Summary: You have a routine of writing Leon love letters.
Pairing: re2!Leon x gf!reader
WC/Tags: 1,616 / tooth rotting fluff, love letters, Leon being smitten
A/N: inspired by ‘he’s my dreamboat’ by Connie Francis, for day 5 of @swoon-june ‘love letters’
You chew at the knub of your pen, staring down at the blank piece of scrap paper in front of you. Leon is going to be up for work any second, the hands of the clock ticking closer and closer to 6:30am, his wake up time everyday. His lunch is packed, thermos filled and sitting on the counter beside the keys to his car. All that’s missing now is your love note.
Once a week, you write Leon love letters. You made it a routine after telling him you loved him for the first time, in the dark of your living room after a heated makeout session. You had told him you loved him, that you were in love with him and it scared you that you were only a little over a year into your relationship and you felt like this, but he had said it back quickly, had cupped your face and smiled so wide it looked like it had ached.
Afterward, when he went to answer the delivery at your front door, you had scribbled a little note, ily with a heart under it and had stuffed it in his jacket pocket. The next day he had called you, saying that finding the love letter had been the highlight of his morning.
That was nearly six months ago, and it was a routine you both loved.
You rarely kept it the same, leaving love letters in his cup holder or under his keys. Beside his tooth brush or tucked into his shoes. You liked to change it up, to keep the surprise going, and Leon loved every bit of it.
You also changed what you wrote. Sometimes they were silly, little doodles of hearts and clouds and flowers with fluffy words. Other times they were bone deep, your affection for him rooted in words you struggled to say aloud.
Now as you stare at the blank paper, your mind goes the same; blank. Nothing newly astounding had happened, nothing that needed extra tenderness, but you wanted to do this for him all the same.
You tap the pen against your lip, frowning at the paper. No grand moments to write about, no first kiss anniversary, no “I'm so proud of you” for passing a test or landing a new job. Just… him. Your Leon. The one who leaves his socks in weird places and hums off-key in the shower and always remembers your coffee order.
A small smile tugs at your mouth.
You grab another sheet, crinkled notebook paper, and start drawing: tiny stick figures holding hands under a lopsided sun with rays like fireworks. One has blonde hair, spiky, messy. The other wears glasses, round frames slightly askew. Above them: “Good morning my favorite cop. Thank you for coming home every night.”
Folding it, you press your lips to the paper and slip it inside his lunch box before standing to grab your own mug of coffee. You’re halfway through with it when Leon stumbles into the kitchen, his uniform crisp but his eyes bleary, a little sleep ridden.
“Well hello sleepy head,” you laugh, putting down your mug. “Sure you’re awake?”
Leon blinks at you like he’s seeing sunlight for the first time, hair sticking up in three different directions. He shuffles forward barefoot, uniform perfectly ironed but clearly slept on, his tie a little loose and one button undone.
“Mmm… morning,” he mumbles, voice thick with sleep. Without missing a beat, he leans down and kisses you right on the lips. A soft one, slow and sweet despite how half-asleep he looks. He pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, eyes slowly focusing now that coffee scent is hitting him full force.
“I’m awake,” he lies through a yawn before reaching past you to grab your mug, not his, and taking a long sip of your coffee like it belongs to him too, which you supposed it does. “I’m up.”
“Sure you are,” you giggle as you study him, and reach up to flatten his hair. “I made your lunch and coffee, it’s on the counter.”
That quiet little joy flashes across his face, the one that only shows when you do something small but so meaningful to him. He turns toward the counter, still cradling your coffee mug like a lifeline.
He sees the thermos first, steam faintly rising, and picks it up, twisting off the lid to sniff. Black coffee. Just how he likes it. No sugar. Then he spots his lunchbox, the bright blue one with dog bones printed on the sides, a gift from you after adopting Rover. His chest tightens just looking at it.
Setting both items down, Leon turns back to you. In two strides, arms are around your waist and pulling you into another kiss, this time deeper, as if every morning could start like this forever.
You hum against him, eyes fluttering shut faintly. He tastes like his tooth paste and your coffee and if his job wasn’t so important you’d ask him to stay.
“You’re going to be late.” You murmur, lips parting as you speak and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue along your bottom lip.
He does, a teasing brush of his tongue that sends warmth blooming down your neck. Leon’s never been in a hurry with you. Even when he should be rushing, like now, uniform half-tied and badge still hanging loose on its lanyard, he lingers.
But the clock ticks.
A distant part of him knows this: patrol shift starts at 7:30 sharp. Chief Daniels has already given him one warning about tardiness after last month’s rain delay, not that it was his fault.
Still, he nips gently at your lip before pulling back just enough to rest his nose against yours again, breathing you in like oxygen.
“I hate mornings,” he whispers hoarsely, and then steals one more kiss because screw punctuality for thirty seconds. “When I have to leave you.”
“But you come back.” You reply and grin, your hand cupping the back of his neck to play with the blonde hair there. “I have to get ready for work too.”
He steps away from your hold, grabbing his keys and coffee in one hand and his lunch box in the other. “See you tonight?”
You nod as you follow him to the front door, placing your hand on the knob. “Should be back by five.”
“I’ll see you at five then.” Leon’s grin is boyish as you open the door, holding it for him. He dips down, kissing you once and you inhale him, the pressure of his mouth on yours like clouds.
Leon steps out first, boots hitting the porch with a quiet thud. He turns back just once before heading to his squad car, a black-and-white RPD cruiser parked at the curb, and gives you that smile. That Leon smile: bright blue eyes crinkled at the corners, hair messy from your fingers.
He raises his coffee in a silent toast to you as he walks away.
You watch him go, the way he adjusts his vest strap while walking like it's second nature now after months on patrol duty; how carefully he places both items into their designated spots inside that pristine vehicle; even how neatly folded down those stupid little air fresheners hang from rearview mirrors, you teased him for putting one up.
When he reverses you give him a little wave and vaguely through the glass you can see him wave back. As you close the door, you realize you’re grinning, again. You always seem to be when it comes to him.
Rinsing out your coffee cup, you stare out the sink window, wondering when he’ll find the note, and wondering if it’ll make him smile. You smile to yourself at the thought.
-
Leon sips from the lip of his mug carefully as he turns into the station before throwing the car into park. Twisting his neck to stretch, he gets out, gathering his items before walking in. He’s greeted by his coworkers and he nods to them, his hair bouncing with the movement before he makes it to his locker. When he opens it, he takes in the picture of you and him on Fourth of July, a sparkler in your hand and a grin on your face. It’s infectious, the way you look when you’re happy.
He places his keys on the hook before opening his lunch box to survey the contents. A sandwich, probably ham, a yogurt and a bag of nuts, with a disposable spoon tucked in the corner.
There’s another item tucked into the side though, and he fingers the paper before pulling it out.
The note is slightly crumpled from being wedged beside the yogurt, but carefully folded, neat creases like you took time with it. Leon’s breath hitches just a little.
He recognizes your handwriting immediately: that loopy G in ‘Good morning,’ the heart-shaped dot over the i.
His fingers smooth out the paper as he unfolds it, and there they are, the stick figures under their wonky sun. He stares at them for a solid five seconds, lips parting into that soft expression you exude from him.
One of his fellow officers passes by and gives him a knowing look. “Love letter?”
Leon doesn’t even snap back or play it cool like usual, he just nods once, quietly proud about something so simple as his girlfriend loving him enough to draw silly hearts on paper every week.
He tucks it gently into his breast pocket, right over where his badge sits, and closes up his lunchbox with new energy, and a grin pulling at his mouth.
x
Divider @pixopix 
AO3 link
Leon K taglist: @yours-truly-andrea @causeofmykoophoria
written for @swoon-june 2026 // prompt: "red" (day 26)
the pitt. michael robinavitch/dennis whitaker. 400 words. rated t.
— — —
The blush goes all the way down, Dennis is pleased to discover.
It’s something he’s only seen a couple of times during his rotation in the ED, Robby turning bright red from the tips of his ears to the collar of his shirt, suddenly shy in a way that he normally never is.
It's a good look on him, even if it is a rare one.
Or, well, was a rare one.
These days, Dennis finds it shockingly easy to make the older man flush. It takes little more than a well-timed whistle as Robby steps out of the shower in the morning, a lingering up-and-down glance as he strips out of his scrubs after a long shift, or a gentle kiss to his temple as Dennis settles next to him on the couch. Even a single word can do the trick, and over the course of the past few weeks, Dennis has found more than a handful that work every time.
"Pretty," is his favorite so far.
"You're pretty," Robby deflects, like he always does, even as a sweet shade of scarlet crawls up the side of his neck. Dennis can't help but lean down, pressing a line of kisses over his carotid.
"What, we can't both be pretty?" he murmurs, smile shining through to his voice. "Okay, fine. Gorgeous."
"Yeah right," Robby protests, bashful, starting to pink a little lower, down to his chest.
Again, Dennis follows the trail with his mouth, sucking marks into the meat of Robby's pecs, though he can barely see them over the deep redness blooming over his skin: over his torso, his thighs, down to his toes. And when he glances up, it spreads in the opposite direction too, his boyfriend's face a lovely shade of crimson. “C’mon, don’t tell me no one’s ever called you that before.”
“Hate to break it to you, baby, but no one’s ever had any reason to. I’m too…” Robby gestures to himself, helplessly. “... you know.”
“Beautiful? Stunning? Ravishing?"
“Washed-up,” he corrects, with a snort and a shake of his head. “Jesus, do you read the thesaurus for fun or something?"
"Maybe I should start," Dennis laughs easily. "Don't have nearly enough words to describe how good you look." He dips down, nuzzles the warm flesh of Robby’s belly, right above the waistband of his boxers. "Guess I'll just have to show you instead.”
Such Sweet Nothings | Swoon June 2026 Day 5 - Love Letters
Prompt List by: @/swoon-june
Prompt: Day 5 - Love Letters
Fandom: Genshin Impact
Characters/Ships: Dottore ; Pantalone ; Dottolone
Content Warnings: Slightly suggestive in some places
Word Count: 3,352
Summary: Dottolone. Sometimes, when Dottore goes on his own expeditions, the correspondent letters between Pantalone and him take on a loving tone.
((Written well before 6.6 released, so it's not entirely in line with the canon presented in 6.6. If you give this a chance, thank you for reading.))
AN: Please do not upload this to any other fanfiction site (Ao3, Wattpad, FFnet); this is currently only for Tumblr. I also do not consent to having this used to train any AI. Thank you.
Dear Dottore,
You might not believe it; however, one does require correspondence when a lover has departed on a trip. It has been several weeks now, and I would prefer to hear from you in a way that isn't a one-word reply delivered from one of your segments. It doesn't offer thrilling conversation.
I do wonder why I never hear from you while you're away, except to demand more Mora from my hands. If I wasn't so close to you, I might actually think you were solely using me for my riches. I do happen to know you though, so I will take the first action and send you something to stimulate discussions between us.
With my scolding out of the way, I have much to tell you in terms of our coworkers! The Eleventh was arrested again recently. He was taking part in an underground fighting ring, battling opponents to practice his sparring skills, when the police raided the warehouse. He'll be fine -- the Tsaritsa is rumored to send him to Mondstat soon for a mission of some kind -- but it was a lovely sight to see the morning after. I couldn't contain my laughter when I learned the Eleventh had been knocked unconscious from a lucky swing behind him.
Columbina is still directly avoiding me, but she appears all right otherwise. I cannot give any more information without interacting with Signora and Sandrone, two individuals who also loathe my company, however the little dove is as active as she usually is.
Speaking of, Signora and I did spend some time together. We visited the spa house, the one you know is my favorite. She was on the other end of the building, having a massage while I was relaxing in a bath. We aren't entirely friends, and she still doesn't wish to spend too much time with me, but I think it was time well spent. I think of it as a worthwhile investment for the future.
All that aside, how have you been? Have you been eating and showering regularly? I know you tend to fixate on your experiments when you are consumed with figuring out how something works; it is admirable and one of your best qualities, but you are bound to flesh that requires sustenance every once in a while.
Your segments have been welcome companions, but none of them can compare to my specific time with you. I yearn for a day where we can sit in each other's company. You would most likely play the piano for me or sleep through it, but the feeling of your head in my lap and the wonderful tones of classical music make me nostalgic.
Do write back. I eagerly look forward to listening to your thoughts and experiment progress.
Regards,
Pantalone
There is nothing to report.
I shower often. I eat. I brush my teeth regularly. Surprisingly, the world has not collapsed from us not talking constantly.
I do not care about what our colleagues do.
Dottore
Dear Dottore,
Come now, what was your last letter? Surely you are capable of filling in more than half a postcard of information? I know you always have something to say about your experiments.
Do not pretend that you disapprove of the gossip. You are just as nosy as I am when it comes to the business of our fellow Harbingers, even if you try to hide it.
On that topic, I have news! Signora is starting to come around. We've spent a little more time together since last I wrote, and we returned to the spa on our last visit. We booked massages together, allowing us to talk while our attendants relaxed our muscles. We discussed casual topics; nothing about you, me, our relationship, or our work. I think it went well! She still does not care for me too much; however, she seems to put up with my presence with more patience than she had prior.
Sandrone has been spending a great amount of time with Columbina. The little dove has been quite pleased lately, though I do not approve of her passing by room at odd hours to, yet again, sing nonsense near my door. Her songs have taken on loving lyrics. I have no doubt that she and Sandrone may become an item by the time you return.
Columbina is still avoiding me outside of singing at my bedroom door. Progress in our relationship will come, but her hesitation to continue talking with me might come from her knowledge of how close we are. Nonetheless, I know people, and I have never known a person I cannot charm.
Once again, how are you? I'm sure you're eating and showering when you remember to lift your head from your research and check what time it is, but I do wish for your thoughts. There must be something on your mind regarding your project. I have seen Epsilon's laboratory report on the matter. I'm sure you have much more to say.
Regards,
Pantalone
Pantalone,
Fine. I do have matters to discuss. Since you asked about my current experiment, and you unfortunately know how to draw out conversation from me even if I desire none, I will gladly regal you.
The Ruin Guard study has provided interesting results. The machines located in Mondstat and Liyue are nowhere near as advanced as the machines I studied in Sumeru, but they do pose their own questions. Why would they expend such energy to travel so far away from the desert if their energy was already limited in the first place? Why would the weaker Guards leave, but the further-developed machines stay behind? Is there something within the programming of the circuitry that pushed them to the end of their limits, and how can we take advantage of the single-minded determination for our own purposes?
So many questions to seek answers for... It is wonderful to engage my mind in such engineering problems, even if it can be boring at times when my theories are proven correct more often than not.
I wish I could show you the technology firsthand. They are, in a primitive way, beautiful in their design. They are leagues behind the models from Sumeru, but their base design has inspired ideas for new military machines for the army (if Sandrone is willing to collaborate and listen to my reason, which she will most likely not).
I think I will do that when I return. You will not understand the complexities of the machinery of course, but sharing my results with someone that holds some intelligence in their skull is relieving. I did not realize how much tension leaves my chest when I share a result with someone other than my segments and they understand the brilliance I have and the scientific beauty of the experiment. Granted, your ideas immediately turn to the economic value of the results provided, but it is something. Your mind is so stimulating to engage with...
Reluctant as I am to say it, updates on our fellow Harbingers are somewhat welcome. I suppose I should not fall behind on the happenings in their lives; I would not want to return ignorant of events.
I am still practicing basic hygiene and eating at least two meals a day. It detracts from the time spent on searching for scientific answers, but I know your prissy nature would not allow me to dedicate myself wholly to the experiments without caring for the flesh I call a body. The blame of slow scientific advancements will fall on your shoulders.
I believe that is all for the updates here. Epsilon will conglomerate all of the current research into a laboratory report that will make sense to you and have it on your desk by the end of the week.
Dottore
Bǎobèi,
Oh my goodness, you are capable of speech! For many weeks, I was of the mind that I would have to travel to Liyue myself simply to acquire a speck of attention and meaningful conversation! Perhaps I would have touched the Ruin Guards while you weren't looking... flicking off a screw or something to that effect simply to annoy you into talking.
What a joy it is to hear from you. I have been quite lonely in our time apart; I have reread many of my novels to experience something similar to our love, including purchasing over a dozen new ones. These weeks have been so long... I will be overjoyed to have you back in the country when your expedition ends.
Speaking of the novels I've been reading... I cannot wait to tell you every detail about them. I can already picture the tortured look on your face. Since it took so long to draw out conversation from you, I will tell you more than the highlights; every detail and plot point will be explained in detail while you are getting ready for bed or trying to sleep.
What shall we do when you return? I insist on a day out; we will paint the city red! A new restaurant recently opened up, and I have sampled some of the cuisine there already. It isn't the top quality I insist upon, but it does have some delicious boar meat dumplings. I know how you are with the restaurants I frequent. 'Much too pompous for my taste and nearly nothing to consume,' as you would say. There are several meals on the menu you should enjoy, since I know you do not eat pork. One night there would be a welcome reprieve from the stress of your travels.
As always, a trip to the opera house is required. You're in dire need of current cultural knowledge, and I think a night listening to the newest performances the country can offer is a wonderful opportunity. Several of the performers are patroned by myself. They have proved themselves as individuals of great talent, something I always assure before I sponsor them, and I look forward to your musings over the event sure to happen around the time of your return.
And yes, we shall visit the nation's university library. I have no doubt you will want to peruse the stacks and check what new materials have been acquired since your departure. I will most likely take time in the reading nook I frequent while you hunch over a wooden table. I cannot understand how that aids your thinking, but that is none of my business. Reading in a comfortable chair and environment is something I will happily indulge in if you won't.
Epsilon did drop off the report at the end of that week. I have many economic propositions for you to consider, but I would rather wait until you are in front of me. You won't be able to throw away the letter if you cannot escape me personally.
Oh, bǎobèi, do hurry home. I know there are still several weeks and five days left, but I know you can put some kick to your ass and finish your work faster if the right pressure is put upon you. I miss you greatly... Maybe I'll give you a lovely reward for coming home earlier than your expedition's time frame.
All yours,
Pantalone
Dear Pantalone,
The romance novels have poisoned your mind. Only you can take something I do and immediately turn it against me. No, I do not want to indulge in flowery language. I want to engage in meaningful conversation, not nonsense.
If you will not do that, then I will not talk anymore.
Dottore
Dottore,
What? Do you hate professing your love for me that much? Or are you simply unable to? No one else is viewing these letters, that I can assure you. You can do so much better.
Pantalone
Banker,
I am baffled at the ability to show your expression through your writing. I read your last note and could clearly picture your closed eyes and the malicious tease in your smile.
You really do not have anything to discuss beyond desperately trying to provoke me? Not two weeks prior, you were leaping to inform me about our colleagues, and now, you are without a single update. No word on the Eleventh and his arrest? Nothing about your relationships with the women of the Fatui? There are a few other Harbingers I do not possess information on. Surely, you must have some information related to their current whereabouts and happenings?
You cannot provoke me. I have too many things to take care of to wax poetics about you.
Dottore
Oh? 'Romance novels have poisoned my mind,' you say? That is quite humorous, considering we have taken ideas from a few of the darker ones to experiment with behind closed doors.
I do not need to say or do anything. As far as I can tell, I hold all the non-scientific information you desire. If only there was someone who would engage in a little romantic banter before I indulge my gossip...
Banker
Insufferable banker,
I can see every line of your face in my mind's eye. It irks me. The darker novels are as intelligence-draining as the lighter ones. Just because I have approved of a miniscule number of ideas posed within them does not mean I approve of their existence.
And must you demand something so paltry? You know how I am about the flowery prose and poetic nonsense. To want me to submit myself to something far below my mind's capabilities is one of the greatest insults you could ever send to me. I would rather leap from the greatest level of this underground laboratory than prostrate myself like that.
I know you won't stop sending letters to me, since you were so desperate for conversation at the start of this. So, if you would, draw the conversation back to something that is worth our time.
Dottore
I actually do not need conversation from you anymore. Several things have happened between our fellow Harbingers and I, and I have plenty of work to do myself. Besides... I picked up a new dark romance novel a few days ago, and I am enthralled in the relationship between the pages. Something about a millionaire being kidnapped, tied up, and made to beg for his life and pleasure... But I understand. The details would lessen your intelligence and I would not insult a man such as yourself like that.
Do not worry about correspondence. There is no further need.
Insufferable Banker
Regrator,
You will continue to talk. It is only a matter of time.
Dottore
Regrator,
It has been two weeks. I have three weeks left until I return.
Nothing to say? My segments say you won't even talk to them. The only thing they have informed me of is that you will accept the laboratory reports and nothing else.
I'm sure your fictional kidnapper is such a delight to be around. A jester on the page, written to provide mild thrills to imbeciles. Truly, I could not compete with such a farce... It is nonsense only you could try to convince me of.
Drop your act. I know you are desperate for my attention.
Dottore
Pantalone, you WILL answer me!
I will not return to Snezhnaya without sufficient information on our colleagues. I expect you are close to your limit; I know your next letter will come within the next week, and I will have pages of information to parse through.
Your letter will be in my hands within two days, maximum. I am sure of it.
Jigar tala,
I despise you. Truly, I will never understand why I continue to feel for you the way I do.
Fine, I will regal you with the sweet nothings you desire. Shall I start with why I have not slept well since I left the country? The loss of the scent of you and your hair has driven me to buy boxes of tea to inhale before I force myself to toss and turn for six hours. When I traveled to Liyue Harbor (in disguise of course), I passed by a perfume shop that held a similar lavender cologne to the one you wear. I nearly tripped over my own shoes. I did not have the budget to purchase it; however, I've gone into that shop to sniff the damn thing every visit I make to the harbor. The shop keeper believes me to be mad.
I miss your touches. How I can feel for a person that is so touchy, I cannot comprehend? Phantom fingers run along my upper arms when I am lost in thought. My waist would love nothing more than to be encircled by your arms. And my face... Every time I shave, I run my fingers over the flesh to try and simulate the way yours do. It never feels the same.
I spotted several books at a bookshop that you might enjoy. They were epics, not romance novels or nonfiction books, but I can assume they will provide some meaningless entertainment for after your work hours. Perhaps you will find another fictional character you can bore me with?
I miss you. I miss reading your letters and hearing your voice. I miss your company, your mind, your closeness. I miss other things as well, but being so direct about it will result in you fishing me along, and I am exhausted at being toyed with.
How have you been? How have the other Harbingers been? Please do not send me thirty pages of detailed information; I wish for the highlights, not every detail that could exist in a story.
This is all you will get out of me. I am not of the mood to indulge you further.
Felân, azizam,
Dottore
Beloved,
Well, since it is so close to your return, and you have given me my fair exchange for my conversations, I will be happy to give you what you want.
The Eleventh was sent out on a mission three weeks prior; something to give him so he can avoid causing ruckus in the main city. He was eager to stretch his limbs, knowing that he will spar with a warrior from a foreign nation, so he about skipped to the docks. Signora is accompanying him. She'll be his leash for the time he's away. Hopefully, she can let him run amok without letting him cause international incidents.
Signora and I are... not exactly friends, but we are on relatively decent terms. During engagements and meetings, she seeks me out sometimes to chat with. We avoid talking about you or I, but we have discussed much about the state of the economy and the upcoming fashion trends we could set for the next season.
Columbina is also speaking with me more. I despise it, as it means she sits outside my room and serenades me with chilling song during the early morning hours, but you wished for details on her well-being, and I can provide what I know. She's been taking care of the crows and doves within the palace aviary. Your little murder is overjoyed at her visits. The bird caws that erupt when she steps into the aviary is loud enough to alert the entire palace. They love her almost as much as they enjoy you.
She and Sandrone have spent more time together in the past month than I have ever seen them before. I'm sure they are getting together, if they haven't already, but they've been so secretive that I assume their relationship status will stay hidden.
I have been fine. Though, speaking of my novels... I finished the one I mentioned to you. Five times, I've read the book front-to-back. I've memorized many things from the pages; in fact, it's inspired me to shop for a few new items for your return. In less than a week, you will be back. Perhaps I might use those items and wrap you up a present for the night you return...
Hurry back, bǎobèi. We have lots of time to make up for.
Your insufferable banker,
Pantalone
AN: I have so little knowledge of Persian/Farci and Mandarin, but I did try to research what I could. I hope the usage is okay. If not, I can change it.
For the current time, until I feel like canon gives me enough belief in his story arc, Pantalone will be Liyuen in my fics. I'll be working to portray him as best I can with aspects of Liyuen/Chinese culture (for those who ask).
I also had the headcanon that, if Yae Miko funded the yuri novel industry, Pantalone funded the yaoi and toxic yaoi industry (even commisioning some darker ones himself). It was uh. Quite a shock with him being sold and experimented on within the canon. Probably going to keep that headcanon with my Liyuen Pantalone.
Robin appreciates the view of Regina all dressed up in her signature color, red.
Written for Day 27B of @swoon-june 2026 for the prompt "Kiss on the Hand".
Fandom- Once Upon a Time
Rating: G
“You look gorgeous, Regina,” Robin reverently whispers, crossing the small space between them.
His crystal blue eyes firmly lock on the Queen’s stunning figure in her scarlet dress, watching appreciatively as the fabric accentuates the woman’s natural curves.
“Why, thank you,” Regina smiles widely at the compliment, her eyes crinkling in the corners with the overflowing happiness she feels around the golden-hearted thief.
“Shall we, milady? There are two young lads eagerly awaiting your arrival.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. You’re my absolute favorite view,” Robin reveals, pressing a kiss to Regina’s hand as he tenderly grasps it in his own.
Author’s Note: Outlaw Queen was one of my earliest OTPs, back when I was just a pre-teen. Season 3 started airing when I was thirteen and I was obsessed with these two together from the very beginning. I was extremely upset for the angles the showrunners took starting in Season 4 and was disappointed in the soap opera style the show started to take on, which is why I stopped watching it after the end of Season 5. The entire Marian/Zelena plotline still infuriates me to this day because I just wanted Regina and Robin to be happy together….
I wanted to take Swoon June as an opportunity to try to get back into writing Outlaw Queen and I am proud of myself for managing to contain everything in a 100 word drabble limit. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed! Kudos and comments are always appreciated. Have a wonderful day, afternoon, or night, dear readers and I'll see you next time!
Credit: These beautiful apple dividers were made by @lariesographic!
Posted for two @swoon-june prompts: "Sleeping" (Day 18) and "Rarepair" (Alternate Prompt 5).
Also posted for the Yellow Seas Rarepair Fest.
AO3 link below!
Fandom: League of Legends RPF
Ship: ON/Viper; Past ON/Elk
Rating: Mature
Category: M/M
Word count: 12,519
Summary:
With Zhao Jiahao gone, Luo Wenjun barely sleeps anymore. Park Dohyeon tries to give him a reason to.
Kanan sighed, his eyes staring at the empty place across the table from him as he used his fork to push a fried protato across his plate. He and Hera usually ate their meals together, but tonight she had a meeting with a contact he wasn’t allowed to know about and so he was alone with the sounds of whatever it was Chopper was doing to the navicomputer in the cockpit.
Hera had told him she would pick something up for herself at a cantina once she was done, but he knew she’d end up saving the credits and having a ration bar when she got back. He’d once joked that his battle to get her to eat real food was almost as hard as the one she fought against the Empire. Well, he’d tried – Hera hadn’t found it very funny and had set him to scrubbing carbon scoring off the Phantom for the next few hours.
He was serious about getting her to eat more than simply ‘nutritionally complete food alternatives’ though. It wasn’t even real food! Kanan grimaced down at his place. It wasn’t like he could claim the high ground in that argument today. Normally he was more than happy to cook their end-of-day-cycle meal, but tonight with Hera gone he hadn’t seen the point. A reheated bag of frozen protatos was just fine.
He sighed again and glanced at the chrono. When would Hera be back? No, he couldn’t just sit here and wait for her to return. What did he usually do on nights off?
Drinking. Brawling. Entertaining.
None of that sounded very appealing to him any more. He’d rather play Sabacc with Hera, or watch a holo with Hera, or sit quietly while she looked at intel on her holopad that he wasn’t allowed to read and watch her brows crease in concentration as the blue light played over nose and cheekbones and reflected off her mesmerising green eyes.
Did he seriously just admit to enjoying watching her work? He groaned and slumped over the table, head in his hands. He was in way over his head here. He should leave before he got any worse. His feelings for Hera were so far gone, he should have left months ago, and yet he still stayed.
Hera had made it perfectly clear that she didn’t return his interest and yet all he wanted to do was wait for her to come back, convince her to eat a vegetable or two and then say goodnight. She would decide to go to bed approximately ten minutes after returning because intel meetings always took it out of her, plus she would be feeling tired from not having eaten all evening.
Kanan sighed and stabbed a piece of protato with his fork, staring at the empty place opposite him as he pushed the fried food into his mouth. She could be gone for hours yet, but those ten minutes would make all the waiting worth it.
Besides her, Barriss looks up. "Ahsoka—" she says softly, haltingly, breaking off and looking away. There's something unspoken hanging in the air between them, some thin, spooling golden string left over from the entwining melodies and hands on each other's waists.
Ahsoka's not quite sure what to do with it. Clutch at it with both hands, hold tight so it doesn't slip through their fingers? Let it dissipate safely and put it behind them both?
She doesn't do either. Instead, she just flashes a half grin. "See you at the Temple?"
There's a pause. "See you at the Temple," Barriss says carefully. Then, to Senator Chuchi, "I'll escort you back as well, Senator. Come this way."
Ahsoka's idly watching her leave when she catches Padmé's eyes on her and shakes herself out of her stupor. "What?"
"Nothing," Padmé says. Then, with a hint of a smile, "You dance well together."
