Hi there! I'm Angel. My goal for this tumblr is to write requests (it can be insert reader, or just headcanons or drabbles in general. Whatever you like)
First off:
Rules.
1. I will not write for an underage character or ship. Any requests for an underage character or ship, it will be kept purely platonic or the character(s) will be aged up.
2. Please include details (if you care) in your requests. Gender, characters, arc, sfw or nsfw, etc.
3. I'm not afraid to write explicit content. Minors, please do not interact.
4. I will not write explicit rape, teacher x student, or anything sexual with underage characters. Thank you for understanding.
Rules may be updated.
Fandoms:
I can and will write for:
My Hero Academia
Moriarty the Patriot
Sherlock (I'll write for most versions. Pls say what version you want in your request)
Hazbin Hotel/Helluva Boss
Hannibal
Guard Me, Sherlock!
Bungo Stray Dogs
Resident Evil
If you have any questions, feel free to ask! Fandoms list may be updated. Feel free to request at any time, and I'll write it as quickly as I can!
Does anyone have any questions about any of my multichapter fics? I think everything has come across pretty well but I'm curious if yall have anything you want answered!
To Worship - Luis Serra x Reader (Beneath the Rot Part 10)
Summary: The smut before the storm.
Content Warning: Explicit content. MINORS GET THE ACTUAL FUCK OUT OF HERE. P in V, riding, body worship, religious imagery. Have fun lol.
Authors Note: I've had to use google translate so much for this fic it's actually insane. Also, I will always stand by the worldview of 'ladies man is actually lowkey kind of a virgin'
Masterlist | Playlist | AO3 Link
Luis would not consider himself to be particularly experienced.
He’s had flings, sure. His first time in bed had been with another girl in the village, right before he left to go work for Umbrella. He had been 18, a young man at the time. He had done the deed, held her, and walked away, out of that village and into a whole new life.
Since then, he’s usually found himself too busy to engage in such activities. There’s been a few instances in which he finally lets himself go, but he’s truly not as experienced as he plays himself up to be.
So, right now, he’s hoping and praying that you can’t tell just how sweaty his palms are as they caress the skin of your sides.
Fuck, your skin is so soft. Soft and supple, like the finest of silks. Every touch of it draws him in further. Right now, you’re sitting in his lap on the couch, nipping at his lips in between feverish kisses. His hands are beneath your top, caressing your sides, pressing in to feel the flare of your ribs. Part of him has become convinced that he died in that lab earlier, and that this is heaven. The only way he knows this is real is because he knows he’s not making it to the pearly gates.
But, if this really is hell, then he’ll dive in willingly, inferno be damned.
“Are you sure about this?”
It takes him every ounce of respect in his being to force the words out, fingers halting their reverence of your skin. In response, your own hands fly to his, making them move for him. They come within inches of your breasts, before you let go, letting him move on his own again.
“Very sure.”
He gasps against your lips, moving to deepen the kiss.
“If you don’t feel the same-”
You cut him off with a nip to his jawline. Any protest he had dies then and there.
“I do. I do feel the same. So, please-” Another gentle bite. He can feel your teeth worrying his skin. “Please just make me feel better.”
You shift in his lap, rubbing against his crotch. It makes heat climb up his body, tackling him in its warmth. Fuck, he’s so hard. It almost makes him embarrassed how much he wants this. His pants feel too tight, too suffocating. He wants to take them off, but his brain is too occupied with how supple your breasts feel when he finally takes them in his grasp. The flesh is smooth and giving, letting him squish them freely. The gasp you let out is all the reward he needs.
Part of him is convinced that this is moving far, far too fast. But, another part of him is telling him to go further. To take and devour. To worship you like a God. Like he is just a priest in your temple, giving his flesh to make you whole.
The kind of veneration that the cult tried to get from him, but they never deserved.
When you strip off your shirt, he’s very suddenly aware of how beautiful you are.
Of course, this has always been apparent to him. You’ve attracted him in many ways as of late. But now, with your glory on display, he feels almost overwhelmed by it. He feels like he has no choice but to duck his head down, pressing hot kisses into the salty skin being presented to him. It tastes like salt and heat and everything perfect all at once. He very quickly decides that it’s his new addiction. It’s better than any cigarette he’s ever had.
Vaguely, he can feel your fingers undoing the buttons on his shirt. He pays no mind to it. He’s too busy kissing a warm line down your sternum, feeling the smooth material of your bra tickling his jawline.
He hums something low against your breastbone, before drawling against your skin. “Take this off for me, yeah, mi amor?”
A nod, stiff against the top of his head, and you reach back and unclasp the garment. He tears it from your body like it's chains, the offending fabric falling to the floor somewhere across the room. His mouth goes to your breasts instantly, sucking, licking, devouring. Reveling in the salt that blooms on his tongue. The smooth feeling against his lips.
The moan that falls from you only spurs him on more.
Any protest he had earlier is gone now, replaced by heat and lust and love. He isn’t sure why the hell he even had anything against it in the first place. Why hide how he feels? Why be ashamed? Why feel guilt? None of it matters now that you’re above him, your plush thighs straddling his waist, your soft breasts against his face. Distantly, he knows that this moment won’t last. That soon, he has to go back to collecting data. To keep selling his goddamn soul to that fucking cult so that you both can get out of here. But, for now, his soul only belongs to you. He can live with that.
Your fingers finally finish unbuttoning his shirt, forcing it from his chest and stripping it down his arms. Your hands are quick to grasp the meat of his shoulders, gripping in, your nails biting into him. It’s the best pain he’s ever felt.
A low groan tumbles from you, drawing his attention. His eyes flick to your hands, which he dimly realizes are trying to unbutton his trousers.
He chuckles. “Need me to help, princesa?”
“Why the fuck-” You give a frustrated noise, “Why the fuck do you always wear such tight pants? Aren’t these uncomfortable?”
He’s gentle in the way he grabs your hips, lifting you off of him enough for him to reach below himself, undoing the clothing himself.
“Si, but I do look great, hm?”
You help him shuck the pants down his legs, throwing them somewhere in the distance. “No fucking shit.”
Luis chuckles dryly, hand gesturing to your still covered legs. “This feels a bit uneven right now. Mind taking those off?”
With a roll of your eyes, your own pants get tossed in the pile. He can’t help but smile at the skin that gets revealed. Soft thighs and supple calves. He can only imagine how beautifully the flesh will squish beneath his fingers. How soft it will feel against his own rough skin.
He’s drawn out of his thoughts by the sight of your underwear being teased down your legs, revealing your core. It steals his breath away. Yet another thing that he’ll willingly give to you til the day he dies. His heart, his soul, his breath, him. You could ask for any part of him right now. He’d give it with a smile.
Your brows raise teasingly, hip cocking out. “Like what you see?”
“Ah-” He has to remember how to speak. “Very much so.”
A giggle. Sweet and airy. It turns the air sugary, thick on his tongue. “Well, what are you waiting for? Come on, Serra. Don’t be shy.”
His face sours for a moment, more of a jest than a serious feeling. “Don’t call me that when I’m about to be inside you.”
“Will do.” You’re quick to tap against his boxers. They get taken off not a moment later. His length is freed, bobbing heavily between his legs. It makes the man hiss in relief.
When you straddle him again, lining yourself up against your core, he sees stars.
“Don’t you want some, ah-” It takes everything within him not to thrust up into you, “Some prep or something?”
Wordlessly, your hand goes to his, guiding his fingers between your legs. Wetness greets him, spreading thick on his fingers. Fuck. Holy fuck. You’re soaked. It makes his face hot with arousal, head spinning.
“I think I’m good, Luis. Now, make me feel better, okay?”
How could he ever refuse when you’re offering him the heaven between your legs?
When you sink down, enveloping him, he’s sure that this is the best thing he’s ever going to feel in his life. He has to remind himself to breathe. To think. But the warmth around his length takes all of it away. God, he’s ruined. He’s ruined to anything but this for the rest of his life.
When you sink all the way down, taking him to the base, his head falls forward, resting against your chest. He’s gasping. Desperately trying to catch his breath.
Any attempt he has at recovering his ruined once you lift up. The soft wet drag of your walls drives him insane. He’s lost. He knows he’s lost. He’s lost to anything but you. When you lower yourself, his nails dig into your hips.
“Oh sante madre de…” He’s gasping, pressing a hot kiss into your skin, “That feels…”
“I know.” Your lips are against his hairline, one of your hands braced against the couch cushion while the other has a death grip on his forearm. “Me too.”
His face flushes in embarrassment. “I don’t- I’m not sure I can last all that long, mi vida.”
You keep moving, your hips dropping sinfully onto him again and again and again. Warm moans fill the air, accented by the slap of skin against skin. He isn’t sure if the noises are coming from himself or from you. Perhaps it’s both. Either way, all he can do is grip onto your hips for dear life, lips tracing your collarbone as you keep going.
Climax hits him like a freight train.
He almost screams as his hands dig into your flesh, release spilling into you with a cry of your name. To his complete and utter relief, you follow him into the void, clenching around him so tight that spots swim behind his vision. The feeling swallows him whole. He couldn’t be happier.
When you slump against him, boneless, he presses a soft kiss to your cheek.
Cautiously, he speaks, unsure if his voice even works anymore.
“... Mi amor, what are we?” Another kiss. He can feel his heart pounding against his ribcage so hard it almost hurts. “Is this…? Is this only a one time thing?”
The way you capture his lips is all encompassing.
A giggle falls from you, landing as a hot breath against his face.
“We’re running away together, Luis.” Your hands move to cup his face. “I think that implies that this is more than just a one time thing.”
Luis with very caring reader that is a hopeless romantic, huge poetry and gothic romance fan?
I love Luis so much ngl.
Also, I really tried by best with this, but I'm gonna be honest, I have the most godawful case of writers block rn and I STRUGGLED to finish this. I really hope you like it tho!!!
Summary: Luis knows better than to interrupt you when you're reading.
Love Notes and Books - Luis Serra x Reader
Luis has always known that he has a flare for the dramatic.
As a child, he was the first to take over playtime, rallying the village children behind him as he drove them into fierce imaginary battles. When he was a young man, working in the depths of an Umbrella lab, he was never shy to brighten his coworkers days with a well placed joke. Even now, with you in his arms, he finds himself wanting to break up the silence with a jab in your direction.
But, you’re reading right now. He knows better than to interrupt you while you’re reading.
Quite honestly, he doesn’t see the appeal in those gothic books of yours. Sure, he loves to read as well, but he’s always struggled to appreciate the flowery words on those beautifully decorated books. It was even worse when you read poetry. You’d be loving the sonnets and artfully spelled out words, immersed in pages upon pages. He’d just sit back, confused by the sheer amount of words that seemed too long to be real.
But, if there was one thing he actually really liked about your books, it was the topics. He has always considered himself a hopeless romantic. Apparently, you outrival him in that aspect tenfold. Your books dealt with almost exclusively topics of the romance variety.
In the beginning of his relationship with you, he had learned that about you slowly.
You were a romantic in the classical sense. You didn’t seem to like big declarations of love or grand gifts. Instead, there had been little things.
One afternoon, he had found you pressing a daisy flower in between the pages of your most recent book, carefully arranging the petals to lay correctly. The flower was perfectly preserved, sandwiched thoughtfully between sheets of yellowing paper. He had questioned you about it, a brow raised.
You had just given him a quick smile, petting over the dried flower with a careful finger.
“It was pretty. Isn’t that reason enough?”
Then, there was the time that you two visited a local town. You both had been walking through the town square, when an elderly couple walked past you two, hand in hand. They hadn't been doing anything remarkable. Just moving slowly together beneath the evening sun. You'd watched them disappear around a corner with the softest smile he'd ever seen.
You’d turned to him, smiled, and pressed your lips to his cheek.
“I hope we’re like that someday.”
Your tone had been wistful, eyes dreamy as you looked off into the watercolor evening sky. Luis, by opposition, had been so taken aback he had nearly walked into a lightpost, cheeks flushed.
Then there were the letters. Madre de Dios, the letters.
He'd grown accustomed to finding folded scraps of paper in the oddest places. Inside his coat pocket before leaving for the lab. A small one tucked beneath his coffee mug. Another note folded into the pages of whichever scientific journal he happened to be reading. Most weren't long, no. But they struck him as deeply as a sonnet could.
Remember to eat lunch today.
Or, even:
Don't work too hard. I'll be waiting for you.
Sometimes they weren't even words at all, just a tiny pressed violet taped to the corner of the page. Or a little heart sketched in the margin.
The first few times, he'd laughed. Tucked the little piece of paper in his wallet for safe keeping, making a mental note to kiss you extra hard when he got home. By the tenth note, he'd started checking his pockets before leaving the house. It was the little things that you did that seemed to make you, well, you. And it warmed his heart to think about it.
Which is why, instead of interrupting your reading, he chooses to press a kiss to your hairline instead. You don’t even seem to notice it. Your nose is buried in another one of those enormous gothic novels, your finger absentmindedly tracing along the edge of the page as you read.
Every now and then, your expression changes. Your eyebrows knit together, then soften. A tiny smile appears, before your eyes go glassy.
"How’s the book, Cariño?"
No response. You're gone. Completely lost somewhere inside those pages. It makes his lips quirk upwards into a smile.
"...Amor?"
Still nothing. Finally, he reaches over and gently nudges your sock-covered foot with his own. You jolt, blinking up at him as though you'd forgotten he existed.
"...Welcome back." He nuzzles your cheek, delighting in the way you do it back to him.
A sheepish smile spreads across your face. “Sorry, Darling. Just a good book, you know?”
"I wasn't complaining, mi amor. Just checking up."
You tilt your head, looking over at him with a soft gaze in your eyes. Luis leans back against the sofa, folding one arm over the back cushions.
"I've just accepted that whenever you pick up one of those books, I lose you for at least two hours."
You giggle a little. “Three, if it’s a good one.”
"I stand corrected." He laughs, giving you one final kiss before patting the front of your novel, “Now, keep reading. Let me know how it ends, hm?”
Angel you can't just tell us about your 6 cats at not show us 💔/hj
im kidding but thats so real of you, my friends keep telling me off because i keep checking my local rescue pages for any feral cats, (i live on a farm in the uk and unfortunately my 18 year old barn cat passed recently and now im over run with rats and frogs weirdly idk what their issue is) because apparently having 4 inside cats and looking at a litter of 6 ferals is too many, now personally i don't see it but here we are. No one tell them ive been looking at getting another Shetland pony they may just revoke my phone privileges 😭
~just a random message from HEDS Anon because i wanted to check in 🫶
also ps please sleep angel being awake for 36 straight hours is slightly concerning 💀
K but TBH ur so right, so I'm gonna use this post to rant about my cats lol (and don't worry, I got some sleep!!! Always great to hear from you bestie <3)
Also ur not insane for wanting more cats. I want more cats even tho I have too many already
Anyway, cats below the cut:
Squash is what I like to call the 'emo teen' of the bunch. She's usually glaring at me from across the room. Secretly, she's a big sweetheart and loves to be pet and cuddled, but she always acts like she hates it afterwards. She's 4, so she's technically out of her teen years, so I think she took 'not a phase, mom' too literally lol. I am her mother. I found her when she was 2 weeks old. I bottle fed her every 3 hours.
Squash
No brain, only love. Nothing in his brain cavity but hopes and dreams and marzipan. He's 1, and we got him alongside two of my other cats. He's bonded to Babette, and they're so cute when they cuddle every night!
Meeko
She loves committing crimes and chaos. She thinks the geneva convention is a suggestion. But, she really is a big sweetheart who adores love. Before coming to us, she was neglected and abused by her former owners, so she's always so appreciative and loving when she hangs out with me. I adore this girl. She's also 1.
Mara
AKA: Babybette. She's a spoiled little diva. God forbid we don't do something exactly to her liking, or else we'll pay hell for it. But, I adore this girl. She's a queen. She's the same age as Mara and Meeko!
Babette
The newest of the bunch. As I write this, he's about 10 weeks old. My partner and I found him in a walmart parking lot. He was almost named Car Battery, because we went there for a car battery and left with him. Babette acts like his mom and it's the cutest thing ever.
Cheesecake
MiMi
She's the oldest, at about 13. Basically, in middle school, my English teachers' cat had kittens, and I got one cuz my parents were teachers and knew her pretty well. I don't have a good pic of her because she really doesn't photograph well, but she's a big, chubby, happy girl lol.
Now I’m just imagining Leon trapped on the couch laying down underneath a bunch of animals. (My first thought is it’s some Maine Coon that just decided Leon is his person.)
I’ve always seen Leon as more of a cat person.
Tbh me too omg
I see Leon as more of a cat person too, but I felt like writing him with a fat little chihuahua was the funniest thing I could do lol. But yeah, the man is definitely trapped under a plethora of cats and the like. I imagine that he is the type to not move a muscle once a cat or something lays on him, and then he's stuck there for HOURS
-Angel
Bread and Circuses - Leon Kennedy x Reader (Fever Saint Part 10)
Summary: You both just barely got Ashley back. Now, she's being taken away again.
Authors Note: Slightly shorter chapter than normal due to the most godawful case of writers block, but I hope ya'll enjoy it despite that!
Masterlist | Playlist | AO3 Link
“Leon, the stairs!”
It happens all too fast.
He’s just barely gotten you both back by his side. One moment, you’re all in the middle of the castle entrance, Ashley beside him as he helps you along. The next, there’s at least half a dozen cultists charging up the stairs towards you all.
Ashley steps back instinctively, finger still pointing towards the attackers.
He isn’t expecting slats of metal to fall heavily between him and her.
The cage is gleaming. Metal and gold are intricate, interlocking in front of his eyes. Next to him, still half supported by his body, he can hear you let out a rally of curses.
Across from him, separated by bars, Ashley’s eyes have gone wide in terror. She’s looking between you both and the attackers, head whipping around, mouth agape.
“Ashley!” Leon barks. It seems to get the girl out of her head just enough for her to understand his next words. “Run!”
“GO!” You’re screaming at her, and the girl doesn’t hesitate again. With a gasp, she throws one foot in front of the other, and starts running. She barely gets through a door before cultists are throwing themselves at the wood of it. To Leon’s relief, the girl seems to have locked the door before they could get through.
The relief doesn’t last long. Black robes drop from above, landing directly in front of him.
On instinct, he brings his foot upwards, landing a strong kick directly into the cultist’s chest. It sends them reeling back, and the opening is all he needs to land a shot directly in its head. It drops with a wet slap.
In the corner of his eye, another man is rushing up, arms outstretched towards you this time. You seem to have already seen it, your body dropping backwards to the ground before you fire your shotgun.
Smart, he thinks. With your condition, the recoil of that gun has been hard on you. Plus, with your injury only getting worse, it probably would have thrown you back this time. By getting down to the floor, the weapon’s force can’t disorient you further. When another attacker charges up, your legs sweep to the side, throwing them off of their feet til they’re at your level on the floor.
Leon is quick to plant his foot down onto their neck. He can’t help but grimace when he feels bone snap in half beneath his feet.
His head whips around.
Around him, there’s no more enemies. The rest of them must have gone off to pursue Ashley. It makes something uneasy land in his stomach. He hopes that the girl is going to be able to get away.
At his feet, you give a low groan of pain and exhaustion.
“You okay, Rabies?”
He’s lowering himself to the ground now, hand coming to your arm to ground you. He can’t imagine how bad your shoulder must be feeling. He can practically see it angrily pulse beneath the bandages.
Your eyes close, a dry hiss escaping between clenched teeth. “Do you think she’ll be okay?”
Leon nods. “She’s smart. I know she’ll be able to hide. The only question is,” He glances around you both, “How the hell are we going to get out of this oversized dog kennel?”
When your eyes open again, your pupils are unsteady, shakily looking around yourself. “Check the bodies for a key, maybe? I don’t-” Your head falls back against the ground again, “I don’t think we can climb the bars.”
“Will do.” He’s already moving to the bodies, his hand making quick work to pat them down. He curses when no keys can be found. “Nothing. Fuck.”
Shakily, you’re pushing yourself back, sitting up against some of the bars. “Shit. Maybe Ashley will find something."
A scoff. “I sure hope so. If not…”
He doesn’t bother finishing the sentence. Instead, he sits himself down across from you, one of his legs drawn up to his chest while the other outstretches. His handgun is still held loosely in his hand, the other planted firmly against the floor.
In the quiet surrounding him, his brain starts to wander.
First, it goes to Ashley. The poor girl. She must be terrified right now, running through the castle, trying to find a way to help. He doesn’t want to think about what will happen if she gets caught.
Next, his mind falls to you.
You’re still across from him, your head resting against the cold metal bars as your hand clutches your shoulder. Sticky red has soaked through the bandages, staining your fingertips. For some reason, even with the crimson in front of him, he can’t help but think about what you said earlier. What you said to Ashley as she sobbed, your eyes gentle and calm despite the pain shooting through your body.
“I worked in a hospital.”
Somehow, just a few words mean both so much and so little.
Leon isn’t stupid. He knows that no one chooses this line of work. He sure as hell hadn’t. He knows that you probably didn’t do this voluntarily either. If it wasn’t for the people in charge threatening Sherry years ago, he would have told them to go fuck themselves when they asked him to join.
He remembers the way you had frozen when Ashley had questioned you about your prior work. Why you had become an Agent. Part of him wonders if she knew just exactly how the government acquired people to do this.
“Earlier…” He starts talking before he can stop himself, fingers clenching around the grip of his handgun. “What did you mean? About working at…?”
“At a hospital?” One of your eyes cracks open, pupil watching him tiredly.
He nods slowly, as if moving too quickly will shatter the fragile peace around you both.
You give an exhausted scoff, “Didn’t realize you were that observant, Kennedy.”
His fingers raise defensively, “I don’t need an answer. Just… Curious.”
For a moment, there’s silence again. Your head rocks unsteadily against the bars behind you, face tilted upwards towards the ceiling.
When you speak again, your voice is quiet. Soft, even.
“... I was a nurse. Pediatrics."
Suddenly, a lot of things make a hell of a lot more sense.
His brain thinks back to the events of the past day. The way you had instructed him how to treat your wounds. The way your hand had gone to Ashley’s head, feeling for fever. How you had helped him pack your wound with practiced hands.
How, with each step, you were ready to reassure Ashley that she was doing okay.
He hesitates before speaking again, mouth hanging open.
“... How long were you a nurse?”
A soft, almost wistful smile from you, coming through the pained look in your eyes.
“Only a few months.”
Part of him can’t imagine it. The idea of a new nurse, happy and bright, doesn’t match with the person before him. Bloodied. Bruised. A hollowness behind the eyes that matches his own. The images don’t match in his head. The idea of you, clad in pink patterned scrubs and fun little pins, doesn't feel like it could ever have been a reality.
Still, he finds himself asking, “Did you like it?”
A pained chuckle falls from your lips.
“I loved it.” Your hand drops from your shoulder to the floor, a streak of blood staining the tiling. “Kids are more honest than adults. If they’re happy, they tell you. If they’re scared, they tell you. If they think your scrubs are ugly…” A small, disbelieving noise, “They definitely tell you that.”
He can’t help but laugh a little with you, even as another rivulet of blood drips between the bandages, trailing lazily down your bicep.
“You miss it, I’m guessing?”
Another nod, your lips pursing and eyes clenching shut. “Every damn day. You know, sometimes, I still wake up expecting another 12 hour shift.”
“I could argue that this is just a multi day long shift.”
Your head shakes a little, like you’re trying to clear the fever haze from your brain. “What about you? What did big bad Mr. Kennedy do before this shit happened?”
For a moment, all he can do is sigh, his mind flashing back to that fateful day 6 years ago. The smoke and the screams. Faces and places that are now carved into his soul, haunting his dreams at night. Part of him never wants to think of that day again. Another part of him knows that he’ll never forget it.
“Cop.”
A tired scoff leaves you, followed by another pained sigh. “Really? How long?”
He shrugs. “About 6 hours.”
There’s more questions you want to ask him. He knows it. The same goes for him towards you. But, both of you sit there in silence, the void thick between you two. There are too many questions, with answers he feels neither of you want to say.
What happened?
Why are we here now?
Why did life have to turn out this way?
Instead, he goes back to peering out of the bars, watching for movement beyond the enclosure. It reminds him of those animals in a circus. Abused and bruised, locked behind a cage that they had no hope to leave. Maybe they feel similar to how he feels now. Maybe they’re like him. Worth more than the life they were forced to lead.
Just like them, he had no choice in the matter either way.
After reading the new thing you did for Quiet DSO Reader, for some reason I can’t help but feel like the reader is the type to just collect pets for some reason.
It starts with the Chihuahua, then maybe it’s a cat, then a bunny they find abandoned or something and just ‘HAVE’ to take in. Next thing you know, it’s a zoo lol
(Not necessarily a writing request, just thoughts. Hope the writers block goes away!)
LMFAO-
You're talking to someone with 6 cats, so yeah, I can totally see that! Like yeah, sure, this is an insert reader. Reader might be fine with one pet. Who tf knows. But if it was me? Infinite animals, I tell you!
I feel like Leon wouldn't mind a little mini zoos worth of animals lol
Thanks for reading!
-Angel
Heyyy! Now that Leon and Quiet!Reader spend more time at home, would they ever consider getting a fur baby? I feel like maybe a dog or cat…or both!
OMG YES!!! Fun fact, the dog in this is based off my childhood dog <3 She was the best girl.
Summary: After you two get married, you both somehow end up getting a dog.
Masterlist | Playlist | AO3 Link
The Chihuahua - Quiet Reader Extra Content #2
If anyone had asked Leon what kind of dog he wanted, the answer would have been pretty straightforward.
There were a few options, yes. A Belgian Malinois, all lean muscle and energy. Perfect for training and doing long runs. Or perhaps a more classic German Shephard. One that could protect either of you while you both were lounging around the apartment. Or, he would even be okay with a more laid back dog, like a Golden Retriever. One that would greet him with a dumb smile and a wagging tail.
A fat, sassy, lazy little chihuahua would never have come to mind.
It had started one lazy Saturday morning. Leon had been reading over reports, sipping his coffee at the kitchen table. You were beside him, tapping out affirmatives when he asked questions. It was slow. Peaceful. The kind of morning that he’ll never take for granted.
With a sheepish smile, you had written a quick little note, and passed it in his direction.
What do you think about getting a dog?
He had raised an eyebrow as he read it.
“A dog?”
You nodded, writing a bit more.
I think it would be nice. Neither of us would be alone when the other has to work late.
That is a fair point, he supposes. There were often evenings that the office would require one of you to stay late, leaving the other to head home by themselves, before driving back hours later to pick the other up. It was annoying, sure, but a thousand times better than nearly risking his life on a regular basis like he used to do.
“I wouldn’t mind that. What did you have in mind?”
You paused for a moment, thinking.
There’s an animal shelter nearby. Could we go there?
He had put down the papers in his hand, leaning over to kiss your cheek.
“Sure. We’ll go to the shelter sometime soon, alright?”
.
.
.
The humane society was bigger than any other he had ever been in.
Granted, he hasn’t been in many. He can count on one hand how many times he’s been to a pet store in his entire life. His childhood hadn’t been one with many pleasures, pets included, and he had never found the time for an animal in his adult life. This is somehow an entirely new experience for him.
To both sides of him are dog kennels, each one holding a canine or two. Some of them are bigger or smaller. Some of them are purebreds, others mixed. Either way, he stays behind you, watching as you quietly scan over each kennel. No matter which one you choose, he knows he won’t mind it one bit.
Your eyes seem to land on a kennel on the far side of the room. He can’t quite see into it, but whatever is in there has definitely caught your eye. He can tell by the way your face lights up, arm reaching out to grab his own and drag him over to it.
He gives you a calm, happy smile as you start moving him to the other side of the room.
“You find one you like?”
Two taps on the inside of his wrist, your wedding ring glinting in the light.
Think so.
Within moments, he’s in front of the cage, eyes landing on the dog inside.
It… really, isn’t what he was expecting.
In front of him is a small, tan, incredibly fat chihuahua. It’s shaped almost like a sausage. Short and stubby, with a round body and big eyes. It’s curled up on a small dog bed, looking up at him with a snuffle that tells him that this thing has an attitude, despite its small size.
He reads the small info card on the front of the cage.
Name: Ginger
Age: 3y
Gender: Female
Weight: 13 lbs
Description: Hi! I’m Ginger! I like snuggles, heating pads, and treats. I am currently on a weight loss program that I hate, but that doesn’t stop me from enjoying life to its fullest! Speak to the shelter staff to take me home today!!
“You want…. This one?”
He looks over to you. You’re sticking your finger through the bars of the kennel, giggling quietly as the dog licks your fingers. Part of him is convinced that the animal is just testing to see if you’re edible. Still, the way you smile at him nearly brings him to his knees, like always.
Please, honey?
He shakes his head, another soft smile spreading on his lips.
“You know what? Sure.”
.
.
.
Within a week, Ginger had declared herself queen of the household.
It had not started off small. Within 5 minutes of being home, she had plopped herself unceremoniously on the couch, and glared at him like he had personally arranged her funeral. Then, when given a reasonable portion of kibble, the dog had eaten it all and growled at him for more. The tiny thing was proving to be a menace, size be damned.
You seemed to find all of this hilarious, especially since Ginger seemed to love you. You could tap your fingers on your lap, and the little thing would waddle right over to lay down with you. You, apparently, did no wrong in her eyes. Leon did all the wrongs, by opposition.
Still, he found himself enjoying the company.
When you two sat together on the couch, legs tangled and leaning on each other for comfort, she was there. Snuffling her little nose and settling right down in the middle of it all. When you were making dinner, Ginger would sit at your feet and make little huffing noises, begging for scraps. Before Leon left for grocery runs, the thing would stare at him with her big eyes, as if asking for him to bring home a new pack of treats.
One evening, when laying in bed with you, Ginger laying at his feet, he couldn’t help but smile, and whisper.
“She’s really gotten comfy here, hasn’t she?”
A small hum of agreement from you, before you reached over and grabbed your hot pink notepad.
She has. She’s starting to lose a little weight, too. Progress!
He rolled his eyes, kissing your temple.
“Sure, sure. What’s next, aliens?”
With a hum, you started to drift off to sleep.
At the foot of the bed, Ginger gave a dramatic sigh of approval.
