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.
Leon Kennedy x female reader, established relationship, fluff with a tiny bit of suggestive spice at the end
Leon threw himself down onto the mattress with a relieved sigh – a cliché, but there was nothing like sleeping in your own bed after being away. It had been a mixture of questionable motel beds, a couple of nights in the backseat of the car, another night of no sleep at all and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t on the brink of exhaustion, running on adrenaline until he made it back home to you that evening.
He rubs his cheek against your pillow, inhaling the scent of your perfume and allows himself to close his eyes. Now, he just needs you in his arms for a perfect’s night sleep…
--
“Leon?”
Nothing – again. You’d worry he had stopped breathing entirely if he wasn’t letting out soft snores from where his face was pressed against your pillow. He’d been away on a mission for two long weeks and had arrived home early evening, duffel bag in hand, covered in fading bruises, kisses and wandering hands tinged with weariness despite his obvious excitement to be back home with you.
You made small talk as you’d made a light dinner – get him fed and then you could both have an early night. He didn’t like to talk much about his missions had entailed – he wanted to keep the two things as separate in his brain as he could – but he knew if he needed to talk about something, you’d be there and that was enough.
You’d sent him up to bed first whilst you finished up in the kitchen – you liked to start off each morning with a clean slate in there and it would only take you ten minutes tops to sort, you’d assured him, a cheeky pat to his backside as you encouraged him up the stairs.
He’d changed into a pair of plaid PJ bottoms and a plain white tee, so he must’ve brushed his teeth and then just… collapsed?
You place a hand on the broad expanse of his back, giving him a light shake. “Sweetheart?”
The problem is, Leon is broad and tall and currently, somehow, taking up the whole of your double bed. You can’t even see a reasonable space you could try and curl up into against his side and be remotely comfortable, the way his limbs are spread out like a starfish.
“Leon,” you place another hand on his back and give a more vigorous shake. “I just need you to scooch on up a bit, sweetheart.”
Nothing.
You change tact and try and lift an arm, maybe you can get him to roll with a little encouragement, or he’ll wake up? Surely as an agent he’s a light sleeper anyway, what if you were an enemy or any sort of threat?
His arm is deadweight, all muscle - even if you try and lift it with both hands, embarrassingly, you can’t get it even an inch or so off the mattress.
You try and push it inwards so it’ll sit tight against his body, but it just won’t move.
“Leon?” You grab hold of his shoulder and shake it with all of your strength.
“Yeah, baby?” He mumbles.
A sign of life – hallelujah. “Can you move along a bit for me?”
“Sure.”
He doesn’t move.
“Just need you to scooch up a bit for me, handsome.”
“Mm-hm…” And he snuggles his face further into your pillow, an adorable smile on his face as he does.
With a sigh, you try and wedge yourself into the space in defeat – maybe he’ll subconsciously feel you and lift his arm up for a cuddle, and then you’d be able to fit a little more comfortably? He did prefer to sleep with an arm wrapped around you, keeping you pressed close up against him, legs tangled together.
After trying out various positions in the hopes of coaxing him into a spoon, a few more vigorous shakes and, finally, a more than playful smack to his backside that achieved no more than a mumble – not proud of that one, but needs must - you admit defeat, kneel down beside the bed and stare at his slumbering face in thought.
He must be utterly exhausted and, despite the frustration of not being able to cuddle up against him after so many nights apart, it is flattering, you suppose, that he must feel safe within your company to allow himself to relax so completely and be out like a literal light.
You lean down to pick up his neglected pillow and press a kiss to his forehead, and grab the throw from the end of the bed – looks like it’s a night on the couch.
--
Leon wakes up slowly as light filters in through the curtains. His body had been aching from his time away, but it seems a night in his bed has set him right. He stretches his arms out, expecting for a hand to brush up against your warmth but is dismayed when he finds the bed empty.
He turns and sits up, cautiously, rubbing the back of his head with a loud yawn and takes in his surroundings, wondering if you’ve just nipped to the en-suite, but the door to it is ever so slightly ajar.
Your phone is plugged in on the bedside table, charging, which is odd – although not glued to the thing, it's strange for you not to have taken it with you if you’d gone downstairs to make breakfast…
There’s a sickening feeling in his stomach when he realizes he doesn’t remember you coming to bed at all, that he had been waiting for you to come join him and…
Hazy memories of you calling out to him?
Fuck.
He jumps up to his feet, dashes out the bedroom and takes the stairs down two at a time, trying to think. He’d left his gun in his duffel bag, hadn’t even taken it up with him, left it by the door when he arrived home last night. Had he been drugged? He had felt exhausted, but he’d put that down to the poor sleep over the last while. Could someone have followed him home last night, drugged him somehow, a tranquilizer, waited for him to be out for the count to swoop in and…?
His heart stops as he sees you lying on your side on the couch, the throw from the bed now twisted around your legs, arms wrapped around his pillow.
Safe and sound, and fast asleep.
He exhales, calming himself for a moment with a chuckle, before kneeling down besides you and tilting his head, awkwardly, so he can kiss you up the lips.
The sensation is enough for you to stir, blinking up at him with a dozy smile.
“Morning.”
“I don’t recall us having a fight last night, sweetheart.” He grins at his joke, but it’s one that falls flat.
“A fight?” You repeat, confused.
“You know, when couples fight, one of them ends up sleeping on the couch...”
“Oh, yeah,” you yawn, sitting up with the slightest wince. “You wouldn’t let me in the bed.”
“Huh?”
“When I came up to bed you were dead to the world, literally star-fished. I tried to get you to scoot up a little so I could get in but it was impossible, so I slept down here.”
“Seriously?”
“Mm-hm, you must’ve been exhausted.” You nod, shuffling around to place your feet flat on the ground. “Lemme make us some coffee… Ow!” You hiss as you stand, placing a hand on the small of your back.
Leon is quick to his feet, eyes wide in alarm. “What’s the matter?”
“I’m okay, it’s just my back,” you rub at the sore spot, the muscles feeling tender. It had been fine last night… “Maybe the couch isn’t the best for sleeping on.”
You take another step forward, intent on heading to the kitchen, but there’s no hiding the wince from Leon’s gaze. “Oh, baby…”
“It’ll be fine, I just need to walk it off.”
“Uh-uh, come on,” and those muscular arms that were so impossible to move last night are suddenly scooping you up and holding you against his chest as he heads back towards the stairs. “Let’s get you to bed. It’s still early and a couple of hours on a proper, supportive mattress might work wonders.”
You wrap your arms around his neck in turn. “Oh, I know your game, Kennedy.”
“And what’s that?” He replies, nonchalantly as he begins to ascend the stairs, careful not to knock your legs against the banister.
“The other activity you like to conduct in bed, the one that’s not sleeping? I just…” You tense in his arms, looking a little hesitant. “I don’t know if my back’s gonna play ball...”
Leon reaches the top of the landing and smirks, “Trust me - stretches work wonders for back pain, sweetheart.”
He strides into the bedroom and kicks the door closed with his foot.
It doesn’t open again until late afternoon.
--
AN: Inspired by my boyfriend actually star-fishing me outta the bed and me having to sleep on the couch x
Halsin x reader
Inspired by this post by @amorgansgal.
Halsin’s jaw aches.
He’s been clenching his teeth from the second the camp discovered you’d been spirited away by Orin to the Temple of Bhaal, intended as a sacrifice to the god of murder.
He hadn’t been able to relax for a moment – muscles tight, shoulders held up to his ears - despite his pleas to the Oak Father to keep his mind focused on the objective of finding the entrance to the cursed place.
His heart had stopped in his chest when he’d seen Orin hold the curved blade underneath your chin as you lay motionless on the altar, shackles around your wrists and ankles.
It was a true test of his resolve to prevent the beast from taking control. He’d dug his nails into his palms and forced himself to focus on the pain and take a deep breath. Although it would be all too easy to swipe out with his claws, rip out Orin’s throat with his teeth as retribution for ever leaving a mark on your skin, he knows that he’d never make it over in time to stop her from slicing your throat.
He’s thankful to Wyll for speaking up in a measured tone, of reminding Orin that Bhaal would relish a fight than a subdued sacrifice and unclenches his fists as she withdraws her weapon.
As soon as the slayer’s body hits the ground and disintegrates, Halsin hurries to your side, dropping to his knees besides the altar and rests a cautious palm on your chest.
“Thank Silvanus,” he murmurs, feeling you breathe.
A spell or enchantment, then, keeping you under.
His eyes fall next to the chains. He doesn’t look to see where Astarion is, ask whether he has any thieves tools to hand, but simply takes them in his hands and pulls with a grunt, the metal snapping under his brute strength and adrenaline.
He makes quick work of the ones around your ankles, heart aching as he sees the raw skin around your limbs – clearly you’d fought against the restraints furiously. He calls the spell of restoration and smoothes his palm over your face, caressing your cheek as your eyes slowly flutter open, brow furrowed in confusion as he tilts your head towards him.
“Halsin?” Your voice is hoarse, vision blurry but you’d recognize the silhouette of your partner anywhere.
“Hush, my heart.” He attempts to keep his tone soft and measured, but it is proving difficult already – a lump burning in his throat. “You must conserve your strength.”
But you’ve already sat up, catching sight of your other companions hovering behind him, concern apparent across all their faces and a netherstone now in Astarion’s possession.
Orin – she kidnapped you, whisked you away in the shadows and chained you down…
“You defeated Orin?”
“Ye-“
“We can discuss this back at camp – in the morning, after you have rested.” Halsin cuts across your companion, a firm tone perfected in his days as archdruid. His arms swiftly encompass you before any further interruptions - one around your back, another under your thighs - and you are lifted up from the altar before he begins to stride towards the exit.
Halsin has never been a swift walker. In fact, you’d describe his style as lumbering almost, much like the bear form he favoured would traverse – but on this occasion he is walking with an almost fevered haste.
You go to protest that you can walk - you just need some water and a moment to reorientate your bearings - but as you look up there is a clear tremble in Halsin’s jaw, tears lining his lashes…
You may not need this, but he certainly does.
He needs you pressed up against him, soft, warm and alive in his arms as he keeps you close against his chest.
You raise a cautious hand to his cheek and he quickly presses a kiss to your palm, eyes only flickering down to meet yours before an embarrassed smile crosses his lips.
You drop your hand and he squeezes you cautiously, ascending the stairs out of the temple.
There is so much he wishes to say, but now is not the time. Once he has you back in the safety of his tent, after he’s healed every bruise and abrasion on your skin – alongside a kiss for each for good measure – he will permit himself to relax.
You close your eyes and rest your cheek against his chest, letting out a contented sigh.
“I knew you’d come for me.”
Halsin presses a kiss against your crown, silent tears rolling down his cheeks.
“Always, my heart.”
--
Just a short lil' drabble to try and get me back in the flow x
Leon Kennedy x female reader, established relationship, absolutely fluffy nonsense once again
“Stand here for me, ma’am.”
You giggle at the odd term of address as familiar hands maneuverer you forward into position by your hips, the owner of said hands stepping back in front of you when they seemed happy with your positioning.
“Now, put your left index finger on your nose.”
You roll your eyes. “You can’t seriously be making your girlfriend take a field impairment test.”
Leon crosses his arms, trademark smirk on his lips. “Oh, I’m serious, sweetheart. Left index finger – go.”
You swallow down a hiccup as you follow his order, finding your nose with ease and smile, triumphantly.
“Now with your right.”
That one doesn’t go as smooth, your finger sliding down the side and prodding yourself in the cheek before you reposition, finding it at last. “Oops.”
“Arms straight down by your sides.” You comply at once, straightening your posture as you do. “Place your left foot directly in front of your right, heel touching toes.”
That one is a little more tricky to follow, you admit, but you think you’ve nailed it after a little bit of shuffling, though your boyfriend doesn’t look entirely convinced.
“Walk forward – heel to toe every step and count aloud.”
“Heel to toe…” You mutter, looking down at your feet. “One.” You swing your right leg round a bit too dramatically and your foot lands too far in front of your left but you persevere.
“Two.” Another big step forward has you throwing your arms out for balance.
“Arms straight down by your sides, sweetpea.” Leon chides.
You huff, dropping them back down and scoot your foot backward, before stepping forward with the other. “Three…”
Unfortunately, you step too far off to the right, nearly losing your balance completely before Leon steadies you with a firm grip on your elbow.
“Yep, you are 100% not riding on the back.”
“But I promise to hold on real tight.” You press your face into his chest then, wrapping your arms around his waist in demonstration and giving a firm squeeze to show off your strength.
“Not a risk I’m willing to take.” Leon wraps his arms around you in return and presses a kiss to your crown. All it would take was for you to let go around a corner and…
He shudders, can’t even bear to imagine any further. Nope, not happening.
“I’m sorry.” Your words are muffled, feeling like an annoyance. “I really didn’t think I’d drank that much.”
And you hadn’t, it had only really hit you when you’d exited the bar into the fresh air to meet Leon on the sidewalk. He’d parked his bike a block or so away from the venue and that short, stumbled walk had set alarm bells ringing.
“I’m sure you didn’t, little lightweight that you are.” He teases. “Come on, it’s not too far a walk from here anyway – might help you sober up.”
You pull your head back and look up at him, brows furrowed. “What about your bike?”
He looks at it – his prized Ducati, security lock already in place from when he left it to walk towards the bar – and shrugs. “I can get it in the morning.”
“Uh-uh,” you step back, Leon loosening his arms as you do but still keeping you close. “You take the bike and I’ll walk home. Ooh, I could jog alongside!”
Leon smiles in amusement, but shakes his head. “Not happening.”
You look down at your feet, double-checking you were in fact wearing flats and not heels when Leon doesn’t take you seriously. He’s in his military-grade boots, as usual. You’re not sure how they can be comfortable to walk in, steel-capped toes, but he never seems to complain.
“Okay, how about you wheel it home as I walk?”
“Why are you so concerned about me leaving my bike?”
“Are you kidding me? You have the worst luck with it. If you leave it here, it’ll get stolen or hit by a truck, or… struck by lightning.”
“And my insurance covers all of those.” He turns you, gently, one arm snug around your waist and encourages you to take a step forward. “Come on, let’s get home.”
You wrap an arm tentatively around his waist in return and only make it a few steps before your insecurities arise. “Leon…”
“Mm?”
“Are you mad at me?”
“Not at all, sweetheart.” He squeezes your hip in reassurance. “Why would I be? You had fun, right?”
“Yeah, I did.” You nod, thinking back over the evening. You’d met up with your friends to catch-up over some cocktails, a rare evening where you’d all happened to be free. “It was so nice seeing them all. Tabitha’s been through two boyfriends since the last time we managed it.”
“She still dating jerks?” He frowns, familiar with her tales of dating woe.
“Sadly. Are you sure there’s no suitable guys at your work?”
“Oh, I’m one of a kind, baby,” he chuckles. “Don’t wanna set her up for disappointment.”
“Maybe this one will be diff… Ooh, look!” You point just up ahead, your attention span apparently at an all-time low. “They finally finished the renovations!”
The playpark had been taped off for a while – the equipment old and outdated and more than a little bit dangerous. You pull away from him and race through the gate, making a beeline for the swings. Leon jogs behind you, stopping a few feet in front of the swing-set and places his hands on his hips as you plonk yourself down and kick your feet against the fresh tarmac.
“I don’t think you’re the demographic they’re looking for, sweetheart.”
“Says you.” You tease, the agent having a handful of more years on you. “When’s the last time you sat on a swing anyway?”
“I dunno, 30 years ago?”
“Long overdue.” You jerk your head at the swing besides you. “Bet I can swing higher than you can.”
He tilts his head and smiles. “I’m sure you can.”
“Leon, come on.” You pout, scuffing your soles on the tarmac again as you swing half-heartedly back and forth. “Please?”
How could he ever say no to that face?
He rolls his eyes and walks over to the swing, sitting down heavily as instructed, wrapping his fingers around the chains. “Happy?”
“Uh-uh, not until you swing, Kennedy.” You kick your feet against the ground in demonstration, picking up some height and speed as Leon follows suit.
You look at him and grin as the two of you begin to swing in sync, getting higher and higher. Leon’s smile only grows wider as the wind rushes through his hair.
It takes him back for a moment – back to before he knew what Umbrella and BOWs were. He still has his jokes, of course, but it had been a while since he’d allowed himself to be a little bit silly.
You just make it far too easy.
He scuffs his boots against the ground to slow down his movement and watches as you follow suit, tilting your head in concern.
“You okay?”
“Mm-hm. Come here,” he pats his lap and you jump off mid-swing, somehow managing to keep upright. Leon rolls his eyes and stops his swing completely as you step over and drop yourself sideways onto his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck for stability.
“I can’t ride on the back of your bike, but I can sit on your lap whilst you swing, huh?”
“Uh-uh,” he lets go of the chain and cups your face. “I just wanted a kiss.”
He closes the gap then with a soft kiss, one full of utter adoration – not too firm, but one that makes your scalp tingle as his lips caress yours, over and over.
He pulls away to lean his forehead against yours.
“I love you, sweetheart. Thanks for keeping me young.”
You let go of his neck to pat his chest, chidingly. “Come on, you’re not that old. You were swinging pretty high.”
“Yeah, guess I was.” The cocky grin crosses his face then. “Higher than you, actually.”
“Uh-uh”, you shake your head, adamantly. “You just think that cos you’re a little bit taller.”
“Keep telling yourself that.”
But he’s lost you, your attention fixed on something over his shoulder. “Ooh, they’ve got a new slide too!”
You make Leon try every piece of play equipment before finally heading home, but his smile never drops.
Leon Kennedy x female reader, established relationship
The sidewalk feels cold beneath your thighs as you stare blankly into your lap, your breaths heavy, struggling through a tight chest. You’re sat cross-legged, like a child - the nice, elderly lady had encouraged you to sit down, said you were looking pale. She’d definitely meant for you to take a seat on the bench a few steps away, but you’d just dropped, seemingly forgetting how to get from standing to sitting in any sort of graceful manner.
She’d smiled sympathetically then, offered you some candy from the bottom of her purse – kept a stash in there for her grandchildren - said you needed sugar for the shock. But you’d shook your head, feeling sick at the notion of eating anything. She asked if there was anyone she could call whilst waiting for the first responders.
You’d put your hand in your jacket pocket for your phone at her question – relieved it’s in one piece, not smashed up like the hunk of metal just out of eyeshot. You don’t remember calling Leon’s number, but you must have because now your phone’s up against your ear.
“Hey, sweetheart.” He answers after only four rings, though his voice is hushed - maybe ducked out of the room to answer. “Can I call you back in 20? Just wrapping up something here.”
“I-crashed-the-car.” You blurt out, the words running into one another. It’s not technically true, you were crashed into but this seems easier for now.
“What?” His volume amps way up and your stomach twists with the change, unsure of the implications – is he mad? Upset?
You were borrowing his car. Yours was in the garage, the brake discs needed replaced and would take a couple of days to get the parts in. You’d planned to take city transport but Leon insisted you take his car - arguing it was winter, that it gets dark so early and the idea of you walking to and from the bus stop on your own isn’t one he wants to entertain. You don’t live in a terrible neighbourhood, but you don’t have to be for monsters to be roaming the streets, after all.
Plus, it made sense for him to ride his bike to HQ whilst you borrowed his SUV and he wouldn’t have to worry, have one less thing on his plate…
..or so had been the idea.
“Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
“I’m so sorry,” you don’t even take in his questions, really. “They came out of nowhere and…“ Your breath hitches in your throat, a sob building up and threatening to overflow.
“Baby,” his tone is firm, “are you hurt?”
You can hear his shoes slapping against the floor as he begins to run, though it sounds too hard a sole for his boots... No, that’s right, he went out in a suit this morning – leather jacket on top, motorcycle helmet tucked under his arm, still made the whole ensemble look good albeit it being mismatched.
“No…” That’s not true - there’s blood, and it has to be yours, but you feel numb of any sort of pain. “I don’t know.“ Your voice cracks again.
“That’s okay,” he soothes, barging through a door with his shoulder. “We’ll work it out.” Nearly takes a woman out the other side with how hard the door slams against the wall, mutters half an apology as he darts around her. “Are you still in the car?”
You turn to look at Leon’s black SUV laying on its side, the under carriage on full display – not the way a car should be. The driver’s side is against the concrete. You’d climbed out the passenger side, somehow, having to fight gravity itself to get the door to open, clambered up and over the leather seats. Should you have done that, or should you have stayed put? You’d just wanted out from the metal box – the windscreen was a spiderweb of cracks, creaking like it would explode in shards at any moment.
“N-no, I’m on the sidewalk.”
“Okay, good. Ambulance on its way?” He’s reached the elevator, mashes the down button like it will make it accelerate to his floor any faster than usual. He feels awful that he’s interrogating you, but his training has kicked in - gather as much intel as possible – and he needs the facts.
“Yeah. Police too.” A few cars had stopped after. Someone said they were calling 911, another saying they got some of the license plate, the old lady and her purse full of candy. The other car drove off, tyres burnt with how fast they fled the scene.
“Good. That’s good, sweetheart. You’re going to be okay. Can you tell me where you are? What street you’re on?”
“Erm…” You look round, but in the shock nothing looks familiar, though it must be a route you’d driven down hundreds of times before. “I was on the way home from work, so, I’m, erm…”
“That’s all right.” He can hear the tightness in your voice, knows you’re not thinking clearly and so he changes tact. “Is anyone nearby that you could ask?” He hits the elevator button again, swears it’s been on floor 12 for far longer than necessary. Come on.
The elderly lady comes back to mind – she must’ve stepped back to give you privacy when you’d pulled your phone out. “There’s someone.”
“Great. Can you ask them where you are?”
“Yeah…” You pull the phone down from your ear, looking around to find she’s not gone far at all, hovering a few metres away. “Excuse me, where are we? Sorry.” The apology slips out, feeling more of a nuisance to her than you’d already been.
“16th Street, dearie.” She smiles, keeps her tone gentle. “Just near Jack’s Groceries.”
The elevator finally arrives – empty - and Leon positions himself between the doors, aware that his reception might drop when he starts to head down to the garage and he can’t leave you on a dial tone.
“Thank you.” You force a smile in return, hold the phone back up to your ear. “16th Street, near the grocery store, Jack’s - it’s the one with those chips you like?”
He smiles at that – it’s not your usual place to shop, but you go there sometimes to pick them up for him ‘just cos’.
“I’m on my way, sweetheart. Can you call or text me if you go anywhere else?”
“Y-yeah.” You take another shuddering breath, dig your nails into the palm of your hand. “Thank you. I’m so sorry.”
He steps into the elevator fully, double taps the button for the garage before assaulting another to close the doors. He hopes no-one tries to grab it on the way down, cos he won’t be able to hide his irritation.
“Nothing to apologize for. Everything’s going to be okay. I love you, baby.”
“Love you too.”
“See you soon.”
He hears the beep, signaling the call is cut off and takes a grounding breath, though his foot taps impatiently as the elevator continues to descend. He scrolls down his contacts, thumb poised to dial as soon as the doors open again.
“Leon,” Hunnigan sounds surprised to receive his call, probably cos he’s in the same building as her and usually swung by the office if he was after something. “To wha-“
“I need a car.” He cuts across her, heading over to where the company vehicles are kept. “Any car - I’m in the garage already.”
“Right. Why?” He feels a smidge of relief when he hears her begin to type.
“Please - just give me anything. I don’t care what, I just need to go.”
There’s the clunk of a lock down the line of vehicles, a black estate vehicle’s lights flashing. “Bay C3. Keys in the sun visor as usual. Tell me later.”
“I will. Thank you.”
--
Leon drives a little faster than he should, but it still feels like hours until he reaches his destination. There’s a couple of cop cars blocking one of the lanes, red and blues flashing, an officer stood diverting traffic around the closure and another manning the perimeter. He pulls up behind the cars and hops out, scanning for you.
There’s an ambulance parked up in the lane and his heart skips a beat when he sees you sat on the steps, a cop on one side, a paramedic waiting behind in the wings. There’s one of those silver foil emergency blankets draped around your shoulders and you look so goddamn small.
He starts to jog over, intent on getting to your side as soon as possible, when the cop manning the perimeter sidesteps in front of him, holding his hands up to get him to stop.
“Sir, I need you to stay ba-“
Leon flashes his ID in his face – it’s not something he likes to do and so he rarely does it, but he doesn’t have time to put on the charm. “Agent Leon Kennedy. That’s my girlfriend over there – I need to get through.”
The cop steps back and Leon feels weirdly grateful for once for the DSO.
As he gets closer, his eyes narrow at the fact that they’re making you blow into a breathalyzer. He clenches his fist then - you’re bleeding and they’re accusing you of drink-driving?! He wants to give them what for, but then he sees the way you’re shaking and knows him storming into the scene ready to blow is not going to help, especially with how apologetic you’d been on the phone.
He forces himself to stop a moment and breathes deeply again. You’re shook up, but you’re in one piece, conscious and that’s the most important thing.
“Thank you, ma’am.” The officer nods, noting down the reading as Leon walks over, catching the tail-end of the conversation. “Nothing to worry about there. I’ll just go update the control room – it won’t be long.”
“Leon,” you stand abruptly at the sight of him as the cop steps off to the side and the foil blanket slips off your shoulders, gauze taped on multiple parts of your arms. You’re trembling. “I’m so sorry.”
“Come here,” Leon wraps his arms around you, coaxing you into his chest. He wants to squeeze tight, to confirm what he’s seen with his eyes, that you’re real and whole, but he doesn’t want to aggravate any injuries so he’s careful, pressing a kiss to your crown. “Don’t apologise, sweetheart. I’m just so glad you’re okay.”
“Y-yeah, I’m fine.” You’re not, but maybe if you say it to Leon it’ll make it real. There’s a horrible burning sensation in your chest. You want to cry, but not here, not in front of everyone.
“Sorry, ma’am, can I get you to take a seat again?” The paramedic interrupts, emergency blanket back in hand. “I won’t be long, sir. I just need to check a couple more things.”
“No, of course.” He presses another kiss to your forehead and guides you back to the steps, encouraging you to sit and takes the blanket from the paramedic’s hand to drape back over you. “I’ll be right over there, okay? I’m just gonna go have a word with the officer.”
“Okay, yeah.”
He steps aside so the paramedic can move in and waits for the officer to come off the radio, approaching and offering his hand. “Leon Kennedy. I’m her boyfriend.”
“I gathered.” He shakes it. “Officer Jacobs. It was your car she was driving?”
“Mm-hm.” He keeps half an eye on you as he sees the paramedic shine a flashlight in your eyes, getting you to follow his finger. “What happened?”
The cop consults his notepad, flipping through his notes. “A witness stated another SUV-type vehicle went through the red light at some speed. Said it had been driving erratically for a while, so I’m figuring drunk-driver. T-boned, sent your SUV spinning and flipped onto its side after it collided with the lamp-post. The other vehicle stopped for five seconds or so, then gunned it. I’ve got dispatch sending a description out for the highway patrols. Partial registration but it’s gonna have damage, I’m sure, so should be easy to spot if it’s still in transit.”
Leon swallows, taking all the information in.
“How lucky do you think she was?”
“Truthfully,” the cop scratches his day-old stubble, looking between the SUV and you, “I think if she’d been in a different car than that, we’d be having a very different and difficult conversation right now.”
Leon’s fists clench. He’s encountered unspeakable horrors too often in his time, but the idea that some drunken jerk could just get behind the wheel and end your life is more terrifying than anything he’s ever faced.
His thoughts swirl down a dangerous drain - wonders if Hunnigan can grab the partial registration from the cops, run it through her software and find the culprit, or trawl the CCTV cameras for a screengrab. He’d show up at their door, or maybe wait for them in the parking lot, revving his own engine, scare them the way they’ve traumatized you and-
“Sir?”
The thought extinguishes as he realizes the cop is offering him a slip of paper.
“Case number. We’ve got her details and we’ll be in touch if we hear anything, but just in case either of you want to follow anything up.”
“Got it.” He nods, taking it and popping it into his wallet. “Thanks.”
--
Leon wants to take you straight home – he’s got a substantial first aid kit there that’ll do the trick on the cuts that need stitching – but, honestly, you need a proper check-up and only the emergency room will do.
You’d required a few stitches from where you’d been caught by the glass from the driver’s window and bruises had started to develop, specially from where the seatbelt had jerked at the impact, but the overall prognosis was positive – you’d be sore for a few weeks, that was for sure, but armed with some painkillers and some rest, you’d be fine.
Leon doesn’t think he’s ever driven quite so carefully the way he drove to and from the emergency room. Not that will help against other assholes on the road, but he’ll be damned if he does anything that means he has to slam on the brakes and give you a fright. You’ve been silent most of the time – silent on the drive, silent in the waiting room, answering the doctor’s questions in a quiet, unsure voice, and then silent again on the drive home. He’d placed a cautious hand on your knee, squeezing it in reassurance, meaning to draw it away but you’d placed your hand on top of it, looping your fingers through his.
He pulls into the parking lot, gives your hand one last squeeze and hops out, dashing around so he can help you out the vehicle. Leon can read you like a book, he knows you’re holding it together until you get inside – you know you are too.
The elevator is mercifully sat on the ground floor when the two of you enter the lobby and Leon keeps you close as you ride up to the 12th floor and the safety of the apartment.
“Can we sit?”
“Of course, sweetheart. Whatever you want.” He sits down on the sofa first and you drop yourself down onto his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. It’s only a second before you burrow your head under his chin and, with a heaving breath, finally let out a proper sob - releasing everything you’ve held in for the last few hours. You feel stupid, annoyed, frightened, sore, relieved – too many emotions to keep track of.
He wraps his arms around you in turn, pressing a long kiss to your temple, tears burning at his own eyes.
In that moment, it hits Leon in the gut that he doesn’t know what he’d do without you, what he would have done if you hadn’t come home that night. If he’d have to come back to the apartment and not find your shoes kicked off at the door at the end of the long day, the glass with the lipstick smear on the rim near the sink from the water you’d gulp down greedily whilst making dinner.
It’s not like he takes you for granted by any means. He feels lucky every morning when he gets to wake up next to you in bed, and every night when he climbs back in, wrapping his arms around you. He’ll never let the two of you go to sleep or part ways if you’ve had harsh words or a full blown argument as all couples do, not with the risk his line of work brings, the threat that he could be called away in the middle of the night and have to bid goodbye to a turned back.
He rubs his hand gently up and down your back then, tears silently rolling down his face as he takes you all in, relishes your warmth as he cradles you in his lap.
“I’m so sorry.” You hiccup, your sobs eventually ceasing into sniffles, but still you kept your face pressed into his chest, seeking the comfort of his smell – the faint cologne and natural musk that was so uniquely Leon.
“You did nothing wrong, you hear me?” He mumbles into your crown. “You have nothing to apologize for.”
“Is the car a complete write-off?”
“Don’t know, don’t care.” He gently lifts your left hand, presses a kiss across your knuckles. “I love you, baby. So much.”
“Love you too.”
The day after the next – he negotiated a personal day to spend doting on you, breakfast in bed, cuddles on the sofa, takeaway for dinner – Leon goes out and buys a ring.
Inspired by @creativepromptsforwriting prompt 1080!
"I can't stop thinking about kissing you."
"And what are you going to do about that?"
Leon Kennedy x gn reader
“I can’t do this.” Leon mutters under his breath, but you hear it as clear as day from your position.
How could you not, seeing as you’re currently only an inch away from his chest, his head nearly resting atop your own?
You’ve been trapped in this tiny storage cupboard for at least 20 minutes now, waiting for Hunnigan to give the all-clear that all 27 heat signals had dispersed from outside your current location. You would describe yourself as a relatively decent shot, Leon more so, but the numbers weren’t in your favour.
“Claustrophobic?” You whisper back, cautious that your voice may carry. You wish you could shift your left foot ever so slightly, currently standing awkwardly over a bucket that was sat at the bottom at the cupboard when you entered.
“No.” He has his hands braced either side of you against the opposite wall, seemingly caging you in more than the cupboard is. Your arms awkwardly hung by your side, painfully aware of how if you moved even slightly forward you’d be pressing your front into his chest, fingers ghosting against his hips.
“I can’t do this.” Leon says again. “Missions - with you.”
“Oh, come on,” you wish you could step back so you could give him a proper withering stare. “You can’t blame me every time something goes wrong. The intel definitely said only five guards were on site at any one time.”
“No. I mean, I…” He’d rub the bridge of his nose if he could bring his arm forward to do it without hitting you in the process. “I can’t concentrate.”
You scoff, immediately defensive. “And how is that my fault?”
“Because I can’t stop thinking about kissing you!”
Silence.
“Oh.”
“Yes, oh.” He mocks, frustrated.
He's meant to be better than this. Hell, he usually is when the two of you are paired up. Leon’s flirty, sure, but he knows to be professional when it’s a matter of life and death, and trapped in a cupboard with a number of hostiles outside is definitely a time when he should be at his most focused. But ever since the two of you retreated in here, all he can think about is how close you are, how good you smell, the warmth of your body pressed up against his, how he could place his fingers under your chin, tilt your head up…
“Well, what are you going to do about it?”
“Sorry?” He looks down at you in disbelief, sure he’s misheard.
“I said,” you lift your hand and trail your fingers up his chest before you rest it just above his pounding heart and meet those soft blue eyes. “What are you going to do about it?”
He doesn’t need a third invitation, dropping his hands from the wall. One arm wraps around your waist, bringing you needlessly forward that final inch, your left thigh finding its way between his in lieu of anywhere else to go. His other hand grabs the back of your head and tilts it up to meet his lips, stealing your breath with a deep, frantic kiss...
Hunnigan smiles to herself as she leans back in her chair at HQ, your voices falling silent on the comms in what she suspects is the result of other activity – Leon had left the channel open when you'd been forced to find cover. It’s only when she hears Kennedy let out a muffled moan that she taps to disconnect the audio, her suspicions now well and truly confirmed. The computer screen in front of her shows a blueprint of the factory, where two red dots reside in the small storage cupboard she’d directed them to after she’d ‘alerted’ them to the unwelcome company.
She still needs to work out how to explain the sudden disappearance of 27 hostiles, but it’s worth it so she won’t be forced to watch the two of you dance awkwardly around each other in the office anymore.
---
This is probably the closest to a drabble I've ever gotten despite my blog name, ha!
Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi
PS: Thanks to @porcelainseashore for helping me clarify the ending <3
Leon Kennedy x female reader, commissioned piece
Lots of dumb fluff ahead!
Thanks so much to the lovely @porcelainseashore for commissioning me with the brief of Leon using a dating app! I've said it before and I'll say it again - please do go check out Porcelain's fics! x
“So,” Leon places his elbows on the counter behind, leans back and flashes a winning smile, “how about dinner later?”
The auburn-haired woman waits for her coffee to finish dispensing before she shakes her head, lips pursed. “No, thank you, Agent Kennedy.”
“Oh.” He was sure they’d had some sort of connection. Their eyes had met across the office on more than one occasion, flirtatiously so – had he read it wrong? “You have plans already tonight?”
“Mm, something like that.” She smiles, politely, picking up her DSO-branded mug and heading out of the break room without so much as a glance back.
Leon shrugs it off – he’s good at that – and places his own mug under the spout, about to make his coffee selection when a familiar voice chirps over his shoulder.
“Have you ever thought of internet dating?”
He spins round, surprised. “Claire?”
“Hi.” She waves with a smile. “So, internet dating?”
Leon’s brow furrowed, about to ask why she was here, but from the visitor lanyard around her neck it was clear it was down to some sort of TerraSafe business, but why is she going on about internet dating?
Oh.
“Wait, did you hear…?”
“The dinner invite? Oh, yes.” She nods, crossing her arms. “Does that ever work?”
“Yes.”
Claire quirks an eyebrow.
“Okay, not recently.” He retorts, turning back around and pressing the button for his black coffee to start dispensing.
“Uh-huh…” She steps forward, turns to lean against the counter to look at him. “I’m telling you, Leon - internet dating. I finally convinced Chris to give it a go about six months back, and he seems pretty happy. Been seeing a nice girl for three months now – a florist.”
Leon shakes his head, watching the coffee dispense with feigned interest. “Surprised Redfield went for it. How the hell do you introduce anyone to what we’ve seen?” At least with women from work, he didn’t have to skirt around what the hell he does all day.
“Heard of keeping work and homelife separate?”
“And Chris manages that?”
“I mean, she knows what he’s shared with her, but he took it slow. It’s not like the government can keep everything secret these days – not with everyone having a smart phone.” Claire grimaces, remembering the videos of the Alcatraz attack popping up on social media on a live stream. It was taken down pretty quick, but still popped up occasionally. They can’t hide it forever.
“Anyway, enough about Chris’ love life, I’m trying to help yours. Have you tried it? There’s websites and apps…”
Leon recalls a week of medical leave – battered, bruised and laid out on the couch on high doses of meds, flipping through the cable channels and losing hours to a show about people falling in love over the internet, only for the person to be using a fake photo of an entirely different identity and being crushed when they met in person.
“Isn’t that where the catfish are?”
Claire rolls her eyes. “We won’t set your radius that large.”
He looks down, a little confused. “My… radius?”
Leon’s not present on social media, but that’s hardly a surprise with his work. Maybe, if things had been different, he would’ve trawled through it at some point – joined a group for graduates from the Police Academy of ’98, checked in, gone to some sort of graduating class reunion where they would’ve swapped stories from precincts over a lukewarm beer or two in a hall dressed up with balloons and streamers.
Come to think of it, he doesn’t really remember the names of anyone in his graduating class, though he’s not sure if that’s down to a certain amount of knocks to the head throughout his career getting to him. He could look them up – they’ll be in some sort of database somewhere that Hunnigan could help him locate, but what would he say?
“Me? Well, I had one day on the job – hell of a first day, actually – and then I was ‘recruited’ into military training, so technically not a cop anymore either.”
“Phone, please.” Claire has moved to sit down at one of the small tables in the kitchen, now holding out her hand expectantly. He finds himself joining her, mug of coffee in one hand and the other pulling out his cell from his suit jacket pocket. He hands it over because it’s Claire and he’s known her long enough now to know she’s not going to drop the subject so easily.
“Have you got any selfies on here?”
“Don’t think so. Why?”
“To put on your profile. Anything I shouldn’t see in your gallery?”
He shakes his head.
“Seriously, Leon?” She must’ve opened the app by the way she’s scrolling down on the screen. “These are all sunsets and photos of your motorcycle.”
“What should I be picking pictures of?”
“Oh, wait… Here’s one.” She turns the phone around. It’s him, grinning, next to a corpse of a zombiefied lion. “I repeat – seriously, Leon?”
“Ha, yeah.” He smiles in acknowledgement. “I was trying to get Hunnigan interested in fieldwork with the spectacular sights.” Claire turns the phone back around and the sound of a camera shutter clicks out of the speaker.
“Ooh, that’s a good candid – and no-one needs to know what you were looking at.”
“Look, it’s nice of you to offer, but I don’t know about all this…” He rubs the back of his head.
“It’s 30 days free. Just try it and if you still don’t like it by the end of the trial, you can delete it off your phone and I won’t bring it up again.”
He stalls, taking a long sip of his coffee as he thinks. Claire means well, after all and if Chris has had luck with it, considering what Leon knows he’s seen and lived through, what does he have to lose, really?
“Fine. 30 days.”
“Great! Now, let’s set up your profile…”
--
Claire had given him a tutorial – swipe left if you’re not interested on a profile, right if you are. If the person swipes right in return, it’ll set you up as a match and you can start a conversation – signaled by a small speech bubble icon appearing on the bottom right.
It wasn’t until that evening that Leon tried it out properly, sat on his couch, killing time before bed and begins to swipe through. It feels a little odd – he usually likes to get to know a person somewhat before offering out his dinner invite, but this is mostly on looks alone, with a tiny snippet of profile information – age, location, what they’re looking for.
He swipes right on a blonde, her profile full of photos from beach vacations or something, says she’s not too far away from him and is ‘looking to connect with someone deeply.’ A chat box pops up immediately and after a moment or two, three dots show Beauty – he’s not sure that’s her real name - is typing.
Hey, big boy. What’s bigger – your forearms or… An eggplant emoji?
Oh.
He hesitates over writing back a response. He can flirt with the best of them, but how is anyone meant to make a genuine connection over this app? Maybe he’s too old for this shit.
He puts his cell down by his side and switches on the television instead.
--
“So…” Claire drawls over his shoulder over three weeks later, tracked him down to his desk.
“So…” He mocks back with a tease, swinging around in his office chair.
“Any good dates recently?”
He laughs. “How do you even get that far?”
“You’ve not gone on one?”
“Not for lack of trying.” It’s true. After Beauty, he had struck up conversation with a few more genuine girls that seemed to be going well until he’d broached the idea of a date and they’d drop off the radar. “A couple seemed interested but then stopped replying. I got one date – she didn’t show up.”
“Oh, come on.” Claire leans against his desk. “That can’t be everyone. Let me see.” There’s the expectant hand again. He sighs, picks up his phone and opens the app before handing it over to her.
She sets to scrolling through new arrivals for him, before she pauses. “Well, this one looks sweet.”
“Claire, I appreciate your concern but I just don’t think this app is for me. I gave it a go, I swear.”
“I know, but you’ve got a few days left on the free trial at least - you won’t lose anything. Just take a look?”
He takes the phone back and looks at the screen – a cropped picture of you, it looks like, your friends’ arms around your shoulders, a big, genuine smile on your face. Not a pout or a smolder in a night club mirror.
“Aw, you’re smiling.”
“Fine.” He swipes, but the message bubble doesn’t pop up. That’s the one thing he doesn’t like about this app – you never know if the other one will swipe back.
“No match.”
“Give her a moment,” Claire elbows him, playfully. “Not everyone is scrolling for dates at work.”
“Hey-”
“Speaking of, I’ve got a meeting. See you!”
--
You throw yourself down on the bed, a little bit tipsy after an evening of drinking with your friends, and hold your phone dangerously above your face – you’ve been so close to giving yourself a black eye from the drop so many times but never learn – and open up that stupid app. Your friend had encouraged you to sign up to it after declaring you’d been in a pity party for long enough now after your last break-up and it was time to get back out there.
You scroll through the latest arrivals, swiping left as you go. Everyone internet dates now, you don’t know why you only seem to attract utter creeps on it. You’d been on a few dates, but they’d all been entirely awkward outside the safety of the chat box.
You pause on one new arrival, Leon, 41, the first photo in the set clearly a candid. He’s dressed in a suit – no tie. Businessman, you wonder? Amazingly hot and maybe the most shiniest hair you’ve ever seen.
You roll over onto your stomach and swipe right, smiling when a chat bubble appears.
--
Leon had just settled into bed for the night when his phone vibrated angrily on the bedside table. He threw a hand out, blindly, and looked at the screen, half expecting it to be an email from work or a message from Hunnigan.
It’s neither – a notification from the app.
Hi, Leon. Thanks for swiping. Can I ask something?
He frowns – a unique opener, but it could still go the way of the others, he reckons. He’s not a prude, per say, but he’s seen a lot more than he was intending to these past few weeks. He backs up and has a quick scroll through your profile, vaguely recognizing your face from when he’d swiped right earlier that day – the girl Claire had deemed sweet.
Hi – ask away.
A bubble appears with three dots within.
How do you get your hair that shiny?
Leon barks out a laugh - definitely refreshing.
I’m sorry, I don’t think we’re at that stage of our relationship yet where I’m comfortable sharing my beauty secrets.
Please? Mine is so dull.
He clicks on your profile again and onto the photos but can’t see why you’re worried about your hair. Truthfully, all he registers when he looks at the picture is that sweet, genuine smile.
Looks pretty good from what I can see.
The camera adds all the shine. Are you using a filter?
Trust me when I say I wouldn’t know how.
Don’t know about filters but using a dating app? That doesn’t gel.
My friend suggested I give this online dating thing a go, so here I am.
Well, you’ll have to thank your friend for me.
Leon hesitates a moment, before shrugging it off.
I’ll be sure to, especially as it’s got me talking to you.
Your scalp tingles, but it seems nothing to do with the alcohol consumed earlier.
Too cheesy? I told you I’m new to this, right?
Nah, you’re gouda.
Leon grins.
--
The conversation continues to flow over the next few days. You talk about work – he keeps it vague, works in the government, can be called away on business trips last minute – and you are equally elusive in your response of office work. Internet safety, he reckons, smart girl that you are. Hearing his phone ping with a notification has quickly become his favourite sound.
Nice day?
Definitely. Picked up my motorcycle – it’s been in the shop a while.
Dare I ask what happened?
He hesitates. Chasing a bioterrorist down a highway is perhaps a little too much…
Hit by a truck. I wasn’t on it - obviously.
Jeez. Insurance not just buy you a new one? I can’t think how that’s salvageable.
It’s my favourite, I couldn’t give up on her. You ever been on a motorcycle?
Uh-uh. Too scared.
What of?
Falling off, mainly.
No danger of that if you ride tandem - just need to be sure to hold on real tight.
You bite your lip, mulling over a response, but Leon fills the gap.
And I’d look after you, of course. Make a nice first date, don’t you think?
First date? That’s more, like, third or even fourth date material.
There’s your chance, Kennedy – don’t mess it up.
Well, then we better get the first date out of the way.
You bite your lip as you type back a response.
Is that your way of asking?
If it is?
If it is, then I’m free Friday...
Perfect.
--
Friday morning arrives and Leon’s at his desk, typing up a report when his phone chimes. Checking over his shoulder, he pulls it out of his pocket and smiles when he sees it’s a text from you. You’d exchanged numbers the other night, deciding it time to take communication off app ahead of meeting up.
Morning. Question?
Morning. Still after my shampoo secrets?
Yes… But not that. How am I meant to recognize you?
I thought that’d be easy – by how shiny my hair is, apparently.
It’ll be dark out, though.
Is this you trying to be subtle about asking for another photo?
No comment.
Leon locks his computer, the screensaver switching to today’s date and time on a black background. He swings his desk chair around, looks around again to make sure no-one’s on their way past, and opens the camera app. He flips the viewfinder around and tries out a couple of smiles before snapping a selfie – if Claire could see him now…
He sends it through.
Included the time and date and all. Happy?
No comment.
Well, how will I recognize you?
Easy. I’ll be the one coming up to you and saying, “Hi, Leon.” See you tonight x
Until then x
--
The two of you had decided to meet at a bistro – varied menu for all tastes, not too intimate, excellent wine, spirits and craft beer menu.
Leon is nervous as he stands to the side of the entrance – an emotion he hasn’t truly entertained since 1998. There had been no time for it when bioweapons and death were staring him down the face. But, tonight… Well, he’s out of his element on this one. Leon had only ever approached women through work and, yes, it was to varying degrees of success but they’d already seen him properly in person, heard his voice, aware of what he does. There was a horrible niggle at the back of his mind that the date who had stood him up a few weeks ago had caught sight of him and turned heel on the spot.
He looks down at this watch to see it’s bang on 7.30. He’d arrived ten minutes too early, but didn’t want to chance being late and showing up in a fluster. When he looks up, slipping a hand back into his pocket, a figure with a familiar face is walking towards him, greets him with an anxious smile and an awkward half-wave.
God, you’re adorable.
“Hi, Leon.”
“Hi,” He smiles, one hand still in his pocket, the other hanging down by his side. He wonders if he should’ve gone in for the kiss on the cheek, but he’s missed his chance.
“Erm…” You wring your hands together. “You okay?”
“Great. You?”
Why does he feel as giddy as he did when he picked up his girlfriend for prom back at high school?
“I’m good. It’s nice to put a… voice to a face?” You laugh – light and airy - and Leon’s already desperate to hear it again.
“It really is. Er, shall we?” He gestures forward with his arm.
You nod. “Let’s.”
The conversation is stagnant at first, a sentence here or there as you peruse the drinks menu and move on to ordering starters and entrees. With a little liquid courage, though, the two of you soon slip into easy conversation.
It’s just after the appetizers are cleared when Leon realizes he’s completely and utterly smitten.
You don’t even know where the time has gone, but all of the sudden the two of you are the only diners left and it’s clear the wait staff are looking for you to leave so they can begin their nightly clean down.
He follows you out and onto the sidewalk, a few metres away from the bistro entrance, standing awkwardly opposite each other – mirroring the beginning of the evening.
“So, fancy a ride?”
You tilt your head at him curiously before you burst out into laughter and he grins, rubbing the back of his head, awkwardly, as he realizes the context.
“I mean, I brought my bike here. I can give you a ride home - on my bike.”
You smile. “Not on the first date, remember?”
“Of course.” He nods. “Sticking to your principles – I respect that. Well, can I call you a cab?”
“Oh, actually, I’m gonna walk. I live just in that building over there…” You point up to an apartment building about halfway up the next block.
“I could walk you across the street?” He cringes as he realizes maybe he’s coming on too heavy-handed. “I’m sorry, I promise I can take a hint-”
“No.” You cut across abruptly. “I mean, walking me home would be nice.”
You cross the road in silence, both wrapped up in your own thoughts. You wish you lived slightly further away so you’d have longer to work out what to say, how to end the night.
“So…” Leon begins the other side of the road, the entrance to your apartment block just ahead. He’s trying to keep calm and collected, but there’s just something about you that has made his heart race, his palms sweaty. Don’t fuck this up, Kennedy. “I had a really lovely evening.”
“Me too.” You smile back – and you mean it – but you can’t help but brace yourself. Is this the part where he says, yeah, he had a nice time, but he’d rather not do it again? It seems all too good to be true. He’s the same as he was on the phone, messages and photos.
“Great…” You take a deep breath at his pause, unconsciously clenching your fists, “..cos I was wondering how you felt about a second date?”
“You’re really desperate to get me on that motorcycle, huh?” You tease, instantly relaxing. “But, seriously, I’d like that, to see you again.”
“Is tomorrow too soon?”
“That depends what you have in mind.” You stop, suddenly – the apartment foyer to your left. “This is me.”
“Well, we’ve done dinner, shall we work backwards and have lunch next?”
You take a step closer. “And then breakfast?”
“Fourth could be a midnight feast?” He steps forward too, misjudging the distance and something hard brushes against your stomach. Leon’s eyes widen in alarm. “Oh, wait, I…”
He dips his hand into his trouser pocket and pulls out a travel-sized bottle of shampoo with a sheepish smile. “I meant to give you this at the end of dinner – my beauty secret.”
You yank him forward by his jacket collar and kiss him before you can even think properly about what you’re doing. You step up onto your tip toes to deepen the kiss, a hand bracing yourself against his chest for a moment before you mean to step back, maybe even apologise for pouncing on the man, but Leon’s arms wrap around your waist, holding you in place, kissing you back incessantly before you both have to retreat for breath.
“Well, if I knew the shampoo would get that reaction I would’ve started the night off with it.” He murmurs, pulling away and resting his forehead against yours. “I gotta ask though - you’ll kiss on the first date, but not ride a motorcycle?”
You shrug, half-heartedly. “One’s more dangerous than the other.”
He kisses you once more, softly, ending with a teasing nibble on your lip.
“Oh, we’ll see about that, sweetheart.”
--
Masterlist . 1,000 followers event
Pointless Halsin fluff, afab reader - mentions of period
You wake alone, which is not unusual, but there is a dull, somewhat unfamiliar ache in your stomach, encompassing your pelvis.
It had been many months since your last moon cycle, just before you’d been kidnapped and a tadpole had slithered through your eye. You had been concerned you’d been with child – nightmares of a half mindflayer baby erupting from your stomach – but no such thing had come to pass. You’d confessed to Halsin one night and he’d assured you in times of high stress that it was not unheard of for moon cycles to pause, until your body settled back into a natural rhythm of things.
Now, as you recall how generally awful they made you feel, you wonder why you’d ever worried about their absence.
You turn and nuzzle your head into your partner’s pillow, closing your eyes and inhaling his lingering scent, trying to imagine he’s still there.
Halsin is an early riser, up often before dawn itself. He likes to start off each day with a patrol around the perimeter in his wildshaped bear to make sure it remains safe and secure for his community. You used to wake as soon as his arm released its hold on your waist, a mumbled protest before warm lips pressed against your forehead in a kiss.
“Rest, sweet one.”
He’d tuck the furs back up around your shoulders, smoothing a large palm over your hair back and forth until you settled and you’d soon sink back into slumber, despite how often you promised yourself that today was going to be the day you joined him on his duty. It had been a while now since you’d woke at his departure, but the way you woke up every morning with the furs tucked just so, you knew he still made sure you were warm and content before he left.
His absence this morning gnaws at you more than any other - a stupidly desperate need for comfort as the ache worsens. You, the hero, the savior of Baldur’s Gate reduced to sulking in your bedroll over your moon cycle.
Despite how much you want to remain curled up, the children’s voices grow louder and louder from outside your hut. They too are early risers, though know to wait until the sun is at least risen in the sky. You wince as you get to your feet, the pain seeming to grow worse the more awake you become.
But there are hungry mouths to feed.
With a resigned sigh, you force yourself to wash your face and dress and feel guilty for the smile you plaster on as you retreat from your hut to be greeted by a chorus of orphans.
--
It was an accident.
Yenna and a couple of the other children had been chasing one another – a lovely sight to see after all the atrocities they’d witnessed, of course – but they’d grown a little too rambunctious, not looking where they were going, too consumed in their game. The large pot of porridge you’d made now lay on its side, dropping it when Yenna had crashed into your side at speed.
“I’m so sorry,” she mumbles, looking truly horrified as you stared at the split porridge. You should say something – anything – to console her, but no words come.
You cut her off with a sob as you drop to your knees, overwhelmed. You can’t do this.
“I can make more! I promise I can,” Yenna blurts out, trying to heave the pot back upright. Little fingers begin to prod at you, demanding what’s wrong as you bury your head into your knees.
“By Silvanus, what’s happened here?” Halsin’s voice booms as he enters the clearing, taking in the scene before him. The children’s attention is diverted towards him immediately, all scrambling towards him.
“Yenna bumped into Mama and she dropped the porridge pot!”
“Is anyone hurt?”
A young tiefling girl tugs at his tunic. “Daddy Halsin, Mama is crying.”
“Mama is…” Halsin’s voice drifts off as he searches for you, finding you curled up in on yourself – a most unwelcome sight. He hurries over to you at once, dropping to his knee and laying a hand on your arm cautiously, scanning you over.
“Are you injured, my heart?”
You lift your head, tears streaming down your face, shaking it frantically. “N-no, I just… I-”
“Oh, sweetheart.” He wraps you up in his arms at once, pulling you flush against his chest as he feels your body tremble and brings you up to your feet. “Tasha, please will you go fetch Art and a few other of the adults?”
Tasha nods, hurrying off in the direction of the other huts before Halsin steps the two of you in the direction of your own. “I will be with you in just a moment, darling. Go lay down.”
You nod again, trying to wipe the tears from your cheeks with the heel of your hand as you quickly scurry back into your sanctuary, making for the bedroll at once.
Halsin turns to settle the rest of the waiting children, all unsure as to what they have just witnessed. “Now, then, I see some fine fruits and honey laid out that will satisfy any rumbling tummies until a new batch of porridge is ready, hm?”
“I’m so sorry,” Yenna apologises again, mortified. “I didn’t look where I was going and I didn’t mean to make her trip.”
Halsin crouches down to face her as a handful of children begin to help themselves to the sundries on the table. “It is all right, Yenna. Those tears are not for split porridge, I am certain.”
--
Your tears have dwindled to soft hiccups as you lay on your side, knees tucked up into your chest when the door opens and quietly shuts once more. Halsin is quick to lay behind you, wrapping an arm around your waist and pressing a long kiss to your crown before he speaks.
“Your moon cycle has returned.”
You twist in his arms, wanting to see his face. “How did you know?”
He smiles, sheepishly. “Truthfully, I could smell something different about you when I rose this morning. I should’ve stayed.”
“It wouldn’t have changed anything.”
“I would’ve insisted you stay in bed whilst I brewed you a tea to relieve the pain. I was ambitious, thinking I could complete my patrol and return before you woke.”
“Stop blaming yourself. I am the one who sobbed over split porridge. Poor Yenna.”
“Yenna is fine, my heart. In fact, she is making a new batch as we speak, aided by Art.” He begins to rub a circle with his palm on your lower back.
“I feel such a fool.”
“That is one thing you can never be.” Halsin presses a kiss upon your forehead as you begin to relax in his embrace. “Allow me to prepare a warm compress and the tea, and then I shall dote on you for however long.”
“We do not have time to be doted or doting on one another-”
“We do – I insist upon it.” His tone is firm – reminiscent of his Archdruid days. “Yenna is quite keen to take over cooking responsibilities the rest of the day. Enid is going to take the younger ones down to harvest the vegetable patches. The camp will survive without us.”
You wince as a cramp starts, digging your nails into his arm.
“I cannot bear to see an ounce of pain across your brow, my heart. I must go prepare that tea.”
You’re reluctant to let go, feeling pathetic as you pout. “And then more cuddles?”
Halsin leans down and presses a long, gentle kiss on your lips. “With the Oak Father as my witness, the cuddles will be endless.”
--
I am sad and I'd just like some Halsin cuddles, please hence... whatever this is.
