#THIS HURT ME SO MUCH | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

navstuffs · 10 months

Text

Creep

Pairing: Vendetta!Leon Kennedy x GN!Reader

Summary: "You are so fucking special. I wish I was special"'; because sometimes love isn't enough.

Warning Tags: MAJOR ANGST!!!, italics represent the past, suicide attempt!!, alcoholism, mention of a suicide note, hurt/no comfort, OPEN ENDING (you chose your own), depression, anxiety, reader needs love, LEON NEEDS LOVE!, leon self depreciates a lot.

Author's Notes: hiii! i had this idea in my head for a while, and the request helped it! this fic is heavily based on creep by radiohead and black by pearl jam and, i hope with all my soul i did justice. i hope you enjoy your reading!

taglist - @nexysworld | my leon's masterlist

As repetitive as one could say, Leon Kennedy is at the bar again. He sits by his usual stool closer to the corner, away from everyone; the one stool bartenders are used to seeing him mostly every Tuesday, Thursday, and sometimes Friday. He orders his regular: a cup of their most potent whiskey. Tonight on duty, Eric, an employee who likes to give special attention to pretty ladies, not rock bottom men like Leon who constantly seek comfort in the bottom of a cup.

Tonight things look different.

Leon looks more miserable than his usual self. An experienced bartender like Eric saw the signs since Leon got in: good bartenders are trained for that. It becomes more evident when Leon Kennedy places a ring before him as he savors his first cup. Eric didn't know Leon was married, not that he should be surprised. An attractive man like that wouldn't stay single for so long. Even if they looked like rock bottom.

"Problems in paradise?" Eric's curiosity speaks loud, or it could also be the fact no lady who looks remotely under thirty is at the bar right now.

Leon gives a sad smirk, the whiskey burning down his throat, bringing that sense of familiarity into his veins. Reaching the high he is searching for will take longer, especially tonight. Leon continues to spin the ring on his index finger as he answers, his eyes never lifting up.

"Yeap."

-x-

Accepting a date with you was Leon's first mistake. He really should have said no that rainy afternoon but couldn't(or didn't want to) due to the hope in your eyes, the rain falling around you making it even more ethereal than ever. For more than he didn't want to admit, Leon somewhat had a crush since the first time you two met. You were a scientist, someone who worked in the same line of the field as him, studying and helping in combat against Bioterrorism. You weren't just any scientist, though. No, you had been studying a cure for the new L-Virus for almost your whole academic career, making that your Ph.D. You were the maximum authority in the area, and if there was anyone who could help with the next outbreak and save humanity, that one would be you.

Leon knew you were just too perfect for him, but he still chose to continue anyway.

He continued after your first kiss, somewhat timid on both sides in front of your doorstep. And by the fourth date, when you invited Leon in, he should have said "no" and should have ended before it could hurt, but he chose to continue anyway. It took three months for you to move in. It was Leon's idea since your work schedule, you could barely see each other, so this would be easier anyway. He also had a bigger house. Your personal touches soon infiltrated his house, warming up his heart even more (he wasn't alone anymore, and it scared him) like the pictures of you two together on various occasions hanging on the walls and numerous, numerous paper works of studies splattered across the house. You were messy, messier than him, but you could always find yourself in the middle of your mess and his, not by organizing but by always finding what was being searched for.

It was one of the main reasons he admired you so much. Maybe you could be the light that he wanted.

And for a while, you were. Seeing you add the Kennedy to your last name filled Leon's heart with love, pride, and certainty that you were his. No one else's. And the first few years, as everyone says, were pure honeymoon bliss. For Leon, at least. Not that they weren't for you, they were, but you started noticing the minor signs as soon as you moved in: Leon never even drank that much during your dinner dates or even every single night. There was no reason to worry that much, he never got highly drunk, as the other alcoholic member of your family.

It was always "It is just to relax" or "Don't worry, it is not every day." He never got violent with you or hurt you, so it should be fine. Right?

-x-

Eric's eyes are attracted to the glass sound of Leon slamming against the bar. The ring is still on the table, and Leon doesn't seem wasted yet, but he never really does. Eric brings the bottle, his trained eyes scanning Leon when Creep by Radiohead starts playing in the bar. Leon seems to snicker, playing with his cup as Eric stands before him.

"You getting close to your limit. Are you driving?"

"Why? Is that your business?" Leon's words are coming out slurred, but he keeps his focus on Eric. Eric lifts his eyebrows as if that was the obvious answer. "I never caused an accident all my years coming here. Do I look like I am about to do something stupid now?"

Eric seems to ponder momentarily before turning the liquid on his cup. This would be Leon Kennedy's last cup, he thinks. Eric turns to leave and attend to other guests, but he stops in his tracks, looking at Leon as he says, louder than the music.

"We never know when any of you are about to do something stupid."

Leon watches as Eric leaves, an undisguisable expression on his face, his lips in a thin line, without replying back.

-x-

You could have blamed how intense your studies were for not noticing Leon's decline, but even someone with half a brain could have noticed at this point. The fact he tried to hide from you after he was hungover. Was it your fault for not realizing Leon drank so much or the choice to not see how much he did before marrying him? Or was it just your crazy schedule that didn't let you stay home to be a good partner? With all your study and knowledge, you didn't see your husband falling apart right in front of your eyes.

It didn't matter, anyway. Finding Leon in front of your house the Wednesday morning before you went to work, his passed-out form at the entrance told you everything you needed to know: Leon had once again not slept in bed.

"We have to talk," You texted him when you got to work. You were late that morning, having to help bring a semi-conscious inside the house and leave him in your bed. He never really answered your texts, not that you expected. He tried to avoid having any type of conversation about it, running away in any way he could find.

When you got home, he was sitting by the couch, at least clean, the beard growing. Leon was lucky, you thought as you sat in front of him, with his beard never growing too much with a few spiky hairs. His eyes never meet yours as you start speaking, explaining you were worried about him, that the amount of alcohol was just too much. You apologize for not realizing that before and Leon's lips do a "Tsk." It is not your responsibility, Leon knew it. He was responsible for his own actions and didn't need your apology. He actually didn't know exactly what he needed, except something to silence the big void inside him. It is not your purpose to be everything to him, and Leon acknowledges that now.

"We can find someone to help you, I am sure, Leon."

"I am fine." He wasn't. He knew. He knew you knew. You gulped, trying to touch his arm, but Leon flinched away, too sick with himself with the look you were giving him. Is it pity? Is it disgust? Love?

"You can't be serious." You whisper. Oh, it is disappointment, then.

"I am. I am fine, okay?" A lie "-you have no reason to worry about." Another lie "There is nothing to worry about." Liar, liar, liar!

You gulped, looking at your own hands, your brows furrowed. You opened your mouth, then closed it, biting your lips. You don't have to know, something rotten inside Leon voiced. You didn't have to know the nights he passed awake after you fell asleep, the thought he couldn't shut his head, the horrors, the pain, the fact his hand seemed to play with the handle of his gun when he was drinking, oh no, you did not deserve to know none of that. You had much more to worry about than with a depressed and useless bastard like him, like saving humanity.

You didn't give up, of course, after that conversation. You became much more attentive, realizing Leon skipped meals (idiot), Leon never slept through the nights (idiot IDIOT!), and Leon left you in the middle of the night to sit in the darkness to do only the universe knows what. Cry? Wish for something better? You started calling therapists, doctors, and anyone who could help and make appointments for Leon (he never went to any of those). You watched helplessly as your Leon deteriorated, the bag under his eyes worse and worse. Was he losing weight? You told him to get a vacation from the D.S.O, but who was going to protect the world? Fuck the world, you answer, fuck zombies, fuck viruses, you are my world!

No matter how further you tried to bring him out or how hard you tried to pull him up, Leon just fell further and further into the darkness. Leon, on the other hand, was just upset and angry he ever dragged you into this mess he was.

-x-

"I know someday you'll have a beautiful life

I know you'll be a star in somebody else's sky, but why

Why, why can't it be, oh can't it be mine?"

Damn good old Pearl Jam, Leon thinks. The bar is almost empty at this point, another employee cleaning around the table. Eric gives one final look at the clock: five minutes to close. He sighs, walking toward Leon.

"We will be closing soon, Leon. Time for you to go."

Eric thinks he will argue against it, but Leon gets up, throwing a good amount of cash in the bar. Eric grabs it and asks, a little anxious, already expecting a loud no.

"Do you want me to call a cab?"

Leon doesn't answer, leaving the bar. He isn't driving, actually, no, that would make him arrive home faster. He doesn't care what happens to him until he gets there: maybe for a twisted game of destiny, he gets hit by a car, someone drunker than he is right now. Leon wishes it is him that gets killed, not some innocent bystander. For more drunk than Leon Kennedy is, the memories from earlier night never left his head. Your face never entirely leaves his mind, actually, even when he is highly inebriated: he is doomed no matter what he does, doomed to remember, sleep and dream about you, like a damn high schooler thinking about her crush.

-x-

"What is this?"

Your voice is shaky as you find Leon working on his motorcycle. Leon didn't look up as he asked back.

"What?"

"This, Leon!" Your voice sounded like you had been holding back tears. You sat for a good ten minutes, wondering how to confront Leon about this and if you have reached your limit.

He saw the paper and recognized his handwriting. Leon gets up, cleaning his hands as you shake in front of him, and Leon knew because he has known you for so long, you are holding back your tears, your lips quivering. You look exactly the picture of the six-year-old you. Your big eyes crying because your dad took your favorite teddy bear from you, your arms pleading for the toy back in your mom's arms. The same eyes, Leon realized. He wanted to feel nothing, but it is impossible when the topic is you, so he broke even more.

"Is this...is this what I think it is?"

"No. It is an apology letter. Much different."

"In case of leaving me? In case you are found dead?"

"Both."

You snorted, rolling your eyes. You turned away, but then you turned back, and Leon deep down knew this was it. This was the moment he had been waiting for since you said you said you loved him. This was it, and it was his fault, not yours, and he hoped you knew it.

"We can find you help. Please, Leon."

You were begging, like all the other times. Leon looked down at the note, the I'm sorry I love you written in shaky hand. He still remembered that night.

It had been a terrible night couple of months in the marriage. You were sleeping beside him, eyes closed, a peaceful expression. He could have woken up and asked for help, but he didn't want to worry you. The pressure in his chest was too much for him to bear, and he couldn't bear the pain that he knew so well (his oldest friend), which pierced his soul and irradiated all over his body, especially his heart. Leon couldn't breathe. He gave you one good look, trying to engrave your image on his head because that was the last thing he wanted to envision before he was done.

When he was far away from you, he grabbed his gun first but then the paper. You deserved that much, at least, he knew that. He wrote those words and sat down there in complete darkness, the gun heavy in his hands as he read it repeatedly. Leon Kennedy was no hero. He places the gun on the table, reading his "I am sorry I love you". Images of you sleeping, you moaning his name, whispering, screaming, laughing, mixing with the ones of you finding him the next morning, you screaming, terrified, holding his body, trying to bring him back to life. Leon gave one good deep breath and another, opening his eyes.

He puts the gun back into the drawer. Then he got up and decided to live another day, joining your sleeping form in bed.

He broke away from that memory, smiling in your direction, a sad smile that told you everything you needed to know. He saw your shoulder drop, and you rapidly turned around and started sobbing, muffling with your hand. Leon didn't need to watch you pack your stuff, didn't run to your shared bedroom, asking for you to stay. He had no right. He simply dressed and went to the bar.

Not because he didn't want to fight for you. Leon Kennedy just wasn't worth it for you.

-x-

It is going home that Leon sheds his first tears. You haven't called him wondering where he is, messaged him, and it is better like that. Leon grabs his phone and types a message to see if you blocked him, but he doesn't send it. What right he had anyway? Leon continues walking home, one step after another.

It doesn't matter what he finds at home, Leon Kennedy is doomed anyway.

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy angst #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy fanfics #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy imagines #THIS HURT ME SO MUCH #leon s kennedy

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inkskinned · 8 months

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they want to talk about mental illness and acceptance and how everyone is a little ocd it's cute and quirky and their "intrusive thoughts" are about cutting their hair off and you say yours are about taking a razorblade to your eye and they say ew can you not and everyone is a little adhd sometimes! except if you're late it's a personality flaw and it's because you are careless and cruel (and someone else with adhd mentions they can be on time, so why can't you?) and it's not an eating disorder if it's girl dinner! it's not mania if it's girl math! what do you mean you blew all of your savings on nonrefundable plane tickets for a plane you didn't even end up taking. what do you mean that you are afraid of eating. get over it. they roll their little lips up into a sneer. can you not, like, trauma dump?

they love it on them they like to wear pieces of your suffering like jewels so that it hangs off their tongue in rapiers. they are allowed to arm-chair diagnose and cherrypick their poisons but you can't ever miss too many showers because that's, like, "fuckken gross?" so anyone mean is a narcissist. so anyone with visual tics is clearly faking it and is so cringe. but they get to scream and hit customer service employees because well, i got overwhelmed.

you keep seeing these posts about how people pleasers are "inherently manipulative" and how it's totally unfair behavior. but you are a people pleaser, you have an ingrained fawn response. in the comments, you have typed and deleted the words just because it is technically true does not make it an empathetic or kind reading of the reaction about one million times. it is technically accurate, after all. you think of catholic guilt, how sometimes you feel bad when doing a good deed because the sense of pride you get from acting kind - that pride is a sin. the word "manipulation" is not without bias or stigma attached to it. many people with the fawn response are direct victims of someone who was malignantly manipulative. calling the victims manipulative too is an unfair and unkind reading of the situation. it would be better and more empathetic to say it is safety-seeking or connection-seeking behavior. yes, it can be toxic. no, in general it is not intended to be toxic. there is no reason to make mentally ill people feel worse for what we undergo.

you type why is everyone so quick to turn on someone showing clear signs of trauma but you already know the fucking answer, so what's the point of bothering. you kind of hate those this is what anxiety looks like! infographics because at this point you're so good at white-knuckling through a severe panic attack that people just think you're stoic. even people who know the situation sometimes comment you just don't seem depressed. and you're not a 9 year old white kid so there's no way you're on the spectrum, you're not obsessed with trains and you were never a good mathematician. okay then.

mental illness is trending. in 2012 tumblr said don't romanticize our symptoms but to be fair tiktok didn't exist yet. there's these series of videos where someone pretends to be "the most boring person on earth" and is just being a normal fucking person, which makes your skin crawl, because that probably means you are boring. your friend reads aloud a profile from tinder - no depressed bitches i fucking hate that mental illness crap. your father says that medication never actually works.

you still haven't told your grandmother that you're in therapy. despite everything (and the fact it's helping): you just don't want her to see you differently.

#writeblr #warm up #to be clear let me state again: i think you should id however you fucking want if it helps you seek peace #but there is a HUGE difference between being like '.... im undiagnosed but i think i might be X'#and a person who is like ''omg my intrusive thoughts made me buy a birkin!!!''#babe mine made me throw up bc they disgusted me so much <3 #mine made me hurt myself evenly. even when i wanted to stop. i have had to put my hand on the stove MULTIPLE TIMES #and again i'd rather have 10000 people get help for something they don't need help for #than have 1 kid NOT get help #but there has GOTTTTT to be a middle ground here #bc at this point it isn't ''raising awareness''#it's . fucking misinformation. and ''what this picture says about you!!!!!''#& yes! im mostly talkin about ppl who are actually disgusted and offended by signs of mental illness #but use it to defend THEIR actions #like babe you hate when kids start yelling in the walmart? but you YOuRSELF can yell?#you are depressed so it's fine you were cruel to your spouse?#but if your spouse spends too much time in bed she's a lazy fuck?#your partner needs to do everything for you bc of your history in trauma? but when SHE has needs she's being clingy and gross?#HUGE difference here between whom i think most of my followers are btw. like #all it takes is fucking anyyyy empathy or kindness . like.#anyway it's hard to explain im hoping we all know the person im talking about lol

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