𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

kira | 24 | +18 blog minors dni

[loonalockley]

KIRA | she/her | 23 | enfp | latina | eren's wifey

blog dedicated mostly to my seven husbands 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

♥︎ watching: the punisher s1

♥︎ reading: alchemised

♥︎ currently obsessed with illit ♥︎

now playing: (✦_sleep_my_chemical_romance.mp3)

[lavenderprose]

My absolute gospel truth and I'm sorry this is so sappy but--where I'm living, Ilya fully changes his name to Hollander when they get married, like just fully legally changes it. And despite the fact that he continues to use Rozanov professionally ("Just like J. Lo," Ilya says.) everyone who knows them personally obviously knows what Ilya's legal name is and also assume it's a way to kind of stick it to his shitheel father. To this end, and kind of as a joke at first, people start referring to their two-person unit as The Hollanders ("Okay, the Hollanders are in room 508" etc.) but it becomes steadily less and less a joke when neither Shane or Ilya really seems to think of it as one. Ilya especially seems to genuinely love it. He'll say shit like "Oh yes the Hollanders will be there" when asked if they're coming to a barbecue like they live in a postcard. He LOVES to give his name as Ilya Hollander and he LOVES to book reservations under 'Misters Hollander' and he LOVES to say the words 'Shane and Ilya Hollander' out loud with his mouth. I also think that for their last game together in the league Ilya and Shane wear jerseys that say S. Hollander 24 and I. Hollander 81 and it's like. An end of an era type thing. And they frame the jerseys.

[ifshanks]

## (ZZz) JEWELRY BONNEY LAYOUTS . . .

pls like or reblog if you use/save !

[flyora]

Harris do his best as always

[saturncollides]

Say “Don't go”

Leon S. Kennedy x fem!Reader

⁎⁺˳✧༚ Summary: Being a single mother was hard, being a single mother with Leon S. Kennedy as your baby daddy was even harder.

Warnings: angst, talks about period, abortion(just a mention), self doubt, possible panic attack, reader is pissed at leon for getting her preggs lol // INFINITE DARKNESS!LEON PROPAGANDA

word count: 2.5k

⁎⁺˳✧༚ author’s note: This will be a multiple chapter story, with 3 or 4 chapters. I’m rusty since I haven’t written in a couple of years but hopefully you will like it! The story starts with RE4 Leon ;) but I wrote it thinking of infinite darkness leon bc he’s hot :p

Say "Don't go" Masterlist ,, (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4)

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” the words clawed their way out of your throat, thin and breathless.

You could not recognize the woman looking straight into your eyes from the reflection in the mirror. How could you? Long gone was the fearless and arrogant woman; all you could see was a trembling mess of a person praying to whoever could hear her to make things right.

“Please, please, please. This cannot be happening to me.” You said to yourself as your hands pressed to the sink like it was the only thing keeping you on your feet in that moment.

You had no way to prove anything just yet, but there was a strange feeling in your stomach telling you that it was very real. You could feel it sinking deeper every second you stood there pretending you didn’t already know.

Outside, laughter bled through the walls. It made you want to scream. You needed to get out of there, but there was no way you could just leave the Christmas Eve party with all your family without them questioning you.

“How am I going to explain everything to them? I just fucking graduated from college. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

The signs had been there. Of course they had. The exhaustion, the soreness, the nausea you kept brushing off and blaming it on your pre period symptoms, because who the fuck doesn’t get cravings on their period? Or moody? Or tired? Until… you remembered your time of the month hadn’t arrived. That’s when you knew something was really up.

Of course, you ignored the issue, hoping you were overreacting, because there was no way in hell you were pregnant. There was just no way. You had been careful. He had been careful. So how? How did this happen to you?

A knock on the door startled you from your thoughts.

“Hey baby, you doin’ okay?”

Crap.

You had been panicking in the bathroom for way too long.

You slightly opened the bathroom door to meet your mother’s worried face.

“I just got my period, and I stained my skirt,” you said, the first excuse that came into your mind, trying not to feel too guilty about lying to her.

Her face visibly relaxed, and she gave you a reassuring smile. “Oh baby, I’m sorry. Do you want to go home? Do you need me to drive you back?”

That surprised you. You thought she was going to make you stay until midnight to open the presents with the whole family. But there was no way you were going to miss the opportunity to run to the pharmacy to confirm your suspicions.

“I think I’m going to head home, Mommy. I’m having really bad cramps, you know how it goes.” You tried to laugh to seem relaxed, but you knew it sounded too forced by the worried look on your mother’s face. “Please tell everyone I’m sorry for leaving without saying goodbye. I just don’t want to embarrass myself with my stained skirt, you know. I’ll stop by tomorrow morning.”

You gave her a quick hug and hurriedly left the bathroom before she even got the chance to reply.

Two pink stripes stared right into your eyes. Well, not two, but six.

You had taken three pregnancy tests just to reassure yourself that you were not pregnant. The reality was that you were, in fact, very much pregnant. With a child. With a bun in the oven.

Jesus fucking Christ. You got knocked up by Leon S. fucking Kennedy.

What the fuck.

What the fuck?!

You barely knew the man. You had gone on a couple of dates before deciding to have sex with him. He was sweet and completely charmed you with his dry humor and mysterious personality.

His sense of doom and sorrow captivated your heart. I can fix him, you told yourself once, when you noticed he tended to get lost in his thoughts and stare into nothingness with his brows knit like he was thinking about something too heavy to share with the world. You were young, but you knew he had seen things he couldn’t talk about. Maybe that’s why he always had a drink in his hand whenever you met him for dinner.

I can fix him. You wanted to figure him out, and maybe make him yours (if he wanted, of course). He had everything you wanted in a man: a handsome face, nice biceps, a gentleman, the sex was mind-blowing, and he really knew how to make you feel special. What more could you ask for?

I can fix him.

That was until he decided to disappear from the face of the earth and completely ignore your existence on a random Tuesday morning.

He was basically a stranger, and yet you could not deny your heart broke a little bit when he stopped answering your calls. You felt like a fool. Of course he would stop answering after he had gotten what he wanted. You were such a fool for thinking a man like that would want you for something serious.

You had met him in a bar a couple of months ago, and it’s not like you had a lot of experience with guys. Leon was actually the first man to ever approach you and ask for your phone number so openly. You only said yes because he looked so put together. Almost as if he was ready for something serious, as if he wanted something more than just simple sex.

But now that you were thinking about it… what else did you expect from someone you met in a shitty bar?

He really had you second-guessing yourself, and you hated him for that. Was he into younger girls? Was that the reason why he approached you? Did he take you on all of those dates just to get in your pants a couple of times?

You felt like a fool for falling for that. But hey, who can blame you? You were still pretty young, much younger than him. He was pushing 30, while you were barely 22.

If anything, it was his fault for not being clear with his intentions.

Still, as much as you wanted to punch him in the face and call him out for being a dick, deep in your heart you knew he deserved to know that he was going to be a father. (And if you were being completely honest with yourself, you were also doing it because you knew he was kind of well-off thanks to his federal job thingy he was always so secretive about, and you were scared shitless about not being able to feed your own child.)

The difference between you and Leon was abysmal: he had a government job, while you couldn’t even pay your own rent. Your parents had been helping you financially while you applied for jobs left and right, but now that you knew you were pregnant, getting a decent job was going to be ten times harder. What kind of job could a pregnant woman fresh out of college get to support herself and her baby?

Deep down, you were hoping he was not going to abandon you and your baby (just in case your parents decided to tell you to fuck now that you were expecting.)

In that moment, you just needed someone to be vulnerable with. The feeling of a thousand rocks on your shoulders was heavy, and only he could help lift it.

So you did the right thing and tried to call him one, two, three times, but you always got the same voicemail:

“The number you are trying to call is not reachable.”

So you texted him.

“Hey asshole, it’s an emergency.

Please reach out to me ASAP”

Damn you, Leon. I don’t want to tell you I’m carrying your child by a fucking text message.

Okay, I’m going to try calling one more time. Please answer, Leon. Don’t leave me alone with this. Please.

Your heart skipped when the call went through. A low, roaring noise filled the line like whoever picked up the phone was standing right beside a plane engine.

“Agent Kennedy here.” His deep and sultry voice almost made your eyes water with heartache. Your stomach dropped, and you felt like throwing yourself on the floor to cry your heart out.

You couldn’t let him hear it, not yet. Not the fear clawing up your throat, not the hurt still festering from the way he disappeared on you after you gave him your heart and your body.

So you swallowed it. Forced it down until it burned. When you spoke, your voice came out steadier than you felt.

“You tryin’ to play it cool, eh, Kennedy? We need to talk.” A pause. “It’s an emergency.”

The line stayed silent for a couple of seconds, seconds that felt like hours.

“Sweetheart?” His voice softened, slipping into something almost gentle. “What’s wrong? You doin’ okay?”

For a split second, your chest tightened. He sounded worried and you almost believed him. Almost.

The thought was gone as quickly as it came.

Don’t be stupid. He doesn’t care. He hadn’t cared when he was busy ignoring you for weeks. When he let you sit there, staring at your phone like an idiot. Pull yourself together.

“I need to talk to you,” you said, quieter now, the words dragging on something fragile inside you. “Just… please. It’s important.”

You hesitated. Just for a second.

“Don’t wanna say it over the phone.” God. You sounded so desperate. You hated it.

“I just landed in D.C. It’ll be late but I’ll drop by your place at nine.”

Leon replied. No apology. No explanation. Like he hadn’t disappeared. Like you hadn’t been losing your mind for the past month.

Your gaze dropped to your watch.

7:37 p.m.

Too soon. Not soon enough.

“Don’t be late,” you said flatly. “It’s important.” You hung up before he could answer. Before your voice had the chance to crack.

The silence that followed was deafening.

And then it hit you: You were going to see him again.

Your stomach twisted violently.

Fuck.

You were pacing back and forth, kitchen to living room, living room to kitchen. Like the floor itself might give you answers if you wore it down enough. Waiting for him. It was almost nine.

Your teeth sank into your nails until you tasted metal. A cold sweat clung to your skin. Your chest tightened, each breath shallower than the last, like the air had thickened just to make this harder.

What were you supposed to tell him, anyway?

Hey, Leon. I hope you’re doing great. I know you disappeared for a month, but good news you’re going to be a dad!!

The thought made your stomach twist so violently it almost knocked the breath out of you. It felt like confirmation all over again, like your own body wouldn’t let you pretend, refusing to let you escape it.

This is real. This is happening. Once he knows, there’s no going back. What if he gets angry?

Your chest constricted further at the thought. You doubted he’d be happy, but God, you hoped he wouldn’t think it was your fault. After all, it takes two to tango.

The truth, the ugly, unavoidable truth was that you didn’t know him well enough to be sure of anything.

Not beyond late steamy nights and the half-assed answers he would give you whenever he couldn’t dodge your questions anymore.

He barely talked about himself.

All you really knew was that he’d been to Spain recently, that he had some kind of government job, that he liked motorcycles, and that he disappeared more easily than anyone you’d ever met.

You didn’t know how he handled things that mattered. Things that stayed. Things that didn’t vanish in the morning light.

Like a baby.

What if he tells you to get rid of it?

The world seemed to go silent at that. Completely, suffocatingly still.

Your fingers tightened around the edge of the kitchen counter until your knuckles ached, grounding yourself before your knees could give out beneath you.

He wouldn’t say that… would he?

You hadn’t let yourself go there. Not really. Not until now.

Your hands trembled as they moved, slow, uncertain, until they rested lightly against your stomach.

There was nothing there yet. Nothing you could see, nothing you could prove beyond a plastic stick and two pink lines that still burned behind your eyes every time you thought about them.

What if he just disappears again?

Like before. Like you never existed. Except this time, you’d be left alone with something that does.

You thought about the space you occupied in his life, how small it was, how easy it would be to erase.

And then you thought to yourself: You’re about to make yourself impossible to ignore.

A sharp knock at the door shattered the silence.

Your heart lurched.

I’ve got this.

I’ve got this.

You weren’t sure if you were trying to convince yourself or stop yourself from falling apart right there.

The door felt heavier than it should as you pulled it open, your movements slow, hesitant.

There he was.

For a moment, everything else disappeared. The world narrowed to him standing in your doorway, like no time had passed and too much time had passed all at once.

The same handsome face you had replayed in your mind more times than you cared to admit. The same sharp features, softened only by the faintest trace of exhaustion. A few fresh scratches adorned his right cheekbone, but everything else…

Everything else was painfully, devastatingly the same.

His dirty blonde hair fell just as effortlessly as you remembered, styled in a way that should have looked ridiculous in any other man, but somehow it only made him more attractive.

Your chest ached at the sight of him. You had imagined this moment a hundred different ways.

In some, you were distant. Untouchable. You would meet him with indifference, like he hadn’t left a mark on you at all. You would nod, maybe offer a polite smile and nothing more. In others, you would spill everything out. Every unanswered question. Every moment of doubt. Every ounce of hurt you swallowed when he disappeared without a word.

In those versions, your voice was steady. Strong. Unshakable.

But now every carefully rehearsed word slipped through your fingers like water..

Because the second he looked at you, everything inside you unraveled.

His gaze softened, just slightly. Enough to ruin you.

“Hey.”

One word.

That was all it took.

Your throat tightened, your pulse roared in your ears as every feeling you had tried to bury clawed its way back to the surface.

You hated how much that one word still felt like home.

“Hey, Leon,” you managed, your voice quieter than you intended, fragile in a way you couldn’t quite hide.

“It’s been a while.”

[heavenlybarnesss]

Jack Abbot x Ms. Honey type teacher!reader 🥹 Dr. Abbot’s modern, minimalist bachelor pad is now home to lots of glitter, pipe cleaners, and colored construction paper. When Jack proposes to you, he does the same thing Ben Stiller’s character does in Meet the Parents, where he gets her kids to hold up signs with letters that spell out ‘Marry Me?’ On his days off from the hospital, he brings you lunch to your classroom. And when he gives you a quiet ‘Pick you up later honey,’ followed by a sweet kiss on the cheek, all the kids yell ‘Oooooh!’ and the class erupts in fits of giggles.

When he can, he likes to help you when you do fun days or excursions for the kids. He brings the muffins for ‘Muffins with Mommy’ day at school, he drops off those worksheets you forgot at home this morning - he even buys your classroom supplies if the school doesn’t have funding for what you want to do. They won’t give you the money to buy books for the class? Jack’s already placed an Amazon order. They won’t provide the funds for a field trip to that dinosaur museum? Jack’s paying for the day passes for your class and the chaperones. On career day he even comes to talk about what it’s like to be a doctor!!! And he somehow convinces Robby to come too. All the moms in the classroom are just fucking swooning over the both of them the whole time - some in front of their husbands 😭

As aforementioned, he also likes to take you to work and pick you up on his days off. You wave at him after school when you see him patiently leaning against his truck in the parking lot. He smiles watching you say goodbye and interact with the kids as they leave with their parents. One of the kids’ dads is taking his sweet ass time asking you questions about an upcoming field trip, including if you need any chaperones 🙄 Queue Jack strutting across the parking lot, puffing his chest out a little extra.

He walks right up to the two of you, greets you with a not at all quiet ‘Ready to go sweetheart?’ and wraps a warm and possessive hand around your waist. He takes your teaching bag for you and grabs your hand, interlocking your fingers as the two of you walk back to his truck. He opens the door for you and gives you a cheeky pinch on the ass for only the flirty dad to see - then waves smugly, just to make it extra clear you’re taken. You poke fun at him for it in the truck, only for him to respond with, ‘Don’t they know it’s Mrs. Abbot, not Ms. Abbot? Maybe it needs to be bigger on your classroom newsletter for the parents, baby.’

[heavenlybarnesss]

Jack Abbot who gets a text from pregnant!reader telling him that her water broke and her sister is driving her to the hospital. He does a sexy, cowboy like howl of excitement that startles a half asleep Santos, and exclaims to EVERYONE in the emergency room, “My baby’s having my baby!!!” And fucking yeehaws up to Labor and Delivery with the overnight bag he’s had ready in his work locker for over a month - the same place he keeps every ultrasound you’ve had throughout your pregnancy, taped on the inside door to look at when he needs hope during a rough shift 🥹

[yellow-cat]

hey sorry for being so snappish earlier i was in a bad mood. and im still in a bad mood so can you fuck off

[tourfilm]

living under a rock is so fun i love watching a movie that’s been famous for decades and being like wow this is so good.. did you guys know about this

[ilyarozanovsmouth]

Concept:

Ilya does love seeing old photos of Shane. Fat Baby Shane™ in all his forms, toddler Shane in his little hockey gear, Shane in elementary school with a big missing-teeth smile, Shane blowing out the candles on his 10th birthday, Shane holding up his brand new driver's license at 16. The list goes on.

One day Yuna finds an old disposable camera. The expiration date on it says 2009. She tells Shane about it; it might have some old photos from his graduation on it or something. She'd gotten a digital camera around that time so she can't remember what she used this one for. Shane is pretty indifferent about it.

Yuna sends the camera off to some company that still develops old camera film. It's about 15 years old at this point, though, so whatever is on it might not even develop correctly.

A few weeks later Shane and Ilya are over for dinner. Yuna tells them she got the photos back and they actually turned out ok. She hands over the stack of 10 photos. Shane rolls his eyes, but Ilya grabs the photos and starts flipping through them. The first two look like they are from some school event; there's Shane surrounded by similarly aged kids in an auditorium. There's one of the three of them on Thanksgiving that year and another of the three of them with Yuna's parents at the same dinner. Two of David asleep on the couch with the family dog clearly taken on different days. One of a Christmas tree in the Hollander's living room. The next two are Shane on the ice in a rink that Ilya recognizes as the one in Regina. The one from their first World Juniors Tournament.

And Ilya freezes. The last photo in the stack is a close-up of Shane. He's in a white hoodie with a black coat over it. He has on a dark green beanie and he's standing next to the door to the rink. He's smiling for the camera and his freckles are crinkled near his eyes. It's the Shane that so awkwardly and so confidently introduced himself to Ilya the first time they met. The Shane that had tried so hard to talk to Ilya then. The Shane that Ilya could admit to himself now that he'd had a bit of a crush on already. His Shane.

His Shane was getting blurry as tears filled his eyes.

[nancywheelesbian]

Eddie being nervous to tell the CC guys he’s dating someone and:

Jeff: We know you’re gay it’s fine!! Tell us about your boyfriend!

Eddie: You guys are gonna get weird about it

Gareth: Come on, it can’t be that bad, we’d only get weird if you were dating, like, Steve Harrington or something

Eddie:

[konalis]

WELCOME HOME, MR. KENNEDY? 2

last chapter

pairing: leon s. kennedy [re9] x preg!wife reader

content: +16 | established relationship | t-virus infection | illness themes | angst/fluff | hurt/comfort | emergency childbirth | miscarriage | anxiety | domestic leon | happy ending | pos-requiem.

summary: Leon races to stop Gideon while the virus in his body worsens, but miles away, you go into labor alone. Hope is born carrying the T-virus… and while Leon fights for a cure, your daughter's life becomes the most fragile hope either of you has left.

a/n: domestic Leon completely healed me. I love my man having a family.

Ი𐑼 . . . - main masterlist ❜❜ ٫٫ words count: 6,6K

The days after Leon went to investigate Umbrella's connection to the surviving victims of Raccoon City, everything seemed to get harder for you.

You spent the first forty-eight hours staring at the phone, waiting tirelessly; every notification made your heart race, imagining it could be good news or bad news, but the silence was somehow worse.

By the third day, you'd stopped hoping and started fearing.

The contractions started before your due date. You were in the kitchen — trying to learn how to make Mexican tacos just like his, as if that might bring him closer — when the first contraction gripped your stomach like a clenched fist. The wooden spoon clattered to the floor. You held onto the counter, breathing deeply, counting the seconds until the pain eased.

False alarm, you thought. Just another rehearsal for Hope.

But Hope didn't agree. She kicked hard, making you tense up even more as the next contraction hit. You touched your stomach, which had gone rigid, and with your other hand you reached for the phone, dialling Leon's number.

Nothing.

"Please, Leon," you murmured, dialling again. "Pick up."

On the fourth try, the call finally connected, but the voice that answered wasn't his.

"Mrs Kennedy." The greeting came through cold, and you just knew whoever it was was smiling as they said your married name. "What an honour to receive your call."

You swallowed hard, a frown creasing between your brows.

"Who is this?"

"Dr Gideon." The name came out drawn out, like he was savouring every syllable. "Mr. Kennedy is... occupied at the moment."

You knew he wasn't. Leon was meant to be in trouble.

"Where is he?" Your voice came out firmer than you expected, despite your hands shaking as you held the phone.

"The virus has finally started to collect its debt from him." Gideon paused, and you could hear something in the background. Something that sounded like Leon's voice in a muffled room. "I sincerely hope the child has inherited the T-virus. That would be a fascinating experiment."

Your heart stopped.

"How..."

"Oh, of course... I may have spoken too soon." The amusement in his voice was nauseating. "Little Hope isn't quite due yet, is she? So you don't know yet whether she has the virus, which is entirely possible, I speak as a doctor."

You felt sick.

"What have you done to Leon?"

"Me? Nothing." Gideon laughed quietly. "The virus is doing the work for me. It's progressed faster than any of us expected, but don't worry, Mrs Kennedy, I'm hoping."

"Hoping?"

"For your daughter." His voice got closer, like he'd brought the phone right to his mouth. "It would be such a shame... a much-wanted child born already infected, but then again, if she is... well, that would be an experiment I'd be willing to study... A second generation. The effects would be..."

You hung up.

The phone slipped from your hand, hitting the kitchen floor with a hollow crack. You stood frozen, one hand on your belly, the other covering your mouth to muffle the sob threatening to escape.

Experiment Hope.

You'd always known it was a possibility — that's why you'd avoided mentioning the pregnancy, except to Sherry — and then the next contraction came, stronger than the first. This time you couldn't hide the whimper of pain.

"No," you whispered, gripping the counter. "Not now, Hope."

You forced your legs to move, awkwardly steadying yourself against the marble, crouched down and grabbed the phone from the floor, dialling another number.

Sherry picked up on the second ring.

"Leon said to call if there was an emergency." Her voice was instantly alert. "What's happened?"

"The... the contractions have started." You gasped as another one gripped your stomach. "And I... I called Leon, but Gideon answered. He said... he said..."

"Breathe. Just breathe." Sherry spoke like she was trying to calm herself down. "I'm sending an ambulance to you now."

"Sherry." Your voice cracked. "What's happened to him?"

"I don't know. My last contact with him was before I sent him to Rhodes Hill after Gideon," Sherry admitted. "He should still be there, but I don't know what he might have found..."

She didn't need to finish. You slid down the kitchen wall, sitting on the cold floor. Hope was kicking desperately, like she knew something was wrong.

"Victor's with him. Leon will sort it out," you murmured, more to yourself than to Sherry. "He promised he'd come back."

"And he will." The Sherry's voice was almost fierce. "But first you need to focus on Hope, you hear me? The paramedics will be there in minutes. You're going to the hospital. You're going to have this baby, and when Leon shows up — because he will show up — the first thing he'll want to know is that you're both okay."

You could hear sirens in the distance.

"Sherry..."

"I've got something to check out, but I'll be in touch with the hospital." Her voice wavered slightly. "I promised him I'd look after you if anything happened, and I'm keeping that promise."

The line went dead.

You stayed there, on the cold kitchen floor, feeling the contractions coming closer together. You held your belly with both hands as tears streamed down your face, and you did the only thing you could do.

Wait for him to keep his promise.

Wait for him to be there when you opened your eyes after the birth, with his stained hands — though you prayed they wouldn't be - his tired smile, his blue eyes seeing your daughter for the first time.

The ambulance cut through traffic like it didn't exist, but for you, time had stopped.

Every bump was a stab of pain. Every corner seemed to take an eternity. The paramedics talked to you — asking your name, your date of birth, how long the contractions had been going — and you answered on autopilot, your fingers clenched in the sheet, your other hand pressed to your belly where Hope wouldn't stop moving.

"Blood pressure's rising," one of the paramedics murmured to her colleague, but you heard. "Baby's heart rate is unstable."

"We need to hurry this up."

You closed your eyes and tried to think of Leon. The way he'd tuck your hair behind your ear. The way he said your name. How he'd sit beside you while you were reading, just watching you in silence, pretending he hadn't been when you looked up.

The ambulance braked suddenly and the doors flew open. The bright white hospital lights blinded you for a second, and then there were hands — so many hands — moving you to a different stretcher, corridors flashing past, voices overlapping.

"Pre-eclampsia?"

"Not confirmed yet."

"Foetal distress?"

"Reduced variability. We need to do an emergency C-section."

"Where's the consent form?"

"The husband? Has anyone managed to contact the husband?"

"No answer."

"Damn."

You wanted to scream that he couldn't answer, that he was out there trying to save the world, trying to save himself, trying to get back to you, but the pain hit again and all that came out was a muffled groan.

"Mrs. Kennedy." A face appeared above you — surgical mask, tired but steady eyes. "I'm Dr Kasuga. I'll be delivering your daughter. We need to go to theatre now."

You just nodded.

In the operating theatre, the cold was different from the rest of the hospital. A clinical, sterile cold that seeped into your bones. The anaesthetic spread up your spine like fire, and then you couldn't feel anything from the waist down, just a distant pressure, like they were handling something that no longer belonged to you.

"Incision started."

The blue drape blocked your view. Just the surgical lights, the focused faces above you, the monitors beeping in rhythms you couldn't interpret.

Leon. You could only think about your husband and where he was.

"The waters haven't broken yet," Dr Kasuga's voice came from somewhere distant. "We need more exposure. Scalpel."

Leon.

You couldn't tell what was happening — you just saw movement around the room and stared at the ceiling, wondering about this investigation, what Leon would find when he came home.

And then a cry echoed — fragile, loud, perfect.

Hope.

You cried before you could see her. Hot tears ran down your temples, soaking into your hair, while the most beautiful sound in the world filled the theatre.

"Congratulations, Mrs Kennedy," Dr Kasuga said, approaching you with a smile. "It's a girl. We just need to clean her up and run some tests."

"Is something wrong?" You tried to lift your head, but the anaesthetic wouldn't let you. "What's wrong with Hope? Why can't I see her?"

Nobody answered, and you turned your head as far as you could and saw.

The small team around the resuscitation table were moving quickly, precisely. And in the middle, there was a tiny body, with a streak of sandy hair — blonde with brownish tones, just like Leon's — and a dark mark spreading up from the thin little arm towards the shoulder.

"Mrs Kennedy, we need you to stay calm..."

"You said the T-virus wasn't integrated into Leon's DNA, that it hadn't changed his cells."

Dr Kasuga approached, her face pale even under the surgical lights. She pulled off her gloves with a sharp movement, put her hand on your shoulder.

"Your daughter was born with the T-virus. Everything we knew was uncertain." Her voice was quiet. "We don't know the extent of it, or how it will affect her."

You heard the monitors beeping, Hope's weak cry in the distance, the hurried footsteps of the team, but it all seemed to come from very far away, from inside a dark tunnel where you were sinking, unable to breathe.

Experiment Hope.

Gideon's voice echoed in your head.

Hoping she doesn't have the T-virus. That would be a fascinating experiment, wouldn't it?

"No," you whispered. "The tests... all the tests were normal..."

"The virus can remain dormant at undetectable levels during pregnancy." Dr Kasuga squeezed your shoulder. "But at birth, with the change in circulation, the stress of delivery... it might have been activated."

You thought about Hope, yes, about how that virus would affect her, but you also thought about Leon, how he'd blame himself for the rest of his life if he couldn't find a cure.

"I want to see her," you said, and your voice was so firm it surprised the doctor. "Bring my daughter to me."

She hesitated for a second, then nodded to the team.

A nurse brought Hope over, wrapped in a white blanket, so tiny she fit in the crook of an arm. The wrinkled little face, eyes closed, tiny lips moving like she was searching for something.

And the mark.

Dark and irregular, spreading up from the left arm — Leon's arm, the same side — almost to the shoulder. You held out trembling hands and the nurse placed Hope on your chest, carefully, like she was made of porcelain.

"Hi, sweetheart," you murmured, your fingers touching the soft cheek. She was warm. "Hi, Hope."

The mark was warm too. You felt it when your finger brushed the darkened skin. Different from the healthy skin of her little face. Rougher. Hotter.

Just like Leon.

"I'm going to protect you," you whispered, tears falling onto the white blanket. "I promise. Your dad's going to find a cure. You're going to grow up. Have a normal life. You'll..."

Your voice broke.

Because you didn't know if it was true. You didn't know if a cure existed. You didn't know if Leon was still alive. You didn't know if Hope had days, weeks, or years, but as long as she was there, warm against your chest, breathing that fragile newborn rhythm, you would fight.

For her. For Leon. For the family you'd built against all odds.

"I love you," you said, kissing Hope's forehead. "And your dad loves you too. He'll come back. He has to come back."

Hope opened her eyes, and they were blue. Blue like Leon's. And in that blue, for a fraction of a second, you saw something you couldn't explain. It wasn't fear. It wasn't pain. It was just... her. Hope. Your daughter. Your miracle. She was perfect.

"Dr Kasuga," you called, not taking your eyes off your daughter. "What happens now?"

The doctor approached, her face tense.

"We'll monitor her. Blood tests every hour. Watch for progression. If there are signs of accelerated mutation, we might have to..."

"No." You interrupted her. "You're not doing anything to her without my permission. She's not a guinea pig. She's not an experiment. She's my daughter."

Dr Kasuga nodded slowly.

"Understood. But you need to know we don't have a protocol for this. Babies born with the T-virus... there's no precedent. We don't know what to expect."

You held Hope tighter against your chest.

"Hope won't be an experiment."

Her cry filled the room again, and you held your daughter, looked at the mark on her little arm, stroking it the way you did when Leon looked at his own with such apprehension.

A day later, the flat felt different. Not physically — the taco stuff was still in the fridge, the blue blanket was still on the balcony, the dishes were still in the sink — but the silence had shifted.

You were on the sofa in the living room, Hope curled up on your chest, both of you wrapped in the blanket Leon loved so much. The mark on her little arm was still there — scary, real — but the tests over the last twenty-four hours showed she was stable.

The virus was there. It wasn't advancing, wasn't retreating. It just... existed. Waiting.

The doctors had called in specialists. Held video meetings. Sherry mentioned a name — Elpis — but you were so tired the word slipped from your memory before you could hold onto it.

Hope moved her mouth in her sleep, a tiny sucking motion, and you smiled even though your eyes burned with exhaustion.

"It's okay, sweetheart," you murmured. "Mummy's here."

Sleep came without warning. A total blackout — no dreams, no fear, just the dark nothing of complete burnout. You woke to morning light streaming through the living room window. Something was different.

Hope was still on your chest, warm and breathing in the calm rhythm of deep sleep. You got up slowly and carried her to the bedroom, laying her in the cot as you reached under Leon's pillow for his gun. There was a weight in the air — a presence that hadn't been there before.

You crept out of the room, cocking the gun carefully so you wouldn't wake the baby, and then you saw him.

He was in the doorway of the living room.

Leon.

Standing there, leaning against the frame, bandages wrapped around his arms, his hands, winding up his neck until they disappeared under a battered t-shirt you didn't recognise. His face was etched with dark circles so deep they looked like bruises.

He didn't move. Didn't speak. Just looked at you.

For a long moment, no one moved. You were scared that if you blinked, he'd disappear. That he was a dream. That exhaustion had finally broken something inside you.

But then he breathed — a rough, broken sound — and you knew.

It was real.

With infinite care, you took a step, still feeling your C-section stitches, then another, and then you wrapped yourself around him.

Your body crashed into his in a desperate hug, your arms gripping his back, your face buried in his chest, feeling his heart beat — alive, alive, alive — while his arms held you with the same need, his bandaged hands pressing into your back, your shoulder, the nape of your neck, like he was trying to memorise every inch of you all at once.

"You came back," you sobbed against his chest. "I thought the worst."

He didn't answer with words — just held you tighter, his whole body trembling, his breathing uneven and warm against your hair. You felt the rough bandages against your skin, and with a jolt of realisation, you understood.

"The marks," you said, pulling back just enough to look at him — at the bandages, at his eyes, which were glassy but clear. "Leon, the marks..."

He swallowed hard.

"Grace managed it." His voice came out hoarse, worn, but alive. "Elpis — it was actually a cure. It... it worked."

You cupped his face in your hands, running your thumbs over the bandages, over the clean skin peeking out at the edges.

"You're cured?"

"I am." He smiled, but it was fragile — on the verge of crumbling. "I'm... I'm clean."

You kissed him then. Fierce, desperate, tasting of tears and relief and love. He kissed back with the same intensity, his hands holding your face, your waist, like you were the only solid thing in a world that had tried to swallow him alive.

When you pulled apart, you were both crying.

"I thought I'd lost you," you confessed, your voice breaking. "Gideon answered your phone. He said... he said things about Hope..."

Leon's face darkened for an instant, but he controlled his expression quickly.

"I know." His voice was too controlled. Too dangerous. "He won't bother anyone again."

You didn't ask what that meant. Not then.

"Hope..." you started, but he cut you off.

"I know." This time his voice was different. Softer. "Sherry told me. She was born with..."

You took his hand — his bandaged hand, now clean underneath — and gently pulled him.

"Come on."

Leon let you lead him. You could see the weirdness he felt looking at your stomach, no longer carrying the bump you'd held for nine months — the bump he'd miss. You crossed the room slowly, him limping slightly, you feeling every movement like it was your own. When you reached the bedroom door, he stopped.

The cot was in the corner, exactly where you'd left it. The pink blanket folded. And inside, small and perfect, Hope slept with her fists closed near her face, the dark mark visible even in the dim light.

Leon didn't go in.

He stood in the doorway, his eyes fixed on the cot, and you saw something break in him. All the defences. All the armour. All the years of survival and loss and pain — it all crumbled in that look.

"Leon," you called softly.

He didn't answer. Took a step forward. Then another. Like he was learning to walk again. When he reached the cot, he stood still for a long time, just looking.

Hope twitched a tiny finger in her sleep, and he held his breath.

"She's so small," he murmured, his voice so low you almost didn't hear.

"Three point two kilos," you answered, moving to stand beside him. "Perfect."

He reached out his bandaged hand but stopped before touching her. Hesitated.

"Can I?"

"She's your daughter, Leon. Of course you can."

With a gentleness that seemed impossible for hands that had spent decades holding guns, he touched Hope's cheek. His finger traced her soft skin, circled her tiny ear, brushed her blonde hair.

Hope wrinkled her nose in her sleep but didn't wake.

Leon smiled.

It was such a pure, vulnerable smile that it made your heart ache.

"She's got my hair," he observed, wonder in his voice.

"And your eyes." You rested your head on his shoulder. "She opened them yesterday for a few seconds. They're blue, just like yours."

He closed his eyes for a moment, like he was storing that information somewhere safe.

"And the mark..."

"It hasn't spread." Your voice faltered a little. "The doctors can't explain it. She's... she's stable."

Leon opened his eyes and looked at you.

"Grace said Elpis might work on newborns." He was talking fast now, pulling an auto-injector from the pocket of his DSO jacket. "The antidote was designed to reverse the virus at any stage. If Hope's stable — if it's not progressing — maybe we can..."

"Leon." You touched his face. "Slow down. We'll figure it out. But right now... just stay here with us. Please."

He relaxed against you, his forehead resting on yours.

"Sorry. I just..." He took a deep breath. "When I found out she was born with the virus, I thought I'd failed. That all this time trying to find a cure, trying to get back... it was for nothing."

"You didn't fail." You held his face, making him look at you. "You're alive. You're cured. And Hope is here, breathing, alive. We'll figure it out. Together."

He swallowed hard.

"I almost didn't make it back." The confession came out quiet. "There was a moment... I didn't think I'd see you again."

"But you did."

You stood there, holding each other, watching your daughter sleep in her cot. After a long moment, Leon spoke again.

"Elpis, the name of the cure, and the name of the key to unlocking it..."

You frowned.

"Spencer named the cure Elpis."

"Elpis," you repeated. "It's..."

"Greek." He smiled. "It means hope."

The air left your lungs.

"Leon..."

He turned to you fully, holding your face in both his bandaged hands.

"You were always my hope. Even when I didn't believe in anything, you were there. And when we finally had Hope... she became my hope again. For a future. For a family. For everything."

Tears streamed down your face, but you didn't wipe them away. He kissed your forehead with a tenderness that hurt. You hugged him so tightly it hurt, but he didn't complain, just held you back, his whole body trembling against yours.

In the cot, Hope woke up. She didn't cry, just opened her blue eyes and looked at her parents holding each other, like she somehow knew this moment mattered.

Leon felt her gaze. He turned slowly, still holding you, and met his daughter's eyes.

"Welcome home, Hope," he whispered. "Daddy's here."

Hope moved her little arms, the dark mark shifting with her, and made a small sound — not a cry. Leon laughed softly and reached out to touch her again.

"I'll protect you," he promised. "Elpis will work. You'll grow up. You'll have a normal life. You'll be happy."

You pressed your hand to his over the cot, and Hope grabbed her father's finger with a grip that seemed impossible for such a tiny baby.

"We'll figure it out," you said. "Together."

Leon looked at you, at Hope, at your hands intertwined over your daughter — and for the first time in a long time, maybe since Raccoon City, he believed it.

Three days later, the living room looked like a war room.

"The virus is dormant," Sherry announced after two hours of tests, her eyes fixed on the results she'd pulled up on her laptop. "It's not common, but it's not unheard of. Some Raccoon City survivors had long-term latency. The problem is with newborns, there's no data. We don't know what could trigger it."

Leon was perched on the arm of the sofa, his fingers restless even though he was healed.

"But Elpis could work?"

Grace looked up at him.

"Elpis was designed to reverse mutation in advanced stages. In theory, it should eliminate the virus completely at any phase." She paused. "But it's never been tested on babies, Leon."

Hope slept in the portable cot Grace had brought.

"I want to try," you said.

Everyone turned to you.

"Wait," Leon started, but you cut him off.

"She's stable now, but what about tomorrow? Next month? A year from now?" You took his hand. "We spent twelve years trying to have her. I'm not spending the rest of my life scared something inside her will wake up. If there's a chance to give Hope a normal life, I want that chance."

Leon looked at you for a long moment. Then at Hope. Then at Grace.

"What are the risks?"

Sherry tilted her head, considering.

"The biggest risk is a severe allergic reaction. We've prepared antihistamines and adrenaline. There's also a chance the cure won't work, the virus could stay, or worse, mutate into a resistant form." She took a breath. "But if it works, she's clean. Completely."

Leon closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them, he looked at you.

"You're sure?"

You squeezed his hand.

"I'm sure."

Sherry administered the injection into Hope's marked little arm.

The baby woke with a start and let out an indignant cry, her tiny face scrunching up. You scooped her up immediately, rocking her, shushing her while Leon watched every movement, every expression, every breath.

"How long until we know?" he asked.

"Hours. Maybe a day." Sherry was already preparing another blood sample. "We'll monitor the viral markers hourly."

The first hour was the worst.

Hope cried for twenty minutes, then tired herself out and fell asleep in your arms. You couldn't look away from her little arm, waiting for the mark to magically disappear — knowing it didn't work like that.

Leon stayed by your side the whole time. Sometimes sitting, sometimes standing, sometimes pacing like a caged lion. Grace brought coffee no one drank, and Sherry ran tests in silence, her face focused.

At the three-hour mark, she looked up from her portable microscope.

"The markers are dropping."

"How much?"

"Fast." For the first time, Sherry smiled, a small, contained smile, but genuine. "Elpis is working."

You reached out and pulled Leon close, cradling Hope between you. The three of you, there on the sofa, as the mark on her little arm faded.

By the next morning, Hope's skin was completely clear.

The years went by and Hope grew up.

She grew up with her dad's blonde hair and eyes that changed with the light — sometimes blue like his, sometimes more like yours. She grew up with endless questions about the world, with scraped knees from running too fast, with a smile that could light up entire rooms. She grew up with Leon, and watching the two of them together was something you never got tired of.

Saturday morning, the house was chaos.

Hope was seven years old and had enough energy to power a small town. You heard her before you even opened your eyes — those little feet running down the hallway, your bedroom door flung open with the kind of force that comes from not having learned patience yet.

"Dad!"

You felt Leon stir next to you, a sleepy groan.

"Hope, it's..." He tried to check the clock. "It's six in the morning on a Saturday."

"I know!" Hope was already jumping on the bed, using the mattress as a trampoline. "You promised we'd have the pillow fight today!"

Leon cracked one eye open, found you already laughing into your pillow.

"Did I promise that?"

"You did!" Hope confirmed, jumping higher. "At dinner on Thursday! Mummy heard!"

You raised your hand, eyes still closed.

"Can confirm. He promised."

Leon let out a dramatic sigh, but you could hear the smile in his voice.

"Fine, fine, but after breakfast."

"After breakfast we can start the war?"

"We can."

"And can breakfast be pancakes?"

"Hope..."

"Pancakes, Dad, pancakes, pancakes, pancakes..."

"FINE, PANCAKES!"

Hope let out a victory shriek and ran off to the kitchen, her footsteps echoing through the house. You turned to Leon, who was burying his face in the pillow.

"You're so soft," you teased, running your hand over his back.

"I'm defeated," his muffled voice came through. "Defeated by a seven-year-old."

"Your seven-year-old."

He turned his face to look at you, and even with his hair all messy and the dark circles from not sleeping enough, his smile was the most beautiful thing in the world.

"Our seven-year-old," he corrected, pulling you in for a kiss. "Our little Hope."

An hour later, the kitchen looked like a battlefield.

Hope was on the counter on a little stool, "helping" flip the pancakes — which meant half the batter had ended up on the stove and the other half on her t-shirt. Leon was next to her, patiently wiping up and flipping, the two of them chatting about things you couldn't keep up with even if you tried.

"...and then Aunt Grace said the monster was as big as a building!" Hope was saying, her eyes wide.

"She exaggerates," Leon replied, flipping another pancake. "It was the size of a truck."

"IT'S THE SAME THING!"

"It's really not. Buildings are bigger."

"Dad."

"Hope."

You watched from the table, a mug of coffee between your hands, and felt your chest overflow in a way you still hadn't learned to name. Seven years. Seven years since Hope was born with the virus, since Leon came back cured, since Elpis saved your daughter.

Seven years of this.

"Mum!" Hope called, jumping off the stool and running over to you. "Dad said after breakfast we can start the war!"

"I heard."

"And you're gonna join in?"

"Of course." You pulled Hope into a hug, kissing the top of her blonde head. "Someone needs to teach you two how to lose."

Hope huffed, offended.

"We never lose!"

"That's what you think."

The pillow fight lasted two hours.

The living room looked like it had exploded. Pillows were flying, cushions were being used as shields, and at some point Hope discovered she could use the blanket as a cape, which made her "invincible."

Leon, obviously, let her win.

You saw it. You saw him holding back, pretending to be weak, falling dramatically to the floor every time a tiny pillow hit his shoulder. Hope laughed so loud the neighbours must have heard, jumping on top of him, declaring her victory.

"WE WON!" she shouted, fists in the air.

"We?" Leon complained, face-down on the carpet. "I lost on my own."

"It's 'we' because you're on my team!"

"And why would I be on your team if you defeated me?"

"Because..." Hope thought for a second. "Because you like losing to me!"

Leon turned his head to look at you, a huge smile on his face.

"She's your daughter," he said.

"Our daughter," you corrected, laughing. "And she learned to be a strategist from you."

Hope flopped onto the floor next to him, snuggling against his shoulder.

"Dad?"

"Hm?"

"Tell the story again."

"What story?"

"The one about when you met mum."

Leon went quiet for a second. You two exchanged a look.

"You already know that story," he said.

"But I like hearing it."

Leon sighed, pulling Hope closer.

You got up from the sofa, walked over to them, and lay down on Leon's other side, the three of you squished together on the living room carpet. The mess around you didn't matter. The scattered pillows, the dust floating up, the smell of pancakes still hanging in the air. Only this mattered.

Leon reached his arm over Hope and pulled you closer.

"I love you," he murmured.

"I know." You kissed his shoulder. "And I love you too."

He smiled, eyes closed.

At seven years old, Hope Kennedy still had two absolute certainties in life:

First, that her mum's spaghetti was the best in the entire world — she'd done an informal survey at school, asking her classmates what they ate at home, and nothing came anywhere close.

Second, that her dad was the coolest, strongest, most amazing man in the whole known universe.

This second certainty, she demonstrated every single day.

"Dad!"

Leon was in the backyard, trying to fix the garden hose — a simple task that, in his hands, had become a two-hour project. He heard the footsteps before he saw her, that clumsy childhood run that always ended with an impact against his legs.

"Hey." He put down the hose and crouched to catch her. Hope jumped into his arms with the confidence of someone who knew she'd be caught. She always was. "Did you finish your homework?"

"Almost all of it."

"Almost all isn't all."

"Buuuut..." She drew out the word, her blue eyes sparkling with that expression Leon knew well. "I wanted help with the science bit."

"What science bit?"

"We have to draw the solar system and I can't remember the order of the planets."

Leon set her down but kept his hand on her shoulder as they walked back inside.

"Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune."

"Wow, you know it off the top of your head?"

"I do." He opened the kitchen door, holding it for Hope to go through. "We used to learn this at the academy."

"What academy?"

Leon hesitated for half a second. Then he crouched down beside her, lowering his voice like he was about to share a secret.

"A really boring academy. Just serious men and white walls."

Hope wrinkled her nose.

"That sounds awful."

"It was."

You appeared in the kitchen doorway, drying your hands on a tea towel, and stopped when you saw them there, crouched in the hallway, sharing some secret you had no idea about.

"Can I ask what you two are plotting?"

"Nothing!" Hope answered too quickly, getting up and running to hug your legs. "Dad's just gonna help me with the solar system!"

"Hmm." You raised an eyebrow at Leon. "And why were you crouching?"

Leon stood up, an innocent smile on his face.

"It's easier to talk at her level."

"Sure." You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling. "Come on, Hope. Wash your hands first. Then you can draw planets."

"Yay!"

Hope was attached to Leon in a way that sometimes made your heart ache, it was so beautiful.

Not that she didn't love you — she did, and she showed it with tight hugs, colourful drawings, and the way she always asked your opinion on everything. But with Leon, it was different. It was like she instinctively knew that man needed to be loved a little harder. Like she understood, without anyone explaining, that her dad carried heavy things and that her job was to lighten the load.

Leon would come home from work — with the DSO, fewer field missions, more hours at home — and she'd already be at the door. Didn't matter if it was three in the afternoon or nine at night. Hope waited.

"Dad!" The shout was always the same. The hug, identical.

And Leon, who'd faced bioterrorists, monsters and corrupt governments, would always kneel down to receive that hug like it was the most important thing of the day. Because it was.

The nights when Hope would convince Leon to read stories even after he'd already read three. The mornings when she'd wake up before sunrise just to jump into their bed and "help" dad make coffee. The weekends when the two of them would disappear for "secret adventures" that always ended with Hope covered in dirt, Leon covered in Hope, and both of them swearing they hadn't done anything special.

"Did you see what she did?" Leon showed his arm once, all scribbled on with coloured markers. "She said it was a tattoo like mine."

You looked at his arm, at the old scars that Elpis couldn't erase, and at the colourful scribbles Hope had drawn over them.

"Let me see." You moved closer, pretending to examine it seriously.

"Hmm. I think Hope's version is better."

Leon laughed, that warm, rough sound you loved.

"She said when she grows up she's getting one just like it." He looked at their daughter, who was now distracted drawing at the living room table. "A marker tattoo. Forever."

"Hopefully she never finds out marker comes off with water."

"Shh." Leon covered your mouth with his hand, laughing. "Don't ruin the magic."

Slowly, the three of you built rituals.

Sunday night was pizza and movie night. Hope always picked some animation she'd already seen forty times, but that still made her laugh in the same places. Leon complained, but you knew he loved it. In the end, Hope always fell asleep on the sofa, nestled between you two, and Leon would carry her to bed with a gentleness that seemed impossible coming from such calloused hands.

Friday night was spaghetti night. Hope would "help" in the kitchen, which meant you spent twice as long and the kitchen got three times messier, but when the three of you sat at the table, with Hope's favourite dish steaming in front of her, the mess didn't matter.

"My family's the best in the world," Hope would always declare, without fail, at some point during the meal.

"Mine too," you'd answer.

"Mine's okay," Leon would tease, just to see her get indignant.

"Dad!"

"Alright, alright. Mine's the best too."

One night, you woke up to the sound of footsteps in the hallway. You looked beside you and Leon wasn't in bed. Your heart raced for a second — old habits, old fears — but then you heard low voices coming from Hope's room.

You got up and went to the door, which was slightly ajar. The cloud-shaped nightlight illuminated the pink room. Hope was sitting up in bed, her eyes still sleepy, and Leon was crouched beside her, his hand running through her blonde hair.

"I can't sleep," Hope murmured.

"Why not?"

"I had a nightmare."

"What about?"

Hope was quiet for a second.

"You were sick again. And mummy was crying. And I couldn't find you."

Leon closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he pulled Hope into a hug.

"Listen to me, little one." His voice was controlled, calm, but you knew Leon well enough to hear the tremor there. "That sickness Daddy had was a long time ago. And it's never coming back. You hear me?"

"Yeah."

"And mummy and you are the two most important people in the world to me. I'm not going anywhere without you. Not ever again."

Hope hugged him tighter.

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"Swear?"

"I swear on everything I love most." He kissed her forehead. "And you know what that is?"

"What?"

"You and mummy."

Hope smiled, finally relaxing against him.

He laid her down in bed, pulling the blanket up to her chin. You moved away from the door, letting them have their moment. Inside, Leon's voice continued, talking about cures and hope and a girl who came into the world against all odds.

You went back to bed and waited. A few minutes later, Leon appeared in the bedroom doorway. He stopped when he saw you awake.

"Did I wake you?"

"No." You reached out your hand to him. "Come here."

He lay down beside you, pulling you into that automatic hug you both knew so well.

"Nightmare," he murmured against your hair. "She dreamed I was sick again."

"I heard."

He was quiet for a moment.

"Sometimes I think she feels it, you know? Like... like she remembers something. Even though she was so small."

"She doesn't remember, Leon." You ran your hand over his chest, feeling his heart beat calmly. "She just... loves you. And when you love someone that much, you're scared of losing them."

He held you tighter.

"I'm not losing you."

"I know."

"And you're not losing me."

"I know."

He kissed your hair.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For everything. For her. For this." His voice cracked a little. "For letting me have this."

You lifted your head to look him in the eyes, even in the dark.

"You deserve this, Leon Scott Kennedy. You deserve everything."

He smiled, that tired, beautiful smile you loved.

"I've got everything."

© 2026 KONALIS | all rights reserved. don’t copy my work or translations, and don’t upload them to other platforms. / cr: divider @uzmacchiato

[konalis]

ㅤㅤㅤ✟ WELCOME HOME, MR. KENNEDY? : leon s. kennedy [resident evil 9: requiem] !

⋆˚࿔ leon kennedy x preg!wife reader ꒰ ✟ ꒱ … Leon Kennedy's always survived everything. But being a dad? That's what really scares him. Twelve years of trying, a daughter on the way, and the T-virus threatening to steal the future you spent so long building. — next chapter.

warnings ⟢ +16 (MDNI) ⋆ established relationship ⋆ t-virus infection ⋆ illness themes ⋆ angst/fluff ⋆ hurt/comfort ⋆ late-stage pregnancy ⋆ miscarriage ⋆ anxiety ⋆ domestic leon ⋆ pre-requiem ⟢ words count: 5,1k

notes  ⟢ in requiem the ring appeared on his finger, and I simply had to write something like this lol — please like & reblog if you enjoyed !

⋆ MASTERLIST ⋆ AKOTSK TAGLIST ⋆ TIP JAR ⋆

You already had swollen feet when you decided that was a brilliant idea.

The whole kitchen smelled of garlic sizzling in butter, fresh basil, and tomato sauce reducing just right. The pot was bubbling away on the hob, steam rising slowly and fogging up the apartment window a bit. You rested one hand on the counter while stirring the sauce with the other, feeling that little firm press under your ribs when your daughter decided to stretch out again.

"Easy, sweetheart… it's nearly ready," you murmured, smiling to yourself.

It'd been a week since you last saw him. A week that felt like three.

Ever since Leon started getting closer to the leads on the Raccoon City survivors' deaths, the nights had grown longer – and not just because you were nine months pregnant and could barely find a comfortable sleeping position. The silence in the flat was worse when he wasn't there.

You turned off the hob and took a deep breath. The pasta was perfect, just the way he liked it. Rich sauce, pasta cooked to perfection, cheese grated fresh. Something worthy of Michelin stars, you'd joke if he were there to hear it.

For you, though, there was a big bowl of salad with boiled eggs. Your latest inexplicable craving.

You braced your hands on the edge of the hob, psyching yourself up for the five-step journey to the table. It was just a pot. You'd faced bigger things than this – including falling for a traumatised agent in some random shop back in 2014.

Carefully, you grabbed the handles and lifted the pot; your body protested immediately, and that's exactly when the apartment door opened.

"Hey, I…"

His sentence died on the doorstep, and you only had time to turn your head before he'd crossed the room in two long strides, taking the pot from your hands like he was defusing a bomb.

"What do you think you're doing?" Leon asked, his voice already carrying that worried, scolding tone.

You blinked, offended for two whole seconds.

"Dinner."

He stared at you.

His ash-blonde hair was messier than usual, shoulders tense under the dark DSO jacket, dark circles deeper than before. The exhaustion was there, written all over him, but still he looked relieved – like just seeing you standing in the kitchen made the whole world disappear.

"You shouldn't be carrying heavy stuff," he muttered, taking the pot to the table with irritating ease.

You rested a hand on your lower back and laughed softly.

"Funny… you look more tired than me. And I'm the nine-months-pregnant one who can barely sleep when her husband decides to vanish for a week."

He let out a breath through his nose, almost a laugh.

"Been some rough nights."

You moved closer slowly and started helping him out of his jacket, sliding the fabric off his broad shoulders. Your fingers brushed against his neck for a second longer than necessary. The skin there felt a bit warmer.

He closed his eyes briefly when you touched his face, and you saw it. That noticeable shadow starting to spread from his hand to his wrist, from his shoulder to his neck, creeping up slowly.

Always creeping up.

He looked away before you could comment, and you brought your hand to his cheek, stroking it with your thumb.

"You should look in the mirror before you come and scold me," you murmured. "You're exhausted."

He smiled faintly, completely worn out.

Then, like he did every time since your belly became impossible to ignore, he knelt in front of you. Carefully, Leon rested his hands on either side of your waist, his face level with your round bump.

His expression softened in a way nobody else in the world was privileged to see.

"Hey princess," he murmured, bringing his face close to your belly. "Daddy's home."

Your daughter moved almost immediately, and you laughed, running your fingers through his hair as he gently tucked a strand of yours behind your ear.

It was moments like these that reminded you why you'd stayed, why you'd kept trying, why you'd pushed through for twelve years.

Since 2014. Tests. Appointments. Frustrated silences. Negative pregnancy tests piling up in the bathroom bin. The way he always said "next time" with that stubborn hope you never had the heart to shatter. And now, here she was.

A miracle.

You let your fingers slide through his blonde hair for a few more seconds, feeling the tension in his shoulders start to ease under your touch. Leon stayed there, on his knees, face pressed against your belly, like he could absorb every movement of your daughter through the thin fabric of the dress you were wearing.

"She missed you," you murmured. "Spent days kicking my ribs like she had something to say about the dad who wasn't here."

He laughed against the fabric, a hoarse, tired sound.

"She's already like you, then."

"No, no… she's not even born yet, but I already know she's more like you than me."

He laughed softly, shaking his head, and you gave his shoulder a gentle tap.

"Get up, Scott Kennedy. Dinner's getting cold, and I didn't spend all afternoon at the hob just for you to let my masterpiece go cold."

He obeyed, but not without gently squeezing your hips first, like he needed that contact to convince himself he was really home. That's when you noticed he was still wearing one glove.

The black glove covering his left hand.

Your stomach clenched in a way that had nothing to do with the pregnancy.

Seven days was a long time for you two, who still didn't have a cure for the virus. Seven days apart, especially now, in the ninth month, was practically an eternity.

You sat down to eat soon after.

He pulled out your chair for you – a habit he'd never dropped since your early dates – and only then sat down opposite you. The table was set with the pot of pasta steaming near him, the bowl of salad with eggs near you, two glasses of water, and a bottle of wine you'd left in the rack just to pretend things were normal. He didn't drink anymore, not after the first marks appeared.

"This looks incredible," he said, serving himself a generous portion.

"Family secret," you replied, picking up an egg with your fork. "That Italian chef on the corner better watch out."

He laughed, a low, hoarse sound that made your daughter kick again. It seemed like she recognised his voice, even before being born.

He praised the pasta on the first forkful, like he always did, and you feigned dramatic surprise while mixing greens and eggs in your bowl.

"Craving?" he asked, eyeing your unusual choice.

"Don't judge," you replied, pointing your fork at him. "You've eaten way worse things on missions."

He considered this, but it didn't take him long to nod and give a tired smile, squeezing your hand affectionately before taking another bite.

You tilted your head, watching how he held his fork with his left hand. The glove was there, covering his fingers, hiding the skin. You didn't need to see to know what was underneath. You knew every scar, every callus, and now also the rough, darkened texture slowly spreading across that whole hand.

Leon started taking off the glove when he noticed your gaze. The leather slid off his fingers, fully revealing the mark spreading across his hand. That uneven discolouration under his pale skin, almost like dark veins that shouldn't be there.

You gave him a small smile and reached out to touch him like you had moments before.

"Don't," he said automatically, pulling back slightly.

You frowned.

"Leon."

"I don't know how far this can…"

Your fingers touched his anyway, and nothing happened. No shock or pain, no sign of instant contamination.

He froze for a second, and you just smiled.

"If I was going to catch something from you, Leon Scott Kennedy, it would've happened a long time ago."

He let out a breath, almost a humourless laugh.

"Don't joke about that."

You brought his hand to your belly.

"She's fine."

He swallowed hard.

"What did the doctor say?"

"That she's healthy. Strong. Perfect." You stroked your heavy bump with your other hand. "But he recommended a C-section. Said it might be safer for both of us."

He nodded slowly.

"Did they… mention any possibility?"

You knew which one he meant.

"There's no sign of abnormality," you replied calmly. "All the tests are normal."

He ran his thumb slowly over the curve of your belly.

"But what if she has the virus?" His voice dropped lower. "What if I passed this to her before she was even born?"

You leaned forward, touching his face again.

"You're not a disease."

He closed his eyes.

"I survived Raccoon City. Las Plagas. All of it. But I don't know if I'd survive… if anything happened to you two."

Your heart clenched, and you held his marked hand tighter against your belly.

"She's a miracle, Leon. We tried for twelve years. If anything was wrong, it would've shown up by now. And even if there's some possibility, we'll deal with it together. Like we always have."

He looked at you, and there it was – that look that'd made you fall for him in some random shop back in 2014. Tired, but deeply human.

You smiled, leaning in to kiss him gently, and your daughter shifted again under his hand. For a few minutes, there were no investigations, no T-virus, no fallout from Raccoon City. Just you, your husband, and the tiny life between you, insisting on being here.

He'd barely finished eating and was already clearing the plates.

"Don't even think about it," he warned, before you could get a word out.

Leon gave you that firm look he used in interrogations… and on you.

"You're not touching the dishes."

"Leon…"

"Not the sink. Not the counter. Not anything that involves physical effort," he continued, already rolling up his sleeves. "You're gonna sit out on the balcony, grab that blue blanket, and rest. I'll handle the rest or rather, the dishwasher will."

You raised an eyebrow.

"Wow. Is the DSO promoting you to domestic agent now?"

He almost smiled.

"Go. Sit."

You let out a dramatic sigh, but you obeyed. Not because he told you to – you'd tell yourself that later – but because you knew it calmed him. Seeing you seated. Safe. Out of any imaginary danger his mind could conjure up.

The balcony was cool that night. The city glittered below, indifferent to the tragedies and viruses and fears of a tenth-floor apartment. You rested your hands on your belly, feeling the stretched skin beneath the light fabric of your dress.

Inside, you could hear the water running; he was already in the shower. A few minutes later, you got up slowly. Not out of stubbornness – maybe a little – but because there was a question you'd been sitting on for days.

You walked to the bathroom and tapped lightly on the already-open door, steam escaping into the hallway.

"Leon?" you called.

"Hm?"

His silhouette was visible through the fogged-up glass.

"Have you decided yet?"

"Decided what?"

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.

"The name. You promised you'd choose. And she's due in a few weeks."

There was a brief silence, the water still running.

"I thought of one," he finally replied.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you turned fully towards him.

"Well?"

He opened the shower door, and that's when you saw it.

Water streamed down his body, outlining every old scar you already knew by heart. But it wasn't the scars that made your stomach drop – it was the marks. They weren't just on his hand anymore; they'd spread across his ribs, irregular shadows under his skin. Some crept up his neck. There were marks on his shoulder. On his thigh.

"Leon…"

He caught your tone, and the faint smile on his lips vanished.

You stepped forward without thinking.

"When did it get worse?"

He reached for a towel, too calmly.

"A few days ago."

"A few days ago?" Your voice cracked. "And you didn't tell me?"

He stepped out of the shower, wrapping the towel around his waist, moving towards you slowly as if you were the fragile one here.

"I wanted to be sure before I worried you."

Your eyes traced every new mark, trying to memorise, trying to understand.

"That's not 'not worrying me,' Leon."

He cupped your face gently, forcing you to meet his eyes.

"Hey." His thumb stroked your cheek. "Sherry and I are getting close to something. These cases… they're not random. There's a pattern. A connection. We just don't know how long it'll take to get answers."

You closed your eyes for a second, trying to control the wave of nausea that had nothing to do with what you were feeling.

You took a deep breath.

"So you're saying there's hope."

"I'm saying I'm not gonna stop looking for a solution."

There was a steadiness there. The same thing that'd kept him alive in Raccoon City. The same thing that'd brought him back to you every time.

You nodded slowly.

He was fully out of the shower now, still damp, and he moved closer until his forehead touched yours.

"Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like I'm leaving."

You tried to smile.

"I'm not."

He pulled you into a careful hug, wrapping his arms around your shoulders while his other hand immediately dropped to your belly, as if by instinct.

"You have to promise me something," he murmured against your hair.

You already knew you wouldn't like what came next.

"What?"

He hesitated.

"If something happens to me… you'll be okay."

The world seemed to stop for a second, and you pulled back just enough to look at him.

"No."

His brow furrowed.

"You need to…"

"I can't promise that, Leon, because it'd be a lie."

His jaw tightened.

"I need to know you two will be…"

"We'll be fine because you'll be here." You held his face in both hands. "We tried for twelve years. Twelve years, Leon. Every negative test. Every appointment. Every time I said maybe we should give up… and you said 'just one more time.'"

Your hand slid down to his, pressing it against your belly.

"She's the result of that. Of persistence. Of love. Of you refusing to lose one more thing in your life."

His eyes were glistening now, but he didn't look away.

"You need to watch her grow up. You need to pretend you're not gonna scare off every boy who gets near her. You need to complain when she says she wants to be like her dad."

His mouth twitched into an almost-smile.

"I won't know how to handle that."

"Yes, you will." You pressed your forehead to his. "Because you're too stubborn to die."

He let out an unsteady breath, his arms tightening around you carefully. Your daughter moved between you, like she was protesting the heavy mood.

He laughed softly.

"She doesn't like it when you're mad at me."

"Then stop giving me a reason."

He stroked your belly in slow, almost hypnotic movements. Like he was memorising every inch. Like he was silently promising he'd stay. And you, despite the knot in your chest, chose to believe him.

Because after everything – after 2014, the shop, the failed attempts, the ghosts that never quite let him go – you were still here. And for now, that had to be enough.

He stayed there for a few more seconds, his hand still spread across your belly. His thumb making absent circles, his breathing starting to slow in time with yours.

"I did think of a name," he said again, softer this time. You looked up.

"I'm still waiting."

He tilted his head slightly, the silver-streaked hair falling across his damp forehead.

"Hope."

You blinked.

"Hope?" you repeated, savouring the name.

"Because…" he swallowed hard. "That's what you never let me lose."

Your chest tightened in a painfully beautiful way.

"Leon…"

"After 2014, after everything that happened before I met you… I didn't believe you could build something normal. I just… survived." He let out a small, humourless laugh. "Then you showed up in some shop, complaining about the payment system being down like it was the biggest problem in the world."

You grimaced.

"It was the biggest problem of my shift."

He smiled for real now.

"And even when the tests were negative. Even when you'd come out of the bathroom trying to pretend you weren't devastated… you'd still say we'd try again." His hand squeezed yours. "Hope feels right."

You felt the tears before you realised you were crying.

"Hope Kennedy," you murmured, testing the sound. "Suits someone who decided to exist against all the odds."

He rested his forehead against your belly, eyes closed.

"Hey, Hope." His voice was rough. "Your dad's a bit paranoid sometimes, but he's trying, okay?"

You laughed through your tears.

"'A bit' is generous."

He looked up at you, offended.

"I can hear you."

"Good. Then hear this: we're not leaving you."

His smile softened.

He finished getting dressed right there – simple t-shirt, comfortable trousers, still barefoot. And when you tried to walk to the bedroom on your own, he immediately took your hand.

"Slow down."

"I know how to walk, Scott Kennedy."

"Not when you look like you're carrying a planet."

You rolled your eyes, but let him guide you to the bedroom.

The light was low, the sheets already turned down. The cot in the corner – assembled weeks ago, like he was trying to get ahead of the inevitable. A little pink blanket was folded inside it.

He stopped in the middle of the room, staring at the cot for a moment too long, and you realised.

"Are you scared?" you asked gently.

He didn't answer right away.

"I've faced bioterrorists, cults, bio-weapons that should only exist in nightmares…" He took a deep breath. "But this? Being a dad? This is what really scares me."

You moved behind him, wrapping your arms around him as best you could.

"Because now you've got something to lose."

He held your hands against his chest.

"I've always had you."

"I know." You kissed his shoulder. "And you've never lost me."

He helped you sit on the bed, then knelt in front of you, resting his hands carefully on your knees.

"If…" he started, then stopped. "If the virus is progressing faster than we think… I might not be fully operational when she's born."

Your stomach clenched.

"Leon."

"I need to be honest with you. The marks respond to stress. And this investigation…" He ran a hand through his hair. "It's getting more complicated than I expected."

You knew that.

The murders of Raccoon City survivors weren't a coincidence. They were silencing. Clean-up. Someone was eliminating those who still carried the T-virus in their bodies, and he was in the middle of it.

"Maybe Hope is the solution to that, too," you replied, running your hand along his jaw. "You need to trust me as well. I can handle the truth. I can handle the fear. What I can't handle is you trying to protect me from what's already part of our life."

He was silent for a few seconds, then nodded.

"Okay."

It wasn't a grand promise, but it was real.

You leaned back on the bed, suddenly exhausted. The weight of the day finally catching up, and he noticed immediately.

"Lie down."

"You love giving orders."

"Only when it involves you and our daughter."

You let him help lift your legs onto the bed. He settled beside you, on his side, resting his head on your belly like he sometimes did when he thought you were asleep.

"Do you think she'll have your eyes?" he murmured.

"I hope not. We've got enough drama in this family."

He huffed a laugh.

"They'd suit 'Hope'."

"She could have your hair too," you said.

"I wouldn't wish that on anyone."

You ran your fingers through his hair affectionately.

"I would."

He was quiet for a while, listening to the soft movements inside your belly.

"I'll be there," he said suddenly. "And if… if there's any sign the virus has affected her… I'll find a cure. Even if I have to chase down every loose end of Umbrella myself."

You smiled softly.

"I believe you."

Because you truly believed it – and the man who'd walked out of Raccoon City alive wasn't about to give up on his own daughter.

Sleep came easier than you'd expected. Maybe it was the weight of the week, maybe it was the exhaustion of carrying Hope inside you, maybe it was simply the fact that Leon was there, warming the left side of the bed with a presence you'd missed for seven days.

You dreamt of disconnected things – a shop in 2014, the tired smile of a man buying frozen food, the way he'd apologised for the payment system like it was his fault. Then the dream shifted to dark corridors, and you woke with your heart racing, your hand going instinctively to your belly.

Hope was fine. Moving, as always.

You turned in bed, reaching for his warmth, and found only empty, cold sheets.

Your eyes opened fully.

"Leon?"

Silence.

The bathroom light was off. The room was immersed in that blueish half-light coming from the window. You sat up carefully, hands pressed into the mattress, and that's when you saw it: the balcony door was slightly ajar, a sliver of city light filtering through.

You sighed, not exactly surprised.

You got up, grabbed your robe from the back of the chair, wrapped it around your shoulders, and walked through the room barefoot. Your feet were more swollen than before, but you ignored it.

He was sitting on the balcony lounger, profile turned towards you.

A mug of coffee sat forgotten on the side table – already cold, by the smell of it. And in his left hand – the infected hand – he held a stack of papers. Files. Photos. Reports you recognised even from a distance as DSO material.

Leon didn't hear you approach. He was so absorbed in reading that he only noticed your presence when you placed your hand on his shoulder.

He turned his face quickly, survival instinct still very much alive after all these years.

"Sorry," he murmured immediately, setting the papers aside. "Didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't." You leaned down, holding his shoulder for balance. "Hope just decided to do some jumping jacks on my bladder."

He attempted a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes.

You looked at the files. At the name at the top of the page, the photo below showing a man with marks similar to Leon's.

Your stomach churned.

"You can't sleep?" you asked, even though you already knew the answer.

"Not for days."

His honesty hurt more than if he'd lied.

You moved to sit on the arm of the lounger, but he immediately caught your hip, guiding you to sit on his lap instead.

"You won't be able to sleep with me here," he murmured, but he was already settling you against his chest, his good hand splayed across your belly.

"I won't be able to sleep if you're not with me." You rested your head on his shoulder. "And since you're awake anyway, at least I'll be comfortable."

He laughed softly, almost sheepishly, and you felt the vibration in his chest.

For a few minutes, you stayed like that. The cool night air touching your hair, his hand drawing slow circles on your belly while Hope moved in response.

"Sherry sent the full reports today," he finally said, his voice tired. "The deaths… she's got names. Victor Gideon and Ozwell Spencer."

You didn't respond, just waited.

"I'll probably have to go after all this. Find out why former Umbrella names are going after Raccoon City survivors. But for that, I need to know you'll be okay."

Your heart tightened.

"Yes, I will. But what about you?"

He looked away.

"Leon."

"It's faster than I expected." The confession came out low. "I don't know how long I have before this thing kills me. Maybe hours, days, weeks – but not months."

You felt the tears burning your eyes but refused to let them fall.

"You're going to investigate, aren't you?"

He was silent for too long.

"I have to."

You pulled your face away from his shoulder, just enough to look at him. The exhaustion was etched into every line of his face. In the deep dark circles, in the way his blue eyes seemed duller than they should be.

"Then if you have to, you should go, Leon."

He frowned.

"What?"

"Go. I'll be fine." Your voice came out steady – steadier than you expected. "If they could hold the answer to this" – you touched his hand – "and they're connected to Umbrella, there must be something there that can slow or stop the virus."

"You don't understand. If I go now, with you so close to…"

"I understand perfectly, Leon." You held his face in both hands. "I know you promised to be here when she's born. But she'll understand. I understand. You're doing this for you, for Sherry, for us."

Your gaze dropped to your belly.

"If this can stop Hope from going through what you did… if it can stop you from having that fear – that the virus might not show signs now, but in the future – then you have to go, Leon."

His eyes widened slightly.

"And if I don't come back?"

You took a deep breath.

"You will."

"You can't be sure of that."

"Yes, I can." Your voice faltered slightly, but you held on. "Because you're Leon Scott Kennedy. You survived Raccoon City. Las Plagas. Everything. And you'll survive this too. For Hope."

Hope kicked immediately, as if she knew she needed to be part of that moment. And the smile that appeared on his face was small, as he traced the shape of her foot on your belly.

"She's as stubborn as you," he murmured.

"She's as stubborn as her father."

He laughed, but the laugh died quickly.

"You always said you were scared of giving birth alone. And now you're asking me to go investigate and leave you here on your own."

You swallowed the sob threatening to escape.

"I'm not alone. She's with me. And you'll find a way to come back in time." Your hand squeezed his. "You'll figure this out and come back. And if you don't figure it out… you'll come back anyway. Because she needs you. And I need you. And we already waited twelve years for her."

"And if…"

"No." You interrupted him firmly. "No 'ifs'. You'll come back alive. You'll come back better. And when she's born, you'll be the first to hold her. You'll watch her open her eyes for the first time. You'll see if they're blue or if they're like mine. And you'll be there for every important moment of her life, Leon."

The tears finally escaped, hot down your face.

"Because you deserve that. We deserve that, after everything."

Leon closed his eyes for a long moment. When he opened them again, there was something different there. A determination you hadn't seen since the early years, when he still believed he could fix the world.

"I'll come back," he said, and this time it was a promise. "I'll come back, and I'll have dealt with the last loose ends of Umbrella. And I'll try to come back with something that can help me and Sherry."

You smiled through your tears.

"We'll be waiting. Her and me."

He pulled you into a hug, pressing your body against his with care. His heart beat fast against your chest, and you felt the relief mixed with fear, the love mixed with desperation.

"When will you go?" you asked against his shoulder.

"Tomorrow." His voice was muffled in your hair. "Sherry's already preparing everything."

You nodded slowly.

"Then tonight, you sleep with me. Holding us. And tomorrow… tomorrow you do what you need to do."

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes.

"I love you," he said, simply like that, as if those were the only words that mattered.

"I know." You touched his face. "And I love you too. Since the day I fell for a stranger who asked me for coffee with no bioterrorism."

"That was a terrible joke, wasn't it? You even said no."

"I was in the final days of my uni exams, Scott Kennedy." You laughed, squeezing his hand. "I don't know how many times I'll have to repeat that until you believe it wasn't a rejection."

"A lot of times," he smiled, closing the distance.

He kissed you then. Slow, soft, like he had all the time in the world. Like there was no virus, no investigations, no threats setting traps for him to follow. And yet, there, it was just the two of you.

And Hope, between you, insisting on existing.

When you finally went back to bed, Leon laid you down carefully, arranging the pillows behind your back like he knew you liked. Then he lay beside you, facing you, one hand always in contact with your belly.

"Tell me a story," you murmured, your eyes already heavy.

"What story?"

"Any story. About us. About how we met."

He laughed softly, the sound warm against your face.

"You already know that story."

"But Hope likes hearing it." You pouted slightly, stroking your belly. "Please?"

He was silent for a moment, and then he began.

"There was this random shop. I was buying some ready meal because I couldn't cook and I was sick of operational rations. And there was this saleswoman…"

"A very beautiful saleswoman," you completed, eyes closed.

"Very beautiful," he agreed. "Complaining about the payment system like it was the end of the world."

"For me, it was."

"And I thought: 'that woman is the most adorable thing I've ever seen in my life.'"

You smiled, sleep finally winning.

"And you just stayed there. Pretending there was something wrong with your card."

"I did. And it was worth every second."

His voice grew more distant as you drifted off. The last thing you felt was his hand on your belly, his lips on your forehead, and his voice murmuring:

"I'll come back. Promise."

And, for some reason, you believed him.

© 2026 KONALIS | all rights reserved. don’t copy my work or translations, and don’t upload them to other platforms. / cr: divider @uzmacchiato

[chilewithcarnage]

there is no discourse between gen z and millenials. we are siblings. come on lil bro, ill take you to amc. yeah we can go there early and play the arcade games before the movie starts.

[midlifecrisis2021]

Can we get popcorn and a drink to share :)

[chilewithcarnage]

we sure can buddy, we sure can

[microwaveabl]

Why do the two reblogs read like a soldier dying in their friends arms and talking about when they’ll get back home to give them a bit of comfort before they die

[snowy-icarus]

because have you seen the economy and society lately

[mbrickswrites]

Flying the Nest - Cooperative Parenting (Epilogue)

[Re9 Dad!Leon x fem!Reader]

Warnings: fluff with a little bit of smut, slice of life, mentions of pregnancy, tw!calorie counting, dad!Leon, married!Leon

Summary: Set fourteen years after the events of Cooperative Parenting, but can be read as a stand-alone pre RE9 Dad!Leon oneshot. Just pure domestic fluff, a little bit of smut. Slice of life with the chaotic Kennedys. Leon and Reader are both early 40s in this. 🌹

Masterlist

word count: 3.1k

Muscles were rippling under taut skin, droplets of sweat trickling down, being lapped up by the crevices emerging with every flowing movement. 

How Lottie didn’t get caught up in the athletic and technical demands of ballet and forget about her facial expressions was beyond you. Somehow she managed to make it look easy, relaxing, like she was a fairy dancing in a field of flowers.

Your eldest was like a perfectly trained government agent: highly focused, executing every movement with the utmost skill, using her body as a weapon. Out of all your children, she was the one most like Leon. 

The music stopped and you wiped away the tears that had formed in the corner of your eyes, clapping your hands in applause. 

Lottie, out of breath, let herself sink down from the tips of her pointe shoes and walked up to you. “Thank you, mom.” 

You pulled her into a hug. “I’m so proud of you. I don’t know if I tell you that enough.” 

She chuckled. “You do. All the time.” 

You squeezed her tighter. “Good. Because that’s my job.” 

Lottie shook her head. “You’re so much more than that,” she whispered.  “And you need to let me go, I‘m sweaty as hell.“

'Letting go' had been your trigger word recently. You inhaled Lottie‘s scent. Your little girl. All grown up. If you thought about it for too long, you would burst into tears again like every other night ever since she had signed the contract with the American Contemporary Ballet. 

“I’m just not ready,” you had sobbed into Leon’s chest. “When I look at her, all I see is my baby.” 

Lottie slipped out of your embrace, sinking down into the splits on the floor, stretching out her legs. 

“Mom, can you pass me my bag?” 

You did as requested and she rummaged for a gatorade and a granola bar. She also took out a notebook and a pen, checking the labels on her food and scribbling numbers onto the paper. 

“You know, I would really like it if you stopped doing that,” you said, sitting down beside her. 

She rolled her eyes. “I’m counting calories to make sure I eat enough to maintain my weight, mom. I’m not trying to lose any.” 

You sighed. "Are you sure?"

She looked at you like you had lost your mind, demonstratively stretching her upper body down to cup the soles of her foot.

“I worked really hard for the perfect ratio between weight and muscle so I can throw my leg up as quickly and as elegantly as possible. I’m not giving that up. Especially not with performance season approaching.” 

You grimaced. Lottie was being too hard on herself. Also exactly like Leon. Sometimes when you looked at your daughter, you saw him, twenty-one and determined to be the best cop the world had ever seen. You certainly hoped the American Contemporary Ballet in Los Angeles wasn’t anything like Raccoon City. 

“Are you nervous?” 

She crinkled her nose. “A little. New city and all that. I also hear the ACB runs a tight ship. We’ll see.” 

“Well, if it doesn’t work out, you can always come back,” you offered, not entirely selflessly maybe.

“Mom, you have to let me go,” Lottie said, smiling at you. “I’m the same age you were when you had me.” 

You blew out a breath. That was insane. To think you were Lottie's age when you had your first baby. You had felt young then, but seeing your daughter at that age made you realise how young you really were. 

“But I did a good job,” you murmured. “I did, right?” 

Lottie smiled. “Yeah, you did. And you still are. Even though Ollie is a handful.” 

“He’s fourteen. Being a teenage boy is hard,” you defended him. 

Lottie scribbled in her notebook. “I know, he’s making it everybody else’s problem too.” 

Back home, Leon was filling up a plastic tub of cold water and dumped a whole bunch of ice cubes in there.

You were fixing yourself a snack, while Lottie was sitting at the kitchen table, patiently waiting for her father to ice her feet. Anytime you told Leon he was spoiling his daughters, he would just shrug it off, smiling. 

“You know, if I didn’t know you have an IUD, I would get really worried right now,” he murmured, pointing his chin at your peanut butter, pickle and bacon sandwich. 

You shot him a dirty look. “Don’t yuck my yum.” You searched the counter top. “Where’s the mayo? Did you get new mayo?” 

“I did get mayo.” He chuckled, carrying the plastic tub over to Lottie. “It’s in the fridge.”

She hissed when her feet hit the ice water. 

“Is that good, or do you need more ice?” Leon asked, looking up at her. 

She shook her head, holding on to his shoulders. “No, that's just the right amount of painful, thank you.” 

You closed the fridge. “Leon, you did not get mayo.” 

He wrinkled his forehead. “I 100% did.” 

“Alright, then why is there no mayo in the fridge?” you asked. 

Lottie faked a gag. “Oh god, please don’t let it be Ollie. I don’t want to know what use a teenage boy could have for mayo.” 

As if on call, your son walked into the kitchen. 

“Ollie, did you take the mayo?” you asked. 

He shook his head. “Why would I take the mayo?” he asked, voice breaking. 

“I don’t know, probably for some gross stuff,” Lottie murmured. 

“Lottie,” Leon warned. “Leave your brother alone.” 

“Why am I the gross one? Your messed up feet are just out here in the open,” Ollie exclaimed, voice breaking even harder. "Blisters and everything."

“They’re dancer’s feet,” Lottie shouted. “And they’re more skilled than any part of you ever will be.” 

“Guys,” Leon said, stepping between the two. “It’s Lottie’s last weekend with us before she leaves for California. Can we not do that? Can we remember that we all like each other?” 

“I guess,” Ollie said, brushing his fringe out of his face. “If she stops being such a pain in the ass.” 

You clicked your tongue scoldingly. “Tell your sister you love her. In this house we don’t fight before people leave for a long time.”  

Ollie grumbled, sitting down at the table as well. “Love you, I guess.” 

“Love you too, sometimes,” Lottie replied, accepting an ice pack from Leon to put on her knees.

Your husband sighed, looking at you for advice. You shrugged. Close enough, you guessed. 

“Mom, are you pregnant again?” Ollie asked, looking at your sandwich. 

Leon snorted.

You narrowed your eyes on him. “You know, I feel like you of all people should be really quiet when it comes to pregnancy jokes, Leon.” 

“You were there too, right? At least that’s what I remember,” he murmured, pulling you into a hug from behind and kissing you on the cheek. 

“Ew, this whole family is so gross,” Ollie whined, burying his face in his hands. Lottie kicked him under the table. 

“I’m Oliver and I have the hardest life of all hard lives because my parents love each other,” Lottie said, imitating the timbre of her brother’s voice, it cracking and everything. 

He kicked her back. 

“Stop,” you hissed. “I’m being serious.” 

Your youngest daughter, Alva, the only one of your children you had actually planned for, came walking into the kitchen, mayo jar in hand. 

“Alva, what were you doing with the mayo?” Leon asked over your shoulder. 

Her eyebrows shot up. “Nothing?”

She opened the fridge to put it back, but you snatched it from her grasp unscrewing the top, checking the inside.

“That ‘nothing’ sounds suspicious,” you said, raising an eyebrow at her. 

She gnawed on her lower lip. “It’s the only material that mimics the behaviour of plasma” she whispered. “I was doing research on the Rayleigh-Taylor instability.” 

You blew out a long breath, exchanging a look with Leon. 

“Alva, what did I tell you about nuclear fusion research?” he said, face stern.  

She crinkled her nose, looking an awful lot like her older sister. “I know. But my curiosity is a gift, remember?” 

“All of our children are insane and I blame you,” Leon whispered into your ear, before taking the mayo from your hands.

It was early enough in the morning that nobody in the house was awake yet. Especially not on a Saturday. 

Nobody except you and Leon. But that was calculated. Because after three children, if you wanted to have sex with your husband, there were very limited time slots available to you. 

Saturday morning was by far your favourite one, because what better way to start your weekend than by having your face pressed into the mattress and your ass up, several inches of smoking hot husband pounding into you from behind. 

“Leon,” you moaned. 

“I know, baby,” he whispered, voice breaking into a helpless groan, picking up his pace. 

You heard a crashing sound from downstairs. Followed by a “Mom!” from Ollie. 

Leon brought your hips down, his chest flush against your back. Less skin slapping noises in this position. Being stealthy was a skill you had mastered by child number two. 

“Ignore it,” he whispered, breath fanning the shell of your ear. “They’re old enough.” 

He moaned and kept rutting into you, making you see stars. 

“Oh fuck, Leon,” you whimpered, his hand coming up to clasp yours, both your wedding bands clinking against each other with every one of his thrusts. On your other hand, your engagement ring glinted in the dim light. The diamond on it was so big, you had been worried to wear it out at first. An entire check of hazard pay had been blown on that.

“You feel so good, baby,” Leon breathed, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix and hitting every spot deep inside of you. 

You arched your back, tilting your pelvis so he could fuck you even more deliciously and his pace faltered, breath hitching in his throat. 

“Don’t stop, I’m so close,” you whined, a high pitched moan falling from your lips. Leon shushed you, muffling his own low groan by pressing his face into your neck. 

Your walls fluttered around him, gripping him even tighter and he whimpered, pushing into you harder. You cried out and he pulled a pillow down for you to muffle your sounds in.

“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna cum,” he grunted and you turned your head to the side, meeting his gaze. 

“Me too, you fuck me so good, I can’t—” the rest of your sentence turned into a loud moan, as you came apart. Leon pushed the pillow into your face, biting down on your neck to keep himself from announcing what you were doing to the entire house. 

A loud, obnoxious knock on the door cut through the thick atmosphere of the room. 

“Mom! Dad!” Lottie yelled. “Get out of bed and take care of the kids you decided to have. Just because I’m your oldest, doesn’t mean I’m a free babysitter.” 

You and Leon were both fighting for your lives, as he spilled into you, twitching and helplessly pushing himself in deeper, as you rippled around him, losing any sense of where you were for a moment. 

Another knock. “I’m being serious, your middle child is a lunatic. Get down to the kitchen.” 

Her steps sounded on the stairs, as she ran down and you plied the pillow from your face. 

“Holy fuck,” you panted. “That was close.” 

Leon let go of your neck, also desperately trying to catch his breath. “No, that was amazing. You’re so hot.” 

You bit your lip. After twenty years of being together, give or take, you expected you both to be less horny for each other. Nobody told you it would only get worse the longer you were married. Raising three children together also only made you fall more in love with Leon every day. It was insane. There was supposed to be a limit somewhere, right? 

“You know, I think with Lottie moving away, we should send the other two somewhere, too. For like a weekend,” Leon said, nose softly brushing yours. "So you and I have some free time."

“To do what?” you asked, biting back a grin. You knew exactly why he wanted the kids out of the house. You just wanted to hear him say it.

“So I can bend you over every surface in this house, Mrs. Kennedy,” he murmured, trailing kisses along your jawline. 

You chuckled, shimmying onto your back in his arms so you could face him properly and pulled him into an unrushed kiss. “I love when you call me that,” you whispered. 

He pressed his forehead to yours, eyes fluttering shut. “I fucking love you, do you know that?” 

You smiled. “I do.” 

Leon’s hands cupped your breasts, running his thumbs over your pierced nipples. “I also love that you got these redone after Alva. Best decision you ever made.” He drew in a sharp breath and bent down to slip one of your nipples into his mouth.

You whimpered. Your boobs had been really sensitive lately. You were probably getting your period soon.

“Not the best decision I ever made,” you whispered, brushing a strand of blonde-grey hair out of his forehead. 

“Oh yeah?” Leon said, voice muffled by your nipple. “Which one was the best then? Was it me?” 

Another crashing sound from downstairs made you both flinch. 

“I don’t know, maybe I should have reproduced with someone else. Our kids are clearly a danger to the public,” you sighed, waiting for the inevitable high pitched ‘Mom!’ to follow. 

When it did, Leon buried his face in your chest. “I’ll go. You deserve a shower without anyone wanting something from you.” 

“You know, I thought it would get easier once they were all out of elementary school,” you mused, massaging his scalp.  

Leon shook his head, sinking deeper into your body, his weight pressing you down into the mattress. “It really doesn’t.” 

“What's worse? Nightly feedings or teenagers?” you asked and Leon groaned. 

“The terrible twos,” he concluded and pushed himself off of you. 

You smiled knowingly. Deep down, you and Leon had loved every bit of it, temper tantrums, sleep or no sleep, all of it.

You rolled over to your side, shamelessly ogling your husband as he put on pyjama pants and a T-shirt. He had only been getting more attractive with age. His hair beginning to grey really did something to you.

You sighed, softly squeezing your breasts. After breastfeeding three children those were not the same, either. But Leon still couldn't get enough of them.

Anytime they would get tender before your period you wondered how much time you had left. It was funny, really. When you were young you hated getting your period, but now, likely hitting menopause in the next few years, it was almost something to be celebrated.

You bit your lip. “Would you ever do it all again?” 

Leon looked at you, coming up to cup your cheek. "I'd love to but I doubt we have time for round two right now."

You shook your head. "That's not what I meant."

You thought about when all your kids were small: three year old Ollie barely reaching up to the kitchen table, while you were nursing baby Alva. And Lottie, standing on a chair, helping her father flip pancakes for Sunday breakfast. 

"I meant..." You paused. "A baby."

Leon did a double take. "A baby? What do you mean 'a baby'? Another one?"

You shrugged. "Maybe? I don’t know. It’s just … it might be our last chance to have one. If we did want another." 

Leon sighed. “Are you sure this isn’t about Lottie flying the nest?”

You gnawed on your lower lip. You had been really emotional about that lately.

Leon pressed a soft kiss to your lips. "Can you imagine getting up every two hours to take care of a newborn? Because I can't."

“Maybe you're right,” you whispered. "I don't know where this is coming from all of a sudden. I think with Lottie leaving I'm just feeling extra maternal."

"We had a good run." He nudged your nose with his. "And we have three perfect children."

Another scream from the kitchen. Alva this time. Lottie joined in, trying to mediate between her younger siblings.

"I am going to put you both in a headlock. Try me," she threatened.

Leon grimaced. "I take that back."

He let go and rushed downstairs. 

You rolled back onto your back, staring at the ceiling. You really didn’t know where that had come from. Cognitively, you knew having another baby was probably a bad idea. You already had three and except Alva, they were pretty much out of the woods.

With Leon’s job especially, it would be a little unfair to bring another baby into this. You never knew if your domestic bliss would be abruptly cut short. Leon was happy he had been there for most of his kids’ milestones so far, a new baby might not get to enjoy all these things with their father. 

Not to mention that conceiving at forty-two was probably not an easy feat either. What if you settled on it and then it just didn't happen? Or something went wrong during the pregnancy? Leon was right. It was good the way it was.

But emotionally, you kind of wanted to do it all again. Experience it one last time with Leon by your side. 

This was only because your (not so) little girl was moving across the country. To the big city no less. Your worry probably got warped into something new along the way.

You felt a little queasy this morning, too. Maybe you were coming down with something and it all came to a head now.

You took a shower, enjoying the silence while Leon defused the crisis downstairs. You couldn’t have wished for a better husband. Whatever happened, Leon and you had always been one kick-ass team. 

When you walked downstairs your whole family was sitting at the table already, Leon having somehow managed to bring peace into the chaos. Three perfect children. A perfect husband. The smell of coffee and toast in the morning. What more could you want? Your heart was already full. 

If it weren't for that horrible sour smell that hit you as soon you sat down at the table.

“Coffee?” Leon asked and you nodded. A perfect life. 

You took a sip from your cup and grimaced. “Did you not get milk yesterday?”

“I did get milk yesterday,” Leon said. “One grocery run with the mayo.” 

Your forehead wrinkled and you pulled Alva’s half-eaten bowl of cereal out of reach. “Don’t eat that.” You pushed your cup over to Leon. “Smell that. Does that smell funny to you?”

Leon paused mid-chew and held your coffee to his nose, shrugging. He took a sip. “It’s fine, babe. It’s fresh milk.” 

“It’s not, it’s sour,” you insisted and swallowed, drawing in a sharp breath as you felt your mouth salivate.

"Are you okay?" Leon asked and you shook your head, trying to figure out if you were about to throw up or not. Something wasn't right. This wasn't normal.

Leon took another sip from your coffee to make sure it was alright, just to choke on it.

Your hand flew to your mouth and you stared at him, eyes wide when you put two and two together.

“That’s impossible,” Leon rasped, battling asphyxiation. “You have an IUD.” 

“Unless it dislodged,” you whispered. 

Leon shook his head, desperately. “But you would feel that, right? I—I would feel that during sex?” 

Ollie stopped chewing. “That is so gross.” He got up from the table, taking his bowl of cereal with him.

"Ollie, sit back down," Lottie said, pulling on his sleeve, but he yanked his arm away from her.

"I do not want to hear about mom and dad doing it. That's sick," he grumbled.

"What day is it today?" you asked Lottie, calculating.

"Saturday, the 17th," she replied.

Your head whipped around to Leon. "Oh my god."

"No." Leon pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Leon, I..." you started.

"Wait, what's happening?" Alva looked between you and Leon, looking for someone to explain this to her.

Lottie burst into laughter.

"Why are you laughing?" Alva asked, annoyed that everybody was ignoring her.

"I think I'm late, hold on." You reached for your phone, checking your calendar. Did you log your last period?

"Ew," Ollie whined, pressing his palms to his ears. "You're over forty, why are you still doing it?"

Did you have your last period? Technically that should have been around the time Lottie had signed her contract with the American Contemporary Ballet. Emotions had been at an all time high, Ollie had been throwing a fit because you were discussing buying your daughter an apartment in LA. He was set on also getting one, even though that was ridiculous and he didn't need his own apartment at fourteen. Sibling rivalry at its best.

On top of that, Alva had been preparing for a science competition at school, turning your entire house into a lab whenever you turned your back to her. It had been absolute chaos.

And most importantly that had been about six weeks ago.

"No, you're not late." Leon rubbed his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut. "You're just not."

"I am," you concluded, breathlessly. You were more than late. Plus, getting all emotional and teary eyed whenever someone mentioned your oldest leaving? Sore breasts, wanting another baby all of a sudden—the nausea?

"It could be something else, right? Very early menopause maybe?" Leon tried and you knew he was listing off the exact same things in his head.

"Leon, I don't think it is," you whispered.

Lottie had a hard time breathing through her laughing fit. "Three times? Are you guys for real?"

a/n: I just had to. Low-hanging fruit.

____

Tag list: @salem--bitch--trials @ordelixx @xx-anastasia-xx @like-gh0sts-in-sn0w @necrozlana @superunkn0wn @iceyyycapsicle @cherryc1nnam0n @genuinelystrangespirit @gabithefanwriter @hedonist-k1l @nicxl333 @cheesecakeghost @dyscalculiaaa @barryatsumu @nerdytowerwind @l0diluvs @mushythemushroom04 @firefoxkairan @toesucker59 @rubixgsworld @sl4t7 @sirenpearldust @leonsbride @mylifedoesntexist @typical-ukraine @kaitieskidmore97 @nearria @halohalona @ayyeitseve @fondlyfuriousstar @radioactive-ocha @maddieesthings @moraxswhore @otakusimp1 @motherfckerrr @alwayswabisabi @riddikulus-obsessions @shanana-banana15 @too-attached-to-fiction @ejk31 @yannieackerman @ineseuu @zaddywiththephatty @leonlover17 @g0atmansbridge182 @cranialwaves @blackholeina3duniverse @mh1103 @xoxomargaret @fondlyfuriousstar @stolengardeni4 @rosebynameow1 @miss-puregotti

[mbrickswrites]

Cooperative Parenting (part 14) – Village

[RE4 Leon Kennedy x fem!Reader]

Summary: You and Leon have been broken up for a long time but you still co-parent. After your daughter's seventh birthday party, things got a little heated. But it's fine, right?

Masterlist, part 13, epilogue

Notes: take this for your troubles 🌹Also I’m realising this was close to novel length. Holy shit.

word count: 3.5k

Warnings: none, happy ever after

They transferred you from the delivery room to the maternity ward and the first people you called were Rhonda and Lottie. Both of them were over the moon and ready to come see you. 

“Please bring some food. The hospital isn’t serving lunch for another two hours,” you pleaded and Rhonda chuckled. 

Not only did they bring food, they brought Javi too. And he brought his signature chicken tenders. 

“Javi’s special dip,” he announced, placing the plastic container in front of you. “And I made you a green smoothie. Full of iron, berries and all the good stuff.” 

“You’re the best,” you said and tore into the chicken, not caring how sweaty and gross you were.

Your body really felt like you had run a marathon. You were hungry, thirsty, and sore yes, but you needed to prioritise replenishing your energy resources before the high oxytocin wore off. 

Lottie was balancing on her tiptoes, button nose practically inside the crib, staring at her little brother. “So that’s him?” She didn't sound convinced. 

You chuckled. “Yeah, why? What did you expect?” 

“He’s so little. He looks like a doll,” she said, not tearing her eyes away from him. 

“You were even smaller when you were born,” Rhonda reminded both of you. “She was what, seven pounds?” 

You nodded, chasing your mouthful of chicken with the smoothie. “Just about.” 

“You did really well,” Javi said. “We’re all very proud of you.” 

“Thank you,” you whispered, pushing away the sensation of your eyes watering up and any thought of Leon. 

Rhonda watched you intently. There was nothing slipping past her. Four-time mother, one-time grandmother. She knew. 

“Where is Leon?” 

You sniffled, pressing your lips together to hold it in but on your next inhale you crumpled, collapsing like a house of cards. “I don’t know.” 

Rhonda pulled your head against her chest. “He’s not a cop, is he?” 

You shook your head, sobbing into Rhonda’s shirt. 

“Didn’t think as much,” she said, softly patting your head. 

“They don’t know where he is,” you choked. “They lost him.” 

Rhonda softly cradled you against her and you heard Javi distract Lottie with the baby. 

“Do you want me to help you take a shower?“ Rhonda asked and you nodded, trying to calm your breathing. 

Rhonda took your hand and helped you up from the bed. You winced, taking a moment to steady yourself and work through the dizziness.

Taking your first steps was hard, but you managed, ignoring the burning sensation between your legs. You were going to be tender for a while but you crossed your fingers for a speedy healing process. 

You sat on the shower chair while Rhonda let the warm water run over you, washing away all the tears, the exhaustion in your muscles, all the sweat and blood from labour. It was one of the best showers of your life. Especially when Rhonda started gently massaging your scalp while she was washing your hair and you felt like you were being mothered. 

When you felt like a human again, it was Rhonda who helped you out of the shower and handed you a towel. It was Rhonda who crouched down holding open the beautiful net panties with extra padding so you could step into them. It was also her who pulled them up so you didn’t have to bend over. 

When you came back into the room, there were flowers by your bedside and your favourite chocolates. 

"I'm so sorry."

Michelle stood in the middle of the room, hair disheveled like she had been running her fingers through it, awkwardly kneading her hands.  “I was horrible to you.” 

"Yeah, you were," you said. "Once I'm out of here you can explain to me what made you think you can talk to me like that. In front of my daughter, no less."

Michelle grimaced. You opened your arms, too tired for big words. Also because Michelle wasn’t all that high on your priority list right now. You had other things to be worrying about.

She hugged you and you stayed like that for a little while. 

"Congratulations, Mama," she whispered. 

“Thank you.” You smiled at her and she helped you back into bed. 

Just as you had gotten comfortable, Ollie started whining, calling for a second breakfast. 

Rhonda gestured for you to stay where you were and she lifted him out of the crib, softly rocking him with four-time mother expertise. 

“He’s a very pretty baby,” she said, placing him in your arms, your bra already undone, boob snack ready to go. 

“Thank you, I made him.” You smiled, latching him on. “From scratch.” 

Lottie crinkled her nose, climbing into bed beside you. You scooted over and watched her watch you breastfeed Ollie with genuine curiosity. 

“You’re a big sister now.” You nudged her. “How do you feel?” 

She shrugged. “Not that much different. I don’t know him yet. He doesn’t have much of a personality, does he?”

You chuckled. “He does, we just need to give him time to find it.” 

Lottie nodded, stretching out a hand toward him, squealing when he closed his hand around her little finger. 

“He has fingernails and everything,” she exclaimed, looking at you eyes wide. 

You nodded. “Everything. He’s a complete human.” 

Lottie was mesmerised. “I can’t wait for dad to meet him.” 

Silence sank over the room, thick and heavy. You felt sick to your stomach. 

When Ollie was done eating, Rhonda took him from you again. “You should sleep a little,” she said. “Me and Michelle will stay here and take care of nappy changes and whatnot. Javi will take Lottie back to school.” 

Lottie whined. “I don’t want to go back to school, I want to stay with mom.” 

“Your mom needs to rest,” Javi said. “Having a baby is really exhausting. Like what you feel like after ballet. But about ten times worse.” 

“Yes, but I want to stay with Ollie too,” she said. “I can help with everything.” 

Javi took her hand. “You can come back and help after school,” he said. “Come on.” 

Lottie frowned, but she ended up giving in, kissing both you and Ollie goodbye before walking out of the room with Javi. 

Michelle adjusted your pillows. “Sleep. If you need anything, we’ll be right here.” 

Your eyes were already closing, the hormonal high slowly wearing off exposing how tired you really were. 

You didn’t sleep long. Or well for that matter. Tossing and turning still, despite your exhaustion and your body’s desperate need to rest. You were dreaming of all the fucked up things that could have possibly happened to Leon, the last image flashing in your mind being of Lottie and yourself in matching black dresses, getting ready for his funeral. 

You jolted awake. Rhonda was next to you, grabbing your shoulder, rubbing it gently. “Your phone’s ringing,” she murmured and you groaned, grabbing your forehead, trying to find your way back into reality. 

You glanced at the screen. Hunnigan. 

“Hello?” you blurted out, gripping the phone tightly. 

“It’s me.” Leon’s voice nearly made you whimper. “I’m so sorry. I don’t even know what to say.” 

“Are you okay?” you asked, still on high alert. 

“Yeah,” his voice was thick and raspy, but he cleared his throat so you wouldn’t hear it, so you wouldn't notice he was lying. You did anyway. “And you? Are you okay?” 

You nodded. “Yeah,” you breathed, chin quivering. “We have a son. He weighs eight pounds. He's a healthy baby and everything's fine.” 

Nothing was fine. Leon wasn't there with you.

“You did so well, baby,” Leon whispered. “I—” he broke off. 

“How fast can you be here?” you asked, forcing a smile, wiping your tears away. 

Silence. “Two weeks.”

Your face fell. “Two weeks?” 

“They infected me with some kind of fucked up thing and there is no way I can bring that anywhere near you, Lottie or the baby.” 

You squeezed your eyes shut. You wanted to scream and beat whoever was responsible for this black and blue. Keeping Leon from you and Ollie right now was just cruel. 

“I’m sure he’s such a beautiful baby,” he whispered, close to tears.

"He is. He’s adorable," you whispered, sniffling. "I wish you could see him."

Two weeks. Two weeks alone with a newborn and a seven year old. While trying to heal from giving birth.

Rhonda took the phone from your hands. 

“Leon, Rhonda here.” She sounded like she was about to yell at him and you reached for the phone, but she turned away, out of your reach. 

“Listen, we’ll take good care of her. Don’t worry. They’re both in very good hands. We got it all covered until you come back.” 

You sobbed. Rhonda ended the call and hugged you again, stroking your hair. 

“When he missed the birth, I knew. Because there’s no way Leon would miss that for the world,” she whispered. “And don’t worry about the next two weeks, okay? I’ll be there, Javi will be there, Michelle will be there. We’ll all help. In fact, I think Javi is meal prepping for you as we speak.” 

Your breath hitched. “Thank you.” 

“This is your village,” Rhonda whispered. “We’re not leaving you.” 

Javi filled up your entire fridge with nutrient dense, healthy casseroles that you only had to whack into the microwave and they were ready to eat for both you and Lottie in two minutes. When your fridge was full, he filled up nearly the entire freezer too. Breakfast burritos, healthy muffins for snacking while you had a baby attached to your tit—anything you could want to eat, Javi had already made it. 

Michelle drove Lottie to school and ballet, requesting to work from home so she could be flexible and show up for you. 

And Rhonda, sweet sweet Rhonda, was there to help you with everything else. First and foremost, putting cabbage leaves in your bra until you smelled like a salad bar, changing nappies in record time and cleaning your house while you tended to Ollie’s every need. 

Postpartum wasn’t meant to be gone through alone. And even though Leon was still quarantining, you didn’t have to do it all by yourself. 

The only time you were alone was at night. It was also the time the house was quiet enough for you to think about how much you wanted Leon to be here. All you wanted to do was crawl under the covers and watch the time go by until he was. But if you wanted to function properly for your kids, you couldn't give in to that. 

Lottie was sleeping, Ollie too. Too deeply. You had tried to wake him up softly because your boobs felt like god damn boulders strapped to your chest—hard and painful, like they might burst if you did so much as touch them the wrong way. 

But Ollie wasn’t hungry. He was sleepy. 

So you sat down on the couch, strapping your breast pump to your chest, eating chips out of a bag while you watched your milk stream into the cups attached to the pump. 

“Moo,” you huffed, sinking deeper into the cushions.

Leon was supposed to be coming back tomorrow. His quarantine was close to done, and you couldn’t wait to have him here again, touch him, feel him and know he was alright. 

A key turned in the front door and you jumped. It was three o'clock in the morning. Who the hell could want something from you at this time? 

You fumbled for the breast pump, detaching it, spilling nearly an entire cup of milk all over yourself in the process.

"Shit," you cursed, trying to cover up and dabbing at your wet shirt at the same time. 

“Hey.” Leon’s thin voice made your heart both beat faster and cramp up. He sounded defeated. 

“Leon,” you breathed and he crossed the space to you inhumanly fast, wrapping you up in his arms, pressing you to him like he was scared someone would take you from him. 

You pressed your cheek to his head, inhaling his scent. He had made it back to you. You had made it too: Leon was home.

“Are you okay?” you asked, running your hands all over his upper body, looking for any sign of injury.

He shook his head, face buried in your neck, shoulders shaking. 

“My shirt's wet. I’m getting milk all over you,” you whispered, feeling the wetness of your shirt seep through his too. 

He didn’t say anything, he just gripped you tighter.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you asked softly.

He shook his head again, remaining silent, hot tears coating the skin of your neck. You threaded your fingers through his soft hair, just holding him against you like that for a while. 

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there,” he choked out eventually.

You pressed a kiss to his head. “You know, I kept telling Ollie to wait for you but he never listens to me.” 

Leon snorted, the sound morphing into a muffled sob. "Don't joke about this. Not right now. We're never getting that moment back."

He let go of the embrace, covering his eyes with his fingers, taking a shaky breath. "I wanted this to go differently. I was trying to get home before you went into labour."

You cupped his face, forcing him to look at you. He looked overspent, dark circles under his eyes, skin pale.  

“Do you want to meet your son?” you asked, offering him a small smile.

Leon nodded and you gently took his hand, guiding him to your bedroom where you were co-sleeping with Ollie. 

Your son was just waking up, tiny fists trying to escape the swaddle he was wrapped up in. You loosened the buttons and picked him up. 

“Hey baby,” you pressed a kiss to his cheek and he yawned. “There is someone who wants to meet you.”

Leon extended his hands, wordlessly and you placed Ollie into his arms. 

“I was worried I had forgotten how to do this,” he whispered, cradling Ollie to his chest, careful to support his head.

“And have you?” You smiled, already knowing the answer. 

He shook his head, staring at his son like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. 

“He’s so beautiful. You made a really cute baby,” he murmured.

“You helped.” 

“You baked the cookies, remember?” he whispered, looking at you. 

Ollie became a little uneasy, wailing softly. Leon gently rocked him. “Hey, baby. I know we’ve only just met, but I’m your dad.” 

Ollie blinked confused. “I get it, it's kind of a lot to take in right now.” Leon chuckled, pressing a kiss to his head.

“He smells so good. Why do they always smell so good?” he said, turning to you. 

You shrugged. “‘Cause he’s ours.” 

Ollie smacked his lips repeatedly.  

“He’s hungry,” Leon whispered and you had already pulled your top down, jumping at the chance, desperate to find some kind of relief. Leon gently placed your son in your arms, propping up the pillows on the bed so you could sit down to nurse.

Leon didn’t leave your side, his head resting on your shoulder. “I’m taking as much paternity leave as I can get. I don’t care who’s dying where, I’m never leaving you again.”

You pressed your forehead to his. 

“I already missed so much. Two weeks with a newborn is huge. Not to mention that you had to do all this by yourself.”

You shook your head. “Everyone in this house is happy you’re back. Lottie will lose her mind tomorrow morning.” 

He chuckled and it was the best sound you had ever heard. 

When Ollie was done, Leon put him back in the crib and moments later you were cuddled up against each other, Leon clinging to you like there was nothing that could take him away from you ever again. Your arms were wrapped around his head and he was pressed to your chest, listening to your heartbeat. It helped with the nightmares, he said.

You agreed. Because it helped with yours too.

You got about two hours of sleep like that before Ollie decided you had enough. 

“Stay, I’ll do it,” Leon murmured, yawning, but already getting out of bed. You sighed, pushing yourself up into a seated position, slipping your top off on one side, ready to have a baby put into your arms. 

A seasoned pro like yourself, Leon got you a glass of water from the kitchen after placing Ollie into your arms, knowing full well how dehydrating breastfeeding was. 

Ollie ate well. Technically, he should have been a happy baby.

He wasn’t.

Leon changed his nappies. Ollie still wasn’t happy, screaming bloody murder. 

You wanted to get up but Leon motioned for you to stay put, pressing a kiss to Ollie’s cheek, rocking him back and forth. “Go back to sleep, let me do this.” 

You knew Leon was exhausted. You also didn’t want to let him go either. But you were so sleep deprived, you fell asleep immediately after Leon left the room with Ollie. 

When you woke up the next time, you patted the bed, looking for Leon, but his side was cold. You shot up. Ollie wasn’t in his crib either. Fear surged through you and you rushed out of the bedroom, feeling for the lightswitch in the hallway. 

In the living room, in the dim leftover light spilling in you found Leon, sleeping on the couch, Ollie sprawled out on his bare chest, softly moving with Leon’s deep breaths. 

You tiptoed to the couch and crouched down, watching them for a while. Ollie looked like he felt completely safe even though he had only met this man a few hours ago. You wondered if he knew who Leon was. If he could feel it maybe.

You pressed a kiss to Leon's cheek and he jolted awake, disoriented.  

“Leon,” you whispered, stabilising Ollie. “You can’t sleep like that with the baby. It’s not safe.” 

“I know that,” Leon breathed, rubbing his face. “I wasn’t sleeping.” 

Ollie opened his eyes at the commotion, getting fussy then closed them again as he was being lulled back to sleep by Leon's heartbeat.

You smiled, gently stroking your boyfriend's cheek. “Did you sleep at all before coming here?” 

He shook his head, leaning into your touch. “Drove straight down. As soon as I got the all clear.” 

Ollie’s arm fell off Leon’s chest and he reached for it, putting it back into place, running a hand over his son’s soft head.

“Leon, what happened? Can you tell me?”

He shook his head. “I don’t want you to know. I‘m dealing with this so you don‘t have to. I want to keep it that way.”

You sighed. That was going to backfire. Way down the line. Nobody could keep all this bottled up forever. But that was a conversation for another day, when you weren't both so sleep deprived and had only just gotten each other back.

“How did you get back to base?” you asked instead.

He reached for you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers never leaving your skin as if he was scared you would disappear. “Guess who risked their life to save me from drowning.” 

You looked at him, shaking your head.

“Ada,” he whispered. “I was barely conscious because I had hit my head on something. She kept telling me I had to stay awake because I needed to come back home to you.”

You thought about what Ada had said to you at the diner. That Leon had a place to return to: you. And your children.

"I'm glad she did," you whispered. You didn't want to think about Leon almost drowning. He didn't. That was all that mattered.

“Me too,” he said, grasping your chin and pulling you in for a kiss. “I want to come home to you for the rest of my life.” 

Your breath hitched. 

“I didn't get a chance to look at rings yet since I was quarantined and as it turns out jewellers are hard to come by at this time of night.“

Ollie stirred, hiccupping, getting ready to make a scene. Leon gently moved him up on his chest, tucking his head under his chin, shushing him. Ollie took his dad's advice and his eyes fluttered shut again. 

"I have a baby," Leon whispered. "I don’t know if that counts or if it’s in bad taste, since he’s already yours?" 

You snorted. “Are you proposing to me with our son? Is that what's happening?”

“If you say it like that it sounds bad. I meant it in a very romantic 'we are meant to be' kind of way.” He chuckled. "But yes, marry me."

He whispered the last part, eyes finding yours, anxiously waiting for a response. Because you had turned him down last time.

If you said yes now, this would be your life. Not the times when Leon was home, but the times he wasn't, too. And everything that came with it: the anxiety, the baggage, the nightmares when he returned.

You buried your face in your hands, looking at Leon from in between your fingers.

"Yes," you whispered, lowering your hands. "I want you to come home to me for the rest of your life, too."

Leon captured your lips in another kiss. "I’ll get you a ring, I promise. A really nice one."

You smiled against his lips. "Just make sure you don't ever lose your wedding ring. Like you lose everything else when you're on duty."

He kissed you again, not a trace of humour in what he said next. "Never."

Your fiancé insisted on baby wearing all morning. He also insisted on going all out for breakfast: scrambled eggs, Lottie’s favourite cereal, fresh fruit, whatever he could find. You stopped him from making smoothies, knowing Ollie would scream the whole house down as soon as he heard the blender. 

“Should I go wake her?” Leon asked, gently checking on Ollie suspended in the wrap around his torso, cheek pressed flat against Leon's chest. 

You pursed your lips and shook your head. “I’ll do it.” 

You tiptoed into Lotties room, mischief dancing on your lips. “Lottie,” you crooned, and she stretched under the covers. “I have a surprise for you.” 

She yawned. “Mom, I told you, frozen yogurt was a phase. I'm not into that anymore.” 

You scoffed. “It’s way better than frozen yogurt anyway.” 

She shot up. “You got me a guinea pig,” she said. “Oh my god.” 

You shook your head. “Way better.” 

She narrowed her eyes at you, slowly pulling the covers back, climbing out of bed. “I don’t know if I trust you with surprises, mom. They’re usually really weird. Like Ollie.” 

You shrugged. “Go on into the kitchen and check for yourself.” 

Lottie stared at you for a bit. Then slowly backtracked through the hallway, pushing the door to the kitchen and living room open. 

Leon smiled at her from behind the kitchen counter. "I heard someone got promoted to big sister," he said and Lottie squealed, taking off like a shot, barreling into him. 

THE END

Thank you for all your incredible support! I loved writing domestic Leon like this and had the time of my life reading your comments about this fic. 💗💗💗

I'll be writing an epilogue set a couple years before RE9, so we'll get to revisit (not so) little Lottie and teenage Ollie.

I’d love to hear your theories about where they are 15 years later (I already know of course, but I’m just nosy like that). So please please let me know in the comments!!

Also if you want to know what I write next, I have a permanent tag list. So let me know if you’d like to be added. 💗

____

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[mbrickswrites]

Cooperative Parenting (part 8) - Cut the Show

Pairing: Leon Kennedy (RE4) x fem!reader Summary: You and Leon have been broken up for a long time but you still co-parent. After your daughter's seventh birthday party, things got a little heated. But it's fine, right?

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 9

Notes: I apologise for the damage done by part 7.

Comment to be tagged in the next chapter.

Make requests here. Don't be shy <3

WC: 3.1k

Warnings: some angst (we're not quite done yet), tw!bullying, Lottie having a hard time

Masterlist

Being a mother came with a lot of perks. There were the obvious ones like experiencing profound, unconditional love for a human being that you didn't even think was possible and witnessing your child's development which was truly magical at times. But there were also a whole bunch of very underrated perks that came with the job.

One of them being that you were incapable of hearing your own brain scream at full volume if your daughter did it instead. 

Like a banshee, hot tears falling from her eyes while you tried to rub coconut oil in her hair. She twisted and turned and you accidentally poked her eye, only making her cry more, breaking into a full tantrum the likes of which you hadn’t seen in at least four years. 

“Oh shoot, I’m sorry,” you apologised, reaching for her but she squirmed and crawled over to the other side of the couch, hugging a cushion tightly to her body. 

“Leave me alone.” 

You sighed, almost ready to cry with her. “Okay. But we’ll have to fix it at some point. So whenever you’re ready.” 

Lottie didn’t answer. She just sniffled and sobbed into the cushion, her whole body shaking. 

The doorbell rang and your eyes flicked over to the clock on the microwave. Five o’clock. 

“Shit,” you cussed, realising you had forgotten to text Leon that ballet was off the cards today. You rushed to the door and opened it. 

“Everything okay in there? I can hear you both from outside,” he said, watching you intently. No doubt also trying to figure out if you were okay after yesterday. You flinched, the image of him and Ada from the polaroid flashing in your mind like a jumpscare in a horror movie.

But another perk of being a mom was that, if you had to, you were able to shift into mom mode no matter what. There was nothing that could keep you from it. “You’re kind of walking into an active war zone right now.” 

He grimaced. “That’s … part of my job description actually.” 

“Come in,” you whispered, realising he didn’t walk in like usual, he was waiting for you to ask him to. 

“So, what’s going on?” he asked. You didn’t say anything, waiting for him to spot Lottie on the couch. His mouth fell open and he flipped back around to you. “What happened to her hair?” 

You swallowed, hard, grabbed his hand and pulled him into the kitchen, to give your daughter some space. “So, the big time art director called. From the Nutcracker.” 

Leon nodded, motioning for you to go on. 

“He says she’s very gifted and he wants her in his production.” 

“That’s great?” Leon asked tentatively, trying to put the pieces together, failing. 

You nodded. “It’s amazing, yeah. She’s over the moon, uhm.” You pressed your lips together. “She’s the only one who got the call. So this morning at school, Brinleigh—”

“Her best friend,” Leon clarified, frowning. “With the horrible mother.” 

You nodded again, throat closing up a little. “Yeah. She teamed up with the bullies at school. They jumped her and put chewing gum all over her hair. Then when Lottie was all shaken up about it, Brinleigh came in to comfort her,” you paused, trying to figure out a way to say this. “Offering to cut the gum out of her hair.” 

“And Lottie trusted her with it because she’s her best friend.” Leon’s face darkened. 

“Yes,” you choked, your heart breaking for your little girl. “Her mom says she only wanted to help.”

“Do you believe her?” 

“Not for a second. Lottie’s bleeding from her scalp in some places.” Leon ground his teeth, turned on his heel and went straight to the living room. Lottie saw him, peeled herself off the cushion and flung herself into his arms. He didn’t say anything, he just held her. 

“I’m gonna hunt that little bitch down,” he murmured.  

“She’s seven,” you said, rubbing your forehead, trying to find a way to fix this. And you weren’t talking about the hair. 

“She’s a psychopath. That was so calculated.” Leon motioned to Lottie’s patchy hair, half of it crudely cut off, the other half smeared with chewing gum. 

It was a humiliation ritual. And you wanted to snap every kid’s neck that was involved in it, but you could never say that out loud. 

“Dad, I’m going to be a mouse in the Nutcracker,” Lottie whispered. 

“I heard. Good job, baby. I’m so proud of you.” He pressed a kiss to her temple and tucked her head under his chin. 

“Thank you,” she sniffled, her face crumbling and she collapsed into Leon’s arms like a house of cards. An invisible hand squeezed your heart like a fucking juice press. 

“Can you stay here with her? I have to go to work. Late shift.” 

“Of course. I’ll see if we can find a hairdresser, too.” He checked his watch and sighed. “One that’s still going to be taking clients.” 

You reached for Lottie, gently running a hand over her head and brushing the longer strands of hair out of her face. “There’s coconut oil on the table. I’ve been trying to get the chewing gum out with it.” 

Leon looked at you. “I don’t think coconut oil’s going to do the trick here.” 

You bent down and pressed a kiss to Lottie’s cheek. She returned it. “I’m sorry I was being mean to you, mom.” 

“Already forgotten, Lottie. I love you.” 

“Love you, too.”

You got back up, grabbed your work bag from the kitchen table and threw one last lingering look at Leon and Lottie cuddling on the couch before you slipped out the door. 

The diner was completely dead. Which was boring on any other day, your shift dragging on forever and ever. But today it was insufferable. You wanted nothing more than to go home and be with your baby instead of polishing cheap stainless steel cutlery. 

And to make matters worse, no customers also meant you had an awful lot of time to spend inside your own head, ruminating about a certain someone.

“Javi, can I ask you something?” It was just him and you. There was no need for a second waitress at this hour. 

“We ran out of pickle juice,” he said, turning over a page in the newspaper he was reading.  

You snorted. “No, not that.” 

He leaned his whole torso on the counter, chin propped up in his hands, playfully kicking up his legs. “Is this about Leon?” 

“Stop.” You rolled your eyes, lifted up the whole container of cutlery and put it back in its place. You hesitated for a second, then flipped around to face him, hand firmly pressed into your hip. “Do you keep photos of people you’ve been fucking for later use? Is that like a guy thing?”

Javi shot you a stern look. “You went rifling through his stuff even though Rhonda told you it was a bad idea, didn’t you?” 

You cleared your throat. “Yes.”

Javi sighed and closed his newspaper. “Okay, what type of photos? Like framed and with little heart stickers on them or what?” 

“No, like,” you chewed your lower lip, “Sexy pictures. Porn, if you will.”

Javi drew in a sharp breath through his teeth, shrugging. “Ah man, I don’t know. Multiple people or just one person?” 

“Just one.” 

“It would be better if it were several different people, not gonna lie,” he bargained and you stretched out a hand toward him in agreement. 

“Right? Right? Because if he’s just horny, I would get it but this seems kinda personal.” 

Javi clicked his fingers and leaned toward you. “Okay, crazy idea. Have you tried talking to him? You know, share your thoughts and feelings, voice your insecurities, give him a chance to react and you know,” he held up his hands in front of his face and interlaced his fingers slowly. “Connect to him on a deeper level instead of jumping to destructive conclusions?”

You frowned. “No.” 

“Yeah, no I wouldn’t do that either, you’re so right.” He shrugged. 

“Are you making fun of me?” 

Javi pushed himself off the counter and walked back into the kitchen. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Then why does it feel like you’re making fun of me?” you called after him. 

“Customer,” he called back and you straightened out your apron, facing the door. 

The next time you saw your daughter, she was sporting a full-on pixie cut. She stood in the door, hands clasped behind her back, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet, barely able to contain her excitement. Relief washed through your body. So they had found a hairdresser and at least gotten the visual part of it sorted. The short hair made her look even more like her dad. 

Leon rushed to Lottie’s side. “I was going to put her to bed, but she wanted to wait up and show you herself,” he said, as if you’d lash out at him for letting her stay up past her bedtime after a day like this.

You gently patted Lottie’s head. “You look fierce,” you said, examining the hairdresser's skilful work. No patches to be seen, it was a stunning cut, really.

Lottie practiced a shockingly intense stare: brows drawn together, chin jutted out, lips pursed. 

“I feel fierce.” 

You smiled.

A smirk crept up on your daughter’s lips. “Fuck yeah.” 

“Lottie!” you and Leon exclaimed at the same time, but she was already speeding off toward the bathroom. 

“I’m brushing my teeth and then I’m going to bed,” she trilled, as if that would get her out of trouble after swearing like a sailor. 

Leon chuckled. “You did great with her.” 

“Don’t pretend like you’re never around,” you said softly. “That’s just not true.” 

Taking advantage of the tender moment, Leon snaked his arms around your waist but you tensed and he immediately let go. 

“Don't. I need to ask you something," you murmured, remembering what Javi had said earlier that day. That talking might be a good idea.

Leon's brows furrowed, trying to figure out what was coming.

“After we had just broken up, Lottie had that really high fever that wouldn’t go down. Do you remember that?”

His jaw worked. “Why are you asking me that?”

“Lottie was so little and it was all so scary. I really would have needed your help but you didn’t pick up your phone. Was that because you were busy fucking Ada?” 

He was searching your face for mercy, finding none. “Yes,” he said, voice flat. 

You nodded, looking back toward the direction Lottie had run off to. It was what you had expected him to say but actually having it confirmed was a whole different beast. You felt like a stranger in your own skin.

“That was all I wanted to know.”

He drew in a heavy breath. Opened his mouth. Closed it again. Lifted his hand. Let it fall back down to his side. “I don’t know how to say this.” 

“Then don’t. I told you, that was all I needed to know.”

“No, it's not.” He cut in, grabbing your shoulders forcing you to face him. You stared at him. Leon wasn’t one to lose his composure like that and it caught you off guard. 

“I was so in love with you. And I was so scared that something like Raccoon City would happen to you or Lottie and I wouldn’t be able to protect you. I had just learned what kind of fucked up shit is out there and I was training for it all day every day. Do you know what that was like?” 

You kinda got an idea of what it was like, alright. When he was about as good at sleeping through the night as a newborn, waking up in a cold sweat every couple hours.

“Coming home to you was like being in a parallel universe or something. Whenever I was with you, life was just so,” he drew in a shaky breath, “soft. I had to protect that softness at all costs. I didn’t realise I wasn't protecting shit until you broke up with me.” 

You pressed your lips together. “And then Ada came in and you just thought fuck it?”  

“Honestly? Yeah. Because why the hell did that matter anymore? I knew I had failed. At everything that was important to me. When you called, I didn't realise it was about Lottie. I just thought it would help me get over you. That's all it was." "Is it?" You let out a shaky breath. "Is that really all it was?"

He ran a hand through his hair. “Why are you bringing up Ada now of all times? This is about yesterday somehow, isn’t it?” 

You squeezed your eyes shut. “I found the polaroids.” 

“What polaroids?” He was searching your expression for an answer and your face fell. You saw it in his eyes clear as day. He genuinely had no idea what you were talking about.

“The ones that you and Ada took while, you know.” You made a vulgar gesture. 

Leon’s brows shot up. “Holy shit, where did you find those?"

You thought back to Michelle’s quadrants and the two left remaining, hesitating to answer him. “They’re in your nightstand,” you whispered eventually.

Leon didn’t miss a beat. “You went through my nightstand? What were you looking to find?”

“A gun,” you mumbled, looking at your feet. “I wanted to see if you still kept one in there.” 

“Fuck no. After Lottie found the 9mm, I swore I would never do that again,” he said, voice breaking. “You know that.”

You pressed your teeth together so hard, you thought your jaw might snap, mentally hearing Michelle’s pen clicking, as she crossed out both quadrants, 'Nightstandgate' and 'ADA WONG'.

“Why did you do it?” Leon’s voice was sharper, the corners of his mouth twitching as he scowled at you. 

Only cowards ran. You took a deep breath. 

“I want to keep the baby and I want to be with you again. But I was worried we’d break up the same way we would before, so I  wanted to make sure we wouldn’t have a screaming match again over guns in nightstands.” 

“In order to have a relationship with someone, you kinda need to trust them, don’t you think?” he huffed and your heart dropped.

You added a note under all four quadrants in your mind. 'Trust issues', circling it twice and adding an exclamation point.

You were so caught up in figuring out whether or not you wanted to get back with Leon, that you forgot to consider if he would want to be with you, too.

He shook his head. “And concerning me and Ada, we were never a thing to begin with. Those photos, they’re ancient. You found them in my bedside drawer because I forgot they were even in there. I don’t use them or anything like that. It was just a thing that we used to do. There were no feelings in it whatsoever.” 

You looked up at him. He looked so repulsed. As if he was disgusted by how little you obviously trusted him. “I should have talked to you first,” you whispered.

“Before going through my stuff?” he snapped, avoiding your gaze. "You think?

A loud banging sound came from Lottie's room and you flinched. "I'm in my bed, I'm not doing anything." Her voice was muffled.

You sighed, rubbing your forehead. "I'll go check on her."

"I should probably get going," Leon murmured and white hot pain shot through your chest.

You nodded, mechanically. "Yeah, maybe."

You didn't stick around to watch him leave because you feared that you would crumble completely, if you would. This was all too much. Too much mess to work through for two people. Maybe it was just finally time to let each other go. It was a bad idea that you had started hooking up again in the first place. It was better to keep things the way they were. Separate.

Lottie was in fact in her bed when you reached her, but her small bookcase was tipped over, books everywhere. You sighed, having no energy to flip it back up.

"How did you even manage to do that?"

"I wanted to get the book from up there," she whispered, pointing at an edition of Grimm's fairytales at the very top. "I wanted dad to read me a bedtime story. But I could hear you talking so I wanted to do it myself."

"Your dad just left, sweetheart," you said, pulling her duvet up a little higher to cover her shoulders.

"Oh," she breathed. "In that case nevermind."

You gently stroked her cheek and pressed a kiss to it, your heart growing even heavier. "Good night, honey."

"Today was a stressful day," she whispered. "I'm glad it's over."

A bitter smile tugged at your lips. "Me too."

You left the bookcase as it was, making a mental note to get to that first thing tomorrow, switched off all the lights and slipped out of her room.

Running a hand over your face, you leaned against the wall adjacent to Lottie's room for a moment. So this was it then, huh? You had finally capitulated to the idea that if you and Leon were meant to be, you would have probably figured it out by now.

"What book did she want me to read her?"

You gasped, startled to see Leon stand in the hallway. "You're still here," you whispered.

He nodded.

"Grimm's fairytales," you said, heart hammering in your chest. He slowly closed the space between you and cupped your face with one hand.

"Classic choice. I respect that."

"Why didn't you leave?" you breathed, involuntarily leaning into his touch.

"I don't want us to fight because of things left unsaid," he whispered. "I want us to get over ourselves and do this properly."

Your pulse was rushing in your ears and you weren't sure if you heard that right.

"And I didn't want to leave without kissing you goodnight. If I'm allowed?"

Your gaze dropped down to his lips and you nodded. "Yes, you're allowed."

He leaned in and pressed his lips to yours, softly, unrushed. Like he'd be getting a lot more opportunities to kiss you soon. You melted into his touch.

"We can talk about everything else tomorrow, but this was important to me before I leave."

____

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