Leonkennedy - Tumblr Posts
Christmas present for a friend into college. All ready for our Christmas Commission Trade!! #art #space #stars #illustration #residentevil #leonkennedy #watercolour #colour #christmas
excuse me why the heck would i need this... this is so weird ew bleugh disgusting
i TOTALLY am not pulling up leon kennedy smut on tumblr... why would you suggest such a blasphemous idea... how dare you.
(but seriously gotta respect the holidays yessir)
get to it ladies!!
yes you can 🥰🥰 i believe in you! you can do it!!
Is it me or photo looks edited??
(I'm having so much fun)
-😘
It was smoothed out a bit to try and show the lack of line, but here’s this. It just looks weird.
Here’s more if it makes you feel any better.
Happy?
its feeding into the motorcycle fic @idyllcy here have some food 🫶🏽🫶🏽
care for a ride?
Your Hero
Friendly neighborhood Spiderman, huh? You wouldn’t have expected your new dorky nerd best friend to be passing in the shadows of the charming hero behind the mask, hanging upside down and staring at you with odd interest. Why does he seem oddly familiar?
a/n: @candlekiss THIS HAS BEEN FORMULATING FOR QUITE A WHILE... ITS JUST BEEN MARINATING... TRUST ME THE BEST FOOD GETS MARINATED FOR LIKE THREE YEARS 😭😭😭
UR ART INSPIRES ME SM !! NEVER GIVE UP ON UR DREAMS BECAUSE THIS IS A REALLY GOOD SCENARIO WITHOUT YOUR ART I WOULDNT HAVE "to keep an angel" OR THIS FIC!! ILYSM MARI <3
tw: fluff from college leon and spiderman leon because they've both been swirling in my mind fr !!
wc: 3.3k
To be fair, you didn’t pay much attention to Leon at the beginning of the semester. You kept to your separate corners of the world; his being the potted plant near the doorway, where he stood with a bag slung over his shoulder every day, eyes narrowing at the watch on his left wrist, and…
Maybe you have paid attention to him.
It was a dance you had forgotten you’d learned, talking with him. He’s not the same guy you remember from high school, the one who always stuttered through answers and pushed his glasses up when the class mocked him.
The only person being mocked seems to be you now, three weeks into the semester, and the dip of your already fluctuating grades is enough to spur you to find a tutor. Your professor doesn’t seem to be much help, offers you a weak smile and a shrug and tells you to find resources elsewhere.
And you find it in the once, now self-assured straighten of his back as you snake around the crowd to tap his shoulder, grinning broadly.
“Heard you’re pretty good at this stuff,” you offer vaguely. Leon cocks a brow and you don’t expect the amused smile on his face to cause you to feel flustered.
“Guess I am,” he replies, and it seems that not only has his personality and appearance changed, but his voice is at least an octave deeper. It resonates through your entire body in a way that's difficult to describe. “Why? Need help?”
An awkward silence stretches between you as the implications of his altered tone sink in. Clearing your throat, you shuffle your feet and continue, "So, uh, when are you free?"
Leon taps his chin thoughtfully. "Is lunch okay for you?"
You consider it for a moment. “Wow, are you asking me out?”
He winks and you just about buckle to the ground. “Didn’t you come up to me first?”
<><><><>
The chair makes an absurdly loud sound when Leon scoots closer, hands clenched around the base of his seat, a bashful smile on his face as he waves his apologies to all the wandering, hesitant eyes that meet you.
It’s been about a month, and there seems to be no progress with your grades. You would consider dropping him altogether if it weren’t for the strange fact that you enjoy his company, cherish that he takes time from his evidently busy schedule to tutor you.
“Go on,” he prompts when you snap back to attention, startling from his fingers waving in front of you, brushing your nose. “What else did you notice?”
“There was definitely a lot of conflict in the last few scenes,” you mutter, trying to recall last night’s frantic reading that he had assigned three weeks ago.
“I don’t know, I wouldn’t really say death is conflicting, would you?” he replies dryly, dropping his head to glance up at you from under his glasses, and therefore, his long, wispy eyelashes. They reflect the dim lights of the library, seeming to sparkle and illuminate his eyes.
“... yes?”
“No one dies,” he says, stirring from his position once again to stretch his arms against the table, lying his cheek onto the muscle of his bicep, staring up at you with a puffier face. “You didn’t read it, did you?”
“... no?”
“I can’t be here forever,” he whispers, quietly, only for your ears. “You know how many things I have to be doing. Put the effort in. For me, please?”
And something about his tone is so sincere, so genuine that it makes you want to try harder, push yourself, do the homework on time and actually do something about your grades.
<><><><>
You’ve grown to consider him a friend. Your grades have lifted, as has the burden from your shoulders, head high when you stroll out of the lecture hall, and spot Leon fumbling with the vending machine nearby.
It’s a habit to startle him whenever you see him outside of classes, yet you don’t understand the strange looks you get. In any case, he is infinitely a better person than you had expected, better than everyone you had tried to get with initially.
He flinches at your touch, fingers creeping between his arm and torso, wiggling to spark a surprisingly tired laugh.
“What kept you up all night?” you tease. “Trouble in paradise?”
“Nothing of the sort,” he responds gruffly, eyes softening in exhaustion. “That would be better than what’s going on right now.”
Leon is a reserved man. He trusts you to some extent, where, on the other hand, you’re ready to give your life for him. You get attached quickly, what can you say?
<><><><>
You’ve grown used to barging into your shared rooms, not announcing your arrival, often catching Leon off guard, staring down at something on his phone before he shoves it away, that same embarrassed expression slipping off his face when you ask what’s wrong.
You arrive back at your dorm after a long day of classes, exhausted and looking forward to relaxing. But what’s past that door is everything that you would think not to expect.
"Oh- hey, you're back!" Leon says with a grin. But that's not all that catches your attention - your roommate has a bizarre outfit on; a brown, crinkled leather jacket, cargo pants, something that looks horrifyingly bland on him. And is that a splash of blue you see peeking out from underneath everything?
"Uh, Leon..." you reply, taken aback. "Didn't realize you were into cosplay. Something you need to tell me?"
"It’s, uhm, complicated," Leon replies vaguely, rubbing the back of his neck. "Let’s just say I have some important work to take care of."
"Right, because you're secretly the city’s hero," you deadpan, still not sure whether to believe this outrageous claim. “Well, come back soon, alright? I need help decoding chapters 18 and 24.”
“Of course,” he says with a wink. “I’ll just be a minute.”
But a minute goes by, which you expect, but then that minute morphs into a hour, and then two, then four, and eventually you’re worriedly pacing your dorm floor, awaiting a phone call, text message, anything to just know-
The phone vibrates a moment later as you rush to fish it out of your baggy pockets, jamming your finger against the notification.
Of course its not him. An unknown number, something fairly recognizable but you can’t quite put your finger on it. The hometown seems to be somewhere far away, starting digits something you don’t have the time to search up when the next text pops up.
Come outside? :)
who is this?
I just have your notes. Hurry up.
oh, thanks! gimme a sec
You remember requesting notes to study from Leon, but he gave your number to his friend, without your consent, might you add, so this must be him. He deemed this friend was far more outgoing, far more entertaining, a better person to hang out with.
You don’t expect Spiderman to be this friend of his.
<><><><>
“I’m starting to think you like me,” he jests, months later, on one of his patrols of the city. He always swings by your window, conveniently always timing his visits when Leon’s out with duties at the police station. You want to deny the accusation, but can't bring yourself to lie to the webslinger perched outside your window.
Not when those masked eyes peer at you with such care and familiarity. Like they see straight into your conflicted soul.
Not when you don’t want them to hang out. Of course not. The problem is your heart is pulling you in two different ways, down two paths that never intersect, and navigating these tangled feelings seems impossible without hurting one of them. They're so alike, yet fate keeps your two dimensions apart. You don't know how much longer your heart can take the strain.
But you bottle it all up, every little bit of you that screams to be adored, cherished in the way they both look at you, one through a mask and the other through glasses, both doing little to nothing to hide their emotions, the expressive raises of their eyebrows.
They’re definitely like each other, a little too much, you suspect.
A sigh escapes your lips. "It's not that simple. You both..." You shake your head, not wanting to put either in an awkward position. Some walls are better left unbreached. "Just focus on helping people, okay? That's what's really important."
He crouches silently beside you for a while, sensing your troubled thoughts without needing to be told. When he speaks again, his voice is gentle.
"You seem really down. What do you say I take you around the city for a bit? Might do you some good to get some air." He nods toward the skyline glowing in the dusk. "No better view than from up high, if you're up for it."
You eye him hesitantly, unsure if facing your feelings while swinging between skyscrapers is the best idea. But it has been so long since his invitation stirred your spirit rather than your heart. And you could really use a distraction.
Gripping his offered hand, you nod. "Sure. Why not? I definitely might not die from this."
Spiderman chuckles, pulling you firmly against his side. "You better hang on tight then."
A spray of webbing shoots forth and you're jolted into the air, wind whipping around you both. Your uncertain thoughts fade against the euphoria of flight.
For now, it's just you and the freefall through flooded lights.
And the handsome, mysterious, masked hero you’re wrapped around.
<><><><>
“I can’t see you anymore,” your hero mutters one night as you push the window open, eagerly awaiting his tranquil presence, the idea that he takes the burden, the pressure of school off your shoulders, sharing the weight of the sky with you.
“What?” You stare up at him and he stretches, seemingly uncomfortable.
“Can we talk?” He gestures down at the alley between your dorm building and the conveniently close laundromat, however loud the broken washing machines get.
“Yeah.” Your lips form a purse, behind them, your thoughts are clumsy and tie themselves in a bow around your tongue, presented to Spiderman as broken sentences as you approach his state.
He’s hanging upside down, face tilted curiously, in a crouching position, held by only the thinning strand of web, and you wonder how that small thing is able to carry such a physique.
“I’m putting you in danger,” he protests a few minutes later, standing in front of you, back turned away as you lean against the brick wall, crossing your arms with a stubborn huff.
“Have I died?” You shake our head like a little kid. “No!”
"What's your endgame, huh?" he asks in desperation, wildly turning to confront you. "Why do you insist on being friends with me?"
"Are you saying you've got an issue with that?" you retort flippantly, the tiniest hint of something like pain flickering in your eyes. "Am I bothering you or something?"
“They’re all after me," he frantically explains, words spilling out of your mouth like water from a broken dam. "I’m literally the most wanted man right now!"
"But you seem to be handling it well," you counter.
"Can't you see?!" he shrieks, voice bordering on the hysterical, and you can see the prayer in his expression, that the fear in his eyes will send you packing. "Stay with me, and you're signing your death warrant!"
“How can you be so sure?” you ask, disbelief coating your words, unable to determine whether or not he’s weaving tales to get you off his back.
“Because,” he hisses, a tight whisper, “I’ve lost too many people. Too many people I love.”
“Love?” You scoff. “You wouldn’t be this ecstatic to get me away from you if you really loved me?”
Spiderman looks at you, confusion etched on his face. “You… think I don’t love you?”
“Obviously not.”
“How can I prove it?” he asks, stepping closer, face softening, closing the agonizing distance between you with a few steps. “I can’t promise your safety. I love you too much to let you die.”
“Of course you do,” you say, waving off his words.
“How do I prove it?” he repeats, more pressing, urgent, like he needs a response before he does anything. His hands are right there, so close to your waist, and you find yourself itching to throw yourself into his arms.
“Kiss me,” you blurt out. “And I’ll know.”
You see him grin. You think he’ll take the whole mask off, but that was proving too much to hope for, but your heart still flutters when you see the bottom half of his face, faintly recognizable, but the hazy feeling in your mind that sparks from his lips only serves to cloud your thoughts even more.
His mouth presses harder against yours, hand curling around your hip, slotting in perfectly like it’s meant to be there, for what feels like another second before he pulls away roughly.
All too briefly, he tears his lips away to yank down his mask, chest heaving. "Shit, I shouldn't have..."
But the words die when you reach up to caress his cheek, seeing the flush that spreads underneath the mask. "It's okay. I wanted this too."
Leon's eyes - no, Spiderman's eyes - drop shut like he's in physical pain. "You don't know what you're asking. I can't… we can't..."
You try to reassure him but he backs away each time, out of reach, like he’s further away than you can see, deserts and oceans, miles and miles between you, even though just a moment ago he was closer than you’d ever imagined.
And you yearn to know who he is.
You suspect you’ve known all along.
How silly is it?
"When you're ready to stop running," you call softly, "you know where to find me."
And you’ll know where to find him.
<><><><>
The first piece of evidence to support your claim comes the afternoon following that night, with your squinted eyes trailing Leon everywhere, drawing a chuckle from that beautiful mouth, the mouth that, you suspect, had been pressed furiously against yours last night.
Not only that, something seems off with his shoulder. It’s held stiff at his side, and everytime you decide to be lazy and ask him to fetch something from the kitchen, he winces, grumbles something under his breath, rolls his shoulder and stalks away.
After a few days of waiting for your ‘beloved dormmate’ to open up to you, you take matters into your own hands. He hasn’t even fumbled to grab his keys from his pocket before you spring up from the couch, swing the door open and steer him over to where you were just sitting.
You peel away his shirt before he can protest, leaving him bare chested and stammering, skin burning into crimson.
“What are you doing?” he murmurs as you press the area.
“I may not know how to read,” you reply, prodding his shoulder blade, “but I know how to treat injuries just fine.”
“Why not become a doctor?”
You shrug. “Too much work.”
He smiles, and the curve of his lip, so similar to the smart mouth and remarks you looked forward to every night is the second piece you need.
<><><><>
The third, and final, you hope, piece comes when you sigh, scrubbing a hand down your face as you enter your dorm room. Safe to say that without Leon’s tutoring due to his more and more frequent absences, occasionally showing up only to be slumped at his table, snoring softly.
Without him listening, you knew you were doomed. So you’re about to scream your ass off, chastising him, telling him to get to class quicker, that whatever he does in his free time can wait.
But Leon stands by the window in a way that gives you pause. His back is turned, shoulders hunched as if lost in thought. What really catches your eye, though, is the bit of red fabric dangling from his fingers.
"Everything okay?" you ask slowly, shutting the door behind you. Leon whips around at the sound, hastily stuffing the fabric - no, his mask - into his pocket. But not before you notice the familiar webbed pattern.
"Fine!" he replies, a little too cheerfully to be real. "Just, uh, thinking. Hey, did you see that video of the guy backflipping off a building? Crazy stunts people pull these days."
You raise a brow. "Sure, but it looks like you've got something else on your mind. Or should I say under your clothes?" Leon pales. Without a word, you stride over and pluck the mask from his pocket, giving it a wave.
"Want to explain this?" Your tone is light, but inside your heart hammers. Finally, after weeks of prancing around the bush, he’ll give it to you straight, setting things right.
Leon stares at the mask like a deer in headlights, at a total loss for words. You've never seen him so unsettled.
"Look, I can explain," he says anxiously. "Just, hear me out before you freak, alright?"
You arch an eyebrow, pretending to be intrigued. "I'm listening."
Leon launches into a tale - the spider bite, the powers, how he's used them these past months to protect the city from the shadows. By the end, you’re hanging onto each word - you didn’t know your friend was quite the storyteller.
"So you're really him, huh?" you say, still processing that your suspicions had indeed been correct. "My secretive roommate is the one and only Spiderman."
Leon runs a hand through his hair. "I know it's a lot to take in.”
“Not really,” you say with a shrug.
He stares at you blankly. “What?”
“You think I couldn’t tell from that night in the alley?” you muse. “I’m not as dense as you think, Spidey.”
A slow smile spreads across his face, relief washing over your face at the fact he isn’t mad about that. "Spidey? How cute.”
You match his grin. "Now you're talking." You hand the mask back to him, crossing your arms with a stern look. “Now, I don't need your protection, Leon," you insist, softening as he flinches at your use of his real name. "We're in this together, like it or not. No more secrets, deal?"
Leon sighs, gripping the mask tighter. Slowly, he nods, relaxing his expression. "No more secrets. And you can call me Spidey, if you want."
You pretend to mull it over. "Hmm… well, now I’m not so sure it has the same ring to it as Spider-man." But saying it makes Leon's entire face light up like a kid on Christmas. You can't help but return his infectious grin.
“Alright then,” you say, unable to stop cheesing. “Now get back out there! There’s a city calling your name!”
Leon quirks a brow, and you tilt your head to question the gesture.
“Can I count on the next person calling my name being you?” he says sweetly, batting his eyelashes at you.
“You can count on your nose being broken if you don’t get out of here in the next five seconds,” you joke and Leon seems to visibly lose the blood in his cheeks.
You find it adorable that he takes you seriously.
“Oh, and one more thing,” he says, clambering through the window, as if he’s suddenly in a rush.
“Yeah?” you reply, humming to yourself as you stroll over to him, pondering what your life will be like from now on, having a superhero as your best friend- no, you realize, looking into his iridescent eyes. Boyfriend.
“Remember to read chapter 37,” he says dotingly. Then he leans down to capture your lips and words in a quick kiss. Then he’s grinning and gone.
Vanished into the night, a shadow slung across the bright city lights.
Your hero.
𝖎𝖙'𝖘 𝖎𝖓 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉...
they say water holds memory.
does blood? does it remember running under your pale skin, rivulets of crimson, if only split open to taste the fresh air? does it remember abandoning you, only to be found again in the iron sting of his tongue lapping at every drop of life that seeps from you?
recollect four tales of woe, of misery, but tragedy is such sweet, sweet sorrow. retrace your steps to reclaim what is rightfully yours. it shouldn't be too hard find what you've lost, because after all...
it's in your blood.
fortune's cookies (10/10/2024) <- slow corruption zombie!leon au
they aren't very sweet, especially when you're fooled into taking the first bite. you've dangled in fate's paws for far too long, and even when things may seem as though your fortune's changing, those cookies have something else in store for you.
re2r leon, awkward asf, ngl i needed it to feel like a hs romance yk... angst, major character death
starry eyed singer (10/17/2024) <- siren!leon au + luis angst
you're a scientist, not a singer, but when the newest experiment takes a liking to not only you, but your voice, you might just be the key to finding the rest of them. and although he's stuck behind the confines that keep him away from you, that hide the songs that he knows could have you throwing yourself into the water for him, he won't hurt you. after all, how could he? when you're his starry eyed singer.
size kink ish but there's no smut, yearning, honestly half of this is luis angst so if you have smth against him pull up because i hate on him for half of this <333, fluff and grief and coping with death
dead dove ending
threads of carmine red (10/24/2024) <- vampire!leon au {+ ada!}
they split your heart into two and the sticky sweet threads that hang between them only bring you closer to your doom. can you every truly choose your fate? or will it always be in their silky hands...?
unclarified stalking, weird fetishes (no seriously) at one point it kinda becomes a threesome but not really... blood kink bc they're vampires... major character death
ada ending leon ending
awaken (10/31/2024) <- plagas!leon au
blood runs black and with that, you've lost the man you love. you can't find him in the husk of the monster that takes him over, no matter how similar he may seem. how could you ever give up on him, though? not with those eyes that keep you awake at night.
mentions of religious beliefs, <- also forced upon, re4r leon, los illuminados mentioned, multiple references to re4r (if you don't understand i'll have smth at the end to help <3) non explicit smut + breeding kink
all fics will be released at exactly 3:00 am EST, the spookiest hour of the day. what horrors await you...? (for me its eyebags ngl)
divider credits to @strangergraphics
𝖎𝖙'𝖘 𝖎𝖓 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉...
they say water holds memory.
does blood? does it remember running under your pale skin, rivulets of crimson, if only split open to taste the fresh air? does it remember abandoning you, only to be found again in the iron sting of his tongue lapping at every drop of life that seeps from you?
recollect four tales of woe, of misery, but tragedy is such sweet, sweet sorrow. retrace your steps to reclaim what is rightfully yours. it shouldn't be too hard find what you've lost, because after all...
it's in your blood.
fortune's cookies (10/10/2024) <- slow corruption zombie!leon au
they aren't very sweet, especially when you're fooled into taking the first bite. you've dangled in fate's paws for far too long, and even when things may seem as though your fortune's changing, those cookies have something else in store for you.
starry eyed singer (10/17/2024) <- siren!leon au
you're a scientist, not a singer, but when the newest experiment takes a liking to not only you, but your voice, you might just be the key to finding the rest of them. and although he's stuck behind the confines that keep him away from you, that hide the songs that he knows could have you throwing yourself into the water for him, he won't hurt you. after all, how could he? when you're his starry eyed singer.
threads of carmine red (10/24/2024) <- vampire!leon au {+ ada!}
they split your heart into two and the sticky sweet threads that hang between them only bring you closer to your doom. can you every truly choose your fate? or will it always be in their silky hands...?
ada ending leon ending
awaken (10/31/2024) <- plagas!leon au
blood runs black and with that, you've lost the man you love. you can't find him in the husk of the monster that takes him over, no matter how similar he may seem. how could you ever give up on him, though? not with those eyes that keep you awake at night.
divider credits to @strangergraphics + logo designed by me (its arse i cant do shit)
Skin Out of Stone
He frees you from the confines of the Earth you were born, yet your feet grace the same ground that his does. He pays you an homage, and doesn't expect your reaction to be so... grateful.
a/n: so erm... this was supposed to come out a long long time ago but i couldnt find my rb of @chesue00 's art (middle image in header) in my fic ideas tag and thats bc i never rbed it.
kmsing rn. but erm YES SCULPTOR LEON HAS ME THINK A WHOLE WHOLE LOT BC UR BRAIN IS SO SCRUMPDIDLYUMPTIOUS SO YES THIS IS SOMEWHAT LIKE TO KEEP AN ANGEL I THINK ITS SET IN THE SAME TONE? idfk take this and gn 🫡🫡
tw: mentions of sex, nsfw, nun too bad i think, ig implied stalking but its all in good faith trust 🙏🙏
wc: 1.3k
All he’s ever wanted to do is capture you, a moment in time, in that block of concrete delivered to him the moment you had appeared into his life, a sequence of events he knew he was tumbling far too fast towards, yet unable to stop it anyway. The curve of your hip, where he braces his palm, flattens it against the clay that so easily succumbs to his touch, unable to think on its own. It serves his purpose to adapt to his thoughts, molding to his vision.
The vision of you, standing in the golden afterglow of mysterious sunlight, dappling you in unthinkable shadows, how you would be melting honey dripping between his fingers if you would just give him a chance. But your worlds, however you might begin to appear in the stone in front of him, will never collide.
Secretly, one part of him hopes that you might see it one day, appear at his doorstep, perched over his shoulder like a songbird waiting to serenade his work, his devotion to you. But your eyes will only ever be directed at him through the vivid ink in magazines, or the pixelated photos posted of you.
He feels disgusted with the people who breach your privacy for their shameful desires, for their aching heart, but he knows that he is doing the exact same thing. But how can he help himself, when your lips are the identity of his statue, days and days of work uncovering the perfect angle.
The chisel breaks off chunks of your body, carving you from the rough edges, smoothing you like unblemished paper, the divine goddess you are. In a way, he feels just like that; a worshiper to a deity who will never know of his existence. But he reluctantly accepts his fate, in his quiet, cozy studio, and he brings you to life.
Under his fingers, under his guidance, you emerge from the stone with each tap, each chink, revealing yourself draped in shadows, ones he has never seen. He plays a torturous game with himself, itching to get back to his work when the sun rises, the furrow in his brow deepening every day he is away from his idea of you.
He grasps your chin, wishing there was living, moving flesh underneath him, but alas there is no movement. Only the tilt of your eyes glancing downwards, destined to never drag your gaze over his body, raking him with unseen flames.
Without another moment of hesitation, he inches closer, thinking if he squeezes his eyes hard enough, you’ll materialize in an ethereal manner, bringing his fantasies to life. But his nose only brushes the rough peak of yours, smooth yet never in the way skin would be.
And under the lamplight, he envisions that he is still uncovering parts of you, secret to the world, save for you and him. An empathy felt only for him, only his fingers prying away your barriers.
Your blood runs gray and stony, cold to the touch, where he runs his fingers down what he assumes to be the shape of your body, hidden in the pictures he uses as references. He thinks, a time ago, he disdained the people who did the very thing he’s guilty of at this moment.
Strange, though, his frenzy only grows with every new discovery he creates, mapping your body with the landmarks, the dips of your crescent shaped thighs, admiring how beautiful you look when you’re just… simply his.
But there comes a time when his work must end, when his brush and tools must be swept aside, so he can marvel in your glory. And where he expects to feel immense pride, he only feels guilt.
Disgust that churns his stomach, turning him inside out, skin green with envy. His references were all locally sourced, but how could he have foreseen any of this? It was a simple thing, the sweet girl who lived next door, too innocent to know the power her beauty held over him.
So his only choice of action is to come clean, to hand over the hammer that could easily destroy weeks, even months of hard, untainted work. A single blow would be all it takes, and when the hammer falls limp in your hands, he is more than confused.
He watches your lips separate, the same way he had imagined all your fluid motions, your eyebrows raised, knocking against one another as you turn to him, setting his skin on fire. And unlike you, his skin is not of stone.
“You… did this?” you ask, skeptically, as if you are doubting him. The only reason that leads him to further reveal his mishaps.
“You were too beautiful to resist,” he admits, lowering his gaze in shame. Anger thrums with his heartbeat, if only he had just asked for your permission!
But to his surprise, you turn back to yourself, a mirror image of you set in one singular moment, with your gaze pondering the floor, barraging it with your thoughtful questions, and the corner of your lip quirks upward, he hopes.
“This is a strange way to ask someone out,” you murmur, voice as soft as he had imagined those words leaving your lips. Exactly how he had envisioned it, although in his dreams, you were saying more than just that.
“Sorry?” He’s blanked out on other excuses, words to fill in the silence he wishes wouldn’t be so awkward. Majoring in art left no room for any friends, unless you counted the ones online, only known in their identity overseas.
“It’s lovely,” you settle for after a second of readjusting your thoughts. He can almost see them clicking together like a jigsaw puzzle before your silky hair casts a protective sheen around it.
He wants nothing more than to pry them back apart, inspect how your mind works, to finally see the inside of your morals, how far you’d be willing to traverse with him by your side.
“Lovely?” he asks, tentatively.
<><><><>
Truthfully, in all aspects, the conversation had seemed drawn out, bland if he might venture to share his true opinion. But when you're gliding down his skin, all his rationality buries itself into an impenetrable box and refuses to come back.
“Oh, fuck, yes, just like that,” he stammers into your ear, attempting for praise but sounding weaker than he had planned.
There's an astonished look on your face, curving your lips and sweeping the lilt of your cheekbones to the side as you pant into his neck, thighs trembling around him.
And your reluctance speaks volumes to him, so he presses back for once, speaks up to keep the one thing that's grounded him to art, keeping you sane in his presence. Or somewhat the other way around.
This time, he finds what he's looking for. With every gentle stroke, every deep thrust, he breaks you even further, exposing you to his hungry eyes. He drinks up every last bit of your vulnerable form, savoring the sounds that tear themselves from your tired throat.
He cradles you, long after you've drifted off. He knows there is no use in dreaming when he's living it right now, experiencing what it feels like to be content with just rubbing your skin, soothing the reddening patches with his cool touch.
You shift to face him, and the moonlight filters through the window to illuminate your radiating, peaceful expression, as serene as it was the day he caught you sleeping in the library. He's always wanted to see that face in his bed, facing him, with your skin pressed tightly together, slick and smooth, miles of what feels like one being.
He finally reaches out, and for a moment, he fears you will turn to stone under his touch. So he squeezes his eyes shut and waits for it to happen, for the inevitable to crash down onto him.
But it never does. In fact, all that meets him is warmth, rigid from the chill that creeps in through the walls. And he realizes something.
Your skin is not of stone, it never was.
LEON KENNEDY IN A YANDERE SIMULATOR SCENARIO
Like hear me out, basicaly the whole yandere sim scinario with leon replacing “senpai” in this scenario and the reader being the main killer. Like every damn week there is a girl that gets head over heals for leon and the reader finding intresting ways to get rid of the girl. So thats one situation. AND THE OTHER bing based of the 1980′s mod where reader has already killed someone in the school and leon is a part of the investigation team this time, so basicaly the reader bing into leon in that case??
The first one with leon in the school and every week a new girl starts to like him, he can either me a student or a teacher in this case honestly. If this posts gets some notes ill write like a mini snipit of what this could be like. <3
I could also swam the rolls in this case but im not sure of how well it would work.
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CLEON song week!!
We are so excited to welcome cleon song week!
⭑ duration: 8th july - 14th july
⭑ hosted by: myself, @lilyofclaires (on Twitter), @futabayy
⭑ below are the prompts and rules for #cleonsongweek. Feel free to DM me!
