‘the girlfriend of the quietest man you know’ (leon x f!reader)
Leon Kennedy leaves a specific first impression. Battle-hardened, stoic. A little sarcastic humor if you’re lucky. But otherwise, calm and collected.
So when they meet you, you’re… unexpected.
At the annual gala, when ties start to loosen, shoes discarded and bags collecting under tablecloths, the lights dimming and the music gaining a little more bass, he’s sat at the table.
Hips swinging with the beat, booty circling. Silly, exaggerated, your arms twirling overhead with a carefree laugh that he couldn’t emulate if he tried.
So noticeable that another agent plops down next to him, beer in hand, his partner dancing with you, your laughter and shouted singing echoing even over the music. “Open bar got yours, too, Kennedy?”
And he huffs a laugh because he gets it, but also: “Nah, she’s stone-cold sober,” with a rare, genuine smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes. “That’s all her.”
At sporting events, you could set a record for how often the camera finds you in the audience for those “dumb” jumbotron challenges. The ones you insist on participating in with the vigor of someone who believes money’s on the line. And he just sits beside you, smiling beneath his hand. Not in embarrassment, but a deep amusement that simply has no words.
The other side of the coin will sometimes have you openly frustrated in public, voice sharp and hands flailing as you lecture him before pushing against his chest with a gentle shove, stomping off for some much needed space.
He only tilts his head back, pleading to the sky like it can save him. Then he’s shaking it, unable to help his smile as he follows you, scooping you into his arms with ease, his eyes soft and knowing as he grins down at you like he can’t get enough.
