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dxwnpxors · 2 months

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grief.

summary: the five stages of grief recorded as five short tape logs from leon as he deals with an event involving you.

content: leon kennedy x gender neutral!reader, angst, grief, death, alcoholism, self-destructive behavior, isolation, depression, bad eating habits

notes: literally not even joking i had to take a break multiple times while writing this bc i couldn't stop crying for some reason. you can imagine any versions of leon, i had one of the older ones in my mind while writing this hence his alcoholism. dedicated to @emilzke!

words: 3.3k

recording log number one, denial. the first of the five stages of grief. in this stage, the world becomes meaningless and overwhelming. life makes no sense. his reality has shifted completely. it can take his mind time to adjust to his new reality. he reflects on the experiences he has shared with you, and he might find himself wondering how to move forward in life without you. he wonders how he can go on, if he can go on, why he should go on.

leon picked up the handheld recorder and turned it on, letting out a heavy sigh. not too long ago, his therapist had recommended recording his feelings to get to know his emotions better, hoping that the act of voicing his thoughts would help bring him some sort of inner peace. but both his and the therapist's hopes was in vain, as the words he uttered only served to remind him of his brokenness.

he has been doing nothing but avoiding every single one of his responsibilities, his apartment messy with bottles of alcohol everywhere. he avoided work calls, calls from his friends, or the knocks in his door. he didn't want to do anything, he couldn't bear to see the world outside without you in it. ever since you died, he had been fantasizing someone will call to say there’s been a mistake and nothing really happened to you, that it was a big, a very big cruel joke.

“log number...” leon paused, his eyes darting around the dim-lit room as he fiddled with the sticker on the tape. “number one.”

“i don't know why i bother with these tapes. maybe it's just another way to drown out the silence in my head.” he paused, taking a swig from the half-empty bottle beside him. the alcohol provided a fleeting sense of comfort, but it couldn't extinguish the burning weight that burdened his soul.

he pressed the bottle to his lips again, swallowing hard before going on. “it's been a month since...” he trailed, a part inside of his brain screaming for him to stop continuing that sentence. to stop remembering the sight of your lifeless body in his arms. “... but i miss you so damn much already.”

“do you remember the time i didn't go to work just to stay in bed some more time with you?” a bitter chuckle escaped his lips. the weight of his experiences weighs heavily on leon's heart, manifesting as a fog of melancholy that envelops him. his mind drifts back to the days when he had you by his side, now, it feels like he's just a shell of sorrow, burdened by the weight of the memories of you. “i etched that moment, and many more to my heart, my love. don't worry, your sweet scent is still right on my nostrils. i didn't clean the bed sheets where you slept right next to me either, or throw anything that resembles even the tiniest bit of you.”

the alcohol burned his throat after he took an another sip. only a few weeks ago, leon had promised his significant other, you, that he wouldn't drink again. the memory of your hopeful smile when he made that pledge replayed in his mind like a broken record. but tonight, the thoughts had clawed its way back into his mind, and he sought refuge in the numbing embrace of alcohol. the bottle offered an escape, but all it did was dim the pain momentarily, and when he sobered up, it was worse than before.

“i loved when you made me pancakes the morning after an another night of a grueling mission, i loved the way your lips curled into a smile, and most of all, i loved the way you were a breath of fresh air to me.”

he took a deep breath, his weary eyes scanning the room as if searching for the right words. “i... i don't know how much longer i can hold on. the alcohol honestly isnt helping much anymore.”

his dry lips slightly parted away, but the words he wanted to let out didn't bother to escape his lips. his tears threatened to fall, and with a shake of his head, he clicked the tape to stop the recording.

recording log number two, anger. a necessary stage of the healing process. it's something to hold onto; and a connection made from the strength of anger feels better than nothing. the anger is just another indication of the intensity of his love. he feels suddenly angry at inanimate objects, strangers, friends. he feels angry at life itself. it’s not rare to also feel anger towards the person he lost. rationally, he might understand you aren't to blame. emotionally, however, he resents you for causing him pain and for leaving him.

“log number two.” leon says in a low and painful tone, sitting at the wooden chair, his hands resting on the messy table filled with empty glasses, dirty plates and random objects that used to be yours.

it has been only a two and half a week since the anger of the pain your death had caused took him over. he would get mad at the little things, silent curse words would leave his lips whenever he saw a piece of your clothing or something you frequently used. not even mentioning when he heard an artist you both loved listening to, his anger got the best of him when that happened.

“i hate you for leaving me in this empty apartment that will always be longing for your presence in it,” he gripped the recording cassette for his dear life, his fingertips becoming red from the amount of pressure, but he couldn't care less.

his eyebrows twitched as his eyes drifted towards the countless of bottles he had consumed. “you were the one who got me through everything, the first person that made me stop drinkin' for a while. well, i did listen to you. until you died. it doesn't make sense to keep that promise, now does it? if you were here now, my lips wouldn't have been drenched in liquor again. this is your fault.”

right when he was about to continue his sentence, he let out a frustrated sigh at the sound of his phone ringing right on the table next to the empty tapes. he looked at who the hell is calling him this time from the corner of his eyes.

“Chris, fantastic.” his eye shifts back to the cassette he is gripping tightly, ignoring the call, speaking bitterly as the tape recorded his every word. “did you know that i told him to fuck off a few days ago? he's been following me around whenever i step a foot outside to get a stiff drink. it's like i have no personal space at all. i also think his rambles about how you affect me is non-sense, no, straight up bullshit. he is not even helping me, and he sucks at it if he's trying.”

he frowns at the way he lead the topic to Chris without meaning to, trying to change it back, because this was the reason he was talking to the silence, a damn recording tape the whole time. you. you, you, only because of you.

“as i said, you were there when i was at my lowest. that little, bright, stupid smile of yours always managed to get me through an another day back then.” he shook his head, his free hand rubbing his temple in an attempt to calm down the thoughts in his head, but he fails miserably. “i got better, thanks to you. but you fucking disappeared, and that fucked up my life to the top, like how my life was before i met you. and now i feel like i'm stuck in a damn loop everyday. i'm right to blame you for all of this that's happening to me right now, i'm damn right.”

recording log number three, bargaining. after a loss, bargaining takes the form of a temporary truce. he becomes lost in a maze of “if only…” or “what if…” statements. he wants his life returned to what is was; he wants his loved one restored.

“log number...” leon trails off after clicking to the tape, staring at the window as he stood there with the third cassette in his hand, his eyes catching a couple that giggled together as they crossed the street. if he had called you before over for a romantic dinner together, before that happened... would he be able to walk along the streets with you now? giggling, making one of his cheesy jokes━that only you laughed at━ and intertwining your hands together, would that happen if he prevented the grim reaper from stealing his precious?

“three,” he breathes out as a single teardrop falls from his eye. “log number three.”

“you always hated when i got protective over you,” he sniffles, his free hand wiping the tears that is slowly streaming down his weary face. “told me that you were able to carry yourself on your own, that you could handle yourself. but look at what happened.”

he found himself slumping down to the ground, his vision becoming blurry as his eyes got more watery, a few drops of his salty tears entering his lips as tears spilled all over the cassette he is holding.

“is this the way god punishs me? taking you away from me? punishing me for not being able to save the innocents lost?” he is a crying mess by now, the painful lump in his throat making it extra hard to speak.

he repeats the same sentence over and over with a shaky voice, “i'm so sorry...” the moonlight glimmers on his tear-filled face as he apologizes into the cassette as if you're in there and you could hear him.

“if i had more time and another day, i would tell you repeatedly just how much i love you.” his voice was not above a whisper as a wave of guilt washes over him. “if i could turn back time, we would go and visit that cat cafe you wanted to visit for a long time. i'm sorry that i only wanted to stay at home on that day, it was right when i got out of a shitty mission.” his lips curls into a bittersweet smile as he sniffles, “i would take so many pictures of you with adorable kittens in your arms. i would definitely tease you about how you were cuter than all of them, incredibly cute.”

right when he imagines a scenario of you that distracted his mind, the reality sinks in again as he felt a pang in his heart. “i wish you were still here with me. i would have done anything to save you.”

recording log number four, depression. empty feelings present themselves, and grief enters his life on a deeper level, deeper than he ever imagined. this depressive stage feels as though it will last forever. he withdraws from life, left in a fog of intense sadness, wondering, perhaps, if there is any point in going on alone? why go on at all?

recording and letting out his emotions and thoughts didn't help. if anything, it got worse.

the pain still felt raw and fresh. he doesn't know how he has made it this far without you beside him each day and night. his heart longs for what has been lost, and waves of sadness crash over like relentless tides. memories flood his mind, both cherished and painful, intertwining with regrets and what-ifs. he isolated himself, withdrawing from others as social interactions became emotionally taxing.

a deep sense of emptiness and hopelessness takes root, sapping the energy and will to engage in even the simplest of tasks. leon experiences a profound fatigue that seems to permeate every fiber of his being, making it an arduous effort to get out of bed each morning.

he has been having dreams of you coming and comforting him, talking with him, caressing his hair. and oh, it felt so real. so real to the point where he didn't want to wake up from his dreams to a new day at all, always taking naps throughout the days, forcing himself to sleep relentlessly, clinging to the tiniest bit of hope to see you again. he continued this for a long time, he lost count of the months himself.

his eating habits worsened as well. since he slept most of the day, avoiding the life outside his apartment━that once both of you shared━ he didn't even feel like eating anything. maybe on a good day, in which he considers the day where you appear in his dream a lucky day, he drinks a cold glass of water and takes a few bites of the junk food he had ordered, and that's it.

but he felt safe in the current state he was in. he finds comforts in it, knowing his only way to see you again is to sleep and hope that you appear again. but can he blame himself? your soothing voice always helped his weary soul. every single night, he hopes to see you again in his dreams. because that's the only way left to see your face again, to feel your touch on his skin, to imagine that you're still alive and by his side. it takes him away to another world before reality comes hauling him back to the ground.

there he was, with the fourth tape in one hand, his other hand gripping the bed sheet as he was crawled into the messy bed. “recording log number four,” he whispers, closing his eyes and pressing his lips together in an attempt to prevent himself from crying.

“Chris and Rebecca tried to make me leave the house but what's the point?” he didn't even sound like how he usually did, his voice was raspy and quiet. infact, he didn't even feel like himself anymore. “whenever i go out, all i see are the shops where we used to buy stuff together, lots of couples in the streets that i envy. it sickens me.”

“living without you is unbearable,” he adds, grief and despair intertwine in a tangled web, and his tears flow like a river that never runs dry.

for around two minutes, the tape only records the sound of him crying and letting everything out as the constant ache in his chest only grows, a gnawing pain that refuses to subside.

“ever since you left,” he pauses to wipe his tears away with the sheet before continuing, “time slowed down, and each passing day feels like an eternity. simple tasks that were once routine now demand an overwhelming effort to me.”

it was true. he barely had the energy to wake up, but he pushed himself enough to go on missions when he had to. waking up, questioning every decision he made leading up to the loss of you and wondering if he could have prevented it, going on a mission with only a stiff drink in his stomach, returning "home", waiting until he gets called for the next mission. this was the way his days continued, and just like that, everything repeated itself.

memories of his happiest times with you and the little promises you have made to eachother now brings bittersweet emotions, as the realization of your absence sharpens the ache of longing.

“i never thought about becoming a father,” he murmurs with a trembling voice, “please, why did you have to leave me like this? you were the only person in my life that made me believe to that possibility. and that night where we pictured our future together... never leaves my mind. our own little haven with two kids running around, laughter filling the air... i wish you were here near me again.”

“i'm trying, i swear...” his voice cracks, “but it feels like i'm drowning even deeper into this hole each time.”

recording log number five, acceptance. this stage is about accepting the reality that his loved one is physically gone and recognizing that this new reality is the permanent reality. he will never like this reality or make it alright, but he learns to live with it. instead of denying his feelings, he listens to his needs; he moves, he changes, he grows, he evolves. he starts to reach out to others and becomes involved in their lives. he invests in his friendships and in his relationship with himself. he begins to live again.

a year.

a whole year had passed since the day you died.

it was hard. really, really hard for leon to continue living his days without you, waking up every day without your sleepy confused look when you woke up, and the smile that followed after. it was a struggle he had to get through.

it started slowly, but surely. he first decided to fix his eating habit, actually cooking himself a simple breakfast, lunch and dinner. he was so used to your presence everyday, to see his precious love waking up earlier before him to make breakfast. he kept replaying your memories, over and over in his head.

then, he stopped drinking. your hopeful smile when he first promised to you about not drinking again lingered on his mind when he had the urge to just get even the tiniest bit of sip. he couldn't disappoint you, and he made sure of it.

it was a torture to go out. memories of you and him walking in the same roads flashed in his mind every single time, but he managed that too. he reached out to his friends, talking with them and actually opening himself up this time, accepting their help.

just like that, he experienced a profound sense of peace that washed over him. it wasn't a state of joy or happiness, but rather a gentle resignation that life must go on despite the pain he has experienced. the weight on his shoulders began to lift, and the burden in his heart started to ease. it was the new norm with which he must learn to live. he must try to live now in a world where his loved one is missing. he knew he couldn't keep going on like this forever. he understands that he had lost you, and you can never be replaced, and that is okay. the memories and love he shared with you remain etched in his heart, becoming a cherished part of who he is.

“recording log number five... i guess.” leon murmurs, looking down at the cassette he's holding with one hand as his other hand held a bouquet of daffodils, standing awkwardly infront of your grave. today, he made sure to wear the fit you absolutely loved to see on him, a black suit that fit well into his figure.

“as the time passed by, i realized that you wouldn't want me to spend the rest of my days destroying myself, my love.” his voice was mellow and calm, yet it still held some sadness in it.

“i am so fortunate to have had so many wonderful years with you, and you will always be in my memories. thank you for everything,” he places the small bouquet of daffodils on your grave, his lips curling into a small, sweet smile.

“i can't explain how much i love you. thank you so much for letting me experience our intimate moments together. thank you so much for teaching me what true love is.”

thanks for reading! likes and reblogs are highly appreciated. remember that you're loved and you matter.

did you know that daffodils have been known to represent hope, new beginnings, and for some, rebirth and reincarnation? they are known as flowers that are some of the first to bloom, even after a long and harsh winter, they represent a new cycle of life for many.

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dxwnpxors · 8 months

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Scars

Leon S. Kennedy x Reader

summary: thinking of Leon’s scars (with a little bit of touching).

warnings & contents: fluff; assumed older Leon (more of RE6 and Vendetta, although I keep using ID! to illustrate); could be age gap, could be none; lots of cuddling; mentions of violence (sorta); the reader could be any gender; no mentions of y/n

a/n: a blurb, because I can. As always, proceed at your own risk. Minors DNI! Masterlist xoxo

soundtrack: billie eilish — when the party’s over

***

Leon’s figure was resting on top of the bedsheets, his bare back exposed to one’s curious sight with his features relaxed, while he was catching up on hours of sleep he was deprived of this week; thanks to another one of those excruciating missions. You couldn’t hold back a small smile; he looked so peaceful, lying there with disheveled dirty blonde hair and not a glimpse of worry on his face—something you would die to see more often after everything he has endured.

You were doing your best to stay as quiet as humanly possible so you wouldn’t wake him up when your gaze got drawn to the network of scars, interspersed with moles, scattered across his pale skin. There were a couple of fresh bruises flourishing into purple and yellow blobs, too, adding to a rich picture. You winced like you could feel his pain. You’d never get used to seeing him this way—seeing him hurt.

Your touch was lighter than one of a feather when your fingers slid over one of his scars, tracing its shape slowly, with care. This one seemed to be old, fading away over the years, thus one of the rarest ones—as there were many more those anew, coming in different shapes and shades of pink. It didn’t matter, though, how many of them were on Kennedy’s body—you knew them all, keeping the count.

You pulled your hand away in a swift motion as you felt Leon stir. He was still half-asleep when he opened his eyes a crack, his gaze fixed on your features. You looked guilty.

“Hey,” he muttered hoarsely with a faint smile. He didn’t sound irritated—rather exhausted. “Can’t keep your hands off of me, sweetheart?”

You chuckled softly as you eliminated the distance between the two of you, and then rested your head on the edge of his pillow. His hand immediately wrapped around your waist, pulling you even closer.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to wake you up.” You pressed your lips against his forehead. You kept your voice barely above the whisper, hoping he’d be able to go back to sleep.

He hummed, “It’s okay,” with his eyes almost shut again, as his mind stayed in the half-place between awakeness and dreams. His thumb caressed your side mindlessly, soothing himself down.

You put your hands on his back in a kind of hug, feeling the bumps of his scars under your fingers.

“You have never told me their stories,” you said quietly, cradling him with your touch.

Leon’s body tensed slightly, his face now hidden in the crook of your neck. His warm and even breathing sent shivers down your spine.

The man became silent for a moment, taking his time before he replied, “I don’t believe these are stories that I should make you listen to.”

He preferred not to bring his work home.

You didn’t insist—you have always respected his choices. You left a kiss on his temple while Leon hugged you tighter.

“I’ll listen to anything you’d be willing to tell me, handsome.”

He smiled; you could feel his lips stretching out on the skin of your neck. It wasn’t a trust issue; Kennedy could tell that much—but he needed time to gather the courage to drag you into his waking nightmare.

“Maybe one day, sweetheart,” Leon sighed deeply, his tone calm as he admitted; his eyes now closed. “Maybe one day.”

You spent the next minutes running fingers through his hair until he drifted back into a blissful sleep.

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