ghostdogwrites

I like writing. 30s. She/her. Requests gratefully accepted - primarily reader x character. Also on AO3 as Ghostdogwrites. Masterlist

[drabblesandimagines]

Masterlist*

Hello! I'm Ghostdog and below you'll find my masterlist to find most of my silly reader x character works, which are nearly all fluffy nonsense!

Requests and asks: Open Like my work? Likes, follows, reblogs and especially comments are very much appreciated.

You can also buy me a ko-fi to fuel my writings (but in no way necessary!) Ko-Fi.

** 18+. These can be found over at @ghostdogwritesafterdark

Final Fantasy XVI main masterlist - contains Clive Rosfield, Joshua Rosfield, Barnabas Tharmr, Cidolfus Telemon and Gav one-shots

Resident Evil main masterlist - contains Leon Kennedy x female reader one-shots, two ongoing series

Baldur's Gate III main masterlist - Gale Dekarios, Halsin one-shots Final Fantasy VII main masterlist - contains one shots of Cloud Strife x reader, Vincent Valentine x reader, Sephiroth x reader

--- Buddy Daddies

Rei x afab reader: Kitty. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5. Part 6. Part 7. Part 8. Part 9. Part 10. Part 11. Part 12. Part 13. (Finished)

Syrup (reader request) Milkshake (Syrup follow-up)

Bumblebee (reader request)

Sketch (reader request)

Honey (reader request)

Tea (reader request)

Coffee (reader request)

Kazuki x afab reader Driver (reader request)

Rei x Kazuki x afab reader Reader request

Rei and Kazuki fluff: High-Fives Rock, Paper, Scissors

Death Note Apples (Light Yagami x reader) Final Fantasy VIICrisis Core

Books (Genesis x fem reader)

Honkai Star Rail Ribbon (Jing Yuan x gn reader) Little Bird (Jing Yuan x gn reader) Legend of Zelda They'll never take you away from me again (Link x reader)

Lord Of The Rings

Unspoken (Legolas x reader)

Potion Permit

Chemistry (Reyner x reader) Stardew Valley

Sebastian x fem reader:

Farmhand

Motorcycle Rides

Rubber Duck

Bouquets (reader request)

Good Days & Bad Days

Sweet & Salty (afab reader)

*last updated 23rd August 2024

[drabblesandimagines]

Pink Gingham

Leon Kennedy x reader Established relationship, all fluff

It had been a long week at work. A number of your colleagues calling in sick and multiple projects in the pipeline, you’d tried to take up some of the slack with ill-advised early starts and late finishes...

Truthfully, if Leon hadn’t been away on assignment, you wouldn’t have volunteered for so much overtime.

The house still felt too big compared to the apartment you’d once shared, so the more time out of it at the moment the better, in your opinion. You’d started to feel a little off Friday morning, cast it aside as nothing that a lie-in Saturday would sort, but still found yourself awake at sunrise.

You’d got up, checked your phone to see if there were any messages – zero – showered and dressed, and taken the early wake-up call as a sign that you shouldn’t lie in today, but instead head downstairs to start on the long list of housework that had been neglected with good intentions.

You fill the kitchen sink with hot, soapy water and begin to wash the numerous glasses and cups that have built up. It must be the steam from the sink because there’s sweat on your brow by the second cup. You reason you should wait for the water cool down and take a bottle of water out the fridge, greedily gulping down half the thing before you change tact to loading the dishwasher.

After loading up the racks, you still feel too hot for what should for such a menial task. You’re feeling more akin to that time you tried to join Leon in one of his ridiculous work outs in the garage. To top it off, the beginning of a headache is now beginning to pound at your temples. You try and rub it half-heartedly away with your fingers, finally fighting back a yawn.

You check your phone again – still nothing.

It wouldn’t hurt to go back to bed, would it?

--

Your phone buzzes almost violently on the bedside table, startling you awake. The headache you had before you’d laid down for what might turn out to be an ill-advised nap doesn’t seem to have shifted, even with the painkillers you’d taken. In fact, it feels worse than it did, graduating into a horrible, constant throb around your temples.

You weakly kick the duvet off of you, feeling flush – should have got changed into your pjyamas rather than getting in bed fully dressed - and reach out blindly for your phone, holding it above your face to squint at the screen, trying to decipher what it was determined to tell you.

Two new messages from Leon.

Finally on my way home, sweetheart. Wrapped up yesterday but they wouldn’t discharge me till this morning. ETA 210 minutes.

You would’ve rolled your eyes at the acronym if it wasn’t already hard enough to focus.

And before you ask – bit bruised. Don’t recommend a prison tour…! All good otherwise x

Leon had set out on an assignment the previous weekend and you hadn’t heard much from him besides one text message a day, a sentence of more than three words if you were particularly lucky, often sweet words...

"All good."

"Miss you, sweetheart."

"I love you."

"Recycling out tomorrow!"

..or reminders about something you'd forget to do completely if he wasn't around. In fact, that’s the way it had always been if he was on what you’d call 'active duty', not just him in a stuffy suit up DC way, trailing behind the President. It's not like you’d got used to not hearing much from him, just that it was expected.

There was always that little lump in your throat when he was away, of course there was, that this would be the time you wouldn't hear from him at all and there'd just be a knock on the door, agents dressed in mourning suits.

Besides, you’d rather his focus was on coming back to you in one piece than trying to compose an update whilst shielding from bullets or something horrifying.

You haul yourself out of bed, immediately regretting it when your vision swims and you fall back down heavily on the mattress, balance somewhat abandoning you.

Probably just got up too fast, you reason, try and shrug it off. There’s there niggling feeling in the pit of your stomach that you’re not well, but you’re going to remain in denial about it. You hate being sick, will never acknowledge you’re feeling under the weather to your grave and just muster on. It’s all psychological – it’s just a headache, you haven’t drunk enough water, not after you’ve sweated the last one out, didn’t have a proper breakfast either.

You’re fine. There’s too much to do, anyway. Every single time Leon had arrived home from an assignment it had been to a clean house and a home-cooked meal keeping warm in the oven, his favourite sweatpants fresh out of the dryer after you’d convinced him to soak in the tub – worked wonders for tense and bruised muscles – and you’ll be damned if he didn’t have the same today. It’s what he deserves.

He'd beam as soon as he walked in, wrapping you up tight in his arms, pressing a kiss against your temple and you’d run him said bath, finishing off dinner to be served for when he returned downstairs. What would follow would be an early retreat to bed, sometimes for devouring kisses and more, or just embraced in each other’s arms.

Leon’s text was from a while ago, so he couldn’t be too far away. Probably be hungry as well – often running off pure adrenaline when he was fighting for his life, then had an insatiable appetite on his return – so you really should try and see what you could combine from whatever’s in the refrigerator.

Ugh – you hadn’t done a grocery run in a few days. That had been on your agenda for today, though you’re not sure you’ll have time for that now. The laundry hamper is close to overflowing, the dishwasher definitely needs running after you crammed it full after dinner last night, some rogue plates and glasses piled up besides the sink and definitely a few rooms would benefit from the vacuum being run around.

You don’t even what to think about the garbage and recycling situation.

So much for his usual welcome home deal, then.

You get up a little slower this time, rewarded for your efforts by no spots of black in your vision and carefully head out the bedroom and towards the stairs, perhaps gripping the banister a little too firm on your descent than usual.

The easiest task by far is to pop the tablet in the dishwasher and set that to run, so you do that first, though making sure to bend down slowly after the previous bouts of head rush. After it whirs into action, you grab an apron off the hook – a pink frilly gingham one, a gift from a friend – and turn your attention to the fridge and proceed to stare forlornly at the contents, hoping for inspiration to strike.

You close the door in defeat and lean up against the counter. Maybe there’s some pasta and sauce in the cupboard…? Your thought is cut off as you hear the front door unlock.

“Sweetheart, you home?” You want to think it’s the sound of his voice that makes you weak at the knees, but you’d be a liar.

“In the kitchen!” You call back, keeping yourself propped up against the counter. Usually you’d be rushing towards him, colliding into his chest for a hug but everything feels impossible.

“Hey.” He smiles, creases at the corner of those blue eyes you could stare into for hours. Though he wasn’t lying in his text about the bruises – there’s a black eye blooming, currently a rather pleasing shade of purple, and plenty of other marks and scrapes littering his arms.

“Hey. Sorry, I haven’t started dinner yet.” Leon raises his eyebrow at that, and you feel awful, but it’s not for the reason you think. “No, sorry. I mean, welcome home! I’ll just star-” You stand upright, intending to head over to the cupboard in search of something, but your step is a bit too heavy, too quick to move and your vision swims again.

“Whoa.” Leon catches you by your shoulders, holding you up. “You feeling all right there, sweetpea?”

“I’m great.” You try and shrug him off, but his heavy palms stay in place. “Are you okay?”

His brows furrow, eyes scanning over your face. “You look hot.” The concern gives way to a grin as he realizes what he’s said. “I mean, not the usual hot. Warm.”

A hand remains on your shoulder while he moves the other to your forehead, gauging your temperature, but you’ll be damned to admit it feels soothingly cool. “I’ll turn the AC on. Let me-”

“Shit, no. You’re burning up.” Leon’s eyes widen, a worried crease appearing on his brow. “How long have you been like this?”

“No, it’s just…” You pull your head back from his hand, reluctantly. “It’s just hot in here.”

He gives you a skeptical look as you try and step around him – a look that would usually be accompanied with his hands on his hips if he didn’t still have one keeping you in place.

“How long?” He repeats, his mind racing, heart pounding. It was protocol to be decontaminated after any interaction with a BOW – he’d showered and changed clothes since Alcatraz. Hell, he’d bagged up his old ones to be incinerated, just to be sure. He knows it’s not logical, he can’t have brought something back with him and it affect you this fast, but the worry still surfaces. “From before I got home or just now? Did you feel a sting or anything?”

“Sting? No.” You shake your head, scrambling for excuses. “I’ve had a headache all morning but I probably haven’t drunk enough water. And… And I didn’t have the AC on or the windows open today, it’s probably that.”

“Mm-hm.” He relaxes a little, he’d already began calculating the distance between here and the lab. “Have I told you before that you’re a terrible liar?”

“Honestly, I’m fine,” you protest, taking advantage. “I can get dinner started at least. You go relax and I’ll…!”

Your vision swims again from sudden movement, but this time it’s from Leon sweeping you up into his arms. He doesn’t even let out a grunt, even though you know he must be aching from the amount of bruises he has.

“Sweetheart, we’re barely into the afternoon. You don’t need to worry about dinner - you’re going back to bed.”

“No, I’ve got so much to do.” You lament, though you don’t fight as he adjusts his hold on you, wrapping your arms around his neck as he heads towards the stairs.

“So? I can handle it.”

“But you just got back, I should be looking after you.”

That’s the way it had always been. Leon comes home and you’re there for him, however he needs you to be. Sometimes he’ll tell you about what happened as he cuddles into your chest – likes to hear your heartbeat, reminds him of some good in the world – but you’ve failed miserably this time, not even remotely prepared.

“Sweetpea, I know you hate being sick but you aren’t going to feel any better pushing yourself, okay? Let me fuss over my favourite girl for once.”

You don’t say anything as he places you gently down on the bed, sitting up against the headrest. He goes over to the dresser and pulls out one of his t-shirts, tugging the knot of the apron strings loose before softly asking you to put your arms up above your head. It’s all gentle touches, removing the apron, coercing you out of your top and into his, shuffling you out of your jeans and pulling back the covers for you to get in.

“These the painkillers you took?” He lifts up the box from the bedside table, eyes skimming the instructions and dosage.

“Yeah.” You mumble back, nuzzling your cheek into the pillow. “I don’t remember when though.”

“We’ll hold off a couple more hours, then, before another dose.”

He grabs the glass that was sat beside the pills and retreats into the bathroom, where you hear the tap run for a moment before he’s back at your side, placing down the glass of water. He crouches down besides you and gently brushes some of your hair behind your ear.

“Can I get you anything?”

You open an eye. “You.”

He grins, gets to his feet and carefully clambers over you to lie down at your back, draping a heavy arm around your waist.

“Only for a bit, though. Don’t want you overheating from me.”

“Mm-hm…” You mumble into the pillow, feeling your body relax. The weight of his arm feels nice – reassuring. “Love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

It isn’t long before Leon can hear your breathing change, assuring him that you’ve drifted off to sleep. He could stay there easily, just close his eyes and nod off and though he knows you would never oppose that, the way you’d be so determined to get the house in order... A flash of pink gingham on the floor makes up his mind.

---

You wake up alone in the bed, a little confused, but clear of the awful headache. Looking for the glass of water you know that Leon left there earlier, you notice that the bedside table now holds your phone, plugged into charge. You sit up slowly – still wary of dizzy spells - greedily drink from the glass of water, feeling it slip down your throat into a particularly empty stomach. Seems like your appetite had decided to reappear.

The digital alarm clock over on the dresser shows that it’s gone 8pm and, most intriguingly, the laundry basket is now empty. Huh.

You don’t bother to dress as you head downstairs, still clad in Leon’s t-shirt. The TV’s playing on a low volume, a candle burning on the coffee table. You can hear the thrum of the washing machine from the utility and when you head through to the kitchen, you find Leon hunched over the sink, apron strings tied around his waist as he dips a glass into the soapy water. The dishwasher is slightly ajar and you can see it’s been emptied, and he’s washing everything left in the sink – by hand.

He looks over his shoulder with a hesitant smile at the sound of your footsteps and then turns, drying his hands off on the apron – the pink frilly gingham number seems to suit him a little too well.

“Hey. Not sure you should be up yet, sweetheart. You were a bit unsteady on your feet earlier. Go sit down for me?”

“Okay.” You nod, and he’s pleased that you don’t protest – putting it down to the fact that you still must be feeling somewhat lousy. He traces your footsteps as you plod over to sit on the sofa though, just in case, and watches you curl up against the armrest.

“You feel up to eating something? I ordered in some soup earlier. Can warm it up on the stove now if you like – it’s your favourite.”

You nod. “That sounds nice.”

“Coming right up.” He pulls the blanket from off the armchair – the one that’s usually reserved for movie nights – and tucks it around you, pressing a kiss on your forehead as he does.

He turns to head back to the kitchen when he feels your fingers curl around his wrist, causing him to pause.

“I’m sorry I’m an awful patient.”

“You’re not, just stubborn,” Leon corrects with a cocky grin, but it doesn’t have the desired effect as the pout remains in place on your lips, thoughts spiraling. “But so am I.”

“No, I should be looking after you. You should be coming back to everything in order. Whatever this is won’t be anywhere near as bad as what you’ve been through - those bruises look so sore an-“

“Hey, it’s not a competition, sweetpea.” He says, softly, crouching down in front of you, rubbing your thigh with his right hand. “We’re a team, aren’t we?”

“It feels like I’ve let you down.”

“Never.” He says, firmly, giving you thigh a squeeze. “Actually impossible. I’m just glad I got back in time to keep an eye on you, I just hate the idea of you feeling lousy on your own.”

The washing machine beeps from the utility and he gets to his feet, passing you the remote from the coffee table. “Why don’t you find us something to watch, and I’ll move the laundry to the dryer and get that soup warmed up?”

“If you’re sure.”

He bends down, presses a kiss against your crown.

“Positive.”

He only makes it a few steps back towards the kitchen when you call out, looking bashful.

“Leon?”

“Mm?” He twists slightly to look back in curiosity.

“You look cute in that apron.”

He gives you a twirl, ending with a beaming grin. “I know.”

---

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

[drabblesandimagines]

We haven't heard from you in a while, I hope you're doing well Ghost! ❤️

Hi, sweet anon! Thanks for checking in ❤️

I've been hella burnt out and depressed, but slowly getting there! I've just finished RE9 too, eeee.

Got myself a little RE4R Leon Slyvanian Family 🥰

And if anyone is also wondering, I do still plan on finishing Dove if anyone's still waiting!

[creativepromptsforwriting]

Prompt #1273

"You're hot."

"Are you flirting with me?"

"No, I think you have a fever."

[drabblesandimagines]

Now I wanna write this with Vincent Valentine x reader, ha!

[drabblesandimagines]

Whaaaaat this is wild - thank you 🥰

[unmillion]

LORD HAVE MERCY I LOVE THIS OLD MAN

[drabblesandimagines]

Bliss

Leon Kennedy x afab reader When I am on my period, you get period fluff

You wince as your stomach twists, jab the mascara wand into your eye rather than coat your lashes and swear, gripping the bathroom counter with your other hand.

“Great.” You hiss, closing your eye and grabbing a wet wipe, trying to salvage what you’d applied to your bottom lashes as your eye starts to water. The box of so-called express pain relief pills you’d downed greedily 30 minutes ago taunts you from the counter. They had barely touched the surface of the tormenting cramps that had started this afternoon and you wonder if you can sue the pharmaceutical company for such blatant lies.

You try and steady yourself with measured breaths, opening your eye cautiously to inspect it in the mirror. It looks a little red and you groan. You’re bloated, sore, stupidly emotional – irrationally cried at the fact that a spam email had made its way into your actual inbox at lunch - and the last thing you want to be doing right now is getting dolled up in one your classiest and form-fitting little black dresses, don high heels and socialize for the evening, no matter how much you’d been looking forward to it ahead of your visitor.

And not to mention that it’s at the bloody White House.

Leon had returned from Spain two months ago to silent fanfare - wouldn’t be good for US morale to know the President’s daughter had been kidnapped by a cult and infected with a parasite in the first place. Working as an intelligence agent for the DSO meant you’d read of the horrors from the report, comforted Leon when he awoke from nightmares of blackened veins, tentacles bursting forth from skulls, so you’re grateful that the President insisted Leon was given some time off work, though his first day back was looming on the horizon. Last week, on embossed white card with gold accents, sealed by a wax stamp came the invitation in a cursive hand to one Mr Leon S Kennedy and partner to the Presidential dining room.

There’s a knock on the bathroom door in Leon’s familiar rhythm.

“You nearly ready, sweetheart? I think the car will be here soon.”

“Sorry. Yeah,” you call back, “Final touches.” You turn back to the mirror and grab the mascara wand, cautiously covering your top lashes to even things out before frowning at your complexion. Are you breaking out too? A wave of pain rolls through your stomach once more and you grimace. Maybe you should’ve gone with a heat pad after all, but this dress is snug - it’d look bulky and weird on your stomach and the Secret Service guys will be all over it in the security checks.

You zhuzh up your hair one more time, plaster on a smile and unlock the bathroom door, finding Leon leaning up against the wall opposite. He lets out a low whistle as you emerge, hair falling into his blue eyes, and you duck your head in embarrassment at the attention. Honestly, right now you’d prefer him to look anywhere but at you.

“Hello, beautiful,” he smiles, looking unbelievably handsome in his best suit. He’s forgone the tie as usual – can’t stand them – but still looks appropriately smart. He stands up from the wall, slips a hand around your waist to pull you in for a kiss but you flinch at his touch, causing him to stop and frown. “You okay?”

“Mm, I’m fine.” You try and step out of his grip to head towards the stairs. “We should go keep an eye out for the car.”

His arm remains firmly in place. “You’re a bad liar.”

“I’m a great liar,” you retort. “Comes with the profession.” Your whole job depended on it, really – gathering intelligence was a lot of charming people into feeling comfortable around you, loosening their tongue into sharing secrets or giving you access to places you’re not meant to be.

“Not to me.” He’s got you there. “What’s the matter?”

You sigh, feeling a headache coming on to add to the list of ailments. “Can we leave it, please?”

“I don’t want to leave it – something’s wrong.” Leon is stubborn, doesn’t like to leave things hanging. He knows how precious life is, doesn’t want to leave anything to be dealt with later in case later never comes.

He stares at you - pout on his lips and those blue puppy dog eyes.

“Period.” You mumble, hoping that would suffice.

“Ah.” He nods.

“What does that mean?” You know it’s the hormones talking, even as you say it, but you’re stubborn too. It’s completely irrational, but his tone’s rubbed you the wrong way.

“It’s a sympathetic ah. Anything I can do to help?”

“No,” you grumble back. “I just want this evening over with.”

He looks confused, then. “I thought you were looking forward to it - you were excited yesterday-”

“I was,” you snap back. “But now the last thing I want to be doing is wearing this stupid tight dress and heels and get in a limo, be felt up by Secret Service agents for five minutes to make sure I’m not sneaking in a bomb between my thighs, and then go and dine with the President of the United States and his daughter, trying to remember what seven different types of silverware are meant for what course and then eating tiny bites and drinking bitter expensive wine, all when I could be at home, in my pyjamas, eating pizza and ice-cream and watching absolute trash on TV, cuddling my boyfriend.”

“Okay.” Leon cups your face. “Breathe.”

You take a deep breath, feeling a little winded from your rant.

“Good.” He smiles, dropping his hands and pulling his phone out of his trousers pocket. “Now, go get changed.”

You weren’t expecting that. “Sorry?”

“Get changed – go put your pyjamas on.”

“But dinner-”

“I’ll cancel, and then I’ll order us some pizza.”

You stare at him as if he’s lost his mind. “You can’t cancel on the President.”

“I rescued his daughter, he owes me.” Leon shrugs, as if he was just asking for a raincheck. “Besides, it’s Ashley who wanted this the most. We’ll reschedule.”

“No, I just need to tough it out.”

He raises an eyebrow at your word choice. “You do not.”

“You do it all the time – dragging yourself about the place with bullet and stab wounds.”

“Sweetheart, you have to agree that’s a little different. Us having dinner at the White House is not a life or death situation. I didn’t have a choice but to grit my teeth and get on with it, you very much do.” He grabs your hand, squeezing it tight. “Besides, you put up with enough that’s out of our control by these guys – missed anniversaries, birthdays, dinners - when they send me out on missions. I’m not going to sit and make you go through an uncomfortable evening when you don’t need or want to.”

“Are you sure?” You ask, quietly.

“Positive.” He steps forwards, gives you a chaste kiss on the lips in reassurance. “Go and get comfortable – I’ll handle it.”

--

30 minutes later, you’re laying on the couch, head in Leon’s lap as he runs his fingers through your hair, another rubbing your back – dressed in loose pyjama shorts and one of his old sweatshirts, a hot water bottle that he’d made pressed against your stomach and one of those “so bad it’s good” reality relationship shows playing on the widescreen. One that Leon insists he detests, but remembers everyone’s names and asks what happened on previous episodes if he misses one.

“Was Ashley okay?”

“Fine. She’s already texted me three alternate dates.” He pauses, raising an eyebrow at the screen. “I thought they broke up.”

“Uh-uh. He proposed.”

He scoffs in disbelief. “This cannot be real.”

You sigh, content, and nuzzle into his thigh. “Love you.”

“Love you more.”

The doorbell rings, announcing the pizza’s arrival. You reluctantly sit up, pressing the hot water bottle to your stomach as Leon gets up off the sofa and starts to head towards the door.

“Leon.”

“Mm?” He pauses, turning slightly, removing his wallet from his jacket pocket.

“How come you’re still in your suit?”

“Well,” he resumes walking to the door, “I read how endorphins can help with period pain, and I know how happy a certain someone gets when they get to admire my ass in this particular suit…” The wallet slips from his fingers, bounces on the carpeted floor, and he bends down, slowly. “..so what kinda boyfriend would I be to hide it in sweats when they’re feeling poorly?”

--

Comments, likes and reblogs make my whole day x

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Ko-fi

[drabblesandimagines]

shout out to Tumblr not saving my draft 🙃

Arghhhhhh!

[drabblesandimagines]

Thank you for the Leon Kennedy Christmassy asks! Hoping to get something out tomorrow for Christmas Eve 🥰

[drabblesandimagines]

Since I'm reblogging my old Leon Kennedy Christmas fluff pieces, I'm kinda in a festive drabble mood...

Please throw me a Christmassy ask and I'll try and write some up ❤️🦌 They'll probs be pretty short as I don't think I can get my laptop repaired till after the new year so we are at the mercy of me typing on my phone xx

Post by @drabblesandimagines · 1 image

💬 0  🔁 41  ❤️ 511 · - Resident Evil masterlist - Leon Kennedy x female reader one shots Hitched (fluff) Disinhibited (fluff, tiny smidge o

[drabblesandimagines]

Imperfections

Leon Kennedy x female reader Fluffy festive nonsense

Leon squints at the small piece of paper, trying to decipher the name upon it. It’s not the handwriting he’s struggling with, more the fact he probably does need reading glasses and he hates to admit it. He looks around, making sure no-one is looking in his direction and holds it aloft, trying to find the perfect spot where the blurry squiggles will finally transform into a name.

A name he knows all too well, it turns out.

Yours.

You’ve been working for the department just shy of a year – a new recruit in February – and had been partnered with him on a fair few missions. He’d underestimated you at first, mistakeably deemed you too sweet a thing to be wrapped up in this sort of business, but you’d shown him your mettle from the off and especially when things had got dicey – held your own, got the job done, saved his ass a couple of times and all usually with that beautiful smile on your face.

God, Kennedy, he chides himself, smitten or what?

He folds up the slip of paper, sticks it in his wallet for safe-keeping and his mind begins to whirl - what in the hell is he going to get you?

Secret Santa at the DSO – a bit of holiday nonsense put forward as a suggestion to ‘boost morale’ and apparently the President had loved it, has thrown together a whole Holiday Mixer around having the exchange. Everyone working here isn’t depressed due to a lack of Christmas spirit, more the state of the world itself and the dark depths they’re forced to confront…

But, hey, Leon S Kennedy will do as he’s told as far as the President’s concerned, and so he’d stuck his hand in the Santa hat when it had been thrust in his direction, full of his colleagues’ names.

There’s rules – has to be in government-officiated fun – gifts to be exchanged at the Holiday Mixer in a week’s time and, to try and avoid an influx of gift cards and novelty socks, it must include a handmade element, with a $25 limit.

“So,” you plonk yourself down on his desk - right on a pile of manilla folders that were left there earlier for his upcoming briefing and he’d yet to tackle - and lean in, “who’d you get?”

He sweeps his hair out of his eyes and sits back a little in his chair to take you all in. “Uh-uh, that’s against the rules.” You roll your eyes at that. “And since when has Leon Kennedy been a stickler for the rules?”

“I just don’t wanna be on Santa’s naughty list.”

“Fine.” You pout, crossing your arms in fake annoyance. “I won’t tell you who I got either.”

“Good, cos I don’t remember asking... And don't make an old man joke."

“Wasn't gonna." He gives you a look and you can't help but smile. "Okay, but seriously - I get the handmade rule, I do,” you shuffle back a little more on his desk, making yourself comfortable as you get to your point, “but what I don’t get is why it’s mandatory to participate in the whole thing.”

“It’s not really mandatory. We’re a small operation – you don’t participate, you’ll show up on the President’s radar for not being a team player. You know he’s all about that.”

“Well, make us do a team building exercise - build a bridge out of newspaper, do trust falls or something besides try and be crafty.”

Leon scoffs. “I’m not doing a trust fall with you – not after last time.”

You open your mouth to reply – that was most definitely not meant to be a trust fall, Leon had just straight up fell - when Hunnigan pops her head around the cubicle, not even surprised to see you sitting on his desk, and gives the two of you a polite smile.

“Kennedy – intel briefing set for 1200. You prepped?”

“Sure am.”

Hunnigan eyes the pile of folders she clearly remembered placing on his desk first thing this morning, the exact ones which are nestled underneath your thighs.

“Uh-huh… Conference room seven. See you there.” She turns on her heels and departs, and you feel Leon’s hand ghost your thigh.

You look down, a little startled – sure there’s been flirtatious touches here and there, a time where you would’ve bet that month’s pay check that he was gonna kiss you after a particularly close call but swerved for your cheek at the last moment – and realise he’s tugging at the corner of a folder.

“Whilst I won’t deny that you’re an awful pretty paperweight, mind if I get back to work now?”

 You slide off – managing not to take the folders down with you - and mock a salute. “Yes, sir.”

--

The briefing is dull, which should be a good thing, really. No current BOW threats on the radar, though the threat level remains at orange. Leon can’t remember the last time they lowered it to yellow, so it seems a pointless system to him but he still throws in his two cents when called upon. He’s got another few weeks of desk duty to get through after Alcatraz after his medical - knows he’s not getting any younger and that’s why it’s taking him a little longer to recover after quite the beating.

Dismissed from the briefing, Leon swings by your desk on the way back to his, only to feel a little silly when he’s disappointed at the lack of you at it. There’s a shoebox sat on your desk though, lid taped on with a few rounds of parcel tape, but overall it looks a more than just a little worse for wear - crumpled corners and scuff marks all over the cardboard.

“Snooping, Kennedy?”

He can’t help the smile when you come to his side, your laptop tucked under your arm – must’ve had a meeting of your own. He holds up his mug, waving it from side to side in demonstration. “Was gonna see if you wanted a coffee, actually. That package looks a little suspect to get through the security check, right?”

You place your laptop down beside it and frown, before reading the return address. “Oh, no. It’s just some things that I asked my ex to send on. I forgot them in the move, only realized when I went to put my tree up last week…”

You trail off as you move the box towards you ever so slightly and there’s a horrible clinking sound that makes your stomach sink.

You grab a biro, jamming it through the tape lined around the edge as a make-shift knife and tentatively pull off the lid, bracing yourself for what you might discover within. Whilst you had safely stored them away in layers of bubble wrap, each in its own bo, he seems to have dumped them all out into the shoe box, one layer of bubble wrap on the bottom, another on top and they’ve obviously cracked together in transit, resulting in the shattered mess before you.

“Shit.” He comments, softly, watching as you pick up shards. “What are they?”

“My grandmother’s baubles.” Your voice goes flat as you pick up pieces of what once were precious memories and his heart aches. “She was a really talented artist before the arthritis got bad… Used to paint these and sell them at Christmas fairs.”

He’s silent as you continue picking through the pieces. There’s one that seems mostly intact, a smaller one but after further investigation there’s a big chunk missing from the side and you drop it back down in the box in defeat. Leon lays his hand on your shoulder then, seeing how you almost deflate in front of his very eyes, and he hopes to give you a reassuring squeeze – to let you know he’s here, he's always here for you, even if he’s not going to say it aloud. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine.” But he knows it’s not by how tight your voice is. You’ve never got emotional in front of him before, not even when you’d been injured had you let that stupid, gorgeous smile falter. “I… I have to head out. I’ll see you later.”

You place the lid back on the shoebox and shove it off the desk. It lands in the waste basket with another awful sound of broken ceramic.

“Whoa, wait, don’t you wan-?” He begins to protest but you shrug his hand off your shoulder, shaking your head and now keeping your eyes downcast.

“Sorry, I really have to go.” He swears you just about jog out of his sight, no real destination in mind.

Leon doesn’t see you the rest of the day, though he swings by your desk a few more times when he gets up to stretch his legs. The maintenance team will be in later – dispose of the shredded paperwork, wipe down surfaces empty the waste baskets… so he doesn’t think twice when he picks up the shoebox as he leaves, holding it tightly in the crook of his arm as if it were the broken pieces of your heart.

--

Later that evening after dinner, he sits on his sofa, changed into his sweats rather than stuffy shirt and suit trousers, a soda on the table in a heavy-bottomed glass – doesn’t drink anymore, isn’t worth it, but he still likes the weight of a good glass in his hand – with his laptop perched on his knees.

The cursor blinks in place before he slowly types in the search bar.

How to fix a broken ceramic bauble.

He’s good with his hands from weapons maintenance, can handle delicate stuff, so why couldn’t he glue some bits of ceramic back together into a sphere?

He scrolls down the search results – various how-to articles and videos. He reads through a few, learns that it can depend on such factors of where the break occurred, if it’s clean break or not, how thick the ceramic is and, after all that, there’s the danger it could look like a kid put it together for their mom at kindergarten with a pot of PVA glue and got bored halfway through.

He’s not put off, though, as he continues his scroll until something bright and gold catches his eye…

Kintsugi?

Huh. Sounds… promising.

--

He does a test first. Practice makes perfect, and he’s determined he will make them as close to perfect again as he can… once he’s sure he’s got the hang of it. He buys a box of six ceramic baubles from a nearby department store, whacks one off the table edge gently until it shatters into reasonable-sized pieces, then sets about setting it back together with the kit he’d bought online – paid for express next-day delivery as well, no time to sit and wait around for 3-5 working days, longer in the Christmas build-up.

You’d not mentioned the baubles the next day in the office or how you’d rushed off, just came and sat on his desk with a coffee, had the usual back and forth banter but he can tell you’re a little flat, the light isn’t quite reaching your eyes as it once was and he hates it. You’d been excited for Christmas – even brought in a Christmas mug on the 1st of December – but it’s all been extinguished, now a DSO-logo stamped black mug in your hands.

It takes him the entire box over the next few evenings until he’s confident enough to tackle one of your prized possessions. Each bauble is unique – swirling patterns of pastel colours on all-white ceramic, but he treats the pieces like a puzzle as he slowly divides the piles into category of each bauble – four in total – and gently works out which piece belongs to which. There are bits that aren’t going to be a clean seam but he’s prepared for this in his practice rounds, still a little shake in his hand as he finally puts two and two together.

He likes the meaning behind the practice - embracing imperfections, not trying to hide the cracks or broken bits, but instead highlighting it, making it a feature with bright and beautiful gold. Lord knows he isn’t perfect, far from it, and he will never be the man he was before Raccoon City. A few years ago, when he was at his darkest, he would’ve described himself as beyond repair – too smashed up to ever be whole again.

Slowly but surely, he’s began to piece himself back together, embracing the fact that whilst he’s not quite whole and might never be, held together by his friends, his will and some glue and now your presence in his life giving him a little bit of sparkle.

He shakes his head, leans forward and switches off the made-for-TV Christmas movie.

--

Friday evening is here before he knows it and, frustratingly, an intel mission he’s on runs a little long – gets caught up in traffic. He needs to swing by his apartment to pick up your gift and needs to get changed while he’s at it – the dress code quite clear. He enters the hotel ball room in a shirt, suit jacket and trousers, sans tie, an over an hour and a bit late, carrying the gift bag as carefully as he would a baby or a bomb. The mixer already seems to be in full swing - there’s half a dozen round tables, discarded wrapping paper scattered across the tops of them as well as empty champagne glasses and he realizes he must’ve missed the gift exchange.

“There you are! I thought you were a no-show.” You tease, appearing at his side a little too quick to not have been waiting for him. You’re looking beautiful in your black cocktail dress, the one that hugs all the right places and your hair half up and half down, held in place with a red bow.

“Duty called. Did I miss the exchange?”

“Eh, kinda. It wasn’t a whole big thing. The President’s not coming – double booked himself, so everyone’s just been awkwardly exchanging gifts and downing more and more free drink.”

He tugs at the ribbon hanging down off your shoulder ever so gently.

“Well, you certainly look as pretty as a present. Please tell me you didn’t panic and gift yourself…”

You ignore him, loop your arm through his instead and guide him over to an empty table – there’s a large queue at the open bar and hopefully a few more minutes of privacy before making endless small talk – and encourage him to take a seat. As he does, you crouch besides another chair and fish for something underneath, pulling out a red and gold gift bag, an embarrassed smile as you hold it out to him.

“Merry Christmas, from your Secret Santa.”

He raises an eyebrow but still accepts the bag, placing it on the table. “You’re kidding.”

“No. Why?”

“You’re my Secret Santa?”

“Can you at least hold in the disappointment until after you open it?” You pout.

“No, I mean… I got you. We got each other.”

“What? That’s… weird.” You sit down heavily in the chair, looking a bit bemused. “What’s the statistics on that even happening?”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to demand a re-count.” He rolls his eyes and holds out his own gift bag. “Ladies first.”

You smile, brushing your fingers with his as you take it, before placing the gift bag down on the table and see four small cardboard boxes nestled within. You take out the first one and unfold the tabs, carefully, before removing the piece of red tissue paper he’d nestled on top.

What lies below it makes your heart stop.

It’s your grandmother’s baubles, or one of them, now held back in one piece and held together with threads of beautiful gold.

You look at him and then back down at the bauble.

“Is this…?”

“Yeah.”

“Leon, I…”

He sees the tears in your eyes as you take out the remaining boxes with a shaking hand, lining them up on the table and revealing each one in turn.

“I hope they aren’t an insult to your grandmother’s memory.” He blurts out after sitting in silence, unsure of what to make of yours. “They were just about to be tossed and so I took them, did some research on repair techniques and, well…”

“Did you do this?” There it is – the smile, the real smile that lights up your eyes.

“What, you think this old dog can’t learn new tricks? Everything’s on the internet these days.” He shrugs off – he won’t tell you the hours he spent, the headaches he got from squinting as he pieced parts together. Hell, he’d do it all again if he had to.

“Thank you. They’re beautiful. I… I can’t believe you did this for me. I… I just, I mean…”

He places a hand on your knee, gives you a soft smile.

“There’s a lot I’d do for you, you know, if you’d let me.”

There’s a moment as your eyes meet that you feel perhaps your cheeks have gone as red as the bow on top of your head and quickly try to deflect, nodding your head at his unopened gift bag.

“You should’ve let me go first - this is going to be such a disappointment in comparison.”

Leon gives your knee a squeeze before he peers into this gift bag, digging out a small gift box. He places it down on the table and tugs off the lid to find there’s a beautiful ridged glass nestled in red tissue paper, heavy-bottomed – you know his preference all right - but there’s something within the glass too. A mass of what appears to be red and green yarn, a little loop of black string at the top… He picks it up between two fingers.

“It’s…” He trails off, looking at the colours. “It’s certainly festive.”

“Okay, I can’t knit but I tried and that’s the important thing here, right?”

“No, no, it’s… cute.” He smiles. “And the glass – I love it. Just my style.”

You bite your lip, looking a little flustered and unsure, but he assumes you’re still feeling a little emotional over his present… until you try and yank the yarn from his hands.

“Hey!” He gets to his feet out of instinct of being attacked and clutches whatever it is closely to his chest.

“Look, if you just give me it, I can try some other craft thing. Just I was in a pity party all week and I stayed up all night doing that and it shows.” You get to your feet then, trying to weasel through fingers into his to retrieve it. “I can’t leave you with that, it’s not fair.”

“No, it’s mine.”

You don’t give up your attempt to wrestle it back, though Leon’s grip never falters. “You don’t even know what it’s meant to be!”

“Sure I do. It’s…” He retaliates, whipping it quickly above his head and yours – too high for you to snatch out of his hands despite your heels – and squints once more, comparing it against some of the festive décor in the hall.

“Oh.”

“It’s so dumb.” You begin your protest again, now trying to grab it from above your heads. “I just tho-” Leon wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you forward firmly against his chest, before he finally drops his other arm and cups your cheek, knitted mistletoe still in his fingers and kisses you firmly on the lips, swallowing down the rest of your sentence. He can’t help but grin as he feels you relax into his embrace, pressing your palm now flat against his chest. He runs his tongue along your bottom lip, poking ever so gently to seek permission and-

“About goddamn time, Kennedy!” The shout of an inebriated agent causes the two of you to pull apart and you feel flustered by both the overdue kiss and what feels like the eyes of the entire DSO on the two of you.

Leon takes it all in his stride though, keeps a warm palm right on your lower back as he smiles and nods at whoever the hell it was that had interrupted, before pressing a sweet, solitary kiss to your cheek.

“Now, seeing as I’ve got this mistletoe, how about we go back to my place and try it out a little more, beautiful?”

---

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

Comments, follows, likes and reblogs make my day!

[drabblesandimagines]

please come back and write for dove again I’m going insane LOL hope you are doing well!!! ❤️❤️

I'm sorry for how long it is taking! I do want to finish Dove, I think RE9 releasing next year will help a lot with the brainrot.

My laptop died the other day so I need to get it repaired, thankfully I was smart and had backed up the uncompleted next chapter of Dove on the cloud 😅

[drabblesandimagines]

alright i have to stop everything to say this: i'm so happy to see your writing circulating here on tumblr again, it really makes my day and i missed it so much, i'll hold this new piece close to my heart just like the other ones.

that's it i hope lots of good things comes your way mwah 💋

Anon, you're so sweet! Sending lots of good vibes your way 🥰

I hope to post more in 2026! x

[drabblesandimagines]

Traditions

Leon Kennedy x reader Established relationship, fluff, one lil' swear

You look forlornly at the box of Christmas decorations you’d brought out of the top of the cupboard in anticipation of tomorrow, sat prominently in the middle of the living room, and back down at the text you’d received a few moments ago from Leon.

LSK, 3:28pm: Been held up, sweetheart. Trying to get this wrapped up ASAP but I’m not going to be back tonight. Forgive me? x

It’s silly to be upset, you know that, especially Leon’ll be frustrated enough as it is that they’re making him stay there longer. You flop back on the sofa, take a breath and type out a reply.

No forgiveness necessary, silly. I know it’s not your fault. Be safe x

It was going to be your first Christmas in the new, shared apartment that you’d picked out together for the next big stage of your relationship. Leon hadn’t come with a huge amount of personal effects – a shoebox of letters and photographs had been the sum of anything sentimental amongst the usual boxes of clothes, shoes, bedsheets and towels. You, on the other hand, had come in with a fair bit more, including one solely filled with Christmas decorations.

You'd been sat on the living room floor nearly ten months ago now, unpacking one of your several boxes, a few of them set aside to be deposited in different rooms to tackle, which Leon had graciously been working his way through.

“Where do you want this one, sweetheart?”

You looked up, deciphering the initials you’d hastily written in permanent marker in the corner. “Oh, can you put that one in the top of the hall cupboard, please?”

He nodded, bending with his back rather than lifting from his knees and grunted, not expecting it to be as heavy as it was.

“What’s in here – weights?”

You smiled, sheepishly, getting up to your feet. “Christmas decorations. We don’t have to use all of them, I thought we could combine, you know? Decorations and traditions.”

He looked down at the sealed box, seeming embarrassed as you walked over to him. “That’s okay. Never really did much for Christmas myself, so I'm happy with whatever you wanna do for both, sweetpea."

You stood up on your tip-toes, pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Well, we can get some new ones too – together.”

That had been the plan for tomorrow on the rare, overlapping day off for the two of you in a busy December. You had a whole itinerary in mind, jam-packed with your favourite festive activities that you were excited to share with Leon, see which ones he was taken with so you could start making your own joint traditions going forward. You move the box to the place you’d cleared for the tree, before sitting down on the sofa. You check your phone – no response – and lean forward for the remote control instead, switching on a tacky Christmas movie as a distraction.

--

You didn’t hear from Leon again that night, which wasn’t unusual if he was in the thick of things, and there was no text or missed call when you awoke in the morning. You’d showered, dressed and were in the kitchen, making a coffee to warm you up on the chilly morning – a very picturesque dusting of snow had fell overnight - when you heard the jangle of keys in the front door. In walked Leon, his suit crinkled, looking tired but smiling immediately at the surprised look on your face.

“Morning, sweetheart.”

“Leon!” You walked over to him as he dropped his duffel bag on the floor with a thud, opening his arms wide to greet you, only for you to yank him forward by his jacket to kiss him.

He slips his arms around your waist, kissing you back in return, though there’s a smirk on his lips when you pull back, “That welcome home makes the red-eye I caught entirely worth it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were on your way back?”

He shrugs, swallowing down a yawn. “Didn’t wanna wake you – knew you’d got the whole day planned." He knew you'd been itching to decorate for Christmas with him, letting it slip that you usually had everything up by the evening of December 1st. "Lemme grab a shower, change out of this suit and then you can tell me what’s first on the agenda, hm?”

“Oh. No,” you shake your head, feeling foolish. “You must be exhausted after everything, as well as travelling through the night. We can just relax today, don’t worry about that stuff – it was a silly idea, really.”

“Uh-uh, I’ve been looking forward to it. Hell, it’s the reason why I got the red-eye.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” He presses a kiss against your forehead before picking his bag back up. “Save me some coffee?”

“Okay.” You can’t help the smile that breaks across your face as he heads through to the bedroom. “Oh, be sure to dress warm!”

--

“A Christmas tree farm, huh?” Leon reads the sign with a grin, pulling the Jeep into the parking lot. You’d wanted to drive but he was a little nervous of you behind the wheel on the snowy roads. He’d been a good sport though, following the directions you’d programmed into the sat nav dutifully and not questioned where you were going, as you were adamant it remained a surprise.

“Yeah.” You nod, enthusiastically. Leon swears you’ve been bouncing your leg in excitement the whole drive. “We walk through, choose our perfect tree, cut it down and then we take it home.”

“How do we know which one is our perfect tree?”

“We’ll just know when we see it.” You unbuckle your seatbelt and jump out the Jeep, ready to sprint right down to the entrance when Leon grabs hold of your arm, spinning you around to face him.

“Hold on, sweetpea.” He fussed, tugging your hat further down around your ears with gloved fingers. “There. Don’t want you getting sick for your favourite holiday.”

“Thank you.” You smile, lacing your fingers with his and pulling him down the slope towards the tree farm. There’s a wheelbarrow of saws as you enter which you leave Leon to choose his preference – you know he’ll want to do the grand honours – as you grab a sledge to aid with tree retrieval before heading out the forest itself.

“Okay, so as a total tree novice, what are we looking for in particular?”

“Something that’s not too small but not too big, nice shape to it, isn’t already half-dead, has a good smell to it…” You trail off, stopping in front of one that seemed a good size. This first area is a little sparse, only a handful of trees left in the ground but there’s a good acre to explore.

“Smell?”

“That’s half the fun of having a real one – the smell.” You give the tree a gentle shake to find it loses quite a few needles, and turn away to find Leon watching you, intently, resting the saw on his shoulder.

“Like the car air freshener?”

“Kinda, but ten times better when it’s not artificial.” You loop your arm through his. “Come on, plenty more trees to see.”

You enter the next area where it’s more of a thicket, trees of various heights and widths and Leon feels a little overwhelmed at the choice. He hangs back, watching you in your element – slowly walking past each tree to first check if it meets your height criteria and if it does, then looking at it from various angles, hands on your hips, tilt your head before giving a branch or two an experimental shake.

He begins to take note of ones you linger on, getting an idea of what you’re looking for in particular. It’s part of his job after all – observing targets, memorizing certain details. He walks on a little further, scrutinizing each tree in turn before, shaking the branch to see how many needles cast off. After a half a dozen, he stops in front of one, mimicking your head tilt from before, giving a few of the branches a shake and steps back.

“Sweetheart, whatcha think of this one?”

“Hm?” You turn in the direction of his voice, locating him amidst the green before trudging over, looking at the tree in question. He watches, silently, as you go through the motions before turning back to him with a smile so bright he swears it makes his heart skip a beat.

“It’s perfect! You’re a natural.”

“Had a good teacher.”

--

Tree secured safely to the top of the Jeep, you’d pushed Leon into the tree farm’s shop next, a treasure trove of Christmas decorations both classic and tacky and told him to pick up whatever he liked the look of. He’d been quite taken with the rustic wooden decorations – trees, sleighs, woodland animals – and a tin one of a motorcycle, and you’d chosen a standard box of baubles together in colours you’d liked. From there, it was back to the apartment, thankfully the two of you plus tree fit in the elevator, before Leon nipped back down to the Jeep for the new pot and bag of Christmas decorations.

You’d pulled him into the bedroom upon his return, presenting him with plaid pyjama bottoms, a black t-shirt and a Santa hat.

He’d held it between two fingers. “Seriously, sweetheart?”

“Mm-hm.” You nodded, pulling out a pair of reindeer antlers on a headband from behind your back. “Or this.”

He pulled the hat over his head without further complaint.

Between the two of you, now both donned in your pyjamas and festive headgear, and another made-for-TV Christmas film playing in the background on the widescreen, you managed to get the tree situated in its new home for the season before you dived into your box, pulling out a ball of tangled fairy lights and dropping it in his lap.

“Another Christmas tradition you need to experience is untangling the lights.”

He balances it in his palm, looking at you with an eyebrow raised. “How about just putting them away properly?”

“I do – always end up like that.” You shrug, getting to your feet.

“Right, and whilst I’m doing this, what will you be doing?”

You lean over the back of the sofa, press a kiss to his crown. “Making you a hot cocoa with all the trimmings. Good luck!”

--

You watch as Leon stretches up and places the star atop the tree – it’s a smidge crooked, but you love it all the same. You’d spent the last hour wrapping it in lights and tinsel, before nestling new and old decorations upon the branches.

You bend down and switch the lights on, illuminating the tree in all its glory. “Perfect,” you declare, before you close your eyes for a moment, bite your lip in thought as Leon watches on with interest.

“What was that about?” He pulls you into his side, wrapping an arm tight around your waist.

“What was what?”

“Closed your eyes there, looked like you were deep in thought.”

“Oh,” you laugh. “It’s silly – my grandfather said to make a wish after you put the star on top of the tree and switch on the lights and then, with some Christmas magic, it would come true.”

“Really?”

“Mm. Give it a go.” You elbow him in the side, teasingly.

“Nah, it won’t work.” He shakes his head.

“Well, not with that attitude.”

“No,” he twirls you round in front of him then, cups your cheek and kisses you, softly. “It won’t work because my Christmas wish has already come true.”

“Okay, I need to dial back on your exposure to Hallmark Christmas movies cos that was cheesy as heck.”

He shrugs, rubbing his thumb across your cheek with a smug look on his face. “You love it.”

“I love you.” You correct, placing your hands on his chest. “Thank you for indulging me all day.”

“Love you more, sweetheart. However, there is one tradition I do have for this time of year that I’d like to share with you.”

“Really? You said you didn’t have any.”

“Mm.” He pulls you back with him onto the sofa, nestling you into his lap and presses a button on the remote control – the DVD player whirring into action.

“Leon Scott Kennedy,” you start with fake indignation, “are you telling me you have a favourite Christmas movie?”

Leon presses a kiss to your temple before he moves his lips to your ear to whisper with a smirk.

“Yippee ki-yay, motherfucker.”

--

Silly, festive nonsense. Comments, follows, likes and reblogs make my day!

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

[drabblesandimagines]

Lucky Charms

Leon Kennedy x gn reader

You sit on the bed, knees tucked up under your chin, as you watch him shrug on the new coat you'd got him for Christmas - black leather with a fur trim. He said it reminded him of one he'd lost on a mission years ago when he'd unwrapped it.

Leon checks his rucksack one last time. He always packs light - just the absolute essentials - sometimes he doesn't even get to unpack, hitting the ground running, no sleep until the mission has concluded.

There's always an uneasiness in your stomach when you watch Leon prepare for an assignment. Luckily, he's always come back in one piece, albeit one or two more scars to add to the vast collection.

He fastens his rucksack once satisfied and leans down for a kiss, but a glint of gold catches your eye as it falls from his shirt. His wedding ring sits on a chain around his neck - his work being far too hands-on for him to wear it safely on his finger.

You tsk, giving it a hard tug so the magnetic clasp comes free - a necklace isn't so great in fieldwork either.

"Uh-uh," he takes it back from you, quickly fastening it back in place. "Promise I'll take it off when I get there, sweetheart. Gives me good luck on flights."

You raise an eyebrow. "Really?"

Leon nods as he tucks it safely back under his shirt. "Haven't been in a plane crash since I started doing it."

You scoff. "We didn't even know each other when you last in a plane crash."

"Exactly. Good luck charm." He winks, before sitting down besides you on the bed.

You drop your knees down and he places a hand on your thigh, gives it a reassuring squeeze.

"You gonna be okay?"

"Will you?"

"I asked first."

"I'll be fine."

Leon wraps an arm around your shoulder and brings you in close, pressing a kiss to your temple.

"So will I."

You thread your fingers through his and sit in silence for a few moments, enjoying being in his embrace - especially with not knowing how long it would be until you were in it again.

"I... I wish it wasn't Raccoon City."

Leon had told you the stories - he'd had to, to explain the night terrors. 30 years of fighting abominations had taken their toll, though he'd admit he slept a little more soundly since having you by his side.

He rubs his thumb across your knuckles.

"It's long overdue."

You bite your lip before voicing your thought. "There's really no-one else who could go?"

He chuckles. "Think I'm too old to still be out in the field, sweetheart?"

You shake your head, firmly. You loved the grey streaks in his hair and stubble, the way his crow's feet crinkled when he smiled or laughed at his own jokes.

"I know you're the best person to go, I do. I just... I don't like it."

Leon's cell buzzes in his pocket - his car has arrived.

"There's, er, one other thing that brings me good luck."

"What's that?"

He cups your cheek - leather fingerless gloves already on - and smiles.

"This."

It is soft, slow and gentle at first, before he nips at your bottom lip, slipping his tongue in and deepening the kiss. His other hand comes up to the back of your head, threading his fingers through your hair to keep you in place...

..until the cell buzzes again and he eventually pulls back, leaving you breathless.

"I'll text when I get there, okay?"

"O...okay."

You stand up with him, in a little bit of a daze. It's unfair how much he can fluster you still after all these years.

He slings his rucksack over his shoulder and holds your hand as you follow him down the stairs towards the front door.

"I love you, Leon."

He smiles before pressing one last kiss to your forehead.

"I love you too, sweetheart."

You cling onto the open front door as he descends the porch stairs to the SUV that's waiting to take him to the airport.

Take him away from you.

Leon stops before he opens the car door and turns, taking one last look at you.

You blow him a kiss. He catches it, with a wink. Sticks it in his pocket.

"I'll bring it back."

----

Welcome back, Leon Kennedy brainrot.

[schtinkybeanz]

Let's all go to the movies! Happy Halloween!

[larvamars]

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