#ghostdogwrites 1000 followers trope event

[drabblesandimagines]

You said it yourself for the request trope: "forbidden love of best man and bride" 😉 Of course, with who else other than LEON S. KENNEDY!!! ❤️❤️❤️

Forever Hold Your Peace

Female reader x Chris Redfield, x Leon Kennedy, angst Leon feels like he can’t breathe. There’s a phantom pressure around his throat, like any breath he takes in is barely skimming the top of his lungs.

It’s not the tie – he’s checked, loosening it several times before doing it back up again. He hardly wears a tie, it had never been his style, really. That, and too obvious to be used as a weapon against him in hand-to-hand combat.

Not that he’s expecting to get into a brawl today.

A heavy hand slaps down on his back, jolting him out of his train of thought. “You look more anxious than me.”

“Nah,” he turns and steps back, creating a bit of distance between him and Chris.  “You’re just projecting.”

“Maybe.” Chris approaches the mirror in two long strides and sighs. “You know what? I’d kill for a cigarette.” “Want me to go grab a packet?”

“Nah,” he shakes his head, straightening his tie in the mirror. “I quit. Promised I’d be shot of it by the honeymoon. You could do me another favour, though.”

Leon lifts his arms wide, gesturing to his appearance. “Being your best man not count as enough favours for a lifetime?”

“Technically this falls into the responsibilities of a best man.” Chris squats down and Leon braces himself to hear the fabric rip - they’d spent an afternoon being fitted at a tailor, Redfield’s thighs and forearms were never gonna be accommodated off the rack – but it holds true. He stands upright, a silver giftbag held out in offering. “Could you take this to my bride-to-be?”

“Oh.” There’s the phantom squeeze again. “Don’t you… want to?”

“I can’t. It’s bad luck to see each other before the ceremony,” Chris shrugs, holding the gift bag out again in expectation, but Leon still doesn’t try to take it.  

“And you believe in that?” He scoffs as he puts his hands in his pockets.

“No… but I’m not jinxing anything today. It won’t take long – the bridal suite’s the floor above. Please?”

Leon sighs and accepts the gift bag at last.

--

You take a tentative sip of champagne to calm your nerves. It was the first moment all morning you’d been on your own – the room being a hub of activity since your alarm had gone off. The wedding planner had hit a snag with something or other and Claire had hurriedly offered to go and sort it in your steed.

This is it - in over an hour’s time you’d be Mrs Redfield. You hadn’t thought the day would ever come, but now, as you sat in your wedding dress that made you feel like a princess, sat at the dressing table in the bridal suite, you allow yourself to get a little bit excited. It had been a long engagement and you’d been fine with that, truly. What did a piece of paper saying you were husband and wife matter anyway? But Chris had returned from Romania, stoic and silent for a few days before mumbling in bed late one night that he wanted to start looking at venues. Soon after, a date was booked, a wedding planner hired, invitation cards sent out, food and wine tasting, a visit to a bakery when you’d smeared frosting on each other’s faces as you taste-tested what would be your wedding cake and, finally, bought your wedding dress – none of it had felt real. There was bound to be something that came up, a mission that would take him to foreign soil and mean the wedding had to be delayed.

There’s a hesitant knock at the door and you swivel on the stool, curious who it could be.

“Come in!”

The door opens, slowly, and a suited Leon S Kennedy walks in.

“Leon.” You hitch your skirt up to get to your feet, inexplicably feeling silly in the dress that had made you feel like a princess moments before. “Hi.”

“Wow. You look…” He trails off, breath caught in his throat at the sight before him.

“Terrible?” You tease, wanting to break the awkward silence.

“No.” He replies quickly, leaning back up against the door to close it. “You look beautiful.”

“Oh,” your cheeks prickle with heat at his compliment. “Thank you. You look great too.”

“Yeah, reckon I scrubbed up all right.” Leon chuckles with a shrug, before remembering the gift bag in his hand. “Er, here.” He straightens up and walks forward to meet you halfway across the room, holding it out.

“You shouldn’t have.” You accept it, your fingers brushing over his and goosebumps running up your arm at the contact. “Thank you.”  

“I didn’t.” He answers, abruptly, pulling his hand back and slipping it in his pocket. “I mean, I… There’s a card downstairs in the box. This is from Chris – he asked me to drop it off.”

“He did?” You can’t help the giddy smile that crosses your lips and Leon casts his eyes down to the ground – it’s not for him. You place the gift bag down on the table and pull out a small jewelry box from within, a notecard on top.

We made it, sweetheart. All my love, Chris x

You open the box carefully – scared of scratching off your nail polish – and find a simple silver heart-shaped pendent on a silver chain.

“What is it?”

“A necklace,” you hold it aloft in demonstration. “I didn’t get him anything, I didn’t even think to. Isn’t that awful?”

“You turning up at the altar will be gift enough for him, I’m sure.” Leon jokes, but he knows it lands flat from your polite laugh as you place the necklace carefully back in the box. “Aren’t you going to put it on?”

“Oh, erm, I don’t think I can, what with the veil and the hair, I’m scared I’ll detach something. Claire will be back soon anyway.”

Leon steps forward. “I can help?”

“Honestly, I’m sure she won’t be long.”

“I want to. Call it part of the delivery service.” His hand hovers over the jewelry box, awaiting permission.

“Okay.”

He picks it up, delicately, and steps right in front of you, before fiddling with the clasp of the chain. He’s careful as he holds both ends of the chain and reaches around your neck, impressed by how steady his hands are when his heart is pounding in his chest.

He withdraws one hand and hooks a finger under the chain, nestling it so the pendant sits just right in your decolletage.

This is the closest he’s been to you in years, your signature scent overwhelming his senses - of course you’d want to wear it on your wedding day – and somehow his hand is now on your cheek, tilting your head up to meet his eyes.

He shouldn’t.

He really shouldn’t.

But he does, pressing his lips softly against yours.

For a moment, you reciprocate. Your hand automatically lifts to tangle in his locks before you regain your senses. “No.” You pull back, mad at yourself, mad at Leon. “No – this isn’t fair. You had your chance, you had multiple chances. You said you didn’t want a relationship.”

“I couldn’t give you this.” He gestures to your dress. “Not with my lifestyle.”

“I didn’t care about any of that!” Your voice breaks, tears burn at your eyes.

He scoffs, now defensive. “And look where we are – at your wedding.”

“No. Just because Chris did what you were never willing to do-”

“What, paint a target on your back?”

“Open up. Compromise. Literally anything.” And the dam breaks, tears trickling down your cheeks. It hadn’t even been a relationship, not in any proper sense of the word. Late night fumbles, broken promises, a note left on your pillow that he couldn’t give you what you wanted, despite never having the discussion.

“I couldn’t.”

“You didn’t even want to try!”

The door opens and Claire strides in, dressed in a vibrant red gown, tucking her cell in her black purse as you hurriedly try to wipe your face.

“Crisis averted and nearly time to head downsta… Leon - what are you doing in here?”

“Chris asked me to drop off a gift.” His tone is blunt.

“Y-yeah,” you sniff, hooking a finger around the chain to lift up the pendant. “It’s perfect, right?”

“Oh, he got it!” Claire squeals, taking a step forward to get a closer look. “He was so worried you wouldn’t like it.”

“No, I love it.” A rogue tear rolls down your cheek.

“Oh, sweetie, your make-up.” Claire fusses, heading towards the box of tissues on the dressing table. “Sit down.”

“Sorry.” You mumble, sitting down heavily on the stool. “I haven’t ruined it, have I?”

“Not at all.” She smiles, beginning to dab at the tear trails on your face. “Leon, shouldn’t you be heading back to Chris?”

“On my way.” He mocks a salute, before dipping both his hands back in his trouser pockets.

“Leon,” you call and he swings back round embarrassingly fast on his heels at your voice. “Can you thank Chris for me? Tell him I love it. And him.”

He nods and leaves.

--

“Should anyone present know of any reason that this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony,” the minister begins as you stand opposite Chris at the end of the aisle, your eyes flickering from the loving gaze of your groom to meet the best man’s icy blue eyes for a moment, your heart skipping a beat, “speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Leon clenches his fists.

-- Thank you for all your wonderful support, @porcelainseashore ❤️❤️

Masterlist . 1,000 followers event Comments and reblogs make my whole day!

[drabblesandimagines]

Hello Ghostdog, I saw your event and thought about Barnabas/fem reader with the idea of ​​amnesia. It would be really interesting, but of course it's up to you😺💖

Amnesia

Barnabas Tharmr x female reader You awake, slowly, to a gentle sway – back and forth. It’d be comforting if not for the ache radiating around your skull. It takes a few attempts to open your eyes, wincing at the lanterns that illuminate your surroundings. Were it not for them, the room would be in darkness – a circular window the other side of the room appears to be shuttered.

A silver-haired man sits at your bedside, slender legs crossed, looking unamused as you sit upright abruptly, eyes flickering around the room in confusion.

“Do not try anything foolish. My liege would prefer you in tact.”

If you had a clear head, you would’ve questioned the strange man’s words.

“Where…” You swallow, though your mouth remains dry. “Where are we?”

“The Einherjar.”

“The what?” The swaying notion finally makes sense, the circular window… “We’re on a ship?”

The man’s smile seems cruel. “Do you not recall?”

“Recall what? I…” You wince again, clutching the side of your head. It’s as if something’s on the tip of your tongue, something you’re meant to be remembering, alongside a feeling that if you reached out to grab for it, it would turn into vapors between your fingers. “I don’t remember… I don’t remember anything.”

“Anything?” He seems dubious at your claim. The chair creaks as he leans forward, grabbing hold of your chin with a gloved hand and forcing your eyes to meet his. “What is your name?”

“My…” You squeeze your eyes tight, as if the action might squeeze the answer out into your head, but nothing comes. “I don’t… Why don’t I remember my name?”

The silver-haired man lets go of your chin and stands up abruptly, bowing as he speaks. “Excuse me a moment.”

He is out the door, a clunk of a lock following his departure, within the blink of an eye. You stumble up to your feet – everything aches in protest – and try the door, pointlessly. “W-wait!”

You sit back down heavily upon the bed, pulling your knees up to your chest and squeeze your eyes shut again, hoping and praying that everything will make sense in a moment. Yes, in a moment, everything will all click into place and you’ll feel foolish for getting so flustered. The moment does not come despite many moments passing, but the door eventually unlocks and you jump up in reflex. The silver-haired man returns, but not alone. A tall, dark-haired man with cold blue eyes accompanies him, dressed in a royal blue shirt and a high collar, a black doublet layered over the top with billowed sleeves, two belts around his waist and seemingly more around his thighs – a scar peeking out between his shirt’s laces.

He seems familiar.

“Sleipnir informs me you are… not well.”

You take a heavy step back as a wave of light-headedness washes over you, expecting to crash down against the bed, but the strange yet familiar man wraps his arm around your waist with a fast reflex and no hesitation, steadying you at once.

“Sorry, it’s my head, it’s-“

“Do you remember me?” He interrupts, his tone impatient.

“No, I don’t… I don’t remember a thing.” Your voice breaks in frustration. “What’s going on? I don’t-” A heavy hand presses your head into his chest, cutting you off again – he smells of salt and brimstone.

“Hush now, treasure.” He soothes, leading you back to sit upon the bed, his arm remaining tight around your waist. “I will explain. Sleipnir, leave us.” “As you wish, my liege.” You cannot see the silver-haired man leave – your vision obscured by the blue and black of the man’s shirt, but you hear the door open and shut, signaling his departure.

You tilt your head up as he removes his hand and try to take in his face. There is something comfortingly familiar in those blue eyes and black hair of his deep down, you think, even if the term of endearment he seems to be using is not. “Treasure?”

“Ah. Allow me to… reintroduce myself. I am Barnabas Tharmr, King of Waloed, Warden of Ash, Dominant of Odin…” He trails off, suppressing a grin as your brow only continues to furrow in confusion. “But, most importantly,” he takes your wrist and presses a kiss against your pulse point, “I am your lover.”

“My…”

“But you are more than my lover, you are my future queen. You fell and knocked your head on the deck when the seas grew rough. It must ache still, hm?”

“It does, yes,” you nod, keeping your eyes fixed on his.

“You adore being out in the ocean air, treasure. I blame myself for not insisting you seek shelter inside. If I had, you would not be in this state right now.”

“But I… I don’t recall anything. Nothing from before I woke. I surely should-”

“Hush now, do not fret.” He presses calloused fingertips against your lips, silencing you once more. “We will make land soon and return home, to Castle Black, where I will summon the finest healers. We will have you reunited with your memories before long – I promise. You just have to trust me, my love.”

He laces his fingers through your own, raises it to his lips to kiss your knuckles as you feel tears burn at your eyes in frustration.

“My name.” You demand, steadying your voice. “What’s my name?”

Barnabas whispers his mother’s name into your ear.

--

Clive comes to with a groan – a myriad of faces all gathered above him, but not the one he is desperate to see.

He shoots up, too fast for what his body’s been through – sliced through by Odin’s sword - and Byron and Gav try to push him back down against the pillows, but he holds firm as best as he can.

“No.” He murmurs, trying to shrug them off, his heart pounding in his ears. “Where is she?”

No-one replies – Jill and Mid turning away from him to hide the tears in their eyes.

“I’m sorry, brother.” Joshua begins, tentatively, leaning forward in the chair by his bedside. “We were so focused on getting you out… They’ll be halfway to Ash by now.”

The Dominant of Ifrit howls.

--

The Einherjar cuts through the waves at pace. They are expected to make land at dawn, but Barnabas Tharmr has no plans to sleep. In his bed chambers, he presses a long kiss against your temple, your slumbering form cuddled into his chest as he runs his fingers up and down your arm. It had been far too easy to get you to drink the elixir laced with nepenthe petals to keep you drowsy and confused – passing it off as a painkilling draught to soothe the thudding pain in your skull.

He grins as he feels a ripple disturb the aether in the air and can’t resist another kiss on your temple.

“Come and reclaim her, Mythos.” --- Thank you so much for your request, @ironicsss! I couldn't resist going a bit darker cos it's Barnabas, little bit of Clive thrown in there for you too xxx Masterlist . 1,000 followers event Comments and reblogs make my whole day!

[drabblesandimagines]

Thank you to everyone who sent their trope requests in (I'm working away on these and will post as they're completed!) and also to those who entered my giveaway ❤️

I've put all your names in a wheel and span and I can reveal the winner is... @emmanuellececchi !!! Drop me a message and we can discuss what you'd like in your commission properly ❤️ Lots of love, Ghostdog xxx