The lights above flickered like they were part of the celebration casting a glow that made everything look softer, warmer, almost unreal. Music thumped through the floor, someone shouted in the distance, and the whole reception was buzzing.
Claire grabbed Leon’s arm before he even registered her moving—classic her—and tugged him toward the center of the floor where Chris was waving the camera around like it was heavy artillery.
“HEY! You two!” Chris slurred, cheeks flushed, tie long gone. “C’mere—picture time! Look alive!”
Leon blinked, already regretting whatever chaos Claire had planned. Claire, of course, looked thrilled.
She pointed straight at the lens with a grin sharp enough to cut. Leon sighed, the kind that meant he was giving in whether he wanted to or not. A beat later, he mirrored her pose, finger out, expression softening in a way only Claire ever pulled out of him.
Chris squinted through the camera like he was trying to aim a sniper rifle. “YEAH—that’s it! That’s the good stuff! Say—uh—whatever! Just LOOK HAPPY!”
the flash went off.
For a moment—caught in that burst of light—they both felt the same thing:
a brief, stupid, perfect second where the world wasn’t falling apart, where they weren’t running or fighting or bleeding. Just two 'friends' in a blur of dancing lights, leaning into each other, laughing like the night belonged to them.
And behind the camera, Chris wiped his eyes—definitely from the flash, not because he was crying again—and muttered,
“Damn… they grow up so fast.” (he was drunk)
—
A part two! hahaha this is just for fun. other people will be posting their pictures at the wedding so look out for that.
Leon Kennedy: brooding detective who drinks his coffee black, smokes his trauma, and pretends his tie isn’t crooked.
Claire Redfield: stubborn journalist who somehow always ends up in the line of fire, delivers one-liners sharper than her heels, and probably keeps a gun in that blazer.
Together: the city’s worst-kept secret.
Enemies by circumstance, partners by choice… and maybe something more under the dim light of a broken streetlamp.
Black and white never looked this messy.
—
Was already posting cleon today so I figure i do another one HAHAAHHA. At this point im just self indulging
Claire had been pacing the kitchen when she dropped it on him.
“A photoshoot?”
Leon raised a brow, fingers still hovering over the reports spread across the table. “Why so suddenly?”
“I want to do a whole calendar,” she said, already halfway to the door, grabbing her jacket. “Charity thing. But we’re starting with Christmas.”
He blinked. “We?”
She jingled the keys with a grin. “Come on. I’ll drive.”
He should’ve known better than to ask questions.
—
Forth Antonio Studio — 8:00 a.m., Wednesday
The studio smelled faintly of coffee and fresh paint. Leon stood near the mirror, tugging at the red jacket Claire had insisted on. He tilted his head, eyeing the stubble along his jaw.
“Should’ve shaved,” he muttered.
The thought made him chuckle—because even if he had remembered, Claire would’ve dragged him out the door anyway.
He barely had time to straighten before the door behind him opened. Claire stepped out. Leon swallowed.
The dress fit her perfectly—festive but unmistakably Claire.
Confident. Playful. Like she knew exactly what she was doing and enjoyed watching him fall apart over it.
She caught his stare immediately.
“Cat’s got your tongue?” she teased, striking a pose.
He shook his head, a soft laugh slipping out. “You’re impossible.”
“Uh-huh,” she said, already moving closer. “Sit. Let’s get this over with.”
—
The camera clicked. Once. Twice. They tried to behave. They really did.
But Leon’s hand kept finding her waist. Claire leaned into him without thinking. Laughter kept breaking between shots, soft and unguarded. At one point the photographer seem to enjoy the shoot seeing such a cute 'couple', while Claire just smiled wider and Leon didn’t bother pretending to move his hand away.
Trouble, apparently, came in red velvet and Christmas lights. And Leon didn’t mind one bit.
There’s something cruel about people like Her. It’s the kind of cruelty that comes from being too alive. From believing there’s still something in this world worth saving.
She looks at you like there’s still a chance, even when you know there isn’t.
I’ve watched her do it—walk through the same kind of hell I did and still come out with that same fire in her chest. She always finds her way back to hope like it’s the easiest thing to do. Like she doesn’t know how to stop.
I envy that.
I hate that I do...
I can’t just look at the world and see something worth holding onto. I can’t look at myself and think I’m capable of loving like that again.
She once told me I make everything harder than it needs to be.
That I think too much, talk too little, and try to fix things that aren’t mine to fix. She laughed when she said it—called me a “walking storm in a suit.” I laughed too, because what else can you do when she’s right?
I think that’s what kills me the most about her. She still sees the good in me. Still treats me like I’m something worth saving.
I can’t decide if that’s mercy or punishment.
Because when she looks at me that way—like she believes I’m capable of feeling something real—I almost believe it too.
Almost.
Then I remember what it’s like to lose everything. What it’s like to carry bodies you can’t bury.
I don’t get that luxury. I don’t get to love like her. My kind of love comes with a countdown—it burns fast, leaves scars, and never stays long enough to be gentle.
She loves like it doesn’t cost her anything.
And I love like I’m still paying for it.
Sometimes I wonder what it’s like to be her—to feel something and not question it to death. To not look over your shoulder every time your heart starts to ache.
But I can’t.
Not yet. Maybe not ever.
And every time I think I finally want to stop, I see her again.
Still smiling. Still trying. Still proof that not everyone who walks through fire turns to ash.
That’s the difference between us.
She survives because she wants to live.
I survive because I don’t know what else to do.
Maybe that’s all it’ll ever be—her, chasing the sunrise, and me, too scared to step out of the dark. And if I’m lucky, maybe some part of her warmth reaches me anyway.
—
AHHHHHH i got carried away with writing. I love cleon so much 🫂🥀🥀🥀
Prompt by: @madeinheavcnn , @lilyofclaires and @lysa1201
—
It was 2007, only months after the White House incident—the chip, the fallout, and the sharp silence that followed. Leon hadn’t seen Claire since, and honestly, he hadn’t expected to—not so soon, anyway.
Chris knew it. That’s why, when Piers asked him to be best man, Chris had the perfect excuse. He cornered Leon with the request: take Claire to the venue. Leon cursed him for it. Chris was fully aware of the tension. But Leon also knew he couldn’t keep avoiding her forever.
—
Leon found himself at Claire’s house, knocking on her door, the weight of it heavier than he expected.
“Come in!” her voice carried from inside.
He stepped in, and there she was—descending the stairs with the light spilling in behind her. For a second, Leon had to squint. She looked different, and yet… exactly the same.
“Ehem. You look good… still not ready?” His voice cracked just slightly.
“No, I’m just about,” she replied, lowering herself onto the bottom step to slip on her heels.
Silence hung between them, thicker than either wanted to admit. They hadn’t faced each other since she’d confronted him about the chip—since she’d accused him of burying the truth, of choosing orders over people.
“Are you… how are you?” he tried, masking the crack in his voice with a cough.
Claire glanced up, unimpressed, sharp and knowing. “What is it, Leon?” she asked flatly, sensing exactly where he was headed but refusing to open the door for him. She wasn’t going to make it easy.
He sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “I… did what I thought was right. I still do.” His voice was low, steady. Even now, he couldn’t bring himself to regret the decision.
She paused, finally meeting his eyes. She knew that stubborn edge in his tone. He was doubling down—same as always. Duty first.
Leon sat beside her on the step. The air tightened between them.
“I know,” she said softly, with the smallest smile. She set her heels down and turned to face him more fully. “You know… I was the one who asked Chris to send you.”
His head tilted, surprise flickering across his face before relief washed over him, softening his expression. “…Redfields,” he muttered with a breathless chuckle, shaking his head. The tension eased just a little, like something heavy had slipped from his shoulders without him realizing. She always had that effect on him.
Now, sitting this close, Leon let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding since that night in D.C.
He started talking—about Wilson, about the cover-up, about why he believed holding the line was the only way forward. Claire listened, arms crossed at first, her expression caught between exasperation and reluctant amusement. She didn’t agree. She probably never would.
But she had missed him.
And for tonight, that mattered more than the fight.
—
They arrived at Piers’ wedding venue thirty minutes late. Chris spotted them as they slipped in, Leon awkwardly straightening his tie, Claire brushing her hair back into place. From his place near the altar, Chris smirked knowingly, leaning toward Jill. “Called it.” Jill only shook her head with a sigh, but her smile betrayed her.
AAAAHHH im sorry for the super late post! this is my last entry I ENJOYED THIS EVENT A LOT! looking forward for future events heheheh. Part II of this isn't really cleon anymore it's just the aftermath of teh wedding party.
You’d think after everything he’s seen—government work, secret missions, the literal apocalypse—he’d have mastered keeping it together. But nope. One look, one touch, and I can read him like a map. The way his jaw tightens when I lean in, the way he hesitates before pulling me closer.
It’s kind of funny. Dangerous, sure—but funny.
He likes to pretend I don’t notice. Like I can’t tell he’s fighting himself every time we’re this close. The man can take down bioweapons but apparently can’t survive five minutes on a couch with me???
So yeah, I mess with him a little. I lean in, talk soft, let my hand linger just long enough.
Because come on—he makes it way too easy~
And when he finally gives in—when that hand finds my hip and he exhales like he’s been holding it for hours—I can’t help but smile.
It’s not about winning. Not really.
It’s about watching Leon S. Kennedy, Mr. Stone-Face Hero himself, turn into something warm and real for a second.
One of these days, he’ll figure out I’m just as greedy as he is.
—
I LOVE DRAWING AND WRITING CLEON HAHAHAAHA IT'S AN ADDICTION 😋👅👅👅💕
She and Leon had been swamped since their summer trip with everyone—case files, missions, and projects pulling them in all directions.
Even though summer wasn’t over just yet, Claire was heading out of town again soon.
It hit her sometime mid-week: Leon’s birthday was July 31st. Maybe it slipped her mind because it falls right at that late-summer blur? And of course, he never mentioned it. He never does. Typical Leon.
Before she left, Claire decided to bake him a cake. Cowboy helped—so there’s probably some dog hair in it, but hey… what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.
She invited Leon over to her apartment for a little night-in, like old times.
When he walked in, the smell of chocolate-strawberry cake filled the room. Claire caught a rare smile from him.
“Let’s take a picture,” she said, grabbing her Polaroid.
“Belated happy birthday,” she added, smiling back.
"thanks Claire..." Leon murmured under his breath
And just like that, Leon celebrated his 48th—two days late, eating cake at 9PM with Claire and her dog, Cowboy.
Claire said it was just for fun. Leon didn’t argue. One glass of wine turned into two, and suddenly the film ran out before midnight.
Getting drunk? Accidental.
The lipstick marks? Not so much.
Leon didn’t get drunk—he never does. Years of hard liquor and bad habits made sure of that.This meant that he remembered everything.
Claire, on the other hand, was glowing, giggling through every flash of the Polaroid. He just went along with it, posing as her muse and quiet laughter, letting her have her fun.
By the time the last shot printed, Claire had already called it her favorite.
Leon just smiled. He knew she’d forget how many photos they took.
— Polaroid No. 7: “Claire’s favorite.”
I'm doing the pink bubblegum trend on TikTok HAHAHAAHAH so yeah have this as my early sneak peek gift for Cleon fans. This is far into the future when they are already a couple in my AU lore.
