Thanks for the attack on Art Fight 2025! I know this isn't a proper defense but I wanted to finish this artwork for you. Hopefully, I'll be able to attack you properly on Art Fight next year
It appears that my phone shows the colour more saturated than my laptop does. I'm not sure which devices are showing the correct colour but I apologise if the skin appears to be more orange on your device 😔
Thanks for the attack on Art Fight 2025! I know this isn't a proper defense but I wanted to finish this artwork for you. Hopefully, I'll be able to attack you properly on Art Fight next year
Awww thank you so much for your attack in Art Fight 2025! 💖💖💖 I've been inactive on Art Fight and only seeing this late because college has been busy 😭 I'll finish up my WIP for you since I have time now!!!
If the reader looked different one day, would Mark recognize you? Invincible doodle based on this headcannon by @clairewritesfanfics
I'm in love with how she writes prisoner Mark, one of my favourite Marks who doesn't get to shine a lot in the fandom. And this headcannon inspired me to make a doodle of their reactions.
Non-coloured version↓
Can I request Variant if they’d be able to tell, if someone made their s/o look completely different, could they tell its still their s/o? Like moomin when he got transformed and he needed someone to recognize him to turn back to normal
Author's note: This is such a cute request! I love Moomin and the entire world and its aesthetic. That episode was terrifying though.
In general, the Marks will have no problem figuring it out that it’s you. Some know who is the person standing before them purely by instinct (full mask, no goggles, prisoner), others are going to buffer first but have no issue recognizing you (mohawk, flaxan, head cap), and the rest are going to outright interrogate you, but softly, just to be sure (omni-mark, target, sinister, viltrumite). I won’t go into detail for every single one of them but I did have some scenes in mind for a few variants. Let’s pretend for a moment that they’re…not that evil here and live a second, hidden, normal life.
Head Cap Mark
He was coming home from the bake sale. His lemon bars were the star, of course, and sold out instantly. [1]
“Baby?” He called, kicking his sneakers off. “You’re never gonna believe what the Seinfelds told me about their son.” He cackled, excited to share the gossip.
He stepped into the kitchen to wash the sugar-coated containers quickly so he can search for you properly, but he nearly dropped the tupperware when he came face-to-face with a heinous-looking, tiny, teal non-human inside his favorite room in the house (well, second favorite).
“Mark…”
“Uh. Do I know you?”
The creature burst into tears.
He gawked. He recognized those dramatic wails. “Babe?”
The creature sniffed and slowly gained height, its limbs lengthening and its teal color fading into your complexion.
“Holy crap.”
You wiped your eyes, smiling. “Yeah.”
He paused, then continued, “Anyway, you’ll never guess what the Seinfelds told me–hey, stop hitting me, I’m joking, I swear I was worried!”
Omni-Mark
He was coming home from another infuriating day saving idiot civilians and useless “professional heroes.” Mark wanted nothing more than to get out of his costume, find his dove [2] and carry you to the bath.
He unlocked the backdoor with his keys and announced his arrival. “Honey, I’m home!”
No reply. That was normal, you might’ve been taking a nap, so Mark decided to take a shower alone, but then a scream shook the house and he blitzed through the halls, the sound leading him to your shared bedroom.
On the king-sized bed that you personally chose from a catalogue, sat a stick figure with wild rose-colored hair and wearing a garish blue polka-dotted suit.
There was no sign of his dove, and Mark’s first instinct was to choke the truth out of the thing sitting on his bed, but the way the creature looked at him–teary-eyed and wobbly-lipped–stopped him in his tracks.
“What are you?” He demanded.
The creature had a gall to look upset. “How…you…you swore you would love me even if I was a worm, you can’t love me when I look like this?”
“...”
“...”
A deep rumble erupted from Mark’s chest. “My dove, is that you?”
You bobbed your head vigorously. “But you don’t believe me, do you?”
“I–”
“Otherwise I’d be back to normal. Liar! Jerk!” You buried your head in the pillows. “Go away, I wanna be alone!”
Mark’s logical mind refused to believe his own theory but… these habits were definitely yours. He took a seat on the edge of the bed and reluctantly rubbed your head. “I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you, dove.”
“You still don’t, you jerk! ‘I will know it’s you, no matter what’ my ass.” You sulked. “All men do is lie.”
“Uh…”
You did eventually return back to normal a few seconds later, but Mark was forbidden from taking a bath with you in the near future.
Prisoner Mark
He came back from the grocery store, one thick arm carrying two sacks of kibble for the rescues you two were planning to adopt, and the other holding a paper bag full of ingredients for tonight’s dinner.
He set the dog food down inside the garage, humming to himself. He can’t wait to take those babies home and he knows neither can you.
He then took the groceries inside the house, ready to cook, but as he put on his Kiss the Cook apron, he heard sniffling inside the downstairs bathroom.
“Honey?” He knocked on the door. “Are you in there?”
More sniffling.
“Are you okay?”
“No…” The voice that replied was not yours, but his guts told him not to panic.
He leaned against the doorframe. “What’s wrong?”
“I can’t explain it.”
“All right,” he said calmly, “then show it to me.”
“...okay, but… promise not to freak out?”
“I promise.”
You said nothing.
“I won’t freak out, and if I’m lying I’ll swallow a thousand needles.”
No answer.
“Please, angel?”
“...All right. I’m unlocking the door.”
Click.
The door creaked open and out stepped an amorphous yellow being outlined in bright blue.
Black dots that served as its eyes blinked at him sadly. The line that was its mouth opened, but before it could speak, its body slowly morphed back into you.
Your jaw slackened as you stared at your hands. “How–”
“Do you remember what you told me when I came back looking like this?” He patted your head and then gave it a kiss. “Even if the outside’s a little different, I will always know what’s mine.”
[1] Head Cap headcanons: he is a people person, very charming, he’s also a terrific cook and baker
[2] Omni-Mark headcanon: HE TOTALLY CALLS US “DOVE” KSJDFHSDFKSHD
a/n: By the way dear readers, this is a little late, but I really hope you guys don't mind that I don't always dedicate scenes or imagines to every individual variant. Sometimes the things I come up with can feel repetitive so I would rather just consolidate, and other times I really am out of ideas as to what to give certain variants.
Disclaimer: The images above are not mine but are screenshots from the Invincible TV series.
ദ്ദി(｡•̀ ,<)~✩‧₊
MAIN MASTERLIST
Any questions for the author? Ask here.
P.S.
I think that the above shot of Head Cap is one of the hottest official variant images ever.
Aww I love you too sweetie! I have always wanted to let you writers know how much I love your work and show my appreciation. I'm happy that you like the art I made for your fic 💖
Ahhh- I just realised that I typed 'life' instead of 'time' in the art. It's supposed to be the same as the title of the fanfic.
Anyways please check out this fanfic, it's literally so good, I reread it at least once a month. The author is amazing, love the writing in this piece so much that I could ramble about this one shot with anyone who wants to listen. I'm just too shy to approach anyone here, even the lovely author ToT
note : divider is from @/toastray. I have nothing to say this was supposed to be a couple hundred words but yk.
wc : 2.7k
tags : @lottiies @luvrgreyy
desc : he’s been in love with the memory of you for too long, falling back in love with the newer you took a matter of seconds. fluff, bit of angst (?), au, re4rLeon, fem!reader, not proofread, I talk a tiny bit about sex at the end but there’s no smut.
Leon doesn’t remember the sound of your voice, it’s been too long, too many years have passed since the day you died.
Six years was all the time the two of you had together. Six good years. All a really, really long time ago. Leon hates it, he knows he’s forgetting, memories are serving less and less of a purpose to him everyday. How is he to remember lying under the trees with you when those trees have been cut down and turned to homes and firewood? How can he remember you gutting fish for the two of you to eat when the fish have left the river you lived by?
The home you originally lived in had been torn down and rebuilt dozens of times by now, Leon wasn’t always there, even when he was, it wasn’t very lived in after you died. He’s been around the world more times than he can remember, before you, with you, after you. No place looks the same. Leon has many homes, stays there for a few decades, packs up, and moves to the next house in the next country.
He had been gifted with everlasting life for being some hero, for fighting monster when those were still a thing, it was well after he had married you, he didn’t tell you, but he thought you’d spend forever together. Didn’t happen, obviously. You got sick, he took care of you, nothing helped.
Leon prayed to whatever God that had bestowed his immortality to him to give it to you too, to keep you alive, to make you healthy again. He received no answer and you died not long after, Leon was left to spend the rest of his eternal life alone, but the world was his, and he has all the time that the universe has to offer. But what had he done to not be granted the one thing he wanted in the world? Why would some God reward him just to let him live the rest of his life miserable?
Leon’s seen everyone fall in love, but love evolved from courting to dating apps, he’s seen an embarrassing amount of shitty first dates. But he’s also seen a lot of good ones, ones where the first date turns to a second one, then a third, then a fourth, then before he knows it, those twenty-something-year-olds he had seen fall in love in a small restaurant were now taking their teenagers to the mall and going to high school reunions.
You would have loved this, or he hopes you would’ve. Because he really wishes that you were there to cuddle up to him on the couch and watch tv with him until midnight, he wanted to take you on cute dates, he wants to buy you things and renew your vows once every few years.
He wishes that the memories are clearer in his head, he can really only see them when he closes his eyes, or when the weather is a certain way, or when a certain smell hits his nose. Leon wants to feel your skin against his again. he wants to hear you talking directly into his ear and see that smirk on your face when you suggest something you know he won't refuse.
But it's been so long and he knows that your body has long since decomposed and your grave has been swallowed up by the ocean, a good half of the time since then he's been living on auto-pilot, the other half he's painfully aware of your absence with each day that passes.
He's not even sure he'd be able to hold you correctly, should you fall back into his arms one day. Would you still love him despite that?
He's gone so long without a lover, would he remember how to kiss? The Hollywood movies don't do it justice, kissing. But no one in those movies kissed like you had, Leon's seen all kinds of romance movies, read all kinds of books, he's always imagined you and him as the main characters, but you never kiss him the way you used to.
Would you even choose him? There were so many different men out there and so many new ways to meet someone and stay connected, there was no rush to get married or have kids, would Leon be the man you'd pick once again? He hopes so.
He doesn't remember Beowulf having a wife, and Beowulf had been great. He knows that many heroes aren't able to keep their wife and their glory at the same time, the decision is often made for them, and they go on fighting until they die. But Leon stopped fighting with the same determination when you passed, he still did it, people needed protecting, but if he wasn't there to protect you, then was there really anything to fight for?
Despite all of this, he's still here. Leon looks the same as he did all those years ago, some things have changed, a lot, really, but not just about him. The world around him has grown, he's watched generations come and go just to get to some shitty grocery store in Raccoon City twenty minutes before they close at eight.
Leon doesn't like to have to work all the time, he thinks it's crazy how he went from hero to cop, more money was needed to live now than he ever imagined would be possible. He has money saved up from years and years of work, but he can't keep using the "generational wealth" excuse when he's got no family.
He doesn't like being bugged much, either. Maybe that's why he's buying his dinner when he's already supposed to be in bed, could be why he works so much even though he can't stand it sometimes, too.
Leon should have grabbed a shopping cart, the basket he carries is overflowing with shit he doesn't even need, when has he ever even eaten Devil Dogs and Zebra Cakes? He really needs to eat more than just pasta and steak every other night, maybe stop getting deliveries from the pizza place, too. He's looking over the ingredients on the back of a cereal box he knows he's going to get no matter what when there's a soft tap on his shoulder, he sighs and stops, turning around and preparing to be asked a question a cashier would know the answer to rather than him.
But Leon freezes the second his eyes land on your face. He must've gone crazy, it can't be you, can it? You're not really standing in front of him with a basket in your arms, wearing a winter jacket over your sweatshirt and smiling at him as if you're some stranger to him.
"Where did you get those?" Your voice is quiet when you speak, his gaze doesn't even follow your hand when you point at the sweets in his basket, he just stands there and admires you for a few seconds.
Leon wants to cry, he wants to hug you, he wants to kiss you, tell you to run away with him, find someway for you to become immortal and stay by his side until the world ends. But he doesn’t, you look at him like he’s a stranger.
"Oh- Th-the uhm, the Zebra Cakes?" Leon finally asks after a few seconds, you only nod. "The e-end of aisle six." Why is he stammering? He's thought about all the things he'd say to you for hundreds of years, and he's instantly throwing every single word out the window the second you come out from whatever corner of the world you've been hiding in.
"Alright, thanks." God, it really is you. Your smile's the same, you look the same, you smell the same, you sound the same, you just- it's you. He remembers the way you sound again, God, please don’t ever take your voice away from him. He stops himself from reaching for your wrist when you walk away, knowing that you don't remember the things he does and that it'll only make you feel weird about him. But he'll settle for knowing that you're alive and that you're in the city, and that hopefully this won't be the last time he sees you.
—
The next time Leon sees you is on the subway a few weeks later in December.
You're not really looking when you step into the train, reaching up too high for the pole to hang onto and instead grab onto his hand. Your hands are so cold, you really need to wear gloves. But you gasp and pull your hand away when you feel his warm hand touch your skin, instantly holding lower down on the cold pole and looking at him.
"Oh my God, I'm sorry!" It's cute how quickly you apologize, it brings a smile to his face.
"No- No, you’re fine." He wants so badly to wrap his hand around yours, to hold you close and keep you warm, but he couldn’t, he was still a stranger to you. Being in a crowded train and standing a few inches apart was enough for now.
Leon just watches you, you don’t notice because you’re too busy staring down at your shoes, but his eyes are tracing over the curve of your nose, the way your eyelashes look when you blink, how kissable your lips look. He missed this view, although he'd much rather have you looking back at him with the same adoration in your eyes.
Neither of you speak again for the rest of the ride, you can feel him staring at you, though, you don’t entirely mind, you’d probably looking at him if his eyes weren’t burning holes through your skull.
You haven’t left his mind since he saw you at the grocery store, he’s been trying to figure out ways to find you again without getting put on some kind of radar, he’s too impatient to let things happen naturally, but it’s really the only choice he has.
He knows you recognize him, he can’t help but wonder if you’re getting some kind of vision from the past of him kissing you, of you resting on top of him in the sunlight, of him looking at you with awe in his eyes as you laugh at a story he told you.
But he can’t think about that for long, the train comes to a stop and you leave again, looking back over your shoulder at him and giving him a small goodbye smile. Where have you been all these years?
—
Sometimes, shitty dates were a good thing.
Both parties normally end up having a bad rest of their night, but if some man-child asshole you had been put on a date with hadn’t just thrown a whole tantrum and stomped out of the bar, you wouldn’t be sitting next to Leon.
He didn’t know you’d be here tonight, he was just here because he wanted to grab a drink after work, but this was better.
It’s awkward, he really, really doesn’t hope you think he’s stalking you. How small could a city be? Is it really so odd that the man you said a few words to at a grocery store and bumped into on the train would be sitting next to you at a bar?
Leon’s always had a staring problem when it came to you, he’s sure you’re too pretty for him, not that you were really his anymore. And Christ, you’re still beautiful, maybe even more so now. Modern clothes look good on you, he likes your dress, your shoes, the way you did your hair, the color you painted your nails.
He has to stop staring, because now you’re looking back at him. Leon expects for you to yell at him, or slap him, or something, but you just smile at him and turn towards him a tiny bit more.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to stare, zoned out.” Leon apologizes once his eyes snap up to yours, you had moved from your table up to the bar a few minutes ago, most likely embarrassed. You brought your drink over, too, though you didn’t really pay attention to it, just circling the lip of the cup with your fingers and taking a few sips every few seconds.
“It’s okay, I don’t mind.” Your smile only grows, Leon has to bite back a grin threatening to stretch across his lips. Once again, he’s not sure what to say. Does he ever really know what to say now, though? You take the words right out of his mouth and turn them into broken mumbles that he tries to cover up with a fake cough or forced chuckle.
That didn’t use to happen, he’d still get nervous around you, but seeing you now made him feel like he was falling in love again.
“I’d feel like I’ve seen you before…?” You say, you know you’re right, you just want him to talk to you because you haven’t been able to get him out of your head, for some reason.
“Oh, uhm, yeah- Yeah, I think I’ve seen you around, too.” Is he seriously fucking blushing right now?
“Hm, small world.” You take a sip from your drink, he does the same.
“So, uh, bad date?” Leon asks before he can stop himself, he knows the answer, but you were probably going to get mad at him, get offended and ignore him if he sees you again.
“Yeah,” You sigh, “It’s fine, though. Blind date.” Leon nodded, staring down at the ring of water his glass left on the countertop. “You just here for a drink?”
“Mhm,” Alcohol was like water to him now, not the way that he drinks it everyday, but that it hardly has an effect on him anymore. But he can’t sit here and drink glass after glass unless if he wants people to get concerned, so he just sips on one or two for an hour and leaves. You’re drinking the same drink as him, though, so he decides to stay for longer than usual.
And to his amazement, you stay, too. You laugh and nod at the stories he tells you, he listens intently to the ones you tell in return. Of course you’ve been living a different life than the one he had with you, but this is already getting better than the last. And you seem… into him? More into him than you were with your actual date, he’s not complaining.
By the time you and Leon go your separate ways, it’s pitch black outside, well, not really, it’s never completely dark in a city. The lights of driving cars and buildings illuminate you beautifully, like you’re something holy.
Leon finds a napkin with a phone number scribbled on it in his jacket pocket, it must’ve been yours, he couldn’t be happier.
—
Whatever higher being blessed him with another chance with you, he’d praise for the rest of eternal life. Because after a few hour-long phone calls and a couple more coincidental meetings, he’s taking you out on dates and you’re holding onto his arm and kissing his cheek.
It’s better than he remembers, the city offers more things for the two of you to do, and he’s up for anything you suggest.
Leon is finally able to feel your skin underneath his fingertips, feel your lips against his, listen to your voice in his ear, buy you nice things, have you cuddle up with him on the couch, he has you back.
You look so peaceful when you sleep, your head resting on his bicep, his naked skin pressed against yours. It’s been a year, you both still look the same, but he knows you’re changing. Leon hadn’t had sex in so long that he was sure that he would’ve fucked it up, you had taken charge, and it had been soft and slow, anyway. Nothing for him to worry about.
He’s been awake for an hour, just looking at you, trying to imprint this memory into his mind in case you were to disappear soon. But you finally start to stir, blinking your eyes a few times as you start to wake up.
“Leon…?” You mumble, he pulls you closer.
“Go back to sleep,” A kiss to your eyebrow, then the bridge of your nose, your lips twitch up into a sleepy smile.
“Mm… ‘kay. Love you.” You yawn, resting your hand on his chest as you close your eyes again and nestle into his shoulder. He hasn’t heard that from you in ages, he doesn’t know if you meant to say it, but he’s thankful you did.
christmas party / fake relationship / re2r leon! ❆ for @leonsecretsanta event! ❆ gift for @calbloodypigeon ! <3
tags: no outbreak au, rookie leon, journalist reader, gn reader but if i've accidentally missed something please let me know so i can fix it up! --- lots of stupid hallmark christmas cliches, heavily inspired by how to lose a guy in 10 days.
summary: when the leads you're chasing for your feature article for the local paper have gone ice cold, and you've just about given up hope, the rpd's newest rookie shows up like a christmas miracle and proposes a deal that might just save you. or blow up in your face.
word count: 6.1k --- i know i went over the word count IM SO SORRY 😭
a/n: CAL! HI! i'm SO beyond sorry this is late, i fucked up the timings so bad and stupidly miscalculated how much time i had left to finalise this and then i got roped into my own christmas fiasco so i was RACING against the clock to try get this out asap. BUT i hope you like it regardless!! i saw re2r leon as your wild card and my eyes LIT UP!! this was such a pleasure to write, i absolutely love writing rookie leon! (also yes i know the twelve days of christmas technically come after christmas day but shhhh) anyway, hope you have a wonderful christmas!! lots of love, amber xx
masterlist⭑AO3
It starts with a faulty office printer and a burnt cup of coffee.
You stare pitifully at the cup of coffee in your hand—if you can even call it that anymore. Half empty and completely unsalvageable, the acrid smell lingers in the break room like some unwelcome ghost of Christmas caffeine. If only you hadn’t slept through your alarm this morning, you could’ve avoided the morning rush (since it seems that nobody in Raccoon City knows how to drive through snow), and made a good cup of coffee to accompany you for the day instead of having to fight the shitty office coffee machine instead.
With a half-hearted sigh you turn the mug over and dump its contents into the bin, watching forlornly as the liquid soaks through shredded paper and old protein bar wrappers instead.
“Bad morning?” One of your coworkers, Claire, quips from across the way. A perfectly fine cup of coffee sits on her desk in a mug that reads Journalists do It With Integrity!
You shoot her a withering glare, but before you can deliver any sort of witty remark, the printer across the room coughs out a single sheet of crumpled paper, and promptly dies.
“Bad week,” you mutter, running a hand down your face before stalking towards the offending machine.
The office, already buzzing with the chaos of holiday deadlines, feels like it’s working entirely against you. The case you’ve been chasing—a string of thefts tied to the Raccoon City holiday markets—has gone ice cold. Your editor is breathing down your neck for a feature piece that you can’t write without new leads. You’ve got twelve days left, twelve days until your editor wants that final copy on her desk.
And now the printer has decided to stage a mutiny. Just your luck.
You try to print out the documents again, but when the printer does nothing but splutter, and kicking it doesn’t seem to work, you decide maybe it just needs new ink.
You’re about halfway through jamming your hand into its guts when a voice, sweet yet awkward, startles you. You hit your head on the way up, only to find yourself staring into a pair of warm blue eyes beneath a mop of golden hair.
He’s wearing a leather jacket over a navy button-down, his badge clipped to his belt. He looks familiar, like someone you might’ve run into at the bullpen when you’re down at the RPD.
“Uh, need a hand?” he tilts his head, same awkward smile unfaltering.
“I’ve got it,” you say, though you clearly don’t. The printer lets out a final, pathetic whine before dying completely. Well, now you just look stupid.
He grins, the kind of lopsided, sheepish smile that makes him look younger than he probably is. “Guess that’s a no.”
You sigh, looking over your shoulder to catch Claire hiding a smile behind her mug. You fold your arms. “Sorry, can I help you?”
“Names Leon,” He introduces himself, and it all clicks into place for you. This is the RPD’s newest rookie. The guy Claire’s been yapping your ear off about Chris yapping her ear off about. “I’m just dropping off some paperwork. But, uh… I overheard you talking to your editor earlier. You’re working on the market thefts, right?”
Your eyes narrow. “And what’s it to you?”
Leon raises his hands in mock surrender at your scathing tone, the picture of good-natured defensiveness. “Nothing! Just thought you might want some… unofficial insight. Off the record, of course.”
Your skepticism doesn’t waver. “Why would a rookie like you have anything I can’t get from public records?”
Leon hesitates for a moment, as if deciding how much to say. “I’ve been helping out on the case. They’ve got me running reports, talking to market vendors, stuff like that. Not exactly glamorous work, but I’ve been hearing things that don’t make it into the official write-ups.”
Now you’re interested. RPD isn’t exactly known for transparency, you know that much. You also know better than most that a lot can slip through the cracks of “official” documentation.
“What’s the catch?” you ask, suspicious.
Leon shifts, “Well, uh… There’s this Christmas party at the precinct. And I might have mentioned to my coworkers that I was bringing a date.”
You blink. “You’re blackmailing me with case information to play your fake girlfriend at a cop Christmas party?”
“It’s not blackmail!” Leon protests, his ears turning red. “It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement. You get your story, and I… avoid being the precinct punchline for another year.”
You’re still sceptical, but the desperation in his voice softens your resolve. Saying no to him right now would be like kicking a poor puppy.
You stare at him for a moment, weighing your options. It’s ridiculous, sure, but then again, so is everything else in your life right now.
“Fine,” you say finally, sticking out your hand. “Twelve days. You give me what I need, and I’ll be the best fake date you’ve ever had.”
Leon shakes your hand with a grin, relief written all over his face. “Deal.”
And just like that, the countdown begins.
On the second day of Christmas, Leon sends you flowers.
Big ones. Loud ones. The kind of bouquet you’d expect to see at a wedding reception or an apology press conference. They’re wrapped in glittering gold paper—Poinsettias, as Claire so graciously points out.
“Looks like someone’s got an admirer,” she singsongs, loud enough for half the floor to hear.
Your stomach drops. There, sitting right in the middle of your disaster zone of a desk, is the offending bouquet. It’s massive, covered in festive bells and ribbon, and the card sticking out of it reads:
“To my Christmas angel. – L.”
You mutter a silent prayer to whatever God might be listening, snatching the card up like it might explode before anyone else might see. Your coworkers are already murmuring around you, though, so that seems like a bit of a lost cause.
Claire leans back in her chair, still grinning. “So when were you gonna tell me you’re dating someone?”
“Firstly, that is none of your business,” you snap, grabbing the entire bouquet in a desperate attempt to get it out of sight. The glitter gets everywhere, including your coat, your desk, and, somehow, your coffee. “And secondly—” You start, but backtrack when you remember that the deal you struck with Leon may require some confidentiality. Damn you for not figuring out boundaries sooner. “—that is also none of your business.”
You turn on your heel and you don’t stop moving until you’re outside the building, your fingers already dialing a number you swore to yourself you wouldn’t use unless absolutely necessary.
Leon picks up on the third ring. “Hey! What’s up?”
“Don’t you ‘what’s up’ me,” you hiss, pacing in the cold December air. “What the hell were you thinking sending me flowers? To my office?”
Leon hesitates for a second, and you can almost hear him cringing through the phone. “Uh, I thought it’d make things more… believable?”
You stop in your tracks. “Believable?”
“Yeah! You know, if people saw that you’re, like, dating someone, it might help sell the whole… thing.” His voice trails off, and there’s a pause before he adds, quieter, “Was it too much?”
“Too much?” you echo, your own voice rising in disbelief. “It’s not even lunchtime and I’ve already been asked twice if I’m engaged. At least take me to dinner first!”
There’s a beat of silence on his end before he says, “Okay. Let’s do it.”
You stop in your tracks. “Do what?”
“Dinner,” Leon says, like it’s obvious. “Tomorrow. You said I should take you to dinner, so… I’ll take you to dinner.”
You blink, your annoyance faltering for a second, only to give way to mild confusion. “Are you asking me out, or are you making this part of the deal?”
“Can’t it be both?”
You’re not sure if it’s the cold or the sheer absurdity of the situation that makes you smile, but you sigh and say, “Fine. Dinner. But you’re picking the place, and it better not be one of those sad 24-hour diners cops hang out in.”
Leon laughs, the sound warm enough to cut through the winter chill. “Deal.”
On the third day of Christmas, Leon takes you to dinner.
And yes, it is a sad diner.
It’s the kind of place that looks like it hasn’t updated its decor since the 70s, with faded garlands drooping from the light fixtures and a suspiciously sticky Rudolph figurine parked on the counter. Which is fine, in honesty. It’s perfect for this not-date, because that’s what this is. Not a date. Absolutely nothing about this screams romance.
Well, except maybe the crooked twig of mistletoe hanging over the entrance, but even that you’d pointedly avoided much to Leon’s amusement.
“So, remind me what I’m doing here,” you hum, pushing around your leftover pancakes on your plate. Leave it to Leon to convince you pancakes for dinner is an entirely acceptable meal choice.
“Well, we’re on a date,” Leon states matter-of-factly.
Across from you, he looks all too comfortable. You, on the other hand, feel like you’ve just agreed to help pull Santa’s sleigh blindfolded.
“Yeah, well, a date’s pushing it, rookie,” You all but scoff, setting your fork down before meeting his gaze properly. “Look, if we’re gonna do this, we probably need to set some ground rules.”
Leon raises a brow, lips curving into a half-smile, “You’re serious? This isn’t Fight Club.”
“Can’t believe you just broke the first rule of Fight Club,” you shoot back, matching his half-smile with your own self-satisfied one. “Okay, first off, who gets to know?”
“That this is fake? No one,” Leon says all too firmly, “I don’t need this blowing up in my face.”
“Likewise,” you hum. “Okay, next, how often are we gonna see each other outside of office hours? Are we really trying to sell this?”
“Well a coffee or two wouldn’t hurt,” Leon suggest. “And, uh… Physical stuff?” He asks, a generous blush dusting his cheeks.
You can’t hide your smile. “Afraid to hold my hand or something?”
“No! No— just… Don’t want to make this any more awkward than it has to be.”
“Alright, so no kissing unless absolutely necessary. And I’m talking someone-shoves-us-under-mistletoe-and-starts-chanting levels of necessary.”
He lets out a laugh, soft and boyish, and you can’t help but feel the corners of your mouth tug upwards.
On the Fourth Day of Christmas Leon takes you ice-skating. Well… Sort of.
You’d come to pick up some paperwork about the Christmas Market case Leon had promised you—an errand you figured would be quick and painless. No mingling, no unnecessary chit-chat, and absolutely no run-ins with anyone who might make this fake-dating charade any harder than it has to be.
The first hiccup comes the second you step into the precinct. You immediately spot him, leaning against the reception desk with an easy grin, chatting with some colleagues. You only recognise one of them, from the photo sitting on Claire’s desk no-less. Chris Redfield. The woman beside him, who’s donning a festive antler headband, looks oddly familiar as well, though you can’t quite place it.
Fantastic. Just what you needed.
“Leon!” you call, keeping your tone as casual as possible. You walk briskly, plastering on a tight-lipped smile, trying your best not to look like a deer caught in the headlights and to very pointedly avoid any eye-contact with Chris.
Leon turns at the sound of your voice, his expression brightening instantly. “Oh, hey! What’re you doing here?”
“Paperwork,” you reply, holding up the empty manila folder in your hand like it’s your golden ticket out of this situation. “You said you’d have it ready for me?”
Before Leon can answer, the woman next to Chris perks up—it’s then you recognise her as none other than Jill Valentine. You chalk it up to the antlers making it hard to recognise her.
“Paperwork? Wait, is this her?” She elbows Leon in the ribs, earning a flustered yelp from him.
“Her?” you echo, narrowing your eyes.
Chris leans forward, “Wait, you’re Leon’s girlfriend?”
You feel your stomach drop, the word girlfriend ricocheting around your brain like a pinball.
Leon is already mid-spiral, his cheeks flushed red as he stammers out a reply. “Well, I didn’t say that— I mean, I said some of that, but not like that!”
Jill crosses her arms, smirking. “Well, now we have to meet her. What are you two doing tonight?”
“Nothing!” you and Leon blurt at the same time, a little too loudly.
Chris raises an eyebrow, exchanging a glance with Jill before grinning even wider. “Perfect. You guys should come ice skating with us tonight, most of the Precinct will be there.”
Your mouth opens, ready to reject the idea outright, but Leon beats you to it.
“That sounds great!” he says, his voice breaking slightly on the last word. Stupid, stupid, stupid. If you could hit him over the head with this manilla folder right now, you would.
“Great,” Jill says, clapping her hands together. “Meet us at the rink at around seven tonight.”
“What the hell was that?” you hiss once both Chris and Jill have had enough teasing and they’re out of earshot.
“I panicked!” Leon whispers back, looking genuinely apologetic.
“You just signed us up for the least romantic fake date activity imaginable.” You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You owe me so much for this, rookie.”
“I’ll buy you hot chocolate?” Leon tries, sweet boyish smile and all. You hate how you feel your resolve begin to soften already.
“You better make it with extra marshmallows.”
He nods, his expression softening as his smile melts into something tentative yet determined. “Deal.”
You’ve decided you don’t like ice skating. Chalk that up to the fact you haven’t been to the rink since you were eight and using a push-along penguin to keep you upright.
“This is fine,” you mutter under your breath, wobbling precariously as you step onto the ice. “Totally fine. Nothing humiliating about face-planting on ice.”
“You’ve got this!” Leon cheers from a few feet away, his enthusiasm wildly misplaced considering he’s not doing much better. He looks like a newborn deer, legs flailing every time he tries to take a step.
“Don’t patronize me,” you hiss back, gripping the railing like your life depends on it.
Behind you, Jill glides past with all the effortless grace of an Olympic figure skater, followed closely by Chris—who despite a few wobbles—isn’t much worse. They’re laughing at something—probably you and Leon—but you’re too busy trying to avoid an embarrassing collision with the ice to care.
“Okay, here’s the plan,” Leon says, inching toward you with the kind of determination usually reserved for hostage negotiations. “You let go of the rail, and I’ll catch you if you fall.”
He looks just about as stupid as he sounds, you decide. “That’s assuming you don’t fall first.”
He grins, cheeks ruddy from the cold. “Have a little faith, would you?”
Against your better judgment, you release your grip on the rail, immediately flailing as your skates slide out from under you.
Leon lunges to catch you—a valiant effort, truly—which would be heroic if it didn’t result in both of you landing in a tangled heap on the ice.
“Well, that could’ve gone better.” Leon groans, pushing himself to his knees and wincing.
“You think?” you say, trying—and failing—to suppress a laugh as you roll onto your side. Your knees are sore, your pride is bruised, but when you look over at Leon—cheeks flushed, smile sheepish— it all feels a little less mortifying.
“Here,” he says, extending a hand to help you up, and there’s something strangely endearing about the gesture. You hesitate for a moment before taking it, letting him pull you to your feet. He doesn’t let go right away, steadying you as you find your balance.
“You okay?” he asks, his voice softer now.
“Yeah,” you reply, surprised to find that you actually mean it.
And somewhere between all of this chaos a group of kids barrels past, laughing as they race each other in a blur of neon jackets and mis-matched scarves. You and Leon instinctively jump out of their way, your skates sliding in all the wrong directions. You nearly crash into him again, grabbing his arm for balance as he steadies both of you.
And suddenly, you’re close. Closer than you’ve been all night.
His face is just inches from yours, his breath visible in soft clouds in the frigid air. His cheeks are bitten by the cold, his boyish grin tugging at his lips, and his eyes—God, his eyes—are the kind of blue that could rival a frosted winter’s lake.
You swallow hard, heart giving a little flutter you’d rather not think about. Brushing it off with a laugh, you take a step back, releasing his arm. “Okay, new rule: avoid the speed demons at all costs.”
“Agreed,” Leon says, but his voice a little softer now, his gaze a little firmer.
The rest of the night is chaos, as expected, and by the time you stumble off the ice, breathless and pink-cheeked, you’re smiling so wide and genuine that your cheeks hurt from it all.
On the sixth day of Christmas, Leon comes over for a very professional movie night.
The plan was simple enough: a low-key night to sort through leads and discuss the finer details of the article. Nothing more than that. Just two friends (are you even really friends?) mocking bad Hallmark movie tropes and terrible one-liners. But—as fate would have it—somewhere between the half-hearted scribbles in your notebook and the opening credits of the first movie, the evening takes a sharp left turn.
Popcorn crumbs litter the coffee table, and the air hums with laughter as you and Leon pick apart every ridiculous trope on the screen.
“New rule,” you declare, pointing at the screen with a handful of popcorn. “No more movies where the leads magically fall in love because of forced proximity. It's lazy writing.”
Leon raises a brow, smiling at you over his mug of cocoa. “Do you just... make up rules for everything?”
You shoot him a look, though your lips twitch in betrayal. “Rules are important. They keep things from going off the rails.”
“Sure they do,” he says, grinning. “But I think you might have a thing for them. Maybe it’s your love language”
You toss a kernel of popcorn at him, which he catches with an annoyingly quick reflex. The movie continues, but your attention drifts, his sweet smile lingering in your thoughts longer than you’d care to admit, and all at once you want to suffocate yourself with a pillow.
By the time the credits have rolled, the conversation has veered wildly away from work and movies. You find yourself talking about everything and nothing between here and there, the space separating you both narrowing in a way that feels very not-professional. Your leg brushes against his and his hand brushes against yours.
You didn’t make a new rule about that. Maybe you should have.
On the eighth day of Christmas, you finally chase down some of those leads for your article.
Or at least, you try to.
The holiday market is bustling with lights, laughter, and the scent of cinnamon and roasted chestnuts. It’s picturesque enough to be a postcard: striped tents draped in garlands, vendors bundled in scarves, and the faint hum of Christmas carols floating through the crisp evening air.
You’re here for work. This is professional business. Totally, totally.
“Professional” is exactly why you’re letting Leon lead you to a vendor handing out roasted chestnuts in steaming paper cones.
You raise a brow at him. “Seriously?”
“You’ve gotta try them. It’s tradition.” He says as if it’d be crazy to deny him.
And before you can even think about protesting, he’s already handing you a cone, the warmth seeping through your gloves as you eye the chestnuts—then him—warily. You pop a few in your mouth, only to find yourself pleasantly surprised.
“Good, right?” he asks, smug as anything. You scrunch your nose in response.
Next is funnel cake. Leon orders one to share, dusting himself in powdered sugar as he pulls off a piece and offers it to you.
“I could’ve got my own,” you reason, but take what he offers you anyway.
“Well that wouldn’t make me a very good date.”
“Fake-date,” you correct.
“Uhuh,” Leon hums, but he’s not even looking at you when you glance back up at him, already dragging you towards the next stall, and the next.
“I’m serious!” You call after him, trying to keep up as he weaves through the crowd like he’s trained to do this. Well, he probably is.
You don’t even realise how long it’s been until you're walking past empty market stalls, every other vendor packing up for the night. Leon leads you out into the street, strings of warm white lights swaying gently in the winter breeze.
Leon’s hands are stuffed into his coat pockets as the two of you walk side by side, your boots crunching softly against the thin dusting of snow on the pavement.
The streets are mostly empty now, save for a few stragglers heading home, but Leon leads you straight into the middle of the road without a second thought. You hesitate for half a second, glancing both ways like a habit.
“There’s no one out here,” he says over his shoulder, that lazy grin curling at the corners of his mouth. “You’re not scared of breaking the rules, are you?”
“Isn’t it your job to enforce rules?” You argue, but follow after him anyway.
When you tilt your head up, you feel the breath escape your lungs all at once. “You can actually see the stars tonight,” you murmur softly in awe, your breath clouding in the cold.
Leon doesn’t say anything right away, but when you glance over, you catch him watching you instead of the sky, his gaze softer than you’re used to. He quickly looks up, clearing his throat as if he hadn’t just been caught.
You don’t know what’s worse: the way his cheeks flush from something other than the cold or the fact that your stomach flutters in response.
And you don’t know what to do with the quiet that stretches between you, either, the sound of your steps filling it up like placeholders. You hadn’t meant for the day to linger this long—hadn’t meant to still be here, walking home with him.
Leon breaks the silence first. “You know, I thought you’d be sick of me by now.”
You glance over at him, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, I am.”
He laughs then, genuine and bright. “Oh thank God, I’d hate for this to actually be enjoyable for either of us.” Sarcasm laces his words in a way that makes you laugh in kind.
He’s grinning like he’s got all the time in the world as he turns to walk backward in front of you, and suddenly all at once this feels like something out of one of those Hallmark Christmas movies you swore to yourself you’d never recreate.
“You still haven’t thanked me for helping you today.” He says.
“Helping me?” you snort. “All you did was get funnel cake powder on my coat and in my cocoa.”
“Hey, I got you a quote from the candy vendor, didn’t I?” he defends, arms spreading wide.
“You mean the guy who told us about his grandma’s cookie recipe?”
“Hard-hitting stuff,” he shrugs.
You shake your head, but you’re smiling, and you hate that he notices. He spins back around to face the road ahead, walking a little slower now, like he’s dragging his feet.
“So,” you say after a moment, picking up your pace to fall back into step with him. “Why do you care so much about this Christmas party, anyway?”
Leon doesn’t answer right away. You glance over, and the grin that’s usually on his face has faded into something smaller, quieter.
“Guess I just… don’t want to look like a total loser,” he says eventually, his voice low but even. “It’s been a long first year. People talk.”
You frown at that. “They don’t have anything better to do at the RPD?”
“Apparently not.” He shrugs like it doesn’t bother him, but you can tell it does, at least a little.
The two of you walk in silence for another block, and when you speak again, your tone is softer. “You know, you could’ve asked someone who actually likes you to be your date.”
Leon glances over, and for some reason, his answer catches you off guard. “Yeah,” he says quietly, “but then it wouldn’t have been you.”
You look away too quickly, your chest tightening in a way you can’t explain. He doesn’t elaborate, and you don’t push him for more.
Instead, you both keep walking, the street stretching out ahead of you, the night colder and clearer than it’s been in weeks. The faint glow of your building comes into view up ahead, and for a moment, you wish it was just a little farther away.
On the tenth day of Christmas, Leon does something so absurd you briefly consider chucking him—and his ridiculous ideas—into a snowbank.
Leon shows up at your door, determined and annoyingly cheerful, with a Christmas tree strapped to the roof of his car and a twinkle in his eye that should’ve been your first warning. You don’t have the heart to turn him away or give him a lecture about how this is breaking at least three of your fake-dating rules.
Dragging the tree up the stairs is a disaster, his optimism only barely keeping the whole endeavor from collapsing. Decorating it? Worse. Leon’s enthusiasm for tinsel is unmatched, his ornament selection downright offensive. A plastic Rudolph here, a lopsided snowman there—it’s a full-scale disaster in red, green, and glitter.
By the time the tree is finally standing—crooked, but still standing—the living room is a war zone of tinsel and broken bulbs. Yet somehow, it feels like the coziest place in the world.
You sit side by side on the couch, legs brushing as you both watch the twinkling lights. The quiet settles in like freshly fallen snow, and for a moment, you wonder if this fake-dating thing is starting to feel a little too real.
By the end of the night, the tree looked more like a festive crime scene, fairy lights as police-tape and all, but you can’t bring yourself to care. The two of you collapse as you both watch the twinkling lights. A ribbon is tangled in your hair; Leon has tinsel stuck to his sleeve. The quiet settles in like freshly fallen snow, and for a moment, you forget this isn’t supposed to feel real.
You spent the eleventh night at Leon’s place. It was his idea to go over the finalities of this agreement, set your story straight in case anybody at the party asks too many questions. Make sure you're both on the same page.
But when you rocked up at his little studio apartment, it felt like he’d compensated for much more than a quick flashcard night.
Cinnamon scented candles burned and flicker, accompanied by a plate of cookies on the counter. Your half-crumpled notes quickly joined, as well as two cups of cocoa that have long-since gone cold.
“Alright, one more time, how’d we meet?”
Leon props his head up on his palm, looking like he’s had more than enough of your pointless flashcard game. “Coffee shop. You spilled hot chocolate on me, laughed, then walked away.”
“I offered to buy you a replacement!” You shoot back, hitting him atop the head with your stack of cards.
He winces dramatically, swatting our hand away. “Well I think it’s more believable if I pretend you didn’t and you bicker back. Y’know, like an old married couple or something.”
You reach for your cold cocoa to hide the way you splutter. “Woah, rookie, I only signed up for a fake-date, not a fake-wedding too.”
Leon grins, but something about him still looks oddly distant.
He kicks his feet off the barstool, takes your cup of cocoa and his to clean them away. “Have you finished your article at least?”
“Nearly,” You hum, but you’re more lying through your teeth. You’ve barely worked on it despite all the extra input Leon’s given you. Something, something, a very distracting Christmas fiasco got in your way. “I should be done by the end of the week.”
“And what happens once it’s done?” He asks, and you know in your right mind he means what happens to you. Promotion? New story? Next assignment? But instead your mind stupidly jumps to the idea that he’s asking about the both of you. What happens to us? written between the lines in invisible ink.
“Well, I suppose I find a new story to chase.” You clear your throat, “and you?”
“Go back to handing out speeding tickets,” Leon smiles through a sigh, “and I guess we drop this whole fake-dating thing, huh?” He asks, and you refuse to let yourself believe there’s any hope in his voice.
“Don’t see a reason to keep it going,” you shrug, to which Leon simply nods.
“Anyway, don’t try changing the subject on me,” you clear your throat, shuffling back through your pile of cards. “Next question: what’s my favourite holiday tradition?”
Leon shelves the now clean and dried mugs, “stealing Christmas cookies when no one’s looking.” He hums smugly over his shoulder.
You blink, “I never told you that.”
“Don’t need to, I pay attention.” He grins, pointedly flicking his gaze to the now empty plate of cookies. But you’re still hung on his words, the casual admission throws you entirely off kilter, and it seems by the twelfth day he still has you feeling that way.
You feel entirely out of place standing in the RPD. The precinct is sparkling with every Hallmark Christmas cliche imaginable—oversized tinsel, plastic mistletoe (that you’re still doing your best to avoid), and a garishly large tree that stands off to the side, completed by a shining white angel on top.
Leon, of course, has dressed the part. And damn him for looking so good in a navy suit and deep red tie to match your own attire. His presence is steady when you feel out of depth—it’s funny how he does that, despite usually being the one who requires an anchor.
“Are you alright?” He asks, leaning closer to be heard over the obnoxiously loud Christmas music. His voice is low, warm, entirely too distracting.
“Fine,” you lie with a sickly sweet smile, downing the last of your punch, “totally fine.”
Leon doesn’t buy it, and you’re starting to think he’s getting too good at reading you (which is your job, not his), but before he can press any further, your worst nightmare seems to come to fruition.
You're pulled then pushed, and before you can register what’s even happened you're colliding with Leon’s chest.
“Mistletoe,” he mutters, and when you finally lift your gaze you catch the offending sprig. Jesus Christ.
Honestly, this is your fault. You should’ve accounted for something like this. Nothing like a good bit of rookie hazing at a work party, right? Dammit. The rest of the precinct seems to cheer and chant, and you’d foolishly thought you’d left this behaviour behind in high school.
God, you wish the ground would part beneath your feet and swallow you whole right now—
“Well, this doesn’t break any of your rules, does it?” Leon asks then, and you can hear the smile in his voice, something about the way he says it makes it sound like he knows the answer.
And he does. Because if Leon’s good at one thing it’s remembering the finer details. No kissing unless absolutely necessary, you’d said. Like someone-shoves-us-under-mistletoe-and-starts-chanting levels of necessary, you’d said.
Okay, now you really want the ground to swallow you up.
Leon seems to pick up on your unease, and ever the gentleman drowns out the obnoxious chanting of his colleagues to focus on you.
“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he offers.
You shake your head. “It’s part of the deal.” You say firmly. You’re not going to back down now, you’re a stickler for rules, deals, and contracts. Totally not because you’ve been wondering what Leon’s lips might taste like for the past five minutes. Totally.
He counts you down, which feels stupid, but does actually help quell your nerves. What doesn’t help, though, is the way his hand slides to your jaw and his lips slot against yours so effortlessly. You forget the world exists, heart beating out of your chest before you let yourself melt into it, your own arms looping around his neck just before he pulls away.
He’s got blush on his cheeks, his eyes bright, smiling widely like he’s just one the powerball. And suddenly, all at once, your brain catches up to your heart and you realise how none of this seems to feel fake anymore.
Three days later, and your article had gone live that morning. Your editor had been quick to praise it, Claire more than proud when she’d shown up with a mini Christmas gift basket for you. But still, as the day wore on, the victory felt hollow. The article might have just been your best work, but now that the dust—or snow, rather—has settled, all you can think about is Leon and the strange ache left in his absence.
You glance out the window of your tiny office, the skyline glittering with holiday lights. It’s quiet, save for the distant hum of the city and the rhythmic tapping of your pen against your desk.
“You know, I expected a little more Christmas cheer from the person who just saved Christmas,” a familiar voice says.
You jump, spinning around in your squeaky office chair to find Leon leaning casually in your doorway. He’s dressed down from the last time you saw him after the party, his leather jacket slung over one shoulder, but the sight of him is enough to send your heart racing.
“What are you doing here?” you ask, your voice caught somewhere between surprise and something softer.
“I was in the neighborhood,” he shrugs, pushing himself off the cubicle wall and stepping inside.
You raise a brow. “The precinct is five blocks away.”
“Exactly,” he says with a grin. “Neighborhood.”
You roll your eyes but can’t stop the smile tugging at your lips. He steps closer still, and you feel the air shift.
“Look,” he starrs, running a hand through his hair like he’s still trying to work up the courage. “The other night, you said that after this was over, we wouldn’t have to see each other again.”
You swallow hard, your heart already knowing where this is going but your mind refusing to believe it. You remember how casually you’d thrown that out there, as if the thought hadn’t stung more than you cared to admit. “Yeah. I remember.”
“Well, I don’t want that,” he says simply.
Your breath hitches, but he keeps on going.
“I don’t want to go back to pretending this was all fake,” he continues, his voice steady but his eyes searching yours. “Because it might’ve started that way, but it didn’t end that way—not for me.”
The words hang in the air like softly drifting snowflakes, fragile and perfect, waiting for you to catch them.
“Leon…” you try, but your voice falters.
“I know,” he cuts in quickly. “I know this wasn’t the plan. But plans change, right? Rules get broken—and I know you hate that but hear me out—if there’s one thing I’ve learned these past twelve days, it’s that maybe breaking a rule or two isn’t the worst thing in the world.”
You laugh softly then despite yourself, a mix of nerves and something lighter. “You do realize you’re ruining my perfectly crafted narrative, right? Fake dating, falling in love…” you click your tongue, “this is all so cliché.”
He grins, stepping closer until there is almost no space left between you. “Then let’s give it a good ending.”
Before you can even give what he’s said a minute of thought, his hand is on your jaw again, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that’s unhurried and undeniably real.
When he finally pulls back, he stays close, his forehead resting against yours. “So,” he hums, his voice soft and teasing, “how’s that for a rewrite?”
You can’t help but laugh, your chest light for the first time in days. “It’s a start.”
The city sparkles outside as you stand there, snowflakes fall, the faint hum of Christmas carols from the office speakers bleed with the quiet rhythm of his breathing. Whatever comes next, you know one thing is for sure: this story isn’t over yet.
Oh my god, I love this so much! Thanks for writing rookie Leon. I absolutely ate up how Leon and reader's development over the twelve days. Their cute fake-dates and banters!!! It's too good, I love them too much. Thanks again for this secret santa gift!
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 suffice. 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 hard as you can believe."
"Leon...!"
"Merry Christmas!", he says.
You smile 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 🎉
baking + roommates || Leon Secret Santa || gift for @chesue00
cw: gn!reader, re2r!Leon, strengthening friendships with like… a crush mixed in there, au where there was no zombies and Leon got to be happy in RC as a rookie :3 tooth rotting fluff make sure to book a dentist appointment
I like to think Leon can cook well enough but can’t bake for shit <3 he gets flour EVERYWHERE
Anyway, I hope you like what I’ve written (it’s my first time writing Leon so I’m hoping he’s not too ooc + I haven’t written in some time so I might be a little rusty :(() and thank you so much to the people behind @leonsecretsanta for hosting this event :>
Leon had his fingers and toes crossed, knocked on any wood surface and whispered prayers that he’d been signed up for something simple. It's his first Christmas at the station and, as tradition, the staff were throwing a small holiday party. Everyone had a part to play, picked from a hat that acted more like decoration than its intended use, and when the time came to pull names, Leon, of course, got the only thing he couldn't do: baking.
And he couldn’t even just buy some sweets either! "Against the rules," his fellow officers said, which was fair, but definitely put the rookie between a rock and a hard place. So that’s why he’s here, staring intently at his phone, a short, kind text to his roomie that he hoped didn't relay how desperate he was. Hey, do you by chance know how to bake?
He sure hopes you do. You’re really his only hope for this. It’s not like he has a spouse or mother like his coworkers that he could go to for help. Hell, he doesn’t really even have any friends in this city yet!
The vibrate in his hand makes his heart beat faster than he’d like to admit, and as he reads what you’ve responded with, Leon couldn’t help but do a little mental cheer.
I do actually. Why, you wanna learn and butter up your police buddies?
— — —
You’d be lying if you said you weren’t surprised at how close your tease was to the truth, but the main point stood: Leon wanted to learn how to bake, and you were more than willing to help.
Honestly, bonding with your roommate wasn’t on your bingo card this year, what with how different your schedules were. You barely saw each other throughout the day, and when you did it was always quick hellos and good mornings. So to finally experience the ‘roommate experience’ you’d hear so often in media, you were pretty stoked.
The door opened just as you were finished pulling out everything you needed, that familiar soft and friendly smile greeting you as he walked through the door.
“Hey,” he said, the corner of his mouth tilting up a little more once Leon spotted you. Blues the colour of snowflakes scanned behind you at the collection of ingredients and baking tools, “thank you. Again, I mean, I know it was a little… a lot of a short notice. I really appreciate it.”
The smile you gave back was much like his, soft and kind, “it’s not a problem, really. I hope cupcakes is sufficient enough for the party?”
“More than enough,” Leon replied, a small, relieved breath leaving his lips. After setting down his work bag back in his room and freshened up a bit, the blond returned to your side, glancing curiously over your shoulder at the cookbook you were reading. You’re not sure if he noticed, but the proximity had you tensing just a little. Not out of uncomfortability, but rather because he was just so close and so warm and hot damn he smelt good too. You’re almost tempted to ask what cologne or soap he uses, only to bit your tongue, feeling it too weird to ask such a thing.
“Alright, so, baking is pretty easy as long as you got the recipe to follow and some common sense,” you started, moving on from the momentary fawning you had, pulling the metal bowl forward and handing it to him, “but there are some tips to it. Like starting with all the dry ingredients first.”
You sounded so sure, so confident, Leon thought, and it had him thinking it made you just a little more attractive. He’s sure he’d think the same if you’d been stuttering over yourself, but watching you take charge and teach him felt almost natural to him. He liked to learn and follow by example.
Leon gave his full attention as you showed him all the little tricks with baking, like how to properly measure dry ingredients, which measuring cup to use and so on. It was a lot, but he was a fast learner, something you commented on as well, which boosted the blond’s ego minimally.
He was only pulled out of patting himself on the back for appearing competent in front of you after you handed him the electric mixer with just the order to mix the dry ingredients. Well, how hard could that be? Sure, he’s never used one, but he’s seen people use them on the television. So, he tilts the bowl a little, sticks the beaters in and turns on the blender.
You caught him a second too late, the sound of the mixer drowning out the call of his name. And just like that, your roommate has covered himself in an almost comedic amount of flour.
Leon shuts the mixer off, and it’s silent between the both of you for a moment, as if it’s taking him a moment for the events to sink in. And boy when it does, he looks to you with an apologetic smile that’s some kind of mix between sheepish and dorkish.
“Ah-ha… sorry,” you didn’t think he could get any cuter, but the you spotted a faint blush on his cheeks. That was enough for you to crack, the sounds of your laughter filling the small kitchen.
Well, he didn’t expect you to laugh, but that’s better than you sighing deeply and being irritated with him. And honestly, it is a harmless situation, so he couldn’t help himself when he started to chuckle alongside you.
“I know it’s your first time baking, but the flour is suppose to stay in the bowl, Leon,” you say, your giggles dying down finally, though your smile remains. God, it’s been awhile since you had this much innocent fun.
Leon settles down too, wiping some of the flour from his face, glancing down at his powdered covered hand. “You don’t say,” he says, and without even thinking he flicks that excess flour at you, the lighthearted moment momentarily relaxing him as if he was with a good friend.
Leon felt his heart stop - now why did he do that? Why did he do that!? Sure, you two are friendly, and he’s sweet on you a little, but you’re not exactly that close. What he just did is what good friends playfully do.
“I, uh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-,” his awkward rambling is silenced by a return fire, a puff of flour from the bowl adding to the existing sheen of white already on him. When he cracks his eyes back open he sees you biting back another laugh, residue on your fingers pinning the crime on you, “okay, I deserved that.”
“Damn right you did,” you smiled, teeth and all. You really were just a ray of sunshine, bright and happy. Leon couldn’t have won the roommate jackpot better than he did with you - you’re fun, have a sense of humor, and super kind. “Next tip about baking: shit can get messy.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Leon agreed, wiping more of the flour off, this time brushing it into the sink. Most of it landed on him, so clean up wouldn’t be a huge pain in the ass, but clean up comes last cause a new mess is never off the table.
“Mhm, now, let me show you how to actually mix things without painting the kitchen in grains of sugar that’ll stay for weeks,” gently taking the mixer from him, you position it in the bowl, turning it on the first level (unlike him who put it on max), and begin to mix. “See how I’m not covered head to toe?” you tease, twisting the bowl with one hand while handling the mixer in the other. Leon chuckled under his breath while nodding. Something told him you might tease him about this for a long while.
After a few moments you stopped and handed it off to him, “now you try.”
As you suspected, he picked it up easily enough after watching, so well that you mentally patted him on the back. It was smooth sailing after that, mainly just following the recipe and mixing everything. You made sure to comment here and there about under mixing and over mixing and where the sweet spot was for this process.
With the batter poured in the tin and stuck in the oven, all that either you or Leon could do was sit and talk for a little. “You know, this has been pretty fun. Who knew, right?”
“It can be frustrating too, but yeah, overall, baking is fun,” you agree, “some even do it for that precise reason, because they find such joy in it.”
To Leon, that made sense, and he could see why a lot of people were like that. “Do you? Find joy in baking, I mean,” he found himself asking, not just to keep the conversation going, but because he found himself actually wanting to learn more about you.
You shrug a little, “to an extent. I don’t bake often, but there’s always the reward when what I make comes out good.”
He nods again, and a sudden question slips from his lips, “would you be willing to bake with me again?” He asked, a lopsided grin on his face. It was clear though he was a little nervous to ask, “without the mess, of course.”
Of course, you were a little surprised. You didn’t think this would be a reoccurring thing, yet you remember how fun it was to teach him, and the small moment you had with him. Perhaps he enjoyed his time with you as much as you did? You felt like you grew closer with him too, and you wanted nothing more than to be a real friend to him.
“Yeah… yeah that would be nice. I’ll show you how to make cookies, how about that?”
“Okay. Yeah, I’d like that,” he nodded, his smile widened a bit. He was looking forward to it, he gets to learn a skill, spend time with you and gets to see you in your element. It’s a win all around.
The next day when Leon brought in his share of the party, everyone teased him a little on the poorly iced cupcakes (you threw him in the deep end once they cooled, something about how his colleagues would think he ‘cheated’ by getting someone else to make them if they didn’t look like a newbie baker made them) but despite their appearance, everyone said they tasted good.
Leon was all too happy to reply that his friend and roommate helped him.
And, of course, he thinking about how much he was looking forward to making those cookies with you too someday soon.
Ho ho ho! Merry Christmas, @vampiricgf ! I am your Secret Santa🎅 I tried my best and I hope you like this little Leon drawing I made for you ε(´｡•᎑•`)っ 💕
Leon is no stranger to night terrors, yet it always takes him a few minutes before he connects back to reality. No matter how hard he's squeezing her, Seven patiently comforts him.
Sorry I skipped yesterday... ugh, I'm a bit overwhelmed by Uni and I was so mad the art wasn't coming out as I wanted, I just went to bed. I get so mad at my art when I don't like how it's looking lol.
