People Change People

OH MY GOD LOOK AT HIS ARMS UGHHHH I NEED TO TAKE A CHOMP OUT OF THEM RIGHT THIS SECOND RAHHH

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shdjfnkjfbjskfsjkfs leon submissive and autistic

Very self indulgent doodle as its my cat's death-iversary

i cannot breathe oml

gonna fuck you hard:

every time leon went to missions, he would send lewd messages and very rarely dick pictures if his job had the time for it. leon was always ranting on how fucking you will calm him down. he needed the peace of moaning your name, and no matter how much he swore how he'll pumping his cock over and over. when he came home, leon would be a whiney mess for love. he didn't care for sex all of sudden as he pouted his cute lips, "honey," he would hug you tightly, "i love you." he would happily melt in your comfortable arms or even baby oil on his poor back. rubbing all his tender spots of his shoulders and lower back.

he was the least interested in sex when all of his body was sore, and you couldn't blame him. he needed time before giving all his loving to you.

lord of plagas

Thinking about touch-averse Leon Kennedy gradually becoming comfortable with physical displays of affection.

Like after everything he endured in Raccoon City and Spain, I imagine he’d be quite… jumpy, to say the least: flinching when you touch him unexpectedly, stiffening when you wrap your arms around him from behind, sleeping on his side of the bed without ever crossing the invisible divide.

It’s not that he thinks you’ll hurt him. It’s not that he thinks he’s in danger. It’s not that he doesn’t love you — far from it, actually. He’s never before felt so close to anyone. He’s just… afraid.

What if he snaps?

What if he reacts a little to forcefully?

What if he hurts you?

You’ve said you’d be able to take it; he doesn’t want that. He wants to be normal. He wants to touch you, wants to hold you, wants to comfort and kiss and provide for you but he can’t. He’s all too aware of the physical and metaphorical scars littering his body and psyche.

He’s bruised. Battered. Damaged. Broken.

But to his surprise, you don’t run away. You don’t give up on him, even when he wakes up screaming, slick with sweat and fear and misery more often than not. You whisper soothing words in his ear. You place a cold towel on his forehead. You remind him that you love him.

You love him.

And as your relationship progresses, as you see the uglier, more brutal sides of his recovery, your love deepens. You show it in non-physical ways: cooking his favorite meals, buying him little gifts just because they reminded you of him, sending him sweet, affirming messages throughout the day. You respect his boundaries without question. His chest swells with affection; he feels undeserving. He wishes he could give you something in return.

So imagine Leon accidentally chokes you in his sleep. He’s inconsolable as he weeps and unleashes a relentless stream of apologies. They’re mangled, though, garbled by the asphyxiation of remorse. You’ve given him the world, and this is how he repays you? With violence and fear and sleepless nights? He’s worthless, he’s pitiful, he’s a sorry excuse for a partner. You deserve better. You deserve to leave.

But to his surprise, you stay.

And you comfort him.

And you tell him it’s alright; you’re not hurt. He didn’t hurt you. He’s okay. You’re okay.

And you turn on the lights and bring his hand to your throat.

See? Barely a bruise.

You love him all the same.

He swears it won’t happen again. You tell him that it might but it’s okay so long as he continues to work on himself. As long as he continues to go to therapy. He pales and cups your cheek. You nuzzle into his touch.

You’re healing, you tell him. It’s okay to heal. Healing is inherently imperfect.

There’s a shift in your relationship after that, a positive one. Leon adored the warmth of your cheek so he starts to ask if he can cradle your face. You giggle because it’s a little silly, but allow it all the same. Because his therapist instructed him to try and you’ve so longed to feel his touch again.

And then weeks later he asks if he can hold your hand. You try not to show too much enthusiasm — you don’t want to scare him away, after all — so you just nod in agreement. Your heart feels like it’s going to explode when he interlocks his fingers with yours. When you feel the gentle scrape of his calloused hands along your palms.

He asks to hug you four months later. He holds it for only five seconds at first. Then ten. Then twenty. And soon enough, you have to pry Leon off your body. You have chores to do, laundry to fold. But he won’t let go. And he’s so sweet and he’s come so far, so you allow it.

And as time passes, he stops flinching when you touch him unexpectedly. He stops stiffening when you wrap your arms around him from behind. His arms and legs are wound tightly around yours when you awake every morning. You move through life with a wall of muscle strapped to your body at all times.

As time passes, he heals.

scratch

I feel like a virgin when I search up “x Reader” with a new character I like