PHANTOMS IN DISGUISE – Yandere! Leon S. Kennedy x Therapist! (Female) Reader
SUMMARY: It's been twenty eight years since the fall of Raccoon City. Leon may be cured from the lingering effects of the T-virus thanks to Elpis, but not the recurring nightmares that had gotten worse since his last trip to the R.P.D. Now he has to revisit the past, in the office of a very familiar looking psychiatrist...
!CONTENT! Use of Y/N, Reader has ADHD, Post RE9, mentioned events of RE2, MLF, minor medical misconduct/malpractice, reader has ADHD, PTSD, co-dependency, limerence, homicide, stalking, ostracization, impersonation, manipulation, slander, public humiliation (not sexual), black mailing, unhinged Leon Kennedy, dubcon smut, fellito, cunnilingus, unprotected sex, slight breeding kink, overstimulation, implied baby trapping
!MDNI! This is the only and FINAL warning.
!DISCLAIMER! I do not condone any actions written in this post. This is merely for entertainment purposes.
Leon S. Kennedy was trapped. Trapped in a psychiatrist's office, that was.
Leon was the type of man who believed “mental health” was a scam for doctors to weed their money out of desperate patients into talking. Yet somehow Sherry had convinced him to try seeing a psychiatrist after a series of very surreal nightmares. People being torn limb from limb, corpse half missing crawling with organs trailing behind where legs should be. Blood coating everything and everywhere like the Lord himself had resurrected the Ten Plagues in Raccoon City for the sins of Umbrella. Nightmares that left you with dread pooling in your stomach, and body drenched with sweat. Searching for things, or people who weren’t there. And despite how much he tried to deny it– it was always a woman he was looking for from that night twenty-eight years ago. You.
So here Leon was, boredly waiting in a musty looking office ready to be done the moment he walked in. His legs spread out in some cheap leather chair as he rested his head against the wall half-asleep. The nightmares had gotten worse over the course of a week, he’d barely gotten three hours of sleep before this appointment. The silence was deafening. Only sounds being a generic clock tick or the receptionist typing away at her keyboard. Broken by the interruption of heels clicking down the marble tiled hallway. Leon opens his left eye lazily tensing at the sight of you in the flesh. Immediately he sits up, dusting off whatever he thought was there. Words seemingly stuck as you both stare. Twenty eight years had passed. Twenty eight years of questions followed along. You gently gesture your head towards the door down the hall, latte long forgotten on the end table.
Shutting the door behind you, Leon is quick to settle against the wall. Leaning as he watched you wordlessly sit at your desk– a fresh cup of tea steaming next to your laptop. You bite your lip, drumming your pink lacquered nails against the dark mahogany of your desk. Excitement in seeing Leon again after all these years but… he was your patient. You technically weren't friends, acquaintances at most. A part of you felt like you owed him for saving your life in Raccoon City years ago. Sacrificing his life just so you could all have a chance to live. You had so many questions– about Sherry, especially Claire. Why he was here, in your office of all places. You gesture to the leather armchair next to you, Leon stares at you for a minute before settling in. Taking off his bomber jacket you couldn’t help but internally gawk at how much he’d changed keeping a straight face over your racing thoughts. Leon had been well built when you’d first met him that night, fresh out of police academy. He’d aged well, hair longer and five o’clock beard sharpened his long since dissipated baby face. You felt tempted to look in the mirror, only to be disappointed your own transformation over the years had only led to a fuller bust and grey money pieces throughout your hair.
“I don’t want to bore you with the professional stuff. I think we’re beyond that point now.” You crack a smile Leon who merely huffs in response, shaking his head. Standing up from your chair and to the electric kettle at the edge of your desk to pour Leon a glass of chai tea. He accepts it, your fingers brush sending small electrical jolts throughout your body. Growing exasperated over the silence you sit next to him on the leather sofa. Hands resting in your lap while your thumbs brush together anxiously. Leon watches, you barely miss the softness in your gaze once you meet his stormy eyes. Memories of the night you all made it out, promises of reaching out. Of course, no one did. Even you had failed to uphold it. Felt your time too had passed. That your chance to reconnect had withered like the ruins of the long dead city and dreams you left behind. “Leon there’s no easy way to ask this, but how are you doing? I’m sorry that’s dumb– what have you been doing all these years?”
“Well I’m sure you know by now I’m with the DSO. Sherry’s actually my operator– and the one who recommended I go here. And the one who commissioned this beauty.” Leon pats a holster on his leg, showing off the impressive size of his signature gun: Requiem. You nod half mindedly playing the end of your pencil skirt as he rests the antique teacup in his lap. Light breaks through the blinds casting stripes over you both in a watercolor of pinks, reds, and purples. Dusk was setting, time was running out. Casting your gaze over the clock– half an hour wasn’t enough for decades worth of untold confessions, recalling the painful past neither of you truly wanted to dwell on. Leon casts you a tired gaze, giving another amused huff. “Claire works with TerraSave now. She’s asked about you. They both have.”
You hum in response– a smile, relief welling in your stomach.
Leon takes another sip, then you see it. It glints in the light, silver, a ring. Your eyebrows raise not finding it unnatural a man such as himself would become hitched. Handsome, successful, kind, and funny. You found yourself being disappointed it wasn’t you. You reel back at the thought straightening your posture. Berating yourself with questions for such a thought. It was a ridiculous notion. It’d been years since you accepted those feelings as just girlish nonsense. Hopeful wishing at best.
“Y/N, I went back to the R.P.D. Fought them. I just can’t stop having nightmares of all of us, you...getting torn to shreds by those things. I haven’t gotten a decent night of sleep in weeks.” Leon bends over, his arms resting on his thighs. He looks up to your face giving that same terrified look from oh so long ago. It made your heart ache for reasons you couldn’t understand why. You nod along as he describes more symptoms– eventually returning to your desk writing it all down. Leon’s eyes never once leave the focused expression you gave– the sincere Eventually silence envelopes the both of you, Leon watching as you type away at some diagnosis sheet. Eventually you face him, the hum of the printer going off in the background while Leon taps his foot against the ground.
“Journaling.” You respond after the excruciating minutes pass by. Leon quirks a brow, asking you to wordlessly elaborate. Picking up the diagnosis sheet still warm to the touch on its grainy texture. You place it against the table, pressing your nail into the paper. “Write it all down, the good, the bad. ABC to XYZ. I can’t promise it will work, but its a start.” He stays silent, a deep sigh leaving his lips. PTSD written clearly at the top like his contract to the DSO enslaving him as their dog– hidden deep in the closet like the memories of what his life was before it all went to shit. He nods, folding the packet in half tucking it mindlessly into the pocket of his bomber jacket.
“So, how about setting up the next appointment?”
An hour after Leon had left with just a quiet goodbye and your number in his phone, you step outside to get some fresh air. His suffering– the memories of Raccoon City churned in you like spoiled milk. Unwanted and sour. Fixing your woolen cardigan tighter over your frame– the door opens, stepping outside was the newest intern at your office. Monica Rael. A young blonde woman who’d just passed her EPPP and was shadowing behind one of the senior practitioners. She reminded you of what you were before everything went down. Full of vigor and dreams that drowned in the cesspool of blood you barely survived. You two were friendly, friendly as co-workers could get. Neither truly making the effort to know one another, you were twenty years in age after all.
You give Monica a gentle wave, shifting more on the bench to invite her to sit next to you. She doesn’t move an inch from the door, as if screwed in place to the concrete. Holding her phone she taps on the screen– the conversation between you and Leon playing out. She’d recorded you two. You freeze in place, a chill like the midwest winters you’d grown up feeling runs down the length of your spine. Your brows furrow, lips thinning into a straight line. She inhales sharply, speaking in a calm tone, clearly practiced “You need to stop treating him, Y/N. I understand that it's your fellow survivor and you specialize in this department, but he’s still an acquaintance. Its not right, its not safe. For you– or him.”
You inhale realizing where this was going. Of course you knew it was wrong. You’d had that gut feeling all day of heavy guilt. Clawing internally to report yourself– but a part of you knew Leon wouldn’t get the help he needed from just anyone else. Nobody was there that night. Nobody saw what you two saw. The blood, the bodies, hell even the smells still lingered in your own mind clear as day even almost thirty years later. You knew it was a risk, but he had saved your life. If it wasn’t for him you’d be one of the countless bodies still wandering around with just your last words constantly moaning from what remained of your ghoulish mouth. You sigh shakily speaking out to her “Monica, you realize this also jeopardizes you– you recorded me and my client. And politely, you don’t know what it was like. This is probably the only way for him to truly get the help he needs.”
Monica’s eyes darken, clearly unhappy with the truth behind your words. You were right– you were the only one he could possibly get the help he needed from. The one of a few, maybe even the only one now considering the others had died from the remnants of the t-Virus before Elpis became widely available to survivors such as you. You didn’t want to play savior but it seemed fate had left you the only option. And if that option meant you had to sacrifice your career and reputation in the field you were willing to risk it. So often did people like Leon end themselves before getting the true help they needed, you grew up with military parents and it wasn’t uncommon for one of them to attend the funeral of a comrade they once fought with on the field.
“I’m giving you a month to cut off all treatment with him, or else I will report it to the supervisor.” Monnica’s tone was final, you only nod. It was her responsibility. And it was yours to make sure Leon had the treatment he truly needed.
September 1998, who wouldn’t forget it? You had just started your final year in a community college at RCC studying for your RN instead of the three psychology ones under your belt now. Your dream then was to become a clinical nurse, something you knew would suit your natural instinct to constantly help and provide for others while not being overwhelmed by hospital hours. It wasn’t a prestigious university, with your below average GPA it was an ‘accomplishment’, in your mothers honeyed words that you had gotten accepted anywhere. But it was your reality.
Ever since you could remember you struggled to focus, often daydreaming or caught zoning out ended with beratement from teachers or your mother. Always putting things off last minute– chores, homework, even shopping for important events like prom or weddings. Your mother did the same, just trying to push off your clear struggles as you being a ‘creative’ or easily bored child. It wasn’t until middle school you got your first diagnosis. ADD. She clutched the white paper like it was a death sentence, looked at you like it was another pile of burden on an already overpilling stack. You never looked at her the same after that. Reflected on how even though she tried her hardest as a single mother, encouraging you to be better than her by not having kids young or doing stupid things like her– she shut down your dreams in the process. At age five you wanted to be an artist. She told you would be a starving artist.
Nursing was the only thing she agreed upon.
To your youthful self it felt like a way to spite her– the constant doubts she’d put in your brain as a child coming to fruition here. You’d even gotten a scholarship to pay for tuition from Umbrella– who at the time was considered as prestigious as the Mayo Clinic. For once she wasn’t in control of your life and you could make your own decisions without her nagging voice lingering behind you. And for a year, it had. Even if you had to work nights at a low pay grocery store just to make enough for rent and groceries, it was freeing. Classes were going well, you were learning a lot. You shared an apartment with a cop in her mid-twenties, a member of the elite S.T.A.R.S. team that had made national news by then for their extravagant operations and unparalleled skill. Jill Valentine was all about professionalism and her career, constantly on the clock. You barely saw her but she was nice– often inviting you to the weekly pizza nights her group held. She was your only friend in a big city that never slept.
But of course, good things never last. Never stay.
It was weeks after Jill had come back from the mission, she’d grown distant after what you initially thought was a freak accident that wiped out the team you’d gotten to know fairly well. Leaving behind only Chirs Redfield, Rebecca Chambers, Barry Burton, Brad Vickers, and her. Five of the original twelve. Despite your efforts into what went on no one spoke a word. As if what truly happened in that mansion was too unbearable to speak of. Eventually they disbanded. The only ones who stayed were Jill and Brad. Jill was obsessively tracing down anything to do with Umbrella– still refusing to speak a word. Constantly urging you to leave Raccoon City and the scholarship you’d earned with blood sweat and tears. You snapped at her the night before it all went down. Said things you regretted to this day. A painful blessing in disguise as hours after Nemesis had broken down your apartment complex to rubble, you’d just returned from your nighttime shift. You turned hot on your heels immediately for the RPD– refusing to believe that Jill was piled under it. Running through the upturned streets to the police station is what saved you– and you the reason for the death of Marvin Branagh. Your frenzied pounding on the RPD had lured the infected Brad who just sacrificed himself for the very woman you were looking for. Martin refused to let you leave, and you allowed it. Seeing how the world outside had turned rapid you really had no other choice. Barricaded in the room for hours it was terrifying not knowing when Martin would turn too, despite you offering to cover his wounds with what little nursing experience you had he refused. You both knew it was inevitable.
When Leon arrived, flustered, late– you honestly thought he was a complete idiot with a death wish for coming to Raccoon City despite the living hell he’d driven through just to get here. Though you let the Lieutenant do the berating for you. And despite your rather justified presumptions of the rookie cop you still volunteered to help. Learned of the other girl he was with, Claire Redfield who was searching for her brother– Chris. You flinched hearing that name. Remembering how he left so little as a receipt to his alleged ‘vacation’ knowing damn well he was out there doing the same thing to find Wesker. Umbrella. Just like Jill was. Silently working a way to escape the city before it consumed you both.
Two terrified young adults who clung to each other the entire night– you still remember the way Leon would rub your shoulder when reality became all too clear. Held your hair back when you threw up at seeing a headless corpse claw aimlessly at the window panes in search of help. Being constantly alert yet attentive. The organs, the blood, the death ingrained something deep in your minds that night. Leon remembered most how gently you took care of his wounds– and caring you were with Sherry after the group reunited. How you fell asleep on his shoulder after it all ended. When his nightmares were easier– he’d dream of holding you after fighting the relentless Mr. X, breathless but just the faux feeling of your warmth was enough to calm him down. Even thirty years later, you were the thing that held him together in a battle of phantoms that plagued his stoic disguise.
A week had passed with little to no word from Leon. You wouldn’t be lying if you weren’t concerned. But it was common for men his age to have a natural weariness when it came to mental health, especially the industry. A part of you was worried he wouldn’t write it down, that it’d be too painful for him. You understood. It took you almost ten years to swallow what singular night at the RPD. Your wrongs, your rights. The metallic scent of Umbrella’s underground lab– NEST, the wet feeling of sewage you had to traverse behind Leon. Every small thing left you paralyzed in fear. A time in your life you didn’t really want to reflect on.
Leon stood outside the office doors this time, his head leaning against the red brick of the generic looking building. It was cold, rainy, and he was half tempted to drink the flask of whiskey he kept in his bomber jacket. But he didn’t. Instead playing with the silver ring on his finger– the one he caught you eyeing during the last appointment. He’d realized long after he’d left he forgot to explain its meaning. Already internally berating himself on the way home about it, it oddly left the agent feeling anxious about your next meeting. Interrupted by his thoughts, you step outside the automatic sliding doors. Watching Leon as he waved lazily, tucking the hand with the ring on his back into his pockets. He follows inside, his eyes lingering to the sway of your hips as you wordlessly take him to your office, immediately looking away in shame once the door opens and you hold it open with a soft smile at the end. God he didn’t deserve this, it’d been so long and only your second meeting– already Leon had checked out your ass.
He sits down on the same red leather sofa as last time– draping his bomber jacket on the arm. Manspreading while you flinch to the thump his green hardcover journal makes when it hits your mahogany coffee table. Heart pounding out of your ribs as your eyes flicker between him and the object. Gently reaching out you grab Leon’s journal, fingers brushing over the cloth not opening but observing it in recognition. It was the same ones they distributed to employees– your mother used to have stacks of them since she worked for the US army’s financial department for over twenty years. Many of your own past journals were in the same green. “May I read this?”
“You’re the one who suggested it, Y/N. Go ahead.” Leon gives you a once over, taking in the fitted houndstooth blazer you had on with black dress pants and the same red heels as last time. He took a mental note of your fondness for the color red. Noticing the accents that decorated your office. You give a light huff and open the book. A few minutes of brief silence Leon watches as your face fell. Taking your time with each entry even though he had written it vaguely as humanly possible. Once you close the journal you gently rest it back on the table– meeting the agent’s blue eyes with your own look of sympathy. The nightmares seemed to be the same. With different people and events taking place. Sometimes it was Ada Wong, the merchant who pretended to be FBI to use Leon and gain access to the G-virus or the manhunts tyrant Mr. X had pursued you both throughout the RPD. You sigh, fingers dusting over the cover again. “I can send a list to you and your spouse for things you–”
“I’m not married.” Leon interrupts, his hand shooting out to grab your wrist as you froze halfway to reaching for your laptop on the coffee table– immediately you felt your body heat up in pure embarrassment. Taking a closer look, the ring had the symbols of Arklay herbs on them next to the words: in memory of Raccoon City. It was a memorial to those who had passed that night. Between survivors. A swirl of emotions passed through you. Relief, shock, but what lingered the most was the bitter feeling of being forgotten. You only let out an awkward chuckle. You mutter quietly: “I’m sorry I assumed.”
Leon shifts forward, a deep sigh leaving his lips while he studies your expression. “It’s between me and Sherry, Claire doesn’t have one either. Look, Y/N, do you know why I joined the government in the first place? Even after all that hell we went through?” Leon speaks softly this time, his deep voice lacking any of its usual gruff. His hand is still clasping your wrist– thumb unconsciously brushing over your smooth palm. Something in you doesn’t pull away, listens. “They were going to experiment on Sherry. It was a contract, a trap really in order to get me to comply. It was the only way to keep her safe at the moment. Even despite it… She grew up surrounded by monsters.”
She left one hell only to be placed in another. You turn your head away, biting your lip as you stifle tears. The same shame and anger. Here you were, the therapist breaking down in front of your client, your old acquaintance. Leon is quick to hold you like he did all those years ago. The only sounds leaving the office for the rest of that appointment were his soothing words and your never-ending apologies.
It was one of those rare nights Leon was in his apartment, not stuck in some shady hotel halfway across the country drained of his will to live after fighting hordes of unspeakable atrocities only God could manage to swallow. The agent swirls his whiskey class in his hand as he stares blankly out at the skyline of the city. His thoughts interrupted by a deep meow– Leon casts his blue gaze to the side face to face with his large main coon, Moose. He lets out a grunt as the heavy cat jumps onto his chest purring loudly into Leon’s ear much to his dismay. His hand brushes over the brown fur of Moose as he takes a final swig of his drink, staring at the ad with your picture snagged from a magazine. One advertising your services in the prettiest red dress that hugged your figure in all the right places. He had it propped up against the window in front of the skyline. He’d be staring at it for hours— digesting how it made his chest tighten, head swirl, and a strange feeling of who else had seen your picture besides him?
It made him angry, such an unfamiliar feeling he’d never felt with Ada. Leon didn’t want anyone else to see you, feel you, experience you. It angered him at the thought of anyone taking that away. Harming you. He shakes his head at the thought— heart pounding at his thoughts. It terrified him, yet it felt right. Maybe he had broken finally, his mind done with the inconsistency of his life. Sick of people dying, leaving, but never staying. Never goddamn staying. Leon never begged, he couldn’t, his life, his job, his fate never allowed it too. No tears. Nay silent grief that left mental scars deeper than stitches could fix. A bull in a china shop too afraid to break the routine he’d carefully set up was now being destroyed by thoughts of you. Made him have thoughts that were only wishful thinking before.
Leon was growing exhausted from the coldness of reality. Being constantly surrounded by a grim dread of dying alone as his inevitable end— he felt as if part of the world at least owed him this. A chance to at least have one good thing in his life and it not be a thing of the past. Never be ripped away from him. Never leave him. To die in the arms of the one he loved. He chooses, and not something forced upon him.
Reaching for his telecom, he waits a few minutes until the familiar voice of Sherry Birkin speaks out cheerfully. “Leon, what’s up?” The blonde asks him, the sound of clinking metal against glass told Leon she was in for another long night at the DSO. It was the third time that week already— cleanup being done by other agents on the ARK and the old Umbrella lab that was exposed a few months prior. Coffee being the only thing the duo was truly running on these days. Leon taps the edge of the sofa he was lazily lounged on before letting out a shaky sigh. His low voice is softer than usually yet still serious. “I need you to run a background check on Y/N. I have some suspicions about the clinic.” A blatant lie, but Leon knew Sherry would comply. The blonde lets out a shaky sigh, both truly knowing it wasn’t for that reason. Thirty years had passed, so to Sherry, Leon was trying to understand what you’d been up to since you separated that night in Racoon City.
“I’ll have it ready by tomorrow.” Sherry ends the line there leaving Leon back to his thoughts again. He holds his hands up to the light— eyes darkening with thoughts only the side he was slowly feeding could understand. The shadows of his fingers falling over the ad with you in the red dress.
When morning came, Leon read through all the files. Sherry hadn’t left out a single detail about you that wasn’t personal. Besides your address, he knew almost everything about you by evening. What he had missed, that is. Memorizing the smallest of details to the biggest. Where you went to school– what colleges you attended after Raccoon City was destroyed. Your family. Your friends. Old places you worked. All this yet he couldn’t gather his head around the fact you stayed single this entire time. Of course he was ecstatic, in his festering delusions he had convinced himself you had waited for him this entire time. Twenty-eight years. And who was he to deny your loyalty?
So Leon in the middle of the night, he kept his head low while making his way to your apartment. Using public transportation so he wasn’t so easily tracked with his fancy Porsche. A cheap place in a rough neighborhood it baffled him that someone of your assumed high salary would choose to live here. Luckily for him you lived on the first floor of the apartment complex for him. Even luckier, you air dried your laundry next to the open french door– only the screen dividing you and your home between the real world. Hopeful you wouldn’t notice the missing thongs in the morning. Red and lacy, they ended up on the same advertisement he’d stared at for hours the day before.
It’d been over a month. Weekly appointments with Leon and you could tell slowly he was making progress— the nightmares he recorded were getting less and less dark like the bags under his eyes. Sherry had even reached out to you telling how much more pleasant he was during the early morning he had to come into the DSO headquarters. Cracking more horrible jokes or one liners, he seemed more at peace. It filled your chest with a warm feeling seeing him every time Leon entered your office looking a bit brighter. A bit less haunted by the past that seemed to define him, and writing his own fate. Closer to reclaiming his life.
But of course that didn’t stop you from getting anxious over Monica’s threat. You knew it was inevitable. She’d remind you by glowering down the hall— something not unnoticed by concerned co-workers but you would laugh it off as her probably being tired, or maybe she was having a rough day. Everyday you would pass by your supervisor, Jeanne Moreau, a middle aged woman ten years your senior dreading the day she asked for you to enter her office or open your email requesting a meeting. And today those nightmares came true. A group email sent to yours and Jeanne’s email with the very recording Monica had played out during her last confrontation. You had retyped a paragraph ten times over trying to explain yourself, but you couldn’t bring yourself to actually send it. How would that make you look any better than Monica? You knew she was trying to do the right thing. It was her duty as a mandated reporter. As a human being. But she had also recorded you and Leon’s session. That alone had broken patient client confidentiality. It was a double ended knife that would pierce either of you both. It was a matter of who received the sharpest end first.
As you waited outside Jeanne’s office you could feel your palms growing sweaty. You swore you’d already sweated through your white blouse. Hell, even your panties. Your foot was incessantly tapping against the ground as Monica besides you stayed deathly silent. Of course you were terrified of losing your job of fourteen long years. You had nothing to fall on if this leaked out– maybe friends and family would understand. The situation was complex, the process even more so. You were grateful in a way Monica hadn’t reported it to the board. It would’ve been a lot more costly, and more time consuming for results you knew wouldn’t end well. A part of you despite the anger and acceptance of her earlier terms– worried how she would recover from it all. Even though she was young, she was still an adult and it would likely stay in her records.
The old hinges of Jeanne’s office door creak open, amplifying your dread by tenfold. Her kind eyes wander over both of you. Calculating yet not judgemental. Her white hair is a stark contrast to the darkness of the room, with only a warm lighted lamp lit in the corner. You sigh, knowing it would be you she first talked too. A polite yet faux smile gives way as you enter the room into Jeanne’s office. The last you see of Monica is her brown eyes staring at the portrait across the hall, a copy of Justice and Divine Vengeance Pursuing Crime.
Jeanne closes the door, frowning at the ghoulish sound of its creak. The middle aged woman walks over to her chair, gesturing for you to sit. You flicker your gaze over the frame up and down. Gripping the scratchy fabric of the chair’s cushion once you did. You could feel your heart pounding wildly within your ribcage– seeking a way to break free from its bony confine. Jeanne types away on her laptop, turning it around to replay the recording of you and Leon speaking. You drop your gaze, ashamed. Jeanne’s glasses shine in the light as she fixes them from slipping– expressionless. You found yourself wishing to be fired already. Ready to face Leon, tell him you’d been recorded. Ready to deal with the falling apart of your life again, just as it did that night almost thirty years ago. But Jeanne merely speaks up gently, her thick french accent breaking the silence. “Y/N, you have been a good employee for over ten years now. I was honestly so very surprised by Ms. Rael’s email I thought she had mixed you up with another employee. Cases such as these where one breaks one rule, and the other a law it becomes… well, messy.”
You nod, still keeping your gaze down. Utterly ashamed. Jeanne sighs deeply, taking off her round frame glasses to clean them with the end of her shirt. Watching your every movement. Analyzing you like a piece of code. “Which is why I would like you to explain to me why you kept Mr. Kennedy in your care despite being acquaintances. While Ms. Rael’s recording does give some insight– I would like your reasoning behind it.” You furrow your brows, you’d never been in a situation like this and expected more bite. Less sympathy. Sitting up straight in the chair you nod again, this time with more energy. A bit more hope of a less horrendous outcome.
“I am… a fellow survivor of Raccoon City, like Mr. Kennedy. Which I guess you could interpret from the recording. That is where we met. And um… We survived it together. If it wasn’t for him I’d be long gone. Jeanne before you say that isn’t an excuse, I would’ve referred him to another person who experienced this.” You respond quietly. Rubbing your arm while trying hard not to zone out of the ticking of her old grandfather clock hung on the wall. Jeanne raises a brow, typing away at laptop– waiting for you to continue. You let out a shaky breath– it was always times like these you’d start zoning out. High stress, high risk yet your body decided it wanted to shut down at that moment and go off into Lalaland. Blinking a few times you gather the courage to continue. Scraping together what you had left. “But um, almost all the survivors in this field, psychology that is, are dead from Raccoon City Syndrome… Except for me. I was lucky enough to receive a copy of Elpis when it became available to me. No one else was there, so how can I know that pushing him away from my services won’t push him over the edge? I don’t think he would get the help he needs with someone else.”
Jeanne goes silent, no longer typing as she stares at you. Her own seemingly emotionless eyes swirling with the age old pity you’d seen in dozens of people after you’d told them. She sighs deeply, shutting the laptop. Bringing her fingers to brush the end of her nose like she had a migraine. But you notice the way Jeanne let out a shuddered sigh of her own. “Look, I know, we all know. Hell, Y/N this is a clinic and I won’t make you relive every moment of what you went through.” Jeanne whispers almost breathlessly– giving you a serious yet kind look. “But there are rules to this industry. Ethics. Feelings can arise too dangerous from either one of you…” You hold your breath at her words, ready for a full blown rant but Jeanne only sighs again deeply.
“You can continue treatment only if you can promise me that this can remain professional.” You let out a sigh of relief, nodding. Even if it was a bit of a lie. A genuine smile cracking over your face. Jeanne leaves it at that, gesturing her head towards the door. Monica follows in the door closing with a soft thud. Maybe things weren't so bad after all.
It was later that night Monica lied in her bed. Holding a copy of the recording Jeanne had forced her to delete on a hard drive. Part of her had known you would get away with it. It was a fickle situation after all. You were a good woman, trying to do what you thought was right– but to Monica that didn’t matter. Laws and rules were in place for a reason. And if you, an expectation were made exempt from that, who would learn? She felt horrible as she lied on her white duvet, emailing various tabloids and paparazzi she knew would eat the story up.And she intended to use that against you. Even if it meant destroying your life under false pretenses.
After all, Leon Kennedy wasn’t a nobody.
A few days had passed since Jeanne’s meeting with you and Monica. You had even fitted in one more appointment with Leon in– though you two decided to take it outside as the midwest winter had finally started to fade in the warmth of newcoming spring.
It was 6 AM, the time you always woke up even though your shift started five hours later. But it was off. Your phone had been buzzing non-stop from the moment you took it off ‘do not disturb’. Reading the notifications your heart sank even deeper than it had the day before. Screenshots sent from friends, co-workers, and family of various different titles. Pictures taken in angles that would have people second guessing what your relationship actually was. They’d taken pictures of yours and Leon’s last appointment. You couldn’t breathe. You knew it was coming. Everything was falling apart. Although torturously slow for how fast it was truly going.
Accusations, names, threats.
You could feel the eyes on you the entire time you were on the bus. Blinded here and there by rouge paparazzi. Never in your life had you felt so seen. You’d been here and there on the news– billboards. You weren’t unsuccessful in your career. Fairly well known in your field but outside of it you were still like anyone else. Eyes on you the entire walk to your office– you’d skipped your usual trip to the breakroom to fill up your tea kettle. A singular note in Jessica’s cursive handwriting:
Come to my office. - Jeanne
Jeanne was typing away at her laptop once you knocked your gloved fist against the thick oak door. The french woman looks up sharply, clearly not pleased. You didn’t blame her. You had promised to keep the relationship between you and Leon professional and then three days later a flurry of tabloids released your supposed ‘affair’ to the whole world. It wasn’t good press for the establishment. Shutting her laptop Jeanne rests her hands on top in a closed fist. But you jolt as Monica enters the room along with you– you look between them, confused. “What’s going on?” You felt stupid the moment you asked it, inhaling sharply you sink into the seat in front of Jeanne’s desk. Running your hands anxiously through your hair. God you felt like you were going to throw up. Monica just looks away, not an ounce of regret in her pale skinned face.
“I’ll resign.” You whisper to Jeanne who nods in understanding– sliding across a piece of paper as if she had anticipated this moment. Looking at Monica who refused to meet your gaze you narrow your eyes at her. Unspoken anger radiated off you while you signed your entire life’s work away. The signature was shaky just like you were. You had been the entire day. You knew it was inevitable. After things like that go public, well… No one truly recovers. Jeanne slides a copy of the same paper to Monica who gapes, unable to control your emotions you snap at her. You were sick of being polite, sick of your own stupidity, and sick of sympathy that never seemed to do any good.
“Sign the damn paper. You and me are damn lucky that we’re not in a courtroom right now.” You seethe at Monica who visibly flinches back, Jeanne doesn’t react. More of a faint sigh leaving her lips which you knew was relief. Jeanne was risking her own career by letting you two off with just resigning. Not firing both of you which would end up affecting your future job opportunities, which you knew was slim to none with the recent scandal. It was the best outcome for someone young as Monica, without it affecting the rest of her life. Fists clenched around the rim of the chair and turned your head facing the wall. The hair you didn’t bother to style this morning falling into place onto your unshed coat. A deep sigh leaves your lips– one of countless to be had today. “Are you satisfied, Monica?” With that, you leave. And no one stops you.
You felt horrible. This quite literally being the worst day of your life, it was no wonder you wanted to crawl back into your bedsheets and die. But of course, life is never so simple.
On your way back home– after the train ride you’d barely paid attention to your surroundings. Too exhausted and scared you’d meet eye to eye with paparazzi. Soon as you get to your stop, camera flashes blinded your vision. Immediately you cover your face while rushing home to protect your vision and whatever dignity remained that these vultures were currently seeking to kill for their coin. It took an extra twenty minutes from the usual thirty minutes as you carefully slipped in and out of restaurants to evade more unwanted less than flattering photographs. Entering the side door of your apartment you find your elderly landlord, Rayan, waiting on the patio. A concerned look on his face at a broken window that decorated around the outside of your apartment. He sighs deeply speaking in a deep raspy tone all smokers tended to have like he did. “Caught ‘em before they got into your place, Y/N. I’ve seen the articles too. Can’t say I believe them. You barely bring anyone home. Think this one has been following you a few days now…”
You let out a humorless huff, opening the door for him to enter. The nosy bastard was never one to shy away from bluntness. Surprisingly refreshing in a world that never seemed to want to clear its own social cues all for the sake of politeness. Offering your arm which he stubbornly rejects with a wave of his hand. Closing the curtains just in case, Rayan sits at your table– the familiar scent of tea brewing while you two sit in silence. A common occurrence that seemed to plague you since reuniting with Leon a month ago. Everything felt heavy. Rayan takes the cup you offer him, lifting it in thanks before taking a small sip. Resting it against the table as you watched him from the kitchen. It wasn’t rare for the elderly man to check on his tenants. He was retired and often found his entertainment through the lives of them. Whether it be simple moments like these, or the chaos of overwhelmed parents with hyperactive children. But you could tell from the tension in Rayan’s shoulders that there was more to this visit than just a simple check in. He clears his throat before speaking gently. “Y/n, what are you going to do now that this has all come out? The tabloids that is.”
You irk a brow at Rayan, so exhausted from the days back and forth events you don’t even try to hide your annoyance. Merely blowing on your tea you shrug. Figuring out how to start from square one in a matter of weeks would be perilous. Half your family had already cut you off with so much of a text, the more conservative ones that was. Old friends from highschool sending you DMs, or making videos on how disappointing you ended up being on your socials you hadn’t talked to in years… You didn’t have much to fall on but yourself. Rayan frowns, guilt swirling in his eyes but you already understood. It wasn’t safe, nor cheap to keep up with relentless paparazzi with no regard for anything but the next scandal. The masses were bored, and demanded more for a few seconds of entertainment despite the very real and lasting effects it left on those in the spotlight. Especially if you were a woman. The blame always seemed to fall completely on them. Fingers pointed where it was easiest to find fault. “I’ll be out of your hair by Saturday.” Rayan nodded. He left shortly after that. His final goodbye a nod of his head. You grabbed your phone ignoring the hundreds of notifications of screaming the falsifications Monica had fed them. Finger hovering over Leon’s contact– someone who’d been suspiciously quiet since all hell broke loose. Guilt swirling in your stomach for the umpteenth time today before pressing the call icon.
Leon groaned from his largely empty messy bed, patting the edge of his nightstand lazily while his head throbbed from a hangover. He’d gone overboard last night on whiskey. The agent had been fighting with his guilty conscious and mind consuming darkness over his newly obtained hobby of ‘checking in’ on you during the middle of the night. His fluffy brunette hair was messily clung over the sticky sweat that coated his rugged frame and head– which Leon so wisely decided in his inebriation to sleep in a stack of thick fur blankets completely naked with not a singular fan on or any window open to ventilate. Wiping his face with a grunt, he presses accept not looking at the caller ID in his half asleep state. “Hello?”
“Leon– I’m sorry to call you at this time,” Oh fuck. It was you. Leon immediately shot up in his bed immediately sobering up to the sound of your voice, covers slipping off his shirtless chest to his sudden movements. He looked at the clock. 9 PM. He’d been asleep for sixteen hours. Leon blinks once, taken aback by the sheer amount he’d slept for. The question of much booze he actually consumed the night before was made apparent by a rather expensive collection of empty whiskey bottles littering his bedroom floor. “No, it's fine Y/N. I don’t mind being interrupted once in a while. Sometimes I could use it…” A soft laugh is heard from the end of the line, although somewhat pained. Leon sighs rubbing his temple on an incoming migraine. “Miss me already? Our next appointment is tomorrow…”
“No actually, I um, wanted to discuss that.” Leon pauses immediately to your quiet voice. The same one you used when he’d held you that day in the office. He hunches over the fur blankets that covered his king sized bed. Something wasn’t right and he needed to know why now. “Oh?” He asks in a low tone, lacking any true curiosity behind it. Your voice comes out shakily from the other end. Leon sighs already knowing it was bad.
“We were recorded. By a co-worker of mine. She threatened to report me if I didn’t stop treatment after a month…” Leon’s grip tightens around the phone. He glowers at his own reflection in the window, standing up while you explain the rest of the situation. A whole month. A whole goddamn month and she hadn’t said a word. Leon was furious for multitudes of reasons. Now you were jobless, soon to be homeless. He blamed himself. He was fully aware of what he was sacrificing in an excuse to just see you. You two sat in uncomfortable silence for several moments– you’d only been able to muster out a weak apology.
“You need to move in with me.”
“Leon, no it will only make us more suspicious–”
Leon cuts you off. “It doesn’t matter, Y/N. We always will.”
You pause, dropping the phone– Leon called your name from the end, but you ignore it. You were left with no choice, a free home with Leon with the risk of who still chose to remain in your life leaving you… Or living on the streets in a matter of months with what little money you had and ceaseless student loans being unpaid and most likely end up in jail. Swallowing your to pride in a situation that demanded you choke on it, you pick up the phone and press it to your ear. “Come pick me up by Saturday.”
Leon, unable to control himself, let an unbalanced smile crack over his lips. Sherry was working overtime again. Hopefully she won't complain too much.
Monica shakily extends her hand out to the restaurant menu– questioning all common sense she had thrown out the window in order to meet with a complete stranger who allegedly worked with a high profile magazine. She had already gotten multiple wary looks from different servers or customers. It is easy to assume Monica had gotten stood up on a date. Flagging down the nearest waiter she gently points to a picture of chicken stir fry. “Two of these, one without the peanut oil please. I’m allergic.” The waiter bent over nods, writing it down in his notepad before walking away. Her phone pings– immediately she snatches it from off the counter, letting out a groan as she reads the message.
Running late, sorry. Traffic is crazy tonight. Dinners on me tonight.
“You have got to be kidding me!” Monica mutters to herself, her slender fingers digging into the side of her thigh next to her pink clutch purse. To think she dressed to the nine in some sketchy looking restaurant that was cheap, and probably violated all possible health codes– Monica’s thoughts drifted to everything she’d worked so hard for. Everything was going smoothly, she’d gotten what she wanted. Monica knew she’d done the right thing, even if it meant she sacrificed so much just to prove a point. Yet she felt empty. Half of her was brimming with joy at proving you wrong, and was mad for the lack of praise. It’s not like your little friend’s personal information wasn't swimming by the nines all over the web for the past twenty something years already. Leon Kennedy was a legend on and off the field. Admired, revered even by privates to five star generals alike. A god walking amongst men.
And that ‘god’ was sitting behind Monica, two booths down. Watching. Listening.
Sherry had VERY begrudgingly done a background check on the ex-intern Of course with a string of complaints, Leon had found some very useful information. Monica Rael was deathly allergic to nuts. Very conveniently, he had a concoction of varied nuts. Very conveniently Monica had lost her epipen the day prior. But it seems she was too excited to share the latest, juiciest information on a certain ex-coworker’s personal information that would bring an already ruined life into the depths of hell itself. Leon had long since accepted this. Fury outriding his moral agenda. Too many eyes had been on you. Ones he definitely didn't approve of.
If only it hadn’t been so empty that day. If only the restaurant didn't often leave its food unattended on the counter right next to the to-go boxes. If only the restaurant wasn’t understaffed maybe someone would have noticed the ‘spilt’ powder on what was conveniently Monica’s plate. If only Monica was smart enough to notice the way her food smelt off before taking the first bite.
Leon sitting in the back watches as Monica’s entire body broke out into hives and turned an ugly raging red. Coldly staring at her suffocating form as restaurant staff and customers alike rushed to her side at the sound of morbid gurgling left her grotesquely misshaped, swollen lips and face. The last of Monica’s vision is the sight of dead blue eyes and an ever so familiar bomber jacket disappearing around the corner as the door chime jingled with his departure.
Leon’s phone buzzes as he holds a bag of takeout– the generic red ‘thank you’ printed repeatedly against the plastic, your voice comes out softly yet tired. “How about Chinese for dinner?” Leon asks, playing with Monica’s missing epipen.
You felt like a leech, and Leon had been nothing but kind to you. He refused any payment for rent, helped you move your already miniscule belongings in one day, and stocked up on foods and products you liked which you found strange– you’d never told him anything of the sort. Brushing it off as another one of the very many things you tended to forget in your life. It’d been a week since the tabloids went out– it’d been four days since you last left the large highrise Leon called his home. It was mind boggling to you at how such an open space was reserved for one man. Of course he had cleaners come in out of the effectively leaving you useless in terms of household chores. But you tried whenever the agent would come back from a long day of doing whatever (you didn’t ask) to cook or bake something from scratch. The process of making something from hand always has brought you comfort. Nothing rushing you and no pressure to make it perfect. And of course Leon was always happy to indulge with your confections, after all, Leon had never known coming home to hot meals.
You’d noticed over the days how he had started touching you more– touching your shoulder, brushing hair out of your face when he leaned against the counter while you baked something. Staring softly like you were the one good thing in his life. You loved the way he would sit quietly beside you as you read your books. No pressure at all to just talk. You could exist comfortably with having to explain or be explained. With Leon everything felt right. And god it drove you crazy, stomach growing light whenever he would ‘reach’ for something behind you and you could feel the firm muscles beneath his thin button up shirts. You felt guilty for having these feelings– guilty for dreaming of him over you in your dreams. Under your sheets doing things that made even the devil himself blush. You had a hard time looking at him the next morning.
It was one of those nights you couldn’t sleep, late, 3 AM. Leon had gone to bed early for some horrible migraine. You’d made sure he had water, and his room was properly dark along with some Tylenol. You were in bed, scrolling through your phone hoping it would make you at least a bit more tired when the door cracked open. You sat up in bed, eyes narrowing trying to adjust to the brightness of the hallway light– heart throbbing at the sight of Leon’s shirtless frame in some baggy gray sweats. He brushes a hand through his long curtain bangs, blue eyes accompanied by dark bags underneath. That familiar pained look in his eyes. You bite your lip. He had another nightmare. You wordlessly lift the covers inviting the larger male to join you. Leon’s expression was unreadable but he sauntered over melting into your frame while you dragged your nails up and down his back repeatedly. Whispering a mantra of soothing words, he fell asleep against your breast so sweetly. You could hardly believe such a man was the most powerful and valuable unit of the US government. Despite being employed under the DSO, Leon Kennedy was his own division– and his work always showed.
Especially when it came to killing as effectively and quickly as possible. Without any eyes or ears to follow, he was like the second coming of Christ. Like a thief in the night he took lives with ease. So it wasn’t hard to stage another rogue outbreak in Wrenwood which just happened to be the office to first release articles about you. Leon thought bullets were too easy. Too painless for all the suffering you’d sobbed into his arms earlier about the night he finally got you home. Too easy for hungry wolves who nipped at every vulnerable lamb. Scoffing as he wiped off the crimson blood staining his axe he finally slightly understood now long gone Monica. No one learned without pain. And sometimes you have to inflict it yourself. A shame she placed that ideology in the wrong place. It would’ve been so much easier just to frame her– but she had to drag your name through the dirt, and to Leon, that was unforgivable.
Walking through the bloody field of his own making Leon sighs deeply. He felt bad for relying too heavily on Sherry to cover up the mutilated corpses he spared no mercy too. But with the recent news something had to be done. After all, family stuck together. Even if it meant he’d live with regret forever. Leon had to practically force himself outside– not reacting at all to the pouring merciless rain that drenched him. Slamming his fist against the building's red brick. Walking home down the alleyways as the last remaining scraps of his morality fought not to drown in the darkness that consumed Leon’s soul.
Leon was heavily panting, his grip on the railing straining as you watched his dripping wet frame. Rain pelting against him like a barrage of bullets. Clothes glued to Leon’s muscles, showing every contour like a well made sketch. The evidence of what he’d done now washed down the sewer drains. Your fingers curl around the door, holding it open as he stumbles in. Still in shock. You reach for his arm, slinging it around your shoulder he leans into you. His breath hitting your neck. You guide him to the couch, gently lowering his heavy frame with a grunt. Watching as Leon ran a hand through his hair, a shuddered sigh leaving his lips. As if he was trying to hold back his own tears.
You pull away, fingers grazing his arm as Leon turns his head to face you. Bringing back towels, gently patting off the water as he leaned into the touch. Head resting on your shoulder. Exhausted. Numb. Too ashamed to truly meet your eyes. You knew what he’d done. No words, no dropping to his knees begging forgiveness. Just by the way he shook you didn’t need your countless hours of schooling to deduce that. He was shaking just as badly the night you were stuck in the R.P.D.
Leaning in you grab his chin. Pressing a deep kiss onto his lips which he doesn’t break, threading your hands through his dirty blonde locks. Leon groans deeply brushing his hand over your waist– clamping his hand on the end of your purple satin slip, the fabric crinkling underneath. Shifting you into place on his lap. You unbutton his shirt, inhaling sharply once his lips press tortuously slow kisses down the side of your neck. Nipping after each pass. You don’t fight as he pulls the garment off you, he doesn’t make a comment to the missing panties supposed to be covering your cunt. Leon stops just above your navel– a silent search of approval in your gaze. You merely brush the pad of your thumb over his lips. He gently helps your back against the couch shrugging off the blue button up you’d undone. Hoisting your legs over his shoulders. Leon presses the final kiss directly on your clit, you jolt immediately reaching for his hair. You can’t bring yourself to look at him once his jaw goes slack– only letting out shuddered breaths as Leon’s tongue licks long stripes over your folds, sucking, teasing your clit in short slow circles, suckling, in ways that only make it harder to breathe. Instinctively you clench your thighs around his head earning a deep moan from Leon that vibrates against your aching cunt. Everything was hot– your chest rising, the need of release making your toes curl. Leon’s blonde hair that tickled your inner thighs while he spelled his name on your clit.
“Fuck-” You babble breathlessly, gripping Leon’s hair while he fastens his unrelenting pace, the way his tongue slipped deeply inside your gummy walls felt like he was trying to root himself in you. Your eyes roll back and you arch off the cushion, body flinching ceaselessly as he continues to curl his muscle. Swirling pirouettes you whimper trying to pry him off your cunt but he only bumps his nose into your clit in protest. Everything was burning though you were naked. Your vision was getting blurry from your own tears as Leon sloppily ravaged your cunt like a five course meal. Pulling away you run a hand gently over Leon’s hair— who stares back at you through half lidded eyes that screamed a silent promise to devour you alive. And god you hoped he did. Your poor little pussy quivered at the thought of being properly handled.
Your fingers graze Leon’s arm as he pulls back fumbling with his particularly stubborn belt— you let your gaze wander to the welcome intrusion making itself known by straining against the agent’s khaki bottoms. Leon’s cock was long, girthy, and had a delicious arch that was well balanced out. Seven inches. Unintimidating to the experienced and inexperienced such as yourself. Crawling over you hesitantly reach out to touch it— letting Leon guide your ministrations as his breath caught in his lungs. Your tongue licks a stripe down from the tip to his base, pressing a kiss on Leon’s v-line. Leon felt like he could faint, but he wouldn’t. Not until your lips called his name so sweetly in a siren’s call. Opening your mouth, Leon’s hand held a firm grip on your hair. His cock twitches against your throat, you bob you head back faster. Hands gripping his tense thighs as your nails leave halfmoons in their wake. Leon slams your face against the hilt of his cock, curling over your frame with a shuddered moan as hot spurts of cum went straight to your stomach. You pull off breathless, a string from your lips to the head of his cock the only evidence of your sins.
“Please– Y/N, I need you– I need you,” Leon pressed his sweaty forehead against yours, his cock twitching back to life as your hands explored his large pecs. Brushing teasingly over the agent’s sensitive flesh. He grabs your cheeks, a fiery need within him– your heart bashing with the wild same ache growing in between your already tortured cunt. You barely register it as he flips you over onto your stomach. Leon’s desperation radiated off in waves, breath dragging across your nape as he drags his hot tongue over your nape. Your slick coats your thighs as his cock finally presses against your entrance, the head rubbing cruelly slow against your slit before Leon hilts inside. A shuddered sob leaves Leon’s lips as he thrusts slowly into your cunt. Your fingers grip the black leather of the couch– small pants leaving your own lips. You could feel the way Leon stretched you open deliciously. The curve of his cock hitting all the right spots.
“Y-You’re being to gentle, Leon–” You cut yourself off with a small whimper as his hand slides between your legs, pinching your clit as Leon presses his leg next to your head. Hands on your hips he drags you down his length bringing you to the base. Leon’s breathing was so hard it was practically making his entire vibrate, teeming with a festering desire that was slowly burning away at the binds that tethered his sanity together. He hurls his cock straight up into your walls hitting the spongy pat that made you nearly scream. Placing his lips next to your ear, tone borderline feral. “Are you sure, love?”
Leon’s bicep entangles itself around your neck in a firm hold, borderline choking you. Holding you flat against his rugged frame. You could feel every ab, vein, and contour of his god-like physique the ancient Greeks worshipped. Positioning his length while you barely could focus on anything else but the way his cock abused your cunt and the rough pad of his thumb relentlessly tortured your clit. Whispering all the filthy things he wanted to do to you. It wasn’t long until you were seeing stars. And Leon was making you feel the cosmos with how he anchored you to him. You reach back behind you, trying to grab anything on the agent as your vision went white. “Leon–” A broken wail leaves your lips, Leon’s pace sped up to a bruising, non-stop pace as he fucks you through your orgasm. You cunt throbbing around his cock as your juices gush down his shaft. One final sharp thrust Leon bites down on your neck as his seed floods your cervix. As you collapse into him breathless and the excess drips out onto the couch, the only thing Leon finds himself in the bliss of after sex– is how wasteful it is to see his cum on the floor.
Written by @flowers-in-mae 3-17-2026
Requested tags: @notnormalgirl @lem-hhn
Thank you to @/notnormalgirl for proofreading this work.
A/N: Sorry for posting this a day late.
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