Summary : being his passenger princess is really the best feeling in the world.
Genre : cringe, nsfw, nicknames, language, suggestive, 18+mdni, not smut but mentions of it lol, no plot, just a little drabble ig
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹
You sit beside your boyfriend, Leon, in the passenger seat of his Porsche, as your whole frame tilted slightly toward him and your legs rested comfortably across his thighs.
"How much longer till we get there, old man?" you teased, letting out an exaggerated sigh that filled the quiet of the car, and slowly you settled yourself comfortably on the seat beneath you, while the cool breeze drifting in through the slightly open window swayed your hair, brushing it gently across your face and you feel the tingling sensation spread through you.
"Old man, huh?" Leon asked totally absolutely amused, his one brow arching in mocking shock, as the corner of his lips tugged into a crooked smile, although his focus never left the road, then he continues, "Careful, princess, with what you say," he warned, and his voice dropped lower while it had a amusement lacing them. "Because it won't take me long to pull this car over and make you bend over the hood right in the middle of the forest."
"Is that supposed to be a threat, Daddy?" The words slipped past your lips in a slow chuckle, and deliberately you press your foot against his strained fabric on the rigid outline of his cock, feeling his packed member, hot and heavy beneath your feet, and you press it even harder, grinding it even slowly, with a mischievous smile though your eyes never left his face as you waited for his reaction — anything: and as exactly you wished his jaw clenched slightly and your hear him mutter 'fuck' under his breath and you absolutely knew what you were doing — 'provoking him' worked because you loved playing with this fire — dancing at the edge of razor of his restraint because you knew whenever you did this, he had done exactly what you wanted : fuck your brains out.
Or also maybe you just wanted him to you put you in your place, which you always liked, not just liked, but craved because it fucking turned you on— and also... maybe you were masochist at this point. Not that you were ashamed of it.
Just then , breaking you out of your thoughts a quiet hiss slipped past Leon's lips, as you pressed him again, a little harder with your sole and his jaw tensed ever so slightly as his grip on the steering wheel tightened in a way as if he would break his joints while his knuckles turning stark white against the leather.
"Don't test me, princess, because we are already late", Even as he said it, his focus never wavered from the road ahead, though the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed exactly how much you'd gotten under his skin.
"Why not, werent you the one who were saying you had stop the car in the middle of the forest to bend me over the hood? You teased, while stroking his hard cock through the fabric of his pants, he hissed again in pleasure, a low moan of pleasure escaping him, then he closed his eyes briefly, before snapping them open again, then his one hand dropped towards your feet while giving it a gentle squeeze, tickling it just enough to make you squirm in the leather seat, and returning his full attention to the road.
After, he turns his head so slightly and shoots you a warning glare, before breaking out in a teasing smile himself, while returning his attention towards the road, "my desperate little whore," he grinned "Now, get ready to not be able to walk for another week, and damn the fucking — event", he groaned, and as soon as he said those words left his lips, Leon didnt wait for your response, then swiftly he turned the car towards the deserted road and you feel your heart beat quickening though you dont stop him neither you ask him where he was going, You simply watched his feral determination unfold, unable to hide the thrill bubbling in your chest. soon the car stops to a smooth halt. Then he carefully, lifts your foot into his hand before pressing a chaste kiss on them, as a promise to break you completely, he looked up at you with that familiar, dangerous grin. "now get out of the car, let me put some sense into you."
And you smiled, meeting his gaze with same desire, and tilting your head as you shifted from your seat, slowly lifting your legs from his lap. "Gladly, baby," you breathed, with a teasing hint playing at your mouth — and a deliberate confidence lingering in your words, while a seductive glint in your gaze lingers, as you licked your lips, before pressing your palm onto his face feeling his stubble itching your very spot, and you softly added, "Ruin me." He presses his palm onto your hand and squeezes it right back "trust me, I will." He replies with a smirk.
Then without waiting for his response, you pull your hand away from his grip, and turned towards the gate, before pushing the car-door open then you stepped out in one motion, and the cool night breeze immediately wraps around you, the moonlight spilled across your skin, silver falling across your features as the quiet road welcomed you with the gentle rustle of leaves, the crisp air making your heart race just a little faster.
And safe to say — you both ruined each other — all night long.
Love doesn’t come out of him as something spoken. It doesn’t arrive polished or easy to name.
With Leon S. Kennedy, it’s built out of repetition instead—habits that formed in survival and slowly reshaped themselves into care.
He notices things before they become problems. Remembers details without announcing that he does. Moves through rooms like he’s always accounting for exits, even when the only thing waiting there is you.
He doesn’t talk about love like a concept. He practices it like muscle memory.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
✦ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ✦
Leon S. Kennedy × Wife!Reader (Civilian • She/Her)
Era: Post RE8 • Pre RE Requiem
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
✦ 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄 ✦
Headcanons • Domestic Fluff • Married Life • Canon-Compliant Leon • Comfort • Soft Romance
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
★ “Home”
His messages never quite relax into casual language.
“Home.”
“In.”
Short. Functional. Like he’s still half inside a system that required reports instead of conversations.
Then, after a pause that feels heavier than the words:
“You good?”
He doesn’t mean it like small talk. He means it like checking a lock twice.
⸻
☾ The apartment is dim except for the blue glow of the television and the soft spill of streetlights through the blinds. You’re curled into the couch, blanket half-draped over your legs, not really watching whatever’s playing anymore.
Your phone lights up.
Home.
It’s not dramatic. It shouldn’t feel like anything.
But it does.
You smile before you even fully register why.
You: “Yeah. You?”
The typing indicator appears. Disappears. Returns again.
“Yeah.”
A pause.
“Lock the door.”
You glance toward it automatically. It’s already locked, but you still stand and check it anyway—not out of fear, but out of understanding.
You: “It’s locked.”
A beat.
“Good.”
That’s all.
But you know him well enough to picture it—the way his shoulders probably drop slightly when he reads that. Like something in him has been quietly put back into place.
⸻
★ Busy Hands
Leon doesn’t settle easily into stillness.
Not because he’s restless, but because silence gives his thoughts too much space to echo.
So when he gets home, he keeps his hands occupied.
Not out of urgency—out of regulation.
A small system of repetition that keeps him steady.
⸻
☾ Warm lamplight spills across the kitchen table, softening everything it touches. The TV murmurs in the background, low enough to feel like atmosphere rather than distraction.
He’s at the table, breaking something down that didn’t need breaking down.
You lean against the counter, watching him with the kind of familiarity that doesn’t need explanation anymore.
“You know you don’t have to do that every time you get back,” you say gently.
His eyes flick up for a moment. “I’m not doing anything.”
A faint smile touches your mouth. “You absolutely are.”
He exhales through his nose—almost amused. “Helps me think.”
You walk closer, resting your forearm lightly on the table.
“You always sit in the same chair too.”
A pause. Then, quieter:
“Yeah.”
“Because of the door?”
This time he doesn’t dodge it.
“…Yeah.”
No elaboration. None needed.
You nod like you already understand the shape of it.
“I like it,” you say softly. “I like seeing you… in your element.”
His hands slow for half a beat.
“…Yeah?”
You lean in just slightly, brushing a light kiss to his temple—quick, instinctive, like punctuation rather than performance.
“Yeah,” you murmur. “It’s you.”
And his shoulders ease like that sentence itself took the weight off his shoulders.
You never had realised just how much he cared about what you thought of him until that moment.
⸻
★ He is always looking after you, even when you don’t look after yourself sometimes.
You’ve been staring at your laptop for too long. The words stopped meaning anything a while ago, but you didn’t notice when that happened.
Leon does.
He always does.
“You’re not reading that.”
You blink up slowly. “Hm?”
“You’ve been stuck on the same line for a while.”
There’s no judgment in it. Just observation.
You exhale, closing the laptop slightly. “Yeah… I think I lost it.”
He nods once like that’s already solved.
“…You want something to eat?”
A soft smile pulls at your mouth. “Maybe later.”
“Okay.”
And that’s it. No pushing. No insistence.
Just acceptance.
⸻
☾ Ten minutes later, something warm is placed beside your workspace.
Not forced into your hands. Not announced.
Just there.
You glance at it, then at him.
The corners of your mouth lift faintly. “You’re persistent I’ll give you that.”
He sits across from you, leaning back slightly.
“
“You forget.”
You look at him for a moment—really look.
“What would I do without you, hmm?”
⸻
★ The Jacket
He doesn’t ask if you’re cold.
He already decided you shouldn’t be.
⸻
☾ You were on your way back from dinner when the weather turned.
The restaurant warmth is still lingering on your skin, the faint scent of food and citrus soap from the napkin still on your hands. You’re dressed up—more than usual—and you refused a jacket earlier because you liked how everything looked together.
Leon didn’t argue.
He just brought one anyway.
Now rain is falling hard enough to blur the streetlights into soft streaks of gold and white.
You instinctively pull your arms in, laughing softly. “That was fast.”
Before you can say anything else, his jacket is already around your shoulders.
You blink up at him. “You didn’t have to—”
“I know.”
No irritation. No edge.
Just calm certainty.
You slip your arms into it, warmth hitting you immediately. It smells like him—clean fabric, faint cologne, something metallic underneath that never quite leaves.
He shrugs slightly. “Figured you’d change your mind.”
You step closer instead of arguing, tugging the jacket tighter and brushing your fingers lightly against his sleeve.
“Thank you.”
He glances at you. “You were gonna freeze.”
“Still,” you say softly, and press a quick kiss to his cheek before he can overthink it.
He looks away for half a second like that wasn’t expected—but before you notice the tint in his cheeks he’s walking again, matching your pace without needing to be told.
⸻
★ The Doorway
He doesn’t choose where he stands.
He just ends up there.
⸻
☾ Frame of the Room
You’re cooking—something simple, something that fills the apartment with warmth and garlic and comfort.
When you turn, he’s in the doorway again.
Same position. Same quiet stillness.
“You know you always stand there?” you ask gently, a small, amused but warm smile spreading across your lips as you took in the sight of him.
He glances over. “Where?”
“Right there, in the door, not at the table, or in the other room...”
A small pause. “I’m just standing.”
You let out a small chuckle. “Blocking the door, Mr. Protector.”
He exhales lightly—almost a laugh. “Habit.”
You nod, turning back to the stove. “I think it’s real cute, you’re like my big scary guard dog.”
That gets a look.
“…Yeah?”
You reach back without thinking, fingers briefly catching his hand as he passes behind you.
“Yeah. I like that you always protect me… even when there’s nothing to protect me from, it’s romantic.” She replied with a giggle, playful but still the truth.
He doesn’t say anything after that.
But he doesn’t move away from his “tactical” position either.
⸻
★ You Ate?
He doesn’t always say how much he loves you out loud.
He just gives you constant little reminders that couldn’t be mistaken for anything else BUT love
⸻
☾ Not a Question
“You ate?”
“I will.”
He pauses like he already knows that answer doesn’t count.
Then he’s gone.
No frustration. No repetition.
Just certainty.
⸻
Ten minutes later, food appears beside you again.
You laugh softly when you see it. “You’re relentless.”
He sits down across from you. “Not really, just persuasive
You take a bite, watching him over the rim of the plate.
“You know I notice all of it, right?”
He tilts his head slightly. “All of what?”
“This,” you say gently. “You taking care of me like it’s the most normal thing in the world.”
A pause.
You reach across the table, brushing your fingers against his for a second.
“Thank you.”
His gaze softens, almost imperceptibly.
“…Yeah, of course..”
And that’s all he gives you—but it’s enough.
⸻
★ Instinct
It doesn’t announce itself.
It finds you only when you don’t have time to overthink it.
⸻
☾ Close Enough
You’re walking beside him, distracted by your phone, drifting a little too close to the curb.
He shifts.
Not dramatically. Not visibly.
Just enough to steer you with one arm to the other side of the pavement, away from the busy road. Putting himself between you and any danger.
“You’re doing it again,” you murmur without looking up.
“What?”
“That thing.”
A pause. “No idea.”
You smile faintly. “Every time I move on that side you move me back.”
He glances toward traffic. “Busy street.”
Silence settles between you.
Then, quieter:
“Don’t want you getting ran over by some drunk or something...” he grunted under his breath, he rolled his eyes but you could see clear as day that there was no real bite to it.
You lower your phone and look at him properly now.
“You’re a real sweetheart for a man who looks so grumpy.”
A beat.
“…Yeah?”
You bump your shoulder lightly against his arm.
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
And he stays exactly where he is.
⸻
★ Nightmares
He doesn’t wake loudly, no yelling, no thrashing around…
He just wakes up sweat soaked, his hands shaking, he tries to still them but it only makes it worse.
But he knows what will make it better…
⸻
☾ “I’ve got you, always.”
3:12 AM.
His hand finds you before his thoughts fully catch up.
Wrist. Shoulder. Breath.
You shift slightly. “Leon?”
That steadies him.
“…Yeah,” he murmurs. “Go back to sleep.”
You turn toward him instead. Slow. Warm. Familiar.
“Was it bad?”
A pause.
“…No,” he says finally. Then softer: “Just loud.”
You reach up, fingers curling lightly into his shirt.
“I’m here,” you remind him gently.
He nods once, like he needs that confirmation more than air. Then he does something that surprises even himself… he pulls you towards him with the arm that was wrapped tightly around your waist and lowers his head onto your shoulder, breathing in your scent for a few quiet moments. The hot air brushing against you neck and collarbone pulls a small content sigh from your lips.
“I know.” He replied finally after a long pause, his hands finally began to steady again.
The village smelled like smoke and blood. You hated places like this. Too quiet. Too many broken doors. Too many signs that something terrible had already happened. Your boots crunched against frost as you moved carefully between the ruined houses, handgun steady in your grip.
Being married to Leon Kennedy meant two things. 1. Your life was never normal. 2. You learned very quickly how to survive things that shouldn’t exist. Still… this place felt wrong. Very wrong. A scream echoed somewhere in the distance. Your head snapped toward the sound.
Not infected. Human. You ran toward it. A man burst from a doorway ahead of you, stumbling into the street with a shotgun clutched in his hands. He looked terrified. Blood smeared across his jacket. Behind him, something huge moved inside the house. A creature lunged out. Tall. Feral. Not human anymore. The man fired.
Missed. The monster tackled him. You raised your gun instantly.
Bang
Bang
Two shots straight through the creature’s skull. It collapsed immediately. The man stared at you in shock.
“You… you killed it.”
You lowered the gun slowly.
“What was that thing?”
He looked like he was still trying to process what just happened.
“I—I don’t know,” he stammered. “They came out of nowhere. People started turning into those things.”
Great. Another nightmare outbreak. You sighed quietly. Figures. Then the man asked.
“Who are you?”
You hesitated.
Giving your name in situations like this wasn’t always smart. But before you could answer, A familiar voice called from down the street.
“Hey!”
Your heart skipped. You turned instantly and there he was. Walking toward you through the fog. Leather jacket. Pistol already in hand.
Tired blue eyes scanning the area. Leon S. Kennedy. You stared for half a second.
“…Leon?”
He stopped walking. His expression went from focused to stunned.
“Y/N?”
Then he ran the rest of the distance. Before you could even react, his arms wrapped around you tightly. Relief poured off him like a wave.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he muttered against your hair.
You laughed softly.
“I could ask you the same thing.”
Leon pulled back, hands still on your shoulders as if checking you for injuries.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
His eyes narrowed slightly.
“You shot that thing?”
You gestured to the corpse.
“Yep.”
Leon let out a quiet breath.
“Good shot.”
Then he glanced at the stranger behind you.
“Who’s this?”
The man raised his hand awkwardly.
“Ethan.”
Leon’s eyes sharpened slightly. Ethan Winters.
“So you’re the guy looking for his daughter,” Leon said.
Ethan blinked.
“…you know about that?”
Leon sighed.
“Yeah. Long story.”
Then Leon looked back at you. Still clearly processing that you were standing in the middle of another bioweapon nightmare.
“Seriously,” he said. “Why are you here?”
You crossed your arms.
“I heard about the situation.”
“And?”
“And you were sent here.”
Leon groaned slightly.
“You followed me.”
“You married me,” you shot back.
Ethan watched the two of you in confusion.
“…Wait. You’re married?”
Leon rubbed the back of his neck.
“Yeah.”
You smirked slightly.
“Surprise.”
Ethan looked between the two of you like he couldn’t decide if that made the situation better or worse. Then a howl echoed through the village. All three of you immediately looked toward the forest. More creatures.
Leon drew his pistol again. His voice dropped into that calm, mission-ready tone you knew so well.
“Alright,” he said.
Then he glanced at you. A small, worried crease appeared between his brows.
“You staying close?”
You gave him a teasing look.
“You worried about me?”
Leon sighed.
“Always.”
You bumped his shoulder.
“Relax, Kennedy.”
Then you raised your gun.
“Let’s go save a kid.”
Leon smiled slightly. God help the monsters in this village. Because now they had to deal with both of you.
Summary: You are having issues with your restrictive eating disorder. He notices.
Content Warning: Non explicit restrictive type eating disorder and some angst. Open ending but implied to be happy.
Authors Note: Could ya'll tell me if this gives AI vibes? I've been accused of using AI a few times now and I can't figure out why. Is it the grammar or something?? I'd love some advice.
Masterlist
Leon notices a lot.
He always has. In the academy, he would notice when one of his classmates was having a rough day. In the days following Racoon City, while holed up in that shitty hotel room, he would notice how the couple in the next room seemed to be in the middle of a fight. Hell, even when he was a kid, he always could figure out when there was something going on behind the scenes.
Now, many years later, he still notices things.
Like how you, his beloved girlfriend, haven’t been eating lately.
It had started small. One day, you had eaten less of your dinner. You had just said that you weren’t hungry. ‘I had a big lunch.’ He hadn’t questioned it too much. God knows that if anyone had an irregular eating schedule, it was him. But as the days went on, so did that pattern.
One morning, you were feeling queasy. That evening, you were too tired. One day, he noticed that you didn’t eat a bite of your lunch, just pushing it around the plate until you said you were done. It was that night that he decided to question you about it.
It had taken him quite a bit of thought to decide on how to approach you. If his suspicions were right, then accusing you too suddenly could make you shrink back into your shell altogether. No, if he was to help you, then he had to do this slow.
You were laying in bed beside him, your head resting on his chest, when he asked it.
“Honey, are you feeling okay?”
Your eyes cracked open, peeking up at him from behind your lashes. “I’m fine, dear. Why do you ask?”
His hand came up to pet your hair, feeling the strands between his fingers. “Because you haven’t been eating.”
Fuck. That came out so, so much blunter than he meant it to.
In his arms, you stiffen instantly. Even your breathing stills, body freezing.
“... What?”
Well, he’s already in it now. Might as well keep going.
“Look, you don’t have to tell me about it.” He sighs, “But I’m not blind. Something’s up. You haven’t been touching your dinner.”
He doesn’t miss your shaky inhale. “I’m just not hungry. Been eating at work, is all.”
The breathy weakness to your voice makes him want to cry. His hand stops its absentminded petting, stilling atop your head.
“Please. Please don’t lie to me.”
That’s what gets you.
The sob that leaves you is small. Barely there. But in the darkness of the bedroom, he can hear it clearly. Your shoulders shake a little, head moving further into his chest like you can black out the world around you.
He continues, “I get it. I do. You don’t need to explain anything. I just want you to eat. Even just a little.”
“It’s hard.” You interrupt him before he can continue. “Food is just really… Not safe, right now. You wouldn’t understand.”
“You’re right. I wouldn’t.” He moves his head lower, kissing your hair, “But I also am here for you. I want to help you.”
More sniffles. He can almost swear that he feels wetness pooling onto his shirt beneath your face. “Lee, I just… I just don’t like how my body looks, okay?”
Ah.
So that’s it.
Quite honestly, for a moment, he’s not sure how to respond. His words feel stuck in his throat, forcefully silenced by shock.
You.. don’t like your body?
He’s never heard anything so ridiculous in his life.
Your body is perfect in his eyes. Sweet and soft and perfect. A gun to his head, he couldn’t say a single thing he didn’t like about it.
“Honey…” His tone comes out as shocked as he is, “You’re… You’re not-”
“I know.” Another small sob. “I know that you don’t see me like how I see me. It’s just hard right now. I get like this sometimes. I’m sure it’ll pass at some point. Just gotta hold out til then.”
He shakes his head. “Maybe. But I’m going to help you. Just tell me how, okay?”
For a second, you’re silent, head still buried in his chest.
(Leon S. Kennedy x Reader — tense first meeting, protective Leon, slow burn) Characters: Leon S. Kennedy, Ashley Graham Universe: Resident Evil 4
Leon kicked the door open carefully, gun already raised. The abandoned house creaked around him. Dust floated through the beam of his flashlight. This was the location his intel had given him. The place where the president’s daughter was supposed to be.
“Ashley?” he called quietly.
No response. He stepped further inside. Floorboards groaned under his boots. Then, a sudden movement. Someone rushed at him from the shadows. Leon reacted instantly, grabbing your wrist before the knife in your hand could connect. You struggled immediately.
“Let go!”
Leon twisted the knife from your grip and pinned your arm behind your back.
“Easy!” he snapped.
You froze for half a second before glaring up at him.
“You broke into my hiding spot!”
Leon blinked.
“…your what?”
You yanked your arm free and stumbled back, breathing hard. For a moment the two of you just stared at each other. You looked exhausted. Clothes dirty, hair messy, eyes sharp with fear and anger. Not Ashley Graham. Leon lowered his gun slightly.
“You’re not who I’m looking for.”
You scoffed.
“Clearly.”
He studied you carefully.
“You alone?”
You hesitated. Then you said quietly,
“…I was with my sister.”
Leon’s expression shifted slightly.
“Sister?”
“Grace.”
The name clearly meant nothing to him. Your shoulders stiffened.
“They took her,” you continued, voice tight. “Those villagers.”
Leon cursed under his breath. Same people. Same infection. He holstered his gun.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
You folded your arms.
“Neither should you.”
Leon almost smiled. Fair enough. He leaned against the wall slightly.
“I’m looking for someone too.”
You raised an eyebrow.
“Your sister?”
“President’s daughter.”
You blinked.
“…you’re serious?”
“Unfortunately.”
You stared at him for a moment. Then you rubbed your face with a tired sigh.
“So we’re both screwed.”
Leon huffed a quiet laugh.
“Something like that.”
The house creaked again. Both of you immediately turned toward the sound. Voices outside. Low. Angry. The villagers. You grabbed your knife from the floor. Leon raised his pistol again.
“Stay behind me,” he said automatically.
You looked offended.
“I can handle myself.”
“I believe you,” he replied calmly.
Another voice shouted outside. Closer now. Leon glanced at you again.
“You want to find your sister?”
“Obviously.”
“Then stick with me.”
You hesitated. Trusting strangers wasn’t exactly your thing. But the sounds outside were getting louder and this stranger had a gun.
“…fine,” you muttered.
Leon gave a quick nod. Then he opened the back door slowly.
“After you.”
You slipped outside first. The forest path stretched ahead, dark and quiet. For now. Leon followed, keeping watch behind you. After a few minutes of walking, you glanced at him.
“So…”
Leon raised an eyebrow.
“So?”
“You got a name, agent?”
“Leon.”
You nodded slowly.
“I’m guessing you already know mine.”
He smirked slightly.
“Nope.”
You rolled your eyes.
“Y/N.”
Leon repeated it under his breath. Like he was memorizing it. Then he said casually.
“Try not to stab me again.”
You glanced at him.
“No promises.”
Leon chuckled quietly. For a mission that was supposed to involve rescuing one girl. Things had just gotten a lot more complicated and Leon had a feeling you were going to be trouble. The kind he didn’t mind having around.
I don’t know if your request is open or not but if it is, is it okay for you to make a leon x reader fic about body dysmorphia? It can be anything really, up to you. My self esteem has been very low lately because of my condition. But, you don’t have to if you’re uncomfortable
Hey, anon. I really hope you're doing okay.
I also get body dysmorphia really badly, so I get it. Ngl, I usually try to write my requests at least somewhat in the order I get them, but I felt like you probably needed this sooner than later. Here you go, buddy. I hope you feel better soon.
Summary: Your body dysmorpha is acting up. He helps the best he can.
Masterlist
Wrong - Leon Kennedy x Reader
At first, he thinks it’s coincidence.
You stop appearing in photos. If someone pulls out a phone, suddenly you’re the one offering to take it. If there’s a mirror while getting ready, you somehow always end up angled away from it. You stop wearing some of your favorite clothes, opting for loose sweatpants and oversized hoodies instead. A button up blouse gets discarded in favor of a sweater. The pair of shorts that you’ve been wearing every summer for years hasn’t made it into rotation yet, your body covered in baggy pants. Then, one morning he realizes he hasn’t seen you wear your favorite pair of jeans in months.
It bothers him.
Of course, he doesn’t really give a damn what you wear. You could be dressed in a potato sack and Leon would still think you’re the most gorgeous person in the world. What bothers him is that he knows you loved those jeans. You had smiled in them.
He hasn’t seen that smile lately.
He doesn’t say anything about it. Not at first. He figures that it’s not his place to do so. Maybe you’ve decided that you don’t like them. That happens, he imagines.
Then, one rainy night, he finds you standing in the bathroom. Your back is turned to him, turning over to look at your body in the mirror. Your hands hover over your hips. Over your chest. Your sides and your thighs and every part of your body seems to get catalogued. Your hands tug once at your shirt. Then again.You pinch softly at your side. Your expression changes.
It’s tiny, but he knows you well enough to see it.
Your lips tug downwards for a moment, eyes closing as you let out a small sigh. He knows that look. It’s a mixture of disappointment and frustration and everything wrong.
Leon leans quietly against the doorway.
“…Whatcha doing?”
You jump, your hands dropping to your sides so fast that your palms make a slapping noise against your thighs.
You put on a smile. It’s so fake that it makes his heart hurt.
“Nothing! Just getting ready for bed.”
A step forward, his lips pursing.
“Honey…” His hand reaches out, offering itself to you, “Tell me the truth.”
Your smile falls. It’s like a switch has been flipped.
Eyes downturning to the floor, you murmur, “... I look weird lately.”
Leon wants to say a lot of things. A mixture of ‘no’ and ‘you’re beautiful’ and ‘what’s wrong?’. But he knows what the problem is. You’ve told him about it before.
“I dunno, Lee. Sometimes I just look in the mirror and everything looks wrong.”
You had described it as wanting to unzip your skin and step out of it. Like your body wasn’t familiar anymore. How it changed every time you looked in the mirror, to the point where you weren’t really sure what you truly looked like anymore.
He steps beside you, angling you towards the mirror to where he can see you both in the reflection.
“…You know something weird?”
You glance up. He shrugs, leaning his head to lay atop yours. “There are days I look in the mirror and all I can see are things I used to look like. Twenty one.” A small smile. “Or twenty-seven. Or before.”
His eyes drift. “And sometimes I look at myself and all I can think is…” His jaw shifts. “…that guy disappeared somewhere.”
You look at him. He finally turns. His expression stays easy.
“But when you look at me?”
You nod slowly. His mouth lifts.
“You never talk about any of that.”
You frown. “What?”
“You don’t look at me and see what changed.” His eyes soften. “You look at me and still act like I’m me.”
His hand reaches out, taking yours and holding it. His skin is warm and rough against your palm. His thumb brushes your knuckles, just like always. A routine that’s never really faded.
“…I think maybe your brain forgot to do that for you.”
Your face shifts, head turning to look away from the mirror as your eyes go teary. His hand squeezes yours once. A firm hold, dragging you out of your brain.
“You don’t have to believe me tonight.” His voice stays quiet. “But I’d like if you borrowed my eyes for a while.”
His smile turns crooked. “Mine seem to like you a lot more.”
Your laugh comes out watery. It makes his shoulders loosen, a breath finally releasing itself from his lungs.
He nudges your shoulder. “…C’mon.”
“What?” You sniffle.
He starts walking, guiding you along. “You’re making tea with me.”
“That’s your solution?”
He glances back. “No. But I think we both know staring harder wasn’t working.”
I don’t know if your request is open or not but if it is, is it okay for you to make a leon x reader fic about body dysmorphia? It can be anything really, up to you. My self esteem has been very low lately because of my condition. But, you don’t have to if you’re uncomfortable
Hey, anon. I really hope you're doing okay.
I also get body dysmorphia really badly, so I get it. Ngl, I usually try to write my requests at least somewhat in the order I get them, but I felt like you probably needed this sooner than later. Here you go, buddy. I hope you feel better soon.
Summary: Your body dysmorpha is acting up. He helps the best he can.
Masterlist
Wrong - Leon Kennedy x Reader
At first, he thinks it’s coincidence.
You stop appearing in photos. If someone pulls out a phone, suddenly you’re the one offering to take it. If there’s a mirror while getting ready, you somehow always end up angled away from it. You stop wearing some of your favorite clothes, opting for loose sweatpants and oversized hoodies instead. A button up blouse gets discarded in favor of a sweater. The pair of shorts that you’ve been wearing every summer for years hasn’t made it into rotation yet, your body covered in baggy pants. Then, one morning he realizes he hasn’t seen you wear your favorite pair of jeans in months.
It bothers him.
Of course, he doesn’t really give a damn what you wear. You could be dressed in a potato sack and Leon would still think you’re the most gorgeous person in the world. What bothers him is that he knows you loved those jeans. You had smiled in them.
He hasn’t seen that smile lately.
He doesn’t say anything about it. Not at first. He figures that it’s not his place to do so. Maybe you’ve decided that you don’t like them. That happens, he imagines.
Then, one rainy night, he finds you standing in the bathroom. Your back is turned to him, turning over to look at your body in the mirror. Your hands hover over your hips. Over your chest. Your sides and your thighs and every part of your body seems to get catalogued. Your hands tug once at your shirt. Then again.You pinch softly at your side. Your expression changes.
It’s tiny, but he knows you well enough to see it.
Your lips tug downwards for a moment, eyes closing as you let out a small sigh. He knows that look. It’s a mixture of disappointment and frustration and everything wrong.
Leon leans quietly against the doorway.
“…Whatcha doing?”
You jump, your hands dropping to your sides so fast that your palms make a slapping noise against your thighs.
You put on a smile. It’s so fake that it makes his heart hurt.
“Nothing! Just getting ready for bed.”
A step forward, his lips pursing.
“Honey…” His hand reaches out, offering itself to you, “Tell me the truth.”
Your smile falls. It’s like a switch has been flipped.
Eyes downturning to the floor, you murmur, “... I look weird lately.”
Leon wants to say a lot of things. A mixture of ‘no’ and ‘you’re beautiful’ and ‘what’s wrong?’. But he knows what the problem is. You’ve told him about it before.
“I dunno, Lee. Sometimes I just look in the mirror and everything looks wrong.”
You had described it as wanting to unzip your skin and step out of it. Like your body wasn’t familiar anymore. How it changed every time you looked in the mirror, to the point where you weren’t really sure what you truly looked like anymore.
He steps beside you, angling you towards the mirror to where he can see you both in the reflection.
“…You know something weird?”
You glance up. He shrugs, leaning his head to lay atop yours. “There are days I look in the mirror and all I can see are things I used to look like. Twenty one.” A small smile. “Or twenty-seven. Or before.”
His eyes drift. “And sometimes I look at myself and all I can think is…” His jaw shifts. “…that guy disappeared somewhere.”
You look at him. He finally turns. His expression stays easy.
“But when you look at me?”
You nod slowly. His mouth lifts.
“You never talk about any of that.”
You frown. “What?”
“You don’t look at me and see what changed.” His eyes soften. “You look at me and still act like I’m me.”
His hand reaches out, taking yours and holding it. His skin is warm and rough against your palm. His thumb brushes your knuckles, just like always. A routine that’s never really faded.
“…I think maybe your brain forgot to do that for you.”
Your face shifts, head turning to look away from the mirror as your eyes go teary. His hand squeezes yours once. A firm hold, dragging you out of your brain.
“You don’t have to believe me tonight.” His voice stays quiet. “But I’d like if you borrowed my eyes for a while.”
His smile turns crooked. “Mine seem to like you a lot more.”
Your laugh comes out watery. It makes his shoulders loosen, a breath finally releasing itself from his lungs.
He nudges your shoulder. “…C’mon.”
“What?” You sniffle.
He starts walking, guiding you along. “You’re making tea with me.”
“That’s your solution?”
He glances back. “No. But I think we both know staring harder wasn’t working.”
ok ok three random leon s. kennedy soft headcanons
𐙚 He's been the first person to acquaint you on how to handle a gun properly. Rough, calloused hands brush against your fingers as he shows you how to control the trigger and barrel, slowly aiming at target with your hand intertwined with his.
"That's it, baby. Just breathe." He whispers.
Warm breath grazes against your neck as you close on eye to fixate on the object infront of you two, mapping out the surroundings before aiming.
His sight never leaves you, observing how your chest rises and falls with each breath—the small tremor in your fingers and how oddly appealing you look with his guns on you.
He quietly offers you the time you need, his front pressed into you from behind to ensure the trigger won't push you back too far and end up injuring you.
He doesn't flinch or move when your pointy nudges the trigger, shooting straight ahead with a loud bang. He smiles fond to himself, you're a natural—as expected of his girl.
He sighs softly, fingers cradling your head before pressing a light kiss to your head. "So proud of you."
𐙚 He kisses you like there's no tomorrow, because frankly his job has him missing and starving you like crazy. He's afraid any other day his next mission might pull you apart again, so he doesn't half ass your time together and especially not when your soft lips are just in reach.
He's gentle with it, at first, fingers threading around your neck to hold onto you. His mouth moves with yours in slow rhythm, savoring the heat of your breath, the small gasps that slip past you and his favourite—fingers digging into his arms like he's all you can hold onto.
He's patient, but even his composure shatters after a long day. It's not long before his tongue demands entrance, groaning when you oblige without second thought.
"Fuck, you feel so good." He grunts before diving in again, kissing you with more fever.
He'll guide you two towards the next chair, sofa, bed, he doesn't care, anywhere to pull you onto his lap to feel your body squeezing into him while tasting you to the fullest.
𐙚 He's a loyal boyfriend. He carries a small photo of you in the pocket of his uniform no matter where he's heading and even cares for the matching rings he's bought for you two.
He's usally very busy but even with his schedule, you occupy his mind more than once a day. It's the fleeting thoughts when something remembers him of his girl.
He's professional and all serious but once he gets to wind down, his mind circles around you—have you been taking care? What are you doing?
He's just as lonely as you are when he hasn't been home for a few days, but that has never let his love for you die down.
Summary: Leon calls you before returning to Raccoon City.
a/n: This takes place during Resident Evil Requiem. Reader is around the same age as Leon.
"This might take longer than planned," Leon sighed, furrowing his brows as he stared out of the car window. Rain hammered relentlessly against the glass.
You knew what you were getting into when you married Leon, you'd known that from the very beginning.
His work was dangerous, every mission came with the risk of never seeing each other again. But you were never going to stop him.
He'd been through enough over the years, and if that's the work he wants to do, you'll stand by him.
You breathed out shakily, scared for him, as he was already weak and the T-Virus was still spreading. "If you don't come back, I'll personally go and drag you home with me," your voice was stern and Leon couldn't help but smile weakly.
He knew you would definitely do it, you always keep your word, and he also knew you could handle yourself - after all, you two had met through this job.
Though yours mostly entailed paperwork now, while his was all about the action.
"I'll make it fast," he rasped, glancing down at the ring on his left hand. His thumb brushed over the metal before he slipped on his black gloves. Frustration flickered across his face at the sight of the dark T-Virus marks spreading along his skin.
“You better. I'll stay in contact with Sherry." You wouldn't usually get involved in his missions, but hearing the sudden news gave you a bad feeling, and you also didn't want to distract him.
Leaning his head against the black car seat, he closed his eyes for a couple of seconds. "Keeping tabs on me," he smirked slightly, continuing, "I don't need a babysitter." His tone was light, he was obviously joking.
You shook your head softly and let out a quiet chuckle. "You definitely do. I look away for one second, and suddenly you’re halfway across the world."
Hearing your chuckle made him happy, even though the situation he was in wasn't ideal. "It comes with the job. I have to be fast."
You rolled your eyes, even though Leon couldn't see it. He was sure you had, and said, "Don't roll your eyes at me."
You let out a surprised huff. "I didn't-"
"Sure did," he said, and you weren't going to argue further, knowing that you would lose, as Leon already knew everything about you.
A couple of peaceful, quiet seconds passed until you broke the silence. "How are you feeling?" Usually, that would be a normal question, but he didn't like it. Ever since the dark marks started appearing, you had been worried about him, and the mere thought of carrying the virus made him mad.
He thought he had escaped his past, but it had come back to haunt him once more, reminding him of all his failures - though you would argue about that. You always told him that he hadn't failed, but Leon had experienced things he shouldn't have that day and seen things that still haunted him at night. It was becoming more and more difficult for him to stay positive day by day.
"Good," he answered, his voice clipped. You already knew it was a lie, but you'd let it slide this once, not wanting to make things even more difficult for him.
"Leon, I love you" that sentence always made him feel good, but this time it didn't. He knew you were saying it in case this would be the last time.
His hand balled into a fist, he sighed heavily and his voice came out hoarse "I love you. Stay safe."
"I should be saying that to you."
"I always stay safe, I have someone at home waiting for me."
Not long after, you two ended the call and you were lying in bed, your heart racing with fear at the thought of losing him, while Leon leaned his forehead against the steering wheel, trying to focus before getting out of the car.
All the running around had exhausted Grace, who leaned against a wall. Leon stopped moving, knowing she needed a break.
They were safe for now, though they shouldn't stay in the same place for too long.
"How are you holding up?" he asked, his eyes focusing on the gun in his hand before looking up to make eye contact with Grace.
She was incredibly pale and still gasping for breath. "Holding up... fine," she managed, stuttering slightly.
The older man shook his head slightly as he leaned against the wall next to her, making her look up at him in surprise.
"It's okay to be scared," he told her, continuing, "Back then, I was just as scared as you."
The young woman listened closely, needing a couple of seconds before whispering, "How did you overcome it?"
Leon let a bitter smile graze his lips. "You don't overcome it, you just get used to it." And it was true, the fear was still there, though it was only vivid in his dreams. Meanwhile, he had become numb during missions.
"Why are you telling me this?" Grace stuttered, though the conversation did make her feel a little calmer as her shoulders relaxed.
"Because my wife would be furious if I didn't comfort you," he replied, and that was also true. Years ago, you used to be on missions too, until you were seriously injured and had to take a long break. After that, you realised that you weren't ready to continue anytime soon, so you ended up doing the paperwork for DSO.
During your time on the field, you were always there to comfort others. As the oldest person in your small team, you felt responsible for everyone, and you knew that leaving them to deal with their fears alone simply wasn't the right thing to do.
Those agents obviously grew up and became less scared, but they always remembered your words and made sure to thank you each time they saw you.
"Your wife seems like a great woman," she smiled, not having expected for Leon to open up.
"She is."
"For fuck's sake, Leon!" You cursed loudly and paced around the living room. It had been hours - even days - and you were starting to become restless.
Calls with Sherry hadn't managed to calm you down, as she herself had become nervous while telling you that Leon's condition was deteriorating. Even though that had been hours ago, you could still remember her voice shaking on the phone.
But you didn't want to cry, not now, because crying would mean losing hope and you weren’t going to lose hope - not today. Not ever.
Leon had never let you down, and whenever he promised to come back to you, he kept his word.
You two had been through worse, and you weren't going to let Raccoon City defeat your husband.
Lost in thought, you barely heard the door open. Your instant reaction was to grab a knife from the shelf and turn around, pointing it at the intruder. Only then did you see who you were pointing it at.
"Leon," you whispered, dropping the knife and running towards him. He closed the door and opened his arms to pull you tightly against him.
"I told you I'd come back to you," Leon said quietly, pressing a kiss against the side of your head and making you look up at him.
You opened your mouth to speak, but suddenly closed it again when you saw his neck. The marks were completely gone.
Without saying anything, you stepped back and pulled his gloves off, only to see that the marks had disappeared from there too. "How?"
Leon couldn't help but smile as his hands came up to hold your face. "It's a long story. I'll tell you later," and with that he leaned down to press a kiss against your lips.
You gasped softly in response before moving your lips against his and gripping his shirt tightly to pull him closer.
He didn't want to admit it, but while he had the T-Virus, he had been scared to touch you in case it spread. Now that it was gone, Leon could finally let himself enjoy these kinds of moments.
Not actually wanting to stop but needing to take a breath, you two pulled back slightly and leaned your foreheads against each other.
"I'm sorry for worrying you," Leon whispered against your lips. You softly shook your head. "Doesn't matter, as long as you're safe. Just remember to always come back."
"That's the only thing on my mind," he said, before leaning in to kiss you again.
Summary: No matter what you do, people keep asking you when you're going to have a child, and it's starting to take its toll.
a/n: This is about RE: Requiem Leon, as I'm currently obsessed with it. The reader is around the same age as Leon. This is very self-indulgent, I posted the reason for it as well.
It was always the same thing.
No matter how old you were, whenever you got a boyfriend or when you got married, the same questions would always come up.
"Do you want kids?"
"When are you going to have kids?"
"Why don't you want kids?"
The questions were so tiring that you could have started banging your head against the wall. It was as if the things you had accomplished didn't matter, or as if your choice over your own body needed to be given a reason for.
Ever since you were a teenager, you had known that you didn't want children. It's not that you despise them, you just don't want any.
And for some reason, nobody understands that.
Even your family and friends started asking when you were going to have a baby with your husband, as if having children were the only reason for getting married.
Slowly, it was starting to get to you.
Wherever you looked, there were babies with their happy parents, enjoying themselves, while you felt like there was something wrong with you.
Why can't you just be like them? Why can't you just want a child and make Leon happy?
Sometimes you'd catch yourself looking in the mirror and pulling your top up slightly to see what you'd look like pregnant - would that make you more desirable?
It's not like your husband doesn't love you. He does. In fact, he loves you very much.
Not a day went by without him complimenting you and showing you affection, but maybe it was all just an act. Perhaps he was just waiting for you to give in, and maybe he had changed his mind after all.
Before you got married, you made sure to have all kinds of talks. Especially when it came to having kids, and you were both glad to be seeing eye to eye. You had no interest in having children and just wanted to enjoy each other's presence.
But each day you were getting more and more exhausted. Sometimes you were so exhausted that you wouldn't even be able to respond, and you would find yourself ignoring others. Inside your mind, questions were giving you a headache.
And today... Today was horrible.
Everyone knows that Leon S. Kennedy is married to you. Yes, the golden boy of DSO is married to a failed agent who stepped down because she was foolish enough to get injured years ago. Now she's too afraid to start again as an agent - how pathetic.
Back then, you and Leon were one of the most talked-about agents. You were selfless, caring, smart and strong. While Leon's reputation improved, yours worsened simply because you gave up and took a desk job at DSO.
And if there's one person who hates you, it's Blaire - currently one of the best agents around, who has also been on missions with your husband.
No matter what time of day, she would find a way to ruin it for you. She would come into your office cubicle just to wind you up, and she was really good at it.
Today, however, her words hit you particularly hard, as you clearly remembered the moment, even though hours had passed.
You heard a knock on your cubicle, and that's how it started.
Turning around and looking behind your shoulder for a second to catch a quick glimpse, and after seeing that it was Blaire, you moved your head forward again to focus on the documents you were reading.
A couple of seconds passed, and you started to feel uncomfortable because you could feel her staring at you.
Huffing quietly, the blonde woman pulled out a spare chair and sat down beside you. She crossed her right leg over her left as she leaned back in the chair.
"Still boring as ever." she said quietly, but loud enough for you to hear as you curled your right hand tightly around your pen.
You couldn't focus on the words in the document. "Leon and I were on a mission. DSO booked us a really nice place to stay."
You closed your eyes for a moment before opening them and turning your chair around to make eye contact with her.
Blaire is a beautiful woman - that's a fact. She has long blonde hair, seductive green eyes, plump lips, and curves that could make anyone turn around to stare.
You're usually not the jealous type either. If your husband is that easy to have, they can have him. But you knew he only wanted you, and he was very vocal about his dislike of her.
You and your husband know that she wants him, following him wherever he goes. Coming way too close to him, putting a hand on his arm while he steps away with a glare.
But you were vulnerable. Having already been worrying a lot lately, she definitely managed to pick the worst possible day to make you worry even more.
"He's quite handsome, you know." She smirked as she leaned forward, never taking her eyes off you as you gripped the chair's handle tightly, your nails digging into it, while she continued, "A husband like that would surely make a woman want to stay in bed with him. It's surprising that you two still don't have a kid."
She giggled in a grating way that made you wince. "Or maybe he's disgusted to be with you." She looked you up and down, and you unconsciously leaned back to make yourself look smaller.
"You know," she said, abruptly leaning closer to you so that you couldn't move away from her breath on your face. "If you don't give him a child, someone else surely will." With that, she stood up and smiled at you - though it was definitely not a kind smile - and finally left.
You let out a breath you didn't realise you were holding and reached into your handbag for the small mirror you always carried with you.
Looking at your reflection, you started to feel a heavy feeling in your chest and a tightening in your throat.
There are so many other women who are more attractive than you, and you still don't understand how he could have chosen you out of everyone.
You had wrinkles, and grey hairs were starting to appear as time passed.
Back then, you looked forward to getting older and seeing what you would look like in the future. Now, however, you can barely stand to look at yourself.
'Does Leon even like looking at me?' You asked yourself this throughout your shift, grinding your teeth together whenever you felt close to tears.
Being at home was good, you were able to relax a bit - but you soon realised that there was no escape.
Your mind was jumping to stupid conclusions, making it seem as if something was wrong. You could just lie in bed staring at the wall, hoping to finally fall asleep.
Hours passed, however, and rest never came, until you heard the door open and there he was, Leon.
He'd had a meeting today - an exhausting one, as you could see from the tired look in his eyes - but seeing you still awake made him raise an eyebrow.
"Couldn't sleep, baby?" he asked softly. His voice gave you goosebumps, as it always did, and he slowly took off his clothes to get into bed.
You forced a small smile, happy that it was dark enough for him not to notice. "I was thinking about the documents from work. Difficult case."
He nodded in understanding. Having finally taken his clothes off, he was now only in sweatpants. He lay down next to you in bed and turned around to face you.
"Workaholic," he whispered jokingly, getting a quiet laugh out of you. You gave him a soft slap on the chest, and he let out a fake sound of pain.
"You've taken worse hits," you said, he smiled lazily at you before he leaned forward and pressed a kiss on your forehead, making you relax a bit.
"You're quite strong," he responded, making you roll your eyes at him while he slowly leaned down and pressed a feather-light kiss against your lips.
It started out softly, with only a chaste kiss on the lips at first, as if you were the most delicate thing, scared to hurt you. But once you moved your lips, Leon put a hand around your waist and pulled you tighter against him, and you started making out.
You didn't always have the time to enjoy each other's company, so on nights like this, you wanted to spend every second together.
When your husband bit your bottom lip, you gasped softly into his mouth as his tongue entered your mouth, pulling you even closer until you were lying on top of him.
Moving your legs to straddle his waist, you laid your hands on his chest, while he rested one hand on your waist and moved the other to the nightstand.
In the quiet room, all that could be heard were the quiet noises of you two kissing, followed by the sound of a wrapper as Leon started ripping it open.
You'd usually be excited, it's not like you didn't want him - you did, badly. But all you could hear were Blaire's voice and everyone asking why you weren't pregnant yet.
So, you slowly placed a hand on Leon's hand, which was opening the wrapper. This made him pull away slightly to look at you.
His pupils were blown wide and he was breathing heavily as he leaned his forehead against yours. "Something wrong, baby?" He stroked your cheek with his free hand while your heart beat rapidly in your chest and you weren't really able to look into his eyes.
"We don't have to do anything. Having you beside me is more than enough," Leon continued, pulling his hand out of yours to put the condom on the nightstand.
You sighed softly, then found the courage to speak up "We should try without it. I don't want to make you feel restricted."
Hearing this, Leon furrowed his eyebrows and suddenly pushed himself up so that he was sitting with the headboard against his back. He positioned you comfortably, ensuring you were still straddling his lap.
Leon was now focusing on your face. You started to feel nervous, silently cursing yourself for saying that and knowing he could tell something was wrong.
Using condoms had never been a problem before. Your husband always enjoyed himself, so it had never been an issue.
Slowly, he put his hands on your face and made you look at him. He had a concerned look on his face. "Tell me what's wrong," he said. His tone was gentle, leaving room for you to dodge the conversation if you weren't ready yet.
You inhaled shakily and felt the corners of your mouth tremble slightly. Feeling embarrassed, but also wanting to tell him what the problem was, you finally gave in.
"I just don't know what's wrong with me," you said, the first sob breaking out as tears started running down your face. Leon pulled you closer by your waist, gently rubbing the side of your thighs as he listened attentively.
"I... I just can't do it anymore. Everyone always asks the same fucking question, and I feel like I'm going insane. I don't want kids - you know that, and I know that - but ever since we started dating, and especially after we got married, people have been pressuring me to have kids." You balled your hands into fists and continued in a trembling voice, "I feel like I have to give you a child. What if you leave me if I don't? Am I a terrible-"
Before you could continue, Leon pulled you into a tight hug, cutting you off mid-sentence as you gave in completely. You wrapped your arms around his neck and cried into his shoulder. He let you stay in that position until you had calmed down a bit.
Once your sobs had stopped, your husband pressed a kiss onto your neck and asked, "Can I see your face? Is that okay?" You nodded slightly and pulled back a bit so that you were looking at each other again.
He wiped a couple of tears away, starting to talk "You're not obligated to give me anything. Your body is your choice, and there is no need for a justification."
"But-"
"No, let me speak." The voice was slightly stern, but not angry. It made you bite your lip while he continued, "I don’t want kids either. That hasn’t changed. Whatever people are saying to you, forget it. The only person I want is you. The idea of being with someone else? It doesn't even cross my mind. You keep me grounded more than you realise. Without you, things would feel pretty damn empty. So, whoever has been putting that idea in your head, don't listen to them. And the next time someone tries, tell me, alright?"
You nodded and he leaned forward, leaving a quick kiss against your lips. "I love you, and that's not going to change."
"I love you too," you whispered back, and you two lay down again. His arms never leaving your body as he pulled you tightly against himself, and you were finally able to sleep.
You knew that this wouldn't be the last time, but with Leon by your side, things would get better because you two had always faced everything together.
sending this hoping ur reqs are open im so sorry if they’re not !!
can i req reader seducing dad leon while mom is still somewhere in the house? slowly pulling up your skirt (or maybe you’re wearing his shirt and it’s too big on you), spreading your legs for him, etc., in their room/marital bed? whether or not it’s the first time dad!leon and reader have had sex i leave up to u both routes are sooo scrumptious
haiiii my reqs are always open dw dear and omg this is so yum i was so happy to receive this!!!! i hope i did the justice to this tbh ngl o: i had in mind di Leon ngl lol!!! happy fathers day to our dad :3
WHORE DISCIPLE
Leon S Kennedy x female reader | MDNI!! 18+ | dead dove do not eat, incest, dad-daughter incest, smut, porn without plot, female reader, conflicted emotions, infidelity, fingering, vaginal sex, loss of virginity, unsafe sex, teasing, obsession, he is sweet, dirty talk, petnames, sorry for mistakes lol.
Win a lotto. Your mom hit a real jackpot with your dad — your friend told you with a dreamy sigh.
He is straight out of hottest titled porn. A chiseled jaw with stubble sprinkled grazes your skin akin to a fresh cut grass after every kiss. Especially vulnerable to the tickle that comes with it, a trilling giggle escapes whenever your skin presses against him in a quick, accidental kiss. It makes your pussy wet — a real deal. A real pussy eater jaw, would make you moan dad more! plenty.
A real man. As much as one can be, your personal guilty pleasure. A quixotic wet dream, haunts you whenever another dark blonde man, adorned by crow feet, ravages a new pussy on your screen. A girl with the most cake; you want it all. Long legged cuties spread their legs for every type of cock; imitating their smeared expression by spit and sperm, taking notes of arch and overexcited movements. And a skirt perfect enough to flash your heart-shaped butt. Learning from the best. You are going to be a much better lover than your mom is. Louder, prettier, with your cunt as expressive as your eyes are. Leon just doesn't know that yet.
Not only this, but other knowledge slips through his fingers like sand. A constant vague hunger, a food unrelated one — touch starved, your clit throbs whenever he is in your eyesight. The morning coffee caprice vanishes and the sausage grows chewy dry, keyed up on the chair.
You drag him into predicaments a father wouldn't find himself in, normally. A family dinner doesn't go without his fingers amidst your plush thighs, while your mom's mouth is chewing onto quick made dinner. That's a family dinner, not a fucking porn scenario. In his defense, he is a simple man, and you guided him there! A father is not supposed to have pictures of your perky tits on his phone either; happy Father's Day, dad! Oops! That was just a mistake, dad! — your excuse, a gift for Father's Day. He promised to delete them (he never did).
In his defense, a daughter is not supposed to blueball her own dad. Nor tossing around your lacy underwear your mom doesn't wear, Leon bought them all with you on his rare holiday, freshly soaked with your slick leaving a trail lasting whole day on his fingertips. Even non present, you haunt him in pictures hanging on the walls of the house. A hand on his thigh (too close to his dick) every family picture can't be without a touch.
What's his is yours.
And his shirts. They disappear with a suspicious frequency, the stereotypical jealous wife would have the most picturesque fantasy; a possible lover. A faceless woman, red wine coloured nails on the waifish fingers, loosely hung on his shoulder in a cocktail dress, ebony eyelashes that bat away any worry in a man's heart. Young and driven by caprice, soaking herself in the perfume before the rendezvous — a valid explanation for Leon to reek in cherry notes. Instead, a red squared bottle, on the sink of your bathroom, emanates that cloyingness, your pajama consists in his shirts — naturally doubts don't exist inside your mother's heart. Just affectionate. Daddy's girl. Through and through. To bone marrow.
Freud would have a field day with you. Penis envy is bullshit, the coke fried brain conjures nonsense treated as a fact if it is from a man. Your mother is envious of you, not vice versa. As a matter of fact, it is evident by her gaze hopping up and down across your figure, lips separate in a loud smack; you look like a whore, dress up nicely, don't bring shame to my name.
A Givenchy wouldn't look like a rug on you. Birkin wouldn't cheapen your outfit either. She doesn't deserve that. There will be no kids clinging to your hip — no fucking way, your dad doesn't need another baby while he has you. Envious of slipped youth by popping a baby, envious of your perky boobs that will never be tainted by pregnancy, and a pussy that would get him hooked worse than a heroin.
It is going to be. You will make it sure. Well, made it sure. An urgent notification from your mom popping on his screen is enough to urge him into bedroom, pretty obvious despite his following-lady-lead-is-not-my-style bullshit, ring coiled around his finger is the most normalcy he could ever get.
Instead, the sight in front of him jumped off a tacky fantasy. A garnish Hitchockian, cool platinum blonde femme fatale on the book cover one would find on the shelves of a lonely lady with blue eyeshadow and grey roots peeking out; you just lack a red satin robe. With a loose deep cut. And you are not blonde.
Nonplussed, forced to meet your eyes, being half of your mother, Leon clearly hasn't gone mad to confuse you with her. Yet at least. Like a pretty gift in his shirt, you are sitting on the same bed he conceived you. And Leon is too aware for his own good about the throbbing dick beneath his jeans.
"What are you doing here?" Leon asks, uncertain if he even wants to hear the answer.
"Waiting for you." The fabric slowly pulls up by your two fingers, legs spread in front of his glued eyes to your walking digits. A peek of your pussy, until it is on full display; slick drips across your lips. Jesus Christ, so alone, needy with throbbing clit waiting for your dad. Stop Leon, this is your daughter. Vulnerable, like a newborn puppy.
A hard swallow, tensed lips. "You need to dress up, before your mom comes here," Leon says, hand resting on doorknob this close to turn and leave the room. "I'll bring you clothes."
"No-no-nonono!" You trill. "Dad, please, stay! Please, please, please or I'll scream."
"Scream?" His hand drags across his face, in hope it would wipe the growing weariness. Your dad is not a stupid man, otherwise he'd be your birthday's gift soaked in formalin. Lost Cherry by Tom Ford.
"…You can't do this to me, and I can't do this to you, pumpkin," Leon says plaintively. To your mom too. But that fades as quick as the floor creaks before he stops himself from stepping closer. "And your mom can enter any time."
"I am not asking a lot."
"Missy, you are trying to bite more than you can chew."
A loud pop, like from a lollipop, falls from your heart-shaped lips. Not so different from your gaze (Leon swears to god your pupils form hearts) immersed by tracing his figure before lingering on his groin. It gave you answers to every existing question in your pretty little head.
The outline of his dick is embodied. Not hiding struggles against the fabric of his jeans, harder than he has ever been. As much as Viagra is a good AED for whiskey dick — a dry sex in the dark with your mom cancels its effect.
"I don't think mama would be happy about this though." Your head nods towards his hard dick. "Aaand, you can always lock the door," you add simply.
Innocently staring at him, this is a joke he swears to god. A terrible one. A good father would wash your mouth, maybe slap this nonsense out of you. Click! In the heaving silence to his sensitive ears it felt like a full blast; probably echoing across every angle of the house, just a second your mom's footsteps have to ring next. Instead there is nothing. The door is locked. Only a mellifluous giggle slips out of you, amused by your father's standing like a useless dildo.
"Can't believe I've been raising a whore of a daughter all this time." Lower lips juts out which gets kissed away as soon as it appears.
"I am not!"
"Then who? Your mother?" Leon asks. His hand settled amidst your plush thighs, fingers run across your pussy savoring clinging slick to his skin. Carefully, it dips inside your leaking warmth, forcing your eyelashes flutter at a thick digit slowly thrusting inside your squeezing walls.
His lips distract your body from hypothetical painful stretch around his digit. Exquisite. His kisses are always. With no space for you, peppering them all over your face, leaving a trail of sparkling marks. Suffocating, drunkens your senses. His stubble tickles you to sink deeper into the bed with a muffled creak. Sheets susurrate by your squirming as his lips shift to your neck, like there is an invisible candy necklace, lulling him to bite and soothe the mark with his tongue.
"How many boys got you like that?"
"Zero." And Leon leans back to look into your face better.
"A virgin?" At your age there are a minimum two kids clinging to stretched by another pregnancy hip. You have none, busy daydreaming about dad's cock. "Fuck, were you keeping yourself for your dad?" You nod.
A wave of guilt sobers him, a glimpse of conscience lingers in his stormy blues. It is supposed to be taken by a man, your heart would swell with love from one glance, a man that would love you with the same intensity. Something romantic, rose petals on the bed with guttering candles. Your needy whine crosses this out, narrowing to only one trivia; there is no man better than your dad.
A hard swallow. A kiss on your forehead (more for himself than for you). Another finger slips, you hiss softly at the burning stretch. "Oh, don't worry, alright? That's what I'm here for."
It doesn’t linger for too long, replaced by growing pleasure. It buds inside your cunt whenever his fingers curl to press onto your sweet-sweet spongy spot. Your first, your best man, the only one you want. His head rests on your knee, gaze directed in between your legs; your hole swallows his fingers with a loud squelch as you get wetter after every steady pump. Amusing. Ridiculously easy for him. Perhaps a grace, ignoring soaked hole, which belongs to his dear daughter. The first and only one child.
There aren't many moments in his life comparable to this velvety wetness squeezing his digits with so much need. A honeymoon flashes in his mind, that's a bad comparison — you couldn't take this from your mother. If his head is not failing him. Hit it too many times, job's downsides.
Pussy out of porn, he'd say. And he knows them very well, marriage dries a woman, but his balls are painfully full with nowhere to ease. Fleshlight could be a good choice, your fuddy-duddy daddy prefers old ways; easier to explain, easier to hide. An almost identical unnatural amount of slick gathers around his fingers — you just lack pornographic pretenses.
In the end you are asking for this with your whole body, wavering with your hips towards him as if hoping for more. Something thicker, bigger. Something real. A pop echoes by his withdrawn hand. Risking your mom's knock is undesirable and Leon is too hard right now to brush you away. Too late, he tugs onto his belt, your ears pick up a loud zip. Your head flicks up, like a curious cat with identically dilated pupils, trying to get a peek of his dick.
Flipping pages of the raunchy magazines hidden beneath your mattress, there were all kinds of dicks printed on; big ones, curved to the left ones, ones mushroom looking, ones you wouldn't find among various porn actors, sickeningly similar to your dear daddy, chosen subconsciously by your nefarious mind. Until today you would never know what his dick is like. Thick, unlike many porn dicks the size is not enormous, it was made just for you, not weathered by Viagra abuse or STD bouquet, but naturally hard, his head glistens with smeared precum. A glittery sparkle. Perfect lipgloss.
"It is rude to stare, baby." Almost flattering to your old man, this close to pull your face down onto sheets. Leon tugs your hips towards him, not letting your shame to mouth a quick 'sorry'.
Your legs hang onto his hips, skin-to-skin his dick slots between your folds, a little tease to what’s coming. With a glide up and down, his tip positions to your hole. Not falling into teasing for too long, slowly his dick sinks into you. A light whine slips as he pushes through, anxiously your head tosses to the side awaiting for worse to come.
"Look at me, or I'll stop," Leon says. Glossy eyes dart towards him. Tight, sickeningly tight. Virgin tight, the type of pussy a man dreams, driven to knees by raising every existing skirt in hope of it. "I know it hurts, baby, but you can do this for me, so fucking good —fuck." You flutter around him as his dick pushes further until he is buried fully. "You like your dad here, huh?"
You nod — a little bit redundant, he doesn't comment. Your pussy answers for you. His hips slots against yours, balls nestle flat against your butt. Your walls flutter tightly, gripping him as his dick slides out, slathered by your slick mixed with drops of blood. Fucking hot, his dick throbs before with undulate motion of his hips, with a full thrust he buries his dick until it kisses your cervix.
A light discomfort vanishes into at foreign fullness between your legs. That's new, doesn't feel like your fingers at all. Those were only two while his dick is three in girth? You'd say even four. Three and half — sounds about right. There was an expectation of excruciating pain to twist your body; perhaps you were born under a lucky star, it never comes. Well, you know this shit hurts as hell, feels like you are getting raped, your friend's words are meaningless now, and you were too naive to believe them. Frankly, what could you even know?Her cherry was popped long before you got to know her. It doesn't matter now, thoughts unrelated to your dad are kicked by his quickening pace.
If someone would have told him his dick would plow deep inside you on the same bed you, his first and only child, were conceived — a trigger would have been pulled. Your pampered existence is the sun for him to orbit, dick deep inside your pussy doesn't change that instead you centers him like he is your whole world. For both of you, it is an unchanging fact.
Not so far from the truth. Ecstasy takes shape in your dilated pupils, your lips struggle to keep your moans low as his dick plummets down into your hole. They bubble up like an itch you can't suppress in a series of breathy mewls.
Dad, dad, dad!
They repeat over and over whenever he grinds against your cervix, whenever he is making your eyes roll back and clamp your thighs taut around his hips.
"Can't be quiet, can you?" Leon grunts. You tried. Really. His hand comes to muffle your whines. "Hush now." A hard thrust into your suctioning hole, your hips buckle towards his. "You have to stay quiet, she might hear."
Your gushing slick around his thrusting dick washes away any lingering guilt attempting to sit on his chest like a cauchemar, a living nightmare caused by his mistake but soothed by your nails digging into his back. Still a sweet baby needs your dad not merely as a shield but as a man. It is everywhere, squelching and slapping echo in the room. His dick throbs as your unfocused gaze tries to stay on him longer than one second. A thrust and it gets kicked out, numbing your senses only.
The pleasure builds up in a crescendo as his dick keeps the steady rhythm by rutting inside your fluttering hole. Overwhelming, like nothing before; your fingers don't even stand next to the perfect arch pressing onto your insides. Every withdrawal of his hips leaves your body with a longing desire to feel full again. And vanishes as soon as his dick thrusts into you back in a loud slap of your connecting fleshes, driving you deeper into the mattress. Your squirm grows, trying to keep up with his pace by matching movement — a tsk tells you are not doing the best job. Doesn't stop Leon from praising how good you are, how good your pussy is to him and how much he needs to fill you. A reason for his dick pulses with every thrust, losing control as his balls tighten more and more. You can feel it by his rougher, selfish snaps overwhelming every inch of your body, driving your legs to tremble and eyelashes flatter rhythmically.
Too dumb on your dad's cock, orgasm hits you like an unexpected crushing wave, milking him as Leon tries his best to prolong for himself. He is a man, every man is simple. But spasming walls make it only harder for him, consuming every rational idea — his sperm is not supposed to be deep inside you, that's dangerous. That's not responsible (nor fucking his daughter, but alas!). A last deep thrust, his dick throbs inside you as he spills the load.
Fucked big this time. Leon fucked up huge this time; he can only hope he shoots blanks. His spent dick slips out of you. Leon leans back with a heavy breathing, thoughts narrowing to leaking sperm between your plush thighs. Even infertility is not one hundred percent of protection, those trashy reality shows, where everyone beats each other in real time, proved that point. Viscous as nectar, droplets roll across your curved skin before ending onto the sheet. Plan B exists, then this can be hidden in his memory. Nothing happened, right?
"Tell me you promise!" you say. "Dad!! For God's sake! Are you even listening to me?" Leon winces, his eyes darting to your face — so close now, too close for his comfort. "I'll tell everyone you raped me then!"
"What?!" Leon exclaims. He can't do this at his age, blood pressure will kill him."I didn't, what the fuck?"
"Then promise this is not last time."
Hesitantly, Leon nods. A lie, no fucking way, despite the oozing proof of his misdeed and a fresh memory of your pussy — Leon won't fall to the same mistake again. What happened remains only in these walls, once and never repeated.
He hopes so.
"I love you," you say, clinging to his side. His arm pulls you closer.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader
WC: ~300
Warnings: Fluff | Super hot super soldier alert | Bucky exercising | Bucky seducing reader | Soft!dom Bucky vibes | Allusions to smutty times | Unbeta'd | Lemme know if I missed anything!
A/N: My submission for June Jukebox Scribbles | Prompt: "I can't control myself" Song: Animal I Have Become - Three Days Grace | @societynsoelsscribbles | Here ya go!✨🥹💞
Note: Do not Steal, Copy, or Plagiarize any part of my work! I do not consent to AI scraping my work. Banner & Divider made by me. Picture credits to Pinterest. Check out my other works: Masterlist
Indulge Away!
Grunt.
You ignored it.
Grunt.
Ugh! It was taking everything in you to focus on the screen rather than those huffs and grunts. But to your dismay, it grew louder.
Grunt.
This time it was less of a grunt and more of a moan.
"BUCKY, CUT IT OUT," you snapped, spinning around in your chair.
He didn't stop. Instead, he cocked an eyebrow as he continued with his set, showing off the muscles rippling under his sweat-slicked skin.
"What am I doing?" he rumbled, his voice hitting the pulse in your pussy.
"That's it". You abandoned the work and strode toward him, eyes fixed on his chest. He looked practically lickable.
"Stop it. I'm trying to work," you whined, failing to mask the tremor in your voice.
Bucky set the weights down with a dull thud and stood to his full height, a smug, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
"I'm working out too, beautiful," he murmured, stepping into your space and leaning down until his breath hitched against your lips.
Your eyes narrowed, trying to summon a shred of resistance. "You could lift that entire couch single-handedly without breaking a sweat," you countered, poking a defiant finger into his chest. "You don't need to exert yourself this much."
Bucky caught your wrist, and before you could protest, his other arm wrapped around your waist, hauling you flush against his chest. He leaned in, his lips brushing your ear. "What's your point?"
You gasped, your resolve shattering. Every instinct urged you to pull away, but you were paralyzed by the scent of him.
"You're such a little shit, Buck," you groaned, your fingers finally giving in and tangling into his hair. "You know exactly what you're doing to me."
"Oh, I haven't done a thing to you yet, my love" he growled.
Before you could say another word, his mouth crashed onto yours. In one fluid move, he hoisted you up, forcing your legs to wrap around his torso as he claimed you completely.
heyy!! i love your work! can i request a fic where bucky and the reader are in an unestablished relationship and bucky has an ex that gets thrown into the picture (like an agent that has to come back to work or something) and reader feels jealous and pulls away. Then bucky make it official with the reader!! angst-fluff ( i wanna cry). thank you!!
You hardly notice you're pulling away. A missed movie night because you “had work.” Sitting a little farther from him on the couch. Letting your hand slip out of his a second too soon. Bucky notices, but he doesn’t say anything yet. Not when it could just be a bad week. Not when he’s still trying to figure out what the two of you are in the first place.
Because that’s the problem, isn’t it?
You aren’t anything. Not officially.
And it had never really bothered you before.
Until her.
Her name slips into conversations too easily. At first it’s just Sam mentioning a new—or rather, returning—agent joining a mission rotation. Then Steve adds, “You remember her, Buck?” and there’s something in Bucky’s posture that changes.
You don’t think much of it.
Not until she walks into the compound like she belongs there.
Confident. Sharp. Beautiful in a way that doesn’t try—it just is. She greets everyone easily, but when her eyes land on Bucky, something flickers between them. History. You feel it like a punch to the ribs.
“Hey, Buck,” she says, soft but certain.
“Hey,” he answers, quieter than usual.
That’s when it clicks.
Ex.
No one says it out loud, but you can see it in the way they stand a little too close, the way she knows his habits—finishes his sentences, hands him coffee exactly how he takes it without asking. It’s effortless in a way that makes your chest ache.
Because you had to learn him.
She already knows him.
You try not to let it get to you. You really do. But suddenly every moment you’ve shared with him feels… fragile. Undefined. Like it could disappear with one conversation, one look, one decision.
So you start stepping back.
You laugh less at his jokes. You stop waiting up for him after missions. When he brushes past you in the kitchen, you don’t lean into the touch like you used to—you move away.
It confuses him.
You can see it in the crease between his brows, in the way he watches you like he’s trying to solve a puzzle that keeps changing shape.
“Did I do something?” he finally asks one night, catching you before you can slip out of the common room.
You shake your head too quickly. “No.”
“Then what’s goin’ on?” His voice is softer now, careful. “You’ve been… distant.”
You swallow, forcing a shrug. “Just tired.”
It’s a lie. A weak one. You know it, but aren't willing to admit it. He knows it, but doesn’t push.
That almost makes it worse.
Because if he cared enough—if this was something real—wouldn’t he fight harder?
The breaking point comes a few days later.
You walk into the gym and freeze.
She’s there with him, laughing as Bucky demonstrates something, his hand briefly guiding her wrist. It’s innocent. Completely innocent.
But it feels like déjà vu for something you were never a part of.
You turn before they can see you.
You don’t hear him call your name.
---
He finds you later.
Your door swings open without a knock, and you don’t even have the energy to be surprised anymore.
“Okay, that’s it,” Bucky says, voice tight with frustration. “You don’t get to keep shutting me out without telling me why.”
You don’t look at him. “There’s nothing to tell.”
“Bullshit.”
That gets your attention.
Your head snaps up, eyes stinging. “Why do you care?”
The question lands heavier than you mean it to.
Because you care way too much.
Bucky stares at you like you’ve just said something unforgivable. “Why do I—are you serious right now?”
You laugh, but it breaks halfway through. “You’ve got her back, Bucky. You don’t need to worry about me.”
Something in his expression shifts. Confusion giving way to realization.
“…This is about her?”
You hate how small your voice sounds. “It’s not like I can compete with history.”
“Compete?” he repeats, like the word itself is ridiculous. “Doll, there’s no competition.”
“Of course there is,” you snap, finally looking at him fully. “She knows you. She fits into your life already. I’m just—” You cut yourself off, shaking your head. “This was never anything real anyway.”
The silence that follows is deafening.
Then Bucky crosses the room in two strides.
“Don’t,” he says, voice low and rough. “Don’t you dare say that.”
You blink, startled.
“Nothing about this—about you—is ‘not real’ to me.” His hands hover at your arms like he’s afraid to touch you and have you pull away again. “Yeah, she’s part of my past. But that’s all she is. Past.”
You search his face, trying to find doubt. You don’t.
“I didn’t say anything before,” he continues, softer now, “because I thought… I thought we were taking our time. That you wanted that too.”
“I did,” you whisper. “I just… I didn’t know if you ever planned on choosing me.”
Something in his expression cracks wide open.
“Choose you?” he breathes, almost disbelieving. “I already did.”
Your heart stutters.
“Every time I sit next to you. Every time I look for you after a mission. Every time I fall asleep easier just ‘cause you’re in the same damn building.” His voice drops, steady and certain. “I chose you a long time ago. I just didn’t realize you needed to hear it out loud.”
Tears blur your vision.
“So let me make it real,” he says, finally taking your hands. “No more guessing. No more space for you to think you’re anything less than mine.”
Your breath catches.
“Be with me,” Bucky murmurs. “For real. No question marks this time.”
You nod before he even finishes speaking.
“Yes.”
Relief floods his face so fast it almost makes you laugh through your tears.
“Yeah?” he asks, softer now.
“Yeah.”
His grip tightens, grounding, certain—like he’s not letting you slip away again.
Summary: Sent on a mission with Leon, you unexpectedly run into Ada Wong, the woman he has loved for years. After being infected in a tense situation, only one cure remains. Who will Leon choose to save?
A/N: I love RE7, so I wanted to do that one Zoe and Mia scene, but with Leon. No, this is not an invitation for Ada hate; she is my wife >:( I just want to write angst lol. ADA AND LEON WOULD NEVER, just for this short fic lol.
TW: Emotional cheating?, OOC Leon and Ada, angst no comfort, grammatical errors, and Cringe?
Ada Wong, the woman who got your husband wrapped around her fingers. Honestly, who could blame him? She’s strong, smart, and drop-dead gorgeous.
Crossing paths with her while looking for your husband in this chaotic laboratory is definitely not something you expected. You and Leon got separated when a horde of undead rushed towards both of you, making you lose your way.
Now, in this cramped space where you both are surrounded by vials and probably something that can kill you, the two of you stared at each other. There she is, the woman in red.
“I did not expect a Kennedy to be out here,” she said with a teasing tone, slowly moving towards you with caution.
You gripped the cure in your hand, the reason why you both were sent here. “Ada right? heard a lot about you.” You spat, glaring daggers at her venomous figure.
Stopping her tracks in front of you, “If you give me that, I will let you walk away.” She said, a threat visible in her tone. You scoffed, but before you can retort, a sudden flash of movement rushes to both of you— claw grazing your bodies, making you and Ada stagger in pain and shock.
“What the fuck?” You breathe, clutching your arms that have visible claw marks. Looking to your left, you saw Ada doing the same, pain visible on her face.
There is a licker-like creature standing in front of you, but dark green liquid is pouring from its body.
“These damn things keep evolving.” Ada sneered, struggling to stand straight as a visible veins starting to form on her pretty face.
Grabbing your head in pain, you notice the creature moving. As you were about to attempt to shoot it with shaky arms, a quick round of bullets goes through its head, leaving it dead on the floor.
A tall figure rushed past you to the wounded lady, “Hey, Ada, wake up!” You heard a muffled voice, looking in their direction, something in you stirred in unease. It's Leon.
Ada lay in his arms, eyes shut tight. You frowned, but before you could succumb to self-pity. A sudden realization came. You reached into your pocket for the cure, but to your horror, you felt nothing. Colors drained from your face, “L-Leon, the cure!” You shouted at him.
He jolted at your voice, looking at your wounded state. He gently put Ada down as he rushed at your side, “Fuck, I did not see you, I'm sorry-“ But before he could finish apologizing, you clutched his arm, looking at his blue eyes with hope.
“Leon, the vaccine.” You rasped out, shaky hands holding his. He quickly nodded, taking out the case that he got before both of you got separated. However, his movement stopped, and you look at him, confused. “Leon?”
He didn’t answer, just kept looking at the open case. You looked inside, and you froze. There’s only one left, minus the one you lost.
As both of you sat on the ground, frozen, you heard Ada shift in her spot. “Leon?” She muttered, slowly sitting up, pain clear in her voice.
You kept quiet, slowly taking in the fact that you might die tonight. Leon has to choose, you or her? The stories you heard from Chris and his reaction a while ago. You already know who will be able to keep their life.
You frowned as hesitation formed on his face, but there’s a silent confirmation. He’s looking at her. A minute has passed, and he took the syringe from the case.
“I’m sorry.” He muttered to you with an apologetic gaze. Taking Ada’s hand gently, he pushed the needle into her arm. You look at them both with sorrow written on your face.
The man you have been with for ten years, married for five. Choose someone else to save, and it’s not you. You already know you are going to lose him if she’s there, but seeing it is more painful than thinking about it.
As your vision gets blurrier, you reach for your gun. You refuse to turn into those things; you also refuse to feel it anymore.
The headache, the pain all over your body, while the virus consumes you whole. The view in front of you hurts the most, the love of your life with his everything.
Lifting the gun to your head, your shaky finger placed on the trigger. You took a deep breath as you looked at them once again. Leon carefully attempts to clean Ada’s wound while she looks at him with her deep bronze eyes.
You closed your eyes, ready to pull the trigger.
Dividers credits to @/cursed-carmine
Pictures from: Ada and Leon
A/N: Sorry if it's cringe :(( I kinda wanna make a part 2 where Chris comes in and takes the reader, idk lol.
Warnings: fluff, married!Leon, whiny Leon, needy Leon, established relationship, tiddies <3
Summary: Leon Kennedy has seen it all: broken bones, las Plagas, gunshot wounds ... but nothing, nothing is worse than the common cold.
a/n: I had a cold recently and I wondered who would be whinier, me or Leon? So I wrote this. I feel like this could be any version of Leon, but I had RE9 Leon in mind because it's the funniest. Special shoutout to @regionaldoubloon <3
Masterlist
word count: 900
The chicken noodle soup was bubbling on the stove and the house was quiet. Too quiet.
Another cough from the bedroom, followed by a pained groan.
Ah, yes. Poor Leon was suffering unimaginable torture.
You rolled your eyes, put the lid on the pot and reduced the heat down to a simmer.
"Baby?" His voice was pathetically thin as he called for you from your bedroom. "Baby, can you come here?"
"In a minute, honey," you yelled back, grabbing a bottle of Tylenol and the other remedies you had gathered to nurse your husband back to health. The same husband that had lived through cracked ribs, several other broken bones and unfathomable horrors multiple times, but for some reason the common cold was what made him want to write his testament.
"Nurse is here," you announced yourself as you walked into the room. The curtains were drawn and Leon was sprawled out on the bed, arm theatrically draped over his eyes. "Do you need me to call the priest?"
"Not yet," he croaked, breaking into a coughing fit.
You sat down on the edge of the bed. "Oh my poor baby," you crooned, gently brushing a sweaty strand of hair out of his face. Leon closed his eyes and leaned into your touch like a stray kitten. “How are you feeling?”
“Terrible,” he whined, sniffling. “I’m all congested, I have a headache, I can’t sleep because I’m coughing so much…”
“I made you chicken noodle soup,” you said.
“Thank you,” he whispered, reaching for you but you leaned back.
“Leon, no. I can’t get sick, too. One of us has to keep this house running,” you said, firmly brushing his hands off your body. He whined again.
“So you’re really going to let me die without a kiss, huh? Wow.”
You chuckled. “You know, for being a tough government agent, you’re being a little bit dramatic right now.”
He groaned, a cough racking through his body again. “That’s just not true,” he insisted, his hands wandering again, slipping under your shirt.
“Leon,” you warned him, opening the bottle of Tylenol. “Here, take these.”
He obliged and you pressed a chaste kiss to his forehead. “Good boy.”
He chuckled and his hands immediately found your breasts, softly squeezing them. “You know, I think it’s actually very beneficial for my recovery to receive a kiss at least every five minutes. And body heat is also very important.”
You tried to lean away from him to prepare what you actually came here for, but no matter how whiny, he was a trained agent with great reflexes after all. Before you could react, he pulled up your shirt and slipped his head under it, burying his face in your chest.
“I thought you had a hard time breathing?” you asked, gently rubbing his shoulders.
“It’s already getting better,” he murmured, his voice muffled by your boobs. You sighed and he pulled your bra down, gently slipping one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking on it.
“Oh my god, you’re just like your son.” You let out a defeated breath. “Only that your son is barely two years old.”
Leon let out a content sigh, as he kept sucking and kneaded your other breast with his free hand. “It’s actually also medically proven that sucking on boobies can help recover from any kind of illness.”
“Leon, stop. That’s for babies. You’re a grown man.”
“So?” he murmured, demonstratively coughing again, looking at you with puppy eyes. He knew full well those were your weakness. Jesus Christ, that man was impossible.
You pushed him off you.
“Here, open wide big boy,” you said, offering him a spoon with an entire clove of garlic covered in honey on it.
“Why do you always have to come in with your witchy shit? Why can’t we just be normal, take a Tylenol and call it a day?” He eyed the spoon in front of him and hissed like a cat.
“Oh?” your eyebrows shot up. “Look who’s already feeling better and obviously doesn’t need any tiddy time. Well in that case…” You faked getting up from the edge of the bed and Leon’s hand shot forward, snatching the spoon from you and pushing it into his mouth.
He grimaced as he chewed. “Happy now?”
“Not quite.” You handed him a glass full of cloudy yellow liquid. “Turmeric ginger shot. It’s good for you.”
He looked at you like you were about to betray him, then knocked back the drink in one go. He shuddered, sticking out his tongue.
“Oh come on,” you mocked him. “Leon shooting-whiskey-like-it’s-nothing Kennedy can’t handle a ginger shot? Are you sure you’re my husband?”
“Don’t ever question that, I love you,” he said, pressing his face back against your chest. “Thank you for taking care of me. You’re my favourite nurse.”
“And you’re my least favourite patient,” you said, not getting very far because Leon pulled you into bed with him.
“Leon,” you yelped, as he moved down, pushed your shirt up and cuddled up to your chest.
“I’m already feeling much better, you know.”
You huffed. “I have to get up to take the chicken soup off the heat.”
Leon shook his head, nuzzling your tits. “No, you don’t.”
Hii! could I req a fluffy avenger reader x avenger bucky fic where they’re at some event, cameras flashing around them as they act all romantic and in love with each other
The gala is the kind of thing you usually avoid—too many cameras, too many people pretending not to stare while absolutely staring—but tonight, you don’t have much of a choice.
Tony had called it a “strategic appearance,” which is billionaire-speak for please come look hot and make the Avengers seem charming instead of terrifying. So here you are, standing at the top of a wide marble staircase beneath a cascade of golden light, the murmur of a hundred conversations swelling below you.
And beside you was Bucky.
Your fingers are laced with his, his palm warm and grounding, his thumb absently brushing back and forth over your knuckles like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. He’s in a black suit that fits him like it was sewn directly onto his body, dark hair swept back just enough to show the sharp line of his jaw. The metal of his arm is hidden beneath fabric tonight, but you know it’s there, steady and sure, just like the man himself.
“Ready?” you murmur, glancing up at him.
He exhales softly through his nose, the faintest hint of nerves flickering across his face before it settles into something softer when he looks at you. “With you? Yeah.”
It’s quiet, the way he says it.
Your chest warms.
“Good answer,” you tease lightly.
Then the announcer calls your names.
The second you step forward, the room erupts in flashes—bright, blinding bursts of white light that make the world feel like it’s stuttering around you. Cameras click in rapid succession, voices calling out questions you can’t quite make out over the noise.
“Over here!”
“Look this way!”
“Are you two together—?”
Bucky’s hand tightens around yours, not enough to hurt, just enough to anchor. His shoulder brushes yours as you descend the stairs together, step for step, perfectly in sync without even trying.
You’ve done this before. Both of you have.
But never like this.
Halfway down, you feel his attention shift from eyeing the crowd to you.
You glance up, catching him already looking at you, something soft and almost fond lingering in his eyes.
“Hey,” he murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear over the chaos.
“Hey,” you echo.
And then, because apparently the universe has decided to test you tonight, he smiles.
Not the polite, public-facing one. Not the tight-lipped version he gives diplomats and reporters.
A real one.
It’s small, a little crooked, but it transforms his whole face—warms it, softens it, makes something in your chest flip over completely.
You feel your own expression mirror his before you can stop it.
Another burst of flashes goes off.
“Oh, they’re gonna eat that up,” you mutter under your breath.
“Let ’em,” he replies, just as quiet. “They don’t get to see this part.”
Your heart stutters.
At the bottom of the stairs, someone gestures for you to pause for more pphotos. Of course.
You turn instinctively, angling your body toward his, one hand resting lightly against his chest. It’s a practiced pose, something you’ve done a hundred times in different variations.
But Bucky doesn’t do what you expect.
Instead of the standard stance, his hand slides from yours to your waist, pulling you just a little closer than necessary. Not enough to be inappropriate, not enough to draw scrutiny—but enough that you feel the heat of him along your side, solid and reassuring.
“Barnes, a kiss!” someone calls out.
You huff a quiet laugh. “Oh, absolutely not.”
“C’mon,” Bucky murmurs, leaning slightly toward you, his voice brushing your ear. “Give ’em something.”
“Strategic appearance, remember?” you shoot back.
“Exactly.”
You turn your head to look at him, and that’s your mistake.
He's already much, much closer than you expected.
For a split second, the world narrows to just him—the faint scent of his cologne, the way his lashes cast shadows against his cheekbones, the quiet steadiness in his gaze like he’s waiting for you to decide.
Your breath catches.
“Okay,” you whisper.
It’s barely a sound.
But he hears it.
His hand at your waist tightens just a fraction as he leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your cheek—right at the corner of your mouth.
It’s gentle. Careful.
And somehow, it feels more intimate than anything you’ve ever done in front of a camera.
The flashes go wild.
You can hear it—the sudden spike in excitement, the rapid-fire clicking, someone actually cheering from somewhere in the crowd.
“Alright, alright,” you laugh, pulling back slightly, your face warm. “That’s enough of that.”
But Bucky doesn’t move away completely.
His forehead brushes yours for the briefest second, a motion so subtle most people won’t even notice.
“You okay?” he asks quietly.
The concern in his voice is real. Not for the cameras. Not for the show.
For you.
“I’m good,” you say, softer now. “You?”
He nods once. “Better now.”
You don’t think. You just smile.
The rest of the night passes in a blur of conversations and polite laughter, but somehow, the chaos never quite touches you the same way it usually does. Not with Bucky at your side, his hand always finding yours in the small in-between moments, his presence a steady, grounding thing you keep gravitating toward.
At one point, across the room, you catch a glimpse of a screen replaying footage from earlier—the two of you on the staircase, the way you looked at each other like the rest of the world had temporarily disappeared.
You pause.
“Hey,” you nudge him gently, tilting your head toward it. “Look.”
Bucky follows your gaze.
For a moment, neither of you says anything.
On the screen, it’s obvious.
The way you lean into each other. The way his hand never quite leaves you. The way you’re both smiling like you’ve forgotten anyone else exists.
It doesn’t look staged.
It looks—
“Real,” Bucky says quietly, like he’s reading your mind.
You glance at him. “Yeah.”
There’s a beat of silence.
Then, because apparently you’ve decided to be brave tonight, you add, “That’s because it is.”
His eyes flick back to yours.
Something shifts.
There's a quiet, steady understanding settling into place.
His hand finds yours again, fingers threading together like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Good,” he says.
This time, when the cameras flash again from across the room, neither of you pulls away.
(─── leon kennedy, part one.) when your retired father’s lifelong best friend shows up at the marriage anniversary of your parents, even surrounded by so many guests, you’re both reminded of the nights you spent together away from the eyes of the world. memories of your last encounter flood your mind, and you speed up on the highway, driving faster, craving leon’s touch and looking for an explanation.
(─── general warnings.) sexual content, age gap dynamic, dad’s best friend .ᐟ leon, bratty .ᐟ female reader, sugar daddy dynamic & leon spoils you, slight angst, the reader is obsessed with leon, alcohol consumption, mentions of leon’s trauma, guilt & alcoholism, avoidant behavior, jealousy, risky sex, almost caught, finger fucking, pussy eating while kneeling, leon is kind of a loser for you, dirty talk, sloppy make out sesh, brief car sex, squirting, pussy slurping, wc .ᐟ 10000.
it feels strange to be back here.
you packed a pile of clothes inside your suitcase. plenty for a few days away from the chaotic atmosphere of your city and right back to where it all began: your birth town. the horrid traffic jam and constant noise— you temporarily left all of that behind for the retreat of your parents’ home.
you crammed everything in a small, pearly white suitcase and straight into the trunk of your car it went— a pair of lacquered pink stilettos and the gorgeous satin dress for the main event, your pajamas, gorgeous clothes and some of them skimpy, for the warm weather and a pair of bikinis. at the bottom, there’s something you weren’t so sure about. lingerie.
it’s all because of leon. you didn’t know if he’d show up, but you assumed he would.
pink pieces of lace sewn delicately around the edge of the balconette bra that meet in the middle, in semblance with a bouquet of white roses: pale sweet satin, brand new, laid neatly in an agent provocateur box, arranged together with the matching panties.
you didn’t text him about it. he didn’t tell you either.
he’d end up looking like a huge asshole and his absence would disappoint your father, especially. you knew he’d show, however. he wouldn’t miss this. he’s not the type to. his reliability is his most predictable asset and that’d be simply out of discussion.
you drove for a few hours in your convertible, a vanilla cream 80’s mercedes benz that you feel in love with at seventeen on a family trip to arizona. you begged your parents for it and they had to comply with their only daughter’s wish to drive around the town in a vintage car.
you tap your nails against the nude steering wheel, vintage— butt sunken in the cushy, cream leather seat, eyes behind a pair of large, cat-eye shades— with your phone on speaker and the highway winds blowing through your hair, dancing and tingling across your bare skin.
“hope i won’t have to talk to all your guests, dad,” you whine.
white slingbacks click against the marble floor when your mother waltzes around the kitchen, with every hurried step she takes. your father talks to the catering staff. his newly found best friend is an old, high quality bottle of bourbon he’s taken from his collection, hidden in his personal study.
it’s a big day, everyone’s stressed.
“c’mon, don’t be like that!”
“anyone i might actually know? at least?”
“well- auntie’s gonna be here. your uncle hasn’t seen you in ages. remember john and georgia? oh well, y’know… their son, pete-”
“your dad’s trying to tell you pete’s single, sweetie pie,” your mother interrupts, “georgia told me he’s been looking to settle down! isn’t that great?”
“how’s that great? mom. dad. please, i don’t need you to be my matchmakers.”
you flick the volume button and turn the music up, plastic fantastic lover. this conversation that won’t lead you nowhere makes you scoff. you take a puff of your cigarette and flick the ash in the car tray with the tip of your fake nail.
“give it a try, sweetie. can’t even remember the last time i saw you with a boyfriend. anyone in the city catching your eye?”
your mother’s insistence feels futile for reasons unbeknownst to anyone you’ve ever known.
except for your father’s best friend.
“honey, i gotta go. drive safely, ‘kay?” your dad walks around the kitchen, “leon’s in the hallway. buddy’s in dire need of some bourbon.”
leon kennedy. your palms sweat with the agony of expectation around the steering wheel— the excitement and simultaneous wave of anxiety of seeing him for the first time in a month. your gaze lingers down to your wrist, the gold bracelet screwed around it, along with a few other bangles.
so, he decided to show up. your press your foot down the pedal and you speed up the highway. you’re not sure if the news make you excited or if you’d rather hide inside your bedroom for the unforeseeable future. at least until leon leaves. on the other hand, he owes it to you.
you sit inside the local bar, sandal heels tapping on the metal foot rest of the bar stool, thighs shut together in your flared jeans. you’re nervous.
leon was just passing by, visiting your city, making sure you’re fine and not feeling too lonely.
his right elbow rest on the bar table. his big, softly defined muscles under his black shirt that looks like it’s going to explode from how ripped he is. he keeps the bottle of beer in his hand, fingers gripped around it, and the index plays around the glued-on label.
his hair, dirt blonde and long falls over his face and it shines under the dim lights. his blue eyes look so warm, soft, despite the natural coldness of his irises. he looks tired. he always does.
if being fine, by definition, of course, implies squirting all over his fingers and getting fucked dirty in the passenger seat of his porsche— sure, you’re just fine and dandy— strong hands around your hips, pulling you closer in a sloppy drunk make-out session, sucking on his tongue. a sort of forgive me from his side. (if the twenty grand cartier bracelet wasn’t enough of an apology for his lack of communication.)
fine, by leon’s definition, would imply making sure you get mind blowing orgasms and that your pussy gets completely filled up to the brim— every inch of of your stretchy walls, with all the length of his thick cock, bent over the counter of your kitchen with his hand pressed flat against your naked back.
your pajama shorts pulled down your thighs, leg climbed up the edge of the wooden counter. right next to your wide open window, under the moonlight, moaning so loud that an entire neighborhood could hear you.
by his definition, you should fine. you think.
then, he puts a plain red bag on the bar, “open it.”
“what’s that?”
he doesn’t vocalize an answer, but raises an eyebrow, waiting for you to look inside the mysterious bag. you shove a hand inside and pull out a red box with engraved golden details and open it.
“oh! wow- cartier?”
a love bracelet.
“can’t do jackshit with my money. don’t care that much either. you deserve it.”
nobody knows. how could they ever find out about this?
“keep it. i mean it, doll. you’re too attached to that car of yours, i get it. you don’t need one. can’t do nothing ‘bout that. can’t get you a new one either. tryin’ to be more creative.”
“i really love my car-“
“yeah. i know. it suits you - gonna let me help you with that?”
“so,” you mumble while he fixes the bracelet around your wrist. he pulls out the golden screwdriver to lock it, “i get dso pays their best agent very well.”
the stark contrast between the bracelet and the bar, which sits around the corner, a street away from your apartment. there’s a few people gathered around the pool table and the some other at the tables in groups to share a couple of drinks.
“you could say that— there you go. how’s it feel?”
“wow! i love it. it’s so… gorgeous. hmm, it’s perfect.”
you throw your arms around leon, around the back of his neck; his warmth engulfs you and breath him in. you pull away, arms still around him and you give him the softest peck on the lips. he pulls you in for another embrace, longer than an usual ‘thank you’ hug and you stay like that for around a minute, before leon breaks the hug and sips out of his beer once.
the air feels crisp with an agonizing desire to hold him longer, but there’s something changing, an awkwardness of some sort. it feels like a farewell gift.
“thanks, leon, really. i- i’m speechless. i-i wish you’d visit more often.”
he shouldn’t.
he keeps you at a considerable distance away from him, yet closer than he ever intended. leon finds himself missing you deeply during his many sleepless nights, sat at the edge of a hotel bed with some whiskey on his tongue and a bottle in his hand.
he buys you gifts each time he visits you— that already happens more often than he wanted to. or even when he’s away from you.
“what’s up with you and this bar, huh?”
“it’s two minutes away from my place.” this place has seen you in your worst possible moments.
“i know, doll. you’re all so beautiful and dressed up to meet me at a cheap bar? have a mediocre cocktail? so i can crack two beers?”
“don’t put this on me, leon. you’re the one who shows up unannounced at one in the morning. every. single. time.”
you feel guilty for admitting this. for criticizing leon, right when he showed up with a cartier love bracelet to surprise you.
but it’s true. he’s a reliable man when he doesn’t get lost in the scarred corners of his mind.
or when he leaves some finished bottles of whiskey or vodka on the floors of his monotonous hotel rooms—some nights he ends up drunk, half asleep, and the feeling of self imposed loneliness creeps up by his window or terrace, where nothing else is laid; fake flowers in dusty vases, if lucky or a bottle of beer, a gun and a dirty piece of cloth he used to clean up his weapons.
his missions only leave him charred. dead. the edges of his soul reach a state of borderline, emotional necrosis, grown insensitive to his own suffering.
he cares, deeply, and he regrets, truly so. but he feels numb. those states exist in contradiction.
nightmares possess him and he secludes. leon’s isolation only turns him caustic to himself and cautious, to an extent that, naturally so, makes him unreachable and cold, despite his caring and altruistic character. he’s truly a good man. of you asked him, he’d deny it. he tries to be good, always, but admitting it— he’d never do it.
he can’t keep you this close. he’d scare you away. and leon’s guilt is hungry for what remains of his consciousness, for you’re his best friend’s daughter and he should know better than to show up with expensive gifts. or expect you to soothe him. he doesn’t know where this is supposed to be going.
the bartender picks up the empty bottle of beer. leon nods and he’s offered a third bottle, “somethin’ for the lady too?”
“no, no- thanks.” you answer, “leon, you need to stop- stop drinking.”
he sets the bottle of budweiser back on the counter, “yes, ma’am”
“i- i know we shouldn’t be seen together. i do. m-my family.. this place sucks. but i don’t know, leon… what’s this? what are we, the bracelet? the shoes? the clothes? it feels like you’re always feelin’ sorry for some weird reason.”
“let me take you on a date.”
he shouldn’t.
“should i expect another 10 grand bracelet?”
“someone’s a spoiled little girl.”
you’re so spoiled and it’s completely his fault. your wardrobe warns to explode from the amount of pretty clothes, bags and shoes he gifted you. you keep everything stuffed in there. get this. get that. in the very beginning, he used to totally suck at this. but with time, he was eager to accustom to your tastes and get you gorgeous pieces of clothing.
he even left you a credit card to use, like some sort of allowance to cover all your monthly expenses and make yourself pretty gifts— so you’d quit the shitty job that you were complaining about and focus on finding your true passion.
you moved away to escape from the influence of your parents and you ran exactly into the arms of the person who is the best friend of your father. but he’s not a snitch. he proved himself many times.
“that’s not exactly my fault.”
he smiles.
“you drank. don’t go- stay with me tonight? it’s friday. we can… watch a movie on my couch.”
“you mean fuck on your couch? ain’t you subtle, sweetheart. i’d rather have you on the counter. or that pink bed of yours.”
“please don’t leave before i wake up.”
“sure, i’ll stay. i’ll even read you a bedtime story- make us some breakfast. pancakes? ain’t you obsessed with them?”
“i do want those pancakes. but… i want you more, leon.”
“i can book us a table for tomorrow, then. deal?”
leon kept his word and he stayed. you woke up to the smell of pancakes. he made you breakfast and you watched him cook, arms wrapped around his torso, pressing your lips against his back.
but something felt strange. like everything was about to come to the inevitable end and this was leon’s apology.
that was a month ago. ever since that night, leon stopped showing up. he came up with excuses and he stopped texting. although, he didn’t take your card away and your expenses were taken care of.
“my- i almost forgot! i got you a pretty dress, sweetie,” your mom’s voice buzzes enthusiastically through the speakers, “you’re gonna love it! i left it in your bedroom. i was looking through your old clothes, georgia is organizing a charity event with some of the other wives. mind donating some?”
“sure, mom. tell mrs.kane she can demolish my old wardrobe for what i care.”
the celebration of your parents’ marriage brought with it enough ex-coworkers, friends and roughly half of the town’s population.
i already have a dress. you want to tell her, but after all, it’s her big day.
they invited plenty of guests to fill up the great room, the enormous backyard with trellis that overviews your mother’s splendid white garden and victorian gazebo— her flowers kept as well as always: pink, white blooming roses and peonies, magnolias and gardenias. her most precious achievement.
a few lilies she takes pride in, and you’d always run around the gazebo, trailing your fingers through the few vines of ivy she’d keep neatly around the white columns.
she’d put a hand on your small shoulder; rub her palm against your sweaty temples, manicured nails painted always in a tone of burgundy at the local salon. her soft eyes would stare down still at the pages of her book, “careful, cupcake. you’re gonna trip and fall.”
the rich sweetness of the flowers used to fill up your bedroom in small bouquets on your window-still often, throughout your entire childhood, redolent in their smell.
she’s always been overly preoccupied with these aspects of life. with beauty and stability. with your father gone for months at times, working for the government, always abroad. she’d bury herself in housework or spend her time in the garden with you– keeping the house alive.
your home remains unchanged— at its core, it’s a golden box of memories, your innocence untouched. a reverie, mostly sweet, but so repetitive and mundane it turned you bitter.
summer evenings have grown warmer. today feels completely different from the rest. you feel different. like you completely outgrew your own roots and what only remained is the countless of memories stuck inside the walls of this gigantic house.
the air smells of flowers and nostalgia and you inhale it with your eyes closed; then the sizzling noise of your now retired father’s grill— he can’t miss the chance of a barbecue, not even when your mother hired a catering firm to handle the big event.
a few toddlers and children run around the backyard, people chat and laugh, reminiscing about their youth, of what’s been long gone. the few waiters stand around or walk around with plates of entrees and glasses of champagne.
the sun sets the more time you spend zoning out.
you rest your feet in the morning cut grass, stilettos in your hand, and the summer breeze washes over your body, through the flimsy ruffles of your pink dress. you look concerningly similar to the housewives your mother spends time with and it makes you wonder if she’s trying to lure you back into this town; marrying peter kane too. you’d hate that.
leon is here too.
he’s been staring at you for hours, right through the buzzing crowd of people standing and chatting, as if it’s only the two of you and the outside world doesn’t exist.
he laid eyes on you from the very moment you set foot right through the front yard next to your mother, his glass fresh with ice cubes and your dad’s bourbon.
“jeez, leon. ain’t you gonna retire soon? get married? have a kid? can’t lie- it’s hard to picture you like that. but it’s worth it, don’t you think?”
“maybe. i wouldn’t know. you seem happy.”
he was talking to your now retired father about middle aged men boring nonsense. the house roof needs to be fixed. your mother wants a new car. leon sucks on his teeth, not fully present, thoughtful— a part of him regrets his life decisions.
“still waiting for the day i’ll see you at the altar, buddy. i ain’t losin’ my hope.” your father smiles, hand on leon’s shoulder.
you wonder if you’ll be present at the wedding too. as a guest. you’re not the type to settle down and not the type you’d usually settle down with. especially not as a man that’s nearing fifty years of life. unless you’re living in some major state of psychosis and have various delusions.
you too, perhaps, present some form of delusion. despite the many times you claimed settling down isn’t for you, maybe, for leon you’d accept the destiny of a happily married woman. with him, you’d feel safe, accepted. adored.
you’re a wild flower that simply cannot be enclosed inside a garden like your mother’s.
you’re not your mother who spends her days drinking mimosas with the local committee of housewives and baking three hundred cookies for the school fair.
leon’s handsome in the way he rests his body weight so naturally on the balustrade, elbows on the white wood. he looks slightly laid back, but always alert, on the verge of reaction, with a holster tightened around his leg still. not even on his best friend’s marriage anniversary he cannot give up on that gun.
he’s never too elegant, but always so sexy, better looking than any man you’ve ever seen, for what it’s worth– his eyes, so blue and his dirt blonde hair arranged for the big event. his grey stubble peaks out short. he hasn’t shaved in about a week. it makes him look his age, forty nine. and his wrinkles, the crow’s feet radiate right in the corners of his blue eyes.
you’d think his age should make him less attractive, that with time, beauty fades and there’s nothing left of it. but he looks utterly beautiful.
he thinks of himself as an old man already, but truthfully, his effortless way of being makes him more attractive than any guy you’ve met. his calmness makes you seek him out and grow obsessed with the layer hiding underneath. his pain.
his presence soothes in ways nobody has ever done it before. you seek his warmth in your worst days, tucked in under your blanket, pretending he's with you, sleeping on the empty side of your bed.
you call him and he picks up, even when it’s best to keep his distance away from you, instead of creating a habit out of your insomniac late nights calls. that pretty much sums leon kennedy up. he’s a reliable man. he feels responsible, despite putting himself in a situation that could cost his life.
of course, he’d take the blame if anyone was to find out about this. and of course, this ultimately makes him feel like masochist.
when you started seeing each other, he’d leave while you were asleep. even after fucking you senseless, he'd rather leave you alone and not invade your space— he wouldn’t even fall asleep your bed. not crossing the line. what line, you wonder, for he consciously visits his best friend’s daughter for the sole purpose of fucking.
you wonder, also: could there be other woman in his life? it makes you ask yourself if you’re some stupid silly girl, part of a list of countless women. he doesn’t look like the type, but appearances can sometimes be deceiving.
he’d wait for you to doze off in his big arms, face down his shirtless chest and he’d sneak off. he’d let you play with his soft hair before and he’d rub your back till your eyes felt too heavy to stay opened, right in the warmth of his hug.
he’d make you breakfast too and leave it on the kitchen table, next to a small note, “EAT ME! :)”
leon wears a white button-up stays tucked in neatly inside his dark blue suit pants— the sleeves carelessly pulled up to his elbows. he left the jacket in the kitchen, uncomfortable from wearing it for a few hours. now, he’s zoning out, very pensive.
“i’m happy, leon. fulfilled. i did it all for my family. look at this house? wife’s happy too- oh! you remember her, right? i told ya she moved away. look how she’s changed.”
they both come down the stairs and your eyes meet so suddenly. it feels like an eternity since you’ve last seen each other, a month precisely.
this month, though, you spent all of it dreaming about leon with your hands inside your panties and fingers pressed down your swollen clit and a dildo stuffed inside your needy, slick cunt. it feels pathetic to admit that you shoved it down your throat, pretending it’s leon’s cock. you moaned his name too many times, your lips glossy with drool, face buried in your pillows.
leon takes a sip our of his glass.
“haven’t seen you in a while. look at you," he greets you, "your dad told me you moved away. how’s the city?”
he says, as if he hasn’t made a habit of visiting you.
“haven’t seen you in a bit, leon. you’re so much older than i remember. a little bit more… wrinkled-” you tease him and his brows furrow, “the city’s great. the traffic kills me.”
“it happens when you get old like me, y’know. can’t run away from aging.”
“how old were you again? fifty nine?”
“forty… nine.”
“christ! don’t mind it leon, please. is the city so boring that you gotta pick on your old man’s buddy? why don’t you go talk to pete?”
“who’s pete?” you ask, acting dumb.
“cupcake, what’s up with you? y’know pete. he’s john and georgia’s only son... our neighbors? they live down the street?” you look at him, with the same faux confusion and he explains, “he’s single! go talk to him.”
great.
“i’m joking, dad! relax. why would i? isn’t he the one looking to marry? shouldn’t he pursue me?”
a brief pause settles between the three of you. a smirk forms in the corner of leon’s mouth.
“what do you think, mr. kennedy? should i go talk to him? that’s kinda lame, if you ask me,” you scoff, “men these days.”
that’s my girl.
“well-“
“jeez, no. where’s your mother?” your dad looks suddenly agitated.
“i can’t do this. leon, buddy, please don’t answer that. you should talk 'bout this with your mother!"
your father leaves in a hurry, looking around backyard to bring your mother to you. leon stays and he crosses his veiny arms around his chest and it only makes him look bigger. sexier.
“pete? should i be jealous?” leon asks.
“maybe.”
“do you even know what he looks like?”
“as a matter of fact i do. i blew him twice right before leaving for college. so, fuck you.”
“don’t tell me he went down on you too.”
“oh my god-“ you shush him, “are you jealous, leon?”
“i've no reason to be jealous, sweet girl. if i were him, i’d never leave you alone.”
“you’re being a hypocrite right now. we're not talking about this here!”
“who do you take me as? i know it’s risky. i’m just bein’… curious.”
“i gotta go, leon. i don’t wanna talk about this here. it was good… seeing you.”
so, you didn’t pawn the bracelet he gave you, leon notices when you turn around angry and frustrated, fists clenched and nails digging into your palm and it hurts. you could almost bleed.
he thought you’d do it to get revenge on him for disappearing. leon doesn’t fully believe his own thoughts, you wouldn’t to that. you value even the smallest gifts you receive.
you hold a glass of white wine close to your chest and with the your other hand, you subtly tug down the ends of your pink halter dress— which, despite being perfectly adequate for the anniversary of your parents’ marriage, it feel shorter the more leon’s eyes undress your body naked.
he’s not that subtle about it. at least to you. he looks away every now and then— a hand is the pocket of his trousers and a polite smile on his lips. he zones out while three city council members enthusiastically gather around to share some ideas with him, for some reason he can’t seem to fully grasp.
his presence alone makes you freeze after what happened between you earlier.
alcohol flows rapidly through leon’s bloodstream and there’s so much restrained hunger in the way he looks at you. you could melt alone from that and your legs feel weaker and weaker.
the many voices dissipate and time slows down. you can hear your own heartbeat, thudding hard and fast inside your chest. the local governor exchanges words with a neighbor on your left and on the right, two old highschool friends babble nostalgic nonsense, which they try to include you in. old memories. something about your gym classes.
you keep a bright smile plastered all over your face. laugh comes out fake, too high pitched, but they wouldn’t recognize your lack of interest or that you fake it, because, last time you talked them was at the local store two years ago.
your conversation lasted around five minutes and the awkwardness of it made you realize how alienated you've become from this town and its community.
you don't have any friends left. you pushed them all away when you left for college three years ago.
except for aileen kane, pete’s younger sister– the twenty year old girl, who doesn't seem to be here for a very obvious reason– she feels the same alienation, but much differently.
she came out as a lesbian right before you left the town and it a caused a gigantic scandal within the community.
everybody knows everybody here. people talk. they gossip and hate. they also love, but they love their sense of belonging to their happy and safe community. loneliness isn’t healthy for the soul.
they love their own idea of normality just as much. unfortunately for her, aileen is still stuck in this town of religious upper middle class and rich people.
you mother was happy to invite her, as the kanes, especially georgia, hold a special place inside her heart. herself too, seems to be obsessed with belonging somewhere and it looks like she’s already found her place in the local group of rich housewives who thrive on mimosas. it feels utterly robotic and mundane.
people come to you every now and then. after all, you’re the daughter of the happily married couple who invited nearly a hundred people over. it was all your mother’s idea. oh, how you’ve grown! is all that you can hear every five minutes.
your feet hurt from wearing the stilettos and the dress feels uncomfortably tight on your body, around your boobs and hips, where leon’s eyes keep roaming insatiably. you’d take it off for him in a millisecond.
you bring the glass of wine close to your lips and you take a huge sip, drowning your throat in the slight sweetness and numbing taste of alcohol. it feels nauseating, because you’re still somewhere between sobriety and complete drunkenness.
another sip follows, and the stem of the glass rests between your fingers, wine almost finished. you could sneak another couple, instead of looking like an alcoholic in front of the entire town and embarrassing your parents.
leon isn’t a big scary monster, but the opposite, despite his muscular build and job or reputation as a one of government’s best agents. he can be soft and calm. but he’s hard to read at times, especially when he becomes aloof and his sarcasm turns bitter.
you’ve done this entirely sober before.
he’s cooed the sweetest words right in your ear back in your city. he showed up with a bouquet of pink roses in his hand and gifts. so many gifts.
fuck me, you take it so well.
leon has the habit of calling you sweet girl. undoubtedly, every single time, you feel like melting under the caution of his guilty touch.
you’re convinced everybody found out. every single person in and outside this gigantic house is aware that you’ve been fucking leon scott kennedy, your father’s best friend.
this is all staged and by the end of the night, your dirty little secret will be revealed and cameramen will come through the back and front doors— your parents will look at you and feel sorry for you and your mother, with pitiful tears in her eyes will wrap her arms around you, thinking you’re some sort of victim.
wouldn’t it be better if you moved back here? and poof, just like that, she’d lure you back into this shit hole of a pretentious town. she’d make you marry peter kane. you can see yourself having your very own garden— deadly nightshades and black dahlias.
and leon— oh, leon. you’d hate if anything happened to him, just as much as you hate being away from him.
leon raises and eyebrow even from the other side of the great room, you can still recognize that look. he looks at you as if he wants you to stop, which,once again, is a bit hypocritical of him, given his history with alcohol and habitual drinking issues.
you chug the rest of the wine so inelegantly. you defy him. he rolls his eyes.
nobody knows.
nobody knows.
you repeat it in your head like a mantra.
nobody knows. except for you and leon.
it’s your dirty little secret.
and the secrecy of your relationship (or whatever this could be) makes you feel so dirty. like a slut. but it makes you feel special too. the burning sensation aches up to your tummy and your needy cunt feels wet just from staring into leon’s eyes. it reminds you of the many night you spent together with him on top of you, kissing your ankles sweetly, balls deep inside you.
you can’t do this anymore. you’ve spent the entire afternoon and evening trying to avoid your own feelings.
the constant tension between you and the look in his eyes leave you confused. you haven’t seen him in a month and that’s a long time. you don’t see any other men. you can’t. you’d feel guilty. he doesn’t deserve that.
you shove your hand inside your small clutch bag, searching for your phone. you quickly find his contact saved under noel. how silly. you empty your glass down your throat; adrenaline and alcohol pump through your body and your fingers get all shaky against the screen when you text him.
YOU: meet me upstairs? please?
YOU: second floor, take right, down the hallway. i’ll be waiting for you!!
YOU: name’s on the door btw.
leon’s phone vibrates in the pocket of his pants, preoccupied by the same discussion with the two council members, “mr. kennedy. you’ve seen the whole world. illuminate us. how can we make this town better?”
“i- well, i’m not really sure. it’s not exactly my field of expertise-“
his phone vibrates again and this time, leon pulls it out the pocket of his pants, “excuse me. might be somethin’ important.
YOU: pls come !!!
YOU: preferably on my face (;
YOU: i miss ur cock ):
his blue eyes widen and when he scans for where he last saw you, right in the opposite corner of the room, but you’re already gone.
you made your way to the second floor, up the white stairs, sliding through all the guests and making yourself invisiblez
“i have to go. please excuse me.”
you lay on your back on the patchwork cover of your bed and your eyes scan the insides of your old bedroom. it all looks the same. it seems that your mother took care of it. she kept everything in place and clean. there’s fresh peonies by the tall windows with white frames, hiding behind the drawn, mauve pink curtains.
right through the space between them permeates the light and down on the window seat, where an old pink blanket stays perfectly folded. the faded voices of the guests fill up the dead silence. you sight in relief the moment you take off your stilettos and throw them on the worn carpet.
leon.
leon.
leon.
he looked so sexy in his white shirt. each time the muscles of his big forearms flexed and veins pulsed with his rough, long fingers, you’d feel a lump in your throat and your breath would slow down.
you’d wrap your tongue around his long fingers— just the way you always do. big eyes and pretty lashes overdone with black mascara that stare right into his, as you let him fuck your throat. he’d have a bulging hard boner under his pants and you’d undo his zipper and suck on his thick cock till he’d cum white and sticky all over your pretty face.
what a pity he seems to have been losing interest in you.
or could it be that he feels too guilty for fucking his best friend’s daughter?
that sounds more like leon. he has this habit of feeling so terrible and guilty.
you pull up your dress and the brand new satin lingerie you’ve been keeping in your suitcase wraps around you perfectly. you keep your legs spread and you slip your manicured fingers down your clit, pressing the tips down to tease yourself.
the door creaks open a big figure casts a shadow all over your body. you know it’s leon. nobody else you know walks this way. so heavy, cautious steps against the wooden floor. the way you know him, he might’ve eavesdropped before even touching the silver door knob, so you let a little moan slip through your lips, just for his perverted mind.
“oh! you came. finally.”
leon shuts the door behind him and he wastes no time, closing the distance between you. he leans down on the bed and the weight makes the frame creak. he traps you under him and your bodies are almost glued to each other. his knee is locked between your thighs to keep them spread out, apart from each other and if almost touches your clothed heat. and so you move until you can rub against it.
leon caresses your burning cheek and so much heat radiates from him. he looks like he’s starving.
“someone could’ve open the door and see you, sweet girl.” he scolds you.
“but they didn’t, right? did i make you jealous, leon?” you pull him in a kiss and he leans into you. he puts almost his entire body weight on you, but he’s still gentle, despite the animalistic way his lips devour yours. you both taste the alcohol on each other.
you feel intoxicated by his presence and your body is on fire from all the wine you chugged earlier.
“huh?” he pulls away from your kiss.
“pete?”
“pete? as in peter kane? peter kane the son of the kanes who live just down the street?” you roll your eyes, “no. fuck if i care ‘bout that guy or what happened between you two.”
“they’re kinda making me marry him. soon i’ll be off the market, who knows? maybe you’re speaking to future mrs. kane.” you tease him, seeking a reaction. a confirmation that he cares about you.
both of you know that’s never going to happen.
not in a million years.
“yeah? and here i was thinkin’ you’d sneak out and run away in that car of yours. pretend it never happened.”
“would you rescue me like a knight in shining armor?” you rest fingers around the back of his neck and you pull him closer for another kiss, sucking on his tongue “i missed you, leon— mmm, hold on. let me… lock the door.”
leon moves to the side and you move right past him, tip toeing to the door for some reason, in complete silence. you make sure it’s closed and turn the key inside to double lock it and the silver door knob a few times. perfect.
you turn around and leon stands right behind you. he undid two three buttons of his shirt and you can see his strong chest under.
he presses you against the door, muscular, rough arms forming a cage around you and he continues to assure you:
“don’t be silly, sweetheart,” he gives you a gentle peck on the lips, “they’d never force you to marry him. your dad thinks you’re lonely. all by yourself in that city. they’re worried.”
“oh, poor, lonely me! but- would you rescue me, though? hmm? hypothetically speaking?”
he smiles, “probably, yeah. as long as you’re happy.”
fuck him. leon can’t believe he said that; he’s completely swooned by a girl half his age. the person who was supposedly off-limits. he truly is the embodiment of masochism.
he feels pulled in magnetically. there’s times when he gives in and he resists you. and times like these, where all he dreams about is burying his mouth down your wet pussy and drown himself inside your sweetness fully, like some crazed addict. addictions can’t be good.
it’s concerning how much leon cares about your happiness. about your well-being. he’s always so self sacrificial about everything. fuck his endless generosity.
“i’d be much, muuch happier if you’d stop resisting me.”
you pull up the ruffles of your housewife looking dress and sink your teeth down your soft lower lip, and you beg, “fuck me, please.”
“are you sure ‘bout this, sweet girl?”
“i’ve never been more sure about anything in my whole life— ahh, leon!” his lips move down your neck, right where your skin feels the most sensitive. his tongue climbs up your jaw and he sinks his teeth softly against your bare skin. it makes you squirm and dig your nails into the wooden door.
“your dad’s gonna fuckin’ kill me, angel. he’ll blow my head off with that goddamn huntin’ rifle i gave him once.”
you pull him in for another kiss— messy and lonely. it’s so disgustingly sloppy. you don’t want to impress him or be the best, you can’t even think about that. all you want is to devour him. you press your body against his, boobs pressed against his chest and arms thrown around his neck. your hands wander around his blushing face, and you mess his blonde, greying hair up.
“don’t care if he’s gonna kill me?” he breaks the kiss, concerned, joking.
“mmm- leon… shh!” you press your index finger against his lips, “he won’t kill you. because- ah!” he finds a way to slip a hand under your skirt. he slides two fingers against your clothed clit, feeling the slickness. you’re dripping wet and he’s barely even kissed you.
“he won’t find out! please— i need you s’much! i can’t stop thinking about you. where have you been?”
you keep your fingers tangled in his hair and your right leg rests on his thighs, sturdy hand keeping if in place.
“forgive me, princess. been busy as hell.”
“busy enough to keep me waiting for so long?”
another kiss.
“can’t live without me for more than a couple of weeks? that right?”
“can you?”
“i missed you a lot.”
he pauses briefly.
“keep sending me those pretty pics while i’m gone. makes me miss you even more.”
he’s jerked off to them multiple times. dirty old man leon kennedy— he drives around the country and he finds himself pulling his porsche to the side, in the middle of nowhere, to fist the length cock and jerk off to your photos. he daydreams, thinking it's you taking all of his girth down you pretty little throat. you’ve altered something inside his brain to the point he's turned into a true pervert.
your dirty nudes reflect in the blues of his eyes while he keeps his phone in his hand— hard, pinchable nipples and the softest boobs, covered in bubbly foam and droplets of hot water from the shower.
he’s such a dirty pervert.
only for you.
“what do you like the most about them, leon?”
“your smile.”
“really?”
“yeah. you don’t do it often. i like seein’ you happy.”
he loves to know you're well too. you send him photos of yourself throughout the day and the gentlest smile forms on his handsome face. you made a habit out of sending him selfies— doing your makeup, walking down the street with an ice cream in your hand and five shopping bags hanging on your arm.
your safety and the fact that you're living such a sweet life makes him relax. he wishes you'd have more friends. he’s aware that despite making so many acquaintances in your new city, nothing feels real. the dinners feel boring. coffee dates are bland. it's all a pure facade.
leon catches your face and he squishes your mouth until your pout and his thumb presses down your wet lower lip.
“been missin’ those pretty lips too.”
“i-i’m so wet right now.”
he kisses you again and this time, he sucks lazily on your tongue. you moan softly against his mouth when he bites your lip too. you feel his grey stubble stinging your skin, but it's so erotic, you have to abstain from moaning louder. imagine if anyone in this would hear you. his fingers wander up your waist and up to your breasts.
“take it off, sweet girl.”
you listen. he unzips the back of the dress for you and you take it off, throwing it on the carpet.
his big hand wanders and brushes hungrily up your inner thigh. it makes your skin tingle with so much illicit pleasure. how much you’ve missed feeling like this.
you feel high with him.
he takes the lace of your panties between his fingers for a few seconds— then, while his mouth is busy kissing you, he pulls them down your legs and they hang around your ankles.
“is that right? let’s see what’s goin’ on down here, sweet girl.”
you bite down on your lower lip. your cheeks are hot from the alcohol flowing freely through your bloodstream and the room has almost turned into a sauna. you keep your hands around his shoulders while leon finds your boobs, covered by the gorgeous satin bra, and he pulls one out to suck on your sweet nipple. he grunts and he takes the other one between his teeth, tenderly, not to hurt you— just because he has an urge, an impulse to devour you whole. he wants you so much.
“you prepared too, huh? you’re so fuckin’ gorgeous in this.”
he gets down on his knee and he adjusts the sleeves of his shirt. his eyes never leave yours. he slides his fingers up and down your folds to feel the wetness oozing out of your slick, warm entrance.
“been waiting all wet for me this whole evening? took your damn time, i see.”
“y-you can’t blame me. it wasn’t easy. thought you’d never come.”
he can tell from the way you act that you're nervous and tipsy.
“stop shavin’ so much. leave a heart for me down there like you used to." he jokes, “it was cute. don’t sha- shh!”
footsteps make the wooden floor creak and the knock on your door vibrates down your spine.
“everything ‘kay, sweetie? you in there? heard your door closin’ from down the hallway.”
sloppy job.
georgia kane herself. naturally a brunette, her grey roots stick out of her head and a similarly toned, simple dress adorns her short body. she’s standing on the other side of the locked bedroom door, knuckle still pressed against the polished wood.
“ah! mrs. kane? no- no, i’m fine! just- i’m overwhelmed that’s all- just… so many people.”
“have you seen your dad? your mom can’t find him anywhere and she begged me to go searching.”
“d-dad? last time i saw him he was talking to mr. johnson. y’know, something about holding their liquor. maybe they’re in his office?”
you cover your mouth instinctively when you feel that you’re about to gasp— you roll your eyes in pleasure when leon pushes a finger inside your pussy, just slightly, allowinf your entrance to stretch.
“he said he was looking for leon. and now? poof. gone.”
fuck.
“handsome guy, leon, by the way. haven’t seen him in a hot minute. him and your daddy used to be together all the time. now he’s always gone. hmm…” she thinks, “don’t tell johnny i said that!”
if only mrs.kane knew that leon kennedy was stuffing his face between your thighs right now.
“c’mon, darlin’, be honest. he’s handsome, isn’t he? must be something wrong with him the way i’ve never seen him with a woman. ya think he’s single?”
“i- i guess? i-i never thought about him t-that way” you stutter.
“and i believe you! if you see dad, tell your momma, m’kay? and if you see leon, you better tell me, hah. don’t tell johnny!” she laughs.
“by the way, sweetie, pete’s been wantin’ to settle down for a while. mind if i set you two up on a cute little date? one of the wives opened a fancy place down on aster street.”
“i-i- i’ll think about it. thanks for the offer, mrs. kane.”
“get down there when you feel like it, m’kay? i brought some homemade cake. keeping it for the after party.” her laugh fades away down the hallway when she leaves.
“you think there’s somethin’ wrong with me, huh?” leon whispers.
“everything’s so wrong with you! are you seeing other women?” you look upset when you say it and leon hates himself for making you think that.
it’s true; you’re not dating. but he spends a fortune on you, despite his tendency to seclude when he feels like shit, you’re the only woman he could think ever think of. every night and day you possess his mind and soul.
“hmm, no. i'm too busy with this pussy to see other women, to be honest. you’re spendin’ all my money too.”
a stupid smile stays plastered all over your face.
“relax, sweet girl. let me take care of you.”
he grips down your thigh again and he rests your leg on his sturdy shoulder, spreading you just enough to have a full view of your pretty pussy. his eyes glow like a predator’s that has finally found his delicious prey and he licks his lip.
“fuck me, you really are so sweet. i missed your jealous pussy.” he sinks his face fully down your wetness, drowning himself into you, just like he wanted to. a gasp escapes shyly past your lips and you cover your mouth again, holding in your slutty moans.
his cock bulges hard and big under his pants. it twitches and his veins pulse just from eating your pussy out.
his tongue moves naturally, up and down your folds and he stuffs it inside your needy pussy— this is for himself. he’s missed your taste like the addicted man you’ve made out of him.
“are you seeing other women?’” he imitates your voice.
he drags his tongue up, spoiling your puffy clit with slutry, slow circles and meticulous licks. he’s got you figured from inside out— a lot of attention to your little clit to make you roll your eyes and sink you nails in his skin or grab onto his blonde hair. he couldn’t care less if leave him bloody or with a few scratch marks.
“l-leon! i’m being serious!” you moan.
then, a finger stuffed inside your strechy walls, coated in your honey juices (that he’ll immediately lick off). he moves in gently, knuckle deep, pressing the tip of his finger on your sweet spot, while his tongue spoils your clit rotten.
you love it when he buries a second finger, so deep and rough, faster.
“i know, sweet girl. feels good?” he stares right into your hazy eyes and back to your cunt and at his own fingers stuffed deeper around your g spot.
and the third one makes you crave his cock, from the way he finger fucks you so hard that you’re not longer fully present. you’re high. you reached a feeling of elation that’s impossible to describe— your mouth wide open, drool slick on your lips, moaning yes. yes. yes. with your eyes rolling. you’re so close.
he fucks you harder, ramming his fingers inside your gummy walls, right while his lips suck on your clit and tongue draws lazy and very drunk circles to make you orgasm. he fucks you even rougher, faster this time, stimulating your spot and stretching you out. you feel so good with him inside you. you ride his face messily, sliding your cunt up and down his face to make yourself come.
you wanna feel like this forever.
you finally orgasm and you knees almost fail you, but leon is right there to hold you. you coat his fingers in squirt and honeyed liquid, and it splashes all over his face. he’s smiling like an idiot and he licks it all.
“i don’t need anyone else. i-i think i might be in love with you.”
he must be insanely drunk.
you can’t answer that. you’re too breathless. you feel dizzy.
he kisses your knees and you’ve never seen his eyes shine so anxiously and vulnerably. you’ve never seen a man— a man twice your age, confess that he might actually be in love with you.
another kiss on your knee, “i’m fucked, right?”
he is drunk.
“mmm. i’m so fucked. this past month- i wanted to come see you. be with you. got shitfaced one night. all i could see was your pretty face.”
he sucks in your inner thighs, taking your soft skin between his lips and the tip of his tongue savors on the juices leaking down your thighs, “you waitin’ for me late at night. i hate makin’ you wait. it makes you all sad. you think i won’t show up for some reason.”
he leave kisses on your inner thighs and he rests his chin on your leg momentarily.
“but i can’t do this to you, sweet girl,” leon sighs, as if he feels defeated, “i’d be a monster. can’t let you go through this.”
the room still smells of flowers and the light shines through the curtains. the sky turned pink and orange and the clouds set over the purple shades.
“i know you won’t marry pete. it’s ain’t like you. you’re not the small town type. you… you won’t settle down.”
it feels like he’s waiting for a confirmation and trying to convince himself that i won’t happen.
“what if i am the small town type?”
“i know what you want me to say. no.”
“but you said you’d do it as long as i’m happy!”
“rescue you? settling down in a town with an old man- apologies- an alcoholic who does the government’s dirty work? sounds more like some evil scheme than a rescue mission.”
“we can make it work! leon, i- i’m in love with you too!”
“stop.” he seems to grow angrier. not with you, but with himself.
“you’re young. you don’t wanna settle down. you have so much ahead of you. you think you want this but- but you like the attention and the gifts i give you. you ain’t in love with me.”
“don’t you wanna see me every time you come home? i’d make a good housewife. not perfect, but i’d try for you. and i’d wait for you. days. weeks. months. i’d wait— and i’d wait and wait again… for you.”
he does.
but you don’t.
“you’d hate that, my sweet doll. you’re not seein’ this through. you moved away for a reason,” he pauses, still down on his knees, “you’d feel like a princess trapped in a tower and i’d be the bastard dragon. i’m not your knight in shining armor.”
“why do you hate yourself so much, leon?”
no answer. you get on your knees and they brush against the beige carpet. you cup his burning cheek gently and he kisses your wrist, right where the love bracelet is.
“i’ll hurt you.”
he would, inevitably. he’s already done it and mostly likely, it’ll happen over and over again until you’ll come to your senses and realize you have no future together.
“i don’t wanna trap you.”
“i’m a big girl. we all hurt each other without meaning to. i- i can handle it.”
we’re all meant to exist with flaw programmed within us.
“yeah? can you? ‘been gone for a month and you’re all sad and whiny. tryin’ to make me jealous, ‘future mrs. kane.’ my ass.”
“trap me. take me. i’ll get over it. let’s get a big house together!” you sink on your knees, “ i’ll be good for you. be selfish for once, leon. if you want me- take me. just do it.”
he’s already being selfish by putting you through this whole ordeal, not stopping this earlier— he can’t deal with that.
“you’ll get bored in a few months.”
“you don’t know me, leon! i want this! with you.”
“fuck, sweetheart, stop lyin’. i know you. for you- i could change. but… but i don’t know how long that’d take. can’t afford to have you waitin’ for me to be a better man.”
it’s easy to figure out a person who ran away from her town. you don’t want to end up like your mother or the other housewives in this town. and with him, you would. there’s two options. you’d either settle down and wait for him to return from his missions— if he returns.
or you’d be on the run for the rest of you life, with a husband who deals with bioterrorism for a living.
and realistically, your dad would shoot leon off the face of the earth if he was ever to find out he even dared to touch you.
“i don’t want you to change!” you put your palms around his face, “i wanna see you happy too, y’know?”
you want to fix him. deep down, you think he’d put away the bottle of whiskey for you.
you want him to fix you— what if he’s been the only cure to your madness until now? what if, deep down, your destiny was to follow into your mother’s footsteps.
you sound insane.
leon wakes up and his strong arms wrap around your waist to pick you up off the floor. he carries you to the bed and with one hand, he moves the patchwork cover aside to tuck you in. he looks around and he grabs an old t-shirt from your suitcase. you lift your arms up instinctively and he dresses you up like you’re a helpless little girl.
he sits on one knee on the floor, right next to you.
“it was never gonna happen. this. us… the bracelet i gave you that night was my parting gift. or so i was hopin’. i wanted to you to figure out that… i’m in love with you.”
he kisses your hand, breathing your sweet perfume one more time, “but even if i’m so in love with you, i can’t put you through this. i’m sorry, sweet girl.”
“do i have no saying in this? i-i don’t want this to end.” you feel a tear pricking down the corner of your eye, “at least— at least come see me?”
“we’ll see each other again if we happen to visit this place at the same time.”
you’re sobbing now. you cry and the tears sting and make your vision blurry. mascara drips down your flushed cheeks and you smudge it even more when you try to wipe your tears with the back of your hand.
“please, be a good girl and go take a long bath. eat somethin’ for me?” he wipes your tears too and you hold onto his wrist, kissing it a few times. it’s so warm and real. it could’ve stayed with you forever. his warmth and manly perfume.
“i-i… i will, yeah.”
“i’d kill myself for hurtin’ you before your dad gets to that rifle. now, if you’ll excuse me. i gotta find your dad. he was lookin’ for me.”
“are you gonna drink again?”
no answer.
“i hate you! why did you come here? oh- let me guess… you’re drunk, right? is that your excuse? that you’re drunk, again? fuck you. leave me alone! leave- just leave, leon. i don’t wanna see you.”
“you’d hate me more if i’d keep feeding into your little fantasy.”
and so, he abandons you and the night settles down inside your childhood bedroom. you don’t bother turning on the bedside lamp— you sit in the dark, not truly capable of processing your emotions. it feels like you’ve been doing this for hours, but it’s been barely half an hour.
you stare at the bracelet one more and the tears keep rolling down your face.
a parting gift. a love bracelet.
because leon kennedy is madly in love with you.
leon was aware you’d never forgive him the moment he abandoned you inside that bedroom.
it’s for the best.
for you.
to be continued in PART II ── THE LUCKY ONES. MASTERLIST.
── ivy’s (very long) note : after SUCH a long time, it’s finally out ! <3 i really wasn’t expecting to end up with (around!!) 10k words ;o part two is already un progress and i PROMISE the sexual tension between the reader and leon will be crazy. this part has nothing compared to what i’m preparing. the reader is going to be a massive pain is the ass and brat for leon. again, i SWEAR it’s gonna be insane and sexual. I'll also explain their first time together.
my wish is to always make everyone feel as included as possible, so i avoid describing my readers outside their personalities and aesthetics. but i do like to mess around and give my readers unique traits and aesthetics. i had so much fun with this one <3 obviously, my readers are always inspired by myself and my own tastes !
i wanna share this fic’s pinterest board here, which i’ll also add to the masterlist when i post it. — SAY YOU WANT ME TOO. and also, credits to melscanvas_ on twt for the original screencap i used for my banner ! !
now, please let me know. would you like me to write a separate fic for the bar date? i can write so much about it, but that part alone can have up to 4k words, i think?
as always, interactions, especially reblogs are always super duper appreciated <3 thank you for reading, angels ! to join the taglist, please only leave a comment on this post. you can also comment on the masterlist post that i’ll link once it’s posted <3 love ya, mwuah!
