )

You and Geralt traveled to Temeria only to find out that this city was ruled by a selfish, stinky king while his people were killed and now it was your job to kill that monster.

Mistletoe

Jaskier had found a plan and like destiny had planned it was a mistletoe and to your and Geralt's frustration he had made it his task to get the both of you to kiss.

Clark Kent:

The expedition: requested

Nothing without you ( requested)

Reader is pregnant and gets kidnapped and Clark has to rescue his pregnant wife but during a fight reader gives birth and Clark has to help out.

Walter Marshall:

Drunken nights

Walter comes late too late to their anniversary and finds his girlfriend drunk at home. Things quickly escalate.

Soulmate

Walter comes home late at night and finds his girlfriend and his daughter cuddled up in bed and in deep conversation.

[lanadelreyylover]

just a pinch

RE4!Leon Kennedy x GN!Reader

Leon lets you pluck his eyebrows...

(all fluff)

I just realized I haven't been labeling the gender of reader, and though I typically write for female reader, sometimes it ends up being gender neutral, so I'll try to be more mindful of including that in the pairing :)

a tiny drabble based on this request

taglist: @cakeofhorrors @rainyxie @venus-in-roses @ghostieistiredd @jqsjournal @bloodysnow15 @sistinesarchives @freak0nnaleash @leonswifeyall @dhsksjsj @soleiljeteaime @quinnelia @mollyherondale (sorry for the spam today, trying to catch up on requests)

“I thought you said this wouldn’t hurt,” Leon gripes, looking up at you from his position on your lap. You try to dip your head, adjusting the angle of your shoulders so you can avoid the shadow that seems to chase you no matter where you move. Maybe you should invest in a headlight for next time so no hair goes unpunished. 

“When did I say that?” You ask, snapping the tweezers between your fingers. He shudders at the sound, already flinching before you even locate the next scraggly hair that will become your next victim. 

“When you said, ‘it won’t hurt, Leon, stop being a baby’.” He changes the pitch of his voice in a lame attempt to match yours. “‘It’ll just be a pinch, Leon’.”

“I don’t remember that at all.” 

“Of course not,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes before he screws them shut in anticipation of your next strike. “Selective memory.” 

You don’t discriminate with the next hair, choosing one that you think will hurt the most, plucking it without warning. 

“Ouch,” he groans loudly, squirming, the heel of his palm coming to his brow bone, applying pressure to what he’s making seem like a gaping wound. “You did that on purpose.” 

“Oh come on,” you say with a giggle. He tries to sit up, but you place a heavy palm on his chest, pushing him back down. “You dodge bullets for a living, and you think this hurts?” 

“It does,” he mutters under his breath. 

“Just one more,” you promise, locating two hairs between the heads of his brows. One. Two. 

“Holy fuck,” he yelps, limbs flailing as he sits up. “No more.” 

“Such a baby,” you coo, pinching his cheek, offering him the hand-held mirror. He snatches it with such an attitude, it rivals that of a teenage girl, and you watch as he inspects his new look in the reflection. 

He hums, wiggling his brows, bending them, digging the heads until they meet in the middle and crease the patch of skin between them. After a thorough test drive, he hands the mirror back to you, a smile pricking the corner of his mouth. 

“Not bad,” he relents. “But not ‘just a pinch’ either.”

[mbrickswrites]

The Tooth Fairy

[dad!Leon Kennedy x reader]

Warnings: dad!Leon, dentist, blood, baby seats in the Porsche, tooth rotting fluff, the dilf at the dentist's office

Summary: Leon being a competent dad, that's it, that's the plot. or: You're on vacation with your friends and Leon's home alone with the kids. Your son fell off a playhouse at school and needs to be taken to the dentist to get it fixed.

a/n: Can be read as a spin-off to my Cooperative Parenting series or on its own. Either version of Leon works for this, so do as your heart desires. Ollieeee <3 Alvaaaaa <3

Masterlist

Alva had a plethora of toys available to her: her own, the hand-me-downs from her older siblings, anything she wanted really—yet what she liked the most were the thin, sheer paper wrappers that came in delivery boxes. 

Leon watched his youngest as she was sitting on the rug, a pacifier in her mouth. She picked the paper up, waved it around and slid it back down.

“How are you the same baby that fell asleep in her high chair ten minutes ago?” he murmured, propping his head up on one arm. 

Alva chortled. 

“That’s not funny, I was trying to feed you.” 

She squealed and waved the paper around in bigger movements. 

“Yes, I know mashed banana is your favourite. That’s why I didn’t get why you would fall asleep and miss half of it.” 

“Ba-ba-ba,” Alva said, the pacifier falling out of her mouth. She paused and looked down to where it fell between her legs. 

Leon reached for it. “Right, I didn’t think about it that way. Your argument is very convincing.” 

Alva smiled and shook her head when Leon tried to hand her back the pacifier. The paper was more interesting. 

The shrill blare of the wall phone sounded through the living room and Alva’s head whipped around, eyes wide. 

“That’s the mashed banana police, Alva. I’m going to have to make a case for you,” Leon said, walking up to the phone. “But don’t worry, I’ll bail you out. Your mom would kill me if you got arrested on my watch.” 

Alva giggled. The authorities were after her and she thought this was funny. 

“Kennedy,” Leon said, picking up the phone. 

“Mr. Kennedy, this is Penny Miller. Is your wife home?” the voice of his son’s pre-school teacher sounded on the other end. 

No, you were probably tanning by the beach, iced coffee in hand, maybe a margarita—you were on holiday after all—as your friend Michelle and you caught up on all the gossip you so desperately needed. 

“No,” he said. “What is it? Did Ollie do something?” 

“He climbed onto the roof of the playhouse and walked right off it.” 

Leon grimaced and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Did he land face-first?” 

“Sort of. So I was hoping your wife could come pick him up and take him to the dentist?” 

“Dentist?” His eyebrows shot up. “Also, you’re already talking to me, I’m the dad, what do you mean you wanted to ask if my wife can come pick him up? He’s my kid, I’ll come pick him up.” 

Leon cleared his throat when he realised how worked up he sounded. He understood that you were listed as the emergency contact at all your kids’ schools and not him. For practical reasons, obviously. It wasn’t like he could take his son’s pre-school teacher’s call while he was on a mission at the other end of the world. It made sense. Nevertheless, he hated it. Because it made him feel like he was an uninvolved dad, while you did the heavy lifting on your own. Which you did. All the time. Until he got home and took over. Still, it was nowhere near enough. 

“It looks like he knocked a couple of teeth loose,” Penny went on. 

“I’ll be there in a couple minutes,” Leon said and ended the call. He walked over to his youngest in long strides and picked her up. 

“Come on Alva, time to run from the mashed banana police. They’re coming after us.” 

“Mam,” Alva babbled. “Ma-ma-mam.” 

He pressed a kiss to her soft head. “Oh, she’ll definitely come see us in prison, don’t worry.” 

After Alva was secured in the baby seat in the back of the Porsche, Leon drove straight to his son's pre-school. Ollie was waiting for him in the teacher’s room with slumped shoulders, tear streaked cheeks and held a paper towel to his face. 

“Where’s mom?” he greeted and Leon ignored the little sting in his chest at that. Ollie was a real momma’s boy. Always had been. He must have been so disappointed to see his father come pick him up instead. 

“She’s on holiday,” Leon said, crouching down in front of his son, gently grabbing his hands and peeling the paper towel off his lower face. He inhaled sharply at the amount of blood covering Ollie’s teeth, lips and chin. 

Leon was great with blood. Never had a problem with it. It sort of came with the job. Unless it was his kids’ blood. Then it was an entirely different thing and he couldn’t stand it. It made his heart race and his hands become shaky. 

“Oh dear,” he whispered. “That’s the entire front row.”

“I want mom,” Ollie sobbed, voice a little muffled, “Can’t she come home?” 

Leon shook his head and replaced the paper towel with a fresh one. “Not right now, Ollie. But we’ll handle this. You’ll be okay.”

Ollie shook his head violently and started crying again, but closed his arms around his dad’s neck as he picked him up. Leon briefly nodded at the teacher, who handed him a single tooth neatly wrapped up in a bloody tissue. 

“Thanks,” Leon murmured and put it in the pocket of his jeans. 

Back at the car, he sat Ollie down in the booster seat next to his sister and fastened the seatbelt. 

“Dad, my teeth hurt,” Ollie sobbed and tried to swallow, but gagged a little at the metallic taste in his mouth.  

“I know, buddy,” Leon said, running a hand over his head. “We’ll go to the dentist and they’ll take care of it. I need you to be brave for a little while, okay?” 

Ollie nodded weakly and sniffled. 

Back in the driver’s seat, Leon reached into his glove compartment. Next to his backup handgun, heavy duty painkillers and a spare 9mm magazine, he fished out a worn-out notebook. Flicking through the pages that concerned his oldest daughter Lottie, he finally reached a section titled ‘Ollie’. He typed a number into his phone and pulled out of the parking lot, as he waited for someone to pick up on the other end. 

“Darcy, hi, this is Leon Kennedy. We have a bit of an emergency here and I’m going to have to come in with Oliver. Can Dr. García see him short notice?” 

He checked the rearview mirror for both Ollie and Alva. The little girl was calmly sucking on her pacifier and stared at her brother inquisitively. 

“Yes, we’re on our way. Perfect, thank you.” Leon hung up and tossed both his phone and the notebook onto the passenger’s seat. 

“When’s mom coming back?” Ollie whined from the backseat. 

“Very soon,” Leon replied. In fact, your flight was tomorrow morning, but he feared if he told Ollie that now, he would refuse to go to the dentist unless you were there. 

“It’s not fair that she’s going on holiday without me,” he grumbled, the words a little unclear due to his front teeth hanging by a thread. 

“I know you miss her, but your mom deserves some alone time,” Leon said. Sometimes he worried that his son wouldn’t quite grow out of his clinginess. 

Ollie wrinkled his forehead. “Yeah but why does she have to leave to get alone time? She can have alone time with us.” 

Leon chuckled. “That’s not really alone time, is it?” He pulled into the parking space in front of the dentist office. Having the best health insurance available as a federal government agent and his family added to his plan had some perks. Being seen to immediately by the best doctors was one of them. 

He secured Alva in a baby sling around his torso. As if on cue, she yawned and let her head sink against his chest immediately. Alva was an incredibly easy baby. Or maybe you and him just had so much practice by now that it seemed that way. Alva’s eyes fluttered shut and Leon pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Perfect timing. 

Ollie was a different story, although he was exhausted from all the crying, he wasn’t calm. Not that Leon could blame him, the boy was just after face planting off a playhouse. 

“Are you okay with that paper towel?” 

Ollie nodded weakly. Leon lifted him out of the car seat. 

“Dr. García will get your teeth fixed and it will stop hurting, okay?” 

Ollie nodded again, clinging on to Leon’s hand as they walked up to the clinic. 

“Oh dear,” Darcy, the doctor’s assistant said as she saw the three of them walk in. “Let me see.” 

Ollie sheepishly removed the blood soaked paper towel from his mouth and Darcy drew in a sharp breath. “You’re lucky those are all milk teeth still, little man. The tooth fairy is going to leave you a fortune.” 

Ollie giggled, then winced and squeezed his eyes shut. 

“Come on.” Darcy placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll take you to the doctor while your dad gets all the boring stuff sorted.” 

Leon thanked her, reached into his pocket to get his health insurance card out and filled out the form for emergency dental procedures. 

“Are you a single dad?” The clerk watched him from behind the counter, popping her chewing gum. 

“Uh, no,” Leon replied and signed the consent form for local anaesthesia. 

“We don’t get a lot of dads who know their children’s information off by heart. Usually their wives have to tell them what’s what. That’s why I’m asking.” 

“That’s shocking,” Leon said and handed back the form. “Because all you needed me to confirm were his date of birth and allergies.” 

“You’d be surprised.” The clerk took the form and started typing on her computer. “Dr. García is in room three.” 

Leon nodded, knowing this particular dentist office like the back of his hand. All his kids were with Dr. García. She was the best.

He checked on Alva who was now sound asleep against his chest. Leon gently laid a hand on her head to support her as he turned around—only to come face to face with three moms in the waiting room staring at him. 

He wrinkled his forehead and one of them cleared her throat. All of a sudden, all three of them had something to rummage in their purses for or picture books to look at with their kids. 

Another pop of gum behind him. “Told you we don’t get a lot of dads around here,” the clerk said. 

Leon sighed. It really wasn’t that big of a deal to take his own kids to the dentist. You did that on the daily, but as soon as he did it, he was praised for it. You and him had spoken about it plenty of times: how everybody seemed to hate mothers when they took up space to take care of their children, but loved fathers when they did the exact same. 

In room three, Ollie was already in the chair, reaching out his hands as soon as Leon walked in. “Dr. García said she’s going to give me amnesia.” 

“Well, I hope I don’t,” Dr. García murmured, as she prepared a syringe. “Hi Leon.” 

“Thank you for letting us come in this short notice,” he replied and pulled an extra chair up to his son’s side. Ollie immediately grabbed his hand.

“Daddy, I’m scared,” he whispered. “I’ve never had amnesia before.” 

“You’re not even going to feel it. Trust me,” Leon reassured him and gently brushed Ollie’s hair out of his forehead. 

“Now, this might sting a little, Oliver. But after that the worst is over,” Dr. García said, as her assistant shielded Ollie’s eyes from seeing the syringe. 

Leon watched the needle go into his son’s gums and his palms became sweaty. Tearing into zombies, no problem. But someone hurting his kid, even a medical professional, was a completely different story. 

Ollie winced, wailing softly, gripping his dad’s hand a little tighter. 

“Nearly done, Ollie,” Leon reassured him and brushed his thumb over the back of his hand in little circles. “You’re doing really well.”

Dr. García leaned back. “And we’re all done.” 

Ollie’s eyes flew open. “What? Already?” He leaned forward, ready to swing his feet out of the chair but Leon gently nudged him back down. 

“No, Ollie, that was just the local anaesthetic. We’re still going to have to fix your teeth.” 

“Oh,” he leaned back. 

“You can take a sip of water though and spit out,” the doctor instructed and got her instruments ready. 

Leon handed his son a plastic cup with filtered water. A little spilled out when he took a sip, but it landed on the paper napkin tied around his neck, so it wasn’t that bad. Ollie leaned over the basin attached to the chair and spat out bright red liquid. 

“Dad, I can’t feel my mouth,” he slurred. 

“That’s the anaesthetic. That means it’s working,” his dad replied. 

Dr. García took a small pointy thing and poked Ollie’s gums. “Do you feel that?” 

Ollie shook his head. 

“Do you feel that?” she asked and he shook his head again. 

“Okay, we’re good to go. If you feel anything at all, pain, a little sting, anything, lift your hand, okay? I’ll stop immediately.” 

Ollie nodded, the pointy instrument still in his mouth. 

Dr. García made quick work of the first tooth and Ollie took it like a champ, his eyes flicking to his dad for reassurance. 

Leon smiled and gently squeezed his hand. 

The second and third tooth were gone in no time too. Ollie spat out again, turned around to his dad and opened his mouth, four of his upper front teeth missing. 

“Your mom’s going to freak,” Leon whispered. “I’m glad they’ll grow back this time.” 

When Ollie was all done, Dr. García handed him another napkin to stop him from drooling all over himself while the anaesthetic wore off. 

Because he had been such a brave boy, Darcy took him to the front desk so he could pick out a toy from the toy box—all tooth or dentist themed of course. While Ollie took his sweet time choosing, Leon loosened the sling to give Alva a bottle. She had finished her nap and was feeling like a little mid morning snack. 

“You know, if you hadn’t fallen asleep in your mashed banana, you could have had a proper lunch. Now all I got is a breast milk snack.” 

Alva gurgled happily, eagerly taking big sips.

Leon chuckled. “Pretty tasty, huh?” 

He let his eyes wander and made eye contact with the one of the moms from earlier. She was watching him. 

Leon smiled apologetically and held up his hand, his thumb brushing over his wedding band. She tore her gaze away from him, a rosy tint forming on her cheeks. 

The girl at the reception desk who had seen the whole thing, turned around in her swivel chair to hide her grin. 

Back at home Ollie and Alva both had more mashed banana. They also had about the same amount of teeth in their upper jaw at the moment. 

Ollie rolled all four of his teeth out of the tissue and gingerly placed them on the coffee table. “So, does the tooth fairy grant every wish or only certain ones?” 

Leon shrugged. “Depends, I guess.” 

Ollie nodded, pensively pressing his lips together as he examined the teeth on the table. 

“Why? Do you have something in mind?” 

Ollie nodded. “I have four teeth, so I get four wishes, right?” He tapped the first one. “I want mom to come back from her holiday.” 

Leon bit back a smile, knowing full well it was only a few hours until you were on a plane home anyway. “Okay, you got three more.” 

Ollie tapped the next tooth. “I want you to go away less.” 

Leon swallowed around the lump in his throat. Ollie was only five. The fact that he noticed and that it bothered him hit him out of nowhere. He kept forgetting how sensitive young kids were to that kind of stuff. 

“And I want to go to the dentist more often, but without Alva.” 

Leon’s brows shot up. “Why do you want to go to the dentist? Do you like Dr. García?” 

Ollie shook his head. “I want to go with you.” 

Leon blinked. “You know, we could also do something else. You don’t have to go to the dentist to spend time with me.” 

Ollie nodded. “Okay.” 

An overwhelming warmth spread through Leon’s chest. Ollie had only ever asked for his mom. Not once in five years had he asked to spend time with Leon one-on-one. 

Ollie picked up the last tooth, undeterred. “I want a guinea pig.” 

Leon braced his arms on the kitchen counter and sighed. “Not this again.”

-----

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[seribun]

leon’s daughter learns the word no and uses it the whole day. fluff. 0.9k wc.

leon has handled worse in the past. he’s sure of it. he’s been shot at, chased, infected with deadly viruses, and thrown into abysmal situations where the only plan was to survive and improvise. this, however? this shouldn’t be harder than that, right?

he should’ve known today was going to be difficult the second his daughter woke up and discovered the power of the word no. since breakfast, she’d used it for everything. she used it when she was angry. she used it when she was happy. she used it when she agreed with something. sometimes she even used it while actively doing the thing she was supposedly refusing to do.

now, as the evening settled outside the windows and painted the living room gold, the toddler stood by the front door, bouncing excitedly. “outside!”

“yeah, kiddo,” leon said, grabbing her tiny sneakers. “outside. now c’mere.”

the smile on her face immediately vanished. “no.”

“no outside?” he asked, confused.

“outside!” came the enthusiastic reply.

“okay.” leon crouched down in front of her. “then let’s put your shoes on.”

“no!” she declared, jerking her foot away, making leon miss the shoe entirely.

your daughter sat heavily on the floor, arms crossed and bottom lip sticking out in pure stubbornness.

“sweetheart,” he tried again, gentler this time, “can i put your shoes on?”

“no.”

“can mommy put your shoes on?”

“no.”

“can the president of the united states put your shoes on?”

and she actually seemed to consider it for a moment, before the expected reply came, “no.”

“mm, thought so.” for a minute, leon simply sat beside her, scratching the back of his neck and looking at the tiny sneakers as if they held all the answers. leon was beginning to suspect that whoever said toddlers were easy had never actually met one. now that wasn’t to say he didn’t love her. if anything, experience had taught him that trying to out-stubborn a toddler was like trying to fist-fight a tornado. eventually, he gave up and asked, “what shoes do you want to wear?”

now that got her attention and tears stopped before they’d even started. when she pointed to the front door, leon followed her finger, pointing to the pair of black combat boots sitting there. his boots.

“no, bug...” he tried to reason with her.

her tiny finger, however, remained steady. “papa boots.”

he knew there was no trying to reason with her. that simply wouldn’t work. still, leon looked towards you for help. you had a digicam in your hand, recording the whole thing and trying not to laugh. playing this at her highschool graduation dinner and embarrassing her would be so fun. “she’s got a point,” you said.

“how?” he chuckled at the ridiculousness of it.

“i don’t know?? toddler logic.”

your toddler waddled over to the boots and wrapped both her arms around one of them. it looked ridiculous. the boots were as long as her entire leg. leon sighed and gave in.

five minutes later came tantrum number two when leon wouldn’t let her wear his boots without socks.

tantrum number three happened because he put the left boot on first.

tantrum number four occurred because he’d tried to zip up her jacket. “no!” she cried.

“you don’t want to wear your jacket?”

“no.”

“what jacket do you want?”

and at the question, the toddler pointed at the leather jacket leon was wearing. “you want my jacket?” he asked, and she nodded vigorously in reply.

thankfully, there were no more tantrums after that. by the time you three finally made it outside, leon felt like he had survived a boss fight. your toddler, however, was delighted. papa’s boots and papa’s jacket? oh, this was the best day ever.

she waddled down the sidewalk happily and with all the confidence in the world. leon had to fold the sleeves of his jacket up six times, and it still nearly swallowed her whole and the hem nearly touched the ground.

his boots were even worse. every step was an adventure. clomp. pause. wobble. clomp. the boots slid and slipped around her tiny feet so much she looked like a baby duck learning how to walk.

but she was beaming, and that is what mattered. plus leon was careful, helping her each time she wobbled. every few steps, she’d look down at herself, visibly remembering what she was wearing, and wobble.

“papa boots!” she chirped happily.

leon nodded proudly.

“papa jacket!!”

“yes, bug.”

she took another few steps and then she held up her arms dramatically. “papa!”

the declaration was so proud, it made leon laugh warmly. “that’s right, bug. papa.”

she giggled and continued her impossible journey down the sidewalk. after about thirty feet, she got tired and demanded uppies. leon lifted her effortlessly and immediately she curled against his chest, tiny hands grabbing at the collar of his shirt.

“you know,” you said, walking beside them, “she just wanted to match with you.”

“yeah.” leon smiled warmly, looking down at the little girl already getting sleepy against his chest. and then, smugly, to tease you, “my outfits are obviously cooler. she has inherited my fine taste.”

“sure,” you rolled your eyes playfully, cracking a fond smile nonetheless. when you looked at your daughter, she looked ridiculous, really. one boot almost dangling off her foot. ridiculously adorable. but also impossibly happy.

“papa...” your daughter yawned softly, the hold of her tiny hand gripping his collar tightened.

“yeah, sweetheart,” he whispered back, kissing the top of her head.

this time, there was no no. just a content little hum as she snuggled deeper into papa’s jacket, perfectly satisfied now that she looked just like papa.

© seribun.

[flirtingfawn]

ᥫ᭡. ⋮ 𝒸𝓊𝒹𝒹𝓁ℯ𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝘨𝓇𝓊𝓂𝓅𝓎 𝓇ℯ𝟺 𝓇ℴℴ𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓉ℯ .ᐟ 𝓁ℯℴ𝓃 .ᐟ

⤷ 𝓼𝓯𝔀. leon is a stray dog of a man. first kisses. 𝟸.𝟿𝓀

leon is overly tired and very grumpy. it’s no surprise really when he rolled home in the early hours of the morning, bruised and so battered from his recent assignment—spain, if you remember it correctly—but since then, he clearly hasn’t slept and his mood is suffering for it. so, you take it upon yourself to fix it for him

“hey, leon?” you call out softly from your spot on the couch and then wince when you hear a cupboard door slamming shut in the kitchen. he’s been banging around in there for a while and truthfully, you have no idea what he’s trying to accomplish and you find it best not to ask, “c’mere for a second, please,”

it takes a moment but eventually, he leans around the kitchen doorframe with a frown pulling at his brows. he looks exhausted, his eyes are sunken in and the dark circles that are discoloring the tops of his cheeks can’t even hide behind the blonde hairs that hang in front of his face, “what’s up?” he asks, grumbling 

his voice is rough, scratchy and faintly worn out, causing it to sound far deeper than it usually does. butterflies swarm low in your stomach over it—like they always do—but you try to ignore it this time whilst you smile and stretch your arms out towards him, “come and lay with me for a while, please,” you plead 

the frown that’s painted across leon’s face deepens, his eyes get distant on the surface but you can see behind it—you can see right through him. something soft and melting hides behind the ice of his eyes, something that he doesn’t allow himself to feel often, much less indulge in it when you’re offering, “why?”

answering that with honesty is complicated. telling leon that you’re trying to lure him in, make him relax, force him to be pliant so that he can be tempted with sleep won’t ever work, you learnt that early on and because of it, you’ve had to get creative with telling little white lies that’ll benefit him in the long run 

“because, i want you to,” you answer simply, keeping your tone light and airy, treating him as if he’s a shelter animal that’s at risk of backing into the corner, that’s furthest away from wherever you are, with his teeth bared. it’s not really a lie either, you would like him to lay with you but your motives behind it don’t need to be discussed 

“but, why?” he asks again, this time sounding desperate and slightly pathetic. he knows that you’re lying in one way or another and he’s letting you. he’d never admit it but you’re the only person that can get away with it. if it were anyone else, he would’ve turned tail and left without even entertaining it

your head tips to the side, eyes raking over his face—the scars, the bruises, the cuts—whilst you make the decision to be somewhat candid with him, if only for his sake, “i just don’t like it when you shut yourself in your room after an assignment, that’s all,” you explain, carefully, still watching him 

leon nods, his tongue darting between his lips, “do roommates lay together often?” he snarks, though there’s not a whole lot of heat behind it. he’s trying to deflect your offer, make himself out to be someone that you wouldn’t want near you at all but much to his dismay, it won’t work. it never does and it never will

“i don’t think roommates is the right word anymore, leon,” you point out with a knowing look—one that reminds him of the times you’ve patched him up, scrubbed dried blood from his body and washed gunpowder and god only knows what else from his hair, all without a complaint. “stop being difficult and come over here,” 

the change in his eyes is the first thing that you notice, the first sign of submission. the distant look gets overpowered by the softness in an instant when he realises that he’s too exhausted to argue and what good would it do, he’ll only give into you in the end anyway, “yeah—yeah, okay,” he murmurs

finally, he steps out from where he was hiding against the kitchen doorframe. whatever he was doing—or rather, trying to do—in there seemingly becomes irrelevant as he shuffles towards you slowly with the telltale evidence of an ache that spreads throughout every single one of his limbs without his say so

still though, your eyes wander selfishly. his t-shirt is a size too small and clings to his biceps in all of the right places, his grey sweatpants hang low on his hips and one of the legs is caught up around his shin, exposing a ring of tanned skin between his clothing and his socks. he looks comfortable, for once

when he gets close enough, his teeth graze over his bottom lip and his gaze flickers between you and the couch and then over to the television that has been muted ever since you spotted him slinking out of his bedroom. he’s stalling but it only takes a soft flutter of your lashes to get him to cave and fall into you 

it’s rather unceremonious and kind of clumsy. his limbs knock against your own and the couch creaks rudely with his added weight but eventually, he just gives up and sort of flops down on top of you, leaving his cheek smushing into your stomach and your legs spreading to accommodate his body 

leon sighs. it rattles out of him while his arms snake around your waist, holding you pretty close for a guy who made out like he didn’t want this. it makes you smile, not that he can see it and for the first time ever, you hope that he can’t detect that butterflies that are still whirlwind-ing in your stomach, right under his head

instinctively, your fingers start to card through his hair. it feels like silk against your skin and it’s hard for you to imagine that not all that long ago it was thick with dirt and someone else’s blood—you try not to think about it as leon gives a small grunt of contentment, barely there and muffled but, it’s something

minutes pass by languidly, like time doesn’t really exist when leon is cosplaying as the most handsome weighted blanket. he stays quiet, enjoying the drag of your nails against his scalp and slowly, his breathing starts to even out as sleep starts to entice him but then he goes all at once and he jerks—hard 

muscles pull taut all over his body while he goes from being on the edge of slumber to almost wide awake in the blink of an eye, “shouldn’t be—be doing this, i have work to do, reports and stuff” he rambles under his breath, trying to push himself up and away from you and this time you sigh deeply

guilt holds him in its grasp. survivors guilt—maybe. the constant feeling that he’s not allowed to relax, he’s not allowed to indulge in the simplest of things. the feeling that he has to keep going, an act of penance that’ll never be satisfied, no matter the amount of people saved or the heavy toll that it’s taking on his body 

“leon—no, lay down,” you urge, though you sound more sympathetic than you’d like to. leon doesn’t like sympathy, he doesn’t like pity either but as your fingers slide underneath the neckline of his shirt and splay across tense muscles, he pauses, forces out a shuddered breath and then reluctantly relaxes again

“why do you even care about this?”

you flinch when leon can’t even ask why you care about him. he swaps the word with ease, leaves it unsaid but implied—even if he doesn’t mean to, “because i just do and if i didn’t, then who would?” you ask. it’s rhetorical, open ended if he wants to respond but there’s no pressure for him to try 

strong arms loop around your waist again and large hands flatten against your spine, touching and committing the most ordinary parts of your body to memory, like it was made just for him, “you shouldn’t,” he whispers and the worst part is, he truly means it. he really doesn’t believe that anyone would care about him

“mhmm—sounded like a rough one this time so i’m trying to extra care of…this,” you breathe, repeating the same phrase that he used whilst shifting the subject ever so slightly. leon grunts in agreement—it was a rough job—and it gives you the chance to ask your favorite question, “do you want to talk about it?”

“no,”

just as you expected, the normal response. you have to ask him though and you won’t press the issue further, you won’t try to force him to open up about what he went through. instead, you leave it be and let an easy silence fill the space between you and him. you’re there if he changes his mind and that’s enough 

in the meantime though, you drift your fingertips up and down the back of leon’s neck, tickling and just barely scratching your nails up through his hair and right back down to the top of his spine whilst leon seems to lose himself in a deep thought, one that allows you to see the proverbial cogs turning in his mind

a moment later, something shifts. you can’t pinpoint it and it’s odd because you feel it before anything really happens, almost like something prepares you for the shaky lungful of air that leon sucks into his body but then it leaves you high and dry, caught wholly off guard, for the gentle press of lips against your hipbone 

it’s not a kiss—it can’t be. leon must’ve done it accidentally. too engrossed in his thoughts to realise that he did it but it felt like a kiss. fizzling beneath your skin, blossoming throughout your veins, a thing that you’ve wanted for too long. fleeting and sweet, causing you to overthink it, spoiling yourself with it. and then,

“i nearly died this time,”

your heart sinks. swooping low, stealing the air from your lungs. it hurts to hear, especially from a guy who has the most awful habit of consistently downplaying every single thing that happens to him, “w-what—oh my god—wait, come up here, please,” you gasp, screwing your hands into his shirt to haul him upwards

leon moves promptly, clambering and collapsing into the sliver of space between your body and the back of the couch. he slots in with ease and rolls you to face him, pressing his broad chest into yours as he settles his head against the armrest. he’s so close, more so than he’s ever been before but it's not enough

before you can think better of it, you’re draping your thigh up and over leon’s hip and tentatively resting your hand on his ribs but it doesn’t quite have the desired effect when leon flinches. a bruise from his assignment makes his body jerk and immediately, you feel awful and try to snatch your hand back 

“no—don’t,” leon mumbles, vulnerable and out of his depth, while he catches your wrist and pulls your hand back to put it in it’s place. his own hand hovers over yours, displaying a size difference that makes you feel a little bit dizzy before his hand flits to your thigh and smooths tenderly up the outside of your leg

seconds bleed into minutes as you take the time to just exist with leon being so close. his breath fans over your cheek with every exhale and his hand squeezes lightly at your thigh but ultimately, you build up the courage to ask, “how did you—how did you almost…” you trail off, unable to say the words out loud 

“that part doesn’t—it doesn’t matter,” leon answers you, too fast and frowning. his walls go back up—albeit, they’re only half the size that they normally are and ready to crumble at moments notice—while he attempts to draw your attention away from his confession. though, all it does is leave you feeling confused

an incredulous laugh bubbles in your throat, “leon—that’s insane, it does matter—you matter,” you rant frantically, hung up on the fact that you really almost lost him this time. sure—it’s a constant risk with his job but hearing him admit it makes it all too much for you to handle, “i mean—how can you even say that it—”

“i thought about you,”

oh. your previously sunken heart swells when leon cuts you off. your eyes widen as your breath hitches in your throat but your mind muddles with every single plausible implication of his words. maybe it’s wishful thinking on your part but it all leads back to one singular thing. still though, you blurt, “why?” 

“i don’t know—i just—” leon stops himself and then presses his lips into a thin line. his eyes harden, only slightly, and his walls build themselves up to their full height. he’s struggling and you don’t blame him but you need to know and your fingers screwing into his shirt urges him on, “all i could think about was you and—”

you can’t take it anymore. you crowd into the small amount of personal space that he has left and press your lips into his and his walls collapse. he doesn’t hesitate, he doesn’t waste another second before he’s kissing you back. soft, slow, sweet, all of the things that you weren’t entirely sure that he was capable of 

his hand finds your waist, squeezing and tugging you closer until your bodies are flush against each other. your hand slides over his jaw and he doesn’t wince when you brush against the bruise that’s blooming underneath your palm. if it hurts him, he doesn’t show it because he’s too busy. he’s right where he wants to be

it’s all consuming, swallowing both of you whole where you lay on the couch until the air in your lungs begins to thin, causing you and leon to part your lips in an effort to breathe. he’s smiling though, you can feel it against your mouth whilst your chest rises and falls with every gasping breath 

“shit—if i’d known—would’a told you ages ago,” leon mumbles in between kisses that have turned needy. it’s like he’s been teased with the taste of you and he’s worried that if he pulls away now, he’ll never get it again. somehow, the thought of that is far more harrowing than anything he’s ever encountered on a job

“what do you mean—ages ago?” you whisper, also refusing to interrupt the lazy flow of kisses that are being shared between you and him, as your fingers ghost up his jaw and into his hair once more. not pulling or tugging, just playing deftly in a way that makes him grunt low in his chest and grip your waist harder 

he hesitates now. stuck somewhere between wanting to wear his heart on his sleeve and wanting to keep all of his secrets under lock and key. there’s a lull in his kisses, a moment where he’s too stuck to remember that he’s supposed to be kissing you back but when you threaten to pull away, he makes his decision quickly 

“i think about you every time—all the time,” leon concedes with his bloodshot eyes wildly searching yours. he sounds sure of himself, no mumbling or muttering under his breath, he’s admitting it and you can practically see the weight of it lifting off of his shoulders, “it’s always just—you,” he breathes 

inside of your chest, your heart is preparing to burst. it aches with happiness and an overwhelming sense of fulfilment and you can’t stop yourself from surging forwards to kiss him again. leon gasps as his bottom lip slots between yours—a sound that you haven’t ever heard from him—and then when you pull back, he grunts

“think about you too,” you giggle, sharing his sentiment, before you wriggle in close and tuck yourself against leon’s body. you fit together like puzzle pieces, your head slotting under his chin while his muscular arms wrap you up. you’ve found your place and you never plan on leaving, “miss you when you’re gone,”

“yeah?” leon chuckles, deep and throaty, muffled by his lips pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head as you yawn and nod in response, “thought you were trying to trick me into sleeping,” he teases, revealing that he knew what you were trying to do this entire time—you’re not mad about it though

still though, you playfully huff, “yeah—well—i am,” you mumble and press your ear against his chest to listen to the thrum of his heart beating. it’s an even thump, not panicked or rushed, just satisfied, “you’re gonna nap with me,” you garble around another yawn as leon’s exhaustion becomes infectious 

“am i?” leon asks, though he’s already rearranging himself to get comfortable and tightening his arms around you, holding you close and trapping you against him. you nod again, not giving him a choice, but he doesn’t seem to care when he’s kissing your temple and whispering a peaceful, “yeah—i am,”

thanks for reading! remember to like! reblog! and comment! i’ll give you a kiss if you do, mwah ily! send prompts to my ask box!

[menmadeofwarninglabels]

Neighbor Leon Kennedy

Summary: you hear a bump in the night and call your neighbor to come check it out.

Words: 1k

You're standing in your kitchen, ridiculous yellow gloves on while you scrub a particularly stubborn plate. Then you think you hear it. You turn the sink water off, turning your head like trying to catch a signal.

The first sound is small. Too small to mean anything on its own. A soft scrape somewhere in the house that makes you pause mid-scrub, dish still in your hand, suddenly very aware of how quiet everything else is.

Then it happens again. Closer this time.

Your stomach drops before your mind catches up. You don’t think. You just move. You pull your phone out of your back pocket as you back up to the kitchen counter, sinking into a squat against it.

While you're whispering to yourself that it’s probably nothing, the house settling, a branch, anything normal, your fingers are already dialing.

You don't know why you're calling your neighbor. Even though he's a big, buff, federal agent, you two aren't that close. But your body recognizes where safety is in a moment of crisis.

Leon answers on the second ring.

“Yeah.”

It’s all he says at first.

And somehow that steadiness is what breaks you out of your paralysis.

“I think someone’s in my house,” you say, voice too tight, too fast. “I heard something. I don’t–I don’t know.”

His tone instantly shifts.

“Lock yourself in a room. Now.”

You’re already moving.

“Bedroom,” he adds. “Door locked. Stay on the line.”

You do as you’re told without question, because there’s something about the way he speaks that doesn’t leave space for hesitation. The line stays open while you sit on the edge of your bed, listening to your own breathing and the faint, distant sound of your house feeling wrong.

“Leon,” you whisper after a moment. “I’m sorry, I just, I didn’t know who else to call.”

“You did the right thing,” he says immediately.

Nothing extra, just certainty.

Minutes later, you hear another sound outside. Not inside your house this time. A car door shutting too firmly. Footsteps on gravel.

Your phone crackles slightly as he says, “I’m here.”

You hear the front door open.

“Hey,” his voice calls out, lower now, closer in real space than the phone. “It’s me.”

His boots make their way to your bedroom. A soft knock follows.

“You in there?”

“Yeah,” you shout back, fiddling with the lock.

When the door opens, Leon steps in like he belongs there. His eyes are scanning, posture already assessing every corner of the room before they land on you.

Nothing about him is rushed. That’s the first thing your body registers. Like the world can be falling apart, but he’s already decided how to stand between you and it.

“It’s okay,” he says again, quieter this time.

You shake your head.

“I thought…I thought someone was–”

“I know.”

He doesn’t let you finish the spiral. Just closes the distance carefully, stopping close enough that you can feel his presence without him crowding you.

“I checked the house,” he adds. “Front, back, windows. Nothing’s broken. Nobody’s inside.”

Your breath catches like your body doesn’t quite believe it yet.

Leon watches you for a second longer, then says, “You’re safe.”

You force out a short breath, a sheepish smile crawling onto your face. You scratch your cheek with trembling fingers.

A nervous habit.

“Well that's embarrassing,” you say softly.

“Hey.”

You look up.

“If you hear something again,” he says, “you call me sooner.”

You can feel it once the adrenaline fades. Embarrassment rushes in to take its place.

Your hands twist together in your lap. “God, I’m sorry. I probably freaked out over nothing.”

Leon doesn’t accept the premise. He just leans against the doorframe, still half in assessment mode, like he’s making sure your fear doesn’t come back the second he leaves.

“It wasn’t nothing to you,” he says.

You huff out a small, awkward laugh. “Still. I made you come over here for basically… paranoia.”

“You didn’t make me do anything.”

There’s no annoyance in it.

You're still embarrassed.

You glance at him, then away again, heat creeping up your neck.

“I feel like I should make it up to you.”

That gets a faint shift in his expression. Subtle curiosity.

“You don’t have to.”

“I know,” you say quickly. “But I want to.”

He studies you for a second like he’s deciding whether to argue further. Then he doesn’t.

“Okay,” he says simply. “How.”

You blink, thrown.

“Uh.”

The seriousness of him makes your brain scramble for something equally serious. Something appropriate. Something adult and neighborly.

And then, because your brain betrays you in moments like this, you say, “Do you like pie?”

That earns the slightest pause.

Leon’s mouth twitches, almost imperceptibly.

“Pie.”

“Yes.”

“Yes,” he says finally, like he’s confirming a detail in a report.

Relief loosens your shoulders immediately.

“Good. Okay. I can do pie. I can definitely do pie. It’s like the least weird thank-you food.”

“I wouldn’t call it weird.”

“That sounded like you almost did.”

“I was considering it.”

You laugh, properly this time. It surprises you how easy it is around him, even after something like tonight.

Leon pushes off the doorframe a little.

“You don’t have to pay me in pie for checking your house.”

“I’m not paying you,” you insist. “I’m… expressing gratitude. With baked goods. Very normal human behavior.”

He nods once. “Understood.”

That makes you smile again, softer now. Less frantic.

“Okay,” you say. “Then it’s settled. Pie.”

Leon hesitates like he’s about to refuse out of principle, then doesn’t.

“Alright,” he says. Then, quieter, almost like an afterthought: “What kind.”

You blink. Almost smile.

“Apple,” you say. “Is that okay?”

Leon considers it with the same seriousness he gave your broken locks and your fear.

“Yeah.” He nods his head. “I like apple.”

Something about the way he says it, simple and unguarded, makes the whole moment feel different.

Not just a rescue or neighborly obligation. More like the beginning of something. Something unspoken but shared.

You nod, smiling a little to yourself.

“Okay. Then I’ll make you apple pie.”

Leon straightens slightly, like the conversation has officially concluded in his head, but he doesn’t leave immediately. Instead, he glances at you once more.

“You’re okay now?” he asks.

You think about it. Then nod.

“Yeah,” you say. “I think I am.”

He holds your gaze for a second longer than necessary.

“Good,” he says.

And this time, when he finally turns to go back outside into the night, it doesn’t feel like he’s just your neighbor anymore.

A/N: I love the stoic awkwardness at the end. Leon 'I can't let myself enjoy something that I think I might really enjoy' Kennedy, everybody

[sweetjedi]

“If you hear something again,” he says, “you call me sooner.”

🥺🥺🥺

I love the awkwardness. That I'm trying over here type of awkward that's so self aware. So good!!

[menmadeofwarninglabels]

Older Leon is at his most cuddly when he's tired

Because the older he gets, the less interested he becomes in pretending he has any dignity left.

You're standing in the kitchen talking about something. Maybe it's important. Maybe it's not. He's listening. Probably.

He's sitting at the table with his first cup of coffee, shirt half-unbuttoned, hair sticking up in six different directions, reading glasses mysteriously absent despite the fact that he was wearing them ten minutes ago.

You are halfway through a sentence when he reaches out one hand. No warning. No explanation. Just a vague grabby motion in your direction.

The moment you're within range, he hooks an arm around your waist and pulls you directly into his lap then continues listening as if nothing happened.

You were standing over there. Now you're sitting here. Problem solved.

The thing about older Leon is that he becomes increasingly affectionate in direct proportion to how tired he is.

Fully awake Leon still remembers social conventions.

Half-asleep Leon operates entirely on instinct.

And his instincts, unfortunately, are embarrassingly transparent. He doesn't ask. Asking requires energy. Words require energy. Negotiation requires energy.

Simply making you his problem requires significantly less effort.

You'll be trying to do dishes and suddenly there's a large warm man leaning against your back.

You'll be reading a book and discover he has quietly placed his head on your shoulder like an exhausted golden retriever.

You'll get up to grab something from another room and hear a disappointed noise behind you so pathetic it sounds medically concerning.

Not a word. Just a noise. The noise of a man whose favorite piece of furniture has developed free will. He doesn't even realize he's doing it.

You tell him later.

"You're clingy when you're tired."

And he immediately denies it. With complete confidence. While actively holding your hand. While sitting close enough that personal space has become a historical concept. While looking at you over the top of a coffee mug because he still hasn't found his glasses.

"Am not."

“Sure, Leon. Whatever you say. Now move your arm. I need circulation back in my hand.”

A/N: the audacity of making reader point it out. Hush little lady, let it be your happy little secret forever

[theweepingangelofcas]

A Touch Too Much Blush - Leon Kennedy x Reader

Summary: You injured your dominant hand three days ago, which is now in a stiff cast. The cast and overall discomfort make doing your makeup difficult for you. Luckily enough, Leon is always willing to help with whatever you need (he tries his best, at least.)

*************************

"Aw, fuck!"

The curse rings out through the whole house. Your injured hand is trembling with exertion, stiff within the confines of the plaster cast encasing it. The makeup brush in your hand clattered to the floor, eyeshadow knocking against the wood.

You broke your hand 3 days ago, and not one thing has been easy since.

Cooking? Sorry, not happening. Bathing? Gotta have your arm in a trash bag so that water doesn't touch it. You had to have Leon help you with the groceries last night. But you never thought that something as basic and everyday as doing your makeup would become borderline impossible.

A blonde head of hair peeked out from his office, "You okay, Dove?"

You good hand braced against your face in frustration, "Yeah, Lee. Just can't hold the damn brush anymore. Hurts."

He stepped into view of the mirror of your vanity, concern etched on his handsome features, "You don't have to put that stuff on, you know. You look just as good without it." He stooped to the floor, picking up the brush and placing it back on the table.

You shook your head, "I know I don't have to. But I like to. And this goddamn cast-" You pointed your whole hand in his direction for emphasis, "Is making my whole fucking life impossible."

Anger caused your voice to tremble ever so slightly. Shit, you could feel tears welling up in your eyes. You had been so frustrated with yourself because of your broken hand, and it seems like you had just hit your breaking point.

Just as a tear was about to fall, you felt a gentle tickle on your eyelid. You hadn't even realized you'd closed them.

"Do you do it... like this?" you felt the brush being clumsily swiped across your eyelid.

No, you want to retort, not at all like that. Wrong direction, wrong pressure, wrong area. Probably the wrong color, too, now that you thought about it. But the unsteadiness of his hand just brought chuckles to your lips instead of anything else.

"Sure, Lee. Sure."

He laughs too. It's not his usual confident laugh. It's something more tender. More considerate.

With a final swipe of the brush, its set back down on the tabletop of your vanity.

"So... what's next?"

You open your eyes to look at him, a touch too scared to look in the mirror and see his 'handiwork'.

"Blush. I've already got the base applied and everything."

He nods, picking up the circular pan of cherry colored blush. His hands hover unsurely over the array of brushes in front of him.

"The big fluffy one." you correct him as he almost picks up a brush that's meant for foundation.

"Right, yes. Fluffy one." He affirms your words, before dipping the brush in the pan. The action makes you cringe inside. Too harsh pressure. Too much product. You're going to look like a clown after this is over.

But seeing the gentle smile on his face? As he tries his damndest to help you through this?

You could never even imagine being mad.

[resident-kennedy49]

Plus One // SFW Leon Kennedy x fem!reader

Summary: Your ex invites you to his wedding. Showing up alone would only prove him right all those years ago, but he deserves a kick in the brass cojones. Leon's nothing if not an enabler.

WC: 6k

CW: fake dating, established friendship as coworkers, nicknames, no use of y/n, no mention of ages, fluff, bad fish puns, mild angst/comfort, first kiss (real), happy ending

The mission is finally over. You know this because your desk is a fucking mess.

Printouts and clippings and folders lay thick enough to suffocate, and you’re still receiving tidbits and snippets that need to be sorted and distributed. You’ve lost your breakfast bar under the same newspaper, twice, in two different locations as you shuffle and juggle and group and discard.

The discard needs to be happening faster. Your waste bin is the cleanest thing in your cubicle.

Your finger traces under a line of text on page #3 of relevant dossier #7, transcribing it into your report one-handed, eyes intent on your computer screen. You’ve got earbuds in with box-fan white noise cranked to drown out the office phones and low-grade chatter from surrounding cubes. You’re already running your brain in ten different directions, working on your report while compiling documentation to share with the field agents for their reports, and they keep pinging your IM, hounding you for updates. You wish you could set your status to something more abrasive than “🔴 Do Not Disturb”.

On the one hand, you understand how the quick turnaround on mission reports means a direct tap into memory while it’s still fresh, but on the other – you’re all fucking exhausted, some of you are injured, and this feels a little bit like friendly fire. Especially when you’re the intelligence agent and your field operatives are all tugging on your metaphorical shirt hem, whining for your attention.

Something brushes your ear and you slap at it, whipping your head around. Of course you’d have a fly buzzing around your cubicle, now, too.

It’s not a fly. Leon Kennedy just took out one of your earbuds.

You clutch at your chest, the shock of finding an entire person standing behind you making your skin feel like it teleported 1cm to the left without you.

“You weren’t hearing me,” he says by way of an apology. You snatch the earbud back.

“That’s the POINT.”

“You said that info was on a thumb drive?”

“I said it will be,” you say, frazzled. “I’ve got like twenty balls in the air right now, Leon. Don’t break my concentration.”

“Can I help with anything?”

“Respect the status,” you snap, referring to the Do Not Disturb designation that he had bypassed by showing up in person.

Your tone echoes back in your ears and you shut your eyes, sighing and rubbing at a spot on your forehead. You can feel a monumental headache building, but that’s no reason to be nasty. Leon’s under the same tight deadlines.

“Sorry.”

“I get it,” he says, picking up the empty wrapper from your breakfast bar and transferring it to your trash can. There’s a deep scratch on his arm, gummy and raw, held shut with butterfly closures.

“I’ll have it ready by EOD,” you say, pronouncing the acronym like it’s a word. Ee-odd. It’s an olive branch poking up through the hellfire: an inside joke between the two of you. The corner of his mouth stretches into that half-smile.

“Roger, Earworm.”

The bastard thinks it’s a funny nickname: always the voice in my ear. And it is funny, because it was never mean-spirited. Some of the other field operatives get borderline malicious with their interpersonal nicknames.

You toss a balled-up paper at him; he twists and it bounces off his hip.

“So fuck off, Toothskin.”

When you’d first thrown that one back at him you’d won one of his genuine laughs, the kind you only got when you really surprised him. Always making it by the skin of your teeth.

A trainee had said once that your nicknames sounded mean, that they made you sound like unhygienic trolls or rotted goblins. They’d suggested something like Angel and Lucky instead, because it was sentimentally the same thing and positivity would strengthen your team dynamic.

Three guesses if they’d ever completed the program.

You’d never told Leon about that lunch room conversation. You didn’t need to watch him die laughing.

In your cubicle, his smile stretches a little wider, then he glances at his watch. Cursing under his breath, he leaves at an urgent clip. You’re already facing your computer again with your stolen earbud crammed back in.

The silent ticking of the clock remains deafening.

You love the sounds of coming home after a long day, but tonight it all sounds especially serene.

The thump of your shoes, kicked off carelessly in the foyer.

The shf of stiff fabric shed from your tired body, the blissful whisper of well-worn, downy-soft pajamas slipping over your skin.

The delicate clink of a wineglass; the full-throated cascade of a generous pour.

You take a heavy sip and lean against your kitchen island, closing your eyes and releasing a long breath. God. Trapped at your desk all day and then six hundred interceptions when you were finally allowed to leave? You felt like a fucking running back making a mad dash for the endzone. The night air had never tasted so sweet, once you'd finally made it through the doors.

Your oven makes a series of quiet clicks, coming back up to temperature. Even if dinner’s just thawed leftovers, again, you’d set yourself up for something fresh, too, because you fucking deserve it. You’re already starting to smell it. You take another sip of wine and smile.

And then you remember. It strikes you like a horrible bolt of lightning.

At the same time, your phone starts ringing on the countertop.

Incoming Call Toothskin

“Fuck!”

You want to throw your wineglass. How the fuck did you forget? > Answer

“Fuck, Leon, I’m so sorry, I completely fucked it–“

“Hey, whoa,” he says, but you’re still talking.

"It’s in my fucking bag, I was on my way to drop it off and I got–“

He says your name; you barely hear it.

“Fuck! I can’t believe I just fucking walked out– I’ll come drop it off, okay? I can– I’ll just … shit, the fucking oven–"

"HEY," he says, raising his voice. "I’m already in the car. What’s your location?"

When Leon knocks at your door, you swing it open and then hurry back into the house like a reverse doorbell-ditch. He blinks, hand still raised in a frozen knock.

“Just come in!” You shout over the beeping of the kitchen timer.

Leon steps inside and closes the door softly behind himself, looking around.

You hadn’t turned on any lights in the front hall; the kitchen sits as a literal light at the end of the tunnel. Leon clocks your tumbled shoes under your hanging coats, the splay of your keys on the side table where you’d tossed them. Ready to be fucking done with the day. Despite the dark, the front hall is cozy. Your coats hold whispers of your perfume. There’s a hint of clean laundry and an undercurrent of something more complex, almost earthy; the house smells lived in. By you.

It also, overwhelmingly, smells like fresh bread.

You’re setting the steaming, crackling loaf on a cooling rack and slapping the oven gloves off of your hands when Leon wanders into the light of your kitchen.

"I didn’t know you baked,” he says, eyes on the dark golden crust, split open where you’d scored the dough.

"Not really mission-critical information," you say, and pull open your work bag that you’ve hauled onto the kitchen island. Digging around, you find the thumb drive, but it’s tumbled into the bottom next to another thumb drive that looks identical.

Neither are labeled.

"Of fucking course," you mutter, pulling out your laptop with jerky, frustrated motions. It clacks against the countertop; you stab the power button to boot it up. “What’s ten more hours, right?”

Leon doesn’t respond. He’s assessing: you, first and foremost, strung out and self-disparaging; the kitchen, dishes in the sink, scattered messes all over; the fridge door, covered in novelty magnets and a dry-erase calendar; the corkboard on the wall.

His attention snags.

Among photos and receipts and postcards (two are from him, brought back from some vibrantly unpleasant mission locations, as a joke), incongruously, there’s a large champagne-gold envelope with a broken wax seal, clearly torn open with some violence.

It’s stabbed into the corkboard with a paring knife.

You toss one of the thumb drives back into your bag and shove the correct one towards Leon across the kitchen island.

"Bingo," you say, then catch what he’s looking at. He gestures to it.

“Jury duty?”

You know he clocks your dark expression before you 180 into something that matches his jesting tone.

“Yeah the circuit court jumped on the discounted stationary when Party City closed.”

“You hate weddings that much?”

“It’s my fucking ex,” you say venomously, picking up your wine glass. “I almost have half a mind to show up just to congratulate him on the brass cojones. Maybe give him a swift kick in them.”

“Sounds like you should.”

“He’d get too much satisfaction from my missing plus-one,” you mutter. “Like aw, your job couldn’t make it tonight? Dickknuckle,” you add under your breath.

Leon’s watching you, a faint crease between his brows.

“What?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” he starts, and your brow creases. “Do you want a plus-one?”

You chuff a laugh, but he doesn’t smile, so you drop yours.

“What, like you know a guy?”

“No. Like I am a guy.”

Your eyebrows lift.

“You want to attend my ex’s wedding.”

“If it means mission success in the swift-kick department, sure,” he says. You narrow your eyes.

“You don’t even know the guy.”

He glances at the stabbed envelope on the corkboard. The blade is lodged; you'd used some force.

“I trust your judgement.”

You cross your arms, searching for a teasing twinkle in his eye, a telltale twitch of his mouth, but he’s just gazing back at you levelly.

“You’re serious,” you realize.

“Always am.”

“Please,” you scoff, but you uncross your arms and reach for your bread knife, throwing him a sidelong glance. Considering. “I’ll think about it.”

He picks up the thumb drive, tosses it in the air and catches it.

“Do that,” he says. “I’ll let myself out.”

“Wait,” you call after him, and he backs up to lean through the kitchen doorway. Wordlessly, you hold out a thick, steaming slice of the fresh bread. “For the trouble.”

He takes it.

He’s halfway to the front door when you hear him groan loud, almost obscene.

“Fuck that’s good.”

The front door closes.

His voice echoes in your ears for a while. Your cheeks are only pink from the heat of the kitchen; you turn and shut the oven off.

Earworm The mission, should you choose to accept it:

A photo loads into the text thread and Leon taps it open.

It’s the wedding invite. There’s a narrow slit bisecting the date, the same width as a paring knife blade.

He skims the details.

Mid-July. Out of state. Outdoors, in a nature preserve. Strictly formal, but no black or white dress.

He eyes the font, the thick textured paper with raw, ripped edges, the embossed leaf detailing.

It’s a vegan menu, isn’t it, he texts back.

Earworm Pescetarian

He snorts. Another text drops in from you.

Earworm You can plant the invite. Grows forget-me-nots

Of course it does.

Earworm Thought about wearing white but they might have me shot

There’s strength in numbers.

Earworm Enabler

Is this not Operation Rock The Boat?

Earworm Can’t rock it if we’re kicked out. Game plan is malicious compliance

… you’re putting me in a dress, aren’t you.

Earworm Hmm. Tempting.

There’s a fucking chandelier in the fitting room.

Under the sparkling, crystalline light, surrounded by three floor-to-ceiling mirrors, you take in your chosen battle dress from every angle.

“Yeah, that’ll do it,” you say out loud.

“You’re done already?” Leon’s voice is muffled, closed in another cubicle across the wide, thin carpet.

“It’s a slip dress,” you call back. “Not many fastenings to tangle with.”

It’s an avocado green slip dress, silky and alluring, with thin shoulder straps and a scoopy cowl neck. It’s definitely your shade. It highlights your freckles and your eyes; it shows off your arms, your collarbones, your neck. What it doesn’t reveal, it hints at, like a prize behind a curtain.

You turn again to admire the back. It’s a lot of cake to be bringing to someone else’s wedding, but he invited it.

You step out into the main space. There are more chandeliers overhead and a mirrored sort of apse at the end of the carpeted runway.

You can hear clothing rustling behind the door of the fitting room directly across from you.

“Sure you can manage all those buttons?”

The door opens and Leon’s there, looking down to fix the lay of his lapels.

“Not quite my kryptonite, but thank–“

He looks up and forgets what he's saying. Forgets where he's going, too. He stands frozen outside his fitting room, just staring at you.

That’s okay; you’re staring at him, too.

The last time you’d seen him in a suit, you were behind a desk watching a grainy, quarter-screen, black-and-white camera feed. That had had very little impact.

This? This has impact. It’s punched your stomach into a somersault.

This suit is camel-brown, the dress shirt a pastel green. The cut of the suit accentuates his broad shoulders, his tight waist; the pants make his legs look longer. The shirt brings out the green in his grey eyes, makes his skin – his lips – look a little pinker.

You were already well aware of how handsome he is, in a rugged, untouchable, dangerous Special Agent sort of way. But he’s standing here in the suit that you picked to compliment your dress and you can’t remember anyone looking more fucking attractive ever in your entire life.

And the way he always carries himself with that self-assuredness, like nothing could ever bowl him over?

He’s staring at you, and he’s looking a little bowled over.

The moment is gone just as quickly as it arrived. He pushes his hand through his hair and the unflappable Leon is back.

“Don’t you clean up nice.”

You shut your mouth with a click.

“Speak for yourself,” you say, heading for the mirrors at the end of the runway. He follows you, standing just behind your shoulder.

The two of you are a fucking one-two knockout. You look so good together, you can’t face it for more than a few blinding seconds before your chest starts feeling tight.

You sit down heavily on one of the velvet chairs between fitting room doors and manage not to put your head in your hands. Leon looks down at himself, smoothing a hand over the buttons of his suit.

“You don’t like it.”

"No, it’s fucking perfect," you bite out.

"What’s wrong?"

"This whole thing is ridiculous. I’m being ridiculous." You're short on breath. You can feel panic rising, tight bands around your lungs. You do put your head in your hands, clutching at your hair to stop the tremble in your fingers.

"Hey," he says, crouching down in front of you. "Where’s this coming from?"

"Why am I dragging you into this? I don’t care about him or what he thinks! I don’t care!"

"I volunteered," Leon reminds you.

"Why?"

He does the facial equivalent of a shrug.

"No bioweapons? Open bar? You tell me.”

You unclench your fists from your hair and sit back to look at him, your head against the wall. He meets your gaze, calm and even.

He’s so fucking beautiful. You can’t let on about the gymnastics routine your stomach’s doing.

“If his brother's there, don't rule out bioweapons,” you say.

“Mm. BO?”

You shake your head. “GI.”

“Noted. Book of matches for a quick escape.”

You close your eyes, huffing a little laugh through your nose.

“We’re not locked into anything,” he tells you quietly. “You’re calling the shots.”

“Mm,” you acknowledge, and take a deep breath. “Just another mission.”

“With free dinner.”

Something lands on your knee and you open your eyes; it’s Leon’s hand, palm-up. A question. An offering.

You give him a pained look.

“It’s pescetarian.”

“Could be a red herring.”

Your gaze goes wooden. He raises his eyebrows, innocent.

“Ugh, I hate you,” you say, but clap your hand into his waiting palm. He hauls you to your feet. And he’s not done.

"A bait-and-switch?"

"Stop," you groan, shoving him towards his fitting room.

"A shell game.”

"Ignoring you!" The door to your fitting room shuts and you start wriggling out of the dress.

You almost rip it when Leon yells FISH from across the way and you fall into helpless laughter.

Toothskin Have you checked the registry?

I’m liking the 200-year-old sourdough starter

Toothskin Old yeast… what milestone anniversary is that?

200th. Keep up

And then the day arrives.

Leon puts the Porsche in park and you both sit back, observing the battlefield.

The nature preserve vista stretches vast beyond the front bumper, all dappled sunlight and swaying greens with scatters of bright, energetic color. The sky is a vibrant blue and dotted with cotton-puff clouds, the birds are singing, and there’s enough of a breeze to prevent stagnant air without upsetting meticulous hairstyles. It’s a perfect day in a gorgeous setting.

You’re clutching the invite, unawares, and the heat and moisture from your hands has warped the textured paper. Leon glances down and gently tugs it from your grasp.

“Talk to me.”

“I’m just… trying to remember the last time I saw him.”

“On the Save the Date.”

“Heard him, then. I’m trying to remember what he said to me.”

“Do you think he remembers?”

“No.”

“Blank slate, then,” Leon says, glancing in the rearview. Guests are meandering towards the gap in the low, rustic wooden fence, trickling into the sanctuary. “What are your boundaries?”

“What?”

“As your date. We covered our story; what’s your stance on PDA?”

“Oh.” You wave it off. “I don’t expect you to do anything.”

He scoffs, incredulous. “We’re at a wedding, as a couple, and you look like that,” he says, indicating your whole look with a pointed raise of his eyebrows. “You want people to think you’re dating a eunuch?”

You stare at him like you’re going to fire something back, but there’s nothing in the chamber. He’s disarmed you. Maybe fried your circuitry a little.

“Here,” he prompts, and holds his hand out over the gear shift. “Do you like holding hands with a partner?”

You can’t be this flustered. He’s just gathering intel for the undercover operation. This is tactical.

You take his hand, feigning nothing but mild agreement while your traitorous pulse picks up.

“Sure, it’s fine.”

He adjusts, lacing your fingers together, watching your face.

“Still fine?”

“Still fine.” His palm is warm and rough, callouses at the base of every finger from intensive strength training. His thumb lightly strokes your hand.

“If I touch your back?”

You tamp down a shiver, keeping your voice neutral.

“Fine, from the waist up.”

“Your hair?”

“Why my hair?”

He gently frees his hand, brushes his fingers over your ear like he’s fixing a windblown lock.

“Okay, yeah, that’s fine.”

He traces his thumb from your temple down to your jaw, delineating the side of your face.

“Is this okay to kiss?”

Despite the car still running and the AC blowing, your skin is hot and buzzing and you’re feeling that tight panic start to threaten your lungs again. It’s too close and intimate in here. You swat his hand away.

“Look, I know you’re good at reading a room, okay? So I’ll trust you. Just don’t fucking grope me in front of the bride’s grandma and I think we’ll be fine.”

“Killjoy.”

You sharpen on him. He just blinks at you owlishly, unthreatened.

You poke him in the side, where you know he’s sensitive. He clamps his arm down and jerks away.

“Alright, roger! No show for grandma!”

It pokes you back, right in the funny bone. You collapse into laughter, forehead pressed into his shoulder, and the bands around your chest loosen.

When you recover, he’s still smiling quietly, smug. You give him a shove, then double check your makeup in the visor mirror.

“Alright, let’s go, before all the worst seats are taken.”

The ceremony is gorgeous.

The altar stands under the strong, reaching branches of an ancient oak, in a serene forest clearing bordered by flickering tea lights in pristine mason jars. The bride looks Barbie-perfect in her flawless bright white dress, and the groom – your ex – is practically glowing himself. She’s probably got him on a juice detox, yoga regimen and seventeen-step skincare routine. But it’s working.

They look beautiful together, and hopelessly in love.

Your hands have knotted in your lap and your jaw is clenched tight.

You’re not jealous.

Well. You’re not jealous of her for who she’s marrying. You might be jealous of… everything else.

Something touches your wrist. It’s Leon, and just the warmth of his fingers on your skin dissolves your acidity.

Your hands unknot as Leon slips his fingers in with yours, his palm a warm and comfortable weight. You hook your free hand loose at his elbow, hugging his arm, and he leans in to press a kiss to your temple, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You lean into it.

At the end of the ceremony, the freshly-minted husband and wife make a bottleneck that guests have to pass through on their way to the reception tent. You’re in line, wondering when ‘congratulations’ will stop sounding like a real word.

There are only seven people in line ahead of you. You’re breathing even, because you’re not anxious. You’re fine.

“Should I tell him he’s got a seed in his hair?” Leon’s speaking low right next to your ear, his eyes on the man in front of you in line. You refocus; it’s the type of seed that travels on the wind with a bit of fluff, like a dandelion. The guy’s hair is dark enough that it’s not hard to spot.

You turn your head to speak in Leon’s ear.

“No. Ten he’ll never notice.”

He smirks.

“Fifteen his wife won’t, either.”

Five people ahead of you.

“Bad bet, she’s hardly looked at him since they stood up. Twenty it’s a random stranger that tells him.”

“Bad bet, you’re a random stranger,” he says, his breath tickling your ear.

Three people ahead of you. You’re biting back a smile.

“Damn.”

Leon’s hand hasn’t left your waist.

“You came!”

Your ex lights up when he sees you next in line, and you’re even more surprised when he goes in for the hug. Leon feels you move towards it on rote and lets you go; the hug is light and short-lived. Your ex’s frame seems smaller than you remember, but maybe that’s because you’ve had Leon glued to your hip. He’s taller than your ex, maybe all in the swoop of his bronze hair, but he’s definitely… bigger.

“God, you look incredible,” your ex is saying, but there’s no depth or heat to it. It sounds just like it would if you were two former friends that hadn’t seen each other in almost a decade, and that hits you… strangely. You were lovers, for fuck’s sake, you were together for more than three years! Why did he invite you here if it wasn’t to gloat? To rub all this in your face? You hadn’t separated on good terms, but there isn’t a shred of animosity you’re getting from him right now. He truly just seems happy to see you.

And, annoyingly, that comes as a relief even while it stumbles you. It’s like you were holding the end of a wire at tension only to find it wasn’t attached to anything. You can’t help but feel a little childish about it, but in your defense, the wedding invite completely out of the blue? That was a crazy thoughtless move. How many other exes had been invited today, and how many had shown? How many other invites were still stabbed into a corkboard somewhere?

So maybe you’ve stretched your legs for nothing. His cojones aren’t brass, he’s just kinda dumb. And you know what? Good for him.

You return to Leon’s bubble and his hand is right back at your waist, casually possessive. You wind your arm around his back while you enthuse – and it is genuine – how stunning and happy the bride and groom look together. Your ex pulls his new wife close and kisses the side of her face, then gestures to Leon.

“And who’s your lucky gentleman?”

Leon lets you introduce him – you're calling the shots – shaking hands before settling in against you again, and you can feel his attention’s on you. You can see them seeing something on his face and you look up at him.

Your tummy backflips.

His eyes are so soft and fond, looking between yours. There’s a shade of something that looks like pride, too, and you wonder if he can feel that the fight’s left your body.

He kisses your forehead, then offers the bride and groom another congrats and beautiful ceremony and we’ll see you inside, opening your exit. You walk out together from the shade of the forest, into the July sun, and the light breeze greets you smelling sweet and hot and floral.

When you’re out of earshot, he speaks.

“What’s our sitrep?”

You sigh, defeated.

“You wanna go, don’t you.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You signed on for violence.”

“Maybe at first.” The two of you have to break to walk apart on an uneven stretch of path, so he takes your hand instead. “We leave now, what’re the optics?”

“A shellfish allergy.”

“Weak,” he heckles. He’s right. Leaving now would look suspicious.

You tug his hand, grimly indicating the reception tent when he meets your gaze.

“That’s the hot zone. Last chance to run.”

He rolls his shoulders, cracks his neck, tightens the lace of your fingers together.

“I don’t give up that easy.”

“How did you two meet?”

Of course, as soon as the seat beside Leon vacates one ass, this one drops into it. You remember her from Thanksgivings and Christmases with your ex’s family, and here she is again with that ominous glint in her eye, wine glass already in hand. You grip Leon’s thigh under the table in warning.

“Hi, Auntie.”

“Hello, dear. You’re looking so well," she says, scrunching her nose condescendingly. "So how’d you dupe this one?”

Leon straightens from his casual lean, facing her better while resting his arm over the back of your chair.

“Aren’t we charming.”

Wine Aunt sets her chin in her hand, one eyebrow cocked as she looks Leon up and down, indiscreet. He’d abandoned his suit jacket a while ago, sleeves rolled up his arms, tie stuffed into his pocket so he could unbutton his collar a little. He does look fucking delicious, but you want to scoop out her slimy eyes for ogling him like that.

“Mmm. Certainly,” she purrs at him. So she’s forfeited her tongue, now, too.

You see Leon give her a subtly disgusted up-down in return before he turns his full attention to you instead.

“Met you at work,” he says to you, and you’re obsessed with the way he’s effectively answering Wine Aunt while also cutting her out of the conversation. He glances up at your hair, brushes it back from your forehead. “It was just your voice at first, lots of phone calls. And then I got to meet you.”

Your tummy’s not just fluttering, it’s kicking you. He’s too good at sounding like this, warm and fond and genuine. It’s starting to pinch behind your ribs.

It’s just a show. You’re playing in it, too.

Wine Aunt’s bringing her glass to her lips, muttering something like isn’t that sweet, expression fully soured. You can see she’s turned away, scanning the tables for her next victim, and your quiet smile at Leon grows a sharpened edge of victory. Then she leaves without another word and you have to bite back a full grin.

“Did she really just try to come on to me?”

“She’s notorious.”

“Mm. I thought about saying we met at an AA meeting, but she wouldn't know anything about that.”

Your eyes sparkle with dark delight. “Leon Kennedy. You are here for violence.”

You both jump when the speakers give a sudden feedback screech, the DJ raising his arm in apology before checking the microphone again. He announces it’s time for the speeches, and Leon exchanges a harrowed glance with you before grabbing both your empty drinks glasses.

“Same again?”

“Stronger.”

You haven’t been to a single wedding where the speeches didn’t set your teeth on edge.

Tonight might be the worst yet. You’re glad, at least, that there’s a literal spotlight somewhere else in the tent, leaving your table in heavy shadow. Both you and Leon look like you're on trial awaiting a heavy verdict rather than listening to weepy, heartfelt sentiments and weak jokes that rarely land.

Your fingers draw aimless lines up and down your drink glass, smearing through the condensation. Your eyes are on Leon’s back; he’s hunched forward, elbows on the table.

You listen to different iterations of the same gist, hear the same buzzwords, over and over.

Proud. Deserve. Love. Peace. Safety. Long life. Happiness. Together.

They all land like darts, piercing you.

Halfway through the father of the bride’s speech, Leon gets up, unreadable. He sets his hand on your back and leans down, his voice low and even.

“I’ll be right back.”

It’s calm, casual. Normal.

The giveaway is when his whiskey goes with him, and the direction he heads.

Not for the bathroom. Not for the bar.

The exit.

The reception tent is set up next to a huge, beautifully manicured garden courtyard, all high shrubs and fragrant bushes and bursting clusters of flowers lining stone paths that stretch and curve and cross over each other, a loose labyrinth. In the middle of it all stands a large stone fountain, its cascade a gentle burble rather than a showy spray, its wide pool full of blooming lilypads and the white and orange flicker of koi fish. Above it is a massive circular pergola, a slat-wooded ring dripping with cafe lights and vining flowers like a great wild halo.

The loudspeakers in the tent become just a shapeless thrum once you’re past the first wall of shrubs, and the summer chorus of crickets and frogs work to drown it out entirely. The sun’s almost down; fireflies are flashing and flickering in the dense foliage as you navigate the paths, heading for the sound of water.

And that’s exactly where you find him.

Leon’s sitting on the edge of the stone pool, head down, whiskey glass hanging from loose fingers. For a moment you just stand quietly and watch him breathe.

“Hey.”

He looks up; straightens and clears his throat, casually sipping at his drink.

“Hey,” he echoes.

“You don’t have to do that,” you tell him, moving in closer. His eyes reflect the cafe lights like little stars as he looks up to meet your approach. There’s a subtle tightness to his expression, a shadow lurking, but if you didn’t know him like you do, you’d never recognize it. He’s too well trained.

“Do what?”

“Hide.”

He doesn’t deny it. He lowers his gaze and downs the last of his drink.

“You’re missing the speeches,” he says instead.

“Chad has the microphone."

He huffs a humorless laugh through his nose. A breeze meanders through the gardens, stirring through his hair. Not really thinking about it, you trace one finger lightly across his forehead, back over his ear, his hair falling softly back into place. He meets your eyes but your gaze is distant.

The both of you have sacrificed so much, willingly or otherwise, for your line of work. That’s why it’s not you at the sweetheart table tonight, and why it probably never will be. You’ve learned how to ignore the empty spaces, to close them off within yourselves so you can keep moving forward, because you can both see the bigger picture and your places within it.

What you do creates space for happy endings, fights to maintain that space. Tries, every day, to broaden it.

You know you’ve both long given up on the idea that the fight will ever be over. After two decades, it’s inescapable: there will always be something lurking in the shadows, growing in labs, lying in wait. The only way this will end for you is in death; as long as you’re alive, you have to keep going. That’s your lifelong commitment.

You can train yourself to endure the emptiness all you want. It’s still fucking lonely.

But if today has proven anything to you, it’s that you’re not alone. For once, you’re not by yourself behind a desk in some dark safehouse while Leon's out who-knows-where, running with Death on his heels. For the first time, he’s here, he’s right in front of you, you can touch him, comfort him the way you’ve always wished you could, hearing him breathe brokenly down the comms on particularly difficult missions.

And what missions weren’t difficult?

“Thank you for being here,” you tell him quietly, distantly. You card his hair back over his ear, still busy in your own head, just liking how it feels. His hair is soft, and his strands of silver look like threads of gold in the warm, soft lighting.

His hand, resting on his own thigh, brushes your leg through the silky fall of your skirt. You’re standing between his legs at the edge of a bubbling fountain, playing with his hair while fireflies dance in the fragrant summer air around you.

Your fingers hesitate, starting to curl like a dying vine near his temple as the awareness sets in. But before you can draw your hand away, he dips his head to brush your fingers against his hair again.

Don’t go.

His eyes close and his head sways back when you comb both of your hands into his hair, nails scratching lightly along his scalp. His hands are settled on your legs now, just leaning there, still rested on his own thighs. His shoulders are loose, tension drained, and his lips are parted.

It’s such a show of trust that it almost overwhelms you. Not only are you blocking sightlines but his head is in your hands, and despite the nooks and shadows of the courtyard all around you, he's got his eyes closed. This is more surrendered than you’ve ever seen him.

You know he’s lethal, body honed not just to handle weapons, but into a weapon itself. He can snap a spine with the heel of his palm. He can crush a skull with his foot, send a body absolutely sailing with the strength of his legs.

But he’s also been one of the kindest, gentlest people you know. He cracks stupid jokes when he knows you’re wound up, but only after checking in with you. He looks at you with such adoration. He touches you with respect and care.

Is all of it really just for the role?

His lashes are a thick, dark sweep over the tops of his cheeks. You run your thumb over his eyebrow, lightly down the bridge of his nose, and he opens his eyes. You can see the green in his irises as he studies you; the dark halo of blue that rings them.

“I like this better," he tells you.

"What?"

He touches his ear, miming an earpiece, then sets his hands on your hips, light. Easily moved or brushed away. You do neither.

Your heart thumps a little faster. This touch is not waist-up.

This isn’t the role.

You lean down, speaking directly against the shell of his ear.

“Don't get used to it, Kennedy.”

You’ve barely finished saying his name before he’s turned his head and caught your lips in a kiss.

You draw back a little, startled, your lips buzzing. His eyes are half-lidded looking up at you, unapologetic.

“No one’s watching,” you check.

“I know.” He looks down at your lips.

Your hands skim his jaw, his stubble rasping against your skin.

“This was never about aiding in my revenge, was it.”

He shakes his head. His thumbs are stroking your hipbones through the silk of your dress.

"I just wanted this," he admits.

Suspended within the summer song of crickets and frogs, under whispering leaves and beside softly burbling water, you lean down and kiss him. His hands slide up to your waist, mouth so tender on yours, kissing you back while the fireflies wink and dance around you.

You’re not alone.

On AO3

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[monacofiles]

i wanna get better

or...leon’s condition worsens, forcing you to come to terms with the reality of your situation

chapter six of one weekend in raccoon city

re9!leon kennedy x DSO agent!readercw canonical violence taglist @princeintheshadow @typexi

leon’s gloved hand is warm as it lays against yours. somewhere behind you, grace stammers out an explanation of who she is, why zeno wants her. you’re not sure if she knows about your genetic similarity, but if she does, she doesn’t let on.

“h-have you and leon worked together long?” she asks. a beat of silence falls between you as you figure out how to answer.

“this is our first mission together, if that’s what you mean. i only graduated from the academy recently,” you glance back at her with a smile before continuing, “i’m gonna take a look around, see what we should do next. tell me if leon wakes up,” you fold leons hand carefully over his chest, giving it a squeeze before letting go.

you move around the room, clambering over mud and trash before you spot a door blocked by a crane. your curse silently before noticing what appears to be a vent further in the room. maybe it’ll lead out of here, you think. turning back you see grace rub at her eyes, clearly crashing as her adrenaline no doubt simmers away.

“grace! there’s a vent over there,” you call back, pointing toward the back of the room, “one of us should explore it, see if we can’t move that crane,” you explain to her. grace stands, peering over the pile of trash before she speaks.

“okay uh i’ll do it. you should stay with leon.”

“are you sure?”

“i want to. you and leon have done so much for me. i want to help,” she says with a determined look, already moving toward the vent. with one glance back at where leon remains passed out on the floor (you shiver to imagine his expensive clothes ruined) before following grace to the back of the room.

“i can give you a boost,” you give a polite smile to her as you brace against the wall, hands clasped against your knee, ready as a boost.

she murmurs out a quick ‘alright’ before leveraging her foot on your hands. you ground yourself further against the wall as you heave her up. she’s not particularly heavy, but with the lack of adrenaline in your veins coupled with the fatigue of the mission setting in? well, your body notices the change. 

with a final push, grace makes it up to the vent safely. you scramble around for your flashlight, throwing it up to her. it lands with a thud as she reaches for it, yelling out a quick ‘thank you!’ before scuttering off into the darkness. you hope you haven’t singlehandedly pushed her into death. or something worse.

walking back over to leon, you take a seat beside him with a laboured sigh his body twitches for a moment before relaxing again–so does your heart. 

eventually, you pull off your own jacket, rolling it before propping leon’s head up. you’re not sure what is wrong with him. but you know something is and a little comfort won’t hurt, surely. well, as much comfort as you can get in a trash room.

after what feels like an eternity watching the seconds tick down on leon’s watch, he finally begins to stir. blinking away the blinding lights, he sits up with a pained grunt. you rush forward, hand levelled against his back in support.

“...yn? where’s grace?” he asks, looking around.

“she’s gone off to get us a way out. she’s okay,” you say quickly. his concern dies down.

“how long was i out?” 

“a while,” leon hums thoughtfully at your words.

“raccoon city syndrome,” you say. leon doesn’t respond, “i didn’t realise…you should’ve told me,” you settle on. he sighs, you notice how tired his eyes seem.

“it wasn’t important to the mission–”

“--to the mission? leon you’re dying. that’s not important for me to know?” you return, a tense silence falling between you.

“why…would it be?” he asks, voice sullen.

“i’m your partner, aren’t i? i know we haven’t worked together long, but that program said we would be working together in the future–”

“the what?” leon asks. for the first time since waking up, he turns to you, confusion evident in his eyes. you look at him for a beat, confused yourself. 

“that buddy system thing…the dso started a program to pair new field agents with older ones. charlotte from my class was with agent hughes,” he looks at you with a blank look, “y’know the guy who did that report on victor gideon?” you clarify

“i know who andrew is. i’ve never heard anything about that. were you under the impression we’d be working together past this mission?” he asks, voice rough.

“uh–i…well, yes,” you say, face flushing crimson with embarrassment. what is happening? you wonder.

“who told you that?” leon asks, now frowning in confusion.

“some superior…i never met him. the letter i got said his name was…vincent gibson, i think?” your eyebrows furrow as you look at him. how had he not heard of this? it was the only reason–oh. 

you turn away from him as the name vincent gibson rings through your mind. you’ve never met him let alone heard of him and charlotte said her orders came from the president himself, but yours came from a certain ‘V.G’? how could you miss this?

“vincent gibson?” leon stares at you with an unimpressed look.

“a vincent gibson assigned your first ever field case to be one where we’re chasing a victor gideon through raccoon city and you didn’t connect those dots?” there’s a hint of humour in his tone, amusement gleaming in his eyes.

“i guess not,” you huff, slouching in disappointment. there’s no way he wants to work with me again, you think, not stopping to consider why you care.

“but why would gideon assign you specifically to me?” leon says as he falls back onto his hands.

“oh! uh…i found this thing–actually, i found this woman and she found this thing–that said grace and i had almost identical dna. zeno had this diary, called me a ‘backup’ if she didn’t help him unlock elpis,” you explain, still not meeting his gaze. leon looks up at you thoughtfully before his eyes fall to the ground.

“right,” he takes in a deep breath, opening his mouth to ask you another question about your…revelation…before the crane begins to rattle and creak, shifting unnaturally before you realise it’s grace in the control room pulling it up. 

despite said crane now blocking most of your view to her, you give a grateful thumbs up, internally relaxing at the thought of grace safe before standing to help leon up.

“we’ll continue this later,” he says, already assessing the situation in front of him. you know he expects you to fall behind him, watch his six, but he’s practically limping as he breathes in deep, heavy breaths as another coughing fit overcomes him.

you move quickly, standing beside him with a hand on his back, he turns to meet your gaze.

“lets move quickly, yeah?” you nod hand falling away as he stands to his full height.

…

grace watches with a short lived sense of pride as you help leon limp up some stairs into relative safety. before turning on her heel, no time to waste.

she makes her way through a door opposite to the one she came through, two spheres stuffed into her free hand. it opens up to a lobby, as the computerised voice calls it. she looks around for a moment, taking in the interior.

unlike the other rooms at ark, this one has a streak of red slashing through the ground. the crimson path continues through the room, ending at two other doors she hopes to never have to go into. 

placing the two red and white spheres into the lock on the wall, grace watches as the door flashes bright green as it retreats quickly with a hiss. she darts into the room, doors closing behind her. she walks forward with trepidation, steps careful as to not make too much noise. who knows where zeno and gideon are, she thinks. 

the room opens up to a simple yet considerable collection of monitors stretching the back wall of the office. she approaches the keyboard–although, its more like a dj’s deck with all those buttons–until a lip falls open and another cd ejects itself.

“where have i seen this?” she mutters to herself, mind flashing back to that night at the wrenwood hotel. her mom’s words flash back to her, ringing in her mind as though she’s still here. a pang of longing stabs at her heart, a prickling sensation she hasn’t felt this deeply since…well, being back at wrenwood earlier this week. 

shaking off the memory, she makes quick work of the cd, pushing it in as the monitors in front of her flash to life, buzzing with a distant hum. a digital folder opens up on the main screen with dozens of videos to fill it. she skims it over, before landing on one titled ‘the partner’ next to another titled ‘the creator’ and a third file called ‘the original’. she decides to start there.

the first file, ‘the original’ details all of her medical records. she’s already seen some of it back at the care centre. she flicks through it quickly, not noticing anything new of note. the next file, ‘the partner’ is different.

your name appears at the top. she doesn’t recall your last name, but as she passes over the file, she grows increasingly convinced it’s you. it has similar material to her own file, medical records and all, but this has a note added to the bottom.

Our records show the Partner has 98.7% genetic similarity to Ashcroft despite no ancestral relation. If she is to fail, it is imperative we have the Partner here. Gideon has put forth plans to have her assigned to the same case as Agent Kennedy in order for her to be sent to Raccoon City. It is imperative Agent Kennedy is taken out. It is likely he will not let anything happen to his rookie partner.

she breathes out a sigh, hands coming to rub at her eyes before she reads it over again. you and her are genetic…twins without even being related? how was that possible? she grapples with it for another moment, disbelief and shock settling inside her before shaking out of it. she clicks onto the final file. it flickers from a moment before she hears her mom’s voice ring out. an interview? how strange, she thinks.

…

leon’s back hits the elevator with a thud, hand blindly pressing against any one of the buttons. you ring out a few final shots as the last of the zombies fall to the floor, kicking a rogue hand as it falls in the way of the elevator door shutting.

your attention swings back to leon as you lean down in front of him.

“leon? you alright? still with me?” you ask quickly, hand falling to his shoulder once more. he grunts out something akin to an ‘okay’ before he breathes out another sigh, falling further against the wall. his eyes fall from yours as they screw shut in pain. your hand migrates up to the side of his face, pushing his darkened hair away to tuck it behind his ear.

“cmon, leon. not long now.”

“look–yn. there’s something you should know.”

“no, leon. you can tell me later.”

“im the reason you were held back in the academy.”

you still at that. you remember being back at the academy in your second last year and getting the sullen news that you would have to repeat, and then getting the same news one year later.

“you what? why would you…how did you even know me?” you ask. your hand still hasn’t fallen from his face and, once again, you’re not sure why.

“i was the one that scouted you from your old job,” your hand finally falls down as you recall your old job, working for one government branch or another when your boss passed on the news about a training academy for the department of security operations, particularly with bioterrorism. you had only done recon once and, while it was particularly difficult, you hadn’t thought anyone noticed your efforts.

“i got you into the program because i knew others would be doing the same. that mission in switzerland? pretty impressive,” he gives you what looks to be a grin, but with whatever expression he gives shrouded behind a cloud of darkened veins, you can’t tell.

“i thought i could keep you…safe,” he ends his sentence with an abrupt bout of coughing, blood spluttering onto the ground. he wipes his mouth with his glove before continuing.

“i have never been so impressed with someone before–”

“then why hold me back?” you ask simply.

“i was afraid. when i was your age, i was being thrown into small spanish villages living through hell just because i was the best they had. i didn’t want that for you…” he trails off. finally, you stand back from him, confusion clear in your eyes as the elevator dings open. leon goes to stand when he falls forward once more, falling under the weight of his own decaying body. you make quick work to slide under his arm, supporting his weight under your own.

“so you made me go through two extra years of training because…im too good?” humour flecks off your voice as leon lets out his own chuckle.

“lets call it love at first sight,” he gives back the same grin. you’re sure he’s joking, but that doesn’t stop blotches of crimson flushing your cheeks.

“you’re pretty impressive, too. everyone at the academy thought so, anyway,,” he meets your gaze as another chuckle tumbles out of him, quickly replaced by a spluttering cough. it racks through his body as his foot trips on a stair, forcing him toward the ground. you hike him up under your arm once more, effectively pulling him toward the door. the yellow glow emanating from it bounces off the sharp lines of leon’s face as his head thumps against it.

you’re not sure what to do. you call leon’s name but his eyes droop more and more as the elevator dings somewhere behind you. all you can bear to do is hope its not the one person that has it out for the both of you…and, thankfully, it’s not.

you hear someone call your name from behind you, the voice clicks in your head that it’s grace. you glance back at her, throwing a distracted smile back at her.

“w-w-what’s happening? is he okay? leon?” grace asks, dropping down beside you. leon’s eyes flutter open as your hand rubs against his knee.

“just resting my eyes,” he jokes. part of you wants to scold him but another, larger part of you is hit with the overwhelming urge to cry. you’re not sure if it’s adrenaline wearing off or the recent revelation that leon not only knew you as a trainee, but was impressed with you. good lord.

“cmon, help me up,” he says, squinting at you and grace. he shifts in his seat, already moving to stand when you grab his arm, pulling it over your shoulders. grace does the same as you give her an appreciative nod.

“let’s do this,” he says, determination never waning.

“okay, okay. grace can you get this open?” you ask, attention falling to the amber of the door. grace’s hand presses hard against it as either side of the door relents as it falls open. it opens to the platform you were on before. distantly, you see zeno stand there. was he there that whole time? you wonder. it had been like two whole hours?

you push the thought away as you hear grace whisper to you and leon about how she didn’t know the password. yet another pang of something lothesome hits you, if she doesn’t know the password, how the hell am i? you wonder with trepidation.

“that’s okay. any wrong code will do, we just need to destroy elpis,” leon manages out.

“okay, okay,” grace returns as the three of you hobble down the platform.

“destroy elpis, whatever it takes, okay?” he glances at grace for a moment before looking toward you. his eyes don’t leave yours and no matter how much you want them to, yours don’t leave leon’s either. you can’t tell if its the lightning, but his eyes seem darker, as though the life is slowly being drained from him.

“i think…i think i have an idea,” she says as leon finally tears his eyes away from yours as he nods toward grace, a silent vow to trust her.

the three of you continue to hobble all the way to the centre platform, stumbling only once when leon’s leg gave out temporarily.

“so…the prodigal daughter returns,” you don’t dare to look at zeno, not needing to glance up at him to know he’s probably not looking at you. your mind is elsewhere, anyway.

“i know the password,” grace says as you finally come to a halt.

“fulfill your destiny and all will be forgiven,” zeno grimaces from where he stands by the computer. you finally look up to see him looking straight down at grace. from beside you, leon lets out another bout of coughs as he falls to the ground. somewhere beside you, grace’s arm untangles with leon’s, leaving only you to support leon’s weight.

leon’s body falls against yours–you can tell he’s using all his strength just to hold himself up. you don’t let yourself think of how no one with raccoon city syndrome has been cured, let alone lived past a week of showing symptoms. there are more pressing issues at hand. before you can think on it further, grace speaks up beside you.

“o-only if you let leon live,” you breathe out something close to a laugh. leon continues to fall further to the ground, you let him down, careful of his head hitting the ground. ahead of you, zeno turns, walking to the computer as he mutters out an unimpressed ‘very well’.

grace inches forward, glancing back at you as you busy yourself with helping leon stand once more. you give her a nod paired with a quick smile, letting her know you had leon under control. she makes her way to the computer nervously, eyes trained on zeno.

from somewhere behind you, a sharp click sounds from below the platform. leon’s persistent coughing, coupled by grace’s…situation, steals your attention away for only a moment, mind not letting an ounce of your attention falter before another mechanical clack sounds behind you followed by a thud against your leg. 

no one notices. zeno is entirely focused on grace who’s busy typing something into the computer and leon himself is busy nearly dying. you glance back and, upon seeing nothing, divert your eyes down to your leg. there, lies a grenade.

you almost laugh at the notion of ada sneaking somewhere down below with her endless supply of weaponry. you pocket it quickly without much thought to where she could be hiding as leon coughs out another splatter of blood, entirely unaware.

you hear a hiss somewhere ahead of you as grace stands back. did she just release elpis? you wonder absently as you dab away splotches of Leon's blood from the corner of his mouth.

each of you, including zeno, stop to assess the room, waiting with baited breath as…nothing happens. distantly you hear a repetitive thud against metal grating you offhandedly assume is ada before leon breaks the quiet of the room.

“what are you doing, grace?” he asks. you look up from him to see her holding onto an amber coloured tube. zeno pushes her away as he walks up to the computer, taking another into his own hand.

“well done…” he says, inspecting the tube. he stills for a moment before his head turns to you and leon. you don’t notice, of course. leons eyes fight to stay open as another bout of coughing takes over him. you push his hair back, whispering a soft ‘its okay. you’ll be fine’ but you don’t think leon can even hear it. there’s no room in your brain for rational thinking–no room for a plan. an out. luckily, grace does it for you.

glancing back, you see her look toward leon and yourself, then down at the amber tube before she throws it toward you. with whatever brain power you have not entirely fixated on leon, you catch it. grace meets your eye once more and makes a motion to…stab it into leon? it takes you a moment to connect what to do before you understand. 

one quick swoop of your arm, and the fluid plunges into leon’s bloodstream. ahead, you see zeno–oh my god, gideon? your heart lurches out of your chest as you see him. how could he even survive blowing up? he stops just before the staircase leading on to the platform, engaged in a heated exchange with zeno. you notice then zeno’s own change. the onyx splotching identical to leon’s own has retreated from his face. it clicks then, how grace knew what to do. how to help leon. is elpis…a cure? you wonder before a slick sound cuts through air followed by a heavy thud.

a mutated arm, plunging out of gideon’s left side falls back as zeno’s head rolls around the ground for a moment, pushed by the momentum before tipping over the edge of the platform. his body follows soon after. leon grunts from where he lays–now attempting to stand as your eyes meet his.

“you alright?” is all you can think to ask. he lets out a chuckle before tearing his own eyes away to look at the scene before him. gideon eyeing the computer in the room as grace backs away from him, toward you. leon, now kneeling beside you, glances back at you. a shared look of confusion and concern. 

unlike yourself, leon doesn’t waste a moment. he leaps onto his feet, one arm swinging back to unsheathe his hatchet, the other digs into your tactical belt for a moment before pulling out the grenade that had been thrown at you before–apparently, he had noticed.

he darts to the other side of the platform, toward gideon, who looks straight down at him. aside from a change in his stance, gideon doesn’t seem too concerned about leon charging toward him. 

you try to follow the fight ahead of you. gideon’s mutated arm slithers out, slashing around at leon who manages to dodge the attacks in his renewed state.

you kick into action as you watch him. grace has run to stand beside you as you fumble with your own weapon, pulling it out to aim it toward gideon. three quick shots are enough to throw him off kilter, allowing leon enough time to hurl the grenade at him.

unluckily, the grenade is battered away in a moments notice, flicking to the side underwhelmingly. you bring your gun back up again, but have no chance to shoot as a bullet rings past your ear–close enough to nick it–and pierces the grenade. 

you assumed it was going to go off soon, but with aid from the bullet, shrapnels fly out shooting around the platform with a neutral violence. you can hear glass shattering somewhere behind you, probably those balls on the wall, you think. you glance at grace who has fallen to her knees, trembling wildly. she has a little line of blood on her temple, but otherwise seems physically fine.

with her secure, you force yourself to look back at where leon is. somehow, he managed to leap over the computer in the centre to take cover. silence beats over the room as you look between leon and gideon who now kneels on the metal walkway, blood dripping all over.

you know this isn’t enough to bring him down, but it should help. at least that’s what you think before, from the same place as that bullet a moment ago, you hear the telltale click of an rpg before the swoosh flies past. you have enough sense to duck, shielding grace best you can as it impacts right on gideon. 

through the billowing smoke, you see gideon wobble from where he kneels. you surmise the point of impact as his left shoulder–the one with the mutated arm–as it’s almost entirely blown off. part of his head, too. you hope grace isn’t looking.

his body tilts to the left, then to the right before finally falling down the cavity of the room to, what you hope, is his final demise. 

you let out a laugh–more of a disbelieving scoff, if anything–as you glance toward grace. she’s okay, you tell yourself. she’s clearly, deeply traumatised from all this, but she isn’t injured. thankfully.

you can hear your heart hammering in your chest, wildly pumping blood around so much so, your ears throb from the sensation. a dull feeling of disbelief washes over you as you finally look toward leon, who now stands just before you. 

his eyes are unfocused, still panting with the hatchet in his hands, its almost a welcome sight but his furrowed brows and tense shoulders don’t allow you the respite of being relieved for him. curious, you look over your shoulder, meeting where his line of sight ends abruptly on ada.

she stands at the edge of the platform. you’re not sure how she got there, or how you didn’t manage to notice but you don’t think about that now. whatever is going on between them occupies your thoughts tenfold. 

your mind flicks back to what she said back at zeno’s office: i don’t think leon would be too happy if i let you die. you hadn’t given it much thought back then, but as she stands in a staring contest with leon, your mind can’t help but wander. jealousy spikes in your heart, prickling its thorny throes all the way through your veins. you want to laugh. jealous at a time like this? before you can start giggling like a maniacal schoolgirl, leon speaks up.

“ada,” is all he says.

“leon,” is all she says. except she starts to walk forward, eyes never leaving his as she waltzes over to you. a gloved hand reaches out and you find yourself taking it, helping grace to stand once on your own feet.

“get away from her,” leon cuts through, taking quick steps toward you before stopping abruptly as she gives you a neutral smile.

“the bsaa are coming. i can’t stay long. if there’s something you want to say…say it,” she says finally, arms crossed.

“that was you? with the rpg?” she nods, arms folding over themselves, “thanks, i guess. what are you doing here, ada?” he asks, shoulders relaxing. you’re not sure of their history, but he must trust her, at least somewhat. from beside you, grace raises an eyebrow and you shrug in return. she’s still shaking like a leaf, you hope whoever’s coming to save you comes quick.

“same as you. you know, i was actually retired…but raccoon city wasn’t quite finished with me,” she inhales sharply as she takes off her own glove. on her hand, you can clearly see her veins. they aren’t angry and infected like leon’s was. she must’ve been recently cured.

“you should go. im sure the bsaa haven’t quite forgiven you yet,” leon finally sheathes the hatchet, eyes falling from hers as he walks over to you and grace. he plants a hand on your shoulder, murmuring a quiet ‘you alright?’ before looking at grace and doing the same. ada, you notice, has begun walking back where gideon was standing on the metal gangway. you almost think she’s going to leave without saying anything else when she stops, head turning to look over her shoulder.

“but have you?” she asks. it’s a simple question, but the conflict in leon’s eyes suggests otherwise.

“it’s not about me, ada. good luck with your retirement,” leon’s eyes break away from hers as he looks upwards where, vaguely, you can see a hatch starting to open. its not wide enough for a helicopter, but you suppose the bsaa can get around that.

ada smiles at leon’s words, finally letting her own shoulders fall as she starts toward the doorway once more.

“you best get that cure to your friend. no doubt she’ll need it,” is all she says before fading from sight. you wonder if thats it. no goodbye, no…nothing. leon turns to you as your eye meets his.

“who was she?” you ask. from above you see the hatch has opened fully now and distant shouting paired with flashes from their lights appear. two ropes are thrown down followed swiftly by two men, quickly repelling to land on the platform beside you.

“an old friend. we can talk later. for now, lets get you out of here,” he smiles at you with a warmth you haven’t seen from him yet. whether his confession from earlier or the relief of finally being done with raccoon city, you’re not sure, but you bask in it anyway.

“oh–you too, grace,” he glances toward her, smiling sheepishly as she giggles at the two of you. 

the men hit the ground with a thump, one walking over to you as the other holds onto his rope for him. the man walking toward you speaks incoherently to someone over his comm.

“mr. kennedy, agent ln? i have a message from captain redfield.”

[monacofiles]

everybody wants to rule the world

or...you finally begin to understand zeno’s plans at ARK all while uncovering your own priorities.

chapter five of one weekend in raccoon city

re9!leon kennedy x DSO agent!reader cw leon coughs up some blood #rip

the only thing you can hear in the room is the rugged sound of your breathing. in and out, in and out. you wait for what feels like an eternity before peeking your head around, ensuring you were alone in the room.

peeking your head over the desk, you don’t see anyone else. you can’t hear zeno’s telltale stomping either. standing to your full height, you take in the room before you. it looks largely the same, but now with a box knocked over, contents spilling out onto the sterile white of the floor. 

you hurry over, steps silent as you bend down to investigate. there, you see a multitude of medical items along with a pocket knife. internally thanking whatever stroke of luck has found you, the items quickly make their way into your pocket, knife poised in your hand. you glance back toward the door zeno had stormed through. it wasn’t wise going in the same direction as him without at least trying the elevator, first, especially not without any substantial weaponry.

you make your way over to the door you ran through just before, waiting for it to detect you and open. the now familiar hiss rings out as they retreat, a wave of light flooding in from the corridor. that woman from before lays on the ground, blood splotted around her. you’re not sure who she is or if she’s even alive, but nonetheless, you hurry toward her.

“uh…are you alright?” she doesn’t respond, but one telling eye blinks open as she looks at you. you hold onto the silence in hopes that she’ll respond. she doesn’t.

“i have some medical stuff, here. do you know what you need?” you ask nervously, spilling the herbs and empty injector cartridges onto the floor, ready to start combining them.

“just one of those, thanks,” is all she says. her head thumps against the floor as she lets out a long sigh, “and quickly, if you can,” you oblige her wish, crushing the herb into the injector and mixing it around until it forms a liquid inside the capsule. isn’t science incredible?

you extend it out to her, but she doesn’t reach out for it. you grab one of her arms, facing her forearm up to you as a pool of blood spurts out from her stocking-covered leg. you hadn’t noticed her outfit closely before, but you consider it now as the herb mixture begins to empty from the capsule. who in their right mind would wear a miniskirt and heeled boots to a place like this? you are, however, grateful for the deep scarlet shirt she’s wearing; you’re sure it’s hiding a multitude of blood you can’t see.

carefully setting her arm down, she begins to sit up, reaching toward the bandages you had hastily thrown on the floor. she makes quick work of a wound around her stomach, ripping excess bandage off as she begins to stand.

“woah–are you sure you should be doing that? you were dying like a second ago,” you ask, concern lacing your voice.

“i’ve been worse. i appreciate the help. i would advise you find that friend of yours,” she says, heels clicking against the ground as she walks away.

“i can’t…the elevator doesn’t work without an id badge. im sure zeno still has it,” she stops then, turning around to face you. 

“well then…are you coming?” is all she says before you move, jogging to close the distance as you follow her into the next room.

“wait…who are you? and is that the best outfit for this?” you ask, taking in the long sleeve shirt and miniskirt she’s wearing. she looks gorgeous, obviously, but it just doesn’t seem practical to you.

“my name is ada wong. what i am doing here surely doesn’t concern you. and you’re welcome for saving you back there,” she says as she walks around the room carefree, assessing each of the machines before she settles on a computer at the back of the room. 

the clacking of the keyboard fills the room. you walk up behind her, careful to retain distance, as an error message pops up, loud and angry. she lets out a sigh of annoyance and stands to her full height. she begins walking toward the unlocked set of doors zeno had passed through moments ago. another hiss fills the room as they open. you follow behind hastily.

the door leads to another corridor with another door at the end. you follow ada, whoever she may be, through. this time, the room opens up to be what looks like a makeshift office. on one side, there’s an opened weapons locker, on the other are filing cabinets stacked nearly as high as the roof (which is very high, to be fair) and in the center of the room is a simple mahogany desk outfitted with a single pencil holder and a rogue file.

you watch ada as she walks over to the filing cabinets, you move toward the weapons locker. refilling your pockets and holstering two pistols and a number of knives into your belt, along with a shotgun. she’s still sorting through files by the time you’re done, and so you move toward the desk. on it lies a simple file.

you pick it up, accidentally knocking down a pencil holder on the side of the desk as a shrill beep fills the room. panic sets in as you dart around, eyes locking onto ada. she’s already looking at you.

the back wall, once empty, cracks open, two large panels sheathing themselves to reveal a set of around 15 monitors all ranging in size. on the desk, a keyboard pops out from below. you glance back at ada who’s already moving toward the desk, ready to investigate the monitors.

she clicks a few times when a password screen pops up. she makes easy work of it, pulling out a device you’ve never seen before and pointing it toward the screen. it beeps successfully after a moment, and a wall of digital documents flood the screen. tabs of files populate others, but your concern lies with the one slightly to the left of the main screen.

there, your name stares right back at you. ada must’ve noticed your change in posture as she pauses her search. no doubt her eyes falling to where yours pierce the screen.

“that’s your–”

“yes, it is.”

you glance over at her and give an impatient sigh as you turn back to the document.

“scroll down. i want to see what it says,” you order. ada relents.

October 2nd, 2026 – Raccoon City.

We have it on good authority that Agent Kennedy and partner have made their way into Raccoon City. It is likely they will find Grace Ashcroft. We must keep her away from them. 

It is not a priority, and mission success should not be overridden in any case, but if an opportunity presents itself to take custody of the partner, it should be taken. It is likely she will not be needed, but someone a natural genetic twin to Ashcroft (see file 42 of ELPIS RETRIEVAL) may be vital in uncovering Elpis.

I cannot lose this.

your breath is surely sucked out of your lungs as you stare back at the last entry in front of you. a natural genetic twin to ashcroft. how could that even happen? you and grace weren’t even the same age. is it even possible for two entirely different people to have such a similar genetic makeup to be considered twins? you shiver to think of the possibility.

you turn to ada, now acutely aware of the way she’s staring at you.

“how did you know my name?” is the first thing you can think to ask.

“it’s literally right there,” she says gesturing to the screen, clearly already tired of the conversation.

“yes but you knew before i told you. how did you know my name?” she doesn’t answer, instead she resumes clacking at the keyboard and shuffling around with the mouse, bringing up another document. your eyes don’t leave her as you take careful steps away from her.

“read it,” is all she says before standing and returning to the filing cabinet.

September 12, 2026 – Raccoon City.

That woman has shown up again. She took out an entire BSAA camp on the north side and stole one of the laptops. I’m sure she’s looking for Elpis, but she won’t find it with them. She is likely to cause issue later on, it is becoming a priority to take her out before her knowledge advances further.

I will set that idiot Gideon onto it. Perhaps he will have a solution for our…rodent problem.

“so it was you…in that letter. it was you murdering those bsaa agents.”

“and it was me who saved your life back at that gas station and a moment ago. if you could run a little faster, i might’ve even saved you from being kidnapped by that tyrant,” your mind flicks back to the rpd. you assumed it had been leon who stunned that thing, tyrant. how long had she been following you for?

“i don’t understand. why save me?” you ask as she sits back down, file clutched in her left hand. she brings up a search engine, typing what appears to be a code name into it.

“i don’t think leon would be too happy if i just let you die,” she says, as though that explains anything.

“wait…you know leon? do you work for the dso?” you ask. she doesn’t respond. instead, a new file is brought up on the monitor entitled ELPIS RETRIEVAL.

File 42 – Use of Partner-01

LN, YN (codenamed Partner) has 98.7% genetic similarity to Ashcroft despite no relation as far as their records state. Something not yet seen in any other living specimen. If apprehended, it is of utmost importance Partner is thoroughly tested on. She may not be necessarily for releasing Elpis, but it is crucial for further clones if need be. 

ada blinks up at you. she opens her mouth to say something when, in the silence of the room, you hear three beeps from a far right monitor. a camera feed shows up of the hexagonal room you were just in, displaying zeno as he storms from the other now-unlocked door and toward the one you and ada had gone through moments ago.

she reacts quicker than you, pulling you toward the towering cluster of filing cabinets but not before setting the pencil holder back where it was. the two panels shutter closed almost faster than they opened–another stroke of luck you were entirely grateful for–as you hide in the furthest corner of the room. 

its only when ada bends down next to that you notice the file you’re holding in your hand. there’s no time to put it back, surely, and you can only hope zeno won’t recall it was there in the first place.

a beat of silence fills the room as you attempt to silence your rapid breathing and racing heart.

the doors open with a hiss as zeno steps inside. from your view, you can only see the desk and part of the back wall. he pauses, taking a sharp breath in as he approaches the desk. he doesn’t bother to sit down, rather, he leans against it, silent for only a moment before another growl emanates from him followed by a lengthy string of curses. he takes the chair ada had been sitting on and throws it against the wall. it crumbles under his inhuman strength.

he pauses, clothes rustling as he fishes something out of his pocket.

“she’s not here…she’s also not where i left her…yes obviously i’m going to check the cameras. do you have grace?...good, good…bring her to elpis. i will meet you there when i’ve finished here,” he slams the phone down, another curse leaving his lips.

he hits the pencil holder off the desk, scattering around writing instruments. a rogue pencil rolls around on the floor until it comes to a stop right in front of you and ada. for once, you hope a man won’t pick up after himself.

he clicks around for a moment before loading up the camera footage you were looking at before, except this time, it’s from within the main corridor with the elevator. you watch zeno as he watches you follow ada down the hall and into the main room. you hear his foot tapping impatiently against the floor as the camera feed shows ada searching the room before turning to the door you had come through and waltzing through, you hot on her trail.

by another stroke of luck, the tape ends there.

“knew i should’ve installed the cameras in here…fuck!” he curses once more, turning around before making his way over to the weapons locker.

“must’ve taken the secondary exit out,” he mutters to himself as you hear clanging from the locker. what sounds like a hinge creaking follows silence. you don’t move. even when ada peeks her head around to assess the room, you don’t move.

she has to pull you up by your arm as the file falls to the floor. it reads Project W–v1.14. you don’t bother to pick it back up as ada makes her way to the door as she calls out for you. and for no other reason besides being far too afraid to stay in zeno’s private office, you follow.

you’re not sure where zeno has gone–if he really left at all–which explains why you’ve been in a ready stance, gun unholstered for the past 2 minutes as ada taps impatiently on another computer in the hexagon room.

"shouldn't we explore or something? he could be back any second,” you say, keeping your voice level despite your fear. ada stands to her full height, looking straight at you with an unimpressed grimace. only now, from the light in the computer in the otherwise darkened room, do you notice grey strands beading down her hair. they’re minimal, but you offhandedly wonder how long she’s been doing this.

“alright, then. where would you have us go?” she asks, you gesture toward the door you haven’t been through. she makes her own gesture, egging you forward as she follows behind. you make your way over to the door, flinching slightly when it opens. 

the room is dark, but with your flashlight, you can make out that it’s about the same size as the corridor from before. except this time, at the end is what appears to be a service elevator. you’re not entirely sure where it leads, but ada’s impatient tapping of her foot against the metal grating has you pushing ahead. 

you step onto the elevator, not entirely intending to go up, only looking as you make your way to the control panel at the back when you hear metal hinges creak before slamming shut. you turn around to see ada with her hand against a button on the outside of the elevator–how hadn’t you noticed that?

“what are you doing?” you ask, darting to the other side of the elevator.

“it’s not personal, yn. what i need to do…you need to find your friend and i have my hands full already. good luck,” she replies, the elevator whirrs to life as the cables begin pulling you upwards. she entirely ignores your protests as she turns, but not before throwing a med injector through the gap and onto the floor in front of you. that’s nice, at least.

you shove it into your pocket, readying your stance once more as the elevator continues to ascend. distantly, you can see a warm orange light emanating from…whatever was up there. soon after, you hear a voice you recognise as zeno.

“connections sealed raccoon city to save elpis for themselves,” you hear him say as the elevator gradually slides up to his level. you see he’s about to say something else when he turns, meeting your gaze.

“oh good. i was wondering when you’d join us,” his looks at you with an unimpressed glare.

you take in your surroundings–you now stand on a metal platform with a large computer-esque device standing between you and zeno. the walls are lined with glowing orange spheres as far as you can see. they’re too cloudy to make out what’s inside. not worrying about the strange decor, you take quick steps over to grace. luckily, zeno has moved to the other side of the platform. the elevator whirrs once more before descending. you let out a curse as you glance back.

“damn. there goes my exit.”

…

leon’s back aches as he makes his way up the metal stairs. hand-to-hand combat isn’t something that promotes muscle longevity, apparently. he returns back to the bridge he was on a moment ago when a strange man in a gas mask jumped him. the door pushes open easily, and he pulls his gun out in preparation.

looking at the scene ahead of him, he can see you stepping off an elevator as you make your way over the platform to grace. he notices how you position yourself slightly in front of her and his heart can’t help but beat faster–something about pride, he reasons.

he can’t hear what zeno is saying to the both of you, but he doesn’t need to. he advances quickly, trying in vain to quieten his steps as grace looks back, shouting his name. zeno turns, too.

“don’t embarrass yourself mr. kennedy. you can’t beat me.”

leon doesn’t bother to respond, shooting another quick success of shots right at zeno–all of which he dodges–and before he can compute it, zeno has made his way behind him, cocked gun pointing directly at his temple.

“aren’t we fancy?” he says it mostly as a distraction, the words leaving his mouth right before he jerks his arm back, pulling out his hatchet to take a thick slice out of zeno’s arm. he attempts to aim his gun at him before zeno’s arm meets his throat.

leon falls to the ground; if the latent t-virus wasn’t enough to trouble him, a harsh blow to his throat might be. he doesn’t allow it to last long, pushing himself up to throw zeno’s arm to the side as another harsh blow is delivered to his stomach, throwing him back onto the platform.

his gun is thrown to the side as he hacks out another splutter of blood onto the floor. he’s not sure if that’s from the virus or the internal bleeding.

zeno walks over to him slowly, a bleak contrast to the almost light speed movements he was doing a moment ago. his gun is steadily trained toward leon who now lies defenseless or at least until you kick back into your senses to react quickly.

zeno is too fast for a normal human. it doesn’t matter if you shoot him, he can shoot leon just as easily. you know what you have to do. moving your pistol toward her, you don’t have time to hesitate before aiming it right at grace’s head. she turns to you, a mix of shock and fear crossing over her eyes. you can’t let her know you’re bluffing.

“don’t move!” you hear grace shout. so she must’ve understood what you were doing. thank god, you think. zeno’s eye twitches as he looks over at you both. 

“you need her, right?” you say, voice unwavering despite a shrill dose of adrenaline and worry coursing through your veins. zeno lowers his gun, turning his attention to you as leon rolls to the side, pulling out requiem. he shoots the mechanical arm to the side of the platform, watching as it crashes with a loud bang, hinges creaking angrily as it threatens to slide down.

leon reacts before either you or grace. pushing himself off the floor, he darts over to the two of you, grabbing your hand as you pull grace along with a firm grip on her upper arm. 

“hold on!” leon shouts over the calamitous noise filling the chamber.

the arm finally falls free, plummeting you, grace, and leon downwards, held only by leons left arm. your grip tightens around grace as she flails below you, reaching her other arm up to grab onto your wrist. you're distracted enough by not dropping grace that you barely register when leon drops you.

your own scream mixes with graces as you land heavy on a platform. another thump behind you signals leon did, too. you pull grace back into you, afraid of her falling, as your own foot slips off the edge. a familiar hand wraps around your arm as you’re pulled back onto the moving platform. 

you look back at leon, relief flooding your body. you haven’t seen him since the rpd. the lack of light coupled by the fact that debris is falling all around doesn't allow you the chance to look at him properly, but if you squint, you can see black splotching on the side of his face. the platform jerks left as your taken through a darkened tunnel. now you especially can’t see him. 

you hear him, though. another cough splutters out from beside you. worry chips away at you as you reach a hand out, meeting his waist in a gentle grasp of your hand. you shouldn’t hold too tight.

“are you alright?” you hear grace ask from beside you.

“me? feel like a million bucks,” he smiles at the both of you, drawing his hand away from grace to give you a thumbs up. you give him an uneven grin, not entirely believing him.

the tunnel ends, giving way to more light as you begin to pass over a room piled high with garbage. you and leon communicate with a silent look toward each other. deciding not to chance your luck, leon helps you down first as grace follows. you try your best to catch her as she makes the fall, missing the opportunity to do the same for leon. he lands beside you with another thud and a grunt of pain, no doubt, emanating from him.

you look at him, hand coming up to rest against his shoulder as he stumbles. you’re not sure if he’s even registering you’re there anymore. he sways for a moment before tipping to the right. you catch him best you can, pillowing his head as he falls to the ground entirely unconscious.

“leon?” you hear grace ask from behind you.

you pull the collar of his shirt down as you press two digits against his pulse point. still alive. your hand slides under his head, finally getting a closer look at the black splotching the entire side of his face. you follow the trail down his arm, pulling off his glove to see the same markings cling to his fingertips. you let out a hollow sigh of defeat.

you shift, getting comfortable beside him as you take his ungloved hand in yours. flicking back through your mind, you recall seeing the same marking on sherry right before you left on the mission. you had walked into the bathroom to see her right hand ungloved with two bottles of pills beside her. she gave you a shaky smile; told you not to worry.

your mind flicks back to your briefing. the files you were given–it all makes sense, now: the blood whenever he coughed, never removing his glove…leon had raccoon city syndrome. sherry had raccoon city syndrome. you remember reading about the victims leon investigated before joining the mission and…oh god. leon’s going to die.

[monacofiles]

the past is the future present

or...you and leon break through the perimeter wall and fight your way ahead, ready to meander through leon's past.

chapter 3 of one weekend in raccoon city

re9!leon kennedy x DSO agent!reader cw canonical violence, canon divergence you know how it is

being the gentleman that he is, leon hopped off the bike to set the detonator himself, leaving you sitting patiently, and safely, away from the blast. it’s loud and you find yourself flinching away regardless of the distance. leon walks back quickly, mounting the bike and waiting for you to give his shoulders a quick squeeze before he starts off, revs echoing loudly over the underpass that you’re sure attracts more attention than what you know.

the road immediately lifts, rising up and nearly touching the two fallen high rises which meet to make almost a perfect arch for leon to drive through, save for the piles of rubble he dodges with minimal concern. you break through into a stretch of long highway with plenty of bumps and drops to keep you fearful of your life. sherry’s voice breaks through your ear, somehow quietening even the loudest of noise from the bike.

“how are the roads?” she asks and you nearly splutter out a laugh, if you weren’t so concerned about the fact that leon was bucketing through the highway like any small obstacle, of which there were many, wouldn’t knock you right into another life.

you half wonder whether leon is going to reply, or if you should, when you peek around his shoulder to look ahead. piled up high at an almost perfect incline, are a group of metal poles. leon speeds up before you get a chance to stammer out a protest and, before you can fully prepare, launches the two of you off it to land safely on the other side.

your arms switch from holding onto his shoulders to wrapping tight around his waist, pulling yourself impossibly closer. you couldn’t care less if this was technically your superior and you could feel every hitch in the road reverberate against you through him, there was no way you’d be thrown off a rogue bike in a post apocalyptic city full of zombies. as you land, you hear leon patch back into the radio with sherry. you catch his voice on the tail end of a chuckle from your new position.

“just a few potholes,” he explains as he barrels the two of you toward another section of the road angled into a perfect ramp to fly over a bunched up group of cars. you, somehow, manage to land without error once more, breathing out a sigh of relief as your grip somewhat loosens. 

ironically, that was the moment victor gideon, from another broken down building to your left decides to shoot a rocket launcher straight toward you and leon. thankfully, leon recovers quickly, breaking his way out through the smoke just as you pass what looks to be 3 rabid wolves snarling as their reptillian-like tongues unravel from their mouths. leon’s voice patches into your ear before you can react.

“think you can let go enough to shoot them?” you reply quickly with a yes, one arm falling away from leon’s waist to unholster your gun. aiming almost blindly behind you, you begin to fire successive shots backwards, even managing to hit some of them.

leon centers the bike in the middle of the highway, hoping to keep it as stable as possible for you. and it works, you manage (through draining a considerable amount of ammo) to shoot them down without falling off or losing your cool. 

despite the horrors of riding on the back of a bike through a dilapidated highway while holding on with one hand to shoot rabid dogs the size of a grown man, it doesn’t compare to when gideon flies out in front of you to shoot down an overhead sign and cut off your path. naturally, leon reacts quickly to find another way through beside the highway as you continue to shoot against incessant, never ending dogs. you hear leon’s voice in your ear again as he tells you to hold on, naturally, you oblige.

leon speeds up, moving toward a makeshift ramp made of cars to leap onto a roof. brick flies away, pressured under the weight of the bike. he makes another leap to an adjoining roof and all you can do is hold on despite the final dog drawing ever closer.

thankfully, the dog trips, falling the length of the building to what you hope is death as leon takes a sharp left to land back on the highway when you notice gideon once more. somehow you haven’t lost much ground to him. instincts kick in once more and you unravel your arm again, pointing your pistol right at gideon.

clumsy shots ring out, but it’s not enough as gideon veers left into what appears to be a mall as he ascends an old, broken down escalator. leon follows when you hear a growl from your right side. glancing over, you see it’s that dog from before who, in fact, hadn’t met death at all. in closer proximity now, you make quick work of it, securing your hold back on leon as it tumbles into a wall that subsequently crumbles around it.

your reprieve is short lived when all the sudden, gideon speeds past you once more with a rocket launcher aimed straight at another overhead sign. it crumbles in front of you as leon skids to a halt to take his own gun out. you peek up from behind his back to hear a quick shot precede an explosion. just like the one back with that spider, it licks at your forehead and the sliver of exposed skin around your wrists. no doubt leon takes the bulk of the heat without more than a subtle lean backwards before he takes off again.

you have half a mind to keep an eye out for more dogs or roadblocks, but when leon drives you both up a set of stairs tossing and turning the bike around through a thin alley, your head shoots down as your arms secure tightly around his waist. you and leon spill out onto a road just below the highway as another explosion sounds out ahead of you, leading gideon to drive right back into view. you make quick work of your gun, pulling it out and aiming as best you can at him from down below.

leon weaves and dodges through the streets with relative ease until another shot is fired from gideon’s rocket launcher. it hits a mass of dilapidated structure that falls easily on the road. leon, once more, is unshaken as he jolts to the right, heading straight for, to your horror, a high rise which has fallen from the weight of time and also a rogue bomb 30 years ago.

“leon what are you doing!?” you ask quickly through the radio, grip tightening so much that you have half a mind to be concerned about breaking one of his ribs. 

“hold on tight!” he shouts back, speeding up. you don’t know what’s on the other side of the ramp-like high rise, but you have no time to argue, instead, you put your faith in leon and do as he says, impossibly tightening your hold on him.

“leon–!” your voice is cut off but you’re not even sure you’re still speaking on the radio anymore. the building ends, launching the bike into the air and, subsequently, you. as if on a roller coaster, you find yourself almost levitating in mid air from the sudden leap. somewhere in your brain, you force yourself to retain your hold on leon, letting gravity do the work of guiding you back to your seat after what feels like an eternity.

the landing is harsh, but you’re back on the ground again, thankfully. leon speeds back down the other side of the highrise, twisting and dodging the debris when his voice crackles through your ear again.

“you alright back there?” he asks and you can practically hear the laugh on the tip of his tongue.

“barely. please never do that again,” you say, allowing yourself to peek up from behind his shoulder as you land back on the highway again before gideon appears beside you once more. you’ve done this before now, unholstering your gun quickly and levelling your aim, taking careful shots to maximise what ammo you have left when he pulls his rocket launcher out and fires it right at you and leon, who manages to dodge it once more. unfortunately, your gun is knocked out of your hands through the commotion.

getting sick of this now, you pull out your knife as you loosen your hold on leon. feet planted securely on the footrests, you rise from behind leon who speeds up once more, seemingly reading your plan.

you can’t stay there long, gideon no doubt has more ammo so you must take him out as quickly as you can. with one precise shot, your knife splits from your hand, barrels through the air, and lands straight through his fuel tank. you don’t allow yourself to celebrate the victory as you promptly sit back down, arms fastened around leon once more.

after exhausting what remaining bullets he has from his own pistol, gideon slams on the brakes to line up next to you. he takes a hand, reaching out to claw at leon’s throat.

“ive had enough of you,” he snarls as leon’s own hand comes up to grasp at his wrist. you go to reach for your knife before remembering where it ended up. still embedded in gideons fuel tank, you can’t reasonably reach it from here, so you pull back from leon, unholstering his hatchet before raising it up and slamming it back down on gideons wrist.

through a mix of your own strength and terror aided by adrenaline rushing through your veins, you manage to cut the hand clean off as leon pushes away his bike as it comes to a trundling stop. leon drives further down the highway, stopping when the road breaks and drifting around to face back where gideon now perches on his own bike. it can’t take much more, you note.

“you ready?” he asks through a thick bout of coughs. you loosen your hold on him for a moment to give him space as he wipes away splatters of blood. 

“always,” you confirm, pulling one of leon’s pistols out, ready to aim back at gideon.

leon pushes the bike forward, forcing himself through the wind just as gideon does the same. you reach up to aim, stabilising your arm by leaning it on leon’s shoulders. quick shots ring out, but it won’t work. gideon isn’t vulnerable enough to simple pistol bullets, so you make a quick decision and aim right for his fuel tank. 

it splutters for a moment before fire breathes out in malignant bursts, sending gideon flying off the bike and down into a pile of rubble as flames pour out from the explosion. no human could’ve survived that, you reason with yourself.

leon turns the bike around once more, driving to the edge to assess the situation. clearly, he agrees with your thoughts as he pats you twice on the leg before taking off once more.

“should’ve worn a helmet,” is all he says.

the rest of the drive is peaceful enough. the road is mostly packed with desolate cars, but zombies (alive, that is) are few and far between and certainly aren’t fast enough to catch you and leon speeding away on the motorcycle.

after awhile, sherry’s voice breaks through the comfort of the silence.

“hey, checking in,” she says, voice casual. leon nudges at your arm, a silent order for you to answer her.

“good, now. gideon showed up before but we handled it,” you say, pride bleeding through your tone

“well done you, then,” you can hear the smile in her voice, “you’ve made some good distance. you should get there in no time,” she finishes. you celebrate quietly. your legs were sore and you were sick of the constant fear of driving through raccoon roads, tired of that jolt of adrenaline when leon would round a particularly sharp corner.

“alright, thanks sherry. we’ll be in contact soon,” leon finishes. you hope that soon comes, well, sooner rather than later.

…

for the first time in what feels like hours, the bike comes to a stop. your own leg comes out to catch yourself as leon lets the bike tilt.

“we’re outta fuel,” he says, “we’ll have to walk the rest of the way,” leon kicks the stand down before dismounting, turning back to you. ungracefully, you hop of the bike without managing to tip it over which ears an earnest chuckle from leon.

“sorry we can’t all be as smooth as you, kennedy,” you say, already moving to walk ahead of him. he takes three long strides to catch up to you, nudging your arm when he does. a silent order to stay back, you don’t know this place like he does.

“you should be close to the coordinates,” sherry says over the earpiece. you take a look around, yeah, you’d bet.

“looks like it. we’ll take a look around,” leon says. he moves past you with a hand on your shoulder, a silent cue for you to follow behind him. and you do, following closely behind as you duck into an alleyway and out into the open once more. 

leon pauses ahead of you. it’s eerily quiet as you stand behind him, looking forward onto a dilapidated building you can’t place. you can hear the way his breath hitches, the way his shoulders tense, then un-tense, and tense once more. 

“can’t believe it’s still standing,” is all he says. it takes a moment for it to click for you, but when you do, a snarky reply falls away from your tongue, replaced with something more empathetic.

“is this…you good?” you ask casually enough. you’d never worked with leon before and prior to this assignment, you’d barely even met him. there were times that you’d see him at the dso office or read about his career and wonder in amazement about working beside him and now you were. and you had no clue how you were meant to act around him outside of harmless banter. was he technically your superior? probably. would you be fired and shunned if you made an ill timed, insensitive joke? maybe not, but it wouldn’t make things easier.

your question remains up in the air, leon’s own response unspoken yet understood. he looks away for a moment and you hear his sharp inhale followed by a shaky exhale. he doesn’t speak even as he starts to move toward the rpd. you follow behind. 

leon yanks open the front gate, pushing through to reach the main entrance to the rpd. he pauses for another moment. the doors give way with a simultaneous creak, wood stressing under unfamiliar weight. memories of that night, 30 years ago flicker into leon’s mind as he takes in the state of the police station.

a large chunk of the roof is missing near the back and the columns are barely holding themselves up right. a thick sheet of dust has settled upon the entire lobby. leon makes his way in further, walking around the desk to assess what looks to be an old laptop and a broken storage box. he digs through it for a moment before pulling out a knife.

“since you lost yours,” he says, handing it over. you thank him quickly and pocket it as he walks to the upper section of the lobby.

“seen better days, huh?” you say, testing the waters. leon forces out a polite chuckle as he patches into sherry.

“sherry, im in rpd,” his voice is level as he talks to her. aptly detailing evidence of the bsaa equipment you’d stumbled into. he walks over to the laptop still open as you stand in front of the whiteboard. there’s a litany of maps and trails leading around raccoon city, piles of evidence for…ARK? 

“leon? what’s ARK?” you ask. he’s stopped briefing sherry, now, and has perched on the table as he flits through the laptop.

“looks to be some sort of research facility. that building there,” he points to a picture on the whiteboard of a building, “is the orphanage. i guess it lead to it,” he finishes. you glance back at him for a moment, waiting for something else. a curse to whoever ran the orphanage? a joke about a lucky lead? it doesn’t come.

leon’s attention falls back to the laptop as you still, waiting for some sort of order. you hear him sigh sharply as he hops off the table, grabbing his shotgun to wrangle around his back.

“it’s grace. she’s here with that guy i was telling you about earlier,” he says, glancing at you for a moment before turning back.

“sherry, i found grace, she’s in danger,” he says to her.

“at rpd?” you hear sherry ask over comms.

“yeah, exactly. someone’s been expecting us,” leon says, cutting the line from sherry as he puts down a piece of paper you hadn’t seen him pick up.

“maybe we should split up,” you say, stepping forward toward leon, “you go find grace and i’ll scope out the rest of this place. make sure no one else is here,” you can’t read leon, his face portrays perfect focus and determination.

“alright. but tell me if anything happens. you go upstairs,” he says, unholstering his pistol as he moves to the lower section of the floor. you reply with a quick ‘yes, sir,’ and head off. the path to the east side of the building is full of rubble you won’t be able to walk past, so you go toward the other side.

you notice more rubble on the west side, but if you push hard enough, you can make a gap to weasel over to get you into…a library? most of the books are missing or piled on the floor next to a multitude of corpses. you step over them carefully, ensuring your gun stays trained on them at all times as you make your way across the room. the door at the bottom of the stairs is blocked from the other side and the stairs themself have fallen in. you double back, going to leave the room before you notice a ladder on the far side wall.

it’s broken, but if you can climb high enough, you’ll be able to heave yourself up to the next floor. you pass through to the next door which leads to, what you assume, is a storage room before exiting once more into a hallway. a barrage of rogue ceiling falls behind you, covering the door, as you dodge quickly. hope there’s another way out you think to yourself.

you glance out the window as you make your way toward the corner. taking in the ruin of raccoon city, it’s hard to believe leon was here 30 years ago, and that this was a bustling, up and coming city. it’s even harder to think that you hadn’t noticed the large blockade in your way standing just at the bend of the corridor.

you bump into something firm, hard enough to disorient you for a moment. scrambling, you reach for the gun that’s slid out of your grip when something, a gloved hand, wrings around your wrist, hoisting you up in mid air. 

you let out a grunt as you attempt to wriggle free, clawing at the arm with your other hand when you finally look up to see your assailant.

it must be over 7 feet tall, clad in a black trenchcoat with a mostly human face. it’s strange how the face wrinkles together, almost like a graft of loose skin was put on a robot, done without care or concern for the way it looks.

you don’t stop to consider why or rather who he is, instead you reach your other hand for the knife, stabbing it hard into his shoulder. he falters for a moment, but not enough to drop you. moving to pull it out to attack again, he grabs your other arm, ready to pull it clean off, no doubt, when a piercing shot rings out, similar to the one back at the gas station.

it flies clean through his head. lucky he’s not wearing a hat you think. this time, his grip loosens enough for you to drop to the floor. rummaging for your assault rifle, you make quick work of firing more shots into his head which only seems to disorient him, rather than do any considerable damage. you don’t seem to consider who shot him that first time, imagining leon somewhere outside, but your current situation doesn’t give you a moment to think clearly about it.

if he wont go down, you’ll just have to run.

you slide between his legs, running for a door at the end of the corridor, praying it’s unlocked, or at the very least, not blocked off, as you hear thumping steps rapidly drawing near.

you make it to the door, twisting the knob with more prayers than you’ve said in your entire life and push it open until it stops. it’s caught on what looks to be an old desk with a locker fallen on top, but you think you can make it through. sparing a glance back at the…thing, you note how it’s nearly running, now. blood doesn’t even seep from the wounds you’d inflicted. 

you make quick work to crawl underneath the desk, pushing out debris as you wriggle through as fast as you can when you feel a cold hand wrap around your leg. turning over, you use the other to kick at the hand, but to no avail, as he pulls you out with ease to then throw you back to where you started. you hit the back wall with a thud, blood dripping from at least somewhere on your body as you fade between in and out of consciousness.

you’re assault rifle is still underneath the desk, and when you reach for your pistol you find it isn’t there. it must’ve fallen out somewhere. you glance around quickly, or as quickly as you can with what is surely a concussion.

his steps slow as he walks up to you, pulling you up once again this time by your shoulder. you’re not sure where leon is now, but you hope with everything in you that he manages to shoot the thing once again.

somewhere in between that thought, his fist comes up to your face, making quick work of rendering you unconscious. he straightens, throwing you over his shoulder as he walks away, ready to take you straight to the one person you were hoping not to run into.

[gtgbabie0]

💭 thinking about dad!Leon during one of those many sleepless nights with your daughter ᝰ.ᐟ

It’s late, and your daughter is downright refusing to sleep, so here you are— lying in bed with a rowdy baby who is very opinionated on the topic of early nights, blabbering nonsense right into your ear whilst Leon tries his best to coax her to lie down

“C’mon… leave your mom alone, you rascal.” He sighs, gently prying the little girl from where she’s climbing all over you.

She has absolutely none of it, letting out a fussy cry and kicking her legs out in protest as she shakes her head a firm no— already begging to blubber, bottom lip jutting out and everything.

“Mama isn’t a jungle gym. It’s eleven o’clock at night, do you understand that?” Leon continues to argue with her as if she could understand a single word coming out of his mouth, and she all but gurgles down at her father in return with a huff and puff. You can’t help but giggle into the pillows— god, she was going to be a nightmare by the time she learns how to walk and talk.

“We shouldn’t have given her that ice cream before bed.” You sigh, definitely living in regret, watching as your daughter now clambers all over Leon with a slight wobble to her tiny legs— still getting used to using those muscles.

“We live, and we learn.” He replies, bringing his hand to rest against his daughter's back so she doesn’t topple over as she climbs up onto his chest with a gleeful squeal.

Her tiny hands press against Leon’s stubbly cheeks, and he lies there, eyes closed, letting her smush at his face as if he were made out of Play-Doh. You shuffle closer until you’re pressed against his side, your head resting against his shoulder as he brings his free arm to wrap around you tightly— caressing the length of your back.

“What’re you doing to your poor dad, hmm?” You whisper up at her, smiling when her round, curious eyes blink down at you— blue just like her daddy’s.

“Giving me a very bad massage.” His response comes out deadpanned.

She giggles, big eyes flickering back to Leon as he pretends to nibble at her fingers, which sends her into another fit of giddy laughter— her little feet kicking at his sides and her fingers poking at his face to try and get him to do it again. You won’t actually fall asleep until three in the morning because your daughter clearly thinks it’s playtime, but maybe that’s the joy of being a parent, these late nights together.

જ⁀➴ Resident Evil Masterlist જ⁀➴ General Masterlist

AN: it’s so hot in the UK right now I wrote this in a daze so my bad if it’s buns 🫩

[elliesmoth-deactivated20260728]

A man created by women >>>

[elliesmoth-deactivated20260728]

HIS BACK

[theweepingangelofcas]

The Other Agent - Leon Kennedy x Reader (Fever Saint Part 1)

Summary: Leon is sent into Spain to rescue the presidents daughter, Ashley Graham. As it turns out, he isn't the first agent that the government sent in. Now, he has to piece together a puzzle of what happened to them. Masterlist

The rain starts before the jeep even starts up, the two police officers in front of him grumbling at the sudden chill outside the metal walls.

The rain is cold and thin. The kind that settles into Leon’s jacket collar and stays there, damp against the back of his neck. Around him, the forests of rural Spain stretch endlessly beneath the darkening sky, dense and skeletal in the fading light.

In his ear, Hunnigan is speaking, her voice crackling over the weak signal of the comms.

“Local authorities confirmed Ashley Graham was seen somewhere in this region approximately five days ago.”

Leon rests his forearms against his knees, gaze fixed on the storm outside. His brows furrow, head tilting as he asks, “5 days? And you’re only sending me in now? You’d think the president’s daughter would be more high priority.”

Over the line, he can hear Hunnigan sigh, “About that…”

He almost wants to groan. There was always something that they didn’t tell him til it was too late.

“... You’re not the first agent we’re sending in.”

That gets Leon’s attention immediately. His gaze shifts away from the rain-streaked window, settling somewhere unfocused in the dim interior of the jeep. “What?”

One of the officers says something under his breath in Spanish as the vehicle lurches forward onto the muddy road. Leon barely registers it. His attention is torn between Hunnigan’s smooth voice, and the blurry image of Ashley Graham in-between his fingers. 

Hunnigan pauses for half a second too long before continuing. “She was inserted three days ago under covert reconnaissance orders. Confirm Ashley’s location, maintain surveillance, await extraction support.”

“And?” Silence crackles softly over the comms. Leon’s jaw tightens. “Hunnigan.”

“We lost contact with her approximately forty-eight hours ago.”

The jeep rattles violently over uneven ground. Outside, the woods blur past in dark streaks of rain and skeletal branches. Leon leans back slightly, expression flattening into something colder.

“Status?”

“Unknown.”

Of course it was unknown. Why wouldn’t it be? He wasn’t that lucky.

“She made contact several times after insertion,” Hunnigan continues. “Her reports confirmed Ashley was alive, though she was unable to locate her. She encountered resistance almost immediately after entering the region.”

“Resistance?”

“We don’t have details. Her final transmission was cut short.”

Leon drags a hand down the lower half of his face slowly, exhaustion already pressing heavily behind his eyes. “What kind of agent?”

“Covert ops background with an emphasis in medical support.”

He lets out a breath. At least they hadn’t sent in a rookie, though he wouldn’t have put it past them. At least whoever had arrived first hadn’t been sent in completely blind. With any luck, the medical background would have made them capable enough to have a chance of survival. 

“You said she confirmed Ashley was alive,” He murmurs, “How long ago?”

“Just before communications stopped.”

The rain intensifies against the jeep roof, sharp little impacts rattling overhead.

“Last known location?”

“A church north of the village.”

He almost chuckles. A church. He’s being sent into hell, and there’s a church. The irony is hilarious.

Leon closes his eyes briefly, mind conjuring up what the prior agent might have seen. What he’ll be seeing soon, no doubt. Every mission may feel the same, but the imagery is always different. 

But his past doesn’t matter right now. Somewhere out there in the endless dark woods, another government agent had vanished trying to keep the president’s daughter alive. And now he was being sent to clean up the aftermath.

“You got a name?” he asks.

Another pause. Then, Hunnigan sighs. He can imagine her straightening her cherry red glasses.

“Her file access is currently restricted pending recovery confirmation.”

He actually scoffs at that, eyes rolling. “Seriously?”

“You know how this works.”

Yeah. He does. All too well. Almost no one would know the other agent's name until they were found, or sent home in a body bag.

The officers in the front exchange another uneasy glance as the jeep rounds a sharp bend. One of them mutters something about the roads being emptier than normal.

Leon looks back out the window. The forest feels wrong. Like it’s watching him.

“She was good,” Hunnigan says quietly after a moment.

That catches him off guard slightly. Hunnigan rarely volunteered personal opinions during operations. 

The line drops for a moment before picking back up, “She said she was getting close to Baby Eagle. That’s when communications stopped. She made it pretty far before…”

She trails off for a moment. He knows what she means. 

He sighs, glancing ahead, eyes tracking the rainwater cascading down the windshield. “Any other information you’d like to offer?”

Hunnigan almost sounds sorry when she responds, “Not as of yet. I’ll update you as need be. Over and out.”

“Over and out.” He repeats hollowly.

In front of him, one of the officers turns, looking him up and down like he’s more of an annoyance than a job.

“So, tell me, Yanqui.” He smiles at him, but it doesn’t look kind, “Why did you come to this horrible place?”

.

.

.

The village smells of wet wool and rot, its houses dilapidated and sagging. There’s smoke in the air, the bonfire and the body in the center of town on display for all to see. It’s brutal and raw, the sound of the officer’s screams still ringing in Leon’s ears.

He has no time to try and help. The man was as good as dead the moment the bonfire started.

Now, Leon’s only priority is to survive long enough to get Ashley Graham home safe. 

His feet are heavy against the muddy ground, leaving behind deep bootprints as he sprints away from the hoards of people pursuing him. He’s capable, yes, but there’s too many of them. He’s going to be overtaken if he doesn’t find somewhere to get a moment of reprieve, and fast. 

When he turns a corner, narrowly dodging an axe being thrown at his face, he sees it. A window. Inside, the house looks empty. The only interior door that he can see has furniture pushed up against it. Barricading it to the rest of the village. 

He throws himself into the glass with no hesitation.

It only takes a moment for him to stand again, glass shards falling off of his thick jacket and clinking down to the floor. Strong hands are quick to grab a nearby bookshelf, pushing it in front of the window, sealing himself inside the house.

Leon heaves in a breath, eyes squinting to adjust to the sudden darkness inside. He can make out a few chairs and an old, iron kitchen stove, followed by a bedframe leaned up against the door. It’s odd, but not out of place here. But, something else catches his eye.

On the table is a medical kit.

It isn’t something that anyone in this village would have. The kit is clean, a bright white against the dirt on the table and the rust on the stove. Beside it are a few open blister packs of painkillers, and a half used roll of gauze. The cut on it is jagged and crooked. Whoever had used it was in a hurry. Next to it all is a scrap of black nylon, edges smeared with dried blood.

Someone else had been here before.

The other agent.

He doesn’t have time to focus on that. He can hear villagers screaming at him, infected bodies throwing themselves into the bookshelf and the door.

Hands wrapped around the pistol, he keeps moving.

.

.

.

His head hurts when he comes to.

For a moment, he’s confused, eyes squinting at the light above his head as he tries to remember what had happened.

It comes rushing back to him like a cold wave.

Mud. A basement. The man in the sack, his wavy hair marred with dirt and dust. Hands like concrete slamming him into stone-

Then darkness.

Pain lances through his shoulders as he drops his weight against the restraints.

“Oh, what the fuck?” His voice is rough, hands pulling down from where they were suspended in the air by heavy chains. 

From behind him, he hears a groan. Suddenly, he’s aware of the warmth against his back. It’s the man from earlier. The one in the basement. When Leon looks back, he can see that his dark hair is unruly, dust clinging to the strands. 

“Hey- Stop it!” The man’s accented words are more of a hiss, even as he stands up to look at Leon properly, “Yanqui, got a name?”

He’s up within moments, moving to observe the nature of their restraints. Steel cuffs bite into both their wrists, linked together by a single heavy chain bolted into the ceiling. If he can just find a way to get that bolt down…

“Leon.” The answer is plain and simple, his body already focusing on pulling all of his strength into his arms. 

The man seems unbothered by his unfriendly tone, lips curling into the faintest of smiles as he speaks. “Quiet type, eh? I’m Luis Serra. I guess, you, me, picked the wrong spot to vacation, eh?”

He’s about to say more, but he’s interrupted by Leon putting his full body weight into the chain, forcing him to stumble and almost fall. He barely manages to correct himself, giving a tug in response. 

“Hey, stop it! You move, I move. And I’m beat up enough as is…” He stops as he realizes what Leon is doing, eyes flitting between the blonde man and the bolt in the ceiling, “Ah. I can see your thinking.”

Leon is quiet, tugging on the chain again, feet planted firmly against the floor. Luis helps him this time, doing the same. He keeps talking, accented voice ringing out across the cluttered walls.

“I bet you’ve been in spots like this before. Let me guess… You’re looking for someone? A missing senorita, perhaps?”

Leon stops, turning back to him with an intensity that could kill. With ease, he drags the man forward by the chain, to where he has to stand on his tip toes to stay upright. He’s so close that he can feel hot breath fan against his face. 

“Talk. Now. Where is she?”

It’s less of a question and more of a command.

The Spaniard is quick to try and steady himself, but Leon won’t let him, eyes boring into his skull. He chuckles awkwardly, “Ah, alright.”  Leon lets him get a breath in, relieving tension on the chain. The man keeps speaking, “I heard some chatter. A young woman made it to the church, where they’re keeping a senorita.”

Leon’s eyes narrow, “A young woman?”

Luis nods, “Si, Yanqui. A thorn in their side, the cult said.”

The other agent. With any luck, she’s still alive.

With another tug, the bolt comes free.

.

.

.

Getting into the church had felt like a nightmare. 

Of course, that isn’t even counting the trip to the church itself. There had been dozens of cultists and infected, their bodies riddled with parasites, eyes burning with rage. He had somehow managed to fight his way through all of them, making his way to the church. 

The first villager had come out of nowhere, too fast, too wrong, its body already half-split open with something alive underneath. Then more followed. Voices turned into screaming. Movement turned into rushing shapes in the dark.

Leon had stopped thinking in anything but distance after that.

Bodies hit the ground and didn’t stay there. Cries of anger turned into gargled screams as people mutated into something foreign. Eyes burned in the dark when they shouldn’t have been able to see him at all. 

But somehow, against all odds, he’s standing outside the church, circular key in hand.

The door opens with a wet creak.

He’s going to find Ashley, as well as the other agent, if it kills him.

Shaking the rain water off of his skin, he steps inside. 

Taglist: @shu-leepy , @sharkalina666 , @typexi , @sweetsassytaegi , @d4ihen , @m4ngo15 , @probably--possessed , @meowieees , @frost20026606 , @gojoswaterbottle , @midnighttreesgaming , @kl0ng5ki3 , @gaylexulyte , @caroline-the-cat , @sugurussy , @burntoutpisces , @sh3sa1dwhat , @ghostieistiredd , @therandomofpink ,

[bisexualiteaa]

Spring Cleaning 👕👔

RE9 Leon x wife reader

Synopsis: Leon is freshly retired, you’re back from your honeymoon and he needed something to do. Those boxes and all his old clothes that had been piling up in the closet all these years needed to be gone through, who better to help him sort through the memories than his wife? ❤️

CW: established relationship, marriage, reader is AFAB, domestic fluff, like tooth rotting levels of fluff, allusions to PTSD, mentions of struggles with trauma, age gap, (Leon 49, reader 25) terms of endearment, slightly spicy at the end, possible grammar/spelling errors.

A/N: This one came to me after seeing all the mods and skins for Leon in RE9 where he can wear some of his past outfits (especially the RPD uniform, his RE4 fit and RE6 fit) and I thought it would be kind of cute. As someone who struggles with C-PTSD, I empathize a lot with his character and so writing this comes from a bit of a more personal place, even if it’s funny and cute. I know it’s a bit short and different from what I usually write but as always, I hope you all enjoy! ❤️

Retirement was still something Leon was trying to navigate and learn to get used to. After all the years of being on the go, constantly on call, always needed somewhere, it was beginning to grow a little difficult for him to wake up knowing that was no longer the case. He loved the break, of course! Finally being able to book that honeymoon you both wanted and enjoy a real vacation with you, uninterrupted was an absolute dream come true. But once you’d both returned home, filling the house with furniture and decoration to make it feel less like a house and more like a home, it finally settled in that his life had changed. Once he’d run out of renovations and things to put together to keep him busy, he started to feel like he didn’t know what to do with himself. That was until you proposed the one thing he’d been purposefully putting off for a long time.

”I can help you sort through all those boxes in the closet!” you’d kindly offered, knowing they’d stacked up over the years and become something of a stressor on him anytime he’d walk in the closet to find something nice to wear for a special occasion and see it all stacked up. Being that was really the only thing left in the house that needed tackled, he knew it needed to be done. He was just dreading it. So many files, so many pictures, so many memories of things he’d attempted to lock away for good. Out of sight, out of mind, right? Except it wasn’t. It never fully would be, but as much as he dreaded the thought of it, he needed to go through it all. He could move the files up into the attic, toss out the clothes and finally free up the space you so rightfully deserved to share in with him.

So reluctantly, he agreed. After all, his past haunted him enough, the last thing he wanted was to allow it to physically create a barrier between the two of you.

So it began, after breakfast and a couple of shared cups of coffee, the door was opened to allow you to begin to tackle the stack of boxes that had accumulated since 1998. You knew how difficult this could be for him, stumbling across reminders of everything he’d gone through, having to house those said memories in his own home where he was supposed to feel safe. You knew it was something he’d been needing to do for far too long now but never had the time, or frankly the mental fortitude, to do so on his own. You were happy to help him however you could, honored that he trusted you enough to sort through it all with him, to see such a vulnerable side to your husband that even you rarely ever get to see. You took it slow of course, especially when pictures would be the first thing to greet you both the moment a lid was lifted from a box. You never pushed to hear stories or asked for any details, you respected his boundary that work stayed at work and that the past stayed in the past. Though it didn’t stop you from gushing every now and again when you’d stumble across any pictures of him, but he couldn’t hold it against you. Not when your eyes would light up all excitedly and you’d smile from ear to ear like you’d come across a lost treasure.

You even managed to sucker him into letting you keep a few for yourself.

You’d both made a pretty good dent in the boxes that housed nothing but files, helping him in getting them put away up into the attic where they could finally be out of sight and truly out of mind. Now all that was left were some of his older clothes to go through and you could already see some of the weight seeming to leave his shoulders now that the file boxes were all gone through and sealed away. You were delicate when it came to the first box, each were labeled with the year in which they housed objects from so when you were greeted to a box labeled “1998” you knew to tread with caution. “Would you like me to take this one up to the attic?” You asked him considerately, not opening it incase he wanted to leave it closed. “I can take it” he said, grabbing the box from you before your hand came to rest against his bicep. “We’ll take it. Together” you said before offering him a kind, reassuring smile that let him know he, literally and metaphorically, didn’t have to carry it alone. You’d planted a soft kiss to his stubbled cheek before taking it up to the attic then resuming the task of going through the rest of the boxes.

“Have you always had such good taste in fashion?” You asked curiously, making him chuckle. “Debatable” he answered, eliciting a soft giggle from you as you went through some of his clothes. “Hell, I don’t even know if half of this stuff even fits anymore…” he said, looking at some of his older shirts that were folded neatly into piles along the floor. He watched you pick up and unfold one of his many black compression shirts from a box, holding it up to try and picture what it would look like on him and if it would still fit. “I think so! Could always try it on and find out” you offered, making him grin softly to himself. The idea should’ve made his stomach churn, should’ve made him say no instantly because of all the memories attached to them. Yet as you sat there, legs crossed on the closet floor, his hat from Operation Javier back in 2002 adorning your head while sorting through and admiring his clothing, he couldn’t help but feel a little warmth bloom in his chest. You looked like how he imagined most grown children probably look when sorting through their parents old clothes they no longer wear, finding their favorites to take for themselves to keep the memories and fashions of the past alive. But it was even cuter with you doing it. Something about seeing his sweet wife adorn a hat that went with him through the jungle and villages of South America back in 2002, blissfully unaware of the horrors and bloodshed it went through along with him as it sat atop your pretty head. It looked much better on you than he felt it ever did on him and certainly a lot better than just sitting in a box.

There was just something so domestic about it, something that didn’t make it feel so daunting to look through it all now that you were here. As if you were breathing new life into the objects of his past. “Think you just want an excuse to get me to play dress up” he quipped as he leaned against the doorframe of the closet, arms crossed over his chest as he watched you with nothing but adoration in his eyes. The giggle that left you in response as you looked up at him from the floor suddenly making any bit of tension in him just melt away. “Can you blame me? With a runway walk as good as yours, I didn’t think I needed an excuse” You replied, grin stretched to your lips as you held the shirt in hand, making him chuckle. “Besides, if it does fit, it isn’t a total loss. Can always wear them as night shirts” you said, making him chuckle again. “Any excuse to wear my clothes instead of your own, right?” He teased, making you hum. “Hey, that’s marriage! What’s mine is mine and what’s yours is also mine” you replied through a laugh, batting your lashes up at him innocently with a cute grin. “Now that math doesn’t seem right…” he replied, earning another giggle from you that made him smile just a little wider upon hearing it. He certainly didn’t hate the idea of you trotting around the house in his old shirts. Especially if it was just the shirt and nothing underneath. “Hand it here, I know I’m not winning this battle” he said, making you eagerly shove it towards him with a soft, celebratory “yes!” in reply as he undid the zipper to his quarter zip. You watched him pull it up over his head and off and tossing it to the side to be worn again later. His eyes came to yours as you watched him find the tag to ensure he wouldn’t be putting it on backwards, never wasting an opportunity to see your husband without a shirt on. “Enjoying yourself?” He asked with a cocky grin, making you laugh. “Very much” you replied honestly, making him roll his eyes and shake his head with a partial grin before pulling on the black compression shirt.

And you thought those quarter zips he wore were tight…

You watched as he fixed it up, eyes widening with a soft flush as you took in the sight in front of you. It hugged him in all the right ways, stretching along the taut muscles of his torso to show you the faint lines of his abdominal muscles beneath it. “You know…for a shirt that’s almost as old as you, it’s held up pretty well” he commented teasingly, rather impressed that it was in almost pristine condition after spending years in a box and that it still fit despite being as tight as a second layer of skin. His comment on how old the shirt was made your jaw drop for a moment. The age gap between you and Leon was never something that bothered you, in fact you teased each other often about it, but it was moments like these that truly reminded you of that gap. “Almost as old as me? It damn near looks brand new!” You commented making him chuckle as he looked himself over in the full length mirror. “Wore these all the time back in 2005” he responded, taking you by surprise. “No fucking way…” you replied in disbelief, turning the box around in an attempt to find the date on it and sure enough, there in bold black marker said “2005” along the opposite side. You were stunned at the way the sleeves hugged his biceps and how pristine it looked for being old enough to drink if it were a person. “Wore them in 2005 then broke them out again in 2011? 2012? Loved these things in my late twenties and early thirties” he explained. “You say that as if it was eons ago” you teased, making him raise a brow as he tilted his head. “Feels like it some days” he replied. “Not half bad knowing I can still fit in it, too bad I lost the brown jacket I used to wear with them, it was a nice jacket…” he added in an almost pouty tone, making you giggle again. “I think they’re safe to put in the keep pile then, yeah?” You asked as you took out the other ones and folded them into a neat pile. “Sure, can use them to work out in or while I work on the bike when you are hoarding them” he answered, putting the image in your head of him lifting weights in it or of his biceps flexing as he’d be using tools on his bike to make repairs to it.

“Hot. Okay, next up, oh! Got a jacket” you said, pulling out a black leather jacket that had two faded grey stripes that wrapped around the upper arm on the sleeves two zipper pockets and four clasping pockets that adorned the front. “This one’s nice!! I definitely think you should keep it” you advocated, making him laugh as you turned it around. The thing was riddled with small rips and bullet holes yet you admired it like it was a work of art. “I see we’ve reached the 2010s. that jacket’s definitely seen better days but not too bad” he said as he looked it over himself before catching you looking up at him expectantly, waiting for him to put it on. “Oh, is someone waiting to see me put it on?” He asked with a playful grin, making you worry your bottom lip between your teeth. “Maaaayybe” you answered coyly, watching him go to put it on. Unfortunately it didn’t seem to fit quite like it used to, a little too small in the arms and a little too short in the torso but it still looked pretty damn good on him. “Damn, that’s a shame. Liked this one a lot too” he commented. “Guess this one’s a toss” he said, taking it off. “Not necessarily! How ‘bout we set it aside. I’d wear it, if that’s okay with you?” You asked sheepishly, making him smile softly at the thought of you in a nice outfit with it draped over your shoulders or you wearing it the next time he took you out for a ride on his motorcycle. The fact that that was the first thing that came to his mind as opposed to any of the events that transpired in China felt like a marvel to him. Maybe he really was getting better at this. But he certainly wouldn’t be here without you. “It’s beat up to shreds baby, I don’t know if it’s worth saving” he said, watching you take it from him like it was the most precious thing on earth. “I kinda like that it’s a little beat up. It gives it character! Means it was well loved and I think it deserves to continue to be well loved” you said, and judging by the way you were already putting it on a hanger as you spoke told him you were standing firm on this decision.

So who was he to tell you no?

“Alright, looks like we’ve got another jacket. Kinda similar to the last one, were we going through a phase in the 2010s? I’m sensing a trend here with leather jackets and stripes…” you asked through a soft laugh as you looked it over, making him chuckle. “More like a midlife crisis maybe, but I guess it does kinda look like the other one, doesn’t it?” He asked, smirking a little as he took note of it now that you’d mentioned it. “Would you believe me if I told you I wore that with fingerless gloves?” He asked, making you gasp dramatically. “Stop, you did not” you replied, a grin splitting across your features as you tried your hardest to imagine him in such a get up. “Oh yeah. Thirty-seven and thought myself a total badass. That’s when I fell in love with bikes too” he responded, making you giggle. “If I find the gloves will you put them on too? I gotta see the vision” You asked, routing through boxes and cubbies in the hopes to find them. “Starting to think maybe you’re just a little too into this…” he teased, making you laugh. “I’m having so much fun you have no idea” you said, making him melt just a little on the inside as he watched you scout through all the box for them. “Aha! Found them!!” You said, holding them up like a trophy you’d fought hard to earn. And in a way, they almost were. You watched him slip on the jacket before tossing him the gloves. Once again, he’d found the jacket was just a little too tight but he beared through it for you, soon pairing it with the fingerless and knuckle-less gloves so you could catch a glimpse of your husband’s choice of wardrobe from 12 years ago. “Oh my god…you were a certified bad boy! Damn…” you teased, making him laugh as you took in the sight, looking him up and down. “I think you pull it off pretty well, actually” you added genuinely. “Maybe back then, definitely not my thing anymore” he answered, making you hum. “I dunno, you and leather jackets still go pretty well together, I’d say” you stated. “Think I’ll donate this one to the wife’s side too” he said, making you giggle as he handed it to you so you could place it on a hanger next to the other one. “The wife’s side thanks you for your considerate donation” you replied coyly as if you were a clerk at a second hand store.

From that point on it was a bunch more t shirts, some button ups, more quarter zips and all the suits he had hanging up that you knew he wouldn’t be getting rid of. Until you came across the holy grail hiding in the very back of the closet. “Okay, I don’t know why this was hiding away or when you wore this last but I have to see you in it” you said, holding up a blue button up shirt with a black vest paired with it. “I can tell you just from looking at it that that’s not fitting me anymore, sweetheart…” he replied, watching a pout come across your face at his words before you looked at it again. “Aww c’mon, at least try! Maybe it’ll shock you like the compression shirt did!” You replied. “Just one time? Then you don’t ever have to wear it again. I just know this would look really good on you” you said, making him sigh. “Alright, but if it rips because it’s too small don’t say I didn’t tell you so” he said, making you laugh. “Oh no! What ever is a woman to do if her husband’s clothes rip because he’s too big and strong to fit in them anymore?” You replied dramatically, making him roll his eyes with a grin as he removed the black compression shirt he still had on before pulling on the blue button up. It was definitely too small. He remembered it was already pretty tight on him when he wore it thirteen years ago but it was even tighter on him now. Only the few buttons at the torso could be buttoned up at this rate, leaving his chest unbuttoned and exposed, yet the vest could be adjusted so surprisingly it still fit after some minor adjustments. He looked himself over in the full length mirror, not seeming very pleased at the way he looked in the outfit. “Definitely doesn’t fit anymore, can’t even button these last few buttons…” he said, attempting to do so and watching as the two buttons across his chest strained to stay in place before they popped off when he moved his arms back down by his sides. He’d almost seemed hurt by the realization but when his eyes traveled downward to look at your reaction, how you were looking up at him with absolute awe, he realized that maybe it wasn’t so bad after all. “That looks…wow, that looks so good on you, it’s insane” you complimented, making him look back at the mirror as he fixed his hair, trying to do anything to convince himself to agree with you but he was still struggling to see what you see. If anything, he was almost a bit flustered now that the buttons had ripped off, leaving him to feel as if he was dressed for a Magic Mike act. “I dunno honey, it’s really tight. I just broke two of the buttons trying to get it done up all the way…” he replied, watching you stand up and walk over to him, one of your hands resting gently on his chest. “Honestly? If you asked me, I think it looks better this way” you said, fixing the collar and looking him over one more time before looking back up at him with a soft, loving smile, making him chuckle. “You think so?” He asked curiously, bringing one of his hands to your hip to pull you close. “I’d be lying through my teeth if I said it wasn’t doing it for me” you replied, your hands smoothing along his chest as both of you exchanged a quiet, intimate laugh before he leaned down to kiss you. A wordless thank you for being so patient and kind, helping him through all of this and showing him that even tokens from the past can have new, better memories attached to them. “We don’t have to keep it if you don’t want to but…maybe you could let me help you make a better memory with it before it goes?” you said, trailing your sweet kisses down his stubbled jaw to the column of his throat. “Oh? And what kind of memory do you suppose we’d make with it, honey?” He asked coyly, earning a sensuous giggle from you as your lips trailed down the exposed valley of his chest.

“I think you know exactly what I have in mind…”