Enemies To Lovers, But Only One Of Them Thinks They're Enemies. The Other Has Been Entirely Obsessed

Parallelisms⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊🚨🪽

DILF Leon

Leom

leon’s spanish slaycation doodle dump

YEEEHAW

⭐

oh you wanted T as in testosterone. i thought you meant T as in T-virus resident evil. well the good news is that you're still gonna transform at least

sentinel - re4r bodyguard!Leon x college student!reader.

Leon offers you a piggyback ride.

more adventures with bodyguard!Leon can be found here and here.

The ache in your heels feels so good, hands gripping Mia's with a huge smile plastered on your face as you bounce off beat to the music. The atmosphere is lovely; conversation drowned out by the music, bodies huddled together in someone's house, a makeshift bar standing in almost every corner.

You stifle a giggle when you notice a flash of Leon's blond mop, obscured from your view with the expanse of the makeshift dancing floor between you. You know he's not happy to be here, something about being "too old for this kind of crowd" that had made you roll your eyes, reminding him that he was barely even thirty and also without a choice.

He blended in well enough, a black ensemble of t-shirt - god were all his shirts so tight - and pants and his leather jacket that was probably hanging around somewhere. Leon would blend in better if he lost that permanent scowl on his face, offering you one whenever you would give him the suggestion.

Mia pulled you towards her, helping you avoid crashing into a particularly drunk person stumbling behind your back. You shared a look with her before dissolving into a fit of giggles, the alcohol finally catching up to you, not so much to plaster you but enough to make the world fall away a little.

"Here you are ladies," Johnny greeted cheerfully, red solo cups in both hands and a plastic water bottle stowed under his arm.

"Oh thank god," Mia groaned, taking one of the solo cups and immediately taking a swig. "All this dancing is killing me."

You laugh at your friend, wiping her lip as some of her drink dribbles out, "God Mia, I raised you with better manners than that."

Johnny gives you a kind smile, handing off the water bottle to you. You like him, he's nice, good company, makes Mia laugh louder than anyone else and always makes sure she's okay. "Hey uh, I don't know how this fits in your whole situation but I think your guy may be in need of some rescuing," He nods behind you.

You turn, confusion etched on your face. 'Your guy'? Leon and him needing rescuing? What a laughable sentiment. The ball drops in your stomach when you finally spot him, Johnny's words making sense.

Leon's practically pressed up against the wall, defiantly looking anywhere but at the trio of girls that have him surrounded. All pretty nails, giggling forms and trying their hardest to take him home. Anywhere is more fun than here, they say to him, batting their eyelashes.

You want to laugh, so bad, but something stops you, maybe it's the acidic sensation that's beginning to pool in your stomach. His face drops down, locking eyes with you across the room, the crease in his forehead flattening. The rumble of the music falls away, the ache in your feet fading into the background.

Your eyes flicker to the swipe of one of the girls hands across his chest and you find yourself moving, muttering a "I'm gonna head out" to Mia. Leon's gaze doesn't stray from you, keeping you in sight as you approach.

It fills you with satisfaction when he straightens, shuffling away from the girls and coming to meet you halfway. You can practically see the "Are you okay?" lingering on his lips but you beat him to the punch. "Let's get out of here."

And it doesn't take long for the two of you to exit, smirking at the girls who can only watch you walk away with Leon, jackets on and beginning the walk back to the dorms. It's a nice night, quiet with no one around as you walk through campus grounds, your heels clip-clopping satisfyingly against the ground.

Leon strays behind you, not too far but not too close, his presence a comfortable warmth in the cool breeze. Your heel catches in one of the cracks, making you stumble with pathetic grace thanks to your drinking. But before you meet the cold pavement, a hand steadies you on your forearm, calloused fingers gentle against your skin.

You look up, nose only a hairs breadth away from Leon, your stomach lurching at his close proximity, the cerulean blue irises focused fully on you, searching your face.

"Are you drunk?"

"What are you a cop?" You shoot back.

The corners of his lips twitch upwards. He sighs, guiding you to one of the benches and gingerly making you sit down. You blink at your hands, finally remembering the bottle of water that you were holding. You go to open it, only to have it swiftly plucked from your grip, a quick twist of the cap and then thrust back in your palms, Leon's own encouraging you to take a few sips.

He crouches down infront of you, looking distastefully at your footwear. "I'm surprised you haven't started complaining about your feet yet."

You hold away the bottle from your lips, offering it to Leon silently, unable to find the cap. His palm comes up, wrapping around the bottle, engulfing your hand in it's warmth, the sensation shooting up your arm, making you avert your eyes from his.

You focus on the ground, hand still in his as he twists the cap shut. "I was just warming up. What would you like for me to start with?"

Leon's fingers brush over your thigh, lingering for a second, the feeling electric under his touch, as he stuffs them back into the pockets of his leather jacket. "Your bad choice in choosing shoes."

You gasp offended, straightening your leg to show him your heels, "These are designer! How dare you?"

"And how do your feet feel?"

You huff, folding your arms over your chest defensively, mumbling, "They hurt."

"What's that?" God, that teasing tone.

With a harsh roll of your eyes, you say again but louder, "They. Hurt." You shake your head, "We're still a long way from the dorm and you best bet I'm gonna chew your ear off about- what the fuck are you doing?"

Leon's turned away from you, back to you as he's still leaning. He gestures to him. "Hop on?"

"Excuse me?" You ask incredulously.

"You said it yourself," He shrugs, "We're a long way from the dorm. And I'd rather not explain to your father that the reason his daughter has a beat up face is because she got plastered at a party and fell on the ground face first."

Fury rises in your chest, "I am not plastered!" He doesn't respond. And you don't relent. "I weigh a lot."

At that he turns around with a raise of his eyebrow, an unimpressed look on his face. You grow heated under it, fingers fiddling your thumb. "I can walk by myself."

Leon sighs, turning fully to face you again, looking up from his bent position. He puts one hand beside your thigh, other hand coming up to fix the collar of your jacket, making it more tighter around your body. "I know," He hums, taking a softer approach, like you're a deer ready to scamper off at any moment. "But you don't have to do everything by yourself."

You gulp, almost wanting to curse the celestial beings hung up on the sky and how they always soften Leon under their glow; the sun, the moon and the stars united in their agenda. The iridescence of the moon almost offers him a halo, deepening the shade of his baby blues. And it all makes it so hard to say no.

"Okay," You whisper.

Leon positions himself again, your heart beating quicker as you slide your hands over his shoulders, feeling the ripple of muscles underneath. His big palms come to rest on your thighs, pulling them firmly against his waist and locking them. Leon airily asks if you're ready, you tighten your grip around him and nod. And he stands, without any hesitance, without any stagger. Your rock.

You rest your chin on his shoulder, his hair strands tickling your face, caressing your cheeks with the scent of his vanilla shampoo. He feels warm, back sturdy on your chest and fingers secure under your thighs. You thaw under his heat, unravelling defiance from your form, settling comfortably in his assuring grip.

"Thank you," You mumble against his ear, the ache in your feet a memory of the past.