Falling Dominoes // NSFW Leon Kennedy x fem! reader
Summary: You have a coworker who is obsessed with you. Apparently, you don’t know the half of it.
After some interventions by Leon Kennedy … you’re gonna find out.
Thankfully Leon pays attention. And as it turns out, he might just be the nicest thing that’s ever happened to you.
WC: ~8.5k
CW: NSFW, creepy coworker, creep factor 9000, incel, stalker, kidnapping, implied non-con, reader gets drugged, reader held captive and exposed to non-con JO activity (implied), Leon Kennedy goes beast mode, rescue, protective Leon, modern epistolary (texting), there’s a lot of text and phone conversations, long distance relationship building, strangers to friends to lovers, first kiss, happy ending, Leon and his tramp stamp
Notes: This is mainly a strangers-to-friends-to-lovers story, but beware the reader DOES get put in a bit of a traumatic abduction/non-con situation in here. It is not detailed explicitly and there is no forced penetration.
Admittedly, the cafeteria was an easy guess. You should have gone with the sub-basement.
You’re tucked away at a small table near the back, as far from the stairs as you can get. Your second mistake was in parking it within sight of the coffee machine, because that’s the perfect excuse.
Your coworker – fucking Peter – is looming over the chair across from you, running his mouth about some asinine TV show you could give two shits about, gesturing with the paper coffee cup he hasn’t taken a single sip out of. He’s already the jack-in-the-box on the other side of your cube wall. You don't need him to be a second shadow, too.
God, can you have the day back that he spent ignoring you? What would you have to do?
No, strike that, never mind. He’d have to ask you out again. You’re just going to have to get more creative with your escapes.
“Yeah, I’ll definitely give it a watch,” you cut in, pointed focus on your laptop screen, fingers on the keyboard. “I’ll see you back up at the cube farm.”
“Aren’t you on break? You shouldn’t work over your break,” Peter says, and then just keeps on talking. Your stare at your laptop screen goes thousand-yard.
Something moves in your periphery and you follow the distraction. It’s someone at the coffee machine, flipping a cup onto the deck, touching buttons on the menu screen.
Holy christ. It’s not just any someone.
There’s a holstered gun on his hip. He’s built like a brick shithouse, and his shirt’s not pretending otherwise. His sleeves are pushed to his elbows and there’s a deep scratch on his arm, gummy and raw, held shut with butterfly closures. Most of his face is obscured by the fall of his hair but you know exactly who it is.
There’s not a single person in the building who wouldn’t.
Leon Kennedy is standing at the coffee machine, arms crossed, waiting for the machine to finish humming and hissing and start spitting out his frothy caffeine. Peter hasn’t noticed yet, his back to the rest of the cafeteria, still absorbed in talking at you like you haven’t tuned him out, like you haven’t been dropping heavy hints that he should go away, like you’re not about to snap and just tell him to fuck off. He’s lucky you’re a professional.
Leon’s head turns a fraction. You don’t know if it’s because he can feel your eyes on him or if he’s tuning into Radio Peter; maybe both. When he makes eye contact with you it feels like a goddamn life raft. He can probably see it on your face.
He flicks his gaze towards Peter, raises his eyebrows. Is this guy bothering you?
You widen your eyes. Like you wouldn’t fucking believe.
He tips his head, gaze strong; good to intervene?
You nod once, short, relieved. Peter’s finally realizing that you’re silently communicating with someone else and turns.
Leon, coffee in hand, is heading for your table. Peter backpedals like he’s dodging a moving train. Leon throws him nothing but a sidelong glance and a vague apology before putting his hand on the back of the chair across from you, urgent.
“Hey. Did you get my message?”
“Yeah, I’m working on it,” you say, pulling your laptop closer to yourself, harried.
Peter’s staring – at Leon’s height, his arms, his gun – and you have to ignore him or you’re going to break character.
“It’s high priority,” Leon’s telling you.
“I know, I was just –“
Peter mumbles something that sounds like ‘uh, later. See you. Up’ and backs away before turning tail, heading for the elevators. At the last second, he banks left and takes the stairs two at a time instead.
You both watch him go. Leon turns back to you.
“You’re quick,” he says.
You drop your shoulders, head loose on your neck.
“God,” you say. “Guy can’t fucking read a room.”
“Could’ve just told him to fuck off.”
“I thought about it.”
He raises his eyebrows, a silent question.
“I’m too polite.”
“Then it continues.”
“Not if I get slippery.”
His eyes narrow and you play your last sentence back. You shut your eyes for an extended beat.
“Work-appropriately,” you clarify. He sips his coffee.
“Sounds like a lot of extra work.”
It is. He’s right. You’ve already been plotting evasive maneuvers and pinning secluded spaces in a back corner of your mind. It’s sapping bandwidth.
And it’s not fucking normal, is it.
You just don’t know what kind of personality Peter will reveal if you shut him down entirely. The cold-shoulder day was a reprieve, but it was also noticeably… hostile. You’re unwilling to explore deeper waters, there. Civility, however taxing – is safe.
Leon’s watching you.
“There’s always HR.”
Well. Maybe Peter should have stayed, taken some notes on reading people.
You wave it off.
“He’s just… annoying.”
Maybe Leon believes you. He extends his hand across the table.
“Leon Kennedy,” he says. You shake his hand, his palm warm and rough, his grip firm.
“I know,” you say, and give him your name in return. “Thanks for the assist.”
His face softens into something that isn’t a smile but isn’t not a smile. It’s understated, self-assured, and very handsome.
“Enjoy the quiet.”
There’s nothing understated about the way he walks away. You catch yourself doing taffy eyes, transfixed by his broad shoulders, the bulk of his arms, and – well. The way his hips move make it difficult NOT to fixate. On all that.
Jesus christ.
You force your eyes down to your laptop, ears a little pink.
You’ve just met Leon Kennedy. You don’t know it yet, but it’s the first domino.
Incoming Call
Sherry Birkin
-> Answer
“Hey. I’m on my way in.”
“Just thought you might like to know… someone in legal is searching your name in the databases. Extensively.”
Leon glances at the center console screen, Sherry’s speakerphone call counting up the seconds.
“Should I be worried?”
“I don’t know. Log-in is one… Peter Dotson?”
“Doesn’t ring a bell,” Leon says, easing the Porsche to a stop, traffic brakelights tinting him red. “Got his mug?”
“Sending.”
Leon’s phone buzzes and he scoops it from the cupholder, thumbing open the message. It’s a badge photo from a company ID.
“Oh.”
“Recognize him?”
“Yeah.”
When you hear the short knock on your cube wall, you’re sure it’s Peter. It’s always Peter. You shut your eyes, take a breath, and turn in your office chair.
It’s not Peter.
“Leon!”
Something crashes in the cube next door.
“Hey,” Leon says. “Coffee?”
You double-take, hesitant, reaching unconsciously towards your open laptop with an email half-composed in the foreground, a document half-read in the background, and several deadlines on your calendar.
“I’m, uh…”
You can’t look away from his face. His eyes are intense, like he’s laser-engraving a message on the back of your skull.
I need to talk to you. Now.
“Yeah, sure. One second.”
You save the email as a draft, shut the laptop and grab your phone. Leon holds the door for you to exit the cube farm into the main foyer.
You don’t see him make deliberate, razor-edged eye contact with Peter, who is standing, red-faced, in his cube.
The entire back wall of the cafeteria is plate-glass, looking out over a dewy, short lawn and a paved walkway that follows a copper creek overhung by gently swaying trees. It’s still early enough that the sun hasn’t entirely cut the fog that ghosts the water.
Coffee in hand, Leon winds between the tables in the main cafeteria. It’s moderately busy, commuters hunched over their hashbrowns and sausage, laptops open to multitask. No one pays your little two-person train much mind, aside from the occasional double-take at Leon, but it’s immediately followed by a ducked head.
He doesn’t even have the gun on him today.
Leon leads you into one of the cafeteria conference rooms at the back, branched off of the main space, sharing the plate-glass wall. It’s far from private – there's no door, just a half-wall of more glass – but it’s tucked back and it’s quiet. You sit at the furthest end of the long table, glancing out at the sunbeams streaming through the trees.
It looks serene.
You’re not fucking feeling it.
“Why’d you pull me out, agent?”
The chairs roll; Leon brings his up to the table and opens the lid of his coffee cup.
“Your favorite neighbor was… researching me this morning,” he says.
You raise your eyebrows, chuffing a laugh, but the humor quickly fades. A little googling wouldn’t ping a DSO agent’s radar. It definitely wouldn’t be noteworthy enough to then come tell you about it.
“Yeah,” he agrees, watching your face journey.
“Why the hell?”
“I don’t think he appreciated the improv theater yesterday,” Leon says, ripping open two sugar packets and dumping them into his coffee. “You called him annoying. What kind of annoying?”
“He just… talks. A lot. Shit I don’t care about. Shit I don’t need to know about.”
“Like what?”
“He’s a gossip,” you say, then tip your head, conceding. “Well, everyone is. But he’s… I don’t know. A dirty-laundry gossip. Like to an extreme. I don’t know where he’s hearing half that shit.”
“About coworkers.”
“Yeah.”
“How often are they men?”
You narrow your eyes.
“That matters?”
“Maybe. When did he ask you out?”
You sharpen on him, wary.
“I never told anyone about that.”
“Lucky guess,” Leon says dryly, pressing stray sugar granules from the tabletop into his fingerprint. “Did the trashing other men get worse after you turned him down?”
You sit back, heavy.
“Fuck.”
Leon looks at you from under his brow, dusting sugar off onto the floor.
“I’m serious about HR.”
You’re stupid. You’re really, really thick. You should not have needed someone else to point this out. Of course Peter didn't take no as gospel. He’s tenacious. Like a barnacle.
“I don’t have any proof.”
“Do you feel safe?”
You huff out a humorless laugh. “No.”
He dips his head. There you go.
“What if HR just… talks to him? Makes him retake the SH module and calls that dusted?”
“Unlikely. He’s also abusing access and slandering coworkers.”
“But that’s shit I can’t prove! What if he claims that I’m just trying to slander him?”
“Reports are anonymous.”
You shake your head, bitter.
“He’d know.”
Leon’s quiet for long enough that you glance over from picking at the lid of your coffee cup.
“You’re afraid of him,” he says, perceptively. You look away again, taking a deep breath.
“When I turned him down,” you tell him, resigned. “He spent the entire next day ignoring me. It was nice that he shut up, but. It was… off.”
“Off?”
“Like he was… mad. Not humbled, or embarrassed. Like I owed him, and I’d denied him. Part of me kept expecting a ‘see you in court’.”
Leon raises his eyebrows, wry.
“Good to know the psych eval’s watertight,” he says, and pulls his phone from his pocket. He sets it on the conference table, head-to-head with yours, and pulls up his home screen. You follow his lead. Your phone displays both ripple together, popping up contact cards.
Leon Kennedy just gave you his number.
“Bet you twenty he’ll have something to say about me,” he says, pocketing his phone. “You good to go back?”
No. “Eventually.”
He sets his hand on the table, waits for you to meet his eyes.
“Retaliation gets him fired if the initial report doesn’t,” he tells you. “You just get the ball rolling; he can kick it into his own face. Yeah?”
You nod, but not too hard. You might throw up.
“Alright. Keep me posted.”
You barely watch him go, this time.
You sit alone at the back of the empty conference room, staring hollowly out at the creek until your untouched coffee is stone cold.
—
Guess I owe you 20
Leon How many puppies have I kicked?
The incident in DC??
Incoming Call
Leon Kennedy
You immediately swipe to answer.
“Tell me he’s full of shit.”
For a moment, it’s just the crackle of the open line. Then,
“I can’t.”
You sit up, gripping the phone tighter than the arm of your sofa.
“Are you fucking serious? The president?”
“He… he wasn’t. Anymore.”
You’re glad he called. Those four words sound like a thousand. You sag back under the weight of them.
“Sorry.”
“I’ve dealt with it,” Leon says, another thousand words in four. “Is that all he dug up?”
“That was his smoking gun.”
“And are you scared off?”
“Why, you wanna ask me to coffee again?”
“What, step on Peter’s toes?”
“God. Shut up.”
He laughs, just a short vocal huff.
“You reported him?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
“Hey, Leon?”
“Mm.”
“Thanks.”
Five Days Later
Leon Status report.
Home sick
Leon You haven’t called in.
No voice
Leon No email, either. Two days.
why would you knwo that. Are you stalking me
Incoming Call
Leon Kennedy
-> Decline
I told you i can’t talk
Incoming Facetime Call
Leon Kennedy
-> Decline
i’m fine
Leon Then pick up.
Incoming Facetime Call
Leon Kennedy
Missed Facetime Call
trying to nap
Contacts -> Leon Kennedy -> Edit
Agent Creep Not convinced, Peter.
Your phone clatters onto a hardwood floor, the screen fracturing into a dense spiderweb of fine cracks.
“You’re gonna want to see this.”
Sherry’s tone is foreboding. A file drops in, loading slowly. Leon’s thumb hovers, waiting.
“This was among the files deleted before turning his laptop back in to I.T.,” Sherry continues. “Unfortunately, he forgot the Cloud backup.”
The file name is innocuous.
Doc2.doc -> Downloaded
“Brace yourself,” Sherry says.
—
My little mouse, the game has begun. Your blatant rejection stung, but now I see it for what it is: a challenge. Nothing worth having ever comes easy, and my darling, I know you’re worth having. You will come to see that we are bound by destiny, and as much as you run, little mouse, it is only because you aren’t ready. Don’t worry; I am patient. I’ll bring you around.
—
“Bad fucking start,” Leon says.
“It gets worse.”
There’s one paragraph per business day over the last month-and-some-change, all dated. Leon scrolls through entry after entry, skimming.
—
You changed your perfume, today. I notice these things about you. I can map where you’ve been, scenting the air for the lingering hints of you, my sweet flower. Your new scent is powerful, spicy, sultry. How am I to concentrate when you tease me with such heat?
—
I have to find a way to reel you in. Your discussion with Mark today about “what makes Luke warm” was abhorrently inappropriate; it made my blood boil to hear. Why do you flirt so brazenly with other men when you know I’m right here? Is this part of your game? You truly test my patience, little mouse. But no matter: I’ll soon turn your attention away. You’ll learn that the only man worthy of your consideration is me.
—
You appreciated the cupcake I stole for you, today. There was a birthday in IT; Jake, that one with the blue eyes and dimples that you were batting your eyes at ten days ago. No matter. He doesn’t get to see you the way that I do – legs tucked under you, soft feet bare, shoes kicked off to the side. You make such a pretty picture when you relax like that. Only around me.
—
Dearheart, you cut your hair. Did you know this would upset me? I’ve dreamed of tangling my fingers in your soft trusses, winding them around my hand, pulling your head back to keep you submissive. Good that you’re experimenting now, I suppose. When you’re my wife you’ll keep it long, as is proper.
—
“Sherry,” Leon says, and there’s an edge to it.
“I know,” Sherry says, heavy. “Page 18, second entry.”
Leon scrubs through the page numbers.
—
Little mouse, I cannot abide. When did you meet that agent??? Why would you have cause to consort with such rough company??? We work legal; what recourse does he seek? I must discourage this acquaintanceship; Agent Kennedy is dangerous, my sweet. I have to find a way to prove it to you before it’s too late.
—
“Rich,” Leon mutters. He scrolls to the bottom of the document. It’s not much further.
The final entries are short, hurried, jarring.
—
that agent is a snake in your ear. i knwo he told you to do this. he’ll devour you. i have to save you from his maw
—
i understand now. what games you play. i’m not intimidated by the obstacles you set between us; i know you’re waiting for me to prove myself a man. heard. i’m coming to get you, my angel. our heaven awaits.
—
“Fuck.”
Leon kicks his car door open and steps out onto the street.
The screen of your phone is so cracked, Peter can’t get the Slide to Power Off to track. He’s crouched under the overhang of his kitchen island, hands shaking, the floor dented where your phone had struck. He’d thrown it, foolish, in a flash of utter panic.
Kennedy knows.
No, he's bluffing. He can't know.
He can.
Fuck, Peter knew he should have shut your phone down the minute he had it. Damn the siren call of your camera roll, your Notes, your music; damn his thirst to know you.
The doorbell rings, simultaneous with a Person at Your Door chime from Peter's phone on the couch. He yelps and cracks his head on the kitchen island, your phone clattering to the floor again. He leaves it, leaping for his own phone, and ducks between the couch and the coffee table, heart pounding.
The doorbell camera takes a second to load.
Something’s wrong.
The live feed is mostly black with jagged light around the edges, shifting in confusing pixels. There’s something all over the lens.
The doorbell rings again; longer, impatient. Peter’s hands are clammy, shaking so hard he misses the two-way talk button on the first two tries.
“What do you want?”
Good. He sounds gruff and curt, definitely not nervous.
“Delivery,” the bored voice responds. It’s a man, but it’s not familiar.
“Just leave it on the porch.”
“Needs a signature.”
“What is it?”
“How should I know?”
“Wipe off the camera and show me.”
There’s a pause. “It’s bird shit, dude.”
“So get a tissue.”
“Look, guy, they’re timing me on this,” the voice says, sounding like a royally annoyed and underpaid delivery driver, and nothing more… sinister. “Signature or I walk with it.”
Peter approaches the door, wishing he had side windows to gauge a silhouette. He keeps the chain in place and opens the door, peering out.
At Leon Kennedy.
“Signature accepted,” Leon says in his normal voice. It echoes through Peter’s phone.
There’s a loud puff of compressed air, a horrible pain in Peter’s chest, and then the door kicks open and throws your ex-cubemate back, the snapped door chain scattering broken links across the floor.
The door slams shut.
Gasping like a beached fish, on his back on the floor, Peter presses his hand to the wet spot on his chest. He expects red, thick and dark and dripping. He sees blue.
“Wh-what?”
Peter looks up, right down the barrel of a gun, completely steady at the end of Agent Kennedy’s arm.
“Where is she.”
Kennedy’s wearing gloves. Fuck. Holy shit. He’s wearing gloves and he’s in Peter’s house and he’s pointing a gun at him and he knows.
“Wh-who? What the hell is this?” Peter’s voice isn’t gruff and curt anymore. It’s just a squeak.
Leon shoots him in the knee, another blue paintball that matches the burst mess in the middle of his shirt, that matches the gunk obscuring his doorbell camera. Peter howls, clutching at his knee, and Leon shakes the paintball gun, tossing it aside with a loud clatter.
“Damn, out of paint,” he says, and draws the real gun from his hip, aiming it at Peter’s head. “How ‘bout you keep playing dumb.”
“You can’t! You can’t!” Peter’s shrieking, shielding his face with his arms, cowering while trying to crawl away backwards. Leon barely has to move his arm to keep his aim. It’s pathetic.
“Tell me where she is.”
“Who!”
Leon shoots the floor next to Peter’s head; he screams and pisses himself.
The gun is silenced. Peter's neighbors aren't even gonna know to call the cops.
“Keep pushing your fucking luck.”
“Storage! Storage!”
“Where.”
“Public! Public Storage on 12th!”
“Unit.”
“414!”
“Keys.”
Peter’s hyperventilating, curled into a ball on the floor. Leon kicks his foot.
“KEYS!”
“Car! Car cupholder!”
Leon bends and grips Peter’s skull, cracking it on the floor. Peter falls limp, unconscious.
“Too fucking good for you,” Leon growls. He glances quickly around the living room, towards the open kitchen, spotting your phone lying facedown on the ground. He swipes it up, noting the ruined screen, and pockets it. Peter’s car keys are hanging by the door to the garage; Leon takes them and doesn’t return.
Unit 414 is a 10 x 15 concrete storage cell with an orange corrugated roll-up door. It rattles loud while Leon wrestles the padlock open; the door catches in its tracks halfway and Leon growls in frustration, shoving up under it. It slams open; the clatter echoes throughout the storage block, but no one else is out here.
He clicks on his flashlight.
It’s silent.
The unit isn’t empty; there are boxes piled inside, along with a pair of skis tipped over sideways, a dirty towel, a broken bookshelf demonstrating how the walls aren’t quite straight, a spill of magazines, a chipped ashtray.
It looks like a normal, innocent storage unit from out here.
Leon moves the flashlight, watching the shadows. The boxes don’t reach all the way to the back wall.
He calls your name.
Silence.
He steps into the unit. There’s a pathway through the boxes, the dusty concrete shushing under the soles of his shoes. He leads with the flashlight beam, leaning to see beyond the box walls.
It’s the edge of a naked mattress he sees first, shoved into the back corner, lying on the cold floor.
And then it’s your foot, your leg, you – and everything hits fast forward.
“Shit.”
You’re lying unconscious, in your work clothes, but wrong. Your blouse is cut in an upside-down triangle at the front, still tucked into your slacks at the back; it exposes your bare stomach, the bottom of your bra. Your slacks are unbuttoned and unzipped, flayed open, but not pulled down. Your underwear hasn’t been altered or shifted… but.
Bile rises at the back of Leon’s throat. Dried white stains stripe your bare stomach, clip the cotton of your waistband.
In his ear, Sherry speaks up.
“Leon? What are you seeing?”
He’s carefully turning your face where he can see it, tapping your cheek, saying your name. You’re not responding. He yanks his glove off with his teeth, pressing his fingers to your neck.
“I found her,” he says, hoarse. He lifts one of your eyelids, watches how your pupil responds to the flashlight. “I need cops and EMTs, Sherry.”
“Sending to your coordinates,” she confirms, tight. “Leon, how bad.”
There are zipties around your wrists, bound to the wall above your head; he cuts the restraint and brings your arms down slowly. He kneels up to tear off his coat, movements furious, jerky.
“You’d better send the cops to that bastard's house, too,” he bites out. “Or I'm going back for him myself.”
“Is she stable?”
Leon covers you gently with his coat.
“Yeah.”
He brushes your hair back. Your streak of silvers catch the cold light of the flashlight beam, as does the bruise on your forehead.
Leon has to steady himself against the back wall, clenching his jaw hard and breathing deliberately.
“Fuck.”
He should have reacted faster. He should’ve checked in with you the instant you didn't show.
He should’ve foregone the paintballs.
When the ambulance wails into the storage block, throwing flickering red and white shadows against the back wall, Leon breaks from his thousand-yard stare at the boxes in front of him. Under the coat, his bare hand rests over your wrist, one finger pad pressed to your beating pulse point.
It’s slow, but you’re alive.
You’re alive, and he’s got you.
“How did he know your address?”
You shake your head, picking at the side of your finger. You dig in a little too hard and wince; blood wells from the torn hangnail. You press your thumb over it.
“Followed me home? Hacked the IRS databases? Nothing would surprise me,” you say.
The officer notes this down with a cheap Bic pen in a little flip notebook.
“Where were you when he grabbed you?”
“My garage. It’s at the back of the house, off an alley. He ducked in under the closing garage door, which made it open again. That’s when I noticed him.”
More notes. She’s writing while you’re still talking. You lift your thumb from the side of your finger; blood beads up and you wipe it away, pressing the pad of your thumb back over it.
Your hands are shaking. You have your teeth clenched down so they don't chatter.
“Did he say anything to you? Can you recall?”
“He called me a little mouse,” you say, disgusted. “Something like ‘you can stop running, little mouse. I have you’.”
In the chair next to the hospital bed, Leon drops his head. His elbows are resting on his knees, his fingers threaded together.
“What happened next?” The officer flips to a new page. She wouldn’t have to, if it wasn’t such a tiny notepad. Pockets come bigger these days.
“I screamed ‘help’ and tried to run. He was already too close. He slammed me against the door to the yard and clamped something over my mouth, and then I don’t remember.”
“We’re working on collecting security doorbell footage from neighbors to help fill in the gaps.”
“I don’t think anyone has cameras in that alley. It’s no-man’s-land back there. Run by opossums and raccoons.”
The officer doesn’t note down that comment.
“Do you remember anything else?”
You wish you couldn’t.
You can still feel the zipties, plastic digging into your wrists. You can feel the cold, the concrete walls, his weight on your legs so you can't kick, the bite of a needle. You can still hear his disgusting voice, persistent like a mold stain on your brain.
Your blood’s rising.
“I remember he’s a fucking coward,” you spit. “A fucking piece of shit freak. He kept talking about transitions, shared life, perfect mates. I remember he pumped me full of sedatives and said it was because I was ‘too full of spark and didn’t yet know how to temper my flame’.”
You can tell Leon’s looking up at the heart monitor. It’s silent, but you’re sure the number’s climbing. Your heart is galloping, your breathing quickened, but it’s not out of fear.
You’re not afraid of Peter anymore. You’re too fucking angry.
The officer’s noticing the monitor, too. She closes her notebook and stands from the plastic chair, tucking it out of the way.
“Thank you for your answers. I know this isn’t easy,” she says, and hands you a card between middle and forefinger. “In case you need to reach us. But we’ll be in touch.”
You take the card, forgetting the hangnail situation. Your thumb leaves a small red stain, engraved with your fingerprint, on the thick paper.
“I’m, uh… I’m leaving town,” you tell the officer. “Staying with family for a while.”
“Good,” she approves, nodding. “I’ll make a note of it.”
She nods to Leon; he nods back. Then she’s gone, and it’s quiet.
You’re toying with the hem of the hospital blanket. They gave you a scrub top instead of your altered shirt, and the sleeves aren’t long enough to cover your wrists. The thin, dark bruising is too loud, even in your peripheral vision.
Your nose starts stinging; you turn your face away from Leon, your vision blurring.
The first tears feel impossibly hot searing down your cheeks.
“Hey.” Leon stands, touching your shoulder.
It breaks you.
You hunch forward, hiding your face behind your hand as you sob, like Leon won’t notice if he can’t see your eyes. He moves his hand to your upper back.
What he says next is ridiculous.
“I am so sorry.” It’s the tone. The ownership. The guilt.
You shake your head, because that’s unacceptable. This is not his fault, and he got you out. But words aren’t really happening for you right now, so you just turn and press your forehead to his chest. If he doesn’t read it as the exoneration it is, at the very least he’ll understand it’s forgiveness.
His arms come around you, light and easily shrugged off if you don’t want it. But it’s exactly what you do want, so you put your arms around him and hold on tight. It’s a relief when he matches you, his embrace strong and steady.
He doesn't let go until your sobs smooth out.
Unfortunately, that's almost immediate. It’s maybe the nicest hug you’ve had in years.
“When do you leave?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
“Do you have a ride?”
You nod, wiping at your face. He glances around the room and moves a box of tissues onto your lap.
“Got a friend taking me,” you say. Your face feels swollen and your head’s starting to hurt. There’s a cup of water on the bedside table; you drain it and set the empty cup next to your brand new phone, plugged in and charging. Leon's looking at it.
“Phone number the same?”
“I.T. says it’s all been transferred.”
He nods. “Good.”
Leon Tell me when you’re home safe.
Okay, mom
—
Home safe
Leon Roger.
Aaand you’ve already forgotten my name
—
Leon Blame the concussions.
I think you need a new job
=================
Leon Sitrep?
You’re lying in bed; it’s well past noon. You know this. You don’t care.
You open the camera and take a picture without moving.
Leon Cryptic.
Current view.
Leon You’ve been raptured?
You huff through your nose, opening the camera again and tipping it down to catch the top of the wall along with the blank white ceiling this time.
Leon That's a bold choice.
The wall color of your childhood bedroom is retina-scalding bright and saturated. You last painted it when you were 16.
Everyone's a critic
=================
Leon Status report.
You open the camera again. It’s more honest than texting ‘fine’. More informative than saying ‘breathing’.
Leon Did you shrink?
What?
Leon That bowl’s enormous.
Homemade soup by the gallon. That’s how you know it’s serious
It’s enough chicken soup to feed a small army, cradled in your lap on the sofa. Weighing down your lap on the sofa.
Leon Don’t fall in.
=================
Leon Hey.
Hi
Leon What, no picture?
You pull up the camera. You catch your brother side-eyeing you.
“Gross. What’s that smile about?”
“Nothing. Don’t move.”
“I don’t consent,” he says casually.
“It’s not your face.”
“My armpit is part of 'I'.”
“Me,” you correct absently. “Me armpit is part of I.”
Leon What the hell am I looking at?
My brother’s sweater
Leon The glove?
He’s dying my hair
Leon What color?
That’s proprietary information
Leon I have clearance.
Come back with a warrant
He doesn’t reply, so you tuck your phone back under your leg. Three minutes later, it buzzes against the wooden seat and your brother makes a louder, mimicking noise of annoyance while fitting a shower cap over your thick, sticky hair.
Leon didn’t respond in text. He sent a picture.
It’s a picture of a post-it note stuck to a desk, three words written on it in Sharpie. It makes you fucking laugh.
WARRANT
What color
You’ll never catch me alive copper
Leon Shit, we got a runner.
You almost smack your head on the counter with the way the laughter whips out of you. You manage to take a picture of the color name on the gunked dye bottle and send it.
You’ll Never Catch Me Alive Copper
Leon Well aren't we smug.
=================
Leon Got an update on douchenozzle.
Do I want to hear it?
Leon Maybe. He’s in the hospital.
What??
Leon Yeah. Heard he was trying to ‘make friends’ inside.
TRULY how did he pass the psych eval
Leon Your guess is as good as mine.
=================
I’m braving bioweapons, Agent Kennedy
Leon What?
You snap a picture and send it through.
Leon Shit. Looks like a close call.
It's a mess at the back of your parents' fridge; a horrible, sloppy, moldy sludge, forgotten for weeks. Months?
You’re not sure how no one smelled it until now.
We’ll remember them for what they were, not what they’ve become.
Leon And what the hell were they?
Snacking peppers
Leon RIP
=================
Leon Looks like you have a new neighbor.
A picture drops in; it’s a name plate on a cube wall.
A name plate with a man’s name. Fucking fantastic.
A Thomas, not a Tom
Leon You wouldn’t like him when he’s Tom.
Have you seen him?
Leon Not yet. He starts tomorrow.
Any intel at all?
Leon Only speculation.
Hit me
Leon Boomer. Sweater vests. Former smoker. Replaced cravings with carrots. Raw.
Counter: Zoomer. Zero neckties. Hobby coder building dupe of the Pentagon Pizza Tracker called the Hexagon Hotwing Tracer
Leon Counter counter: Octogenarian. Trace of mothballs. Denture glue unreliable.
Counter counter counter: tank engine
=================
Leon Hey, you.
Hold on, getting stabbed
Leon That’s not reassuring.
“You mind if I take a picture? You’d be in it.”
The tattoo artist doesn’t even look up, bent low over your stomach and hyperfocused on the line they’re drawing.
“Go for it.”
You take a picture from an angle that hides your bared skin but clearly shows the tattoo machine.
Leon More reassuring.
You got any ink?
Leon Yeah.
Ok lemme guess. Leg
Leon No.
Shoulderblade
Leon Warmer.
Tramp stamp
Leon No comment.
Wait
Leon
Are you serious
Leon That’s proprietary information.
I was KIDDING
Leon Where’s yours?
Don’t change the subject
Leon I didn’t.
Say more right now!
Leon More.
You're the worst
=================
Leon What does this look like to you?
Did you leave that??
Leon I don’t sweat in Rorschach.
You pull up the image Leon sent, zooming in. It’s the bench of a weight machine, marked by an oddly symmetrical sweat pattern.
Looks like a damn Journey album
Leon Not Motorhead?
Ugh. You’re SUCH a gym bro
For a minute, no response. Then a screenshot from a music app drops into the text stream.
You collapse into hysterics.
Tip Toe Thru’ the Tulips with Me - Tiny Tim
PLEASE
Leon What?
If you workout to that I think they put you on a LIST
=================
It’s staring at you.
It’s over your therapist’s shoulder, bug-eyed and gangly, and your eye keeps returning to it. Like if you lose visual it’ll strike.
Before you leave, you ask if you can take a picture.
Leon What the fuck is that?
A giraffe? Long neck, dead giveaway
Leon I’m sure I’ve had to shoot something like that before.
It’s the demon on my therapist’s shoulder
Leon That’s in your therapist’s office??
I think her daughter made it
Leon Is it supposed to soothe your anxieties or replace them?
—
Are you up
You don’t expect an answer. It’s one in the fucking morning; you feel bad for reaching out. It took you fifteen minutes of warring with yourself to even send the text.
The three dots appear at the bottom of the screen and your heart lifts.
Leon Fast asleep.
Can I call you
Incoming Call
Leon Kennedy
“You okay?”
“I can’t stop hearing him.”
“Talk to me.”
“I thought I…” you trail off, your throat closing up. You put your hand over your eyes, feeling the familiar sting in your nose. You wish it was less familiar.
“Hey. Shit’s not linear,” he tells you, and it’s not his gentle tone, it’s his normal speaking cadence. “Probably just got stirred up today. It’ll settle.”
“But I was okay,” you whisper. Tears burn their way down the sides of your face, silent.
“You are okay,” he says, certain. “Except for that fucking giraffe.”
You laugh, sniffing, cuffing away your tears. You’re not going to let Peter win. He doesn’t deserve the brain space.
“What’re you doing up?”
“Folding laundry.”
“I bet you aren’t.”
You hear the crisp snap of fabric whipped in the background.
“Weird thing to lie about,” Leon says.
“Weird thing to be doing at one in the morning.”
“Sleeping is predictable,” he says. “Can’t have that.”
“I’ve actually never wanted anything more.”
"Mm. You need a bedtime story?”
“What, you gonna read me clothing labels?”
“Yeah,” he says. “Once upon a time, 100% cotton. Machine wash warm, tumble dry low. Do not bleach.”
“It was a dark and stormy night, outer shell 100% nylon, lining 100% polyester. Spot clean only.”
He laughs, just a warm rumble in your ear.
“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times,” he says. “100% latex.”
The laugh hits you like a punch – a gasp that turns into something deeper, from the belly. It shakes through you, building, unrelenting, until the air’s pressed from your lungs, until your stomach hurts.
“Jesus christ, Leon,” you wheeze, wiping at your eyes.
“That would be linen.”
“I can’t breathe.”
“Passing out is also sleeping,” he says, a verbal shrug.
“But what if he gets me?”
“Who?”
“Dickens in a catsuit.”
“…Your therapist is gonna garotte me, huh.”
=================
The shelf cloud rolling in over your parents’ house looks straight out of the movie Independence Day. The sky behind it is glowing – light refracting off of a hail core.
You’re scrambling to help your dad protect the car in the driveway with an extremely Pinterest-DIY hail shield; it’s just a bunch of cheap pool noodles duct taped together. You’re tossing a skein of rope back and forth to each other – over the car, under the car – tying the thing down.
You both stand back.
It looks like the car has court at noon but the circus at one. The pool-noodle shield looks like giant powdered wig. For clowns.
The wind is picking up, whipping at your clothes, tearing green leaves off of the trees, blowing bits of trash down the street. You raise your phone and snap a picture of the sky.
Well, it’s been nice knowing you
Leon Shit.
Fat raindrops start hitting the pavement, leaving coin-sized polka dots. You run for the cover of the house, shepherded by your dad. The door is no sooner closed than the haunting wail of the tornado sirens start, accentuated by your parents’ weather radio screaming the same alert from upstairs.
It’s nothing new. You grew up in the Midwest. This is just a basement kind of afternoon.
Tornado sirens
Leon Deep shit.
They call me a hipster I’m so underground
Leon The nerve, to make me read that.
Don’t block me I might need help
Leon You’re beyond help.
=================
The sun is barely up and you’re already bleeding.
“Shit.” You brush sidewalk grit away from your skinned knee, flex your leg experimentally. It stings, but it’s not terrible.
At least no one saw you trip. You’re on a dozy residential street, curtains and blinds lining the windows like so many eyelids closed. Someone’s automatic sprinkler system is hissing quietly three doors down, the only noise beside the waking birdsong.
You take out your phone.
Leon What happened?
Thought I'd take up running. I think it’s going well so far
Leon The key is to use your feet, not your knees.
Ha fucking ha
Leon Should I call for evac?
Nah I'll just drag my sorry ass home
Leon How far a drag we talking?
Quarter mile?
Leon Oh. Going well almost immediately, then.
I was looping BACK
=================
Leon Hey. I’m going dark for a few days.
Damn. They’re making you do your job again?
Leon Pretty fucking backwards, huh.
—
Be careful
Leon Me? Always.
Tell me when you’re home safe
Leon Wilco.
=================
GRAFFITI
It’s spraypainted in big bubbly blue letters on the brick wall of a public park restroom, an “OMG” and “WOW” smaller accent words added on in yellow. It makes you laugh.
Your phone is raised, camera open, before you remember that Leon’s gone offline.
Your phone lowers with the subtle sag of your shoulders.
You rally and take the picture anyway. You can always send it when he’s back.
Because he's coming back. He'll be fine.
=================
You’re draining your battery with how much you’re checking your phone.
You’re being ridiculous, you know you are.
That doesn’t make you stop.
=================
Leon Home safe.
Thank god, I was getting bored
You're so relieved you're lying on the floor about it.
Are you okay
A photo drops in. It’s Leon’s arm in a bright white cast. One of his nails is bruised black.
Fuck. Guess not
Leon Been better, been worse.
Are you getting people to sign it
Leon Yeah with PINs and bank passwords.
Like you need that, Mr Drives-a-Porsche
Leon Are you signing?
I only do art
Leon Alright.
Leon As long as it’s not that fucking giraffe.
Put some respect on his name
Leon It has a name?
I didn’t tell you?
Leon No.
Extended Stamos
Leon I don’t know what I expected, but that wasn’t it.
=================
Leon Hey. There’s an opening in DSO reception.
You’d trust me to be people-facing??
Leon You don’t bite.
Right, just the barking
Leon Won’t be a cube farm.
Is there a posting?
Leon I heard they want it up by EOD. I can send it your way.
Ok yeah
Thanks Leon
=================
What’s your email address
Leon Signing me up for questionable newsletters?
Forwarding some info
The email address shows up as a blue underlined link. You press your thumb over it to copy.
Sent
The three dots appear, then drop out.
You wait.
The dots reappear quickly.
Leon I’ll be there to pick you up.
You smile.
Ok. I’ll let you know if the arrival time changes
Leon Roger.
=================
On terra firma
Leon Welcome back.
Baggage carousel 5
Leon Headed there now.
Not even off the plane yet
Leon I’ll walk slow?
Your leg is bouncing impatiently. The plane is still taxiing into the gate, taking its sweet time. The cabin sounds like an arcade with all the pings and beeps and buzzes and jingles from other passengers letting loved ones know they’ve arrived.
Your phone buzzes in your hand. It’s the family group chat responding; you open the thread.
A text banner appears at the top of the screen.
Leon It’s a ghost town down here.
The fuck happened to walking slow?
Leon In my defense, it was right there.
You can’t stop smiling.
—
Your heart rate picks up the second you’ve set foot in the airport proper.
It keeps climbing as you join the growing stream of other passengers, headed for the escalators down to baggage claim.
Your heart's hammering as you’re looking off towards the baggage carousels, the escalator carrying you down – but he’s not over there.
He’s much closer.
He’s at the bottom of the escalator, watching you.
When you lock eyes, it’s like a firework goes off in your chest.
“Hey, you.”
He meets you with one arm open, easy, inviting. His other is in a sling; he holds it out of the way.
The first time you hugged him, you were sitting up in a hospital bed. Standing like this, your chin rests comfortably on his shoulder without needing tiptoes, the fold of your arms hitting at his high waist, just before he broadens.
You fit perfectly together.
He wraps his good arm around you and gently bumps his head against yours.
Your heart settles.
“Okay flight?” He takes your carry-on and shoulders it, unprompted. You part the sides of the sling to peer in at his cast.
“What’d you use, invisible ink?”
“Security reasons.”
“I’m using Sharpie.”
“There’s one in my pocket,” he says. “Congrats on the new job.”
You smile, walking side by side towards baggage carousel 5.
“Thanks. Heard some guy put in a good word.”
He smirks, looking over at you.
“You didn’t need it.”
There’s a small gift bag sitting on your keyboard when you roll up to DSO reception. You expect a book of sticky tabs, some mini highlighters, maybe a stress ball or some chocolates as a welcome from the team.
You pull out a tiny glass giraffe. Its face is a little wretched.
There’s a folded index card in with it.
Extended Stamos is a hard name to beat, but you’ve overcome worse. - LSK
“Oh! Do you collect them? My niece collects elephants,” your new coworker says, booting up her laptop. She had introduced herself as Tish, and you like her already.
“I guess I do now.”
“Me, I just collect cat hair,” she says ruefully, brushing the front of her cardigan. Her ID badge comes unclipped and skids under your chair. “Oh.”
“Got it.”
The desk phone starts ringing; Tish tucks it between shoulder and ear to answer, mouthing thank you when you hand her badge back. She indicates the front desk behind you with a little tip of her head.
You turn to find Leon standing there.
“Good morning, Agent Kennedy.”
“Hey, new face.” There’s humor around his eyes.
Tish hangs up her call and rolls over.
“Kennedy, don’t tell me you need a temp badge again.”
Oh, you really like her already. Leon catches you biting the insides of your cheeks and he rolls his eyes.
“Just saying hi, Tish.”
“Okay, good. Now shoo. She’s got training to do.”
—
Leon Iron fist, that one.
Stop texting me. She’ll confiscate my phone
Leon Training over lunch?
Nope
Leon Booked.
—
Leon is the giraffe uranium glass
Leon No.
Leon Why?
I think he’s fritzing the company laptop
Leon Not him. I got him from a very reliable mysterious stranger.
Cool, so he’s just haunted
Leon Have you named him yet?
Yeah
Stratos Ferris
Leon Well, fuck. I think you did it.
Two Weeks Later
You’re laughing; you can’t fucking stop.
“Don’t, don’t, you’re getting it in your hair!”
Leon grimaces, looking at the back of his good hand. The sweat on his forehead diluted the bird poop and it’s a thin, even smear of marbled green and white on his skin, both forehead and hand.
And in his hair.
“I can’t… fucking believe…” You’re clutching your stomach, wheezing, hanging off of his arm. The sling is gone but the cast doesn’t come off for another two weeks; your Sharpie art is worn and faded, but it fits the vibe.
You’d drawn barbed wire winding around the whole thing.
“It’s already drying,” Leon says, scrunching his forehead. He walks off the main running path and picks a weedy plant with smooth leaves; it just adds more green to his forehead, the leaves immediately bruising and wilting under his fingers as he scrubs.
“You’ve got to be shitting me.”
You’re gonna pass out. You’re gonna pass out or piss yourself, or both. You have to pull it together.
“Sit, sit down.”
You point him to the nearest bench, standing from your crouch and wiping at your streaming eyes. You pull your shirt off over your head and go to use it to wipe his skin, but he stops your hand.
“Not your shirt.”
“Because we can use yours,” you say, sarcastic. He’d left it at the car, before you’d even started the run.
And yeah, he has a tramp stamp. You’ve been looking at it for the last two miles as you fell behind.
Out of bird shit trajectory. You’re not gonna rub it in. The point is to scrape it off.
“Let’s just go back to the car,” he says.
“You really wanna run another five miles with bird shit on your forehead?”
He just looks back at you, shuts his mouth softly.
“Didn’t think so,” you say. “Hold still.”
His gaze lowers as you focus on scraping the mess off his forehead. You feel his fingers touch the middle of your stomach, right under the hem of your sports bra.
“Never saw your ink,” he says.
It’s a dagger in sharp black linework. The point ends right above your navel.
You remember the pain of the tattoo needles, permanently staining your skin.
You remember what the tattoo replaces, too. Stains that washed off, even if they didn’t feel like they did.
Stains that you have an easier time forgetting nowadays.
“You like it?”
Leon runs the pad of his thumb from the hilt down the length of the blade.
“Yeah.”
Despite the hot day, there are goosebumps on your skin. And it’s just registered how close you’re standing.
Between his legs.
He looks up at you, forehead clean. His grey eyes are stark in the daylight; you can see the freckles and striations of his irises, crisp and clear.
He’s studying you, too. When he speaks, it’s quiet. Private.
“What happens if I kiss you?”
Your stomach flips over. Your eyes fall to his mouth, and you answer just as softly.
“Why don’t you find out?”
The first touch of his lips is soft, chaste, lingering. It fizzes through you.
He watches your eyes open again, his own half-lidded. He hasn’t pulled back very far.
“Yeah?”
You drop your shirt on the bench, threading your fingers into the hair at the back of his head, tipping his face and kissing him deeper. His good hand slides onto your hip, coming to rest on the bare skin of your lower back.
You break for air and he diverts easily, laying kisses along your jaw. Your hand clenches in his hair.
“Leon. Are you gonna get in trouble for kissing your receptionist?”
“You’re not mine,” he says.
You pull back to look at him. His lips are pinker, spit-slick and shiny. You fit your thumb in the cleft of his bristly chin.
“No, I think I am,” you murmur.
He dips his head, kissing the pad of your thumb, eyes on yours.
“Two way street,” he says against your skin. You pull lightly at his bottom lip, your stomach full of butterflies.
“I think you should take me home.”
His pupils flex, his fingertips pressing into the skin of your back.
His hand drops away.
“Fuck.”
“What? Five miles?”
“Five miles,” he agrees.
“Do you need some motivation?” You tuck your thumb under the band of your sports bra, pushing it up half an inch. He shields his eyes.
“That's gonna make it harder to run.”
Abrupt, you swipe your abandoned shirt off the bench and take off running down the path. You throw a villainous cackle over your shoulder.
“You’ll never catch me alive, copper!”
For a beat, Leon just watches you go, a quiet, fond smirk on his face.
Then he gets up, and he runs.
Down the path, your swept-up shriek turns into defeated laughter, echoing back down to the empty bench.
The dominoes fell, and fell again, and from where you're standing? You think you got lucky.
On AO3
Creepy incel coworker Peter is FULLY based on a Reddit story that I heard read on Smosh that had me crawling out of my SKIN; a real guy kept a real journal about a real coworker that was, somehow, worse than what I wrote here. I apologize to any real Peter Dotsons out there I tried to choose a name that didn’t belong to any real guys with Wikipedia articles 😶
Thanks for giving this one a read! Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist when I post these fics 💚
Honestly my husband more or less forced this issue....
First, Do No Harm
Leon x reader
Overall rating: M for Mature (language and sexy times)
Context: my husband came to me unsolicited and told me leon had gotten married but nobody knows who the wife is LIKE I WOULD IGNORE THAT AS A PROMPT. Anyway. Like other video game stories of mine these are serialized one shots. Read all, read some.
Summary: If someone ever got Leon to wax poetic about his career and he was persuaded to tell you about the most important mission he had, you might get disappointed when there wasn't a single infected in sight. It was boring, but it was how he met you, and him meeting you? Best damn thing that ever happened.
These are designed as one-shots but very much go together and there's an overarching plot. I say that because when I do one-shots that arc together I sometimes post out of order!
First Days (new! March 2026)
"We Usually Ask If You've Been Out of the Country" (new! March 2026)
Summary: Made in the style of a DLC, following a post RE9 Leon backtracking to a very important mission, takes place 2014-2015. Leon is sent to recover a missing, potentially kidnapped doctor, and as he investigates he is lead to the vacation mansion of James Marcus, former Umbrella scientist who went rogue. The Marcus Mansion has all the quirks of a Trevor house and to make matters worse it is in Miami, right by the water, and a hurricane is approaching. Can Leon Kennedy save the doctor, defeat the BOWs, and get the hell out before he's swept away?
Character: Dr. Caitlin Barrow, scientist. Female, early 30s, who was minding her own business when a would-be investor in her research kills her partner, black-bags her head, and she wakes up who the fuck knows where and what the fuck is that.
She's an OC and if you liked the reader-insert Doc from "First, Do No Harm" you'll like this one though she is going to be white and, again, in her 30s when Leon's also in his 30s. He's about 37 by my count, I was going to have her come in around 34-35.
Part 1: The Game's On (new April 2026)
Part 2: Sounds Like My Luck (new April 2026)
Part 3: The Bad Part of Paradise (new April 2026)
Part 4: Singing Telegram (new April 2026)
Part 5: Swing for the Fences (new April 2026)
Part 6: Full Dance Card (new April 2026)
Part 7: You Have To Trust Me (new May 2026)
Part 8: Hidden Key (new May 2026)
Part 9: Is There A Doctor In The House? (new May 2026)
Part 10: Not Supposed To Be This Way (new May 2026)
Part 11: Valued (new June 2026)
Leave Me Behind, or, Another Way Out (new June 2026)
Summary: Leon Kennedy is on a job. Just a job. Yes, there's zombies. But sometimes, when you know your work, very little surprises you. Especially when you've been at this over a decade. So he was not expecting much from this job-- which is why the Firehouse's unusually large zombie hoarde made him curious. What were the trying to get at? Why was it blinking and...warm? Leon discovers a Safe Haven box with a newborn baby boy in it and demands Ingrid get a doctor on the comms...now. Despite the less than ideal conditions he can't help but feel attached to the orphan he pulled out of hell...the same way he had been as a baby.
Part 1: I see you haven't injured your funny bone (new April 2026)
Part 2: Patience Is Not A Virtue Right Now (new April 2026)
Older Mentor!Leon Kennedy x DSO Agent!Reader Slowburn 🪻🌻🥀
❌18+ MDNI❌
Final Chapter: Epilogue
totally not tearing as i post this haha what :') also i know i haven't mentioned her again but just know layla married a super hot rich dude who loves her and her brother and they're all very happy yay
shouthout @sammimi19 for being my talent manager, and @theebladestar for proofreading ✨
and massive thank you to @gabswst-aug for the kitties! 💝
this is a long, and emotional one, so i hope you guys enjoy. thank you for reading! 💙
CW tags WILL contain spoilers (try not to read them if you're generally okay with nsfw stuff so you avoid getting spoiled!)
The creaking noise of your office chair fills your ears when you shift for the umpteenth time to get comfortable. It seems as though no matter how you position yourself, this chair simply doesn't do the trick.
You sigh, taking a sip of your giant water bottle. You have been trying to do better at staying hydrated, so you recently picked up the huge ‘jug’ from the store—as Leon likes to call it—in hopes it will help you reach your hydration goals.
The thought of the man makes you smile. He can be such a smartass, but it's nothing you’re not used to. Nine years of friendship, then followed by seven of a relationship, you have now known him for exactly half your life as you reach your thirty-second birthday.
You still can't believe it sometimes, how you went from purely platonic to now growing old together. But the sparkly ring on your finger serves as a great reminder, its shine catching in the light whenever you move your hand. He got you the perfect one too—just what you wanted.
Thoughts of your perfect husband swirl in your head when you suddenly hear a noise outside in the hallway. It sounds like something rolling on the floor, like a cart perhaps, but you’re not sure. Since it’s usually quiet during this time at the FOS department on a Friday, your curiosity is peaked.
You don't have to wonder for much longer when a soft knock comes at your door. Four rhythmic taps, two slow ones, then two consecutives. Leon.
“Come in,” you murmur, a grin already spreading on your face. You find it sweet that he goes out of his way to knock, even though you will always let him in.
The door clicks, and in comes the man himself. He’s sporting his usual work attire—a suit, a tie, and dress shoes. Except now he’s forced to wear reading glasses while using the computer—to his great dismay and your great pleasure. You think he looks incredibly cute, while he insists it makes him appear older. But it's not like his age was ever a problem for you anyway.
“Hey, kiddo,” he smiles, looking a bit disheveled, and that's when you see the big leather chair he’s pulling behind him and into the room.
“What is that?” you frown in confusion as he shuts the door. “Is that from your office?”
“You said yours was uncomfortable, didn't you?” he mutters sheepishly.
“Yeah… But I didn't expect you to roll a chair all the way from the other side of the building!”
He chuckles, pushing the seat closer until it's positioned right next to yours. “One of the few downsides of you changing departments, I’ll admit.”
“Well, since you brought it all the way here…” You move to switch spots, then sink into the comfy cushion with a relieved sigh. “Damn. It’s so much better than mine.”
Leon grins in satisfaction, then leans down to kiss your forehead softly. “Good. Wouldn't want my lovely wife to suffer while her body is working so hard.” He places a hand on your round stomach, his thumb rubbing a soothing motion.
“You’re spoiling me too much… Makes me wanna stay pregnant forever,” you giggle and place your hand on top of his.
“Well…” he bites his lip with a barely suppressed smirk, “I wouldn't complain.”
With that, he goes in for a kiss, groaning softly into your mouth from the contact. What starts as sweet and chaste quickly morphs into something needier when your tongues meet. It makes your head spin the way he cradles your face to deepen his access, his lips molding to yours like they were made for each other.
“Leon, we’re at work…” you pant once you pull away.
“Never stopped us before,” he retorts, pecking your mouth again. “On this very same chair, too,” he adds with a grin.
Feeling your face grow hot, you huff as you pinch his cheek, his stubble tickling your fingers. “Yeah, but never in my office. You know it's way too quiet here, unlike your side.”
Leon pauses to look around the room, as if confirming if it's truly as noiseless as you claim. But then, he looks back down at you, and he can no longer suppress himself. You’re just so unbelievably pretty with his baby in your belly. He waited so long, even after proposing one year into your relationship, with a wedding held during the spring of 2017—he never wanted to rush you.
It's the only thing that truly makes the age gap more pertinent and at the forefront of his mind. He’s forty-five now, expecting his first baby when his peers are long done having kids. But he wouldn't have it any other way if not with you. He wanted you to focus on your career first, which you did—brilliantly.
He watched you switch paths into an FOS position and slowly gain experience and rise in ranks while he supported from the side, no longer so heavily involved in your work. Even though he misses it sometimes, the shared moments during missions and reports, he still wouldn't change a thing if it means keeping you safe.
You also like to point out how it's healthier to separate some of your lives’ aspects to not grow sick of each other, but that’s where he wholeheartedly disagrees. He could spend every waking moment in your company and never complain.
Which is why the chair was the perfect excuse to come visit you in your office, just to get another look at your gorgeous face and pretty bump. At six months now, it's obvious through most of your clothes, and it drives him a little feral every time you leave the house knowing people will get to see his claim on you. Yes, he has fully embraced the caveman in him by now. There was no use fighting him anyway the moment you agreed to be forever his.
“Do you think you can be quiet?” he rasps in your ear with a kiss to your jaw.
You bite your lip, feeling that familiar heat coil in your gut at his proximity. “What do you wanna do?” you whisper, already enticed.
“Oh, wouldn't you like to know?” He moves to lock the door out of precaution. Then, without missing a beat, he comes to kneel at your feet, looking up at you through his black frames with those ice blues you never grow tired of. “If you want… you can open these pretty legs for me, sweetheart.”
“God… Sometimes I can’t believe how much of a freak you turned out to be,” you huff, and yet do exactly as he asks when you spread your thighs.
“Me? A freak? Nah, baby, I’m just in love.”
Ten minutes later, your skirt is hitched up to your waist, pantyhose bunched down at your ankles, with his face buried into your sensitive cunt. His glasses lay long forgotten next to where you're gripping the desk tightly with a hand, the other used to muffle your needy noises.
“Always so fucking sweet,” he grunts between your folds, his tongue incessantly dragging over your clit just to see you twitch. “I miss this little pussy every time I’m not tasting it—could stay here for hours.”
And he certainly has before. You remember distinctly the day he found out you were pregnant and proceeded to eat you out for quite literally hours, until you were a shaking, sobbing mess under him.
With a suck at your inner lips, you whimper behind your palm, and he takes that as his cue to repeat the motion again and again. Then, he pulls back, spreading your labia wider with his thumbs, and spits directly into your drippy hole just to see it flutter.
“So pretty, and all for me,” he smiles up at you proudly. “Right, baby?”
“Y-yeah… All for you, Leon.”
He moans at your words, then dives right back in, tongue first. With his lips on your clit, he brings a finger to circle your entrance, pulling more sounds out of you, before pushing in. He steadily finger fucks you, starting gentle before increasing rhythm, and he curles his digit inwards with every motion, until you’re completely losing your mind.
“Fuck, fuck— Leon!” Your cry is muted by your palm as your legs shake and convulse around his head, your orgasm overwhelming every cell in your body. You just pray no one hears.
Leon is not often this daring. Yes, he steals kisses and butt pats whenever he can, but full on sex at HQ is something you have only done a handful of times before—most of them having been during your pregnancy. He just can't seem to get enough of you in this state.
He peers up at you once you come down from the high, his face glistening with your slick and sporting a fucked out smile. You look down at him in your disheveled stare, and simply shake your head.
“You’re gonna smell like pussy now.”
He laughs, loud and bright, then purposely leans in to kiss you, just to be annoying. “Now we both smell like freaks.”
You hand him tissues with a sheepish smile, then slowly stand to pull up your pantyhose just for him to step in to help. It's such a small gesture, so mundane and forgettable, and yet something about it makes you pause just to appreciate him.
He looks so good with his flushed cheeks and tousled hair, his eyes filled with so much love and lust for you it puts to shame any fleeting relationship you had before him. No one has ever made you feel this loved, this wanted, and it's making you grow as insatiable as him.
“Wait,” you stop his movements with a hand on his wrist. “Think you can be quiet?” you ask the same question he did before.
Leon’s heart stutters at the implied meaning of your words. It is awfully soundless outside, but you have managed to stay mostly silent, so maybe another round wouldn't hurt. Hell, he would do just about anything for another round.
“Please,” the word slips out before he can stop it, then watches your eyes light up with mischief.
“Hm… Everything here makes noise,” you gesture vaguely to the desk and chairs before turning to him. “Maybe you can hold me up instead?”
He removes his jacket before you can even finish your question. “Fuck, yes. Anything.”
It takes a moment to shuffle around until you figure out the position you want as it's not exactly a simple one. He stands behind you with your back to his chest. His pants are down at his ankles when he holds up one of your legs with a hand under your knee, and his other arm encircles your waist. You brace a palm on the chair’s backrest for balance despite his secure hold, and then look down. With your thighs spread, there's enough access for you to reach between them for his painfully hard cock, and carefully slip it inside you.
You moan in unison at the feel of his first inch breaching you, then, he slowly slides in further so you can feel his thick length filling you up. He kisses along your neck to muffle his noises, the hand on your waist shifting to lift your sweater and reveal your bra.
Your breasts haven't gotten that much larger so far, though you know that change will probably happen when your milk comes in. However, what has changed is the darkening of your nipples, something you were feeling a bit insecure about until Leon proved you otherwise—he’s obsessed.
Pulling your bra cups down, he starts to pinch and squeeze at the peaks the moment your breasts spill out into the office air. His hips don't stop gyrating, fucking into you in a stable rhythm while keeping you steady on your foot, all while the chair you’re holding onto rolls with every thrust in a coming and going motion. He loves being strong enough to take you in every position you want.
“So tight,” he whines in your ear, his fingers digging into your skin and making it dimple between his digits. “Feels so good, honey—ngh— Prettiest little mommy… Fuck.”
You turn your face just to kiss him, whimpering into his mouth as quietly as you can while he splits you open. The word ‘mommy’ does something to you, and you feel that familiar build of pleasure every time his cockhead nudges your cervix. You could stay impaled on his length forever.
“I can feel you so deep…” you whisper between sloppy kisses. “Right where you belong.”
Leon makes a pathetically needy sound, because yes, this is where he belongs. With you, inside you, loving you, and giving you his all—this is where he wants to be.
“Yes, sweetheart, thank you,” he bites your lip and it makes your cunt clench around him. He’s thanking you for this as if he isn't the one holding you upright and drilling into you as hard as he wants. It makes your heart warm and your walls quiver.
“I’m so close…” Your voice comes out broken, like you’re tethering on the edge and just need an extra push. “Cum inside me—wanna feel it.”
He has to close his eyes to keep his composure as he rests his forehead against yours, his thrusts never stopping. He can feel himself fully losing it, and can't manage to stay calm anymore when he tugs at your nipple until you gasp.
“Yeah? Want my cum? Want me to breed you more?” he rasps in your ear, the obscene sound of his balls slapping your skin filling the room. The caveman is fully out. “You didn't get enough, babe? Look at you… Shit, you're so fucking stunning with my baby inside you… But you want more, huh?”
“Yes! Fuck!” you curse loudly when he slides his hand down, grazing past your bump, and then cupping your mound like he owns it. And damn it, he does.
“Shhh… What did we say about being loud?” He kisses your cheek tenderly, a complete contrast to the way he’s rearranging your insides. “I’ll give you what you want if you stay quiet… Just, fuck— Just stay put and let me fill you up. Gonna pump you so fucking full I’ll put a second kid in there before the first is out.”
That does it.
You clamp a hand on your mouth, nearly screaming of pleasure when your climax hits you hard. His fingers work your clit, his cock fucks you fast, and his lips press kisses along your neck, all while you lose yourself completely in his grasp. You know the only reason you’re still standing upright is his arm under your thigh and his hand on your pussy, like a portable little thing he can rut into even as your limbs turn to jello.
“Good mommy,” he praises, suckling along your neck, then preparing to let himself go too. It's not hard when you're gripping him so tight post-orgasm his dick is nearly choking. “You're perfect,” he adds in a whisper.
Soon enough, his rhythm stutters, his grip tightens, and he’s moaning incessantly in your neck as he shoots his load right into your already filled womb. Then, when his own limbs turn to mush, he sets you down on the chair where you can catch your breath while he kneels with his head resting on your thigh.
“Shit, I need a minute,” he pants tiredly.
When you look down at him to find him flushed, sweaty and disheveled, his pants still at his ankles, the sight makes you giggle. “Are you beat, old man?”
He huffs, giving your thigh a light bite in protest. “Shut up…”
You laugh again, your eyes crinkling at the corners in fondness. If there's one thing that has never changed between you, it's the endless teasing and playful banter.
Through his exhaustion, Leon stands up with a grunt—forty-five has him making noises with every movement—then quickly pulls up his slacks to help you fix your clothes too.
His eyes glimmer when he slides your panties in place, knowing they will collect his spend that will steadily leak out of you during the day. The thought of that alone could have him ready to go again if not for his protesting back.
He fixes your bra and sweater, but not without giving both of your darkened nipples a wet suck each—just because he can. Finally, he fixes your hair to the best of his ability and kisses you on the cheek when done.
“Yeah, no, people are definitely gonna tell we were up to something,” you conclude when you catch your reflections in the turned off monitor.
He laughs, then tucks his shirt with a grin, the thin fabric clinging to his muscles with every movement. “Well, I consider it hazard pay for all the shit they’ve put us through.”
“Amen,” you chuckle.
Leon’s grin softens into a small smile, a hint of sadness flickering through his ice blues when he notices the light tremor of your hands where they rest on your bump. He knows he should be used to it by now, but it never stops hurting knowing you continue to suffer from the consequences of that night. He’s just grateful he never has to worry about you being put into that kind of danger again.
“Water?” you interrupt his thoughts when you offer him your comically large bottle.
He takes it with a renewed smirk, shifting his focus on teasing you. “Thanks, kid. You know me, I love jugs.”
You roll your eyes at his awful joke while he grins with pride, then takes a loud sip of water as his gaze drifts to your desk. It lands on the little corkboard you keep on your wall for personal mementos and pictures, and he feels butterflies when all your cherished moments seem to be related to him.
Binx doodles, photos of Leon and you on your dates, in addition to sonograms of your unborn baby—he could cry at how adorably sweet you are.
“You put those up,” he points to the black and white ultrasound images. Those were taken almost a month ago during your twentieth week appointment. You had both been excited to find out the gender of the baby, only for them to keep their legs closed and render the task impossible for the nurse.
“Mhm. I wanted to hang pictures of the stubborn little weed.”
“Reminds me of someone,” he teases, kissing your cheek before you can pout.
Leaning into his touch, you look at the clock on the wall and remember something. “Oh, Claire texted, by the way. She wanted to confirm tonight's dinner. We’re still on, right?”
“Yep. Seven was it?”
“Yeah,” you nod, readjusting in the comfy chair you will undoubtedly never return. “I’ll probably meet you there a bit later, though. I have some extra work to do today after lunch with Sherry.”
“Don't overwork yourself, kid,” he frowns as he tucks a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. “Call me when you're on your way, alright?”
“Will do… And I can't believe you still call me kid even now,” you huff as you gesture to your pregnant belly, though an evident smile tugs at your lips.
He laughs, pecking your lips one more time, then grabs his glasses as he prepares to leave your office with a deliberately unhurried step.
“Told you. You’ll always be my kiddo. Even when you're old and wrinkly with dentures.”
As Leon settles on the plush sofa next to Jill, he lets out a contended sigh. It's been a while since he gathered with friends, and it's always nice to be surrounded by those closest to him.
“You said your lovely wife is running late, yeah? I think Sherry is too,” Claire addresses him as she sinks into the armchair opposite him.
“Yeah, they're probably working together on reports,” he answers with a smile, the mere thought of you bringing one to his face. “I’m sure they'll get here as soon as they can.”
“Look at you, Kennedy!” Chris grins as he sits on the armrest beside him, giving him a loud clap on the back. “If I didn't know better, I'd think you’re the pregnant one with how much you're glowing.”
Jill and Claire snicker, with the latter agreeing from her spot. “I have to agree, you look absolutely radiant.”
Leon has gotten used to the siblings’ incessant teasing, especially since he married you and they like to remind him how much happier he is now on every possible occasion. After all, they have witnessed him during some of his darkest moments, so to see the change in him is a welcome sight.
He remembers how nervous he was to announce you two had gotten together, only to be met by their overwhelming support. They said they trusted him to take good care of you, and it felt like the best compliment in the world.
“Fuck off, both you,” he huffs in response to their teasing, giving Chris a nudge before turning to the brunette beside him. “Jill, back me up here, they're doing their evil duo shit again.”
“I got you. We’re not letting the Redfields defeat us,” she raises her hand for a high-five that he gleefully returns.
“Hey, you’re a Redfield too!” Chris scoffs at her, but he’s only met by a dismissive hand wave.
“I married you, sure, but no way am I dropping Valentine. Jill Redfield sounds weird.”
The buff man can't help but laugh, clearly not truly upset that she has kept her surname all these years. They never planned on having children anyway, so there was never a need for them to unify their last names.
“Where’s the little one?” Leon suddenly asks when he notices Gabby missing.
“Oh, she's with her dad, they went to the store to grab dessert—I completely forgot to plan for it,” Claire grumbles, then is interrupted by the sound of jingling keys. “Ah, they must be here!”
Damien appears with boxed pastries in his arms and Gabby on his tail. She looks more like her mother with every passing year.
“Leon! It’s been a while!” the man smiles as he sees him. “You came alone?”
The blonde smiles back with a wave. “Kiddo’s coming in a bit with Sherry… Hey, Gabs!”
“Hi,” the girl greets timidly before moving to sit by Claire. Then, in typical nine-year-old fashion, she asks bluntly, “do you guys know the baby’s gender yet?”
Leon is taken aback by the sudden question before he chuckle, shaking his head. “No, they couldn't see during the ultrasound last time. But we got this blood test that should settle it for us… Why? Do you have predictions?”
Gabby smiles shyly and looks at her mother with a small giggle, prompting Claire to side hug her affectionately.
“She hopes it's a girl,” the woman grins, then turns back to the child. “Right, honey?”
“Well, because you said the baby will be like my cousin and I think a girl cousin would be so fun… But a boy cousin would still be nice too.”
The adults smile fondly, with Damien reaching over to ruffle the girl’s hair when he passes by to settle on the sectional. Chatter fills the room as they all bask in each other's presence, catching up and sharing anecdotes of their daily lives, until the doorbell rings.
Leon’s eyes immediately turn towards the entrance, sitting up a bit straighter in anticipation. He always feels a bit silly over how affected he still is by you, like a teenager with a massive crush. But he can't help it, every morning he gets to wake up by your side is a blessing in his book.
When you and Sherry walk in, his eyes light up, and he swears the room brightens with your smile, like you're some kind of celestial being made of sunshine and fairy dust. His personal angel sent down just for him.
He observes as you greet everyone, hugs and smiles exchanged before you inevitably find your way to him, your side pressed to his.
“Hey, gorgeous,” he murmurs low enough only for you to hear. He then takes note of your clothes with a quirked eyebrow. “You changed?”
Looking down at your jeans and hoodie, you chuckle, then lean into him as his hand comes to rest at your waist. “I feel like I get a pass to wear sweatshirts at dinners as the resident pregnant lady… I decided to keep spare comfy clothes in the car. Best decision ever.”
“You're so cute,” he coos adoringly with a gentle pinch at your side. “You look perfect, kiddo.”
Jill, who is now beside you as you sat between her and Leon, turns to you both with a curious smile. “So, from a scale of jumping with excitement to shitting your pants, how ready are you guys to become parents?”
“Jumping with excitement,” you grin.
“Shitting my pants,” Leon says at the same time.
You both pause, then turn to look at each other with intrigue. Jill just laughs, shaking her head at the sight of your collective confusion. “I feel like both are very valid reactions,” she teases.
“It's not that I’m not scared, I’m just also really excited…” you murmur, peering at Leon to gauge his reaction. “I feel like we’ve waited for this for so long, right?”
“Absolutely,” he immediately answers to quench your worries. “It just seems a bit daunting, that's all… I mean, I’m forty-five, people my age are usually past starting families.”
Jill tucks a strand of her silver streaked hair away from her face before smiling softly. “I never wanted kids, so I’m not the best fit to give advice about this, but I’m sure that your baby won't care about your age, Leon. As long as you do your best, that's all that matters.”
“Exactly,” you add in agreement, and he sighs with a small nod, despite his eyes still holding some worry in them.
Your conversation is interrupted when everyone is called to sit at the table for dinner to be served. The evening goes by in a breeze in the company of friends who you consider family, and it ends with a toast presented by none other than Chris Redfield.
He raises his glass, a playful grin on his face. “To the Kennedys and their growing family! May the baby inherit their mother’s kind heart, and, uh, their father’s good hair, I guess.”
The room erupts in laughter, with Leon not-so-discreetly flipping Chris off as Sherry covers Gabby’s eyes. You giggle, lifting your glass of water as you clink it with the others’ drinks, your heart feeling full.
“Ugh, I’m exhausted,” you grunt as you slump on the bed, spreading your limbs like a starfish on the soft surface the moment you finish your nighttime routine.
Stretching in his cotton shirt and sweatpants, Leon comes out of the bathroom with a yawn, equally tired.
“Take it easy, sweetheart, you’ve had a long day.”
“I did… Especially when a certain someone came to deliver a chair as an excuse for nefarious behavior.”
He laughs softly, moving to lay beside you on his stomach, laying his dark blonde head on his crossed arms. “That was one hell of a delivery.”
You huff, poking his forehead with a berating finger. “My legs are sore, you know.”
“And who was it again who wanted to have sex while standing? I’m sorry, but this one’s on you, kid.”
When you groan as a retort, shifting to peel the covers, he gives your ass a light slap that makes you grumble.
“Stop pouting,” he drawls with a smirk. “I’ll give you a leg massage.”
Your eyes suddenly light-up and you immediately halt in your movements. “Really?”
“Yes, really. Now come here.”
You do as told, shifting until you’re laying on your front with a leg propped up towards your chest to allow room for your round belly. With a pillow hugged to your side, you feel yourself relax, and even more so when Leon starts touching you with warm palms.
He massages your calves in slow, circular motions, then moves on to your thighs before going back down, and so on and so forth. You feel boneless under his loving hands, your body completely pliant, and yet your mind whirrs with running thoughts.
“Hey…” you murmur quietly. “What you said earlier with Jill, do you really mean you’re that worried?”
Leon pauses his movements, taking a moment to think before answering as he resumes the massage. “It's not so bad. You know me, I just get in my head sometimes…” He swallows, as if stopping himself from saying more, then lets out a chuckle. “I guess I’m just worried the age gap will be too big for the kid to like my dad jokes.”
Smiling at his lighter tone, you look at him past your shoulder with your head propped on your palm. “Babe, even I don’t like your dad jokes, and I’m thirty-two.”
He laughs, then gives your ass another slap as he leans in for a kiss to your smirking lips. “Yeah, you don't like them. You love them.”
The massage continues with your worry over his words mostly appeased, and soon after, you find yourselves under the covers, in the dark and ready to go to sleep. You reach for his hand like you do every night, giving it a squeeze with a whispered ‘I love you’, then close your eyes for the night.
You’re just about to drift when you hear his voice resound softly in the silence.
“Do you think I’ll be a good dad?”
The question takes you by surprise, the answer obvious in your mind, but you immediately discard sleep when hearing how vulnerable his tone is.
“Of course, Leon… Of course you’ll be a good dad.”
You knew he was more concerned than he let on. He always does this—pretending everything is okay not to burden you. No matter how many times you promise him he can lay his worries on you, he still hesitates, afraid of being too much.
Deep down, you know it's because of that night when you gave up your life for his. He’s always avoiding making your stress and fatigue worsen, his eyes filling with concern whenever your hands tremble or you complain of a headache. Things that you have learned to live with, but for him, they serve as a constant reminder of his suppressed guilt.
You scoot closer, then wrap your arms around his neck just for him to melt into you completely as he lays his head on your chest. He closes his eyes, listening to your steady heartbeat, then tangles his legs with yours.
“I’m sorry, I just… I get worried about messing up. I don't really know much about children, and apart from Damien, I don't know that many dads.”
You hug him tighter as you nod, feeling his hand come to a rest on your bump. You take in a shaky breath, then decide to share your own struggles.
“I think it's normal to think about your own experience and childhood when you're about to have a baby… You know, I’ve been thinking about my mom a lot lately, how I wish she was here along with dad, so they could see me—us—become parents.”
Leon feels his chest tighten at the mention of your deceased parents, his own wounds of grief flaring at the thought. He always thinks of the fact neither of you really have families, at least not any close relatives. It makes him all the more protective of you and the bond you share. After all, it's only you and him in this world.
His thumb rubs soothing circles on your bump as he speaks, “I think they would be really, really proud of you, sweetheart. I know I am.”
“Well, I’m proud of you too, and I know you will be a great father, because you give your all in everything else and this will be no different,” you kiss the crown of his hair, breathing in the clean scent of his shampoo. “You’re gonna be okay, I promise.”
“Hey,” he huffs, a smile pulling at his lips, “that's my line.”
“Wouldn't be the first thing I learn from you.”
Leon chuckles softly, then tilts his head to meet your eyes with his blue ones. You can't see much in the dark, but you can still see the way they shine with fondness. He already feels better from your reassuring words.
“Thank you, kid. I wouldn't do this with anyone but you.” He kisses your stomach tenderly in gratitude.
Tears start to prick your eyes—damned hormones—but you blink them away and switch to a lighter tone. No need to cry when you're the happiest you’ve ever been.
“You’re welcome, my good sir. I also would have stayed unmarried and depressed if it’s not with you.”
The fondness in Leon’s heart grows tenfold, and he gives your sides a squeeze before nuzzling further into your chest.
Oh, the things you do to him.
A moment of silence passes before he speaks muffled. “Remember when you had to call me ‘sir’ around other people during training days? You would always switch back to first names the second you could get away with it.”
You laugh at the memory, remembering yourself at eighteen, fresh out of your year in the military where titles meant everything, and yet you always resisted calling him anything but Leon.
“Because I wanted to be special… And we were already friends anyway!” you exclaim to defend yourself.
He grins, kissing your sternum where it peeks over the collar of your tanktop. “You were already special, you’re the only one I mentored.”
“Yeah, well, I had a massive crush and scribbled your name on my notebooks… I was desperate and greedy for more.”
He laughs, but then the sound slowly dies down the longer he lets himself think of your confession. “You know, I still can't believe it… The fact you liked me for so long and I had no idea,” he sighs, his breath tickling your skin. “I can't tell if not knowing was a blessing or a curse.”
“Definitely a blessing,” you immediately retort. “You would have absolutely panicked and melted into a puddle of shame and guilt before sending me off to be trained by someone else.”
Leon gives it a thought for all but two seconds before begrudgingly agreeing—you know him too well. “Okay, fair.”
“I still can't believe you started liking me back. I thought I wasn't your type.”
He scoffs, like the notion of you not being exactly what he always wanted irks him. “And what type is that?” he quirks an accusing eyebrow.
“I don't know… Badass and mysterious?” you giggle.
You can't see it in the dark, but he rolls his eyes hard. But then he can't help but kiss your cheek, because when it comes to you he’s the absolute sappiest.
“Oh, baby, you’re the most badass and mysterious of them all,” he murmurs with a grin.
You’re about to answer when your phone dings with an email notification, prompting you to reach for the device on your nightstand.
“Hey, no phones after ten,” Leon grumbles.
“Yeah, yeah, I just forgot to turn off notifications, dad,” you answer with a huff as the screen lights up your features.
“It better be important…”
You pay him no mind, opening your email app just to see the name of the lab you recently visited. “Wait, it’s the blood test…” you whisper in a mix of excitement and nerves. “The NIPT results!”
He frowns, leaning to look at the contents of your screen where your thumb hovers over the link. “They’re sending them at nearly midnight?”
“I was supposed to get it today, maybe their system got delayed… Oh, God, why am I suddenly nervous?”
“It’s alright to be nervous,” he reassures you with a smile that makes your heart flutter. “No matter what, it’ll be our baby, so they're already perfect.”
“Yeah, you’re so right,” you nod in agreement, then take a deep inhale. “Okay, are you ready?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
Holding your breath, you finally press to show the awaited results. The test is meant to screen for common chromosomal conditions, as well as detect the sex of the baby. You know in the deepest pit of your soul, that no matter the outcome, you will love this child and do your very best as a mother, especially with Leon at your side.
Finally, the PDF opens, and you exhale once you read the head of the page.
Summary of results:
Aneuploidies and microdeletions: Low risk.
Fetal fractions: 10.2% (normal)
Fetal sex: Female.
Your relief at the baby being at low risk is quickly overshadowed by excitement when you read that last line. Your eyes widen, and you choke on a gasp.
“Oh my God… Leon!”
The poor man beside you is as confused as they come as he tries and fails to read the tiny font on your tiny screen without his glasses. Your reaction doesn't help, only furthering his worry.
“What? What is it?” He places a hand on yours where you're holding your phone, just to bring it closer as he squints.
The sight makes you laugh, and you finally have mercy on him by making the announcement yourself.
“It's low risk, so, all good, and… it’s a girl!”
Leon’s heart stutters, a sudden gasp leaving his throat. “A girl?”
“Yes! Well, female,” you grin.
He takes a moment for the information to sink in before nodding slowly. “Like you.”
“Yes, a girl like me.”
“That’s… That’s so cute,” he finally smiles as he pictures a mini version of you playing up a storm around the house. “Gabby called it.”
“She did?” you laugh, running fingers through his hair soothingly.
“She’ll be so happy,” he nods with a chuckle, before his expression turns back into something awe-filled. “I mean, fuck, it doesn't mean much no matter… But I kind of always wanted a girl.”
The confession tugs at your heartstrings like nothing else. You kiss his cheek tenderly with a whisper, “I know, and you’ll be the best girl dad ever.”
“And you’ll be the best mom, sweetheart. Binxie can attest to that, even if he’s an old grumpy cat now.”
Giggling, you can already picture the feline’s reaction to a noisy, crying baby. He will probably hide in the guest bedroom for some peace and quiet.
“It’ll be just us three and Binx,” you murmur with a fond smile. “Together.”
“Yeah…” Leon hums and holds you tight against his chest like you're the most precious thing in the world. And to him, you really are. “Just like it was always meant to be, my love.”
Melting into his hold, you feel your hearts beating in sync where your chests are pressed together. You were never one to believe in soulmates and predestined lovers, but when it comes to him, there are no doubts in your mind that you were made for each other.
“I love you so much, Leon.”
“I love you more than I ever thought I was capable of, kiddo... Thank you for choosing me.”
You answer his gratitude with a kiss that he returns in earnest, his lips molding to yours perfectly. Choosing him was never a conscious effort for you, it was as natural as the tides being pulled by the moon’s gravity. There is no universe where you don't belong to him, and you knew that from the moment he offered you a kind smile and a promise that you will be okay.
The end.
i'm not sure what to say as we come to the conclusion of this story, i feel a lot of emotions that's for sure, especially as it coincides with a period of big changes in my personal life 💙
when i started writing for the first time in march, i never expected my fics to get such overwheming support, and i definitely have a bit of imposter syndrome knowing i'm such a noob yet people seem to like my stories
nonetheless, i am so grateful to each and every person who liked, reblogged or commented, especially commented, because you guys motivated me more than anything to keep writing and posting frequently
we're ending this book (yes, a whole ass book) at about 88k which is absolutely insane for someone not used to finishing many things in her life. i'm so happy to have discovered writing as a hobby that can bring me and others joy in this little corner of the internet
i want to present a special thanks to @sammimi19 my dear bestie who supported me since my very first fic and who is always the first one to read my chapters and offer valuable feedback (even tho she pretends to be surprised by chapter events in the comments, don't believe her you guys) i love you so so much sammy, and i appreciate having you in my life more than you know 💘
once again, thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading YGBO, i hope i can continue writing many more stories for as long as i enjoy it 💙
A/N: this was lowkey inspired by THIS by @2yai bc why did I yearn for mom Kennedy? Other than that, I actually have no idea what compelled me to write this apology in advance.
Warnings: angst, pregnancy, slight re9 spoilers, children (lmao) Leon POV, all four Leon eras, (re2,re4,re6, re9) Leon is a workaholic, low-key.
Summary: Leon has spent a lifetime saying goodbyes at doorways, in passing, and over distance, always promising he’d come back. But when the life he’s built finally stands on the edge of being taken from him, he’s forced to confront a truth he’s avoided for too long. Some goodbyes don’t wait for you to be ready.
1998
Leon had already checked the time twice in the last minute, his gaze flicking back to the grandfather clock that sat to the left of the stairs. He still didn’t know how his girlfriend managed to get that massive thing through her front door when the rest of her apartment barely fit two people and a couch, but somehow, she had made it work. It ticked loud enough to fill the whole space, each second landing a little heavier than the last.
Glancing at it a third time might have been excessive, but today wasn’t exactly a normal day. It was his first day. His first real assignment. The first time walking into the station as something more than a name on paperwork.
He adjusted the collar of his uniform in the small mirror by her front door, smoothing it down like it might somehow make him look more put together than he felt. His palms were a little clammy beneath his gloves as he dragged a hand through his hair, trying to convince himself he looked fine, like he belonged in it.
“You’re staring at yourself like you’re about to go on stage," she said from behind him.
Leon huffed out a quiet laugh, glancing over his shoulder. “Feels like it.”
He turned a little more, giving her a half spin like he was showing it off. “What do you think?”
She was still in her pajamas, and it was five in the afternoon. The soft pink shorts barely brushed mid-thigh, one of his button-ups hanging loose like she’d thrown it on without thinking. It clung to her in that effortless way that made it look like it always belonged there. She must have finally dragged herself out of bed after sleeping most of the day glued to him, doing everything she could to keep him from leaving.
If he didn’t have to go, he’d be fused to her instead of those clothes.
Her eyes dragged over him slowly, far more dramatic than necessary.
“I think,” she said, stepping closer, “you’re going to make every other cop there look bad.”
Leon snorted. “That’s the goal.”
Her oversized bunny slippers shuffled softly across the floor as she crossed the room, one hand lifting to scratch absently at the back of her head. She looked half-awake, like she hadn't fully decided to be a person yet. Messy hair. Sleepy eyes, probably still thinking about coffee. It was… distracting, in the best way.
As she reached for him, he turned back toward the mirror, watching her reflection instead. She lifted her hand, adjusting something on his shoulder that didn’t actually need fixing, her fingers lingering against the fabric.
“You’re nervous.”
“I’m not nervous,” he said quickly, meeting her eyes in the mirror.
She raised a brow.
Leon paused.
“... Okay, maybe a little.”
Her smile softened, and for a second the teasing slipped into something quieter.
“You’ll be fine.”
He turned toward her and nodded, because of course he would be. It was just his first day. He’d go in, do his job, come back, and be right here again tomorrow like nothing had changed. Still, he leaned into her touch when she lifted her hand to his face, her thumb brushing lightly across his cheek, giving him that look that made his chest feel just a little too full.
He’d been staying here with her the last few days since her place was closer to the station. His apartment sat halfway across town, and he hadn’t been too eager to spend his last stretch of freedom alone. She hadn’t hesitated when he called, already halfway through listing everything she could cook before he’d even finished asking.
They’d done all of it—dinner, dishes, sitting shoulder to shoulder on the couch while she made him watch her favorite movie, staying up far too late tangled together in her bed like time didn’t matter. She was a night owl in every sense, completely opposite to the routine the academy had drilled into him. Early morning, coffee, runs, structure. Her messy hair and barely open eyes now told him everything he needed to know about how that usually went.
They’d only been together for a little under a year, and somehow it still felt like this every time. New. Easy. Like he was still learning her, still wanting to. He caught himself thinking about it more than he probably should, whether the job, the hours, or the things that came with it would ever be too much. Not everyone loves cops.
But she never made it feel that way.
If anything, she looked at him like he was something worth holding onto.
His eyes flicked to the clock again, more out of habit than urgency this time, but they didn’t stay there long. They drifted back to her instead, catching on the way her shirt rode up slightly when she shifted the soft line of her thigh where the fabric ended. It was distracting in a way he wasn’t entirely proud of, especially given the fact that he was standing here in uniform, about to walk into his first day like he had everything under control.
He didn’t.
Not really.
Because part of him was still in her bedroom from a few hours ago, half-asleep and tangled in her sheets, her legs hooked around his like she had nowhere else to be. It would have been easy to stay there. Too easy. Call in, make something up, and spend the day exactly the way they had been—lazy, quiet, and wrapped up in each other like the rest of the world could wait.
He could already hear the lecture he’d get for even thinking it.
Still… the thought lingered longer than it should have.
His gaze dropped again, slower this time, like he wasn’t even trying to stop himself anymore. He wondered, briefly, if she was doing it on purpose—walking around like that, looking like that, knowing exactly what it did to him.
Probably.
That alone made him laugh.
He leaned down to kiss her, laughing softly into her lips as his arms slipped around her waist. Without warning, he lifted her a few inches off the ground, catching her completely off guard. She melted into it anyway, wrapping her arms around his neck as he gave her a small twirl before setting her back down, her slippers brushing against the long strip of carpet that led to the front door.
When she pulled away, her hands stayed planted against his chest as she huffed out a laugh, still a little breathless. “What is it?”
Leon tilted his head, his gaze dragging over her like he was trying to memorize something without meaning to. Seeing her like this, hair a mess, barely awake, still wrapped in sleep and warmth, did something to him. It made everything else feel a little less important, like the day waiting for him on the other side of that door could wait a few minutes longer.
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
“I just... love you.”
The second they left his mouth, reality hit him like a truck.
She pulled back just enough to look at him, brows lifting slightly, and Leon felt his stomach drop straight through the floor. They hadn't said it yet—not out loud now he was standing there in full uniform, blurting it out like it hadn't been sitting in his chest for weeks.
He almost physically recoiled from himself.
But then she smiled.
Not just smiled—lit up.
“Leon S. Kennedy, the man you are,” she laughed, shaking her head as she gave his chest a playful shove. “I look like a cave rat and this is when you decide to tell me you love me?”
Leon's brows furrowed immediately, confusion overriding the panic. He thought she looked perfect. Better like this, actually.
"I—"
“I love you too.”
She didn't give him time to recover before she rose onto her toes and kissed him again, soft and certain, and whatever lingering panic he had left dissolved instantly. His arms tightened around her without thinking, pulling her in closer like that alone could keep the movement from slipping away.
Leon barely had time to process the fact that she’d said it back before she pulled away, her hands still resting against his chest as she looked up at him, that smile lingering on her lips.
“I wish you didn’t have to go.”
He let out a quiet breath, something warm settling in his chest as he shook his head slightly, like he couldn’t quite believe how easily that had just happened. For a second, he just looked at her, thumb brushing absent circles against her side before he finally took a small step back, his hand slipping from her waist.
“Hey,” he said, lighter now, that familiar teasing tone slipping back into place as he hooked his thumb over his shoulder toward the door. “I’ll be back when I get off. You’re stuck with me, right?”
He said it lightheartedly, carefree.
He’d see her in the morning, and she knew he’d come straight back here.
She smiled right back, not missing a beat. “Right.”
And for a second, that was enough. Leon turned, heading toward the door, already halfway into leaving, already shifting back into the version of himself that has somewhere to be—
“Wait,” she said, her hand catching his wrist before he could make it any further.
He glanced down at her hand, then back up at her, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “What?”
She tilted her head slightly, like she was considering something, then tightened her grip just enough to pull him a step closer. “Give me five minutes.”
Leon blinked.
“Five minutes?” he echoed, a quiet laugh slipping through as he glanced instinctively toward the clock again. “I’m already cutting it close."
“Then you better make it count.”
There was no hesitation in her voice, no room for argument, and for a second he just looked at her, caught somewhere between responsibility and the very obvious fact that she was standing in front of him now with that look in her eyes, asking him to stay.
His grip on his own schedule slipped faster than he’d like to admit.
“You’re gonna get me written up on day one,” he muttered, but there was no real protest behind it, not when he was already letting her pull him back, not when the bedroom door clicked shut again behind him like it had never even been opened.
"Worth it,” she said.
Leon let out a breath through his nose, shaking his head as his hands found her again without thinking, settling at her waist like they belonged there. “You’re a terrible influence, you know that?”
“And yet, here you are.”
Yeah.
Here he was.
He told himself it was five minutes. That he could spare five minutes. That nothing was going to fall apart if he showed up a little late, that it wasn’t the end of the world.
It wasn’t like anything important was going to happen today.
His eyes dropped to her again, slower this time, taking her in like he wasn’t even pretending not to. “Five minutes,” he repeated, quieter now, like he was convincing himself more than her.
She didn’t answer.
She just smiled.
And that was enough.
Leon closed the distance himself this time, his hand sliding up her side as he pulled her back into him, already forgetting whatever time the clock was trying to keep as he kissed her again, slower at first, then not at all.
Five minutes wasn’t going to be enough. He knew that the second she melted into him, he just didn’t care.
And so Leon kennedy was late to his first day of work.
2004
Leon noticed the ring before anything else.
He always did.
It caught the light when she moved, subtle and easy to miss if you weren’t looking for it, but his eyes found it anyways, watching the way her thumb rolled over the band like it had become second nature. She did it when she was thinking. When she was nervous. When she didn’t want to say something out loud.
He’d learned that.
Seven years had taught him a lot.
The airport buzzed around them in a constant hum of pieces and movement, people coming and going like none of it meant anything, like goodbyes were just another part of the day. Leon stood just slightly behind her, one hand resting at the small of her back, not guiding, not pushing—just there. Grounding. His eyes moved without him thinking about it, scanning the exits, the people, and the space around them before settling back on her like that was the only place they ever really wanted to be.
She turned toward him, still absentmindedly twisting the ring, and he reached for her hand without thinking, stilling the motion with his thumb. It wasn’t a large ring, light on her finger, simple in a way that didn't match how much it meant.
There hadn't been a plan. No drawn-out proposal, no perfect moment. Just a courthouse that smelled like old paper and had heavy fluorescent lighting, a pen that didn’t work the first time he tried to sign his name, and her standing across from him like none of that mattered. Only he did.
He hadn't wanted distance.
That had been the whole point.
After Raccoon city, after everything he’d seen and everything he’d been pushed into, the only thing that had made sense was her. Keeping her close. Making it real in a way no one could take from him. He hadn’t even asked in a way that felt like asking. Just stood there with her hands in his and said it like a fact.
Stay with me. Marry me.
She had... And now he was the one leaving.
His grip on her hand tightened slightly, just enough for her to feel it, and she looked up at him again. There was something softer in her expression than before, something that hadn’t been there years ago when goodbyes still felt temporary.
“You keep doing that,” he said quietly, nodding toward her hand.
Her lips curved just a little. “Doing what?”
He brushed his thumb over her ring again, slower this time. “You’re gonna wear a groove into it.”
She huffed a quiet laugh, but her fingers didn’t stop moving entirely, just slowed under his touch. “Maybe I like reminding myself it’s still there.”
Leon's jaw flexed faintly at that, something unspoken passing through him before he looked away for a second, eyes dragging over the terminal again out of habit more than anything. He didn't like that she needed reminding. Didn’t like that this—standing in an airport, watching him leave—was becoming something she had to get used to.
He’d offered to take her with him once.
No—more than once.
It hadn't been some grand conversation, not planned or thought through. It had slipped out of him the same way everything else with her seemed to, unfiltered and a little too honest for his own good. Come with me. He’d said it like it was simple, like it was something he could just offer her without consequences, like the life he was living was something she could step into without it changing her.
She’d looked at him the way she always did when she was choosing her words carefully, hands wrapped around his like she needed him to stay long enough to hear her.
"Leon... I can’t do that.”
He’d wanted to argue, almost had, but he knew she was right.
He didn’t realize he’d moved closer until his hand was already at her back again, settling there like it belonged. His thumb brushed lightly against the fabric at her side, a slow, absent motion that didn’t need attention drawn to it.
“I won’t be gone long,” he said, the words automatic, practiced.
Safer that way.
He felt her shift closer to him, her hand tightening around him as she looked up, searching his face like she was trying to decide if she believed him or not.
Leon held her gaze, steady and controlled, giving her just enough of what she needed without letting the rest slip through. That part had taken time. Learning how to leave without making it harder than it already was.
He exhaled slowly, his grip on her tightening just a fraction as he looked down at her.
“If something—"
The words stopped before they could fully form.
His jaw shifted, the rest of the sentence dissolving somewhere behind his teeth as he shook his head once, subtly, like he could erase it before she noticed.
“Just… call me if you need anything,” he finished instead. “I’ll call you when I land," he added, quieter.
She softened at that, a small breath leaving her as she shook her head just slightly. “I know you will… it’ll be okay, Leon. I’ll be okay. Okay? Just…come home in one piece."
He watched her as she said it, really watched her, like he was trying to catch whatever she wasn’t letting show. She’d gotten better at this over time, better at smoothing it over, at hiding the worry behind something steadier, something meant more for him than for herself. The fidgeting was still there, the way her fingers twisted at her ring, the small tells he’d learned to read without thinking, but her voice stayed even, calm in a way that didn’t quite match.
It should have reassured him. But it didn’t.
If anything, it made something in his chest pull tighter, knowing she was doing this for him, holding herself together so he wouldn't have to carry it with him when he left.
Leon’s jaw shifted slightly as he stepped closer, his hand finding hers again, stilling the motion of her fingers as his thumb brushed over the band again. “Hey,” he said, quieter now, not correcting her, not arguing. Because the truth was he knew she would be okay.
“Love you," he said, the words low as he hovered just inches from her face. “Distance won’t change that.”
He leaned down, pressing a slow, steady kiss to her lips, his hand tightening around hers as he pulled her gently against his chest. His suitcase sat forgotten just a foot away, abandoned in the middle of the terminal like the rest of the world had been put on pause. For now, he let himself stay here, let himself take what he could from the moment while it was still his to have, memorizing the feel of other lips against his like it might be weeks before he got it again.
When she pulled back slightly, her expression had softened, the tension easing from her face in a way that almost made it look like none of this was real, like she wasn’t about to watch him walk away. Like she already knew he’d come back.
“I love you too, stud,” she said with a small smile, her hand settling against his chest as her fingers moved absently over the fabric of his shirt.
Leon let out a quiet breath at that, his hand covering hers where it rested against him, holding it there for a second longer than needed.
“You missed a spot,” she said suddenly, reaching up without warning.
Leon blinked as her finger brushed just under his jaw, thumb swiping lightly like she was fixing something only she could see. He stilled for it, letting her adjust him like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“There,” she murmured, satisfied.
He huffed a quiet breath, the corner of his mouth lifting. “You gonna start checking me over every time I leave now?”
"Someone has to make sure you look presentable.”
He shook his head, but the small smile stayed.
When the woman over the intercom called his flight to Spain, the sound cut through the moment like it didn't belong there. Her brows pulled together instantly, her hand returning to his chest, gripping him a little tighter like she could hold him there just by wanting it hard enough.
This wasn’t like his first day. He couldn't make that mistake again; he couldn't afford it.
Leon glanced over his shoulder toward the gate, watching as the doors slid open and the flight attendant stepped out, already preparing to board. For a second, he just looked at it, like he could delay it by not moving.
Then his attention shifted back to her.
She was already watching him, studying his face the way she always did right before he left, like she was trying to read something he wasn’t saying; the worry had slipped back in, quiet but impossible to miss.
Leon didn't say anything. Instead, he took her hand and brought it to his lips, closing whatever space had formed between them. He kissed her this time with more weight, his hands coming up to frame her face as he pulled her into him, like he could make it last longer if he just held on hard enough.
He couldn't
When he pulled back, his thumb brushed gently beneath her eye, catching the tear that had managed to escape despite everything she’d tried to hold together.
It was always like this. No matter how many times he left. No matter how much they told themselves it would get easier.
His hand lingered against her cheek for a moment as he exhaled quietly, and then he said the same thing he always did, the words familiar, almost practiced.
“You’re stuck with me, remember?”
She let out a small, breathy laugh, even as her eyes welled again, lifting her hands to wipe them away before they could fall. “Yeah…” she said softly, the smile still there even if it trembled a little. “I remember.”
Leon nodded once, like that settled it, like that made it easier, before leaning down to press a quick kiss to her forehead. It lingered just a second longer... Then he stepped back.
He grabbed his bags, the weight of them nothing compared to what he was leaving behind, and turned toward the gate before he gave himself the chance to hesitate.
He didn't look back right away.
Not this time.
2012
He’d gotten the call a few hours ago, an outbreak in Tall oaks, bad enough that they needed him there immediately. No timeline, no estimate, nothing to anchor it. Just go.
That alone had almost been enough to make him say no.
It had been happening more often lately, that hesitation sitting heavier in his chest than it ever used to, pulling him back right at the edge of decision. Especially now. Especially with how things had been at home.
Leon set his bag down by the door, the sound quieter than it should've been, like even that felt too loud in the space they were in. His eyes drifted across the room, landing on her where she sat on the couch, facing away from him, a small pile of freshly washed baby clothes to her left and a neatly folded stack to her right.
She didn’t look back at him and just kept folding.
He watched her for a moment longer than he meant to, taking in the way she moved, slower now, more careful, the weight of the last seven months settling into everything she did. She sat for most things these days, and he couldn't blame her. With only a month left before their daughter arrived, he could only imagine the strain on her back, the constant ache she never complained about as much as she probably could have.
It wasn’t always like this.
There had been days, more than he could count, where he’d come up behind her without a word, sliding his hands around her middle just to take some of the weight off, lifting gently until he felt her relax against him. She'd always let out that quiet breath, the one she always held after a long day, her head tipping back against his shoulder while he stayed there, holding her up while she finished whatever she’d been doing.
Other times it was simpler.
A passing comment about something she wanted, something small, and he was already out the door before she could tell him she didn’t actually need it, coming back with whatever it was in hand like it had been the easiest thing in the world. Like taking care of her wasn’t something he had to think about.
Because it wasn’t. It had become instinct, all of it had.
Watching her change, watching her body shift and grow to carry something that was theirs… it had done something to him, something quiet but permanent. There was a new version of her in front of him now, softer in some ways and stronger in others, and he found himself drawn to it just as much as he had been to every version of her before.
Maybe more.
Still, he could see it now… the way she pressed the fabric a little too firmly when she folded it, in the way each piece was set down with just a bit more force than necessary.
She was upset.
Hell, so was he.
When they’d told him the president's life was in danger, it hadn't even felt like a choice. Obligation came first. It always has. This was what he knew—what he’d been shaped into over years of doing the same thing over and over again until it was second nature. There wasn't really a version of him that walked away from something like that.
But there wasn’t really a version of him that had this before, either. Her. A home. A child on the way.
The thought of it has shifted something in him, deep and quiet, changing the way he looked at everything whether he wanted it to or not.
He moved toward her, slowly, like he was approaching something fragile, his hands settling gently on her shoulders as his thumbs pressed into the tight muscles there, working small, careful circles into the tension he could feel without even trying.
She didn't stop, didn’t lean back into him. Didn't even pause for a second.
She just kept folding, picking up each tiny piece one by one, smoothing it out, and stacking it with the others, like if she kept her hands busy enough, she wouldn’t have to acknowledge anything else.
He'd offered to help earlier, more than once, but she’d shut that down immediately. Something about him not folding them right, about how they wouldn't fit in the drawers if he tried. Normally, he would’ve pushed back, teased her a little, and made a joke out of it.
Tonight, he let her have it.
His hands slowed slightly against her shoulder, thumbs pressing just a little deeper before easing off again, his gaze dropping to the small clothes in her lap. They looked impossibly small. Too small. It still hadn’t quite clicked for him, not fully. Not until moments like this, when it was right in front of him.
A quiet breath left him as his hands stilled for a moment, resting there like he didn't want to let go just yet. “You’re gonna run out of things to fold at this rate,” he said finally, his voice low, softer than usual, like he was testing the space between them instead of filling it.
She didn’t answer right away. Just picked up another onesie, smoothing it out a little harsher than necessary before folding it with practiced precision.
“Then i’ll unfold them and do it again,” she said, not looking up.
Leon huffed quietly under his breath, something almost like a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth despite everything. Despite him having to go again. So he moved around the couch instead, stepping over a laundry basket into her space until he lowered himself in front of her, his back brushing the glass coffee table in the middle of the floor.
He crouched there, one knee pressing into the floor, close enough that she couldn't keep pretending he wasn’t there anymore.
“Hey,” he said softly, his hand coming up to hers still mid-fold, the small piece of fabric caught between her fingers as he gently pulled it from her grip and set it aside. “Look at me.”
She didn’t at first. Her jaw tightened, eyes fixed stubbornly on the pile beside her, like if she ignored him long enough, he might disappear back to the door, back to the version of the night where none of this was happening.
“Hey,” he repeated, quieter now, his hands sliding up her thighs, his head moving into her line of sight so that she couldn't avoid him anymore.
Her eyes met his.
And there it was. Everything she’d been holding in.
Leon's expression softened instantly, something in his chest pulling tight as one hand moved from her thigh, settling instead at her stomach, his palm flattening gently over the curve of it like he was trying to understand something he still hadn't fully caught up to.
“You’re gonna wear yourself out,” he murmured, his thumb brushing lightly over the fabric of her stretched-out shirt, the words “coming soon” cheesily printed out over where her stomach goes.
She let out a breath that sounded more like it had been forced out of her, her hands finally going still in her lap. “I’m already tired, Leon,” she said, her voice wavering just enough to give her away. “That’s not the problem.”
His gaze flicked up to hers again. He knew. Of course he knew.
“You said you wouldn’t go,” she continued, the words coming a little faster now, like they’d been sitting there waiting. “You said you were going to stay. That you were done for a while. That you were going to be here.”
Each word landed heavier than the last.
Leon swallowed, his hand stilling where it rested against her, his fingers pressing just slightly like he needed something to hold onto. “I know,” he said quietly.
“No, you don’t,” she snapped, her voice breaking as she shook her head, her hands finally pulling away from her lap just to gesture helplessly in front of her. “You don't because if you did, you wouldn't be standing here with a bag by the door like this is just another job.”
“It’s not just another job,” he said, more firmly now, even if his voice stayed low. "It's Ashley’s dad. I don’t get to—"
“And what about us?” she cut in, her eyes glossing over as she leaned forward slightly, her hands hovering over her stomach like she didn’t know where to put them. “What about her?”
The room went quiet.
Leon's gaze dropped instantly, drawn to where her hands rested, where his own still hovered just beneath them.
Like the question had weight. Like it mattered more than anything else she’d said.
“She’s coming in a month,” she said, softer now, but somehow worse. “A month, Leon. What if you're not here? What if something happens and you’re not here? What if I have to—"
Her voice cracked, cutting herself off as she looked away, her hand coming up to press against her mouth like she could stop the rest of it from spilling out.
And that– That killed him. Not the words. Not the fear. He’d heard fear before. Seen it. Lived in it.
But this?
This was hers.
After everything they’d been through to get here.
Getting her out of Raccoon city when the world had already started to fall apart around them. Finding his way back to her after spain, after ashley, after everything that mission had taken out of him. The years that followed, being pulled in and out of operations with chris, disappearing for weeks at a time, or something longer. Every time he left her behind with nothing but a phone call and a promise he couldn't always explain.
And she’s stayed.
She’d been there every time he came back, every time he walked through the door like he hadn't just crawled out of hell again, grounding him in something real when everything else felt like it was slipping.
He thought about her constantly when he was gone. More than he should have. Enough that it got hard to carry.
There had been too many nights where he’d sat alone in some dim hotel room or safehouse, the silence louder than anything he’d faced in the field, and he’d reached for a drink just to take the edge off it. Just to quiet the part of his mind that kept picturing her here, waiting, worrying, living a life that kept getting interrupted by his.
He hated himself for it. Still did.
Because it never actually helped. Especially when Chris started to notice.
It just made the distance feel worse when it wore off.
But this, sitting here now, watching her try to hold it together like this, knowing exactly what it felt like on the other side of it. He couldn't let her carry that. Not like this. Not now.
Leon didn’t let it go any further.
His hand moved fully over her stomach again, covering hers this time, grounding it, steadying it, his thumb brushing slow, careful strokes like he was trying to calm something he couldn't fix.
“I’ll be here,” he said, quieter now.
She let out a small, broken laugh, shaking her head. “You can’t promise that.”
He didn’t answer right away. Because she was right.
Instead, his hand shifted slightly—and then he stilled.
Not in confusion, but recognition.
His fingers pressed just a little more against her stomach, his gaze dropping as he felt it again, that familiar movement beneath his palm, small but strong enough to catch his full attention every time.
“...Hey,” he murmured, softer now, like he always did when this happened, his thumb brushing lightly over the same spot like he could follow it.
She felt it too, her hand settling over his, guiding it without thinking, her breathing still uneven from everything that had just spilled out of her. “She hasn’t done that all day,” she said quietly, The edge of her voice dulled by something else entirely.
Leon huffed a quiet breath through his nose, something shifting in his expression as he kept his hand there, like he didn’t want to miss it this time.
Like he never did.
His thumb moved again, tracing a small path over her stomach as his head dipped slightly, his voice low and almost absentminded as he spoke, more to her than anything else. “She always does this when im here.”
The tension in the room changed.
Not gone, but... Different.
Leon lifted his head, leaning forward slightly, his forehead coming to rest against her, his hand still spread protectively over her stomach, holding both of them there in that small space between everything else.
“I’m coming back,” he said, low and steady, not rushed. “I’m not missing this.”
Her breath hitched again, but this time she didn’t pull away. Didn’t argue.
She just leaned into him, her hands finally settling against him instead of fighting him, gripping his shirt like she needed something solid to hold onto.
“You better not," she whispered.
Something soft broke through the weight of everything as Leon huffed, pulling back just enough to look at her, his thumb brushing once more over her stomach.
“You’re stuck with me,” he said, like so many times before, the faintest hint of that familiar tone slipping back in, quieter now, but still there. “Both of you.”
2028
This goodbye was different from the rest.
It wasn't the kind at the door, a kiss on the cheek with a bag in his hand as he said he’d be back soon. It wasn’t an airport lobby, his hand wrapped around hers while she stressed over the flight. It wasn’t even the kind where he got to hold his family a little longer before turning, taking a job he already knew he’d end up hating.
No.
This time it was different.
"Sherry?”
Victor’s office felt cold. Too cold. Cold enough that Leon’s back straightened from where he leaned over the desk, the computer screen still lit with the reality he hadn't figured out how to process yet.
"Yeah, Leon?”
He took a steady breath, trying to pull his eyes away from the screen long enough to keep himself together. “Can you—" he paused, shutting the computer off before pushing away from the desk completely, his hand dragging briefly across his face as he closed his eyes for a second. “Can you patch me through to my wife?”
There was a pause on the other end. A long one. Then Sherry let out a quiet, sympathetic sigh. “Of course.”
He heard the line connect. One ring. Two. by the third, he was sure he couldn't breathe, the thought of her not answering settling heavy in his chest in a way that felt worse than anything he’d just seen on that screen.
Then—
“Daddy!”
His ears were flooded instantly with the overlapping voices of his daughters, Casey first, loud and excited, and Ellie right behind her, already trying to take over the call. He winced, leaning back against the desk as he crossed his arms, his head tipping slightly as the noise hit him all at once.
Fifteen years ago, he told his wife he’d come back. That he wouldn't miss this.
Now, listening to them fight over who got to talk first, his shoulders felt heavy with the sudden realization that he may not be able to keep his promise this time around.
“I wanna talk to him first, Casey!”
"No, Ellie. He called mom not you.”
"Girls—" he tried, but it didn’t land.
“Girls.”
Casey must have finally gotten control of the phone, because the noise shifted, her voice coming through clearer this time. “Hey Dad. What ya up to?”
Hearing her, both of them, did something to him he hadn't been ready for. It filled something in his chest and twisted it at the same time, the normalcy of it almost painful in contrast to everything else.
They sounded calm. Happy.
“Sweetheart… where's your mom?"
There was a brief shuffle on the other end and muffled voices as she turned away from the phone, probably shoving Ellie back just enough to get a word in.
"Uh—outside, I think. Want me to grab her?”
“Please.”
For a second, just a second, the sound of their voices eased the weight pressing down on him. He listened to them bicker in the background, the familiar rhythm of it pulling at something deep in his chest, memories stacking over each other faster than he could keep up with.
Casey.
The first time he held her, how something in him had shifted instantly, like that was it. That was the moment he was supposed to walk away from all of this. Be done. Be present. Be home.
Ellie.
And then her, years later, smaller, louder, just as stubborn… and somehow that had been the moment he stepped back into it, convincing himself they still needed him out there.
Why?
The question hit harder than it ever had.
Why couldn't he let go?
Years of this, of leaving and coming back, of telling himself it was worth it and now it all felt like it was crashing down on top of him at once. The guilt.
Casey must have handed the phone off again, because the sound shifted, smaller this time.
“Hi daddy.”
It made him smile.
“Hi, baby girl," he said, his voice tightening just slightly as he forced it to stay steady, like this was just another call, another day.
“When are you coming home?” her voice was so small. Softer. Too innocent for the weight behind the question.
He paused. Just for a second. He didn’t want to lie to his little girl. But he had to.
"Soon, baby," He said gently. “I just need to talk to Mommy first, okay? Is your sister getting her?”
There was a quiet pause, like she was looking around, checking, “Mmm…. yeah.”
He heard the front door open and then soon after her voice filtered through. “Elousie anne give me my phone.”
That made him smile again; despite everything, the sound of her moving through the house grounded him in a way nothing else could. He could hear her footsteps across the hardwood, the soft shuffle of movement, a bit of protesting and a bit of shooing as she directed the girls away.
“Please, Ellie, thank you—hey—hey, hon, sorry, I was outside watering the plants. Everything okay?”
He didn't answer right away. He just listened.
The faint creak of the front porch door as it shut behind her. The hollow shift in the sound of her voice as she stepped outside, and the house falling away from the line, replaced by something quieter. Open. He could almost hear the wind brushing past the receiver, the distant hum of cicadas and the soft scrape of her shoe against the wood as she settled in the same spot she always did when she needed a second to herself.
He could see it.
The porch light was casting that warm glow across the railing. The hanging plants sway just slightly, the ones she insisted on keeping alive even when he wasn’t there to help her water them. He’s killed every plant he’s ever had, but at least he had her. Then the chair she always sat in, angled just enough to face the yard.
He could picture her standing there now.
Phone tucked between her ear and shoulder. One hand resting absentmindedly against her hip, the other probably still damp from the hose.
Waiting.
“...Leon?”
Her voice softened as she said his name, just enough that it pulled him back.
“Yeah,” he breathed, quieter now, like the air had been knocked out of him somewhere between hearing her and realizing how far away he actually was. “Yeah, i’m here.”
There was a pause on the other end. Not long. Just enough.
“You don’t call like this unless something’s wrong," she said, and there it was—that steadiness. Not panicked. Not accusing. Just…knowing.
God.
After all these years, she still knew.
Leon closed his eyes, his head tipping back slightly against the wall behind him, the weight of it pressing in all at once. “Yeah,” he admitted, voice rougher now. “Something’s wrong.”
The line went quiet again.
He could hear her shift on the porch, the wood creaking beneath her as she sat down, like she needed something solid under her before he said whatever he was about to say.
"...Are you safe?” she asked finally.
Leon let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh, but there was nothing light about it, his hand bracing harder against the desk behind. “I’m… still here.” he said, the words careful, like he was choosing them for her and not for himself.
That wasn’t what she asked. And she knew it.
“Leon.”
Just his name… but it carried everything.
He swallowed, his jaw tightening as he stared at the ceiling for a second, like maybe if he looked anywhere else, he wouldn't have to say it out loud. His free hand dragged slowly down his face, pausing at his mouth as he exhaled through it, steadying himself before he spoke again.
“I’ve been getting worse,” he admitted, quieter now, the truth settling into his voice in a way that made it impossible to take back. “Last couple of days… I thought it was just stress, or bad air, I don’t know…" he shook his head slightly, eyes closing again as the memories lined up clearly now. “It’s not.”
The coughing.
The blood.
He paused, his gaze flicking briefly to his arm, to the faint dark illness beneath his skin that he could feel even if he couldn't fully see it.
“I know what it is now.”
The silence on her end sharpened.
“You’re saying that like you’ve seen it before,” she said, something tight in her tone, something already bracing for impact.
Leon swallowed, his grip tightening slightly as he leaned his weight back into the desk. “I have, it's—" he paused, contemplating giving too much away. “It’s the T-virus," he said simply. “And I know what happens when it takes hold.”
The words didn't shake. He didn’t let them.
“I’m not going to sit here and wait for it to take me,” he added more firmly, like saying it out loud made it real, made something he could push back against. “I’m going to figure this out. There's something here—data, labs, whatever the hell they want from Grace—I just have to find it.”
The porch creaked again.
“Leon…” She breathed, and this time there was no mistaking it. The steadiness she’d been holding onto was slipping, not all at once, but enough that he could hear it.
“If you know what this does to people—"
He didn’t answer. Because he did, of course he knew. But that didn’t matter.
“I’m not them,” he said instead, stubborn in a way that hadn’t left him in all these years. “I’ve walked out of worse.”
“You’ve walked out of lucky," she corrected, her voice breaking just slightly now, the truth pushing through whether she wanted it to or not. “You don’t get to pretend this is the same thing.”
Leon's jaw clenched, his eyes finding the ceiling again, like he could will himself into believing what he was saying. “I’m coming home,” he said, more firmly now. “You hear me? I’m not done yet.”
He was met with silence, heavy and unsure.
And then—
“You don’t know that.”
It was quiet. Too quiet, and Leon's hand tightened against the desk, his fingers curling as he pushed off it, pacing once across the room before stopping again. Like he needed movement to keep himself grounded. “I do,” he said, almost immediately. “I’m not leaving you like this. I’m not leaving them like this.”
Her breath hitched on the other side of the line. He heard it. Felt it, and it hit him harder than anything she’d said so far.
“You think I don’t know what that looks like?” she asked, her voice thinner now, the control finally cracking in a way she couldn't hold back anymore. “You think I haven’t seen what that virus does? What it turns people into?”
The porch creaked faster this time, like she’d started pacing, the same way she always did when she couldn't sit still with something.
“You got me out of raccoon city,” she continued, her voice shaking now, emotion bleeding through every word. “I watched what that place did to people, Leon. I watched what it almost did to you. Don’t stand there and tell me you’re just going to walk it off.”
Leon's chest tightened, something sharp cutting through him as he stopped pacing, his hand coming up to rest against the back of his neck, gripping it like it might keep him steady. “I’m not saying that,” he said, still holding the line. “I’m saying i’m not giving up.”
“You don’t get to decide that!” she snapped, and this time it didn’t hold together, the control finally splintering in a way she couldn't pull back from. “You don’t get to just fight this because you want to. That’s not how it works—”
Her voice just… cracked open.
Leon froze where he stood, the shift in her hitting him harder than anything she’d said so far, his hand tightening at his side as the sound of it carried through the line.
There was a shuffle on her end, hurried and uneven, like she’d turned too fast or lost her footing for a second before catching herself. The porch creaked again, louder this time, and then softer as she sank back down into the chair, the movement small but heavy enough that he could picture it perfectly.
And then—
She cried. Quiet, uneven sobs that she was trying to swallow down and failing, her breath catching in between them like she didn’t want him to hear it but couldn’t stop it either.
It broke him.
Leon’s chest tightened so hard it almost hurt, his hand coming up to press against it like that might steady something that was already slipping out of his control. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He just listened, the sound of her trying to hold herself together on the other end of the line cutting deeper than anything else could have.
“You have to come home,” she said finally, the words barely holding together between breaths. “You always come home.”
His jaw clenched.
“You always do,” she repeated, quieter now, like if she said it enough times it would make it true again, like it had every other time.
Leon closed his eyes, his head dipping forward slightly as he fought to keep his own voice steady, but for a second, just a second, he couldn’t find it.
“I can’t lose you,” she whispered, and that one… that one didn’t sound like a fight anymore. It sounded like something she already knew the answer to and didn’t want to say out loud.
“The girls need you,” she added, her voice shaking again as another quiet sob slipped through despite her trying to stop it. “They need you, Leon. I need you.”
God.
He swallowed hard, his throat tight as he dragged a hand down his face again, trying to pull himself back together because if he lost it now, there’d be nothing left to give her.
“I’m coming home,” he said, quieter now, but not weaker—just… heavier. “You hear me? I’m not leaving you like that.”
The words didn’t land the same anymore.
They didn’t fix it.
They just hung there, something he needed to say even if neither of them fully believed it.
He took a step forward, then stopped, his hand bracing against the desk again as he tried to ground himself in something solid, something real. “I’m gonna figure this out,” he added, more firmly this time, like saying it again might give it weight. “I’ve handled worse than this. I just need time.”
A quiet, broken breath left her on the other end, and he could hear it—the way she wanted to argue, wanted to push back, but didn’t have anything left to fight him with.
Because she knew.
That was the worst part.
“I know you’re gonna try,” she said finally, softer now, her voice worn thin from the effort of holding it together. “I know you are.”
A pause. Long.
Heavy.
“But you don’t know if you can win this.”
Leon didn’t answer right away. Because she was right
And for the first time since the call started, he let that sit between them, the truth of it settling into the silence without either of them trying to fix it.
“…No,” he admitted quietly.
Another quiet sob slipped through the line.
And still—
He held onto what he had left.
“But you’re still stuck with me,” he said, softer now, something familiar threading through his voice despite everything, something that had always been there between them. “Until I die.”
There was a small huff of air through the line, but it didn’t feel like the rest of the conversation. It felt full. Too full of everything they weren’t saying, everything they didn’t have time to say… everything that sat between then and now with no clean way through it.
On the other end, her breathing was still uneven, quieter now but not steady, the kind that came after you’d already cried and were trying to convince yourself you were okay when you weren’t. Leon stayed where he was, his fingers digging into his earpiece like letting go of it would take her with it, his other hand braced against the desk just to keep himself grounded in something.
It was right then he understood why this goodbye felt different.
Because it wasn’t one.
Not really.
He wouldn’t let it be.
Not when he could still fight. Not when there was still something left to hold onto. Not when she was on the other end of the line, breathing, listening, still there.
“I didn’t call to say goodbye,” he said finally, his voice low, quieter than before, like the fight in him had settled into something steadier. Something more honest.
A small, broken sound left her on the other end, not quite a laugh, not quite anything else.
“I know,” she whispered.
He swallowed, his throat tight as his gaze dropped to the floor, his fingers curling slightly against the edge of the desk. “I just…” He paused, exhaling slowly, trying to find the words that didn’t make this sound like what it was.
“I needed to hear you,” he said, softer now. “All of you.”
Because that mattered more than anything.
He let the words sit there, not rushing to fill the space after them, letting them carry their weight without trying to soften them into something easier.
“They sounded good,” he added after a moment, quieter now, something fragile threading through his voice. “The girls.”
A pause.
“They’re okay,” she said, her voice still thin, still trying to hold together. “They’re waiting for you.”
That one landed harder than the rest.
Leon closed his eyes for a second, letting it settle somewhere deep in his chest, somewhere he knew he’d carry no matter what happened next.
They would see him again.
He had to believe that.
“Tell them…” he started, then stopped, his jaw tightening slightly as he shook his head. “Tell them I’ll call again,” he corrected quietly, choosing the version of the truth he could live with. “Soon, and that I love them.”
She didn’t argue.
Didn’t correct him.
She just let it sit.
He wasn’t sure what that meant—if she was trying to come to terms with it, or if she was holding onto his determination the same way he was—but she didn’t take it away from him.
“I will,” she said.
The porch creaked again, softer this time, like she’d leaned back into the chair, like she was staring out into the yard the way she always did when she needed to think. He could picture it so clearly it almost felt like he was there, standing just behind her, his hand resting at her shoulder the way it always had.
He wished he was.
“…Leon?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m right here," she said softly.
Not "I love you." Not “come home. ” Just that. Simple...and somehow that hurt more than anything else she could've said.
Leon let out a slow breath. “I know," he said quietly.
The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It just lingered. Neither of them moved to end it, neither of them willing to be the one to let go first, like staying on the line just a second longer meant something. Like it could hold this movement in place a little longer before everything else caught up to it.
“Call me,” she said after a while, softer now.
“I will.”
Another pause.
“...Okay.”
The line stayed open for just a second longer. Then—
A quiet click.
Leon stayed like that for a moment, standing in the silence left behind by the receiver, the absence of her voice settling heavier than anything else in the room. For a second, it threatened to hollow him out completely, but then something else followed it, slower, steadier. Determination. It crept in quietly, filling the space she’d just left behind, grounding him in a way nothing else could.
He had to push through.
Had to keep going.
For Sherry. For Grace. For Casey and Ellie.
For his home.
For her.
–
When he set his bags down on the front porch and knocked softly against the door, it felt like something had finally lifted off his shoulders.
Not all of it.
But enough.
After the dose of the cure, he felt… different. Clearer. Lighter. Better than he had in longer than he could remember. Coming that close to losing everything had forced something into place inside him, something he wasn’t willing to let slip again.
He wasn’t going to almost lose this.
Not ever again.
The door barely had time to open before his two girls came barreling into him, all momentum and noise, hitting him full force like they always did. He laughed—real, unguarded—as he caught them, lifting both of them halfway off the ground, steadying himself as he stepped back into the house, swaying them slightly like he had when they were smaller.
This.
This was what it meant to live.
All those years he’d spent chasing that feeling, through work, through missions, through places that never felt like home, thinking maybe the next one would give him something he was missing.
And it had been here the whole time.
Standing right in front of him.
His wife stood a few steps back, arms crossed, dressed in casual sweats and a loose tank that hung at her hips, watching them with that same quiet smile she always had when he came home. There was something softer in it now, something that hadn’t been there before. Something that looked a lot like relief.
The second he saw her, everything else faded.
He pressed a quick kiss to each of the girls’ heads before setting them down, barely giving them time to protest before he was already moving, closing the distance between him and her in two strides.
He didn’t stop.
His hands found her waist, pulling her into him as he kissed her, firm and grounding, like he needed to make sure she was really there. His hands moved to her face, holding her there as she melted into him without hesitation, whatever had been left from that phone call, from that night, dissolving into something warmer. Something real.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against hers for just a second before he drew her in again, softer this time, his arms wrapping around her as he bent slightly, pressing his face into the crook of her neck like he could anchor himself there.
She held him just as tightly, her arms coming up around his neck as she pressed closer, like she wasn’t willing to let him go just yet.
Behind them, the girls groaned loudly, already booing the display, their voices echoing through the house and pulling a quiet laugh from him despite everything.
And in that moment, right there, in the middle of it all, he knew.
He was done with goodbyes.
“I guess I really am stuck with you,” she murmured into his coat, her voice softer now, her grip tightening just slightly.
The breath that left him was shaky, like the last of everything he’d been holding onto finally slipped free.
“Yeah,” he said, pulling back just enough to look at her, his hands coming up to frame her face again, his thumbs brushing lightly over her skin.
Summary : what if Leon hated casual relationships--yet accidentally he found himself in one, would he want to get out of it? Or would he want to sink deeper in it: until he is completely ruined?
Note - english isnt my native language, so expect grammatical errors, remember its badly written, maybe long I dunno, i am tired and sleepy so remember it will have errors, it might NOT be good, it just random drabble or thought imo haha
• Leon isn't the kind to be into one-night stands, or something remotely--close to casual intimacy.
• he hates the idea of it altogether, not that he judges anyone for it, if you enjoy it? Perfect! But he just thinks, (emphasize on think)--he believes and prefer 'soulmates' kind of love, cliché as it sounds, because he rather meet someone in his fifties than using someone just for sex, without any emotional connection.
• another reason he hates it: because Leon knew himself, and he also knew that he had probably fall in love with the partner he was with, after one-night stand (embarassing for him) to admit that but that was the truth.
• Well, it was like that for him--until one lonely night and after another successful mission. The DSO headquarters decided to throw one of their ridiculous post-mission parties, the kind Leon normally would've avoided without a second thought. Because it had ridiculously crowded rooms, loud music, too many people trying to forget everything for one night.
• and usually, he would've turned off his phone that night and pretended he disappeared off the face of earth, but somehow, here he was standing in the crowded room. Looking back though, he'd be grateful he stayed. But at the time, however, he felt ridiculously out of place. So instead, he did what he always did whenever he didn't know what to do with himself: he drank--and drank.
• Then drank some more. By the time he realized he was actually too drunk, it was already far too late. The entire party after that, had blurred into a haze of 'laughters' and conversations he probably wouldn't remember the next morning.
• Which was probably why he ended up wandering away from the crowd and accidentally running into his gorgeous colleague : you.
• The one who was always around the office somehow. The one he greeted in passing, the one he worked alongside, and saw almost every day, and yet had somehow never really looked at. Crazy, wasn't it? Because how could he not notice someone like you? And once he actually took a good look at you, he couldn't understand how he'd missed it before.
• Unfortunately for both of you, you were just as wasted as he was. Then Leon made one of his jokes which somehow made you laugh then it turned into one conversation, then slowly it became two: Two became laughter. Laughter became lingering glances between you and him, And then you both found yourself inside a vacant room far away from the noise of the party, and then one thing led to another.
• The next morning, Leon woke up with a pounding headache that felt like punishment for every drink he'd consumed, and his eyes ached as sunlight streamed through the curtains towards his face and his eyes fluttered open and, he realized his mouth was dry, actually no he was thirsty as fuck, what the hell? and his entire body felt awful, especially his cock: everything was sore, he looked down and his member was already awake: what the fuck? Because usually he wasn't that horny in the morning.
• then suddenly every little detail of past night played like movie in his mind, your lips on his, his hands everywhere on you, you riding him, bouncing on his cock, while your tits jiggled as he pounded into you, he felt the heat of his blood rush straight to his cock, and his balls and dick started pulsing immediately with ache of release. God: the fuck he do now?
• Then he calmed himself by saying "it wasnt as bad" (but it was) but hey he knew lying to himself was easier, then he tried to push those thoughts away along side with the ache of pushing his cock into you, then he titled his head and his eyes lingered on you, and he saw you curled up against him, as if you trusted him, then he noticed you were fast asleep on him. Resting comfortably in his arms like you'd always belonged there. (Maybe you had?)
• For a long moment, Leon simply stared at you, waiting for regret to hit him. Waiting for panic. Waiting for that horrible sinking feeling people always talked about after nights like this. Instead, all he felt was the overwhelming realization that he didn't regret it. Not even a little. If anything, as he looked down at you sleeping peacefully against his chest, one terrifying thought crossed his mind.
• He wanted to do it all again, with you, obviously.
• now his thoughts wandered; even if it was only for one night, he knew he was gone, absolutely ridiculously, gone, because in normal circumstances he would not have done it, not that he can do anything about it anymore, but anyways, as he thought about it deeply, he wanted to meet you in a proper date but wait how would he even say, "oh I loved the sex, now can we meet not for 'sex' but a normal date, I feel there can be something between us", no heck, no. It sounded crazy even in Leon's own thoughts.
• so he did the best thing, he could do or think of, he asked for your number because he wanted to do it again (stupid) he know, but seriously a heart wants what it wants.
• and then he found himself calling you every other day 'because he needed you." And you agreed everytime.
• Eventually, Leon told himself it had just been a mistake. A one-time thing. Something that would fade if he gave it enough time. It didn't. Instead, he found himself calling you every night, showing up at your place unannounced, or finding any excuse to see you, even if it was just for a casual conversation. He tried to convince himself he could walk away from it, that he should. But deep down, he already knew the truth. No matter how much he fought it, you had become the one thing he looked forward to, the one good thing that had happened to him in a life that had never been particularly kind.
• Now it became a problem for him: because, Leon started to love doing everything with you, waking up beside you, hearing you talk, just exist near you while you worked on reports at your home, watching movies with you, every little thing that had no actual meaning now it became important to him.
• he knew it was a dangerous game he was caught up in, yet he wanted to play it anyways.
• another problem began as time passed and he became sure that he loved you: and he had started wanting more. it probably happened after two months. Maybe even sooner, maybe it started the day he fucked you at that damned party. He honestly couldn't tell anymore. All he knew was that what started as something casual had stopped feeling casual to him. It wasnt a one time thing.
• he knew he wanted more conversations that lasted until sunrise, more mornings waking up beside you, more of your laughter, your presence, your entire existence.
• He didn't want something temporary anymore. He didn't want casual with you. He wanted official. He wanted to call you his without wondering if he had the right to.
• But Leon carried one terrible fear in the back of his mind: that you were happy exactly the way things were. And if he opened his mouth and admitted how much he wanted you, how much more he wanted--you might pull away completely. You might decide you dont want it. And losing you was a terrible thought.
• So, naturally, Leon did the most Leon Kennedy thing possible. He said absolutely nothing and suffered in silence, carrying feelings far too big for his chest while pretending everything was perfectly fine.
• But then it became harder to control himself around you. During meetings, during missions, during the most ordinary moments, his attention always drifted back to you. He knew his teammates had noticed by now; honestly, they probably had a long time ago. But Leon couldn't bring himself to care anymore. Because at the end of the day, the only opinion that mattered to him was yours.
• now as you two grew close: Leon started to feel overprotective of you, he hated when you mentioned other agents: even chris, he hated that he werent the part of the conversation, and it was ridiculous, but it is what it is.
• now; it became so bad, if you somehow cancelled plans with Leon, his entire day was ruined, and it felt like his heart was crushed under a wrecking ball.
• and it kept going on for another long week.
• Still, Leon decided to keep going until he couldn't anymore. He told himself that having you like this was enough, that whatever the two of you were doing was better than losing you completely. So he buried every feeling that threatened to surface and carried on until the night someone casually asked if you had a boyfriend.
• The question should have been simple, yet you hesitated, and that tiny pause lodged itself in Leon's chest like a spark of hope. Maybe he wasn't the only one struggling. Maybe you wanted more too.
• The thought followed him for days: and after that he stopped asking you to meet him at his or your place and for a bit you had agreed to that, but it was only, until he finally gathered enough courage to ask you to come over to his apartment. You agreed as you always did, completely unaware that he had spent the entire day rehearsing and abandoning speeches in his head. The moment you stepped inside, you smiled and threw your arms around him in greeting, and for a second Leon almost gave up. Almost pretended everything was fine. But he couldn't. Not this time. Swallowing hard, he let the silence stretch before gently taking hold of your shoulders and pulling you back just enough to look at you.
• His heart was beating so violently he was certain even the neighbor next door could hear it, "I don't think I can do casual anymore," he blurted out in one breath. Fuck. He'd actually said it. The words hung between you, irreversible now, and all Leon could think was that he hoped you didn't hate him. Hoped he hadn't just ruined the best thing in his life. Then, to his complete disbelief, you smiled, softly, like you'd been waiting for this. "Took you a long time, Kennedy," you murmured.
• Before he could even process the words, you rose onto your tiptoes and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. For a moment Leon simply froze, stunned. Then every ounce of tension he'd been carrying for months seemed to leave his body at once. His shoulders sagged, his eyes fluttered shut, and a shaky laugh escaped him as relief washed through him so intensely it was almost painful. Because suddenly the future didn't seem so terrifying anymore.
• And finally, in that moment, Leon was fairly certain he could die happy.
Your breathing has come to a stop, and you would think your heart has too if not for the fact you continue to live. Everything around you slows, and it feels like the air has been sucked out of the room and there is none left for your lungs.
Through the dizzying static of the revelation that Leon has been chipped, you can barely hear Adams’ voice anymore as he continues to speak to his deranged audience.
Beside you, Leon’s own senses have gone fuzzy, and all his mind can think is how the hell did he miss being injected?
He recalls being hit, drugged, and you coming to his rescue. He also recalls the post-op recovery with you by his side—he was sore everywhere that week, but he never paused to think if any particular spot had been an injection site. Plus, he was cleared by the infirmary at HQ where no such thing had been mentioned.
So, somehow, the fact he has a ticking fucking time bomb of a tumor inside his brain was missed completely for a whole month.
“Leon…” you squeak out in a choked voice, interrupting his spiraling thoughts.
He doesn't answer immediately, gulping hard and letting his eyes land on the timers on the screen. The earliest shows less than twenty-two minutes left, and the latest is at five hours.
He has anything from five hours to twenty-two minutes to live.
“Kiddo, I— We should—” He doesn't know what to say, panic slowly flooding him.
You, on the other hand, are already moving to the computer with trembling fingers, fiddling with the commands to try and find a way to stop the countdown.
At the sight of you so afraid and yet honing your emotions to try and fix the situation, Leon feels himself breaking, but like you, he tries to remain calm. There has to be an override system—he’s sure you’ll find it.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” you grit out as you search for what you need. It feels like every second passing where you can't find it is bringing you closer to a meltdown as your brain works a thousand miles per minute.
The only other time you felt this kind of terror was nine years ago, and even then you didn't have the added pressure of having to save the situation.
“Hey, hey…” Leon places a hand on your shoulder in an attempt to reassure you despite currently losing it himself. “I’m still here. Everything’s fine. It’ll be alright.”
Taking in a deep inhale, you hum, then resume your search with the steady warmth of his hand on your skin. “I-I’ll figure this out, I promise.”
His expression shatters, feeling like a complete wreck of emotions from your words. “I know, baby, I know… Just don't be scared, okay?”
You only give a nod in response, your eyes flickering to the time again with a shaky breath. Then, you finally find what you're looking for: 'Emergency Override.’
The sigh of relief that leaves you is instant, and you quickly select the command only to be met by a window of text titled with big, red letters.
WARNING:
The Emergency Override is protected by strict safety measures.
Only Tier 5 staff members are cleared to complete the procedure safely.
If you are not a Tier 5 staff member, please refrain from starting the procedure for your own safety.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Leon leans closer to the screen to try and understand its cryptic contents.
“I-I don't know!” you exclaim, before spotting a small clickable link that reads ‘More Information.’ Another pop-up appears, this one an article.
‘The mainframe in the Control Room is the only point of access to the Emergency Override. In order to activate the process, please ensure prior immunization against the TR-67 compound. Then, initiate lockdown to begin the procedure, and enter the series of codes provided to complete the override.’
The text blurs before your eyes as you frantically read it again and again to try and make sense of it, while Leon goes completely still.
“That's a VX derivative…” he whispers with wide eyes, “I didn't even know immunization existed.”
“Wait, VX as in…” your words trail off and you feel your world spin around you.
To stop the countdown, you must be immune to one of the most toxic synthetic chemical compounds—a nerve agent that disrupts the body’s most basic nervous system functions. You guess that starting the process releases it into the room somehow, and that the only way to survive it would involve some precious, secret vaccine currently unavailable to you.
In other words, you can't stop it without perishing. You can't save Leon.
The latter remains stiff by your side, his grip on your shoulder tightening imperceptibly as you turn to him slowly. “W-what… What do we do?” you ask for the second time tonight.
His eyes flicker to the monitors just long enough to read the time—nineteen minutes left—before he slides his palm lower down your arm until he can hold your hand.
“We… We go find Hunnigan…” he nods slowly to himself, “I’m sure we can figure something out…”
He then pulls you alongside him, swallowing thickly as he leads the way knowing his calm façade is barely holding. Your steps are reluctant behind him, and you feel like the reality of the situation is finally settling into your gut like a big, ugly wound.
Leon is about to die.
There is no way to sugarcoat it. He has a chip in his brain ready to go off in minutes to hours, and you have no way to stop it whatsoever.
You think of every possibility, every scenario, from the most hopeful ones to the absolute worst.
If you're lucky, his chip is part of the last batch and you have five hours to save him, which gives HQ time to intervene with backup. They can arrest Adams and force him to disable the countdown.
If you're not so lucky and his timer is meant to go off in less than nineteen minutes, then there is not enough time to force Marcus into anything. Especially if he is as committed to this ‘project’ as his late wife.
You can already picture it, going back upstairs with a gun and threatening him to stop the attack, just for him to deny it and call for security. There is only so much you can do to persuade someone without a SWAT team.
In the end, you come to the conclusion that there is nothing you can do, and Leon appears to have reached the same understanding if his sunken eyes and pale face are anything to go by.
For years, he has been worried about losing you during a mission, he never really stopped to care about himself. It’s a given that he has thought of dying on the job before, but the idea never crippled him in horror like he’s feeling right now.
For the first time in forever, Leon truly wants to live. For you, and for himself, he wants to stay by your side no matter if you take him or not. You could despise him, and he would still rather live with you than die and leave you all alone in this miserable world.
As he comes face to face with death, he realizes if this is the way he must go, then he would at least want you to have some support during it. He won't let you see him die, so he intends on taking you to Martin and Ferreira, kissing you goodbye if you’ll allow it, then hiding somewhere to die alone like he was always meant to. He only wishes he never ran from your confession the morning prior.
With a squeeze to your hand, his face sports a solemn expression as he pulls you to the exit, and you feel like the second you’ll get past that threshold you might actually scream. To hell with alerting security, you can't accept that he will just die on you while you can’t do anything about it.
You can’t do anything about it…
The thought has your steps stuttering when he opens the door to lead you out, a violent wave of nausea rippling through you. It’s as if your body refuses to accept this mind shattering reality you have been thrusted into.
You choke on hopelessness, gasping for air that won't enter your lungs, and Leon turns to you with concern. He cradles your face with clammy hands, his own nervousness apparent despite his best efforts.
“Kiddo… My sweet kiddo…” his voice breaks, but he blinks away the tears forming on his lashes. “Listen to me… I don't want you to be scared. You can do this, you’re the strongest person I know… With or without me, you’ll be alright, you hear me? You’re gonna be okay.”
His soft spoken words fall onto deaf ears as you stare into his big blue eyes. Because no, you are not going to be okay without him. That might be the biggest bullshit you ever heard in your life. Leon is your world, and no amount of lying to yourself is ever going to change that. You can't live without him—you simply refuse to do so.
The feeling suddenly makes something click inside you, and your eyes dart to the hallway outside the room, a desperate idea coming to mind.
Maybe you can't save him, but you can at least try.
Catching him completely off guard, you all of a sudden shove him as hard as you can and cause him to fall outside of the control room, his back thudding on the hard floor with a pained grunt.
Leon can barely register what just happened, when you begin to hurriedly shut the door, and it finally hits him—you want to try withstanding the nerve agent to stop the countdown.
“Kid, no—” he whispers breathlessly, scrambling to his feet to stop you from closing the gate, but you move faster than him and slam the door in his face with a thundering noise. It feels like it’s his soul that's been slammed as he watches you through the glass window built into the door.
Half a second of shock passes, before he immediately tries the lock with frantic movements. But it does not yield, requiring the badge you still have dangling around your neck.
That's when blood curdling terror swallows him whole.
“Kid— Kid, what are you doing?!” he panics as he watches you back away towards the array of screens with tears streaming down your cheeks. “Don’t do anything stupid, open the door!”
He begins to pound on the steel, and you flinch at the sound, but you know you can't do as he says if there's any chance you could prevent his imminent death.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper, then turn on your heel and dash to the computer.
His mind races to figure out how to break in and stop you, and he’s about to make a run for one of the guards held in the bathroom to snatch a badge and return.
But then, Leon feels his soul leave his body as your fingers hover over the keyboard. “Wait! No, please, wait!”
You hesitate for a split moment, but with a deep, steadying breath, you finally press the ‘start’ button.
A red light suddenly flashes across the room, and there’s a wooshing sound from the door that makes you realize it just shut itself completely in an airtight seal. Then, a robotic voice comes out from the speakers as it issues a warning.
“Emergency Override initiated. You have 15 seconds to cancel the command before the start of the procedure. Please beware of the incoming launch of safety protocols.”
“Cancel it!” Leon shouts with a deafening slam of his fist against the door. His voice has morphed from pleading to furious. “Don't fucking play stupid games, kid! I don't need you to save me!”
“15… 14…”
“Open this fucking door! I’m giving you an order!”
“13… 12… 11…”
“Look at me!” Another forceful slam. “I’m talking to you, look at me!”
You finally dare look back, only to find him with the wildest expression you’ve ever seen on him. He looks like he’s losing his mind.
“10… 9… ”
“You don't get to play the fucking hero! So open this door right now, or I swear—”
His threat falls short. What would he even have to say when you're willing to end your life to save his?
“8… 7…”
“I’m sorry…” you whimper, your voice hoarse from the tears wetting your face. “I can't— I can't just let you die, Leon, I have to try… I’m so sorry…”
“6… 5…”
“No, no, fuck that—” he breaks, the anger dissipating to make way for desperation. You can see the wetness of his eyes from your spot, his palm coming to rest on the cold glass. “You're being selfish… You don't get to decide this for me—I don't want you to save me!”
“4…”
“Please forgive me, Leon... I-I love you so much.”
“3..”
“Don't do this to me…” a sob escapes him, hope draining out of him until he feels like a shell of himself. “Please don't do this to me…”
“2…”
“Sweetheart—kiddo, please… I’m begging…”
“1… Safety Protocol initiated. Release of TR-67 starting now.”
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