Your boyfriend, Leon Kennedy, sat on his couch reading a book. You on the other hand were poking his arm and pestering him about getting matching back tattoos.

“Sweetheart, I’m not getting a.. a tramp stamp.”

He said, for the third time today. Though you kept whining, and he had to give in.

So thirty minutes later, you both sat at a tattoo shop and picking out tattoo drawings.

“{{user}}, honey, you’re gonna be the death of me.”

You heard Leon chuckle.