Roommate!Leon who after three months of living together just doesn’t care what you do and tosses you the keys to his car. The Porsche. Doesn’t understand why you’re nervous about it because it’s just a car. It may be worth more than you make in a year but it’s a thing and things are meant to be used.
Any maybe it fuels the yearning a little bit when you leave behind a scrunchie or the couple of dollars that was your change from whatever your purchase was that prompted you to need to go out. And maybe he blocks your car in his little driveway to encourage you to take his and leave more traces of yourself behind in it. Any time he gets it detailed after is a bit painful, but that’s all the more reason to get you back into it
Not really a specific request but could we have more of Leon and the quiet reader🙏
Omg, of course! Tbh, I'm tempted to make this a slow burn romance series. Lmk if ya'll would ike that!
Link to Part 1
Summary: The five times that Leon Kennedy almost heard his partners', Y/N's, voice, and the results after the one time he did. Just as it says on the tin.
Content Warning: Mild gore, some cursing, talk of death and dead bodies.
The Five Times He Almost Heard Your Voice, and the Aftermath of the One Time He Did - Leon Kennedy x quiet!Reader
1.
In two weeks of working with you, he had only heard a few singular hums from your throat. No words. No laughs. Even now, with a makeshift wooden lance sticking out of your thigh, he had barely heard a peep.
The silence was welcome, sure. He had taught far too many rookies that had talked themselves into an early grave. Noise was dangerous in this line of work. Silence was safe.
But this?
He had at least been expecting a few curses or cries, at least.
But, no. Instead, your fingers were gripping onto his bicep for dear life as he worked on your injured flesh. Your face had gone pale, eyes staring off into space as he braced you for the tugs on your skin.
"Kid, this is gonna hurt." He wasn't going to try to sugarcoat it. The rough, splintered edges of the thrown together weapon had embedded themselves in the tissue of your thigh. Pulling it out was going to suck, to put it bluntly.
You nodded, still not meeting his eyes.
He sighed, eyes dropping back down from your face, "You don't have to act tough right now. This is bad. I know it. You know it."
Another nod. A strained hum.
He shrugged, "Alright, then. Don't bite off your tongue. This is gonna hurt like a bitch."
With a firm tug and a sickening ripping noise, the lance was torn from your thigh.
His hand, still covered in blood, was ready to clasp itself over your mouth to stifle any screams. Though this area was decently safe compared to the rest of the mission area, it still wasn't anywhere where you two could let your guard down. Screaming could alert every hostile within a mile to your location.
To his shock, all you let out was a small, breathy gasp.
Your fingers were definitely bruising his bicep, and every ounce of color had long drained from your face, sure, but you barely made any noise. Even as his strong hands pressed firmly against the hole in your thigh, desperately trying to stop the bleeding, you continued to silently stare into space.
He scoffed, "Jesus Christ, kid. Took that like a champ."
Another nod. Another small, weak hum, and the silence resumed once more.
2.
Leon hated hospitals.
He hated the sterile white walls. He hated the stinging scent of antiseptic. Most of all, he hated the constant, incessant beeping of all the machines.
It was just 4 days after he had clumsily stitched up your gaping leg wound. Since then, surprisingly enough, not much had happened.
The emergency evac had gone as smoothly as could be expected. 'As smoothly as expected' meaning that he had carried your unconscious, bleeding body into the helicopter, dodging spears and bullets all the way there. His own shoulder had taken a hit in the process, but he had pushed through regardless. It wasn't like he had a choice, after all.
Then, on the flight back to the safe mainland, he had watched as the medics applied emergency first aid. His had been sufficient for the time and resources you had at the moment, but it was no substitute for sterile stitches and antibiotics. He can vaguely remember them stitching his own shoulder back up while they gave you multiple bags of blood through the IV.
Now, you were laying in a hospital bed, your leg bandaged so tightly and thickly that he was shocked it was still attached. He had been debriefing you absentmindedly, watching as nurses came in and out of the room to do their work.
"... And then, the evac helicopter got us out of there. That's all you missed."
Your eyes watched him knowingly, brows furrowed in concentration. As he finished talking, you raised a finger like you wanted to interject.
His heart stopped for a moment. Were you going to finally say something? He had expected you to say something as he borderline mutilated your leg, not after.
Instead of speaking, your finger dropped to your shoulder, tapping on it while raising your brow inquisitively. He understood immediately.
Are you going to tell me how you got that?
He scoffed, "You lost almost two liters of blood, and you're worried about this? Trying to kiss ass to your boss, huh?"
You glared at him, your gaze serious. He sighed.
"Just got grazed when I ran you out of there. I'll be fine. You focus on you, kiddo."
3.
Though the DSO mostly focused on fieldwork, that didn't mean that they didn't have a work building.
The office space you were both sitting in was humid, mid summer heat easily beating out the barely functioning AC unit. Sweat coated Leon's brow as he watched you type out a debrief of what had happened prior to the hospital.
"... And, well, that's when you got injured."
You had typed up the report to the best you knew. But now it was his turn to take over.
"We were about a quarter of a mile from the safe area that had been designated earlier. I dragged you there. I'm not sure if you remember."
The words you were typing stopped, before starting on a new line.
I don't really remember, no.
He nodded, "Right. You were kind of out of it. Y'know, between the whole stick impaled in your leg thing and the heat, I didn't really expect you to remember anyway."
Your fingers typed up another sentence.
I remember bits and pieces.
"Oh, really?" His eyes glanced back to the thermostat, before landing back on the screen, "What do you remember, then?"
Your arms were firm. And your voice was calm. It helped.
Leon felt a flush come to his cheeks, and it wasn't from the heat.
"I tried. That was pretty bad back there, kiddo."
You rolled your eyes.
Don't call me that. You're just old.
"Hey-"
What are you, like 80?
"I'm 51!"
Your hand slapped his good arm jokingly, while your other one-handedly kept typing out half-hearted insults. He was laughing now, and between breaths, he could hear the slightest of snickers coming from your lips.
Besides, you're only like 15 years older than me. That's not a lot. Don't call me 'kiddo'.
He rolled his eyes one final time, trying to will the flush to go down from his face, "Fine, I won't. Besides, 'Rookie' is a much better nickname for you anyway."
Another playful slap.
The silence resumed.
4.
The hospital had been weeks ago. You were more or less back to normal, and finally cleared to go out to the field with him again.
Unfortunately, even though you were back to normal, he wasn't.
It had started off as a single little black bruise on his palm. He hadn't thought much of it. Goodness knows how much rough treatment his body withstood on a daily basis. A bruise wasn't any cause for concern.
Within one week of the bruise first showing, it had started to spread.
He watched in horror as he'd wake up in the morning with the bruise being just a little wider. A little longer. A little deeper. When the veins on his hand started tinting black was when his internal panic went haywire.
Around the same time, the bodies started popping up.
Grotesque corpses mottled in inky patches of infection, mouths dripping with raven colored blood. Their veins would be dark, outlining a spider web of disease across their skin.
The bruising and veins on the corpses looked horrifyingly similar to the ever-spreading bruise on his hand.
Then, with a bit of a background check, it was discovered that every single body had been a survivor of the Raccoon City incident all those years ago. Leon could feel his heart constrict at the realization that whatever these poor souls had become inflicted with, he was going to be one of them soon.
The horror became real when Sherry called him one lonely night. Though the line was fuzzy and the call kept dropping, he could hear tears of panic in her exhausted voice.
"Leon- There's something wrong with me."
"You too, huh? Good ol' Raccoon City luck."
He had walked into the DSO office the next morning, his infected hand covered in a thick leather glove. He couldn't meet your eyes as he started mapping out where to look next.
The idea of his death he could deal with. He quite honestly hadn't expected to live this long anyway. He had been infected with so many strains of virus that it was a miracle he wasn't rotting in a casket already. But Sherry? He couldn't let that happen. She was too young. Too innocent. When he looked at her, all he saw was that little girl that he helped rescue all those years ago.
You had given him a little hum of concern as he ignored you that morning, your finger tapping his desk to get his attention.
"I'm fine, Rookie."
A shake of your head. A frown. But, seeing his face, you must have decided not to press him further. His eyes didn't miss the way your own focused on his gloved hand.
Later that day, you had approached him when he couldn't hide.
He had been in the restroom, washing his hands, when you suddenly appeared next to him. Cold water splashed out of the sink as he tried to step away. Before he could hide his hand, your own grabbed his wrist, bringing it closer to you to inspect it. He tore it away from your grip within seconds, but the damage was done. You had seen it.
You hadn't been stupid. You'd seen the reports on his desk about the recent infected corpses. You knew what they looked like. You could put together the dots as easily as making your morning coffee.
Your brow raised, humming inquisitively.
All he could do was sigh, "You shouldn't be in here, Rookie. This is a men's bathroom. Don't you know that's harassment?"
His joke fell on deaf ears. You were looking at him with a seriousness that he hadn't seen before.
"Fuck, fine." The glove went back on, covering the ink that felt more like a sin than a disease, "It started showing up last week. I know what it looks like. I'm going to figure out what it is."
For a moment, you stood there. Your ever-watching gaze still trained on his gloved hand. Part of him expected you to finally say something. Call him stupid, or reckless, or to maybe offer a word of support.
Instead, all he got was another hum, before you were gone.
The bathroom door shut, leaving him alone again.
5.
Another body had been discovered. The 6th body, to be exact. This one 7 weeks after the first. The moment the news hit him, he had already started packing to go investigate.
He was in the middle of shoving weapons in his trunk when a note got slapped in front of him, your hand holding it in front of his eyes.
Where are you going?
He sighed, "Another body. I'm going to go investigate."
He didn't bother looking up at you. His hands were busy stashing ammo next to his pistol whenever the note disappeared. Scribbling noises were heard to the side of him, and another note slapped down.
Without me????
Leon scoffed, finally straightening up and shutting the trunk.
"Yeah, without you. This is my business. I'll take care of it."
A disgruntled noise, and more scribbling. This time, he looked away from the trunk to see you.
You were dressed in your mission attire, your hair clipped back into a tight, professional style. Your casual shoes had been replaced with boots, and your waist held a holster for your own DSO issued weapon. Looking up at your hands, he watched as you quickly wrote out another note.
I'm coming with. Not taking 'no' for an answer.
He sighed, flexing his bad hand through the leather glove. It had been aching lately, especially as it had spread. Just two days ago, he had discovered a new bruise near the base of his neck. He was getting worse. If he couldn't figure out how to stop it, then he would be gone in no time. He couldn't let that happen, for Sherry's sake. He might be her only hope.
Damn it. He could use another set of hands out there.
"Fine."
.
.
.
1.
Leon hasn't felt this good in ages.
He can't help the excited comments and jokes that fall from his lips as he talks to you. He can't help the praise that comes from him. Normally, he's never been one to overly praise the people he trains. He's always figured that it went to their heads too much. It made them reckless. It made them stupid. But you? You had earned it.
"You did everything you were supposed to do, Rookie."
The usual nickname for you suddenly felt wrong on his tongue. You had done too much for him. You weren't a rookie anymore.
"Sorry, sorry. You're not a rookie. And you're not a kid. You're Y/N. And you saved my ass today."
You smiled at him quietly.
Now that he knew what you sounded like, he couldn't help but long to hear it again. Though he was near unconscious at the time, your voice had ingrained itself in his head. That breathy, slightly hoarse cry of his name had shook him out of his exhaustion better than any herb or med injector ever could.
"I don't know how to make it up to you. Without you, I wouldn't be here right now. I'd be dead in a puddle of my own infected puke."
You shook your head, the message clear.
Don't thank me.
He shook his head, thankful that he had figured out roughly what you were trying to say. He had been training you for 6 months now. Words were rarely ever needed between you two. Communication could happen with just a look and a few tapping motions. With the roar of the rescue helicopter blades, he's not sure he'd be able to hear you anyway.
Still, as the flight starts, he keeps talking to you.
"So, 'oh, fuck'. Great first words to ever say to your boss, by the way."
He chuckles, watching your face go red with embarrassment.
Leon continues teasing, "Not that I minded. God knows I've said worse. But still, bold ass move."
You both laughed, and even through the roar of the chopper, he could hear it loud and clear. What came next he could hear as clearly as a church bell on Sunday morning.
"You were passed out on the floor. Not sure what else I could've said."
He smiled. There it was. Your voice. Still fairly quiet, and breathy with underuse, but unmistakably yours. Part of him thought it was beautiful, even though he knew he really shouldn't be thinking that.
One final chuckle.
"Y'know what, Y/N? Feel free to say 'oh, fuck' as much as you like. Boss' orders."
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