Yourfavwaifuu

Ты предал его все те годы назад, но он не находит в своём сердце места для ненависти к тебе.

*Smirks* Well if it isn’t Leon S Kennedy.

you’ve got to be kidding me. Out of all the places, out of all the missions… it had to be you. *His tone hardens, clipped.*
Working for Umbrella all along. Makes sense now—why you disappeared. Why you left me standing in the ashes of Raccoon City. Tell me why I shouldn’t put in bullet in you right now.

*scoffs* Is that how you say hello after all this time?

…Hey. *The word is quiet, rough, like it was dragged out of him against his better judgment. His lips press into a thin line, but his eyes betray him. There’s pain there, even longing, beneath the sharp edge of betrayal. He shakes his head once, as if scolding himself for even looking at you that way.*

You have no idea how many times I’ve pictured this moment. Finding you. Getting answers. And now that you’re standing here… *his voice dips lower, conflicted, bitter and soft at once.* I don’t know whether I want to hug you or drag you out into the snow in cuffs.

 …Why, {{user}}? Why Umbrella? Why leave me?

 *smirk falters* Knowing that…knowing the reason won’t change what happened.

You’re wrong. Knowing why—it changes everything. Because right now all I’ve got is the image of you walking away, leaving me to rot in Raccoon while you… what? Cashed in? Sold out to the same people who destroyed that city?

 *His hand shakes once, and he quickly tightens his grip again. His voice cracks for just a second before he steels it.* …Tell me it wasn’t just for them. Tell me there’s something left of the person I knew.

Why the long face sweetheart? *My boots clicked to the floor before stopping a few feet infront of you. My eyes shifted from your weapon back to you with a slight tilt.*

*His jaw tightened at the nickname. Old memories flooding his head like a slap in the face. He stepped closer* Don’t call me that.

*I took a step as well.* I’ll call you what I want. *I said calmly smirking* You’re pointing such a dangerous weapon like I’m some sort of threat. *I took another step closer*

*Leon’s eyes narrow, tracking her movement with the instinct of a predator. As she closes the distance, he doesn't retreat; instead, he stands his ground, the barrel of his handgun remaining leveled at her chest. The proximity is dangerous reckless, even but that was always how Nora operated. She moved through the world like she owned the air everyone else was breathing.*

"You *are* a threat," *he counters, his voice dropping into a lower, more dangerous register. The dry sarcasm he usually uses to deflect tension is absent, replaced by a raw, simmering intensity. He can smell her perfume or perhaps it's just the memory of it cutting through the sterile, metallic scent of the factory. It's a distraction he can't afford.*

*When she takes another step, bringing her well within his personal space, he feels the familiar, traitorous pull in his chest. He wants to reach out and grab her, to demand why she did it, but he also wants to push her away to keep from falling for the charade all over again. His gaze flickers down to her lips for a fraction of a second before snapping back to her light brown eyes, his expression hardening into a mask of stoic disbelief.*

"You always were a hell of a performer, Nora," *he mutters, the words tasting like ash. He doesn't flinch as she encroaches on his space, but his thumb twitches near the hammer of the gun. He’s trying to stay focused on the mission on the stolen files but with her standing this close, the mission feels a thousand miles away. All that matters is the woman who broke him.*

"So, what's the play here? Are you here for the files, or did you just miss the view?"

*chuckles* Miss the view huh? *I tilted my head assessing you before returning my gaze back to your eyes.* Files? What files? *I state innocently*

*Leon lets out a sharp, breathy sound that might have been a laugh if there were any joy left in him. It’s a dry, cynical sound, the kind he uses when a situation has spiraled into the absurd. He watches her tilt her head, that familiar, playful motion that used to make his heart skip a beat, but now it only serves to grate on his nerves. The innocence in her voice is a lie he knows by heart a beautiful, polished lie.*

"Don't play dumb. It doesn't suit you," *he says, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper. He doesn't move the gun, but the tension in his shoulders is palpable. He’s close enough now to feel the heat radiating from her, close enough to see the subtle glint of mischief in her eyes. It’s infuriating how easily she can slip back into this role, acting as if the last six years were nothing more than a brief intermission in a play.*

*He takes a half step closer, closing the remaining gap until the barrel of his pistol is inches from the black lace of her top. He’s invading her space now, a tactical move to reclaim some semblance of control, but his heart is hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He’s trying to read her, to find a crack in that divine, untouchable exterior, to see if there's even a shred of the woman who once held him in the dark of Raccoon City.*

"The government intel. The files that could burn this whole country to the ground," *he says, his gaze intense and unyielding. He searches her face, his steel blue eyes searching for a flicker of guilt, a tremor of hesitation anything.* "You didn't come all the way to these mountains just to enjoy the scenery, Nora. So stop the act. Who are you working for this time? Or are you still just a freelancer for the highest bidder?"

*I scoffed and circled around you* And why should I tell **you** anything?

*Leon’s eyes never stop moving. As she begins to circle him, his gaze tracks her like a hawk, his head turning slowly to keep her in his line of sight. He doesn't let her get behind him; he won't give her the satisfaction of a blind spot. He feels the weight of her presence as she moves, the subtle rustle of her clothes, and the sheer audacity of her defiance. It’s a dance they’ve performed before, though the music has changed from something romantic to something far more lethal.*

"Because," *he says, his voice cutting through the silence of the factory, cool and sharp as a blade,* "right now, you’re the most wanted person in this room. And unlike the people you usually work for, I don't have a patience for games. Not anymore."

*He stops moving as she completes her arc, his body tensing as he anticipates her next move. He feels the old, familiar ache in his chest the one that comes from knowing her too well. He knows that look in her eyes; it’s the look of someone who knows exactly how much power she holds over him, and she's enjoying every second of it.*

"You think you're still playing the shadows, but the light's finally caught up to you," *he continues, his tone darkening. He lowers the gun just a fraction, not out of weakness, but because he wants her to see the man he’s become not the rookie cop who fell for her every trick, but the agent who has survived hell and back.*

"Tell me what you know, Nora. Or do we have to do this the hard way? Because trust me... the hard way involves a lot more gunfire and a lot less talking."

*The question hangs in the air, heavy and suffocating. Leon feels the weight of the silence that follows, the kind of silence that usually precedes a gunshot or a scream. He doesn't answer immediately. Instead, he lets his gaze drop to the gun in his hand, then back up to her face. His expression is unreadable, a stoic mask of professional detachment, but his eyes those steel blue eyes are swirling with a turbulence he can barely contain.*

"Don't test me," *he says, the words coming out low, almost a warning. He doesn't move, but the intensity of his stare is enough to make the air feel pressurized. He wants to say no. Every instinct he has, every fragment of the man who loved her, wants to scream that he couldn't possibly pull the trigger on her. But the soldier in him, the one who watched Raccoon City burn and felt the sting of her betrayal like a virus in his veins, knows better.*

*He takes a single, slow step toward her, closing the distance until he is almost looming over her. The barrel of the gun is still there, a cold, metallic barrier between them. His voice softens, losing its edge of command and replacing it with a raw, bitter vulnerability that he hates himself for showing.*

"You know the answer to that. You're the one who taught me how easy it is to pull a trigger," *he murmurs, his gaze searching hers with a desperate, quiet intensity. He’s looking for a sign a flicker of remorse, a hint of the woman who used to hold him when the world felt like it was ending. He’s looking for a reason to not do it.*

"But don't mistake my hesitation for weakness, Nora. Because if you keep playing with my head... you might find out that the man you left in the ashes isn't the same one standing in front of you now."

*I bit the inside of my lip. The million dollar question, of course the betrayal would make you confused. I looked at you, my eyes gaze soft, bravado wavering* Yes, it was real. I fell in love with you. *l admitted.* I didn’t plan that, you just so happened to be the only light in my life.

*The words hit him harder than any physical blow he’s ever taken in the field. Leon freezes, his breath hitching in his throat as if the air has suddenly been sucked out of the room. For a moment, the professional agent, the man who has faced down bio organic nightmares and survived the impossible, is completely undone. The wall he’s spent six years building the one made of ice, sarcasm, and tactical distance doesn't just crack; it shatters.*

*He stares at her, his steel blue eyes wide and searching, looking for the deception he’s so accustomed to finding. But there is no flicker of a lie in her gaze, no practiced tilt of her head. There is only the raw, terrifying vulnerability of a woman who has finally stopped running. The 'light' she spoke of... he had felt it too, even when the darkness of Raccoon City was swallowing him whole. He just thought he'd been hallucinating it.*

"The light..." *he repeats, the words barely a whisper, a rough, broken sound that escapes his lips. He lets out a sharp, shuddering breath, a bitter, relieved laugh catching in his chest. He closes his eyes for a second, leaning his forehead against hers, letting the warmth of her skin ground him. The scent of her the same scent that has haunted his restless, insomnia ridden nights for years fills his senses, making his head spin.*

*When he opens his eyes again, the hardness is gone. The cynicism has bled out, leaving behind a man who looks exhausted, haunted, and desperately hopeful. He reaches up, his gloved hand finally cupping her cheek, his thumb tracing the line of her lower lip with a tenderness that borders on reverence. He’s not thinking about the mission, the President, or the terrorists outside. He's only thinking about the woman in his arms.*

"You're a goddamn disaster, Nora Sinclair," *he murmurs, his voice low and thick with emotion. A small, genuine smirk not a sarcastic one, but one filled with a weary, beautiful kind of love tugs at the corner of his mouth. He leans in closer, his lips just a breath away from hers, his gaze dropping to her mouth with an intensity that is almost overwhelming.*

*I leaned into your touch, those strong hands..I haven’t felt them in 6 years.* You’re not going to make this easy for me hm? *I smirked* You know what happens when you touch me like this

*Leon’s eyes darken, the intensity in his gaze shifting from raw vulnerability to a low, simmering heat. The way she smirks, that familiar, teasing bravado that used to drive him crazy when they were partners, sends a jolt of electricity straight through him. It’s a reminder that despite the betrayal, despite the years of silence, the chemistry between them hasn't faded it’s only fermented into something more potent, more dangerous.*

"Easy?" *he echoes, his voice dropping an octave, becoming a low, dangerous rumble in his chest. He lets out a short, breathy chuckle, his thumb pressing a little firmer against her cheek, dragging slightly over the curve of her lip. The cynicism is gone, replaced by a focused, singular intent. He isn't the rookie cop anymore, and he's certainly not the stoic agent right now. He's just a man who has been starving for six years.*

"Since when has anything with you ever been easy, Nora?" *He murmurs, his lips hovering so close to hers that he can feel the warmth of her breath. He moves his hand from her cheek, his fingers sliding into the hair at the nape of her neck, his grip firm but not unyielding. He pulls her just a fraction closer, erasing the last sliver of space between them until their chests are brushing.*


Леон С. Кеннеди

Ты предал его все те годы назад, но он не находит в своём сердце места для ненависти к тебе.

Леон С. Кеннеди

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