─── hi! I’m Kammi! A brazillian 20yo and full of love. Here is a safe place for everyone. I just love stationary things, music, formula 1, movies, art and all the strongest men in the fiction world (1st of them aka my hubby Leon Kennedy).
I do write too, I don’t write smut.
Please send me anons and requests too. Check the #blog guidelines first!
Request are: open
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Tanto gentile e tanto onesta pare Ia donna mia quand' ella altrui saluta ch'ogne lingua deven tremando muta e g li occhi no l'ardiscon di guardare.
Ella si va sentendosi laudare benignamente e d'umiltà vestuta e par che sia una cosa venuta da cielo in terra a miracol mostrare.
Mostrasi si piacente a chi la mira che dà per g li occhi una dolcezza al core ch ' entender no la può chi no la prova.
E par che de la sua labbia si mova un spirito soave pien d 'amore che va dicendo a l' anima: sospira.
Do you think Dex could bend a truly good love interest’s morals?
Dex Finds Himself a “Good Girl”
TW injury, stalking, moral corruption, suggestive/sexual content, harassment by a Task Force agent, murder, she/her pronouns.
WC 1.4K
You swear you’re a good person.
You help at the food bank when you can. You donate to a wildlife charity every month. You always round up for children’s hospitals at the cashier. You carry reusable bags. You move worms and snails off the pavement after rain because it breaks your heart when pedestrians step on them unknowingly. You say “thank you” to bus drivers, and by now they know you by name. You cry at videos of old dogs getting adopted. You once said “sorry sorry sorry” to a spider before trapping it under a glass and putting it outside.
You swear you’re a good person.
That was all you were trying to be when you found a man bleeding out on your rooftop.
He was slumped against the brick, one hand pressed to his side, blood slipping between his fingers. His suit was a dark blue and black, torn open at the ribs. His face was pale, though his eyes were not.
“No hospitals,” he said.
And because you were a good person, you swallowed hard and said, “Okay.”
You knew first aid, you volunteered in enough community centers not to.
“Do you have a name?” you asked.
His teeth chattered a little. “Dex.”
You swear you’re a good person when you let him inside your apartment.
You swear you’re a good person when you clean the blood from his body and nurture him back to health.
You swear you’re a good person when you let him sleep on your couch, even after you realize the suit is familiar.
Even after you realize he’s familiar.
Even after you realise he’s Bullseye. Even if he’s the kind of man good girls are supposed to run from.
But you look at him, Dex sits on your couch under your blanket, bruised and battered, and says, “I’m one of the good guys now” with absolute conviction and a lopsided grin, as if he was imitating you.
You swear you’re a good person when you believe him.
Or maybe you just want to believe him. Maybe you decide wanting to believe in him counts as mercy.
You swear you’re a good person when he’s eventually well enough to leave.
You swear you’re a good person when you spend two weeks pretending you’re glad he’s gone.
In truth, your apartment feels empty. You keep looking at the place where he bled on your tiles longingly.
Then, like a lost cat, he comes back through the window.
His hair was streaked with blood, he has blood on his knuckles. His eyes are tired and fixed on you.
“Task Force is crawling my streets,” he says. “Can I stay here?”
You swear you’re a good person when you say yes.
You swear you’re a good person when he kisses you that night.
It happens in the kitchen, under the flickering yellow light, with rain tapping against the glass.
His mouth hits yours hard. You gasp, and he swallows it. His hand cups the back of your neck, thumb pressing under the soft flesh of your jaw, holding you still while he kisses you deeper. His body pins yours to the counter, and you know you should be scared.
You swear you’re a good person when you kiss him back.
You swear you’re a good person when you pull him closer by his belt loops.
You swear you’re a good person when he tells you he’s been watching you since he left.
He said he was sure you got home safe. He was making sure nobody followed you. He was sure the man from 4B stopped looking at you like a creep. He was sure you were safe, because he was a good man, right?
You should tell him to leave. Instead, you cup his cheeks and press his forehead to yours.
“Don’t lie to me about it again,” you whisper gently, which is not the same thing as telling him to stop.
You know that. Dex knows that, too.
You swear you’re a good person when you basically forgive him for stalking you.
You swear you’re a good person when he starts staying over.
Suddenly, he has a toothbrush next to yours. His shirts end up in your closet.
You swear you’re a good person when his hands go under your shirt, groping and gripping and touching like he can’t believe you’re letting him. He kisses your neck until you’re whining. He bites your shoulder hard enough to make you arch. He grinds against you, still clothed, like he’s trying to crawl out of his own skin and into yours.
“Tell me to stop,” he pants.
You don’t. Instead, you drag him down.
You swear you’re a good person when he fucks you. When he gets you naked with desperate, clumsy hands and pushes your thighs apart like he’s afraid you’ll change your mind if he goes any slower. Your thighs are shaking so hard you have to grab his hair and mewl into his shoulders.
He fucks you deep and messy and stupid, hips pounding into yours, one hand gripping your thigh, the other braced beside your head. The bed hits the wall and nails tear down his scarred back. His mouth drags over your nose, your cheek, your lips, all open-mouthed and frantic.
“You’re mine,” he says, voice wrecked.
You just let out a helpless “hmpph!”
He laughs once against your mouth.
You swear you’re a good person when you let him fuck you silly in your own bed, even though you know what he is.
You swear you’re a good person when Task Force comes knocking three days later, when Dex is out.
The agent at your door is handsome, but not your type.
“Ma’am,” he says. “We’re asking about a Bullseye sighting nearby.”
You blink up at him. “No, sir. I haven’t seen anything.”
You swear you’re a good person when you lie.
He doesn’t leave and steps closer instead, one boot over your threshold.
His gaze drops to your bare legs, and then to the oversized shirt you’re wearing. It was actually Dex’s shirt.
“You live alone?” he asks.
Your stomach turns upside down. “I think you should go.”
He shrugs, “I’m just asking questions.”
His hand catches the door before you can shut it. Then he is inside, too close, fingers brushing your.
You freeze.
He looks at your mouth.
“You sure you don’t know anything?” he murmurs.
You swear you’re a good person when you lie again, this time through gritted teeth. “I said no.”
His hand slides to your waist and you shove him.
He laughs, but he tries to put his hands on you again.
Eventually, you shut the door and get him out.
You wait for Dex.
You swear you’re a good person when you tell him everything, knowing exactly what Dex would do.
“Name,” he says.
You tell him what you saw in the badges.
You swear you’re a good person when you don’t ask where he is going.
You swear you’re a good person when he comes back before dawn dragging the agent by the back of his collar. The man is crying.
His badge is gone, face is bruised, pushed to his knees on your wooden floor.
Dex stands behind him with a gun in his hand.
“Apologise,” Dex says.
The agent sobs through it. He says sorry, says he didn’t mean it. Says he was just messing around.
Dex presses the gun to the side of his head and looks at you. “Can I?”
You swear you’re a good person.
You swear.
You swear.
You swear you think about mercy. You swear you think about laws. You swear you think about the literal human life Dex has put in your hands.
Still, you say, “Yes.”
Dex shoots him in the head. The agent drops, and blood spreads across your wooden floor.
He looks at you as if asking, are you proud of me yet?
You swear you’re a good person when you help him clean up the mess. You swear you’re a good person when you hold the bin bag open. You swear you’re a good person when you help him scrub blood from the floorboards. You swear you’re a good person when you help him bury the body.
What else were you supposed to do? Let him do it alone? After he defended you? After he did what you asked him to do?
You swear you’re a good person when you crawl into bed beside him that night.
You tuck yourself under his chin and whisper, “I love you.”
His arms close around you as he says, “I love you, too.”
You swear you’re still a good person.
Or maybe you’re just in love. Maybe you don’t know the difference anymore.
—
To answer your question anon, yes. If you were so blinded by love, you wouldn’t even notice the goalposts had moved!
again, it truly really matters on how in love you are/you perceive to be, but I’m writing it on the extreme end for the sake of the story!
warnings; wounds, cuts, mentions of cumming (but it’s not a smut), Leon being a needy boy
author notes; okay… I wanted to write more of it but I couldn’t, I’m so sorry if this is short
Request | my masterlist
“Mhm…” Leon groaned in pain as you applied antiseptic to the wound on his abdomen.
“Sorry.” You say, looking at him carefully. He had just returned from a mission, and he had cuts almost everywhere. Most of them were superficial, but they still needed care.
“It’s okay.” He replies, looking at you with a small smile. “You know, I could get used to this.”
“Used to what?” You ask, placing the bandage over the cut you had just finished cleaning and moving on to the next one.
“You taking care of me.” He says, and you look at him, making a blush appear on Leon’s cheeks. “You look incredibly sexy with your eyebrows furrowed like that.”
“Leon!” Now it was your turn to turn red.
“What? I can’t help myself.” He laughs, and you roll your eyes, cleaning another cut and making him groan in pain again. “Okay, I’ll stay quiet now, I’ll behave…”
You both stayed silent. Slowly, all the cuts were covered and properly taken care of. Some looked more like burns, so you simply applied ointment.
“Turn onto your stomach.” You ask, and Leon obeys.
“Yes ma’am.” He groans with the comfort of the bed, where he is now lying face down.
“That’s strange, your back doesn’t have any cuts.”
“Must be my lucky mission. Cuts only in the front, no sneaky attacks from behind.” He stretches. “Why don’t you come lie down with me?”
You take a while to answer, and Leon notices.
“[name]?— oh… fuck…” he calls you, but he is interrupted when your hands move across his back, pressing the right places.
“What did I do to deserve you?”
You laugh at his reaction and put a little body oil on your hands, returning to massage his tense muscles full of knots.
“Fuck… love…” he groans. “You’re helping me more than you realize.”
“Don’t cum on our the bed or I’ll make you clean it.” You joke while your hand presses his skin again, making him groan loudly. “For God’s sake, you don’t even moan like that when we’re having sex.”
Leon can barely think of an answer. He really is struggling not to ruin the sheets beneath him, but not for the reason you’re thinking. It’s not because of that—it’s because of tears of pain and how good it feels.
“I won’t… Jesus Christ!— hm, cum.” He whines. “I didn’t expect my back to be hurting this much.”
You laugh and finish the massage calmly. Slowly, Leon stopped whining and groaning, and you could hear a small snore.
When you stopped the massage and went to put the oil away, he complained.
“Come here…” he tapped the bed beside him.
“Easy, tiger.” You laugh at him and join him on the bed. Leon pulls you close, hugging you and resting his head on your chest.
“Soft…” he says, placing a hand on one of your breasts.
You smile at his sleepy neediness and kiss his forehead, closing your eyes to sleep.
i’ve been seeing your page frequently when reading leon fics and i’m in love with the way you interpret leon! i was wondering if you could write some fluff with reader and leon (preferably re4r) where leon is back home after a mission and reader takes care of him (wrapping his wounds and giving him a massage) and it ends off with him sleeping because of it! i know this is so basic and vanilla but i’m in love with domestic leon and how he would be with his lover <3 ty in advance!!
Just post it, my love! I’m so sorry if that is short!!
rare aesthetic: handsome mentally ill stalkers who don't stalk you because they're perverts, but because they're so emotionally and psychologically depends on you that they literally can't live without you.
Some good news after so much bad! I'll post the original screenshot and the translation below, okay?
I know you're not good with scary things, but I'd love for Kamiya-san to tell the story of Leon and Claire again someday... I want to see the continuation of their story as they've grown up, as envisioned by their creator. I wouldn't mind if all the enemies looked like tofu...!
If I made it, it would be a game where a retired Leon goes fishing in the countryside, gathers wild vegetables, bakes bread, walks his dog, has a vegetable garden, drives to a general store 50 kilometers away to buy supplies, invites old friends over for a barbecue, repairs the oven for his neighbor's grandmother, and sells his homemade lemonade at the local festival. Is that okay...?
idk if you have seen the mods with leon wearing eyeliner but….i‘m thinking thoughts and i know you would write up the nastiest version of that leon.
okay but i think it should be a compliment to you that i saw those pics and my mind went to your work.
BRO DUDE BROSKI BRETHREN!! ARE YOU ME?? I LITERALLY PLAYED WITH THAT MOD THE OTHER DAY AND MY BRAIN SHORT CIRCUITED BECAUSE ROCKSTAR LEONNNNNNN 😩
i literally dressed him in all black and gave him black hair too and took a bazillion screenshots! LOOK AT HIM!!!! 🖤🖤🖤
and absolutely-fucking-lutely it's giving me inspo! especially when i think of one of my favorite fics ever by @harlotistic 'penance of an ex-rockstar' (it's heavy dead dove so tread carefully) because that story lives in my mind head free 😩
