๑ive been around the block to say the least, i have made many accts to write hc requests and have been at it for years. this is my attempt to localize them all here! so trust, ur hc requests are in great hands 😁
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๑ REQUEST INFO!
๑YES!!!:: smut, x reader, ships (a tad preferred, no biggie), fluff, yandere, horror, g0r3 (i love scary stuff), kink, most things so dont be afraid to ask!!
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Summary: A week after your intense argument with Leon, all those late nights overworking yourself, the pressure from your parents, the guilt from hurting Leon over your mistake, and the grief of your brother finally makes you crash. Unfortunately for you, it's when you get stuck in an elevator with your boss, Leon S. Kennedy.
Song: Someone Great - LCD Soundsystem
part 4 of this
Leon S. Kennedy’s office was silent the entire week. He dumped files on your desk, less than usual because he didn’t want to be too mean, but there was an overall lack of warmth in his demeanour towards you. You didn’t care anyway. What were you thinking, having a silly crush on your boss? It was probably the fact that you had to spend pretty much all day with him, just a small crush to keep you sane in this grey building.
It wasn’t the way his stubble messily dragged around his jaw and that leathery smell that followed him everywhere, the scent that made you instantly relax. It wasn’t his salt and pepper hair that floppily hung around his face. It wasn’t the way he made you feel so confident in yourself or the way he made sure you were comfortable in every sense possible.
You began to stutter through your sentences, running into the same obstacles you used to, all over again. For some reason, it felt like you were crumpling and twisting back into yourself, and all the blossoming and growth you made in your time with Kennedy had withered away. Just the same shy, awkward girl you were before. Did your growth become stagnant, or had you reached a peak and now you were rolling back down the hill again? Good things don’t last forever, and you learned that the hard way. You had felt weak and vulnerable for allowing yourself to develop an attachment to Leon and working for him. You hadn’t even notice that you allowed yourself to do such a thing.
“Don’t forget about dinner tonight,” your mother said through your phone that was sitting between your ear and your shoulder as you sorted through the files in the archive room.
“I won’t,” you mumbled, frowning at the labels on the files. Every other week, your parents demanded a Friday night dinner. Sometimes there were guests, sometimes they tried to get you with sons of old business bores, sometimes it was just you and them.
“It’s important you come this time, the girls from my charity are coming over and they’d love to see how much you’ve grown up. Your father’s co-workers are coming too, very important men from his firm,” she told you. You gave up searching for the warmth in her voice, because it had frozen over after the storm of your brother passing away.
“I’ll be there,” you said absentmindedly.
“Yeah. Maybe it’s best you don’t wear that white blouse you were wearing last time. Your father found it rather casual.”
You looked down at your white blouse, and cringed, “I won’t.”
“You can finally say you’re doing something serious with your degree now. Isn’t that great, sweetheart?” she asked, and you found it hard to tell if she was being sardonic.
“I’ve always been doing something serious with my degree, mom.”
“Well, I can’t say it did to me and your father. But this job sounds like real responsibility, something we can actually talk about over dinner,” you heard her ushering her cleaners around in the background.
“Yeah.”
“And don’t be shy. You always had a bad habit of that, ever since you were a young girl.”
“I won’t,” you replied, hoping that she could get the hint to leave you alone with your increasingly monotonous tone.
“Alright then. Try to look presentable. See you tonight honey.”
“Bye mom.”
The call ended. Somehow, she always made you feel like you were sixteen again. Sixteen and stupid.
You stared at the phone for a split second before you shoved it back in your pocket. It was hard to tell whether this splitting headache came from your mother’s voice or the presentation that needed to be finished by tonight.
Bringing back files to the office swiftly, Sherry walked up to you, her eyes lighting up as soon as they landed on you.
“Hey, y/n, I need to talk to you about something,” she pulled you aside, her light blond hair looking white and halo-like under the harsh office lights.
“Yeah?”
“First of all, are you okay? You look… horrible,” she murmured, her eyes worriedly darting around your face.
“Thanks,” you said sarcastically. Understanding sarcasm was a lesson taught by Kennedy.
“I’m being serious.”
“I’m fine. What did you need to talk to me about?” you questioned, suspicious of her beaming grin.
“Well,” she led you out of the office area and into the quiet corridor that led down to the toilets. Her head turned from side to side before she leant her neck towards you, “I’m getting married. And I want you to come to my wedding.”
“Oh my god! Sherry! I- Oh my- I’m so happy for you!” you gasped, squealing quietly, bouncing on your heels.
“Shhh! I want to keep it quiet. It’ll be small. Just a few friends,” she smiled, the two of you giggling like schoolgirls. “Leon is coming too.”
The sound of his name was strange, not the familiar warmth that you used to feel when you heard it. Instead, it was cold and slimy.
“Oh… that’s nice,” you said, discovering your old interest in the floor.
“That’s nice? Did you two fight?” she asked and then paused, “honestly, that makes sense. Leon has been miserable all week.”
“We didn’t fight.”
“Look. I’m not gonna pry, but maybe fix it before the wedding?”
Be a grown up, was basically what she was asking the two of you.
“There’s no fixing needed. We’re fine,” you insisted.
“Alright. I really want, even need, the two of you there so, please,” she begged, holding your hands.
“Of course, Sherry. I would never miss your wedding,” you gave her a reassuring smile, straightening your posture.
You sat back at your desk, the lines of data slowly swirling and dancing around the screen. Head throbbing and uncontrollably shivering, a tense heat burrowed itself in your forehead pulling and twisting. When you wiped your forehead, sweat glided across your hand. It’s just the summer, that’s all. But does the summer make your eyes burn every time you blink, make your body feel unbelievably heavy and make you sway when you walk?
As you stood up, a pounding feeling circled your head, and you grabbed the edge of your desk. You wiped away the hairs that were slicked to your face and drifted your fingers across your desk as you walked over to Leon’s desk, placing your finished report on it.
His pen stopped moving across his paper and he paused before looking up at you. You looked hollow. Your forehead was glistening with sweat and your eyes struggled to focus on him, like you were trying to stay present in the room that was spiralling out of your control.
“You look awful,” He remarked, raising an eyebrow. You just wanted to slap the cocky look off his face, how dare that be the first three words he said to you all week. But you could feel a stone forming in your throat and you internally cursed yourself for being such a big crybaby.
“Full of compliments,” you mumbled, turning around to go back to your desk, stumbling clumsily in your heels.
“You’re sick,” he observed, immediately standing up from his chair. Oh, so he has decided he cares now.
“I’m not,” you denied, having the same tone of a toddler beginning to have a tantrum.
“You are,” he said firmly, a temper beginning to boil.
“It’s just the summer. I’m a bit hot,” you dismissed him with your hand.
“You’re pale and sweaty,” he insisted, “sit.”
“I’m not a dog,” you retorted, your eyebrows furrowing, your breathing becoming uneven and hard to control.
“You’re going home.”
“I am not. You know I have that report and presentation for your mission due in tomorrow,” you told him, stepping forward.
“You’re going home,” he repeated, walking over to you, but you stepped back, swaying. He grabbed your wrist to make sure you didn’t end up on the floor.
“No! Everything is unfinished, I’m going home after they’re finished,” your voice raised, jerking your wrist away from him.
“What is wrong with you? Just take the damn day off,” he shook his head, your stubbornness had him in disbelief.
“I’m not letting the team down!” your voice was raised, feeling the same anger you did in the car park.
“You’re letting me down by coming into my office barely conscious and pretending you’re fine!” he hissed, gesturing towards you.
“I just-“ you stammered, trying to remember everything you needed to complete, “I need five more minutes,”
“What you need is a bed.”
“What I need-,” you were becoming out of breath, “what I need is to finish my work!”
He pressed the back of his hand to your forehead. You weren’t warm, you were literally burning. Your flushed cheeks and glassy eyes stared at him, slightly out of place. For a split second, you could feel his breath on your skin.
“That’s it. You’re going home,” he said with a finality and unplugged your computer. He had never been forceful like this before.
You let out something between a whimper and a cry, “I can’t rest unless it’s finished.”
“Jesus, y/n, I’ll do it myself. I’ll do anything for you to be at home and resting right now,” he sighed, his eyes drifting back up at you, the limp wire in his hand, “You are not being very professional right now. Look at you.”
“Oh please, when has this ever been professional?” you scoffed, crossing your arms. Who does he think he is to start lecturing you?
He ignored you.
But he couldn’t ignore the grave of the office goldfish outside the building, he couldn’t ignore the fixed shower head, he couldn’t ignore the anger he felt when he heard your mother on the phone, he couldn’t ignore how hearing your laugh eased something in him, he couldn’t ignore the way he chased after you when he found your resignation letter.
“Elevator. Now,” He demanded, grabbing your bag and then holding your shoulder to keep you upright.
“I don’t need an escort.” You mumbled, bringing your shoulders up to your ears to inch away from his touch.
“You do when you come into my office like this.”
You didn’t respond.
The elevator doors shut.
The two of you stood next to each other, a very clear, clean space between you. He stood there in his navy suit, no tie due to the heat. You stood there in your white blouse and black pencil skirt. His eyes flickered to the necklace that shimmered alongside the beads of sweat that clung to your collarbone. Your eyes flickered to his hands that were tightly clenching onto your bag.
The elevator began to hum, and that weird tickly feeling in your stomach occurred whenever you got in the elevator.
Silence fell.
But of course, Leon Kennedy can never keep his mouth shut.
“I’ll finish your presentation,” he started, shoving his other hand in his pocket.
“No- you won’t understand where I left off,” somehow, you still had enough fumes to argue with him.
“It’s fine. I’ve got this,” he reassured you, softening his tone.
“I’ve got it! I had it but you’re sending me home!” you turned to him sharply, your head spinning in response.
“Because you’re-,” he was going to continue arguing back, but the elevator had enough of your bickering and shook and lights flickered. It wasn’t moving downwards or upwards. This threw you further into your disorientation and your body swayed backwards.
“Woah,” he grabbed your arm, his other hand dropping your bag and instinctively held your waist to steady you.
“Leon-“ you said, your voice thinning as you tried to balance yourself.
“Hey, I’ve got you,” he held you firmly, "the elevator has really chosen the wrong time."
You were fighting a pointless battle. The last time you got home before the sunset was a month ago. You spent your weekends restlessly finishing off other department’s work. The fridge hadn’t seen real substantial food for a while. Your parents just kept demanding and demanding, and you felt as if you were being eaten alive by the two of them. A machine is what you were to them. When you thought you were growing away from the shy, perfection-hungry teen, one mistake detonated the bomb inside of you.
What would your brother think? The way he tore your family apart. Left you all alone. Suddenly you were the one experiencing everything first, without an older brother to guide you through it. He would probably call you an idiot for behaving this way, that you were being silly, that you looked terrible before laughing and giving you a hug which always made you burst out crying.
Your body couldn’t keep up with the rate at which you were abusing it.
Your knees buckled and Leon fell onto his knees, trying to catch you before you hit the floor.
“Told you I wasn’t good enough,” you murmured into his chest, shivering and trembling in his arms. His hand was holding your shoulder, his other hand firm around the backs of your knees.
“You just collapsed and I have to hold you in my damn hands to keep you upright and you’re telling me you’re not good enough?” he lets out a short, breathy laugh, freeing his hand of your leg and moving the hair out of your face.
“I messed it all up,” you said hoarsely, your trembling fingers holding onto his jacket, just to ground yourself.
“Yeah, you did,” he sighed, “you’re scaring the shit out of me.”
“I’m sorry,” you whispered, “just wanted to earn my place in your office.”
“You earned it the minute you got the job. Quit needing to prove yourself all the damn time,” he whispered back. “You’re killing yourself.”
“I just wanted to be good enough,” you mumbled, half delirious, staring up at him with glassy eyes.
He was there, his eyes darting all over your face as if you were going to shatter at any second.
“You already are. You’ve always been good enough for me, the minute you walked in with those color-coded folders,” he let out another small laugh, his thumb rubbing circles into your shoulder. You squirmed, trying to keep your head up right and your eyelids open.
“Leon,” you croaked, fingers tightening around his collar, “don’t go.”
“I’m not going anywhere. Couldn’t even if I wanted to,” he murmured, his gaze flickering to the closed doors of the elevators and then shooting back to you as if looking away from you for a second could make you disappear alone.
Your eyelids were heavy, succumbing to your utter exhaustion. Leon shook you gently,
“Hey-,”
“Tired,” you barely made out the word as your grip loosened.
“I know,” he said, “but I need you to stay awake until we get out of the elevator.”
“Demanding… so much,”
“Well, you collapsing in an elevator is kind of forcing my hand right now,”
“Are you still mad at me?” you asked, your eyebrows furrowing weakly and then relaxing again, like the small movement required all of your effort, “the car-park argument.”
“That is something for later. All I need you to do right now is to keep looking at me.”
“Still demanding.”
“You’re the one who chose the demanding boss,”
“…..didn’t.”
“Did.” A smirk was tugging on his lips until your eyes began to close again, and it vanished off his face. “Hey- keep arguing with me- just keep talking.”
“Trying…always trying so hard for you,” your words dragged and slurred.
His jaw tightened. He knew you had family problems, but he didn't want to believe that you were pushing yourself to your very limits because of him. You were meant to be safe in his office, in the DSO building and supported. That always eased something in him, knowing you don't have to deal with the physical horrors he faced.
But this wasn't safety. Had he pushed you too hard? Did he make you feel like you had to earn you place every day?
You walked into his office with those stupid folders and your stupid stuttering sentences and he immediately knew you were the best person for the job. You weren't meant to go almost unconscious over it.
“Hey. You’re not ruining yourself to keep up with me. Hell, you’re not even keeping up with me- you’re overqualified for half the bullshit I throw at you.”
“Never feels like it."
“Doesn’t mean it’s not true,” he grabbed your drifting chin softly, tilting it to face him, “Hey. Eyes up. You promised arguing.”
“Tired,” your voice died out, alongside the flame inside of you. You were left shivering, teeth clattering softly.
“Hey, hey- no, no, no,” he started to shake you again but with more desperation, panic creeping into his voice, “Stay with me y/n. I'm not leaving your side.”
Your eyes fluttered open, unfocused before smiling a little when you saw that familiar face.
“Here,” you slowly lifted your hand and gave him two little taps on the side of his cheek.
“Good, just, keep talking,” he said quickly, “I’m gonna take you to medical, and then drive you home, okay?”
You shifted and squirmed in his grip.
“No- don’t take me home- my parents,” you groaned, feeling like a teenager who was about to get scolded for being out late. You knew your parents were going to publicly execute you for bailing on them on their Friday night dinners.
He shook his head and hesitated for a second.
“Fine. Then I’m taking you back to mine.”
“Unprofessional...” you murmured, your weight sagging against him, your fingers lazily dragging themselves along his stubble, totally delirious. He could feel how hot you were through your clothes.
“So is dying in the elevator.”
“Not dying.”
“You’re doing a pretty good impression right now.”
The elevator jolted back to life, descending with a graceful hum.
note: the climax of the series is here. thank u for all the kind comments, it really encourages me. i'm surprised by how many people love my silly office fic. sorry if the ending was a little sudden for this chapter i realllyy didn't know how to end it. next chapter will be leon taking care of us yaaaayyy. the next chapter will be more fluff, and more leon focused. also im super super tired rn so if theres any grammar mistakes u didnt see them
REMIX IT the creeps with reader who stutters a lot and talks fast
TW!! - sfw, slight trauma bonding if you squint (one sided), Jeff being Jeff, no x-virus, lj, Natalie , or Kate, requested by @teaabexx 💕
A/n:this one was pretty chill I liked it :) just took me forever to finish 😭
JEFF
Sighhhh, you're gonna hate him babes
It's bad enough if you stutter around him once, type of dude to call you by a word you messed up one time and never let it go
Once it keeps happening he starts getting a little suspicious and lowkey insensitive I fear
"You got what ticci got? Or are y'all related or somethin?" (You could look nothing like toby btw)
Yeah. Terrible.
He won't point it out unless you piss him off, then he'll pick on you about it like he does with tobes
Pretty much groups you with toby with everything, 'toby accidentally slapped a dog? You must do that shit too, weirdo.' mentality
Short patience he either won't be listening in the first place or he'll pretend like he heard you and not follow a single instruction or piece of the convo you said
TOBY
'Oh thank fucking god.'
Ngl at first he thought you were mocking him until he realized you genuinely can't keep up with your own words
He sits and listens, doesn't correct you on any words untill the end because he knows the feeling of being tuned out way too well.
You both could talk for hours really, no one understands what you too say really so the inside jokes are amazing
It does take him a while to warm up to you because he wants to see if you'll drop the act or if you'll think he's weird but once he gets comfortable he won't be quiet
reminds you to take breaths in between sentences
BEN
this man is in cod lobbies on the daily, if anything you're speaking in slow mo to him
Does this thing where he'll try to match the speed of your words when he responds, so eventually you both start talking so fast it's just gibberish
Asks you to cuss out said people in cod lobbies, doesn't care if you stutter as long as you get the point across
Had a lisp when he was little so he gets it
Will never force you to slow down or stop, if you mess up a word and he doesn't get it he'll just fill it in with something else and it'll result in both of you laughing
EJ
Great hearing honestly so if you mess up he probably didn't notice it
if you get frustrated then he'll do something to let you know he's listening, if he's standing then he'll sit and if he's working on something then he'll get it down
Slow talker x fast talker duo, he doesn't talk slow but he's deliberate with what words he picks to use
if you need a word that you don't remember, great guy "and then- wait what's the thingy called?" "Defibrillator." "Yeah that!"
Does indeed notice if you stop talking, you're like his personal white noise that he likes to keep in the background and pop in every few paragraphs
TIM
"what?"
That's what you hear 90 percent of the time
I fear he's a chronic headphone wearer when he edits videos so it's not like he doesn't understand you
The poor old man just can't hear
But if you're standing close enough he'll stare at you confused even if he can understand what you're saying, he's just trying to keep up
If you approach him suddenly and just start talking he genuinely needs a minute to compute what you're saying
Hands you water and snacks in the middle of your rants, partially to make sure you don't become dehydrated and partially because grandpas ears need a break
BRIAN
He responds to everything over text with a thumbs up, you're not getting much from him tbh
He'll listen, remember every single detail, even the ones you forgot —but if you ask him what he thinks it's either a thumbs up or down, and maybe on the rare occasion a "sure kid." (Or a pet name if you're together)
he doesn't necessarily mind you talking 24/7, just don't start after he comes back from an assignment, he needs breathing room or he will walk off mid conversation
Also likes to drop random pieces of heavy lore when he thinks he can relate to something
"I fell and hit my knees earlier, really hurt" "I remember this one time I had to get a knee transplant." "WHAT-"
I fear he can only talk to you if he has a beer in his hand though, you approach him unannounced and he just goes "lemme get my beer, hold on."
HELEN
Helen hates noise, BUT there's a loophole >:)
Catch him while he's busy—washing brushes, painting, even dragging a body
If you approach him and he's doing a task he can't just drop and leave? He'll listen
Albeit a little irritated but he's too dedicated to just leave something unfinished so he thinks he can endure some loud background noise
Now if he can, he will. Walks off when he see you coming type of timing
if you're dating, he doesn't mind it at all and will openly ask you to talk while he paints, says it calms him
But if you're just friends then he is that kind of person to Irish goodbye people in the middle of them speaking
He's not trying to be rude, 9/10 he probably forgot to do something and didn't like the conversation or person in the first place
The longer he knows you the more likely he is to listen
JANE
Naturally quiet but she's brings a good conversation
She'll listen for a while, but if she doesn't get a chance to talk she might become bored or irritated
Nothing personal, the woman just wants to speak really
Tried to keep up with your talking pace but she kid of cant, it's 50/50
Do not try talking to her if she's tired, she's not above pushing people or telling them to shut up when she can't handle it
Tries to keep you from crashing out when you stutter, she understands your frustration though
NINA
Holy overstimulation
No offense, but most creeps would rather kill themselves than be in the same room with you two
Loud, confusing, borderline ear bleeding
She loves how you talk! Finally she doesn't have to slow herself down to get her points across
Y'all are like two freight trains running into each other every day
She's mimicking (not mocking) your stutters, ideas are being lost in the flow, and when you look at the time it's been 3 hours and you've stood in the same spot the entire time
Constantly talking over each other, not even rude just spitting out words that belonged in a sentence 5 minutes ago
not all proxies are equal, some are higher up in the unspoken hierarchy, one that no proxy dare question
some lucky few are given the allowance to have their own lodging or otherwise accommodations through the woods and clearings that entity has stuck his claim in
cabins like tim and brians are among the common of things to be psuedo accommodations. fit with missing roofing and some softening mold stricken floorboards. its stench of smoke blood and rust marrs their noses
others find occupation within tree houses forgotten many moons ago. some like kate find the high ground perfect for....well we already know
even some sad sacks, namely jeff, will take the empty turned over trunks of cars in a clearing, not for residence but a secure place to hide ones blades or chemicals
tragic. they found an angel stcuk tangled in the telephone wires outsside your house. sorruy. yeah we dont know how to get it out cus anyone who approached the divine light of their holy aura got obliterated. yeah we forgot their names. it'll probably get free sooner or later. dont go outside
slendermansion concept where its not a literal mansion, but instead a decaying cabin or long forgotten home.
proxies who enter see the space as it is, rooms appearing out of nowhere and the inside being too big, the windows not quite lining up with their exterior
any damned souls who enter with no affliation only see it for what its worth, run down rooms and an impending doom that is nothing short of inescapable
