drabblesandimagines

[drabblesandimagines]

Elevation

Leon Kennedy x female reader More of my fluffy nonsense

Hunnigan slams the phone down into the cradle at the end of her call and if you hadn’t already been casting auspicious glances up at the scene before you, her actions would’ve made you jump.

“What is it, Leon?” Hunnigan’s tone is blunt.

It would be so easy to look up at the handsome DSO agent then. You’d be perfectly within your right to look up too, your desk opposite sat directly opposite Hunnigan’s so you had ring-side side seats to the commotion. It wouldn’t look odd - he’d be in your eyeline, after all - but you fight the temptation, keeping your eyes fixed on the paper in front of you, fingers tapping idly away over the keyboard as you transpose to the screen.

Exactly what you’ve been doing the past ten minutes that Leon Kennedy has been wandering around the office, dressed in a pair of form-fitting jeans today, his gun holster peeking out from underneath a beloved leather jacket, directing all attention to a certain pair of assets.

Not that you were keeping track of how long he’d been there, of course, you had work to do.

“Huh?” For someone who had apparently been waiting on her call finishing, Leon’s thoughts seems elsewhere.

“I said,” Hunnigan adjusts her tone, “can I help you with something?”

“Does there have to be something? Surely a guy can just come visit his favourite FOS agent.”

“But you haven’t come to visit, you’ve come to loiter.” Hunnigan retorts. “I told you already, if I have anything for you, I will be in contact. Go home.”

There’s an incredulous scoff as he tries to think of a reason to stay, but it quickly transforms into a sigh as he admits defeat. “Fine.”

He begins his retreat towards the exit and you hear the tell-tale beep of his pass against by the door panel, the electronic lock then clunking in release.

“Have a good afternoon, ladies.”

You look up then – and only then - to find him looking directly at you. You give him a polite smile in return. “You too.”

He grins in return, a proper one that makes his eyes crease, before giving you a nod and a wave as he through the door. The smile stays on your lips as you reach for your mug of coffee – now ice cold - and take a sip.

“I think he likes you, you know?” Hunnigan states in her oh-so-nonchalantly way, making you choke on the gulp you’d just taken.

“What? No…! I mean, who?” Your voice is tight in response from having swallowed the liquid the wrong way, internally cursing. Smooth, real smooth.

“Leon.” The agent continues hammering away at her keyboard, kindly ignoring your attempts at being subtle.

“I don’t know where you’ve drawn that conclusion from.” You don’t – you really don’t. You could probably count the amount of conversations the two of you have had with all of your fingers, all just pleasantries.

“I’ve worked with him for years now and he’s never been here as much since your transfer started.”

“Coincidence, I’m sure. He just seems eager for work.”

Hunnigan goes to open her mouth in response when, thankfully, the phone on her desk rings. Saved by the bell.

--

Being afraid of elevators had never really been an issue until you had taken this assignment, being sent to work on the 12th floor. At the very least it’s proving to be a good workout the number of times a day you now trudge up and down the stairwell from your desk to the archives below. The DSO holds a surprising amount of paper copies of intel in the basement – both handwritten and old typewriter documents - secured behind a vault door, rumours of the place being rigged to ignite in flames if an intruder is detected to prevent it all from falling into the wrong hands.

The DSO board had decided that intel should now be stored in the government-secured cloud and on paper and you’d been brought in as an archivist/analyst hybrid, on loan from the CIA. The project you’d been tasked with, single-handedly, was transferring intel that was currently only held in those paper copies to the online system. There was technology that could do but it wasn’t perfect – scrawled handwriting would often prove indecipherable by most machines or it misread words, so everything would need quality checked. It was agreed a human touch was best and your name had come up after the CIA had undertaken a similar audit of their files a few years ago to excellent results. Once everything had been digitized, it had become easier to quickly identify any links between incidents past and present – using surnames, terms, intel – and even stopped a handful of potential ones, so the DSO had been keen to put the practice in place.

It did mean, however, that every day you’d go down to the vault, select a box of paperwork – either the one you’ve got partway through or a whole new one - trudge back up the many flights of stairs, and then start typing from page to screen to produce a digitized document. It was imperative that no-one else see the documents, so they’d set you up in Hunnigan’s office as one of their most trusted agents.

Wanting to look professional whilst in the office but not break your neck on the stairs, you kept a selection of heels in your locker to swap out of for your reliable sneakers. Hunnigan was still working away when you packed up around 7pm, kicking off your heels to switch out, and had been in a lengthy, hushed tone call for the past hour. You nodded your head as you heaved the box of documents up in your arms, and she waved back in acknowledgement.

Beeping your ID card at the door, the lock buzzed and the door opened automatically – a godsend as the box you had today was particularly heavy – everything within held in those awful arch-lever folders.

As you emerged, you heard the puff of the elevator doors beginning to slide shut, not even giving it a moment of thought. You turned to the left to head down the stairs as usual, when a gloved hand slammed between the elevator doors, preventing them from closing with a thud and giving you a start, turning to see a face.

The face of Leon S Kennedy catches you entirely by surprise. He hadn’t even been by the office today to bother Hunnigan, though you know he does have his own desk somewhere in the building, maybe even his own office. He smiles at the sight of you, beckoning you over.

“Hey. Hop on in - I’m going down.”

You hesitate at the invitation. You haven’t been in an elevator for years and he’s just stood there, waiting, holding the door open. You have to say or do something. “You okay?”

Next thing you know, as if you’d been hypnotized, you were walking towards the elevator, then stepping over the threshold into a place you swore you never would enter again.

“Basement?” Leon fingers hover over the button panel in anticipation.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

He presses the buttons for ground and basement simultaneously with two fingers, and the door slides shut with another puff of air.

The elevator and your stomach begin to descend in unison.

This is fine.

“Looks heavy. Can I…?” He gestures to the box, offering to take it.

“Oh, thanks, but it’s okay.” You bump the box up with your knee, trying to strengthen your grip on it. Your palms are sweaty, but you’re not sure if the cause is the elevator or the handsome man besides you.

Leon crosses his arms, leans back against the wall. “They still not given you a lackey to do all the grunt work? I thought that’s what they took on interns for these days.”

“It’s difficult when no-one else is meant to handle it, let alone see it but me.” Leon gives you a quizzical look at that. “It’s protocol, narrows down the potential for leaks. If anything gets out, it’s on my head, so…”

“What about when you take breaks? You don’t…”

You nod, shifting the box in your arms again. Why do they feel like jelly? “Gotta lug it back downstairs to be locked back in the vault.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Mm-mm. It’s fine – good exercise for me, I guess, between sitting at the desk all day, so…”

“Surely they could at least give you a desk closer to the grou-“

The elevator’s smooth descent is transformed into a shudder, followed by a loud metallic screech and a sharp jerk that makes your stomach truly drop before all motion halts. No, no, no, no.

“Huh.” Leon muses, calm as anything. He immediately presses the emergency call button, illuminated in red, but the only sound that emits out of the speakers is static. He presses it again to the same result, and then in rapid succession, as if that’ll coerce it into working.

You tighten your grip on the box, wanting to tell him to stop but, thankfully, he gives up before you can have the strength to find your voice and pulls his cell out from his pocket.

“Damn, no reception.” He looks back over to you then with a sympathetic smile. “Well, this is one way to get overtime outta us, hey?”

There’s no chance to reply before the elevator plunges into darkness and you drop the box immediately, thankfully away from your feet. It can only be a few seconds at the most but it feels like an eternity before the emergency lighting comes on, casting the small metal prison in a pale yellow hue.

Leon’s staring at you, looking concerned. “You okay?”

“Y-yeah.” You reply, not at all convincingly. You bend down to pick up the box to escape that blue-eyed gaze for a moment, heaving it back up in your arms. “Is this… normal for this office?” You hope he can’t hear how tight your voice is.

“Power must be down, seems like the back-up generator kicked in.” The agent shrugs, looking around the elevator as if something of use might be around. “It’ll prioritize the critical systems – so I’d guess lights, vending machines and elevators are not gonna be particularly high up on that list.”

“Wonderful.” You reply, breathily. It’s warm. Should it be warm? “Here, let me just…” Leon reaches over and gently tugs the box from your weak grip, no sign of surprise at the weight of it as he takes it. “We don’t know how long we’ll be in here, so let’s put this down.”

“No, I shou-“

“I promise I’m not going to try and read any of it.”

You watch him as he places it down, he’s sure to bend with his knees rather than his back, and tucks it into the corner under the button panel, out of the way. He stands back up to his full height, looking at you for a response, but all you manage is a shaky nod.

“Are you feeling okay?” “Y-yeah. Fine.” “Mm. Not a great liar.” He tilts his head, scanning you with his eyes once more. “What’s the matter?”   “I…” Another swallow in the hopes of your mouth not feeling so dry. “I don’t like elevators. Always take the stairs.” “Oh.” Not the answer he was expecting it seems. “Wait, why’d you get in, then?” “Well, er…” You hesitate again, how do you answer that? “You… You told me to.”

He can’t help the goofy smile that crosses his face. “Huh, that’s all it takes? Interesting. I’ll have to remember that.”

You’re about to ask him what that’s supposed to mean, the words just on the tip of your tongue when the elevator jerks and they turn into a shriek. It’s over before it even begins, really, but Leon’s reflexes now have you pressed up against the wall, his arms braced above your head to protect it from any sort of impact.

“It’s all right,” he says, softly. “I’m here, I’ve got you.”

Your heart is beating too fast, tears burn at your eyes at the fright. He’s so close, you can smell his cologne – musky, hints of vanilla – but this isn’t where you want to be having this moment.

“How about we sit down, huh?”

“I’m okay.” Your answer is breathy again, your chest feeling tight. Panting like you’d finished climbing up 12 flights of stairs.

“It’ll be more comfortable.”

“Don’t wanna…” You try and take a deep inhale, but it doesn’t seem to reach the bottom of your lungs. “Don’t wanna s-shake it.”

“You won’t.” He drops his arms from against the wall and instead grabs your hand, squeezes it in an attempt to ground you. “Trust me.”

You want to trust him, but the panic is too strong. This was such a bad idea, why did you do this?

“I…”

“We’ll do it together, okay?” He somehow coaxes you to shuffle forward and then slips in behind you, taking hold of your other hand. “Just lean against me and we’ll ease on down.”

Leon presses his chest firmly up against your back and you wonder if he can feel how hard your heart is beating. He wraps his arms around your waist next, meaning you’re hugging yourself in a way before he slides down against the elevator wall, bringing you down with him, onto the carpeted elevator floor. He thought it was a seamless maneuverer, but the way he’d felt your nails dig into his leather gloves from how tight your grip was, he knew you weren’t of the same opinion.

“There we go.” His thighs are spread either side of yours, now that you’re nestled inbetween his legs. “Worried you were gonna pass out – you’d gone really pale. Just sit here and concentrate on your breathing a minute, okay? Feel how I’m doing it.”

You close your eyes and try to concentrate on how he’s breathing, feeling his chest expand as he inhales, loudly and deliberately through his nose, holds the breath, then exhales heavily through his mouth, tickling the back of your neck.

You try and mimic him, get your inhales and exhales in sync and, slowly, the pressure begins to ease in your chest as you feel your breaths get deeper and deeper.

"Feeling a little better?”

His voice reverberates from his chest being pressed up against your back, feels comforting. “Yeah. Thank you.”

“Hey, don’t mention it. My fault you’re in here, after all.” He replies, gently. “I’m gonna move now, okay? Wanna check you’ve got the colour back in your cheeks.”

You nod, and he somehow manages to shuffle back and to the front of you with overly cautious movements – definitely for your benefit, ever the gentleman - withdrawing his legs into a crossed position and giving you a smile as he takes in your appearance. Being so fixed in his gaze makes your cheeks prickle with heat – maybe not the colour he’d hoped to be checking.

“Yeah, you’re looking better. Good.” He nods in affirmation, more to himself than you. “That noise – I think someone was trying to get the power back on, sounds like it only worked for a second before it could get going. The elevator’s not gonna fall.”

“How do you know?”

“I’ve had to disable some of them before – for work, I mean. They’re all equipped with multiple failsafe systems to prevent that exact scenario.”

“Disable them?”

“Just so they stop…” He gestures in a circle as he tries to find the words, “elevating, I guess, so I’m not pursued. Make ‘em take the stairs.”

“Ah, right.” You nod. “Wind them a bit.”

“Exactly. If you don’t mind me asking, you always been afraid of them?”

“No. Got stuck in one in an old apartment block years ago – it didn’t feel particularly modern. There were three of us – me and two drunk guys who kept jumping up and down, convinced that would make it move. The fire department got us out after two hours cos I had one of those… episodes. Haven’t been in one since.”

“Idiots.”

“They just kept laughing the more panicked I got. I felt so stupid.”

“Panic attacks are no joke. That box breathing always helps me if I feel on edge, though.”

“Yeah, that was really good.” You feel a shy smile creep over your face. “If I had to get suck in an elevator with anyone, I’m glad it was you.”

He practically beams. “Now I don’t feel quite so bad. I’ve gotta ask again though, you really got in here just because I said to?” He’s already seen you a panicking mess, so why not just be honest? “Your smile helped too.” “Well, consider me flattered.”

“It’s a nice smile…” You swallow, a little cautious of the next word. “Enticing.”

You swear you see a smidge of colour flush Leon’s cheeks then, but it must be a trick of the artificial lights. “Well, since we’re confessing – yours is too. That’s the real reason I was bothering Hunnigan. Wanted to see if I could win another.”

“You came to see me smile?” You’re definitely blushing now – cheeks prickling with the heat.

“Guilty. I don’t think you’d remember, but a week or so back I was having a real shitty day. Went to go debrief with Hunnigan and she wasn’t there, but you were. When I stormed in, you just gave me the best and most genuine smile I’d seen in days. Meant a lot.” He rubs the back of his neck, sheepishly.

You smile again, can’t help it, and he groans, jokingly. “Ugh, see? Not again – I don’t think my heart can take how sweet it is.”

You don’t know what to say to that but you’re excused when, suddenly, the lights transition overhead with a flicker from the emergency dulled tones to the standard, harsh fluorescent light and the elevator begins its smooth descent once more.

“Finally, huh?” Leon gets up easily to his feet and then offers you a hand.

“Yeah.” You accept it without hesitation, goosebumps prickling up your arm as he wraps his fingers around your hand and he pulls you up with ease. Slyly, his other hand now rests on the small of your back, drawing you in close…

The elevator dings, announcing its arrival on the ground floor and the doors slide open to reveal a maintenance worker, clad in blue overalls, waiting in the lobby. Leon draws back then, but still keeps his hand steady on your back.

“You two all right? Power-cut had rotten timing, I was gonna repair that emergency speaker tonight when most of the office was cleared out.”

“All good, thanks.” Leon bends down, picks up the box again without question and you follow him out of the elevator in pursuit, only to hear a cell begin to ring from his pocket. He balances the box with one arm – you’ve no idea how – and pulls out the device, frowning at the name on screen.

“Sorry, I’ve really gotta take this.” His brows furrow in annoyance. “You be okay with taking that downstairs?”

“Yeah, of course. I really should take it back now anyway, you know, just in case…” You trail off as he eases the box over to you, making sure you’ve got it properly before he lets go. “Thanks… for everything.”

“Pleasure was all mine.” He replies, sincerely, before reluctantly lifting the cell up to his ear.

“Kennedy.”

You leave him to his phone-call and head down the stairs for a thankfully unremarkable trip down to the vaults to replace the box back in its rightful place. It’d be a lie to say when you climbed back up to the lobby that you weren’t disappointed when there’s no trace of him to be found.

--

The next morning, after passing through the security check, you make your way down to the archive vault as usual, pressing your hand against the door panel to gain access. Sadly, you’ve still got a lot of work to do in the box you’d been working on yesterday, so you dutifully log its withdrawal in the computer system, and heave it up once more in your arms before heading out.

You only make it up one flight of stairs when you see him, leaned up against the stairway wall, one arm held against his chest whilst his other hand is holding his cell, squinting at some text. He looks up as you scuff your trainer on one of the steps and he smiles as you reach him, tucking his cell back away.

“Good morning.”

“Morning. What brings you here?” You curse inwardly. “I mean, not that it’s not a pleasant surprise, just…”

He waves it off. “I getcha. Well, I have some pretty good sway here, you know, so I’ve volunteered.”

“Volunteered for what?”

“Volunteered…” He steps forward and wraps his arms around the box, “..to be your stairs lackey.”

“Oh, no – it’s fine, honestly.” You feel flustered at the very idea. Leon’s one of the top, if not the top agent of the DSO. He can’t be doing manual labour for you, he shouldn’t. “You have so many better things to be doing. I can mana…”

“Please?” He tilts his head, gives you that enticing smile again. “I mean, I could just tell you,” – he teases – “but I thought I’d ask this time, so you’re sure.”

The smile makes you feel weak at the knees and you’d already proven yesterday you couldn’t resist its magic. “Okay. But you should definitely take the elevator then.”

“Uh-uh.” He shakes his head, taking the box into his arms. “It’s good cardio, got my weight-resistance. You’re practically doing me a favour by taking the stairs.”

“Is that so?”

“Mm-hm. Though,” he bites his lip in a pause, “I may have ulterior motives.”

“Right, and what would those be?”

“If I were to, say, visit the office around six tonight and carry this thing back down to the vault, maybe you’d go to dinner with me?”

God, you feel absolutely giddy - there’s no way you can hold back your smile. “I think that’s… acceptable.”

“Then we have a deal. Ladies first,” he nods with his head to up the stairwell.

“No, I… I think you should go first. Just so I can keep an eye on you on the way up. I’ve got to make sure you’re not sneaking a peek at the assets, you know?”

He quirks an eyebrow, you know he’s wondering what you’re thinking, but he shrugs it off all the same. “As you wish.”

And as you follow him up 12 flights of stairs, you slightly breathless and him seemingly fine, you can’t help but sneak a look at a different pair of assets before you.

---

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[drabblesandimagines]

Spoons (preview)

Halsin x female reader, mentions of blood, wip

--

You wince as the blade slices into your thumb. Thankfully, you only drop the wood which you’d been carving into your lap, rather than the blade itself.

That would’ve been an awkward injury to explain.

Blood starts to bead along the cut and you pop your thumb into your mouth, hoping to stem the flow, naively thinking that it would dull after a few moments – so many of the other knicks had. Unfortunately, it soon becomes clear that this cut is a little too deep to ignore. A search of your own pack comes up empty of potions, but you’re sure there’s a few in the chest as you get to your feet.

Truth be told, you hadn’t whittled in gods know how long – you hadn’t even thought of it until Halsin mentioned it as one of his own hobbies. You’d thought of telling him you’d dabbled in it in the past, but the moment slipped by and now it would seem desperate, surely.

Especially after he’d oh so kindly rejected your advances at the party hosted by the tieflings.

Besides, everyone had their hobbies – Gale and Astarion were often to be found with their nose in a book, Lae’zel sharpening her weapons constantly, Karlach in some state of perpetual motion…

So when you’d picked up whittling again a couple of days ago, you’d conducted it in the confines of your tent, away from prying eyes.

“Hells,” Astarion exaggeratedly sniffs as you emerge from your tent, a little too familiar with the particular bouquet of your blood from the nights you’d graciously allowed him to feed. He stalks towards you in a blink of an eye, grabs hold of your wrist and tugs your hand up from your side, red eyes scrutinizing the wound. “You’re bleeding. What were you doing in there?”

“Nothing.” You retort, shaking off his grip and stepping to the side of him - your sights set on the communal chest.

“Darling…” He chides with now crossed arms, once again blocking your path. “You know I am not going to let this slide – I delight in being stubborn. Tell me.”

“I was…” You hesitate a split second - think. “..just a little careless cleaning my blades.”

His eyes narrow in suspicion for a moment, though he seems to relent. “Fine.”

“Can I go get a potion now?”

“No, no”, he waves you off. “Go see the druid. He’s been lazing around in camp all day, so he can spare you a cure.”

You cast your eyes over in the direction of Halsin’s tent – he’s sat cross-legged in front of it, eyes closed in meditation. He’d been enjoying the new rural camp location after a few nights spent within the city confines.

“I… No, it’s not worth bothering Halsin. Besides, we have plenty of potions.”

Astarion hums in thought. “We had.”

“What?”

“I don’t pay attention to the details, darling. All I know is that Karlach had some sort of incident, so her and Shadowheart have gone to procure more.”

“I can wait for them to get back, then.”

His grips your wrist again, holding it aloft to show you the blood dribbling down your palm and growls. “May I at least partake in this waste if you insist on bleeding yourself dry?”

You roll your eyes, wondering why you ever left your tent. “I’m not going to-“

Astarion mumbles under his breath, clearly directed at you – probably not the most pleasant of sentiments – but you can’t decipher any of it before he yanks you forward and sets off at pace towards the ex-archdruid.

“Halsin,” he barks, causing the wood elf’s eyes to snap open – the vampire spawn is not one to often call upon him. “Can you deal with… this?” He holds your wrist aloft in demonstration.

Halsin is up to his feet with far more grace than you’d expect. His eyes widen with concern, itching to take hold of your palm at once. “By Silvanus, what happened?”

“A blade cleaning accident, if you can believe. We are all out of potions and this one is convinced she’ll just wait it out.” Astarion berates, finally letting go of your wrist to push you forward towards the druid.

“Wait it…” Halsin mutters, his brow furrowing a little in disbelief. “You should’ve come straight to me.”

“I didn’t want to bother you over something so minor.”

He smiles wryly at that, stepping back and beckoning to the pile of furs at the entrance of his tent. “You are never a bother – consider all that you’ve done for me! Please, sit. You are looking a little paler than usual for my liking.”

You carefully drop down to your knees, tucking your feet beneath you. You were feeling a little light-headed, true, but you blamed that more on the wood elf’s gaze being so thoroughly directed upon you.

“Weak at the knees, darling?” Astarion teases and your cheeks warm. “I’ve done my duty, so excuse me.” You watch as the white-haired man saunters off – back to the solitude of his own tent and tome.

Halsin kneels down besides you, offering out his large palm. “May I take a closer look?”

You nod, resting your injured hand on top of his. He looks over it for a moment, turning it slightly this way and that, before gently pressing the thumb of his other hand perpendicular to your wound.

“Can you feel that all right?” He’s staring into your eyes, trying to look for a flicker of discomfort to gauge severity.

“Yes.”

“Can you flex your fingers for me? I just want to check the movement.”

“Mm.” You demonstrate, though the pain makes you grit your teeth as it pulls at the wound.

“That’s good – no signs of tendon damage. An easy fix.” A golden light begins to glow in his free hand before he smooths it over your palm. The light is absorbed into your skin and soon the cut is healed, not even a scar remaining in its place.

“Thank you.”

But Halsin’s already looking at the other nicks on your skin, the ones dotted around your fingers.

“If I didn’t know any better, these ones look like whittling injuries.”

“Oh. Erm, no… Just a little enthusiastic cleaning my blades today.”

He gives you a wry smile. “Well… Perhaps Lae’zel will be happy to assist you in future, to avoid such accidents.”

--

If you enjoyed a lil' preview of this, please go follow UltimateH3RO on Twitch who does some amazing cosplays, especially Halsin. He's streaming tonight at 5pm PST/8pm EST in his Halsin cosplay AND an Owlbear cub, and is gonna drop a new Halsin pic when he reaches 1,500 followers on his Twitch x

Credit: UltimateH3RO

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[drabblesandimagines]

Oh, my gosh! Thank you so, so much! Art and a story - I've been truly spoilt. This is wonderful.

Thank you so much again xxxx

Badly wrapped gift || Leon secret santa || gift for @drabblesandimagines & event organiser @leonsecretsanta

Leon didn't know what he should get you for the holiday season this year.

Of course, he would make a long list of notes about every single time you mention your favorite things, really... like his friends didn't suggest him to do that, or if he had ever thought about it first hand, but here's the thing,

it never worked

The plan didn't suffice, because you'd always ask him about what he wants first and foremost, not what you need. Yours come later or so late, or so sly that it's terribly hard for him to notice. Or, maybe you did that on purpose?

He got so nervous each nights and each hours before christmas came, while you had already decorated your place with cozy mittens and sparkling strings of lights, and you swept around the house to put on decorations that he had planned beforehand to get you—the pairs of cute little stuffed elves, the stripe stockings, the small tree branch that still smelled like fresh wood, a jar of candy canes you'd never eat, a new quilt for the sofa for chilly movie nights... Leon gets so fed up with himself that he's always one step so far behind. It officially got serious for him one day, when he brought groceries back to your place and saw this beautiful garlands— so pretty with ornaments and golden star sprinkles all that, plus with a dainty red bow adorned it; he still didn't have a damn clue in his mind even when the last piece of christmas was hung at your door. It's like standing under the mistletoe with you and not knowing what to do!

With his nose blushed pink under the winter's breeze, face tucked inside layers of wool—his favorite scarf you had bought him at the first fall of snow, cheeks burning with determination, he clutched the groceries' paper bag tight into his arms, and finally made a pact. He would not sleep until he realized what to do with this situation.

The first thing you would do when coming home late on christmas eve, is to let out a small sigh and shake those heavy boots off of your feet with relief. You put your car key on the ceramic bowl next to the entrance, not even bother to flick the lights on.

The News said there will be a storm, so no Leon for tonight. He'd be stuck at his parent's house. And, the lines are cut off. No phone, even!

Once again, you let out a longer sigh, and walk through the dark to the kitchen, with a large mug of cold milk as dinner to call it a day. You have no reason to celebrate Christmas alone. Sleeping early will do. Glancing out the window, you can see through the mist of snow and intense dark void, that there are still vivid squares brimming with golden glows on the other side of your street, filled with warmth and happiness. Maybe a little more light won't mind.

As you reach for the switch, you can trace an outline of something that leads to the kitchen. Something ruby, something velvety, lengthening under one foot of yours to the bar counter. When the lights pour, you gasp at the scene,

"Leon? Leon! What on earth--Why are you here?"

Leon Kennedy lays on the ground with too many red velvet knots on him, as with some timidity, he says,

"It seems like I couldn't figure out a proper way to maneuver a nicely wrapped present... I mean--I did this with all of my heart, as far as you can believe."

"Leon...!"

"Merry Christmas!" he says, beaming with a smile. Still upside down though.

You smile back at him while he tries to get up from all the ribbon wrappings. His cheeks flush hot pink as you'd never know if it was entirely caused by the rigid cold, or he's actually blushed to see you.

"I brought some snacks, I planned to light candles, I prepared a list of movies for you to choose, I tried to cook dinner and even attempted to bake gingerbread cookies... Sorry, they didn't go well as planned, at all. So--"

"So?" You tilt your head waiting for his answer. A bow is still stuck on his right forearm as he struggles to untie it.

He states with pride, though blue eyes shine, still glance at you with such tenderness, "Figure, I should be your best favorite thing for christmas then."

P.s: Maybe I should've just stuck with painting, but no. Anyways, have a nice holiday 🎉

[drabblesandimagines]

Mistletoe

A secret Santa gift for @porcelainseashore and @leonsecretsanta

Prompt: Mistletoe. Trope: Childhood friends. Wildcard: Cowboy AU.

I'm so sorry I misread the deadline!

--

“No, no, no…” You plead in vain as the engine splutters, the car kangarooing forward at the loss of power as you manage to steer off to the side of the road. Well, if you could technically call it that – it was definitely more of a dirt track than anything else. There’s an awful sound as the carefully wrapped presents are thrown around and you’re hoping the vase you’d bought for your grandma has survived in the layers of bubble-wrap.

Damn it all. You’re so close too – just over three miles from town – but the whisps of smoke now emitting from the engine doesn’t seem promising.

Wait.

Smoke?!

You fumble with the handle, yanking it hard and flinging the door open in an attempt to throw yourself out of the car, nearly forgetting to unbuckle your seat belt as you do so. It’s not a graceful exit, a panicked tumble, scraping your palms on the dirt as you scramble up to your feet and try to create some distance between you and the machine you’re so is about to burst into flames.

Only to hear a dry chuckle.

You spin around in fright, barely keeping your balance – you swore there hadn’t been anyone in sight when you’d pulled over, the track had been dead as a doornail since you’d turned off the highway – but there, leaning against the beaten-up fence that lined the path is who you think is a man, the dipping winter sun silhouetting his figure, a stetson hat shading his face from view.

“Howdy, little lady”, a deep, oddly familiar voice greets. “Car trouble?”

“I…” You turn back to look at the vehicle, the smoke that had been emitting from under the hood is now just a non-threatening whisp. “I thought it was gonna explode. Complete hunk of junk.”

“Junk? Nah, she’s just a classic  - like all the machinery on my ranch. Probably just needs a gentler touch. Mind if I take a look?”

Before you can answer, he’s hopping over the fence with the assistance of what you can now see is a particular toned forearm, clad in a grey – but what was once white t-shirt –sturdy denim jeans and striding over to you in a pair of black leather boots, finally lifting his head to reveal his face.

This is screaming stranger danger – out in the middle of nowhere, the setting sun, there’s never been any cell service on the outskirts in the town that you’d grown up in and you’ll be lucky to get a smidge of a bar when you even get there, and now you’re gonna be a headline on the town gazette about the abandoned truck on the side of the room, full of Christmas presents and-

Wait.

“Leon?”

His eyebrows furrow beneath the rim of his hat, blue eyes widening in realisation and suddenly you’re pulled into his chest by those muscular arms, an exclamation of your name into your crown in greeting.

He smells ridiculously good – a combination of musk, hay, a hint of oil from the machines at the aforementioned ranch… It’s only then that you realise your arms are still hanging limply by your sides that you return his embrace.

“I near about didn’t recognise you in the city get-up!”

You pull back, an accusatory look on your face that immediately falters when your heart skips a beat.

Of course he would only become even more attractive in your time away.

Leon S Kennedy had always been blessed in the looks department, that and his boyish charm had meant he’d always had a line of interested girls in high school and, with the way he seems to have aged like a fine wine, you don’t doubt that he must’ve made one his wife…

You shake off the thought, lying to yourself about why it had made your stomach sink in the first place.

“Uh-huh. My ‘city get-up’ compared to your look right now.” You can’t help but lift your hand and nudge the rim of the hat up with your forefinger. “When did you start wearing this?”

“Somewhere in the last, what, five years since you visited, right?” Leon tries to tease with a smile, arms still wrapped loosely around your waist, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Yeah. Well…” You shrug, the uneasy feeling in your stomach now replaced with a knot of guilt. “There was classes and work, hard to get back down here. And Grandma liked to come visit.” It wasn’t a lie – she did. “But with her health not being so great this year…” You trail off, not really wanting to think about it.

You step back out of his embrace at last then, immediately feeling a little colder for doing so. You lift an arm to scratch the back of your neck and Leon immediately recalls it as an anxious tell from your youth.

“Yeah… I’m mighty sorry to hear about that. She seems fit as a fiddle to me, you know? I still see her every Sunday at the market. Hell, if I’m particularly lucky, she’ll let me carry the bags to her car.”

You force a smile. “That’s sweet of you.”

“Nah, it’s the least I can do.” He shrugs, looking like he wants to say more.

Instead, he claps his hands together and jerks his chin towards your car. “Let’s see if we can get you on your way, huh?”

“Sure. I’ll… I’ll pop the hood.”

--

As Grandma would say, gosh darn it all to heck and back.

You thought you were over him.

Leon had been your best friend since practically birth, right up until the end of high school when you’d headed off to the city for college and he’d stayed to take over his father’s ranch. It was the summer before college that something had changed, how butterflies had started to blossom in your stomach every time he smiled at you, despite doing it hundreds of thousands of times before and had made the goodbye as you’d packed up to head off to the city bittersweet.

You’d promised each other you’d stay in touch – every Thursday night you had a scheduled phone call where you’d tell him all about your classes, what annoying thing your room-mates had been up to, how your manager had changed round all your shifts at the coffee shop again… He’d regale you with tales of home, what he was planning on changing around the ranch, what the latest uproar was in the town meeting.

Thursday evenings had quickly become your favourite night of the week, sacrificing sleep as you and Leon would talk into the early hours of the morning, sometimes finding yourself even drifting out to the comforting sound of his voice, and looking forward to every night when you could cross another day off the calendar until winter break began…

The butterflies are swirling around your stomach now, sure, but you also remember how much it had hurt when you’d raced up to the ranch as soon as you’d got home, only to find him kissing Lorelie Becker the front of the stables, a solitary sprig of mistletoe hanging from the arched doorway.

You’d turned heel and sprinted off as quick as you’d ran there. Grandma had commented on how quick a visit it had been and you’d dug your nails into your palm, shrugging it off that, oh, he hadn’t been around and you’d catch him tomorrow, fibbing that you were tired and going to have an early night, sobbing into your pillow for being so stupid in the first place to think that he’d thought of you as anything more than a friend.

That winter break had been awkward. Interactions with Leon felt too forced and you’d fed him excuses about having to help your grandma out at home instead of any of the plans you’d made over the phone the weeks prior. You’d even headed back up to college early, managing to snag some extra shifts to fill the weeks – all just to get away from the heartbreak. Slowly, those scheduled Thursday calls turned into messages left on answering machine, the occasional game of phone tag in an polite attempt to reschedule and then, eventually, stopped altogether.

You’d shrugged off the feeling of loss whenever you thought of him, or been reminded of something that would’ve made him laugh, something he’d like, or when Grandma had mentioned seeing him in town.  

The days had turned into weeks, months, and years…

And now, as you find yourself stood by the fence he’d hopped over, his hat resting besides you on one of the posts, staring at how dang good his rear looks in the well-worn, yet still stupidly fitted jeans, as he leans over, elbow deep in the components of your engine muttering under his breath, you realise how completely and utterly wrong you’ve been.

“Let’s see now...” Leon’s words break you out of your fixation as he stands up straight. He takes a moment to wipe off the oil from his hands on his jeans, drops down the hood with a satisfying thunk and turns to you, pushing the bangs out of his eyes with the heel of his hand. “Keys, darlin’?”

Your scalp tingles at the term of endearment and you could swear his cheeks are tinged red, but he clears his throat with a forced smile before clarifying.

“Your keys. Wanna make sure she turns over.”

“Oh.” You nod, stepping away from the fence. “Yeah, they’re still in the ignition.”

You walk over as he heads to the driver’s door, still open from your hasty exit, and watch as he leans in and turns the keys. The engine appears to start as normal - not a sputter to be heard nor a whiff of smoke to be seen.

Leon’s face erupts into a triumphant grin, but you can’t mirror it.

“It’s… It’s definitely safe to drive, right?”

The smile drops as he nods. “It’ll get you back to your grandma’s right enough. Mack took over the autoshop – I suggest you visit him before you head back down the highway…” He steps out your way and you hop into the driver’s seat, hoping to make a hasty exit.

“Thanks – saved me having to walk into town.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He shrugs. “Glad I was around.”

“I should…” You nod towards the open door. “Sorry, Grandma will start getting worried.”

“Yeah, ‘course.”

--

“I always thought he was a nice boy.”

“Hm?” You mumble in reply, too focused on rolling out the dough on the wooden table in the middle of the kitchen. Grandma liked to make gift baskets for the neighbours as presents – packed full of home-made preserves and baked goods – and you’d been trusted with making the sugar cookies, acutely aware of how strict she was about achieving the perfect thickness before she’d even entertain the idea of getting the cookie cutters out.

“Do you need these fangled hearing aid things, sugar?” Grandma teases, tapping the device on her ear. “I said – I always thought that Leon was such a nice boy.”

“He’s not a boy anymore, Grandma.”

“Nice man, then. You know, I always thought you two would end up together…”

“We were just friends, Grandma.” You reply on default – it’s not the first time she’s brought up the conversation after all. You’d dated, of course, over the last couple of years, but every time they’d fizzled out Leon’s name would eventually be mentioned.

“No, not just friends. I saw the way he looked at you! Besides, it’s not like he’s dating or anything. All the ladies at church are constantly pushing their granddaughters on him and he’s nothin’ but polite. Why, Maureen Becker has been going on and on about her Lorelie-“

“Grandma!” You snap – emotions still high, nerves frazzled after seeing Leon yesterday. You knew it had been a possibility but, heck, you wanted to be more prepared, more put together your first time seeing him face to face again. “Leon didn’t like me like that, okay? I don’t know what happened between him and Lorelie, but they looked pretty cosy that night I saw them under the mistletoe at the ranch, so just stop, okay?”

“What’s all this now?”

“Nothing. Forget I said anything,” you try and backtrack, leaning down onto the rolling pin a little too hard and with the next roll the dough is almost translucent.

“Well, all right, then.” Grandma purses her lips. “Say, I think we’re almost out of butter. You re-roll that dough and get the next batch on whilst I go fetch some.”

“That’s okay – I can go grab it and you just rest.”

“Hush”, she chides, already heading towards the door. “Doctor said it was good for me to do a little bit of a walk each day. I won’t be a tick.”

--

“Well, howdy, ma’am,” Leon dips his head in respect as he spots Grandma approaching, a determined look on her face as she stalks up the path to where he’d been mending a broken panel. “What can I do for…? Hey!”

She swats the hat off his head with a firm hand.

“Don’t you hey me – I’d love to take that hat and stomp it under my foot. Why, it would be mighty appropriate, don’t you think, the way you broke that poor girl’s heart? I would never-“

“Whoa, now.” Leon raises his hands in a practiced gesture – too often having had to use it on spooked horses – and takes a step back. “I’m afraid you’ve lost me, ma’am.”

Grandma takes a breath and scowls. "Lorelei Becker."

"Lorelei..." Leon trails off as he scratches his chin, trying to catch up. “From high school?”

"Yes.” She punctuates her response with a firm poke to his chest.

“Well, what about her?”

“The last winter break my sugar came home - she came straight here, only to find YOU smoochin' Lorelei under the gosh darn mistletoe!"

"What? No - that..." Leon backs up as Grandma pokes at him again, the jabs feeling like they’re already going to bruise. "That's not what happened."

"Here I was, thinkin' you were a fine, upstandin' fella and all this time-"

"No - I'd set that up for her! I...” He steps to the side, finally managing to dodge an assault. “I put up that mistletoe. Heck, I know it was corny, but I thought she'd like it… Then Lorelei showed up and just grabbed me – I didn’t even see her that night-"

Grandma stops and stares at Leon – it took him right back to his youth, stood in the kitchen at your house where the two of you had been scolded for taking the tractor out on a joyride in the dark – and he shrinks back in himself.

“You promise that’s the truth?”

“I swear, ma’am.”

“Well,” her face relaxes, “seems this dilly-dallying has all been a big misunderstanding all these years.”

“Er, dilly-dallying?”

“Dilly-dallying.” Grandma bends down before Leon can stop her, picking up his abandoned hat and dusting it off before offering it back to him. “You swing by ours in about an hour and we’ll sort out this mess once and for all.”

--

You’re about to take the next batch of cookies out of the oven when there’s a loud knock on the front door and Grandma is quick to whip the oven mitts out of your hands. “Get that, will you, sugar? I’ll get these.”

“But surely it’ll be for you-“

“Go on now,” she swots you with the gloves on the back of your legs, urging you towards the door. She��d been in a weird mood since she’d returned with the butter, not letting you leave the kitchen for a second, whilst she’d fussed around with something in the hall.

You swing open the door only to feel something swipe across the crown of your head – mistletoe dangling on a red ribbon from the doorframe between you and an equally looking surprised Leon, before realisation sets in across his face.

Your stomach sinks at what he must think.

“Wait, I did not put that-“

He smiles. “It was for you.”

“Huh?”

“The mistletoe. Not this one.” He clarifies, the plant still swinging side to side between the two of you. “Last time you came back from winter break. I’d hung it up at the entrance to the stables for you getting back, wanted to surprise you and then Lorelie Becker walked up, got all giddy, pulled me forward. I didn’t know you’d seen-”

You shake your head. “Look, I don’t know what Grandma told you, but-“

“Can I kiss you?”

“What?”

“I said,” he dips his head to remove his hat, “can I kiss you?”

You don’t respond – your body apparently switching into autopilot instead to those four words. You stand up on your tip toes, a hand flat on his chest for balance and kiss him ever so gently on the lips before your mind finally kicks into gear and you begin to retreat, an apology on the tip of your tongue.

But there’s an arm around your waist now, fingers threading through your hair on the back of your head as you’re pulled back into a desperate and long overdue kiss.

Grandma’s voice rings out from the kitchen.

“About dang time!”

--

[drabblesandimagines]

Where are all the Gale girlies at?

Credit: UltimateH3RO

[drabblesandimagines]

Warm Palms

Clive Rosfield x afab reader Fluffity fluff, slight spoilers, mentions of period

Clive has always been a light sleeper from a young age. From his training as a Shield of Rosaria and later a captured soldier of the Imperial Army he knew sleeping left you vulnerable. Any slight noise was a threat that needed to be assessed, then either dealt with or dismissed.

He would admit, however, that he had been sleeping somewhat easier since you’d started to join him in bed.

Too long had both of you ignored the feelings bubbling under the surface, only coming to a head after a pint too many of Molly’s brown. Molly had headed off to bed when the two of you were her only remaining patrons, and to avoid your voices echoing around the ale hall Clive had invited you up the stairs to his room to finish off your drinks. It was only when the two of you entered, he realized he didn’t have anywhere to sit - the chair at the desk being the only seat in his room. So, the two of you had sat on his bed, knees knocking, until a combination of the sweet smile on your face as you listened to him speak and a surge of confidence had resulted in his lips meeting yours before escalating into a passionate, frantic kiss.

You’d spent your nights in his bed ever since – whether he was there or not, he’d discovered, returning late one night from an excursion and finding you fast asleep in his sheets.

It takes him a minute to realize what’s woken him up. The waters of the blighted lake lapping upon the walls of the hideaway, the soft hoot of the stolas in his chambers, and then a soft grunt of pain coming from your side of the bed.

Your breathing is different, not the steady state of one asleep, but that of someone trying to tolerate discomfort. You shuffle ever so slightly, obviously trying not to disturb him and wince as you do so.

“Darling?” He whispers.

“Sorry,” you mutter back. “Go back to sleep.”

He leans up, slightly – you’re facing away from him. “What troubles you?”

“It’s nothing,” your voice hitches for a second. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He places a gentle hand on your shoulder, tilting you towards him so he can see your face, catching a wince.

“Love?”

You open your mouth but take a moment to say anything. “It’s my monthlies.”

“Ah.” He nods, as if he knows much of the subject. The truth was, you were the first woman he had been intimate with and though you had been together a fair few months now, he hadn’t heard you mention them previously, assuming they had happened in times of his absence. “Painful, I take?”

“Mm. It’ll pass.” An unconscious grimace crosses your features once more. “Please, go back to sleep. You never get enough – I feel guilty for disturbing it.”

“I can hardly sleep easy knowing my lady is in discomfort.” He sits up then, reaching for his discarded linen shirt.

“What are you doing?”

“I’ll go down to the infirmary, I am sure Tarja will have something…”

Your hand grasps his arm, stopping him before his feet touch the wooden floor. “No, Clive. Please don’t wake half the hideaway on my account. I’ll be fine, I promise.”

He frowns – he doesn’t want to go against your wishes, but he can’t lie back down knowing you’re in any amount of pain. You’re so precious to him, every wince or soft noise of pain is like a dagger to his heart.

“Please.” You reiterate, and he concedes, dropping his shirt back.

“I must do something.”

“Just stay – that’s enough.”

But there must be something more he can do, he thinks, as he leans back against the wall slightly, taking you in his arms and pressing his lips to your forehead in what he hopes to bring momentary comfort.

A conversation overheard dredges up in his mind – a time in the infirmary, after Tarja insisted he sit still for ‘at least ten minutes’ after she had stitched up a gash on his arm and he’d complied to save her the stress. From the other side of the curtain, he heard her speaking to one of the young girls of the hideaway who’d started her monthlies, providing her with information, talk of painkilling draughts and herbs and also a mention of a warm compress upon her stomach to relieve the cramps.

He looks at his palm in the dim light. Since the reawakening of Ifrit all those years ago, he’d tamed the flames that ran underneath his skin more and more, able to change the intensity at will. He concentrates hard, just enough to bring an imperceptible layer of warmth to his palm and touches it experimentally to his face – he’d never wish to burn you. It feels soothing upon his skin.

“Do you trust me?”

“You know I do, love,” you mumble from your place on his chest.

“Roll onto your side a moment.”

You don’t question, doing as you’re told. Maybe if you hadn’t been tired and uncomfortable you would’ve questioned it more. Once you’re on your side, Clive readjusts himself onto his own side, his broad chest pressing onto your back and he slips his hand around your waist, dipping below the slip you wear to bed, up your thigh and eventually landing on your stomach. You’d gone to protest, unsure of what he was thinking, but when his palm pressed upon your skin it was comfortingly warm, soothing the rolling waves of pain in your stomach.

“Does that help?” He asks, tentatively, but he had already felt your tense muscles relax at his touch.

“Very much so.” You sigh into the pillow. “How…?”

“Thank Ifrit.” He presses a kiss to the side of your head, before rubbing soothing circles upon your stomach.

“Thank you.” You reply, softly. “It feels wonderful.”

“Anything for you, my darling.”

Clive continues to rub his palm on your stomach until he hears your breathing slip into the rhythm of sleep he knows so well. He nuzzles his face into your neck, feeling content. His palm remains in place all night, the warmth keeping the pain at bay and granting the two of you a restful sleep.

--

Ghostdog: I'm on my period and I can't find my hot water bottle, so Clive's imaginary palms will have to do.

Thank you so much for all the requests! I am working on a few at the moment <3 Wrote this more for me but I will have some requests up in the next few weeks. There's some other characters I'd be happy to write x reader fics for in FFXVI, so do let me know! x

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Ko-fi

[drabblesandimagines]

Vincent is home ❤️

[drabblesandimagines]

Moon Cycles

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.

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Ko-fi

[drabblesandimagines]

HELLO FRIEND

IM NEW TO TUMBLR SO IM SORRY IF I MISSED ANYTHING

BUT YOUR DOVE LEON KENNEDY SERIES IS ONE OF THE FIRST THINGS IVE READ ON TUMBLR ITS SO GOOD AND BEAUTIFULLY WRITTEN

UR SO AMAZING TRULY

BUT IS IT EVER GETTING UPDATED

JUST ASKING IM SORRY LMAO 😭

Hello!

Thank you so much - I'm so glad you like it 🥰 Yes, it is still being worked on, I promise! I've just had a couple of rough months irl and it's left me with writer's block. Trying to get back into the swing of things. I'm not sure when exactly it will be updated but it means a lot to me so it's definitely not getting abandoned!!

Thanks to everyone for being so patient with it ❤️

[drabblesandimagines]

Let me boop you please 🥺😭

Sorry, anon! Boop away ❤️

[drabblesandimagines]

Never stop feeding us with your fics! I have no idea how I keep coming back to read your fics <3 Love you and please never stop writing!

Oh, gosh - I'm so sorry, I have no idea how I missed this in my inbox. You are the absolute sweetest, thank you so, so much xxx

[drabblesandimagines]

hihi! just sending a lil message saying i binged your writing and really love your characterisation! every piece has lot of charm and it’s wonderful to read!! I hope you have a lovely day

Thank you SO much, anon! This is so sweet. I hope you are having a day that's as wonderful as you are <3

[drabblesandimagines]

Okay, let's try and get outta this funk with some quick-fire prompts.

Taking requests for drabbles (100-500 words) for the following characters only, please:

Clive Rosfield Barnabas Tharmr Cloud Strife Vincent Valentine Leon Kennedy Gale Dekarios Halsin Silverbough

Thank you! x

[drabblesandimagines]

Hii! Sorry if I'm bothering you. Are you taking a break from writing by any chance? It's just that you didn't say anything and I'm not seeing any activity from you. I'm a lil worried, are you alright? I can send you a dm if you need someone to talk to.

Hi, anon. Thanks for reaching out, this was super sweet. ❤️

I'm still here, work has been really stressful recently and I've been suffering writer's block for an age. I have some time off now so I'm hoping to recharge and reset - work has just been taking up so much of my mental energy, ugh!

Thank you so, so much for dropping in my inbox, that really meant a lot xx

[drabblesandimagines]

[drabblesandimagines]

Are requests open?

Hiiii, lovely!

Yeah, my requests are always open - I just can't guarantee they'll be fulfilled! Some I dwell on for absolute months, but please feel free to send a request in if you like.

If you 100% are after something, I do take commissions and am happy to discuss! The "longer" commissions are currently closed atm on Kofi but I have 500-1,000 word slots open xx

[drabblesandimagines]

Hi! I was wondering if there's any opportunity for another Gav fic 🥺

Hi, anon! I'd never say never, do you have any prompts in mind? x