An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Word Count: 5.2k
Rating: 18+ / MDNI
Summary:
Three years ago, you escaped Leon Kennedy.
You transferred offices. Changed your number. Signed the divorce papers. Started therapy. Built a life far away from Virginia and the man who once swore he couldn't live without you.
Then a mandatory DSO reassignment drags you back.
Back to headquarters.
Back to old friends.
Back to the city you fled.
And back to the ex-husband everyone still believes is a hero.
Leon says he's changed.
Leon says he's been going to therapy.
Leon says he just wants to talk.
The horrifying part?
He might actually believe that.
Content Warnings:
⚠️ Psychological Horror
⚠️ Domestic Abuse (past relationship)
⚠️ Emotional Abuse
⚠️ Psychological Abuse
⚠️ Coercive Control
⚠️ Gaslighting
⚠️ Stalking Behaviors
⚠️ Trauma & PTSD
⚠️ Panic Attacks / Hypervigilance
⚠️ Threats of Violence (referenced)
⚠️ Manipulation
⚠️ Obsessive Behavior
⚠️ Possessive Behavior
⚠️ Unhealthy Relationship Dynamics
⚠️ References to Sexual Coercion
⚠️ Dead Dove Themes
⚠️ Dark Leon Kennedy
Three years.
That was how long it had taken you to stop checking every room for exits.
Three years to stop sleeping with your phone beneath your pillow, thumb hovering over a number you never called because you knew exactly how useless it would be.
Three years to learn how to sit with your back to a wall without feeling ridiculous for it.
Three years to rebuild a life small enough that it felt safe.
A quieter DSO branch. Smaller cases. Less blood. Less spectacle. A therapist who knew when to push and when to let silence do the work. An apartment with three locks on the door and curtains thick enough to keep the city out. A routine you followed because routine made the world feel less like a hand closing around your throat.
Three years.
And all it took to undo it was one memo.
Mandatory reassignment. Temporary transfer. Virginia field office. Effective immediately.
You read it once.
Then again.
Then a third time, slower, as if the words might change if you gave them enough of your horror.
They didn’t.
Your supervisor wouldn’t look you in the eye when you asked if there had been some mistake.
“I’m sorry,” she said, and she sounded like she meant it. “This came from above me.”
“Then send it back above you.”
Her mouth tightened.
You knew then.
Before she said anything else, you knew.
“It’s not a request.”
Your hands went numb.
You left her office without remembering how your legs moved. You made it to the bathroom before you threw up.
That night, your therapist asked if there was any way out of it.
Dr. Carter.
Mid-fifties. Calm voice. Kind eyes. Former military psychologist. The first person you'd trusted enough to tell the whole story.
The first man you'd trusted in years.
You laughed.
It didn’t sound like you.
“No,” you said. “There never is.”
He went quiet on the other end of the line.
You hated that quiet. Hated how carefully he handled it. Hated that he knew enough about Leon to be afraid for you without ever having met him.
“Do you have a safety plan?” Dr. Carter asked.
You stared at the half-packed suitcase on your bed.
Black slacks. Blouses. Files. Medication. Charger. Toothbrush. The ordinary anatomy of a life being interrupted.
“Yes.”
“Do you believe it will be enough?”
You didn’t answer.
Outside your apartment window, rain moved down the glass in thin, silver lines.
For one stupid second, you remembered Virginia in the summer. Humid air. Thunderstorms. The smell of wet pavement and gun oil and Leon’s cologne clinging to your skin after long missions.
You closed your eyes.
Don’t.
Not that.
Never that.
“I’ll call you when I land,” you said.
“Please do.”
You hung up before he could say anything softer.
Before he could say anything that sounded like goodbye.
The Virginia field office looked exactly the same.
That was the first cruelty.
The same polished floors. Same security checkpoint. Same fluorescent lights humming overhead. Same framed commendations lining the walls like proof that good people worked here. Heroes. Survivors. Legends.
People who saved the world and then went home to pretend they hadn’t seen it end.
Your badge worked on the first swipe.
Some part of you had hoped it wouldn’t.
The light blinked green.
The lock clicked open.
And just like that, you were back.
“Holy shit.”
You barely had time to turn before Claire Redfield crossed the room and wrapped you in a hug so warm it nearly broke you.
“Oh my God,” she breathed, squeezing tight. “Look at you.”
Your body didn’t know what to do with kindness anymore. Not here. Not in this building. Not with the past pressing in from every side.
Still, you hugged her back.
“Hi, Claire.”
She pulled away, hands on your shoulders, eyes bright with genuine affection. “You look good. Tired, but good.”
“Thanks,” you said, managing something close to a smile. “You look exactly the same, which is offensive.”
She laughed, and for half a second, it almost worked.
Normal.
You could do normal.
Then Chris saw you.
The hug he gave you lifted your boots off the floor.
“About damn time,” he said, gruff and fond. “Thought New York swallowed you whole.”
“Almost did.”
Jill Valentine was next, quieter than the others, but no less sincere. She looked at you the way she always had—like she saw too much and chose mercy anyway.
“Good to have you back,” she said.
Back.
The word landed wrong.
You swallowed around it.
“I’m only here for the case.”
Chris gave you a sympathetic look. “Yeah, that’s what they all say.”
Claire rolled her eyes. “Ignore him. We’re just happy to see you.”
They were.
That was the worst part.
They were happy.
They didn’t know that the inside of your skull had gone white with panic from the moment you stepped through the doors. They didn’t know you were counting cameras. Doors. Hallways. The distance from where you stood to the exit behind you.
They didn’t know that every familiar voice made you feel more trapped.
Because they were familiar to him too.
A conference room had been set aside for the briefing. Someone had left coffee on the side table. Someone else had printed case files in neat stacks. The whole thing was ordinary in a way that felt obscene.
You took a seat closest to the door.
Jill noticed.
She didn’t comment.
Claire slid into the chair beside you. “You okay?”
You nodded too quickly.
“Yeah. Just… weird being back.”
Her expression softened.
“I get that.”
No, you thought.
You don’t.
Across the room, Chris was talking to someone from intelligence. Jill flipped through the file. Claire leaned over to point out something in the preliminary report, her voice low and focused.
For a few minutes, you let yourself follow along.
Bioweapon trafficking. Missing samples. A lab off-grid. Possible insider involvement. Your specialty.
Of course it was your specialty.
Of course.
You were reaching for your pen when the room changed.
Nothing obvious.
No alarm.
No shout.
No dramatic announcement.
Just a shift.
A pause in conversation.
A subtle redirection of attention, like the air itself had turned its head.
Your fingers tightened around the pen until the plastic creaked.
Claire looked toward the door and smiled.
“Oh,” she said, warm and easy. “There he is.”
Your heartbeat stopped.
Leon Kennedy walked into the room like he belonged there.
Because he did.
That had always been the problem.
He looked older than the last time you’d seen him. Not by much. Just enough that it sharpened him. A few faint lines near his eyes. Broader through the shoulders. Hair still that impossible shade of ash-brown, falling carelessly across his forehead like he hadn’t spent years making carelessness look effortless.
He wore a dark suit, no tie, collar open at the throat.
Wedding ring gone.
Of course it was gone.
He paused just inside the doorway.
His eyes found you immediately.
Not searched.
Found.
Like he had known exactly where you would sit.
For one impossible second, the room disappeared.
You were twenty-six again.
Still too young to understand how badly things had gone wrong.
Still trying to convince yourself that the man you'd married at twenty-three wasn't becoming someone you feared.
Bare feet on cold kitchen tile.
The smell of whiskey.
Rain hammering against the windows.
Your breath coming too fast.
A shattered glass glittering across the floor.
Leon standing between you and the front door.
One hand braced against the counter.
The other holding his service pistol.
Not pointed at you.
Not exactly.
But not put away either.
His knuckles white around the grip.
His chest rising too fast.
His eyes bloodshot.
You remembered the way your stomach had dropped.
The way every instinct in your body had screamed at you to run.
And the horrible realization that there was nowhere to run.
“Leon,” you'd whispered.
He looked wrecked.
Not angry.
Not at first.
Broken.
Terrified.
The kind of terrified that became dangerous.
“You packed a bag.”
His voice had cracked.
You remembered that.
You remembered how much worse that had been than yelling.
“Leon—”
“You packed a fucking bag.”
The gun hit the counter with a deafening crack.
You jumped.
He didn't.
His hands were shaking.
His entire body was shaking.
“Tell me I'm wrong.”
You couldn't.
Because the suitcase had been by the door.
Because you had finally decided to leave.
Because you had finally realized love wasn't enough.
His laugh had sounded like something dying.
Then he'd crossed the kitchen.
Fast.
Too fast.
One hand grabbing the back of your neck.
Not hard enough to bruise.
Hard enough to remind you he could.
“Look at me.”
You had.
God help you, you had.
Tears in his eyes.
Rage underneath them.
Fear underneath that.
“You don't get to leave me.”
The conference room snapped back into place.
Claire was still smiling.
Chris was saying something.
Jill had gone very still.
Leon looked at you across the table.
And smiled.
Not the smile from the magazines.
Not the one cameras loved.
Something smaller.
Private.
Devastating.
“Hey,” he said.
One word.
That was all.
Your body reacted like he had put his hands on you.
Every muscle locked. Your throat closed. Heat rushed up the back of your neck, followed by a cold so deep you felt it in your teeth.
Claire’s smile faltered.
“You two okay?”
Leon looked away from you first.
That was new.
Or maybe it wasn’t.
Maybe he had simply learned better timing.
“Yeah,” he said, voice quiet. Perfectly controlled. “It’s just been a while.”
Then he glanced back at you.
Almost apologetic.
“I actually tried to request off this case.”
Your stomach dropped.
Chris looked surprised.
“You did?”
Leon shrugged.
“Yeah.”
His eyes never left yours.
“But you know how it is.”
The words sounded harmless.
To everyone else.
To you, they sounded like a reminder.
There was nowhere to go.
Nowhere to hide.
No one said no to him for long.
A while.
Three years.
A divorce.
A vanished apartment.
A blocked number.
A gun on the kitchen counter.
His hand wrapped around the back of your neck.
His forehead pressed against yours.
The barrel of the pistol sitting three feet away.
And his voice shaking so badly you could barely understand him.
“If you ever fucking leave me...”
You remembered freezing.
Remembered not breathing.
Remembered the tears running down his face.
You'd been twenty-five.
He'd been forty-one.
And somehow he'd still looked at you like you were the only thing keeping him alive.
“Do you know what happens to me if you leave?”
You hadn't answered.
You couldn't.
His grip tightened.
“You're all I have.”
A sob caught in his throat.
Then came the part that still woke you up at night.
The part Dr. Carter kept trying to make you say out loud.
“If you walk out that door...”
His eyes had dropped to the suitcase.
Then to the gun.
Then back to you.
“I swear to God, sweetheart...”
A smile.
Small.
Broken.
Wrong.
“I'll end you.”
Your blood had turned to ice.
“And then I'll end me.”
His thumb brushed your cheek.
Gentle.
Loving.
Terrifying.
“Because there is no life for me without you.”
You stood so abruptly your chair scraped against the floor.
Everyone looked at you.
You forced your face into something human.
“Sorry,” you said. “Long flight.”
Leon’s gaze lowered to your trembling hand.
Then lifted back to your face.
Concern.
Careful concern.
The kind that made everyone else think he was being considerate.
“You okay?” he asked softly.
You nearly laughed.
Instead you nodded.
“Fine.”
His smile was faint.
“I’m glad.”
That had been one of his worst talents.
Making concern feel like a threat.
The briefing began.
You didn’t hear most of it.
You heard enough to answer when spoken to. Enough to keep your voice even. Enough to nod in the right places and pretend your vision wasn’t tunneling every time Leon shifted in his chair.
He didn’t sit beside you.
He didn’t have to.
He sat across from you.
Close enough that you could see the faint scar near his lower lip.
Close enough to remember how he got it.
Close enough to remember kissing it once, years ago, when you still thought love could save people like him.
He was careful.
That was what made it worse.
He didn’t stare too long. Didn’t interrupt. Didn’t make a scene. He was professional. Respectful. Almost distant.
Anyone watching would think he was being kind.
Giving you space.
Letting you adjust.
You knew better.
Leon Kennedy could make restraint look like mercy.
The meeting ended just after six.
People stood. Folders closed. Chairs scraped. Claire asked if you wanted dinner. Chris offered to walk you to the hotel. Jill gave you one last searching look.
Leon said nothing.
Not until you were at the door.
Then, softly, almost too low for anyone else to hear:
“Welcome home.”
Your hand slipped on the door handle.
You didn’t turn around.
If you turned around, you might scream.
So you walked.
Down the hall.
Past security.
Through the front doors.
Into the humid Virginia evening.
Only when the building was behind you did you realize you had been holding your breath.
The hotel was two blocks from the office.
Government-approved. Sterile. Expensive in the bland way federal accommodations always were.
The woman at the front desk smiled too much.
“Welcome, Agent,” she said, sliding your key card across the counter. “Everything has already been taken care of.”
Your stomach tightened.
“What does that mean?”
Her smile flickered.
“Your stay. Incidentals. The room.”
“By the DSO?”
She glanced at the computer.
“Yes, ma’am.”
You stared at her.
She stared back, polite and useless.
“Enjoy your stay.”
You almost asked for another room.
Then you remembered it wouldn’t matter.
You took the key card.
The elevator ride was mirrored on all sides.
You hated that.
By the time you reached the seventh floor, your reflection looked pale enough to be dead.
Room 714.
You checked the hall before unlocking it.
Empty.
You checked again.
Still empty.
Inside, the room was cool and dim, curtains drawn against the city. Bed made. Desk clean. Bathroom door open. Closet empty.
You did what you always did.
Checked behind the curtains.
Under the bed.
Inside the closet.
Shower.
Locks.
Windows.
Only then did you set your suitcase down.
Only then did you let your shoulders drop.
You were fine.
You were tired and shaken and back in a city full of ghosts, but you were fine.
Leon had been in a room with you for forty-eight minutes and nothing had happened.
He had not followed you.
He had not touched you.
He had not cornered you.
He had said two sentences.
You could survive two sentences.
You sat on the edge of the bed and pressed the heels of your hands into your eyes.
Breathe in.
Hold.
Breathe out.
Dr. Carter's voice, gentle and steady.
Name five things you can see.
Bed.
Lamp.
Desk.
Curtains.
A photograph.
Your eyes snapped open.
Photograph?
There hadn't been a photograph.
You stood.
Slowly.
The frame sat on the desk.
Face down.
Your pulse stumbled.
You crossed the room.
Turned it over.
Your stomach dropped.
It was a picture of the two of you.
Not a wedding photo.
Worse.
A candid.
Taken in your old kitchen.
You laughing at something off camera.
Leon looking at you.
Not the camera.
You.
Twenty-three and glowing.
Him nearly forty and staring at you like he'd found religion.
You had never owned a copy of this picture.
You didn't even know it existed.
Beneath it sat a bottle of wine.
Red.
Dark glass.
A cream label with gold lettering.
Your favorite.
Not your current favorite.
Not something you drank anymore.
Something from before.
From Virginia.
From the house.
From nights when Leon came home bruised and quiet and poured you both a glass without asking because he knew exactly how much you liked.
Beside it sat a small arrangement of snacks.
Not hotel snacks.
Not generic.
Your favorite crackers. The chocolate you used to hide in the back of the pantry. A bag of those stupid sour candies Claire had teased you for eating during stakeouts.
And beneath them, folded with almost surgical neatness, was a piece of ivory silk.
Your breath turned thin.
You crossed the room slowly.
As if approaching a body.
The silk was soft when you touched it.
Too soft.
A slip.
Your slip.
Not similar.
Not the same brand.
The same one.
The one that had disappeared during the divorce.
The one you had assumed got lost in the move.
You snatched your hand back.
There was a card tucked beneath the wine.
No envelope.
No signature.
Just three words written in a handwriting you had spent years trying to forget.
Welcome home, sweetheart.
The room tilted.
Then you noticed something else.
The closet door.
Open.
You were absolutely certain you had closed it.
A cold sweat broke across your skin.
You walked toward it.
Inside, hanging neatly on a hotel hanger, was a dress.
Dark blue.
Elegant.
The dress.
The one Leon had always loved.
The one he used to ask you to wear to dinners, galas, fundraisers—any excuse he could find.
The one you secretly hated.
Too tight. Too expensive. Too much like the version of yourself he preferred.
You hadn't seen it since the divorce.
Yet there it was.
Pressed.
Perfect.
Waiting.
Your knees nearly buckled.
He had been here.
Not someone.
Him.
He had stood in this room.
Touched these things.
Arranged them.
Waited.
Maybe hours ago.
Maybe minutes.
Maybe while you were downstairs checking in.
Your phone was in your hand before you remembered reaching for it.
No signal.
You stared at the top corner of the screen.
No signal.
That was impossible.
You moved to the window.
Still nothing.
To the door.
Nothing.
Your pulse kicked once.
Then again.
You unlocked the door and yanked it open.
The hallway was empty.
Too quiet.
Too still.
At the far end, the elevator doors were closed.
You stepped out.
The key card slipped in your damp palm.
Behind you, inside the room, your phone buzzed.
One time.
You froze.
Slowly, you turned.
The screen glowed from the bed.
A text.
You knew before you picked it up.
You knew before you read it.
You always forget to eat when you're scared.
Another buzz.
Have some chocolate.
Another.
You checked under the bed first. You always do that.
🖤 Okay, while I’m working on the next couple chapters of Flesh & Blood, I need help deciding what kind of Leon-induced emotional damage we’re doing next. 🖤
I have approximately 47 different Leon Kennedy one-shot ideas rattling around in my head at all times, and these are the ones currently fighting for dominance.
Which one would you want to read first? 👀
📊 POLL: Choose Your Flavor of Leon-Related Poor Decisions😏
🔒 The Kidnapper
Leon has spent years watching the world burn. He’s tired. Lonely. Desperate for something normal. Then he sees you—a glimpse of the life he never got to have—and decides he’s not letting it slip away.
The problem?
He never asked if you wanted it too.
🍷 The Stalker / Yandere
A new DSO data analyst finally works up the courage to say hello to the legendary Leon Kennedy during a team happy hour.
He smiles. He’s polite.
Then he becomes completely obsessed.
Because someone as sweet and innocent as you could get hurt.
And clearly you need someone to protect you.
Preferably him.
Forever.
❄️ Enemies/ Forced Proximity
Leon has been hunting a mercenary tied to Umbrella intelligence leaks for months.
When he finally finds her, she’s already bleeding, injured, and trapped in a snowstorm.
The nearest extraction point is impossible to reach.
Now they’re stuck in a remote safe house together for three days.
She hates him.
He doesn’t trust her.
And neither of them can leave.
🥃 The Ex He Can’t Let Go
Years after walking away, you stumble into the bar Leon frequents.
One glance is all it takes.
Because suddenly he’s remembering everything.
And realizing maybe letting you go was the biggest mistake of his life.
Unfortunately for you, Leon Kennedy isn’t known for giving up once he’s made a decision.
🔥 The Rookie
Veteran agent Leon Kennedy gets assigned to train a younger rookie.
She’s stubborn. Reckless. Determined to prove herself.
Leon tells himself she’s just another assignment.
Then she comes back from a mission bruised and shaken and someone has to explain exactly who hurt her.
(Spoiler: Leon handles it poorly.)
What type of Leon one shot do we wanna see next?
🔒 The Kidnapper
🍷 The Stalker / Yandere
❄️ Enemies/ Forced Proximity
🥃 The Ex He Can’t Let Go
🔥 The Rookie
Voting ended onMay 30
💬 Also feel free to comment or message me about what tropes you’d want.
Possessive Leon? Protective Leon? Emotionally damaged Leon? Morally questionable Leon? Leon desperately trying—and failing—to be normal?
Because apparently I only know how to write one man in twenty different shades of concerning. 🫡😌
Although I have completed this work, I have decided to rewrite some of the chapters and add some more to the story.
This is a dark fic set in Jackson. Please heed the warnings before reading.
series summary: your relationship with Joel Miller was a secret, one in which he would break you over and over. Tired of mistreatment you leave. But what happens when Joel cannot handle losing the control he has over you? And what happens when another man catches your attention?
warnings: dom/sub dynamics, physical abuse, emotional abuse, coercion, dubcon, noncon, assault, manipulation, allusions to eating disorders, episodes of depression, descriptions of nightmares, characters with PTSD, descriptions of violence, oral sex, anal, unspecified age gap, daddy kink.
Warnings: NSFW, blowjob, toxic dad, Leon gets hurt, fluffy ending?
Author's Note: Yall I really wanted to post and I didn't know how to end this but the whole start of this started from blaring Nickelback in my ears at work and daydreaming about Leon. Im also not use to being up so late so im sorry for poor writing
Word Count: 1.4K
MDNI:
Leon said he would pick you up around 1 am because, even as an adult, your dad was strict about you being out. So on nights like this, when you wanna be alone with your boyfriend, you have to sneak out, which is ridiculous since you’re 19 and he’s 20. Your mom loves him, and has for as long as you two have known each other. Your dad was a drunk and a dick. He hated Leon because he was a good person. He brought your mom flowers, always greeted her first, and never put up with your dad shit.
She knew you snuck out with Leon, but she knew you would always be safe with him. You see his familiar jeep pull up, so you quickly make your way out of your window and run to his jeep. He has the door open, so you just shut it and buckle up while he takes off.
When he makes it to the first stop sign, he leans over quickly and kisses you desperately, “fuck I’ve missed you.” He mumbled into your lips, holding you close to him.
“I miss you too, Lee, but we need to go, we're too close to my house.”
“On it, pretty girl.” He mumbles, pressing another rush kiss to your lips before driving off to your destination.
As he drives off, you decide this is the perfect time to tease him. You take off your seatbelt, causing him to glance over at you, “Eyes on the road, pretty boy.” You tell him.
You lean over the center console to kiss his cheek, doing it again and again, making your way across his jaw.
“Fuck, babe, wait till we get there.” He groans.
“Why wait?” You whisper in his ear, rubbing your hand from his thigh up to the cock, gripping him through his jeans, “You just need to focus on the road right now.” You kiss his cheek again before moving to unbuckle his belt.
“Baby, wait till we get th-“ his words are cut off by a moan as you stroke his cock. You spit on his tip, dragging it down with your hand before leaning over the console, putting him in your mouth, sucking hard.
As you put more of him in your mouth, you feel the whole jeep jerk back on the road. You come off Leon’s cock scolding him, “Keep your eyes on the road, or you won’t be getting anything at all from me.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He groans while he keeps his eyes forward on the road, guiding you two to your destination. Every time his eyes shut, from the pleasure of you moving your head up and down, taking him as far as you can without choking, he has to force himself to keep his eyes on the road. “You trying to get us killed, baby?”
You hum against his cock before Leon grabs a fist full of your hair, pulling you off him to where he pulls out your mouth, leaving a trail of spit. “Don’t you know better than to speak with a mouth full?”
“Mmmm, I love it when you're bossy.” You go in for a kiss before he stops you.
He laughs, “You're not getting anything else from me till we make it to our spot.”
“Ugh, fine,” you sigh while he tucks himself back in, “don’t have to be so lame lee”
Leon playfully rolls his eyes, “We're gonna be there in two minutes, and you can have just what you want, needy girl.”
“Says the man who just drove like a getaway driver to get me alone.”
“Yeah, because the last thing I need is dealing with your dad.” Leon quickly pulls into a parking spot.
It’s a routine for you two to go to your favorite spot. It’s up on a lookout of the city near where a lot of people come to go camping and hiking. Thankfully, no one is here at 1 am other than the lone van or two from people camping.
He unbuckles his seat belt, turning his jeep off, before grabbing you by your face, pulling you in close, and kissing you deeply.
Leon pulls away from you, both heavy breathing, smiles like idiots, “hi baby.”
“Hi.” You giggle before pulling away, gesturing to the back seat.
“Ladies first.” He says, kissing you one last time before letting go of you so you can climb into the back seat. As you make your way into the back of his jeep, he smacks your ass.
“Ow! Leon Scott!” You yelled at him as you sat down in the back.
He fights back a smile, “Sorry, baby, had to.” He quickly makes his way to the back, joining you and pulling you in so you’re on top of him.
You’re both thankful for it being the colder months, so the top is on his jeep, blocking you two away from any eyes.
Your fingers drag through his hair, lightly tugging on his blonde strands, while kissing him feverishly.
Grabs hands roam your body, gripping your hips before moving down to your ass, making you grind harder on him.
“Looks like you’re the needy one.” You moan in his ear.
Leon’s pale skin can’t hide how flustered he gets when you’re intimate with him, “just giving my girl what she wants since she couldn’t wait on the ride here.” You grind against him while kissing his neck, “Fuck- can’t wait to make you feel good, baby.”
You start to push off his jacket, letting him take it off while you take yours off. He pushes your tank top up just enough so that one hand can rest on your bare skin, while the other grabs your face, pulling you back in for a messy kiss. As your hands make their way to Leon’s belt, you hear a noise outside his jeep, making you pull away from Leon.
“What was that?” you whisper to Leon, trying to look out the window behind Leon’s head.
“The wind, baby, no one else is around here,” he reassures you, pulling you back in, trying to kiss you again, before you hear pounding on the side of the door.
You both sit up on high alert. Once you see the person, you instantly recognize them and scream, “Fuck! That’s my dad.”
Leon halfway makes it to the front seat, trying to start the car when, “Where are the damn keys!”
“Check the floor, Lee!” Before Leon could reach for the keys, the back door was yanked open, and Leon was pulled out.
“What the hell are you doing with my daughter?” Your dad screams, kicking Leon in his stomach.
You stumble your way out of his jeep, falling to the ground in front of him. Leon is holding himself up on one arm while the other is holding his stomach.
“Fuck that hurt,” Leon mumbles while you put a hand to his face, looking into his eyes. You zone out your dad’s screaming in the back while you get Leon to sit up. You don’t hear the insults your dad is throwing at you, or what Leon says back. You only see his actions; he stands up and pushes you behind him. Before you know it, your dad is walking back to his car, still screaming and waving his arms around.
“He wins Father of the Year.” Leon has a deadpan stare, making you laugh through the tears you didn't even know were falling down your face. “Hey, hey, we're okay, you're okay, I'm okay were okay.” He wipes your tears, pulling you into his chest.
“I'm sorry. " I'm so sorry, fuck I'm sor-,” you say in a broken sob, “I didn't know he would hurt you.”
Leon could cry from seeing you this upset, worrying about him when you have to go home to him. “Let's look at the bright side, it was just part of my soon-to-be training for the academy.”
You laugh/cry at his attempt to make this situation less scary for you, “Come on, baby, let's get your jacket on you, and we can go back to my place.
You leave for his place with a smile, knowing he's the man you wanna marry, because he's what a man should be. You know, he'll make a great dad in the future, and you're thankful to have him in. Even if the night didn't go as planned, you're still by his side, and nothing can break what you two have built.
stormborns
jbbartram-illu
baratheonpilled
vaporwave
areudirty
yousharknotpass
blakekathryn
