Ballora.exe

I have an opinion to share: I did not like the new SCP sedition.

Personally I think it was very poorly written, despite having 4 script writers mind you. It had some good funny moments, I agree on that, but I have a few points I want to bring up to just rant about.

I assume you mean the recent “converse” tape, as they’ve called it for some reason.

It’s different to what I would have done, and it’s difficult to answer without being somewhat biased. I’ll try to keep it as impersonal as I can, whilst also acknowledging the changes and alterations made from the original plan and how that has impacted the overall flow and narrative of the story/characters.

I will start by stating that I find it incredibly confusing for them (The Tats Team) to go from two long compilation videos of multiple SCPs onto another long video featuring multiple SCPs we’ve already interviewed. In my opinion, it seem like key-jingling; like they knew these four were really popular (both in Sedition and generally) and created a reason to have all four in the same room (which I’ll touch on later). If they had wanted to build up a little better, it would have been wiser to have some more personal interviews rather than go for the fireworks but, again, I’m not on the team anymore.

The reason they cooked up to feature 035, 049, 079, and 343 in the same video sound illogical on several fronts. If you wanted a philosophical, logical, spiritual, and mechanical conversation amongst SCPs, you have picked the worst group to do it with. The Foundation would know this, and certainly would never have okayed this sort of experiment (except maybe in the annals of fanfiction). Sure, it’s entertaining if you’re a fan of Jerry Springer, but despite advertising itself as a depth-filled discussion that will deepen out perception of these characters and our lives, all you really get is what we’ve heard before served up in bare-bones re-treads and weird metaphors. You achieve nothing by holding this interview, both as a writer and as an in-universe researcher.

In order to accommodate not four, but **five** protagonists (including Watch), each one has had to be watered down to their bare components. In this case, it’s “what would the audience love to see them as”. According to the video Watch has no personality anymore, 035 is an agent of pure evil with no nuance or manipulation, 049 is a victim who simply has the best intentions despite committing horrific atrocities, 079 is an incredibly emotional computer crying for his crocodile, and 343 creates fireworks and **attempts** to sound deep but…burgers? Add on top of it the unnecessary memes and slang (only used prior as emphasis on certain attributes, effects, and traits of these characters [i.e. the meme question for 079 being taken literally, the “slim shady” quote showing 035 can be influenced a little by its hosts]), and you have yourself a series of what feels like very staged interactions. It felt akin to watching The Big Bang Theory (clue: Watch was Penny in this analogy).

Jolanda’s story is something brought up a tonne in reviews, and I agree even without considering others’ feedback on this. Her story was to highlight 049’s depth of conviction and potential self-righteousness and assurance in killing even the one and only human he ever had some semblance of a connection to just because she dared disagree with him. This reflected on Jacobs’ own story at the time, struggling between his learned experiences and isolating himself from help in his ruthless pursuit of Foundation change vs. being a good friend to Watch and working together to make that change happen. Of course, now that Jacobs is no longer there, it probably doesn’t matter to the current team what Jolanda’s story means, but it served as a cornerstone to 049’s darker side, which shouldn’t be ignored for brownie points. To pin it all on 035 to do this shallows both their characters. 049 is now guilt-free, and 035 is just a murderer driven by no other ambition but to be a prick specifically to 049. All nuance is lost by this one implication, and since there’s no other real personal touch to any of these characters to be found in this whole video, that’s all people who have only watch this one have.

343 and 079 just generally are a bit of a waste of time to feature, and nothing interesting was made of them. 343 produced light shows and 079 (say the line, Bart) asked for 682. What can you get out of that? Nothing. It’s disappointing because of where this series dared to tread before, but nothing was established of them here. They could have easily at least broached the idea that 343 having not taken any action against these SCPs (i.e. snapping them out of existence) means that they are approved of by the self-proclaimed God. And that taking any action against them (especially with bullying 035 as much as 343 does in this very video) means that 343 wields his power like a petulant child. But in order to do that, you’d need to have what’s in my next point—

There’s no self-awareness when it comes to this episode. I always wrote Sedition like it was a glimpse into the Foundation, a day in the life with a few interesting bits and pieces happening and character arcs/plots to follow. Now, it truly does feel like an episodic slideshow of greatest hits structured like a show to kick those endorphins into gear. Look at the room. Look at Watch’s utter lack of character. Look at the SCPs chosen and why. Does this scream self-aware, or just shits and giggles? Either they didn’t really care, or there were so many ways that they wanted to take it that cohesion flew the coop. As much as a collaborative effort is interesting for this kind of project, not funnelling it through someone or something with a distinct vision for this series will keep it from achieving the numbers it got in its heyday.

As for its future with 001 coming up next, I don’t see it appealing to more than the lowest common denominator. I don’t see what 001 has to say at this point in the series that will be of some fantastic revelation or personal insight, but I’ll leave that up to the writing team who may very well surprise me. It’s possible, but I won’t be holding my breath given their recent outings. I do wonder if they’ll borrow any of what was established by 343 in his solo interview about the fallen angel story, since the connotations of him having lied about that would be intriguing…if they bother to address it at all. They may not, but they still might given how much they leaned heavily on prior established Sedition canon for the SCPs in the Converse (why would you call it that?).

Still, it is promised to be an emotion-filled episode with a really sad “thing” happening, but…they’ve not really built up to it. My prediction is a little different to others: yes, I acknowledge that human extinction may play a part in the plot and be potentially the ultimate fate, but I reckon they may pull a little resurrection of Watch’s sister Evelyn at some point. He’ll get to say goodbye, or he’ll join her, or maybe she’ll be back for good? And either way, it’s possible they’ll end Sedition or keep it going in yet another form. But it’ll be hollow earnings. They’ve hardly mentioned Evelyn for the last three videos, clearly they want to move on, and it’s the last bit of character to Watch they have left. Once it’s gone, he’s just a voice.

On an actual personal note, I was primarily removed from my position as Head Writer of Sedition because I “wrote the episodes to be too long” and “made large demands of Tats in terms of animations”. Not including the fact they have erased any story and character from Sedition (except what they elect to keep on a whim), these two hurt most because the last 3 videos have been the 2nd, 3rd, and 5th longest Sedition videos, and on top of that have been two First Person Perspective videos and one with five simultaneous characters present at the same time, with a lot more animations and effects present. Make of that what you will.

(don’t ask why it’s specifically radiohead, they suit each other so well)

I’ll give a few answers to this.

Probably a younger Jacobs pre-Foundation cried to a song like Let Down.

Modern Jacobs cries at something like No Surprises.

He feels somewhat empowered however by songs like Jigsaw Falling Into Place, and a bit by Karma Police (but that one also keeps him wise to his own faults).

Content: smut, p in v, fingering, squirting, alcohol consumption, hookup culture lol

Masterlist❤︎

-

There is nothing better than being fucked completely senseless.

Arguably the best remedy for a chronically overactive mind.

After five straight days of managing passive-aggressive emails and smiling through situations that tested the absolute limits of human sanity, you decided the only cure for this impending mental breakdown was a stiff drink and zero inhibitions on this lovely weekend.

Two shots of whatever was closest, and the company of a man who looked just as desperately in need of a distraction as you, if not more so.

I know this is like, super late, but I wrote it! Yay xD

Draco Malfoy NSFW Headcanons

Let's get this straight: despite being a prick™️ most of the time, Draco is an excellent student and an incredibly talented wizard of a sophisticated pureblood family. You can be absolutely certain that his parents make sure to give him the best education available, and even get him a tutor for the summer.

Draco might be full of himself but not without a reason - he's got a reputation to keep and expectations to live up to.

All this said, Draco is educated. This applies to sex education as well. There's no way Narcissa would let him get out of the house without at least learning basic biology from a teacher.

Here's the thing - Draco knows far more than the simple basics.

Yes, he's learned the biology. But he's enthusiastic to know more because he's fascinated by human anatomy, especially the female anatomy.

This is not said to make him look creepy in any way, or to make it seem as if he only cares about the sexual aspect of things. Draco is genuinely mindblown by how many changes women go through, their struggles and how well they manage to live their daily life despite of them.

The boy is amazed to know how many things a woman's body can endure and do, it honestly just makes him adore women even more.

So it's no surprise that, even during his first time, Draco knows how to be a proper lover.

This doesn't mean it doesn't take him time to get to know his partner's body, but his knowledge makes it way easier for him.

Draco does a great job at helping his lover warm up to him, asking thoughtful questions and wanting to get helpful feedback as to get more skilled.

Boy, is Draco gentle.

He really is so extremely tender and loving.

The way his fingers slowly ghost over your bare skin enough to give you chills, clearly shows how much he adores you.

He always makes sure you're 100% alright with everything he does and he's very observant; he's able to pick up on small details and cues to let him know if you're enjoying something or if you need him to stop before actually telling him to.

Draco is overwhelmed by immense happiness and gratitude when he first sees you naked because he truly feels privileged to be the man to see you in such a vulnerable state.

"Holy Salazar, she's actually trusting me enough to be undressed in front of me? She's letting me see her and touch her? I'm so undeserving ot this..."

When he first hears you moan, he's shook to the core.

It might be a short, barely audible, soft sound, but it makes Draco's heart beat like mad because he cannot possibly believe he's the one eliciting these sweet sounds out of you.

And god, is he eager to hear more of them.

Draco grows more and more confident, determined to make you moan and writhe underneath him.

His soft lips attach to your neck and cover it with slow, wet kisses and occasional nibbles which cause you to jump in his arms. Draco isn't one to roughly bite the sensitive skin or paint it with marks; he wants to treat his lady with care.

This boy loves giving oral, let's get this out of the question.

The fact that he can pleasure you with his tongue while also getting enjoyment out of tasting you and having you tremble helplessly? Amazing.

This is something he's genuinely happy to do, most of the time without you having to ask for it.

He simply spreads your legs and gives you that needy, thirsty look before diving in. His tongue starts with long, wide licks, eagerly spreading your wetness all over your core. Your satisfied sighs and gasp cause Draco to hold your thighs tighter and moan at your scent and taste, desperate to lap it all up until you're shaking beyond control.

Your fingers find their way through his platinum blonde hair and grip it firmly, encouraging him to keep going. In return Draco holds your legs wide open, locking them in place as his tongue flicks and swirls around your swollen clit.

When he wraps his lips around your clit to suck on it, that is when you lose it. And are you happy to lose that battle, giving into the delicious pleasure that turns you into a panting mess.

That was when Draco found you most beautiful - during and after an orgasm. There was nothing like the sight of you finally letting go. Draco loved seeing you so happy, relaxed and in an euphoric state of pleasure; it filled him with immense joy, pride and love.

Draco's pace would be very sensual and slow, at least slow at first until you asked him to go faster.

It was really important to him to completely indulge in the moment, to feel all of you and let you feel all of him. He didn't wish to rush things, he wanted both of you to enjoy the moment as long as you could.

Draco would spend a lot of time comforting you with sweet words and kissing you; your lips, face, neck, chest, arms, he wants to cover every area with kisses.

His thrusts would be slow, but oh so deep.

His cock is slightly bigger than average, and Draco would make sure to stretch you out and fill you up completely. Every time he reached your cervix, you'd let out a choked moan, nails sinking into his shoulders.

When you two were on your way to building up your climaxes, you'd encourage him to quicken the pace and he'd happily oblige, switching from slowly entering you to slamming into you.

I reckon Draco is a very clean guy and wouldn't want to finish anywhere on you, but he'd happily stuff you with his cum. This wouldn't be a problem since wizard protection is much different and it would allow it.

Nothing else would matter but the sound of skin slapping against skin, your mixed gasps and whimpers, and the heavy scent of sex as you both come hard. Draco would give your thighs a harsh squeeze before spilling his seed into you and effectively keeping it inside.

Draco is truly the most attentive lover and aftercare with him would be literal heaven. He'd be whispering words reassurance, telling you how great you were and chasing away any insecurities you might have. He wouldn't want you to ever, ever doubt his love for you.

Draco is a night owl by nature so he probably wouldn't fall asleep long after you do. If anything, this allows him to admire your peaceful sleeping form. He'd gently tuck fallen strands of hair behind your ear and kiss your slightly parted lips. He would let his finger lovingly trace your neck down towards your arm and then repeat the pattern, smiling at himself for being so unbelievably lucky to have you.

I unintentionally made myself soft and I hate it

Reblog my work if you enjoyed it!

꒰ ✶ ꒱ … ❛ YOU LOOK LONELY, I CAN FIX THAT ❜ : you’re a midnight ballerina and leon kennedy is one of your regular clients.

val’s notes ⟡ nsfw. minors do not interact. re9!leon x fem!midnight ballerina!reader. content warnings: porn with no plot. unrealistic asf au. age gap (reader is mid 20s), oral (m receiving), semi public sex, praise, and pet names (pretty girl, good girl, babydoll). notes: this was barely proofread. also it used to be a drabble and then I got too far into it. inspo song. word count: 2.2k — please like & reblog if you enjoyed !

𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: trauma, CPTSD, grief, mentions of violence and weapons

— Leon takes care of himself in his own way. He does what he needs to do to maintain his physique. He has to - falling behind even a fraction can mean the difference between life and death. He eats well. He works out and trains extensively. He tries to get enough sleep, although the nature of his work and his personal struggles sometimes interfere.

— Leon rarely indulges himself. He only really does so when he's at very low points. Sometimes just a hint of light is what keeps him from sinking too deep.

— Leon avoids large crowds. Before Raccoon City, it was a nonissue. In the years that followed, he found it difficult to be surrounded by large groups in public. If he does go out, he's often sitting as close as he can to an exit, back to the wall.

𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: guilt, CPTSD, hypervigilance, mentions of injury

— Leon would be scared of being a father. He didn't have a good relationship with his dad. Difficult to do when the man wasn’t around, and then dead. Part of him would be afraid of repeating that cycle because of his work.

— He wouldn't go out of his way to become a dad. It was a vague dream of Leon’s, back when he was a rookie cop whose conception of good and bad was very different—whose outlook on life altogether was different. That dream isn't exactly realistic anymore.

— If Leon did find out he was going to become a father, his priorities would shift dramatically. He's always had a hard time being particularly passionate about his work. He cares about saving lives, but the endless loop of people dying all around him isn't a comforting one. Work is less of a priority and more of a means of providing. He sees it somehow even more as a thing to just survive, but now for what he can do with what he earns.

bodyguard!leon s. kennedy who would instinctively put himself between his partner and any threat. having survived intense trauma himself, he would deeply be protective of his partners safety understanding what it means to be in danger. most likely being very quiet or serious about his true feelings, but showing them through his actions rather than words.

bodyguard!leon s. kennedy who makes it clear that your are to follow his directions while your under his protection. when he gives an order you follow it, no if ands or buts about it. this man will not accept any form of disobedience when it involves keeping you safe.

bodyguard!leon s. kennedy who who will make it clear to you why it's necessary for you to adhere to his instructions. leon would put you over his and make you count as he spanks you. "if you miss a number we're starting over, do you understand me ma'am?" still keeping up with formalities as way to even more punish you.

After the silence, Breathe.

Summary: After the events of RE9, Leon S. Kennedy is no longer the man everyone thinks they know. His steady hands tremble when no one is looking, sleep is a hostile territory, and silence weighs heavier than gunfire. For once, though, he isn’t the one doing the protecting. He is the one giving in. Letting himself be held together. Learning that even those who survive have the right to be saved.

Content warning: Post-trauma, emotional vulnerability, hints of PTSD, caregiving dynamics, consensual intimacy, role reversal, soft references to sexual practices (implicit pegging), comfort/aftercare.

Rating: Mature (M)

⸻

The first thing that changes is the way Leon closes the door.

It’s no longer that automatic, almost distracted gesture.

Now he checks twice. Three times.

The lock clicks, and he stands there, his forehead pressed against the wood, as if he could feel the world on the other side breathing against him.

Silence.

Too much silence.

“Leon?”

Your voice is low, measured. You never intrude. You never do.

He doesn’t answer right away.

His shoulders are stiff beneath his worn jacket, still soaked with rain and something he never names.

“It’s just a door,” you say, moving closer without touching him yet. “You don’t have to defend yourself against it.”

A breath. Long. Cut short.

“It’s not the door,” he murmurs. His voice hoarse, as if he’d spoken too much… or too little. “It’s what might be behind it.”

Finally, he turns.

His blue eyes aren’t dull—that would be easier.

They’re too present. Too full.

You don’t ask questions.

You don’t ask him what he saw, what he did, who he couldn’t save.

Instead, you take his hand.

It’s cold.

“Come,” you say simply.

⸻

The biggest change isn’t in his fear.

It’s in the way that, little by little, Leon learns not to hide it.

At first, he fights you too.

Not with violence—never with violence.

But with that silent resistance he’s always used to stay on his feet: half-finished jokes, averted glances, the compulsive need to “be okay.”

“I’m fine,” he says, sitting on the edge of the bed, his fingers clutching the sheet as if it were an anchor.

You cross your arms, leaning against the door.

“No,” you reply simply.

He snorts, a half-laugh devoid of humor.

“Is it that obvious?”

“Leon,” you say, moving closer slowly, “you’ve come back from… whatever hell that was. You don’t have to be ‘fine.’ You just have to… be here.”

Silence.

Then, slowly:

“I don’t know how to do that.”

That’s the first real crack.

You sit down next to him. Not too close. You leave him room to choose.

And, after a moment that feels like an eternity—

He leans toward you.

Just a little.

Almost imperceptibly.

But enough.

⸻

The first time he truly gives in, it happens at night.

Always at night.

A nightmare rips him from sleep like a gunshot.

He sits up with a start, breathless, eyes wide open at something that’s no longer there.

“Leon.”

You’re already awake.

You don’t touch him right away.

“Hey… look at me.”

He doesn’t. Not yet.

His hands are shaking. You see them. He tries to hide them.

“There’s nothing here,” you continue, softly. “Just me. Just us.”

Seconds pass. Maybe minutes.

Then, finally, his eyes meet yours.

And something snaps.

“I can’t… stop it,” he whispers. “It’s like—”

His voice cracks.

You step closer, this time without hesitation, and cup his face in your hands.

“You don’t have to stop it alone.”

And then it happens.

Leon S. Kennedy—the one who has always carried the weight of the world on his shoulders—

Breaks.

He leans forward, his forehead against your shoulder, his breath breaking into something too human, too fragile.

Your arms wrap around him.

You hold him.

Not the way you hold someone you need to protect.

But the way you hold someone who has finally stopped fighting.

“I’m here,” I whisper into his hair. “You can stay here.”

And he… does.

⸻

Over time, he learns to ask.

Not right away. Not easily.

But he does.

“Can you… stay?”

“Will you hold my hand?”

“Don’t go to sleep yet.”

Small things.

Huge things.

And then there are those moments—quieter, more intense—where the need changes shape.

It’s not just comfort.

It’s trust.

⸻

“If it hurts, tell me.”

Leon is stiff beneath you, holding his breath as if before a blow.

“It… it won’t hurt,” he says, but his voice betrays uncertainty.

You tilt your head, gently brushing his face.

“Leon.”

A pause.

Then, more softly:

“I trust you. But you have to trust me, too.”

His eyes seek yours.

There’s fear there. But also something new.

Something he’s never had the luxury of exploring.

“I don’t have to be the one who… controls everything?” he asks, almost incredulously.

A small smile.

“No.”

Silence.

Then, a slow exhale.

His shoulders drop. The tension melts away, little by little.

“Okay,” he whispers. “Okay… you lead me.”

And you do.

With patience. With care. With a gentleness that doesn’t infantilize him, but rebuilds him.

Every gesture is a question.

Every answer is a step.

His hands, initially uncertain, find a hold on you.

His breath synchronizes with yours.

There’s no rush.

There’s no pressure.

Only trust.

⸻

Afterward, Leon lies still for a moment, eyes closed, his chest rising and falling slowly.

He doesn’t seem broken.

He doesn’t seem lost.

He seems… at peace.

“Hey,” you murmur, stroking his hair. “Are you okay?”

He opens his eyes. He looks at you.

And this time—this time—there’s no distance.

“Better than okay,” he says, his voice low, still a little incredulous. “I didn’t know it… could be like this.”

You smile at him.

“You don’t always have to be the one holding everything together.”

A pause.

Then he leans in, resting his forehead against yours.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

It’s not just for this moment.

It’s for everything.

For not letting him be just strong.

For teaching him that surrender can also be… a form of survival.

⸻

Outside, the world is still the same.

Dangerous. Unstable. Unpredictable.

But inside that room—

Leon is no longer just a man who survives.

He is someone who, finally,

is learning to live.

Leon S. Kennedy x reader

author’s note: 2 posts in one day? I’m on fire :p could be any leon tbh. enjoy!!

➜ You met him while working at a small coffee shop to help pay your college tuition. He was a regular who always asked for plain black coffee, but he was always gentle with you so you liked him.

➜ Sometimes he’d disappear for a few days, then return with bruises or cuts on his face but you were always happy to see him. So, you never asked where the bruises came from , and he never explained.

➜ The first real interaction happened when a rude customer started yelling at you. You were about to cry from desperation because you couldn’t defend yourself afraid of losing your job. Leon stepped in calmly, shutting the situation down without raising his voice.

“You okay, sweetheart?” He gave you a tiny reassuring smile before leaving.

➜ From then on, he started lingering a little longer when he came in. Small talk turned into real conversations about classes and life. He always listened carefully. He would share small pieces of his life too. You began to look forward to his visits more than you expected.

➜ Then one day, after a longer than usual conversation, he finally asked if you’d like to go on a date with him.

The shop was quieter than usual that evening, just the low hum of the espresso machine and soft music in the background. You were wiping down the counter when the bell above the door chimed.

Your face lit up when you saw it was Leon.

“Rough day?” Leon asked, noticing the tired look on your face as he approached.

You gave a small shrug. “Midterms. And people suddenly forget how to act nice when they want coffee.”

He let out a quiet chuckle. “Sounds about right.”

You made his usual without asking, sliding the cup toward him. He stayed there, fingers loosely wrapped around the cup, like he was thinking.

You glanced up at him with a confused look on your face, “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, then paused. He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes flicking away for a second. “I was wondering if you’d want to grab dinner someday.’

You blinked, caught off guard. “Like a date?”

A small smirk tugged at his lips. “Yeah. Like a date.”

There was a beat of silence, your heart picking up a little faster than expected.

“I’d love to,” you said softly.

His smirk grew a little but,“Yeah?”

You nodded, a small smile forming. “Yeah.”

➜ After that first date, things didn’t stay casual for long. One date turned into two, then into a routine of late dinners, walks, sitting in his car just talking for hours, and going to his place for something more.

➜ Leon wasn’t overly expressive, but he showed he cared in small, consistent ways. Remembering your schedule, texting just to make sure you got home safe (even if he was a bad texter).

➜ Before you even realized it, you were basically a couple. You spent most of your free time together, unless he was away on a work trip.

➜ The only real issue was your schedule. You always had to leave early, no matter how late the night went. You had the opening shift at the coffee shop which meant waking up before sunrise. There were nights where Leon wanted nothing more than staying curled up against you after sex but you always ended up leaving quietly before the night could turn into morning

➜ Then one day, when he had enough of your routine he told you to quit your job.

You were slipping your shoes back on, barely awake trying to force yourself out the door reluctantly.

“You don’t have to keep doing this, sweetheart” he said with a sultry tone.

You looked at him, confused. “Doing what?”

He stepped closer, a slight crease in his brow

“Going back to that job just to pay for your bills.”

You let out a small breath. “I need it, baby. I can’t just quit, I need this job.”

There was a pause, then he said it, “Quit. I’ll take care of you.”

“Like what? You’re going to pay for my groceries? And my tuition? And my bills?” You looked at him like he was crazy.

“I make more money than I can spend. Trust me I’ll be fine, if I stopped working today I’d still be set for life.”

➜ After that conversation, things shifted. He didn’t bring it up again directly but a few days later you noticed money had been sent to your bank account .

➜ At first, you thought it was a mistake but then it happened again the next week, and the week after that. When you confronted him, he didn’t make a big deal out of it.

“So you don’t have to worry,” he said simply, like it was obvious.

➜ Eventually, you did quit the coffee shop. And he noticed the difference immediately: The way you laughed more easily, how your shoulders weren’t always tense, how you didn’t look like you were running on empty anymore.

➜ He seemed to enjoy that more than anything. Watching you relax, seeing you happy. He still took you on dates, just as often, if not more. He also started giving you expensive gifts, designer bags and jewelry. He would simply say:

“I asked a friend and she told me this is what’s trending, if you don’t like it you can exchange it.”

Requiem Leon Kennedy head cannons!

(Seeing Leon as older just fueled my heart with so much love. He’s so dear to me)

• He’s a switch. It depends on the day, sometimes he likes being in charge and sometimes he likes being taken care of. Especially after a long mission, he loves being pampered and cuddled.

• He needs white noise to fall asleep and that sometimes annoys his partner but they deal with it because they know Leon can’t sleep properly in complete silence.

• He prefers cuddling until falling asleep over sex. Due to his endless infections, trauma and past alcoholism, sex has been hard for Leon, therefore he has grown to prefer intimate cuddling. He will however satisfy his partner but with oral.

• He might forget a lot of things but everything that’s really important to his partner Leon always memorize. And if he thinks he’ll forget he keeps a note for it in his wallet.

• He quit alcohol the day he met his partner. Not because he had to but because it gave him a new purpose to live and do better for himself.

• He can’t fall asleep unless his partner is sleeping next to him, preferably in his arms so he knows they’re safe.

These are my head-cannons so be nice pls :3

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹

𝚂𝚄𝙼𝙼𝙰𝚁𝚈 : LONG CHAPTER* Five weeks with Leon Kennedy as her bodyguard has turned into something Y/N didn’t expect — shared coffee in the mornings, books passed quietly in the hallway, and a comfort that feels dangerously easy. But after a fall at the park leaves her injured and Leon carrying her home, one small moment in the car changes everything. Because lying awake later that night, Y/N realizes something terrifying. She might be starting to like him.

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NOTE - Age gap storyline. Leon - about 34-35 Reader 25 soon 26!!!

A/N - I tried to be as racially anonymous as i could with Y/N. any hair texture etc can be long so keep that in mind! enjoy!

🎧 - In My Room - Julia Wolf

Y/N’s POV -

It had been five weeks.

Five weeks since my father decided the best solution to death threats was assigning Leon S. Kennedy to follow me everywhere like a very serious, very quiet shadow.

Five weeks since the day I opened my bedroom door and nearly screamed when I saw him standing in the hallway like some sort of government-issued cryptid.

And in those five weeks, I had learned something important.

Leon Kennedy was a very difficult man to figure out.

Still, I had learned quite a bit about him. Most of it accidentally. Some of it by observation. Some of it by digging.

For starters, he worked too much.

That realization didn’t come from anything he said. Leon rarely volunteered information about himself unless you asked directly, and even then his answers had a habit of stopping just short of revealing anything real.

Apparently the investigation into the threats against my father wasn’t just private security anymore. His department had gotten involved too.

Which meant Leon wasn’t just my assigned bodyguard.

He was also investigating the case.

⸻

Most mornings, when I came downstairs, the house was still wrapped in the quiet hush that lingered before the rest of the city woke up.

Sunlight would just barely slip through the tall dining room windows, turning the polished wooden floors into long strips of gold.

And Leon would already be there.

Always sitting at the kitchen counter. Always the same chair.

One arm rested beside a laptop, the other loosely wrapped around a mug of coffee that had long since stopped steaming.

The first time I saw him like that, I paused in the doorway and watched him for a moment before he noticed me.

He looked tired.

Not in the obvious way. His posture was still straight, his attention still sharp as he scanned the screen in front of him. But there was a faint tension in his shoulders that hadn’t been there the day we met.

Like someone who had forgotten what it felt like to sleep properly.

He glanced up when he heard my footsteps.

“Morning,” he said.

His voice carried the rough edge of quiet exhaustion.

“Morning,” I answered, walking toward the coffee machine.

His mug was filled with plain black coffee.

Of course it was.

Leon Kennedy did not look like the type of man who waited in line for caramel lattes.

⸻

Later that week, I overheard my father talking about him.

The door to my father’s office was half open when I passed by, and his voice carried down the hallway.

“I’m paying him double,” my father said firmly.

There was a pause, like the person on the other end of the call had replied.

“Yes. Double his normal salary.”

Another pause.

Then he sighed.

“It’s the least I can do.”

I slowed my steps without meaning to.

Something about that felt strange.

Not the money part.

The part where my father sounded almost… apologetic.

As if the payment was compensation for something far heavier than the job itself.

I kept walking before I could overhear more.

But the thought stayed with me.

Because somehow, I already knew the answer.

Leon Kennedy didn’t strike me as someone who measured things by money.

Something told me he would have taken the job anyway.

⸻

Another thing I learned about Leon was that he didn’t stay the entire week.

The first Friday night he left, I wasn’t particularly surprised. It had been a long week of questions, paperwork, and the occasional visit to the police department. Sometime after dinner, he appeared in the hallway with his jacket folded over his arm.

“I’m heading out,” he told my father.

My dad looked up from the newspaper.

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Leon replied easily. “Everything’s quiet tonight. I’ll be back Monday morning.”

My father nodded like this had already been arranged.

“Drive safe.”

Leon gave a small nod before glancing toward me where I sat on the couch pretending to read.

“See you Monday.”

The words were casual. Professional.

Exactly what you’d expect from someone finishing a work week.

“See you,” I replied.

And that was it.

He walked out the front door.

The house returned to its usual quiet.

⸻

The weekend passed normally.

I studied. Went to campus. Spent time reading in my room.

And before I knew it, it was Monday morning.

I walked downstairs half asleep, hair messy, a sweatshirt hanging loosely around my shoulders.

And when I stepped into the kitchen—

He was there.

Standing at the counter with a travel mug in his hand.

Leon glanced up.

For a second he looked mildly surprised to see me so early.

“Morning,” he said.

Something about the way he said it lifted my mood before I could stop it.

“Morning,” I replied casually.

But internally?

I was oddly happy to see him.

Which was ridiculous.

He had been gone for two days.

Two days.

Still, there was something reassuring about the familiar sight of him standing there.

Like the house had quietly shifted back into place.

⸻

Leon stayed Monday through Friday evening.

Then he disappeared for the weekend.

It wasn’t something we talked about, but I assumed he went back to his own place. His own life. The one that existed outside of my father’s house and the strange situation we had found ourselves in.

And every Monday morning…

He came back.

⸻

What made him interesting, was his random acts of service.

We were walking through campus after one of my classes, the sidewalks busy with students moving between buildings.

Leon walked beside me with his usual calm awareness.

I was in the middle of explaining something about one of my professors when it happened.

My foot caught slightly against the pavement.

“Aw, damn it,” I muttered.

Leon noticed immediately.

“Hold on.”

His hand rested lightly on my shoulder.

Before I could process what was happening, he crouched down.

My brain froze.

“…Leon?”

“You’re going to trip again,” he said calmly.

He lifted my foot slightly, resting it against his knee with casual ease.

Then he started tying my shoe.

Meanwhile I stood there feeling heat creep up my neck as students walked past us.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes I did.”

He tightened the knot, gave it two small pats, then stood back up.

“There.”

I stared at him.

“…Thank you.”

After that day, it became a habit.

Anytime he noticed my laces coming loose, he’d stop me mid-step and crouch down to fix them.

No hesitation.

Eventually I admitted something.

“I don’t actually know how to tie them properly.”

Leon blinked.

“You’re serious?

I nodded sheepishly.

“I was six when my mom stopped doing it for me,” I explained defensively. “And then I just… never learned.”

Leon stared at me for a moment.

Then he laughed.

Not loudly.

But warmly.

“I’ll show you sometime.”

“…Okay,” I said, smiling.

⸻

After that moment, the coffee started. I wanted to do something for him too for always being so kind to me. Even if he didn’t notice.

The next Monday, I woke up earlier than usual and wandered downstairs to find the kitchen empty.

Leon hadn’t arrived at our home yet.

For some reason I found myself standing beside the coffee machine.

So I made a pot.

Nothing fancy.

Just plain coffee. How I knew he liked it.

When Leon walked in a few minutes later, he paused slightly when he saw me sitting at the counter.

And the coffee.

I glanced down at his hand.

Like always, he had brought his own to-go cup.

I felt a small flicker of disappointment. How could I forget that he always brought his own coffee?

“Oh,” he said quietly. I looked back at the pot quickly, trying to act normal.

“I figured whoever wakes up first deserves coffee,” I said quickly.

Leon glanced down at the cup in his hand.

Then back at the coffee pot.

Then at me.

Something about his expression softened.

He held up the cup slightly.

“Well,” he said thoughtfully, “this thing’s about two days old anyway.”

Before I could respond, he tossed it into the trash.

He grabbed a mug from the cabinet and poured himself a cup from the pot.

He took a sip.

Then paused.

His eyebrows lifted just slightly.

He took another sip.

“It’s good.”

I laughed.

“It’s good?”

He nodded, leaning back against the counter with the mug in his hand.

“Yeah. It’s really good.”

“Well, thank you,” I said with a small smile.

And just like that…

The routine started.

The coffee stopped coming from his apartment.

By the third Monday, Leon walked into the kitchen empty-handed.

The pot was already brewing.

He paused when he saw it.

Then his eyes shifted toward me, sitting quietly at the counter.

I pretended not to notice.

But the small smile that touched his face told me he understood exactly what was happening.

That morning, I decided to try drinking it the way he did. Plain, black coffee.

Leon watched as I took the first sip.

Then he watched my entire face collapse in disgust.

“That’s horrible,” I coughed.

Leon nearly choked on his own coffee.

He covered his mouth with his hand, trying to hide a laugh.

“You’ll get used to it.”

“No I won’t.”

“You might.”

“Leon,” I said, setting the mug down dramatically, “this tastes like regret.”

That did it.

He laughed.

Not just a quiet chuckle this time, but a genuine laugh that made his shoulders shake slightly.

“You’re exaggerating.”

“I am not. That is the worst thing I’ve ever tasted.”

He shook his head, still smiling.

“More for me, then.”

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t stop smiling myself.

⸻

I had started waking up earlier than usual.

Just to make the coffee.

Just to sit in the quiet kitchen while the sun rose through the windows.

Just to hear the front door open on Monday mornings and know that Leon had come back.

And when he stepped into the kitchen and saw the coffee already waiting…

His expression softened in a way that felt strangely rewarding.

We never talked about it.

Not directly.

But sometimes, when he sat down across from me with a fresh cup in his hands…

I could almost swear he knew I’d been waiting there.

And maybe…

Just maybe…

He didn’t mind.

*****

The next week, I discovered we had something else in common.

It was a Tuesday evening.

The house had settled into its usual quiet after dinner. My dad had retreated to his office to finish some work, and the rest of the house was wrapped in that comfortable nighttime stillness where every sound seemed softer.

I was sitting cross-legged on my bed reading.

The book in my hands was a worn paperback copy of The Tell‑Tale Heart, tucked inside a small collection of stories by Edgar Allan Poe.

I had read it before.

There was something about Poe’s writing that always pulled me in—the tension, the eerie quiet of his stories. His worlds felt like stepping directly into someone’s thoughts.

But that night I wasn’t concentrating very well.

My eyes kept drifting back to the same paragraph.

Eventually I sighed and closed the book, letting it rest against my knees.

The hallway outside my room was silent.

Leon had gone in the guest room a while ago.

By that point, I had noticed something about his routine.

Leon didn’t watch much television.

His phone rarely left his pocket unless it rang for work—or unless someone like Claire Redfield, Sherry, or Grace Ashcroft called him. I went downstairs to get a snack, and made my way back up the steps to the hallway to go towards my room.

This time, i noticed his bedroom door was cracked open. low light coming from it. I guessed he was still awake. For a second, and only a second, i peeked inside. He was sitting on a chair in the corner, head in his hands as he read. It looked like he had sat least four other books on the mattress.

He had on a black robe, and was probably just out the shower with his hair being slightly damp.

He suddenly looked up.

Our eyes met.

My face burned instantly, and I hurried down the hallway and quickly to my room.

Calming myself down, I wasn’t sure what made the idea pop into my head.

But before I could overthink it, I stood up.

I grabbed the Poe collection from my bed and scribbled a quick note on a sticky pad from my desk.

“Didn’t know you liked reading. Thought you might like this one. : )”

Then I stepped quietly into the hallway.

Leon’s door was now closed.

The thin strip of warm light that had been under it earlier was gone.

I hesitated.

Then crouched down and slid the book gently against the door.

My heart did a weird little jump as I stood back up.

It felt oddly like leaving a secret.

Before I could second-guess the idea, I turned and padded back to my room.

⸻

The next morning I woke up feeling slightly embarrassed.

The more I thought about it, the more ridiculous the idea seemed.

My stomach flipped.

Leon was already in the kitchen.

He was wearing a loose gray long-sleeve shirt, like he had allowed himself to stay in his sleep clothes a little longer than usual.

When I walked in, he glanced up.

“Morning.”

“Morning,” I replied.

I walked toward the coffee machine, trying very hard to act normal.

Which was difficult considering my brain was currently screaming.

I poured myself a cup and turned around.

Leon was watching me.

There was a thoughtful expression on his face.

Then he spoke.

“Poe, huh?”

I blinked.

“You saw it?”

He lifted one shoulder slightly.

“Hard to miss a book sitting outside your door.”

My neck burned.

He definitely thought I was weird.

He took a slow sip of coffee.

Then he added casually,

“Good story.”

I stared at him.

“You read it?”

My eyebrows shot up.

He set the mug down.

“It was good,” he repeated.

Leon smirked faintly.

He reached for his jacket draped over the chair beside him, then paused.

“There’s a book that I have I think you’d like,” he said.

“Oh?”

“Left it outside your door.”

Sure enough, when I returned upstairs later that morning…

There was a book sitting neatly outside my door.

A folded sticky note rested on top.

The handwriting was neat. Direct.

“Thanks for the read.”

I stared at it for a long moment before picking it up.

And smiling.

⸻

Quietly. Without rules. Without discussion. Just books appearing outside each other’s doors.

And sometimes, when I passed Leon in the hallway carrying a book I had left the night before… There was a certain look in his eyes.

A spark of curiosity.

Like he was already wondering what story we’d talk about next.

*****

The afternoon sun had already started dipping lower by the time I got home from campus.

The moment I stepped through the front door, exhaustion hit me like a brick.

College was tiring in a way high school had never been. Not just physically—mentally. My brain felt like it had been wrung out and hung up to dry.

I dropped my bag by the stairs with a soft thud.

The house was quiet.

Dad was still out doing mayor things somewhere in the city, which meant the entire place felt a little too big and a little too empty.

I sighed, dragging a hand through my hair.

“Tired,” I muttered to myself.

Then, after a moment—

“Also extremely bored.”

I wandered toward the living room, half hoping something—anything—would catch my attention.

That’s when I spotted him.

Leon was sitting on the couch, one arm resting along the back while a thin file folder sat open on the coffee table in front of him.

He looked up when he heard me.

“Rough day?”

I dropped onto the opposite end of the couch with a dramatic groan.

“College is a scam,” I declared.

Leon huffed out a quiet laugh.

“Pretty sure that’s not the official review.”

“It should be,” I said. “Five stars for emotional damage.”

He closed the folder and leaned back slightly.

“Tired?”

“Very.”

“Hungry?”

“A little.”

“Alive?”

“Barely.”

That earned a small smile from him.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then Leon tapped the folder lightly.

“We might have a lead.”

My head lifted immediately.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. Nothing concrete yet,” he explained, his voice calm. “But someone connected to the threats made a mistake. My team’s following up on it.”

“That’s… actually really good news.”

“It is.”

Some of the tension in his shoulders seemed lighter than usual.

Which made me tilt my head at him.

“You got off early today, didn’t you?”

“Something like that.”

“And Dad’s out.”

“Also true.”

I sat up slightly.

Then a thought hit me.

“You know what that means?”

Leon raised an eyebrow.

“I’m slightly afraid to ask.”

“You,” I said, pointing at him, “should go have fun with me.”

He blinked.

“…Have fun?”

“Yes.”

“I am having fun.”

“You’re sitting on a couch reading a threat file.”

Leon considered that.

“Fair point.”

I grabbed the TV remote and turned the television on, flipping through channels lazily.

“We should go out,” I continued. “You work all the time. It’s not healthy.”

“My job is literally to watch you.”

“Exactly,” I said. “So come watch me do something fun.”

Leon leaned his head back against the couch.

“I have a feeling this is about to become a terrible idea.”

“Don’t be dramatic.”

“I’m not dramatic,” he replied calmly. “I’m experienced.”

I flipped another channel.

Then paused.

A commercial filled the screen—bright music, colorful lights, kids skating around a rink in smooth circles.

Roller skates.

My eyes lit up.

“Oh my god.”

Leon glanced at the TV.

“What?”

“Roller skating.”

He turned back toward me slowly.

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I’m about to say.”

“Yes I do.”

I grinned.

“I used to be really good at it.”

Leon looked skeptical.

“You?”

“Yes, me.”

“When?”

“Growing up,” I said. “I skated all the time.”

“What happened?”

“College happened.”

He crossed his arms.

“So you’re rusty.”

“Very.”

“And you want to fix that… today.”

“Yes.”

Leon sighed.

“This is going to end badly.”

“Have a little faith in me.”

“Faith isn’t the issue,” he said. “Physics is.”

⸻

A little while later, we were walking down the block.

The evening air had cooled slightly, and the street was quiet except for the occasional passing car.

I sat down on the curb, pulling off my sneakers.

Leon watched me with the expression of someone witnessing a slow-motion disaster.

“You’re really doing this.”

I held up the roller skates proudly.

“You said you wanted to have fun.”

“I said you should have fun.”

“Same thing.”

I slid the skates on and tightened the straps.

Then carefully stood up.

For a second, I wobbled slightly.

Leon immediately stepped closer.

“Easy.”

“I’m fine.”

“You say that now.”

I tested my balance.

Then pushed forward gently.

The wheels rolled beneath me.

And something familiar clicked into place.

“Oh.”

Leon watched as I rolled a few feet down the sidewalk.

“…Well.”

“I told you!”

“You’re actually doing it.”

“I said I used to be good!”

He shook his head slightly, though there was a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Impressive.”

I rolled in a slow circle around him.

“See? Just a little rusty.”

“You call that rusty?”

“I call it talent.”

Leon chuckled softly.

For a while we just moved down the block together—him walking, me skating.

The breeze brushed against my face as I rolled along the pavement.

I laughed.

“Okay this was a great idea.”

“You say that now.”

“I’m thriving.”

Leon shook his head.

“You’ve been skating for five minutes.”

“And I’m thriving for five minutes.”

⸻

Then it happened.

A group of little kids came racing around the corner of the sidewalk.

Running.

Not watching where they were going.

“Hey—!” Leon started.

But it was too late.

One of them collided with my side.

My balance vanished instantly.

My skates shot forward—

And I went down.

Hard.

My hands and knees hit the pavement first.

Pain stung across both palms.

“Ow—!”

The kids froze.

“I’m sorry!” one of them blurted.

Then they scrambled away in embarrassment.

For a second I just sat there, staring at my hands.

Then Leon crouched beside me.

“You okay?”

I looked up at him.

“You look like you’re trying not to say ‘I told you so.’”

His mouth twitched.

“I would never.”

“That is a lie.”

“Maybe a little.”

Despite the teasing tone, his hands were already gently turning mine over, examining the scrapes across my palms.

They stung like hell.

Leon exhaled quietly.

“Battle wounds,” I muttered.

That made him smile.

“Yeah?”

“Very heroic ones.”

He lifted one of my hands slightly and blew softly across the scrape.

Cool air brushed against the raw skin.

The sting eased instantly.

My heart did a weird little jump.

“You’re blowing on it,” I said.

“It helps.”

“You’re treating me like I’m five.”

“You fell like you’re five.”

“Rude.”

He blew lightly across the other palm, his expression soft with quiet concentration.

“You’ll live.”

“Good.”

Then he reached down and carefully removed my skates.

One by one.

When he finished, he slid my sneakers back toward me.

“Candles,” I corrected automatically.

Leon raised an eyebrow.

“You call your shoes candles?”

“Yes.”

“…Why?”

“I don’t know. It’s a thing.”

He helped me slip them back on.

Then he stood and offered a hand.

I stared at it.

Then looked down at my palms.

“…Problem.”

He noticed immediately.

“You can’t push yourself up.”

“Correct.”

Leon sighed softly.

“Alright.”

Before I could ask what he meant, he stepped closer.

“Brace yourself.”

Then he slipped one arm behind my back and the other beneath my knees.

And lifted me.

Completely.

Off the ground.

Heat rushed across my entire face.

“…Leon.”

“Relax.”

“I could’ve walked.”

“You couldn’t stand up.”

“That’s not the point.”

“It kind of is.”

He carried me easily down the sidewalk.

My entire body felt hot.

No one had ever carried me like this before.

“Leon.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m heavy.”

“You’re not.”

“I could walk.”

“You’re bleeding.”

“Barely.”

“Still counts.”

My heart was pounding.

And he seemed completely unfazed.

“I’ve got you,” he added calmly.

Which somehow made my chest feel even warmer.

⸻

Leon had cleaned my hands and the slight scratches on my knees pretty well before. leaving me in my room. He had done a good job. Of course he had. The wraps were tight enough to hold but not so tight they hurt.

Careful.

Gentle.

I slowly leaned back onto my bed with a quiet sigh.

My hands rested on my chest as I stared up at the ceiling.

The house was silent. Dad still wasn’t home, and Leon had probably gone back downstairs.

For a few minutes I just lay there, letting the day replay in my head.

The skating.

The kids running into me.

Falling.

Then Leon kneeling beside me.

My fingers curled slightly against the bandages.

He’d looked so focused while checking my hands. Like the scrapes actually mattered.

Like I mattered.

My chest felt a little warm thinking about it.

Then my brain jumped to the next memory.

Leon carrying me.

I groaned softly and rolled my head into my pillow.

“Why did he have to do that…”

Not that I was complaining.

It was just—

No one had ever carried me like that before.

Not since I was little.

And he had done it so easily.

Like I weighed nothing.

Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I stared back up at the ceiling.

Then my thoughts drifted to the van.

My stomach flipped immediately.

The seatbelt.

His arm brushing my leg.

The way he leaned over me.

Our faces had been so close.

So close that if I had moved forward even a little—

My brain filled in the rest.

And suddenly the image was very clear.

Kissing him.

My entire body reacted instantly.

Heat rushed up my neck and across my face.

I sat straight up in bed.

“Nope.”

Absolutely not.

That thought needed to leave immediately.

I flopped back down again, staring at the ceiling.

“That was weird,” I muttered.

So weird.

Leon was…

Leon.

My bodyguard.

My dad’s friend.

The responsible adult in this situation.

And I had just imagined kissing him like some kind of—

I covered my face with my bandaged hands.

“Okay. That’s enough thinking for today.”

My heart was still beating a little too fast.

Which made absolutely no sense.

It was just a thought.

A weird one.

Brains did weird things all the time.

That didn’t mean anything.

It would pass.

It had to pass.

Because the alternative—

I squeezed my eyes shut.

Yeah.

No.

Definitely not thinking about that.

Eventually the quiet of the house settled around me again.

And slowly…

My thoughts drifted away from the memory.

But deep down, somewhere under the embarrassment and confusion…

There was still a small, stubborn warmth sitting in the center of my chest.

And no matter how hard I tried—

I couldn’t quite ignore it.

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