under the sycamore tree
forced proximity/mistletoe/historical au | Leon Secret Santa | gift for @mandalhoerian
Leon Kennedy x f!Reader
Claire's stifled giggles and knowing smirks all go unnoticed by you, never raising a single alarm as all she's content about speaking with you today is Leon. Perhaps you should have noticed the extra creaking noises coming from the spare room, but the thought of Leon always has you spiralling, it seems.
warnings: this is just fluff. rest easy. oh, and grammatical mistakes, of course.
word count: 3.6k
a/n: please imagine a ribbon tied around it that's made into a pretty bow. I hope you like it💗🎄
“There’s something happening outside.”
“There’s something happening inside too if you care to notice.”
Claire scoffs at your remark, twisting the linen cloth of the curtains with her nose still pressed firmly against the window. “No, I can feel it. There is far too much hustle and bustle outside the Kennedy house.”
You supress a laugh, straightening the wreath hanging above the burning fireplace, moving carefully as to not scorch your skirt. You brush shoulders with Claire as you come to stand next to her, joining in with pressing your nose against the frosted glass. You make note of the swirling snowflakes joining the others in a sheet of white laid thick on the ground, attention immediately grabbed by the old sycamore tree standing tall and proud in front of the Redfield household.
It looks as breathtaking as ever, your lips curling in a genial smile, the sound of children’s laughter echoing in your ear, almost seeing the shadows of four little heads playing about in the hearth of the tree. It stands tall and proud, growing old with grace, its thick branches stretching out great distances, dusted with ethereally with snowy peaks glittering under the orange haze of the sun.
Your gaze barely makes past the grand trunk of the tree all the way across to the Kennedy household, too enraptured in fond memories to take notice of anything out of the ordinary. The old swing hangs from the sturdy branch, gathering snow demurely, decorating itself very lovingly with the white sheets. You nearly let out a wistful sigh, the taste of hot cocoa lingering on your tongue from the past, giggling into the winters night, bundled up in blankets with hands wrapped around warm mugs, shoulders brushing with the others as you all tried to fit under the one huge blanket.
Friendship was the natural course of way with you, the Redfield’s and the Kennedy’s living only a few steps away from each other. Endless days spent trudging to school together and back, playing knights in the yards to scaling the old sycamore tree. Or at least you standing on the ground with a pout, too scared with the possibility of falling as you would witness Chris, Claire and Leon scale the tree without an issue. It would be tugging and blowing the dandelions for you, pout still evident on your face, trying to distract yourself by naming the plants you could recognize in the grass.
Your recognition game would be interrupted with a flower tucked softly behind your ear, any semblance of anger vanishing from your system by a sweet smile from Leon as he would join you. Wordless and completely deaf to Chris’ protests, he would lean over next to you, curiosity filled in his aquamarine eyes, hanging onto every word you would say, the soft pink of his lips upturned into a gentle smile. It was always moments like these that had your heart fluttering, breath stuttering when he would lean in too close, making you feel foolish for getting your heart twisted over menial things and gestures that were second nature to Leon.
Childhood was soon over and before you knew it, you were underneath the sycamore tree once more but this time Leon’s clenched fists did not go unnoticed by you, jaw tight as he dare not look at you. So you pointed out the constellations, telling stories of Greek heroes and their adventures before he finally confessed to you that he would be leaving soon. An ‘oh’ was all you could manage to say, a sudden weight apparating in your stomach. But of course, you put on your brave smile, he had to leave, to travel the world for both himself and his late parents. You laugh gently at the manner that he’s breaking the news to you, as though he is off to war, you reassure him that you will see him again but it does less to ease the tension in his shoulders.
You don’t get it, it seems. He will be gone. For a very long time. He will grow, learn new things and become a man. Away from you. And you will also grow more beautiful, more intelligent and more wonderful in ways that he will not be around to see. He even let’s out a shaky laugh. Leon is almost desperate when he asks you to wait for him and all you can do is look confused, jokingly shoving him as you inquire where you will run off too.
You don’t get it. And he doesn’t push it.
Maybe some other time where maybe he will be less of a coward when he holds the pen under candlelight, staring at the blank parchment, ink dribbling down his fingers as he struggles to find the words. They never come anyways, try as much as he can. All that ever does is your face, your laugh, the softness of your touch, the sparkle in your eyes and the shine of your hair. It is enough to upend him but never enough to overcome his cowardice.
But he writes to you nonetheless. Very diligently, not daring to miss a day, always knowing of the nearest post office, making sure to let you know of his address in case you want to write him back. And you do without fail, your letters acting as Leon’s own personal pockets of oxygen, always keeping you over his chest.
And its enthralling for you as well, grin wide on your face when a post comes for you, marvelling in awe at the address, astounded at the journey it made to reach you. You read his words. And then again. And then again until they are etched onto your memory before they are preserved in your box. All the jewels in the world and they wouldn’t amount to anything next to the box of Leon’s letters, clinging onto it ferociously when you had come to stay at the Redfield’s for the holiday.
Claire had just grinned at you wickedly, wiggling her eyebrows and inquiring coyly about the contents in the box. Your heated face and pointedly dodging her eyes was answer enough, making Claire snicker as she knowingly nudged her brother.
“I don’t even know how you see past this tree,” You wonder, letting the curtain fall. “Besides why would there be movement on the Kennedy property. Unless its being pillaged by thieves.”
Claire waves you off, pressing her nose firmly against the cold window, “That’s because you’re not truly looking are you.”
“Why?” You jokingly tug at her skirt, “Is this your devious plan for cornering Leon to pay you back for the money he borrowed?”
“He still hasn’t paid me back!” She grumbles, straightening her back, “It’s been years! If he thinks I’m gonna let him off easy, he has another thing coming.” She steals a quick glance over her shoulder at you, a devious smirk already plastered on her lips. “Anyways isn’t he in Italy right now?”
“India.” You rush to correct her.
You purse your lips, eyes wide when you register your slip up. You spin around and rush towards the tree, fiddling with the ornaments, feeling Claire’s stare heat up your back.
“India,” Claire said coquettishly, wrapping her hands behind her back. “I didn’t know that. Well maybe because he hasn’t written to me in a long time.” She pops up next to your shoulder. “Still wrote to you didn’t he?”
You try to twist away from her line of sight, backing away next to the fireplace, bumping into a stocking as warmth creeps up your neck. “Don’t be ridiculous! He contacts you and Chris just as much as he does me.”
Claire laughs, planting her hands on her hips, “Honey, he hasn’t written to Chris in over three months. And I haven’t gotten a post from him since about four weeks. Or was it five?” She smiles warmly, fluffing the branches of the Christmas tree. “You always had a special place in his heart. So, where is he headed off to next?”
You purse your lips, trying to find the words that doesn’t give too much away. They don’t come but the scent of burning cloth reaches your nose quick. Claire scrunches up her nose, raising her eyebrows at you before panic flitting her features. Heat burns a little too close to you from the fireplace, making you jump at the same time Claire pulls you away from it, hands slapping against the skirt of your dress putting out the flames. You check the full circumference of your dress, inspecting to make sure there aren’t any more.
“Wow,” Claire huffs, “Can’t believe your passion nearly ignited your dress.”
You pinch her sides, sending her into a fit of giggles as you stumble away from her grasp towards the stairs, muttering something about needing more ornaments for the tree from the attic. You pat at the burnt portion of your dress subconsciously, the warmth still emanating as the words of Leon’s last letter to you burned in your brain. The stairs creak underneath you as you make your way to the third floor, hand reaching into the pocket of your skirt, feeling the parchment there, resisting the urge to pull it out and mull over his words.
Just thinking about it made your heart race, blood rushing into your cheeks. Perhaps they were not of the scandalous variety as one would think, not containing boisterous proclamations of his passion for you. Never like the raging flames of an unquenchable forest fire but his words always remind you of the embers in the hearth of a fireplace, diligently keeping the frost away. He misses you most ardently, comparing your presence to that of the sun, how your radiance puts all the stars in the sky to shame.
He feels restless, he writes, a strange emptiness having come grasped him suddenly one morning, an ache in his heart that cannot be subdued. He knows that he should not sound ungrateful, that he should be thankful for the sights he is seeing, the adventures he is experiencing but he wishes, knows that it would be more fulfilling if he had someone to share them with. He thinks about you often, dreams of your laugh and your smile, eager to see your eyes once again. Maybe that is what he truly misses, you. And if it would be agreeable to you, he would adore nothing more than for you to join him so that he could share this journey with you.
It had been about three weeks since the arrival of this letter, your answer always failing you whenever you sat down to write back to him. What do you even say? Were you being too presumptuous in assuming his feelings behind his words? Perhaps he had meant it as a friendly gesture and here you were cooking up tall tales of romance in your head. Was there even romance? Or what if he has changed his mind since then? Finding someone else to bestow his affections on.
You shake these thoughts out of your head, hiking up your skirt as your boots hammer against the wooden stairs finally reaching the landing of the attic. You bend down to collect the wooden log lying next to the door, propping it open with it, not wanting to be locked on the furthest floor with no-one to hear your banging. Or at least you don’t want a repeat of what had happened to Chris, forcing him to spend hours in the room with a stuck door until Claire had finally opened it from the outside.
You let out a timid cough, waving your hand in front of your nose to move the dust. Sunlight filters in through the windows, bouncing off the pristine, white coat of the snow outside. The dust particles part as you glide across the room to the shelf on the far end, hands in your hips and eyes scrunched in scrutiny as you try and find the box labelled as ‘Christmas Decorations’. You spot it in the back, eyes glinting and then dragging the small footstool to help you reach it.
You give your arms a good stretch, bracing yourself to hoist the box when you hear the gentle creaking of the stairs come from the other side of the door. “Claire?” You call out, dragging the box to the edge of the shelf, “I hope you are coming to help and not tease me further.”
You are still wrestling with the box when the door swings open, hinges protesting loudly and its the clicking shut of the door that sets off the alarm in your mind.
“I can be of some assistance.”
The box slip from your grasp, shoulders stiffening when the baritone of a voice you had not heard in a long time hit you with full force. It is as though there is a shift in the air, the cold room now suddenly flooded with warmth. The crashing sound of the box is of no consequence to you as you brace yourself, slowly twisting your neck to look over your shoulder. The blue of his eyes swallows you whole, so jarring and real against the tan of his skin. A few freckles dot his face, sun-kissed cheeks standing out on his face, the glistening pink of his lips like a honey suckle trap calling your name. Leon.
Your feet stumble making the stool wobble as you comically clutch on to the shelf, Leon’s face contorting in panic as he steps out, hands outstretched should he need them to break your fall. You hold out your hand, stopping him as you regain your footing, heat shooting up your neck in embarrassment. You haven’t seem him in nearly a year and suddenly you’re adamant on making a fool of yourself.
You gape at him, eyes wide and mouth bobbing like a fish. “Leon!? What are you-? How did-? When-?” You could be able to run a steam engine with how hot your face had become, positioning yourself so that your burnt dress was not in his view.
Leon smiles at you sweetly, crinkles shading the edges of his eyes as he ties his hands to his back, glancing at the floor abashedly, “Oh, yes I uh returned a bit suddenly. I was actually getting a bit worried.”
“Oh,” You hop off your stool, making an abrupt beeline towards the door, unable to make eye contact with Leon as you swerve past him. “You must be exhausted! Let’s get you downstairs and all warmed up. Maybe a cup of tea and I’m sure Chris and Claire would be delighted to know you’re back.” You pull at the door as it refuses to open, “You know she was peeking put the window at your house just moments ago.” You pull again. “And how strange!” God, why won’t it open? “That you appeared too! Ugh this darned door.”
All it takes is for Leon to whisper your name that makes you pause, a tingle reaching up from your spine, pausing your ministrations, pleading with you to turn around and look at him. Your eyes have ached for this moment and now that he is here, it is nearly unbelievable, your gaze drinking him in. He looks changed, in a good way you decide, standing taller and broader in his suit. His sleeves are protesting against the size of his arms but it all adds to him as he graces your eyes with his form. You fingers burn with desperation to run them through his hair.
“I never got your answer,” Leon says, running a hand through his hair.
Your throat dries up, the weight of the parchment in your pocket suddenly increasing exponentially. “What?”
“I wanted to do it differently,” He runs his tongue over his lips, “Perhaps in person. I didn’t mean to overwhelm you so suddenly and then when I didn’t hear from you, I got worried. And so I came back.”
You blink, stunned. “What? You came back because I didn’t write you back?”
Leon’s face turned pink. “Yes, of course. I thought perhaps you had maybe gotten sick or perhaps I was too eager in telling you or asking you but that was not my intention! And you can turn me down if you do not...reciprocate. But I just had to see you.” A realisation comes across his face. “Oh and to give you this.” He reaches into his pocket and brings out a little wrapped gift, holding it out to you earnestly.
You shuffle closer, wiping your sweaty palms off of your skirt as you come up in front of him. You glance at him before focusing on the package in his hand. It’s the smallest thing you’ve ever seen, wrapped so neatly in red with a green satin ribbon. You take it from his hand, fingers grazing his ever so lightly, allowing yourself to linger for a moment, cherishing the feel of him. Grounding. Resounding. Real.
You tug at one end of the ribbon, slowly unravelling it, Leon’s hands tangling in yours as he take it from you, freeing you to unwrap the present. With the paper out of your way, you gasp, eyes widening in wonder. The gift sits soundly in the palm of your hand, its embroidered linen grazing your skin so lovingly. It is perhaps the smallest encyclopedia you have ever seen, the cover filled with tiny embroidered flowers and plants. You skim through the pages in wonder, heart expanding with excitement as you read off names of flowers you had never heard of before.
“Oh my gosh, Leon!” You laugh in disbelief, rifling through a few more pages, “This is amazing! Where did you even find this?”
“Saw it in one of the markets in Paris,” Leon whispers leaning towards you. “It reminded me of you. I’ve been keeping it here,” He pats at his left breast pocket, “Ever since.”
He watches you laugh with glee, unable to help himself tug away the hair strands from your face. Leon lingers before retracting his hands back. “Why didn’t you write me back?”
It hits you, a symphony of butterflies exploding in your chest and fluttering about, eyes focused on the pages. “I...I thought that perhaps you misspoke. That you had not intended those words for me or simply just changed your mind.”
Leon’s hand caresses your face with such ardour, slipping his fingers underneath your chin as he lifts your face up to meet his eyes, stopping your spree of shuffling through the book. “Have I really been so lacking in my ways that it would make you doubt my affections towards you?”
Your breath catches in your throat, eyelashes fluttering under his mirthful eyes. “I...”
He fully inspects your face, humming to himself, “You really have grown more beautiful in my absence. God I hope there isn’t anyone else.” You watch his Adams apple bob up and down forcefully, his breath mixing with yours, planting his forehead against yours, voice coming out a but strained. “Is there someone else? Tell me, I will be brave about it.”
You huff out a laugh, closing your eyes and letting your lashes flit with his. You breathe him in, holding back the You silly boy on your tongue. Doesn’t he know? There never has been anyone else for you. Only him. You melt into him, molding your body to his, every breath matching with his, time slowing down as though in reverence for the two of you. It is lovely, nothing but the sound of beating hearts and shuddering breaths in the air. Your thumb still holds open the little book by the seam, stuck on the page of in the section of evergreen shrub; the mistletoe.
“There is no one but you,” You hum against him.
Relief is all Leon feels as he pulls away, fingers sliding against your cheek and holding you there as though you would disappear like a mirage. His eyes fall down to the book in your hand, letting out a knowing scoff and looking back up to you. Time does it again, brushes the dust off its skirt and gently takes a step back, head bowed in its wait for you.
Leon brings you closer to him, holding you by the waist, and tenderly brushes his lips against yours, luring you into him, securing one hand behind his neck. He does it again and this time nuzzles the edge of your lips, delighted at the laugh that flows through you. Your fingers graze the hair at the bottom of his neck, tugging at it in protest before he shares a laugh with you, whispers alright under his breath and finally places his lips on top of yours.
The kiss warms you, envelops and overwhelms all of your senses, having to tighten your grip on him to remain steady as he sweeps you off your feet. It is wonderful, much more encompassing than you could have ever imagined. He softly tilts your head back, allowing him to kiss you deeply, more fiercely, saying all now that he could not before. Leon breaks sway first, gasping in need for air, once again resting his forehead against yours. “Come with me,” He rasps, “I have found paradise out there and you are the only one I want to share it with.”
You close your eyes, shaking away and burying your nose in his neck, breathing him in deeply. “I would follow you into hell, Leon Kennedy.” You grin at him, stroking his cheek, “But I think our first adventure shall be to get out of this room.”
@leonsecretsanta
