Leon Kennedy

Ever since Raccoon and Spain, Leon’s been going through a downward spiral. Using all kinds of coping mechanisms to help him through his PTSD and depression, bad or good, he did it. Just to forget everything.

His main thing was alcohol, from dusk to dawn he’d be found drinking it in gallons from either a flask or a literal bottle freshly bought from a local liquor store. But as the saying goes: all good things come to an end. Since the alcohol wasn’t hitting as it usually did for Leon anymore, marking his alcoholism days to an end and the beginnings of his junkie days.

Yup, junkie. Since Jack Daniel’s and vodka wasn’t working much he switched to using his large amounts of money sitting in his bank accounts for drugs. Buying all kinds of things like heroin, fent, weed, molly, and coke, it was starting to become a private hobby for him: trying to find the strongest shit on earth, knowing damn well he’s hitting rock bottom doing this kinda stuff. But did he care? No, not at all.

Until he started dating you. You were like an angel towards him: you accepted the fact he was genuinely addicted to drugs and alcohol. You let him do It occasionally, but not too much to keep him hung up on it all every day and night, because It’d be hypocritical if you restricted him from his fix considering the way you met him was from a sketchy alleyway behind a bar, the both of you buying weed from a frequent plug, giving each other skeptical looks.

And ever since that night you and Leon hit it off and became friends. Friends eventually turned into benefits, and before you knew it, benefits turned into boyfriend and girlfriend.

The relationship was occasionally rocky, with petty fights giving it a few hiccups and potholes. But overall it was healthy and relatively safe with you watching out for Leon and him doing the same for you whenever the both of you decided to get high. Much like right now.

You’re settled perfectly still on your living room couch while Leon carefully places some neatly crushed coke powder between the middle valley of your tits, your tits in general, and along the area of your collarbone. Turning you into a makeshift coke table. Just for fun.

When he deemed his work good enough to go crazy on, he leaned back on his haunches — tossing his credit card onto the coffee table nearby as he admired his work, giving you an amused smirk as he leaned down to hold your hips.

“..Look at you baby, all dolled up like a snow angel.” He quipped, tilting his head off to the side to place little bites and kisses along your delicate neck, smiling as he felt you squirm underneath him.

“Ah- Hold it, don’t mess up the lines.” He mumbled, adjusting your position carefully before moving to trail gentle, almost feather-like, kisses along your shoulder before coming up to a line of coke along on your breast, giving it a quick snort before pulling away and letting out a groan as he rubbed at his nose, grinning stupidly as he watched your reaction.

“Fuck babe. Best fucking tits in the world.” He breathed. His high, dilated, eyes meet your own as he slides his hands along your body, gripping at your plush thighs and spreading them to slot himself more comfortably between your legs. Letting out a low, gruff, laugh, as he felt your legs kick a little.

“What? You wanna hit too?” He questioned rhetorically, already knowing you’d say yes.