rookie!leon, who always needs to be touching you. nothing suggestive, but just simple touches to keep himself grounded. his foot nudging yours underneath the desks, between your office cubicles. his pinky curling around yours when he just so “happens” to bump into you in the printer room. his fingers pinching the back of your shirt/bottoms and fidgeting with it when you’re busy talking to co-workers and he needs you. placing/nudging your hand with his head urging you to stroke his hair or give him head pats.
rookie!leon, who although seems naive or clueless at times, is always attentive to small details about you, so much so that he’ll sometimes get distracted. he’d be thinking about some childhood snack you mentioned you craved the other day while pouring water for himself, and he’d end up spilling it.
"leon, that's enough water!” you’d shout after hearing the excess water fall.
he’d snap out of it and apologize sheepishly before cleaning it up.
rookie!leon, whose idea of a perfect date with you is driving you either on his bike or his jeep (he’d prefer the bike just to have an excuse for you to hold him), to get breakfast at the town’s small but charming diner, where you’d take a bite of his food and secretly prefer it, so that he would offer to switch with you. (it makes him feel like a real man)
rookie!leon who proposed the idea of you doing skincare on him because he couldn't wait for you to offer it first. he initially wanted you to ask about it first, so he would be able to “protest”, but he was getting impatient. he’d hate the masks and the sticky consistency of the serums, toners, and moisturizers but he loves how domestic the whole act is.
rookie!leon who loves to watch you sleep (nothing creepy) but he thinks it’s adorable the way you curl up and twitch softly. the one time he fell asleep before you he got upset.
“next time, wake me up.” he huffs, waking up after the two of you were cuddling on the couch.
“but you looked so peaceful!” you chuckle, not seeing the issue.
“doesn’t matter!”
you laugh.
rookie!leon who is sweet to you, but can be like a guard dog if necessary. some random man is bothering you? it’s dealt with. if the two of you are walking down a sidewalk? he’s on the outside. if your date takes place somewhere with a big crowd? he’ll make sure you’re in front of him so no one touches you, and he’ll gently push you towards the destination.
rookie!leon who likes to make you small handmade gifts at random times. he’ll hand you a small gift box when eating take out from the thai restaurant the two of you love. it’s a mp3 player downloaded with songs that remind him of you, a bouquet of clearly-handmade crochet/paper flowers that he’d blush and rub the back of his neck before giving to you at the office. a locket with a picture of him making duck lips on one side, you on the other. “if you close it i’m giving you a kiss!” he’d say happily as he struggles with the clasp to help you put it on.
Request for RE9 leon to take care of the reader on her period
Will do! As a person with godawful periods, I had a blast writing this lol.
Summary: You get your period and bleed all over your favorite pair of sweatpants. Leon to the rescue!
Masterlist
Stained Sweatpants - Leon Kennedy x Reader
“God fucking damn it!”
Your voice is ringing out from the bathroom.
Leon is there within moments, skidding to a halt outside of the door. Years of fighting for ones life tends to make them pretty quick, after all.
“Honey?!”
A sigh, “Fuck, sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you. Just got my period.”
His heart rate calms. He traces the doorhandle once, before asking, “Everything okay in there?”
“I bled on my favorite pair of pants.” Your words sound defeated.
He pauses.
“... How bad?”
A second later, the bathroom door cracks open just enough for one eye to peer out at him. You look miserable. Hair messy. Face pinched in irritation. One arm wrapped around your stomach.
Ah. One of the bad ones, then.
You sigh dramatically, wetness welling in your eyes, and open the door the rest of the way.
The crime scene reveals itself. Your favorite sweatpants. Or… formerly favorite sweatpants. The blood stain is impressive, quite honestly.
You point at them accusingly. “These are dead.”
Leon looks. Then looks at you. Then looks back at the large red stain.
“…Honey.”
Your eyes meet his. Your shoulders lift weakly. “... I know. It’s stupid…”
You look genuinely upset about it too, which makes his chest ache a little. Not because of the pants. Well. Partly because of the pants. Mostly because he knows you. And he knows that when you get like this, it isn’t just about ruined clothes.
Everything feels bigger. Meaner. The ruined pants become proof the whole day sucks. The cramps become proof your body hates you. The tiny inconvenience becomes the final boss.
Leon learned that one a while ago. So instead of saying something practical like they’re just pants, he steps into the bathroom.
Your brows raise. He crouches. Picks up the pants. Inspects them like a forensic investigator.
Then, he hums. “…I’ve seen worse.”
Your expression twists. “You’re lying.”
“Nope.”
“You are absolutely lying.”
He shrugs. “Pretty sure I’ve gotten zombie blood out of jackets before.”
You blink. “…That is not comparable.”
“Blood is blood.” He shrugs, still inspecting the stain.
You stare at him. Then a laugh escapes you. It’s small and annoyed, but real.
Mission accomplished.
Leon stands afterward and gently nudges your hip. “Go get changed. Take one of those ‘everything showers’ you like. I’ll take care of this.”
He presses a quick kiss to your forehead, before shutting the bathroom door. The shower starts running moments later.
.
.
.
Twenty minutes pass. The pants are almost like new again.
When he looks, really looks in the right light, he can see a little bit of a beige hue around where the stain had been, but it’s almost back to the right color. He’s taking it as a win.
“... Leon?”
He turns toward you with a smile. “Almost done. What do you want for breakfast?”
A snort of amusement. “You’re cooking for me too?”
He turns toward you, showing you the pants slung over his arm, “You’ve had a bad morning. Let me take care of things, yeah?”
Your expression melts.
“... Yeah. Sure. That sounds great, actually.”
Leon disappears into the kitchen afterward before you can overthink yourself into apologizing. You hear cabinets opening. The soft scrape of a pan against the stovetop. The familiar noises of him moving around the kitchen with that strange efficiency he somehow applies to literally everything.
You sit at the table afterward, wrapped in one of his hoodies, hair still damp from the shower and legs tucked up beneath yourself.
Objectively, you know you feel ridiculous. You know ruined sweatpants shouldn’t make your throat hurt. You know crying over laundry is objectively not a normal response. Unfortunately, your hormones did not ask for your opinion.
You stare blankly at the table. Leon appears a minute later carrying a plate and a mug. Breakfast lands in front of you. Your favorite.
Your eyes narrow. “…Were you planning this?”
He sits beside you with his own coffee. “Planning what?”
You gesture vaguely at everything. “The food. The weirdly competent stain removal.”
Leon just shrugs. “You looked sad.”
His words make your chest hurt a little. You poke at your food, before mumbling, “Sorry.”
His hand reaches across the table, finding yours. His thumb is quick to trace comforting circles over your knuckles. “…For what?”
You shrug. He sets his coffee down slowly before turning fully toward you. “Honey.”
You already know where this is going. You sigh dramatically. “I know. I’m not supposed to apologize for existing.”
His mouth twitches. “That’s not exactly what I was gonna say.”
You glance up. He reaches over and casually steals one of your pieces of fruit. “I was gonna say you don’t need permission to have a bad day.”
Your face immediately gets warm.
His voice softens. “You know,” he says, leaning an elbow onto the table, “I don’t think less of you because you got upset over pants.”
You snort weakly. “You should. It’s objectively embarrassing.”
He looks genuinely confused. “Honey, I’ve watched grown government agents cry because somebody used the wrong coffee creamer.”
You blink. “…Seriously?”
“Do you know how stressful bioterrorism is?”
A laugh escapes you before you can stop it. His expression immediately softens.
There she is.
You sigh and lean sideways until your shoulder bumps his. “…Thanks.”
His eyes flick toward you. “For breakfast?”
You shake your head.
“For not making me feel stupid.”
Leon looks at you for a second too long. Then he reaches over and squeezes your knee once. His thumb rubs over the fabric absentmindedly. “Honey,” he says quietly, “I’ve seen you handle things that would flatten most people.”
Your eyes drift toward him. He shrugs. “If today’s enemy is a pair of sweatpants…” His mouth quirks upward. “…I think we can take ‘em.”
i loved writing this. the pleasure and agony's all mine. tysm for your request!
say it
pairing: leon kennedy x fem!reader [no y/n used]
summary: leon really needs to get over himself and grow a pair. but jealousy does the trick, too.
tags: angst, misunderstandings, jealous leon, leon's a little emotionally dumb, fem!reader (wears a dress, perfume)
warnings: kinda made leon hate politicians and bureaucracy despite being a fed. might be a little ooc on that end but whatever
wc: 2k
prompts from this prompt list.
♪ — say my name by destiny's child, covered by hozier [spotify] [youtube]
Leon considers himself a mature guy. He really does.
So why is it that the first time he's seeing you in a dress, his eyes feel like they're going to bug out of his head and he has to check that he isn't drooling. This isn't some teenage romcom where you take off your glasses and are suddenly beautiful. Anyone with eyes can see that you're stunning. But he's only ever seen you in tactical gear, and at best, some jeans that hugged you in all the right places. Both of those are already exceedingly distracting, so this is a whole new level of debilitating for him.
A little black dress that fit you just right? Your collarbones deliciously exposed, your legs stretching a mile long beyond where the skirt ends just above your mid-thigh.
Jesus Christ, you may kill him.
It's no surprise when another man approaches you and begins to chat you up. He tries not to let the jealousy that twists in his stomach bother him when you smile and engage in the conversation willingly. He swallows the rest of his drink, brooding against the far wall, trying to escape conversation with anyone. He prefers to wallow without distractions, he guesses.
You aren't his, despite your longing glances and lingering touches. Despite everything the two of you had been through together. Leon was too much of a coward to make a move, too scared of the what ifs and hands that always seem hungry to rip any sort of stability out of his life. He's kind of convinced the rest of his life is meant to be filled the brim with things left unsaid.
The last time he saw you, he's pretty sure you almost kissed him. Something he's thought about multiple times a day for the past few years, it seems. For him, the sun rises and sets on your terms. You may as well have hung every star in the sky.
And yet he backed away like he was a frightened puppy.
It doesn't help that without fail, the two of you are in constant communication every single day. Whether it's a phone call, or sitting at a coffee shop, or escaping from work together, in unseen corridors and alleyways outside. You're attached at the hip. Except after that incident. You had been radio silent, despite his attempts at gentle hellos.
It's been a long, agonizing two weeks without you. Maybe that's why seeing you smile and accept another man's advances is especially painful.
He knows that both of you are at this party/cocktail/gala/thing out of a formality, a way to keep the people who employ the two of you happy. But there's something so natural about you in that dress, your hair perfectly twisted back, the length of your neck deliciously exposed as you look around at the party. The laugh and dazzling smile you let free at something that fucking guy says. He thinks that in another life, where you didn't need to always be on the move, you would've been great at philanthropy. Some kind of leader, a communicator perhaps. A job that's fulfilling and stable, where you didn't have to be in danger constantly, and your kindness could be given without worrying about the consequences. He's always admired your ability to be a regular person; he's not sure he's built for anything except being a soldier at this point. Don't get him wrong; he finds purpose in what he does, which he guesses means he "likes" his job. He especially likes the parts where you are. He just hates all the bureaucracy. All the fake smiles and polite conversation. But you're good at dealing with it. He's useless without you.
He's running a hand through his hair and making his way over to you before he can think better of it. You're still talking to that man who's all smiles and charming winks. He basically stops in his tracks when he spots the guy's hand reaching to touch your arm, and he swallows hard. You don't move it, but there's a shift in your posture, something that reads as not quite comfortable, but more-so convincing yourself to be comfortable.
Grow a pair, Leon.
"Hey," he finally gathers enough courage to pretend like he hasn't been agonizing over you all night. You turn to him, a genuine smile crossing your face before you could stop it. Your eyes crinkle at the corners just a little, and it reminds him that life isn't actually miserable, for just a moment.
"Hi, Leon," your eyes flicker over him, taking in the rare sight of him in a suit and tie. He tries not to dwell in the satisfaction of you looking him up and down while your potential suitor is standing, watching. "You look nice." He doesn't get a chance to respond before you're shaking yourself out of a Leon-induced stupor to stutter over introductions. "Um, this is Robert. He was just telling me about how he used to work for President Graham." Robert nods, shifting his feet awkwardly. The two of you were locked in each other's gaze, something unspoken weighing heavily in the air.
"Yeah, I, uh," he clears his throat and waves his champagne glass. "I was a White House assistant for a while." He says it like it's the greatest honor of all time.
"Uh huh," Leon finally tears his eyes away from you, shortly after you do the same from him. "Didn't work out?"
"I'm not one for politics, I guess," he shrugs. Leon actually chuckles. At least this guy isn't totally insane. "But he invited me to this. As a sort of goodbye gift. I was almost his right-hand man, you know," Robert almost puffs up his chest, bragging. The brief, vaguely positive feeling Leon had disappeared. He has a distaste for people who worship politicians. Even the president. He knows you feel similarly, which is why it's a surprise when your hand brushes over Robert's shoulder.
"That was nice of him, you must've made a good impression." Leon can hear something slightly ingenuine in your voice. You're being polite; something on the edge of flattering.
Leon thinks he may spontaneously combust. He can't help himself from what he does next.
"Must've been awarded the medal of honor for brown-nosing," he mutters, but loud enough for Robert to hear. The man chokes on his drink and a shade of embarrassment covers his cheeks. You turn to Leon sharply, crossing your arms.
"Don't be a dick, Leon," you're frustrated with him, but he can't help reveling in your attention returning to him. "Robert, I'm so sorry-"
"It's fine," Robert laughs awkwardly, throws a thumb over his shoulder. "I actually saw someone I used to work with over there, I'm, uh, I'm gonna go catch up. Nice talking to you." He nods and turns to walk away before stopping to look at you. "Let me know about those drinks." Leon nearly has an aneurysm at the implications. You're already looking at Leon when he turns back to you. He pretends like he doesn't know why you're looking at him like that.
"What?"
"Don't 'what' me, you were being an asshole," you huff. It's hard to be mad at him, with his blue eyes sparkling at you.
"Come on, that guy? You wanna cozy up with someone who's one step away from kissing the feet of the president?"
"You mean the guy we work for?"
"Hey, just because I work for the guy doesn't mean I think he's the second coming of Jesus," he holds his hands up in surrender. "Besides, you can do better. Look at you." He says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Feelings? Stay locked up right in his heart. Flirting is another thing. It's easy. Easy to blow off, push away.
And maybe he secretly thinks you'll pick up his hints and force his hand.
You want to scream. You wish he would just decide if he wanted you or not. You're sick of being caught between friends and something more.
"Yeah, look at me," you laugh mockingly. "Pushing thirty, single, and agonizing over a guy who's only fear is confronting things he already knows." His face falls. Your words are a knife twist in his gut. "God forbid I pursue someone who can actually admit that they want me."
You're walking away, out the exit before he can move from his spot. He feels sick. He's such a fucking idiot. He steels himself before following your lead, eventually figuring out where you are. You've escaped to the roof, head down and breathing heavily. Nothing strikes guilt and worry in him like seeing your shoulders shake, wiping away frustrated tears from your face.
"Just leave me alone, Leon," you know it's him without turning around. He ignores you, coming to stand next to you at the edge of the building. The wind whistles around the corners of the city, the music from the party inside faintly reaching your ears. You breathe deeply, the fresh air igniting comfort to your lungs, but the man next to you has you breathing heavy in a second once he breaks the silence.
"I'm scared," he finally admits. He turns, back to the city, leaning against the wall. The wind is chilly against your bare arms, and you can't help but shiver. He notices immediately. He notices everything about you. His jacket is being tugged over your shoulders before you can even play the "I'm not cold" game with him. He knows what you need, no matter how much you may deny it to him.
He knows what he needs, too.
"Scared of what?" You sniffle, finally looking at him. He was studying the scuffs on his dress shoes. He bumps his toe into yours. You almost smile.
"That I can't keep you safe," Your eyes soften at his tone. You've only heard him talk like this a few times before, when situations were dire. When the two of you weren't sure if you were going to make it. "That I'm not good enough for you."
"Leon," his name is so soft on your lips. He can feel the pull in his chest, the yearning to touch you, to hold you. His fingers twitch at the feeling and he crosses his arms to try to make it cease. "You're a good man. Better than most."
He inhales deeply and looks at you again, this time reaching out to rub his thumb over the faded scar on your chin. He was there when you got it. He patched you up, did everything but kiss it better. He should've kissed it better.
"Please don't go on that date." Leon's never begged for anything in his life. He doesn't ask for help. He usually decides to struggle on his own. But this isn't a problem he can solve without you. Or that he can ignore forever. It's going to eat him up if he doesn't do something, and he knows that. He's known that as it's chipped away at his heart since he met you.
"Why?" You're asking him to be vulnerable. It's the scariest thing you could ever ask him to do, but somehow, right now, you make it feel easy. You're looking at him, heart open and bleeding on your sleeve.
"You know why," is all he can manage. You step closer to him. He can smell your perfume drifting in the wind. It rustles your hair slightly, blowing your carefully manicured strands in your face. He tucks them behind your ears and you tilt your head into his palm.
"Please say it," you're begging now, and he's sure his knees are going to buckle underneath the weight of all of this. He's putty in your hands. "Say it, and I'm yours, Leon."
"I want you so bad," he sighs. You're moving so close to him he can feel your breath against his lips, hitching as he continues. "I love you. I'm sorry." You don't say anything more; you've heard everything you'd ever wanted to from him. You press your mouth to his, hard and full of years of wanting. He sighs into your mouth easily, cupping your face and deepening the kiss further. You're falling into him before you know it, his arms slipping around your waist like you were made for each other. Leon's convinced you're made for him.
fratboy! leon who you see running pitch everday from the bleachers, toned chest and tanned skin glistening against the sun with tousled bleach blonde hair, who smirks at you like he knows you- even though you’ve never met and distracting you from your studies.
fratboy! leon who you meet one day at a party, some girl clinging around his arm but he still offers to pour you a drink muttering “dont get too drunk, im not taking you home.” he also keeps your drink safe while you’re in the bathroom, not letting anyone tamper with it.
fratboy leon! who’s spin the bottle lands on you. he grabs your hand pulling you into the closet, music muffled as his front presses up against you, breathes mingling. the mix of cologne and alcohol suffocating your senses.
fratboy! leon who begs to eat your pussy while he fingers you! against the cramped walls. mumbling “please.. cmon baby let me taste it.” until you finally agree. pulling your panties down and skirt tucked up, his lips wrapping around you clit as he licks the slick dripping from your hole until your a moaning mess.
fratboy! leon who mumbles “cum on my tongue.” while your hands shove his face deeper in your cunt, nose swiping your clit with his hands on your ass pulling you closer. When your orgasm finally comes over he’s palming himself through his jeans, groaning into your skin.
fratboy! leon! whos hazing the next day is washing your car shirtless!! his hair dampened with water and chest dripping with slick, you watching as his muscles flex through the window. sharp V line abs and smooth skin. who doesn’t let you drive off until you roll down the window, looking at you with a smirk before leaning in to kiss you, wet hands dampening your cheeks.
𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; government agents were always built strong. but there was something about leon specifically that made tears run down your thighs… and made your breath stop
𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬; harsh language, smut, thigh grinding, unprotected p in v, creampie, choking, semi-public sex, size different
𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬; choking ; size difference ; public sex
𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬; happy first day of kinktober! I spent a good portion of my (work) day reading all the day one posts. this was definitely a last minute decision to participate in kinktober this year but I’m so excited. happy spooky season
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭; 3.94k
𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠; one of your girls ; the weeknd
𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐥𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞: 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!
There was something to be said when working with trained government agents. Not to mention being friends with agents was great. They always helped you get a heavy box down when you couldn’t reach or lift it. Always carried your bags for you when they got too heavy. They hardly let you do anything unassisted. It was heaven on earth compared to your previous job in food service. You were constantly being assisted. Their strength always on show. Muscles always flexing with even the smallest movements. The pure strength always caught your eye – even now, being plowed into over your desk.
It really started a few months ago. You’d been fed up with being a server on less than minimum wage at a local bar. You had a college degree and you just didn’t use it. It always sat dusty on your living room wall, silently judging you when you came home from a three am shift. There was nothing wrong with being a server. You actually had enjoyed it years ago. But now? It was degrading. The tight shirts and jean shorts you had to wear, the rude and creepily flirtatious clientele, the horrifically low pay (really, $2 an hour wasn’t acceptable anymore). You had decided enough was enough and called it quits. Your boss could find another piece of pretty ass to put up with the local drunks.
The road to being hired at the D.S.O was long and hard. You had put your resume out there, submitted hundreds of applications, attended dozens upon dozens of interviews and got nowhere. Just when you were about to give up hope and go shamefully crawling back to the bar, an email came in. That dreary July evening with rain pattering harshly against the windows of your one bedroom apartment, the soft glow of an old ‘80’s sitcom on mute in the background, another cheap frozen pizza in the oven. Your desktop computer lit up, the box monitor illuminating the space of the little alcove of the kitchen.
You’d been sadly drinking a cup of tea (spiked with liquor on this sad night, of course) when your gaze shot up. The warm mug cradled in your hands, you walked over, eyes squinted as you used the mouse to click on the email, the tab slowly loading and opening. In a rush because the oven only had a few minutes left, your eyes grazed over the email. And your heart had stopped. A shriek of joy escaped from your lips, your sudden fit of happiness causing the hot tea to lap over the side of the mug, scorching your skin.
With a hiss, you went back to reading the email in full detail this time. Setting the mug aside and shaking out your hand, your eyes locked onto the screen. Dear… we are pleased to inform you… see the attached file for information… please arrive at the office fifteen minutes prior to receive pre-employment paperwork… we are happy to have you on the team. You were employed. For the government no less. Needless to say, you treated yourself to a better dinner than frozen pizza.
For the past few months, everyone had been so kind and so helpful. Giving you tips on how to get things done more efficiently, offering to get you lunch, assisting with filing. It was so nice. Quiet and undramatic — a violent change from the bar you worked at.
You spent your days filing paperwork for FOS officers, sitting in a cushy office chair in a chilly air conditioned cubicle. It was nice, actually. Boring, but you’d take boring over getting beer poured down your shirt for a wrong order. What was nicer? Him.
You met Leon Kennedy officially the second week you’d been there. Apparently, he’d been away on a ‘mission’ and missed your initial arrival. You worked closely with the FOS officer assigned to him, Ingrid, and knew of him. But there he was, walking into the office cubicle you shared with her, tall and broad and swoonworthy.
It took your entire willpower for your jaw not to drop upon laying eyes on him. He was tall and pretty and blond and eyes so blue you wanted to drown in them. Not to mention his arms. God his arms. He was nice to you. Polite and friendly. He would often reach up and get a box you couldn’t reach, the fabric of his suit stretching over his biceps. He’d carry heavy boxes for you too — the weight nothing to him as he told you to add a third box to the stack in his arms.
It was hard not to stare at him whenever you saw him in the building. He was so kind to you. And you actually thought his jokes were funny. In a really dumb way. Ingrid or literally anyone else would roll their eyes. Not you. No, you laughed. Or smiled. Just because it meant he’d look at you.
One particular incident though, was what did you in. You’d come into work that day, the hours dragging by as you filed and typed and typed and filed. You needed a new box of paper, but it was high and the boxes were heavy and you’d been banned from using a chair because it ‘stressed’ Ingrid out too much. It was late, you had time to make up for a doctor's appointment earlier that week. And you didn’t think there was anyone else left on the floor.
Then someone cleared their throat. You stopped in your tracks as you stepped up on your office chair, one foot on the seat as you looked over your shoulder. There Leon stood, arms folded over his broad chest as he leaned against the doorframe.
“You know, I’m starting to think you want worker’s comp.” He deadpanned, staring at you head on.
Your cheeks went warm, caught in the act of using a cushioned swivel chair as a stool again. “I didn’t think anyone else was here.”
“There’s a stool in the custodial closet.” Leon added, pushing off the doorframe to step deeper into the room. His presence filled the space, and he’d only just stepped in.
“My key doesn’t open that door.” You said meekly, climbing off the chair.
Leon stepped closer, crossing the space with ease as he stopped beside you and reached up to grab a box of paper. His suit jacket was off — leaving him in just a dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Sweet merciful Lord help you. You damn near salivated at the sight of his biceps flexing.
“Why’re you still here anyway?” He asked as he set the box of paper on your desk, where you pointed for him to leave it. The action didn’t seem to phase him.
You shrugged non-committally, eyes looking everywhere but his. And he noticed. Of course he did — he was a trained government agent. And he was simply Leon. He noticed most everything. His eyes stayed on, studying. Like he was trying to figure you out. What made you nervous. Why you were nervous. Then his gaze followed yours.
A half smirk graced his lips, the corner turning up as he realized what you were staring at. Him — or more precisely, his arms. Yes, he knew he was large. He often forgot the size difference between him and other people. But here he was, broad and strong and tall. Of course you’d noticed the difference in size between you. He was built like he could throw you around. And he definitely could if he wanted to.
“You okay?” He asked, your name falling from his lips seeming to snap you back to reality. Oh shit, you were staring. A sharp ping of irritation ran through your blood as you saw his obviously knowing smirk.
“M’fine,” you mumbled, turning around to begin opening the box of paper. “Thanks for the help.”
Leon was a lot of things, and persistent was definitely one of them. He smiled to himself as he watched you become very clearly embarrassed, your back turning to him. He inched closer to where you stood in front of your desk, watching as you unpacked paper.
Your eyes snapped down at the sound of a thump, then his hand resting on the dark hardwood of your desk. His body loomed behind you, his arm right by your head. The smell and sight and feeling of him being so close made you dizzy.
“You sure?” He asked, voice dangerously soft and low. A tone that made your skin prickle in the most intense way. A way that made your traitorous cunt throb. You were on the clock, dammit, you couldn’t be soaked for your coworker.
You silently nodded, mouth and throat too dry to speak. This could be considered harassment, if you didn’t like it. There had been hints dropped. Very subtle hints on his end. But very obvious on yours. The way your eyes would linger on him. The way you smiled too wide or laughed too much at his jokes. The way you were so easily flustered around him. Yes, you had a work crush. So what?
The only problem was he’d noticed. Waiting to make a move. And now was the time it seemed. You were alone in the office, the halls dark, the bosses gone. It was just you and him. A titillating thought. One you liked.
You inhaled deeply, slowly turning around to face him, finding yourself caged in by his arms, both of his hands braced on the desk. You were dangerously close, breaths mingling. Your eyes, of course, traced down to flick between his biceps, then up to his eyes.
“Nervous?” He asked lowly. He was getting too much entertainment and joy out of this. “Don’t be, honey. It’s just me.”
The way he called you honey made your panties wetter. Oh you were fucked. Hopefully in more ways than one. His eyes flicked between your eyes and then to your lips. Like he wanted to kiss you. And you hoped he would.
“So pretty, you know. Walking around here in those skirts.” He mumbled, almost like he was talking to himself and not to you.
“You think I’m pretty?” You asked stupidly, voice coming out weak and disbelieving.
Leon nodded, one hand coming to trace down your arm. “Very pretty.”
Your breath caught in your throat. He thought you were pretty. Leon Kennedy thought you were pretty. He was standing here, flirting with you. Fingers grazing up and down your arm soothingly. Your guards were down, your heart fluttering and your cheeks warm. You wanted to thank him, but that sounded stupid as fuck.
“Thank you,” you whispered. Yep, it sounded as dumb out loud as it did in your head. You internally cringed as he smiled. Devilish and humoured.
“You’re welcome, honey.” He said, voice steady and constant. If he was nervous, he sure as hell wasn’t showing it.
He leaned a little closer, eyes flicking to your mouth again. Pretty and coated in a shiny chapstick he wanted to taste. He wanted to kiss you. But also didn’t want to be written up for harassment. He didn’t want an HR case. His record here so far was squeaky clean. Yeah, that good employee cop part of him still lived a little. But you made that part want to die too.
Leon’s eyes traced over your face, taking you in. So, so pretty. He’d noticed how pretty you were the day he met you. You were so hesitant around him. So nervous. But you had the prettiest goddamn smile he’d ever seen. Bright and sweet and warm. It melted his damaged soul.
“Can I kiss you?” He whispered, needing your permission. Because as much as he really liked you, he really didn’t want an HR case.
You froze, lips parting as you considered his question. He did not have to ask. He could have kissed you and you wouldn’t care. You’d think about it for the rest of your life. That’d be your vibrator prompt.
You nodded, swallowing thickly before you could speak. “Yes,” because somehow you knew he would need a verbal answer.
Leon smiled a little, his hand trailing up your arm to trace along your jaw, cradling the back of your neck. He half leaned in and half pulled you to him, his lips meeting yours.
Your knees instantly went weak. He was such a good kisser. His lips slotted between yours, teeth gingerly nipping at your bottom lip. It was enough to make you sigh into the kiss. That sound seemed to spur him on. Give him full permission to kiss you the way he wanted.
He sucked your bottom lip then ran his tongue along it, making you instinctively part your lips for him. His tongue was gentle but firm as it traced inside your mouth. You wanted to touch him back, your arm coming up to rest around his shoulders, the other resting on his chest. He inched forward, his chest pressing to yours, his knee slotting between your thighs.
The wood of your desk dug into your back, but you didn’t care. He was kissing you. His mouth continued to move along yours as your hands slid up and down his biceps appreciatively, fingers aching to squeeze. He smiled against your mouth before he pulled back.
Embarrassingly, your mouth chased his as your eyes peeled open. “What’s your obsession with my arms, baby?”
You froze, eyes wide as you met his gaze. He didn’t ask in a way that was accusatory or degrading. Just raw curiosity. Like he really didn’t understand why.
You swallowed, gathering your bearings after the single best kiss you’d ever had. “You’re just… you’re really strong.”
“Mhmm,” he nodded, “in the job description.”
You nodded, swallowing and wished he would go back to just kissing you again. But he didn’t. He just watched you. Waited for you to expand even more.
“You just always carry stuff for me. I like that. It’s nice,” you shrugged, internally cringing at the stupidness of your words.
“It’s the bare minimum,” he said softly. “You need help. And I like to help you. Any way I can.”
‘Any way I can’. Oh yeah, that had a double meaning. You inhaled sharply, biting down on your lip as you considered how you could ask for help. An idea did pop into your mind — small at first and unraveling into a full plan. You kept your eyes locked on his. His knee was still slotted between your thighs.
In an instant — because if you really considered it, you’d back out — you pressed down on his thigh. The friction and pressure was enough to make your breath hitch and your heart stammer. Leon’s eyes darkened, pupils widening and engulfing the ocean blue of his eyes.
“Fuck,” he whispered, almost inaudibly, and he dove in again. His mouth crashed against yours. Teeth clicked and noses bumped. It was a messy kiss, sloppy and sinful.
You pressed yourself down on his thigh again, Leon immediately initiative and pressing his thigh up harshly. Your breath caught in your throat, hands tightening on his biceps. Slowly and subconsciously, you began to grind down on his thigh. It had been months of stealing glances, of imagining what it’d be like to touch him and kiss him and feel him. Now that you were here, you’d take it all.
Leon’s hands grasped your hips, fingers harshly digging into the fat of your hips through the fabric of your clothes. He needed to be inside you.
He pulled back just a little, forehead resting against yours. “Can I…?”
Leon didn’t need to ask specifically for you to know what he meant. You nodded fervently, a small breathy yes falling from your lips. His gaze changed. Lust had long since clouded his mind.
In an instant, he turned you around, your front pressed to the edge of your desk. His hands grasped the bottom hem of your skirt. He harshly pulled it up, groaning lightly as he saw the damp spot on your panties when you bent more over the desk. God, you were so perfect.
“Shit, honey, haven’t even touched you yet.” Leon groaned out, fingers ghosting over the damp spot. A gasp fell from your lips.
He wished he could take his time with you. Get on his knees and make you come on his tongue at least twice and once on his fingers before properly fucking you. But the sight of you like this, his dick was straining against his slacks.
You heard the rustling of clothing and the sound of him unzip his pants, your hands braced on the desk, preparing for a proper fucking.
Leon’s hand was on your hip again, voice soft as he spoke, “you sure about this?”
You nodded adamantly again, a little uh-huh falling from your lips. He had your consent. And he was happy with that. So his hand gently pulled your panties to the side, the cool air hitting your soaked cunt and making you gasp.
The sound of him shuffling and pumping his cock a few times echoed in your ear, the feeling of him lining himself up. “Ready, baby?” He asked softly.
A tiny nod from you was all it took. He pushed into you. And fuck, he was big. Your mouth dropped open with silent screams, your eyes squeezing shut, head hanging low and forehead resting against the cool top of your desk. He went slow. Too slow. You pushed your hips back against him, silently urging him to speed it up.
And Leon did not need to be told twice. He bottomed out and then pulled back before slamming back into you. The force of his thrusts made little huffs and uh’s fall from your lips. Whines echoed from you, bouncing off the walls of the empty office.
“Oh God,” you whined, knuckles white from gripping the desk.
Leon huffed out a strained laugh, mumbling something akin to ‘no, just me’. You would have laughed if it weren’t for the increasing pleasure you felt. Your skin grew sticky with sweat, your heart racing, face warm. God he was fucking you stupid.
His hand trailed up your back, wrapping around the front of your neck and gently pulling you up and back against him. Then — in an action that actually made you dizzy — he wrapped his arm around your throat.
“Know you like ‘em so much, baby,” he murmured in your ear.
A disgustingly pathetic whine fell from your lips as he choked you with his bicep. Your hands wrapped around the corded muscles of his arm, nails digging into and making little crescents in his skin.
His thrusts had your hips bumping into the edge of the desk, your head thrown back and resting against his shoulder. His bicep around your neck was just enough — the pressure firm and rough, but not too much to make you pass out or anything. Though that didn’t sound too bad.
“Fuck, Leon,” you whimpered, getting desperate as you began to thrust back against him as he thrusted his cock into you. It was big. Thick enough that the initial stretch had burned. The tip kissed your cervix just slightly with every deep thrust. And you didn’t want it to stop.
“I know, baby. Doin’ so good,” he ground out, his own face buried in the crook of your neck. His arm around your neck was firm while his other hand gripped your hip. Hard enough there may have been bruises the next day. You didn’t care. Being marked up by him didn’t sound so bad.
You gasped, whines echoing from your mouth as his hand snaked down, fingers firmly drawing tight circles around your clit. And you swore you saw fucking stars.
“Gonna come,” you gasped out, now fully grinding yourself back on him, nails digging hard into his forearm.
“Mmhm, you do that, honey,” he encouraged softly, his lips latching onto your neck. His thrusts were deep and hard and you swore you could feel every vein.
A few more deep thrusts and circles drawn around your clit and you came. With a gasp, your walls clamped down around him, your vision going white. You shrieked, his name echoing off the walls of the empty room. He wasn’t far behind, really he’d been holding off for you.
Leon’s arm tightened around your neck, the action drawing out your already earth shattering orgasm. He groaned, face buried in your neck as he spilled into you. He thrusted a few more times, grinding his cum into you.
You both fell boneless against the desk, your cheek pressed to the cool wood in a cure. His forehead rested against your spine, his arm snaking out from around your neck for his hands to smooth up and down your sides. He pressed featherlight kisses along your shoulders and spine.
The moments were quiet when he pulled out of you, swiftly pulling your panties back in place, trapping his cum in you. He helped you stand straight, hands gingerly running over your face, assuring you were okay and it was good for you. He promised a proper date. Dinner that weekend with a nice wine and good food. He knew a place.
“Whenever you need my help, ask me, baby.” Leon later teased lowly as he assisted you in carrying a box of files to your car.
Leon was definitely the only person you’d ever ask for help from now on.
Synopsis: You and Leon have to pretend to be married for 48 hours to complete a mission. He goes a little crazy when he realizes just how much he actually wants that
Words: 1.3k
A/N: 100% will be doing a part 2. He's so cute, he deserves a cute little marriage with someone that can tease him when he's being silly
Part two found here
Whole story (4 chapters) found here
The first sweetheart is an accident, or at least that’s what Leon tells himself.
The two of you are standing in the polished lobby of some overpriced mountain resort under assumed names, your forged wedding bands catching warm chandelier light while a concierge smiles too brightly and asks how long Mr. and Mrs. Carter will be staying.
Leon’s hand is on the small of your back, purely tactical. Purely for appearances. His thumb is not supposed to move in reassuring strokes like it is.
“Two nights,” he says smoothly, sliding over the IDs. “Just us, sweetheart.”
The word leaves him in that low government-trained voice and lands directly in your spine.
You turn. Just a little, just enough to look at him.
Leon does not look back at you.
His face remains professionally blank, all clean lines and practiced indifference, but the tips of his ears go pink.
You smile. Oh, this is going to be fun.
By hour three, he has said sweetheart seven times. You were counting because every single one hit differently.
There’s the clipped, efficient sweetheart he uses in public when ushering you through doors or steering you away from security cameras.
“This way, sweetheart.”
“Careful on the steps, sweetheart.”
“Forgot your purse, sweetheart.”
Each one accompanied by his hand at your waist, your elbow, the center of your back, touches that are supposed to look casual but linger one beat too long because Leon is suddenly, catastrophically aware that he is allowed to touch you whenever he wants under the guise of maintaining cover.
Then there is the low murmur he uses when hotel staff are nearby.
“You cold, sweetheart?”
You nearly trip because that one sounds domestic. Familiar, like he has been saying it to you for years.
And Leon hears it too, judging by the way his jaw tightens immediately after.
You glance at him.
He is staring dead ahead like a man who just stepped on a landmine but cannot stop walking.
By dinner, the problem becomes obvious: Leon is getting too good at this.
Not at surveillance or gathering intel. At husbanding.
He pulls your chair out, orders your drink from memory, cuts into some overpriced chicken while discussing case details through clenched teeth, then absentmindedly slides the better-looking portion onto your plate because you always steal his food anyway.
Your amused stare makes him freeze. He looks at the plate then looks at you.
“…habit,” he mutters.
“Leon.”
“Don’t.”
“You fed me.” Your tone is lightly teasing. Like you know something he doesn't.
“It was tactical.”
“With the larger piece? The big juicy one we'd normally fight over?”
His expression says he wants the earth to open and swallow him whole.
You grin into your wine.
Sweetheart count: thirteen.
Sleeping arrangements are where it starts to ruin him.
One room. One king bed. Of fucking course.
You don’t even bother pretending outrage; both of you have done this dance before. Missions are uncomfortable. It happens.
What does not usually happen is Leon looking at the bed like it has personally betrayed him.
“It’s fine,” you say, already kicking off your shoes. “At least it's a king.”
“Yeah,” he answers too fast. “Fine.”
It is not fine because married couples do not build a pillow wall.
Married couples do not sleep rigidly on opposite edges of the mattress like Victorian strangers.
Married couples, if anyone is listening through the walls or watching through optics, sleep close.
So close that Leon can feel your body heat through the thin hotel blanket. So close that every shift of your leg brushes his. So close that when you roll over in your sleep and tuck unconsciously into his side, one hand splayed over his chest, Leon’s entire central nervous system exits the building.
He goes perfectly still.
Your breath fans warm against his throat. Your knee slots between his. Your wedding band - fake, fake, fake - taps softly against his sternum when your hand flexes in sleep.
Leon stares at the ceiling all night with the expression of a man being slowly executed.
Because now he has to call you sweetheart in the morning. Now he has to wake up with you draped over him and act like this is normal.
Now he has to survive thirty-six more hours of pretending you belong to him in front of witnesses while his body starts reacting to that fiction like it has found religion.
The second morning is fatal.
You are both in the breakfast lounge scanning suspects.
You lean over his shoulder to whisper an observation. Your hand lands on his thigh under the table.
It's tactical. Something about keeping up appearances, Leon remembers vaguely. You feel the muscle in his leg jump violently beneath your palm.
He turns his head just enough to glare at you.
You widen your eyes innocently.
“Something wrong, sweetheart?” you ask.
His pupils blow wide. There is a full two seconds where Leon forgets how language works.
Then, through gritted teeth, “You are enjoying this too much.”
“Enjoying what, honey?”
He makes a strangled noise. You have to bite the inside of your cheek not to laugh. This is no longer a mission for Leon, this is psychological warfare.
Every pet name from your mouth hits him like a bullet.
Honey.
Baby.
Darling.
One time, in the elevator, just to watch him malfunction, you smooth nonexistent lint from his tie and murmur, “You look handsome, sweet husband.”
Leon walks directly into the closing doors.
By the final night he is wrecked.
Forty-eight hours of sweetheart. Forty-eight hours of rings. Forty-eight hours of your head on his shoulder in public, your fingers linked with his, your smile tossed at him over breakfast like you’ve done this a thousand mornings before.
Forty-eight hours of pretending to be a man who gets to keep you.
The mission concludes at 11:37 p.m.
Target apprehended. Intel secured. Cover no longer necessary.
You close the hotel room door behind you and immediately start peeling off your ring.
“God, I’m ready to stop being married.”
Leon says, very quietly, “Don’t.”
You look up. He is standing across the room, jacket half unzipped, hair a mess from the rain outside, staring at your fingers.
At the ring.
At the small pale indent the metal left behind.
The room changes.
You lower your hand.
“Leon?”
His laugh comes out thin. Disbelieving. Ruined.
“I have called you sweetheart for two days,” he says, like this is an indictment, “and every time I did it, it sounded less fake.”
Your heartbeat stumbles. Leon drags a hand over his face.
“I know your coffee order. I know which side of the bed you sleep on. I know you steal the olives out of my drinks and leave me with the stupid toothpick.” He looks at you then, eyes dark and exhausted and frighteningly open. “Do you understand how bad it got in my head?”
Neither of you moves.
His voice drops. “By this afternoon I stopped pretending for them.” He swallows. “I was pretending for me.”
Oh.
Oh, that poor man.
He looks furious about it. Furious that two days of domestic theater exposed something he had apparently been keeping chained in the basement of his chest.
Furious that hearing sweetheart in his own voice made him want things.
A kitchen. Your shoes by his door. Arguments over laundry. Lazy Sunday mornings. A life he was never supposed to let himself imagine.
And now that he has imagined it, even by accident, he cannot force it back out.
“What do you want?” you ask softly.
Leon’s eyes drop to the ring still pinched between your fingers.
When he answers, his voice is almost wrecked enough to shake.
“I want you to put that back on before I do something stupid.”
summary: in which you tell the lads boys that you haven’t shaved.
ft. xavier, zayne, rafayel, sylus & caleb
notes: MDNI / NSFW (obvi), they’re all eaters!!!!!! xavier is silly, zayne has an attitude, rafayel is dramatic, sylus #takesnobullshit, and caleb is strange…mentions of sex/sexual acts, fem terms used (!!!), that’s it (i think)
p.s. this is a silly spur of the moment post so if it’s awful ummmm kill me maybe!!!
a/n: i am not the type to care like At All about body hair in any capacity so i hope this was somewhat entertaining LOL. body hair no body hair anything WTV it’s all natural and all real do whatever you want ok love you bye…ty for reading (- -)(_ _)
Morning light filtered pale and hazy through the kitchen window. You were standing at the counter, waiting for the coffee to finish brewing when arms slid around your waist, warm and familiar and unhurried.
Leon didn’t say anything. Just pressed his chest against your back, folded his arms around you and rested his chin on your shoulder. His breath fanned warm against the side of your neck.
"Morning," you said softly, already leaning back into him.
He just hummed in response. Low and gravelly, the sound still thick with sleep.
You laughed quietly and covered his hands with yours, thumbing over his knuckles. Somewhere behind you, the coffee finished dripping. Neither of you moved. He just held you tighter, swaying you both a tiny bit, barely there, like he didn’t even realize he was doing it.
One of his hands slipped free and found its way under the hem of your shirt, palm flat against your stomach. Not in any particular way. Just touching. Like he needed to feel the warmth of your skin, the rise and fall of your breathing. His fingers spread wide, possessive but gentle, and you tilted your head back against his chest.
He turned his face into your neck. You felt his lips there, just resting, not kissing. Breathing you in. His stubble scraped lightly against your skin. It tickled, and you squirmed a little, and his arms tightening like he thought you might try to get away.
You weren’t going anywhere.
"Leon."
"Hm."
You turned in his arms. Just shifted your feet, and his hand slipped free from beneath your shirt as he followed the movement, naturally, the way he’d done a hundred times before. His hands slid easily to your hips, settling there like they’d always belonged. You looked up at him. Hair still messy from sleep, eyes soft and half-lidded in that quiet morning way. A faint crease from the pillow marked his cheek.
God, you loved him like this.
You reached up and brushed the hair from his forehead. He closed his eyes at the touch, leaning into your palm like a cat. So you kept it there, cradling the side of his face, and he sighed, barely a sound at all, just air leaving his lungs, slow and content.
Then you tilted your head up and kissed him. Morning-soft and lingering. His hand came up to the back of your neck to hold you there, fingers threading into your hair, and you felt him exhale against your mouth.
One kiss turned into another, and another, each one slower than the last, until he cupped your jaw and kissed you deeper. The kind of kiss that makes the rest of the world go quiet. You lost track of how long you stood there.
When you finally pulled back, you were both a little breathless. His forehead stayed against yours, nose brushing yours, and you could feel his smile before you saw it.
"I could spend my whole day right here in your arms," you whispered. Quiet, meant just for him.
Leon opened his eyes. Blue and so unbearably tender it made your heart stutter.
"Then let’s stay here," he said. Like a secret. Like he meant it more than anything he’d ever said.
Then he kissed you again, and the coffee sat forgotten on the counter.
Silent Tensions - Leon Kennedy x quiet! Reader (Part 12)
Summary: Continuing immediately after last chapter, Leon gets closer than he expected to. Then, the mission begins.
Masterlist | Playlist
The TV is still droning on in the background.
The medical show has moved on from some random ER scene into a setup of two doctors having a dramatic conversation. Their voices rise and fall like it means life and death. Neither of you are really paying attention anymore. The glow from the old screen reflects off of the walls, casting soft shadows across your skin with every change of scene.
Leon hasn’t moved in a while.
He’s been sitting cross legged on your sofa, his plate on the table, long forgotten. His arm is slung across the back of the couch casually. It’s painfully close to your shoulder. Not touching you, but close enough that he can feel the warmth radiating from your body.
Too close.
Not close enough.
You’re still beside him, cozied up in a fluffy comforter, your old notepad balancing on your knee. Every so often, your pencil scribbles down something about the show you’re both paying little to no attention to. Usually something sarcastic and disbelieving of the insane situations that take place between the actors.
Just a minute ago, you had tilted the notepad towards him, drawing his attention.
I don’t think that’s how defibrillators work.
He chuckled lightly, eyes darting to your clock on the wall. It’s around 10 PM. He’s been at your place for at least five hours now, basking in the silent domesticity.
His eyes don’t stay on the clock or the note for particularly long.
They’re trained on you.
He picks up the way your brows furrow when you focus; on the way your hands pet over the blanket to feel its softness when the show gets particularly tense. When a joke is said over the television speakers, he can see the way your lips press together as you try not to laugh. He doesn’t miss the way that you ever so slightly start to lean into him as the night continues on.
That moment feels more dangerous than a lot of the missions he’s been deployed on.
Because this matters.
This is real.
On a mission, the only thing that matters is completing the goal. If he can’t complete it, and he dies trying, then that just means it’s not his problem anymore.
But this?
He can mess this up in so, so many ways.
The room is quiet. Warm. Safe. It’s something that he’s not sure he’s felt in a long, long time.
The air seems to become electrified when you shift beside him, closing the gap between you two by another inch or so. It’s not much, but it’s enough. The skin of your shoulder meets his outstretched hand and stays there.
Leon goes still.
He doesn’t dare to even breathe, his body rigid like a statue. The moment might shatter if he moves. He has to resist the urge to twitch his fingers against the smooth surface of your skin. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches you pick up your pencil. It stills in mid air, hovering over your notepad like you’re thinking of what to say.
When he finally gets the courage to look at you, your eyes aren’t on the paper. They’re looking directly at him. It’s not questioning. It’s not teasing. It’s just you. Just… Looking. There’s something softer in your eyes tonight. Something even quieter than usual. Like you’re waiting for something.
Is he just projecting? He has no clue.
His throat feels dry. It’s like his brain is screaming at him to say something. Anything. But the words get caught in his throat like a fly in a web.
His hand shifts, just barely, resting just a bit more of his weight against the back of the couch. It brings his whole body a little closer to you. His fingers twitch, as if they’re trying to debate whether to further close the tiny, insignificant gap or try to maintain distance.
It would be easy.
Way, way too easy.
His eyes flicker down again, resting his gaze onto your lips. Soft. Plush. The perfect shape. When he looks back up, he realizes you did the same to him.
His breath catches.
There it is.
That same moment from the gym. From the kitchen. From every single close encounter he’s had with you. It’s like his body is drawn to yours by some kind of gravitational pull, his other hand slowly rising from where it had been resting beside him. He longs to touch you. To rest his palm against your skin and hold you like you’re the only sense of normalcy he’s ever had.
Closer.
Closer.
So, so very close.
He could-
His phone rings.
The sound cuts the tension in half like a gunshot. You both flinch.
The moment shatters like glass.
Leon exhales sharply, his hand dragging across his face as he leans forward to grab his phone off the table. The screen lights up, illuminating his features as he squints to read the caller ID.
Sherry.
Of course.
If it was anyone else, he wouldn’t have bothered answering. But he can’t miss a call from her. He answers, his tone hardening out of instinct.
“Yeah?”
“Leon.” Her voice is tight. Focused. “We have an update.”
He straightens slightly, every muscle in his body pulling taut. He can already tell by the tone of her voice that she doesn't have good news.
“What kind of update?”
There’s a pause. Not a long one. But long enough.
“The facility isn’t just active,” she says. “We intercepted a transmission about twenty minutes ago. Internal systems are fully operational. Power, security… everything.”
Leon’s jaw tightens.
“That doesn’t happen on its own.”
“No. It doesn’t.”
He can feel your attention on him now. The shift in the room is immediate. The softness from before replaced with something sharper. Colder.
“What else?” he asks.
Another pause. This one heavier.
“…There’s more.”
He doesn’t like the way she says it.
“What?”
“The transmission included a name.”
Something in his chest sinks. It’s like he knows the answer before she even says it.
“…Whose?”
A breath on the other end.
“Yours.”
Silence.
The kind that presses in on your ears. Leon doesn’t respond right away. Doesn’t know how to.
Sherry continues, quieter now. “We couldn’t get the full message. But your name was repeated. Multiple times.”
Your pencil drops softly into your lap. Leon stares at nothing. Of course this isn’t just another mission. It never is.
“…When do we deploy?” he asks finally.
“Tomorrow night. 2200 hours. We’re moving it up.”
That soon?
He nods once, even though she can’t see it. “Got it.”
“Leon-” she starts, then hesitates. “Be careful.”
He almost laughs at that.
“Always am.”
The call ends. The room feels different now. Colder. Smaller. Like the warm normalcy from earlier has been destroyed alongside his sense of safety.
Why does it always have to be him?
Leon lowers the phone slowly, staring at it for a moment before setting it back down on the table. Neither of you speak right away. You don’t need to.
Your notepad comes back up, pencil moving slower this time.
Tomorrow?
He nods, glaring at the phone like it's a curse. “Yeah.”
Another pause. Your next words take a little longer to write, as if you’re debating if they’re worth asking.
You okay?
He lets out a quiet breath, saying the words that he doesn’t even think about anymore, “Yeah. I’m fine.”
Your eyes call him out before your notepad ever could. Another beat passes, his heart pounding in his chest.
“... No. I’m not.”
The admission feels heavy on his tongue. Has he ever been this honest about himself before?
Your eyes lift to his. There’s no judgement in them. No surprise. Just the same quiet understanding as always. It makes his chest tighten.
“I’ve seen this before,” he continues, voice low. “Facilities that shouldn’t be running. People playing with things they don’t understand.” His hands curl slightly against his knees, “It never ends clean.”
Your gaze still doesn’t dare waver. The pencil moves again, the notepad being thrust in his direction.
Then we’ll make it end clean.
It’s simple. Direct. Like it’s easy.
He laughs bitterly at your optimism. But he doesn’t have the heart to argue against it.
“Yeah,” His eyes meet yours again. He wishes he was back to just a few minutes ago, when your bodies were so very close, “I guess we will.”
.
.
.
The rest of the night passes differently. It’s quieter, more deliberate. You had turned the TV volume down until it was barely a whisper. Instead of continuing the false normalcy, you both move around the apartment. Cleaning up, gathering things, existing in the same place without filling it with too much noise. At some point, you start packing.
Not much. Just the essentials.
He watches you pack from the doorway of your bedroom, keeping note of the way you move. Efficient, but not rushed. Focused, but not forgetful. You’ve done this before. It isn’t your first mission.
But still…
He still thinks that you coming along is a terrible idea.
“You don’t have to come.” He says suddenly. Your eyes look up at him through your lashes as you slow your packing.
His words hang in the air for a few seconds before you give a disapproving hum.
He steps further into the room, a hand running through his hair, “I can pull some favors. Get you reassigned. It’s possible.”
Your notepad is in your hands before he can even finish, a few small scratches on the paper. It gets shown to him with a strong, outstretched hand.
No.
It’s firm. Immediate.
More writing, the notepad being held closer to you this time.
I’m going.
He exhales, frustration flickering across his sharp features, “It’s not safe.”
Your eyebrow lifts. He can practically hear your snarky thoughts.
As if that’s ever stopped me before.
“That’s not the point.” His voice is shakier than he wanted it to be.
Then what is?
He hesitates, because the answer is obvious. He doesn’t want you to get hurt. He can’t lose you too. You already know. Of course you do. You always do.
Your hand reaches out, slow and deliberate, and gently grabs his wrist. The contact is light. But it anchors him instantly. He has to tamper down the full body shiver he feels when your thumb rubs across his skin. With your spare hand, your pencil moves again.
We stick together. Like always.
His gaze drops to your hand. Then back to your eyes. Too close.
Again.
Everything about this feels like a repeat. Like a loop he can’t break. His other hand lifts, almost without permission, hovering near your face.
Like he’s about to…
He stops, his jaw tightening. He pulls back.
“Yeah,” his voice is rougher now, “Like always.”
.
.
.
The next night comes too fast.
The aircraft is loud. Deafening, even. The roar of the engine vibrates through the metal floor into his boots, reverberating into his chest. Cold air bites into every seam of his clothing, snapping against any skin it can find. Antarctica stretches endlessly below. Cold. Dark. Unforgiving.
He’s standing across from you, already geared up. His tactical harness is secured, his weapons checked. His expression set. Professional. Distant. It’s safer that way. But his eyes… His eyes keep finding you.
You’re adjusting your gloves and double checking your parachute straps. Soon enough, his straps are going to be clicked into yours, locking you two together for the ride down. But for now, he watches the look on your face. Focused. Steady.
Good.
That’s good.
He steps forward anyway, “Hold still.”
You freeze instantly, eyes looking up at his. The trust in your face is pure and unyielding. He reaches for your harness, tugging a random strap to be just a touch tighter. Neither of you miss the way his fingers linger for a second too long.
“You missed this one.” He mutters.
You didn’t. You know this. He knows this. But you don’t call him out on it. Instead, you just nod. Your hand comes up, adjusting his gear in return. Mirroring him. Your fingers brush his chest.
Too close.
His breath hitches.
The red light above the cabin blares to life.
3 minutes.
His heart drops.
“Okay, just hold still.” He stands behind you in the blink of an eye, his body pressed closely to yours. There’s no room for personal space when you’re strapped to him thousands of feet in the air. To be honest with himself, the closeness is more welcome than he’d like to admit.
The wind howls louder as the hatch door begins to open. His fingers work quickly, attaching the straps on your back to the ones on his chest. He leans in even closer, impossibly so, like your very cells are being tied together.
His lips barely brush the shell of your ear as he speaks. He has to be close for you to hear him.
“When we get down there…” He finishes tightening the straps, testing the connection between you two with a firm tug, “Stay close to me.”
It’s an order, but it doesn’t sound like one. It’s more of a desperate plea.
You turn your head, eyes locking onto his. You nod.
Smiley Faces and Sandwiches - Leon Kennedy x quiet!Reader (Part 3)
Summary: It's been one week since the events of RE9. Since then, he's been trying to find a way to repay you for saving him. But it seems that every time he even tries to repay the favor, you return it tenfold...
Masterlist
The DSO office is, as always, way too hot.
It's always been that way, ever since the organization purchased the cheapest building space they could find to have their agents do off-field work. The building was decades too old. Surely not up to any kind of building code, and most definitely a standing OSHA violation. The crappy air conditioning unit had never quite worked. Especially not now, with a sudden heat wave raging on.
Leon could feel a bead of sweat falling down his brow, and he absentmindedly wiped it away with the back of his hand. He had gotten here early to try and get a head start on his post-mission briefing, but with the discomfort of the hot air, he wasn't getting much done.
The door opened with a click, and he looked up from his still empty document. You were standing there, your hair pulled back out of your face. In your hand was a drink holder, carrying two iced drinks.
You smiled at him, gesturing down to the drinks in your hand. He could imagine your sweet voice, the voice that he had only ever heard twice, encouraging him to grab one.
Go on! I know it's too hot in here.
He chuckled, stepping out of his chair. He felt too stagnant in it anyway.
"Thank you, Y/N. What's on the menu today?" He joked.
You tapped the edge of the cup, highlighting what must've been the barista's neat scrawl.
Lrge Icd Ltte
Xtra Ice
Xtra Sht Esprsso
He took a sip. Iced coffee wasn't normally his thing. Normally, he preferred it hotter than the hell that he had been subjected to countless times. But on a day like today? Iced sounded great.
The taste of slightly burnt espresso touched his tongue. But it was complimented nicely by the creaminess of the milk that must have been added. He took another sip, pulling out the chair beside his for you to sit down in.
You accepted it, sitting down casually before bringing out your laptop. The office resumed its quiet from before, the only noise being the tapping on your keyboard and the whirr of the barely working AC.
His mind couldn't help but wander to only a week ago.
Him, dying of the virus coursing through his heart. Your hands on his shoulders. Your cry of fear as you and Grace dragged him back to his feet. Your panicked voice, begging him to wake up.
He can still remember the conversation he had with Sherry later that day, once it was all over. It was while you were sleeping in the safe house you both were sharing for the night.
Sherry hesitated to speak for a moment, but he knew she had something to say. He had known her since she was just a little girl. Leon always knew when she needed to tell him something.
"Leon... You were pretty close to not making it out of there, weren't you?"
His hand had tiredly rubbed his face, trying not to think of how badly his lungs had burned as he had laid there on the floor. "I wasn't going to Disneyland, I'll tell you that."
She didn't laugh. Normally, she'd humor him. But it had gotten too close this time.
Leon continued, "It was bad, yeah. It was."
He could hear some motion on the other end of the line. If he could guess, he would say that Sherry was getting ready for bed.
"When I first heard Y/N, I thought that maybe it was Grace. I hadn't heard her voice either, you know. I thought it was her, or maybe some other random girl that could be there needing help. But then Y/N said it was her, and I knew that it had to be bad. I can only imagine how close you were to..."
She trailed off. He knew what Sherry meant.
"But I didn't."
"You could've."
"Yeah, yeah," He waved the thought away, even though she couldn't see him, "But she helped me up. She got me to focus on the mission. I'm not sure I would've made it out of there without her."
Finally, a chuckle, "Yeah, you owe her one." A yawn, before she continued, "I'm heading to bed. Will you two be okay for the night?"
Leon peeked over to the small bed in the safe house. You were fast asleep, covered in a thin cotton blanket.
"Sleeping on the couch won't be good for my back, but we'll be fine."
Another laugh from Sherry. This one sleepier. Like she was drifting off as the call came to a close.
"Ever the gentleman, Leon. Oh, well. You do owe her."
Before Leon knew it, the clock hit noon. He watched as you stretched in your office chair, your back making an audible pop.
"I'm gonna grab myself some lunch. Don't cause too much trouble while I'm gone." He winked playfully, and he saw your smirk in reply.
Me? Never.
You gave him a little wave goodbye as he walked out.
The moment that he was out of sight, he let out a sigh.
He had never wanted to make up something so much before. Usually, when someone saved him during a mission, he'd just say that he owed them a favor. They'd laugh. Maybe he'd repay it later. Maybe they'd die before they got the chance. Either way, he wouldn't think much of it.
But for some reason, you were different.
It wasn't just that you had helped him when he was at his most dire. You had done more than that. You had spoken to him. That alone felt like he had broke some deep moral code of yours that needed retribution.
Even worse so was that since that day, you hadn't spoken again.
You had called to him while he was dying. You had said a little joke on the rescue helicopter back home. But since that day, you had resorted back to just little hums and gestures.
He didn't think you had any ill will behind it. You were still smiling and humming at his jokes. You still did your job just as well as you always had. But something felt different. Something felt off. Even though you had seen him laid out to dry that day, it was like he had seen something far more vulnerable than his own pathetic dying body. He had seen you.
He had to repay you somehow.
Of course, if it was simple as that, he would have done it already. He owned a Porsche. He owned thousand dollar watches and expensive tactical shoes. Buying you something was easy. But repaying you? That was going to be near impossible.
His feet stopped beneath him. He realized that he had been thinking while walking, his legs having lead him to a nearby cafe next to the office building. His eyes scanned the name:
Mara's Little Clay House
Something about the name struck him. It was familiar, more familiar than some of the other places he had looked at while coming in to work. His mind took a beat to try and remember where he had heard it before.
Ah. That's right.
He had seen that logo on takeout containers in the trash. He can remember the same cutesy logo being on your occasional lunch when you forgot to pack one from home. Was this your favorite restaurant?
He opened the old wooden door, a sweet little bell chime announcing his entrance. A sweet older woman greeted him, presumably Mara.
"Welcome, sir! What can I get you today?"
For a moment, the sense of normalcy felt off putting. After weeks upon weeks of being infected and fighting like hell for a cure, just walking into a sweet little cafe felt like a trap. But, he steeled his nerves as always, trying to put on a casual face.
"My-" He thought for a moment. Partner? No, that's not right. Coworker? He felt closer to you than that. "-My friend, she comes here sometimes for lunch."
The older woman smiled sweetly, "What does she look like? I know all of my regulars. Are you wanting to get the same thing as she does?"
He nodded, "Yes, please. Two of it, actually. Her name's Y/N. She about yea high," He held his hand to about your height, "Do you remember her?"
The older woman smiled. "Y/N? I believe I do, yes. Sweet girl. Very quiet, though."
Leon chuckled, mostly to himself, "That's her, alright. I'd like two of whatever she normally orders, please."
The woman gets to work in the kitchen after that, bustling around as she preps the food. But Leon pays no mind to her.
His phone lights up with a message.
Y/N (Rookie):
Report is done on my end. Need your signature.
He types out a reply, watching as Mara comes back with two plastic bags. They have handwritten notes on them, little smiley faces and thank you's scrawled around the thin plastic.
She hands it to him, making sure he has a firm hold of the bags before saying, "It's about time she got herself somebody to take care of her. She's always been such a loner, you know."
He freezes for a moment, lowering the bags to his side. "We're not- We're just friends."
Mara snickers, in a way that older people do when they know something that you don't. He would have hoped that he would have learned that habit by now, especially at his age, but he hasn't.
"Whatever you say, sir. Whatever you say."
He gets back to the office within a few minutes after that, takeout containers hanging on his arms as he pushes open the door with his good shoulder. He can still vaguely hear your typing as he steps in.
"Brought you some lunch. The lady down at Mara's said that this is what you usually get."
He isn't expecting the way your face lights up. You hop out of your chair, your steps bouncy, before taking one of the bags from him. Your brow raises slightly.
For me? Really?
He nods, "Of course. Don't worry about it. My treat."
Your smile beams so brightly that he feels like its blinding him. It's almost a relief when you turn away to go back to your seat, opening the container and taking a few bites. He follows, eating beside you quietly. The meal is good. Really good, actually. It's the type of homemade cooking that he hasn't had in pretty much ever.
"You got good taste. Better than mine, at least."
He hears a giggle on your side of the desk, and see's you pick up your notepad. The sound of a pen scratching against paper, and then a note is being placed beside his hand.
I think you just eat like shit.
He laughs, nodding through bites of his lunch, "You got me there. Most of my meals are frozen or bought these days."
He watches as you roll your eyes. Another note gets placed on top of the old one.
I really should just start packing two lunches for us.
His face flushes ever so slightly, "No, no. Don't worry about that. Don't you forget it half the time anyway?"
You shrug.
The silence resumes, and he really thought that would be the end of it. He still owed you, of course. A single lunch wasn't going to repay what you had done. But he thought that maybe, just maybe, you guys were a little more even.
That was until, the next day, you walked in with an extra lunch bag.
It was identical to your usual one, just a plain grey instead of your favorite color. He had been borderline in shock as you handed it to him like it was the most casual thing in the world.
"Y/N? What is this?" He held the little bag like it was a live explosive.
You cocked an eyebrow, like it was obvious. You had already gotten your laptop out for the day, so he watched as you started typing in a new document.
Its your lunch?? Duh???
He shook his head vigorously, "No, no. This isn't mine."
You rolled your eyes.
Of fucking course it is? And you're welcome btw.
He stood there for a moment, speechless. His fingers gently took the zipper on the side of it, unzipping it like he was going to die when he saw the contents.
Unceremoniously, the top popped open.
Inside was a sandwich. It looked to be on some form of French bread, the filling consisting of shredded chicken and some other vegetables. Mozzarella cheese had been added inside and then toasted, and he could tell that it was probably still warm. Beside the sandwich was a serving of chips, a little cup of grapes, and a can of coffee.
He heard typing again. Looking up, he watched your fingers tap out a few more words.
Hope you like it! Let me know if you want this to be a regular thing.
Looking down at the carefully crafted meal in his hands, he felt like his heart had dropped out of his body. An odd feeling curled in his chest, a warmth flooding to his cheeks.
You had stopped looking at him, your hands busy with whatever task you were completing. He watched your nimble fingers typing, and the way your eyes scanned the text in front of you.
He looked back down at the sandwich again. Fuck, was that a smiley face drawn on the fruit cup?
He knew in that moment that he was completely and utterly fucked.
.
.
Taglist: @kashasenpai
Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!
Summary: Its winter break of junior year, and the two of you are still inseparable as always, and Leon excitedly invites you to his hockey tournament. - Part 2 (not proof read lowk)
Tags ❅ Fluff/Comfort, late 90's - early 2000's
My Moon My Man by Feist ♪
- - - - - - - - -
Highschool!Leon who spends lots of time with you over winter break, whether that be inside watching movies next to you on the couch, or pelting snowballs at you outside and chuckling as you try to get back at him with handfuls of powdery snow.
Highschool!Leon Who attempts to grab your arm to stop you from slipping and falling in the snow, but you end up dragging him down with you. He mutters about how clumsy you are, though a goofy smile crosses his face.
Highschool!Leon Who tries to teach you hockey and ice skating, but you're so bad at it that he has to turn away from you so you don't see him laughing at you struggling.
Highschool!Leon Who invites you to his hockey tournament over winter break, barely able to hide his excitement in the text messages he sends you.
“Hey. Wuz wondering if you wanted to come to my hockey tournament.”
…
“No biggie if you can't."
…
“It won't be boring I swear”
Highschool!Leon who tells you exactly where to sit and which seats are the best in the small hockey stadium. He's very specific with his wording, and even brings you a map of the stadium.
Highschool!Leon who as soon as he glides out onto the ice, immediately looks around in the crowded bleachers for you. When he finally sees you, almost all the way up front and close to the protective glass all bundled up in a puffy winter jacket, his stern and focused expression lights up.
Highschool!Leon who can practically feel your eyes following him on the ice, and he feels the immature urge to show off for you.
Highschool!Leon who pulls off being a brag a few times, looking back at you and grinning as much as he can with a mouthful of mouthguard.
Highschool!Leon who towards the end of his game gets too cocky, and gets slammed into and knocked down by a player from the other team.
Highschool!Leon who hits his head on the ice, hard, and all he can do is just look up as the entire room begins to spin, along with your face, worried and alarmed, and he curses quietly to himself.
Highschool!Leon who has to get wheeled off the ice and taken to the emergency room when he realizes he can't get back up without the entire world spinning.
Highschool!Leon who texts you from the emergency room a few hours later,
“It doesnt usualy go lik th at”
Highschool!Leon who sheepishly greets you the next day at his door, stepping aside to let you in with a container of freshly baked cookies in your hands.
Highschool!Leon who thanks you for coming to spend time with him while he can't really do anything now because of his concussion. You both sit on the couch, watching a movie as he holds an icepack to the side of his head. Neither of you are really paying attention to the movie, and rather just talking.
Highschool!Leon whose face hardens when you apologize, asking if he got hurt because you had distracted him. He shakes his head, interrupting you.
Highschool!Leon who admits with rosy cheeks that he was being cocky, and being a showoff and that he probably deserved it.
Highschool!Leon who cracks a smile when you say,
“Well whatever you were doing worked. You were amazing.”
Summary: Rookie Leon falling asleep on your shoulder by accident.
Leon Kennedy was not a very social guy, often perceived as shy most of the time, awkward even. So when he heard about the travel plans his class was making to celebrate their graduation, he was not very convinced about going.
That was until he overheard you talking to your friends about it and suddenly it became the best plan in the whole world.
Three years.
Three full years trying to talk to you, trying to form a coherent sentence without stumbling whenever you were around, and still nothing.
You were completely out of his league. Massively out of his reach. You were pretty and smart and funny and, oh god, you were so perfect it hurt.
And most of all, you were kind.
You always smiled at him when there was absolutely no need to do it. You always waved goodbye to him when the bell rang and pretended not to notice how flustered he got every single time.
If you were going to be there, then so would he be, even if it was just to observe you from a safe distance like the complete coward he was.
He packed everything he thought he might need for the four-hour road trip. Earbuds, snacks, a couple of comics in case he got bored, an extra hoodie, his portable cassette player, everything carefully organized in his bag the night before because Leon Kennedy was the kind of person who got nervous even preparing for a bus ride.
Still, nothing could have prepared him for the panic that hit him once he actually stepped onto the bus.
His eyes scanned every seat what felt like more than ten times, searching for your face, waiting to hear your laugh or at least catch a glimpse of your hair somewhere between the crowded seats.
Nothing. No sign of your beautiful hair, your friendly eyes, or your soft smile.
His stomach sank immediately, maybe you decided to stay home this time, maybe he had dragged himself out here for nothing, he almost considered getting off the bus right there.
And then you appeared just two minutes before departure, breath uneven from running, backpack hanging from one shoulder while your eyes searched around for an empty seat.
Only then did Leon realize the only available seat was the one next to him.
That was not exactly surprising. Nobody usually fought to sit beside the awkward quiet guy who spent lunch breaks reading comics instead of talking.
But right now? Right now it felt like a miracle.
Maybe this was fate.
Maybe this was the universe finally taking pity on him after three years of suffering in silence.
Maybe this was God rewarding him for starting to go to church with his mom on Sundays again.
Fuck, maybe he was dreaming.
He dreamed about you all the time after all, his subconscious already knew every detail of your face by memory.
You looked around one more time before your eyes landed on him and then you smiled.
Leon almost passed out right there.
“Can I sit here?” you asked.
His brain completely shut down. “Uh…”
Great start, Kennedy.
“Yeah” he managed to say after a painful second. “Yeah, of course.”
You thanked him softly before sliding into the seat beside him, adjusting your bag on your lap while he sat completely stiff next to the window, trying not to visibly malfunction.
You smelled nice, that was the first thing his traitorous brain noticed, something soft and warm, maybe vanilla mixed with your shampoo, subtle enough that he only noticed it because you were so close.
You were sitting so close to him.
Leon felt his heart beating so hard he was genuinely worried you could hear it.
You settled comfortably beside him while the rest of the class continued talking loudly around the bus, completely unaware that Leon Kennedy was currently experiencing the most important moment of his life.
And somehow, things only got worse for him, because your eyes landed on the comic resting on his lap “Oh” you said, sounding genuinely interested. “You read those?”
Leon looked down like he had forgotten he was even holding it “Uh… yeah.”
You smiled immediately “What issue is it?”
His head snapped toward you so fast he almost hurt his neck “You know this series?”
Please say yes.
Please.
“Of course I do,” you laughed softly. “My older brother used to collect them. I started stealing his comics when I was little.”
Leon stared at you.
No.
No way.
Not only were you the prettiest girl he had ever seen, but you also liked comics?
That was unfair, actually unfair.
His crush on you had already been catastrophic enough, but now this? God clearly had favorites.
“What?” you asked, amused by the way he was looking at you.
“N-Nothing” he said quickly. “I just… didn’t think you liked this kind of stuff.”
“Well, now I’m offended,” you teased. “What exactly did you think I liked?”
Leon felt heat crawl all the way up his neck.
“I don’t know” he mumbled awkwardly. “Normal things.”
That made you laugh again, and Leon decided right there that your laugh was probably his favorite sound in the world.
“What’s a normal thing?” you asked.
“I don’t know” he repeated helplessly. “Stuff cool people like.”
“You think I’m cool?”
Oh god.
Abort mission.
Abort immediately.
Leon looked away so fast it was almost violent “Well…” he muttered. “Yeah.”
Your smile softened a little at that, and somehow, instead of making things easier, it only made his chest hurt more.
The conversation started flowing after that, slowly but naturally. At first Leon stumbled over his own words every couple of sentences, his hands awkwardly fidgeting with the corner of the comic book while he tried to survive your attention.
But you were patient, kind, you never made him feel weird for taking too long to answer. Never laughed when he lost track of what he was saying halfway through a sentence because your eyes distracted him too much, you simply listened.
And Leon realized, with growing horror, that talking to you was actually nice, dangerously nice.
You asked him about his favorite characters, and when he started rambling apologetically about storylines and alternate covers, expecting you to lose interest immediately, you just kept listening with your chin resting on your hand.
“You really like talking about this stuff, huh?” you said softly.
Leon froze, embarrassed instantly “Sorry.”
“What? No.” You looked genuinely surprised. “I think it’s cute.”
Cute.
Cute.
Leon Kennedy was going to die on this bus.
At some point, one of your friends called your name from a few seats away, asking if you wanted to switch places and sit with them instead.
Leon’s stomach dropped immediately, but then you shook your head “I’m good here!”
Good here.
Leon genuinely had to stare out the window for a second just to recover emotionally.
After a while, the bus became quieter. Some people started falling asleep, others listened to music or talked more quietly among themselves while the road stretched endlessly ahead, you leaned back into your seat with a sigh “Four hours is a lot longer than I expected” you murmured.
Leon nodded nervously, then, after hesitating for a second, he slowly reached into his bag. “I, uh…” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “I brought music if you want to listen to something.”
Your smile returned instantly “I’d like that.”
Leon’s hands shook a little while untangling the earbuds and you pretended not to notice, he handed you one side carefully before pressing play on his cassette player, and a soft song filled the silence between you.
For a moment neither of you spoke.
You simply listened together while the bus moved steadily down the road, shoulders brushing every now and then whenever it hit a bump, Leon was hyperaware of everything, the warmth of your arm against his, the way you quietly hummed along to songs you recognized, the way you occasionally smiled at certain lyrics.
At some point, you started talking again, softer now, your voices naturally quieter to match the atmosphere around you, you spoke about music, movies, childhood memories, future plans.
And Leon listened to every word like it was the most important thing anyone had ever told him, hours passed without either of you noticing, at one point, you laughed so hard at one of his awkward jokes that you had to cover your mouth not to wake the others and Leon had never felt prouder of himself.
Eventually though, exhaustion started catching up to him, he had barely slept the night before because he was too nervous about this trip, too nervous about seeing you.
The music played softly in the background while the bus lights dimmed even more, the atmosphere turning warm and sleepy.
Leon tried to stay awake, really, really tried.
But your shoulder was right there, and you smelled nice, and the music was soft, and you kept talking in that gentle voice that made everything feel calm somehow.
His eyes started closing before he could stop them, his head tilted slightly, then more, and before he realized it, he felt something soft under his cheek, warm, comfortable.
His sleepy brain barely registered what happened before exhaustion fully won, he fell asleep on your shoulder completely by accident.
The second you felt the weight against you, you looked down in surprise and immediately melted.
Oh.
Oh, he was adorable.
Leon looked so peaceful asleep, all the nervous tension finally gone from his face. His blond hair fell messily over his forehead, lips slightly parted while he breathed slowly against your shoulder.
You could actually feel your heart ache a little.
Because after three years of watching him quietly admire you from afar, after three years of shy smiles and awkward eye contact and stumbling conversations in hallways, you knew something Leon clearly did not.
You had liked him for a very long time too.
Carefully, trying not to wake him, you adjusted your position slightly so he could rest more comfortably.
His sleepy self unconsciously moved even closer afterward.
And honestly? You did not mind at all, not even a little.
It was obvious to say Leon briefly considered opening the emergency exit and throwing himself onto the highway once he woke up.
Omg such a long time.. I hope you enjoy this one! Nerdy Leon Kennedy you'll always have a special place in my heart 😭.
I like a lot of things @viridian19 - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
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