I'm about to be 26. I'm a whole ass lady who had a whole ass baby recently. I have an entire husband whom I love dearly, but that doesn't stop me from fawning over hot fictional men. Mainly in books, sometimes movies and tv shows [tho nothing new, they're always older shows and movies], however the occasional video game dude grabs my attention
I write very sparingly nowadays, as I haven't got anyone to bounce ideas off to keep my imagination working. Good ol high school days was good for that 😕
I have three dogs, 4 cats, most of a horse, fish, rats and a butt ton of goats. Starting this week [end of April] I work only part time so hopefully I'll have more free time to get back into my writing
Most of the time, I'm writing xOC fics. It's what I used to be good at. HOWEVER, very recently I began attempting my first xReader fic and I don't think it's going terribly. You can judge that for me here if you want
I'm in a lot of different fandoms and if you name one I can tell you yeigh or neigh on it. I don't bite unless you ask me to, come wander into this lonely mf's ask box 😅
Call me Riddik. Call me YaYa. Call me Moose. Those are some of my nicknames. Bust into my ask box calling me whatever tf you want and I'll reply as necessary
I did recently start writing smut. Have yet to figure out the pwp type thing cuz every time I try it, it turns into a series of some sort. Minors gtfo please ✌️
Riddik's Masterlist
Stalk my AO3 here. Some things are cross-posted. Not a whole lot on AO3 either right now, tho 😅
Cal Kestis;
Born to Run
Rick Flag;
Distracted
Leon Kennedy;
Show Me Where It Hurts {in progress. Please hold.}
hello! if you don’t mind, can i ask how you go about writing smut? as a fellow writer, smut is probably what i feel the most awkward about writing. your smut is so detailed yet so refreshing to read every time, it doesn’t feel like it’s dragged out. i’d appreciate it so much if you could provide some insight 🥹
hi!! I don't mind at all 🫶 thank you so much nyaaa 🙈 my smut was quite bad at the start. it's better now after lots of experience thankfully ahaha. experience writing I mean. personal experience can only help so much when writing lol
to write smut, there's a number of things you gotta think about.
characterisation
What kind of lovers are the characters? Soft dom, hard dom, rough, soft, type to make love or fuck dirty, are they whimpery or groany? Do they draw it out? Are they selfish? Filthy? Shy?
This is important so your readers can differentiate between your characters. You don't want to be a one dimensional smut writer that does the same things over and over again. You want to be true to the character.
It also guides your writing so you can imagine what they'll do next. Let your characters write themselves. Sometimes I go into writing thinking, let's have some spit play in there, but then the characters don't want it and they do cum play instead idk. Don't restrict yourself, the story and the characters. Go with the flow.
2. dirty talk
this can make or break your smut. you shouldn't underutilise this. but also don't over use it. be realistic. be filthy. be uninhibited. make the characters say the kind of things you'd want to hear during sex to feel special, to feel like you're making them feel so so good and driving them wild.
"you feel so fucking good, baby."
"fuck, you're tight."
"oh god, I-I can't -ngh!"
"s-stop, no more. please! it's too much!"
^ throw these in there if in doubt, and if you notice you're having blocks and blocks of paragraphs.
sex in silence isn't sexy.
3. descriptions
don't just say: he kisses you.
say: he presses his lips gently to yours, slowly, tentatively, like you might disappear if he reveals how much he wants you / it's a clash of teeth and tongue, all rough hands keeping you where he wants you, refusing to let you go until he's had his fill / he sucks your bottom lip, groaning breathlessly into your mouth upon the first taste of something he'd been thinking about since he met you
do not be instructive. by this I mean, don't say: he puts it in. he's thrusting inside. you moan. "you're so pretty," he says, still thrusting. = not hot
build on the sensations. use the 5 senses - touch, hearing, sight, taste, smell.
is the air between you humid? is sweat beading down his skin, travelling between the divots of his chiselled torso? are you feeling stretched out from the bulldozing of his fat cock through your gummy walls? is the bed creaking? headboard slamming? are there wet sounds coming from where you're connected? is skin slapping against skin? is he groaning right in the curve that connects your neck and shoulder, tongue slithering to taste the salt on your skin?
those are just some of my tips! feel free to ask any more questions. maybe if there's anything I said you'd like me to expand on!
Warnings; emotions. Emotions everywhere. Drinking. Leon almost gets mauled by your dogs cuz he's dumb. Finally getting to the good part of this endeavor. Asshole-y men [not Leon tho]. Let's confess some stuff, shall we?
Word count; 2.6k
pt. XXII
Two days.
You were missing from work for two days now. Miller had no clue where you were. Griffith, Andrews and Warner wouldn’t have a clue. Wunrow didn’t know, and Parrish only said you had a leave of absence. Wouldn’t say why, wouldn’t tell him for how long.
“I’m not at liberty to share the personal affairs of other agents with you or anyone, Leon. You have to understand that. If you’re concerned, ask her.”
“She’s not responding,” he’d stressed back, beginning to think the worst. You could handle yourself, no problem, but the way you talked about Danny’s friends sometimes… “Can’t you make an exception? What if something happened to her?”
“She’s a trained agent, I’m sure she can handle herself,” Parrish told him, his voice firm and final, “Written consent, or your name in her files is what puts you as an emergency contact. No bargaining your way into this one, Leon.”
This is why he was on the way to your house, now.
As soon as he got out of work, right in his Porsche and straight out of town to the dead-end road you lived off. Honestly, he should’ve done this yesterday but he was giving you the benefit of the doubt. Now, with his last eight texts left unanswered – he even called you, and Leon never calls you – and you missing from work– working for the DSO meant many people wanted your head on a stick in their front yard, and you’ve been out of active duty for so long he wasn’t sure how you would far against an ambush.
Even with the Nerf gun training he’d been doing with you.
His was in the backseat, yet.
You were exceptionally aware of your surroundings. And with your dogs around, an ambush was unlikely. Unless someone too your dogs out, first. Sadness oozed into his chest, mixing with the stress that had settled there early that morning; the thought of anything happening to you or your pets was upsetting Leon far more than he cared to admit.
Your yard was–
Dark.
Barn lights off. House lights off. Your fucking yard light was off. Dogs nowhere outside– Leon cracked the window, getting literal crickets in return. He thinks an owl hooted at him in the distance. There was a different car in the yard, one he’d never seen before, and it made the hairs on his neck stand up. Before his mind caught up with his body, Leon was out of the car and pulling himself over your drive gate. About ten feet up your drive, the kitchen light clicked on and the dogs were let out of the house, and–
Holy fuck. Two angry dogs were hurtling mach-ninety towards him in the dark, Yukon hanging back and barking at him. He sounded like an angry grizzly– Leon’s heart seized up, lodging somewhere in his throat, and his body froze mid-step, “It’s me!” he hoped they recognized his voice enough, otherwise he was going to be shredded.
The two slowed, slightly, and Yukon suddenly went zipping past them – [you once told Leon that Yukon lopes at about thirty miles an hour] – and collided with Leon’s legs, bulldozing him clear over just so all three dogs could come snuffle at his hair. Leon burst into laughter, pawing them off so he could sit up, “Thanks for not mauling me, guys.”
Honestly, it was a dumb idea to climb the gate, knowing full well what protection you had here. Someone was out on the steps, and Leon waved at them, “Sorry!”
“Who the hell are you?”
That was not your voice. It was a woman, though, and she sounded pissed. Leon stood and crossed the rest of the lawn, stopping at the bottom of the steps, “Hey, uh, sorry about that. Is–”
“She’s not here.”
“She isn’t answering my texts. Or calls.”
“She’s out,” the woman’s voice was clipped, “I’m Mindy, by the way. Farm sitter. Who’re you?”
Ah. Poppy the Goat’s owner. “Coworker,” Leon told her, “Leon Kennedy. Do you know where she is? I’m worried. She hasn’t been at work the last couple days, either.”
Mindy looked him over, her dark eyes scrutinizing him. Finally, she hummed, nodded, and brushed some of her dark hair from her eyes, “She’s told me about you, y’know. Nice to put a face to the name.”
“Oh?” he leaned on the post by his shoulder, scrubbing Yukon’s ears, “Anything good?”
Mindy smirked down at him, “That’s none of your concern. She’s at that chicken bar, again. Go rescue her, she’s… not having a good time. Little warning next time, too, if you would. I’d feel bad if I let the dogs maul my friend’s boyfriend.”
“I’m not–” Leon sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, “Nevermind. I’ll see you around, thank you!”
-
Bright blue door in sight.
It was propped open, as per usual, storm door closed to keep out the mid-summer bugs. He’d parked behind your jeep, so you had to be here yet. The Thursday night crowd was thicker than he’d anticipated at seven o’clock, but that wasn’t his concern. His concern, right now, was finding you and seeing what the hell made you disappear on him so fast. The last texts the two of you exchanged made Leon feel like he did something.
Find you, he did, sitting in the corner. Your Kindle sat closed by your elbow, phone resting on top of it. An empty glass beside them, and a half full one in your hand. Leon beelined right for you, pushing through the throng of people as gently as he could while still moving quickly. He stopped by your side, spun your chair to face him and cupped your face in his hands, “Ozzy, what the fuck?”
You blinked, slowly, eyes coming into focus as they found his, “Leon?”
Leon slid into the seat beside you, hands never leaving your face. Your eyes were red, “Where’d you go?”
“The bar.”
“I see that,” he told you, thumbs brushing your cheeks before he finally removed them from your face. Your braided hair was disheveled, and you were only in pajama pants and a hoodie, “How long have you been here?”
“Since last night.”
Your name left his mouth in an admonishing sigh, “A whole day? Why? Why haven’t you been answering my texts? I thought something happened to you. You haven’t been at work, either. No one knew where you went.”
“Why do you care?”
“You’re my friend–”
“Am I?” you cut him off, holding eye contact. Something in your jaw ticked, “Am I your friend?”
Are you? It was a loaded question, now, hanging between the two of you. Leon sighed. Tread lightly with your next words. Instead, he deflected you, “How much have you had to drink?”
“I drank Macy out of Korbel,” you mumbled, “This drink has Windsor. Isn’t bad, but it isn’t the same. So, I’m slightly buzzed, but in my right mind, yet, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
Briefly, Leon felt like chuckling at the fact the bartender had the same name as his neighbor’s dog. Weird he never noticed until now, “Have you eaten?”
“Have you decided if we’re friends?” you shot back, scowling into your glass.
“Why are you so sour?” he asked, his voice gentle.
You turned your gaze back to the wall of liquor bottles behind the bar, and unlocked your phone before dropping it, face-up, on the bartop in front of him.
Leon’s mouth was hanging open. Daniel went on for several more long-paragraphed texts, calling you… many different colourful names. Accusing you of cheating, declaring that that was the actual reason you were distant and ‘always working’. Daniel also went on to tell you exactly how unfaithful he’d been the last few months – close to a year, it seemed, actually. Leon flinched, and darkened your phone screen, setting it face down on the bartop so you wouldn’t have to read anymore of the texts that looked like they were still coming in – time stamp on the most recent one showed from four hours ago, “Oz–”
“Check that glass out,” you nodded your head towards the empty that sat between the two of you.
Slowly, he peered down into it. Amongst the cherries and melting ice was a fairly-expensive looking silver ring, and Leon’s heart gave a lurch, “Oz–” he tried again, words failing him.
“Almost two years I had that,” you snorted, stirring your straw through your active drink, “So much for that ever going anywhere, though, huh?”
“He’s not worth it,” Leon declared quietly, setting his hand over yours, “He’s a piece of shit.”
“We were together six years,” your voice finally cracked, and you looked at him again, eyes rimmed with fresh tears, “Why is it, every time I try dating, my job gets in the way?”
He stayed quiet, the muscle in his jaw jumping. While he avoided looking at you, he waved at Macy for a glass of Windsor. He didn’t want to say anything – didn’t know what to say, because he had too much to say. Too many answers for your question.
Eventually you curled the fingers of your other hand around your glass, fingertips drumming, “Maybe I’m just destined to be alone.”
“Oz–”
“That was my first real relationship,” you laughed dryly, “The rest of my relationships before that lasted probably two weeks each. Always having the same conversation, over and over and over again. Work too much. Too distracted. Never home. One of them even found the audacity from somewhere to tell me to get rid of my animals. Be a, quote-quote, ‘proper girlfriend’ and stay at home for him.”
“As if you’d ever be able to manage that,” Leon scoffed with you.
“I thought Danny was finally different. But, here we are… Work too much. Never around. Too busy. Too distracted. Too undateable.”
“You know that’s bullshit.”
“Is it, though?”
“Yes.” his tone left no room for argument, and so you stayed silent. Leon took half his glass in one gulp before interrupting the silence dragging between the two of you, “You know what I think?”
“You? Thinking? Thought I smelled something burning…”
The corner of his mouth twitched up, “I think you spent six years making room for someone who never bothered to reciprocate the favor,” you looked up, meeting his eye again, and he leaned his elbow on the bartop to get closer to you, “He cheated. For almost a year. He didn’t leave because you were distant. Because of work. Your animals. He left because he’s a coward who can’t handle a woman who can handle herself.”
The words landed heavily, settling between the two of you like the ring settling at the bottom of that stupid glass. You snorted, “That’s not exactly comforting, Leon.”
“I know.”
“Not a lot of men like a capable woman nowadays.”
“I do.” the declaration came out like a knee jerk reaction.
It was your turn for your mouth to twitch into a soft, lopsided smirk, “Oh yeah? You in the market? I know of one that just came up for grabs.”
The bar hummed around the two of you. He could tell you’ve loosened up a great deal since he sat down to share your grief with you. It settled something warm in his chest, knowing he was leveling your emotions for you. From personal experience, Leon knew it was easier to be sad with company around, weather you wanted the company or not.
“It’s not your fault.”
“Maybe it is.”
“No,” he told you, “Daniel made it seem like it’s your fault.”
“Part of it is.” you admitted with a shrug, turning you chair fully to face him, now, “I will take partial blame. I’ve been emotionally checked out from him the last few months, but he could’ve… helped. Waited. Talked it out.” You blinked a couple times, taking in how… angry Leon looked. You cleared your throat, “Leon, you good…?”
“I’m not angry at you,” Leon shook his head, “Not at you. Never at you. Pissed at your sorry excuse of an ex. You spent six years on him. Showing up for him. Doing your best to make it work despite how busy you are, and he… wasn’t worth it.” he slid his hand over to yours and peeled your left hand from your drinking glass before he even registered he was doing it. He gripped your cold fingers in his hand, “You need someone who understands your lifestyle, Ozzy. Someone who shows up for you and your pets, makes room for all your furry critters in their life. Not someone who gets with you and expects you to water yourself down for them so you’re easier to digest.”
“They can choke,” you grit out, sipping down the rest of your drink.
“Atta girl,” he squeezed your fingers before letting your hand slide from his, “There’s that fire I know and love.”
Your pulse jumped, air catching in your lungs. Leon’s head snapped to the side, and he fell quiet, suddenly finding the bottles behind the bar far more intriguing than anything on this side of the bartop. You were pretty sure he wasn’t going to turn back to you as long as you were watching him.
And you were planning on watching him for a while. You never got to just sit and admire his profile. The curve of his nose. The slope of his jawline. The smatter of scars licking under his shirt collar. What was it you thought, once, when you first talked to Leon?
Lickable jawline.
“Having fun over there?” Leon asked quietly, eyes still not straying from the bottles, “Stare any longer and I might spontaneously combust.”
“Can’t have that,” you tsked back, just as quiet, “You’re already hot enough.”
“Don’t do that,” he admonished, turning to look you in the eye, “You’re hurting.” this wasn’t about flirting, or innuendos. He had to find a way to glue you back together.
“I keep finding that I want to reply to him,” you traced your finger around the edge of your phone, over the splintered glass screen protector.
“No,” the answer was immediate, “He chose to walk out on you, he doesn’t get access to the aftermath of that. Not now, not ever.”
“So poetic.”
“I have my moments.”
Silence fell between the two of you again, and you couldn’t help but stare at Leon once again. Not to study his features [okay, maybe to study them a little…] but just because you wondered how you got so lucky to have someone in your life like him.
Daniel makes excuses.
Leon listens to your woes.
Daniel cheats for almost a year. Leaves suddenly with no remorse.
Leon is still here. Making sure you’re alright.
You hummed quietly and shifted in your seat, chewing on your bottom lip. Suddenly, Leon took a deep breath and downed the rest of his drink like a shot, “Y’know what? Tonight is the first night in a long while you can do whatever you want without consequence.”
“Bad idea, considering we’ve both had something to drink.”
“He said goodbye in a disrespectful way, and you’re feeling mixed emotions about it,” Leon leaned into your space, “Take it out on me.”
“Excuse you?” you turned to face him, and for the umpteenth time in your life you found yourself nose to nose with Leon. Except this time, neither of you pulled away. Neither of you filled the action with awkward laughter. You tilted your head and leaned further in, looking from his lips to his eyes – his endless, bright blue eyes that were darkening with every passing second, “Care to repeat that, Kennedy?”
Leon was standing, now, his arm braced on the back of your seat as he crowded you, “You heard me,” he muttered, “Take it out on me, if you’d like. Use me. Fake it like you love me, if you have to. Do whatever it takes to erase him from your mind for good.”
Warnings; super fucking awkward-ass everything. If this chapter feels forced and awkward, that's good, because it was supposed to come off as that way. And also I'm a bad writer lmao. Conflicting feelings. No warnings that I can think of
Word count; 1.7k
pt. XXI
“How were your evals?”
The drive, up until now, was tense, to say the least. Thick with something that you couldn’t place and that you didn’t want to place. You’d been happy with the flirtatious thing you had going on. Flirt, nothing more. You’re friends. Friends who flirt. You were taken, he was… Leon. Too cool for you. Too put together. Zachary was looking into stuff that didn’t exist, peeling open hangnails for no reason until the fingers swelled and blood pooled.
You’d passed your psych. Barely, but there. Newer to the field, newer stresses. Yeah, you were good, but not ‘founding member of the DSO’ good. And you hadn’t been in the field for almost a fucking year at this point. Aim was immaculate with your left, but your newly-braced right wrist was not looking enthused.
“Did you hear me?”
“No.”
“I asked how your evals went.” Leon repeated quietly.
Leon was tense with something too. Demeanor… off. Not angry, no – never angry, but there was something wrong with him the same way there was something wrong with a wet reflection of yourself in a storefront window. Recognizable, but only because you knew who was supposed to be there to begin with.
How were my evals? Physically I'm fine. Right arm needs a bit of work yet, muscle-wise. Can write, but not as well as I could before. Psych eval was fucking amazing. Spent most of the time being grilled about wearing your shirt, actually. Zac thinks I need to leave Daniel, says I'm way happier now than I was a few months ago and he credits you for it. Kept poking and prodding at my personal life.
“Evals went fine.”
“Are you lying?”
“No,” your reply came too fast, too sharp. Like a slipped knife when washing dishes, right across your knuckle, “No, they went fine. I passed. Psych, barely, but I passed.”
“Zac tried failing me too,” Leon admitted, not taking his eyes off the road. He was white knuckling the steering wheel, “Must've been in a mood today.”
“Wedding planning can't be that stressful for him,” plus, if you remembered correctly, his fiance, Ava, was doing most of it. Their wedding was in a couple months, you were excited to go, “Why's he trying to fail you?” You turned half in your seat to look at him, the leather of the Porsche seats creaking with the movement, “You're, like, the epitome of level headed.”
“Thinks my work-home life is… imbalanced.” there was no way in hell Leon was going to tell you that Zac was also meddling on his half of… whatever the two of you were doing.
You hummed, “With our line of work, there almost has to be an imbalance.”
“You have everything pretty balanced,” Leon’s voice was quiet. When you gave him a look, he spared you a glance before focusing on the road again, “Work, pets. Relationship–”
“Failing relationship,” you corrected, “And… I think I'm leaving him.”
“Oh?”
“It’s been a long time coming,” you admitted, rubbing at the back of your neck, “I love him, I really do. I think… we just… don't have any chemistry anymore like we used to.”
Once again, Leon found himself mediating in a relationship he felt he had no business in, “If you’re unhappy, don't stay.”
“I don't know what to do after the fact, though,” you told him, “We've been together for– psht, six years? I already feel lost and we haven't even split.”
Leon shrugged, “It happens sometimes, it's not your fault.”
Is it mine? The thought crawled in his head and stuck like a window sticker. You never seemed to be outwardly happy about your boyfriend, but lately things were getting worse between the two of you. Around him you were your usual self. The spark of guilt that had been eeking into Leon’s chest the last few weeks got heavier, despite him knowing deep down that he couldn’t control how you acted around him compared to anyone else.
“I s'pose you're right,” you told him, staring out the window at the passing trees, “Y'know, you sound like Zac did earlier. Was giving me un-requested relationship advice instead of asking me about work stuff.”
“Must have looked like you needed it, or he wouldn't have started,” tomorrow, after his hearing and weapons tests, Leon was going to kill Zac.
Maybe Leon could use the psychiatrist-abuse as one of his tests of capabilities so he wouldn't have to take the actual one.
He stopped the car outside your gate, dogs’ waggling their entire bodies at the arrival of people – Leon was happy they seemed to recognize the car. He wouldn't want 126 teeth coming after him. You smiled wide, “Look't da woofers.”
‘Woofers’ was pronounced with the emphasis on the woo, so it was more like you were saying ‘wewfers'. Much like how you addressed your cows as ‘moofers', and the horse as a ‘hoofer’, all pronounced and emphasized strangely. Leon nodded, “Woofers, indeed.”
“Wanna come give ‘em a pat?” You were out of the vehicle already, leaning in the open door to look at him.
Stop the car, get out. Pet the dogs. Come inside. Loiter around for a while, because you were too nice to tell him to leave. It sounded like such a nice idea.
Leon shook his head, “I should head home.”
“Not even gonna come in for your clothes?”
His mind blanked. Fuck. “Uh… can I grab them tomorrow?”
Your face fell, but you composed it just as fast. If he’d have blinked, he would’ve missed it, “Yeah, I'll bring them for you. Don't forget.” With an admonishing finger-wiggle at him, you closed the door and climbed the gate into your yard, fending off flying dog paws the whole way.
The drive back to his apartment was too quiet. The stairs in the complex were too quiet, the echoes of his footfalls cracking through the silence as sharp as a gunshot. The hallway? Too quiet. Eerily so. Not many neighbors on the third floor. A retired old man. A single woman. A family of three, medium sized dog. Leon thinks they had a cat.
He wasn’t sure of the pet policy of the place, never having the time or correct schedule for a companion of any sort.
Human and animal, both.
The door to the family’s apartment creaked open as he was jingling the keys to his own door, and something rubbed against his legs. He looked down to see the silver Schnauzer from next door sniffing aggressively at his [see: your] pants. Leon snorted and shook his leg, “Smell funny, do I?”
“Macie, get back here,” the woman, Olivia, he thinks, from next door came scurrying out of their door, giving him an apologetic look, “Sorry, Mr. Kennedy. I don’t know why Sophia just let her out.”
“She was by the door,” Leon and Olivia turned back to see the six year old, Sophia, peeking from the apartment, “Dad said when Macie is by the door, she wants to go out.”
“I think you’re supposed to leash her, honey,” Leon smiled back at the dark haired little girl before giving Olivia the same warm look, “No worries. I actually like animals a lot.” he bent and scratched Macie’s beard, “Especially fuzzy things like this girl.”
Olivia stooped and picked Macie up, “That’s good. Do you have any pets?”
Leon finally got his key into his door and pushed it open, “Um, no, actually. My job doesn’t really leave me time for any companions of my own. My, uh… coworker, though, she has a ton of pets. I’m sure she’d let me come over any time to get my fill of belly rubs.”
“Good of her to do that for you,” Olivia began retreating back to her apartment, “Have a nice rest of your day, Mr. Kennedy.”
“Please, call me Leon,” he waved her off, “And both of you, as well. Sophia, no more letting Macie out by herself.”
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Leon drenched in silence that was too loud. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, for fuck’s sake. After being surrounded by the bustling life of your house, his apartment just seemed… sad. Leon didn’t even have a plant.
Because something living, plant or animal [or human] alike, to occupy his space when he was gone was too risky when he never knew if he’d come back.
With a heavy sigh, he dropped himself onto his couch and laid his head back, counting the freckles on his ceiling to pass the time. His fingers itched for his phone. Somewhere in his apartment, one of his wall clocks ticked the seconds by until he grunted and grabbed his phone.
One text won’t hurt.
Me:
Miss me yet?
You’re probably busy, anyway. Leon tossed his phone on the couch beside him and stood, wandering to the kitchen for something to eat. The salad bowl he ended up making paled in comparison to the bourbon chicken [and the dimly lit, bustling-with-life household] he actually wanted, but it would do. He took it back into the living room with him and returned to his position on the couch. Something mindless on the TV for background noise while he snarfed down his food, and Leon just… glanced at his phone.
He did his best to ignore the skip his heart seemed to do when he saw you texted back.
Birdie:
With every bullet so far
Me:
Shame. Should talk to your weapons trainer about your aiming issues
Birdie:
Be a bit awkward
‘hey I keep missing when I take a shot at you. Help a gal out’
Me:
Better to do shots off a person than at
Birdie:
You offering?
Leon paused, his thumbs hovering over his screen [salad bowl balanced on his kneecaps]. Was he offering? He didn’t think so. Zac really did get into his head, didn’t he? Leon’s eyebrows furrowed, lips pulling into a frown. He’s reading too much into this.
Me:
Don’t think so. Haven’t gotten that far, yet
Read receipts on. The typing dots danced, and disappeared. Back and forth like that for a minute – and then… gone. You left him on opened.
Henry and Harley are both freezer meats. Only difference is Henry is in our freezer, think Harls is in my brother's
And Steve. Stevie. Steven Simon. My buddy. My first pet. Behemoth of a mutt goat. Personality like you wouldn't believe. Hoof print tattooed on my ribs. By far the best goat I will ever have the pleasure of owning 😔 had to put him to rest from a snapped in half leg 🥺
My sentient dryer lint. My garbage pile of a cat. Barry was somewhere between 17 & 19 when I finally had to have him put to rest. My soul kitty. I have his big ol mitts tattooed on my arm but that still isn’t enough. Ashes on the shelf by his paw print and some fur. Absolute menace to society. He was Carmel's uncle, so I still have a bit of him. Carmel's kitten [who is like 14 at this point] Porkchop is still by mom's, too, so that's good
Lucy is like literally Satan. Carmel is old and cranky and anti social, we haven't met her and probably never will because she hates people. And Beans literally is 2x the size of his mama
Yukon, our 17 month old Bosnian Sarplaninac, Livestock Guardian Dog 😊🥰 no you've never hrard of the breed. Yes, he’s pretty, and is my pride and joy [apart from like my human baby, anyways]. He has 0 recall and only listens when I have food involved BUT he is such a gentle, 100+lb baby, I excuse the fluff in his ears
Fenrir is our first woofer. He turned 3 on October 5th so he's about three 'n a half. Our first dog, total anxiety ridden weirdo. Can't take him anywhere since he's a bit of a bite risk. 75% German Shepherd, 25% Australian Shepherd, but pretty mellow [even with the anxiety]. He's petrified of Yukon
Speki -- is an idiot. She turned 2 on September 22nd [bout two 'n a half, then] and is a bit inbred. She's Fenrir's half-sister-niece because people we know aren't proper pet owners [and I still stand by it despite being grumped at for stating it where they could see]. Spackle is an absolute nut job. Balls to the walls energy. Listens well enough. Think we calculated her at roughly 60% Australian/40% German. Raised Garrick and Tubs for me [which is probably why they're so messed up]. Really strong mother instincts.
Her n Fen are fixed. Yukon gets to wait till he turns at minimum 2 years before i steal his gigantic nuts
So yeah, Yukon is the biggest and is the youngest. He's 100lbs right now, Fen is in the 70lb range and Speks is about 55/60ish. They're all good woofers, even if they share a braincell. Absolute gems with the bebe too, which is awesome 🥰
Warnings; super fucking inaccurate descriptions of evaluation processes within the workplace. I googled exam sheet templates for these, guys. Don't take my word for anything. Leon's psyche eval got outta hand in the weirdest way, in which I am unhappy with it. However, I'm not changing it so oh whale. Brief mentions of suicidal ideations. Existential crises of some sorts. Mfs be getting territorial, now, too. May have written myself into a brick wall, tho, now
Word count; 3.8k
pt. XX
Miller was waiting for the two of you when you got to Warzone.
The few agents that were dotted around the floor all stopped and stared at the two of you as you passed, probably taken aback and filing the sight of Leon Kennedy in pajamas at work in the back of their minds; you were surprised no one was taking any pictures of him.
“You two are late.” Clayton Miller was a moderately younger man; around Leon’s age, you were sure. Short cropped greying hair and dark brown eyes. Laid back to an extent, but all business when he wanted to be– like right now, staring the two of you down over his desk, “Would you like to tell me why two of my best agents are almost three hours late to work?”
You cupped your hands around your coffee, covering up the vulgar saying so Miller didn’t see it, “We overslept, sir. Fell asleep too early, phones died and no one's alarms went off. It won’t happen again, sir.”
He regarded the state of you two; disheveled, wearing each others’ clothes. Miller’s sharp eyes focused just a beat too long on the Kennedy on the overshirt you were wearing, “Is this going to be an ongoing thing between the two of you?”
“What do you mean, sir?” Leon finished off his coffee and folded his hands in front of him.
Miller motioned between the two of you, “Whatever this is. If the two of you are seeing one another–” you both cut him off with half-assed dismissals and attempts at saying you were just friends, but at this point in your life you even believed it to be a lie; there might be something going on you just didn’t know what. Miller continued over the top of your voices, “ – I’ll need to know to avoid conflicts of interest with scheduling.”
“Nothing like that, sir,” Leon, you noticed, didn’t sound very convincing.
“It was just this once,” you added on, “No more being late to work. At least, not with each other. If it happens, it’ll be, like… separately.”
Miller looked as unconvinced as Leon sounded, but nodded slowly, “Alright… Whatever you’re doing just know that if it escalates or ends, I need to know either way. Now, the two of you– you, specifically, Kennedy, get to Med before Warner and Matthews come after me. An agent of your status should know how important evals are, Leon.”
“It was an accident, sir,” Leon halfway whined, seeing the crack in Miller’s resolve that meant they could joke, again, “We’re headed there, now. C’mon, Oz.”
You let Leon drag you from the office with a chipper, ‘bye, sir!’ directed towards Miller, before stopping in your office to set your mugs down. ‘I’m not carrying that around all day’, Leon told you, taking yours from your hand and setting it next to the one he’d been using.
The elevator was empty when it arrived, and after you’d hit the floor button for Med you thought it would stay empty save for the two of you, however a tattooed hand wedged into the doors just as they were closing, “Wait!”
Great. You grit your teeth – people-ing this early with this bad a hangover was not something you wanted to do. Ever, let alone today.
You had to refrain from audibly groaning in disgust when you saw who the hand belonged to. Xaden Abbott as you lived and breathed – neck tattoo and all. His hair was longer than in his profile shot, curling around the bottoms of his ears, and when he stepped into the lift and his bright blue eyes landed on you, a devilish grin found its way to his lips but it didn’t… sit right. Made him look predatory in a way that sent your fight-or-flight into overdrive, “Osprey! You’re even prettier in person,” he beamed, taking up residence beside you, “Where are you headed?”
Do osprey even have a natural predator?
“We’re heading to Med,” Leon answered for you. The way he’d suddenly inched closer to your shoulder was not lost on you, “Welcome back stateside, Agent.”
Abbott straightened a tad, as if he was shocked there was another person present at all, “Ah, Agent Kennedy, is it? Heading for the evals you missed this morning?”
“We came in late,” Leon replied, tone sharp, “I take it yours are done with?”
“Absolutely,” he nodded happily, “Passed with flying colours, as expected. Thanks to my FOS here–” he nudged an elbow into your side, “– my mission was a success and I kept a level head, so it’s no wonder I passed my evals.”
“Don’t forget, Abbott,” Leon finally turned his head to look Xaden in the eye, “I had to step in, too.”
“He’s good at that,” you chimed in, half-stepping out of Abbott’s space and back towards Leon, “Helps out whenever he can. If you ever have any questions, I highly recommend Kennedy.”
“Which one?” Abbott’s eyes trailed across your chest, eyeballing the name on the shirt you sported.
“Oh, Leon is the only Kennedy here,” you folded your arms over your chest, thanking any and all Gods above, below and in between that the elevator stopped and the Med hall opened up before you, “I grabbed his shirt in the rush this morning.”
It was also not lost on you how you sounded right now; blatantly admitting the two of you spent the night together in some way. Even if it wasn’t the way people were thinking.
The way that you sometimes wished.
Which is terrible, considering Danny exists in your life yet and you should be thinking that about him and not your friend.
Leon made a noise, deep in his throat, before nudging at you to get out of the lift. Only Kennedy. Pft. Can fix that real fast, “C’mon, Oz. Gotta get checked out.”
“Welcome back, again,” you tried to be cordial to Abbott, yet, as the lift doors shut, and then you rounded on Leon with a smug grin, “Territorial much?”
“You don’t like him.”
“I don’t, or you don’t?”
“Both,” Leon confirmed, “We don’t like him. And I don’t like agents who don’t know what personal-fucking-space is.”
With a giggle, you magneted yourself to his side, enjoying how he didn’t even do anything other than stop walking, “I don’t know what person space is, Leon.”
“You’re a child.” slowly, he peeled you from his arm, “I’ve got a physical to get to. Go to your psych eval. We’ll rendezvous after the fact, got it?”
“Taking me out to lunch again?”
“No, but we carpooled so we have to leave together, so I have to keep track of you, now get.” his arm jerked, but he caught himself before he actually smacked you on the ass to get you moving.
Just within the sliding glass doors of the main medical bay, Sienna Warner and Owen Matthews were both waiting and Leon could almost see the steam coming from their ears. He backtracked, hands coming up in front of him, “Hey, I’m here, doesn’t that count for anything?”
“You’re late,” Owen corrected. He looked like a giant teddy bear – burly, a close-shaven beard, short cropped hair – and Sienna looked like a hardass – shaved side of her head, long auburn hair always pulled into a braided mohawk – but it was actually the opposite and Leon was honestly upset that it was Owen who was speaking to him, “Do you know why we have appointment times for these things, Leon?”
Leon averted eye contact as he shuffled further into the bay, feeling like a dog being reprimanded for stealing off the countertop, “To avoid conflict with intake from active agents coming back from active missions.” he muttered.
“Exactly,” Owen snapped, “You’re lucky it’s early enough, yet, that Agent Abbott is the only one back, yet, otherwise your evals would wait. If it were up to me, I’d still make you wait.”
“In my defence–”
“Don’t,” Sienna warned quietly from behind him, handing a clipboard over Leon’s shoulder for Owen to take – he took it without looking at either of them, checking over Leon’s files, “Let him focus, let him cool off.”
He nodded, but stayed quiet. Owen pointed wordlessly to a room, and Leon went straight in and sat on the edge of the crisp white bed. The sheets crinkled beneath his legs. He watched Owen walk straight by, his white labcoat swishing behind him, and Leon noticed offhandedly that the hem was splattered with something dark.
Medical instruments all over the place. Steel tools glinting in the harsh fluorescents. He hated it here. Too clean, too sterile. Leon lives every day in grime, soaks in someone else’s blood–
Only thing sexier than a man covered in blood, is a man covered in someone else’s blood.
Leon grunted and shook his head. The lights buzzed. Something two rooms over was beeping steadily, and he wondered for a moment if it was another agent, hooked to a heart monitor. Whatever it was beeped steady, so it was nothing of concern.
Matthews and Warner were two of the best, choosing to lead their floor with hands-on expertise like Riley and Parrish instead of behind a desk like Miller and Griffith. In Clayton’s defence, if he would lend hands-on expertise with the agents of Warzone, he may not actually come back one day and then the DSO would have to find a replacement, so…
And no one– absolutely no one in Warzone wanted Griffith as an FOS.
Owen came back, nose still buried in paperwork. He slid the door half shut behind him, and without even looking at Leon, “Any current injuries to report?”
“My wrist kind of hurts,” Leon rubbed at it.
“Work related?” Owen set his clipboard down on the countertop and unwound his stethoscope from his neck, “Did you report it?”
“Goat related.”
Owen’s shoulder sagged, and he gave Leon a look. Even Leon saw the corner of Owen’s mouth pulling into a smirk, “Hanging out with Osprey after work hours, are we?”
“Get that smug look off your face, Matthews.”
“Hey, you’re the one wearing her clothes, not me,” he commented, coming up to the side of the bed, “You know the drill, breath even and deep for me.”
Leon did as he was told. Slow, even, deep breaths. Inhaling and exhaling with each movement of Owen’s stethoscope. After checking both front and back, Owen replaced it around his neck, “Heart’s beatin’ a little fast, there, Leon. Any reason why? Shortness of breath? You feelin’ sick?” his tone of voice, however, indicated he knew why, already.
“Shut up, Matthews.”
“Everything sounds normal otherwise,” he scribbled on the clipboard, “How are your ribs feeling from that last send out you had? Healed up alright?”
“Nothing hurts anymore, correct,” Leon confirmed, “All cracks and fractures are healed and ready to be rebroken.”
“Obviously, or you wouldn’t be fucking with Oz’s goats,” Owen told him, rubbing Leon’s temple with the thermometer, “Ninety-eight-point-two. And let’s not break anything, agent. I don’t want you in here any more than necessary.”
Leon watched him strap the blood pressure cuff around his bicep, hooking the heart rate monitor on his pointer finger, “I don’t usually try to break anything, Doc.”
“And yet, you seem to be the one coming into my bay the most with breaks and fractures. There’s only one other agent that does that as much as you.”
“Oz?”
“Bingo.” Owen glanced at the monitor, “Heart rate one-oh-three, now.”
“That bad?”
“Was ninety-seven before we started talking about Ozzy,” Owen smirked at him, “Blood pressure’s good, too,” he procured his ear-light from an inside jacket pocket and tugged at Leon’s ear to look in it, “Having any hearing issues?”
“None.”
“Pain?”
“None.”
Owen moved to the other side of the bed and did the same, “You have your hearing test today, right?”
“Tomorrow. Today is psych.”
Owen hummed, “No unexplained dizziness?”
“I’m hungover, does that count?” Leon swung his head to look at Owen, “Can I have some Tylenol?”
“Thought I smelled Rumplemintz,” Owen grinned and moved to stand in front of Leon, “I’ll get you some Excedrin in a minute, now open wide, tongue out. Say aaahh.” Leon did just that, and Owen looked down his throat, “Pain?”
“Normally people take me to dinner first before telling me to open wide,” Leon commented, “Just a headache. No other pain.”
Owen ran his gloved hands under Leon’s jawline, pressing underneath his ears and down either side of his throat, "Lymph nodes are fine, no swelling. Lay down.”
“Straight to the point,” Leon nodded in approval, “I like it.”
Owen began pressing on Leon’s abdomen, “Anything hurt down here? Pain, lumps, anything of the sorts?”
Leon shook his head, “None. Abs are all in working order, last I checked.”
“Good. As far as I can tell your knees and elbows are working, and your spine felt good while I was checking lungs and heart.”
“Good to know I still have a backbone.”
“Hey, that’s hard to come by nowadays,” Owen fell back into his chair and checked more boxes in the checklist on the clipboard, “Your gait was fine coming in. How’re your reflexes?” he tossed his pen at Leon and Leon’s hand snapped up and caught it, “Good.” Owen clicked his tongue, pulling another pen from his breast pocket to check the reflexes box, “Complexion is a bit patchy–”
“I had a rough morning–”
“Other than that, you passed,” Owen turned to face Leon, his lips in a tight smile, “Would you like a prostate exam?”
“Stay the fuck away from my ass.”
“It’s covered by insurance.” Owen offered a forced smile, again, his entire expression pained-looking
“So is a regular one. With a regular doctor,” Leon deadpanned, “Stay away from my ass.”
“I have to ask,” Owen put a big X by something on Leon’s exam checklist, “Do you think I like going near my coworkers’ asses?”
“You did just tell me to open wide without any preface that you felt that way about me, Matthews.”
“Get out of my exam room.”
“Yessir,” Leon slid to his feet and got back out into the hall, almost running into Sienna. He grabbed her by the shoulders, “Sorry, Werner.”
“It’s fine,” she brushed him off, “He better now?”
“He’s trying to get up my ass.”
“He’s required to ask,” she shoved Leon's shoulder, “Get down the hall to Brennaman. He’s freed up, since your girlfriend just got done with her psych. When’s your hearing test?”
“What?”
“I said when’s your– oh, you fucker,” Sienna smacked the back of Leon’s head with the binder she had under her elbow.
Leon dodged it, laughing, “Hearing is tomorrow. And Ozzy isn’t my girlfriend.”
Sienna hummed and began backing away from him, “Keep telling yourself that, buddy.”
Across the hall was the Psych half of the Med floor, and within the sparse workers in there it was easy to spot your fading green hair. Leon pushed through the doors and called your name, “Did you pass?”
“Well, Zac had some personal concerns for me,” she admitted, “Overall, though, yes, I passed. He’s waiting for you. Do me a favor and don't get yourself admitted.”
He gave you a sardonic salute before weaving through the few people to get to Zachary Brennaman's office. The door was open, so Leon walked right in and swung it shut behind him, “Give it to me straight, doc.”
Zac hasn't cut his hair in a while. It was shaggy, curly, and atrociously blonde. It hung in his green eyes, curled around the nape of his neck. Doubling that with his smattering of facial hair, it made his round face look even kinder than usual, “Sit.”
Leon did as he was told, lowering himself into the chair opposite of Zac with a pained groan, “Dammit, Owen never gave me my Excedrin.”
Zac reached in his desk and threw a bottle of Midol across to Leon, “Here. How are we feeling?”
“Fine.” not totally fine, since Leon had to dry swallow the couple Midol he took, but oh well, “I'm fine.”
Zac hummed, clicking the ink on his pen out as he prepared to write. Mostly to himself, he muttered as he wrote, “Clipped tone… tense shoulders… rigid posture…” he set the pen down and folded his hands across the desk, “Alright, now how are we actually feeling, Leon. This is a safe place, no filter.”
For being only twenty-five, Zac sure acted pretty fucking wise for his age. Leon scowled, “I said I was fine.”
“Feelings of depression?”
“Only on eval days,” he commented back, “No, I said I'm–”
“Fine, yes, so I've heard, Leon. Tell me what's been going on. Anything new? I hear you've been helping Oz with her physical therapy. Weapons training side of it, on top of Stevenson doing the weight training.”
Ew. Leon couldn't stop the nose wrinkle on his face at the mention of Howard Stevenson. Wily, unpredictable. Gave Leon the creeps for reasons he couldn't pinpoint, solely because the guy got along with everyone else. Zac clocked the shift in Leon’s expression immediately, “I see you're not a fan. Can you tell me why?”
Ain't nothin’ but a heartache… Leon shrugged, “Not sure. He just doesn't sit right with me. Osprey's weapons-based PT went smoothly. She's just as skilled at one-hand combat with her left as she is with her right, now.”
“Can you confirm that?”
Leon opened his mouth to respond, but snapped his mouth closed just as fast. Could he? Since you got your brace on, he hadn't felt the need to continue with your training. His foot started tapping, heel thumping against the tile floor. Miller hadn't said one way or another what to do with you after you got out of your cast. Was he supposed to be continuing training? Get your right hand stronger now, again? “I cannot. Why? Did she say something?”
“I'm not allowed to disclose topics of other agents' appointments, Leon. Not without written and signed consent. Why are you asking? Underlying worry?”
Leon leaned back in his chair, folding his arms over his stomach, “Well, yeah, now that you mentioned it.”
“Apologies,” he didn't sound apologetic in the slightest, “Home life good?”
“I still live alone, thank you for reminding me.”
“You're in Ozzy's pajamas,” Zac pointed at him with the butt of his pen, “And I noticed she's wearing your overshirt.. How long has that been going on, Leon?”
“It’s not.” Leon's voice came out sharper than he intended, which was not a slip up to have in front of someone with a degree or four in psychology. It was Zachary’s job to get in peoples’ heads.
“Touchy subject?”
The longer Leon let the silence drag on, the more he was outing himself. He knew Zac could see it, too; Leon’s sudden fidgeting. Tapping heel, restless eyes darting everywhere except to meet Zac’s gaze, question avoidance, “No.”
“Lying to the psychologist…” he made more notes on his little tablet, “How much sleep are you getting?”
“Not nearly enough.”
“I feel that,” Zac nodded, “Sleep well last night, at least?”
“Like a brick,” once Leon got to sleep, anyway, “On the floor, too. Felt good on my back, however my resulting hangover has not been kind to me.”
“Interesting…” Zac made another note, “Why the floor?”
“Oz had the couch–” fuck. Leon kicked himself, “I was over there last night.”
“Do that a lot?”
“No.”
Zac hummed, changing the subject, “Interests? Keeping up with any hobbies? What do you even do in your free time?”
“Try to find a hobby,” Leon laughed dryly. Unfortunately, he didn’t have any hobbies. Worked out sometimes. Drank. Try to get more sleep. That was about it, “Otherwise, no. Still no hobbies, thanks for the reminder.”
“‘s what I’m here for,” Zac smiled wide at him, “Guilt? Energy? How’s your appetite?”
“Hungry for more bourbon chicken,” Leon told him, “Energy is mid-level.”
“Guilt? Feeling any?” more prolonged silence. Zac was getting another all-knowing look on his face, “Leon, answer the question. Take your time with it, but I’m supposed to finish this checklist–”
“Guilt, maybe.” Leon admitted quietly.
Zac’s back straightened, and he leaned forward, “Progress. That’s good. Tell me more. What do you feel guilty about?”
Having feelings for a taken woman. Spending so much time with her. Feeling like I’m neglecting my work responsibilities. Leon scowled at the wall, “Survivor’s guilt. All the lives lost are starting to weigh on me, again, Brennaman. It’s fine.”
“Survivor’s guilt is a genuine thing to be worried about, however in your line of work, you have to realize that you can’t save everyone.” Leon didn’t respond, opting to set his jaw and stare at the framed diplomas and licenses on the walls. Suddenly Zac asked, “Are you happy with your life?”
Leon’s head snapped to face him, “What?”
“Your life. Love life or otherwise,” Zac asked again, “Are you happy? Fulfilled?”
“I don’t have a love life.”
“Why is that? No interest?”
“I know better than anyone that I’m more accustomed to holding a knife than holding someone’s hand,” Leon told him, “This line of work is… lonely.”
“The right one would understand.”
“It’s easier–”
“To be alone?”
“Is this a psyche eval, or Dating One-Oh-One?” Leon snapped.
“Both,” Zac shrugged, checking another box and scribbling another note, “Suicidal ideations? I remember you had some in the past, have any of those returned?”
“No.”
“Homicidal ideations? Feel anger towards anyone recently?”
Abbott. It was the first and only name that came to mind, followed closely by Daniel, “None.”
“Good. Backtracking, now,” Zac’s tone was tip-toe steady, “Subjects of romance of any type appear to be a touchy subject for you? Can you explain why?”
“No.”
“Can or won’t.”
“Won’t.”
“Why?”
“Zac, I swear to God–”
“Subject is hostile…” he noted on the notepad. At the bottom of the checklist tacked on his clipboard, he noted a few boxes, mumbling as he did it, “Behaviours include lying, avoidance, oppositional behaviour, threats…”
“I did not threaten you.”
“It was implied.”
“Look,” Leon leaned in his chair and set his elbows on the desktop, “I miss someone who isn't mine to miss. I dream about someone who isn't mine to dream about, and I love someone who isn't mine to love, alright? It’s easier for me to avoid whatever the fuck is going on in my head than it is to try to do anything about it. Work-wise? I’m sharp as an arrow. Nothin’ wrong, nothin’ dislodged, Brennaman. Can I leave now?”
“No. Explain.”
“This is a psych eval, not therapy.”
“They’re one in the same, now sit down before I fail you,” Zac snapped. Leon hadn’t even noticed he’d begun standing up, and slowly sank down, again. Zac sighed, “Quit running from your personal problems, Leon, or it’s going to start affecting your work life.”
“It already is.”
A/N: "Zac had some personal concerns" my whole ass cheek. Zac is meddling smfh
Warnings; Misconceptions about what these two were doing yesterday and a whole lotta filler chapter [kinda]. Inaccuracies about being hungover since in my entire life I've only ever had like 3. I'm magic like that. Leon's having conflicting thoughts, now, it appears. Don't drink before work, its not a good habit to get into [ask me how I know 🤣]
Word count; 2.1k
pt. XIX
There was a hefty weight sitting in the center of Leon’s chest, and a horrible dryness set into his mouth that made his teeth feel sticky.
He slowly raised a hand, feeling fur on his chest, and he cracked an eye open to see a pair of greens staring right back at him. They belonged to a very housecat-shaped tortoiseshell, curled up purring on him.
While he scratched her ear, he smacked his tongue, trying to get some moisture back in his mouth. The soothing waterfall noises coming from the giant fish tank against the wall behind him did nothing to help, and brought to his attention how dehydrated he really felt.
Leon knew as soon as he started moving, he would feel twenty times worse than he already did.
That's part of the reason he doesn't drink that much anymore.
Somewhere to his right, the dogs began stirring. Groaning as they stretched, standing from a long night of laying around.
Up on the couch, you were still asleep. One arm off the edge, fingers barely brushing Leon’s hair, the other hand folded under a scrunched up pillow beneath your head. Your breath fluffed a piece of your bangs from your eyes with every exhale.
You looked peaceful.
Slowly, Leon scooted the cat from him [she bit him and hissed before angrily waddling off], and prepared to sit up. Once on his elbows, he became acutely aware of the sunlight beginning to peek over your barn roof outside.
Uh oh.
Leon shot upright, nailing his head on the corner of the coffee table with a thunk that split the silence of your living room, “Fuck!”
Fuck for his forehead, and fuck because the two of you were late.
The thud and the curse interrupted your sleep and you brought a hand to rub at your eyes, “Hey, there's a table there, bud.”
Leon was already on his feet, letting the dogs outside, “Oz, we're late.”
“It’s Saturday.” your sleep filled voice was groggy. He could tell your body was fighting you on getting up, “‘s no work.”
“It’s Tuesday,” he hissed back.
That made you sit up, blanket flying every-which-way as you tried and failed to kick it from your body, “Fuck. You're joking.” A pause, probably checking your watch, “Fuck. Fuckity-fuck-fuck–”
Leon turned away from the front door, boots on his feet, to see you standing. Hair was wild, bangs up in every different direction, the rest hanging in loose tangles down your back and over your shoulders. The breath was knocked from his lungs when he noticed you were only in a sports bra, having pulled your t-shirt off sometime in the night.
The dryness in his mouth persisted for a reason different than dehydration.
“Close your mouth, you'll catch flies,” you commented, stretching your hands above your head and – Jesus Christ he was sure you were trying to fucking kill him. The stretch made your midriff more visible to his wandering eyes, the low waist of your pants showing him more lace disappearing– suddenly you dropped your hands again, “Oh holy shit I forgot I was shirtless I am so sorry!”
Leon cleared his throat, waving your concerns away, “I'm not going to tell you what you can and can't wear in your own house.” He snapped his fingers at you, “Now hurry up. Psych evals start today and my appointment starts in–” he checked his watch and clicked his tongue, “Twenty minutes ago.”
“Welp–” you shrugged and skittered up the stairs, hopping two at a time. Less than five minutes and you came flying back down, leaping over the last six.
Your hair was brushed and loosely braided over one shoulder, sweats into leggings and a tank top to finish the look. Leon nodded, “Fast and efficient.”
You peeled around the corner, down the hall and he heard you switch laundry over and start the dryer. Pitter-pattering of your bare feet, you hooked the edge of the staircase handrailing and flung yourself around the corner to the kitchen. You beelined to your fridge for something, and when you came back out you were sporting two plastic water bottles and– Leon shook his head, “Put the Rumplemitz back.”
“No, hear me out,” you poured two shots, “It's minty so you don't have to brush your teeth. You don’t have a toothbrush here yet, and Garrick knocked mine in the toilet yesterday morning and I haven’t bought a new one, yet. Come do a shot. We can be minty together.” you paused with a wide smile, eyebrows wiggling.
Yet. Don’t have a toothbrush here– yet. As if you expected him to be spending more nights here. It made his chest feel right. Slowly, still with apprehension at the idea of drinking before work, he came to your side, “One.”
“One is all it takes,” you twisted the cover back on, “Don’t act like you’ve never drank on the way to work, Kennedy.”
“I haven’t.” just after work, not before.
You shrugged, picking up your shot glass, “I’ve cracked open a Coors or two on the way in once or twice. I won't lie about it. Whatever it takes to get me through the shit we see, right?”
The two of you toasted, drank, grabbed your waters and went right out the door. You grabbed a coat off the hook by the door, sliding a pair of yellow crocs on, before swinging the door closed. Dogs can stay outside today. Psych eval day meant ‘do your appointments and get the fuck out.’. Work-sanctioned early release days are the best.
Leon was leading you in a brisk walk to the gate, the dogs on your heels. You commented out loud, “You’re driving, I assume?” He nodded without a word, and you ran ahead of him and clambered over the closed driveway gate, “Hell yeah, I get to ride in your Porsche.”
He shook his head at you, following suit over the gate. His last view before reversing back onto the road was your three dogs, tails wagging as they followed the car the length of the fence until they hit the corner of your yard. It was less than a mile before you glanced at your phone, “Hmm. Myra says Abbott comes back today. Well, she sent that at–” you brought your phone closer to your face, nose brushing the screen, “Four-thirty-three, since it’s six-oh-four, I think he’s probably stateside already.”
“He actually survived?”
“Well, with his gaggle of FOS’s, he should be in perfect health,” you commented, setting your phone back in your lap in favor of a water from the console, “Vivian, Myra. Me, you. Guy holds an in-house record for Most Supported Agent.”
Listening to you gulp down your water reminded Leon of how fucking thirsty he was, and he made a grabby-hand motion at you, “Gimme.” you placed your half-drank water in his hand, and he didn’t even question it before downing the rest, “Thank you.”
“Thank you for driving me to work,” you took the empty bottle and set it by your feet, stroking your hand over his dashboard, “She’s pretty.”
Leon patted the dash above the steering wheel, “‘s a bit flashy.”
“You like it.”
“I do.”
By quarter to seven, the two of you were exiting the car in the parking garage, your combined laughter echoing off the concrete walls; the two of you were so fucking late. Into the elevator and up a floor let the two of you into the main lobby where the receptionist gave you one raised eyebrow over the tops of her glasses.
Her judgemental look was with good reason, too; Leon Kennedy was wearing pajamas to work and coming in almost three hours late, laughing while he crossed the marble flooring, “Amelia,” he flashed a grin at her, trying his best to even his breathing after your guys’ fit of giggles coming in, “Hope you’re having a good morning.”
Amelia’s piercing green eyes gave Leon a once-over and nodded at the badge-scanner on the edge of the desk, “You’re late, Agent Kennedy.”
“Overslept,” he scanned his badge and let himself past the turnstile, “It won’t happen again, and I won’t have to bother you.”
“Your psych-eval was this morning.”
“I’ll reschedule it. But I can assure you, my psyche is just fine, yet,” although, as he said it, Leon was doubting how sane he actually was, lately.
She wasn’t listening. Her stare was on you, now, “Agent.” she greeted, just as coolly, “Why are you late?”
“Overslept,” you told her simply, patting your pockets for your wallet. Your smile fell and you patted more vigorously, “Uh-oh…” a shy smile creeped up your lips, “Amelia, can you scan me in? I–”
Beep.
Leon scanned his badge and opened the turnstile for you, “C’mon, Oz. Quit holdin’ us up.”
You quickly bounded through, straight past him to the elevators that would take you to…. “Where are we going first?”
Leon stepped up beside you, crossing his arms over his chest and – hey, would you look at that? The sleeves of his borrowed shirt aren’t groaning. The two of you stared ahead at the silver lift doors, “Stop by A-and-L, first, apologize to Parrish that you’re late. Then Warzone, I’d say, apologize to Miller than I’m late. And… then Med, to apologize to Warner and Matthews that we’re late, and go from there.”
Ding!
“Alright, age before beauty,” you waved him inside, “Let’s get this apology tour started.”
The pressure change from going up did nothing to help Leon’s growing headache. The look on your face said you felt the same way, and he cracked a smile, “Headache?”
“Pounding,” you clarified, pinching the bridge of your nose, “Should really learn not to drink on Mondays.”
“Or so much,” the elevator stopped and he ushered you out, “Find Parrish, I’ll find you some coffee.”
You fucking moaned at him, “Oh, thank God. Make yourself some, too. You’re a lifesaver, Leon, I fucking love you.”
The two of you split off, but not before you saw the smug look on his face after your declaration of adoration. Parrish was loitering by Myra’s desk, and you stepped up beside him, “Sir. I’m sorry for being late.”
Parrish’s eyebrows went up and he turned his head towards you, “No worries, Agent. Things happen, don’t let it happen all the time, though,” he waggled an admonishing finger in your direction, “You’re lucky you have such a good neighbor, though. Brooks here is an exceptional help to you.”
Your eyes found Myra across the cubicle, and you smiled wide at her, holding eye contact, “Sir, you have no idea how much I appreciate her.”
He clasped your shoulder before departing your circle, “Don’t make lateness a habit.”
“I won’t sir,” you called after him. Then your gaze fell back on Myra, who had an unreadable look on her face. She was staring, but saying nothing, and you pulled at the hem of your quarter-zip, “Something on my shirt?”
“Your shirt?” she asked.
“Yes, my–” fuck. That was not your last name stitched into the collarbone. Your head fell against the cubicle wall, almost nailing your forehead on a pushpin on Myra’s corkboard. You spoke at your feet, “This is Leon’s–”
“That’s Leon’s quarter-zip,” she all but squealed at you, surging across the small space to get in your business, “Is that why you were late?! Gettin’ frisky this morning?”
“I’m hungover as fuck, Myra, keep it down,” you hissed, standing straight, “I grabbed his by accident this morning–” shit.
“You stayed over?!”
“No, motherfucker,” you smacked at her shoulder, hesitating on the next part, “... he stayed over–”
She squealed again, “He stayed over?!”
“Myra!” you half-barked at her, trying to keep your voice level, “Literally shutthefuckup.”
Unfortunately for you, Leon was coming up behind you with two of your giant mugs filled with steaming coffee, “Heads up, ‘m right behind you, Oz.”
You took the one from him that said ‘I wish you were fluent in shutting the fuck up’ and very pointedly aimed the words at Myra, who was pretty much vibrating while she looked over at Leon. However, she at least managed to keep her voice even when she addressed him, “Good morning, Leon. You look comfy this morning. Ozzy’s clothes look good on you.”
“How did you know these were hers?”
“I’ve seen her wear that exact outfit in once,” Myra told him, “She’s also wearing your clothes, so a bold assumption was that you switched.”
Leon’s eyes dragged over to you, his gaze zeroing in on the little Kennedy by your breast. His eyes darkened and he hummed, taking a sip of coffee, “Nice shirt, Agent.”
“I accidentally grabbed yours in the rush this morning,” you rubbed the back of your neck, “Hope you don’t mind.”
“Looks better on you, anyway. Ready to head to Warzone? Parrish says–”
“Don’t make being late a habit,” you finished over the top of him, trying to ignore Myra’s excitable energy, “You apologized too, I see. Yes, I’m ready to face Miller, let’s go.”
