happy to take requests / asks / etc, but can't promise I'll always be able to deliver on requests! LOVe talking about head canons 😌
nellyposting / asks
my art / my fanfic
resources ~ sometimes I reblog things I find useful for writing/drawing
🔗 the list, aka all the fic/art ideas bouncing around in my head...
˖⠀⠀༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
fanfic | currently writing for resident evil
anytime, for anything (ao3), in progress
leon x f!reader | explicit 🔞 | updates on sundays!
✶ summary: reader is a bartender. one night, your whiskey-favoring regular asks to walk you home and you invite him in for the night. the man you just slept with, leon s kennedy? he's a federal agent with a dead wife, and you're a few months out of an abusive relationship. neither of you know how to navigate this, but you can't keep your hands off one another.
✦ series tags: no y/n for reader insert, widow!RE9!Leon, soft dom and submissive Leon, age difference (reader is in her 30s), plenty of sex, alcoholism, abusive relationships (not with leon!), trauma...
can't get over you (ao3), in progress
leon x f!reader | explicit 🔞 | updates whenever
✶ summary: naturally, you developed a silly crush on leon s. kennedy shortly after he became fast friends with your dad when you were barely seventeen. you figured it’d go away eventually; it’s basically a quintessential part of the teenage female experience to pine over older men. yet, well into your 20s... he's still the one you need most.
✦ series tags: no y/n for reader insert, dad's best friend!re6!Leon, age difference (reader is in her 20s), secret relationship, hurt/comfort, mutual pining, eventual sex
just an fyi, but the @/leonconfessional page posted a "confession" accusing you of using AI instead of actually writing your fics... there might be some hate your way about it...
LMFAOOOO?? this person is so obsessed with me im crine
i'm not gonna export my entire scrivener project, sorry but my thoughts/notes are embarrassing and any1 dumb enough to believe the shit i write is AI can't be convinced. but I do have a .csv export of my word history by date: https://drive.google.com/file/d/11pgUSakkNsWKtpmLNsqFAOF1wPnMoQOj/view?usp=sharing
for the weird ass in my replies. like u said, proves nothing, but Jesus Christ ur grasping at straws lol
That comment is accurate though. You didn't play the game/s before writing the story which is a huge red flag with failing at characterization and your Leon acts very OOC at times.
i don’t really care lol. I write for fun and other ppl enjoy it. it’s fine if it’s not for you. it’s not a “hate comment” bc of accuracy it’s bc they’re being a dick and you gain nothing by leaving dick comments on the content people create and share for free 💘
I loved your recent chapter of anytime for anything ohbmy goodness!! I'm so invested in this story I can't stop thinking about it <33
thank you!! 😌❤️
im VERY relieved ppl liked the last chapter especially bc I know it was a long time coming and omggg was nervous not to deliver lol, especially since #He didn’t end up with a bloody nose or anything 🫠
summary: naturally, you developed a silly crush on leon s. kennedy shortly after he became fast friends with your dad when you were barely seventeen. you figured it’d go away eventually; it’s basically a quintessential part of the teenage female experience to pine over older men. yet, well into your 20s... he's still the one you need most.
pairing: leon kennedy / f!reader
rating: explicit 🔞
series tags: no y/n for reader insert, dad's best friend!re6!Leon, age difference (reader is in her 20s), secret relationship, hurt/comfort, mutual pining
... friends
Leon S. Kennedy was there for your first breakup, high school graduation, and the congratulations party before you left for college. Naturally, you developed a silly crush on him shortly after he became fast friends with your dad when you were barely seventeen. You figured it’d go away eventually; it’s basically a quintessential part of the teenage female experience to pine over older men.
And who could blame you? All your friends had one, too. He always had to fight them off when he visited your dad’s and your friends were over at the same time.
You’d get a little jealous, though you loathe to admit it. But you always felt like you won in the end; your friends would go home, and he’d be all yours.
Well, not exactly. You still had to share him with your dad.
The crush wasn’t something that happened immediately. He was but another man that came over once in awhile to hang out with your dad—which you were grateful for; he’d been terribly lonely after the passing of your mother, refusing to date again. So, naturally, the next best thing is a close friend, and god knows he needed one before becoming a widow. She’d been his sole real friend for too long.
They bonded over their love for motorcycles, having met when your dad put one of his old bikes up for sale. He’d made a hobby out of fixing them up and reselling them to make some extra cash. It was more for the experience than the money, though. Something to keep his hands and mind busy.
It started the first instance you went over to Leon’s house with your dad. Most of the time, you stayed home and kept to yourself, relishing the alone time; you love him deeply, but he constantly clung to you and your space quickly became a valuable resource, especially with how often Leon seemed to simply be… gone, sometimes for months at a time. You guessed that’s part of the job he never talked about.
For whatever reason, you’d decided to come along that day. Maybe it was the promise of a warm pool for you to swim in in the cool, early spring, a bit past halfway through your junior year of high school.
You don’t even know what it was that did it, not exactly; he treated you like everyone else you saw him interact with. Maybe you liked that he didn’t make you feel like a girl, always tried to make you feel like you belonged.
“C’mon, you always stay home,” your dad begged. “You should see his house, you’d love it. Did I mention he has a heated pool?”
“And you’re only now telling me!?” you said.
Him and your mother always called you a fish walking on land, and yet, he didn’t think to entice you with a heated, private pool sooner? After all your complaints about the assholes you had to share the local aquatic center with?
You worked on your homework at the kitchen island first, ever disciplined. Once you finished, you excitedly slammed your textbook shut, beyond ready to get in your swimsuit. Perhaps a little too excitedly.
“Shit!” you yelled when you knocked your coffee over with your arm, spilling it over the front of your shirt and soaking part of your homework.
You leaped out of your chair and looked frantically around the kitchen for paper towels or a cloth towel or—anything to clean up the mess.
“You good in here?” Leon asked, appearing in the doorway that led to the living room. “Oh, yeah. Shit is right.”
Without hesitation, he grabbed some towels from a cupboard and started helping you, first dabbing at your paper, trying to preserve the work you’d done.
“Goddamnit,” you swore, taking another towel that he’d tossed you and rubbing at your white shirt.
Of fucking course you chose to wear this one. Your dad just bought it for you, and already, you ruined it.
“He’s gonna kill me.”
“Sure is, if he hears you talking like that,” Leon laughed, moving from your paper to cleaning up the counter.
You swear he looked like he was coming to help you with your shirt, then thought better of it after less than a second.
“Shit—damn it—uh, do you think he heard me?” you asked, tripping over your words.
“No,” he said, getting up from where he’d been cleaning up the floor and facing you. “He ran to the store for some beer.”
“Of course he did. Well, guess I’m lucky for that.”
“You alright? Wasn’t still hot, was it?”
“No, no, it’s fine,” you explained. “Ugh, he got me this shirt, like, literally last week.”
“You were gonna take a swim, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t worry about it, okay? Leave it in the laundry room after you’ve changed, I’ll take care of it. I’ve gotten plenty worse things out of white shirts before.”
You made eye contact for a few seconds and then turned your head away, feeling your cheeks warm as your head bounced between considering what happens when you wet a white shirt and how attractive he is. Had he always looked like that? How did you never see it?
Leon hadn’t said a thing or looked at you in any way that indicated the condition of your shirt crossed his mind. Probably had a girlfriend his age already, anyway.
“Uh, thanks,” you replied, instantly kicking yourself for sounding so plain.
Wild how something could shift in an instant.
You’d never thought about how you sound in front of him before. If you look like a bumbling idiot. Never thought about the color of the shirt you were wearing, or the color of the shirt he was wearing and how the sleeves rolled halfway up his arm made the muscles in his forearm look even bigger, or… if you were alone with him.
You’d been alone with him before, a couple times, when he’d done your dad a favor. Give you a ride, bring food by when you were home alone, whatever.
But you’re seventeen, and he’s, what, thirty?
You weren’t delusional enough to believe there was, or would ever be, anything between you beyond your wandering eyes. And you certainly didn’t want to make trouble for him.
So, you collect yourself and thank him for helping you, then get into your swimsuit in the bathroom and leave your shirt on top of the washer in the laundry room before going for a swim.
In time, you became proper friends with Leon, too.
Your fruitless little crush still remained, but you knew that’s all it was and you knew you’d get over it. You sometimes thought about him when you dated your first serious boyfriend, and you felt bad about that, but did it really matter? It was still Brendan you went on dates with, Brendan who took you to prom, Brendan you lost your virginity to.
Leon was just a friend of your dad’s, and by extension and exposure, your friend, too.
Brendan was one year ahead of you and had gone off to college while you started your senior year of highschool. You stayed together for a few months after that, and you intended on meeting him there the following year when it was your time to go to college.
But that never happened.
He must’ve been having too much fun in college, because he broke up with you over text and ghosted you after that.
Wasn’t that long after your eighteenth birthday when he’d come out to visit you and played along with everything you said. What was the point? To get one last lay in?
God, you felt so fucking stupid. You’d been planning a life together, while he was, what, off fucking college girls? You didn’t see it at the time, but after he dumped you, it became increasingly obvious, thinking of how he stopped telling you he wanted you to visit, how he could arrange for a night alone in his dorm, and how easy it would be to get your hands on a couple drinks. Your birthday was no more than an obligation for a man—no, a boy—too cowardly to pull the plug.
It pissed you off so bad, you started saying shit to your dad you never thought would come out of your mouth. You were so pissed about it you started going off about how you couldn’t believe you had your first time with such an asshole and how you should probably get fucking tested.
He had no clue how to handle that. You retired to your room after gaining some clarity and realizing how you likely just traumatized your dad, and once the anger wore away, cried into your pillow for embarrassingly long.
Leon came over that night. Of course he did, of course after being away for weeks he came over that. Fucking. Night.
You stayed upstairs in your room at first, and you thought you were resolved to stay there. But lo and behold, it only took about an hour (and the smell of dinner on the stove) to pull yourself together, quickly touch up your makeup, and head downstairs.
Your dad didn’t avoid you, not really. He wouldn’t. But something was definitely off. Could you blame him, after the earful you gave him earlier?
He clearly filled Leon in on the situation at some point before your emergence, and you weren’t sure how to feel about that. But it was clear that they were both treating you like something fragile. Your dad was just extra obvious in it.
As time passed, you noticed something in Leon you hadn’t before. The heavy bags under his eyes, the weariness, and how he seemed obscenely grateful to simply not have to put in any work—your dad made dinner, prepared leftovers for him, even. It was sweet to watch their, uh, bromance. Whatever happened, Leon had clearly been through the wringer.
Had to be his job, you knew that much, but…
The more the night progressed, the more you felt ridiculous for bothering with your hair and makeup because he was over. Though you hadn’t done anything, after it settled in for you how exhausted he seemed—and yet, still treated you with such care and respect all because you’d been broken up with by your manchild of an ex—it felt so… silly, inconsequential. Like you’d made tonight about you and your breakup when he was here, struggling in a way you couldn’t understand.
He didn’t even want to drive home after that, so your dad offered him a spot in the guest room.
You stayed up late that night in the living room, watching television, your dad having retired already. Leon hung out with you for awhile, sitting on the opposite end of the couch and leaving a respectable amount of distance between. It seemed like he properly relaxed once you’d softened and stopped trying and started treating him like what you kept pretending he’d been elevated to: a friend, a real friend, not someone you know because of your dad and would daydream about whisking you away.
You laughed at each other’s jokes, play-fought about what to watch, mocked each other’s interests.
Maybe that was the first time the two of you truly connected. Maybe every time before that, since the day you swam in his pool, was stained by your teenage desperation.
summary: naturally, you developed a silly crush on leon s. kennedy shortly after he became fast friends with your dad when you were barely seventeen. you figured it’d go away eventually; it’s basically a quintessential part of the teenage female experience to pine over older men. yet, well into your 20s... he's still the one you need most.
pairing: leon kennedy / f!reader
rating: explicit 🔞
series tags: no y/n for reader insert, dad's best friend!re6!Leon, age difference (reader is in her 20s), secret relationship, hurt/comfort, mutual pining
note: lmao yeah I started another fic. dads best friend leon.... im drooling. SO... this is probably mostly canon compliant but slightly altered timeline (events happen 'later', so Leon is ~40 in present day/2026, but idk if that will be super noticeable). over the course of the fic, events will take place across about a decade, so I have re6!Leon in mind, generally speaking.
... the call
It’s been months since Leon’s heard from you. He shouldn’t be upset about it; it’s what he wanted, after all. He’s the one that told you this wasn’t right, that you needed to think about your father and what he’d do to both of you if he found out.
It’s plagued him far too often, left him wondering if that was the right thing to do. Multiple times a week, he finds his hand hovering over your contact, debating if he should check in on you and make sure you’re doing okay, never following through.
It feels too cruel. He vividly remembers how you looked at him that night, tears streaming down your cheeks, your makeup smudged in disarray.
It’s his fault. He doesn’t have the right to call you.
So, when your picture lights up his phone in the middle of a D.S.O. meeting, he excuses himself without a second thought and practically sprints out of the meeting room to take your call.
“Hey,” he answers, entirely confused and unsure what to think—as soon as the phone’s pressed to his ear, the only sound you sobbing, his entire demeanor changes; fear. Frantic, he asks, “What’s wrong? What happened?”
“S-someone—”
You can’t finish your sentence between your erratic breaths and cries.
“Are you safe right now?” he forces himself to ask calmly, being your support the most important fucking thing right now, despite his heart and mind racing through a thousand questions, utterly unlike his fake composed voice.
“Y-yes,” you manage, pausing, and Leon’s expending every drop of his energy to be patient and let you finish. “I think so.”
“What happened?”
“I—I stabbed him, Leon…”
“Okay, okay, breathe, sweetheart. Do it with me, okay?” He instructs you, although he’s really guiding both of you through it, because god knows he fucking needs to run through this exercise too. “Deep breath in, and hold it… Now, exhale… Good. In… Out…”
God, what the fuck happened that you stabbed somebody?
Instinctually, he knows: regardless of whatever went down, whatever you’ve done, he’ll fix it.
He’ll hide the body for you; bury that secret. No matter what.
Leon continues with the breath exercises and listens dutifully to each one of your breaths until you’ve calmed down enough that you can speak.
“Tell me what’s goin’ on,” he says, still struggling a bit to keep his cool. “What d’you mean you think you’re safe?”
“T-there was a man… in my house. I was home.” You stop to take a deep inhale again and sniffle, holding back tears so you can get through this. “I don’t know if he was trying to r-rob me, or—I-I don’t know. I don’t know. I just grabbed a knife and ran upstairs,” you continue, occasionally breaking to steady yourself. “The one you gave me.”
Someone broke into your fucking home.
Leon’s free hand tightens into a fist instantly and he holds it stiff to his side, refusing to budge an inch; if he does, he might take his energy out on the wall separating him from the meeting he just abruptly exited and get himself into shit. Can’t happen.
Not now, not when you need him.
He knows you live alone. Always hated that. Wishing you had a roommate, or even a boyfriend to protect you, much as he loathed the thought of you being with someone undeserving. Someone that isn’t him.
Though he doesn’t deserve you, either. He knows that.
“He found me,” you say. “A-and then… I stabbed him. With the knife.”
You pause.
“Okay. Keep taking those long breaths for me, alright?” He gives you time, then asks, “What happened next?”
“I d-don’t know,” you stutter, panic in your voice as you try to recall tonight’s events. Fuck, he doesn’t want to make you put your head in that again, but he needs to know while it’s fresh on your mind. “He ran after that… He’s out there, Leon, and—I’ve g-got blood on my hands.”
“No, no. You don’t. Listen to me. I’m gonna get you a hotel for tonight, okay? I’ll take care of it,” Leon says, using the same voice he’s used on so many before to instill hope. “I’ll send you the address.”
This time is the toughest of all with how close he is to breaking. Giving people hope always came naturally to him, but it’s brutal when it’s you. Damn near impossible with the way his insides are churning, thinking of every possibility, picturing this stranger grabbing you, hurting you—mind running ragged on everything that could’ve happened if you’d not managed to get a swing on him with your knife—
“You got any blood on your clothes?” he asks.
“A little.”
“Change into somethin’ else. Leave anything dirty on the couch,” he continues, quick. Clock’s ticking, every second counts. “Once you get the address, go straight to the hotel, okay? I’m coming. Go there, and stay there.”
“Leon… you’re coming?”
“I’ll be there in a couple hours, okay? Can you do what I just told ya? Repeat it for me. Please.”
“I-I can,” you answer, clearing your thought and swallowing hard. “You’ll send me a hotel… go s-straight there… stay there.”
“You got it. Hold on.”
“Okay.”
Leon lowers the phone to his shoulder and sticks his head back in the meeting room, telling them he has to go, so take him off this fucking mission because he won’t take no for an answer; he’s going, whether they’re fine with it is irrelevant. Maybe he’s being too aggressive and jumping the gun a bit, but he’s heard it all before: the bargaining, negotiating to get him on the next transport in exchange for a few measly hours of freedom.
Not gonna cut it this time. In fact, after he makes his way down the halls, he stops by Hunnigan’s desk and demands he not be assigned to anyjobs, indefinitely. She starts to protest and he cuts her off swiftly, switching to getting your hotel setup for the night. You’re waiting on the line.
He’ll hear about this later, he’s sure, but when he’s like this, more fired up than she’s ever seen him? Hunnigan knows there’s no compromise to be had.
“Still there?” he asks as soon as it’s ready.
“Yeah,” you reply, shaken up, but better.
“Did you get the address?”
“Yeah. I’m… I’m about to leave.”
“I’m gettin’ in the car right now,” Leon says. “I’m gonna take care of everything, don’t worry. Don’t do anything else. You haven’t called the police, have you?”
summary: reader is a bartender. one night, your whiskey-favoring regular asks to walk you home and you invite him in for the night. the man you just slept with, leon s kennedy? he's a federal agent with a dead wife, and you're a few months out of an abusive relationship. neither of you know how to navigate this, but you can't keep your hands off one another.
pairing: leon kennedy / reader
rating: explicit 🔞
series tags: no y/n for reader insert, widow!RE9!Leon, soft dom and submissive Leon, age difference (reader is in her 30s), alcoholism, abusive relationships (not with leon!), trauma...
note: WELPP I hope this one lives up to ur expectations... its also possible next chapter will be delayed </3 we shall see
... LEON, V
Leon’s been stuck on what to do about your ex. Every time he’s with you and your phone goes off, he wonders if it’s him, bothering you again. Wonders if he’s made the right choice by not acting. He wrote up a hundred messages to send the guy, ranging from a simple warning to aggressive threats on his life, never hitting send on any of them. Thought about looking him up and showing up to his house, even, but holds himself back every fucking time.
It feels wrong, feels like he’s leaving you to fend for yourself. Not protecting his girl.
Leon knows Sherry and Chris are right, though. It should be your choice, this included. He should trust that you feel safe with him and that you’ll ask for his help if you want it.
What you shared last night really revved him up, though. Everything you shared about your ex: the anger, manipulation, violence, and then you blamed yourself—if you hadn’t been staying over, if you’d just been on a phone call in your separate homes, he was so heated that he’s sure he would’ve driven right over to Aiden’s apartment and taken care of it.
But that would be a betrayal, and he knows that. And he’s grateful he had you present to keep him in check, even if you didn’t know it.
After he gets back from dropping you off at the bar this afternoon, Leon heads straight to his office and opens up his work-issued laptop.
If it wasn’t so fucking easy he wouldn’t be doing this, he tells himself. But curiosity’s gotten the best of him, and he won’t ask Sherry to help with it, so… Leon searches the D.S.O. database for your ex, consequences be damned. What would they do, anyway—retire their best agent? One scheduled to go on a months-long job in a little over a week?
He hits search and quickly identifies his target file: Williams, Aiden K.
There’s a few small things; noise. They exist for everyone in some way, considering the vast breadth of data the D.S.O. has access to. Leon never searched you, it feels like an invasion of your privacy, but he’s sure you’d have noise, too.
Call logs of a neighbor’s complaint when a party ran too late. A charge for drinking alcohol under the age of twenty-one. The usual. He’s about ready to give it up and accept that he’s being ridiculous when a police record catches his eye.
Domestic disturbance at 3:09 A.M. A neighbor called it in after hearing shouting from the apartment; presumedly one that Aiden shared with you at this time. No one answered the door and it didn’t justify a warrant.
Can’t go barging through doors for any couple’s argument, the officer on duty had told the caller.
Another record very similar, many months later. Different apartment. Shouting, again, the caller said, and heavy thumps on the walls, shattering sounds. Like glass. Said it’d been happening on and off for weeks. This time, Aiden spoke to the responders, but didn’t let them inside. No evidence of anyone else there but him; at least not from the very little they could see through the cracked door.
These are notable, but not new, matching what you told him last night.
Next, though… a hospital record and a report that went nowhere. The patient, who refused to speak to the police about it, arrived in the emergency room at 12:47 A.M. with a laceration in the abdomen. Aiden was the driver and named himself willingly. Cocky son of a bitch.
A nurse filed the report out of suspicion, but the patient refused to talk.
There’s a picture, and he instantly recognizes it as you despite the fact that it’s only your injured stomach shown. This is what it looked like before it healed and scarred over.
That realization hits Leon like a truck. Of course he knew it would be a nasty injury to see, and perhaps he was being naïve, but he hadn’t put together the pieces on how you’d gotten it. Or maybe he was choosing not to.
His fist tightens and the hand on the mouse death grips it, knuckles turning white. Your scar is a part of you. He thought it was beautiful when you reluctantly showed him—still does. But this?
He can’t remember the last time he was this pissed off.
But he knows he needs to pull it together. He’s got a date with your mother soon.
Your mother’s certainly a character—he learned that quickly the other night. Going to see the motorcycle with her is even more eye-opening. She loves you more than anything, that’s for sure. As a mother should, and as his mother loved him; from what he remembers, anyway.
The motorcycle’s a solid deal. Leon gives it a thorough enough investigation that the seller almost seems nervous, but nothing’s amiss. Everything that needs work is disclosed, and it’s priced appropriately. He even manages to haggle a deal for your mother (then pays the guy the difference when her back’s turned).
Your mom drags him out to dinner after that; nothing too fancy, just a little diner outside of town she said she eats at with you all the time.
“How old are you?” she asks immediately once you’re seated. Cutting right to the chase.
“Fifty, ma’am.”
“Don’t call me that,” she says, laughing. “She’s a little young for you, don’t you think?”
“Yeah. Tried to tell her that, but she’s a stubborn one.”
“Ain’t that the truth. I know she’s at work shitting herself thinking about this, worrying I’m going to scare you off.” She relaxes back in her seat, crossing her arms loosely. “Any chance of that happening?”
“None,” Leon answers without a trace of hesitation.
“You’re impenetrable,” she comments. “It’s like you’re media trained.”
“Nah. I just know what I want.”
Your mother’s easy to talk to. You really are just like her—it’s impossible for him to not get along well with her. The way she speaks, her little mannerisms, the edge in her tone when she’s messing with you.
Yeah, you’re related.
But not the same. Your mother’s great and he’s relieved that chatting with her comes so easily, but you… you’re all of her best traits and more. You’re different; special. He knew that not long after he started coming to your bar, even before the two of you spoke much. There was always something about you that drew him to you that he couldn’t resist, no matter how hard he tried to.
And he truly did try. Knew you deserved better, but fuck. At first sight, he—
“You’ve got scars. From the super secret government job, I assume?” your mother questions, looking over his forearms shamelessly and taking in the faded marks.
“You assume correctly.”
“Based on what you said the other night,” she says, raising an eyebrow, “and how my daughter feels about the government, I’m going to guess you’re in the line of helping people.”
“Something like that,” Leon answers. “I try. Have to admit, though, I used to just be a regular ol’ cop. Counting myself lucky I met her after that.”
Not that the possibility was ever on the table, considering how his first day went. Was he ever even really a cop?
It would’ve been a simpler life, that’s for sure. And he’d spent many days and nights lamenting what could’ve been if he’d been able to go into the force and make it a career, but now? No regrets.
There’s things he could’ve done better. Times he wishes he was faster, smarter. Many ‘what if’s and daydreams. But, chosen for him or not, where he’s ended up feels right, in a way. Nothing can ever be perfect, and in learning to accept that… well, here he is in a diner, hanging out with your mother, thinking of you every time she moves in just the right way or looks at him with eyes that resemble yours staring back at him. With a smile on his face.
“One second,” he says, excusing himself from the table.
Leon, before giving a full thought to what he’s doing, steps outside and leans against the outer wall of the restaurant and takes his phone out of his pocket to call you.
“Hi,” you answer after a few excruciatingly long seconds. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah. Your mom’s getting the bike,” he says. “We’re at dinner now.”
“Oh my god, did she drag you out to that stupid diner off the highway?”
“Yeah.”
“Of course she did.”
“You busy?” Leon asks, suddenly considering the fact that you’re at work and that’s the entire reason you’re not here, too. “This a bad time?”
“Not at all,” you answer. “I was just about to go on my break, so I stepped out back. Got something on your mind?”
“Just you.” He tilts his head down, looking to the ground, smiling. “Wanted to hear your voice. I…”
“What?”
“Nothin’.” Jesus, he’s fumbling this so bad and he didn’t even have anything to fumble in the first place. It’s like he went out of his way to manufacture a situation to fuck up. “S’pose I shouldn’t leave her waiting too long. I’ll come see you once we’re done here, yeah?”
“Good. I miss you,” you say.
He might be blushing; his face feels warm. He might need to stand out here for a minute after hanging up with you to shake it off. It’s so silly, at this age…
“Miss you too.”
What an understatement.
“Don’t let her give you too hard of a time, okay?” You giggle into the phone like you know he’s already flustered on the other end.
You’re the one giving him a hard time, actually, with that laugh of yours. Would be true in more than one way if he wasn’t putting in so much mental effort to keep that second part contained.
“Ah, she’s been just fine,” Leon says. “I like her. I’ll… let you know when I head over.” He swallows, then: “If you’re feelin’ nice, send me a picture; I’m having withdrawals over here.”
“Mm. I’ll think about it.”
“See ya soon, sweetheart.”
You leave him with the memory of one last laugh and a mild headache from the strain of dealing with what you do to him when you end the call. Fucking hell.
He exhales and pushes himself off from the wall after a moment, then makes his way back to the table.
“Sorry about that,” he says.
“No need,” your mother replies, a confidence in her tone that indicates she knows it’s you he called without having to ask. “Can I say something?”
“Floor’s yours.”
“Thank fucking god you showed up,” she spills, filled with relief, like she’s been unburdened of a massive weight. “God, I hated that asshole ex of hers. Good riddance. I’ve been holding my breath ever since she told me they split. How much has she told you about him?”
“Enough to fantasize about killing him.”
Particularly true after what he found this afternoon. He doesn’t mention it, though; with how close you and your mother are, his best guess is that she knows the truth. Still, you’ve also made it clear that Aiden was a sore subject that put distance between you two, and he’s not confident enough to bank on her awareness of it and accidentally reveal anything.
Probably shouldn’t be telling his girl’s mom that he looked up her ex in a government database, either.
“Yeah, you should,” she says. “Kill him, that is. Fantasizing isn’t enough. With your fancy government job, you’ve probably got the necessary connections to cover it up, right?”
Leon just shrugs, a smirk on his face. He could if he wanted to, absolutely. Thought about it many times already…
“Media trained asshole.”
His phone vibrates in his pocket. He knows it’s you because he assigned you a special vibration pattern in his contacts, having gotten tired of fishing his phone out every time it went off just to check. If he were with anyone but your mother, he’d be interrupting to rip it from his pocket before anyone could think to object.
“Thing is, much as I’d like to… it’s not up to me. Lot of things I’ve thought about doing to him, but none she’d agree with.”
“You’re a good one,” she says, on the same page as Leon. “I’ll make sure to put in a positive review.”
She seems to agree that it’s not her choice to make either, even though she must feel burdened with the same responsibility as him: to protect you at all costs.
He missed this more than he knew; spending nights with you at the bar, in this seat, even if your attention was directed elsewhere the majority of the night. You have a job to do, after all, and now that he’s ordering less whiskey and spending less money, he can’t demand as much of your attention.
You’re wearing the jacket tonight. It’s the first thing he noticed after walking in. Slung low at your elbows like you often wear it; he thinks it must be a restrictive feeling, especially when you’re moving around and using your hands a lot, but then again… you’re like ten shirt sizes smaller than he is, practically swimming in it.
“Last day,” Leon says.
“Last day,” you echo.
Only a few more hours until he has you all to himself for a week. It can’t come fast enough.
“Thought about what you wanna do with our time?” he asks.
“Well, I want you to take me to that cake shop like you said you would,” you say. “And we’re supposed to go shopping. For your house.”
“That it?”
“I’m open to ideas.”
“I’m perfectly fine just keepin’ you in bed with me all day, so…” he trails off, watching your reaction as you pace across the bar, quickly taking care of another customer. When you’re back within earshot, he adds, “There is one other thing, though.”
“What is it?”
“Gonna give you a gun safety course.”
“What!? Why?”
“It’ll make me feel better while I’m away,” Leon explains. “Knowing you can defend yourself.”
“Oh, god… I don’t think—”
“I know, sweetheart. Indulge me?”
You roll your eyes as you walk away again, but your face shows that you accept your fate, aware you can’t win this one. It’s not one Leon would’ve backed down from—he’s already frustrated about leaving for so long, but especially about leaving you alone.
He’s already decided to give you his house key before he leaves, just needs to figure out when. It shouldn’t be a big deal, he shouldn’t be playing over what it might look like over and over in his head, but it won’t fucking stop, brain working through every scenario to make sure he has a compelling argument for you to use it, stay somewhere safer.
It’s another disconnect between him and his late wife too, though, and that doesn’t sit well within him. Guilt over having this place that she’s neverbeen a part of, never can be part of. It feels like a betrayal, even if he knows that Sherry and Chris are right—that you’re right for him, and that she wouldn’t want him to end up alone, miserable and grieving for the rest of his fucking life.
The bar door swings open, pulling him out of the cycle of spiraling, and your head turns to look. Leon’s gaze follows, but his movements are far more subdued. Trained.
You immediately lock eyes with the man who’s just entered. Dark hair, brown eyes; Leon’s analyzing his appearance like he would a potential threat. Medium build. Tall. Grey shirt. Mole on the side of his neck…
He’s still processing details, craning the angle of his head very carefully to ensure he appears entirely unfazed, blending in with every other customer as the guy approaches the bar counter. Your eyes are still on him, following his moves, keeping Leon on alert. He has to assume this is him.
“Aiden,” you say, tone unsteady. “What are you doing here?”
“You won’t answer my texts.”
“There’s nothing else to say,” you sigh, but your eyes are soft. That part of you that’s too sweet, too generous. “Sit down and have a drink at least. What’re you ordering these days?”
“Gin and tonic,” he says, standing with his hands pressed to the counter.
You make a movement so subtle in response to the drink order that Aiden doesn’t notice, failing to give him the satisfaction he was likely looking for; no one casually observing you ever would. But Leon does. Something about what Aiden said affected you, and all he’d said was a drink.
“I know what you said,” Aiden continues after you hand him his glass.
“What part of it doesn’t make sense to you?”
“Do you remember the night we met up, here?” he asks, continuing on with whatever bullshit he’s got on his mind and has been waiting to say, moving past your question as if you’d not spoken at all. “You ordered for me.”
“Yeah. I do,” you answer morosely. “Of course I do.”
Leon recognizes the look on your face instantly; one he saw staring back at him in the mirror countless times over the last year. On him, it was just another day, but on you? God, he’d give up the world to fix it for you if he could.
He doesn’t know enough about this memory, and maybe he never will. Doesn’t feel worth it to make you dig up that wound again.
“You said—”
“I know what I said.”
“You’re throwing eight years down the drain,” Aiden says, forcing another sigh out of you.
“No, you did that,” you retort.
“I never gave up like you are. I’m still here, still trying.”
That visibly stings you, your eyebrows turning upward. One of Leon’s fists, hidden under the counter in his lap, tightens with the force of his anger and a burning desire to intervene.
“Look,” you start, exchanging silent gestures with another customer to tab them out—trying to do your job while he holds you up. “I’ve had enough, Aiden. I tried. It’s acceptance, not quitting. Learn the difference.”
“At least give me some fucking closure. Don’t you think you owe me that?”
“I don’t owe you anything,” you state, exasperated. “Like, there’s just nothing to talk about anymore.”
“You know I love you. You haven’t even said anything about the idea of me going back to therapy.”
This isn’t love, Leon thinks. This kid has no clue what love is.
Nothing about what he said feels like an admission of love, either. It’s a statement made to win an argument, to appeal to your emotions; an attempt to implant the thought into your head, make you accept blindly it as truth. Could be a method that’s worked on you before, but not now.
He might feel bad for the guy under different circumstances; he’s likely never even been exposed to anything that could remotely qualify as a healthy, stable relationship. No example to model after, lost in the cycle of abuse, refusing to break it because it’s too uncomfortable a thought.
“Because it doesn’t fucking do anything. We’ve been there before, and I’m done with it.”
“Give me a chance. I want to get better, I do,” he pleads with you. “Instead, you just run off with… I don’t even know who. Some older guy who drives a fucking Porsche?”
“What’s your point?”
“You’re being shallow,” he snaps, sipping his drink, then near slamming the glass to the counter.
You flinch, like maybe you’re remembering a time in which he would’ve thrown it instead.
“Nothing I did was ever enough for you. It gets tough and you go find yourself a rich old man to take care of you?”
“That’s not true and you fucking know it,” you argue, anger unmistakably rising in you now. Aiden’s pushing your buttons in all the right places, in the right order.
Leon’s not sure how much longer he can watch this. He’s been waiting for you to give him a sign, anything, but you’ve stood strong. And he’s proud of you, you’re resilient—his sweethearted, feisty girl—but you shouldn’t have to be. You shouldn’t have to deal with this.
He knows from what you’ve told him how difficult it must’ve been for you to leave in the first place, how scared you were to take the plunge, and this guy won’t give you a fucking break.
“Keep telling yourself that, but I’m not the only one who sees it,” he seethes. “And just three months after you dumped me?”
“Can you finish your drink and leave? In case you haven’t realized, this is my fucking job. Where I work. Where I expect my ex to not show up and hassle me because I’m trying to earn a paycheck.”
That’s enough, he thinks. Your voice is raised, stressed, and your patience is clearly thinning, but you’re limited in what you can do when you’re on shift.
“See? That’s just like you to—”
“Miss,” Leon finally pipes up, raising a hand lazily. “Is this man bothering you?”
“Uh—”
“Leave us alone,” Aiden warns, barely bothering to look over at Leon. Trying to shoo him off like a pestering gnat, but unless you have anything to say about it, he’s not getting out of this entirely unscathed.
“Can’t, really,” Leon says. “You kinda got in my way.”
“And who the hell are you?” Aiden actually turns to look at Leon fully this time, taking him in and sizing him up. It looks like he registers that he’s outmatched—but he must be banking on the thought that Leon, a random customer as far as he knows, won’t get so invested.
“He’s a regular, Aiden. Try not to scare off the customers.” You turn to Leon with an apologetic look on your face and say, “It’s alright. He’ll leave soon, I’m sure.”
“Name’s Leon,” he says.
Clearly Aiden hasn’t heard that much, because he has no reaction to the introduction.
Leon’s glaring directly at your ex now. A warning that he doesn’t seem to want to heed, turning his attention right back to you.
“What do I need to do?”
“You can start by apologizing for calling me shallow.”
“Don’t you see how it looks?”
“The fact that you’ll ask that instead of apologizing is the entire reason this is over, Aiden,” you explain, exhausted.
“We were supposed to get married,” he argues. “And then you run off, like it never even mattered to you?”
“I’m fucking tired, Aiden. I’m done. I have nothing left to give you,” you sigh, wiping down the counter. “Can you just go, like, work on yourself in therapy or something and leave me the hell alone?”
You turn to leave, rag in your hand, and Aiden leans forward over the bar then, reaching out to grab your arm and stop you. That’s it, that’s the trigger—Leon can’t wait for your ‘okay’ anymore, he won’t let this happen.
He has your ex’s forearm in a firm grip before Aiden can even process that the man sitting beside him started moving.
“For the last time, fuck off,” Aiden spits, trying and failing to yank his arm out of Leon’s grasp. “This isn’t your fucking business.”
“She asked you to leave. Finish your damn drink and go.”
“Let me go! This has nothing to do with you.”
“I think you’ll find that it does.”
Leon smirks, finding some joy in the fact that Aiden’s given up trying to move and escape the grasp after a sole, miserable attempt, tight enough to illustrate just how outclassed he is. Was hoping to scare him off with that and avoid further conflict, but it seems your ex is somehow more stupid than anticipated.
Well, he was hoping that for your sake. To Leon, escalation feels like a blessing.
“I’ll call the cops if you don’t get your fucking hand off me,” he fumes.
“Go ahead, kid. You sure that’s gonna work out in your favor?”
His other hand pulls his D.S.O. badge from his pocket, holding it out for Aiden to read. It’s not a move he wanted to make, but he’d rather leave the police out of this and deal with it the old fashioned way. Yeah, the problem would go away eventually, but it’d be such a pain in the ass to deal with.
Ugh, the paperwork alone would be a major hassle. Far more effort than this dipshit should require when there’s a far more exhilarating alternative.
“Leon S. Kennedy, D.S.O… what the fuck is D.S.O.?” he mutters the last part, and Leon flips the badge to the other side. “Division of Security Operations… the fuck…?”
“He’s a fed, Aiden,” you chime in nonchalantly. “So don’t be fucking stupid. Go home.”
Leon speaks before he can choose to leave willingly.
“C’mon, let’s go talk outside, yeah?”
He hopes you won’t be mad at him for this, he just… can’t let your ex get away with trying to grab you like that; leaving peacefully isn’t on the fucking table anymore.
Aiden doesn’t respond, aware doesn’t have much of a choice regardless as Leon drags him out by the arm like he’s weightless and leaves the unfinished gin and tonic behind. Leon tries to take him in a calm stride to avoid making a bigger scene than this idiot’s already created. He doesn’t want to make any trouble for you, especially.
He leads your ex out the back door and into the alley. Somewhat creepier atmosphere, he thinks, and maybe it’ll help instill a bit more fear into the guy… or maybe not, since his head seems to be full of rocks. Leon takes him a few buildings down, putting distance between them and the bar.
The other benefit? He’s started parking the Porsche in a space out back normally reserved for employees, and when they pass it, Aiden’s eyes grow wide with recognition.
Took him long enough.
“You’re him,” he observes, blank-faced.
“Damn right. Now, listen, ‘cause I’m not gonna tell you twice,” Leon orders, shoving Aiden to close the last few feet of distance, the thud like music to his ears when Aiden’s back hits the wall. “Leave her the fuck alone. I know you’ve been harassing her for a fuckin’ week, and now you show up at her job?”
“What did she—”
“Shut the fuck up.”
Leon’s been waiting for this moment. Aiden looks petrified.
And he should be happy about it, he thought he would be—but when faced with it, all Leon can see is what you must’ve looked like when Aiden lost his temper; how fucking scared you would’ve been the first time he yelled at you, the first time he broke a glass inches from you.
How you would’ve felt on the night you got that scar.
And with bastards like these...
However that had gone down, you wouldn’t talk. Did he scare you into silence? Did he blame you and convince you it was your fault for pissing him off? Or did he pull at your heartstrings, taking advantage of the undying, tender heart inside you?
“It’s not your turn to talk.” Leon pauses, daring him to step out of line. Give him a reason. “She didn’t have to tell me shit. I know all ‘bout guys like you.” He steps closer, puts a hand on Aiden’s shoulder, pushing him into the wall; wanting to go for the throat but restraining himself for you, certain you wouldn’t like that. ”You’re not gonna talk about her, think about her, try to find her. Anywhere. Ever.”
“We were together eight fucking years, man. You don’t know shit about us.”
“I know she doesn’t want you anywhere fuckin’ near her and that’s enough. I know you’re lucky she hasn’t gotten a restraining order,” Leon fumes, funneling all his violent energy into the bite of his words. “You really wanna push my buttons?”
Aiden’s gotten the message at last, it appears, the only noise coming from him the sounds of his uneven breathing.
“If I ever see you ‘round her again, we’re gonna have a problem that can’t be solved with words. You got me?”
He nods, barely, frozen by fear.
“Drink’s on me, I got you covered.”
No reason for him to go back to the bar.
Leon roughly pushes his palm into Aiden’s shoulder again before pulling back and setting him loose. His fist tightens again, raring to deliver retribution, and he forces himself to turn and walk away stiffly before he loses his cool.
It’s not what you would want.
“Oh, kid?”
Leon looks back, making sure he’s got Aiden’s attention.
“There’s another thing I know, forgot to tell ya. That’s some scar you gave her.” Aiden opens his mouth to object, so Leon beats him to the punch. “Don’t fuckin’ bother. I’ve seen the records.”
