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[littledisasters]

POINT BLANK | CH. 1

Series masterlist AO3 Pairing: RE4!Leon Kennedy x CIA!Reader Summary: You’ve spent your career being the hand that sweeps the world's atrocities under the rug. You’re cynical, you’re tired, and you’re definitely too old for Leon Kennedy’s brand of heroics. There are rules to this job: Don’t get attached. Don’t hesitate. Don’t trust anyone. You break all three somewhere between a dive bar, a hospital room, and Leon Kennedy looking at you like you’re something worth saving. Content: 18+, graphic descriptions of violence, eventual smut, second person POV, no use of Y/N, age gap (older reader), coworkers to lovers, slow burn, mutual pining, angst, hurt/comfort, awkward Leon, almost kisses, romantic tension, sexual tension, survivor's guilt, eventual smut, avoidant attachment, past trauma, patching each other up, Comment or DM to join the taglist

October 2006; Langley, VA

The fluorescent lights of the Langley briefing room vibrate at a frequency that feels like a drill pressing into your temples.

You slide into the chair next to Evan, the plastic creaking under your weight, and don’t even bother to take off your sunglasses. The dark lenses are the only thing standing between your splitting headache and the sterile, blinding whiteness of the room.

If the CIA brass expects you to sit through a joint task force meeting looking like a poster child for federal efficiency, they should have given you more than twelve hours on a cargo plane to wash the dirt out from under your fingernails.

You slouch back in the uncomfortable, padded chair, casting a thoroughly miserable side-eye at Evan, who looks entirely too pristine. He is sitting there, tapping away at his encrypted tablet, smelling faintly of laundry detergent and a functioning eight hours of sleep. 

It is deeply offensive.

You lean back, cross your arms, and let out a long, audible sigh that telegraphs exactly how much you want to be anywhere else.

A few STRATCOM members are already scattered around the mahogany table, looking far too polished for nine in the morning. 

Then the heavy double doors swing open, and the atmosphere in the room shifts instantly.

Am an walks in, and you can practically hear the collective indrawn breath of the room's junior analysts. 

He’s dressed in a navy suit, moving with a controlled, athletic grace that screams overachiever. Blond hair, slightly too long to be regulation-perfect. Blue eyes that scan the room quickly—not lingering, not searching for attention, just… clocking exits, people, angles. 

Habit.

He makes the less experienced members of the team turn their heads like he’s a celebrity walking a red carpet. 

To them, he’s a living myth, a ghost story made flesh.

To you, he’s just the guy who’s about to make this meeting thirty minutes longer than it needs to be.

He doesn't play into the attention, though. In fact, he looks slightly uncomfortable with the way the room has gone quiet, offering a small, almost apologetic nod to the senior staff as he makes his way to the only empty chair. 

He’s not swaggering; he’s just... some guy. A guy who happens to look like he’s stepped off a recruitment poster, which only makes your current state—caffeine-deprived and cynical—feel more haggard.

You know the file, though. Everyone in the building does.

Leon S. Kennedy

Raccoon City survivor. STRATCOM’s golden boy. The President’s personal silver bullet for every bio-organic nightmare that crawls out of a test tube. 

He sits directly across from you, his blue eyes meeting yours for a fleeting second with a sincerity that feels out of place in a room full of sharks.

You know the type of man they say he is.

You’re a lot more interested in the one who just sat down like he’d rather be literally anywhere else.

“Tell me we’re not on babysitting duty,” you mumble to Evan, barely moving your lips. “I thought STRATCOM had their own nursery for the ones with nice hair.”

Evan doesn’t even look up from his tablet. “Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed. And why the fuck are you wearing sunglasses indoors? You look like a hungover bodyguard.”

You tip the glasses down just enough to fix him with a bloodshot stare. “I am hungover. And jetlagged, Evan. Which explains the sunglasses, the mood, and why I might bite the next person who speaks above a whisper.”

Without a word, Evan slides his steaming cardboard cup of coffee toward you.The rich, bitter scent of dark roast hits your nose, and for a fleeting second, you feel a faint surge of genuine, gentle affection for the man.

You blink at the cup, then at him. “You’re going soft on me,” you tease, your voice a raspy shadow of its usual self. “Next thing I know you’ll be knitting me a cardigan.”

“I’m just trying to keep you from becoming homicidal,” he counters, still looking at his screen. “For once, I’d like to get through a joint task force meeting without a formal HR complaint. Drink the caffeine and be a professional.”

You take a sip. The bitter heat does wonders for your soul, even if it doesn’t touch the headache.

You and Evan watch the STRATCOM contingent out of the corner of your eyes.

“I thought he’d be taller,” Evan whispers, nodding subtly toward Kennedy.

You snort directly into your coffee, the sound muffled but sharp enough to make a STRATCOM staffer a few seats down look over in disapproval. You flash the suit a venomous glare until he looks away. 

“I just hope there’s some actual skill behind that pretty face. I’m too old to be a glorified nanny. If we have to pull him out of a fire, they better pay me double.”

“There must be something to him,” Evan muses. “The guy’s been through enough viral hellscapes to be a walking petri dish. If he wasn’t good, he’d be a zombie or a puddle of goo by now.”

You let out a dry, cynical breath, staring down at the dark swirling liquid in your cup. Evan isn't wrong, but decades of watching tactical operations dissolve into chaotic bloodbaths because some suit in Washington wanted a political win has completely eroded your faith in the system. You’ve seen too many "heroes" get chewed up and spit out by the meat grinder of black ops.

Evan glances at your empty hands, then back to his screen. “Speaking of the devil... did you actually review the briefing documents I forwarded you?”

You lean your head back against the rigid spine of the chair, closing your eyes behind the comforting dark barrier of the shades. “Didn’t have time between the shit brass keeps pulling out of their collective asses. They had me running a three-week marathon through the Bolivian brush tracking a phantom lead that didn't exist. My brain is fried, Evan.”

Evan sighs, a familiar, fond sound. He slides his tablet directly into your lap. “Well, look at it now. Tell me what you think of the extraction protocol.”

You crack your eyes open, pulling the tablet up and scrolling through the classified tactical mapping for the upcoming raid on an European crime syndicate. Your eyes skim the coordinates, the perimeter deployment, the estimated response times, and the structural analysis of the target compound. 

Within thirty seconds, the sheer, unadulterated stupidity of the plan makes your blood pressure spike. It is an absolute bottleneck. A tactical suicide pact written in neat, Arial-font bullet points.

“What do you think?” Evan asks, though he clearly already knows the answer.

“I think it’s a shitty plan,” you say, your voice flat and definitive. “The moron who drafted this is clearly huffing glue. I’m going to have to give them the benefit of my very thorough expertise.”

Evan lets out a dry, raspy chuckle, shaking his head. “Expertise? Is that what we’re calling it now? You’re clearly the personality hire on this team. I’m the one who does the actual work around here.”

“Shut up and let me look at how many ways they're trying to get us killed,” you mutter playfully, elbowing him lightly in the ribs.

While you are staring down at the glowing screen, your blunt words echoing softly in the quiet room, you feel the distinct sensation of eyes on you. You casually tilt your head up, your gaze tracking through the dark tint of your sunglasses.

He had clearly caught your comment about the glue. But instead of the typical, defensive puffing of the chest you usually get from high-ranking male operatives—instead of the offended, stiff arrogance of a man whose reputation had just been casually dismissed—he looks entirely intrigued. 

One of his eyebrows is slightly arched, a faint, almost imperceptible trace of amusement dancing in his blue eyes. He leans back slightly in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, his gaze steady and assessing as he watches you handle Evan’s tablet. He isn't intimidated by your abrasive, foul-mouthed demeanor at all. If anything, the slight, curious smirk hovering near his lips suggests he finds the absolute lack of corporate filtering refreshing.

You hold his gaze behind your lenses, dryly noting that at least the kid has a sense of humor. 

At the front of the room, the Deputy Director clears his throat, the sound amplified by the briefing room’s microphone as he taps a button on his remote.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let's get down to it," the Director says, his voice flat and bureaucratic as the main projector screen flickers to life. A massive intelligence dossier populates the center display, dominated by a stark, stylized graphic of a mythological beast—three heads, a serpent's tail, a predator's posture. "Over the last fiscal quarter, our joint intelligence web has flagged a rapidly expanding shadow organization. They utilize this creature—the Chimera—as their formal sigil, and the intelligence community has formally dubbed them the Chimera Syndicate."

He clicks to the next slide, revealing high-resolution satellite imagery of fortified black sites and intercepted cargo manifests. "This isn't your standard black-market cartel. The Chimera Syndicate has recently taken up dealing BOWs on a massive scale across European sectors. They are actively acquiring fractured Umbrella assets, securing refined viral strains, and selling bio-organic weaponry to the highest international bidders. And that brings us to their primary distribution hub."

He clicks the remote again. The projection screen behind him flashes to a highly detailed, brightly colored tactical overlay of the primary target compound in Eastern Europe. He begins to drone on about standard insertion protocols, tracing a neat little red line directly through the main courtyard. He speaks with the smooth, unearned confidence of a man who has never had to wash a colleague's blood out of a pair of combat boots.  

As the details of the operation spill out of his mouth, the last frayed threads of your patience finally snap.

The insertion point is a funnel. The secondary extraction route relies on a bridge that your own intelligence reports indicated was structurally compromised three weeks ago. They are practically rolling out a red carpet for the Chimera Syndicate's heavy artillery.

You lean over to Evan, not even bothering with the concept of a whisper. “This is bullshit.”

The entire room goes dead silent. The air conditioning unit suddenly feels incredibly loud. 

The Deputy Director freezes, his red laser pointer trembling slightly against the digital map on the wall. Slowly, he lowers the remote and turns his head, glaring at you over the wire rims of his spectacles with a look of radiating self-importance. It’s the exact kind of bureaucratic condescension that usually makes you want to reach into your jacket for a flask. 

“Officer? Did you have something you wanted to share with the rest of the group? Or were you too busy admiring your own reflection in those glasses?”

He expects an apology. He wants you to shrink back, to mutter a sorry, sir and let him finish his fantasy of a flawless victory.

But you’ve been in the dark too long to care about his ego.

“I said,” you repeat, sitting up straight and pulling the sunglasses off your head, “this is bullshit.”

The Deputy Director’s face transitions into a delicate, dangerous shade of mauve. “You are forgetting who you are speaking to, Officer,” he says, his teeth clenched so tight you can hear the enamel grinding. “This is a highly sensitive tactical operation engineered by top-tier military minds.”  

“No,” you fire back, leaning forward and slamming your sunglasses onto the polished wood table with a sharp, echoing crack. “You’re forgetting who you’re speaking to. Twenty-five years of service in black ops. Unmatched field experience. You brought me into this circus for my expertise, so you’re damn well getting it. This plan isn't an operation—it’s a fucking suicide note.”  

A few years ago, a comment like that would have gotten you escorted out of Langley by armed guards. But you have built a reputation heavy enough that even senior leadership cannot simply dismiss you or pretend your record doesn't exist. 

You’ve survived the kind of clean-up jobs that keep these directors awake at night, and they know it.

Before he can order you out, you stand up, stepping up to the edge of the long conference table. You point a finger directly at the glowing projection screen and systematically begin to dismantle their beautiful, pristine plan.  

“Look at your primary insertion point,” you command, your voice echoing off the sterile walls. “You are funneling three separate tactical teams right into a cross-section of overlapping kill zones. The syndicate has elevated sniper perches on the north and west ridges. If you drop the teams there, they’ll be fish in a barrel before their boots even hit the mud.”  

The Deputy Director opens his mouth to speak, but you cut him off with a brutal wave of your hand. “Furthermore, whoever drew these perimeter lines completely ignored the existing ventilation and maintenance routes running beneath the sub-level labs. They appear right here on the 1998 Umbrella blueprints, but I guess looking at older schematics was too much fucking work for your analysts.”  

You lean over the table, glaring directly into the Director's eyes. “Your planners are assuming the enemy is going to behave predictably and according to conventional military rules. These people are dealing bio-organic weapons. They don't play by the Geneva Convention.”  

The Director’s face goes from mauve to a deep, embarrassed crimson as he realizes he has absolutely no data to counter your points, because every single word out of your mouth is entirely, undeniably correct. Around the table, the other military officials suddenly avoid eye contact with him, quietly nodding and adjusting their papers, silently acknowledging the massive, fatal flaws you are exposing.  

“So go ahead,” you finish, tossing your pen down onto the table. “Send them in through the front door. And then you can be the one to explain to the families why their sons and daughters are now sentient, mutated piles of sludge.”  

You sink back into your chair, breathing heavily, the thumping in your head returning with a vengeance.

Evan leans over, rubbing his temple. “Always the same shit with you,” he whispers, though there’s a fond, weary undercurrent to his voice. “You could at least try to soften the tone, you know? Just once? For the sake of my blood pressure?”

You turn your head slightly, a small, sharp smile playing on your lips. “I could soften it, Evan. I really could. But I just don't give a fuck anymore. Seen enough crap that makes Guantanamo seem like a great retirement destination.”

The front of the room is silent for a painfully long moment. The Deputy Director looks at the screen, then at his notes, and finally clears his throat, his posture deflating. With an incredibly grudging, bitter nod, he addresses the room. “We will... take these variables into consideration. The briefing is paused for sixty minutes while we recalculate the insertion vectors.” 

“Of course you will,” you murmur, leaning back and tapping your pen lightly against the table.

Evan exhales, a long, weary sound. “You know, one day they’re actually going to throw you out of one of these rooms. Permanently.”

You shrug faintly, a playful glint returning to your eyes now that the pressure is off. “Then they shouldn’t invite me. I’m a terrible guest.”

He snorts under his breath.

Across the table, Leon Kennedy is still staring. 

He isn’t offended. 

He looks captivated, his blue eyes wide with a mix of shock and dawning respect. There’s a faint, almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of his mouth, like he’s fighting the urge to grinright there in front of his superiors.  

He looks like a man who has spent far too many years surrounded by tightly wound politicians and yes-men who are too terrified of losing their pensions to speak the truth—and he’s just realized he's sitting across from a kindred spirit.

You catch his eye, hold it for a second to make sure he’s paying attention, and give him a quick, mischievous wink.

Leon blinks, completely caught off guard. A faint, genuine flush of color creeps up the collar of his shirt and colors his neck. He looks down at his folder, clearing his throat awkwardly as you turn your attention back to your coffee, thoroughly satisfied with the morning’s entertainment.

──────•✦•──────

The tarmac at the private airfield in the Eastern Slav Republic feels like a sheet of ice, the kind of cold that doesn’t just nip at your skin but takes a personal interest in your bone marrow. As the transport plane’s ramp hisses open, the Eastern European wind rushes in, smelling of jet fuel, pine needles, and the vague, metallic tang of an impending storm.

You pull the collar of your shearling jacket up against the chill, stepping down the ramp onto the frost-heaved asphalt. Your boots crunch on the thin layer of ice already forming over the puddles. Instantly, that familiar, leaden weight settles deep in your chest—the crushing boredom and cold dread of another black ops circus kicking off in a corner of the world that God forgot.

A few yards away, Leon Kennedy is hauling a heavy tactical crate off the hydraulic lift. He handles the weight with an easy, fluid strength, his biceps straining against the fabric of his dark tactical shirt, but his head isn't entirely in the game. 

Ever since you verbally castrated the Deputy Director back at Langley, the boy has been walking on eggshells around you, trying to solve you like a puzzle he can't quite piece together. He’s clearly used to two types of people: starry-eyed rookies who treat him like a plastic action figure, or stiff STRATCOM suits trying to measure their dicks against his file. 

He isn’t used to a woman who treats him like a regular peer and tells his bosses to shove their tactical maps where the sun doesn’t shine.

The local contact, a grizzled man named Yuri with skin like cured leather and a suspicious twitch in his left eye, waits by a rusted-out UAZ. He looks ready to bolt the second he sees the American “advisors” unloading crates of high-tech hardware.

The STRATCOM team leader is already smoothing his tactical vest, preparing to march over and deliver some textbook, aggressively formal diplomatic introduction that will probably make the poor bastard leak information out of sheer panic.

You don't give them the chance. You bypass the handlers entirely, stepping past a stack of gear, and walk straight toward Yuri, your posture losing the aggressive, combat-ready edge you hold in the briefing room.

“Zdrastvuy, Yuri,” you say softly, your Russian rolling off your tongue with ease. You place a gentle hand on his forearm, your eyes softening. “We heard about your brother. I am truly sorry. No man should lose family to these monsters.”

Yuri freezes, his defensive posture melting instantly. He looks at you and sees the empathy there—the genuine, weary kindness of someone who has seen too many brothers lost.

He nods slowly, his eyes brimming with a sudden, shaky trust. He wipes his nose with the back of a dirty glove and begins to speak rapidly, the words spilling out of him in an anxious, desperate torrent of Russian. 

He points a trembling finger toward the jagged white peaks rising in the distance. He tells you everything. He details the exact paths the Chimera cell has been using to move their crates into the foothills, the approximate headcounts, and the strange, guttural noises echoing from the abandoned mining shafts at night. He is trusting you with his life because you had the decency to treat him like a grieving human being before treating him like an asset.

From the corner of your eye, you see Leon stop what he’s doing. He’s holding a tactical vest, frozen mid-motion, watching the exchange.

You can almost hear the gears turning in his head: Who is this person?

One minute you’re a human buzzsaw in a conference room, and the next you’re comforting a terrified informant in his mother tongue like a saint in tactical boots.

He is visibly, utterly stunned. The cognitive dissonance is practically short-circuiting his pretty blond head.

You finish the exchange with Yuri, promising him that his village will be bypassed in the coming sweep, and turn back toward the team. The professional mask slides back into place, though your inner monologue remains as cynical as ever.

Great. Now all I need is a coffee and a lobotomy to forget the smell of this airfield.

Evan is currently cross-referencing a digital manifest next to a stack of ammunition crates and looking predictably miserable about the temperature.

You don’t say a word as you walk up to him; you simply reach into his tactical jacket pocket with the practiced ease of a pickpocket, your fingers finding the familiar rectangular shape of his cigarette pack and the cold metal of his Zippo.

“Hey,” Evan grunts, not even looking up as you flip the lid and spark a flame. “You know, those things will fucking kill you one day," he grumbles, crossing his arms against the biting wind. "And for the love of God, you are a government employee. Buy your own damn cigarettes for once."

You flick the Zippo open with a sharp, metallic clink, shielding the small flame from the bitter wind with your palm as you light up. You take a long, deep drag, the harsh smoke burning beautifully in your lungs, before blowing a neat gray cloud into the freezing air. You wink at him through the haze. 

"Why would I buy my own, Evan? Using your supply is significantly more cost-effective. It's called resource management."

"You’re a parasite," Evan grumbles, though there’s no real heat in it. "A highly armed, middle-aged parasite."

You shoot him a sharp, playful grin and nudge his shoulder with your elbow. “Consider it a fee for my charming company. It’s a bargain.”

"Your company is a recognized hazard to my physical and mental health," he snorts under his breath, turning his attention back to the tablet, though the distinct, affectionate twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth gives him away completely.

You feel that heavy gaze on you again. You turn your head just enough to see Leon still watching you, his expression a mix of bewilderment and something that looks suspiciously like intrigue. 

He looks like he wants to say something—probably some heroic one-liner about the mission or a polite comment on your linguistics—but he seems to realize he doesn’t have the right opening.

You catch his eye and let the smoke drift out of the side of your mouth, giving him a look that’s equal parts Can I help you? and Try to keep up.

Instantly, the legendary Leon S. Kennedy completely loses his nerve.

His cheeks turn a faint, tellsome pink against the freezing cold, and he abruptly rips his gaze away, suddenly becoming profoundly, intensely interested in the adjustment strap of his left combat boot. He starts pulling at a buckle that doesn't even need adjusting, his fingers working with a nervous, clumsy speed that is entirely uncharacteristic of a top-tier federal agent.

You watch his sudden, burning embarrassment, a sudden bubble of genuine, suppressed amusement fluttering in your chest. 

You take another drag of your cigarette, hiding your smirk behind the smoke.

Poor guy, you think, suppressed amusement bubbling in your chest. He’s a legend in the field, but he’s absolutely out of his depth here.

This is going to be a very long, very entertaining week.

──────•✦•──────

Leon adjusts the weight of his tactical vest, the Velcro snapping with a sharp, rhythmic sound that matches the pounding of the blood in his ears. 

He feels like he’s trying to solve a puzzle with half the pieces missing. He’s seen a lot of things in his time—monsters that defy biology and politicians who defy logic—but you are proving to be a different kind of anomaly. 

One minute you are a hurricane, dismantling a Director’s career with the surgical precision of a scalpel, and the next, you are crouched in the dirt, speaking Russian with a softness that seems to physically soothe a trembling informant. 

It’s a jarring duality, a shift in frequency so fast it leaves him with a lingering sense of vertigo.

Evan follows his line of sight without a shred of subtlety, his gaze drifting over to where you stand by a rusted armored truck, looking entirely too comfortable for a woman in a frozen wasteland. A knowing, weary flicker crosses the older officer's face, the look of a man who has seen this particular brand of fascination take root before. 

“Careful,” Evan says dryly, his voice cutting through the whistle of the wind. “She bites.” 

Leon huffs out a quiet breath, the vapor clouding in front of his face. “Yeah, I got that impression,” he mutters, thinking of the way you’d winked at him after essentially lighting the briefing room on fire. 

“Good,” Evan replies, shifting his weight. “Then you’re ahead of most people.”

There’s a beat of heavy, cold silence between them as Leon hesitates. He shouldn't ask; he’s a professional, and he has a job to do that involves BOWs, not interpersonal psych-evaluations. 

But against his better judgment, he finds the question slipping out anyway. “She always like that?” 

Evan raises an eyebrow, a skeptical glint in his eyes. “Like what?” 

Leon gestures vaguely toward you, his hand dropping as soon as he realizes how transparent he’s being. “That. The... the 180-degree switch.” 

Evan looks back at you again, watching as you flick ash into a metal tray with a flick of your wrist, looking completely unbothered by the fact that you are the center of gravity for every set of eyes on this tarmac. 

“Depends,” Evan says after a moment. “You mean the part where she terrifies people in meetings, or the part where she talks a scared informant off a ledge like it’s nothing?”

Leon exhales through his nose, the cold air stinging his sinuses. “Yeah. That.” 

He’s trying to reconcile the blunt instrument he saw at Langley with the gentle soul currently promising a Russian man safety. 

“Both are real,” Evan shrugs, his expression unreadable. “People are rarely just one thing, Kennedy.” 

Leon frowns, unsatisfied. “That’s helpful.” 

Evan gives him a look that is pure CIA ice. “I’m not here to be helpful. I’m here to make sure she doesn’t get herself killed doing something reckless.” 

Leon’s gaze snaps back to the older man. “Reckless?” 

Evan’s mouth tilts into a grim, knowing shadow of a smile. “You’ll see.”

The warning is far from reassuring, but it fuels the fire of Leon's curiosity. 

As Evan moves off to check the perimeter, Leon finds his feet moving toward you before he can talk himself out of it. 

You are still leaning against the truck, the cigarette tucked between your fingers, looking like you belong in a vintage spy film rather than a bio-hazard containment zone. 

He stops a few feet away, feeling that familiar, slightly clumsy charm of his start to misfire. “You know, I’m starting to think you have a twin,” he says, trying for a smooth tone and landing somewhere near 'vaguely confused.' “Because the person who nearly made the Director cry in D.C. didn't seem like the type to hold hands with local informants.”

You turn your head slowly, a curl of smoke drifting from your lips as you look him up and down with that devastatingly dry, self-assured gaze. Leon feels a sudden, sharp urge to check if he has something on his face or if he’s standing in a puddle. 

“It’s called multitasking, Kennedy,” you reply, your voice a low, melodic contrast to the harsh wind. “You should try it. It saves a lot of time on paperwork.” 

Leon lets out a short, dry laugh, leaning his shoulder against a stack of crates to hide the fact that he’s slightly off-balance. 

“I usually stick to one personality at a time. It's less confusing for the monsters I shoot.” He pauses, his blue eyes searching yours, trying to find the seam where the two versions of you meet. “Which one is the act?”

You take another drag of the cigarette, your eyes softening just a fraction, though the sharp intelligence behind them remains. 

“Neither,” you say simply, exhaling the smoke into the gray sky. 

You flick the ash away and step closer, invading his personal space just enough to make his heart do a weird, uncoordinated stutter. 

“You’ve been at this circus long enough to know that being a ‘golden boy’ is its own kind of mask,” you murmur, your tone shifting into something terrifyingly perceptive. “Am I right?” 

Leon feels a hit of genuine, stinging recognition. He’s spent years being the hero, the survivor, the flawless agent, often at the cost of the man underneath the leather jacket. He looks down at you, realizing that for all your sarcasm and sharp edges, you are seeing him with a clarity that most people miss. 

“Maybe,” he admits, his voice dropping an octave. “But I usually wait until the second date to get profiled.” 

You let out a genuine, raspy laugh—a bright, surprising, beautiful sound in the miserable gloom of the airfield—and pat his upper arm with a hand that is surprisingly, comfortingly warm despite the freezing cold.  

“Don’t flatter yourself, Kennedy,” you tease, your eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’m not profiling you. I’m just trying to see if you’re actually as interesting as your redacted file claims you are.”  

As you pull your hand away and walk off to rejoin Evan at the command vehicle, Leon is left standing entirely alone in the freezing wind. He stares at his clipboard, completely tongue-tied, realizing that for the first time in a very long time, he is the one who has been left entirely caught off guard.

──────•✦•──────

The sterile, flickering lights of the facility hum with a low-frequency buzz that sets Leon’s mind on edge, the air thick with the antiseptic tang of chemicals and the metallic stench of old blood. 

The raid was supposed to be a surgical strike—in, out, secure the samples—but as the sirens begin to wail, Leon knows the "plan" he’d defended back at Langley has officially gone to hell. 

He is moving through the corridors with his gun drawn, his senses dialed to an eleven, when the wet, rhythmic slapping of flesh against metal echoes from the ceiling vents. 

Before he can even shout a warning, a pair of Lickers drop from the shadows, their raw, exposed brains glistening under the strobing emergency lights and their elongated tongues lashing out like whips.

Leon’s instinct is to dive in front of you, as he prepares to shoulder the brunt of the assault, but you are already three steps ahead of him. 

You don't scream. You certainly don't freeze. 

Instead, you drop into a low crouch, your movements fluid and practiced, and unleash a controlled burst from your submachine gun that catches the first creature mid-leap. 

You move with a lethal, terrifying grace, pivoting on your heel to put a round through the second creature’s skull just as it lunges. 

As the monsters slump into twitching heaps of gore, you don’t even look winded. You simply glance over at Leon, who is still half-poised for a heroic rescue that wasn't needed, and offer a devastatingly calm smirk. 

"Don't worry, Kennedy. I can actually shoot," you say, your voice dripping with that dry, playful sarcasm that seems to be your default setting. "Try to keep up, pretty boy."

Leon finds himself completely stunned, a sudden, ridiculous wave of heat rushing up his neck at the nickname. 

Pretty boy. 

Christ, he’s a federal agent who has stared down a Tyrant, but you managing to call him a pretty boy in the middle of a biological weapon ambush leaves him feeling more flustered than he cares to admit. He clears his throat, quickly lowering his weapon from its defensive arc and sliding into a low piece of concrete cover right next to you.

"Nice shooting," he quips, his breath coming in short, controlled bursts. "Did you try asking them politely in Russian first? Maybe they just needed a hug and a cigarette."

You reload your weapon with a metallic clack that is entirely too smooth, your eyes fixed on the door as you raise an eyebrow at him. The flickering light catches the sharp, confident line of your jaw, and Leon finds himself momentarily distracted by the fact that you look incredibly good in the middle of a warzone. 

"If I wanted to chat with a monster, Kennedy, I could have stayed in Washington," you shoot back, your tone perfectly flat and unimpressed. "At least these ones don't pretend to have a soul before they try to eat you."

Leon lets out a short, startled chuckle, shaking his head as he prepares to breach the next room. 

He realizes, with a sinking sort of clarity, that he is wildly out of his depth with you. He’s used to being the most capable person in the room—the one people look to when the world starts ending—but you don't look to him for anything other than a little bit of entertainment. 

It’s frustrating, bewildering, and, if he’s being honest with himself, completely intoxicating. 

Leon moves with you through the flickering dimness of the lower laboratories, his boots crunching over shattered glass and spent brass casings. 

The facility is a graveyard of failed ambitions and bio-hazardous waste, but every time the emergency strobes pulse, his eyes find the back of your head or the steady line of your shoulders. He finds himself attempting to bridge the silence, his social skills feeling about as refined as a flashbang. 

"So," he starts, his voice echoing slightly against the reinforced concrete walls, "is the 'pretty boy' thing a standard CIA field designation, or do I get a special badge for that?" 

He’s trying for suave, but it comes out with that distinct, earnest Leon Kennedy awkwardness—the kind that usually works on college students or younger agents, but seems to bounce off your skin like a ricochet. You don't even turn around, though he can hear the unmistakable lilt of a laugh in your throat. 

"It’s a temporary rank, Kennedy. Don’t get too attached to it; you’re one bad hair day away from a demotion," you reply, your tone dry. 

Leon huffs a small, self-deprecating smile, adjusting his grip on his weapon. 

"Tough crowd," he mutters, though the frustration is entirely surface-level. Beneath it, he’s enjoying the friction, the way you refuse to let him settle into his usual rhythm.

As you push through a set of heavy, hydraulic double doors, the air clears slightly. You find Evan waiting in a secure junction point, leaning against a console with a rifle slung over his shoulder and a look of profound boredom on his face. 

"Hey, you," Evan calls out, his voice raspy from the recycled air. He looks you over with a clinical, brotherly eye, his relief manifesting as a grumpy grunt. "Glad to see you're still kicking. I wasn't looking forward to filling out the paperwork for a new partner." 

You stop for a second, shifting your weight and giving him a stern look.

"What, you doubt my survival skills now, Evan? After fifteen years of me pulling your ass out of the fire?" You ask, your voice dripping with faux-indignation. 

Evan doesn't even blink, his gaze shifting briefly to Leon before returning to you. "Frequently," he replies without a beat. 

You shake your head, a genuine, fond smile tugging at the corners of your mouth—the kind of look Leon hasn't quite earned yet—before you gesture toward the dark corridor leading to the main server room. 

"Look lively, boys. We've got a virus to steal and a long flight home," you call out over your shoulder, already moving forward into the gloom.

Leon stands there for a moment, watching the way you navigate the shadows with a confidence that borders on the supernatural. 

He’s supposed to be the seasoned veteran, the one who’s seen it all and done it all, but you’ve managed to make him feel like he’s back in Raccoon City—uncertain, outclassed, and desperately curious. 

He watches the sway of your tactical belt and the way you check your corners with a lethal, effortless grace, and he realizes he’s in so much fucking trouble.

It’s a ridiculous sensation for a man of his age and standing, a schoolboy crush wrapped in a layer of professional respect and a healthy dose of "what the fuck is wrong with me," but as he follows you into the dark, he can't bring himself to mind. 

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[pickleeeeeeeeee]

old friend

re4! leon kennedy x dso! reader

MDNI !!

summary: when you get a job at a top government agency, you reunite with a man you never thought you'd see again

wc: 11.8k

tags/warnings: eventual smut, unprotected sex, no use of y/n

a/n: my first re fic and my longest fic yet! i hope you enjoy :p

at twenty-five years old, you have your bachelors in journalism (minoring in biology), and your masters in journalism as well, both from northwestern university (chicago born and raised!). you also have extensive firearm and self defense training, something you decided to pick up because nothing else sounded interesting enough. while all your friends picked up pottery, or pilates, you decided to do something a little more… niche. this is what led you to your chosen career path.

 you networked a lot in college, and met a lot of important people. one of these people was able to get a good word in for you at the division of security operations, and that is how you landed your first job post-grad that wasn’t cashiering or waiting tables. 

from there, you packed up your things and moved into a small apartment in washington d.c.. a job like this, one would think, would be incredibly hard to get, especially since you work directly under the president of the united states, but for you, it was actually quite simple.

the president asked the american people what they wanted to see. the response? they wanted to know more about bioterrorism. bioterrorism was a massive issue, not only in the united states, but all around the world, and yet, the average american knew virtually nothing about it. 

the chief of the dso decided that in order to gain the trust of the american people, something that was incredibly difficult after the events of raccoon city, he would hire someone that could capture the real, raw, and terrifying things that its members go through on a daily basis. one of your favorite professors at northwestern is a former cabinet member, and still kept in touch with a lot of government employees, so he referred you straight to the white house. i mean, your skills made you a perfect match. your studies in journalism, and your portfolio from working at your school’s newspaper, your brief studies on biology, where you learned about various viruses, and your self defense skills meant there was almost nobody else that was as qualified as you were.

fast forward to today, it’s your fourth night in your new apartment, and the night before your new job at the division of security operations. nervous was an understatement. you paced around your living room, freaking out about how your first day would go. you were the first of your kind. there was nobody else at the agency, or any federal agency, that had a job quite like yours. you worried about if you would get along with your coworkers, if they were tough and strict, as the job would require, or if they were more laid back. you were also worried about the job itself, you had some experience reporting, but self defense? essentially none. you believed you were trained for the situations they would put you in, but that was just in theory. what if your first mission was something totally insane and life threatening? would you be able to handle it?

you like to think of yourself as an independent, confident person, but this move has been more difficult on you than you thought it would be. hopefully that changes once you start your new job and get the hang of everything. i mean, you’re a rookie, they’re not gonna send you somewhere insane for a little bit.

you get tired of pacing, and look at the time to see that it reads 9:00 pm. you decide it's probably time to go to bed, even though you doubt your nerves will let you sleep at all. you talked to your family and friends earlier, and they all wished you luck from back home, but you wished that they were with you in d.c.. after doing your extensive nighttime routine, you get into bed, turn your white noise on, and close your eyes.

some time, and some tossing and turning later, your alarm goes off and its 6:00 am. you’ve never been one to take a long time getting ready in the morning, so after a quick shower, outfit change, and breakfast, you’re out the door at 6:30. you don’t live too far from the pentagon, but after a short and silent drive, you get there about 15 minutes before you’re supposed to, just in case anything goes wrong.

parking is easy thanks to the permit they sent you in the mail, and after an annoyingly long security process, you find yourself inside the largest office building in the united states. a few ‘where do i go’s’ later and you’re at the door you need to be at, and you’re five minutes early. once you open it, there’s no going back. you take a deep breath, your last moment of silence before what could be the rest of your life, given that you like your job, and they like you. 

you sigh, “here goes nothing,” you whisper to yourself, before scanning your brand new identification badge and entering the bioterrorism wing of the pentagon. you hear a quiet beep before gently pushing the door open, your warm palm shaking against the cold metal door. 

you are greeted by various sounds, chatting, typing, and papers printing. so. many. footsteps. you didn’t realize how many people actually worked to fight against bioterrorism. so many people, and yet, the american people knew nothing about this? that’s why you were here, you suppose. in front of you were an inordinate amount of cubicles, and offices lined the sides of the incredibly large room. you wonder if you’re gonna get your own office, or if you’ll have to share a space with others.

you don’t realize how long you’ve been standing at the door until a man comes up to you. he is dressed incredibly well, wearing a suit tailored exactly to his frame. he’s not super old, maybe 40s, but by the look in his eyes, he’s definitely seen some things.

“chief matthews,” he says to you, extending his hand to you. you take his hand, and shake it gently. “you must be our new recruit.”

“in the flesh,” you respond, forcing a smile. it’s not that you’re not excited, you’re just so nervous that it’s showing up on your face. “nice to meet you.”

“nice to meet you too, agent. there’s no time to waste, let me show you around.”

you smile once again as he turns around and gestures to all the cubicles in front of the two of you.

“this is where all the paperwork happens. reports are filed and stored safely into folders for easy access. it sounds mindless and boring, but this agency wouldn’t run without these guys.”

he begins slowly walking through the cubicles. you follow directly behind him.

“as you’ll notice, there's plenty of offices. me and you, we work for the dso, but because the work we do goes hand in hand with that of the bsaa, everything is almost just mixed into one big agency.”

he lowers his voice, “don’t tell any of the bsaa agents though, they like to be in their own little world.”

just as he says that, a tall and incredibly large man comes out of a nearby office, speedwalking.

“speaking of the devil,” chief matthews exclaims, “here comes a bsaa agent now!”

the tall man is about to walk by the two of you when he stops dead in his tracks, “me?” he asks?

“yes you,” responds matthews. he looks at you, “chris redfield, a top bsaa agent.”

chris raises his eyebrows, “no shit!”

you look at him, “nice to meet you.”

he nods, “you too. gotta go.” he walks away very quickly as the two of you just watch.

“agents tend to get very busy around here, something you will learn quite fast.”

you laugh nervously, “how busy?”

matthews bursts into laughter, “that is hilarious! how busy? well you’ll just have to see, my friend.”

you laugh with him, internally panicking. he finally catches his breath as he continues giving you an incredibly detailed tour of the wing. from the cubicles to the offices to the break room, you might actually be able to get around without asking for help. the last stop of the tour is a small office with your name written on the door and the words ‘chief journalist’ written underneath it.

“well, this is your new home!” matthews says with more enthusiasm than you would prefer.

you step up to the door and inspect the plaque with your name and title on it, “chief?” you ask him.

“of course you’re the chief! who else would be?”

“i- i don’t know actually.”

“exactly. you’re the first of its kind. you are actually making history, i hope you realize that.”

a small smile forms at the corner of your mouth, “i never actually thought about it that way.”

“well you better,” he says, “you’re about to be famous.”

the small smile immediately disappears. famous? obviously you’d be famous. you’re the first ever chief journalist at a government that people have been begging for information from since bioweapons were invented. your findings are going to be read and/or watched by people not only in the united states, but all over the world. you might even become a household name soon. good god.

“you okay?” matthews asks, noticing that you’ve zoned out. 

“perfect, yeah.” you say, quickly to avoid suspicion.

“great, well how about you get settled in your office, and i’ll-” he is cut off by his phone ringing. he furrows his eyebrows, and takes his phone out of his pocket, “excuse me,” he says before answering and stepping away.

while he’s on the phone, you open up your office and look around. it’s not the biggest, but it’s big enough. with enough string lights you could make it the perfect atmosphere for writing about your gruesome findings. how aesthetic.

“what?!” you turn around to see a frantic chief matthews. you furrow your eyebrows and take a few steps forward. “that can’t be right, are you sure?”

all you can do is watch him as he paces back and forth on the phone until he hangs up. once he hangs up, he looks at you, eyes nearly popping out of his head, “come with me,” he says, all the enthusiasm previously there now gone.

you drop your belongings onto your desk and follow him as he hurriedly makes his way through the wing.

“is everything okay?” you ask.

“the president’s daughter was kidnapped.”

“what?”

“the president’s daughter was kidnapped and is believed to be in a remote village in spain.”

“oh my god.” you have a million questions, but you decide not to ask them, because you don’t want to push. the two of you stay silent until matthews reaches a room that you had just seen on your tour, the conference room.

he quickly swings the door open to reveal various agents (dso, bsaa, and fbi)  and bioweapon researchers sitting around a giant rectangular table with the president himself at the head of the table. you’re a bit starstruck, but obviously, you keep that to yourself.

the president’s eyebrows furrow when he sees you, “where’s kennedy?”

“he’s on his way, mr. president. and this is our new recruit, the journalist,” matthews answers for you.

“nice to meet you agent, it’s unfortunate that it is under these circumstances.”

you nod, “nice to meet you too, mr. president.”

“alright everyone, we can’t wait for kennedy, have a seat.”

he spends the next twenty minutes talking about how his daughter, ashley graham, was marked absent from her classes at the university of massachusetts, and that it prompted concern from her professors, as she had never missed a day of school before. reports of secret service on campus were also made, which was unusual as there were no secret service agents sent by the president. these secret service imposters were said to have abducted ashley, and her whereabouts were unknown until american intelligence operatives tracked her location down to a region of spain known as valedobos. 

the president looks at you, as you jot everything he just said in a small notepad that you carry around with you everywhere.

“you got all that?” he asks.

“most.”

“good, because this is your first mission.”

your eyes go wide, “wha-”

“you and another agent are going to be sent to spain, as soon as tonight hopefully, and you will be tasked with the mission of bringing my daughter back to the united states.”

you begin to sweat. this is your first mission? “mr. president if i could just-”

“your job is to document everything. audio, video, written reports, you will document everything you see and bring it all back here, along with my daughter, safely,, so that the american people can see what bioterrorism is really like.

suddenly, the door to the conference room swings open. you are too busy suppressing a panic attack to turn around and look at who just showed up.

the president stands up, “look who finally decided to show up.”

“i am so sorry, i read the briefing on the way here. i’m all caught up,” the unknown voice says behind you.

chief matthews looks at you, “hey, you alright?”

you nod vigorously, “yep. i’m great.”

“good, because i’d like you to meet your new partner.” he stands up, prompting you to do so as well. you begin to turn around slowly when you hear, “this is agent leon kennedy.”

you pause. you know that name. “leon?” you say, finally turning around. 

he looks at you with his piercing blue eyes like he’d just seen a ghost, “no fucking way,” he says, his voice deep.

matthews looks at the two of you back and forth, “you two know each other?”

you and leon look at each other, eyes wide and speechless.

“y-yeah, we do,” you finally say, breaking the silence.

“great,” the president says, “now go save my daughter. your flight to spain leaves in two hours.” he then walks out of the room, along with the rest of the agents who need to get back to their desks in preparation for the mission.

you and leon both grew up in the chicago area. you met him when you were an eighteen year old freshman in college, and he was a 20 year old attending the chicago police training academy. with your sudden interest in self defense, and his need to go above and beyond his peers at the academy, you both met at a training center in the city, where the two of you had gotten pretty close.

you would see each other multiple times a week for months, and despite not even getting each others phone numbers, you had considered each other to be friends, and made it a point to train together multiple times a week.

he had finished his police training, however, and told you that he was going to start working for the raccoon city police department. everything happened so fast, and after he had left, then came the events of raccoon city, and you had no way of contacting him, so you assumed the worst.

you couldn’t believe that he was standing in front of you, alive and well, and you especially couldn’t believe that he was your new partner. he looked like himself, but with a tougher exterior, like there was just something off about him. he also looked incredibly handsome, but that was the least important thing of this entire situation. 

matthews looks at you, taking you out of your thoughts, “i know this is crazy. but this is your time to shine. you heard the guy, document everything, and… be careful.” he looks at leon, “both of you.” 

you nod, staring into space, still in disbelief at everything that just happened in the last twenty minutes.

matthews begins heading towards the door before pausing and looking back at the two of you, “you’ll both get a message soon about the flight details, but in the meantime, go home and pack,” he says, before leaving the room.

you stare at the floor, anxiously. “i thought you died,” you say, before lifting your head up and looking at leon.

“i’m sorry,” he says, quietly, “i wanted to reach out. i tried. i contacted so many different people, but i just couldn’t find you. i even called the training center, but they had told me you left, and that your information was no longer in their system.”

“training with other people wasn’t fun.”

a small smile forms on leon’s face. he looks down, looking as though he is trying to gather his thoughts. “i can’t believe you’re the new recruit, i mean i should’ve known.”

“it’s crazy isn’t it…”

“you ready for this mission?”

“i kinda have to be, don’t i?”

“you’re gonna do fine. trust me.” he looks at you, and that tough exterior you noticed before was already fading. “i’m glad you’re here.”

“i am too.”

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

the door to your apartment slams shut as a dramatic sigh escapes your mouth. “fuck.”

you quickly pull your phone out of your pocket, going immediately to your contacts and calling your mom.

ring.

ring.

ring.

you hear a faint click on the other side of the line, “hello? did you get off early?”

“i’m going to spain.” your voice is quiet. you trail off.

“you’re going where?”

“spain.”

“for work?”

you swallow, loud enough that the gulp is heard on the other end. there’s the answer.

“you’re gonna be safe, right?” your mom asks, her voice nearly breaking.

you’ve already worried her enough with the tone of your voice alone, so you clear your throat, ready to answer her with confidence, “yeah, of course i am.”

“good.” your mom answers, with less enthusiasm as you had hoped. “are you gonna call dad?”

“yeah, right now.”

“okay, well, i love you.”

“i love you too.”

click.

with your phone screen back to your contacts list, you call your dad.

ring.

ring.

ring.

“hi dad.”

.✦ ݁˖

the hum of the small government issued jet that you were currently in sounded much louder in your head than it was in real life. granted, military jets operate at much higher speeds than commercial planes, and, therefore, are louder than them, but the sheer magnitude of your racing heartbeat was making it worse.

leon sat across from you, his tough exterior back. he looked out the window, even though there was nothing but clouds for miles. it was almost like he was a different person than the man you spoke to in the conference room several before. i guess it was necessary if he was to go out and kill zombies.

both you and leon were outfitted in tactical gear. he wore a leather bomber jacket, navy blue compression shirt, black tactical pants, and combat boots. you also wore black tactical pants and combat boots, but opted for a long sleeve black compression shirt, and a black softshell jacket over it. 

next to leon was an abundance of weapons such as a handgun, shotgun, machine gun, and enough ammo to last a month. you also had a weapon, but only a handgun. it was made clear during the meeting that leon was going to do a majority of the combat  on this mission, while you would stay behind and do your journalistic duties, such as record footage and take auditory notes that you could go back to later (it would be too time consuming to hand write notes on a mission like this). your handgun was to be used purely if necessary for self defense. you prayed that you wouldn’t have to use it at all.

a small hiccup of turbulence takes you out of your thoughts and back to this incredibly unique reality that you have been put in. for the second time since this plane took off you grab your equipment bag and set it on your lap. anything to distract you. you open it up, just as you did before, and take everything out one by one, just to make sure that you have everything.

camera.

extra lens.

audio recorder.

handgun ammo.

protein bars.

yep, you’ve got everything. just like you had everything the first time you checked. leon turns to look at you, for the first time since taking off. he sees you inspecting everything you brought with you.

“you good?”

you nod vehemently, choosing not to respond. seeing him cool, calm, and collected is making your anxiety so much worse. how is he okay right now?

you know the answer to that, actually, because he’s probably done this a million times. you don’t know exactly what happened that day in raccoon city, but knowing he survived makes you wonder how many other things he's survived since then. you wouldn’t dare to ask what he went through that night, but there were many sleepless nights after the fact where you would hope he was okay. 

“you still do that, huh?” leon’s voice cuts through the silence (if you ignore the sounds of the plane).

“do what?” he looks down at your knee, which is bouncing at a speed higher than that of the plane. you stop it. “oh. have i always done that?”

he nods, “there was one day at the training center where you had gone in on a day you didn’t usually train. i think it was because you thought you bombed a midterm and wanted to blow off steam. you did it then too.”

“oh my god you remember that day?”

he pauses, almost as if he’s said too much. “i do.” his voice gets quiet.

you laugh to yourself, well, you exhale through your nose, if that still counts as a laugh. you look back at leon, now making eye contact with him. “how’d you start working at the dso?” you ask, hoping you aren’t prying too much.

he sighs, not knowing where to start. “it was just after raccoon city. i was detained the next morning, october first, by the military. i guess they had seen something in me after surviving, and they encouraged me to become an agent.”

you wince at the mention of raccoon city, not knowing you would bring up the traumatic event. “encouraged?”

“to put it lightly.”

“do you like your job?”

“define like.” you shrug, not knowing how to respond. he sighs, “i like helping people. i like trying to stop the spread of bioterrorism. i don’t like seeing it, though. the innocent people who’s lives are taken by a stupid fucking virus. it sucks.”

“i can’t imagine what that’s like.” you say, feeling bad that you might have put a damper on his mood.

“soon you won’t have to imagine, unfortunately.”

you huff, your shoulders dropping, “great.”

he softens. the same way he did in the conference room. “hey. we’re gonna be in and out of there. okay?”

you nod, “okay.”

he notices a slight voice crack from you, and decides to change the subject to stop you from freaking out even more. he’s always noticed these things, even when you two knew each other in the past. it’s hard to tell what he’s feeling most of the time, but it’s easy to tell when he cares about someone, even if he doesn’t want people knowing.

“how have you been?” he asks, sincerity in his voice.

a quiet laugh escapes you, “i’ve been good.”

“what’s so funny?” a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“i know you’re trying to be normal right now, but this is so weird. like, looking at you, and speaking to you, it’s so weird.”

“good or bad weird?”

“i haven’t decided yet.” you tease.

he laughs, like actually laughs out loud. you’re taken aback. you reunited with leon not long ago, but you noticed a significant change in his personality. when you knew him before, he was really smiley, which is hard to believe given his current state. the two of you used to actually get distracted during training because you’d be doubled over in laughter over something that wasn’t even that funny. seeing him laugh now just felt out of the ordinary.

“so just good?” he pries.

“well, the move has been a lot. i miss my friends and family. i’m excited about the new job though. after we get home safely of course.”

“we will,” he interrupts.

“i am a little nervous about the aftermath though. y’know, after whatever i document gets published and the whole world knows my name. our names.”

“yeah, that’s gonna be a little odd. excited for people to know the truth though. especially since our government hasn’t been the most truthful when it comes to bioweapons.”

you nod, you hadn’t thought about that before. “good point.”

“you like the city so far?” he asks.

“truthfully,” you begin, “i haven’t seen too much of it. except for the grocery store near my apartment and the ikea.” you moved to dc not too long ago, and have had no time to do anything fun.

leon takes a deep breath, “i could… show you around if you’d like,” he says, almost nervously, an emotion you hadn’t seen from him yet.

you smile, “that’d be awesome. thank you, leon.”

“yeah, for sure.” he says that like he’s brushing it off, like it’s no big deal. it’s not a big deal, he is just being friendly, but for some reason his kind gesture means a lot more to you than he thinks. it’s here when you realize how much you actually missed him and your guys’ friendship. you were so afraid of being alone after moving to a new city, but it almost feels like you and leon are picking back up where you left off six years ago. maybe things aren’t so bad.

more turbulence rattles through the plane. the two of you look out the window and start seeing small bits of land. just a few more minutes until landing. your stomach begins twisting once again. “how long do you think it’s gonna take?”

“no more than a few hours,” he says. “given we don’t run into any problems.”

“problems?”

he clears his throat and sits up, “yeah. like bio organic weapons. y’know..?” his voice trails off and he sounds like he’s trying to change the subject.

“what do you mean, like zombies?”

he shakes his head, furrowing his eyebrows, “no. we’re definitely gonna run into zombies.”

you sit up now. “so what the fuck are bio organic weapons?”

“oh you know… they’re like these… genetically altered monsters that militaries use.”

“monsters…”

“yeah. there’s all different kinds of b.o.w.’s. they didn’t teach you about this at the agency?”

your head falls to the side. you’re dumbfounded. “today’s my first day in case you forgot.” 

“shit. sorry.” he shakes head. “we’ll be fine.”

.✦ ݁˖

you were fine. that was until running into a fucking bio organic weapon.

the mission had been going pretty well so far. it started with you and leon being dropped off near a remote spanish village by two police officers, and from there, the two of you set out to find ashley. you explored the village that you were near, and it was pretty peaceful until los illuminados cult members ambushed you and leon. he had it handled though, obviously. like your boss said, you were there to document. leon fought off the infected villagers while you took pictures and videos, and basically narrated what you were seeing into your audio recorder. it’s not to say it wasn’t a little freaky, though. you’d heard of people like this, but seeing it in real life was almost unreal. you trusted leon though so you weren’t panicked. 

from there you explored this rural part of europe, going deeper into the village, crossing a lake, and finally finding ashley in a church. she was quiet, reasonably so. she was only twenty years old being kidnapped by a cult leader in spain. definitely an original experience. 

you and leon also found out why she was taken in the first place. the leader of the los illuminados was a man named osmund saddler. he took ashley and planned to infect her and send her back to the united states, hoping she would infect others, and therefore the virus would spread throughout the entire country. 

the problem with this was despite you and leon finding ashley, she was already infected by this point, and so was leon, as saddler expected him. so, instead of escaping, and going back to the drop off point, you and leon had to find out how to get rid of the virus before it progressed.

since ashley was infected before you and leon arrived to the church, the virus had already been progressing in ashley’s body, and she had already begun showing violence every now and then. she even somehow took leon’s knife off his person and tried to stab him with it, which was unsuccessful. it felt weird having to narrate all of this, but it was your job, and you wanted to fulfill your duty of informing the american people. 

thanks to biologist and former employee of saddler luis serra, you knew exactly how to get rid of the virus. luis worked with saddler doing research on las plagas, unknowingly contributing to illegal human testing and bioweapon development. feeling remorseful for his actions, he wanted to help leon and ashley remove the virus from their bodies so he told the three of you how to get to an underground lab containing a machine that can remove the parasite. well, the three of you were currently in the lab, and a regenerador stood in front of you. 

this thing was absolutely horrifying. at about seven and a half feet tall, all white, and a face straight out of a horror movie, you were genuinely afraid for your life.  ashley hid in a nearby room with the door locked (which probably wouldn’t do anything to stop a regenerador), while leon and yourself had to take it down. 

it didn’t move too fast, but you could tell it was strong. upon entering the room it was hanging out in and screaming at ashley to get out and find somewhere safe, leon began shooting at it with a submachine gun. you took out your handgun and started shooting at it too. 

the shots slowed it down, but not enough. “leon, what do we do?!” you yelled, above the deafening sound of the shots being fired.

without blinking, he threw his semi-automatic shotgun. “use this.”

you catch it, but you look at it like it's a foreign object, because to you, it is. “i’ve never shot one of these before!”

“just make sure your stance is solid. you’ve got this.”

you shake as you make sure your grip is strong and you aim at the monster in front of you. leon continues firing shots, trying to slow it down, but it is still somehow able to stand up. you notice leon getting fatigued, thanks to the parasite in his body. you have to do this.

with your finger trembling as it hovers over the trigger, you gather up the courage to pull it. in doing so, you deliver a lethal blow to the creatures abdomen, but you’re also thrown a few feet back. you don’t totally fall over because there’s a metal table to catch your fall, but thanks to the sheer force of the gun going off, you knew there’d be a massive bruise going down your back. you hunch over for a moment in pain, but the regenerador is still alive, so you ready up for another shot.

you pull the trigger once more, this time preparing for the recoil and you hit what you think is the creature’s main artery. you can’t really tell if it has a similar anatomical set up as a human being. the regenerador finally falls to the floor and does not attempt to get back up. blood begins pooling underneath its now lifeless body.

leon stops shooting and now that the adrenaline has worn off, you start to feel the pain on your back. you make sure to engage the safety on leon’s gun before letting it fall to the ground and leaning on the very table that you were knocked into. 

“oh my god.” you whisper to yourself, trying to catch your breath.

leon slowly walks over to you, his body covered in black veins, “are you alright?”

you quickly stand up, wincing. you don’t want him to know you’re hurt, especially since he is in a much worse position than you are right now. “yeah, definitely.”

“do you think i don’t know you?” he looks at you, seeing right through your bullshit. “you did good.” 

you half smile. “thank you.”

you quickly snap a photo of the dead regenerador and go find ashley. from there, the three of you find the machine. after two successful and very quick operations, the parasite is out of ashley and leon, and you are all able to escape the island and destroy it in the process.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

after a long and surprisingly peaceful flight, the three of you finally touch down in the nations capital. the peace doesn’t last long, however, as air force one landed at joint base andrews in maryland, you are greeted with an abundance of press. cameras, microphones, yelling in your face, the whole ordeal. the government was kind enough to let the three of you stay in your own separate hotel rooms and get some rest before heading back home, so you look somewhat put together. 

no amount of rest or preparation, however, could have prepared you for such a large crowd when getting off the plane. ashley graham is literally the president’s daughter. the first daughter, if you will. but a crowd of this size, asking the most personal questions to a girl that just got kidnapped, was just plain disrespectful. you couldn’t even comprehend a single thing that was being said to you, so everyone just decides to keep their mouths shut.

aside from the actual secret service agents surrounding you guys, you and leon act as bodyguards, shielding ashley from as many camera flashes and stupid questions as possible. eventually, you’re all hauled into a bulletproof suv where your next stop is the white house for a quick press conference, and then hopefully home.

“holy shit,” you say, quietly. “what the fuck was that?”

“i- i don’t know. i didn’t think there would be that many people there,” ashley replies, her eyebrows furrowing.

“are you okay?” you ask her, hoping the attention didn’t spook her too much.

she nods quickly, “i’m okay. this is just weird.”

“super weird,” you add on, with a smile. she smiles back.

the quiet humming of the car is the only sound in the small space. not even the radio is on. you look over at leon, and his classic furrowed eyebrow permanent frown look is plastered on his face. you’re gonna have to get used to seeing him like this. you’re gonna have to get used to seeing him, period. 

you’re also going to have to get used to this fame, if you can even call it that. normally journalists are just a name on an article, or a face you see on the local news station every once in a while, but this was different. not only were you going to be writing articles and publishing images and videos from your missions, but your face was going to be plastered everywhere. before leaving for spain, you even caught a glimpse of the breaking news segment announcing the disappearance of ashley, and your brand new identification picture that you had to take for your new job sat right next to leon’s picture on the tv as they announced who was being sent to rescue her.

eventually, you arrive to the white house, thankfully without the cameras this time. for now…

you, leon, and ashley are escorted inside and straight to the press briefing room where you all stand side by side. as even more journalists set up, a makeup artist walks over to you and begins patting your face with powder. she quickly moves on to leon and then ashley.

you look over at him. he’s locked in. it almost makes you wonder if he’s done this before. he’s done missions before, obviously, but with this amount of coverage? surely not.

“leon,” you whisper.

within a millisecond he whips his head towards you, his face softening immediately. does he always do that when he talks to you?

“hm?”

“have you done this before?”

“what, with all the press and stuff?”

you nod.

“nope,” he answers, deadpan.

you’re taken aback by this, “how are you so calm? knowing that you’re about to be on television for millions of people to see?”

he shrugs, “not sure.”

you roll your eyes at him and go back to facing the small crowd in front of you.

you can’t see it, but it almost looks like a small smirk forms on leon’s face at your reaction. it quickly disappears when the press secretary walks in and everyone, except you ashley and leon, takes a seat.

this is when the cameras begin rolling.

.✦ ݁˖

the press briefing was a blur. there was so much talking, and so many meaningless questions you were asked that you had to answer to the best of your ability. one journalist asked you why you were sent on a mission so dangerous even after having practically no experience. he even had the nerve to insinuate that you could have gotten yourself or the others killed. it took everything out of you to not cuss him out on national television, and to instead smile and reassure the country that you were trained for this. plus, you had no choice! if he had a problem with it he could have just asked the president himself.

you finally walk through the doors of your small (but cozy!) apartment and throw your duffel bag onto the floor before throwing yourself on the couch. you hadn’t looked at your phone since before you left, and honestly, you were afraid to do it now. you hesitantly take your phone out of your pocket and you power it on, waiting for the plethora of notifications you knew were about to show up on your screen. 

suddenly, the screen lights up, and sure enough, the homepage of your phone is flooded with notifications. theres texts from family members, of course, and best friends, but even people you haven’t spoken to in years. ex talking stages, mutual friends from high school, the people you did a group project with in college, everyone was reaching out to you. 

you can’t say you’re surprised, because when a picture of you, leon, and ashley getting off the plane is on the cover of every major newspaper in the country, and your press conference is being broadcast on the biggest news stations in the world, people are going to be curious. it didn’t stop you from feeling incredibly weird and uncomfortable, however.

you take a deep breath before opening your phone, ignoring all of the texts from people that you thought you would never talk to again, and immediately facetime your parents. they answer before the first ring even ends. they’re sitting next to each other on the couch of your childhood home, their faces full of relief.

“hi guys,” you say, anxiously.

“hi baby,” your mom says.

your dad adds on, “hello, sweetheart, we are so glad that you’re okay.”

you smile, and tears begin to form in your eyes.

your mom furrows her eyebrows, “what’s wrong? did something happen?”

you quickly wipe your eyes, “no, i just miss you guys.”

“we miss you even more, if you can believe it,” your dad reassures you, “you should have seen us when we turned on the news and there you were!”

you laugh mid crying, “you guys watched that shit?”

your mom is in shock that you would even ask a question like that, “of course we watched that shit! are you crazy? you did so well up there. i cannot believe it,” she looks at your dad, “we cannot believe it. we’re so proud.”

“thanks guys, seriously. i love you.”

“we love you too,” your mom looks at the time, it’s about 5:30, “well we are gonna let you go for now, you’re probably in need of a nap, and i have to start setting up.”

you fight back a yawn, “i don’t need a nap, also setting up for what?”

“having some friends over, nothing crazy. also, you look exhausted, take the nap. call us tomorrow, okay? we can’t wait to hear about your trip.”

your dad cuts her off, “i don’t know if i would call it a trip.” 

she cuts him back off, “well, it’s a work trip!”

you finally cut them both off, “okay guys, i love you, bye!”

you wave to each other and hang up the phone. you have a fairly similar phone call between you and your best friends from back home, which takes even more out of you. normally, you’re the most talkative person in the world, but right now all you want is to be left alone.

you place your phone beside you, letting an incredibly long yawn out. maybe you do need that nap. you let your head fall back and close your eyes. you need food, and a shower, but your couch is just so comfortable it’s making your eyes close on their own.

just as you feel yourself drifting into a nap, your phone rings.

“oh jesus christ.”

you pick up your phone to see who it is, and it’s a number you don’t recognize. you figure it’s probably someone you knew in high school or something, so you decline the call and put your phone down. it rings again almost immediately, so you huff before picking it back up and answering the call.

“hello?” you sound more exhausted than you’d like.

“did i wake you?”

you know that voice anywhere. you sit up.

“leon?”

a pause.

“yeah.”

“no, you didn’t wake me.” you’re actually happy to hear his voice.

“good.” he also sounds tired.

“how did you get my number?”

“well, i am a federal agent.”

you laugh, “and a creep.”

you hear what you think is a chuckle from the other end of the line.

“i just wanted to see how you were doing. after everything.” there’s genuine concern in his voice.

“i’m okay, i think.”

“you think?”

you sigh, “this is so fucking weird.”

“i know. believe me, i’m not used to this too. i have people i haven’t talked to in years asking me why the fuck im on tv.”

you gasp, sitting up, “me too! like, how inconsiderate. i’m not answering any of them.”

“good idea,” he says, “so you’re okay? even after what you saw? you’re not freaked out?”

“oh i’m totally freaked out, like i’m not sure i’ll be able to sleep tonight, but i’ll be fine. eventually.”

“you should have seen me the first time i saw a zombie, i was terrified.”

“you? terrified? i find that hard to believe.”

“oh come on, you remember how i used to act back in chicago.”

“yeah, but you were practically a kid, still learning.”

“you’re still learning too.”

“i am NOT a kid.”

“i didn’t say you were! but this was your first mission, and it was an insane one. i know you’re still scared of all that shit you encountered, but if you made it through this, you can do anything. and i mean that.”

you smile to yourself, “you do?”

“course i do.” he sounds confident in his answer.

“thank you leon, seriously.”

“anytime.”

there’s a bit of an awkward pause.

leon decides to break the ice, “so what are your plans for the rest of the day? sleeping?”

“probably,” you say, “relaxing before the dreadful task of writing my report and picking out what i want to publish. it’s gonna be so difficult going through all the photos i took. i’m not looking forward to it at all.”

leon clears his throat, “...i can help you, if you want.”

“really?”

“yeah, i mean, you’ve never written a report before, so i can give you a rundown. and we can look through the photos together. if you want.”

“i would love that, leon. oh my god i feel like a weight was just lifted off my shoulders.”

he chuckles again, “we can do it tomorrow, okay? at the office.”

“perfect. thank you. so much.”

“you are so welcome,” he says in a cocky tone, but you can tell he’s joking.

you hang up the phone. there’s a grin on your face, but you’re not sure why. i mean, he’s literally just a coworker. right?

all of the exhaustion that had taken over your body before this phone call has completely disappeared, and you’re wired now. you take advantage of this, so you quickly unpack everything from the mission, throw in a load of laundry, and take a quick shower before crashing and ordering food delivery to your apartment. the only thing that sounded appetizing after spending the last day encountering, talking about, and constantly thinking of the undead was taco bell, so taco bell it is.

you get your food and put on some random vlog you found in your youtube recommended, hoping it will take your mind off of things. after eating, you’re really tired now, so you speed through your night routine and get in bed.

you can’t stop thinking of the mission, but you also can’t stop thinking of leon. it must be because he’s just being so kind to you. you’re living in a new city, working a new (batshit crazy) job, of course he would be nice to you, he’s leon kennedy. he’s nice to everyone, even though judging by his looks, it may not seem like he would be. you find yourself being reminded of the friendship you and him had so long ago every time you talk to him. 

underneath that hard exterior is the same man you knew back then. incredibly kind, and although you refused to admit it to him back then, incredibly funny as well. you wonder why you haven’t seen him talk like that to anyone else. it’s probably nothing. you just reunited with him not that long ago, and you haven’t really seen him interact with anyone else, so you must just be thinking about things too hard. something you’ve always been good at. you try to push these thoughts away, and once you do that, you finally fall asleep.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

shockingly, you actually slept pretty well. not one nightmare about a horrific virus infecting you, being eaten alive, or any other terrifying scenario. you actually slept in a little bit, feeling more rested than you thought you would have felt.

you check the time on your phone to see that it’s already 6:25, which means you have five minutes to get out the door. your eyes widen and you immediately jump out of bed.

after a quick outfit change and no breakfast you’re out the door and driving to the pentagon. you didn’t even have time to do your makeup, which isn’t a big deal, but it would definitely make you feel better if you didn’t look completely exhausted at work.

speaking of work, why the fuck would they have you come in right after escaping death. the reports, yes, but you easily could have done it at home, on your couch, in pajamas. 

nevertheless, you arrive to work and go through security, which you are now realizing is something you’re going to have to do every single day you go to work. once you reach the entrance of your wing, you take a deep breath, scan your id card, and walk inside. 

to your surprise, nearly everybody in the office halts whatever conversations they were having and turn their heads towards you when you walk in. agents, interns, even the janitor looking as though they’ve seen a ghost, or better yet, a zombie. you pause, looking around, looking equally as horrified as everybody else.

around the corner comes chief matthews looking excited as ever. he walks up to you with a grin on his face. everyone goes back to doing their work once they see him.

“well well well, if it isn’t our new hero,” he says.

you clear your throat, “hero? i don’t know, i was just doing my job.”

he leans closer to you, his voice a whisper, “excuse my language, but you and i both know that’s bullshit. you and leon are heroes.”

a small smile appears across your face, “thank you, chief.”

“now go get cracking on that report, we need it before the weekend.”

you nod, “yes sir.”

you finally make it to your office, that is, after walking through the cubicles of your coworkers and feeling their eyes on you. you slowly turn the door handle and open the door to be greeted by leon sitting at your desk. not expecting him, you jump back slightly.

“jesus!”

“sorry, should’ve let you know,” he says, inspecting your sparse desk.

“it’s fine, just wasn’t expecting you is all.”

“weren’t expecting me? what about that report?”

“i wasn’t expecting you to be sitting in my office and at my desk,” you clarify.

outside your office are two more agents, both women, ones you have yet to be introduced to. leon gestures towards the door as a way of getting your attention.

“you have visitors.”

you turn around and see the two agents. you let yourself out of your office, leaving leon inside.

“hi!” you say to the two women.

“hi! we just wanted to introduce ourselves to you. we’ve heard so much,” one of the women says, “i’m claire. redfield.”

the name rings a bell, “nice to meet you, claire! i think i met your… brother? a few days ago.”

“yes! chris, he’s my brother,” a pause, she gestures to the woman next to her, “and this is jill valentine.”

“hello, you’re insane, by the way,” jill says.

“oh please,” you say, trying to sound humble, “it’s… okay i guess maybe i am a little insane.”

claire and jill laugh, you join them.

“that’s what i’m talking about!” claire points to your office behind you, “what’s the deal with that.”

“with what?”

“with leon,” she says, looking into your office and seeing him still sat at your desk.

“is there a deal?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“you guys just seem awfully close,” jill interjects.

you finally realize what they’re talking about, “oh! yeah, me and him trained together and we were good friends, before… y’know.”

“raccoon city?” asks claire.

you nod, slowly.

“no shit,” she says, “that was the day i met him.”

your eyes go wide, “you were there too?”

she nods, “yeah… well i guess that makes sense why he talks to you so much.”

“what do you mean?”

“leon is… quiet,” jill says, “he just tends to keep to himself most of the time, not really talking to other agents unless absolutely necessary.”

“we saw the two of you talking on your first day, and during the press conference,” adds claire, “it just isn’t really something i’ve ever seen him do with anyone at the agency. with the exception of my brother, actually.”

“really?” you ask, looking behind you before facing the women again.

“yeah,” claire says, “you guys must have had a pretty solid friendship back then.”

“i guess so.”

“we should probably get to work, huh?” jill asks claire.

“yes, definitely,” claire replies before turning to you, “it was nice meeting you, and great work out there.”

you smile, “thank you, it was nice meeting you too.”

they walk away, leaving you standing in front of your office door by yourself. you shake your head, there was no way they were serious about leon. he really doesn’t talk to anyone else? there was only one way to find out.

you head back into your office, where leon hasn’t moved a muscle.

“you ready to get started?” he asks.

“yeah,” you pause, “hey i have a question.”

“hit me.”

“what do you do for fun around here?” you ask, trying not to sound suspicious, “i just- i feel like there isn’t much to do in the city, and was wondering if you and some of the other agents ever just go out and decompress… i guess.”

“i don’t usually kick it with the other agents, but there’s museums you could-”

“why not?”

“i’m not interested in that.”

“even at work? i mean, i just haven’t seen you really talk to anyone.”

“no sense in conversing when there’s work to be done.”

“you’re conversing with me, aren’t you?”

he opens his mouth, trying to think of what to say, “you’re different.”

“different how?”

“you’re just different, that’s all.”

you nod, not wanting to push, “well, let’s start looking through everything.”

and that you did. the two of you spent the entire day in your office, sorting through photos, writing reports, and doing so while trying to ignore the short conversation you and leon had in the morning.

you were afraid to look through the pictures you took, afraid that one look at the mutilated b.o.w. you snapped a photo of was going to bring you right back to that moment, but for some reason, the photos gave you no reaction.

it’s almost as though you were distracted. you tried to pay attention, you really did, but there was something preventing you from being able to fully focus on your work. perhaps it was exhaustion, or a state of shock, or… a secret third thing.

it could not have been him, surely not. you were friends, the same way you were friends all those years ago. nothing has changed! he looks a little different, older, stronger, tougher, but deep down you knew it was the same leon kennedy you had known in chicago, and you certainly weren’t interested in him like that back then.

except, you might have had an innocent little crush on him six years ago, but that means nothing, and it has absolutely no relevance now. you were practically kids. now, you’re both adults, with serious jobs, and no time for childish crushes. judging by leon’s change in personality since the last time you saw him, it was clear that he would have agreed with you.

work comes first, especially in your field, which makes this whole internal dilemma pointless. you work for the united states government, and yet, you’re spending your time worrying about something that, in the grand scheme of life, doesn’t matter.

“do you wanna stop for the day?”

his sultry voice snaps you out of your thoughts. you look at the time and realize you should have been home by now.

“we still haven’t finished,” you reply, before getting cut off by a yawn.

leon, sat directly next to you, reaches over and closes your laptop.

“we don’t need to finish everything right now,” he protests, “and you look exhausted.”

“that obvious?” you say, looking at him with tired eyes.

“unfortunately,” he yawns too, “look, you finished the article for the newspaper, and you got a good chunk of your official report done, and you’ll definitely have time to finish it tomorrow before the weekend, so just… go home.”

“thank you for helping me.”

“always,” he says, a small smile at the corner of his mouth, “i’m gonna get going too, i’ll walk you to your car.”

“okay, cool, just give me like five minutes,” you say, beginning to pack up your belongings.

he nods, getting out of his seat and leaving your office. when you hear the door shut, you immediately exhale, like you’ve been holding your breath for the past nine hours.

so he’ll happily have a conversation with you at work, help you with your tasks, and also walk you to your car at the end of the day? you definitely were different. and he was too.

the only thing on your mind now was getting him to admit it. admit that there was something going on that wasn’t just him being friendly, because clearly him being friendly meant ignoring all of his fellow agents unless he absolutely had to talk to them.

although you were hired at the dso with virtually no experience, you still held various skills that made you stand out from the rest. weaponry, strength, agility,  journalism, but arguably the most important skill, intelligence. 

you were a quick thinker, and this skill was going to be put to use out of the workplace.

you were a frugal college student, and now, a frugal post-grad adult. your car was incredibly old, and would stall from time to time. of course, you knew all the different hacks to get it running again, but what if you didn’t? you just had to hope the odds were in your favor.

you meet back up with leon and make your way to the parking lot. for a moment you’re worried more people are going to see the two of you together and be suspicious given leons reputation, but because the two of you stayed so late, there weren’t as many people in the building.

you finally get to your car, a toyota that’s almost the same age as you. leon inspects it.

“cute,” he says, playfully.

you roll your eyes, unlocking your car, “see you tomorrow, leon.”

you get in, say a silent prayer, and insert the key into the ignition. you turn it slowly…

bingo.

the car stalls.

in any other situation, you would have popped the hood, hit a couple things, and the car would have turned on as expected. leon doesn’t know that though.

he’s a few feet away, already walking to his car, but when he hears the sound of your car failing to turn on, he quickly turns around and walks back to you. 

utilising your sparse acting skills, you try to look as annoyed as possible. as he gets closer to you, you exit the car.

“guess i’m taking the metro,” you say while laughing awkwardly.

“what happened?”

“my car decides when it does and doesn’t want to work.” you shrug, “it’s fine, though.”

“what? i can take you home.”

you pretend to act surprised, “it’s okay, seriously.”

“nah, come on. i’ll take you home, and hopefully tomorrow your car starts.”

without waiting for an answer, leon starts walking away. you quickly lock up your car and catch up to him.

“you don’t have to do this.”

he scoffs, “it’s a short drive, don’t worry about it.”

a smile creeps onto your face, but since you’re behind him, he doesn’t see it.

the two of you finally arrive to leon’s car, a black range rover. of course he would have a luxury car. god only knows how much his bi-weekly paycheck is.

he unlocks the car and walks over to the passengers side, opening the door for you.

“how kind,” you say, getting into the car.

he nods, shutting the door and getting in the drivers side. he turns the car on and hands you his phone with the gps open, and you type in your address. the two of you make eye contact for a millisecond when he turns around to back out of the parking spot, and it immediately sends a shiver down your spine.

he also has a backup camera, but apparently he prefers to do things the old school way.

the car ride is quiet, aside from the soft hum of whatever classic rock song is playing on the radio. once his car pulls up to the front of your building, you hesitate.

you didn’t think this far ahead. you wanted to spend more time with him, but you didn’t want to make it weird or awkward.

you unbuckle your seat and just before you give up and get out of the car, you look at him.

“do you wanna come in?” you ask, quietly, almost like you’re embarrassed.

you look away, afraid to hear what his answer may be. he swallows and tries to force down a smile.

“i do, yeah.”

you whip your head towards him, “you do?” a pause, “i mean, yeah, okay.”

the two of you make it into your barely furnished apartment. it’s not a depressing look, though, it’s more minimalist. chic, if you will. you do wish you had some decor around. the only real piece of decor you own is a mirror in your living room.

you can’t help but wonder what leon’s place looks like.

“do you want something to drink?”

leon looks around your apartment. he sure loves inspecting things.

“sure, what do you have?”

you stand in your kitchen looking at the single unopened bottle of wine on the counter.

he notices what you’re looking at and nods, “perfect.”

you pour two glasses of wine and make your way over to your living room, where he stands.

you pause, the two glasses still in your hand. you haven’t gotten close enough to him yet, but you feel a need to clear the air. there’s an underlying tension between the two of you, something that’s been evident since the moment you locked eyes just a few days ago.

“can i ask you something?” you ask, quietly, “and can you tell me the truth?”

you aren’t facing him, rather you’re facing the mirror. he stands a few feet behind you. you look at him through the mirror, and he looks at you. 

he doesn’t break eye contact, but it’s clear he isn’t going to answer your question so you ask it anyways.

“how am i different?”

you turn around and walk to your couch, placing one of the glasses on the coffee table. a few moments later he sits beside you.

you sip your drink, waiting for him to answer, but he leaves his glass on the table.

he takes a deep breath, “i haven’t been the same since that day.”

oh this is serious. you put your glass on the table and direct your full attention towards him.

he clears his throat, “i think people noticed a change in me after that. and it made them feel differently towards me.” he tries to think of what to say next, “i feel like when people talk to me, they’re walking on eggshells, y’know? i walk into a room and everyone goes quiet, like i’m a ticking time bomb or something.”

“i don’t know why they do it. i witnessed horrific things, lost good people, i guarantee if anyone went through what i went through they’d be acting the same, if not worse.”

he sighs, “if the other agents are too afraid to talk to me for whatever reason, whether it’s because they’re afraid of me, or because they don’t want to hurt my feelings, or whatever, why should i talk to them? believe it or not, i wouldn’t mind having a conversation with someone if they just came up to me first.”

“i understand,” you finally say something.

he shifts his body so that he is facing you fully, whereas before he was facing forward.

“with you,” he adds, “you knew me before all of that. you know who i really am, how i act, there’s no pressure talking to you. you’re not gonna tip toe around me like everybody else. that’s why you’re different.”

“of course i’m not, i just- i can’t imagine what that was like for you,” you say, trying to make him feel a little better.

“i’m really happy you’re here. you have no idea.”

“i think i have some idea.”

he smiles, like genuinely smiles. a grin appears across his face, and you try not to react, but you haven’t seen him smile like that in six years. it’s almost like you can see all 32 teeth.

the sight of him makes you break out into a grin, and the two of you start giggling on your couch like kids.

you decide it’s finally time to bite the bullet.

“i missed that smile.”

he rolls his eyes, but you can tell you made him giddy.

“i missed your smile too,” he admits, “and everything else.”

“you’re just saying that.”

“i mean it. and i meant it when i told you i looked for you. every day since i left.”

it wasn’t all in your head. there was something.

you look at him, wondering who was going to say something next. the silence is giving you goosebumps. you can’t look at him, so you look away.

“can i kiss you?” he finally asks.

you look at him once more, and you bite your lip to prevent yourself from grinning again. gotta keep cool!

instead of answering his question, you lean in and kiss him, slowly.

he kisses you back, also slowly. you feel his large hand cup your cheek.

this rhythm continues for a few moments before leon seemingly gets ahead of himself and kisses you harder.

immediately, he pulls back, his face turning red.

“why did you stop?” you ask, sounding somewhat disappointed.

“i don’t know- i didn’t know if you-” he can’t even look at you.

“leon…” you whisper.

he looks at you.

you kiss him again, hard, mimicking the roughness that made him pull away just moments before.

he follows your lead, now using both hands to cup your face.

your hands reach for him, but they aren’t quite sure where to go. you start by cupping his cheeks, and then slowly you trail down his jaw, and then his neck, before reaching his shoulders. 

you hold onto them, tight. you’re so caught up in kissing him that you don’t realize just how hard you’re holding onto him until you accidentally dig your nails into him and a groan escapes the back of his throat.

the sound instantly makes your breath hitch and you quietly moan into his mouth.

you can’t take this build up any longer, so you hoist yourself up and onto his lap, straddling him. you manage to do this without separating your mouth from his. 

you start involuntarily bucking your hips against his, trying to create even the smallest bit of friction to combat the feeling of heat building between your legs.

“fuuuck…” he says into your mouth.

with every passing moment you feel his length hardening beneath you.

you pull away for just a moment, panting, “i need more…”

he nods, eagerly, “what are you doing to me?”

a cocky grin appears on your face as you reach for the bottom of his shirt. you take his shirt off with urgency, and he quickly does the same to you.

he kisses you again, and seamlessly unclips your bra with one hand, because, obviously he can do that.

he pulls away for a moment to admire you on his lap, which makes you shy.

“breathtaking.” it’s all he can manage to say.

you stand up for just a second to unbutton and take off your jeans, and as you do this, leon does the same to his jeans.

now, with you back on his lap, you slowly grind your already damp underwear onto the apparent bulge in his boxers.

you can feel him twitching beneath you as he starts peppering kisses all over your face, neck, and finally breasts. 

he takes one of your nipples into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the stiff peak. this elicits a louder moan from you, and suddenly, the grinding just isn’t enough.

you lean into his ear, your voice a whisper, “fuck me, please.”

“yes ma’am,” he pulls back and whispers back to you.

he reaches down, grabbing the waistband of his boxers, and pulling them down to reveal his cock, which stands basically upright and is already leaking at the tip.

your mouth practically waters at the sight of him.

he looks you in the eyes, seemingly waiting for a confirmation that everything is okay, you nod slightly, which prompts him to grab your panties and move them to the side.

he slowly inserts himself into you, which is incredibly easy for him given your arousal practically leaking out of you. this contact feels euphoric, and you can’t help but let your eyes roll into the back of your head.

you allow yourself to fully sink down onto him, before coming up, and repeating the action.

you continue doing this, making sure that his tip hits your sweet spot every time you bottom out.

your hands lay against his bare chest, while his rest on your hips. he doesn’t guide you, or keep the rhythm going, he simply wants to touch you, and that just so happens to be the perfect spot for him to rest his hands.

he’s happy to let you take the lead. truth be told, he would be happy to do anything for you.

you continue riding him, the two of you spewing profanities that echo throughout the practically empty apartment until you feel the warm feeling building in your stomach.

“i- i’m gonna-” you can barely get words out, the feeling of him filling you can be compared to that of drugs.

“i know, i know. it’s okay,” he reassures.

his voice is enough to send you over the edge, and give you what might be the best orgasm you’ve ever experienced in his life.

your pace continues, your whole body twitching, as a way to not only ride out your own climax, but to also not deny him of his own.

your moans are like music to his ears, and the sound of you reaching your peak allows him to finally reach his. 

you feel his dick twitch inside you, as he groans into the crook of your neck. his release coats your inner walls, and once the both of you are finished, the only sound in the small apartment is the sound of the two of you catching your breaths. 

with him still inside you, you collapse, letting your arms gently wrap around him.

“i don’t wanna fucking work tomorrow,” you say, casually, like he didn’t just fuck you into next week.

he laughs, “i don’t either.”

[f41ryb0nes]

⌖ unconventional methods ⌖

USSTRATCOM was hell, and brutal training made many recruits desperate to blow off steam. For you? That resulted in earning the title of barracks bunny.

But Leon? You liked him too much to reduce him to a notch on your belt, so you avoided him as much as you could since he caught on. Easier said than done being Krauser's top two recruits.

And Krauser? Nothing got past him. He knew exactly what had you both distracted, and he knew how to fix it.

ao3 ⌖ wc: 14.5k ⌖ insp part _ of three’s company

tags: Leon Kennedy/Reader/Jack Krauser, m/f/m smut, cisfem!reader, mostly leon/reader but also spitroasting, repressed feelings, p in v, creampie, degradation, slut shaming, begging, orgasm denial, cockdrunkenness, overstimulation, hair pulling, voyeurism, krauser backseat gaming from the cuck chair, krauser is a sadist, boot kink, dacryphilia, corruption?, slapping, choking, knife play, extremely dubious consent/noncon (reader enjoys/is non-resistant but the dove is in hospice, you’ve been warned)

a/n: I would like to apologize to feminism and also to god. wc is like 80% spice

Personal lives are nonexistent for the poor souls who train at USSTRATCOM; in fact, they’re outright forbidden. But the human will is a stubborn thing, and experiencing constant, extreme conditions makes many recruits willing to do extreme things to fulfill any personal desire at all. Whether it be sneaking a book to their bunk or rubbing one out in the showers, there’s only one rule: don't get caught.

But none are more stubborn than you and Leon Kennedy. It's why you’d each survived the experiences that landed you in military custody in the first place. You’re too stubborn to fail, too hard-headed to die. At least that’s what Krauser always says; that that’s how you both so quickly rose to be his two most-promising recruits

But being on Major Krauser's pedestal came with crippling pressure to keep ahold of his fickle approval. Every trainee lives under his constant scrutiny, and no slip-up is too small to go unnoticed. And his attention, good or bad, isn't something anyone wants to have. 

Krauser stated his goal explicitly on the very first day of training— "I will break you" —and he makes good on that promise every single day. Those who he sees as weak are given extra drills and rounds in the fighting ring until they puke from overexertion, and those he believes in are pushed past their limits, resulting in the exact same end.

So to say that you’re stressed would be a laughable understatement, and you blow off steam in equal measure when you can. And since you’re constantly reduced to nothing but a primal instinct to survive, your vice of choice is somewhat primal as well.

You’re a classic barracks bunny. Sue you for having needs, but there are worse things to be. Besides, all female recruits are on a steady diet of birth control, so the number of risks are relatively few.

Leon, however, didn’t exactly seem to approve. He never brought it up, but you once locked eyes with him as you snuck out of the men’s barracks, and it didn’t take a genius to guess what you’d been doing there at such a late hour. He’d never make you feel bad about it, and you hardly had time to dwell on it in the scarce minutes of the day not spent training or sleeping, but you were sure you caught a sour look of disapproval in his eyes. 

You and Leon were once as close to friends as anyone could be in a hellscape like USSTRATCOM, so if you’re being honest, yeah, you’re a bit embarrassed that he’d caught you like that, and you haven’t been able to fight off the pangs of guilt you feel in his presence now. So although the topic has gone untouched, it's been a little tense between you ever since; just enough to notice but not enough to address. 

Besides, the kind of tension is the only thing that’s new between you and Leon. Tension sprouted within the very first days of group training and had grown ever since, and other people noticed, too. They all chalked it up to being competitive rivals, but it was anything but that. 

You have the fattest, most hopeless crush on him ever. Hell, you’re one bad day or BOW incident away from admitting that you’re in love.

That’s what makes you feel so guilty about the subtle glint of disappointment you keep finding in Leon's gaze now. Wondering what he thinks about you makes you beyond anxious, and you doubt you'll ever have the time or courage to find out.

There’s a reason you sneak off into nearly everyone's barracks but his, after all: you like him far too much to seek him out for a quick and dirty indulgence. Leon means far more to you than a notch on your belt, and you wouldn’t be able to stand it if you put yourself in a position where he categorized you as a hookup and nothing more.

But what cuts the most? Assuming he feels disappointed in you might be wishful thinking. He most likely thinks you’re a whore, that you’re reckless and irresponsible, probably shares all the typical judgments you know get whispered behind your back. 

Honestly, you wouldn’t be surprised if he hates you with how he’s been acting cold. 

So despite how much you want him and how often you imagine his face while someone else is balls-deep inside, you’ll never invite yourself into his room, much less admit your feelings for him. Plus, it’s kind of comforting to pretend sleeping around will help you get over your crush.

But your vice of choice has more consequences than those of emotional repression. You have to sacrifice a non-insignificant amount of your already scarce sleep hours to sneak around— and today, the exhaustion has finally caught up to you.

Your aim isn't as sharp, you don't anticipate the most obvious counterattacks, and you’re all-around slower on your feet. Careless mistakes that are totally unlike you, big and small. And no matter how hard you try to muster your strength and focus, dammit, you just can’t stop fucking up.

And none of it got past Major Krauser. That results in him keeping you late for after-hours training, but he isn't one to make a recruit suffer alone. Knowing you’ve dragged someone else into it is a part of the punishment in itself. 

So naturally, being the top two recruits, he chose Leon to join you. Just your fucking luck. 

That's how you find yourself here in the indoor ring somewhere after 23:00 hours, the air pushed from your lungs as you crash back-first onto the floor with a knife against your throat for the umpteenth time in a row. 

Krauser is seriously a sick bastard for making you spar with sharpened weapons, by the way, but that isn't breaking news. Just another "privilege" that comes with being his top recruits.

Leon never goes easy on you, either, but this feels different. Like he really does hate you and is taking his frustrations out with each painful blow to your body. The idea doesn't help you focus, and it isn't long before another miscalculation sends you back against the ground, staring at your tired eyes in the reflection of a knife that would've gouged them out in anyone else's hands. 

"You're tired. It’s pathetic. You think the enemy will care that you didn’t get your beauty sleep?”

“No, sir,” you reply through a wheeze as you try to recover your breathing. 

“Again.”

Despite your screaming muscles and the tiredness clouding your head, you stand up at once. You make yourself small as you shift your weight between your feet, poised to move wherever you’ll need to. As your combat knife shines in the gymnasium lights where you hold it in front of you, raised within your fist, you look Leon dead in the eyes and gear up for yet another fight. 

“Go!”

Leon beats you to the opening move. You dodge to the side. For some reason you put your fucking hand out to block him, and it does nothing to stop his knee from reeling straight into your gut. 

You cough and sputter but remain on your feet, stepping back to create a touch of distance to calculate your next move. But you’re more tired than ever now, and your body can’t keep up with your brain. 

As riled up as Leon is, the late hours are getting to him, too.

In a second, he came at you again with a strong left hook. Too stong for an opening blow, especially with a fist instead of his weapon. At last, you see an opening for attack. 

You use his momentum against him, pulling him through by the wrist. He twists sideways to stay upright, and needing to adjust your own balance, you send a sharp kick onto his back. Your eyes widen with adrenaline as it lands just as harshly as you intended; the upper hand finally seems within your reach. 

Or not. He hooks an arm around the back of your knee while your other leg is still mid-kick, and with nothing more than a shove to your chest, you’re on the ground again, pinned in the exact same position as before. 

“Absolutely disgraceful,” Krauser barks. “You’re distracted, rookie.”

You blink once at Leon who’s looking down at you with a similarly confused expression. Although you both fit the title, ‘rookie’ has long since been exclusively reserved for Leon. But you were the one who was called here tonight to be punished; why was Krauser drilling him?

Your knit brows turn to widened eyes as Leon attempts to rise but is stopped by a boot on his back. 

“Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind, pretty boy?”

It’s clearly a trap question, and the pet name is laced with anything but admiration. Leon purses his lips and opens them as he attempts to think of an acceptable answer, but he’s obviously at a loss. You wonder what sadistic plan Krauser has in store as he awaits Leon’s response, and you grow somewhat fearful for the younger man.

Though he speaks with a sure tone, Leon only manages a single word, like he thinks he can get around it by gathering more information first.

“Sir?”

Krauser adding weight to his stance on Leon’s back is all it takes to know it didn’t work.

“Do you think I’m stupid?”

“No, sir,” you and Leon say in unison. 

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Krauser spat in your direction. 

“Then tell me,” Krauser continued, his attention returning solely to Leon, “why you’re face-to-face with what’s distracting you, and you can’t tell me what it is. Do you think I haven’t noticed?” 

You get halfway through the thought of “noticed what?” before Krauser pushes Leon down further, so close that the wispy ends of his bangs brush against your cheekbones. You gulp against the knife that still hovers over your neck, but the sharpened edge doesn’t make you feel nearly as nervous as whatever the fuck is happening right now.

You’re used to being in close proximity with Leon in training, but this is entirely different. It’s intimate. Uncomfortably so. It makes your head spin too fast to think about what Krauser just implied.

Instead, your attention is preoccupied with avoiding Leon’s eyes like you’ve been doing for weeks now, but with him this close-range, he’s everywhere, so close that your eyes threaten to cross. You can see every pore on his nose, the moles that constellate his neck, the lines in his forehead where he’ll have wrinkles in ten or so years. 

God, he even looks good this up close and personal. Every detail makes your heart skip and your ears get hot, even in a nerve-racking situation like this. Even when you look away from his stupidly beautiful face, all you can see are his biceps straining as he holds himself over you, flexing against his shirt as he holds himself up against Krauser’s unyielding boot. 

Your adolescent anguish is cut short by Krauser’s attention returning to you.

“That’s why you’re so tired today, isn’t it? From being in this position?”

Oh. Oh no.

A cold wave shoots through you as you realize what all of this is really about. Of course word got around about your late-night escapades; you just didn’t think it’d find its way to Krauser unless he caught you in the act. You now know what a fool you were for ever thinking that.

Krauser and Leon are by far the last people you're ready to address it with, and Krauser just had to bring it up while he keeps you pinned inches beneath the latter. 

It has to be some kind of divine punishment. This is the absolute worst-case scenario. Far worse than you ever could've imagined. The only place to hide is behind the refuge of your eyelids, so you squeeze them tightly shut.

Krauser keeps on twisting the metaphorical knife with a devious laugh that rumbles in his chest.

“You’re awful quiet, rookie. Not gonna defend your lady’s honor? Or, don’t tell me… are you the only one she hasn’t fucked?” 

Your heartbeat turns into a war drum that threatens to beat through your ribs. You're sure Leon can feel it thrum in the air between you. You pray to god in all his mercy to open the ground and swallow you whole, but no such thing will happen.

Leon, however, is praying to a wrathful god to smite Krauser where he stands. He can’t handle it. The humiliation, the intentional offensiveness. The stunning accuracy. Being confronted with it in such a demeaning way. He could maybe take it on the chin if it'd only been about himself, but Leon has long since become protective of you, and he carries your degradation as if it's his own. It's the perfect setup to make him seethe, and Krauser pushes him further with every syllable.

“I asked you a question. Have you fucked her or not?”

Leon’s chest becomes thick with heat as his rage dials up to a fever pitch, nostrils flaring and knuckles whitening around the combat knife. It's hardly at your neck anymore, but you're keenly aware of it.

You're beyond uneasy, but you can’t do anything. You can’t move except to squirm, you don’t have a white flag to raise, and you don’t dare speak out of turn. Anything you say right now won’t be helpful anyway; you’re ultimately the reason you three are here, and any attempt to deescalate would absolutely be thrown right back in your face.

You scream internally to Leon as you see his anger dial up to ten, hoping he’s close enough that if your thoughts are simply loud enough they’ll be able to reach him.

Don’t put yourself on the line for me, you think over and over. But telepathy doesn’t happen to be a weapon in your arsenal, and Leon seldom possesses the ability to bite his tongue. So however reckless it might be, he tries to change the subject by steering it towards an argument.

“Go fuck yourself, sir.”

You wince as you prepare for Krauser to skin him alive, but to your surprise, he doesn’t take the bait. Leon avoiding the question is answer enough, so Krauser coolly clicks his tongue, and his level-headedness makes the situation all the more terrifying.

“Just as I thought. Is that why you threw all those haymakers? Want to keep pinning her down just to get a taste? You know damn well that won’t work on the field.”

It’s insane, the way Krauser can tie anything back to training, but his words hit right where he aimed them, and it’s Leon’s turn to be unable to face you as he tries to keep his cool. Tough work, since Krauser’s on a roll.

“She’s obviously easy; why haven’t you just asked her, Kennedy?”

Leon’s jaw sets tighter. 

“Afraid that she’d reject you?” 

Krauser hits a bullseye. It’s all too clear now that humiliation is Krauser’s goal, and neither of you can leave without it being shoved down your throats. Watching Leon reel between emotions is giving you secondhand whiplash, but it’s only a few seconds before he grits his teeth and lets go of his dignity. 

“Because I—” he swallows hard, “I like her, sir.”

The confession hits you like a battering ram, and for a moment, the room is so quiet your ears ring. 

He doesn’t hate you. He likes you. A part of you could cry you were so happy, but with the situation at hand, how could you possibly be content? It brings on a wave of emotions that surfaces all the ones you’d been shoving down for months.

Feelings like that are impossible to foster in a hellhole like this. Sleeping around is one thing, but romance? What could even come of it being mutual? For those reasons and many more, you’d accepted it being hopeless a long time ago. And now that Krauser knew— and had apparently set this all up because he’d known for a while— you were now sure that he’d brought you here just to murder your dreams in cold blood. 

So there you and Leon lay on top of each other, no warmth or sweetness about it, faced with each other as symbols of your failures to cope. All you can do is wait for Krauser to rip your hearts out and incinerate them so they’ll never distract you again.

“What a goddamn sweetheart,” Krauser tuts, shaking his head. “You’re too soft. And you’re letting it get in the way instead of taking the clear fucking solution.”

The air goes still as you brace for whatever twisted “solution” he might have in mind, mentally preparing to run drills until sunrise or engage in some sick psychological simulation where you’d come to hate each other. Either would be perfectly up Krauser’s alley.

You were once again a fool to think you could predict him. You never would have expected what happened next. 

He crushes his boot into Leon's lower back until his navel is fixed solidly against your center. Hissing at the sudden contact, Leon swiftly pushes away as much as he can, but it isn’t much; although you aren’t quite face-to-face anymore, the Major’s full bodyweight keeps Leon’s lower half trapped flush against you. 

Startled astonishment washes over your face as you realize what exactly it is you feel pressed against you: at some point during tonight’s training, Leon got hard. You hadn’t noticed, but Krauser apparently did. 

Oh my god you feel like an idiot. You were too distracted by your fucking feelings to notice that he was hard. What the actual fuck.

You’re trying not to panic. You’re exactly where you want to be, but it’s in the least conceivable scenario possible. You scan Leon’s face wildly to find some sort of confidence in him that you can hold onto, a muscle memory of the looks you’ve often exchanged to get through training, but he’s just as frantic as you are as he tries to stay still, to not move an inch against you. 

Leon is very keenly aware of the fact that you didn’t ask for this, haven’t said that it’s okay, and the shame he feels at his exposed arousal sits like a death grip around his neck. He has no reason to think you were even interested in him; you hadn’t said anything since whatever the fuck this is began— and if you didn’t want it, what could you even do about it? It felt like a noose around his neck, and Krauser kept dragging him by it, tightening the rope with each syllable he spoke. 

“Close encounters really do it for you, huh? You like holding a pretty girl down, feeling her struggle against your cock? Maybe you’re not such a boy scout; you’re more like me than you think.”

Any thoughts you had about his statement went in one ear and out the other as Krauser moves his heel to rut Leon back and forth against you, grinding his cock smoothly and firmly against your clothed cunt. You nearly choke at the electric current it sends rushing through your core.

Even though Leon isn’t moving on his own accord, even if the inner war he’s waging against himself is written all over his face, he’s pressed so staunchly against you that you feel every twitch of his cock as it grows harder. 

It shouldn’t send a rush of thrill through you, but it does.

You bite your lip as another ebb of downward pressure increases the friction and makes the feeling too bright to ignore. Just as Leon can’t help his body reacting to yours, you’re resistless to the way you unconsciously arch into him. 

“Don’t be so shy. Look at her, she likes it.”

That makes Leon finally look at you head-on, and your face floods with a blush so hot it burns, because it’s undeniably true. You did like it. It felt good. A mental hell alongside physical heaven, but heaven nonetheless.

His hips grind into your core again—shaky, but this time of his own volition— before he raggedly whispers, "Do you…? Do you want me?”

You struggle to keep the intensity of his gaze, but you know what he’s really asking for: the truth. You try to show as much surety as you can as you nod your head against the padded ground, sharing it like a lifeline.

“Y-yeah. Yes.”

Krauser interjects with an eye roll and his trademark condescension. “You’re still too goddamn soft. You still have a knife in your hand, for god’s sake, that’s all the permission you need.”

Twisted fucking bastard, Leon thinks, his grip tightening around the hilt of the blade where he holds it beside your head. He stares straight into your eyes with an intensity that says he isn’t readying it for you. Your gut churns all the same. 

Luckily for you both, the major moves on from it. His boot leaves Leon’s back and he shudders in relief, exhaling deeply as he’s able to part his body from yours. 

It’s a short-lived reprieve as a broad shadow falls from overhead. Krauser looms from above with menacing casualness, thumbs hooked in his belt loops as he cocks his head in amusement.

"Go on, then. Kiss her."

You freeze in place and watch Leon as you remain stuck under him, breathlessly waiting to see if he takes the opportunity, heart pounding as you wonder if he should. 

Leon hardly pauses. An order is an order, and he’s getting used to that, as unconventional as they may be. He huffs, leans in halfway, and then retracts another inch; knits his brows together and shakes his head, either deciding against it or shaking off his last bits of resistance. You couldn’t tell which, at least not until he suddenly closes the distance.

It's the gentlest kiss you've ever received. His plush and impassioned lips skim lightly over yours as he still struggles to take what he so clearly wants. And god, you want him too, and you lift your chin in an attempt to press your mouths closer together, but it’s no use; he retreats just enough to leave you attached by the cupid's bow and a brushing of noses.

Krauser is less than impressed by the soft display. Gripping Leon by the crown of his hair, he admonishes, "I said kiss her, rookie," and all but crushes his face into yours.

You inhale sharply as Leon's lips fuse together intensely with your own. He twitches in surprise, grinding into you again inadvertently. The friction evokes a needy rasp from him, lips parting from the sound just enough for your tongues to meet— fleetingly at first, then reckless and deep as passion wins out against restraint. 

Leon grinds again, this time with intention as you start to melt into each other, having nowhere to go but further into each other’s bodies. Krauser's hand leaves Leon's scalp as he becomes pleased, finally, with his energy. He circles like a shark as he keeps a watchful eye.

Leon becomes more intense as he gains full room to move on his own, like the levee broke for his desire to surge violently and freely, a desire that’d been held back for months of anguish. 

The knife he’d held became forgotten on the ground as his hands grasped for you without instruction, shakily at first, then fervently all around you. His calloused fingertips run across your jawline and down your neck before roaming to your breast, but he doesn't squeeze, not until you arch to push into him yourself. 

It instantly gives him permission to squeeze your flesh firmly, and every movement suddenly becomes urgent. Your tongues clash sloppily, his stiff bulge ruts back and forth against your core, and you can’t help but clamor for him in turn— your thighs hook tight around his waist to pull him further in, to help you relieve the growing pressure between your legs as your head becomes thick with need. 

You nearly forgot Krauser was there at all until he speaks again with a gruff and low tone you've never heard from him before.

"Good. Keep going.”

You can't deny that someone else being in the room turns your brain somewhat mushy. In fact, it turns you on. You're adventurous, sure, but that's a shocking revelation even for you.

More shocking than that, the third party is your major, and he's telling Leon what to do as if he's giving normal orders. Those are ideas you'd laugh yourself sick at half an hour ago, but now here you are, and you feel your underwear slicken with each directive word and the ache to be permitted more.

But unbeknownst to you, that's the first of many things Krauser will awaken in you tonight. Right now, you don't even know how far he plans to take this. But you've spent months being primed to do whatever insane things he demands, and what you do know is that you'd do just about anything to earn more of the young man on top of you. So ever the good soldier, you let your commander lead you wherever he sees fit, and Leon does just the same.

“Take her top off.”

The cool gymnasium air contrasts with Leon's warm hand as it drags your shirt up your torso, leaving goosebumps in its wake as you shuffle to allow him to lift it over your head, lips parting only as long as they need to. Your top becomes discarded somewhere on the floor, forgotten before it lands. 

You tremble under Leon's touch as he roams the soft curves of your stomach, gliding upward until he traces the top hem of your sports bra. He hooks his fingertips under the hem and pauses with trepidation, resting his forehead against yours as he bucks into you. By the look on his face, his trousers are becoming a painful confinement.

Leon waits for permission or to have the rug pulled from under him and be told this is all a sick joke, until Krauser gives the former. Just not before making him sweat first.

“You wanna fuck her, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Leon shudders while looking down at you, relishing the slightest touch he currently has on your body.

“That’s ‘yes, sir.’ How many times have you jerked off thinking about it?”

Leon gulps before answering, feeling every ounce as humiliated as Krauser intended him to. 

“T-too many to count, sir.”

“Then take it off.”

It crosses your mind that no one’s asked if you’re fine with being stripped in front of an audience of two, but you’re not exactly apt to complain about Leon getting you naked.

Leon fumbles briefly with the tight elastic band before it’s whisked over your head and added to the growing collection of forgotten garments on the floor mat. You turn your head to the side, shying away as Leon takes in a full view of your nipples as they pebble in the cool air. But when you look to the side, your gaze lands on Krauser. 

“Mistake” is your first thought. “Was it?” is the immediate second. All you know is that he’s leaned coolly against the edge of the arena rubbing his thick bulge through his pants as he watches intently. The sight makes you feel like you’ve caught on fire, and you quickly look away.

You have no more time to dwell on it as Leon pinches your nipple between his index finger and his thumb, rolling it between them with a reverent sigh at your reaction, then pulling it up and letting it drop. He repeats it on the other side, and your thighs clench around his hips as the stimulation goes straight to your core. 

You can barely stand the teasing, and your hands find their way underneath Leon’s shirt. The feeling of his taut abs does nothing to quell you, though. It only drives home that the current sensations you’re being afforded aren't anywhere near enough. But right as you feel like you’re going mad, it all comes to a stop.

“Sit up, rookie.”

You whine as Leon does as he’s told, your hands leaving the heat of his stomach as he sits back on his haunches, , still with the exception of the labored rise and fall of his chest, his hands clasped behind his back, and your spit still wet on his lower lip. You’re left deprived of all touch, breathless and exposed, brows twisted up with neediness as you wait.

Krauser’s heavy and measured footsteps towards you are menacing. You don’t dare to look until he comes into view on his own, and from the steep angle up that you have, the large tent in his pants is imposing. It nearly obstructs his face as he stands directly over you. 

“Pretty…” He hums as he appraises the skin that’s been exposed on you so far, and it’s perhaps the first kind thing he’s ever said to you. It sounds foreign in his voice, but then he goes right back to his usual demands. “Strip down, all of it.”

You hesitate for a brief moment before sitting up and unlacing your boots with shaky hands, all too aware of the eyes on you as you discard them and lay back down to fumble with your belt and zipper. It feels all the more exposing to be undressing yourself as opposed to it being done for you somehow, and you try to push away the feeling of awkwardness as you raise your hips and push your bottoms down in one go. You keep your knees together as much as you can as you foot them off of your ankles and kick them away beside you, and rest back down, now totally bare.

The cold air is nothing against the heat of their gazes as you lie there totally bare, awaiting the first touch. It comes from the rubber of Krauser’s boot as he parts your legs with it.

If Leon weren’t already on his knees, he would’ve fallen to them right then and there. He practically salivates as your pussy is revealed before him, and every nervous twitch of yours makes your wetness glisten in the fluorescent lights. His hands flex where they’re clasped behind him, and his throat tightens as his cock becomes painfully hard within his pants. Still fully clothed, he feels hot, far too hot, as the first traces of sweat begin to form on his skin from the sheer effort it takes not to dive into you.

Krauser hums at the sight of you and takes the toe of his boot to the soft crease where thigh meets ass, and lets the rubber press onto your flesh to pull your cunt open to them. You whine as you feel your slick pool out as your opening flutters for touch. 

“Look at that,” Krauser muses. “No wonder everyone wants a taste. A pussy like that is just begging to be ruined. Isn’t it, Kennedy?”

What is Leon supposed to do here? Say he doesn’t want to ruin you for anyone else? It’d be a bold-faced lie, and he’d agree with just about anything Krauser says right now if it lets him get what’s being dangled right in front of him.

“Y-yes, sir.”

“Your cock even big enough to ruin her? Or is that why you haven’t gotten with her?” 

For perhaps the first time in Leon’s life, he suddenly feels unsure. He’s never been insecure about his size before, never had a reason to be. He knows he’s well-endowed. But the major always has impossibly high standards. What if this is no different? What will happen if he doesn’t meet them now?

Leon gulps before answering with a shaky breath, although he tries to sound more sure. “Yes, sir.”

“Let’s see it then.”

Leon nearly gets cold feet, but seeing you spread before him is enough to throw his modesty to the wind. His fingers are clumsy in their quickness as he undoes his pants just enough to get his cock free, and he hisses at the contact of his fingers pulling it out by the base. He can’t stop himself from pumping it once between his fingers, but it takes nothing more than a disapproving glance from Krauser for him to put his hands back at his sides.

His fists become white-knuckled as his hardness hangs obstinately in the air. It’s framed by his still-on t-shirt falling over his navel, the waistband of his briefs sitting snugly under his balls, and his cock springing free between his parted zipper; not much skin is showing, really, but it’s all the more lewd a sight for it.

“Oh, shit,” is all you manage to breathe out.

Short, dark blond hairs silhouette the base, and his tip is an angry pink as it begins to shine with the emergence of a clear bead of precum. It hangs heavily in the air, jolting up once as he bites his lip in arousal, and you catch sight of the coursing vein that runs up the side. He’s long and so thick in girth, and your toes curl at the thought of him trying to fit it all inside of you.

God, what a fool you’ve been for jumping between barracks for sex that was often unsatisfactory and only a means to an end. All this time, you could’ve had Leon instead.

It’s an undeniably captivating sight, even for Krauser, who inhales through his teeth as he too takes it in with his eyes. But still, he isn’t one to give his praise so easily.

“Not bad. Let’s hope you know how to use it.”

You whine in surprise as Krauser suddenly fixes the toe of his boot into you and slowly circles around your clit, and Leon grimaces as he tastes copper from how hard he bites down on his lip.

“Because if you don’t,” Krauser taunts, “I’ll have to take over.”

Your pulse soars at the prospect, fear and arousal intertangling into one. Whether or not that’d happen lies entirely with Leon, but it could very well be a trap; the same as being told that training could end early if you do well enough, but no one can ever do well enough for Krauser. He gets too much sick pleasure in dangling hope over your head, fully knowing you’ll never reach it and enjoying watching you struggle to anyway, and this situation is no different.

A moan leaves your parted lips as Krauser presses his boot more firmly into your clit and rubs it left to right. He chuckles thinly at your response.

“She really is easy, soaking just from my boot. Fucking filthy.” He glides it up and down to literally rub it in, making your legs twitch as he presses into your clit, then looks at you and nods towards Leon. “You like what you see?”

“Mmhm,” you nod needily through pursed lips as you tremble under the crude ministrations against your pussy your eyes still fixed on Leon’s increasingly leaking cock.

He lands a soft kick to your clit, nowhere near enough to hurt, but enough to feel the threat and a sharp jolt of pleasure up your spine. 

“Yes, sir,” you correct yourself breathlessly.

He spreads your slick a little more, purely playing with it now as he addresses Leon again.

“Don’t let it go to your head. How many cocks have been in here just since training started…? Bet this whore could cum just from my goddamn boot.” 

Krauser finally steps back, leaving you shaking and untouched yet again, your lips pressed into a thin line as you pray the question remains rhetorical. It does, at least for you.

“But you don’t mind, do you, Kennedy? You like her enough that you’re alright with sloppy seconds? Thirds? Twentieths maybe..?”

Leon's chest flares. Your body count has never once factored into his envy. He just wants you— evidently, by any means necessary. And you being degraded like that? It stokes his anger all over again, and he once again fails to bite his tongue, the contempt clear in his tone as he speaks through a snarl. 

“She’s the whore? You’re the one treating your recruits like a harem, sir.”

Krauser seizes Leon by the bangs, making the younger man yelp as he’s yanked forward by the hair until he’s on all fours in front of you, his face inches away from your cunt. Leon hisses as thick fingers pull viciously at his roots and shake his head in front of your center like a cruel owner admonishing a dog.

“Shut your goddamn mouth— put it to good use before I fuck her and make you watch.”

With no precursor at all, Leon is shoved face-first between your legs. You gasp in shock at the suddenness; with no prior warning for him to begin with any sort of finesse, he lands against you with panting, parted lips, his nose is squished down from the position, pressed just beside your clit.

It takes Leon a second to collect himself, though he does so as quickly as possible once he wraps his mind around his position, nose deep in the part of you he’s been starving for the most. 

Krauser continues to hold him there harshly even as he begins to lap frantically. 

“Where’s all that snark now, huh?”

Leon doesn’t answer— Krauser doesn’t pull him back for him to be able to— instead he moans hard at the taste of your cunt.

Your folds wetten with Leon’s spit as his face collects your arousal, and you whine continuously as he sloppily makes out with your cunt. Being constantly pushed into you makes each stroke of his tongue press firmly wherever it lands around and within the whole of your cunt. It drags up and down, drawing quick and sloppy circles around the expanse of your vulva and the soft skin between your lower lips, flicking over your clit at the top and darting fully into your hole at the bottom.

It’s so vulgar and divine, but it’s too intense too suddenly, and your thighs clamp down around Leon’s head. Krauser just presses him in even further and Leon sucks your clit in compliance, flicking his tongue against the bud inside the vacuum of his mouth, and you yelp and tense your legs harder around his face. But Krauser still has one hand free, and he uses it to hold you open by the knee nearest to him, and despite your whining efforts, his grip is far too strong to budge free of.

You groan in relief as Leon moves on from his onslaught of your clit and dig your nails into the padded floor as he assaults the whole of your core instead, all while Krauser keeps your legs spread wide for him.

The wet sounds of his tongue along with frantic moans from you both fill the room as you reel towards your seventh heaven, and Krauser can tell— of course he can. It’d be obvious to anyone that you’re on the brink from the way you increasingly arch against the floor. But the absolute sight of you isn’t the only thing that makes it obvious; you’re finding it increasingly difficult to muzzle yourself and you mumble pathetically between labored breaths.

“I– ah, ahhh, Leon fuck— oh-hh…”

And it’s borderline petulant the way you whine when Leon’s mouth leaves you all at once. Your head shoots up in shock at the loss, looking to see what caused your release to be denied, but nothing had happened except for Krauser’s cruel whim.

You’re equally shocked to see the look on Leon’s face. Still on all fours and held back by his hair, his mouth is swollen, pink, and shining with slick from the bridge of his nose to the cleft of his chin. His moans are light as if he’s breaking fever and his eyes are half-lidded like he’s drunk. His cock hangs neglected between his legs with a thick string of glossy precum connected from the head to where it’s dripped down to the floor. But the most shocking of all is the faint smile that pulls at the corners of his puffy mouth as Krauser pulls his hair a little tighter.

‘How’s she taste, huh?”

“Incredible, sir.”

“Yeah? You taste any cock still in there?”

Leon’s nostrils flare and his mouth opens into a snarl, but before he can spit whatever insult he has in mind, Krauser yanks his head back painfully and growls.

“Better watch that mouth, kid, or you’ll be eating my cum out of her next.”

Krauser sends him back on his knees with a shove to the head and then rises to stand again, jostling his hard-on thickly through his pants as yet another threat. “Or maybe I’ll shut you up another way, eh?”

The silent grimace on Leon’s face is much to Krauser’s amusement as he berates him with a smile, still stroking his bulge.

“That’s what I thought. Fucking ungrateful. I let you eat her out and you’re acting like a damn brat. You think I should let you fuck her? Huh?”

Swallowing his pride, Leon answers. “Please, sir.”

“That’s what I thought. Beg.”

That’s a demand Leon is a touch too stubborn to easily do. He clenches his eyes and grinds his teeth, still reeling from the lack of touch, and twitches restlessly as the words struggle to come.

But Krauser is impatient. He expresses it through a dull backhand to Leon’s cheek.

“That’s an order, Kennedy.”

Although the slap is ultimately harmless (and could even be considered kind compared to the many blows you’ve both received from the major throughout training), a sense of fear shoots through you. You suddenly realize just how badly this could end if it goes south. You’re still keenly aware that this began by sparring with real knives, a testament to how insane your instructor truly is.

But your wires are well and truly crossed, and although you tremble on the floor, it all feels thrilling just the same. You’re just as sick as Krauser, maybe, the way you ache for Leon to submit so he can give you what you need. Luckily for your throbbing heat and unluckily for Leon’s dignity, he complies.

“Please,” he begins through his teeth, “let me fuck her, sir.”

“You can do better than that. You’ve wanted this for how long…? Let her hear it.”

Your breath hitches at the thought that Krauser has seen what you couldn’t all this time. It’s reinforced by the way Leon hangs his head and his brows change from being knit with anger to upturning in a pained plea as he speaks straight into you.

“Please let me fuck her, sir. Wanted to for so damn long, I—” His cock twitches in the air as if to attest to it being true. “Wanna show her why she doesn’t need to sleep around, that I’d treat her better than all of them, that I am better. Tasted so good, she’s so— I just— fuck, I’d do just about anything, major, please.”

Leon looks up to search for a sign it’s good enough while you do a double take at such lewd words coming from his lips.

In a change of tone, Krauser speaks low and deliberately to the young man.

“You’re going to do exactly as I say. And I mean exactly. If not, I'll take over. You won't get to cum and I’ll make sure she never sneaks off into your bed. Understood?”

Leon nods rapidly and whispers the affirmative under his breath. Krauser nods once and turns around as he gives his first command.

“Take your shirt off and pull your pants down enough to do the job.”

As Krauser strides away, you and Leon shoot a look at each other behind his back. It’s perhaps your first unobserved moment of eye contact the entire day, you realize, and the brief moment seems to expand into something big and desperate and warm, like something that’s just yours. Then Krauser’s heavy steps land in the room and urge Leon’s hands to move.

Your eyes float down over his cut figure as his clothing finally joins yours on the floor. You’ve seen him shirtless countless times, sure, but never with the opportunity to stare, and certainly never with his pants around his thighs.

Your knees subconsciously part ever so slightly at the whole of him; his ashen hair unkempt and askew from Krauser’s disrespect to it, the valleys and peaks of each muscle on his whole torso and arms, and the kind of cock you thought only exists in porn you have to pay for—all of it flushed pink with pent-up desire for you and you alone.

The abrasive whir of a zipper steals your attention. Your eyes flick to the side and you see the major lean against the wall at the edge of the combat ring, pulling his own cock free as he settles in to watch. You feel like you see something you shouldn’t have for some reason, even though you hardly see his dick at all— and you yourself are naked and dripping on the floor, how can you still be embarrassed? Still, you immediately look away with your heart hammering in your chest.

“Kneel between her legs. Don’t touch yourself.”

You part your legs to make room and the flush spreads up from Leon’s chest to his cheeks as he shuffles forward on his knees. He winces as the head of his cock grazes hot against your folds, but he doesn’t dare to do anything about it.

“Slap it with your cock.”

Leon shudders as he holds the base and brings his head down onto your plump clit twice, pauses briefly, and then does it again and again at Krauser’s encouragement. Wet plap plap’s fill the room along with the sound of you sputtering at the teasing.

You fight the urge to curl your hips to get him to push it in; you know he won’t and can’t until he’s given the go-ahead. But it’s torture for you both as Krauser gives him no further instruction for minutes. Only when you both strain and cry out like you’ll break does he give his next demand.

“Stop.”

Not the one you want. Leon’s hands claw into his thighs to keep them fixed away from himself, and you feel hot all over as the head of his tip rests heavily on top of your clit.

Tense and restrained, you push your luck and start grinding against it, careful not to move to much to avoid detection. But if nothing else, Leon’s whine gives it away. Krauser doesn’t seem to mind.

“What a cock-whore,” he says through a devilish smile as he strokes himself leisurely. “She’s just dying for it. You still sure you can satisfy her?”

Leon can only moan and nod in response, and for once, the lack of formalities is accepted.

“Put it in. Stop when you bottom out. Let’s see how much she can take.”

As sadistic and unorthodox as Krauser’s methods are, the results of them are undeniable in the way Leon follows his orders at once.

He rests a hand against your thigh, his thumb rubbing up and down on the soft skin soothingly, as his other guides his shaft towards your entrance. You hold your breath as it notches there, and he wastes no time before he steadily sinks in with a hiss.

“Good god, you’re tight,” Leon chokes out as the head slips past your entrance.

You nearly wheeze as it does, your nerves on fire as they’re delivered the feeling they’ve endured all the torturous teasing for. The long shaft of his cock is hot against your walls and heavy as each new inch settles in, his girth burning the tight tissues of your entrance as they try to accommodate it. Despite the struggle, you keen into him, all to eager to take more, totally forgetting that when he gets to the hilt, he’ll stop.

Three long, tempered drags of his cock and he’s finally flush inside of you. His eyes roll back as he stills there, breathing harder than ever as he fights against thrusting instinctually. Your legs twitch as you sit with the feeling of his fat tip flush against your cervix, your walls hardly accommodating the whole of his dick, at least not yet, and Leon squeezes your parted knees with a frayed and empathetic look.

“Oh, oh f-fuck…”

Leon wants—needs— more just as much as you, if not more than, but he tries to focus on enjoying what he's presently afforded, and tries not to so much as think about how close he feels to cumming entirely too early.

“Enough sniveling— fuck her hard.”

Leon feels a pang of regret. He'd thought of this moment so many times before, ran through it like a waking dream on lonely nights spent lying awake in his cot. He’d always imagined starting slow, making you cum on his tongue and fingers before he entered you gently to hear your pretty breathless moans; to cradle you in his arms as he rocks into your perfect cunt, to hold you tight and kiss you all over—

—But that never happened, and while he dreamed of making love to you, you were busy getting railed in another recruit's room. Sometimes within earshot.

It’s an easy command to follow; he'll take what he can get.

Leon withdraws almost entirely before snapping in to the hilt. You cry out as he crashes powerfully against your cervix and fills every sweet spot all at once, acute pain sitting right alongside the overwhelming pleasure as your cunt stretches to its limits around him.

“Oh f-fuck, Leon—"

You cry out as he does it again with even more force this time, crashing into you so brutally that you slide back on the mat, but he just grips your hips to pull you back to him to continue.

With each new punishing thrust his navel smacks loudly against your center, and you desperately grasp at his wrists to hold on as you take it, moaning feverishly until your body adjusts to accommodate the brute impacts he delivers. When you do, it leaves only a fierce and overwhelming pleasure, and you arch off the mat like an animal in heat, writhing into and away from the intensity simultaneously.

He develops a rapid-fire rhythm he grunts in time to. It takes so much effort to take that you quickly become covered in a thin sheen of sweat that has you sliding back on the mat all over again.

“Grab her wrists and pin her down.”

Leon does it instantly, nailing you in place with an iron grip, your wrists fixed on either side of your head. It brings a new angle that has his cock beating mercilessly against your inner sweet spot, and with your ability to move being limited, you moan shamelessly as you take the bombardment.

He can’t keep himself quiet either, though he tries— he babbles through wet lips and grinding teeth as his eyes roll back in his head.

“Oh fuck, baby. Your pussy’s so perfect, god…”

Every time you twist in pleasure he hits a new spot that makes you see stars, and when you push against his hands, the fact that he so easily cages you in makes it all the better. But sweeter than anything, him pinning you down makes you face-to-face with him again.

The faces he makes are plucked straight from euro porn, full of lust as his expression contorts with every wanton moan. His full lips are a plump and rosy pink, occasionally being wetted by his tongue flicking over them mindlessly as he works; his blown pupils making his eyes a darker, oceanic shade of blue that you ache to drown in.

You tip your chin up to try and kiss him. God, how you want to kiss him again. And you're so close together, if you could just—

He looks at your lips and slowly closes the difference, and then—

Krauser barks your name, and you're yanked right out of your immersion.

“Look at me.”

You hesitantly turn your head away from Leon and towards your major. Your throat feels thick as you do, and your mouth goes dry as you see what, in the back of your mind, you knew Krauser has been doing the whole time.

At some point he's taken his shirt off and he stands bare-chested some five feet away, leaning against the edge of the fighting ring with a wide stance, his posture emphasizing the sheer broadness of his build. He's pulled undone his pants enough to pull himself out and nothing more, and now you know that truly every inch of him is imposing as he strokes his large cock with a strong, persistent grip.

Even sheathed in his big hands, it looks fucking huge. Perhaps equal in length to Leon, maybe an inch shorter, but absolutely formidable in girth and decorated in thick, bulging veins. Your breath hitches as you watch him tug hard up the length of it, squeezing out a bead of precum before smearing it slowly back down his length.

Your eyes flit between Krauser’s face and his cock, each one too imposing to settle on. He smirks like he knows the look in your eyes, like many people before have cowered in fear at his size, like he enjoys the terror that flashes in your gaze.

“Tell me what you think,” he tells you, holding his cock up by the base as if he’s arrogantly raising a weapon.

You struggle to speak with Leon holding your jaw tight in his hands and his cock striking the deepest parts of you— I mean jesus, it’s hard to even think coherently with how he’s rearranging your guts. But you don’t want him to be stopped more than you feel queasy, so you attempt it.

“I-I… you’re– oh– uh, ahh, big, and—”

Mercifully, perhaps, Krauser interjects with a ragged chuckle. “Cock-drunk already, huh? Try again. Come on.”

You completely and totally are, and it becomes twice as difficult to speak as Leon puts more weight into his hips, forcing your legs wider and barraging his cock at an even deeper angle in, like fucking you harder is all he can offer to distract you in the event you're watching something you didn’t want to see.

Do you want to see it…? You really don't know. You'd never looked at your instructor through this kind of lens before, and only were now because you were being forced to. 

You try again, blubbering through the drool that trickles down the corner of your mouth and onto Leon’s fingers.

“You’re… it’s… oh—” 

The air is pushed from your lungs as Leon sends his next thrust into you with aggressive force, sending your head tipping back as your eyes roll and a loud, wet smack echoes off the gymnasium walls. 

“So fucking useless…” Krauser grumbles. “Can’t take a little hard fucking without turning stupid? Choke her out, Kennedy; give ‘er a reason she can’t speak.”

With a grunt, Leon wraps a hand around the whole of your neck. Not enough to hurt, just enough to press you into the floor by it. Still, his ragged breath shakes in surprise at his own lack of hesitation. 

He’s even more surprised that he doesn’t hate it and that you don’t seem to either. He tests the waters and squeezes a little tighter, drawing a strangled moan from you that clearly isn’t from pain.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” he hisses in time with each thrust, swearing more at himself than anything. 

He feels like he’s teetering on the edge of something dangerous. He shouldn’t think this is so hot. He could actually hurt you here. 

Your cunt clamps down on him as you gasp, and something new washes over him. He grits his teeth and squeezes hard.

You sputter silently as your airway becomes constricted and something daunting builds in your core. Your pulse pounds in your skull as the oxygen in your brain grows stale and dies, you feel your muscles locking up, and you know you’d be moaning if you could make any noun at all. 

Your vision slowly darkens around the edges, obscuring the vicious look on Leon’s face that sits in your periphery. In the center of the vignette stands the sight of Krauser’s hand working himself faster. Leon’s hold on your throat and the constant torrent against your inner walls are equally violent, and your pleasure grows violently in response. But all you can do is weakly keen into Leon’s cock as your body becomes completely flooded with unadulterated sensation.

“Slap her pretty face,” Krauser grunts.

Leon does. You’re barely cognizant enough to flinch and can hardly move enough to anyway, but it lands dully; not even enough to sting.

“Oh, don’t fucking insult me. Slap her.”

This time, your cheekbone blooms with heat in the wake of the rough calluses of his palm snapping against you.

“Harder.”

His hand crashes into your face and the whole room starts spinning. 

You’ve taken countless blows to the face before, and many from Leon himself; you knew all too well how hard he could hit. Hell, you’d already have bruises tomorrow from the training session that led you here. But that blow landed utterly uniquely from any other you’d endured. No pain had ever caused this kind of disorientation. 

Vision fixed on the voyeur and your cunt skewered on Leon’s cock, decreasing thoughts as your face tingles and your neck aches under a ruthless grip, lungs burning behind your ribs— clit swollen and oversensitive from each smack of Leon’s navel against it. Your eyes are bulging and body’s locking up, making your cunt grip around him tighter, pushing out a new surge of wetness around him—

Your vision darkens until all that’s left is the brute force of how good it all feels. Every ounce of pleasure and pain compounds into blindingly bright sensation, like white-hot lightning running through your every nerve, growing stronger and stronger as your faculties weaken. 

Your face feels hot as you try in vain to gasp for air, hips working sloppily to try to meet Leon’s pace as he thrusts into your sweet spots over and over. Krauser speaks, but you don’t grasp the words until Leon’s free hand frantically connects with your clit.

“Look at that, she fucking loves it. Go on, make her cum on your cock.”

The grip on your neck lessens just enough to seize a rough gasp of new air as your orgasm rallies. Your back arches so acutely, you feel like Leon’s hold is the only thing stopping you from levitating. Krauser’s mumbling between barks of orders as you tear at the seams—

“That’s it, give her what she needs. Keep her eyes on me.”

Leon captures you by the cheeks to turn your face back towards Krauser. You breathe desperately and watch him while your hands reach haplessly for Leon, nails dragging everywhere they land as you steal ragged breaths through the nose. It’s all so good, so much, and god the mindfuck of it all— your eyes glued to Krauser jerking himself off while another man pistons his cock inside of you, like they're both being cucked somehow as your physical and mental attention is divvied between them. 

It’s all just so insane— the fact that Krauser is getting off to you being split in half and manhandled by your opponent, telling him how and when to fuck you— like Krauser is the director and you and Leon are the stars of his own personal brand of violent pornography.

And it’s a role Leon plays well. He’s grown to be barbaric in his own right, a part of him no one including himself knew existed until now. 

Krauser had that effect on his recruits, and apparently this was no exception: he’d made the rookie into exactly what he needed to be to rise to the occasion. And the result is animalistic, further evidenced as Leon licks a flat-tongued stripe up your jugular and bites down before growling into your hair through sharp teeth.

“Fucking feel me.”

His voice pulls the pin on the live grenade of your arousal, and in seconds flat, you combust.

Your orgasm hits you like a devastating blow to the core, tearing through your body as if somewhere within your center an atom had split in half. You writhe like you’re dying, and high-pitched moans flood out of your pursed lips that are still squeezed taut in Leon’s grip. He has to hold you even tighter just to keep you from falling away, and he puts a hand on your stomach with weight that lets you both feel each time he bulges through your stomach. 

The cracking sounds of his hips connecting with your cunt become wetter and more crude as you gush around him with each shockwave of seizing bliss. Leon starts falling apart himself, moaning wildly as you tighten around him like a vice. He looks down to see the base of his cock covered in the creamy white slick of your cum, and that's enough to make him see stars.

“Oh fuck, jesus fucking christ I’m—“

Cruel as ever, Krauser makes his next command.

“Stop.”

Leon is in a full breakdown as he tries to; he lets go of you to claw his nails into the ground, pained sounds ripping from his chest as he struggles to keep still, but he can’t keep his hips from twitching forward to save his life. He was so close to cumming and he has to force himself not to as he keeps himself bottomed out again, a guttingly difficult task as your walls continue to pulse around his cock as you come down from your high. 

The stakes heighten as Krauser approaches with heavy boot steps, and Leon’s whole body strains as he fights to comply before he gets there. Leon swears under his breath as the tendons in his neck clench and small veins begin to pop against his temple, grabbing your weak body by the hips to fix you on his cock instead of fighting the involuntary jolts of his hips.

“Fuckfuckfuck, m’sorry, I’m t-trying, ahh…”

Krauser stands over you again, pumping his sturdy dick in a firm but leisurely grip at the absolute sight of you two. You can only imagine how obscene you must look lying numb and weak on the ground— you’re still panting as you come down from your high, your wild hair sticking to your sweaty neck and forehead, fucked-out and used with Leon’s cock still stuffing you full while you let your major jerk off above you.

But as downright shameful as you look and feel, Krauser takes his sweet time soaking it in, enjoying the unfiltered vulgarity of it as he pumps himself a hair faster. 

You’re grateful for the time to catch your breath, sure, but the longer you’re there, the more his attention burns. As seconds roll by, your sweat cools uncomfortably on your skin, you regain enough feeling in your body to feel a small amount of what it’s been through, but most of all, you become more aware of where you and Leon connect.

Your orgasm made you twice as sensitive, and the lack of motion is as maddening to you as it is for Leon as he throbs inside your walls. You can’t help but to squirm around for relief, and you can’t help but to moan as the movement drags the head of his cock against your g-spot. 

“Jesus, you still want more? Is one cock not enough? Should’ve fucking known,” Krauser tuts, twisting his fist around the wide base of his dick. “You’ve always been tough. Shoulda known you wouldn’t break so easily. Always making me get my hands dirty…”

He pushes Leon to lean back and out of the way for a thick droplet of spit to fall from Krauser’s lips all the way down to your clit. You jolt at the sensation of it landing, but it doesn’t compare to when Krauser drops to one knee and rubs it in with two firm fingertips.

He massages his spit into your clit with rough fingerpads that move in tight and steady circles, building you towards another bout of sensory overload with calculated precision. You look rapidly between Krauser and Leon and your own body through wet lashes, frantically trying and failing to get a grip. 

It’s all too much, but somehow, it isn’t enough. You need Leon to move like you need air to breathe.

“Nnhg, m-major…” you moan hesitantly

“What?” he says dryly, as if he isn’t causing your undoing. You only manage a throaty whine in response, and he chides you by increasing his speed on your clit. “Speak.”

You try, but your words are bracketed by thick heaving breaths. “Hhha, I… oh, ahh…. p-please…”

Krauser leaves his weighty cock to hang in the air as he adds his other hand to your body, staring at you intently as a high pitched shriek gets caught in the back of your throat. He pinches your nipples one by one before flicking them each sharply, matching his rhythm on your clit, stimulating every part of you continuously. He just smirks as your brain melts in your skull, your mouth falling open with nothing comprehensible coming out of it.

“Please what?” 

You squirm in an attempt to lessen the overwhelming feeling, but he doesn’t falter once, only leaving your clit to dip his fingers around either side of Leon’s shaft to gather your wetness to slicken your sore nub. Leon sputters at the brief yet unexpected feeling and he bucks into you so deep you both choke. 

“F-fuck, I… I need… ahhh,” you whine hard, your head flying back on the ground.

“You can take it. If you’re not gonna use your words, then be quiet.”

You really do try and stay quiet at that, biting your lip so hard you think you might taste blood, but you just can’t.

You can still feel Leon pulsating inside of you, can still hear the sweet sounds of his agonized grunts as you’re brought back to the brink. Leon holds your hips tight for his own sake so he doesn’t cum before he’s allowed, his fingers pressing deeply into your soft flesh to keep you from bucking into him more than you already are, and the dull pain where his short fingernails dig in just add to it all. You’re trembling severely, the meat of your thighs shaking uncontrollably, and it all just feels too good.

All at once, Krauser pinches a nipple painfully and strums you so quickly his hand blurs, and you all but fucking scream.

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” Krauser snarls and removes his touch altogether.

It’s easier to swallow your sounds as the sensation fades, but the damage has already been done. Your vision swims as Krauser grabs the since-forgotten combat knife and tosses it to Leon before kneeling beside your head. 

Leon catches it on pure instinct and stares dumbfoundedly at it in his hands.

Krauser frames your face with his thighs and his cock becomes inches away from your face. Close enough to see every short wheat colored hair on his navel, every vein that courses up his substantial width; close enough to smell the salt on his skin, even. 

He guides it to stroke the length of it overtop your plush, drool-covered lips.

It’s fucking denigrating, the way he does it, dragging his cock over your face with a gruff hum as he holds you in place by the crown of your hair. The shocked face of shame you wear only makes him leak with pre.

Krauser hooks his fingers behind your bottom teeth and pulls your mouth open to slap his tip against your tongue, and you shudder at the sweet taste of his precum. Then he lets go and notches the tip between your puffy lips.

Leon watches with the knife still in his hands, a quiet horrification in his tone as he speaks.

“Sir…”

“Hold it against her neck,” Krauser answers like it’s nothing, “or I’ll do it.”

Krauser plugs your mouth with his cock at the same time that cold steel meets your neck.

Leon watches the sight wide-eyed and disturbed. This is going too far, he thinks— but he’s gone too far to stop himself, too. 

Krauser is clearly getting off to the sight of you being borderline assaulted, and Leon is a partner to it. He’s the one holding the flat of a blade to your jugular while your superior sodomizes you, the one who’s still struggling not to cum and wishing he could fuck you fully again. He’s already an accomplice, or more accurately at this point, a willing participant. 

He thinks now that Krauser might’ve actually been right, that in these ways they’re alike. It horrifies him and shatters his self-image, but his cock aches with need regardless.

You’re mindless to it all as you start to suck Krauser off. Your lips struggle to stretch around his girth, your whines are muffled as you take more and more, and you feel so fucking dirty that you rock into Leon without thinking. 

Fuck, you’re actually enjoying this. A lot. 

‘Maybe I am a whore’, you think as your toes curl against Leon’s calves— but how could you possibly care about that right now? You don’t, and you can’t— all you can think about is making Krauser fit inside your mouth so he’ll let Leon keep going. 

Leon is harder than he’s ever been in his life, another fact that has him dumbstruck with himself. He even envies the man for getting to stuff his fat dick past your pretty lips, for being the one who’s making your face twist up like it is.

But the final nail in his moral coffin? The sight of you slowly being face-fucked, struggling to suck such a big dick with enthusiasm, while he holds a knife to your neck… it brings him right back to the edge of release. Not in spite of it— because of it. 

So when Krauser tells Leon to fuck you again with a reminder not to cum until he’s given permission, he does it without a hint of hesitation.

When he does, you’re no longer on planet earth; you’re floating somewhere above it, your senses more overloaded than ever. It takes focus you barely have to keep Krauser’s girth from hitting your teeth as he picks up speed to roughly fuck your face.

Krauser alternates between striking the back of your throat and holding your chin down to push it against the inside of your cheeks, watching his head bulge out your face before continuing his assault on your throat, using your mouth like exactly the kind of whore he’d made you out to be. All while Leon delivers blunt thrusts, each one thumping against the most electric spots inside your cunt, and each harsh snap of his hips cracks in the room like lightning. 

And every few seconds you feel the flat of the blade bump against your neck, a chilling reminder of the control you’re under.

Krauser truly is a goddamn psychopath. That’s never been more evident than now. But it fills you with a certain thrill to be at the mercy of a certified killing machine and his most promising rookie. Both of them are more than capable of causing you serious injury right now, but all their brawn and might is being utilized to ruin you in a way that feels good, and it’s the best, most exhilarating experience you’ve ever had.

Maybe you’re all psychopaths. Maybe Krauser’s promise on the first day of training held a particular purpose for you and Leon. Perhaps the training broke you long ago, and at some point you couldn’t place, he’d reassembled your bleeding hearts into corrupted, submissive subjects, ones perfectly crafted for him to play with, to even enjoy his sadistic demands.

Tears prick at your eyes as Krauser presses himself as far as he can go into your mouth and you choke around him. He’s too thick to take so deeply, and your throat seizes up in rejection. He slaps your cheek just enough to feel it sting as he forces you to keep trying. 

“That’s it, choke on it, bitch.”

And choke on it you do, with horrible sounds emanating from your throat as he likely bruises it. Your hands grasp for nothing at the overwhelm and Krauser pins the arm nearest to him under his knee, and Leon holds the other down by the bicep before Krauser even looks at him.

“There you go, now you’re fucking behaving,” Krauser pants at you both. “My two most obedient soldiers… hah.”

A thick string of spit connects your lips to Krauser’s tip as he pulls out suddenly, giving you a chance to gasp for air. He slaps its weight against the red welts in the shape of Leon’s hand on your cheek, making the sore skin shine with spit. Your tongue lolls out on its own and he goes right back to skull fucking you, holding you firmly by the sides of your head to keep you at the right angle. 

You moan as his cock vein drags up and down your wet, flat tongue as he thrusts in and out decisively, and your eyes roll back as he starts working your nipples again, catching them in his fingertips as they recoil with Leon’s thrusts.

Leon can’t help it; he can’t stop watching. It brings him closer than ever to breaking. His orgasm has been denied so many times when he’s right there on the edge, and the thought of holding it back again is devastating. So all on his own, he begs.

“Krauser, please, let me… let me cum, sir. I need to, I need—“

And Krauser is all too aware of his staring.

“You like watching me use her mouth that much? Gonna get off to it while you have a knife to her neck? You’re a sick fuck, kid.”

Leon chokes out a sob at the fact and that his plea went totally ignored. But looking between you, Krauser falters too, and he pounds your moaning mouth more wildly.

“Fuck, you’re both crying. You two are so damn dirty.”

Krauser grunts, and nearing his own edge, he makes sure to bring you with him. He reaches over to wedge his hand between you and Leon’s bodies to rub your sopping clit again.

You try to writhe, but you’re too pinned down, and too big of a movement sends your jugular dangerously close to the knife. All you can do is take it, teary eyed and pliant, trembling like an earthquake as you near another peak.

Leon whines as Krauser dips his fingers down to your cunt, but this time, they don’t pass there just to collect your slick. He keeps them fixed around Leon’s cock while he cups your pussy, and each time Leon thrusts, his shaft passes through the tight friction of his fingers. 

He braves a glance down at where you all connect and god, it is dirty, just like Krauser said— and Leon is weak to it. His gut twists as your cunt and the major’s fingers both grip around him, warm and velvety wet and threatening to milk him dry.

Ever the coach, Krauser starts encouraging you both, his steady tone in stark contrast to Leon’s as the younger man starts begging again.

“That’s it, take it. Cum for us so he can get his.”

“Please, oh fuck she’s so tight, m’not gonna make it sir, I—”

“Just a little more, Kennedy, don’t quit on me now. Where’s all that endurance?”

“I can’t sir I can’t, needta cum so bad, oh god it fucking hurts.”

Krauser’s own cracks finally show through, the grumbling under his breath the first sign he has any weakness at all as you suck him off with urgency, trying to catch him up to your contemporary.

“Shit, yeah, suck my cock just like that. Sound so good when you beg for me, rookie, jesus.”

A pathetic sound comes from Leon as his thrusts grow sloppy, and he leans over you on his forearm as his muscles begin to buckle. It makes you feel even more caged in, traps Krauser’s palm against your clit, forces your legs a little farther apart— and suddenly, you snap.

You convulse completely as you cum, and the rough sounds the two men make in response only bring you higher until the pleasure is blinding. Your ears ring and mute the strings of profanities they’re chanting as they feel it soar through you and gush around them, and you’re putty in Krauser’s hands as he pulls out and keeps your slack jaw open.

“That’s it, shit, cum for her, Kennedy, fuck.”

“Where, where—?”

"In her, fill her fucking cunt— ahh, fuck—”

You flinch in surprise at the first hot rope of cum that falls onto your tongue. While Krauser paints your open mouth white, Leon collapses over you, and you thread weak fingers into his sweaty hair as he cries out into the crook of your neck.

His words are only for you.

“Oh god, I’m cumming, I’m– oh, ohh fuck—”

He devolves into a mindless stream of consciousness as he pumps you full of it.

“Shit, you feel s’fucking good, fucking take me.”

And when he remembers the knife in his hand:

“Oh god, I’m so damn sorry.”

You can’t think enough to even wonder what he’s sorry for as you swallow your mouthful of cum, shuddering at the mild tang before suckling the last drops from the head of Krauser’s dick.

All the while, you feel every single drop that Leon buries inside of you, warm in the depths of your cunt and slightly stinging the sore skin at your entrance as tickles escape around his base. It seems like his orgasm will never end; there must be so much of it, and even when you no longer feel new ropes of his cum pooling into you, he ruts it shallowly into your cervix as he shakes with aftershocks. 

It takes a long time for you both to settle, and for lengthy minutes, you just lie there together, eyes closed and adrift. Your whole body is abuzz as you run your hands up and down his back, feeling it rise and fall with his staggered breathing as he lies flush against you, a drunken smile on your face as you come down for good. You sink heavily into the floor, no thoughts whatsoever in your head, and nothing behind your eyes but stars.

Leon too is perfectly exhausted from the way he’s been thoroughly drained, and he’s more than happy to join you in your empty-headed daze. So lie there you do, long enough to be overtaken by fatigue as your blown minds weigh down with sleep, even long enough to forget about what Krauser might be doing. 

Leon rolls off of you, knife clattering to the ground as it slips from his limp fingers, and you open your blurry eyes to see the cause: Krauser’s boot.

Krauser doesn’t look angry at all, more so inconvenienced. He shakes his head at the way Leon’s dead weight falls beside you, too tired to even react to his soft dick slipping out of your sopping cunt.

“Good god…” Krauser mutters under his breath, scoffing at the soft display of you and Leon in a puddle on the ground— an understandably dissonant sight after what you’ve all just done. But it doesn’t cut through your euphoric afterglow at all; Krauser’s disapproval is too familiar to blink twice at even now; if anything, it’s casual coming from him. You even weakly smile until he speaks again with a touch more bitterness in his tone.

“You two look just pathetic.”

Blinking away the stale tears that cling to your eyelashes, Krauser sharpens into view. He’s collected himself completely in the time you’ve been drifting away.

And there you are in stark contrast, completely naked on the floor, your limp limbs in a tangled heap wherever gravity took them, your hair a mess of sweat and frizz— and the most indecent sight of all, the cum drying on the corners of your mouth and leaking out of your swollen folds. 

Leon lies beside you in an equally tragic state: his hair is a disaster, his trousers are loose around his knees, and a final drop of cum leaks from the tip of his sore cock.

No wonder Krauser’s displeased. There’s truly no world where he’d be glad to see his top recruits looking half dead in front of him, especially when he somehow managed to be so unaffected himself.

“Get up before you stain the mat.”

You and Leon are all creaks and groans as you pull yourselves to your knees, not yet daring to try your feet and instead crawling to find your clothes. You fight against your lightheadedness as you sit upright to redress, trying to do it quickly before Leon’s cum spills out of you and onto the floor. You can feel how much there is, and you don’t know if you’ll have the strength to clean it up, which you’d surely be made to if it did.

But in the minutes you have somewhat to yourself, your throat feels tight all over again. You feel like you’re back at the beginning in the exact same predicament as before: How the hell are you supposed to look Leon in the eyes? 

When you’re finally dressed, you stumble to your feet, and you hardly look at him at all before you both shy away. But as you stand in the room on wobbly legs, you find a new predicament, too: What the hell happens now?

You’ve stumbled into completely uncharted territory, and you have only your major to guide you. So on pure routine, you both look to your superior to tell you what to do next. 

It has to be the most hilariously pathetic attempt at standing in formation ever, the way he looks incredulously at the two of you as he shrugs on his olive green overshirt, pausing at the sight.

“You’re both so fucking clueless” he grumbles and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Hit the showers and go to bed.”

You stumble shame-faced through yes sir’s and turn heel to the gymnasium door, and your mouth goes dry with each new step. 

That’s it then..? You have to pretend it never happened without so much as an acknowledgment? You half wish Krauser had shaken you by the shoulders and told you what to think as usual, for him to set right your spinning head.

“Hey,” Krauser calls just before you reach the door. You both look back and wait, your hearts beating in your chest, but he only looks at you. “I don’t like rumors. I better not hear any more. Understood?”

He stares you down sharply with a lift in his brow. You inhale deeply as you catch his drift. “Y-yeah. Understood, sir.”

Krauser calms and nods once, then turns away. You take the opportunity to slip out of the door.

The walk back to the barracks is painfully quiet; neither of you know what to say. Your bootsteps are the only sound echoing in the dim halls, and your heartbeat is the only thing in your ears.

It isn’t a long walk before you reach the fork between the male and female barrack halls. Your steps slow until they reach a halt and Leon lingers behind you. You turn halfway to face him, but nothing comes of it; you both can only stand there with open mouths that don’t say anything.

You stiffly turn away, but then Leon speaks your name quietly and brokenly, and everything unspoken is left in the ellipses. He gulps once and feels his dry tongue cling to the roof of his mouth as he opens it to speak, and a shaky voice comes out that echoes your very same need.

“Tell me it’s okay.”

You turn around and finally manage to look at him, and it cracks your heart wide open. He looks so much like he did when you’d both arrived here, a scared young man who arrived fresh from the horrors he’d witnessed, who’d do anything to keep everything in one piece despite how much he himself needs saving. 

It’s the face you’d first fallen for and fell for all over again as it sharpened into the fierceness he had now. The same face that held you impossibly close just moments ago. 

You fall all over again and crash into his chest at terminal velocity, clinging to him with all the energy you have left in you to give.

“It’s okay.”

You hold each other there in the hall for a long time. Neither of you know what you’ll wake up to in the morning or how the hell you’ll pretend everything is normal, but right now, you don’t need to. You just need to hold each other long enough to know that the other one is there.

When you slowly pull away, your fingertips linger over each other’s before you finally break apart. And with one last breathless look into his blown blue eyes, you head towards the women’s showers.

You squint in the fluorescents and avoid your reflection. You step into the shower while it’s still running cold and let the tension wash away in the water as it grows to a calming steam.

You wash yourself with purpose— it’s well past one in the morning and you don’t have sleep to spare— but your fingers linger between your legs as you clean where you feel the most dirty. Feeling the slick slip of cum against your sore, swollen lips as it commingles with the suds, you smile.

⌖⌖⌖

The next morning, everything seems to scream. The wake alarm. Your muscles. Your head from three fleeting hours of sleep. Your thoughts as you remember the source of your freshly aching body.

The very beginnings of bruises bloom in greens and purples under your skin: on your wrists, your hips, and the distinct shape of fingers on your bicep. Your neck is sore and your cheek is tender, nevermind your throat and between your legs. As nervous as the evidence of last night being visible makes you, there's no cause to worry about the curious glances your comrades give you. It really does just look like you got your ass beat in combat, which is... true enough, you suppose.

Still, you can hardly look anyone in the eyes without your blood feeling hot about the new secret that you're keeping, but you don’t have many chances to.

First formation comes in place of breakfast. You’ve never stood so straight in your life; it wouldn’t be a good day to have Krauser pick on you. Definitely not.

Every time the major’s eyes glance over you, goosebumps prick your skin. You have no idea what he thinks about last night’s events, and so you dread his reprimands more than ever.

And when your eyes catch against Leon's, although you catch a hundred different things in his gaze, disappointment isn't one of them, and it's comforting somehow to know that he's feeling the same dizzying mix of emotions as you without having to ask.

But somehow, despite your cloudy thoughts, your aching body, and the ever-present signs of sleep deprivation, you excel.

And so the day goes on without incident as far as USSTRATCOM goes. You’re well ready for sleep by the time you’re relieved for the night, but you stay awake until you know everyone is asleep.

You take your time standing up from your cot, careful not to make it creak or shuffle the cheap blankets noisily. You watch your bunk mate snore as you tip-toe to the door in your socks. Boots would sound too heavy, and besides, you aren’t going far.

Your heart races as you scamper to the men’s wing and look for the right door, but you can’t seem to find it. Maybe it’s farther down than you thought? You turn back down the hall with knit brows to check the room numbers again. No dice. Maybe you passed it already.

You turn again and freeze as a doors opens and none other than Leon walks out.

There’s still no disappointment in his face, though. This is full-on despair. His face drops and his shoulders sink before he stammers and looks away, ducking back inside his room like he’s the one who shouldn’t be here.

“I’m, uh… sorry, I’ll just—“

“Leon, wait...!"

You cross the distance in seconds flat and catch his wrist just as he’s halfway enveloped back in the dark of his room.

“I… I came here to see you.”

end notes: pls infer that you and leon made sweet, comforting love all night long :) or that he violently fucked your brains out without krauser there to make him hold back. whichever

[lemonlover1110]

𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐈 𝐖𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐈𝐬 𝐘𝐨𝐮

Leon S. Kennedy

Story Masterlist

Pairing: Leon S. Kennedy x f!Reader

Summary: It was supposed to be a one night stand, but Leon keeps coming back to you for more. There's just one catch: everything must stay the same.

Even after seeing each other in your most vulnerable state, you have to pretend like your friendship with him is all the same.

General Story Warnings: Friends with Benefits, Smut, Angst, Eventual Romance

Chapter 1

[familyvideostevie]

either way

leon s kennedy x reader | 8.2k

Leon falls asleep. You fall in love. 

Warnings: fluff, sleeping, leon being tired and injured and charming, r being mushy and protective of him…five times in a row. canon typical violence, mission talk, off-page suicide by a minor oc, leon’s raccoon city trauma, picture any leon you want

a/n: technically a 4-part prequel and 1-part epilogue to “no matter how it ends.” if you want to read about the mission that brings these two together in all its glorious, smutty detail, check out that fic. this fic references that one a lot!

--

MISSION: ARGENTINA, SURVEILLANCE OF SUSPECTED T-VIRUS MATERIALS TRADE LOCATION

The rain starts at midday.

The sun is there one second and gone the next, everything plunged into darkness like someone simply turned off the lights. The church tower that you're in is on the hill, looking down with a clear sight line to the supposed meeting spot of your target.

But when it's raining, you can't see shit.

"If this roof starts to leak, I'll be pissed," you mutter. "How much longer till shift change?"

Leon checks his watch. He's cleaning his pistol, one leg outstretched and the other bent at the knee, his back pressed to the cold, damp stone. If he feels the chill, he does a good job of hiding it.

"An hour," he says. "If they show up on time."

You press the binoculars to your face and peer through again, but it's a lost cause.

"Bravo team never shows up on time," you remind him. "This is so pointless."

Leon doesn't argue. He even smirks, mouth pulling up at one corner as he pushes the clip back into his gun with a click.

"We know the guy is here," he reminds you. "It's a start."

Your target is a former Umbrella employee who set up shop in a small Argentinian mountain town to allegedly make new viruses. But it's a delicate mission as far as diplomacy goes, so much so that you two, one of the best pairs in the whole damn organization, have been relegated to surveillance.

For now.

"I'm bored," you say. It probably sounds petulant. Usually, missions are not boring. But this is the most laid-back thing you've been assigned so far, and you both know it. "I wish I had a book, or something."

Leon perks up. It's subtle, but you're already fairly attuned to his small movements even though you haven't been partners for all that long. His shoulders roll back. He turns ever so slightly to face you more fully.

"What, I'm not entertaining enough?"

You mirror his position, turning from the vantage point to lean against the wall.

"I don't know, Kennedy," you tease. "Can you do a flip?"

You both know he can do a flip.

He doesn't bite. "You read?"

That gets an eye roll. "I know how to read, yes. Do you?"

He huffs, pleased as he always is when you show some attitude. He's full of it, though it doesn't always rise to the surface.

"I just read The Count of Monte Cristo," he says. "I don't have a copy to give you, but I can tell you about it."

That's just how he is -- sass one second, honesty the next. Leon doesn't say things he doesn't mean. It's like he doesn't see the point in being anything but truthful.

Still, you study him. He's singular, your partner. Better in the field than anyone else, sure, but it's more than that. Leon S. Kennedy is different down to his core, down to the golden heart that beats in his chest.

Sometimes it's just...hard to believe you're a witness to it. To him.

"Okay," you say. If he's surprised, he doesn't show it.

"And you're not going to read it?" he says. Leon likes to do this, you've learned. To check with you. To be sure. "You don't mind knowing what happens?"

"No, go ahead."

Something in him lightens as he talks. He's a good storyteller. He explains the main character’s imprisonment, his escape, the transformation. The revenge, the mercy, the forgiveness. It matters to Leon, you realize. That he gets it right, but also that you understand what it's about. That you learn what he learned, feel what he felt. He wants you there with him.

So you listen. You watch. You drink your fill just this one time.

Because while he's competent and beautiful and so, so good, you're partners. What you're doing here matters, even if it's raining and you can't see shit. And you're best at it when you're with him, so that's how it will be. Nothing can compromise that.

But you're allowed to look. To see the way he talks with his hands the deeper into the story he gets. The way he catches your eye even when you shift around a little. The way he leans forward just a bit and you mirror it, always meeting him wherever he wants to go.

By the end, he's basically resting his chin on a forearm slung across his knee. "But then the very last line --"

"HQ to Alpha Team, come in, Alpha Team."

You both jump, and Leon flips open his communicator. He looks a little irritated at being interrupted.

"Hunnigan, Alpha Team here."

"Bravo Team is delayed," Hunnigan says, her voice unusually staticky over the line. It drags you the rest of the way out of Leon's story and into the present – the mission. "Supplies restock went fine, but the road up is washed out. They're looking for an alternate route."

"Lucky us," Leon says, tipping his head back against the stone. "Thanks for the update."

You feel compelled to get to your knees and face the window again. It's a reminder of where you are, what you're doing.

The silence feels unwelcome. Not unnatural or awkward, but more like you expect it to be filled with Leon's voice. He's never said so much in one go, and you already miss listening.

"So he just...gives up on revenge?" you ask.

Leon nods. "He realizes it's an empty pursuit."

You finally look through your binoculars. Nothing, just rain.

"I admire that," you say. "I guess he wins, in the end. He's free."

"All human wisdom is contained in these two words: Wait and hope," Leon recites.

You turn back to him and meet his eyes. He swallows, looks away. Now he's shy. "That's the last line."

"Do you believe that?"

"I'm not very good at waiting," he says wryly. He picks up his gun, forgotten on the floor in his storytelling, and slides it into his holster. "Or hoping."

You don’t think either of these things is true. Leon is incredibly patient. He is also hopeful down to his bones, even if he won’t admit it. He believes in doing as much good as he can, and he believes in saving people. It’s as much a part of him as his rare smile and piercing eyes.

But he would never say such things about himself. He’s allergic to internalizing compliments.

"Let's practice," you suggest. "I'll start. I hope Bravo team shows up soon."

For a second, you think Leon won't play. But he hums and says, "I hope they're muddy and soaked for making us wait."

"Leon!" you laugh. "How unkind to our fellow agents."

He shrugs. "A little rain never hurt anybody. Your turn."

"I hope...we get a few weeks off after this," you offer. It's impossible to know what will come next. Truthfully, you always miss being in the field with Leon after too long away.

Your partner attempts to look professionally discouraging but fails. "We barely did anything on this one."

"Well, it's not over yet!"

Almost like it was listening, the sky rumbles.

"I hope I sleep on the plane home," he says. It's aptly punctuated with a yawn. After Bravo Team relieves you, it's back to the safe house for a quick hot meal and as many hours of sleep as you can catch. He never says so, but you don't think Leon is a good sleeper. He's too alert, too ready for something to happen.

Maybe he's different in his own space. You wouldn't know, you've never seen it. Never seen him outside of work at all, really.

But you know how he looks now. Tired.

Despite his golden heart and mystifyingly confident attitude, Leon is a man like any other. Now that you think about it, you know he hasn't been sleeping well. You can hear him on the other side of the wall in the safe house, the methodical way he takes apart and cleans his gun, the soft grunts of a workout instead of closing his eyes. Nightmares, maybe. You don't know how to ask.

And telling him he looks exhausted might not be great for his ego. But he's your partner, and your job is to take care of him as much as it is to complete the mission, however you can.

"Get some rest," you tell him.

He frowns. "What?"

"I'll keep watch," you continue with a shrug, like it's no big deal. It is, and it isn't. He's put his life in your hands countless times since you were assigned together, but this is different. You're asking for a new kind of trust.

He blinks at you, unreadable as he comes to a decision.

"Just a little," he says. "15 minutes. Tops."

"Whatever you say, Kennedy," you say with a salute. He huffs, but settles back against the wall a little more, eyes sliding shut.

You're not even sure he'll fall asleep, but before long, his breathing evens out, and his head tilts a little more to the side. He looks younger like this. Less burdened.

If anything came through the door right now, you'd kill it. No hesitation. Just so he would keep looking like that.

MISSION: NEPAL, RECONNAISSANCE REGARDING POSSIBLE NEW VIRUS LABORATORY

Leon has three broken ribs, maybe four, and the extraction point is really fucking far from the lab.

Why did Hunnigan make it so far?

You'd ask her, but both of your coms are long gone. Fried from the blast and smashed to pieces from what came after. Probably 10 bullets left between the two of you, a shitty knife, and two vials of herbs.

Which Leon needs, desperately.

He's trying not to lean his entire weight on you, but you both know he can't walk on his own right now, let alone stand.

You slow your already glacial trudge away from the carnage in your wake and adjust his arm around your shoulders. He's holding his own ribs, stabilizing them as best he can. You keep your gun at the ready between you, just in case. He's trying really hard not to drag his leg.

"We should just walk home," he says. The cuts on his face aren't bleeding anymore, but he's still got crimson smears on his neck. "Shouldn't take too long."

"Oh, yeah?" you say lightly. He can probably feel your panic anyway, attuned to you as he is in the field. This joke is probably an attempt to get you to calm down. "Over the mountains, through the woods, across an ocean, and to Washington DC we go."

"See? Easy enough."

His breath is hot on your ear, head almost entirely lolled onto your shoulder before you start walking again. You can hear the pain in his voice, though he tries to hide it. You glance at him and find his face ashen and sweaty, hair hanging limply over his eyes.

He shouldn’t go on much longer. The sun is already below the tree line, clouds the color of bruises stretching over your heads. You’re really fucked if it starts snowing while you’re out here and you lose visibility.

"Leon," you say. "I think we'll have to stop for the night. The choppers won't come until tomorrow."

"If they're coming," he mutters. It's probably meant to make you laugh, a jab at the occasional disorganization of your jobs, but instead it deepens your already poorly concealed panic.

He's been hurt before. Hell, he got shot in front of you on your second mission together. You pushed on the wound with your own hands. It took weeks for the feeling of his blood under your fingernails to fade.

But this is different. You can't call for early extraction, and you have to survive the night in this freezing abandoned village, an Umbrella lab burning behind you. And he's hurt, and you don't even know how badly.

The noise he made when he hit the wall --

A new thought, sharper and more dangerous than all the rest, shoves its way to the front.

What if Leon dies here, and you have to watch?

"Let's try that one," he says, dragging you back from the edge of your spiral. He jerks his chin down the path towards a ramshackle building. "The top floor has some good sight lines from those windows."

"Can you climb stairs?" you ask. His knee is so fucked you're worried moving even at all makes it worse.

"That's what you're for."

The snow is slippery as you slowly hobble to the two-story building at the edge of the village. 

It’s impossible to stop your brain from going a million miles a minute. You're going to have to double back and cover your tracks as best you can. Maybe you can make a splint for his leg with the shit in your pack and anything left in the building you trudge towards. Should you make him a sled? Could you pull him to the extraction point?

You’ll do whatever it takes to keep that horrible, horrible thought from coming true. 

It takes some time, but you get up the stairs and settle near the window overlooking the main path.

"At least it's warmer in here," Leon says. 

He's slumped against the wall, gingerly taking pulls from your canteen to wash down the herbs he finally swallowed. His forehead is slick and his breathing labored from the effort. "All things considered, it was a pretty successful mission."

You can't decide between watching him or watching the windows, which means pacing between each one and glancing at him every few seconds. It's unlikely you were followed, but successfully completing the mission, injuries aside, feels a little too good to be true. You're waiting for the other other shoe to drop.

"Leon, you got thrown 30 feet into a stone pillar."

He shrugs, then winces. "Just another day at the office."

He rolls his neck, pressing his fingers into it like he can will away whatever aches he's feeling. 

You both get injured in the field all the time. Nothing serious, not usually, and it's rarely enough to require immediate attention. But you also know that Leon sits with his pain. He doesn't call attention to it unless you ask, and even then, you know he downplays it.

But he doesn't lie to you. You don't do that in your partnership.

"Leon," you say again.

He sighs.

"Been better," he admits. "After the stairs up here, I can be pretty sure my lungs aren't punctured. The knee isn't great, though. Hurts like hell."

You walk between the windows again. Did you even clear the room properly? Maybe you should clear the whole building.

"Do you think you have a concussion?" If he does, you can't let him sleep too much, though he needs rest desperately. It's going to be a long night.

Leon says your name in his you’re not being very calm voice. You ignore it. 

"You saw," he continues. "I hit pretty much everything but my head."

Oh boy, did you see.

The whole thing felt like slow motion. The lab was meant to be a virus research facility. You were meant to figure out what they were making and destroy it. But you got there too late -- most of it had been cleared out. Everything important, anyway. Not much left in the way of documents and research, and certainly no staff.

But then you found the fucking plant.

Something left behind unintentionally or on purpose as a trap, you're not sure. What you are sure about is that some virus-juiced up weed caused the otherwise dormant facility to go into self-destruct lockdown. Your coms got fucked, and then you had to figure out how to destroy the plant.

Leon drew its attention while you messed with the door systems, trying to trap it without trapping yourselves. He took hit after hit, his bullets only doing so much against the thick, slimy vines.

You looked up to tell him you found a path to the exit right as the plant managed to hook itself around his knee. It squeezed, and he screamed. You can still hear it.

But that was nothing compared to what came next.

The plant hoisted him into the air by his ruined knee and threw him clear across the chamber. 

He hit the wall with a horrible wet thud before falling to the ground in an unmoving heap.

There are no words for your terror in that moment. Not that you'd ever tell him what it felt like -- you don't lie to each other, but there are things he does not need to know.

The plant turned toward you, thinking its opponent vanquished, and that was its mistake.

You killed that motherfucker. Fueled by terrified rage and capitalizing on the damage Leon had already done, you managed it. And when you finally fell to your knees next to Leon and saw his chest rise and fall, well. There are few better feelings.

But you're not out of the woods yet.

"Yeah, I saw," you say. You check each window again, one by one.

"Can you sit down?" Leon says. "You're making me nervous."

"You don't get nervous."

"First time for everything."

You face him. He looks amused.

"I need to cover our tracks," you say. "Will you be okay for a little? You can have the bullets."

"Woah," he says. Amusement turns to a frown. "Slow down. We saw no signs of staff or guards. 

No one is here. You don't need to cover our tracks. We'll be okay."

The knot in your stomach loosens just a little. Leon is careful in the field. Maybe not with himself, but with intel, preparation, and execution. If he thinks there's no one here, there's no one here. And if he's wrong, he trusts both of you to be able to handle it. He doesn't gamble with your life.

"Come sit," he says. "I'll beg, if that's what it takes."

Somehow, he gets a laugh out of you. "I should make you."

Still, you do as he asks. There's nothing to build a fire with, and while Leon's conviction of your safety is a nice one, you're not totally sold. Best to tough it out until morning.

Leon clears his throat, though it's more of a groan than a cough.

"That wasn't so bad now, was it?" he starts. "If they don't come tomorrow --"

The words fly out of you before you have time to think them through.

"Don't tell me to leave you."

His eyes betray his surprise. A little too wide, brows pulled together in the middle to form a crease you've often thought about smoothing with your thumb.

Embarrassment is hot in your throat. It's important to you to be calm in a crisis, to be able to think through it and come out the other side. But something about this whole fucking day is making you fray at the edges. The echo of his scream, of his body hitting the ground, plays on loop in your mind.

"I was going to say we'll need to find some food," Leon says, slowly. As if you're a deer about to bolt.

"Oh," you breathe. "Okay." You rub your palms on your pants. "You're right."

You need to get it together. You cannot fall apart until it's all over. You're not even the one who is hurt, for crying out loud.

"Hey," Leon says, so soft you have to close your eyes so you don't look at him and reveal everything you're feeling. "I won’t ask you that."

Someday, he might. And if that day comes, you’ll refuse just like you do now. The certainty of it settles in your chest, and it feels right. You’ll never leave Leon Kennedy behind. 

"Good," you reply. "Cause I wouldn't." You dig your fingers into your thighs and make yourself look at him with a smile that only feels half forced. "We can just walk home, remember?"

Leon snorts, then groans.

"Fuck," he hisses. "Damn ribs. Don't make me laugh."

"I'm too funny for you." Worry still simmers just under your skin, but all of this, his words, his laughter, just being near him, it's helping. "You've got a lot of blood on your neck," you say, softly.

The vines were covered in thorns that nicked him anywhere he was exposed. The small slices on his skin are shallow and already clotted, but your hands are desperate to help.

"It's always something."

"Stay still," you mumble. Leon seems to sense your restlessness and allows you to shift closer and clean him up with a bit of water and a bandage from your hip pouch.

"Look," he says, barely wincing as you work. "We got some intel, killed that thing, and the lab blew up. It's cold, sure, but we're inside, and tomorrow morning we'll make it to the field and get a nice, warm chopper pickup."

"You need medical now, though," you huff. The blood comes off easily. He swallows and you feel it against your fingertips. "I'm worried about your knee."

"It's not going anywhere." Leon cups your elbow gently, grounding you. And maybe himself. "We're going to be fine."

He honestly seems confused that you're not as sure as he is, like your fear has thrown him. 

Does Leon Kennedy believe in you that much? He trusts you, you know that. You wouldn't work so well together if he didn't. But he believes in you, in your partnership. The knot in your throat begins to twist into something else, something softer, something more dangerous.

He's not scared at all because you're here. Because you're together.

"Yeah," you allow. "Yeah, we are."

You ball up the bloody bandage and lean back against the wall next to him.

"I'll take first watch," Leon says. He sounds serious about it.

You check the clip on your sidearm and do him the courtesy of not laughing.

"Yeah, right," you reply. "You should rest. We'll have to walk the rest of the way to the field in the morning."

The absence of an argument is no surprise. He's stubborn, but he's able to be realistic. If you're getting out of here, he needs as much strength as he can find.

"The food in medical is going to be so bad," he mutters.

He rolls his head against the wall to look at you. The herbs are working because his skin is a little less pale, his jaw a little less tense. You can only hope he's not in as much pain.

"I'll bring you something good," you tell him. "Sleep, Leon."

He stays facing you, but closes his eyes.

"Fine," he says. "Just a few minutes."

You scoot closer to him so you're pressed together, shoulder to ankle. Leon runs cold, you've learned, but being this close means you can feel the innate heat of him in the otherwise frigid air. Heat means he's alive.

"Body heat," you say, mostly to yourself. "Don't freeze on me, okay, Kennedy?"

"I'll do my best," he huffs. "Just a few minutes, I'm serious. Wake me up if you need anything."

Leon sleeps through the night at your side.

You stay pressed against him with your gun in one hand, ready and willing to do whatever you have to to keep him safe. To get both of you home.

Something has changed. The place in your heart where he lives has shifted, softened, and grown. He is, you now know, essential to you. As fundamental as the blood in your veins, the air in your lungs.

Maybe everything has changed.

That's a problem for later. After you get him to the extraction point, after you see him to medical, after you write up your report and put this mission behind you.

MISSION: GREECE, ELIMINATION OF B.O.W.s AND CAPTURE OF SOURCE

You don't think Leon sleeps for the three days you're in Greece.

It's hard to tell. You feel well-rested each time he wakes you for your watch, which means he lets you sleep too long. And when you take over, he doesn't look like he's sleeping. It's not the soft, relaxed face you now know so well. He's just lying there, waiting for morning to come.

It must be nightmares. You just wish he would try.

The mission itself ends up being kind of fun. Greece is beautiful. Vibrant blue water and endless sky, picturesque beaches and a monastery with the most beautiful stained glass windows you've ever seen. You want to explore properly, to wander the streets for fun, not with a gun in your hand.

The island population evacuated before you arrived, so all you have to do is find the mad scientist billionaire living in the catacombs making B.O.W.s, and kill as many of them as you can on your way.

Bats with tentacles and lizards with thousands of teeth where you wouldn't expect teeth to be. 

Easy, right?

Except for the fact that you have to chase them up and down so, so many stairs.

And Leon falls down most of them.

Thanks to his body armor, he's only a little battered. His ego is probably more bruised than his skin.

But the whole thing takes a lot out of him when combined with how little rest he gets.

You apprehend the billionaire and send him off in his chopper. Your own extraction is quick after that, even if you have to basically haul Leon into the bird. He slumps next to you with a bleary-eyed fist bump.

The island is still below when Leon falls asleep. You turn to say something to him, to see why he's leaning on you with his full weight, only to find his eyes closed and his breathing even.

Just like that.

No nightmares.

Truthfully, this is why you wanted him to just try to sleep. But how would you say that? How would you tell him that you think his body knows he's safe with you just as much as his mind does? That he trusts you so deeply?

It is in this moment that you let yourself think it.

You love him.

Maybe this was inevitable. He's the best man you've ever known. You trust him with your life on a regular basis, and he returns that trust tenfold. You've washed his blood from your skin, relied on his steady aim in the heat of a fight, leaned into his warmth in the darkest, most terrifying places on earth.

Now that you've thought it, there's no going back.

There's no doing anything about it, either. It's too complicated.

Maybe he loves you. You're not sure. It doesn't matter, anyway. You'd never ask him to give more of himself to you. He gives everything to the world already. You won't be another person who takes from him.

So this? A successful mission, the weight of him settled firmly at your side, both of you alive and mostly well? This might be enough.

Leon turns his head so his face is pressed into your shoulder, his hair tickling your jawline. You let yourself lean into him, resting your cheek on the top of his head.

You make each other feel safe. Is that not love?

MISSION: U.S.A., AQUISITION OF ANTIVIRAL MATERIALS

It's too late.

You both know it the moment you arrive.

The pale door stands alone in the middle of the New Mexico desert, almost invisible among the hills of pristine white dunes unless you’re looking right at it. Just as the briefing said it would. A lab hidden from the DSO, from lingering Umbrella hostiles, from everyone. A lab working on antivirals of all kinds, invaluable resources that would be disastrous in the wrong hands.

But the door hangs open.

"Shit," Leon mutters, drawing his weapon. "Looks like we're late to the party."

You follow him through the door and down the stairs. The power isn't out, but the lights flicker when you walk under them like they want to hide whatever awaits you.

It's more bare bones than anything you've seen before. No lobby, no desk. No security room, no floor map. Just a corridor at the bottom of the stairs and doors on either side, all pushed open.

Glass litters the floor, as do crumpled wet papers. There is a sharp chemical smell in the air. You know in your gut that the antivirals are gone.

"No people," you whisper. "No corpses."

Leon nods, face grim. He knows what's gone on here just as well as you do. Whatever small operation was functioning before today is dead to the world. It’ll be a miracle to get any good intel from this place.

"We need to check every room anyway," he tells you.

But before you can start a sweep, someone coughs. It's so unexpected that you both twist on the spot and aim your guns in the direction of the noise.

"Is anyone alive down here?" Leon calls. "We're here to help."

Not entirely true per your mission, but Leon is always here to help. And where he goes, you go.

The coughing stops.

With a quick glance at him, you lead the way down the hall to the door you're pretty sure the survivor – god, you hope it’s a survivor – is in.

The closer you get, the more you hear it -- someone is crying.

The room ends up being an office, small and ransacked. Two people lean against one of the overturned desks.

A man and a woman, the latter crying softly into her hands. They're partners of some kind. You can tell right away. They occupy each other’s space in a way that feels familiar to you, that triggers a deep sense of horror once you put the pieces together. 

These are two people who love each other, and there is no other place they'd rather be, even at the end.

The man has his arm around her, but you can see his face.

He's infected. Not gone yet, but well on the way. Black veins run up his neck into his hairline. If the woman raised her head, you'd undoubtedly see the same.

You glance at Leon, but he's already looking at you, having reached the same conclusion.

"You work here?" Leon asks.

"I'm sorry," the woman mutters wetly. "I'm sorry, we didn't know they would come, we didn't know --"

"What happened?" you press.

"It's all gone," the man snaps. He barely spares you a glance. "Can't you tell? They took it all."

"The antivirals," Leon fills in.

The woman looks up. She doesn't have long left. Minutes, maybe. Her speech is slurred, and her eyes are cloudy, the whites of them spiderwebbed black. You don’t even know if she can see you.

"They... threw a gas grenade down the stairs and... then destroyed it all," she says. "We could hear them smashing vials while we were..."

The woman begins to cough, droplets of blood spraying the ground under her as she heaves. 

It splatters over her wedding ring. Fuck. You were right.

"Shh, Mack," the man tells her. "Don't talk."

She doesn't listen. "Simon," she manages to say, "The files, I--"

The man -- Simon -- rubs at her back until she pushes him away.

“I’m not leaving you,” he says. “Don’t ask me to.”

The words hang in the air. You can hear your own voice saying them back in Nepal.

"Please," she begs.

You take a small step towards Leon.

"What's she talking about?" he says. 

There's no tremor in his voice, but you can hear his horror, his rage. Neither of you can stop what’s happening here.

Simon gets to his knees and reaches for a drawer in the overturned desk. Using a key, or a combination, you're not sure which, he opens a secret compartment with a hushed snick.

And pulls out a stack of files.

"There's no time for us," Simon tells you, holding them out in a shaking hand. The veins in his forearms are steadily turning black. "But you can make more with these. We thought this might happen someday." He glances at his wife and the blood dripping down her chin. "Not like this."

Leon seems frozen in place. It's the worst-case scenario. Two people trying to do good who become victims, casualties, and there's nothing you can do to save them.

You surge forward to take the files. Simon collapses back beside Mack.

"Can we do anything?" you offer.

"Yes," Mack gurgles. "End it."

It's an ask that gives you pause, even after all of your time as an agent. You've killed many B.O.W.s by this point, and your fair share of human beings. It comes with the job. 

It keeps you up at night.

But could you kill someone like this, because they asked you to? To spare them the indignity of turning into a monster?

Leon saves you from deciding. He hands over his gun, and Simon takes it with wide eyes.

"We'll wait," Leon says. His words are shot through with regret. "Outside."

He turns on his heel before the pair can say anything. You think it might kill him to hear a thank you for this.

There's no choice but to follow. You don't want to be here for what comes next, nor should you. 

You shut the office door behind you and find Leon standing in the hall, arms crossed and back pressed against the wall. His eyes are on the floor.

What is there to say?

You stand next to him, shoulders brushing.

And you wait. And wait. And wait.

What does it feel like to die? To sit beside the person you love most as it happens? To be the one who kills them, who ends their suffering? To be the one who keeps them human, in the end. Could you bear that burden?

It's hard not to glance at Leon. For him, maybe you could. For him, you sometimes think you could do anything.

The first gunshot makes you both inhale sharply.

The second, only moments later, is an exhale.

Leon looks up from the floor and catches your gaze. He looks so young and so tired. You're missing something, something big that's making this harder for him. It settles over his shoulders and drags them down.

He heads back to the office and you follow. Of course you follow.

You won't make him do this alone.

The two of you stand in front of the closed door and breathe. It feels like before and after, like there's no coming back from whatever this is.

You squeeze Leon's shoulder.

He reaches for the knob.

The debrief back at base is awful and takes forever. The mission was technically a failure, since you didn't actually get the antivirals, but the files will help immensely. When you're finally done, you amble out of the windowless room into the hall and find Leon waiting for you.

He looks as exhausted as you feel, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets. He's showered and changed into stuff he keeps around for long nights post-mission, dark sweatpants and a hoodie. He looks soft but weary.

"Hey," he says, straightening up. "You okay?"

You offer him a small smile. "Define okay."

"Yeah, fair enough," he says. He runs a hand through his damp hair. "That was fucked up."

"Yeah." You step a little closer. "Are you okay?"

Leon tilts his head to the side, eyes on your face but not seeing you, not really. He's seeing whatever ghosts are haunting him about this.

"I will be."

"Leon," you say, without knowing what will come next. Just to say his name, to bring him back to this moment. It works, refocusing him, drawing him back to you. You both saw something horrible today. You can feel it in the air -- you can see his distress, the way he's carrying this differently than most other horrible shit you do in this job. It's weighing on him.

"I don't want to be alone right now," you say. It’s no lie, but it’s also disguising what you really want to do – take care of him. After what you saw, you don’t want to leave him alone. "Do you want to come over?"

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he studies you. You try not to squirm. Maybe it's plain as day on your face how concerned you are. Maybe he can see your care for him as easily as you feel it.

"Okay," he says.

It's not that unfamiliar. He's been over a few times when you've been injured over the course of your partnership thus far, dropped things off while you recovered. He even made soup once.

So when you're standing in your kitchen, each holding a sweating glass of water, it's not discomfort you're feeling. If someone asked, you'd say he looks at home in his soft clothes and socked feet, bags under his eyes. More relaxed than before, at least.

"Should we talk about it?" you say.

Leon sighs. "Do you want to?"

No, not really. But the pain in their voices, the horror on Leon's face. The way those two people, utter strangers to you, loved each other in the midst of this fucked up world of viruses and vaccines and corporations that you all find yourselves in. In the face of death, till the very end.

Here, in the safety of your kitchen, looking at the man you love, you think about telling him how you feel. It makes your heart feel like an open wound. You imagine it, what you'd do for him. What you suspect he'd do for you. 

Would it scare him away? How far you would go to save him?

"Not really," you admit. "But it might make us feel better. That shit was nightmare fuel. Not that we need any more of those."

Leon huffs. You still need to shower and change, but this is important. You hop up on your counter. He leans against the cabinets across from you.

"Thank you," he says. "For taking the lead back there. For talking to them."

You wouldn't describe it as such, but you don't say so. You've heard this tone from him a few times before. It's like he's somewhere else.

And he is.

"Did it remind you of something from Raccoon City?" you ask carefully. Not because you think he'll be mad, but because he deserves some care.

You've gotten bits and pieces from him about that day over the course of your partnership. You know how he carries it with him, how his entire life as an agent started there, with the people he lost, the things he saw. You often think about him as a rookie police officer standing as tall as he could against a crumbling city, against threats he couldn't even begin to understand.

You'll never know that Leon, but loving this one means you love him, too.

"Yeah," he replies. He sets the water glass on the counter and crosses his arms. "There was this man who owned a gun shop," he says. "Kendo. He was upset and scared. He told me I was supposed to know something about how it all happened because I was a cop."

The smile on his face is a bitter one. You don't like it, so different from the ones he saves for you.

"I didn't even know how little I knew, at that point," he says. "We're talking to him, and then his daughter stumbles into the shop from the back room. Emma."

You can see where this is going.

"Was she...?" you ask.

Leon nods. "It was too late. He told us to leave them alone and took her back to the room. And then we heard one gunshot. Didn't stick around to hear a second."

You breathe out. "That's...wow."

"A lot of innocent people died that night," he says. "And those scientists today -- Simon and Mack -- they were involved more than Kendo and his daughter, sure. But they were doing good, working against bioweapons. And they died for it."

He says it with resignation, with exhaustion. You know he'll never forget their names. Never forget that he couldn't save them.

"Like us," you tell him. Leon looks confused. "We're doing that, too," you continue. "And we'd die for it, right?”

For each other, you don't say.

He holds your gaze, then nods. “Yeah,” he says. "Don't get any ideas, though."

You smile at him even though his words are serious. "Okay, Kennedy."

Leon stands and holds out his hand for your glass. Your fingers brush in the exchange.

"You know," he says, turning to put it in the sink. "This was nightmare fuel, but I never have nightmares when you're around."

If asked, you'd say it's a strategic move not to face you. Giving you space to figure out how you want to respond.

The perpetual knot of feelings in your chest twists tighter. All those hours he's slept by your side while you watched over him, all those nights without a bad dream, it all sits heavy in your throat. How much it means to you that he trusts you, that he feels safe next to you.

"Really?" you ask, softly. Pretending not to have come to this conclusion yourself. "I'm glad."

Leon turns, blue eyes finding yours once again. He's told you this for a reason, but now that it's out there, you don't know what to do with it. If he feels the same way, if you are similarly essential to him, then what do you even do about it? What would change?

You're too raw for it right now. So you hold his gaze, but hop down from the counter.

"I'm going to shower," you tell him. "Help yourself to anything in the -- well, anything. You know where it all is."

There's no disappointment from him, no deflation. Just solid patience. Leon Kennedy, immovable object. Living weapon. Love itself.

"Take your time," he says.

When you come back, clean and comfortable, Leon isn't in the kitchen.

You find him asleep on the couch.

His face is turned into the pillow, one leg hanging off the side like he hadn't meant to close his eyes, but it happened anyway. It's like telling you the story about Kendo has lifted a weight from him, and he's exhausted from the memories.

All of it -- the entire mission, really -- just shows you what you already know. He trusts you, he feels safe with you. Maybe it's even more than that.

But tonight isn't for dwelling on that. It's for the two of you, safe and together for another day, to rest. Filled with gratitude for that, you brush his hair back from his face as carefully as you can before draping a blanket over him.

When you wake, you're curled up in the chair next to the couch with the same blanket draped over you.

MISSION: DATA NOT AVAILABLE

You usually tell people you like writing reports. It's not as exciting as actually going on missions, sure, but there's something satisfying about looking back on everything you did and explaining it, picking it apart for details and errors and good choices.

Maybe because you and Leon are good agents, which makes your mission reports much easier to write. But this one is taking you forever. And Leon is no help.

The mission, well. 

The mission went utterly sideways. You almost died. Infected with a mystery fever virus and no antivirals to be found, part of you really thought it was the end. That Leon was going to have to watch you turn and kill you.

But he saved you. He saved you by doing the unimaginable -- putting his body on the line for yours. With yours.

And you lived.

And now you know how he feels. How you both feel.

It doesn't mean he's helpful in writing the report, though.

You banished him to your bedroom nearly an hour ago because he was being too distracting. Without his quips and the temptation to touch him every five seconds, you're finally done.

"Sorry to whoever has to read that," you mutter, shutting your laptop. It's almost dinner time. 

"Leon?" you call.

Nothing.

You stand and stretch, the hem of your t-shirt -- it might be his, you're not sure -- riding up a little. Maybe he's got his headphones on.

There's evidence of him all over your place now. His jacket over the barstool, his boots by the door. Two books he wants you to read are stacked on the table, his gym water bottle is in the drying rack. But it's more than that. You know he's here. It's a strange feeling, the safety that comes with that knowledge. Like everything makes a bit more sense, your world righted just so.

You worried before that exposing your feelings would affect your partnership in the field, but you know now that you passed the threshold of a normal relationship a long time ago. You will do whatever it takes for Leon to be okay. It was true then, and it's true now. It's the light that guides your path, the direction your compass points towards. Him, always him.

You find Leon in the bedroom. He's in your bed, shoulders sinking deep into your pillows. A book you got him balanced on his chest, spine cracked.

He's asleep.

He looks younger this way, like he always does, jaw relaxed and brow smooth. His face is turned into the pillow like he's chasing your imprint on it from this morning, echoing the way he’s always aware of your presence when he’s awake. Orbiting you, filling the space you leave him, the answer to every question you’ve ever had.

You just stand there and look because you can. This man who loves you, who protects you, who trusts you. He's given you everything. His mind, his body, his heart, without hesitation. You would have happily spent the rest of your life watching over him, keeping him safe, having his back, and asking nothing in return.

But he loves you.

You sit on the edge of the bed and know he wakes immediately, but he allows you to pull the book from his torso, mark his page, and set it on the nightstand.

"Can I join you?" you whisper.

Leon opens his eyes and smiles easily, a delicate pull up of his mouth at both sides.

"Please do," he says, voice a little rough from his nap. "Mm, come here."

He sinks even further down into the pillows and holds out his arm. You go happily, your head on his shoulder and your leg over his hips.

Leon presses his lips to your hairline and inhales.

"How's the book?" you ask. His heart beats steadily under your palm.

"Good," he says. "Just thought I'd catch a few minutes. It smells so good in here. Smells like 

you."

He says shit like this all the time, now. It always takes your breath away.

"Well, it's my bed," you remind him. He just hums and closes his eyes again. He drags his fingers up and down your arm.

It's a revelation to touch him like this. You never get enough of it, how solid yet pliant he is under your hands. How many times have you wondered what it would be like to do exactly this?

"Can I hold you?" you ask, trying not to sound too shy.

Icy blue reappears between his long lashes.

"Sure," he says. He sounds amused but fond. "Are we sleeping?"

We, always we. Always in step with you, always ready to follow wherever you’re going. 

"For a little."

Leon turns onto his side, showing you his back. You curl yourself around him, puzzle pieces finally back where they belong. Your knee slides between his and his arm rests over yours where it's slung across his torso.

"You okay?" he murmurs.

He might not feel it, but you press your lips to his shoulder blade.

"Yeah," you say. "You?"

Leon squeezes your hand.

"Doesn't get much better than this," he tells you.

You can feel his heartbeat through his back, feel every breath in and out as you match it to your own.

There will be plenty of opportunities in the future for you to keep watch while he sleeps. But for now, you can rest together.

[thelonewolfdreamer]

"If this is the last breath I take, then it won't be in vain as long as I spend it near you."

🪼⋆｡𖦹°🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🪼⋆｡𖦹°🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🪼⋆｡𖦹°🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🪼⋆｡𖦹°🫧

My writing masterlist

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚

Pairings: re4!leon x oblivious!fem!reader

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚

Genre : fluff, yearner leon, soft leon, blood, Idk, romance, HEA, long chapter, angst? Hehe

Summary : This was supposed to be an easy assignment. Just another mission with you; his one sided crush: it was supposed to go like -- kill zombies, gather information, go back to hq and all done. At least, that's what Leon thought was supposed to happen.

But when unexpectedly Leon gets hurt and the moment he lay there, fatally injured, feeling his strength slipping away; none of it mattered anymore.

Because in those final moments, all he could think about was you. And the love he had carried in silence for years.

WC - 6.5k

Note : English ISNT my native language; so expect grammatical errors, spelling mistake; or sentence issues, this is my second request! And I really had fun writing it, thank you anon for your request!

Doing this oneshot, based on this request, thank you for giving me such a wonderful idea, anon. Expect mistakes and badly written stuff 🥲

Leon checked his phone for what felt like the millionth time, only to find it was still 3:47 a.m. He groaned loudly and threw his phone beside him, and felt already exhausted despite not having done anything. 

Because he was supposed to be asleep by now and wake up around 6 am, for the mission, leave his apartment by 7 a.m. and reach the assigned location by 8 a.m. sharp.

Yet as he lay in bed with his back pressed against the mattress and his phone abandoned beside his pillow, all he could do was watch the minutes crawl by at an agonizing pace. 

Damn it.

Because for Leon, this wasn't just another mission. It was more than that. It was a mission with you as his partner, his one-sided love. And God, right now he felt like some fourteen-year-old kid waiting for the next day so he could go on a picnic date with his crush.

Except it wasn't a date.

Hell, it wasn't even close to one.

It was just a routine mission that happened to be assigned to both of you.

Which rarely happened, much to Leon's disappointment, and he never had the guts to ask why. 

Instead, he pretended it didn't bother him. Pretended he didn't look forward to every mission with you a little too much.

Pretended he wasn't secretly checking assignment lists in hopes of seeing your name beside his. But every time it happened, every time the two of you were paired together, Leon found himself looking forward to the mission far more than he should have. 

And the fact that a twenty-seven-year-old man was acting like this.. was honestly embarrassing, but what else was he supposed to do?

But for six long years, Leon had been acting like this pathetic idiot whenever it came to you.

With a long, tired sigh, he finally sat up in one fluid motion, the bedsheets shifting with him as he settled at the edge of the bed. Resting his elbows on his knees, and slowly he buried his face in his hands for a moment before rubbing them down his features. 

But then a thought tugged at him. Maybe he could at least make himself a coffee or two and get ready early. It wasn't like he was getting any more sleep anyway. 

So, without wasting another second, he pushed himself out of bed and wandered around his apartment, trying to keep himself occupied. Yet no matter what he did, the same thought crept into his mind again and again.

It wasn't his fault.

Not really.

.

.

.

Because six years ago, you had walked into the DSO office, and the moment you did, Leon's met your gaze and his breath had caught in his throat. 

Sure, you were gorgeous, that was one of the things about you; but as time passed, he realized you were so much more than that. 

You were kind, generous, caring, your clumsiness was adorable, you were always willing to help someone, always willing to go out of your way for others. 

God, Leon could barely get a sentence out around you for nearly two years, and it was only after you kept talking to him anyway that he finally managed to relax enough to hold an actual conversation. 

Then it turned from simple admiration into something far more dangerous. At first, it was simple things like how hardworking you were, how ambitious you were, how you were always the first person willing to help during a mission. 

Then it became the smaller things. The way you tilted your head when you were thinking. The way your nose scrunched whenever something annoyed you. The way your eyes closed completely when you laughed from the heart. 

The way your smile showed every single one of your teeth without a trace of self-consciousness. The way you clicked your pen repeatedly whenever you were nervous. The ridiculous amount of whipped cream you insisted on putting in your coffee. The way you gave your full attention to whoever you were speaking to using your hands and body. 

Honestly, the list was endless, and if he started talking about everything about you every little thing you did, it would take months to complete it, and even then it still wouldn’t feel enough. He wasn’t even exaggerating at this point; there was simply too much about you to ever fully put into words.

Hell, if he had to tell the deepest darkest secret truth he held in his heart..?

That most of the times even watching you talk to Carlos sometimes made something painful tighten inside Leon's chest.

And that was how bad it had gotten.

Yet he still kept his distance. Because something inside him wasn't ready not for this, not for whatever feelings you brought out of him. Or maybe it was just cowardice, Leon didn't know anymore but maybe just pretended not to. 

So for six long years he did the same thing: noticed you, admired you, stayed polite, and never crossed a single boundary. 

Even if, sometimes, having that boundary crossed was all he had ever wanted. 

And overtime he told himself it was enough to see you smile at him. Enough to stand beside you. Because there were things in his life, things he had seen that made him reluctant to drag you into whatever mud he was buried in. 

The truth was that he couldn't do that to you. 

And yet, if it were for you, or even without you asking a single thing of him, Leon knew he would walk through hell itself without hesitation.

Those thoughts followed him as he took a quick shower and brushed his teeth. Since he was already awake, he figured he might as well make use of the extra time. Eventually, as he wanted before, he made himself a coffee and settled into what had quietly become a ritual over the years. 

Sitting on the edge of his bed with a warm mug cradled in one hand, Leon unlocked his phone and opened the folder he never let himself think too hard about. It was filled with photographs of you collected over the years, some taken during team celebrations, some during missions, some where you stood beside him smiling, and others where you had no idea the camera had ever been pointed your way. 

It probably would've looked creepy to anyone else. Maybe it was. 

But Leon couldn't bring himself to care, because somehow, that was how six years had passed for Leon: stealing little moments, collecting small memories, and convincing himself they were enough, hearing your voice over comms was enough.

And maybe it should have been.

But they were not, not really.

Still some nights, when the apartment was too quiet and the loneliness settled too heavily in his chest, Leon found himself wishing for things he had no right to want.

Things as simple as seeing your name on his phone. Hearing you laugh from the next room. Him cooking for you. You waking beside him, knowing he could reach for you and not have to pretend it meant nothing. 

Leon sighed at that thought.

He knew he had been in a lot of bad situations throughout his life. He'd stared death in the face more times than he cared to count. But somehow, being in love with you without knowing what to do about it was its own kind of disaster. Maybe it was the worst situation he had ever found himself in.

And yet, not a single bone in his body regretted it.

Just then, as he was wrestling with his thoughts, his eyes landed on the clock.

6:00 a.m. Sharp.

Leon nearly laughed in relief, now there were only two more hours left until he got to see you, hear your voice, and spend an entire mission by your side. The realization sent something dangerously close to solace flooding through his chest.

Without further ado, he started to get ready by wearing a fresh set of clothes, his jacket, with a satisfied sigh Leon glanced in the mirror, and sprinkled a few sprays of cologne on his neck and wrists, and just like that another hour slipped by. 

Before leaving, Leon gave himself a mental pep talk, reminding himself that this was just a mission. A routine operation. Nothing special. He would spend a few hours with you, complete the objective, and then go home.

At least, that's what he told himself.

But what Leon didn't know was that he was completely wrong.

Eventually, he left his apartment, locking the door behind him before heading toward his car. The drive afterward was far too quiet, but Leon found that he didn't mind. 

Reaching over absentmindedly, he turned on the radio and ended up playing one of your favorite songs without even realizing it. It filled the car softly as he drove, and the entire way there his thoughts drifted back to you; your laugh, your smile, the sound of your voice over comms, and the way you somehow managed to make even the worst days feel a little lighter.

By the time he arrived at the ruined facility, you were already there waiting for him. Standing near the entrance with the morning sunlight catching the edges of your silhouette, you looked almost unreal. That's what leon thought as he embrace your entire being through his gaze.

You were dressed entirely in black, tactical gear resting on your waist, your comms resting comfortably against your ears, you carried yourself with that familiar confidence he had admired for years. 

But what truly got him was the smile on your face the one accompanied by that small crinkle of your nose that appeared whenever you were genuinely happy.

Leon felt his heart do that stupid thing it had been doing for the past six years. The same thing it always did whenever he saw you.

Leon quickly shook his head, a faint blush creeping onto his cheeks at the direction of his thoughts. Unable to stop the smile tugging at his lips, he returned yours with one of his own before parking the car and making his way toward you. 

As he approached, you immediately greeted him with a cheerful voice, "Hey!" Your eyes crinkled at the sight of him, your smile widening ever so slightly, and Leon felt something warm settle in his chest at the simple gesture. 

Leon couldn't help the smile that pulled at his lips. "Hey, partner."

God. Every single time he called you that, he felt like an absolute idiot. You had no idea how much he liked saying it. No idea how many things he wanted to call you something else instead. So he settled for, partner, the safest option available, even if his heart was busy saying things he would never dare speak out loud.

"Ready?" you asked finally, not looking at him as you adjusted your gear, your attention focused on checking the straps and equipment secured across your vest. 

"As I'll ever be."

A grin spread across your face as you faced him again. "Good. I'll take the west wing. You take the east."

Leon raised an eyebrow at you, "Bossy."

You rolled your eyes immediately, "Efficient, Kennedy."

"That's not what I heard."

A laugh escaped you, and Leon swore he saw the faintest hint of pink appear on your cheeks before it vanished again, or maybe he imagined it because it wouldn't be the first time.

"Didn't say you don't like it." The words slipped out before Leon could stop them. His eyes widened slightly the moment he realized what he'd just said. 

Thankfully, you were already looking down at the mission tablet, seemingly focused on the mission briefing rather than the embarrassing comment he'd accidentally let escape.

Leon nearly groaned.

Smooth. Real smooth, Kennedy.

"Since this is just a routine sweep," you continued, finally glancing up at Leon, "we'll keep each other updated through comms. If either of us finds anything suspicious, we regroup immediately."

Leon nodded, his attention fixed on you far more than the actual briefing. Instead, he found himself noticing the way you spoke, the way your hands moved as you explained the plan, and the tiny crease that appeared between your brows whenever you were focused on something. 

It was ridiculous, really. At this point, Leon was completely hopeless.

"Leon?" The snap of your fingers in front of his face immediately pulled him out of his thoughts.

His attention snapped back to you. "Hm?"

"Were you listening?" you asked.

"Of course," Leon replied with a confident nod.

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously. "Then what did I just say?"

"...Something about the mission."

Your groan and it rang out loudly across the parking lot while Leon merely grinned shamelessly, looking entirely too pleased with himself. 

Shaking your head, you pointed toward the entrance. "East wing," you reminded him.

"Yes, ma'am." Leon offered a dramatic salute, though the grin never left his face.

You rolled your eyes so hard he was surprised they didn't get stuck, then you turned away from him. Before disappearing, however, you flipped him off over your shoulder and stuck your tongue out at him.

Leon's smile widened immediately.

God, he was gone.

And then, just like that, you disappeared into the west side of the ruined facility while Leon headed toward the east, still smiling like an idiot long after you were out of sight.

Focus on the mission, Kennedy he told himself because that had been his strategy for six years.

As Leon moved deeper into the abandoned facility, his footsteps echoed faintly through the ruined hallways. He swept each room carefully, checking for any signs of life—or death as he kept his weapon raised and his senses alert.

Then his comms crackled and immediately, warmth spread through his chest. “Leon, I've got eyes on the west corridor. No movements yet.”

Your voice flowed through the earpiece, calm and fierce.

And just like that, Leon could picture you perfectly. Focused and professional. It was one of the things he admired most about you. You could be relaxed and funny one moment, but the second a mission demanded it, you became completely locked in.

Leon adjusted his grip on his weapon as he moved through the crumbling corridor, keeping his steps steady and low. “Copy that,” he murmured. “Stay on overwatch.”

A brief silence followed before your voice came through again. “Be careful, Leon. Something feels off about this place.”

Your tone was softer this time, carrying a hint of concern that made Leon's chest tighten immediately. It always happened whenever you said anything that sounded even remotely worried about him.

“Always am,” he replied casually, even though the warmth spreading through his chest made it difficult to sound nearly as unaffected as he wanted.

"Still," you said, your voice crackling softly through the comms, "keep me updated."

Leon hummed in response and continued deeper into the facility.

Then everything went wrong as it always does. 

Just as Leon pushed open a broken door, his attention slipped for the briefest moment. It was all the opportunity the infected needed. The creature lunged from the side of the doorway, far faster than expected, and raked its claws across his torso. 

Excruciating pain exploded through his side as the claws tore into his flesh, slamming him violently into the wall. A sharp hiss escaped him as the impact knocked the air from his lungs. Blood immediately began soaking through his jacket, spreading rapidly across the torn fabric as a burning agony radiated through his entire body.

Your voice cracked through the comms, urgent and demanding. "Leon! Are you okay?! I heard some noises. Answer me." 

Despite the pain Leon was enduring, the panic in your voice almost made him smile. "I'm fine," he gritted out, shoving the infected away before putting a bullet through its skull. 

But Leon knew he wasn't fine; infected tore through some vital organ of his he was sure of it.

The infected's body collapsed instantly; in front of him, and Leon tried to steady his breathing. But it didn't felt steady; it kept getting heavier by each passing second.

"Leon, talk to me," you demanded.

He opened his mouth to answer, but a wave of dizziness crashed into him instead, stealing the words before they could leave his lips. His gaze dropped to his side, and his stomach sank immediately.

The blood was spreading across his jacket far faster than he liked, staining the fabric dark red with alarming speed.

That was...

Bad. 

By the time he stumbled deeper into the room, his legs were beginning to feel unsteady. He pressed himself against the nearest wall before slowly sliding down it until he was sitting on the floor.

The world had slowly started to tilt.

His vision blurred at the edges, as the hallway seemed to sway around him. His every breath grew heavier than the last, and it took all his concentration just to remain standing. Then the comms crackled again.

"Leon!"

Your voice burst through the speaker, sharp with panic.

The sound alone made his chest tighten. You rarely sounded like that. Not for anything. Yet now there was unmistakable fear in your voice, and somehow that frightened him more than the blood pooling beneath his jacket.

Your voice sounded farther away now."Leon, respond!"

He exhaled shakily. "S…still here," he managed.

But in reality, he didn't feel very "here" anymore. Instead he felt he wasn't even in this world anymore, everything around him seemed distant, muffled, as though he were listening to it from underwater.

His hand remained pressed firmly against the wound, desperately trying to stem the bleeding, but it didn't help much. Warm blood continued to seep between his fingers, and with every passing second, he could feel his strength slipping away.

Through the haze, your voice broke through the comms again."I'm moving to your position. Hold on."

"No," he rasped immediately, forcing the words out. "Don't... call for backup."

"I will, but the tech isn't working here. The connection is bad. Please don't close your eyes. I'm coming to you now." The panic in your voice was impossible to miss.

And Leon couldn't help the lazy smile that tugged at his lips as he heard your footsteps echoing through the comms.

God, you're always so stubborn.

Then the comm connection cut out entirely.

Leon let his eyes close for just a second.

When he opened them again, he saw you standing in the doorway. For a brief moment, he genuinely thought he was hallucinating. Between the blood loss and the dizziness clouding his mind, seeing you there felt almost too good to be real.

But no.

There you were.

His smile widened faintly. Your brows furrowed the instant you spotted him, and without hesitation you broke into a run straight toward him.

It would've looked almost cinematic under different circumstances but right now it just seemed tragic.

Within seconds, you reached him and dropped to your knees beside him, immediately assessing the wound with practiced focus.

Your hands remained steady as they worked on his wound, but Leon could tell you were panicking.

He should've felt guilty for noticing it. Instead, something warm settled in his chest. Not because he was hurt; God, he would've preferred almost anything over that but because it meant you cared.

Maybe not in the same way he cared for you. Maybe not with the kind of love he'd carried for years. But you cared nonetheless, and somehow that was enough. And your eyes betrayed you despite your efforts to stay composed. 

Leon caught the worry hidden behind them, the tears gathering at the corners that you were desperately trying to hold back, and for a moment he found himself smiling through the pain. 

"Okay," you muttered, already shrugging off your black jacket and pressing it firmly against his wound. "Okay, stay with me."

Leon blinked up at you and let out a weak chuckle. Because even like this, even bleeding out on the floor of some ruined facility, with pain tearing through his side and his vision threatening to fade, all he could think about was how close you were.

"It's not bad," you said, clearly lying to him perhaps to keep him from worrying, perhaps because you were trying to convince yourself of the same thing. But your voice cracked halfway through the sentence, betraying you instantly.

Leon should've lied too, should've smiled and told you he was fine. But he didn't have the energy for it anymore. "It is bad," he said simply.

Your jaw tightened immediately. You adjusted your grip on the makeshift bandage of your jacket, pressing harder against his side.

The pressure sent another wave of pain through him that made him groan in pain, but somehow it was your voice that made something strange happen in his chest. "...No no you are gonna be okay."

God.

That did something dangerous to him. Even through the pain, Leon found himself lingering on your panicked expression. He shouldn't have thought it, not now of all times, but there was something oddly endearing about the way you were fussing over him.

"You look adorable when you are all panicky."

God what was he saying, but fuck it, if he is gonna die as well as say it.

A shaky breath escaped you as you looked at him. "What?" you asked confused.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of Leon's mouth. "Yeah," he said quietly. "It's kind of distracting."

That earned a broken laugh from you but it was more of a half laugh, half sob. You pressed the jacket tighter against his wound, though your hands were trembling now.

"Stay with me," you ordered firmly.

Leon tried to keep his eyes open, but the edges of his vision were already blurring. "I am."

The moment his eyelids started to droop, you softly slapped his cheek. "Hey!" you breathed, patting each side of his face gently, "Open your eyes. Wake up."

Leon groaned weakly. "...You're not supposed to be here."

"What?" You asked.

He swallowed painfully and glanced away, his gaze drifting toward the floor. For a moment, he seemed almost embarrassed despite the blood loss and the pain tearing through his side. "I don't want you to see me like this," he admitted quietly.

For a moment, all you did was stare at him, then disbelief flashed across your face. "Leon, you are such an idiot."

Despite everything, he laughed, which instantly turns into a painful grunt.

You shook your head furiously and adjusted your grip on him again. "I called for backup. I don't know when they'll get here." You pause for a second and your voice wavered again. "But you're staying awake until they do. Do you hear me?"

Leon looked up at you and saw the tears gathering in your eyes. He saw the fear you were trying so desperately to hide, and the way your hands refused to let go of him no matter how much blood stained them.

For the first time since he'd been injured, he felt something dangerously close to relief settle in his chest. Not because he was hurt, not because things were going to be okay but because you were here. "Yeah," he whispered softly.

Your hands paused for a moment, and something in your expression shifted.

"Leon..." Your voice was quieter now, but no less firm. "You know, when I joined the agency, you were the one I looked up to. Honestly, you still are."

Leon blinked slowly, swallowing hard on the air between you and him.

You swallowed too and continued before you could lose your nerve. "You're brave. Braver than anyone I've ever met. You've gone through things most people wouldn't even dare to think about, and somehow you're still here." Your grip tightened slightly on his wound and he wince. You apologetically look at him and loosen your grip on the wound and continue, "You're still standing. You're still helping people."

He could not believe what he was hearing his eyes widening as he slowly processed your words.

A shaky breath escaped you. "I researched you, you know. Before we started working together. I read every report I could find, every mission record they would let me access." A faint, tearful laugh left you. "I wanted to know who the legendary Leon Kennedy really was."

Your eyes met his, and his eyes started to glisten too.

"But you know, all I found was someone who keeps carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders and still shows up every day to save people."

Your voice cracked, you didnt know why you were saying it maybe it is to keep him alive, but it didnt change the fact it was the truth you have hidden for years, "Because, Leon, you're the kind of person who will always be..." The words caught in your throat. Suddenly, they felt far too dangerous to say out loud. Your gaze dropped briefly before finding his again. "Someone..." you tried once more, but your voice failed you. The confession hovered between you, unfinished yet painfully obvious. Your breath get stuck in your throat as you guide your hands towards his before giving it a firm squeeze.

"Who is important to me."

Leon glanced at your hands and his heart beats way too rapidly. And before he could ruin it by staying silent again, your words starts to wrap themselves around his ribs like a tightening coil.

They slowly settled somewhere deep inside him, somewhere he had spent years keeping locked away. No one had ever said those things to him, not like that. Not with tears in their eyes. Not with hands trembling as they fought to keep him alive.

For so long, Leon had been the one who carried the hurt, the one who kept moving forward because there was no other choice. Yet here you were, looking at him as though he was something worth saving.

The feeling hit him harder than the pain tearing through his side. And as he lay there, bloodied and exhausted, all he could think was that he needed to tell you. Needed you to know. Needed to confess. Before it was too late.

Leon swallowed painfully, his gaze never leaving yours. "I need you to know something too," he said quietly.

Your eyes widened instantly.

"No, no, don't talk. Save your energy," you warned, tightening your grip on him as if that alone could keep him here.

He ignored you.

Classic Leon.

A faint, tired smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I don't think I'm getting out of this one clean."

"Leon!"

The sharpness in your voice echoed through the room.

But Leon simply shook his head weakly.

"No." He swallowed hard, fighting through the pain. "Listen to me."

Something in his expression made your protest die in your throat.

For the first time since you'd reached him, he wasn't trying to reassure you. Your hands stayed pressed against his wound.

His voice was weaker now. He took a slow, painful breath, as though even speaking was becoming difficult. "I've had feelings for you for a long time."

Your entire body froze.

For a moment, you forgot about the blood, the mission, the collapsing facility—everything.

Your lips trembled.

"Leon..."

"Let me say it, partner," he interrupted softly. There was a faint smile on his face, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Because, truthfully, this hurts like hell."

He paused, fighting for another breath.

"If this is the last breath I take," he said quietly, his gaze never leaving yours, "then it won't be in vain as long as I spend it near you."

Your eyes immediately filled with tears and you opened your mouth to speak but Leon swallowed hard and gave a weak shake of his head.

"No," he whispered when you tried to stop him again. "If I don't say it right now... I don't know if I'll ever be able to."

The words landed between you like a shockwave for a moment, all sound seemed to disappear. Your chest tightened painfully, your breath catching somewhere in your throat as you stared at him. The confession felt impossible, unreal, something you'd imagined a hundred times but never truly expected to hear.

"I.. I.. am in love with you."

There he said it. He thought, he doesn't care anymore if he lives or die. Because now he got to say it. And instead of feeling panicked he feels strangely safe, then almost a relieved exhales escaped him.

Your lips parted, trembling slightly. "You... you're serious?" you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“Yeah,” he muttered, a shaky breath escaping him as pain laced through every word. “Fuck, it hurts like a motherfucking bitch.” He gave a weak, strained exhale before laughing weakly. “Sorry…i know its a bad timing.”

Your grip tightened on him immediately, as if refusing to let him slip any further away.

Leon gaze at you and something in his expression softened, despite everything. “…It’s okay,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to say anything back.”

That made your eyes flash. “What?”

“I said it because I needed to,” he continued. “Not because I expect—”

“You think I don’t feel the same?”

Leon blinked slowly. “…What?”

Your breath shook. “You think I don’t—Leon, are you serious?”

For the first time in a long time, Leon Kennedy looked completely, utterly stunned.

You swallowed hard. “I love you,” you said. “I have for a long time too.”

“Leon… I loved you,” you said, your voice breaking as the words finally spilled out. “The moment you were hesitant to even talk to me, I thought you weren’t interested, so I just kept it friendly… I didn’t know what else to do.”

Your grip tightened on his hand as tears blurred your vision. “I kept pretending it was fine. That it didn’t matter. That I could just… stay close to you like that.” Your breath shook. “But it always mattered. It always was you.”

You swallowed hard, looking down at him through trembling lashes.

“I just didn’t think you’d ever feel the same.”

That actually got a real smile out of him. “I thought I was imagining it all,” he admitted softly.

“You were not,” you whispered. 

“So we both were scared, and spent years like that?” you whispered, voice breaking as the realization settled heavily in your chest. 

“Better late than never… right?” Leon groaned. 

You nod you were actually sobbing now, “Stay... with.. me..,” you said again, and this time it wasn’t an order; it was a desperate plea. Your voice broke around the words, fragile and desperate as you held onto him like letting go would mean losing him completely.

Leon’s eyes softened. “I’m trying,” he said.

And for the first time since the mission started He believed he might actually get the chance to stay. “No—no, stay with me, Leon—”

“I am with you,” he said softly. “Even if I don’t make it out.”

Tears flowed freely down your cheeks, your eyes squeezing shut as a pained sob escaped you. “Don’t say that,” you whispered, your voice breaking.

“I’m not afraid anymore,” he added.

That made you shake your head harder. “You’re not allowed to leave me.”

Leon ignored that comment and instead his gaze softened, his breath uneven as he held your hand a little tighter. “Because…” he whispered, pausing as if gathering the last of his strength, “I get to tell you everything."

And for the first time in his life, Leon Kennedy let himself close his eyes without fear.

And the last thing he knew was your hands around him holding on desperately, refusing to let go and your voice breaking as you screamed his name again and again, as if sheer sound alone could pull him back from the edge.

.

.

.

When he woke up hours later, it was because of your uneven breathing and the steady beep of the machine beside him. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the harsh hospital light, the room slowly coming into focus.

When his vision finally cleared, the first thing he saw was you asleep in a chair beside him, head resting near the bed, his chest swelled with emotions and he noticed your fingers still wrapped around his.

Leon exhaled slowly and relief hit him so hard it almost hurt. You stirred too finally, blinking awake. When your eyes met his, everything seemed to stop again but this time, it didn’t fall into silence.

Leon let out a weak breath. “…Hey… partner,” he murmured softly.

Your eyes filled instantly. Then you leaned forward, gripping his hand tighter like you were afraid he might disappear again. “I love you, Leon Scott Kennedy,” you said, your voice shaking but certain, like you needed him to hear it now that he was truly here to listen.

Leon closed his eyes for a brief moment, as if letting the words settle somewhere deep inside him. Then he opened them again and smiled faintly. "I love you more than eternity itself, partner,” he whispered.

And you let smiled through your tear-stained face.

And this time as he looked into your eyes his hands reaching up to your face to wipe away your tears, Leon realized. It wasn’t an ending.

It was the beginning of something he never let himself believe he’d get.

[genshinluvr]

Shameless

Pairing: RE9!Leon Kennedy x isekai'd!fem!Reader (ft. Grace Ashcroft and Victor Gideon) Summary: Whenever you play Leon's part in Resident Evil Requiem, Leon hears everything you say—from your curses, to your praises, to your reaction to seeing him break open a warped door with his hatchet—he hears it all. Even when you get thrown into his universe, you're just as shameless as you were before you arrived. Note: It ain't a Genshinluvr fic if I don't write at least one fic with an isekai plot. There are snippets of the actual game in this fic, and as the fic progresses, once you/the reader gets isekai'd into Resident Evil Requiem. I had the time of my life typing this out, not gonna lie. It was fun as hell. Anyway! I don't post anywhere else but on Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and on AO3 (Aaliah_exo). Warning: Violence (the usual), Victor Gideon caressing Leon (is that a warning itself?), The Girl, you'll probably get secondhand embarrassment from this fic. Word Count: 9.8k

You're buzzing with excitement, knowing you're going to see the 49-year-old Leon S. Kennedy in his glory after playing Grace's part at the Wrenwood Hotel. You have been anticipating the release of Resident Evil Requiem ever since you saw the trailer for the game. Now that it's in your Steam library, you have been itching to play the game after work.

You're sitting at your desk, knees pressing against your chest as the cut scene plays before you. Your heart is still pounding against your chest after you manage to escape from the infected police officer, Cole. You watch Grace collapse in the strange man's iron grip, her body slumping to the side, and the screen goes black.

"Is it finally happening?" You whisper, leaning forward towards the monitor, and watch the series of police cars slowly appear on the screen, before cutting to a scene where it shows a dead body with strange blotches on the palm of the deceased's hand. Your eyes light up. "It is! It is it is it is!"

The man—obviously, it's thee Leon S. Kennedy—gets up from where he was kneeling and leaves the area that is blocked off with crime scene tape.

"Talk to me. Is this one like the others?" A woman's voice breaks through the sound of pouring rain as the man walks towards the CRIME SCENE DO NOT CROSS and POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS tape.

"Same black blotches." He ducks under the tape and continues to walk past the police cars at the crime scene.

"And it's not postmortem lividity?" The mission coordinator asks.

"No." He turns toward the area where his car is parked. "No, this is different. That's six now. Six survivors of Raccoon City, all dead from the same thing." The scene switches to the inside of the car.

"Yeah, that's… not good."

"No… No, it's not." The car door opens, and the investigator gets into the car before closing it.

You lean in your seat, biting your bottom lip. God, his voice is so husky. You continue watching the cut scene, completely immersed and enamored by the sight of the man you will be playing as very soon, once the cut scene is over. The mission coordinator proceeds to give additional information to the mysterious man.

You already know who this mysterious man is behind the wheel. But when the bottom half of his face is shown in the rear-view mirror, you audibly gasp and continue to watch the cut scene, watching the man grab his gun and pop out the cylinder, spinning it around before popping it back in, while the mission coordinator continues to speak in his intercom.

The minute the game finally reveals Leon's face, you gasp. "Oh my—Leon, you're so handsome."

For about thirty seconds, Leon doesn't respond to the woman on the other end of his intercom. His eyebrows slightly furrow, his eyes scanning his surroundings. Did he just hear someone else's voice? It's certainly not the mission coordinator. What the hell?

"You there, Leon?" The mission coordinator asks, bringing him out of his thoughts.

Leon nods. "Yeah. I'm here."

"You okay?" Leon can hear the woman raise her eyebrows as she waits for his response.

Leon doesn't respond to her question. Leon glances in his rear-view mirror, checking to see if a random woman may have sneaked into his car, but he sees no one. Leon pushes the start button of his Porsche Cayenne Turbo GT, and the black luxury car purrs to life.

"Send me the address," Leon says, putting his car in reverse and turning halfway. "I'll check it out." Leon puts his gearshift into drive before he drives off into the night.

You stare at the dark screen after watching Leon's car disappear into the night—your mouth agape. You're so glad that you spent $69.99 for this game. You could spend additional money on the deluxe version, but you wanted to finish the game first before deciding whether a deluxe version is worth buying.

You end up playing the game for a little over an hour. You're now on Grace's part of the game, where you need to find a screwdriver for the fuse box in Rhodes Hill Chronic Care Center. You didn't know what got into you when you chose to play the standard classic mode rather than casual or standard modern mode.

"God, I'm so stupid. Why am I doing this to myself?" You mutter after Grace grabs the ink ribbon in the room that you unlocked with the Cherub Key. "Limited autosaves, and I need to save my gameplay wisely. Why did I choose this mode again?"

You're roaming around the area as Grace—you're playing in first-person point of view—trying to gather the courage to go to the nursing station. It's so dark that you have to squint to see in the darkness. As much as you want to change the setting to make it a little brighter for you to see in the dark, where's the fun in that?

"It's okay! I can do this! Everything will be okay, and nothing will happen!" You try to give yourself a pep talk, having Grace walk to the nursing station with a tiny lighter in her hand, illuminating her path. Just as Grace approaches the door, a cut scene is triggered, and an infected corpse falls through the door, scaring both you and Grace.

Grace leans down and touches the corpse's neck. "He's dead." Grace states the obvious.

"I would hope so." You mutter, mentally preparing for what's to come.

After Grace moves the man's head, a large hand emerges from the darkness and grabs the infected corpse. Grace lets out a choked gasp, watching in horror as the grotesque monster brings the dead body up to her mouth and bites off the head.

Its eyes lock on Grace, mouth and teeth stained with blood, and it leans towards Grace. You flinch back from your monitor, questioning your choices on playing the game in the dead of night. After the cut scene ends, you immediately turn around and leave the nursing station with the monster at your (Grace's?) tail.

"Come on, come on, come on! Can you please run any faster, Grace?" You panic, shaking your legs as you run to the nearest room that has lights. When you successfully run to Room 203, you turn around to see the grotesque monster at the entrance of the room.

The monster steps into the room, causing Grace to fearfully yell out, "Don't come any closer!"

The monster's gray skin starts sizzling and burning from the lights in the room. It shrieks and steps outside the room. You and Grace watch the monster climb up a hole in the ceiling, leaving Grace alone at last. Just when you thought you were safe, the lights in the room went out, sending chills and shivers down your spine.

You run out of the room, heart pounding against your chest. After you make it back to the nursing station, you grab the med injector and start searching for the screwdriver for the fuse box. You can hear blood pounding in your ears, listening to Grace's shaky breath.

You search around the room and eventually have to move the cart. But before you do that, you move it slightly and open the locker to see a green herb.

"This could be useful," Grace mutters, grabbing it.

You climb onto the cart, grabbing the antique coin from the top of the locker before getting off. You grab the cart and start pushing towards the shelf where you spotted a red toolbox perched on top. Just as you're halfway to the shelf, a metal tray slides off the cart and clatters loudly to the ground, causing you and Grace to freeze momentarily.

You hear chains and shackles dragging on the floor, followed by heavy footsteps that are heading towards the nursing station where Grace is. Out of sheer panic, you grab the cart and move it closer to the shelf, ignoring the other items falling off and crashing to the ground.

You catch a glimpse of the creature through the window, slamming her hand against the glass while walking towards the nursing station. At this point, your heart is in your throat, and you're close to pausing the game and ending it there for the night, but the issue is that you still need to save the game, and if you don't, you have to redo where it last auto-saved.

Once the cart is close enough to the shelf, you climb onto it and grab the red toolbox, unlatching it and taking out the screwdriver. You sigh in relief, hopping off the cart and running to the nearest hiding spot. You extinguish the flames of Grace's lighter, staring at the door while listening to the monster getting closer to where you're having Grace hide.

The monster's hand suddenly appears, grabbing onto the doorframe before walking into the room. It sniffs the air, walking further into the room and looking around. It gets close to where the cart is and lets out a frenzied growl, swiping at the cart, causing it to fly to the desk. Grace whimpers.

You take it as a sign to start running. Before the mutated creature can turn and look in your and Grace's direction, you have Grace leave the hiding spot and start sprinting in the darkness. Since the creature turned the lights off in Room 203, you start running to the room where the typewriter sits. Before you pass the nursing station, the door bursts open, and the monster appears.

You briefly pause the game, staring at the menu in horror. Your heart is thudding painfully against your chest as you try to calm down. You lean back in your seat, heavily debating if you should just stop there.

"But I made so much progress. I have the screwdriver. I just need to find a way to get Grace to go around the monster, run to Room 201, get the fuse from the fuse box in that very room, and run to the other fuse box where I got the Cherub Key."

You take a deep breath and close your eyes. God, this is horrifying. Playing the game in first person point of view makes it even scarier than you anticipated. You give yourself a pep talk before unpausing the game. Grace cries out in fear, freezing in fear when the monster fully reveals itself in front of Grace.

You start mashing the buttons, begging for Grace to start moving or else she's dead. "Come on, come on, come on! We gotta go, or else we're next, Grace!"

As if she heard you, Grace turns around and starts running to the other entrance of the nursing station where the two of you came from. Grace hides near the desk in the nursing station, panting as the two of you wait and listen to the monster walk past the nursing station over and over.

"This is horrifying." You mutter, hands trembling on your mouse and keyboard. "Is the empty bottle even going to work in this situation?" You creep towards the door where the monster burst from, trying to see where it is.

You take the empty bottle out of Grace's inventory and aim for the furthest part of the hallway—close to where the plant was knocked over—and toss the bottle. The bottle shatters, grabbing the creature's attention. It shrieks and charges towards where the bottle landed, giving you and Grace a small window to escape your hiding spot.

You have Grace sprint to Room 201 as fast as she could, but it feels like Grace wasn't running at all from first person perspective. It feels more like a power walk rather than Grace running for her life. Halfway down the hallway, you and Grace hear the monster shrieking and charging towards where you're heading.

"Hurry, hurry!"

Grace pushes the door aside and makes it to the room where the typewriter sits. You sigh in relief, blood pounding in your ears. Grace takes a few steps towards where the fuse box is, only for the entire building to shake and the lights to flicker and turn off.

"We need to get that fuse and get the hell out of here as soon as possible," You say, making Grace go to the fuse box inside the closet. You unscrew the fuse box with the screwdriver, and Grace takes out the fuse, triggering a cut scene.

Grace stares at the fuse, "Alright," she mutters. Grace turns around, and just when she can leave the closet, you and Grace hear a faint thud coming above her. Grace gasps and looks up at the gaping hole in the ceiling of the closet in horror.

Grace takes a step back, eyes still locked on the hole. "Oh my god," Grace whispers.

The monster starts climbing into the room where Grace is, causing Grace to gasp and start panicking. The cut scene suddenly ends, and now you find yourself forcing Grace to turn around and make a run for it to the fuse box where the Cherub Key was located.

The lights shatter, and the building rumbles as Grace runs through the dark hallways of Rhodes Hill Chronic Care Center. When you press 'F' at the fuse box, a cut scene is triggered, showing Grace shoving the fuse into the fuse box, pressing the button, and quickly looking back as the security gate slowly pulls up.

You watch Grace drop to the ground and quickly crawl underneath the moving gate. "Come on, come on, come on, come on, come on!" Grace pleads as she crawls through the gate, and the monster appears where Grace came from. You collapse in your seat, sighing in relief, happy that you have gotten through the first (among many) difficult parts of the game.

The monitor goes black before switching to another cut scene—but it starts with showing Leon's Porsche driving through the gate of Rhodes Hill Chronic Care Center and to the front. Leon exits the car, and you gasp in awe, completely enamored by the mere sight of Leon S. Kennedy.

"God, he looks so good." You whisper breathlessly as you watch him walk to the door of the facility after closing the car door. "Why can't you be real?" You lament, resting your chin on your knees as you continue watching the cut scene unfold.

Leon stands in the central hall, his eyes scanning his surroundings. It's quiet, too quiet. But despite how quiet it is in the facility, Leon still hears the same voice he heard earlier near the crime scene he left before arriving at the sanatorium. Maybe he's going crazy, and the side effects of the T-virus are starting to get to him.

You watch the nurse appear behind Leon, calling out to him and informing him that Dr. Gideon was expecting him.

"Funny. I don't remember getting an invitation," Leon's sarcastic response makes you snort, shaking your head. Leon hears the faint snort, the corners of his lips barely curving up into a smile.

The nurse continues speaking to Leon, telling him that Dr. Gideon is waiting for him. Leon soon follows after the nurse as she guides him to who knows where. The cut scene continues a little longer, only for the nurse to lead Leon to the rehabilitation ward. The door closes behind Leon, making him turn around. Then the cut scene ends there, and now you're in control of Leon.

You don't move Leon, watching him on the screen and admiring his design. God, the developers at Capcom really went all out for Leon. You spin the camera around, continuing to admire him. Leon looks around the facility, wondering why he couldn't move despite trying to. It's like he's locked in place until someone commands him to move. The nurse is waiting at the end of the hallway, waiting for him to follow.

"Okay, I need to get moving and stop getting easily distracted by Leon," You say to yourself, finally controlling Leon's movements and proceeding to follow the nurse as Leon.

The nurse explains about the facility and what they do at the sanatorium as both Leon and the nurse continue walking down the hall. Leon has no idea where the nurse is leading him, and neither do you, but judging by the map, it's probably to your (mainly Leon's) doom.

"The facility keeps a low profile due to the sensitive nature of the research," The nurse says, walking to the rehabilitation center of the facility.

"Oh, I bet it does," Leon replies, as he follows the nurse throughout the facility.

You hum, eyebrows furrowing at the conversation between Leon and the nurse of the strange facility. "That's something someone suspicious would say," You mutter, face scrunching up. You're so glad that you haven't dealt with any horrors as Leon just yet. "You have a mutated monster stomping around your facility right now, too."

Leon raises his eyebrows at your comment, still questioning if he's going crazy. Leon glances around, then at the nurse, but she doesn't seem to notice anything strange—or hear a woman's voice for that matter—and continues making her way to the room at the end of the rehabilitation ward. Once Leon gets closer to the room and the nurse, a new cut scene starts for you.

You yawn, stretching in your seat, watching the nurse leave Leon alone in the room and closing the door behind her as she leaves. The camera zooms in on Leon, making your face scrunch up.

"God, this Dr. Gideon guy is way more obsessed with Leon than I am," You comment, watching Leon peek at every little thing in the room.

Leon raises his eyebrows at your comment. "Almost as you are? What do you mean by that?" Leon wants to ask. Instead, Leon chooses to stay silent, as saying things out loud would earn weird looks from whoever passes by the room he's in, or could land him in this exact facility.

Little did you know, Leon's searching around for where the voice is coming from. The woman's voice is loud and clear to him, and yet he sees no one. He's alone in this room, but he's been hearing voices in his head every now and then. The voice comes and goes, gushing over him and his skills; other times, the same voice would chime in after someone—who's conversing with Leon—says something.

Leon rests against the desk, reaching for the photograph of Victor Gideon and his medical team that runs the facility. Leon subconsciously furrows his eyebrows as he scrutinizes the image in his hand before setting it back down where he found it. Leon checks the time on his watch, his expensive watch appearing on your monitor.

"That looks expensive, but I shouldn't be surprised. You drive a Porsche Cayenne Turbo GT—that's probably the most expensive thing I've seen you own." You comment, watching the time tick away on Leon's watch.

Much to your disappointment, the cut scene soon comes to an end after the nurse is killed by the chainsaw-wielding doctor. You're soon in control of Leon again and have to kill every infected person in the surrounding area with a chainsaw, which you're not a fan of.

"This thing is a bit hard to wield around. It kind of slows me down, and after Leon plunges the chainsaw into a zombie, I would need to retrieve it again from said zombie…" You sigh, shaking your head. "Oh, shit." The chainsaw drops to the ground and starts spinning out of control.

You force Leon out of the way, trying to avoid getting hit by the out-of-control chainsaw. A zombie nurse charges at Leon with her arms outstretched, trying to grab him. You try shooting the nurse with the requiem gun, but miss.

"Fuck. My aim is atrocious. I am so sorry, Leon. You're supposed to be cool, but I'm making you look like an amateur loser." You frown.

Leon frowns. "Amateur loser? Who are you calling an amateur loser?" Leon mouths to himself, continuing to aim his gun at the infected nurse.

You try shooting the nurse as she gets closer to Leon, but before you can shoot, the nurse lunges at Leon. You let out a choked gasp, assuming Leon is done for, but he ducks underneath the nurse's grasp and shoots her at the back of the head, blood spewing all over the place when her head explodes.

"Whoa!" You gasp, eyes wide in awe. "How did you do that?!" You exclaim, pausing briefly to look at what buttons you've pressed, but you're too busy mashing different buttons to know the actual controls of the dodge he just did.

You unpause the game. "Leon, can you do that again?" You ask yourself, shooting every zombie that's charging at Leon at full speed. How the hell did you do that again? You really need to know what the controls are, or else you won't be able to pull that cool move ever again.

As more zombies emerge from the other rooms in the rehabilitation ward, you shoot every zombie in the head successfully despite having bad aim. An infected doctor lunges at Leon, causing you to panic momentarily, miss your shot, and giving the zombie an opportunity to grab onto Leon and bite down on his shoulders.

"Ah, fuck! I'm so sorry, Leon!"

Leon cries out in pain as he thrashes around, trying to get the zombie to release. You press on your mouse frantically, watching Leon's health bar rapidly deplete at a dangerous pace, the longer the zombie bites down on Leon's shoulders. Leon reaches for his hatchet and attacks the zombie, causing it to back away.

"I really need to learn how to properly parry and aim." You grumble, aiming Leon's requiem gun at the zombie and shoot, only to miss again. "Man, I'm making Leon look uncool, what the fuck."

The zombie lunges at Leon again, and before you can panic, Leon dodges under the zombie's arm and shoots it at the back of its head. The adrenaline dies down, and Leon is left alone in the rehabilitation ward, surrounded by headless zombies.

The only sounds you hear are the sounds of the chainsaw and Leon's heavy breathing, his health bar yellow rather than green. Before escaping the ward, you have Leon search around the room for a healing item. You could use the green herb in your inventory, but it's not enough to fully heal Leon.

"It's okay, Leon! You're going to be okay! You're not going to die under my watch, no matter how bad I am with aiming and parrying." You reassure the DSO agent, picking up the mixed herbs from the glass cabinet that Leon broke. After picking up the mixed herbs, you immediately use them, watching Leon's health bar slightly go up.

You continue playing the game until almost four in the morning, only having to end your gameplay after Leon's cut scene with Victor Gideon after your Mom peeks into your room, scaring the shit out of you.

"Why are you still awake?!" Your Mom asks, staring at you in horror.

You point at your monitor, a cut scene of Leon tied up to a chair playing on your screen. Your Mom peeks at your computer and sighs, shaking her head before leaving your room, muttering under her breath about how you need to stop staying up so late.

You turn back to your monitor, taking multiple screenshots of Leon tied to the chair while Victor Gideon is almost sweet-talking to the DSO agent. You stare at Leon in awe, mouth agape. The side view of Leon on? Whew! His biceps are looking extra delicious.

You bite your bottom lip. "God, I would love to sink my teeth into those biceps of his." You lean back in your seat, groaning. "The ladies at Capcom did a fantastic job at designing Leon."

You watch Victor Gideon touch Leon, almost oh-so intimately. The way his gray fingers brush the strands of Leon's brown and silver hair. Ugh. You're so envious of Victor's privilege to even be in the presence of Leon Kennedy. You make sure to take multiple screenshots of Leon—frame by frame.

Leon can hear the camera shutters, raising an eyebrow. It's strange how Victor Gideon is touching him, and yet this voice in his head is swooning over him being tied up and touched by the former T-Virus researcher. Of course, he doesn't hear you mention a single thing about Victor, only about wanting to sink your teeth into his (your words, not his) beefy biceps.

"I don't like how he's touching you, Leon. He's practically fondling you." You grumble. "I should be the one to do that, not him. Just like how I should be the one to lunge at you and sink my teeth into your biceps, not those greedy zombies."

The camera cuts to Leon looking down while Victor Gideon softly says, "Are the answers to your disease here?" after pulling down Leon's shirt collar. Victor leans down, his face not far from Leon's. "Yes…." Victor whispers.

Leon flinches, his face pinching up with disgust. "You know, I do have a question," Leon says, looking at Victor, deadpanned. "When was the last time you brushed your teeth?"

Leon hears immediate laughter coming from you after asking. Leon's tempted to laugh as well, but because of the predicament he's in, he doesn't smile. The smile on Victor's face slips off, and he backs away from Leon and takes a few steps in front of Leon.

Mechanical whirring can be heard from Leon's end as Victor stares at him, zooming in on his face and his eyes. You take a quick screenshot, thanking Victor for being oddly meticulous when it comes to Leon. If it weren't for Victor, you wouldn't have a lot of screenshots of Leon added to your new collection.

The cut scene soon ends with you taking over fifty screenshots (you're pressing down on the screenshot button, taking screenshots of every frame), and you find yourself back in control of Leon. You frown, letting out a wistful sigh. "I'm going to need to find a stopping point and go to bed. Let's trigger an auto save somewhere, and I'll continue when I wake up." You say to yourself.

You make it to where Leon needs to go and stop in front of a metal cabinet storage that's blocking a doorway. You poke the inside of your cheek with your tongue, approaching said cabinet storage with a cheeky smile. Oh, you are going to enjoy this!

You press 'F,' and Leon starts lifting the cabinet to move it out of the way, his biceps and back muscles flexing as he lets out a grunt. Before Leon successfully moves the cabinet out of the way, you suddenly release the 'F' key.

"Oh, fuck, my hands slipped." You say to no one.

It's a good thing Leon's back is facing your monitor because if it were facing his direction, you would've seen an eye roll from him along with a shy smile. Leon knows what you're doing; he's not stupid. You press the 'F' key again, watching Leon lift the cabinet, his biceps flexing underneath that tight shirt of his. Again, before Leon can fully move the obstacle out of the way, you release the keys.

You huff. "Man, my keyboard is messed up. I really need to get a new one because for some reason, it's not lasting long," You say with a shit-eating grin on your face. "I have a bad feeling that this keyboard is going to give me… issues the longer I play this game with a broken keyboard."

"Oh, yeah?" Leon mutters, shaking his head with a small smirk, his shoulders shaking from his quiet laughter. He can get used to hearing your commentary while he's handling the shit show that's happening at Rhodes Hill Chronic Care Center.

Finally, after some time, you finally have Leon move the metal cabinet, relishing in the sight of his muscles flexing underneath his shirt, and the sound of his grunts as he does so. Leon S. Kennedy, the man that you are! The autosave button appears in the top left corner of the screen, signaling you to go to bed.

With a heavy heart, you bid Leon goodnight—as if he could hear you—before pausing and exiting the game. You plop onto your bed after the game closes and roll on your bed, eyelids feeling heavy after staring at your monitor for who knows how long. You close your eyes and drift into a dreamless sleep.

A few hours into your sleep, you wake up to the feeling of your bedroom shaking, forcing yourself to crack your eyes open briefly and stare up at the ceiling, still groggy from your slumber. You rub your eyes, mumbling to yourself, and turn over on your right side before going back to sleep. Earthquakes are common, so waking up to one isn't out of the ordinary. Nothing seems out of the norm, but little did you know, this isn't any other earthquake you've dealt with in the past.

That is, until you wake up to someone shaking you nonstop. "Hey, can you hear me? Wake up!" The voice says as the shaking continues.

You groan, trying to turn over and ignore whoever is shaking you. "Not now." You mumble, eyebrows furrowing.

Whoever is shaking you is very persistent, as they continue to do something to try to rouse you from your sleep. The person starts lightly patting your cheek, muttering about how you need to wake up and stop ignoring them. You finally crack your eyes open after a while, vision blurry from your sleep. A blurry face is hovering above yours, but as your vision gradually clears up, your heart nearly falls into your ass.

"Leon?" You whisper in disbelief, mind still foggy from your sleep.

Leon chuckles, sighing in relief. "Hey, Sleeping Beauty. Good to see those eyes of yours," Leon says, his eyes scanning the littlest details on your face. "I was worried you weren't going to wake up, but it seems like you're not a morning person, huh."

You don't respond to Leon as you slowly reach up and cup his face with both your hands, still trying to comprehend what's happening. Surely this is a dream, right? You did play Resident Evil Requiem for hours before going to bed, and Leon's the last thing you were thinking about before drifting to sleep.

"This is the most vivid dream I have ever had," You mutter, still holding Leon's face in your hands. "Man, it's going to be so disappointing when I wake up."

Leon stares down at you, confused. "What are you talking about?"

You shake your head, head falling to the side before sighing sadly. "This is the best dream I've ever had, and yet I'm going to get a rude awakening very soon once this ends." You lament.

"Aw, man. I think you hit your head pretty hard when you fell," Leon mutters, feeling around your head for a possible concussion.

You blink at Leon. "Of course, I fell for you. Who wouldn't fall for you?"

Leon shakes his head, the corner of his lips curling up. Despite everything, you still manage to be a sweet talker, much to Leon's amusement. Then again, you do think that this is all a dream. Leon's fingers brush a certain area on your head, earning a hiss from you. "I can feel a goose egg forming."

Now that your mind clears up and you're more awake than you were, you come to the realization that Leon is cradling you in his arms—his beefy arms. Wait, that means that his bicep is your pillow. You rub your eyes again, sitting up and looking around to see that you're not in your room. This dream is a bit too realistic for your liking, because why are you in the attic of Rhodes Hill Chronic Care Center?

Panic hits you like a train. Your head snaps towards Leon's direction. "This is a dream, right? I'm still asleep in my bed, right?" You start pinching yourself, but nothing is happening. "Oh, my god. This can't be real. This has to be a dream."

Leon doesn't say anything. Instead, he continues to stare at you, taking in every detail of your face, your hair, and your clothes. The longer Leon listens to you ramble, the more he realizes something.

His eyes light up. "You're the voice I've been hearing," Leon says, his arm still holding you up.

His comment makes you go silent. "Pardon?" You press your lips into a thin line. "What do you mean?"

Leon's lips curl up into a smile, shaking his head. "I don't think now is a good time to tell you when you're having an inner turmoil."

Maybe a hug will help you calm down a little, but given the things he heard you say a few hours before your arrival, it probably won't help. But it won't hurt to try, right? Leon pulls you into his arms, hugging you. Your cheek is cushioned against his chest, his beefy arms around your torso, and his chin is resting atop your head.

You wrap your arms around Leon's neck, feeling yourself melting in his arms. God, it feels so nice to hug him. You can't describe what it's like to hug Leon, but you can live in his arms if it's possible. You and Leon sit like that for a while. It doesn't feel weird or uncomfortable to be hugging someone you don't know—a fictional one, to be specific.

It's comforting and gives you a small window to collect your thoughts. You went to bed, but woke up to an earthquake before falling back asleep. Then you're roused from your sleep by Leon, who claimed that you hit your head when you fell. This is all so strange.

"How the hell did I get isekai'd into Resident Evil Requiem? I didn't get hit by a truck." You mutter to yourself, but it's loud enough for Leon to hear.

Leon raises his eyebrows, leaning down to look at your face from the side. "What does 'isekai' mean? And what do you mean by getting hit by a truck?" God, the creases between his eyebrows are so cute. You'd love to smooth the wrinkles over with your fingers.

"I will explain that to you after you tell me what you meant by 'you're the voice I've been hearing,'" You reply, looking up at him.

Leon stares at you for a moment, chuckling to himself. "Alright, alright, I'll tell you what I meant when I said that," Leon caves in.

Leon's not sure if he should look forward to your reaction after he explains everything to you. But hey, you did say that you want him to explain what he meant by what he said, so who is he to deny you? As Leon explains everything, he watches your reaction and body language closely.

The way your face fell was both comical and endearing because now you're covering your face out of sheer embarrassment, but you didn't cover your ears, letting him know that you're still listening despite your reaction. By the time Leon is done explaining, he has a wide smile on his face, the crow's feet at the corner of his eyes becoming noticeable.

You take a deep breath, trying not to have a mental breakdown after hearing Leon's explanation. "You heard everything." You say. Suddenly, you feel faint, but you can't faint in front of Leon. You can't embarrass yourself in front of Leon for the umpteenth time in a row.

Leon nods, still smiling. "That is correct."

"My cursing whenever you get bitten by a zombie."

"You curse like a sailor, but also like a child who was granted permission to curse by her parents." He replies.

You immediately protest. "What! No, I don't!" Do you? Man, this just keeps getting worse and worse for you. "… You also heard my thirst over your…"

"Beefy biceps, me using my hatchet to crack open a warped door, and you claiming that your keyboard is broken when I need to move the fallen metal cabinet in front of a doorway. I can go on, but I'm afraid that you'll have a heart attack if I continue." Leon says.

You hug your knees to your chest. At this point, you're more likely to die from embarrassment than from a zombie bite. You didn't know that Leon can hear everything you say! Does that mean Grace and Victor hear the things you say, too?

You peek at Leon, "Please tell me that no one else hears the things I say." You whisper.

Leon gives your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "You don't need to worry about that. As far as I know, I was the only person who heard your voice. It doesn't seem like Victor heard your voice, and as for that FBI agent—Grace Ashcroft, I'm not entirely sure."

After Leon's explanation, you choose to stay quiet. There's no need for you to embarrass yourself again in front of Leon, right? Leon checks his watch, and when he looks up, you're staring at him with stars in your eyes. Leon is even more beautiful in person. His hair looks so soft and healthy for someone who bleaches his hair often. God, the stubble… You love the scratchiness of it when you cupped his face in your hands.

Leon doesn't say anything; instead, he lets you do what makes you happy and stay sane. His eyes are blue, but they're not nearly as blue as it was when he was in his early twenties. Maybe they're still the same blue, but you would need to get a closer look at it—if he catches your drift.

"I love how you kept your signature hairstyle after all these years…" You murmur, leaning side to side as your eyes continue taking in every detail of him.

"Now it's your turn to explain to me what 'isekai' means," Leon comments, crossing his arms over his chest.

You quickly glance at Leon's bulging biceps before looking back at him innocently. His biceps looked at you first, so it's only fair for you to look at them in return. "Where do I start…" You trail off, tapping on your chin.

So you start explaining to Leon what isekai means, giving him a rundown on it, its origins, and how there's a handful of animated shows (specifically anime) that have this concept. Leon is intrigued, but also confused. The look of confusion on Leon's handsome face is cute. His eyebrows are furrowing, his head tilting to the side while not taking his eyes off of you for one bit.

You subconsciously reach forward and gently press on the space between his eyebrows, smoothing the creases between his brows. Man, even Leon has soft skin for someone who goes through hell. You meet Leon's eyes, causing you to quickly retract your hand before apologizing sheepishly.

"After explaining to me what 'isekai' meant, it makes sense. Is there a way for you to return to your world?" Leon asks.

You frown dramatically. "Aw, you want to return me to sender already? I'm hurt." You joke, clutching your chest playfully. "I thought you would enjoy my company after going through the horrors of having to deal with Victor Gideon caressing you lovingly."

You turn around and face the wall, pretending to be offended by what he asked. Leon shudders at the memory of Victor's fingers brushing through his hair, fingers ghosting over the dark blotches on his neck after lowering the collar of his shirt. That is not a pleasant memory, and he certainly wishes he could erase it.

"Your presence is a breath of fresh air. I'm merely asking because I don't think you would want to stay and deal with what's waiting for us," Leon replies, reaching forward and grabbing your forearm and turning you around to face him.

You can just melt in his arms right now. You've imagined this very moment, but in a different scenario. Leon Kennedy grabs your arm to stop you from leaving, gazing at you with those dazzling blue eyes of his, his eyebrows knitting together as he pleads for you not to leave. And the way he says it? It'll be soft, making you weak at the knees.

"By the way, you never introduced yourself. You know my name, but I don't know yours." Leon adds, pulling you out of your thoughts.

Your eyes widen. "Oh, crap! You're right! How could I forget?" You smack your forehead before introducing yourself to Leon. After telling Leon your first and last name, Leon stares at you while muttering your full name to himself. Heat rushes to your face the longer he does it.

After what feels like forever, Leon smiles and nods. "Your name suits you. I like it. Your parents must've put a lot of thought and love into naming you."

You stare at Leon, mouth agape. Why did he have to say that? Leon raises an eyebrow at you, smiling in amusement. Without saying anything, you cover your face with both hands as heat continues rushing to your face. This man can effortlessly make you blush like a schoolgirl.

You groan behind your hands. "What are you doing to me?! It's not fair. You know you have this effect on me! Damn you, Leon Scott Kennedy!" You whine.

If only you could evaporate right now. Maybe Leon was up to something when he asked if there was a way for you to return to your world, because how much longer can you handle being in the presence of Leon S. Kennedy? The only thing you hear is laughter coming from Leon—his laugh is soft, very gentle. You peek between your fingers to see him shaking his head, a wide smile on his face as he gazes at the wooden floor.

Realization hits you. You're so fucked. There's not a single man in your life—real and fictional—who has made you feel this way before. Until Leon S. Kennedy happened. You love every version of Leon, but there's something about forty-nine-year-old Leon Kennedy. Aside from his looks, there's something that makes you feel so warm and gooey inside when he shows up on your screen.

You look at an imaginary camera, hands falling on your lap before sighing. "I'm so fucked." You whisper, shaking your head in disbelief. "Okay, let's kill some zombies and get the hell out of here."

You push yourself off the ground, feeling around for the so-called goose egg Leon felt on your head, while Leon gets off the ground and brushes the dust off his ass. Leon grabs your wrist, preventing you from finding this goose egg. You look at Leon, frowning.

He wags his pointer finger at you, shaking his head. "Don't search for it."

"Fine." You mumble, lowering your arm, but Leon doesn't let go of your wrist.

You blink at him, looking back and forth from your hands to Leon's face. Leon doesn't say anything and starts looking for an exit with you in tow, his hand still wrapped around your wrist. You will take that as a win because Leon is holding your hand, kind of! You peek at Leon and wiggle your wrist to hold his hand.

You and Leon soon come across the familiar metal cabinet that's blocking the entrance. Your heart nearly sinks into the pit of your stomach when you realize what you're about to face soon. This is strange; you could've sworn that you moved the cabinet before ending the game right there.

"Step back. I don't want you to get hurt." Leon says, gently nudging you to the side, and starts lifting the cabinet.

You press your lips into a thin line and cover your mouth, watching his back muscles and biceps flex under the fabric of his shirt. Leon grunts and starts lifting the metal cabinet. You bite your lower lip, enticed by what you're seeing and hearing.

After a few minutes, Leon successfully moves the cabinet out of the way. He fixes his shirt before pulling out his gun from the holster. Leon turns to you to see you staring at him in a daze, earning an eyebrow raise and smirk from him. You quickly snap out of it, acting like you weren't ogling him just now.

"So, do I follow you into that room or do I wait out here until you finish your, uh, duty?" You ask, rubbing the back of your neck.

You don't know how much has changed since your sudden arrival in this universe, but you're hoping it's not much change, but who knows?

Leon holds his hand out and gestures for you to follow him. "I'm not leaving you behind, are you crazy?"

"For you? Yes." Is your automatic response. You slap your hand over your mouth and squeeze your eyes shut. "I mean, let's go and get this over with!" You say, grabbing his hand and walking through the entrance with Leon in tow.

You're always amazed by your ability to humiliate yourself. This has got to be a new record for you. Once you and Leon step through that door, everything shifts. The atmosphere, the mood, the air, and the sound. You hear squelching coming from the other side of the room.

Think of someone chewing with their mouth open, but multiply that by a thousand. That's how loud it is in person. The squelching is accompanied by deep rumbles. You and Leon trade looks with each other before slowly making your way through the room, making sure Leon picks up ammo for his guns.

Leon stops in his tracks, holding his arm out in front of you before looking over his shoulder at you. "You're going to have to trust me on this, alright?" Leon murmurs.

You look at him, confused. "What are you planning? Should I be worried?" You whisper.

Leon doesn't respond and continues walking towards where the disturbing sound is coming from. You swallow the lump in your throat when you eye the grotesque creature towering over a dead body, feasting on its rotting flesh. The smell is rancid, making your stomach churn.

You grip the back of Leon's shirt, lightly tugging it. "How can you handle a smell like that when you're dealing with these things?" You mutter to him, tempted to bury your face into his back to block out the smell of decomposition and blood.

"When you're constantly out on the field dealing with these things, you'd get used to it."

You raise an eyebrow at his response. "But you recoiled when you caught a whiff of Victor's breath." You point out.

Leon snorts. "Smelling rotting flesh and bad breath are two different things. Besides, who knows how long it's been since he has brushed his teeth?"

"Can't argue with that."

You continue following Leon around the room while he collects ammo for his guns, occasionally peeking from behind him to get a look at the mutated being. For something that large, you're shocked that it hasn't heard you and Leon walking around the vicinity.

"Do you trust me?" Leon asks suddenly, turning towards you.

You falter. "Uh, yes, I do trust you—even though we met not long ago. I'm surprised you trust me despite the things I put you through." You refer to your failed aiming and parrying before you were isekai'd into Resident Evil Requiem.

Leon chuckles, shaking his head. "Of course, I trust you. You're the only one who kept me sane at the start of this shit show." Leon replies.

Leon turns around and aims his gun at the ravenous, mutated creature and shoots it in the head with his shotgun. You flinch at the sound, gripping his shirt hard as you watch the creature stop munching on the corpse and turn towards your and Leon's direction.

Fueled by rage and anger, the chunky zombie roars. "Food! Food! Food!" He growls, getting ready to charge towards you and Leon.

"Hope I'm not next," Leon mutters.

Before you can say anything, Leon quickly turns around, grabs you by the waist, and tosses you over his shoulders before making a run for it. Upside down, you wrap your arms around his waist, whimpering as the monster gets closer to you and Leon. You certainly didn't sign up for this when you got isekai'd, but hey, you didn't sign up to be isekai'd in general!

"Leon! He's getting closer!" You whimper, patting his lower back.

Leon loads his shotgun, making sharp turns to avoid getting grabbed by the ravenous creature. Leon picks up a med injector from a wall that was broken by the monster, along with the shotgun shells and handgun ammo. Leon quickly grabs onto the ladder and climbs up. You nearly flip over if it weren't for Leon's quick reflexes and your iron grip around his waist.

"Are you sure I'm not getting in the way?" You ask, lifting your head to look at Leon. "I feel like I'm adding more weight on you. Metaphorically and literally."

Leon pats the back of your thighs. "You're fine, you're not getting in the way or adding weight on me," Leon reassures you.

Leon quickly puts you down on the platform, fixes his gear, and gestures for you to get on his shoulders by squatting in front of you. You climb over Leon, stomach resting on his shoulders, while your arms are wrapped around his waist. Leon wraps one arm over the back of your thighs, checking to see where the mutated monster is.

On cue, the chunky mutated monster, which you found out is named Timothy from the note Leon read to you, appears at the bottom of the platform. Timothy growls and tries reaching for you and Leon, but Leon shoots him in the face with his shotgun, but Timothy's not phased by it.

Timothy starts climbing up the platform, causing you to involuntarily flinch. "Leon…" You plead, patting Leon's thighs. "We need to move, or else we will be on Timothy's menu!"

Leon tightens his grip on your legs. "Brace yourself."

Before you can process what Leon's doing, you suddenly feel airborne. Your heart is in your throat as you cling to Leon for dear life. Leon lands on the ground with a grunt and shoots Timothy a few more times before making a run for it, loading his shotgun.

The chase lasted five more minutes because Timothy was very motivated to get both you and Leon. Finally, Timothy stops, and blood starts spewing out of the holes and gashes on his body that he received from the shotgun shells and Leon's hatchet.

While Timothy is gushing all over the place, Leon walks to the other end of the room to collect extra items that are lying around before putting you back on the ground once Timothy explodes. You brush off your clothes and turn to Leon, propping your hands on your hips and watching him reload his shotgun before switching to his other handgun.

"You know, when I said that I wanted to be manhandled by you, this isn't what I imagined." You comment.

Leon shakes his head, chuckling. "Don't worry, there will be plenty of time for that. Come on, let's get out of here." Leon gestures for you to follow him as he walks towards the door where the rotting corpse—Timothy's final meal—is lying.

You stare at Leon, mouth agape. What does he mean by that?! Wait, Leon is probably implying other boss fights that are waiting for both you and Leon. You really need to get your head out of the gutter. You follow behind Leon, shuddering when you step in the pool of blood that was once Timothy.

Leon grabs the hand grenade from the puddle of blood and continues walking to the exit. Finally, you and Leon will get to leave this place and face more horrors waiting for both of you. Leon unlatches the door and pushes it open, occasionally looking over his shoulder to make sure you're still following him.

You and Leon come across a wooden closet with a warped door. Leon walks to it, grabs his hatchet, lodges it between the doors, and starts prying them open. You bite your bottom lip, watching his biceps flex as he tries to open it. Once the door bursts open and Leon grabs whatever is inside, you look away, trying to act like you weren't drooling over him.

"Ready to go?" Leon asks, turning to you as he puts the mod on his handgun.

You nod, tucking your hair behind your ear. "Yeah! Are you ready to go?" You ask, looking at him from the corner of your eyes.

"Of course, I am. I'm always ready." Leon says softly, walking past you while gently nudging you to follow him by patting your lower back.

You bite the inside of your cheek, screaming internally. You really need to get yourself together because you're acting like a cat in heat. Leon pushes the red button, and the attic opens; the metal ladder slides down, and Leon starts climbing down.

Once Leon gets off the ladder, you start climbing down, shuddering when you see the amount of blood in the office. The whole time while you're climbing down the ladder, Leon's keeping an eye out while holding out his hands to catch you just in case you slip. You step into the puddle of infected blood, groaning with disgust.

"You'd get used to it," Leon says. "Come on, we need to find Victor Gideon's office."

You follow Leon out of the Chairman's office, on edge about whether zombies are roaming around or not. You don't think there's any zombies roaming around cause you killed most of them when you were playing as Grace. You come across another warped closet outside of the Chairman's office, and you sit back and watch Leon do his thing.

"You're really enjoying this, aren't you?" Leon asks, turning to you after taking the handgun ammo and shotgun shells.

You look at Leon, flabbergasted. "Wha—is a lady not allowed to admire a total eye candy in front of her?" You huff, crossing your arms over your chest. "I have had enough of your teasing! Let's find Victor's office." You stick your nose in the air and walk towards the bar and lounge room.

Leon pinches the bridge of his nose, chuckling. "You truly do make this more entertaining than it should be."

The minute you walk into the bar and lounge room, a zombie in a white button-up starts contorting violently while screaming in agony. You walk backwards frantically, bumping into Leon as the zombie gets off the ground and his head morphs into something more horrifying.

"This place is infested," Leon mutters, shaking his head, and aims his gun at the blister head that's running towards both of you. Leon shoots, and the bullet penetrates the zombie's head, causing it to burst, and blood spews everywhere like a water fountain.

You sigh, turning to Leon. "Can you teach me how to shoot one day? You know, in case I have to fight for both of us."

Leon chuckles, shaking his head. "Of course. I can show you when we come across another zombie."

You and Leon continue searching for Victor's office. Instead of having you walk behind or in front of him, Leon makes sure you're by his side at all times because you'd never know when a zombie will sneak up from behind or jump out of nowhere.

As you're both walking up the stairs to the third floor of the sanatorium, you and Leon hear a faint beeping and gurgling from a zombie. Leon hands you his handgun and gestures for you to follow him quietly. Once the zombie is in your and Leon's line of sight, Leon quickly adjusts the gun in your hand, angling your arms a certain way.

"Make sure to have a firm grasp on the gun so it doesn't recoil and hit you in the face," Leon murmurs, his chest pressing up against your back. "Okay, now, you can either shoot the zombie or the red propane tank. I would go for the explosive canister because it's quicker, and who knows how many shots it'll take to kill the zombie."

Taking Leon's advice, you point the handgun towards the red gas tank and shoot. The red canister in the zombie's hand explodes, taking the zombie out with it. You tilt your head up and see Leon's smile as you lower the gun.

Leon pats your shoulders, "Not bad."

"But not good either." You pout dramatically. "Okay, let's go kick Victor Gideon's ass, Leon!" You grab his wrist and drag him up the stairs to another warped door—much to your delight.

Leon shakes his head as he pulls out his hatchet and starts prying the doors open. Once Leon successfully opens the door, you and Leon enter the room and look around to see many bodies with no heads. You immediately latch yourself against Leon, trembling as Leon picks up the paper on the ground.

"Burst their heads if you want to survive."

On cue, you and Leon hear the familiar screams of agony close to the entrance where you and Leon came. This is not what you expected when you got isekai'd into Resident Evil Requiem. Leon shields you from the blister head and starts shooting the head over and over until the zombie finally dies. He leads to the corner of the room where the other zombie lies and takes the shotgun shells and handgun ammo from the vase.

"Do you trust me?" Leon asks, loading his shotgun and handgun.

You nod. "Of course, I do." You answer.

"Good, cause you're going to need to trust me on this." Leon leans down and tosses you over his shoulders just when another blister head bursts through the door to the meeting room.

You squeeze your eyes shut and cling to Leon's torso as he shoots the blister heads and storms the meeting room, where another blister head is getting ready to charge at Leon. This is going to be a long night, and the worst thing is that you're not even sure if you'll return to your world after all this.

Note: I love how in almost every Leon fics I've typed out, I would be kicking my feet and twirling my hair cause I'm having the time of my life typing Leon fics. I completed insanity mode for RE9, and I feel like I've been through hell and back; I finished that game one minute faster than the standard classic mode, somehow. Every time I write a new Leon fic, I replay RE9 because I miss Leon and want to see him tied up. Anyway, to all my new and returning readers, keep in mind that I ONLY post on my Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and my AO3 (Aaliah_exo)! Nowhere else except Tumblr and AO3! Read more of my works on my Grand Masterlist, which contains every masterlist I have created! | Maybe support me by tipping me on Ko-Fi or by reblogging my fanfics! ^^ I will also be posting exclusive fanfics on Ko-Fi as well very soon! I might post all of my stories there, too, but who knows? You can also tip me on Tumblr if you'd like, as a way to show support! ^^ Join the Discord to get future fic updates and connect with other readers, maybe?:) Raccoon City Sanctuary

[midnightsummerrain]

Hiiii! I have never done this before, but I saw your requests open and I had to shoot my shot becuz 😍 I would like to request rookie Leon if that's possible? 🙈 I will give you the freedom to make their relationship whatever you want! But I'd love to read from you an inexperienced, shy, cutie patoot rookie x experienced and confident reader type of smut thing. I can't stop thinking about the blushy adorable guy gaining confidence via becoming a God in the sheets and that confidence rubs off in all other areas of his life and it's all thanks to the reader ooopsie 😊🤍

You're So Gorgeous

(RE2R Leon Kennedy x Female Reader)

Summary: Leon and you spend Friday night together in your shared apartment. What was planned as a cozy evening, soon turns into something spicier once Leon tries to make it up to you for being late.

A/N: Hello 🥰 Thank you for the request! I know it took me a while ehh but I enjoyed the writing process! Since I mostly write RE9 Leon, this was actually such a fun change. It really took me a while to switch from older Leon to young, sweet Leon lmao. He is too innocent and cute, I can’t!! Thank you for giving me this opportunity! I hope I portrayed him accurately. I would love to hear your thoughts on it. Please enjoy! So much Love, Shell xo 

Warnings: SMUT, MDNI, FLUFF, oral (male and female receiving), cowgirl position, kinda shy, adorably cute, inexperienced and needy Leon, Reader is a few years older than Leon

PS: Fic title once again inspired by Miss Swift, if you know you know hehe xo

Leon was just finishing up his latest report, typing away on his computer at his desk when Lieutenant Marvin Branagh entered the office.

“Rookie?”

“Yes, Sir?” Leon looked up from the screen, watching his superior walking over to him.

“You ready with that report?” Marvin asked, his gaze dropping to the opened file on Leon's desk.

“A few more minutes, then I am all done,” Leon explained, eager to finish that report as quickly as he could. Not only because he wanted to do a good job, but also because he knew you were waiting for him at home. It was past 10pm already, and he was the last one in his office, yet again.

Luckily, you had been very understanding for him and his job, never once complaining or blaming him for not having enough time for you.

Your relationship was different from the ones he had before. It felt more mature, more like something real. Something that’s gonna last. Or at least that’s what he hoped for.

As if reading his mind, Marvin’s gaze wandered over to the photograph of you and Leon that had been sitting on his desk for a while now. One of his friends had taken the photo after a night out together. You two were smiling at the camera like two lovesick idiots, so innocent, adorable, and almost cheesily cute. It wasn’t perfect, and maybe that was why it was one of Leon’s favorite pictures of the both of you.

“Is that your girlfriend?” He asked.

Leon smiled proudly. “Yeah. That’s my girlfriend. Been together for six months now."

Marvin raised an eyebrow. “The same time you started your job here?” He asked, a slight grin on his lips.

Leon laughed nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “That’s right. I guess I can call myself lucky,” he remarked, remembering the first time he’d met you.

It was after one very late shift at the RPD. Everything was closed down already, except for a small 24/7 diner in the city. A diner you would later officially refer to as “our diner”.

He was still wearing his uniform, completely worn out and exhausted from work. He just wanted to grab a quick dinner and then call it a night.

As fate would have it, you happened to be there as well, sipping on a cup of coffee in the middle of the night. You looked just as exhausted as him and still managed to give him a smile. A smile that would completely knock the breath out of his lungs, as well as making him go weak at the knees.

Normally he wasn’t the type to just hit on someone, especially not when still wearing his uniform, but he decided to give it a try.

It turned out you were into him as well, and yes, maybe him wearing the uniform did help a little, as you would later tell him. What started out as a few innocent dates with lots of laughter turned into a real relationship with deep feelings and trust.

Well, the rest was history.

“Alright. Finish the report and then you can go. It’s Friday evening, and I don’t want to keep you away from your girl,” Marvin chuckled, patting Leon on the shoulder before walking off. “Besides, I want to go home too. My wife and I want to watch the game together,” he laughed before closing the door behind him.

Leon smiled happily, looking one last time at the photograph before finishing the report.

Meanwhile, you were already at home in your shared apartment. It was small and cozy, perfect for the two of you. You were changing into something comfortable, throwing your work clothes into the laundry basket.

It was Friday evening, which meant it was pizza night. A little tradition you and Leon had established after you both agreed that none of you wanted to cook after the busy week.

"Babe, I’m home!” You heard Leon call from the hallway.

“Coming!” You called back, slipping into your shirt before running off to your boyfriend.

When he spotted you, his face instantly lit up, an adorable flush of redness covering his cheeks and neck. His soft hair was a little disheveled but in the cutest way, and you had to contain yourself from immediately running your hands through it. As much as you loved seeing him in his uniform, you almost preferred him like that. With just a simple shirt and jeans but still so breathtakingly good-looking.

“Hey, baby," he said softly, pulling you into his arms.

“Hey” You smiled as you cuddled up to him, inhaling his comforting scent. “You smell so so good,” you mumbled into his shirt.

You could feel the low rumble of his laugh vibrating through you, your head still on his chest. “Freshly showered just for you. Didn’t want to scare you off with the police station smell,” he teased.

You raised your head slightly to get a better look at him. “Would’ve cuddled you anyway,” you grinned.

“That’s what I hoped for." He leaned in for a gentle kiss, cupping your face in his hands. You returned his soft kisses, melting into his touch and holding onto his shirt. Making out with him always felt like something between sweet and spicy. You never knew in which direction it would lead.

After a few more moments of your lips dancing against each other, he pulled back slightly, looking down at you.

“I have a small surprise for you,” he noted.

“Oh?” You looked up at him, curiosity sparking in your eyes.

Surprises had become another tradition in your relationship. The two of you loved surprising the other with little gifts or acts of service in general, no matter how big or small. It had taken on a life of its own, you could say.

You followed his gaze and spotted a box of brownies sitting on the console table.

“Are those-“ You approached the small box, eyeing the delicious and moist-looking chocolate brownies waiting on the inside. “The chocolate brownies from ourdiner?” You asked excitedly.

He chuckled. “Yup. I preordered them during lunch break and picked them up after my shift. I thought that might be a good dessert for later." He smiled.

You gasped, a little choked up from this thoughtful and utterly sweet gesture. "Leon…thank you! That is so sweet of you!” You said, wrapping your arms around him again.

“No need to thank me,” he said with a soft expression on his face.

You gazed at him for a few seconds, grateful for this wonderful human being who had slipped into your life.

“You’re so gorgeous,” you whispered.

“Gorgeous?” He asked, the redness on his flushed skin deepening. A sheepish smile crossed his features as he scratched the back of his neck. A gesture he often did when he was getting a little flustered.

“Yes, you are,” you giggled, peppering his face with kisses, before taking his hand and guiding him to the kitchen, along with the brownies. You started rummaging through the kitchen drawers, looking for the delivery menu from your favorite pizza place.

“I am sorry for being so late again,” Leon mumbled, eyeing your movements.

“I told you, you really don’t need to be sorry. "I understand, Leon,” you smiled softly, looking back at him. He was always so worried about not being there enough for you, when in reality he had been nothing but a picture-perfect boyfriend to you.

Leon was four years your junior, which made him the youngest boyfriend you’d ever had. Initially, you’d believed that you needed someone older, someone with more experience, but over the years you’d come to the conclusion that this wasn’t the case. Men will be men, no matter the age. In the end, it always came down to what mattered the most: personality.

“I would still like to make it up to you,” he said, appearing behind you and putting his arms around your waist, his face nuzzling into your neck.

“Well, maybe I have an idea on how you could make it up to me,” you teased him, biting your lip slightly, which immediately got him flustered. You could hear it in the way he was taking in a deep breath, as if he were trying to build up the courage to act on it.

It was adorable to you how easy it was to get him worked up, even though he tried to hide it, of course. But there was one factor he couldn’t hide.

His hardening member pressed against your backside, fueling the excitement in your body that had started to build. He started kissing you along your neck, his hands wandering higher up to the curve of your breast. “Oh yeah?” He asked in a hushed voice.

He was needy. Very needy, but that didn’t bother you in the slightest. Having someone by your side who worshipped the ground you walked on, as well as your body, sure felt flattering and exciting.

Sex with Leon always felt new and refreshing, and what he lacked in experience, he made up for with attentiveness and care.

Your pleasure was always his top priority, so it wasn’t uncommon for you to talk a lot during sex. He always wanted to ask what you liked, what you needed, and what brought you the most pleasure, and you kind of enjoyed exploring new things together.

“I thought you wanted to order pizza," you whispered, eyes closed as his hands continued their exploration of your body. One hand was fondling your breast; the other was now on your ass, while his mouth was still busy caressing the warm skin on your neck.

“Right now, I want my beautiful girlfriend,” he mumbled, his voice muffled from kissing you. “Besides, you were the one who started it,” he continued.

You held back a chuckle. “It was just one sentence."

“Enough for me,” he said, groaning when you started pressing your ass onto his crotch. You slowly started grinding against his erection and let your head fall back against his chest. His fingers went under your shirt to get better access to your soft skin, toying with the lace fabric of your bra.

With one finger he slipped underneath, brushing over your nipples, which hardened under his touch.

“Leon,” you breathed, tilting your head slightly so you could kiss him.

“I’ve been thinking about you the whole day. Couldn’t get you out of my head,” he muttered between kisses, his touches slowly becoming more desperate as he groped your breasts.

“Oh yeah?” You asked with a hint of teasing in your voice. You wanted to hear more, so much more.

“Yeah. Had to even excuse myself to the bathroom,” he admitted, rubbing himself against your ass to get a little more friction. He could already feel a small, wet patch forming inside his boxers, clear evidence of how pent up he was.

You looked up at him. “Did you-“

“No,” he said quickly, shaking his head as if you’d asked the most disturbing question in existence. “No, I just needed a few minutes to cool down. Also, I didn’t really want the others to see my boner,” he chuckled.

Your innocent boyfriend, getting a hard-on just from thinking of you? You were sure this man was an angel sent from heaven.

“Well, I am sure I could help you out with that,” you hinted, slowly turning around so you were facing him.

His usually bright eyes turned a little darker at your words, his dick already throbbing for you.

“And how would you do that?” He asked. If you concentrated, you could hear the slight shiver in his voice.

Slowly, you let your hand drift along his upper body, feeling the muscles tense under his shirt. You stopped at the growing bulge and started palming him through his jeans.

"Mhm." He hummed, holding himself back from turning into a moaning mess from just one simple touch. He couldn’t deny, though, how much he loved it when you played with his cock.

“I could suck you off, do it with my hands, ride you, let you fuck me into the mattress,” you listed in a low, seductive voice, your hands still palming him.

He blinked a few times, gathering his breath. He clearly couldn’t concentrate anymore.

“Fuck, yes please…I-I mean sounds good to me,” he stammered, looking down. He was practically hypnotized by the way your hands worked their magic on him.

“Take me to the bedroom then,” you giggled.

He didn’t need to be told twice. While still making out, you made your way to the bedroom. The first few pieces of clothes were hastily taken off and scattered through your apartment while still kissing each other every chance you got.

Once you reached the small and dimly lit room, you gently pushed Leon towards the bed, making him sit down on the edge.

With your eyes still fixated on him, you slowly knelt down between his legs, now only dressed in your bra and panties. He looked at you like he couldn’t believe his eyes, his mouth slightly agape. You’d done that so many times before, but he would never get tired of this sight.

“You are amazing,” he murmured, letting his gaze wander over your breasts that were hugged perfectly by the sheer lace.

You remembered him getting it for you after a shopping trip together. You’d joked about trying on lingerie, and to your surprise, he was instantly hooked and practically dragged you to the next store. Initially, you’d thought he would be shy about it but it turned out he wasn’t anymore. With every new set you’d tried on, he looked more and more like a kid waiting to open their birthday presents.

You smiled at the memory, starting to trace your fingertips along his abs, seeing them tense the lower your fingers wandered.

Maybe it was just you being utterly and completely in love with him, but you were convinced this was the most handsome man you’d seen in your life.

Teasingly slow, you helped him out of his boxers, letting his rock-hard member spring free, right against his stomach.

You placed a kiss on the tip, smiling when you felt him twitch under your lips.

“Babe…”

“Hm?” You looked up with innocent eyes, watching his strained expression.

“Don’t tease me too much,” he muttered pleadingly.

“Mhm” You slowly leaned a little forward, licking a long stripe along his shaft, from bottom to the top. “Better?” You asked.

He groaned in frustration, and before he could state another complaint, you finally wrapped your lips around him and started bobbing your head up and down in a slow manner. You didn’t apply too much pressure just yet, letting him adjust to the feeling. One hand was placed on his thigh, while the other stroked the rest of his length that you didn’t fit in your mouth. Not yet.

“Fuck….babe…t-that… that feels so good,” he moaned, letting his head fall back. He was so worked up already from the beginning that it was getting increasingly difficult to keep himself from cumming in your mouth right then and there.

He placed one of his hands behind him on the bed for support, while the other tangled in your hair lovingly, guiding your movements just gently.

You swirled your tongue around his tip, continuing with your movements. Drool was already spilling from your mouth, making a mess on both you and him, but you knew how much he enjoyed it. The messier the better. His words. Not yours.

“You look so so good like that,” he praised as you looked up at him, mouth still full with his throbbing cock.

“Ahh…fuck” He whined whenever you were taking him extra deep, a skill he'd appreciated every time. He remembered the first time you'd done it, it had felt like his head was about to explode. And he'd gladly accepted his fate if that meant enjoying this feeling one last time.

“Holy shit…yes” He watched you through lidded eyes as you kept sucking him off, your cheeks hollowing out for a more intense feeling.

His thighs tensed, toes curling, as he felt the familiar tension returning to his abdomen.

You'd gotten to know the signs when he was close, so before you went any further, you decided to slow down a little to let him breathe.

“That is…god…amazing,” he stuttered, stroking through your hair while looking down at you lovingly.

You smiled at the compliment and licked your lips, tasting the lingering flavor of him.

“Anything for you,” you hushed, stroking over his thighs. “How about…I go on top tonight?” you asked after a few more moments.

You had tried out various positions before, but something about riding him while seeing his overwhelmed and blissed-out expression drove you completely wild.

He looked pleasently surprised at your bluntness, blinking a few times.

“Yeah, please! I'd love that,” he nodded eagerly. “But…I want to take care of you first, please,” he added in a quieter voice.

He loved going down on you, not only for your pleasure but for his own as well. He had to admit, hearing you screaming out his name, writhing in pleasure from his tongue, gave him an extra boost of confidence.

Also, if you'd started riding him now, he would have finished within 10 seconds, and he didn't want to risk that. Not tonight.

“Only if you want to,” you said, but you knew his answer already.

“I always want to taste you,” he said, gently helping you up and onto the bed. You felt yourself getting aroused at his words, growing undeniably wet by the minute. 

He helped you out of the rest of your clothes, admiring your bare body.

“You look so beautiful….wow.” The last words were coming out merely as a whisper. He had seen you naked many times before, but he'd never get bored of that view in front of him.

His hands started playing eagerly with your tits, massaging the soft flesh until he replaced one hand with his mouth.

He eagerly sucked on your already hardened nipples, groaning while doing so, while his other hand kept fondling your breast.

“Leon….yes,” you sighed, arching your back to give him better access.

His cock immediately twitched upon hearing his name falling from your lips. He mumbled something in between, which you couldn’t really tell with his mouth being stuffed full. By the way his erection was pressing against your thigh, you were sure it must have been something positive.

Once you lay down, he reached for your legs, opening them carefully to expose your glistening folds to him. He took a few seconds, looking in awe at your wet pussy, before burying his face between your thighs.

The first few times he'd gone down on you, he'd tried to do everything. His movements were everywhere, trying to lick, kiss, and finger all at once, at the same time.

It wasn’t bad per se, not at all, but it was a little eager. Maybe a little bit too eager even. He just didn’t know how to use his skilled tongue just yet. After directing him a little and explaining how you liked it better, he became a total pro, though, leaving you breathless every time. Just like now.

“You taste so so good,” he mumbled between licks, gripping onto your thighs to keep them open.

His flattened out tongue licked long stripes over your cunt, giving you the maximum amount of pleasure.

He occasionally looked up to your face, still licking over your wetness, trying to gauge your reactions. He wanted to study you, see what brought you the biggest pleasure.

Your clit pulsated with every lick, and the more pressure he applied, the wetter you became.

“Is that okay?” He asked, looking up from between your thighs with glistening lips.

“Yes, Leon. It’s perfect…please keep going,” you whispered, holding onto his soft hair, tangling your hands in it.

He smiled as you gently pressed him down again to where you needed him most, and he happily complied.

After a while he suddenly started sucking on your clit, causing a sudden and intense amount of pleasure spreading throughout your whole body.

You moaned, gripping his hair tighter, hips bucking against his mouth as he simultaneously started licking your clit.

“Leon oh god-“ Your climax was quickly approaching, making you feel like you were about to enter another dimension.

He alternated with the pressure of his hot tongue against you, all the while keeping a constant level of suction on your clit until your walls started to clench around nothing. You cried out in pleasure, feeling your orgasm washing over you.

Leon groaned against you, his cock throbbing in need as he heard your moans and whimpers. He licked you through your high, keeping a firm grip on your thighs as you rode against his face. The taste of your arousal sent another jolt of pleasure right to his cock, which was begging for more attention.

He watched as you came down from your orgasm, placing a few kisses along your inner thighs.

“Where did that come from?” You asked, breathing heavily, as you looked down at him still lying between your thighs. He was smiling proudly, like he just won the award for best oral-performing boyfriend. You were sure he’d never done it like that before, and you’d never mentioned the sucking part either.

“Well…” He grinned. “Maybe I read a thing or two,” he admitted sheepishly, looking at you.

“Read something?” You asked.

“After our conversations…I wanted to improve and try something out,” he explained.

You imagined your adorable, innocent-looking boyfriend reading through steamy articles about how to please a woman right, maybe with flushed cheeks even. He was just the best and most thoughtful boyfriend you'd ever had; you were sure of it.

“That was perfect, Leon. Whatever you read, it was great,” you chuckled, taking a few more moments before you got up again and kissed him on the lips. “You’re the best,” you whispered, causing him to smile.

“Now how about my idea….the riding,” you teased with a grin, pushing him down gently.

“Fuck yes…please ride my cock,” he sighed, taking your hands in his to help you straddle him.

You slowly let yourself sink down onto his length, taking your time so you could both adjust.

You sighed, closing your eyes at the pleasant sensation of him stretching you out and filling you completely. Every now and then you were sure you could feel him twitch inside you.

His hands drifted to your hips, gripping them tightly with his eyes closed and brows furrowed.

„You are so tight around me….f-fuck,“ he said shakingly, trying to catch a breath in between.

“Mhm. And you’re so big,” you whispered. Just as you were about to start moving, he stopped you with his hands still on your hips, fingers digging in your skin.

“Can you wait for a minute?" he breathed. “P-please. I don't wanna cum too soon,” he stammered, looking up at you with pleading eyes.

“It's okay,” you said, smiling softly, placing your hands on his warm chest and feeling the rapid heartbeat under your fingers and palms.

His gaze drifted down your body—your neck, breasts, and stomach—and ended right at the point where you two were connected.

“It's just that…you're so beautiful and hot and you do all the right things and you feel so goddamn tight around my cock. So w-warm,” he rambled without taking a breath.

You blushed at his loving words and leaned down to kiss him again.

“I love you, Leon,” you mumbled against his lips, hands still braced on his chest.

“I love you too. So much” He groaned when he felt you starting to roll your hips against him. You continued with slow, teasing movements until you switched to actually bouncing on his shaft up and down.

Mesmerized, he looked at you and the way your tits were bouncing with every movement you made. Once you saw his fixated gaze, you took his hands and placed them on your breasts.

“Touch me, Leon,” you urged him gently, to which he instantly complied. He toyed with your soft breasts, brushing over your nipples as you continued riding him.

“Yes, please keep going fuck-“ He felt his cock becoming harder, if that was even possible at that point. At least to him, it felt like it.

You started to increase your pace, hands still on his chest and eyes locked on his face. His cock glided deliciously against your walls, massaging you and hitting just the right spot. Your clit was still so sensitive from your prior orgasm that it felt heavenly whenever it brushed against his pelvis.

The room was filled with the sounds of grunting and moaning and the wet sounds of your wet cunt riding his cock.

“Leon, you feel so good. God…yes,” you moaned, closing your eyes shut as you fucked him faster.

You decided that if he got to try something new, you would too. With every time you bounced on him, you started tensing your pelvic muscles at the same time, causing you to become even tighter around him.

He opened his eyes. “How did you do that?” He asked, completely flabbergasted.

“Wait…that?” you teased, tensing your inner muscles again. His cock twitched, feeling like you were milking him.

He took in a sharp breath, looking at you with glossy eyes.

“That stays my secret,” you winked, doing it again while continuing to ride him. You silently thanked yourself for keeping up with your pelvic floor exercises.

“Fuck fuck fuck…..oh god….” he cursed under his breath as his fingers pressed into your skin while you rode him faster. His hips bucked up to meet your thrusts until you found a perfect rhythm together.

You cried out as he hit your sweet spot again, making it impossible for you to focus on anything else.

“I think I’m gonna cum…I can’t last much longer,” he said through gritted teeth, breathing heavily.

You nodded quickly. “It’s okay, don’t hold back”

“No, I want you to cum again first,” he muttered. If you were in a different situation, you’d surely went for an “aww” but that seemed inappropriate, so you just kept on riding him, moaning his name over and over again.

You watched as he put his fingers on your clit again, rubbing tight circles on you, and within a few more moments, you felt your second orgasm wash over you. Your walls fluttered around his member uncontrollably, and with that you took him over the edge with you.

“Fuck fuck fuck-“ Was all he managed to say as he came, spilling everything he had to offer inside you. You kept moving in sync, helping the other to ride out your highs.

“Mhm, Leon, please, yes,” you moaned, still moving up and down to prolong your orgasm.

After a few more moments, your movements became slower and slower until you stilled, his cock still inside you.

The both of you stayed like that for a while, catching your breath and just staring into each other’s eyes.

“That was amazing. As always,” he mumbled with a satisfied and pleasant expression on his face.

“It really was,” you nodded with a smile, gently stroking over his hot and damp skin on his chest.

“I feel like…you’ll be the death of me someday,” he grinned. “But in a good way!”

You laughed. “Oh yeah? Well, I am working on it." You winked as you got off him. He whimpered when you did so, already missing your tightness and warmth around him.

He extended one arm out, inviting you to snuggle up to him. The aftercare and the cuddling with him were just as good as the sex was. You already knew how caring and protective he was, but he made sure to prove it to you every single time.

Gently, he kissed your cheek and searched for your eyes.

“Did you enjoy it?” He asked hopefully. “Because I really did,” he added in a quieter voice, as if he weren't sure if he should really ask it.

You giggled and turned yourself to the side so you could really see his face. “It was wonderful, Leon. I loved everything about it,” you said encouragingly, laying your head on his chest. “You’re really good in bed,” you added with a smile.

“Ah, not as good as you are,” he said with flushed cheeks.

“That’s not a competition. It’s about how well we match and communicate, not about who has more experience,” you said softly, brushing a few hair strands out of his face.

“That’s true, I suppose." He smiled, brushing his hands gently along your back.

You stayed like that for a while, cuddling and enjoying the quiet, until you heard Leon's stomach grumbling.

You chuckled. “I guess we should order the pizza now, hm?”

“Yes, now I am reallyhungry,” he laughed quietly. “I will order for us, and you can already hop in the shower. I will join you then." 

“Mhm, sounds perfect." You nodded, slowly getting up from the bed.

“You want the usual?” He asked as he made his way to the bedroom door.

“Yes!” You said, slipping into the bathroom that was attached to your bedroom.

“Anything else?” He called after you.

“Only you!”

He chuckled as he heard your joyous response, staying like that for a few seconds and reminiscing on your shared intimacy. You were his world, and he would do anything to keep you happy and safe; he was sure of that.

Final Note: I hope you enjoyed it! As always, feedback is very much appreciated and means the world to me! No matter if its comments, likes, reblogs. I appreciate the support so much. 💗

My Leon Kennedy masterlist can be found: here

If you want to be tagged in future stories, feel free to reach out to me here or in the comments (I have one for Leon and one for Carlos. You can also be added to both ofc 😊)

Also: if you want to, you can always slide in my inbox and have a chat with me 🫶🏻

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[rednnedy]

Fic idea: pregnancy sex with age gap reader and DILF Leon Kennedy. Reader is maybe somewhere in her third trimester, and hasn’t been feeling the greatest lately. Leon comes home early and surprises her with some nice pregnancy sex and fluffy aftercare

EXTRA CARE ✹ Leon Kennedy

SUMMARY: The last term of the pregnancy is driving you crazy, but you're lucky to have Leon, who's really committed to help you in absolutely everything... including sex to help you ease your pain ‼️NSFW: Fluff pregnant sex and aftercare, fingering, oral sex (female receiving), praising, p in v, missionary, unprotected sex ✹ PAIRINGS: RE9 Leon Kennedy x Wife!Reader ✹ Find me on AO3 ✹ Find me on Wattpad ✹ Join my WHATSAPP CHANNEL ✹ My RESIDENT EVIL MASTERLIST

You’d be lying to yourself if you said it was only your back hurting.

It was your whole damn body that hurt.

After a few days where the swelling had seemed to disappear, your ankles were quite swollen again. Every time you moved, even just a little, you felt a sharp pain in your hips. And not to mention your stomach and how bloated you were…

You’d spent nearly three hours trying to take a nap, but it’d been impossible. The baby'd preferred to move nonstop from one side to the other until she finally decided to settle near your ribs, not without pressing so hard against them that, feeling so frustrated and exhausted, you ended up crying.

You hate feeling like this, especially on days like today, when Leon still hadn’t come home and you really needed him.

You move your hand over your stomach, tracing small circles as you feel little kicks again.

“Yeah, I know…” you murmur tiredly. “Daddy should already be home.”

You rest your head against the couch cushion and close your eyes, letting out a sigh that you aren’t sure was from relief or despair. But the moment you hear the sound of keys unlocking the door, your eyes fly open, and you quickly sit up still feeling slightly dizzy.

“Fuck…”

You watch Leon drop the backpack he always carries to work onto the floor beside the entryway table, just like he always does. He runs a hand through his completely messy hair while setting down his keys, then quickly hanging up his jacket on the coat rack before turning his gaze toward the living room.

His eyes find you instantly, and a smile begins to appear on his lips.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says calmly, now taking off his shoes.

“You got home earlier than usual.”

“Hmm,” he murmurs, walking over to you. “I finished earlier than expected. Thank God we’re working with the BSAA and have more people helping with investigations and paperwork, if not…”

Leon sits down on the sofa and wraps his arms around you, kissing your forehead and then your lips. You let out a quiet complaint of discomfort when he hugs you again, enough for him to immediately realize something’s wrong.

“You okay?” he asked worriedly, pulling back slightly.

That was enough for you to feel a knot begin forming in your throat and heat gather behind your eyes. You also feel tears threatening to spill, but you somehow manage to hold them back.

You try your best to pretend you’re fine, though Leon knows it was quite the opposite.

“You’ve had a hard day,” he states.

“I’m fine, Leon,” you lie, your voice cracking when you feel another stab of pain in your hip.

“Of course you are,” he cups your face with both hands and presses a short kiss to your lips. “Come here…”

Leon moves even closer, sliding one arm around your back until his right hand rests on your waist. The other one settles on your belly, gently stroking it protectively the way he’s so used to doing.

You feel the baby kick almost immediately, and you can’t help but look at your husband, who’s smiling even more now.

“Hey there, sweetheart…”

Leon leains in again, kissing your temple before taking your chin in his hand to make you look at him.

“Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

You sigh far too heavily for it to sound convincing you’re okay.

“I’m just tired, really. Just that.”

“Yeah, I know. But…”

“My feet hurt too,” you add, shifting uncomfortably when you feel the baby’s feet pressing hard against your side again. “And I feel huge. Soon you probably won’t even be able to hug me anymore.”

That makes Leon laugh softly under his breath before kissing your temple again.

“You’re huge indeed,” he says sweetly. “But I’ll still be able to hug you even if you get even bigger, so don’t you dare worry about that.”

You shoot him an unamused look.

“You’re huge because our daughter’s in there,” he quickly corrects himself.

Even though all you wanted to do was cry, a faint smile is what ends up appearing on your lips.

“There’s my girl,” he murmurs, now rubbing your belly with both hands. “Have you eaten dinner yet?”

You don’t know what to answer because, if you lie to him, he’d immediately know, but if you told him the truth…

Leon immediately raises an eyebrow, clearly knowing exactly what’s going through your mind.

“Love…” he insists.

“I’m not very hungry,” you quickly answer, sitting up a little.

“You need to eat. If not for yourself… at least think about baby girl.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know…”

You answer exhaustedly and way more sharply than you mean to, regretting it immediately.

God, the last trimester of pregnancy’s really driving you crazy. The days feel unbearably long, and you can’t wait for labor to finally start so all of this is finally over even though, of course, the newborn stage would probably even worse.

But, at least, you’ll have your little girl with you.

Leon sighs, clearly worried about you

“Alright. Then I guess tonight I’ll have to take extra care of you.”

“You always take care of me, Leon. Especially since—”

“I know. That’s my job as your husband,” he interrupts. “Besides, why do you think I said a extra care of you?”

Before you can even answer, Leon carefully stands up, making sure not to hurt or discomfort you, and positions himself in front of you, offering you both of his hands.

“Come on. Get up.”

You groan dramatically while he helps you stand on your feet. The moment you’re finally up, you feel even worse than you’ve been all day.

“Oh my God…” you mutter under your breath.

“Does it hurt more? Do you need to sit back down?”

“Just… Can you massage me a little, please.”

Leon immediately places his hands on the small of your back while you wrapped your arms around his waist. He rubs slow little circles with just enough pressure to ease the pain. Meanwhile, you can’t help but lean against his chest, closing your eyes and quietly moaning as you start to feel a little better.

“There you go, love. Feeling better?”

“A bit, yeah. But… keep going, please. I like being like this with you…”

You stay like that for a couple of minutes until the pain almost completely fades, but in its place, you start feeling overheated. You immediately pull away from your husband, already missing the contact you craved so badly during the whole day.

“Hot flashes?”

You nod at Leon’s question and, without an ounce of embarrassment, pull off the oversized shirt of his you’ve been wearing as a nightgown, leaving yourself in nothing but your underwear before heading straight to your bedroom and lying flat on your back on the bed.

Without even being able to control it, and feeling more and more overwhelmed, you start crying.

“Hey, hey, sweetheart…”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, sitting up. You don’t even know how to position yourself without feeling even more uncomfortable, which seems impossible.

“Hey, it’s okay…” Leon moves closer immediately, caressing your face once again. “Why are you apologizing?”

“I don’t know,” you laugh shakily while wiping away your tears. “Lately I feel like a complete fucking mess, and I don’t know how to stop feeling this way.”

“You’re pregnant. It’s normal.”

“I know, but I feel ugly, sensitive, tired all the time, useless… I can’t even do anything by myself at this point of the pregnancy, and it’s getting tiring…”

“Hey, calm down… Don’t say that…”

You try not to let Leon see you completely wrecked, overthinking everything, but it’s impossible because your husband’s doing everything he can to make you look at him.

“Hey, love, just listen to me… Do you really think you’re ugly?”

You look away again, embarrassed, and that alone’s enough to make Leon stare at you with hurt in his eyes, not knowing what else to do to make you feel better about yourself.

When he sees you turn over on the bed and face away from him, the only thing he can think to do is get up, walk over to you, and kneel between your legs, slowly sliding his hands along your thighs until they end up resting on your hips.

“Look at me,” he insists firmly, but softly.

This time, somehow, you end up obeying him.

“I need you to listen to me carefully,” you nod, wiping away your tears again. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life. Do you realize that, every time I look at you, all I can think about is how lucky I am to have such an incredible woman by my side?” his thumb brushes away the remaining tears. “Even exhausted, you’re beautiful because you’re giving everything you have so this little person,” he kissed your belly, “can grow. Do you know how proud I am of you and everything you’re doing?”

Leon stands up, sitting beside you, and kisses you.

The kiss lasts much longer than you first expected. When you finally pull apart to catch some air, you end up kissing again just a few seconds later, each of you wanting more of the other.

The pace and passion intensifies until Leon gently guides you onto your back and positions himself carefully above you, one of his hands caressing your belly while the other wanders across your body.

“You’re so beautiful…” he murmurs against your lips before kissing you again. “God, you’re so beautiful, love.”

A soft moan escapes your lips when you feel his trailing along your neck, pressing a little harder on those spots Leon knows too well drive you crazy. At the same time, you feel the hand that’s resting on your stomach slowly and torturously moving lower until it hovers over your panties.

“Leon…”

You can’t stop yourself from trembling when you feel your husband begin to touch you over the fabric, his finger moving too slowly.

“Leon, please…”

You need more from him, and right now you don’t care the slightest about begging for it.

To your frustration, Leon breaks the contact when he feels your hand grabbing his wrist and guiding his hand beneath your underwear.

A desperate groan leaves your lips.

“Are you sure you want to…?” he asks a bit shyly, both arms braced beside you as he keeps looking at you. “I don’t want to…”

“Yes,” you answer immediately, desperate for him.

Leon slowly leans over you again and kisses you.

Your fingers slid automatically into his hair while your other hand moves beneath his shirt, tracing the lines of his muscles.

“Relax, love,” he kisses your lips before slipping your panties off with one hand. “You sure you’re comfortable with?”

“Yes.”

“Pretty sure?”

You nod, and while his right hand begins to touch you gently, his lips slowly travel along your jaw, your throat, every inch of your skin while he keeps whispering praises to you.

“God, you’re so beautiful…”

Gently, his thumb traces circles around your nipple, while at the same time you feel two of his fingers slowly penetrate you, curving just enough to reach your g-spot.

“Fuck, Leon, yes…” 

You can’t help but arch your back in response to the pleasure you’re feeling. Your legs tremble, forcing Leon to kneel in front of you, holding them as he begins to eat you out. His tongue teases your entrance first until you feel his lips sucking on your clit.

“Leon, please…”

“What do you want, love?” he asks, running the tip of his tongue quickly over your most sensitive spot again, then flattening it completely against you, licking you in long, winding strokes. “Do you need anything more than my mouth and my fingers? I told you I was going to take extra care of you tonight. You know I always keep my promises.”

“I need you to fuck me,” you beg, crying out at the end when you feel him slide his fingers back inside you, moving them faster.

“Don’t you like this? Do you really want more?” he insists. At any other time, you’d have played along, but today… he’s driving you way too crazy.

“Please, Leon…” you beg, biting your lower lip. 

Your husband pulls away from you and quickly strips off his t-shirt and boxers, starting to stroke his cock, already fully erect, and carefully positioning himself on top of you again.

He teases you a little longer, running the tip of his cock along your soaking wet pussy, until he decides he can’t control himself any longer and slowly slides inside you.

You both moan softly as Leon begins to thrust into you, slow but steady, but your voices start rising the moment your husband begins alternating between speed and depth, taking you completely by surprise every time he decides to change the rhythm.

“Leon! Oh my God!” you cry out, sobbing with pleasure.

“That’s it, love… You don’t know how much I love seeing you like this…”

Leon grabs your hips as he continues to fuck you and places one of the pillows under your lower back, slowing down to instead squeeze your ass tightly. You feel your pussy start to tighten around his cock as you feel that sensation you know so well building in your stomach.

Your husband slides a hand from your waist and brings it back to your clit, rubbing it quickly, making you feel even more shaken.

“Right there, Leon, yes…”

He licks his lips and a proud smile spreads across his face, slightly flushed.

“You want me to do something else?” he asks teasingly, fucking you harder now. “Want me to make you come already?”

You nod, your nails digging deep into his back as your moans go from being brief and soft to louder, screaming his name clearly.

“Come on, baby, let yourself go… I know you’re almost there… Come on…”

Those words and his fingers rubbing quickly against your clit, along with his thrusts, a little slower but much deeper, are enough to take you to the orgasm. 

You writhe beneath Leon as he keeps fucking you, now a little slower, until he finally cums shortly after.

“Oh my God, Leon…” you murmur as he pulls out of you, heading straight to the bathroom and returning with a towel. He starts wiping you down carefully despite hearing you protest. “Just because I’m pregnant doesn’t mean I’m incapacitated, you know?”

“Of course I know,” he replies, planting kisses from your knee down to the inside of your thigh. You sigh, feeling aroused again but too tired to do anything about it. “But remember what I told you, that tonight—”

“You were going to take extra care of me, yeah,” you finish his sentence. He smiles, and you can’t help but smile back, stealing a quick kiss from him.

When Leon finishes, he lies down next to you, wrapping his arm around you as you snuggle against his bare chest, tracing patterns with your finger as the day’s exhaustion takes over you.

“Feeling better?” your husband whispers against your hair before kissing it.

“Much better. Maybe it’s true what they say about sex in the third trimester helping with the pain…”

“They also say it helps with labor,” Leon adds. “So now you know what we’ll have to do when you’ve only got a few weeks left…”

You stay quiet for a while, exchanging occasional kisses while shifting around beneath the blankets, cuddling closer to each other.

“You know I’d do anything for you, right?” Leon asks, lifting himself slightly without letting go of you.

“I know,” you answer, even though your mind’s trying to convince you otherwise.

“I really mean it, love. I don’t want you overthinking anymore,” he kisses your forehead. “You and the baby are my entire world.”

You curl up even closer against his chest, wrapping your arms around him as if he might disappear at any moment.

“Sometimes… I worry,” you admit. “Lately I’ve been really sensitive, and I know I’m difficult because of all these mood swings. I also know I should control myself more, and I really do, but I don’t know what’s wrong with me that—”

Leon pulls back slightly to look directly at you. You immediately stop talking, embarrassed with yourself.

Your damn mind again.

“Sweetheart, I told you already: you’re creating a person inside of you,” he says gently. Then, for what feels like the hundredth time that day, he kisses your forehead again. “You’re exhausted, and that’s completely normal.”

“It hurts so much,” he kisses your cheek. Then, he places another one near the corner of your lips. “I’m really sensitive, and my head’s a mess.”

He kisses you on the lips, and you can’t help but wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer to you.

“If you only knew how much I love taking care of you…” Leon whispers when you finally pull away from him, stealing another short kiss from your lips.

“And if you knew how safe you make me feel…”

He pulls you even closer, his hand moving over your belly while he buries his face in your hair, against your neck, leaving soft little kisses that now tickle slightly with his beard.

“Sometimes it scares me how much I love both of you.”

You feel him disappear beneath the blankets, only for him to press a kiss to your stomach.

“Do you think she’ll have your eyes?” you ask sleepily, snuggling against him when he settles beside you again.

“No.”

“No?”

“I’d rather she had yours. They’re much prettier than mine.”

You laugh, though it quickly turns into a yawn.

“Come on now. Time to sleep and rest. You’ve both had quite a day…”

Leon adjusts the blanket exactly the way you like it and leaves a trail of kisses all over your face before lying down and curling up beside you.

“Get some sleep, mama,” you nod faintly, snuggling even closer against Leon. “If you need anything, you know I’m here.”

“Even if I want you to fuck me rough at 3 A.M.?” you ask drowsily, a small and playful smile forming on your lips.

“I’ll be here for whatever you need, love,” another kiss press to your forehead. “Take advantage of these six weeks to rest before the baby gets here.”

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! Feedback, as well as comments and/or reblogs, are very much appreciated! My inbox is also open in case you want to make a request or talk to me! 💖

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[theweepingangelofcas]

The Other Agent - Leon Kennedy x Reader (Fever Saint Part 1)

Summary: Leon is sent into Spain to rescue the presidents daughter, Ashley Graham. As it turns out, he isn't the first agent that the government sent in. Now, he has to piece together a puzzle of what happened to them. Masterlist

The rain starts before the jeep even starts up, the two police officers in front of him grumbling at the sudden chill outside the metal walls.

The rain is cold and thin. The kind that settles into Leon’s jacket collar and stays there, damp against the back of his neck. Around him, the forests of rural Spain stretch endlessly beneath the darkening sky, dense and skeletal in the fading light.

In his ear, Hunnigan is speaking, her voice crackling over the weak signal of the comms.

“Local authorities confirmed Ashley Graham was seen somewhere in this region approximately five days ago.”

Leon rests his forearms against his knees, gaze fixed on the storm outside. His brows furrow, head tilting as he asks, “5 days? And you’re only sending me in now? You’d think the president’s daughter would be more high priority.”

Over the line, he can hear Hunnigan sigh, “About that…”

He almost wants to groan. There was always something that they didn’t tell him til it was too late.

“... You’re not the first agent we’re sending in.”

That gets Leon’s attention immediately. His gaze shifts away from the rain-streaked window, settling somewhere unfocused in the dim interior of the jeep. “What?”

One of the officers says something under his breath in Spanish as the vehicle lurches forward onto the muddy road. Leon barely registers it. His attention is torn between Hunnigan’s smooth voice, and the blurry image of Ashley Graham in-between his fingers. 

Hunnigan pauses for half a second too long before continuing. “She was inserted three days ago under covert reconnaissance orders. Confirm Ashley’s location, maintain surveillance, await extraction support.”

“And?” Silence crackles softly over the comms. Leon’s jaw tightens. “Hunnigan.”

“We lost contact with her approximately forty-eight hours ago.”

The jeep rattles violently over uneven ground. Outside, the woods blur past in dark streaks of rain and skeletal branches. Leon leans back slightly, expression flattening into something colder.

“Status?”

“Unknown.”

Of course it was unknown. Why wouldn’t it be? He wasn’t that lucky.

“She made contact several times after insertion,” Hunnigan continues. “Her reports confirmed Ashley was alive, though she was unable to locate her. She encountered resistance almost immediately after entering the region.”

“Resistance?”

“We don’t have details. Her final transmission was cut short.”

Leon drags a hand down the lower half of his face slowly, exhaustion already pressing heavily behind his eyes. “What kind of agent?”

“Covert ops background with an emphasis in medical support.”

He lets out a breath. At least they hadn’t sent in a rookie, though he wouldn’t have put it past them. At least whoever had arrived first hadn’t been sent in completely blind. With any luck, the medical background would have made them capable enough to have a chance of survival. 

“You said she confirmed Ashley was alive,” He murmurs, “How long ago?”

“Just before communications stopped.”

The rain intensifies against the jeep roof, sharp little impacts rattling overhead.

“Last known location?”

“A church north of the village.”

He almost chuckles. A church. He’s being sent into hell, and there’s a church. The irony is hilarious.

Leon closes his eyes briefly, mind conjuring up what the prior agent might have seen. What he’ll be seeing soon, no doubt. Every mission may feel the same, but the imagery is always different. 

But his past doesn’t matter right now. Somewhere out there in the endless dark woods, another government agent had vanished trying to keep the president’s daughter alive. And now he was being sent to clean up the aftermath.

“You got a name?” he asks.

Another pause. Then, Hunnigan sighs. He can imagine her straightening her cherry red glasses.

“Her file access is currently restricted pending recovery confirmation.”

He actually scoffs at that, eyes rolling. “Seriously?”

“You know how this works.”

Yeah. He does. All too well. Almost no one would know the other agent's name until they were found, or sent home in a body bag.

The officers in the front exchange another uneasy glance as the jeep rounds a sharp bend. One of them mutters something about the roads being emptier than normal.

Leon looks back out the window. The forest feels wrong. Like it’s watching him.

“She was good,” Hunnigan says quietly after a moment.

That catches him off guard slightly. Hunnigan rarely volunteered personal opinions during operations. 

The line drops for a moment before picking back up, “She said she was getting close to Baby Eagle. That’s when communications stopped. She made it pretty far before…”

She trails off for a moment. He knows what she means. 

He sighs, glancing ahead, eyes tracking the rainwater cascading down the windshield. “Any other information you’d like to offer?”

Hunnigan almost sounds sorry when she responds, “Not as of yet. I’ll update you as need be. Over and out.”

“Over and out.” He repeats hollowly.

In front of him, one of the officers turns, looking him up and down like he’s more of an annoyance than a job.

“So, tell me, Yanqui.” He smiles at him, but it doesn’t look kind, “Why did you come to this horrible place?”

.

.

.

The village smells of wet wool and rot, its houses dilapidated and sagging. There’s smoke in the air, the bonfire and the body in the center of town on display for all to see. It’s brutal and raw, the sound of the officer’s screams still ringing in Leon’s ears.

He has no time to try and help. The man was as good as dead the moment the bonfire started.

Now, Leon’s only priority is to survive long enough to get Ashley Graham home safe. 

His feet are heavy against the muddy ground, leaving behind deep bootprints as he sprints away from the hoards of people pursuing him. He’s capable, yes, but there’s too many of them. He’s going to be overtaken if he doesn’t find somewhere to get a moment of reprieve, and fast. 

When he turns a corner, narrowly dodging an axe being thrown at his face, he sees it. A window. Inside, the house looks empty. The only interior door that he can see has furniture pushed up against it. Barricading it to the rest of the village. 

He throws himself into the glass with no hesitation.

It only takes a moment for him to stand again, glass shards falling off of his thick jacket and clinking down to the floor. Strong hands are quick to grab a nearby bookshelf, pushing it in front of the window, sealing himself inside the house.

Leon heaves in a breath, eyes squinting to adjust to the sudden darkness inside. He can make out a few chairs and an old, iron kitchen stove, followed by a bedframe leaned up against the door. It’s odd, but not out of place here. But, something else catches his eye.

On the table is a medical kit.

It isn’t something that anyone in this village would have. The kit is clean, a bright white against the dirt on the table and the rust on the stove. Beside it are a few open blister packs of painkillers, and a half used roll of gauze. The cut on it is jagged and crooked. Whoever had used it was in a hurry. Next to it all is a scrap of black nylon, edges smeared with dried blood.

Someone else had been here before.

The other agent.

He doesn’t have time to focus on that. He can hear villagers screaming at him, infected bodies throwing themselves into the bookshelf and the door.

Hands wrapped around the pistol, he keeps moving.

.

.

.

His head hurts when he comes to.

For a moment, he’s confused, eyes squinting at the light above his head as he tries to remember what had happened.

It comes rushing back to him like a cold wave.

Mud. A basement. The man in the sack, his wavy hair marred with dirt and dust. Hands like concrete slamming him into stone-

Then darkness.

Pain lances through his shoulders as he drops his weight against the restraints.

“Oh, what the fuck?” His voice is rough, hands pulling down from where they were suspended in the air by heavy chains. 

From behind him, he hears a groan. Suddenly, he’s aware of the warmth against his back. It’s the man from earlier. The one in the basement. When Leon looks back, he can see that his dark hair is unruly, dust clinging to the strands. 

“Hey- Stop it!” The man’s accented words are more of a hiss, even as he stands up to look at Leon properly, “Yanqui, got a name?”

He’s up within moments, moving to observe the nature of their restraints. Steel cuffs bite into both their wrists, linked together by a single heavy chain bolted into the ceiling. If he can just find a way to get that bolt down…

“Leon.” The answer is plain and simple, his body already focusing on pulling all of his strength into his arms. 

The man seems unbothered by his unfriendly tone, lips curling into the faintest of smiles as he speaks. “Quiet type, eh? I’m Luis Serra. I guess, you, me, picked the wrong spot to vacation, eh?”

He’s about to say more, but he’s interrupted by Leon putting his full body weight into the chain, forcing him to stumble and almost fall. He barely manages to correct himself, giving a tug in response. 

“Hey, stop it! You move, I move. And I’m beat up enough as is…” He stops as he realizes what Leon is doing, eyes flitting between the blonde man and the bolt in the ceiling, “Ah. I can see your thinking.”

Leon is quiet, tugging on the chain again, feet planted firmly against the floor. Luis helps him this time, doing the same. He keeps talking, accented voice ringing out across the cluttered walls.

“I bet you’ve been in spots like this before. Let me guess… You’re looking for someone? A missing senorita, perhaps?”

Leon stops, turning back to him with an intensity that could kill. With ease, he drags the man forward by the chain, to where he has to stand on his tip toes to stay upright. He’s so close that he can feel hot breath fan against his face. 

“Talk. Now. Where is she?”

It’s less of a question and more of a command.

The Spaniard is quick to try and steady himself, but Leon won’t let him, eyes boring into his skull. He chuckles awkwardly, “Ah, alright.”  Leon lets him get a breath in, relieving tension on the chain. The man keeps speaking, “I heard some chatter. A young woman made it to the church, where they’re keeping a senorita.”

Leon’s eyes narrow, “A young woman?”

Luis nods, “Si, Yanqui. A thorn in their side, the cult said.”

The other agent. With any luck, she’s still alive.

With another tug, the bolt comes free.

.

.

.

Getting into the church had felt like a nightmare. 

Of course, that isn’t even counting the trip to the church itself. There had been dozens of cultists and infected, their bodies riddled with parasites, eyes burning with rage. He had somehow managed to fight his way through all of them, making his way to the church. 

The first villager had come out of nowhere, too fast, too wrong, its body already half-split open with something alive underneath. Then more followed. Voices turned into screaming. Movement turned into rushing shapes in the dark.

Leon had stopped thinking in anything but distance after that.

Bodies hit the ground and didn’t stay there. Cries of anger turned into gargled screams as people mutated into something foreign. Eyes burned in the dark when they shouldn’t have been able to see him at all. 

But somehow, against all odds, he’s standing outside the church, circular key in hand.

The door opens with a wet creak.

He’s going to find Ashley, as well as the other agent, if it kills him.

Shaking the rain water off of his skin, he steps inside. 

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[weeabooofficial]

Did a little rebranding heehee

[pixopix]

Hello! Could you possibly do the pixel set in orange? Thank you!!

Please credit @pixopix, likes and reblogs are appreciated!

Check out the other colors of this set, send asks for recolors! Hex codes are helpful!

[menmadeofwarninglabels]

Mission: Marriage

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

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.”

[kendymaycry]

It’s the second to last Sunday in May.

Spring has come and gone in a flash, beginning on the day you were born in the midst of March, doused by the monsoons of April and softened by the ample, lush greenness of May that blooms on the balconies adjacent to yours on this most splendid of afternoons.

Dante has remained in his favorite place on earth, by your side, until you asked him to watch your laundry as it dried a couple hours ago. Taking his job nothing short of seriously, he parked himself right outside of the open French doors that separate this tiny, old balcony and your bedroom, watching you traipse through the apartment in nothing but a pair of lacy underwear and a shirt that comes to just above your knees.

His, of course. A fact that makes his heart pound beneath his bare chest.

You love him enough to do everything you do for him, including wearing his clothes. What more could a man ever ask for? A cool breeze, a warm sun, and a love that eclipses them both.

For a man with notoriously bad luck, he sure got lucky with you.

The few children who take up residence in the apartment complex laugh and speak to each other on the street below. On a day like today they’d usually be duping one or both of you into giving them your last few coins in exchange for cups of lemonade. They seemed to have realized early on that their best customers are staying upstairs, preparing themselves and each other for the last full week of May, choosing to skip and draw with chalk and even call your names from the sidewalk.

Neither of you answer, content to be a little mysterious, hidden beneath air drying sheets and panties.

“I can’t believe it’s almost summer,” he muses aloud, unsure if you can hear him from just inside the door.

You peek around the corner, a smile painted on your pretty face, letting him know that you have indeed heard what he’s said.

Framed by spring sunshine, Dante looks like nothing short of a god. He didn’t bother donning a shirt today and his back is pressed against the railing. Your acoustic guitar is perched across his boxer-clad lap, the colorful strap of one of your bras you’ve hung outside to dry dangling over his shoulder.

“It’s gonna be too hot to do all this before too long,” you respond, stepping out onto the balcony to hand him a couple more unmentionables to fling over the sun warmed metal railing behind him.

He widens his eyes and wiggles his eyebrows salaciously, taking his time to admire the lacy cups of the bra he saw you in two nights ago, deciding upon flinging the silk one with the brightly patterned cups atop his head.

“That’s not a headband, silly,” you tut at him.

Giggling, you step out onto the concrete and lean in, reaching in an attempt to collect what’s rightfully yours. He manages to duck out of your reach quickly enough that you grab onto nothing but thin air, his silvery hair topped with an abstract pattern in smears of pink, purple, and orange. The smile upon his face is something akin to a model, or at least that’s what you think of him.

He’s the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen, just like this, doing what he does best. Making you laugh and making you blissfully happy, so much so you nearly feel guilty on occasion. He admires your smile from below, nodding his head in the direction of the spot across from where he sits, inviting you to join him.

“It might look better on you but it’s finders keepers around here, ” he jokes, strumming a few chords on your guitar.

The little jingle mixes with the laugher of the children below. You smile as you oblige his invitation to sit down, huffing a bit as you sink to your behind in one movement, stretching your legs to lay them across his own.

It’s true that in a few weeks, it’ll be the start of summer. The air will grow thicker with humidity and demonic activity will likely ramp up as it does every year, the two of you kept apart by the danger of his demanding life. In this moment, though, all he can think of is when you’ll start hand feeding him slices of salted watermelon while you both complain about the temperature.

The ancient air conditioner units in your complex go out more than once a year, every year and you’ll both end up just like this. Nearly naked save for the things covered that need to be, draped over each other enough that your skin will stick and catch when you attempt to part from one another.

You lean back, looking toward the clear blue sky. One of your hand finds his knee naturally, stroking it absentmindedly while he strums another few chords on your guitar. They’re the same his head plays every time he sees you — light and lovely and perfect, just like the woman who inspired them.

“What’s on your mind?” he dares to ask, your bra still on his head, your hand still on his knee, an indentation in the shape of you on the humiliatingly soft bed of his heart.

You turn to look at him with your usual kind smile, squeezing his knee.

“How happy I am to be doing all of this with you,” you answer completely honestly, wearing your feelings on your face just as you have since the day he met you.

He strums the guitar once more, humming. “Even with your bra on my head?”

You laugh and shake your head, changing your position so that you’re leaning forward, headed toward his face to kiss him but stopping short before you do.

“Yeah, even with my bra on your head,” you confirm, your giggles mixing with the joyful noise from below you and beside you and inside of you as you lean in to claim that kiss for real.

[gtgbabie0]

💭 thinking about waking up next to re9!Leon who’s a little needy ᝰ.ᐟ 18+ it’s gets a little slutty at the end my bad

The bedroom is cool, quiet, save for your soft breaths and the faint chittering of birds outside— it’s peaceful, and Leon, being the first to wake as always, lies there to simply bask in it. He’s pressed right up behind you, one arm tucked under your pillow and the other draped around your waist, his hand tucked under your sleep-shirt because this man lives for skin-on-skin contact.

He’s so in-tune with your body, he could feel you start to wake even before those eyes of yours begin to flutter open, and he takes that as an invitation to snuggle in closer, pressing a smiley-kiss to your shoulder as you begin to stir.

“There she is… sleeping beauty,” He hums affectionately from behind you, his voice all rough with sleep, chest rumbling against your back, dragging you to the land of the living.

“Mfm… s’too early,” your sleepy murmur gets a chuckle from him, the sound muffled into your skin.

“It’s almost twelve pm, baby.”

You whine in disagreement, “But it’s a Sunday and we’ve got nothing to do.”

He shushes you, hand slides from under your shirt to caress the curve of your hip soothingly as his mouth moves across your shoulder carefully in feather-light pecks.

“M’not saying you gotta get up yet, baby. Come on, turn around, let me see you.”

A smile tugs at the corners of your lips, and you shuffle, turning around to look up at him— all sleep soft and warm, the early-afternoon sun catching in your eyes. He reaches his hand out, his fingertips grazing across your face, pushing your tussled hair back so he can get a good, long look at you, and he smiles, rare and private, only for your eyes.

“Morning, gorgeous,” he whispers quietly, leaning in to brush a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

You hum, curling your arms around his broad shoulders to keep him close as he peppers open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your jaw, his nose bumping against your cheek. “Good morning, handsome,” you reply lazily, his stubble tickling your soft skin, purposely rubbing the rough hairs against the side of your face just to hear you laugh.

“Thought you were gonna go to the gym today?” you ask almost teasingly, slipping your fingers through his hair.

He groans into your neck at the reminder, his body melting in your arms, seeking your warmth out like a sunbathing cat, “That was the plan, yeah… then I woke up, and you were all soft and warm, clinging to me nd’I couldn’t leave you like that.”

It’s almost the exact same excuse he had used yesterday, but you weren’t going to complain, not when he’s all over you and pinning you against the soft mattress, bare-chested and spoiling you with kisses.

“Unless you want me to leave, hmm?— scared I’ll let myself go, baby?” He chuckles, running his knuckles along your cheek as your hands run down his chest, fingers catching the coarse hairs that pepper his skin.

“You’re ridiculous. Obviously, I want you here.” You murmur, tilting your head to kiss him properly, deeply, his lips slotting against yours perfectly.

“Oh, obviously, is it? ” he echoes smugly, grinning against your mouth as he pushes your shirt up to your collarbones, “This is better than lifting weights anyway,” he murmurs, kissing down your neck and over the swell of your breasts— your breath catching at the feeling.

“Well, that’s not much of a competition.”

Your fingers run through his hair and he makes a low gravelly noise, leaning into your hands. “You’re right, it’s not even close— god you’re so fucking warm.” He sighs, looking up at you through his lashes with a faint grin, blue eyes glinting—he was definitely scheming.

“Gonna let me love on you a little before we get up, yeah?” He smiles against your sternum, his voice all tender yet rough with want because god you look and feel amazing like this. “Make you come on my tongue first, then fuck you, nice and slow— make breakfast after?”

“Mm, Jesus… Leon…” his name falls from your lips, broken and whiny, desperate, and he coos in response, a hushed ‘I know baby’ before capturing your nipple into his wet mouth— his tongue flicking over the hardened peak as his hand cups your other boob.

He shifts against you, slotting himself snug between your legs. You wrap your thighs around him, a whimper catching in your throat when he grinds his hard-on against your clothed pussy, arching into him for more, wetness already collecting in your panties.

“I’ll handle it… you just relax f’me, baby.” He promises, kissing his way down your tummy whilst his fingers pinch at your nipples— his free hand tugging your panties down.

Lazy Sundays were the closest thing to heaven.

જ⁀➴ Resident Evil Masterlist જ⁀➴ General Masterlist

[gakutonin]

𝐄𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞

Leon S. Kennedy x investigative journalist reader

ⓘ You have a proposition for Leon and you don't back down easily. Warnings: mentions of alcohol, mentions of murders, age gap, pre-relationship, heavily self-ship coded. WC: ca. 2.5k

Title inspired by Evidence by Faith No More. Dividers by @uzmacchiato once again.

The rain is coming down hard when you finally get out of your old car, conveniently parked right in front of the entrance to a quiet pub you’d been scoping out for a while now. The vehicle is marked by dents front, side and back and the door sometimes needs a little extra encouraging to close, but this time you don’t bother with it. You look through the large windows of the place, low lights on, almost no customers inside. You’re pretty sure a lot of people wouldn’t spare this bar a second glance. The sign on the window has faded, and you can see the wood in the door rotting from years of neglect.

To be quite honest, this isn’t a place where you’d usually picture yourself either, but today you were on a mission.

The rain drenches you before you even reach it. Hair sticks to your skin uncomfortably. You feel a droplet on your eyelashes threatening to slip free, so you wipe it before it gets in your eye. You hate the feeling of water in your eyes.

The middle-aged woman behind the bar doesn’t pay you any mind when you bust through the door and quickly wring the worst of the water out of your hair. Part of you is glad for it. You don’t have time to make small talk and attempt to look like you belong in here, because you know the longer you wait, the more courage slips through the cracks of your fingers. It doesn’t take long before your eyes are used to the low light, and you zone in on the subject of your frenzy.

Sitting all the way in the back of the small space, hidden behind a potted tree that has seen better days too, with his back turned to you, you find the man you’ve been dying to talk to. With your bag in hand, you take calculated steps. One, two, one, two, you think of what you wanted to say again.

He doesn’t look up when you reach his table. There’s a glass of whisky (or at least you assume that’s what’s in it) in front of him. It looks untouched. Only when you lean to the side and scrape your throat, does he lift his head and look at you. Worn, blue eyes send jitters through your spine. “Hi. Leon Kennedy?”

You can tell the cogs in his brain are working when he realises you know of him, eyes quickly scanning your person. “Who’s asking?”

“I’m glad you asked,” you say and give him your name with enthusiasm, as you put your bag on a seat opposite of him and slide into the one next to it. He probably already knows that you’re really not — you would’ve sat down across from him whether he acknowledged you or not. “You work for the DSO, right?”

The man stares at you quietly. You find yourself drawn to those eyes, so light blue, so tired, but despite his apprehension you just see kindness. Maybe part of that is just what you’d like yourself to see. You’re painfully aware that you’ve never met this man before personally, but you like to credit yourself for two things: your investigative abilities, and your intuition. Surely one of those things would be right.

“I’m with the FBI,” you continue, “wanna have a little chat?”

Leon gives you a quick scan again and frowns. “You’re no FBI.”

You laugh, wondering what gave it away — was it the faint foreign accent? or because you are young and clearly too free to be concerned with bureaucratic business? Leaning over the table, you rudely slide his glass over to your side. “No, I’m not. Perceptive. I like it. Do you mind?” Though you ask, you already have the glass to your lips before he even knows what’s happening. The whisky (you can definitely confirm it is that, now) burns your throat pleasantly, and you throw your head back to gulp it all down at once.

Just a little courage, you tell yourself.

“Sorry,” you say as apologetically as possible when you slam it back down on the sticky table. “The next one is on me. Anyway, I’m with the journal, and I’ve been doing a lot of reading about you. Now, I realise you’ve never agreed to speak to the press, so let me just cut straight to the chase. I have a proposition for you.”

What you don’t care to tell him, is that you’ve only been on the job for a year or so, fresh out of college, where you studied not journalism, but law. Honestly, the job just kind of happened. A year ago, you wouldn’t even have thought you had a knack for investigation. This may just be your first real shot at something big, and you’re betting all you have on it.

Leon sighs, leaning back in his seat. He’s an attractive man, you knew that already, but seeing him in front of you in the flesh was something else entirely. Years of working out and combat had bulked the man up. The leather jacket he was wearing just barely fit the size of his arms, you bet. Even with the space between the two of you, when he stretched his legs, his knees bumped into yours.

Exhilarating. You knew that you weren’t here to ogle an agent, but who could blame your eyes for doing what they were made to do?

“What makes you think I’ll be interested in this proposition of yours?” he asks. His voice is deep and gravelly and you wonder how often he uses it. Perhaps you’d like to hear him say your name, just once.

“I don’t think you are,” you admit honestly, as it’s something you had given a lot of thought to. Being the youngest in the office with no relevant credentials behind you sure got you used to not being taken seriously. “But I’m here now, and about to order your next drink, so why don’t you give me five minutes, yeah?”

You don’t wait for a response when you flag down the lady behind the bar — something you realise probably also looks out of place, but given she has nothing better to do, she sighs and trudges your way anyway. You take our your notebook while you give her your order (of course, not forgetting to make up for Leon’s stolen whisky) and smile amicably when you realise she seems like she wants you out of there sooner rather than later. Likewise, you got used to that as well, well aware that you’re an acquired taste.

Leon watches you as you get your bearings, curiously and cautiously. The owner of the place — Linda is what she goes by, you learn when Leon calls her by name — shuffles away to get your drinks only when he gives her a shrug. He’s just as confused as she is, but you take him for a polite and kind man. At least, you’re kind of banking on that to have any sort of success with this encounter today.

When she’s gone, you finally allow yourself to settle down for a moment and listen to the music playing. You recognise the song as ‘Easy’ by The Commodores, a song you grew up with, as many kids had, with your late father playing it in the car often. You liked it. At the very least it helps ease your restlessness.

You turn your attention back to the man you’ve been wanting to talk to for weeks and observe. He’s observing you, too, noticing that you have the habit of nervously chewing on your lip piercing. He also takes note of your notebook, filled to the brim with sticky notes and loose papers. It’s so thick that the elastic band you keep around it seems close to snapping. But you find that he eases down most when he scans your body and notices that you must not be armed. There is no concealed weapon on you, and by the looks of your tote bag loosely pooling on the seat of the chair, you don’t have one there either. That reassurance will have to do for now, since he has a feeling that he won’t be rid of you that easily.

“How did you know who I am?” he speaks, almost suspiciously. You relish in the fact that this is the first thing he said something out of his own volition, even if you’re aware it was but crumbs. You’re young and motivated and suck up every crumb like a dust buster.

“It’s just as I told you.” You take something out of the notebook and slide him a business card. “I’m with the Journal. I’d be doing a pretty shit job if I didn’t know who I was talking to, huh?”

He tentatively takes it and you can’t help but lick your lips at the sight of his hands. Sometimes the job came with benefits, and you certainly didn’t mind this one. “Anyway, I’m sure you’ve heard of the murders popping up recently. I have reason to believe there is more at play than a simple serial murderer. I know you’ve been investigating them, too.”

He exhales slowly through his nose, unsure whether to be irritated or impressed with that knowledge. You pause for a moment when Linda comes back with your drinks and hand her more bills than necessary. She just raises a brow and walks off, leaving the two of you to your… monologue.

“So that makes me wonder, what is the Division of Security Operations doing hanging around these crime scenes?”

“That’s none of your business.”

He doesn’t say it unkindly, even though you’re aware he’s not much comfortable with your unexpected intrusion.

“I thought you might say that. The victims — they all had the black marks, didn’t they?” You take a sip of your beer. It’s not the quality you would’ve sought normally, but you don’t let that stop you from taking two more gulps. When you put it back down, you lean over the table and lower your voice. “Much like your own.”

You sit back down, missing when Leon shifts in his chair uncomfortably. “I want to ask you to take me to the next crime scene.”

“Why would I do that?” he retorts, turning his attention to his drink for the first time since your arrival. You realise you’re asking a lot. Possibly — no, certainly — more than you can bargain for. This whole investigation has been a long shot; even your superiors were unsure about what you were doing, but you had convinced them and you were determined to convince Leon, too.

Knowing that you had only one shot at this, you let the silence draw over you like a blanket. You watched him turn his discomfort to the drink, his expression only contorting so slightly you would have missed it had you not been paying close attention. The lines in his face confirmed what you already knew; this was a man that had seen the worst of the world and more. Despite how that lifestyle often hardened the people who lived it, behind layers of self-protection, you thought you saw something. Was it guilt? You would have to peel slices of that guard one by one if you wanted to find out.

“Because you want to get to the bottom of this as much as I do. And,” you pause to sift through the papers you kept in your journal, stopping when you found what you were looking for. You take the photo out and hold it out for him to see. It’s seen better days, crinkled and worn, despite it being relatively new. “Because I may have a dog in this fight, too.”

You find your strategy is effective, when he relaxes ever so slightly. The wrinkles in his forehead smoothe out. He scratches the stubble on his chin thoughtfully. It seems your gut feeling about him was right; you were sure he would deny you this… partnership of sorts due to bureaucratic reasons, but at the very least, he would let you down gently, you hoped?

“You were there in Raccoon City,” you pressed more. The agent stiffens when you bring that name up, a name that’s surely still a ghost haunting him every step of the way. “So was he. After investigating these deaths, you and I both know that’s not what’s happening. I need to investigate this, but the police won’t let me any closer than I already am. The FBI is tight-lipped, as they always are. I need to see this up close.”

Leon scrapes his throat uncomfortably and you know what’s coming. You see it in the way those blue eyes seem to sympathise with you. But it’s not sympathy you came looking for. And now that you know what he’s going to say, you realise you’re more dogged than you were aware of yourself.

“I’m just asking for a chance. Just a small opening in the door for me to slip through and properly investigate this. Please.”

“Whatever we have is classified,” is what he says, and it hurts because it’s nothing new to you. “I wouldn’t be allowed to take a civilian with me, even if I wanted to. There are rules.”

Of course, you knew there were rules. You are young, but not stupid. Even at your job you were often met with ‘rules’, limitations on your research or what you were allowed to spend or even if you were allowed to write what you had in mind at all, but you were never one to pay too much mind to those rules. Guidelines, you used to say to your sibling.

“No one has to know,” you shrug, cocksure and stubborn. “Who’s going to know? For all the cops know, I’m one of you.”

“I don’t work alone.”

“I’ll be quiet as a mouse. Not one word, I promise.”

He raises a brow and you know he doesn’t believe that one bit; and if you’re honest, you don’t either. Laying low and being quiet aren’t your thing.

“It’s dangerous.”

You lean in close, not failing to notice how his eyes drop to your décolleté for just a second before he adjusts himself. You make sure your face is closer to him than he’s comfortable with. There’s a glint in your eye. This is the closest you’ve ever gotten to danger on the job and you aren’t going to let that slip away.

“I like a little danger.”

You have to remind yourself mentally that you’re here for work.

Maybe it’s the heating inside the pub, maybe it’s sitting across a man you didn’t expect to feel so attracted to when all you wanted was business, or maybe you were already catching a fever from the rain; but you are starting to feel too hot and uncomfortable and come to the conclusion you have to get out of here before you blow this to smithereens.

After chugging the beer down in one go, you shove your notebook back in your bag and hope the moisture doesn’t ruin all of it before you get back in your car. Before you stand up, you push the card you gave him earlier to him again.

“My number is on there. Just so you know, I have managed to hound my mother into kicking me out of the house. Consider that a warning. Call me, yeah?”

When you walk away, you hope you look nonchalant. At least until you got back into the safety of your car where you can scream your nerves out. But more importantly, you hope that he calls you — or so help you God, you will really have to track him down like this again and again, because one way or another, you know you will get through those irritating police tapes.

It would just make it a lot easier — and safer — for you to do that with the help of the DSO’s handsome golden boy.