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Tags: Pre-RE4!Leon x reader, established relationship, angst to fluff, reverse comfort fic?? Lol. canon-compliant
Synopsis: You canât help but worry about Leonâespecially before he goes on big missions.
Itâs much later than either of you expected to be up. Leon hoped, by now, you wouldâve gotten some rest before his big âtrip,â but neither of you has. The room is dark, save for the hotel TV droning on with ads for all sorts of products and supplements. Even so, the room feels heavy with silence.
âIâm⊠Iâm glad youâre seeing me off tonight. Thank you.â He says, trying not to seem so bashful. He rolls onto his side slightly to face you. His eyelids feel heavy with sleep alreadyâ anticipating something grueling ahead.Â
âOf course, Leon. Iâve done it before, Iâll do it again. No need to thank me.â You say softly, bringing a hand up to brush his cheek. You mean it, he knows you do, but it feels like youâre omitting something.
âThen whatâs wrong? Youâve been acting weird all day.â
âItâs nothing for you to worry about, Love, not before something like this. Just get some rest before your flight, okay?â
âI canât. Not until you tell me whatâs wrong.â You love and hate his persistence. Truth is, youâre worried about him. Not just for the physical toll this mission will take, but the stress, the trauma, the pain heâll have to endure, physically and mentally. Itâs no secret that Raccoon City is something heâll never forget. And it didnât take much to realize that Leon never joined the military of his own accord. Now, heâs off to Spain on some top-secret mission, leaving in that mysterious in-between of night and morning, and he even seems a bit worried he wonât make it back in one piece. Youâre not yet allowed to know the details of his trip; all you know is itâs an âhonorâ heâs been chosen for the job. But again, you worry that âhonorâ really doesnât mean much to him, and that the more heâs thrust into these special missions, the more heâll lose himself along the way.
âIâm just worried about you.â Is all you can get out after a long silence.Â
âWell, sure, but that canât be the only thing. You know Iâll be careful.â He smiles slightly at you, trying to comfort you as best he can.
âI justâŠI know this wasnât the life you wanted. You wanted to help people, and youâve done thatâyouâre always doing thatâbut not like this. You complain about being a government lap dog as a joke, but I know it upsets you. The missions are just going to keep getting more serious, and I worry that, over time, itâs gonna take a huge toll on you.â You blurt it all out, ineloquently, feeling guilty for bringing up something youâre sure he wants to ignore. He takes a breath in and out, like he had a response, but he lost it. He gives you a half-frown, a tired face that confirms the legitimacy of your worries.
âI didnât want it to show.â He sighs, âI just have to keep going. I know I will, for the rest of my life, Iâll just keep moving, avoiding whatever disappointment I have. I didnât want you to have to see thatââ
âThatâs what Iâm here for, Leon. I want to see you. All of you.â
âBut no one should have to shoulder that.â
âThen why should you?âÂ
âI have to, Love. I know you arenât satisfied with that, but itâs the truth.âÂ
He gives you a look you know all too well. One that says he canât tell you anything more. He puts a hand on your cheek,
âTrust me. I can handle it.â
You frown at him,
âI know thereâs so much you canât tell me,â you whisper, âI just donât want you to bear it all alone.â He rubs away the crease in your brow,
âIâm sorry. You know Iâll always come home to you. I donât go down easy,â he smiles.
âI know⊠I love you.â
âI love you too. Get some rest.â He says, pulling you closer to his chest. You sleep for barely an hour before he wakes up at 4 AM to get to the military base. As he pulls on his navy blue shirt, you sit up in bed, realizing heâs no longer beside you. He waves from across the room,
âIâm just getting ready, babe. I wonât leave without a proper goodbye,â he reassures you. To his credit, he doesnât. He spends all 20 minutes of his prep time sitting beside you. You laugh at him, toothbrush hanging out of his mouth, for being clingy, and he laughs backâhe knows you love it. Finally, he slings his bag over his head and gives you a final kiss, holding you as tight as ever, promising heâll come back safe.
I saw your reblog about chronic illness and GIRL me too, which is why as a potsie I wanted to request a POTS fic with Leon Kennedy because dear lord I know this man would treat us soooooo well. Maybe losing consciousness during a DSO meeting after getting up too fast from the table when reader is presenting something? So reader would be part of Leon's workplace, preferably in an established relationship. (WIFEYYYYYY) Cough cough anyways....đ„čđ„č It doesn't have to be just the DSO meeting, it can be multiple occurrences where she's trying hide how bad the flare up has gotten and Leon finally finds out after a particularly bad faint. Sorry to be a bother and I don't wanna unload more work for you but I thought this might be relatable for some of us. đ«đ«đ«
Thinking about RE9 Husband Leon with a Wife who has POTS...
A/N: Hello, love! I'm so sorry this request took some time. I have been struggling with motivation lately and trying to find the spark again to get multiple fics out in a day. I really hope that I did your request justice and that you enjoy! Also, you are never a bother! Requests literally fuel my inspiration to write. Please pop into my ask box whenever!
CW: 4k words, Hurt/Comfort, YEARNING, Dash of angst (very brief!), Graphic descriptions of Post Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome and it's symptoms, Leon and the reader are in an established marriage, Takes place directly after Leon returns from RE9's mission and is cured, Adults communicating properly (eventually), Domestic tooth-rotting fluff, Leon Porsche cameo, Brief Hunnigan cameo, Petnames (Baby, Hon, Honey, Sweetheart, Sweetie, Babe), SPOILERS FOR RE9, Written with a plus-sized reader in mind (forever and always my fics are for you loves).
The coffee in the DSO breakroom tastes like battery acid today. You swallow it anyway, pushing your glasses up your nose with one finger as you flip through another case file. Itâs standard procedure, nothing urgent, just the usual paperwork Leon now insists on organizing in rainbow order because it "makes the day less gray." His return from Raccoon City, cured, has done wonders for his level of whimsy. It seems endless nowadays. You love every second of it.
Across from your desk cubicle, Leonâs leaned back in his chair, phone pressed to his ear, murmuring something about requisition forms. His boots are propped on the desk, scuffed toe nudging a framed photo of the two of you from last yearâs holiday party- his grin lopsided, your curls escaping from what was supposed to be an elegant updo. He catches you staring and winks, mouthing love you around the phone receiver like itâs effortless. Oh, the Kennedy charm.
Your vision tunnels for half a second, the fluorescent lights overhead suddenly too bright. You grip the edge of the desk, knuckles whitening as you count silently, until the dizziness recedes. Itâs been worse lately, the way your pulse spikes when you stand, the way your fingers tremble holding your pen. But Leonâs finally happy, finally safe, finally here, and you wonât be the thing that dims that.
____
The briefing room is too fucking warm when you file in with the rest of the team. Leon drops into the seat beside you, knee brushing yours under the table like a secret. "You good, hon?" he murmurs, thumb tracing the back of your wrist. His hands are warm. You nod, squeezing his fingers once before letting go.
The briefing drags on- mission updates, logistics, something about Eastern European bioterrorist activity- but the words blur together as your throat tightens. Your skin feels both too hot and too cold, sweat prickling at your temples despite the chill creeping up your spine. You cross your legs, then uncross them quickly (remembering your doctorâs words of warning), shifting in the chair as if movement might anchor you. Leonâs knee presses harder against yours, a silent question. You force a smile, mouthing bathroom before slipping out while the team debates extraction protocols.
The hallway tilts. You stumble into the employee bathroom, locking the stall door behind you just as your knees buckle. Slumping against the wall, you press your forehead to the cool tile and focus on the pattern- white squares, grout lines, anything to keep the room from spinning. Your pulse throbs in your throat, too fast, too loud, like a drumbeat gone wild. The fluorescent light hums above you, flickering once, twice, syncing with the stutter of your breath.
You donât hear the bathroom door open over the rush of blood in your ears. Then⊠boots on tile, sharp and purposeful, stopping dead when they reach your stall. "Sweetheart?" Leonâs voice is low, urgent, his palm flat against the door. "Open up fâme." The lock clicks under your trembling fingers before you can protest, and then heâs there, crouching in front of you, his hands framing your face. His thumbs swipe at the sweat on your temples, his breath hitching when he sees the pallor of your skin. "Jesus Christ," he mutters, shrugging out of his jacket to drape it over your shoulders. "How long has this been happening?"
The lie dies on your tongue when he presses a cold paper towel to the back of your neck. You whimper at the sheer relief it brings, leaning into his touch as he counts aloud for you- four in, seven hold, eight out- his voice steady, familiar, the rhythm youâve clung to since your diagnosis. "Donât," you mumble when he moves to lift you, but he ignores you, sliding one arm under your knees, the other bracing your back. "Leon, someone will see- "
"Let them." His grip tightens as he carries you through the empty hallway, past the break room where Hunniganâs coffee cup sits abandoned mid-sip, past the elevators that ding cheerfully as if today is normal. The parking lot asphalt is blistering under the midday sun, but Leon doesnât falter, adjusting his hold to dig for his keys. His Porsche unlocks with a quiet chirp, the leather seats already warm. "Feet up, gotta get that blood pressure stabilized," he orders, guiding your legs tenderly onto the dashboard before buckling you in.
The Porscheâs engine growls to life beneath you, a familiar vibration that usually soothes your nerves. Today, it feels distant, like white noise behind the cottony thickness in your head. Leonâs hand finds your knee, squeezing once before shifting gears, his grip tight on the wheel. "Keep your eyes open for me, okay, honey?" he murmurs, but the words slip through your fingers like sand. The city blurs past the window- neon signs smearing into streaks of color, the stoplights bleeding red into your half-lidded vision.
You jolt when cold plastic presses against your lips. Leonâs holding a water bottle one-handed, his other arm braced across your chest as the car slows to a stoplight. "Small sips, âkay?" he urges softly, and you obey, the water shockingly crisp against your dry throat. He watches you drink like itâs a lifeline, his thumb swiping a drop from your chin. The light turns green. His jaw clenches when you slump against the window, your temple tapping the glass with each turn. "Almost home," he lies- you know the route, know youâre still fifteen minutes out- but the promise is a warm weight in your chest.
____
The garage door groans shut behind you, swallowing the last of the daylight. Leonâs out of the car before the engine quiets, his door slamming as he rounds the hood. You fumble with the seatbelt, fingers clumsy and dazed, but heâs already there, clicking the release, his hands sliding under your arms. "I can walk, babe," you whine in protest, but your legs buckle the second your feet hit concrete. Leon exhales through his nose, a sound thatâs equal parts frustration and fear, before hoisting you up against his chest. Your cheek presses into the familiar scent of his shirt, and the comforting smell of gunpowder and that stupidly expensive cologne Hunnigan got him last Christmas fills your senses.
The stairs creak under his weight, each step measured. You focus on the pulse in his neck, the way it jumps when you nuzzle closer. "Shouldâve practiced carrying you upstairs more often," he mutters in disdain, but thereâs no bite to it, just a roughness that makes your ribs ache. He hates how his body has aged. You adore it. The bedroom curtains are drawn, the dim light softening the edges of the room. He lowers you onto the mattress like youâre made of glass, his palms skimming your sides as if checking for cracks.
The bed dips under Leonâs weight as he sits beside you, his fingers already working to unlace your shoes. The silence between you is thick, but not uncomfortable- just heavy with things unsaid. He peels off your socks one by one, his thumb brushing the arch of your foot in a way that makes your toes curl. âIce pack or Gatorade first?â he asks, like itâs a menu and not a medical triage. His voice is steady, but his hands betray him, trembling ever so slightly as he sets your shoes aside. Heâs scared. He doesnât want to admit it. You know he wonât.
You open your mouth to protest, but heâs already on his feet, rummaging through the nightstand drawer where he keeps the emergency supplies- bandages, painkillers, the neon orange ice pack you used to mock him for buying for his knees (youâd called him an old man and cackled). The crinkle of the packaging is obnoxiously loud in the quiet room. âLee,â you start, but he shakes his head, pressing the ice pack to the back of your neck before you can finish. The cold bites, sharp and sudden, and you gasp, arching away from it. His free hand cups your elbow, steadying you. âToo much?â he murmurs, already lifting it an inch.
You shake your head, swallowing hard as the cold seeps into your overheated skin. Leon watches you for a beat, his gaze unreadable, before turning to the mini-fridge tucked under his side of the bed- another relic from his âprepared for anythingâ phase pre- his return to Raccoon City. The bottle of blue Gatorade clicks open with a hiss. âSmall sips,â he repeats, holding it to your lips like you might shatter if he hands it over. The sweetness is cloying and almost enough to make you nauseous, but you drink anyway, your fingers wrapping around his wrist to ground yourself. His pulse jumps under your touch.
When the bottle is half-empty, he sets it aside, his other hand still cradling the ice pack against your neck. His thumb strokes your jawline, slow and deliberate. âYouâre shaking still, baby,â he fusses. You hadnât even noticed. His palm slides down to your chest, pressing lightly over your heart. âAnd your pulse is still racing.â The words are clinical, but his voice cracks on the last syllable.
Leon exhales through his nose, long and slow, like heâs counting to ten in his head. You recognize the look- the one he gets right before he crashes the fuck out, all sharp edges and forced calm. But his fingers are gentle when they tuck a sweat-damp curl behind your ear. âTalk to me, please,â he says, and itâs not a request even though he forms it as one. Itâs the same tone he uses when debriefing rookies after their first firefight: no bullshit, no room for evasion.
You press your lips together, focusing on the condensation sliding down the Gatorade bottle instead of his stare. The ice pack shifts as he adjusts it, his palm now cradling the base of your skull. âItâs not a big deal,â you mutter, but the words sound hollow even to you. Leonâs quiet for a beat, then two, his thumb tracing the hinge of your jaw.
âBullshit.â The word lands softly, without heat. He leans in until his forehead nearly touches yours, close enough that you can see the flecks of gold in his eyes, the faint scar bisecting his left eyebrow. âYouâre white as a sheet, your hands wonât stop shaking, and I just carried you up the damn stairs.â His voice drops, rougher now. âThatâs a big fuckinâ deal, sweetheart.â
Something in your chest fractures at the nickname. You fumble for his free hand, tangling your fingers with his just to feel the calluses against your skin- proof that heâs here, solid, real. The confession spills out before you can stop it. âI didnât want to ruin this.â Your voice cracks. âYouâre finally okay. Youâre here. Youâre happy. And I- I-â The sentence strangles itself in your throat.
Leon goes very still. His grip tightens around your fingers. The ice pack slips from his other hand, thudding onto the mattress. âRuin what?â His voice is low, rough, like gravel under tires. You canât meet his eyes. Instead, you focus on the way his dog tags press against your collarbone, cool metal warming against your skin.
âThis.â You gesture weakly between you, the movement sending a fresh wave of dizziness through you. âYouâre happy. After everything- the T-virus, the cure, Grace- youâre home, and youâre safe. I didnât- â Your breath hitches. âI didnât want to be the thing that dragged you back down.â
The silence that follows is thick enough to choke on. Leonâs jaw works, his teeth grinding audibly. Then, abruptly, he lets go of your hand- only to frame your face with both palms, forcing you to look at him. His thumbs swipe under your eyes, catching the tears you hadnât realized were falling.
âListen to me.â His voice cracks. âListen. You could never- â He stops, exhales hard through his nose. When he speaks again, itâs slower, deliberate. âWhen I was sick, who stayed up with me every night?â His thumb traces your cheekbone. âWho learned how to give IV fluids because the nurses were taking too long?â A weak laugh escapes you at the memory- him scowling as you fumbled with the tubing, muttering about âgovernment-trained incompetence.â
Leonâs grip gentles, his fingers threading into the curls at your temples. âWho held me when the fever dreams got bad?â His voice drops to a whisper, rough with memory. âYou think I forgot any of that?â
The question hangs between you, weighted. You blink up at him, your vision blurring with unshed tears. His thumb catches one as it spills over, smearing it across your cheekbone like a confession. âYou didnât ruin anything,â he says, each word measured, deliberate. âYou saved me.â His voice breaks on the last word, and something in your chest fractures clean in two.
Leon exhales sharply through his nose, his grip shifting to cradle the back of your head. He leans in until his forehead presses against yours, his breath warm against your lips. âYour illness isnât different from what mine was,â he murmurs. âItâs just yours. And Iâm your husband.â The word- husband- lands like a vow. âLet me carry this with you, sweetie.â
The sob that escapes you is ugly, raw, but Leon doesnât flinch. He gathers you against his chest, one hand splayed between your shoulder blades, the other tangled in your curls. Your glasses dig into your cheekbone, but you donât pull away- canât, not when heâs holding you like you might disappear if he lets go. âIâm sorry, Iâm so sorry- â you gasp into his collar, the fabric damp with your tears. His shirt smells like gun oil, and that stupid cologne, and you clutch at it like a lifeline.
âDonât.â The word is rough, but his hands are gentle as they skim down your back. âDonât apologize.â He presses a kiss to the top of your head, lingering, like heâs memorizing the feel of your hair against his lips. When he pulls back, his eyes are wet. âJust promise me you wonât hide it again.â His thumb traces the curve of your cheek. âPromise me.â
You nod against his chest, your fingers curling into his shirt. The fabric stretches under your grip, but Leon doesnât pull away; he just tightens his arms around you, his heartbeat steady against your ear. "Promise," you whisper, the word muffled but sincere. His exhale ruffles your hair, long and relieved, like heâs been holding it in for weeks.
The ice pack has melted into a lukewarm blob between you, forgotten. Leon reaches over you to grab it, his bicep brushing your nose as he tosses it onto the nightstand with a wet plop. "Good," he mutters, but thereâs no edge to it- just a quiet exhaustion that makes your throat tighten. His fingers trail down your arm, pausing at your wrist to press two fingers against your pulse point. You watch his brow furrow as he counts silently, his lips moving slightly. After a moment, he grunts. "Better."
You expect him to let go, but he doesnât. Instead, he shifts until heâs lying beside you, one arm tucked under your neck, the other draped over your waist. His knee bumps yours as he settles in, the familiar weight of him grounding you more than any ice pack could. The bed creaks under the shift, and you curl into him instinctively, your forehead pressing into the hollow of his throat. His skin is warm, the scent of his cologne faded but still there, clinging to the collar of his shirt.
"Shouldâve told me," he croons into your hair, his breath stirring your curls. Itâs not an accusation- just a fact, spoken softly, like heâs reminding himself as much as you. His hand slides up your back, fingers splaying between your shoulder blades. "Wouldâve noticed sooner if you werenât so damn good at hiding it."
His fingers trace idle patterns along your spine, the touch feather-light but steadying. You can feel the calluses catching on the fabric of your blouse- rough spots from years of gripping firearms, typing reports, holding you. The rhythm of his breathing slows to match yours, his chest rising and falling against yours in perfect sync. "You know what the worst part was?" he murmurs, his lips brushing your temple. "Seeing you flinch every time I touched you lately." His thumb presses into the dip of your lower back, right where the muscle always knots up. "Like you thought I wouldnât notice. Like I wouldnât care."
The admission lodges in your throat like glass. You press your face harder into his collarbone, as if you could burrow under his skin and hide there. His heartbeat thrums against your cheek, a metronome keeping time with the tremors still ghosting through your limbs. "I didnât want you to worry," you mumble into his shirt. The lie tastes bitter, even now.
Leon huffs a quiet laugh, the sound vibrating through his chest. "Too late, baby." His palm slides up to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading through your curls with deliberate care. "You forget- Iâm trained to notice shit." His other hand finds yours, lacing your fingers together and bringing them to his lips. He presses a kiss to your ring finger, his lips brushing against the two rings resting there, then he turns your wrist to trace the delicate blue veins with his lips. The gesture is so absurdly tender it makes your ribs ache. "Your pulse is still too fast," he murmurs against your skin.
You flex your fingers in his grip, testing the strength of his hold. "Maybe youâre just bad at taking vitals." The joke is weak, and it earns you a sharp pinch to your hip. Leon nips at your earlobe in retaliation, his teeth scraping just enough to make you gasp.Â
The pinch fades into warmth as Leonâs hand smooths over your hipbone, his thumb pressing into the divot there like heâs mapping you. âSmartass,â he chuckles, but thereâs no heat in it- just that rough affection that makes your stomach flutter. His lips brush the shell of your ear, lingering long enough for his breath to raise goosebumps along your neck. âYouâre lucky I like that about you.â
The bed creaks as he shifts, rolling you gently onto your back without breaking contact. His knee slots between yours, the fabric of his pants rough against your bare skin where your slacks have ridden up. You squint up at him- his hair mussed from your fingers, his collar crooked where youâd grabbed him- and something in your chest clenches at the way his eyes dart over your face, cataloging every flicker of discomfort.
The Gatorade bottle crinkles as Leon grabs it from the nightstand, holding it to your lips one-handed. âDrink,â he orders, but his free hand strokes your cheek when you grimace at the sweetness. âCâmon, just a few more sips fâ me, hon. Then Iâll let you steal my shirt and rest those pretty eyes, okay?â
You swallow obediently, the liquid cool against your throat. Leon watches the bob of your Adamâs apple like itâs the most fascinating thing heâs seen all day, his thumb swiping a stray drop from your chin. The bottle clicks when he sets it aside, his fingers immediately returning to your face, tracing the frames of your glasses. âThese bothering you?â he asks, already sliding them off with practiced care.
The absence of your glasses leaves the room blurry, but Leonâs face is close enough that you can still see the way his eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks when he blinks. He folds the frames with one hand, setting them on the nightstand with a soft clink, then drags his knuckles down your temple like heâs smoothing away the indentations they left. âBetter?â he murmurs, and you nod, though the room tilts slightly without the familiar weight on your nose. His palm cups your cheek, calloused and warm. âGood.â
Leon exhales through his nose, slow and measured, before pressing his forehead to yours. The contact is grounding- his skin warm, the faint stubble along his jaw catching on your curls. "You're still shaking," he murmurs, his breath mingling with yours. His hands slide down to your wrists, fingers circling the delicate bones there like he's trying to steady them himself.
You flex your fingers against his grip, testing the tremors. "It'll pass, it always does," you whisper, but the words feel flimsy even as you say them. Leon's jaw tightens, his thumb pressing into your pulse point hard enough that you feel the echo of your own heartbeat against his skin.
Leonâs hands are firm but gentle as he guides you onto your side, his chest pressed flush against your back. One arm tucks beneath your head, the other draping heavily over your waist- anchoring you in place like heâs afraid youâll dissolve if he doesnât hold tight enough. His knee nudges between yours, aligning your bodies until every tremor in your limbs transfers directly into his. "There," he croons into the nape of your neck, lips brushing the damp curls there. "Better."
You want to argue- you always do- but the weight of him is a hell of a drug, pulling you under with every steady breath against your spine. His fingers trace idle patterns over your ribcage, counting each flutter of your breath like a sniper counting heartbeats before a shot. "Still racing," he mutters, but his voice is soft now, frayed at the edges with exhaustion. The words vibrate through you, his stubble catching on your shoulder when he nuzzles closer.
Outside, a car alarm wails three streets over. Leon tenses instinctively, his grip tightening for half a second before he forces himself to relax. "Jesus fuckinâ christ," he grumbles, exhaling hot against your skin. "Somebodyâs getting their tires slashed tonight." The joke is weak, but you feel the curve of his smile against your shoulder blade. His thumb finds the divot of your hipbone."Quit that, no threatening our neighbors tonight," you giggle, but thereâs no heat in it- just the sluggish slur of someone three-quarters gone to sleep.
Leon hums, low and pleased, his palm smoothing up to splay over your sternum. "Feel that?" he whispers. His fingertips tap once, twice against your ribs in time with your slowing heartbeat. "Getting there." The praise is absurd- youâre not a damn puppy- but something in your chest unknots anyway. Sometimes, you feel like a puppy with how receptive you are to his praise. His lips find the hinge of your jaw, lingering long enough that you can feel the shape of his smile. "Knew you could do it, sweetheart."
The sheets rustle as he shifts behind you, his knee slotting more firmly between yours. The fabric is rough against your inner thigh, but the pressure is grounding- one more tether to keep you from floating away into the void of vertigo. His free hand cards through your curls, careful around the tangles, his fingers massaging your scalp with the same focused precision he uses to field-strip his sidearm. "There you go," he coos when your breathing finally evens out. His voice is thick with something you canât name. "Just like that."
Somewhere in the haze, you register the click of the bedside lamp. The room plunges into darkness, but Leonâs hands remain, one curled around your wrist, the other still tangled in your hair. His breathing evens out against the back of your neck, slow and deep, but his grip doesnât loosen.
Minutes- or maybe hours- later, you shift slightly, testing the waters. The dizziness has ebbed to a dull throb behind your eyes, but your limbs still feel like theyâre made of lead. Leonâs arm tightens reflexively around your waist. âStay,â he slurs sleepily into your skin, his voice rough with sleep.Â
You swallow against the lump in your throat. His shirt is damp where your tears soaked through, clinging to your cheek. The scent of gun oil and cologne is stronger now, mingling with the salt on your lips. âIâm not going anywhere,â you whisper, but your voice cracks on the last word.
Leon exhales sharply through his nose, his fingers flexing against your hip. âDamn right youâre not. Gâback to sleep, honey,â The words are gruff, but his thumb strokes slow circles over your ribcage, betraying the tenderness beneath the bravado.
ugh the way you write Leon, i am the sabrina carpenter lip bitting meme
AHHH TYSM :D I'm so excited to write more for him, and maybe to start some projects with RE4R, Vendetta, Death Island, and Infinite Darkness versions of him :3
Tags: Nothing bad happens AU!! CollegeStudent!Reader x Academy!RE2!Leon, artist/weird girl reader, high school acquaintances to mutual pining
1.6k words
Synopsis: After moving to Raccoon City for college, you never imagined seeing anyone from high school again. That is, until Leon moved into the apartment next door.Â
Youâd never imagined yourself as the âgirl next doorâ archetype, but you started to feel like it around Leon. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, youâd get back to your apartment after class around 5:30, the same time he made it back from the police academy. You often dreaded coming across people you knew from high school, but the initial shock of seeing Leon move into the apartment next to you was short-lived. He was always nice to you in school, and he wasnât much different to you now, always offering a cordial âHey, how was your day?â before you both parted ways. For a while, it stayed like that, the two of you following the same monotonous routine.Â
After a surprisingly easy day in class, you decided to stop by a friendâs apartment for a while and get some work done together. Sure, you didnât actually get much work done, but it was nice to have some company while you attempted your homework. Stepping out of their apartment complex, you hiked your bag a little further onto your shoulder before starting your walk to the bus station. Not even a minute down the road, a jeep stops at your side. After the initial thoughts of, âOh God, Iâm really about to get kidnapped,â your eyes flick to the driverâs seat.
âLeon! You scared me,â you laugh slightly.
âHey, you headed home? Iâll give you a ride,â he smiles sweetly. The radio plays quietly, itâs some rock song; you canât hear it too well over the hum of the engine. You climb up into the passenger seat, making a mumbled comment about how high the suspension is on his car.
âI didnât catch that,â he says, still with that charming, friendly tone to his voice.
âOh, just⊠thank you,â you say, putting your bag onto your lap and fumbling a bit with the strap of it. âWhat are you doing around here anyway, though. Kinda crazy running into you like this.â You smile, feeling your cheeks warm a bit with shyness.
âReturning something to a friend. He lives in the west building.â
âOh, cool, I was just coming from my friendâs place in east.â
âHow was class today?â
âPretty easy, actually. Thatâs why I ended up here⊠how were yours?â
âSort of boring. Mostly civil law stuff today. Iâm glad I ran into you.â The last comment makes you glance over at him. His ears look a little red, but maybe thatâs just wishful thinking.
âYou are?â you ask tentatively.
âWell, yeah. Wouldâve been an all-around boring day if I hadnât.â He chuckles. He really is a sweetheart, you think. You were a bit worried at first that he thought you were too weird or too nerdy. Most people from your high school probably thought like thatânot that it really mattered, but it certainly didnât feel great to be judged in that way. Leon never laughed at you, though. You werenât friends then, but you were at peace with each other. If he saw you doodling on your notes, heâd say what you drew looked cool, or if he needed help with something in class, he didnât make it seem like he hated having to ask you. In fact, it seemed like he enjoyed talking to you. You scold yourself for being impressed by the bare minimum, but then remember youâre just acquaintances. Maybe itâd be worth getting to know him.
âStill there?â he laughs, but thereâs a nervous tinge to it.Â
âYes! You⊠you get bored without me?â Itâs probably obvious how much you cringe at yourself for fumbling your words like that. Itâs sort of a Freudian slip, though. You certainly wouldnât mind if he said yes.
âI suppose you could say that. It feels a lot less lonely when we cross paths.â
âThatâs⊠really sweet. You know, Iâm just next door; you can always knock.â
âWell, I never want to invite myself over.â
âWell, Iâm inviting you now.â
âTonight?â He asks, surprised.
âIf you want,â you shrug, âIâm not busy.â
As if on cue, he pulls into the parking lot of your apartment complex. He backs into a spot, and when his hand comes up to your headrest, you canât help but realize you never got a good enough look at him before now. Sure, heâs always been cute and sweet, but from this angle (and probably a million others), heâs super hot. You try to ignore it as you clamber out of the car; he waits for you on the other side, and you walk up to the building together. He holds the door open for you with a âmâlady.â It makes you giggle,
âShut up.â You roll your eyes.
âGod forbid a guy practices chivalry these days.â
âYouâre so corny. Itâs ridiculous that you make those jokes with a face like that.â
âA face like what?â He has to be feigning ignorance. You feel a jolt of shyness course through you as you stumble to explain yourself,
âWell, youâyâknowâyouâre a good-looking guy. Orâwellâyou just don't look
like the type.â He laughs heartily at this, and it only makes your face grow redder.
âWell, thank you for noticing. Youâre not too bad yourself.â He turns to you, face deep red, making deliberate eye contact, and, God, you just feel yourself melting. Thankfully, youâve reached your door, and you have an excuse to avert your eyes, fumbling with your keys and clumsily turning the lock. You open the door and glance back at him; he gives you a âlead the wayâ gesture, so you walk in and motion to the open space of your apartment.
âWelcome. I wasnât expecting a guest, so itâs a little messy.â
âNonsense. Itâs cute in here.â cute. You laugh,Â
âThanks, I try.â
âMy apartmentâs not very well decorated. Just the essentials, really. Itâs nice in here⊠Thanks for inviting me over.â He smiles, and you return it in earnest.
âOf course⊠do you want something to drink? I have water, orange juiceâŠâ You stare into the sad emptiness of your fridge, scrounging for something nice to offer him.
âA water would be great, thank you.â He reverts to cordiality now that heâs in your space, and he does seem notably shyer. You notice him wiping his palms on his pants nervously before shoving his hands in his pockets like heâs not sure what to do with them. You hand him a glass of water and lean over the counter, thinking of something to say. He takes a sip and begins,
âSo, do you still do art?â
âOh, yeah, sometimes. Itâs hard to make time for it sometimes with school, though.â
âI always liked it when you shared your notes,â he chuckles to himself, looking down to hide the red of his cheeks, but you can see how red his ears are.Â
âYour doodles were cute. I remember the one you did of our math teacher. I was impressed, it looked just like him.â
âOh, yeah,â you laugh, a little shy at how much he remembers, ânot the nicest portrait Iâve ever drawnâŠâ
âYou know what was, though? Those little doodles you used to draw of yourself, or cats.â
âOh God, I was hoping you werenât paying too much attention to those!â You groan, covering your face with one hand, trying to suppress your embarrassed smile.
âWhy wouldnât I? They were great. I looked forward to it every time I asked for your help.â He smiles in earnest, and it softens your embarrassment only a little bit.Â
âItâs just, I dunnoâeverybody else would walk up and take a look at my drawings and be so⊠so patronizing. Like they didnât think I could tell they were making fun of me in their head.â
âWell, I always thought you were cool.â He locks eyes with you quickly, his face the brightest red youâve ever seen it, but so is yours. Silence settles between you comfortably. He takes a moment before breaking it.
âI always thought you were cool. Remember when I asked you about prom?â
âI said I wasnât gonna go. That it was stupid.â
âYeah, I⊠I was gonna ask you to go with me.â Your heart skips a beat. Youâd always figured it was wishful thinking that Leon liked you back then. You figured heâd never be into someone like you. It was hard to think he could be, knowing he was always swarmed by the same people who treated talking to you like a chore.
â...really?â
âReally. I shouldâve just asked you out somewhere else. I was justâŠscared.â
âScared of what? Did you think I wouldâve said no?â
âMaybe.â He shrugs, avoiding eye contact a bit. The Leon you know has always been friendly, but he had an air of awkwardness about him sometimes, like he was nervous about something, but you never knew what. Now, it seems, you know why.Â
âI wouldâve said yes.â
âWell⊠would you say yes now?â
âTo prom?â
âNo, no, to a real date. With me.â He fiddles with his hands nervously.
âYes.â You reply with no hesitation, and he looks up like heâs surprised. He tries to hide his smile, looking back down at the counter, but itâs so wide you can see the apples of his cheeks swell even with his hair covering them. He composes himself, a hand over his beaming smile, and says,
âIâll take you out to a nice dinner.â
âOh, really? Where?â You smile back, leaning towards him.
Couldn't for the life of me finish this fic in a timely manner I started this like a week ago.... lmk if you want a continuation :3 I'm gonna be writing for Leon for a while hehe
Tags: Nothing bad happens AU!! CollegeStudent!Reader x Academy!RE2!Leon, artist/weird girl reader, high school acquaintances to mutual pining, no beta we die like Marvin
1.6k words
Synopsis: After moving to Raccoon City for college, you never imagined seeing anyone from high school again. That is, until Leon moved into the apartment next door.Â
Youâd never imagined yourself as the âgirl next doorâ archetype, but you started to feel like it around Leon. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, youâd get back to your apartment after class around 5:30, the same time he made it back from the police academy. You often dreaded coming across people you knew from high school, but the initial shock of seeing Leon move into the apartment next to you was short-lived. He was always nice to you in school, and he wasnât much different to you now, always offering a cordial âHey, how was your day?â before you both parted ways. For a while, it stayed like that, the two of you following the same monotonous routine.Â
After a surprisingly easy day in class, you decided to stop by a friendâs apartment for a while and get some work done together. Sure, you didnât actually get much work done, but it was nice to have some company while you attempted your homework. Stepping out of their apartment complex, you hiked your bag a little further onto your shoulder before starting your walk to the bus station. Not even a minute down the road, a jeep stops at your side. After the initial thoughts of, âOh God, Iâm really about to get kidnapped,â your eyes flick to the driverâs seat.
âLeon! You scared me,â you laugh slightly.
âHey, you headed home? Iâll give you a ride,â he smiles sweetly. The radio plays quietly, itâs some rock song; you canât hear it too well over the hum of the engine. You climb up into the passenger seat, making a mumbled comment about how high the suspension is on his car.
âI didnât catch that,â he says, still with that charming, friendly tone to his voice.
âOh, just⊠thank you,â you say, putting your bag onto your lap and fumbling a bit with the strap of it. âWhat are you doing around here anyway, though. Kinda crazy running into you like this.â You smile, feeling your cheeks warm a bit with shyness.
âReturning something to a friend. He lives in the west building.â
âOh, cool, I was just coming from my friendâs place in east.â
âHow was class today?â
âPretty easy, actually. Thatâs why I ended up here⊠how were yours?â
âSort of boring. Mostly civil law stuff today. Iâm glad I ran into you.â The last comment makes you glance over at him. His ears look a little red, but maybe thatâs just wishful thinking.
âYou are?â you ask tentatively.
âWell, yeah. Wouldâve been an all-around boring day if I hadnât.â He chuckles. He really is a sweetheart, you think. You were a bit worried at first that he thought you were too weird or too nerdy. Most people from your high school probably thought like thatânot that it really mattered, but it certainly didnât feel great to be judged in that way. Leon never laughed at you, though. You werenât friends then, but you were at peace with each other. If he saw you doodling on your notes, heâd say what you drew looked cool, or if he needed help with something in class, he didnât make it seem like he hated having to ask you. In fact, it seemed like he enjoyed talking to you. You scold yourself for being impressed by the bare minimum, but then remember youâre just acquaintances. Maybe itâd be worth getting to know him.
âStill there?â he laughs, but thereâs a nervous tinge to it.Â
âYes! You⊠you get bored without me?â Itâs probably obvious how much you cringe at yourself for fumbling your words like that. Itâs sort of a Freudian slip, though. You certainly wouldnât mind if he said yes.
âI suppose you could say that. It feels a lot less lonely when we cross paths.â
âThatâs⊠really sweet. You know, Iâm just next door; you can always knock.â
âWell, I never want to invite myself over.â
âWell, Iâm inviting you now.â
âTonight?â He asks, surprised.
âIf you want,â you shrug, âIâm not busy.â
As if on cue, he pulls into the parking lot of your apartment complex. He backs into a spot, and when his hand comes up to your headrest, you canât help but realize you never got a good enough look at him before now. Sure, heâs always been cute and sweet, but from this angle (and probably a million others), heâs super hot. You try to ignore it as you clamber out of the car; he waits for you on the other side, and you walk up to the building together. He holds the door open for you with a âmâlady.â It makes you giggle,
âShut up.â You roll your eyes.
âGod forbid a guy practices chivalry these days.â
âYouâre so corny. Itâs ridiculous that you make those jokes with a face like that.â
âA face like what?â He has to be feigning ignorance. You feel a jolt of shyness course through you as you stumble to explain yourself,
âWell, youâyâknowâyouâre a good-looking guy. Orâwellâyou just don't look like the type.â He laughs heartily at this, and it only makes your face grow redder.
âWell, thank you for noticing. Youâre not too bad yourself.â He turns to you, face deep red, making deliberate eye contact, and, God, you just feel yourself melting. Thankfully, youâve reached your door, and you have an excuse to avert your eyes, fumbling with your keys and clumsily turning the lock. You open the door and glance back at him; he gives you a âlead the wayâ gesture, so you walk in and motion to the open space of your apartment.
âWelcome. I wasnât expecting a guest, so itâs a little messy.â
âNonsense. Itâs cute in here.â cute. You laugh,Â
âThanks, I try.â
âMy apartmentâs not very well decorated. Just the essentials, really. Itâs nice in here⊠Thanks for inviting me over.â He smiles, and you return it in earnest.
âOf course⊠do you want something to drink? I have water, orange juiceâŠâ You stare into the sad emptiness of your fridge, scrounging for something nice to offer him.
âA water would be great, thank you.â He reverts to cordiality now that heâs in your space, and he does seem notably shyer. You notice him wiping his palms on his pants nervously before shoving his hands in his pockets like heâs not sure what to do with them. You hand him a glass of water and lean over the counter, thinking of something to say. He takes a sip and begins,
âSo, do you still do art?â
âOh, yeah, sometimes. Itâs hard to make time for it with school, though.â
âI always liked it when you shared your notes,â he chuckles to himself, looking down to hide the red of his cheeks, but you can see how red his ears are.Â
âYour doodles were cute. I remember the one you did of our math teacher. I was impressed, it looked just like him.â
âOh, yeah,â you laugh, a little shy at how much he remembers, ânot the nicest portrait Iâve ever drawnâŠâ
âYou know what was, though? Those little doodles you used to draw of yourself, or cats.â
âOh God, I was hoping you werenât paying too much attention to those!â You groan, covering your face with one hand, trying to suppress your embarrassed smile.
âWhy wouldnât I? They were great. I looked forward to it every time I asked for your help.â He smiles in earnest, and it softens your embarrassment only a little bit.Â
âItâs just, I dunnoâeverybody else would walk up and take a look at my drawings and be so⊠so patronizing. Like they didnât think I could tell they were making fun of me in their head.â
âWell, I always thought you were cool.â He locks eyes with you quickly, his face the brightest red youâve ever seen it, but so is yours. Silence settles between you comfortably. He takes a moment before breaking it.
âI always thought you were cool. Remember when I asked you about prom?â
âI said I wasnât gonna go. That it was stupid.â
âYeah, I⊠I was gonna ask you to go with me.â Your heart skips a beat. Youâd always figured it was wishful thinking that Leon liked you back then. You figured heâd never be into someone like you. It was hard to think he could be, knowing he was always swarmed by the same people who treated talking to you like a chore.
â...really?â
âReally. I shouldâve just asked you out somewhere else. I was justâŠscared.â
âScared of what? Did you think I wouldâve said no?â
âMaybe.â He shrugs, avoiding eye contact a bit. The Leon you know has always been friendly, but he had an air of awkwardness about him sometimes, like he was nervous about something, but you never knew what. Now, it seems, you know why.Â
âI wouldâve said yes.â
âWell⊠would you say yes now?â
âTo prom?â
âNo, no, to a real date. With me.â He fiddles with his hands nervously.
âYes.â You reply with no hesitation, and he looks up like heâs surprised. He tries to hide his smile, looking back down at the counter, but itâs so wide you can see the apples of his cheeks swell even with his hair covering them. He composes himself, a hand over his beaming smile, and says,
âIâll take you out to a nice dinner.â
âOh, really? Where?â You smile back, leaning towards him.
leonâs love language is painfully obvious. itâs arduous for him to vocalize his love for you but youâll wake up to your favorite flowers on the dresser, no sign of the culprit though
god forbid he sit or lie down in your house in which case you canât pry your cat off of him. thatâs her bf before heâs yours
leon isn't really one for pet names but there is an occasional 'baby' that he lets escape him when he's feeling especially enamored
itâs a laborious task to get leon to deviate from rigid gender ideals. itâs not a particularly orthodox or traditionalist ideology for him per se as much as it is him believing he needs to bear the brunt of providing
youâd like to have cute screenshots of your text chains but thereâs a million results for the phrase âcall meâ from him in your texts because heâs whatâs colloquially known as dogshit at conveying emotion over the sms and would rather hear your voice
no social media warrior. he might make an instagram to like your posts or something but heâs got no particular inclination
got his hands on the record his aunt taught him how to dance to once and holds you real close in his dim lit living room. heâs got a habit of tucking your head in the crook of his neck, youâre not sure if that was also taught. leon thinks dancing with you makes him feel a little normal
his phone wallpaper is you with smudged lipstick next to him with scarlet red lipstick marks littering his face and neck. heâs got a documented smile for once
swears he doesnât want kids but wonât look at you when youâre holding one. one âhow long you guys been together again?â and you know heâs awkwardly akimbo and biting his bottom lip in pure fluster behind you
i have overdue calc homework but this is more important
Leon Kennedy x reader | re2, re4, re9, and in between :) - ao3
summary: through every phase of his life, youâve loved him. Youâve watched him change and grow, falling in love with each new version of himself he becomes.
word count: 1.5k
tags: fluff, slight angst, pining, nervous Leon, getting together, drabble, Leon loves you, happy ending, married life, vacation, mention of hurt/comfort
At 21 heâs gushing about the force, about how much he wants to help people and make change. His eyes are bright and he smiles easily, though you never fail to make him nervous. He canât bring himself to ask you out no matter how much he wants to, so when all hell breaks loose he regrets it. He imagines you back home watching the news, knowing heâs in the thick of it and it breaks his heart. As if heâs the one who hurt you, rather than circumstance.
When Leon gets back, something in him is broken. You ask him about how heâs been sleeping and he shrugs it off, even though his dark circles have never been worse. Heâs still your Leon, sweet and good-natured, but the scars heâs acquired will never fade.
Over the next few years, his experience and training pushes his feelings further and further down. With each person who dies, no matter how many people he saves, his resolve hardens. Youâre able to see him every once in a while, and he cracks jokes and tries to pull focus from his grim job, but heâs different. Not just in strange ways, though. Itâs hard to hide your blush when his biceps strain the seams of his t-shirts, or when his hand finds the small of your back. But he always goes, always has someone else to save.
At 27, Leon is more confident in his abilities than ever before. He moves with more power and conviction almost, and it certainly doesnât help that massive crush youâve developed on him over the years. Every time you express worry for a mission he tries to lighten the mood, but he knows you care about him too much for that to work. You hug him before he leaves to save Ashley, begging him to come back alive. You know he canât promise that, but he does.
And he really does. He comes back and you hold him in your arms, finally. Leon doesnât tell you the too-gory details, the things that would only bring you further distress. You see right through his sugar-coating though, and push him to be honest about it. He trusts you more than most but itâs agonizing, just the idea that he could be opening himself up to further pain. And it takes years, after youâve slipped into a pattern of closeness that most friends donât have.
Leon finally takes you on that first date. It happens after youâve already kissed and (innocently) stayed over a few times, but he feels itâs the right way to do things. Heâs a perfect gentleman, besides getting a stain on his shirt at the restaurant and having to recruit you in the family bathroom to help him get it out. After a few minutes of trying not to stare at him shirtless while you clean the stubborn spot, itâs clear youâre both done with dinner.
Your first time with him is so gentle, so soft and sweet. He mostly whispers to you, reassuring you at every moment and checking in. You fall asleep in his bed and he holds you close, always struggling to sleep since Raccoon City, but itâs not so bad with you there. He presses a kiss to the top of your head and closes his eyes, happy and content for the first time in a while.
After literal years of him taking only the bare minimum of time off, you convince him to go on vacation with you. He packs Hawaiian shirts and an awful pair of swim shorts he got years ago, practically giddy with excitement. His boyish charm shines through when you sit on lounge chairs by the water and he gives you a lazy grin. You read something fluffy while he naps under the sun, insisting he âdoesnât burnâ after you tell him to wear sunscreen. When he wakes up, he sheepishly asks you to help him rub the lotion onto his pink-tinged skin.
Each day when you get back to the hotel room, he flops dramatically onto the bed and asks you to order room service. You remind him you ate only a couple hours ago, but youâre on vacation and heâs more relaxed than youâve ever seen him so, of course, you give in. The two of you sit in bed eating pancakes for second dinner and watch American Idol, your head drifting to his shoulder while his arm keeps you close to his side.
That summer, you notice how his hair gets slightly bleached after weeks under the sun. His locks grow lighter and lighter through august, until heâs practically a natural blond. You realize itâs always been that way, you simply had never had the time with him to notice the shift. With his head in your lap, you weave a few flowers into a dainty braid of his hair, so it hangs down the side of his face. He laughs and thinks he looks ridiculous but kisses you anyway, warmth blooming in your chests in the company of one other.
You propose to him in bed one night just before falling asleep. Youâve been together for 8 years and just canât help it anymore. Leon doesnât hear you the first time and you laugh, then repeat yourself. He doesnât even respond, just pulls your face to his and the kiss answers your question loud and clear. You wed in the spring with only a few friends and family present, and Leon is more nervous to see you than he has ever been for a life-threatening mission. Itâs beautiful and quiet and so joyful, and the image of him at the alter is one you swear never to forget.
Marriage doesnât fall into place immediately for you. His work hours are ridiculous, and having to pack up and leave at a moments notice is bound to put strain on any relationship. But you both build a life and love he never thought could be possible. He calls you on missions and gives you the most information he can, and when he gets home youâre there to help him recover.
One day, you ask him if heâd ever want to have kids. Youâd been visiting family together and noticed how sweet and good he was with the little ones, so it put the thought in your head. Itâs an emotional conversation, Leon doesnât want another person, especially a child, to be in harms way because of his job. Youâve had scares before, phone calls and strange people following you around the store. He canât bear the idea of all that happening while trying to raise a kid.
So instead, you get a dog. You make a date of going to the shelter and seeing the sweet pups, and one catches your eye. Sheâs a pit bull terrier, incredibly smart, and Leon takes up the mantle of training her. At night, the two of you often sit on the couch with the dog sprawled between you, belly up and happily accepting scratches and pats. Sheâs Leonâs baby, though he wouldnât admit it. He even lets her sleep in the bed sometimes, after explaining that âit wonât be a long-term thing, okay? She needs her own space and boundaries are important, but one time wonât hurt.â After a couple years of this, she sleeps in your bed every night, snuggled up against him.
When Leon comes back from a particularly secretive mission, you know somethingâs wrong immediately. His posture is worse than usual, which is saying something, and he wonât disclose much about what happened. When the black veins appear on his neck though, he finally relents. T-virus, progressing to stage 3. Sherry has it too he says, head in his hands. You tell him there must be a cure, and that if anyone can find it, he can. But nothing you say truly changes the mentality of a dead-man-walking heâs adopted.
At 49, Leon leaves for his mission with a newfound vigor you havenât seen in months. He tells you not to worry per usual, but kisses you goodbye longer than ever before.
Itâs agony waiting for him. No calls, no texts, he must be in-action 24/7, you think. But when heâs back on the doorstep, you gently hug him and are surprised to find strong arms holding you back. You stand there in the doorway and cup his face, brushing a few tears from his cheeks. He so rarely cries and has only done so in your company, sometimes to cheesy romcoms or dog movies.
You ask him if he found a cure, and he just nods, unable to hold back the grin now splitting across his face. Heâs home, finally. Heâs chopping vegetables in the kitchen, hugging you from behind and making a dumb pun about pasta. Free of black veins, free of the cloud over his head. That night in bed, he tells you he wants to retire. Maybe in a few years, maybe heâll move to just desk work or less missions. But he doesnât want to do this forever, not when he has you to come home to every night, not when it hurts you so much when he leaves. Youâre his everything, and he is yours.
content: female reader, pro volleyball player!kiyoomi, brotherâs best friend!kiyoomi, angst. word count: 1,9K.
links: masterlist | part three
note: hello hello hello<3 ch 4 finally here! i hope you enjoy it <3
Kiyoomi hadnât moved in minutes.
The wedding carried on around him in waves of motionâforks scraping plates, music thumping through speakers, laughter rising and falling like ocean tidesâbut Kiyoomi sat frozen at his table, eyes fixed on the dance floor, where you were dancing with that guy. A guy who was making you laugh. A guy who was holding your hand too comfortably.
His grip tightened around the glass in his hand.
He should have looked away, he should have done so, because he was sure that you would soon feel his gaze, and he had no doubt that someone else would notice his aggressive staring. But he couldnât, he simply couldnât, just as he couldnât avoid the discomfort and anger that were beginning to build up in his chest.
Kiyoomi was familiar with this feeling, which he at least believed he could control very well since it had been an unwelcome companion for years. But now, after everything that had happened and how things had changed so drastically in just a few hours, he wasnât entirely sure he could contain this fucking jealousy.Â
But he had to. He had no right to feel this way, not after he had ruined any chance himself.Â
Kiyoomi sighed and took a long sip of his bitter drink, without having any satisfying effect.Â
Maybe this was what it would feel like. Maybe the image in front of himâyour body moving easily with someone elseâs, your laugh brushing the air, his hand resting where his shouldâve beenâwas just a preview of the future heâd condemned himself to. To sit alone, watching someone else do everything he was too scared to.
The truth was, heâd regretted calling it a mistake from the moment the words left his mouth. Heâd thought it was the right thing, the safe thing, the only thing he was allowed to say. But now, with his chest tightening at the sight of you just dancing with someone else, he wasnât so sure. Was it too late to take it back? Will Gin be okay with this?
As if he had summoned him with his thoughts, Gin appeared beside him, taking a seat with his gaze also directed toward the dance floor.
âHey, how is it going? You look like shit.â
âGee, thanks.â Kiyoomi said, smiling sideways and distracting himself by taking another sip of his drink before continuing, âIâm fine, how about you? Howâs married life?â
âIt feels good, but donât change the subject.âÂ
âIâm fine. Iâm just sleepy.â He insisted, hoping Gin will just believe him. Â
âThatâs why youâre watching my sisterâs dance partner as if he murdered your entire family?â
Kiyoomiâs stomach flipped.
Fuck. He knew he was being obvious, but not that obvious. A nervous laugh escaped him. âDude, Iâm notââ
âYouâre not? So, whatâs going on?âÂ
âNothing.âÂ
âAre you sure?â
âI am.âÂ
âKiyoomi, do you have something to tell me?âÂ
Those words were enough to make the world stop for a second for Kiyoomi. Damn, he was about to throw up his drink.
âI donââ
âDonât lie to me, man.â Gin cut in. âWeâve known each other too long for that.â
Silence stretched between them. Kiyoomi stared down at his drink, debating with himself. Every muscle in his body was tense.
He was tired. Terribly tired of all this. Of hiding it for so many years, hoping those feelings would disappear, when in fact the opposite had happened. He was tired of lying to his best friend, to you, and to himself.
Perhaps it was time to let go of this heavy burden he had been carrying for so long.
After a heavy sigh and looking up at where you were talking with a smile to that guy, he muttered, âI thinkâ I think I have a thing for your sister.â
He said it. He finally said it, and it was like tossing a coin.
The words lingered in the air, heavier than he had ever imagined, and for a terrifying moment Kiyoomi thought he might actually choke on the silence that followed. His pulse hammered in his ears, each beat louder than the music thundering through the ballroom. Heâd kept this buried for so longâhidden behind excuses and denialâand now that it was out, there was no taking it back. His hands curled into fists beneath the table, bracing himself for Ginâs disappointment.Â
But instead, he got a laughâshort, almost incredulous. For a split second, Kiyoomi wondered if he had misheard, if his mind had conjured it to save him from the blow he was bracing for. But no, the amusement on Ginâs face was real.
âA thing? Kiyo, youâre head over heels for her. Donât insult both of us by pretending this is just a silly crush.â
Kiyoomi froze, the words hitting harder than he couldâve braced for. Shock jolted through him so suddenly it was almost dizzying. Gin knew? He knew? His mouth went dry, the words landed like a punch to the gut, knocking the air right out of him.
Embarrassment crawled hot across his skin, because the way Gin said itâmade it sound like the most obvious thing in the world.Â
And maybe it was. Maybe all those years he thought heâd been careful, and he hadnât been hiding his feelings that well at all. Maybe every glance, every hesitation, every moment heâd faltered around you had betrayed him more than he realized. The thought made his stomach twist and heat crept up the back of his neck, mortifying in its intensity, and for the first time in a long time, Kiyoomi had no idea what to say.
Gin laughed louder when he noticed that Kiyoomi had, indeed, blushed. âDude. Youâve been making heart eyes at her since college.â
Kiyoomi grounded as he buried his face in his hands. âI have not.â
âYou absolutely have. Itâs honestly impressive how bad you both are at hiding it.â Gin shot back, still grinning. Then, leaning back, he added with a shrug, âI thought you two would figure it out eventually, so I stayed out of it.â
That surprised him enough to lift his head and look at his best friend to the face. âWhat?â
âYeah. I didnât say anything because I figured if something was gonna happen, it should be on your terms. I trust you. I trust her. So I let it play out.â Gin scratched the back of his neck, âBut then I overheard you guys in the hallway, and I realized maybe by staying out of it, I did more harm than good.â
His tone shifted, lighter, almost comical as he lifted a finger. âAt first I was like, maybe itâs my fault. Maybe I shouldâve pushed you earlier, asked questions, done the whole overprotective brother routine like if you hurt her iâll kill you or some shit like that.â
Kiyoomiâs brows knit, but Gin was already shaking his head.
âBut then I was like, nah, this is Omiâs fault. Because if you had just manned up and said something, you wouldâve found out a long time ago that if my lilâ sis is gonna date anyone, youâre literally the only man on earth Iâd ever think is good enough for her.â
Kiyoomi blinked, floored, but Gin wasnât finished. He leaned forward now, his voice softer. âBut then I thought about it more. And I talked to Yuna. And she said something that was true, annoyingly trueâthis is both our fault. Because if either of us had just talked before, maybe none of this wouldâve turned into such a mess.â
The words landed heavier than Gin probably intended, and Kiyoomiâs chest tightened. He swallowed hard, guilt pressing on his ribs.
âIâm sorry, man.â
Gin exhaled slowly, giving a small nod. âYeah. Me too.â
For a moment, they sat in silence, the noise of the party dulling into the background. Then Gin tilted his head, studying him with curiosity.
âSo tell me⊠what was that mistake you two were talking about in the bathroom? The one I overheard?â
Kiyoomiâs gaze dropped instantly, the rim of his glass suddenly fascinating. His throat felt sand-dry. Well, the truth had already come out, so he no longer saw any point in lying to Gin, so he said quietly, âI almost kissed her today.â
Gin didnât so much as flinch. âAnd why did you tell her it was a mistake?â
Kiyoomi exhaled through his nose, slow and heavy, like he was trying to push the weight off his chest. âBecause I panicked. I didnât want to risk this our friendship. I thought maybe if I shut it down, it would just go away.â
 âAnd did it?â
Kiyoomi let out a bitter laugh that had no humor in it, dragging a hand through his hair. âNot even close.â
The confession sat between them, sharp as glass. He closed his eyes, and guilt carved through him again, same as it had every time he replayed the moment. âI didnât want to hurt her.â He muttered, almost to himself. âI was trying to do the right thing, and now I fucked everything up.âÂ
âI know. And youâve always been the guy who does the right thing, even when it costs you.â Gin said after a beat, his tone softer. âBut weâre not kids anymore. Sheâs not just my little sister. Sheâs a grown woman who knows what she wants. And youââ His smile tilted, almost fond. âYouâre a good man, Kiyoomi. You wouldnât be sitting here tearing yourself apart if you werenât.â Gin took a zip from his drink before continuing, âAnd maybe you fucked up, but I know my sister and I know sheâs going to forgive you. Because sheâs just as gone for you as you are for her.â
Silence stretched. Not empty, but thick.Â
Gin leaned back in his chair, smirking now, and nudged his shoulder. âSo⊠in your words, because I remember them very clearly from a few years ago, when I almost blew it with Yunaââ
Kiyoomiâs head snapped toward him.
âStop being a little bitch and go for her.â
He blinked, dumbstruck, as Gin leaned back with a laugh. âYou gave me that exact advice, remember? So Iâm just doing what good friends do. Throwing your own words back in your face.â
Kiyoomi let out a breath he hadnât realized he was holding. His gaze drifted past Gin, back to the dance floor.
And there you were.
The lights above caught in your hair, laughter spilling so effortlessly from your lips. You didnât belong in the background of anyoneâs life, you drew every pair of eyes without even trying. And yet, for all the people in the room, he knew none of them saw you the way he did.
For a moment, the guilt, the fear, the excusesâeverythingâjust fell away. All that was left was the simple truth: he wanted you. He always had.
His throat tightened as his hands curled against his knees, a storm of nerves and longing rushing through him.
Ginâs voice cut through, sharp but not unkind. âWhat are you waiting for? Go.â
Kiyoomiâs throat worked around a dry swallow. âLike right now?â
âRight now.â
Kiyoomi hesitated, pulse hammering. He wasnât used to feeling this unsteady, this raw. But maybe Gin was right. Maybe this was the moment where he either stayed safe and silentâor finally stepped into the terrifying unknown.
His chair scraped softly against the floor as he rose, every muscle taut, every nerve alight.
Gin lifted his glass in salute, smirking. âJust rememberâyou hurt her, I kill you. Got it?â
âGot it.â He said with a smile before heading to the dance floor.
+ note: finally this man had some BALLS. btwâ i know the story is pretty light, but i just wanted to write something cute :(
"Hed be the most brutal, intense, sadistic, alpha male lover thats popular is romantasy~"
No the fudge he wouldnt. He'd have a PTSD attack of his father hurting his mother. He swore to protect his family after that drunkard had gone. In the light novels he is shown to have moments with his best friend Masachika where hes showing a genuine smile instead of his gruff exterior. When tended to by Kanae, his anger subsides and hes focused on how gentle she is with him. I know his first appearance left an impression on people, it certainly did me.
But, I dont know how many people know this, but.... First impressions are often, entirely, wrong.
If he ever gets into a relationship, hed be the most gentle lover. If anything, hed let his partner take the reins (because this man has engrossed himself in a life of fighting for survival, with no knowledge of what romance is.) Also, and yes this is canon, he is shy. ( Gyoumei notes about this in what the Hashira think of each other) he easily gets embarrassed. Just look at his reacting to Tanjiro spilling the red bean past ohagi as his favorite comfort food.
Hed be the kind of person who wouldnt show his true colors until he was alone with you. People seem to miss those moments of kindness he shows in the manga. (Or they havent gotten to that point yet and no i will not spoil it) His love language is acts of service and especially gift giving from what I can tell. (I remember reading somewhere-after Rengoku death-he made sure Muichiro was eating well. He checks up on Shinobu everytime he sees her because she was Kanaeâs little sister. He isnât all aggro. (Heck, the Kimetsu Academy literally has notes that he looks out for kids and older folks.) he has a strong sense of justice.
Its like no one remembers what he was like as a kid during Genyas flashback. (for anime watchers who havent read the manga) Genya (besides their mother) was the most attentive of Sanemi.
Genya sees Sanemi motivated to protect his loved ones as he took up a heavy lifting job as a malnourished 13-14 year old. Someone with a rare but kind smile. Overall that person who wants to look after everyone and is willing to do anything for those closest to him. Even putting himself in the jaws of danger to save them.
I know its hard to see him what with everything else the anime has shown of adult Sanemi but... Gosh i hope the infinity castle arc changes a few minds. That the persona Sanemi is putting forth is one sculpted from trauma and a means to protect himself on multiple levels. Itâs not who he is completely.
Just... I know people will have their fantasies, but please. I long for more accurate writing of a character.
