I HATED TO SEE THE SECOND ENDING! I DON'T ACCEPT IT! At least it's not actually canon! I don't wanna give any more spoilers to you all because it will ruin the game experience for you and me.
I lost all of my motivation to write after receiving so many messages about me posting AI-written fics.
I only want to say that I give my blood, sweat and tears to these fic ideas and actually takes me so much time to write, pick the right vocabulary. So no, they're not AI-written.
I'm not entirely native in English so it's very hard for me to write and think at the same time. Sometimes, I even ask my friends whether to write this or that vocabulary where.
Those messages really discouraged me to write the work I've been working on recently which was from the Appreciation Series. It was supposed to be special for Valentine's Day.
I lost all of my motivation to write after receiving so many messages about me posting AI-written fics.
I only want to say that I give my blood, sweat and tears to these fic ideas and actually takes me so much time to write, pick the right vocabulary. So no, they're not AI-written.
I'm not entirely native in English so it's very hard for me to write and think at the same time. Sometimes, I even ask my friends whether to write this or that vocabulary where.
Those messages really discouraged me to write the work I've been working on recently which was from the Appreciation Series. It was supposed to be special for Valentine's Day.
i mentioned this in someone else’s comment section, but i wanted to share it here as well
after learning that the re9 trailers also had official french subs versions, i went to check them out (i don’t usually check out content in french if the OG version is in a language i speak). and there’s one very cute thing about leon and grace’s dynamic that doesn’t show in english, simply because english, as a language, no longer has that option.
in the french version, when leon asks grace “FBI? what are you doing here?” he says “FBI? qu’est-ce-que vous faites ici?”. same thing in his other lines: “qu’est-ce que victor vous veut?” and “il vous a pas enlevée pour rien.” yk how english used to have you (formal) and thou (informal)? french still has that. and here, leon is addressing grace with a formal ‘you’.
grace, however, does not address leon formally. she uses the informal ‘you’ and she says “je viens avec toi” (“i’m coming with you”).
i think it’s cute!! i honestly would have expected it to be the other way around, with leon being very informal/familiar from the get-go and grace being more polite and formal. there is no way to fully translate how this adds to leon in english, but it’s a fun touch. the best way to put it is that leon addresses grace in a very respectful manner, even if she’s a younger (female) agent, and i think that’s pretty neat
hi!! can i request re4r leon with touch-starved/touch-averse reader who slowly grows to feel safe touching/being touched by (only) him? (sorry for the bad wording, i cant really figure it out😭)
RE4R Leon w/ Touch-Starved Reader- Headcanons
Pairing- RE4R!Leon x Reader
A/N- Okay but this concept has been living in my head rent free ever since it was requested 😭
There’s just something about leon being painfully patient and giving you the space to choose him every. single. time.
Also… Leon absolutely would let his arm go numb and act like it’s fine. That’s canon to me.
Thank you for trusting me with this soft little idea. i hope it feels warm in the way you needed 🫶
CW- Touch aversion / touch-starved reader, consent-focused physical contact, soft intimacy, mild anxiety around being touched, lots of gentle physical affection, leon being emotionally devastating in a quiet way. no explicit content — just fluff.
Re4R Leon with a touch-averse / touch-starved reader would be so gentle it hurts.
He’d notice before you ever say anything. the way you stiffen when someone brushes past you. how your shoulders subtly rise when hands get too close. leon is observant by nature — it’s how he survives — and once he clocks it, he adjusts without making it a “thing.”
He wouldn’t reach for you suddenly. no grabbing your wrist to pull you along. no surprise hugs. everything with him would be slow.
“i’m gonna move you behind me, okay?” “can i touch you?” “is this alright?”
And the first time he asks instead of assuming? that’s what cracks something open in you.
Because you’re not used to being asked.
At first it’s small. standing close enough that your arms almost brush but don’t. his hand hovering at the small of your back without quite resting there. giving you space to step into it instead of taking it.
And when you finally do lean in — even just a little — he notices immediately. but he doesn’t comment. doesn’t make you self-conscious. he just lets his hand settle there properly, warm and steady, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Leon’s touch would never be demanding. it’s grounding. reassuring. firm in that “i’ve got you” way.
The first time you let him hold your hand is probably after something stressful. adrenaline still buzzing in your veins. your fingers twitch toward him before your brain catches up. and when he threads his fingers through yours, he squeezes once — gentle, testing — like he’s asking without words.
You don’t pull away and that’s when he realizes.
Over time, you start initiating in tiny ways. sitting closer on the couch. resting your head on his shoulder “just for a second.” brushing your thumb over his knuckles absentmindedly.
And leon? he melts every single time, even if he pretends he doesn’t.
Because here’s the thing: he’s touch-starved too. he just hides it better.
So when you finally feel safe enough to curl into him fully — arms around his waist, face tucked into his chest — he goes still for half a heartbeat like he’s scared to ruin it. then his arms wrap around you carefully, securely, like he’s holding something precious.
He’d press the softest kiss to your hair and murmur, “you’re okay. i’ve got you.”
And for the first time, being held doesn’t feel overwhelming.
It feels like home. He's your home.
BONUS:
It happens on a quiet night.
You’re sitting beside him on the couch, knees tucked up, careful as always. Close — but not touching. There’s always that invisible inch of space you leave, like a habit you don’t know how to break.
Leon notices it. He always does. But he doesn’t close it.
Instead, he stretches an arm along the back of the couch — not around you. Just hanging there.
Minutes pass.
Your pinky twitches first. Barely brushing the fabric of his shirt. You freeze immediately, like you’ve done something wrong.
Leon doesn’t look at you.
He just shifts slightly closer, subtle enough that it could be accidental. His arm lowers a fraction — warm, solid, steady — until it rests lightly against your shoulders.
You swallow. Your heart does that embarrassing little stutter. Slowly, carefully, you lean. Just enough for your shoulder to rest against his side.
He exhales. It’s quiet. But you feel it.
His hand moves after a second — slow enough for you to track it — settling at your upper arm. Thumb brushing once, barely there.
“Okay?” he murmurs, voice low, meant only for you. You nod against his chest. That’s when he lets himself hold you properly.
His arm wraps around your shoulders, firm but gentle, like he’s anchoring you — not restraining you. You feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath your cheek. The warmth. The weight.
Safe.
After a while, your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt on their own. Not because you’re bracing. Because you want to stay.
Leon presses the softest kiss to the top of your head — slow enough that you could pull away if you wanted.
You don’t.
And he smiles into your hair like he just won something he never thought he’d be allowed to have.
Later that night, when you fall asleep half on top of him without realizing? He doesn’t move for hours. not even when his arm goes numb.
A/N- I’m a sucker for the "comforting stranger" trope, especially when Leon Kennedy is involved. This fic is a mix of heavy angst and soft comfort because we all deserve someone who stays awake just to make sure we’re breathing okay.
Please read the warnings before diving in! Feedback is always appreciated. 🫂
By the way, I'm slowly running out of Leon pictures 🥹
CW- Parental emotional neglect/verbal abuse, alcohol consumption, heavy crying/emotional breakdown, feelings of inadequacy, and a very protective/comforting Leon, mentions of Leon's mental state and his background story.
The tension in the dining room didn't happen right away; it grew slowly like a storm. Your mother was folding napkins with clinical precision, her eyes fixed on the fabric as if she were preparing for a disaster. Your father didn't even look up from his phone.
"I got in," you finally said. Your voice felt small but sharp in the quiet room.
Your mother paused, looking distracted. "Got in where, dear?"
"The International Security Training Program," you replied, bracing yourself. "The one I told you about."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Your father finally set his phone down with a heavy thud. "That wasn't a serious plan," he said, his voice cold and dismissing.
"It was very serious to me," you replied, feeling the familiar sting of rejection.
"And they actually accepted you?" your mother asked. Her tone wasn't proud; it was filled with a painful kind of disbelief. Your father leaned back, studying you like a problem he couldn't solve. "You’re not going. You aren't built for that world. It's dangerous, and it's demanding."
"You don't get to decide what I'm built for!" you snapped, your heart racing.
"We know you," your mother said gently, which hurt even more. "You get overwhelmed easily. You cry when you're stressed. You are too sensitive for conflict."
"I am not avoiding this conflict right now," you said, your voice shaking with fury. But the doubt in their eyes was louder than any shout. You stood up so fast the chair scraped violently against the floor. As you walked to the door, your mother’s final words followed you: "You’ll come back in pieces."
The bar was a chaotic mix of purple neon lights and the heavy smell of spilled beer. You weren't a "bar person," but you needed the noise to drown out your mother’s voice. After three drinks, your reflection in the mirror looked strange—your jaw was set and your shoulders were straight, yet you felt incredibly breakable.
What if they are right? you wondered, a cold fear settling in your chest.
You stood up to leave, but the floor seemed to tilt. Your heel caught on a step you hadn't noticed, and gravity suddenly pulled you down. Just before you hit the floor, you collided with something solid and warm.
Leon hadn't planned on staying long. He was on an assignment, his mind trained to scan for threats and exits. He had been observing you from across the room, noticing how tightly you gripped your glass. He recognized that look—it was the look of a rookie trying to prove they weren't afraid. When you stumbled, his reflexes took over. One hand caught your arm, and the other wrapped firmly around your waist.
"I’ve got you," he said. His voice was deep, steady, and grounded.
You clung to his jacket, your fingers trembling. "Don’t... don't laugh at me," you whispered. "You probably think I can’t handle it either."
"Handle what?" he asked, looking down at your tear-filled eyes.
"The training. My parents... they said I'm not built for it."
Leon didn't smile in mockery. Instead, he tightened his grip to keep you upright. "You applied and you got in," he said calmly. "That doesn't sound like someone who can't handle it."
He took you to a hotel that he stayed in while he was on a mission. He shouldn't have done that but still he couldn't even dare to leave you behind in that situation either. Just one look at your teary-eyes and he was a goner.
He had seen so much, heard so much, he shouldn't have even cared about it at all, but he was a human. He took you not to take advantage of you, but to calm you down, help you so you could get back up.
He had no one while he was deep down, he needed a serious help, no one asked, no once cared but now everything changed. He laughs at his misery time to time, and after he saw you, he knew that he had to do something.
He forgot about his mission. He didn't even remember what he's there for. Age took a toll on him pretty bad. At least, he had a good reason to stay there.
And that reason was you.
The hotel room was a sanctuary of silence. The only sound was the faint hum of the air conditioner and the rustle of the heavy curtains as Leon closed them. You sat on the edge of the large bed, feeling small against the white sheets. Your head was spinning, but the cold air helped clear the fog of the alcohol just enough to feel the weight of the night.
Leon walked over and handed you a glass of water. He didn't stand over you; instead, he pulled up a chair and sat down, keeping a respectful distance.
“Drink all of it,” he said quietly.
You took a sip, your hands still shaking. You looked at him—really looked at him—for the first time. He had a stillness about him that was intimidating yet strangely comforting.
“Why did you bring me here?” you asked, your voice cracking. “You don’t even know my name. You could have just left me at the bar.”
Leon leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I’ve spent a lot of time in places like that bar. I know the difference between someone who has had too much to drink and someone who is trying to disappear. You weren't there for the party.”
You looked down at the glass. “My parents think I’m a joke. They told me I’m too sensitive. That the world I want to join will break me into pieces.” You looked up at him, your eyes searching his. “Do I look like someone who belongs in security training to you?”
Leon studied you for a long moment. He didn’t give you a fake smile or a quick compliment. “The training isn't just about how hard you can hit or how fast you can run,” he said. “It’s about what you do when everything goes wrong. Tonight, everything went wrong for you, and you’re still standing. Mostly.”
A small, bitter laugh escaped your lips. “I’m not standing. I fell into you.”
“But you didn't stay down,” Leon countered. “And you’re still arguing. That’s a start.”
“They said I’d come back in pieces,” you whispered, the fear finally surfacing. “What if they’re right? What if I’m just... not built for it?”
Leon reached out, hesitating for a second before placing a steady hand on your shoulder. “Listen to me. The people who think they are ‘built for it’ are usually the first ones to quit because they are too arrogant to learn. Being sensitive means you notice things. It means you care. In my world, that keeps you alive.”
“You say ‘my world’ like you know it,” you said, narrowing your eyes.
“I know it well enough,” he replied simply.
The silence returned, but this time it wasn't suffocating. It was heavy with a new kind of tension. You felt a desperate need to feel something other than the pain of your parents' rejection. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you leaned forward, closing the gap between you, and pressed your lips to his.
The kiss was messy and desperate, tasting of salt from your tears. For a second, his hand tightened on your shoulder, but then he firmly, gently pushed you back.
“Stop,” he said. His voice was soft, but it had the weight of a command.
“Why?” you sobbed, feeling a new wave of rejection hit you. “Am I too much? Am I not enough?”
“Neither,” Leon said, his eyes softening as he looked at you. “You’re drunk, you’re exhausted, and your heart is breaking. I’m not going to take advantage of that. You deserve better than a 'mistake' in a hotel room.”
You covered your face with your hands, the sobs finally breaking through completely. Leon didn’t leave. He moved from the chair to the bed, pulling you into his chest. He held you firmly, letting you cry until your shirt was damp and your lungs felt empty.
“I just wanted them to believe in me,” you choked out.
“I know,” he whispered into your hair. “But until they do, you’ll have to believe in yourself. And if you can’t do that yet... I’ll do it for you tonight.”
He stayed like that, leaning against the headboard with you tucked under his arm, until your breathing slowed and sleep finally took you. He knew that tomorrow you would wake up with a headache and a long road ahead of you, but he also knew you wouldn't be going back in pieces. You were just beginning to put yourself together.
