Holding Out for a Hero
Isekai Yandere!Leon Kennedy x fem!OC
Chapter 1
❌18+ MDNI❌ ⚠️Dead Dove: Do Not Eat⚠️
She fell into his world thinking she would be part of his story. Instead, she becomes the cause of his unraveling.
[“Who are you?” he asks, confused, as he tightens his grip on his gun, his eyes calculating as they look her up and down—probably to assess if she's a threat.
“What the fuck…” she whispers, still completely paralyzed in place.
At the lack of an adequate answer, he nudges her off him with a groan, causing her ass to land on the rocky ground that digs into her flesh too sharply to be a dream.
In fact, none of this really feels like a dream.
He stands up quicker than someone who’s just been hit by the weight of a human adult at high velocity should be able to. Then, he points his gun at her, not quite at her face, but at her nonetheless.
“You speak English, right? Then answer my question. Who are you?” he asks again, jaw locked.]
CW: RE4R spoilers, dead dove, isekai, yandere, physical violence (yes, be warned), wild but still a slow burn, angsty angst, toxic relationship but somehow they make it work, world/time travel, eventual super freaky smut, unhinged couple, trauma, ptsd, depression, hurt and comfort but the comfort is weird because they're weird, morally grey leon and oc, they're both sickos
Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 TBA
note: hello everyone 👋 i have come forth with a new story today, but this one is a bit different than the others and that's making me a bit nervous to share
it's a leon x oc with big fat dead dove elements and shit hits the fan pretty quick so be warned and read the warnings pls
if i were to give a spoiler free, general description, it's basically leon if he had extra bad childhood trauma in addition to his canon pstd. so it makes him a pro max yandere little pyscho yet still somehow big pathetic yearner baby saint later (don't ask me how)
Her body bounces on the old couch as soon as the young woman plops down on it, sinking between the cushions and taking a deep, steadying breath.
Today was not a good day. Well, none of her days are all that good to begin with, but today particularly, was not a great one.
She had just come back from her shitty job, to get to her shitty apartment that she shares with her shitty boyfriend. The one she can't even leave because he pays for the rent. And all she has managed to find after months of job searching was a pathetic part time position at the Walmart on the other side of D.C.
The commute is a whole hour on the metro for each trip, but surprisingly enough that was one of the few moments she didn't feel like her life was too bad. Listening to music with no one to bother her, no one to look twice at her. Especially since she refused to dress in anything but basic jeans and oversized t-shirts, with a face that very much says ‘do not talk to me.’
It's not like she woke up one day and decided to be depressed, it's that life has always been difficult. Deadbeat dad, and a single, immigrant mom in a country that offered a dream made up of funfetti and lies. No siblings, no close relatives, just her, her mother, and her mother's BPD.
Then, she reached adulthood and thought life would get better, only to get further fucked by student loans for a useless degree, and a narcissistic boyfriend that respects her so little he doesn't even touch her anymore.
She's fine with that part, though—she hasn't felt attracted to him in months either. Ever since the loving façade dropped to reveal the asshole that makes her feel like a waste of space, she can barely tolerate him let alone want to share his bed.
At least he lets her live with him in exchange for a quarter of the monthly bills—the only amount she can afford—and all of the housework.
Every single day she wonders if she's meant to live this shitty forever. ‘Probably yes’, she thinks to herself. She wasn't meant to amount to anything in the first place. Just a pathetic little girl with a sad story that's not sad enough to be an excuse for the failure that she turned out to be.
Oh, well, at least she has her screen addiction to keep her mind distracted. Or more precisely, her hyper fixation that's been going on for a solid two years now over a horror game franchise and one of its heroes.
Leon S. Kennedy.
Star of Resident Evil games and a certified heartthrob, he’s her biggest obsession to the point she's certain it has gone past the threshold of healthy. Not that she cares about health that much anyway. She could die at any moment and be fine with it, so long as it's not super painful.
She does hope she can complete her nth playthrough of the remake of the 4th installment, though. It’s the one game that has her hooked the most with its superb replayability and rewarding challenges.
Right now, as she boots up her gamer laptop—one of the few ‘assets’ to her name—and the screen glows in the small living room, she is excited to complete the time challenge necessary on Hardcore mode. It’ll earn Leon a chicken hat that reduces damage taken, so that she can then complete the S+ rank on Professional and get him the cat ears, which everyone knows is the ultimate prize. He just looks so cute in those!
Because as much as she raves about the gameplay, the story, the graphics or even the soundtrack, the truth of the matter is she is as smitten as they come when it comes to the pixelated blonde man.
There’s a reason he’s her lockscreen on all devices and she owns multiple shirts with his face on them—he is drop dead gorgeous and she could stare at him for hours. Which she does, considering she plays as him for nearly every waking moment not spent at work or doing chores. And not only that, his tragic story and wonderful character traits has her convinced he would be the absolute best boyfriend ever—PTSD included.
With a sip from her sticker decorated bottle of water—all of them of chibi Leon—she leans against the backrest of the sofa with a sigh, ready to start playing. She didn't even bother removing her sneakers, needing to distract herself as soon as she came home from a tiring day. Her bra was removed the minute she walked through the door, though. That one is non-negotiable.
With the PS5 controller she plays with in hand, she watches as the screen’s blue light reflects on her pupils in the dimly lit room. Her real boyfriend had already gone to bed, and she never bothered to check on him anyway. She will do what she does every single night: play her favorite game and stare at her favorite person. A fake, video game character, but currently the best thing in her life nonetheless, as pathetic as it may sound.
After launching the game, his digitalized, dark blonde hair sways with impressively realistic graphics as she controls him to walk through the first area of the story: the village. She had successfully made him collect a key from the priest’s home in record time, and now he’s on the quest to find yet another key. This one for the gate of the church where Ashley, the fictional president’s daughter, is held captive by the villainous cult.
Controlling him to go through a tunnel in a cave, she does not pause to take the items from the bountiful crates as this is a speedrun. She's as focused as can be knowing the next step is to dash past a pack of infected wolves in an area where later she’ll fight a giant.
With her eyes trained on Leon’s back, the camera suddenly moves so it captures him from a top view without her guiding it. Her fingers push the analog to control the camera back down but it doesn't follow her command. If anything it keeps moving further up, going higher and higher, Leon appearing gradually smaller in his spot, so that she wonders if she accidentally launched the free cam mod.
What occurs next happens so fast she barely has time to register it.
The 15 or so inch wide screen of her laptop suddenly grows and stretches, until it’s the size of a TV, then a window, then a full damn wall. Unable to move away from it, she's suddenly engulfed by the pixels that completely surround her.
One moment she's on the couch, the next she's free falling in cold, humid air.
While her brain struggles to comprehend what's going on, her lungs instinctively scream in fear as she watches the gravelly ground rapidly approaching under her, her limbs flailing frantically.
She barely catches the sight of familiar blue eyes looking up at her, when she's suddenly hitting something hard as her body lands on the stone riddled floor. Not as hard she'd expect rocky terrain to feel though.
“What the hell?” a voice grunts from under her as her lungs struggle to fill from the force of impact.
When she blinks away the dizziness to gather her surroundings, she realises she's on top of someone—a man—laying on his back. She's straddling him in a rather compromising position, and she quickly scrambles to get off his body, when her eyes land on his face and she freezes completely.
What. The. Fuck.
It’s him.
It’s him.
Okay.
Okay.
She's dreaming, right?
Yeah, she's most definitely dreaming.
Lucid dreams are not something she's often had before but it seems she's found herself in one. Because she's currently on top of none other than what looks like Leon S. Kennedy, who’s staring up at her with a mix of confusion and irritation.
“Who are you?” he asks, confused, as he tightens his grip on his gun, his eyes calculating as they look her up and down—probably to assess if she's a threat.
“What the fuck…” she whispers, still completely paralyzed in place.
At the lack of an adequate answer, he nudges her off him with a groan, causing her ass to land on the rocky ground that digs into her flesh too sharply to be a dream.
In fact, none of this really feels like a dream.
He stands up quicker than someone who’s just been hit by the weight of a human adult at high velocity should be able to. Then, he points his gun at her, not quite at her face, but at her nonetheless.
“You speak English, right? Then answer my question. Who are you?” he asks again, jaw locked tight.
“I-I… Holy shit… I’ve finally lost it…” It’s difficult for her to register the full danger of being on the wrong side of a loaded barrel, because now her mind is too busy with the fact she has gone crazy.
It’s not exactly surprising that she's hallucinating her comfort character from the sheer volume of hours spent obsessing over him. It seems her subconscious has decided it’s no longer enough to daydream, it might as well create an entire reality where she's in his company. She just didn't think her brain would make him so hostile to her in such a scenario—it must be the self-loathing part of her that concocted this plan.
“I’ll ask you one more time. If you don't answer, I’m leaving you here to deal with this bullshit alone. Who are you and what are you doing here? And how the hell did you fall from the sky?”
This time, he most definitely is pointing the SG-09 R at her stupidly dazed face, and that finally scares her enough to answer his question.
“Okay, okay! Just… lower that gun please?” her voice is strained, her throat dry as she raises her hands in surrender. “My name’s Nora. Look, I’m just a girl—not a ganado or whatever so d-don't shoot!”
He narrows his eyes as if to make sure she's indeed who she says she is. Her American accent helps convince him she's not an infected local from Mediaconcha at least. Though he’s not really sure what a ganado is, he can guess it's the crazy people he’s been encountering since starting this mission.
“Nora,” he repeats, his voice softening slightly.
Her name rolling off his tongue makes her choke on air. This is feeling more real by the second, and the fact she can see, hear, and touch him is making her head spin.
With the firearm now somewhat lowered, Nora takes in a shaky breath of relief. “Listen, I don't know what's going on… you’re just— God, you’re so real, I don't— fuck, this is insane…” she mutters incoherently, more to herself than to him before pausing, her eyes widening suddenly. “Oh my God… Am I dead?”
Leon scoffs at the question, looking around to check the premises out of habit, before turning back to her.
“If you’re dead then so am I, and we’re very much stuck in hell.”
She takes his joke way too literally in her dumbfounded state, shaking her head fervently. “No, no, you wouldn't go to hell, you’re like a— a saint.”
He frowns at her confident claim, giving her another look over that lingers on her oversized t-shirt. It’s printed with a picture of a cartoon frog in a cowboy hat with the caption ‘This is, in fact, my first rodeo.’
“You don't even know me. Why would you say that?”
It’s her turn to scoff, pushing herself up on wobbly legs as she dusts her pants. “Of course I know you… I know you more than I know myself at this point,” she mutters under her breath as she straightens up. “But yeah, I am definitely either dreaming, or hallucinating, or dead... Or you know what? Maybe I’m in a coma!”
“You are not in a coma, you’re probably just concussed. You fell out of nowhere, literally,” he looks up as he says that, looking around the foggy, light grey open sky for any hint as to where she could've possibly fallen from.
Nora looks up as well, both of them searching for something that's not there, before they tilt their heads back down and meet each other’s gaze.
Leon is a bit taken aback by the way she shamelessly traces his features with her wide, sable eyes, like she needs to burn the image of him in her brain. He’s used to female (and male) attention, but the way she's looking at him is a bit more than that.
“What?” he mutters, suddenly feeling self-conscious.
“Oh, s-sorry, you just… you look…” her voice trails off, unable to describe the insanity of the situation.
“Look what?” he presses.
She takes a tentative step closer, taking in every detail of him from his clothes, to his gear, to his body, to his perfect face. Leon blinks and tightens his grip on his weapon but keeps it aimed low. She doesn't look threatening, but he feels vulnerable under her bewildered gaze.
“It’s like… it’s you, but real,” she whispers, mesmerized, then her eyes drift lower. “Everything is the same, even the mole on your neck,” she points to his throat.
He swallows, making his Adam’s apple bob with the movement. She seems to recognize him when he has never even met her, and that is making him more nervous by the minute—no matter how flattering it might be to be ogled by a pretty girl.
“Do I know you, lady?”
That makes her laugh despite herself, more out of sheer disbelief from the surrealness of her surroundings than anything else. “Of course you don't, Leon, you’re not even real.”
The mention of his name has alarm bells going off in his head, and her laugh does nothing to calm him. “How the hell do you know my name?” he asks sternly, voice threatening.
Her chuckle dies down immediately, and her stare darts to his handgun once more. “Hey, uh… if you shoot me with that, would it... hurt?”
He scoffs, not appreciating what he believes is a joke when he’s already so tense all his muscles are coiled. “I don't know, do you wanna find out?”
Nora chokes on her own breath at the blatant threat, but before she can attempt to de-escalate the situation, voices resound from behind her with hurried footsteps.
“¡Por allá! ¡PERSEGUÍRLES!"
Whipping her head around, she sees the incoming cultist villagers with their frightening appearance of red, rage filled eyes and ragged clothes. They’re running right towards them, and she suddenly wishes to wake up from this nightmare because staring at Leon’s beautiful face is not worth getting ripped apart.
The sudden, booming sound of gunshots deafens her, and she instinctively shielded her ears with a startled cry. The cultist that was targeted falls to the floor with a thud as blood seeps into his clothes, before his body starts writhing like something inside him is moving it like a puppet: the plaga.
“Move!” Leon barks at her, and when noticing her petrified state, he grabs her upper arm roughly and pushes her to run ahead.
Nora attempts to run. Not much of an athletic person, she's grateful for the adrenaline pumping in her veins and her youthful legs for at least trying. She passes by a giant, 7 or so feet long sledgehammer resting on tall, spiked barricades made of wood. Something that Leon makes a joke about if she chooses to interact with it while playing the game. That most certainly is not happening this time.
Continuing down the path between the wooden fortifications made to keep strangers at bay, she passes through a lifted palisade gate, and finds herself in the stone quarry. The stone quarry with the wolves.
Leon reacts before she can properly scream, his sharp skills keeping him aware of every surrounding threat. He unslings his shotgun and shoots the infected animals before they can get close, their bodies flinging across the ground by the force with beastly whimpers.
“Keep going!” He orders her startled self, then turns around to give the three ganados that were on their tail—including the one that stood up from the dead with a twisted neck and gurgling noises—the same fatal treatment.
Only once all threats are eliminated does she dare to turn around to look at him, as she trembles by the entrance of a passage cut through the tall rock walls. She watches as his chest heaves, but not nearly as breathless as hers, while he checks and reloads his guns.
“You okay?” he asks when he faces her direction, taking in her frightened state.
“I-I think s—”
Nora’s answer is cut off by the sound of a loud, rumbling roar that has her jumping in her sneakers. The brave agent before her, however, simply frowns at the sound before dismissing it. He thinks whatever it is, it's sealed behind a colossal metal gate, and he has no time to solve that mystery.
She, on the other hand, is all too aware of the giant, overgrown monster that lies behind that door, and that Leon will unfortunately have to face later. The sheer idea of having to experience that next to him has her terrorized to her core.
Everything around her is too scary, too loud and too bloody to be a fun game anymore .She's not sure how she will survive if a part she usually breeze past with her controller has her now in a panic attack.
“We don't have time to rest,” Leon grumbles as he walks past her, clearly dissatisfied with having to haul her around while he still doesn't trust her.
But he doesn't abandon her either, and for that she feels eternally grateful.
He walks ahead, weaving through wooden scaffolding propped up along the rocky passage, taking a glance at her past his shoulders every few steps to make sure she's still following along. Or maybe to ensure she doesn't plan on backstabbing him. Literally.
Through the stone walls, they enter a cave alcove carved into the rock, with wooden stairs that lead down to a set of big double doors. Pushing them open, they’re led into a warm-lit cavern-like room with timber decking overlooking dark, murky water.
Nora recognizes the space immediately, except for one big difference; there is no merchant stall waiting to sell weapons and health items. No hooded figure with a funny accent asking ‘what’re ya buyin’?’ No scattered barrels painted in neon yellow they can loot. Not even the elevator that’s supposed to sit in the corner and take them down to the shooting range. She's spent hours down there firing at wooden cut-outs of pirates to win tokens and use them to buy charms for Leon’s briefcase... Now that she thinks about it, he doesn't even have a briefcase.
Slowly, she's realizing whatever version of this world she has found herself stranded in is lacking all fun gaming quirks. Which only serves to scare her even more as this new dangerous reality engulfs her whole.
“Leon… where do you get your ammo?”
He turns to her with a frown, still not used to the fact she just knows his name. “I bring it with me, it's part of the job to be prepared. Why? You interested in guns now?"
“No, I mean like… how do you have enough?”
He huffs out a dry chuckle at her question, shrugging in response, “I make’em count.”
Right, of course he does.
He can probably headshot these monsters with a single bullet, unlike the game that makes them harder to kill the more she goes up in difficulty. The thought would be reassuring if not for the unfair trade off that is the very real risk to her life now.
Looking around the cavernous space, Leon quickly concludes there are no boats at the underground dock. So, he makes the unilateral decision to walk ahead through another gate, and expects she to simply follow behind like a lost puppy. Which she absolutely does.
The double doors swing open onto a high, rickety scaffolding platform overlooking the ominous lake. Nora still can’t quite wrap her mind around it—everything looks exactly like the game, only now she's standing in it, breathing in the damp, mineral-thick air into her lungs.
There’s a flimsy railing that she doesn't dare hold onto for support, the probable deadly drop if she does make her shiver. On the other side of the large body of water, stands a huge, medieval looking castle on mountainous rocks, its presence imposing and creepy. Even more so when she knows the horrors that happen inside it at the hands of the tiny but mighty cultist Ramón Salazar.
Taking out a pair of binoculars from his hip pouch, the agent observes the surface of the misty lake. Nora stands behind him, observing him, and drinking in every detail of her obsession comes to life.
He watches the all too familiar scene—to her, at least—of two zealots dumping the headless corpse of a police officer in the turbid water, before cruising away like it's nothing. A second later, and the humongous lake monster, Del Lago, rises above the water level to engulf the body into its ferocious mouth, biting down with giant, jagged teeth. The brunette feels she might piss her jeans at the sight of the monstrosity, wondering if she’s built at all for surviving this hellhole. She thinks to herself probably not.
“Fuck…” Leon curses under his breath as he lowers the spy glasses and she breath catches. That very same ‘fuck’ was one she had replayed countless times, and even had saved on her phone for sinful purposes. Now, she empathises with his distressed curse.
Sighing heavily, he walks ahead on the creaking wood to begin descending the ladder that leads to a dock underneath, a motorboat attached to one of the posts. “Come on, we need to cross the lake…”
He is, unfortunately, correct. They will eventually need to traverse the lagoon to collect the statue heads necessary for the medallion key that opens the fortified church, all so they can get to poor Ashley.
Then, she remembers the step that comes before that.
“Shit, we need fuel.”
Leon, now on the lower level, looks up at her with a raised eyebrow. “I’ll check the tank first. It might have some left in it.”
“Uh, sure, you can do that if you want…” she mutters as she descends the ladder as well.
He doesn't wait for her to fully get down and quickly moves to open the boat's reservoir, confirming there is indeed no gas left in it. The fact she predicted that ticks him off a bit more, and he would normally assume it's coincidence if she didn't know his name without him telling her.
He’s trusting her less by the minute.
“Okay, I guess we do need fuel… Shit.”
Nora sees him look around, unsure of where to even find gasoline in the middle of nowhere. But she knows how the story goes, so she decides to interject.
“We could go through that tunnel over there, and, um, check it out.”
Leon looks up at where she's pointing—a dark, cavernous passage through a rock mountain—then grunts in disapproval. “We go in there and we’ll just find more of those lunatics. There's nothing that guarantees we’ll find what we need.”
Sighing in frustration at his stubbornness, she crosses her arms defensively. “Look, if you want to get to Ashley, we’ll have to go get that fuel at some point.”
He instantly freezes at her words, then turns to look at her slowly, shooting her a glacial glare.
“How do you know about Ashley?”
Next chapter.
