✧ missy ✧ mid- 20s ✧ leon kennedy + chris redfield + jill valentine + others from RE ✧ chreon lover but also a multishipper (because why wouldn't I want to whore out my faves) ✧ writer aiming to recover from a pesky bout of block ✧ MDNI
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
✧ open to prompts / requests ✧
•.¸♡𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒚'𝒔 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈♡¸.• is the tag imma try and remember to use for my writing
cant stop thinking of bath sex with RE9!leon while he's being a total tease
your day at work had been absolute hell and leon knew it the second you walked through the door, taking one look at your exhausted frame before wordlessly drawing a hot bath. now, you were pressed flush against him in the deep tub, the warm water doing wonders to soothe your tired muscles. your back rested perfectly against his broad chest, his sturdy frame acting as the most comfortable cushion. the bathroom was filled with thick steam, the only sound being the gentle slosh of the water every time one of you shifted.
leon's lips pressed soft, lingering kisses along the curve of your neck, his warm breath fanning over your damp skin. "m'sorry you had such a rough day, baby," he murmured, his deep voice vibrating against your collarbone. his left hand breached the surface of the water to cup your breast, giving the soft flesh a gentle, appreciative squeeze. his large palm completely engulfed you, thumb brushing back and forth over your hardening nipple as his mouth left an open-mouthed kiss against your pulse point.
his right hand, which had been resting lazily on your stomach beneath the water, began to drift lower, tracing a slow path down your torso. you let out a soft sigh, head falling back to rest on his shoulder as his fingers grazed the slick heat between your widely spread thighs. he didn't push inside right away. instead, his middle finger found your swollen clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles over the sensitive nub. the combination of the hot water and his expert touch made a breathy moan slip past your lips, echoing loudly off the tiled walls of the bathroom.
leon hummed in approval, his lips trailing up to press a wet kiss behind your ear as he quickened the pace of his teasing strokes, pressing his thumb down just hard enough to draw a needy whine from your throat. "so sweet," he breathed, his hand slipping down to stroke your slick opening, finding you completely soaked and ready for him. he dragged two thick fingers against your entrance before pushing them slowly inside your tight heat. the contrast of the hot bathwater and the searing, wet grip of your cunt made a low grunt rumble in his chest.
he started pumping his fingers in and out of you, bottoming out with every heavy thrust of his hand, the water sloshing over your intertwined bodies with every filthy, slick sound his fingers made. he curled his digits upward, hitting your g-spot with a rhythmic, bruising pressure that had your hips instinctively bucking back against his hand. he gripped your breast tighter, kneading it roughly while his other hand relentlessly fucked you beneath the suds.
you were completely pliant against him, a helpless, moaning mess as his thumb returned to press down on your clit at the exact same time his fingers stretched you open, pumping deep inside you. "that's it... " he coaxed, his hips tilting up to press his own throbbing arousal against your lower back. he kept fucking your dripping cunt with his fingers, swallowing your desperate moans against his lips as he kissed your neck, utterly devoted to making you feel good until you were shaking and completely wrecked in his arms.
mmnn leon calling you baby. a big warm hand in the curve of your back and a kiss on the corner of your mouth and a "hey baby" when he greets you. oh my
This August, join me for the 30 Days Writing Challenge, #Augustrope✨
In which we have a list of various tropes as the writing prompts. While these tropes are commonly used as recurring plot devices in fanfiction, you can also write your original story with them.
For 30 days (August 1st—August 30th, the 31st is the rest day), you can write anything with a different prompt for each day.
Any ship, fandom, characters, genres are welcome. Be it fanfiction or original fiction, just write it!
★★ 2026 Augustrope's Prompt List ★★
Day 1 — First Meeting
Day 2 — They Were Roommates
Day 3 — Beach Episode
Day 4 — Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics
Day 5 — Domestic Fluff
Day 6 — Two People Love Triangle
Day 7 — 5 Times This + 1 Time That
Day 8 — Mistaken Identity
Day 9 — Coffeshop AU
Day 10 — Age Regression
Day 11 — Near Death Experience
Day 12 — Enemies-to-Lovers
Day 13 — POV Outsider
Day 14 — There's Only One Bed
Day 15 — Coda/Episode Tag
Day 16 — Relationship Reveal
Day 17 — Hallmark AU
Day 18 — Amnesia
Day 19 — Body Swap
Day 20 — Potion/Spell Goes Wrong
Day 21 — Everyone Knows But Them
Day 22 — Road Trips
Day 23 — Your-Fave-Movie AU
Day 24 — In Vino Veritas
Day 25 — Elevator Fic
Day 26 — Fake/Pretend Relationship
Day 27 — Mutual Pining
Day 28 — Meet The Family
Day 29 — Non-Human Character
Day 30 — Soulmate AU
🖇️ More info about Augustrope
Feel free to tag your work with #Augustrope (and/or #Augustrope2026) so that I can find them.
If you're on AO3, you can also add your work into the Augustrope Collection (Augustrope2026).
If you have any questions regarding the prompt, you can directly interact with this post 🫶🏻
Domestic Leon Kennedy Headcanon, in which Leon has to use his DSO training in the kitchen.
You kicked the front door shut behind you, dropped your keys into the bowl by the entryway, and hurried toward the kitchen.
"Leon? I'm so sorry I'm late, work just got ahead of me."
"I got it," he called back confidently.
You rounded the corner to find him standing proudly beside the pressure cooker, wooden spoon in hand.
He was wearing your frilly, pink apron.
"See? Domestic."
You smiled. "I didn't know you could use one of those."
"YouTube is an amazing thing. You can learn to do anything."
He reached over and twisted the lid. The pressure cooker answered with an angry, violent hiss.
"Leon?"
His expression changed instantly.
"Oh, that's not supposed to–"
The lid lurched. A blast of spitting steam filled the kitchen. Shreds of cooked vegetables rained down on you.
His training took over before either of you could think. Leon caught you around the waist, pulled you to the floor, and covered you as the cooker rattled on the stove.
Something hit the refrigerator. A carrot, maybe. Another piece of food slid slowly down a cabinet door.
The spitting stopped. All went quiet.
You looked up at him.
He was still braced over you, listening.
"...All clear?" you asked.
He glanced toward the stove. "Yeah."
A piece of celery peeled itself off the wall and landed on the tile.
Leon looked back at you.
"So...takeout?"
You couldn't help laughing. "I think that's for the best."
He nodded once, then helped you to your feet. He glanced once more at what had once been dinner, and quietly decided there were some explosive devices he'd rather handle than kitchen appliances.
A/N: Reader's poor kitchen is fuuuuuucked. This man is highly competent in the streets AND sheets, but do not let him in the kitchen
I just want to remind you that sometimes your life really doesn't begin until you are 26+... Romanticizing and obsessing over our youth is harmful. Growing up is beautiful. Discovering who you are and how you interact with the world is a gift. Maturing and learning what you truly want out of life and living in that purpose brings fulfillment and peace. Your life is not over in your early 20's because you haven't figured it out yet, it's just beginning.
leon kennedy always recognizes you as his home. doesn't matter where he is, whether near or far, what time it is, doesn't matter how injured he is, how much his body and mind tire from cruelty and virus alike-- the mere sight of you, safe and happy, is enough to bring reprieve to an aching heart.
he has endured more than anyone else has in this world, but you know he'd never dare admit that. he's not allowed to, not when he's deemed himself a failure. he may have saved thousands of lives, but for the few he failed to save, he carries that with him forevermore. you know this and so does he.
but you don't recognize him as a failure-- never could, never will. but sometimes words are not enough of a reminder, and sometimes, it is not words that speak the loudest.
so you hold him every night, make sure he feels as safe as he makes you feel. even when it's a little too hot, even when you've had a misunderstanding that day. you hold him like something meant to be cherished, something meant to be protected.
you hold him like he's meant to be saved.
"...you're getting a few grays, baby." you say softly, fingers weaving through soft locks as he rests his head on your chest. you lay together in the bedroom you've shared for years and years. this is your home, your haven. your sanctuary. it's all you know and it's all he ever wants to know.
"getting old." he murmurs. "not as young as i used to be when we first met."
it's spoken in a lighthearted manner, but you can sense the weariness in his tone. you smile, press your lips against his head, feel him relax against your body even more than before.
"...'s okay. we can grow old and gray together, yeah?"
a small huff of amusement before he shifts slightly, looking up at you. there's that fondness in blue eyes you've grown to adore with all your heart ; you hope to continue protecting it with everything you have.
"yeah," he says, quiet, reverent, as he kisses you on the lips, "we can grow old and gray together."
things i wish someone told me before i started writing (and also things i ignored anyway)
okay. writers of tumblr. i’ve compiled a list of things i desperately wish someone had sat me down and said before i started writing, not that i would’ve listened, because i was 14 and powered entirely by hubris, iced coffee, and my wattpad era.
anyway. here we go:
1. stop rewriting chapter one.
i know you think it’ll fix everything. it won’t. it’s a hydra. you cut one head off, two Google Docs appear.
2. your first draft is not a treaty with god.
it can be messy. it can be unhinged. it can have 47 placeholders named “idk something happens.” it’s fine.
3. perfectionism is just fear wearing a blazer.
write badly on purpose. humiliate your draft. it builds character (yours).
4. word count culture is a scam.
you are allowed to write 200 words and call it a day. you are allowed to write 5k and then disappear into the void for three business weeks.
5. google docs autosave WILL betray you.
download backups. then back up your backups. then sacrifice a pen to the writing gods idk.
6. description is not pretty synonyms.
it’s specificity. the torn movie ticket in their pocket. the buzzing light in the hallway. the chipped nail polish on their thumb. write the thing not the aesthetics around the thing.
7. dialogue isn’t two Shakespeare ghosts monologuing at each other.
interruptions. trailing off. people lying. people avoiding the truth. people saying “whatever man.” let it get messy.
8. you don’t need a whole map before you start.
sometimes you just need one character with one problem and the stupidest idea imaginable.
9. reading your old writing will make you cringe but also cry a little because wow you cared so much.
keep that version of you alive.
10. don’t wait to ‘be good.’
you get good by writing the stuff you think is embarrassing.
11. also: nine out of ten times, your “bad” idea is actually the one that goes feral and grows teeth and becomes your WIP.
12. hydrate.
no further explanation.
ok that’s it because if i keep going i’ll start confessing things about the time i wrote a whole novel in 2017 that will never see daylight again.
reply if u relate or if u too have 87 abandoned document fragments in your google drive.
SUMMARY: nothing crazy, really… just you and Leon trying something new!
CONTENT: 18+ - mdni! piv - THEE. PRONE BONE SESSION (I drool), headlockinggg, reader’s a bit subby/soft-dom leon (maybe?), creampie, heavy petting, praise kink goes crazy in this. I implied that reader is a bit curvy/chubby, but it’s still fairly neutral so read it however you want. a really messy alternating pov but whatever. lovey dovey shit fr fr.
WC: 1.7k
NOTES: this is nothing more than a leon kennedy’s moobs-and-biceps appreciation fic (inspired by “my moon my man” by feist). **also! I had re4r Leon in mind while writing this but it’s not at all specified so you can honestly imagine whatever Leon you want.**
Leon Kennedy Masterlist!
•••
“You okay, baby?” Leon cooes low at you, his voice smooth and dangerously molten.
“…H-hmm—uh huh.”
“Good. That’s good.”
Your boyfriend’s mouth drags along the ridge of your shoulders. With a light kiss of his teeth, and a few well-placed tentative licks to the sticky skin, he’s making the concerted effort to claim all of you. His. His, as you’ve been countless times before. His, as you will always be.
Your throat is dry; hoarse and cracked, and he hasn’t even entered you yet—but you can’t help it. He had already pulled one orgasm out of you earlier with his mouth and his hands, but now, as he pins you to the bed with his knees and chest, you swear you might come again at any moment.
You’re incredibly sensitive right now, having already been keyed up so high. Leon, of course, has absolutely no problem using this fact to his advantage.
“You’re shaking, baby,” he says quietly, warm breath curling around your ear.
“What?” you hiccup.
“You’re shivering.”
As if to prove his point, his hands—calloused and strong from years of use—dance along your sides. They move from the dip of your hips to where your breasts bulge at their sides.
Sighing, you say, “Well, when you do that…” and bury your face into the mattress.
Leon laughs and your body absorbs it like it’s your own. As if your bones are conductors, the sound sends an addictive jolt to the pulsing organ in your chest and between your thighs.
“We don’t have to do this, you know, if you’re too nervous.”
You’re quick to shake your head and even quicker to arch back into him. A little absently, you think then about how in this position, you two slot perfectly together—like you were made to fit.
“Want to,” you add weakly. “Wanna do this with you, Lee. Please.” For good measure (as if your words in all their breathy, whiney nature weren’t indicative of how you felt), you start to roll your hips back. Leon groans loud.
His flushed, hot tip rests just inches away from your weepy hole. He watches you flutter on nothing; as the slick pooling there catches the silvery moonlight strobing through the bedroom window. You look so pretty like this, he thinks. God-sent and lovely and all his. To take, to have, to hold…
Your hips move again, slowly, dangerously, and Leon stops you with a hard hand to the dip of your spine, making you squeak. “Baby…” he warns.
“Leon, please. Please, honey…wan’ you so much.”
Leon inhales, all sharp and shaky. “Alright…yeah, yeah, okay. …Whatever you want, baby.” He kisses your spine once more as he crawls up your body.
With his thighs bracketing yours, he pushes down on you with the hard line of his abs. His pecs—all swollen and round and slick with sweat—cement to your shoulders. The sheer mass of his body feels as if it’s swallowing you whole. You preen at the contact, letting out a mewl so pathetic you even surprise yourself.
Gradually then, with the kind of control and calculation he exhibits at work, Leon pushes his thick head through your gummy walls. He’s so painfully hard that it takes everything in him to go slow. And, by the time his pelvis is flush to your ass, he already feels spent.
The crook of Leon’s chin hooks around your shoulder ensuring his face is firmly pressed against yours. He pants heavy in your ear, and out of the corner of your vision, you see his face flush a berry-red.
“Fuck, baby. You—shit—y’feel—”
“Leon…‘m ready.”
The man nods, mainly to himself, before pressing a chaste kiss to your collarbone. Slowly—just as slowly as he entered you—his hips draw back. The languid drag of him has you grasping aimlessly at the sheets; the thick vein that curves around his even thicker cock is relentless in catching the ridges of your walls. In this position, you’re able to feel all of him. “God, Leon...”
Of course, sex with Leon has always been something else entirely…but this? There aren’t enough words in any language to describe the way you’re feeling right now.
“I know, baby, I know. I need you just as bad,” Leon purrs. You just nod along, jaw falling as Leon slowly slides back into you. He braces himself then, arching and tightly curving over your figure.
“How do you want it, baby? Like this?” His hips speed up then, shallow thrusts that have your thighs immediately stinging with the friction of being stationary. Still, you groan, eyes rolling back into your head as he keeps pace. After a while, Leon shifts over top of you again. “Or do you want it like this?” With steady hips, he suddenly slams forward, the action practically punching your soul straight out of your body. You cry when his head shoves directly into that spongey notch deep inside you.
Desperately, you reach for the hand braced by your head. Leon locks your fingers with his before bringing them to the soft skin of his mouth.
“Hm, you like that?” You try to crane your head so that you can meet your boyfriend’s eyes, but Leon ‘tsks’ at you. You aren’t at all ashamed by the attempt or his response, though. It’s done without any sort of malice. Nothing more than light teasing, born from a place of reverence and pure, unadulterated love. “Use your words, baby. Gotta know you want it. Need to know I’m making you feel good, y’know?”
“Shit, Le—yes. Yes, like that. Fuck—“ you manage to eventually get the words out, only for another thrust to leave you blubbering.
Leon lets go of your hand, but only for the briefest of moments, before his fingers come up under your jaw. He cradles your face as he finds your mouth, a curtain of his blonde hair hanging low over your eyes. He licks at your own tongue, at the corners of your lips, behind your teeth… Any and every inch of space he can reach becomes learned in a matter of seconds (as if he already wasn’t so intimately accustomed).
Because of the pillow beneath your hips, Leon’s able to fix his grip on you every once in a while—whether the pads of his fingers are digging into the tempting plains of your waist, or the fat of your shuddering thighs. Each thrust has his pubic bone bouncing against your ass in an even, but incredibly hard-hitting pace.
Leon nips at your earlobe, gently tugging on the loose flesh so as strengthen (or perhaps ground) his dwindling resolve. In little time, he feels the effects of his impending orgasm: his balls tightening against your puffy clit, dick swelling deep within your walls…
You’re just so warm, and so wet, and so…so good to him, so good for him, Leon can’t resist the flurry of emotions threatening to escape him. “Fuck, I love you. Love you so much, baby. Always so tight for me. Shit. Y’love sucking me in like this, don’t you?”
“Leon…” is all you can manage to say. It’s the only warning your hazy brain can conjure up; the only thing on the tip of your tongue other than another strangled whimper.
Leon understands though. He always does.
You’re close. Really, really close. The sound of your squelching slick as he rifles through you over and over; the way your spine arches and your feet start to helplessly kick out from beneath you—it’s all the confirmation he needs.
The muscles in his arms have begun to strain, a sharp tightness that blooms from his wrist all the way up to his shoulders. He takes the opportunity then to collapse onto you, carefully accommodating some of his weight with his knees so as not to smother you entirely (though he would without question if that’s what you asked).
The sounds of your whines pitch higher and higher with every snap of his hips. You’re shaking again, though this time it’s for sure an unconscious act. In relieving his arms from the awkward angle, Leon’s able to wrap an arm around your head, and you nearly choke on spit when you realize what he’s doing.
Leon’s arm—meaty bicep, veins, and all—rests safely against your collarbone, holding you snug to his chest. His cheek is pressed to yours again, so close that you’re convinced you’re practically becoming one (as if you haven’t already…). You’re both two halves of one heart stitched together; all haphazard, but terrifyingly real.
“I need you to come for me. Can you do that, baby? Can you make a mess for me?” His voice is a beautiful ragged sound—one that in any other situation would have you pushing your hips back to meet his. But not this time. Leon has you locked in place, pliant and safe as the knot of your orgasm pulls tighter and tighter, threatening to snap.
So with that, you opt to just nod into Leon’s arm, albeit rather weakly. Suddenly, you feel a different kind of pressure come up between your hips.
Leon somehow managed to sneak his free hand down to your cunt, calculated fingers once again toying with your clit in easy circles. And that alone that has you coming with a sharp and stuttered gasp. While you shudder and twitch, Leon continues his ministrations; humping and grinding into you while his own release crests.
He grunts and huffs as he spills into you, as if his fucked-out body can’t decide on which sound it wants or needs to make. Regardless, all that really matters is that you’re holding on tight to him, whispering something about how good he makes you feel and how much you love him.
Of course, Leon has to return the sentiment tenfold. He doesn’t say it exactly like how you did (he’s never been the best with words), but as he cleans you up, petting your head and kissing everywhere the damp cloth doesn’t—from the inner curve of your knee, to your navel, to the hollow of your throat—he knows that you understand.
Because this is how you love each other. You, through your words, and him with his actions and adoring eyes.
chris becomes captain of the hound wolf squad and he loves his squad and all—he trusts them with his life—but it reminds him alor of being back in stars except his own habits start to remind him of wesker’s.
after a particularly tough mission, he yells at his team but he’s only doing it because he cares. he’s scared to lose any one of them and if they all see him as some angry prick then who cares because they’re still alive.
he realises he’s been pushing them harder and harder, complimenting them less and less but only because he wants them to be as capable as possible. if they weren’t properly trained and got hurt, he’d never forgive himself.
he rarely lets any of them go out on their own. there’s always someone watching their 6 or perched high with a view from their sniper. he doesn’t care if it frustrates them, or if they’re far more capable than the work he assigns them, he knows what it’s like to be left alone and suffer for it.
chris is immensely proud of his team, and everything he does is out of love. he starts to wonder whether that’s just what albert was doing, too.
it's always "you gnawed off your own leg to escape like an animal caught in a trap" and never "why didn't anyone try to help you out of the trap" or "why weren't you provided with any other resources to escape the trap with except for your own teeth"
