༺ ℒℰ𝒪𝒩 𝒦ℰ𝒩𝒩ℰ𝒟𝒴： ℋ𝒪𝒲 ℋℰ 𝒮ℋ𝒪𝒲𝒮 ℋℐ𝒮 ℒ𝒪𝒱ℰ ༻
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✦ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ✦
Love doesn’t come out of him as something spoken. It doesn’t arrive polished or easy to name.
With Leon S. Kennedy, it’s built out of repetition instead—habits that formed in survival and slowly reshaped themselves into care.
He notices things before they become problems. Remembers details without announcing that he does. Moves through rooms like he’s always accounting for exits, even when the only thing waiting there is you.
He doesn’t talk about love like a concept. He practices it like muscle memory.
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✦ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ✦
Leon S. Kennedy × Wife!Reader (Civilian • She/Her)
Era: Post RE8 • Pre RE Requiem
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✦ 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄 ✦
Headcanons • Domestic Fluff • Married Life • Canon-Compliant Leon • Comfort • Soft Romance
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★ “Home”
His messages never quite relax into casual language.
“Home.”
“In.”
Short. Functional. Like he’s still half inside a system that required reports instead of conversations.
Then, after a pause that feels heavier than the words:
“You good?”
He doesn’t mean it like small talk. He means it like checking a lock twice.
⸻
☾ The apartment is dim except for the blue glow of the television and the soft spill of streetlights through the blinds. You’re curled into the couch, blanket half-draped over your legs, not really watching whatever’s playing anymore.
Your phone lights up.
Home.
It’s not dramatic. It shouldn’t feel like anything.
But it does.
You smile before you even fully register why.
You: “Yeah. You?”
The typing indicator appears. Disappears. Returns again.
“Yeah.”
A pause.
“Lock the door.”
You glance toward it automatically. It’s already locked, but you still stand and check it anyway—not out of fear, but out of understanding.
You: “It’s locked.”
A beat.
“Good.”
That’s all.
But you know him well enough to picture it—the way his shoulders probably drop slightly when he reads that. Like something in him has been quietly put back into place.
⸻
★ Busy Hands
Leon doesn’t settle easily into stillness.
Not because he’s restless, but because silence gives his thoughts too much space to echo.
So when he gets home, he keeps his hands occupied.
Not out of urgency—out of regulation.
A small system of repetition that keeps him steady.
⸻
☾ Warm lamplight spills across the kitchen table, softening everything it touches. The TV murmurs in the background, low enough to feel like atmosphere rather than distraction.
He’s at the table, breaking something down that didn’t need breaking down.
You lean against the counter, watching him with the kind of familiarity that doesn’t need explanation anymore.
“You know you don’t have to do that every time you get back,” you say gently.
His eyes flick up for a moment. “I’m not doing anything.”
A faint smile touches your mouth. “You absolutely are.”
He exhales through his nose—almost amused. “Helps me think.”
You walk closer, resting your forearm lightly on the table.
“You always sit in the same chair too.”
A pause. Then, quieter:
“Yeah.”
“Because of the door?”
This time he doesn’t dodge it.
“…Yeah.”
No elaboration. None needed.
You nod like you already understand the shape of it.
“I like it,” you say softly. “I like seeing you… in your element.”
His hands slow for half a beat.
“…Yeah?”
You lean in just slightly, brushing a light kiss to his temple—quick, instinctive, like punctuation rather than performance.
“Yeah,” you murmur. “It’s you.”
And his shoulders ease like that sentence itself took the weight off his shoulders.
You never had realised just how much he cared about what you thought of him until that moment.
⸻
★ He is always looking after you, even when you don’t look after yourself sometimes.
You’ve been staring at your laptop for too long. The words stopped meaning anything a while ago, but you didn’t notice when that happened.
Leon does.
He always does.
“You’re not reading that.”
You blink up slowly. “Hm?”
“You’ve been stuck on the same line for a while.”
There’s no judgment in it. Just observation.
You exhale, closing the laptop slightly. “Yeah… I think I lost it.”
He nods once like that’s already solved.
“…You want something to eat?”
A soft smile pulls at your mouth. “Maybe later.”
“Okay.”
And that’s it. No pushing. No insistence.
Just acceptance.
⸻
☾ Ten minutes later, something warm is placed beside your workspace.
Not forced into your hands. Not announced.
Just there.
You glance at it, then at him.
The corners of your mouth lift faintly. “You’re persistent I’ll give you that.”
He sits across from you, leaning back slightly.
“
“You forget.”
You look at him for a moment—really look.
“What would I do without you, hmm?”
⸻
★ The Jacket
He doesn’t ask if you’re cold.
He already decided you shouldn’t be.
⸻
☾ You were on your way back from dinner when the weather turned.
The restaurant warmth is still lingering on your skin, the faint scent of food and citrus soap from the napkin still on your hands. You’re dressed up—more than usual—and you refused a jacket earlier because you liked how everything looked together.
Leon didn’t argue.
He just brought one anyway.
Now rain is falling hard enough to blur the streetlights into soft streaks of gold and white.
You instinctively pull your arms in, laughing softly. “That was fast.”
Before you can say anything else, his jacket is already around your shoulders.
You blink up at him. “You didn’t have to—”
“I know.”
No irritation. No edge.
Just calm certainty.
You slip your arms into it, warmth hitting you immediately. It smells like him—clean fabric, faint cologne, something metallic underneath that never quite leaves.
He shrugs slightly. “Figured you’d change your mind.”
You step closer instead of arguing, tugging the jacket tighter and brushing your fingers lightly against his sleeve.
“Thank you.”
He glances at you. “You were gonna freeze.”
“Still,” you say softly, and press a quick kiss to his cheek before he can overthink it.
He looks away for half a second like that wasn’t expected—but before you notice the tint in his cheeks he’s walking again, matching your pace without needing to be told.
⸻
★ The Doorway
He doesn’t choose where he stands.
He just ends up there.
⸻
☾ Frame of the Room
You’re cooking—something simple, something that fills the apartment with warmth and garlic and comfort.
When you turn, he’s in the doorway again.
Same position. Same quiet stillness.
“You know you always stand there?” you ask gently, a small, amused but warm smile spreading across your lips as you took in the sight of him.
He glances over. “Where?”
“Right there, in the door, not at the table, or in the other room...”
A small pause. “I’m just standing.”
You let out a small chuckle. “Blocking the door, Mr. Protector.”
He exhales lightly—almost a laugh. “Habit.”
You nod, turning back to the stove. “I think it’s real cute, you’re like my big scary guard dog.”
That gets a look.
“…Yeah?”
You reach back without thinking, fingers briefly catching his hand as he passes behind you.
“Yeah. I like that you always protect me… even when there’s nothing to protect me from, it’s romantic.” She replied with a giggle, playful but still the truth.
He doesn’t say anything after that.
But he doesn’t move away from his “tactical” position either.
⸻
★ You Ate?
He doesn’t always say how much he loves you out loud.
He just gives you constant little reminders that couldn’t be mistaken for anything else BUT love
⸻
☾ Not a Question
“You ate?”
“I will.”
He pauses like he already knows that answer doesn’t count.
Then he’s gone.
No frustration. No repetition.
Just certainty.
⸻
Ten minutes later, food appears beside you again.
You laugh softly when you see it. “You’re relentless.”
He sits down across from you. “Not really, just persuasive
You take a bite, watching him over the rim of the plate.
“You know I notice all of it, right?”
He tilts his head slightly. “All of what?”
“This,” you say gently. “You taking care of me like it’s the most normal thing in the world.”
A pause.
You reach across the table, brushing your fingers against his for a second.
“Thank you.”
His gaze softens, almost imperceptibly.
“…Yeah, of course..”
And that’s all he gives you—but it’s enough.
⸻
★ Instinct
It doesn’t announce itself.
It finds you only when you don’t have time to overthink it.
⸻
☾ Close Enough
You’re walking beside him, distracted by your phone, drifting a little too close to the curb.
He shifts.
Not dramatically. Not visibly.
Just enough to steer you with one arm to the other side of the pavement, away from the busy road. Putting himself between you and any danger.
“You’re doing it again,” you murmur without looking up.
“What?”
“That thing.”
A pause. “No idea.”
You smile faintly. “Every time I move on that side you move me back.”
He glances toward traffic. “Busy street.”
Silence settles between you.
Then, quieter:
“Don’t want you getting ran over by some drunk or something...” he grunted under his breath, he rolled his eyes but you could see clear as day that there was no real bite to it.
You lower your phone and look at him properly now.
“You’re a real sweetheart for a man who looks so grumpy.”
A beat.
“…Yeah?”
You bump your shoulder lightly against his arm.
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
And he stays exactly where he is.
⸻
★ Nightmares
He doesn’t wake loudly, no yelling, no thrashing around…
He just wakes up sweat soaked, his hands shaking, he tries to still them but it only makes it worse.
But he knows what will make it better…
⸻
☾ “I’ve got you, always.”
3:12 AM.
His hand finds you before his thoughts fully catch up.
Wrist. Shoulder. Breath.
You shift slightly. “Leon?”
That steadies him.
“…Yeah,” he murmurs. “Go back to sleep.”
You turn toward him instead. Slow. Warm. Familiar.
“Was it bad?”
A pause.
“…No,” he says finally. Then softer: “Just loud.”
You reach up, fingers curling lightly into his shirt.
“I’m here,” you remind him gently.
He nods once, like he needs that confirmation more than air. Then he does something that surprises even himself… he pulls you towards him with the arm that was wrapped tightly around your waist and lowers his head onto your shoulder, breathing in your scent for a few quiet moments. The hot air brushing against you neck and collarbone pulls a small content sigh from your lips.
“I know.” He replied finally after a long pause, his hands finally began to steady again.
But his hand doesn’t leave you.
Not yet.
Not for a while.
⸻
† Written by Tee †