He is painfully awkward at first. Rookie Leon already feels out of his depth being thrown into the Raccoon City disaster, so meeting someone he cares about makes him even more nervous.
He tries to act confident and heroic, but he trips over his words a lot. If Reader compliments him, his brain completely short-circuits.
Protective instincts kick in immediately. Leon places himself between Reader and danger without thinking. Even if Reader is capable, he still checks constantly.
“Are you hurt? Did that thing scratch you?”
He feels responsible for everyone’s safety, but Reader especially.
The dorky side of Leon shows, Rookie Leon makes dumb jokes during stressful moments just to lighten the mood. Half the time the jokes are terrible, but Reader laughs anyway, which makes him smile.
He secretly feels proud if he can make Reader laugh in such a terrifying situation.
Surviving Raccoon City together creates a bond very fast. Leon begins relying on Reader’s opinions and instincts during decisions. If he’s scared or overwhelmed, Reader is one of the few people he admits it to.
During brief safe moments (like hiding in a room at the RPD station), they talk softly to pass time. Leon asks about Reader’s life before everything happened. He listens very carefully, like hearing about normal life reminds him what he’s fighting for.
Leon gives Reader his spare jacket or gloves if they’re cold. He always walks slightly behind or beside them, watching the hallway for danger. If Reader gets injured, he gets extremely serious and focused until they’re safe.
At first Leon thinks he just wants to protect Reader because it’s “his job.” Eventually he realizes he worries about them in a way that feels, different. After the nightmare ends, he would probably be shy about admitting those feelings.
Leon would check in constantly to make sure Reader is okay mentally and physically. He might suggest simple things like getting food together or walking somewhere quiet. Even after everything they survived, he still acts like a slightly nervous rookie around them.
Rookie! Leon is the type who would practice what he wants to say before talking to Y/n and then forget half of it the moment they actually show up.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
i need more fics to have more exposition. like yeah sometimes we can jump right into the smut but like, i’m connected to this character, i wanna know how we met, what our relationship is like, and how we got to this scenario. "he dragged you on top of him and bucked his hips up into you." WOAH how’d we get here, what happened to hello, how are you?
(no hate to people who do this i just crave plot)
um anyways anyone have any good grace x reader fluff or some plot heavy metaltango fics?
Summary: Leon Kennedy is your DSO Supervisor. Your last field mission ended in a minor injury and ever since then, he's been keeping you in the office and giving you the cold shoulder. After you find a promising lead and bring it to his boss, she approves the two of you to work undercover as a married couple. You're determined to prove yourself by investigating a suspicious new drug at The Bentham Estate, but it might take more from you than you expect. Can you and Leon reconcile or is your professional career doomed to suck forever?
Pairing(s): Leon Kennedy x Reader (Female)
Rating: Explicit depictions of violence
Tags: Enemies to lovers / Coworkers to lovers; Resident Evil/Biohazard; Leon S Kennedy x female!Reader; graphic violence; explicit gore; guns; gun violence; drug use; bioterrorism; hurt/comfort; flashbacks; a lot of swearing; nightmares; child neglect/abuse; freeform botany; attempted date rape; no use of Y/N; Leon and Reader use aliases; Leon is a jealous asshole; reader has a facial scar
Prev << Chapter 3: Nightmares Part I (Ratking) >> Next
"I don’t care what you think, keep it to yourself. Tell me what I want to hear just like everyone else. You always knew just how to get under my skin; It’s not that I don’t understand, I just don’t fit in." — Boston Manor, "Ratking"
Deep in the verdant woods of Washington State lies the Bentham Estate. Despite its sprawling acreage, you'd never see it from the ground level or above. It sits nestled against the basalt cliffs of Ivybridge, conifer trees squeezing in tight from all sides, the Pacific Ocean boiling and ravenous just below.
The Estate was used as a sanitorium and convalescent home in the 19th century for Tuberculosis patients. The fresh sea air was meant to encourage the healing process. But year round the property was in a constant state of dusk as the sun struggled to penetrate down to the leaf litter. It seemed that the cloud cover and isolation from the rest of civilization tended to drive its residents mad. It definitely didn't help that the grounds were covered in fields of foxglove, so much in fact that the Estate gained the moniker "Foxglove Manor". Digitalis purpurea— the flowers are beautiful and inviting but deadly, containing a toxin found in every part of the plant from stem to petal.
If you measure it just right, that toxin can be made into medicine. If you don't though, you'll die with your heart trying to punch through your ribs as it's forced to squeeze harder and harder at a slower and slower rate. And that's after the dizziness and vomiting, the halos of light floating all around your vision. Welcome to Heaven, it'll whisper to you, while your blood turns to battery acid. "Bloody Fingers" they were once called, or "Dead Man's Bells."
This was a haunted house that had seen an enormous amount of disease and death, often times the result of a rampant bacterial infection, other times at the hands of its questionable landscaping.
You read through the packet on the land's history even though you've had it all memorized for days now. Under that report are the ones on Dr. Neville Reyes, and the ones detailing previous DSO contact with the T-Virus. All reports that you collected or wrote yourself. The papers at the very bottom of your stack are pin-cushioned with colored flags and sticky notes. That's the cover you and Leon are assuming in order to get into the Estate once you arrive on the property.
Leon's copy sits discarded in the backseat, sliding around while the car cruises around turns and switchbacks. He's probably read through it, you assure yourself. He's a professional agent and it's exceedingly difficult to catch him off guard. There's no way he's winging this. But still... The two of you haven't gone over it together at all. It hasn't been any lack of trying on your part, but any attempt to engage him on it or ask a question has been shut down before you can barely get a full sentence out.
Maybe you should've asked Claire to assign her brother to this with you. At least Chris is still cordial, if not outright friendly when you see him.
The engine hums steadily as Leon drives. You spare a glance over at him, eyes fixed on the road, one fist solid marble on the steering wheel. He hasn't said a word since getting in the car at the airport and that was hours ago. He's just cold and silent.
You feel an unwelcome knot forming in your throat. It wasn't always like this. There actually used to be a time where you and Leon talked. You laughed together after hours, staying late to finish a project together. Friendly banter. A playful jab or light punch to the shoulder. He's been your superior since the beginning but he was never a rank-pulling drill sergeant. You would have actually considered him a close friend once upon a time. Before Stamford, anyway. Before you fucked it up so bad somehow that he wouldn't even tell you what it was that made him ice you out and got you benched.
You wish he would yell at you, slam a demerit on your desk, or something. The silence, the treating you like an up-jumped intern has been a knife to the gut, just slowly twisting around in there for months.
The tears welling up around your lashes come as a surprise and you mash your hands into your eyes to hide them. You force a yawn and blink away the rest of the wet frustration threatening to burst forward.
Leon's eyes flick to you then back to the road. "You good?"
"Yeah, just a little tired."
He makes a sound that might be a hum or a grunt. You're becoming more familiar with those. This one means that he's thinking.
"We've been traveling all day." The clock on the dash reads 4:34PM. Your flight landed in Portland around noon and the two of you got on the road shortly after. "You want a coffee or something? We've got plenty of time."
"That might not be a bad idea. I'd rather be on my game and alert by the time we get there." The Estate should only be another couple hours away at this point and your stomach is fluttering with nerves the closer you get.
"10-4, kid. Why don't you rest up for a bit and I'll wake you up when I can find us a place to refuel."
"What about you? Need me to take over driving soon so you can get some sleep?"
"Nah," he sighs. "I'm good, but thanks."
"You'd better be careful Leon," you say, tilting the seat back and closing your eyes. "You're being awfully conversational and nice to me all of the sudden. You wouldn't want that to become a habit."
"What's that supposed to mean?" You can feel his eyes on you even with yours closed.
"You know what I mean."
"I'm not sure I do."
Liar. Either that or so oblivious this "marriage" cover is never going to work. Your stomach twists with nerves. How the hell are you both going to get out of this one?
xXx
You wake up somewhere in Indiana. The gravel is fine and dusty under your feet, easily kicked up into your eyes on the breeze. The farm is walled in by whispering stalks of golden wheat and emerald green corn husks, their necks swaying over three feet above your head. If you laid down here on the road with your sight on that plush blue sky, it would feel like a dream.
The air smells like hay, oil, and something astringent. Chemical. You have a gun on your hip. There's a megaphone in your hand. You and the rest of the team are covered in Kevlar and diamondback camo fatigues. Chris Redfield likes to call this getup his Sunday Best.
When you come up to the house, Mason is already waiting for you on his steps. Dennis Mason, the former Umbrella grunt who transported vials of T-Virus wherever the big dogs told him. He got out of prison a year ago and has been keeping himself busy. He's an entrepreneur— selling meth. Enslaved to one drug and then another. In his report it says he told his arresting officer he's "just been unlucky all his life".
You, Leon, and the rest of your band are here because aside from his current gig, he's been a very bad boy. He received a suspicious refrigerated shipment of "Fragile! Medical-grade Equipment!" DSO wants to know what it is and why he needs it. His daughter, Isla Mason (soon to be Palmer), has also been seen walking around his property unattended. She belongs with her foster parents who have adoption paperwork pending this very moment, and they are worried sick.
The other elephant in the room is Mason's wife. The one that was struck and killed by a drunk driver two weeks ago. She's been buried at Crescent Hill Memorial until her unexpected exhumation last night.
So Dennis may be looking at a few more titles to add to his resume. Kidnapper. Grave Robber.
The higher-ups at DSO are getting worried he may be trying to put his family back together. You are here to prevent such an unnatural reunion and get this man into some healthier extra-curricular activities. Under supervision, of course.
There are men milling about on the property. Workers, you guess. Cooks, runners, maybe some buyers. Most of them stop to gawk at you for a moment before moving on, others duck behind the farmhouse, out of sight. Leon takes point at the head of your line, you take second position and the rest of the team flanks either side. Dennis is probably smart enough to know that he's being watched through the scope of a sniper rifle a good ways back, just in case things don't go as planned.
Leon nods to you. You're up.
"Mr. Mason," you call out. "I think you've been expecting us. Do you feel like cooperating so we can keep this short and sweet?"
He stands up on legs that look unsteady even from this distance. His frame is drowning beneath a dirty, baggy shirt and jeans barely clinging to his hips. "Yeah, I knew you'd come sooner or later. Fuckin' cops."
"We're not police, sir. We're from DSO, and we want to make sure you and Isla are safe. Do you know where she is right now?" You take a few steps closer and then a few more when he doesn't react. Closing the distance is good. Being able to talk to him at a normal volume is much better than yelling through a megaphone.
"She's inside. What d'you want with her?"
"The folks who have been taking care of her while you were gone are missing her badly, Mr. Mason. Do you think I could come in and see her?" Leon gives you one of his concerned looks like he always does when you go off script. He doesn't want you to be alone with this guy. You don't either but you doubt he'll give up the girl willingly with a bunch of "cops" packing heavy firepower storming his home. When Isla is safe, then you can bridge the subject of his possible science experiments...and putting his wife back to rest.
You make a sign with your middle and index fingers. I got this, trust me. He nods at you.
"She ain't dead or nothin'. She's fine." Mason calls. His attention turns to his front door momentarily.
"I believe you, don't worry. I would just really like to ask her if she needs or wants anything. I have some toys and snacks in my backpack. I'll be out of your hair in no time, Mr. Mason. Do you think that would be okay?"
"Okay," comes the uncertain reply. "But just you. I don't want these other pigs in my house."
"That's no problem at all, sir."
Leon catches your arm as you walk past. His grip is firm and reassuring as he bends to murmur into your ear. "If anything isn't right in there, you let us know. We've got your back."
"10-4 Kennedy, thanks."
Isla Mason is sitting at a fold-out table in the kitchen coloring with crayons. It smells like spoiled food and mildew in here. The walls are dotted black with mold and furry with cobwebs. Two men sit in another room, slumped on a stained couch. Asleep, probably.
Dennis follows close behind you like a prison guard, watching your every move.
"Told you," he grumbles. "She's fine— ain't you honey?"
Isla looks up at her dad with big wet eyes. "Ca'I go home now?" This little girl doesn't recognize the man standing at the counter before her. She was so young when he was incarcerated. You're not sure she's even been on this property before.
"You are home, Lala."
She just sucks a thumb into her mouth and keeps scrubbing a yellow crayon across her paper.
You clear your throat, dry from the dusty air outside. "Mr. Mason, what did Isla have for breakfast this morning?"
"This morning?" He considers for a while. Shifts his weight from side to side. "I uhh, I don't remember. But she had some crackers last night. She's fine."
You crouch down where Isla sits and take a juice box and a package of fruit gummies out of your backpack. She stops drawing and eyes the food like a stray animal, hungry but timid.
"I have those?" she asks.
"Of course you can. And if you're still hungry after that I have some more for you too."
Isla is devouring a second pack of gummies and some Cheez-its when you and Dennis step out of the room together.
"I know I ain't the greatest dad but that's my little girl." His voice cracks. Your heart breaks for both of them, but this child cannot stay here.
"Mr. Mason, Isla will always be your daughter. I know you love her very much and you want her to be taken care of."
"Course I do. I just need a little more time and stuff to get things perfect. She won't want for anything." He scratches at invisible bug bites on his arms. Old blood has dried where he's worked at them already.
"Isla has a family that takes very good care of her. She has her own room, with a bed, lots of toys. She eats all her meals there with them. She has some friends already too."
Mason begins to cry. Slides to the floor with his hands over his eyes. They're covered in scratches and chemical burns.
"I know this is really hard. What if you let me take Isla back to the home she's more familiar with for now, and then we could try to arrange some visits for you to start?" You're not sure if this a promise you can keep, much less right now. But getting Isla out of here is the priority. Custody arrangements will come later. Her complete lack of recognition looking up at her father earlier is going to keep you up at night, you just know it.
"Sh-She'll get to play with her friends? Do fun kid stuff?" Mason chokes.
"Yes, sir. The Palmers are already looking into horse riding lessons for her too once she gets a bit bigger." That part is true. Nancy told you that over the phone earlier while she sobbed and begged you to get her daughter back.
He sniffs and nods. Gets back to his feet slowly. "Okay then."
Dennis Mason lets you take little Isla by the hand and then scoop her into your arms. She's featherlight and clammy to the touch. You'll have one of the medics check her out as soon as you get back to the trucks.
You carry her through the threshold of the house and everything is calm. No one on Mason's side is making a fuss. It's probably not worth it for any of these guys to get tangled up in a DSO mess. Leon gives a command into his walkie. The squad stands at ease, just waiting for the OK to pack it up. No one wants to be here a moment longer than necessary.
You're not sure what happens next. Maybe Dennis heard or saw something that wasn't there. Maybe someone on the team made a face he didn't like. The glint of the sun caught on someone's buckle and struck him in the eye, made him lose all sense. You may never know.
You're ten feet from Leon, maybe thirty feet from the trucks with their medics. From Isla's parents huddled anxiously in their car. The gun goes off in the warm Indiana air like cannon-fire.
Leon yells, "NO!" His face is twisted into a mask of horror.
The DSO agents all drop to the ground and pull their guns.
Your back is to him, but Mason is screaming.
Why? What happened?
Voices overlap over each other, you don't catch a single discernable word. It's madness.
You're on the ground now. Did you fall?
Isla is crying, red faced. There's dust in her strawberry blonde hair. "Let me see, honey," you hear yourself telling her. You're looking her over, everywhere you can. Touching arms and legs to see if she's in pain. For some reason you can't see out of one of your eyes, it's just red. There's red dripping onto the dirt.
Someone is touching your shoulder. Leon is yelling. There's more gunfire.
"Fuck's sake!" his voice is shouting in your ear. "Stop fucking shooting!"
His body is covering yours, blocking out the sun. Someone takes Isla. You see her further back, by the trucks. Good, you think. That's good.
Then comes the roar of an engine, the squealing of tires and an impact. Someone yells "Oh my God!" but you're not sure who it is.
"Hey," Leon is cupping your face in his hands. "Hey, can you look at me?"
You're trying. "Hard to see," you manage.
"Yeah, you've got a little blood on your face, but you're okay. You're gonna be okay."
"Mason," you say. You try to get up but Leon is holding you steady. "Where is he? Where's Isla?"
Leon is stroking your hair. He's never done that before. You can feel the heat of his hands through his gloves on your scalp. You can smell the leather from his jacket. "Easy kid, go easy. Isla's okay, she's with Nadia."
That's one of your medics. Okay, that's good. She probably needs some water. She's probably really scared. "Mason?" You say again. What if he takes advantage of the chaos and flees?
"Gone." Leon says. "One of his guys hit him."
"H-Hit him?"
Leon swallows. "Yeah. Wrecked a Jeep on top of him. He's gone."
"Fuck." You gasp. "Gone."
"It's okay," Leon is curled around you, protecting you. "You're okay, partner. You did good."
You sit there in the dirt for god knows how long. Just breathing. At some point, someone drags you to one of the ambulances, probably Leon. It feels like you just kind of wake up in and out of it. But he's there every time.
"Hey kid," Leon says to you from a million miles away. Is he sitting on the back of the ambulance with you?
"Kid?" His voice is clearer but further away still. Then the world begins to shake.
erghhh I'm trying to write this stupid leon fic but like.. idk how to really start it! this is my first time officially writing a fic for the public and I don't want it to be bad.. It's a Leon(re2) x nurse reader and I'm not sure if I should start it in our apartment or in the clinic. It's going to start at the "beginning" of the outbreak(sorry but im not going as far back as the when the rats were released itll be tm) around when ppl were getting violent and coming into the hospitals. What do you guys think? Any tips pleaseee!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
depends! i think leon kind of defaults to big spoon when it comes to being comforting and such, but
a) reader turns into an octopus when she sleeps so he usually ends up the little spoon by morning and doesn't mind at all, bc
b) little spoon is the person with their face to the door and their arms free, and old habits die hard, so
tbh i think they also end up really often just half on top of each other and not SpooningTM?
12. favorite non-sexual activity?
cuddling. like they spend so much time just draped all over each other it's unreal
close second is probably watching ridiculous cooking shows together, like reader is a professional cook so she gets hilariously annoyed about v specific stuff (y'know how i am with yelling about scientists in Open Labcoats in movies and shit? yeah, that's her) on the other hand, cutthroat kitchen is completely fine XD
23. who steals the blankets?
reader, and she feels really bad about it. leon meanwhile is like, literally every person i've ever shared a bed with has complained about me being a space heater, so i'm completely fine, actually
reader, when he actually does steal the blankets at one point: you're sick, aren't you
leon, actively suppressing a sneeze: no
warnings: re9 mentor!leon kennedy x rookie dso agent!reader, office tension, hurt comfort, fluff and suggestive themes at the end, implied age gap between adults (age not mentioned, up to you)
summary: leon finds out you almost died on your most recent mission and emotions come up to an all time high.
playlist while writing: friends by chase atlantic & a little death by the neighborhood
You were sat on your desk, busy responding to emails and filling out papers regarding your most recent mission hijacking a hidden base that held B.O.W.s in Japan. In all honesty, the mission nearly killed you if it wasn't for Sherry's quick thinking to break her protocol as your FOS coordinator. She interrupted your mission and called for backup despite having no orders from you to do so. You were passed out in a pool of your own blood, radio silent for five hours and Sherry's decision was necessary. However, your mentor, Leon, didn't have to know that happened.
Unbeknownst to you, Leon had been restless inside his private office all morning, his brows furrowed as he tried to ignore the lump in his throat. Eventually realizing that work and coffee wasn't going to drown out the feeling, he left his office and went looking for you.
It wasn't long until the sound of his tactical boots echoed the halls, catching your attention. You turned your head to see your mentor standing beside your chair, evidently having something on his mind.
"Office. Now."
His words came out as a low rumble that vibrated right through your chest. He's been serious before but this felt different. His demeanor even caught the prying eyes of our co-workers behind their desks.
He didn't wait for your reply before turning to walk back to his office. You quickly stood up to follow, leaving your papers on the desk.
That dark blue tactical shirt always highlighted his arms so well. Okay, not the point, he was walking further already and you had to catch up. Your mind was frantically cycling through everything you did this week. Did you miss a report? Did you say something wrong earlier?
As soon as you stepped inside, the door clicked shut behind you. Leon leaned his back against his office's door, crossing his arms over his chest. His cold demeanor changed the mood of the whole room.
"Explain." he bit out, his gaze piercing into you
"Explain what, sir?" You asked as your voice wavered despite your best efforts to keep it steady. "If this is about paperwork, I filed the post-mission report for my operation in Japan this morning. Everything went well-"
"Don't lie to me." he snapped, his composure cracking as he revealed his thoughts. "I just got a debrief from Sherry an hour ago. She told me what happened. She told me that for five hours, you were completely off-grid, trapped in a collapsing structure with a B.O.W. hunting you. You didn't even think to ping for backup?"
You froze, he knew you were keeping secrets. "Sir, I had the situation under control-"
"You were bleeding out, Y/N! You could've died!" Leon stepped forward, his deep voice was tight with an intensity that felt far more dangerous than anger. He stood in front of you and stressfully ran his hand through his hair.
"Sherry broke protocol because she knew you were playing Russian roulette with your life. Why didn't you call for help? I'm always on stand-by too. Why didn't you call me?" His intense voice had boiled down to a more anxious tone.
"I didn't want to worry you." You whispered, the defiance draining out of you. "I’m a field agent, Leon. I’m supposed to be able to handle-"
"I don't give a damn about your pride!" he interrupted once more, his hands moving to your shoulders—not to shake you, but almost to confirm to himself that you were real and still alive. You were breathing heavily at this point, taken aback by this unexpected reaction.
His eyes were searching yours, reflecting a look of vulnerability you had never seen in him before. "Do you have any idea what it’s like? The feeling that…"
You had never seen Leon Kennedy so upset that he couldn’t even finish his sentence.
"The feeling that I could have lost you and I wouldn't have even known why?"
The silence in the office grew suffocating, broken only by the sound of your synchronized breathing. "I’ve spent half my life losing people, Y/N. I’ve watched enough friends walk out that door and never come back. I can't be the one who stands by and lets it happen to you, too."
You wanted to say something but you knew that him showing his vulnerability to you like this was taking a lot of courage. Instead, you listened and took every one of his words in.
His hand slid from your shoulders to cup the side of your face, palms rough against your skin but his touch was gentle. "I want you to come home after every mission. No… I need you to come home. Y/N, if you’re not there waiting for me at the end of the day then.. What’s the fucking point of it all?"
Your lips parted at his passionate honesty. Your heart was beating at a rate you felt it had never reached before. The wave of realization imbedded itself deep into your chest. At that moment, you didn’t see your mentor who was a seasoned agent, you saw a man who was truly terrified of a future that didn't include you. The raw and unfiltered desperation in his eyes wasn’t all in your head at all.
"Leon..." Your breathed slowly, composing yourself as your hands moved downwards to intertwine with his. "I’m here. I’m standing right here."
"I know," he whispered, "But I need to know you’ll fight to live and sometimes that means asking for help. Not just because it's the mission..."
He stopped himself from continuing his words again. Your eyes worriedly searched his as you looked for an answer. Your gentle gaze seemed to have given him some reassurance. He shut his eyes tightly before opening them as if he was bracing for the impact of his next words. He's decided to let himself be fully vulnerable with you.
"Fuck, I wait for you every damn day you’re on a mission, rookie."
"I'm terrified." He added. All the walls you both had built to keep your relationship professional suddenly felt fragile, crumbling under the sheer intensity of his gaze.
"You won’t ever lose me, Leon." You whispered, you gave his hand a reassuring squeeze and pulled him in just a fraction closer. "Every time I'm out there, every time things go to shit… The only thing that keeps me fighting is knowing that I’ll see you after it’s all over."
Leon’s eyes softened yet he was still evidently tense when you confessed. His hands slid to rest on your waist, his hold firm.
"I shouldn't," he muttered, his voice dropping into a rough, strained register. "I'm your mentor, Y/N. Someone older with more experience that's supposed to keep you safe, keep you focused. Not subject you to potential threats or be the reason you're distracted out there."
He let out a shaky, self-deprecating laugh, his forehead dropping against yours. "But, I’ve tried to bury this. I’ve tried to keep that line drawn so firmly that I wouldn't cross it, but every time you come back from a mission that line gets a little harder to see."
You let out a sharp, breathless laugh, your hand sliding up to rest on his shoulder. You weren't going to let his badge or his rank be a shield for his hesitation anymore. You had been needing for this exact moment, for this specific confession, for as long as you had been working under him.
"Leon, look at me," You commanded softly, meeting his conflicted gaze with a steady, unyielding stare. "You talk about lines and duty but you’re forgetting something. I’m a DSO agent because you trained me to be the best and I know exactly what I’m doing. I can think for myself and I can choose for myself."
He looks down at you directly in the eyes, his expression losing its hesitation, replaced by a raw and overwhelming certainty. Your words held conviction in them and he listened attentively as you tugged at his heartstrings.
You took a deep breath before continuing as you felt the intensity of the situation begin to surge through your body. "So let me be clear, I don't care about the risks that come with this. I choose you. I’ve been choosing you every single day and I’m tired of waiting for you to figure out that you’re the only person I want to come home to."
His expression softened, the stern lines of his face collapsing into a look of profound relief. His thumb brushed over your cheek, his touch lingering. "I've spent so long trying to ignore it, trying to convince myself it was just concern for a rookie of mine. But it's not. There’s not possibility for anyone else. It’s you, Y/N. It’s always been you."
"It’s always been you too, Leon..." you breathed, his name sounding like a prayer in the suffocating silence of the office. You reached up, your own trembling hands resting over his wrists, feeling the rapid, uneven pulse beneath his skin. "I'm not going anywhere. I promise."
"I meant every word I said, rookie." He whispered, his grip tightening just enough to pull you against him.
"I did too." You replied as the weight of his words settled between both of you. Your arms were now resting on his shoulders as the gap between you two started to close.
His eyes traveled to your lips before flickering back up to your eyes, searching for permission.
"Can I kiss you?" he asked, his voice stripped of all its usual professional detachment.
"Please." Your words barely came out before he closed the final fraction of space between you.
His soft lips met yours, one hand on your waist while his other cupped the side of your face. He was slowly savoring you, wanting to take his time to forever remember how you tasted in this moment.
It wasn’t long until the gentleness spiraled into something far more desperate and needy. His hands moved to pick you up and sit you on top of his desk, holding you steady as if you were the only solid thing in a world that had tried to take me away from him. All the pent up and unsaid emotions had taken over the both of you.
"Ah, Leon…" You let out a soft moan as he slowly rubbed his knee in between your legs as you two tasted each other, your panties were starting to get soaked.
"I know, baby, I know. So… fuckin’…. perfect…" He let out breathlessly in between kisses.
In this moment, nothing mattered as you both found solace in each other's touch.
a/n; office tension and an angry intense love confession, yum. hope you enjoyed and indulged with me! might still have some typos :0
