Summary — Seeing his daughter stand in the corner with the world’s most dramatic pout on her face, Leon’s heart instantly melted beneath his ribs. Naturally, he decided to take matters into his own hands and convince her mother; his wife, aka you to let her go.
But, things didn’t exactly go according to plan, because somehow the DSO agent himself ended up standing in the corner right beside his daughter… with fifteen extra minutes added onto his punishment for “interfering.”
Yet as you watched your husband and daughter quietly giggling together while supposedly being punished, warmth spread through your chest despite yourself, and in that moment, you realized your family was absolutely adorable and ridiculously yours.
note : the idea is inspired from reels that has been going around where "daughter is being punished" and dad comes to her rescue just to get the same punishment too xD
“Fiiiiine,” Luna dragged the word dramatically, the pout on her tiny face growing bigger as she stomped her little feet all the way toward the corner of the living room while clutching her teddy bear tightly against her chest like she had been sentenced to prison instead of a timeout. As she finally reached the corner she stood there dramatically facing the wall.
you had to physically bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing. Like cmon’ who can resist those red puffy cheeks, formed in dramatic pout. You absolutely could not.
She looked adorable.
And your heart instantly squeezed painfully beneath your ribs from how much you loved her.
But no. Nope. No. Absolutely not.
This adorable menance child had been told at least seven times not to draw on the walls, and yet somehow the living room currently had a giant crayon drawing stretched across it anyway.
The funny part? The drawing looked suspiciously familiar. You sighed deeply and crouched near the wall with a wet duster in your hand, beginning to wipe away Luna’s latest act of artistic rebellion.
“She is exactly like her father,” you muttered under your breath, as you started to rub the walls with the duster.
Right on cue; as if Leon across the city heard his daughter getting punished, he came home.
The floorboards creaked softly behind you, and before he even spoke, you already knew Leon was home. Then came his voice “Hey, honey—” Warm and smooth that slipped straight past every barrier around your heart, making something deep in your chest squeeze painfully with familiar warmth.
“DADDY!” Luna gasped dramatically from the living room corner like a victim finally seeing her rescue arrive.
You immediately pointed the duster toward Luna without turning around. “Nope. Stay there.”
Luna groans immediately and before you could form any other sentence; Leon walked fully into the living room looking completely confused, car keys still dangling from his fingers. “Wow, okay… what exactly is happening here?”
You continued scrubbing the wall without turning to look at your husband. “Your daughter is being punished.”
“Honey, our daughter,” Leon corrected automatically.
You snorted instantly. “Not today, today she is your daughter.” you dramatically emphasised the word “Your”.
Leon blinked once and twice; then you stopped wiping the wall and turned slightly to look at him; and you realize he looked ridiculously good for a man who was out in danger; his blue eyes were locked on yours as he gave you a biggest grin before looking toward Luna who was standing sadly in the corner hugging her teddy.
And the moment Leon’s eyes landed on his daughter, you instantly knew you were doomed. His entire expression softened almost immediately, blue eyes melting with warmth as he looked at her standing dramatically in the corner. Leon Scott Kennedy had absolutely no resistance when it came to his daughter as he pocketed his keys. “Aw, c’mon,” he complained softly pushing the keys deeper inside his pocket, “Why’s she in the corner?”
“Because,” you replied slowly, turning your attention back towards the wall as you start wiping it again but god the stains were as stubborn as your husband; “someone decided the living room needed redecorating.”
Leon frowned slightly before his eyes drifted toward the wall. His brows narrowed at the scene but as he took in the drawing and all he could mutter was, “…Oh.”
The wall was covered with giant crayon drawings stretched messily across the paint. Basically there was a stick figure who had blond hair, and in his hand a very large gun; and big sunglasses on him covering his eyes; oh she also added a stupid grin that your husband always wore.
Exactly that was your husband; drawn by your six year daughter.
Leon stared at the drawing for a second too long before his shoulders suddenly twitched, and then he started laughing almost instantly.
“Oh, this is—” he exclaimed excitedly, clearly far too impressed by the situation.
You narrowed your eyes immediately. “Don’t.”
Leon looked at you innocently. “I didn’t even finish my sentence.”
“Don’t you dare help her,” you warned, pointing the duster at him with exaggerated strictness despite the smile threatening to betray you.
Luna slowly turned her head from the corner. “Daddy?” she called softly, her tiny voice so pitiful it made your chest ache with sympathy, forcing you to quickly turn your attention back toward the wall before your resolve completely crumbled.
Leon at his daughter's voice walked closer toward her before crouching slightly beside her dramatically. “Yeah, baby?”
“I’m innocent.” Luna complained.
“Mhm, sure” you mutter under your breath.
Leon coughed into his fist to hide his laugh, then whispered toward Luna like he was part of a secret FBI operation. “So, you drew me?”
Luna whispered loudly back, “Yes.” “With your gun and sunglasses.”
Leon voice turned impressed as he pointed toward the wall proudly. “That’s actually kinda—”
“Leon.”
“—detailed,” he finished weakly.
You slowly stood up from the floor holding the wet duster in your hand while staring directly at your husband.
Leon immediately raised his both hands slightly. “Okay, in my defense—”
“There is no defense.” you said.
“She captured me perfectly!” Leon exclaimed.
“She vandalized the wall.”
Leon looked toward Luna again. Luna looked back at him with the saddest expression she could possibly create.
As you see them exchange unsaid words you realized it was absolute manipulation. GOD. These two truly shared the same DNA.
Leon sighed dramatically. “Honey… maybe let her off with a warning?”
You stared at him and scoffed, “You know what?” you said.
Leon immediately knew that tone. “…What?”
“You can stand there too.” you said firmly.
Leon blinked at you in confusion. “What!?”
“You heard me.” you said crossing your arms in front of your chest.
Luna gasped loudly from the corner. “DADDY’S GETTING PUNISHED TOO!?”
Leon pointed at himself in disbelief. “For what!?”
“For interfering.”
“I was negotiating!”
“You were encouraging her!”
“She’s creative!”
“She drew you on the wall!”
Leon looked genuinely touched and smiled turning towards Luna, and speaking proudly “That’s my girl.”
“Corner. Now. Leon. Scott. Kennedy”
Leon stared at you like you had personally betrayed him, but he also knew when you said his full name he was in big; big; trouble.
“That’s insane.” leon scoffed dramatically.
“Nope.”
“This is abuse.”
“You get fifteen minutes.”
“WHAT?!”
Luna giggled from the corner and chirpily said, "Daddy I only got ten!”
Leon placed a hand dramatically over his chest. “This is unfair.”
You raised your brow at leon; “If you want to intervene, then you take the punishment too.”
Luna immediately reached her tiny arms toward him. “Daddy, come here.”
Leon sighed heavily like a man accepting defeat before finally walking toward the corner beside his daughter.
But instead of standing normally and holding her hand; this absolute silly man bent down, and picked Luna up, making her teddy fall onto the floor with a soft thud and slowly leon settled her onto his shoulders.
“Leon!”, you gasped, seeing him picking your daughter.
“What?” he asked innocently while Luna burst into giggles above him, her tiny hands clutching tightly into his blond hair.
“We’re still being punished, mommy,” Luna whispered happily.
“exactly, baby,” Leon whispered back. “But now we are both being punished, the more the merrier.” Leon chuckles grimly, as he says that.
You stared at them quietly in utter disbelief, the two of them standing in the corner. Luna giggling uncontrollably. Leon trying not to laugh at himself.
Both of them acting like the timeout corner was some kind of family bonding experience. While you crouched there again; wiping the rest of the crayon off the wall, occasionally glancing at both of them; and your chest softened painfully at the sight before you.
Your husband standing there with your daughter perched on his shoulders. Her little laughter filled the room.
Leon glances back at you with the tiniest smile tugging at his lips as he mouths; “I love you, honey”, like you surprised him with something precious he always wanted and despite the “punishment." They both were actually happy.
And despite yourself, you shook your head as a quiet laugh slipped past your lips, your heart filling with a kind of warmth and love that felt almost too big to hold inside your chest.
“Fine,” you sighed softly and stood up; turning your attention towards them. “Punishment’s over.”
The second the words left your mouth, Leon grinned triumphantly before lifting Luna off his shoulders and pulling her tightly against his chest, making her burst into happy giggles. Then slowly, the two of them made their way toward you together.
And the moment they reached you, Leon didn’t hesitate. One arm stayed wrapped securely around Luna while the other slid around your waist, pulling you into him effortlessly until all three of you melted together in one tangled embrace. Instantly, Leon’s familiar scent surrounded you, warm woodsy cologne mixed with the lingering cold from outside, so achingly familiar it made your chest tighten.
Luna laughed softly between both of you while her tiny arms wrapped around your shoulders, and Leon rested his chin lightly against the top of your head for just a second. And in that moment, holding both of them close like this, you realized something that settled deep into your soul with absolute certainty.
SUMMARY: Being a single mother was hard, being a single mother with Leon S. Kennedy as your baby daddy was even harder OR you mistake his protectiveness as rejection.
You stood outside your parents’ front door far longer than you meant to.
For a moment, you considered turning around, disappearing, hiding yourself away for the next seven months until the baby was born. Or… you could have knocked, faced it, and been done with it.
But it would have been easier to run and hide, wouldn’t it?
Fingers lingered over the handle, hesitating. A fierce, unsteady rhythm thudded in your chest, as if your heart might give out under the strain. You had rehearsed what to say a hundred times, or more, but now, standing there, every word slipped through your grasp. Never had you felt so unprepared to face them.
Still, you knocked on the door.
The door opened almost immediately. Your mother stood there, surprise flickering across her face before it softened into a warm, familiar smile. “Oh! Hey, baby. You didn’t say you were coming.”
Inside, your father sat at the table, turning a page of the newspaper with quiet ease. He glanced up only briefly. “Hey sweetheart. Is everything okay? His eyes lingered on you a moment longer. “You’re looking a little pale.”
The question nearly drew a laugh from you.
No, daddy. I feel like I’m about to puke my guts out. You told yourself.
“Um… I needed to talk to you,” you said, your voice tighter than you intended.
Your mother’s expression shifted, a faint crease forming between her brows. “What’s wrong, baby? Did something happen?”
You swallowed hard, throat dry. “Could we sit down? It’s serious.”
That was enough to pull your father’s attention fully away from the paper. His brows drew together, concern settling in his face. The room seemed to shrink around you, the walls pressing in as though they might swallow you whole.
You sank into the chair across from them, hands twisting together in your lap, fingers worrying the hem of your skirt without thought.
Say it.
Just say it.
“I know this is not what you wanted from me, believe me. I-I understand if you’re disappointed. There’s no easy way to say this, so…” You were rambling, your words faltering from the anxiety, but you forced them out anyway. “I’m… pregnant.”
Your mother blinked, as though the words hadn’t quite reached her. “You’re… what?”
“I’m pregnant,” you repeated, softer this time, unsettled by the emptiness in their expressions.
Your father reached up and slid his glasses off, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he tried to process what he’d just heard. “Is this some kind of joke?”
You shook your head. “It’s not a joke,” you said, though your voice trembled despite every effort to steady it.
A sharp edge crept into his tone. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
Your chest tightened painfully. “I know it’s not convenient, but-”
“Not convenient?” your mother cut in, her voice snapping in disbelief. She stepped forward, getting closer to you. “You’re barely twenty two! You’ve just thrown your entire future away!”
“It might look that way, but-”
“You’re not even married!” she went on, her voice rising with each word. “What were you thinking? Is he going to take responsibility? Oh, good Lord!”
Each sentence landed hard, one after another, leaving no space to breathe or to even reply. You felt like a child again, getting punished for misbehaving.
“It’s not what I had in mind either, but I’m going to handle it,” you said, the words coming out smaller now, fragile at the edges. “Don’t worry, and yes, the father will be in the baby’s life.”
“Handle it?” your father scoffed, lowering his hand from his face, his glasses still held loosely between his fingers. “You can’t even handle your own life right now. Should I remind you that we’re still paying your rent, and your groceries? What about college? All that money we’ve spent on your education, was it for nothing?” His voice hardened, disappointment settling in. “I’m very disappointed in you, young lady.”
That cut deeply into your heart.
Nothing ever hurt quite as much as disappointing your father. Your mother, well, you had expected the shouting, and the fussing. But him… you had counted on something different, a hard truth softened with reassurance. You had imagined he would tell you it wouldn’t be easy, but that he’d still be there, that somehow, the two of you would figure it out.
“You’re too immature for this,” your mother said, pulling you from your thoughts. “You don’t understand what you’re getting into.”
“You’re right, but I’m trying,” you insisted, even as your hands trembled in your lap. “I’m trying to figure it out.”
“No,” your father said flatly. “You’re just ruining your life before it’s even started.”
Your throat tightened, your vision blurring as you blinked hard, refusing to let the tears fall. You weren’t about to let them have the satisfaction of seeing you cry.
“I didn’t come here to be attacked. I just thought you might want to know,” you said, your voice unsteady, threatening to break at any moment despite your effort to keep it firm.
For a brief second, something flickered across your mother’s face. She saw it then, how scared you were, but it vanished as quickly as it came.
“We care about you,” she said, her tone cooling once more. “That’s why we’re telling you the truth.”
It didn’t feel like the truth.
It felt like rejection.
You pushed yourself to your feet, the chair scraping softly against the floor, the sound far too loud in the tense silence.
“I should go,” you murmured.
Life went on, but it carried a permanent ache in your heart.
Each day followed the same monotone routine: waking up, going to work, coming home, and sleeping. The routine was steady, and was numbing, if you were being honest.
The only real human interactions you had were with your coworkers, it was enough to fill the silence for a while. Your friends had been there in the beginning, excited and supportive; but as the weeks passed, their lives kept moving forward without you. New careers took off, their futures stretched ahead in open paths that didn’t include prenatal vitamins, or pushing through waves of morning sickness just to make it through the day. They checked in when they could, but their lives kept moving forward, pulling them in different directions. You couldn’t blame them for that, but it didn’t make the silence any easier to bear. If anything, it only deepened the isolation you were feeling inside, a quiet reminder that you were supposed to be experiencing all of that alongside them, not apart from them.
With your parents, things were much more complicated.
You had tried to reach out again, hoping maybe they would come around after having some time to think about it, but every attempt had been met with the same cold resistance. Eventually, their rejection became too much for you to bear, so you stopped trying.
The world seemed to move on without you. Everyone else kept going while you stayed right there, collecting dust.
Was it supposed to feel this lonely?
Your only real anchors to life had been the doctor’s visits, the moments you got to see your little peanut, and the scarce calls and messages from Leon, whose assignment had been extended, much to both his and your regret.
A lot had changed since he’d left, he had kept his promise and tried to communicate with you as much as he could; sometimes it was just a brief text saying “I’m alive.” Other times, the calls came through a kind woman named Ingrid, who always sounded a little apologetic about the extension. Still, she remained patient and reassuring, answering your questions about Leon’s whereabouts as best as she could, offering what little comfort she was able.
It felt like communicating through a messenger pigeon, Sometimes his words reached you through her; other times, yours were passed back the same way. But it didn’t matter how or when the messages arrived, his concern was always palpable.
How are you doing?
Are you eating?
Take it easy, ‘kay?
You could almost picture him with a soft smile, the faint lines at the corners of his eyes that formed whenever he was smiling.
The idea of Leon smiling to himself while texting you filled your chest with a warmth you couldn’t explain. You hadn’t wanted to admit it, but little by little, he had found his way back into your heart. Every time his name appeared on your screen, the loneliness weighing on your chest eased, if only for a moment. Somehow, when he was hundreds of miles away, Leon still knew how to make you feel close to him, and in those brief moments, the distance between you seemed to disappear entirely.
Still, it felt like falling for someone in the cruelest way possible when he was worlds away, far beyond your reach.
Was it just the hormones, magnifying every emotion until they felt impossible to ignore? Or had his attention become one of the few steady things in your life, the one thing that still made you feel grounded?
A sudden buzz from the nightstand pulled you from the endless spiral of your thoughts.
You blinked against the dim light of your room, momentarily disoriented, your mind still heavy with everything that had been sitting on your chest for weeks. For a second, you thought about letting the call ring out. Then your eyes landed on the screen.
Leon
You grabbed the phone quickly, fingers clumsy as you answered.
“Hello? Leon?” you asked, your breathing uneven from more than just surprise.
“Hey, sweetheart. It’s been a while.” The sound of his voice melted through you instantly, the fuzzy feeling was back, and it made your chest ache in a good way.
“You called yesterday,” you replied, trying for sarcasm, though the smile pulling at your lips ruined the effect completely.
A soft chuckle came through the speaker.
“Like I said,” he murmured, his voice rough with exhaustion and something gentler underneath, “it’s been a while.”
You shook your head against the pillow, unable to stop the quiet laugh that escaped you.
“How are you?” you asked softly. “Is everything okay? Are you okay?”
“Yeah, actually.” There was a brief pause, and somehow you knew he was smiling. “Are you home?”
“Yeah,” you answered, glancing around your dark room. “I was lying down, I’ve been really tired lately.”
His voice softened even more when he spoke again.
“Would it make you feel better to know I’m on my way to your place?”
“What? Are you for real?” You sat up so fast you nearly tangled yourself in the blankets.
“Just landed about two hours ago.”
And there it was again, that unbearable warmth spreading through your chest, so sudden and intense it almost brought tears to your eyes.
“I’m warning you,” you said, trying to sound casual even as excitement bubbled through your voice, “I look a little different now.”
“Oh?” he murmured, amused already.
You glanced down at yourself before letting out a small laugh. “Yeah. I’m… uh, significantly rounder than the last time you saw me.
A quiet breath sounded through the phone, soft and warm, and you could practically picture the smile spreading across his face.
“Can’t wait to see you,” he said.
The knock on the door came sooner than you had expected.
You barely had time to make yourself presentable. Your hands moved quickly, nervously smoothing your hair and adjusting your clothes before you caught your reflection one last time in the mirror.
Your heart pounded as you made your way to the door, every anxious thought in your head tangling together so tightly you could barely breathe around them.
And then you opened it. All the noise in your mind, all the worry and the loneliness you had been carrying for 2 months since you had last seen him vanished the second your eyes met his.
Leon stood there quietly, his gaze fixed on you. His eyes moved over you slowly, carefully, as though he was trying to take in every detail he had missed over the past months all at once, trying to make up for all the time he had spent away from you. And when his eyes lingered on the gentle curve of your stomach, something in his expression softened so visibly it almost shocked you since he wasn't big on showing emotions so openly.
You immediately noticed how tired he looked. There were faint purple shadows beneath his striking blue eyes, and a foreign tension lingered in his shoulders. You also noticed he wasn’t wearing his usual leather jacket, something about that making him seem strangely more approachable. Then that familiar smile slowly found its way onto his face, small and just a little sarcastic, but filled with unmistakable fondness.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he murmured, like the words belonged only to you.
Your throat tightened unexpectedly. “Hi, long time no see,” you managed softly.
The smile on his face deepened just a little at the sound of your voice, and for one fragile moment, standing there beneath the dim light of your apartment doorway, everything felt like it was finally going to be alright.
“Please, come in.” You gently grabbed his arm, pulling him inside your apartment before he could even properly step through the doorway.
“Sit wherever you want. Do you want something to drink?” You barely gave him a chance to answer before your words started tumbling out again. “I have water, soda… uh…” You glanced toward the kitchen before looking back at him with an apologetic smile. “I know you like to drink, but as you can see…” Your hand moved instinctively to your belly, patting it softly. “No alcohol allowed in this house.”
You looked back at him expectantly, only to find him staring at you with slightly raised brows and an expression you couldn’t quite read.
“Come here.”
“Huh?” You blinked, caught off guard by his request.
Instead of answering, Leon stepped toward you, gently wrapping his arms around you.
His familiar scent wrapped around you instantly, warm and grounding after weeks of only hearing his voice through a phone speaker. The rest of the world seemed to fade into the background the moment his arms closed around you and your senses dulled until all you could focus on was him and the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips, the faint trace of cologne clinging to his clothes and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your cheek.
“Oh,” you whispered against his chest, your voice small with surprise. “This is nice.”
The words had barely left your lips before you even realized tears had filled your eyes.
Weeks of carrying everything on your own while he was away, pretending you were stronger than you really felt, less lonely than you truly were, it became too much for you to bear. It all came crashing over you at once, too heavy to keep buried any longer.
You clung to him before you could stop yourself, your fingers tightening desperately against the fabric of his shirt as you buried your face deeper into his chest. The tears you had spent weeks swallowing finally slipped free.
Leon didn’t pull away, if anything, he held you closer. His arms tightened around you immediately, firm and protective. One hand slid up to cradle the back of your head gently, his fingers threading carefully through your hair while the other remained steady against your back, drawing slow, absentminded circles that soothed something deep inside you.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured softly.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered weakly against his chest.
“For what?” Leon immediately pulled back just enough to look down at you, his brows pulling together slightly.
“You must be exhausted and the first thing I do when I see you is cry.” You shook your head quickly, wiping at your eyes with the sleeve of your sweater, though it barely helped.
“Hey,” he murmured gently, one hand moving to cup the side of your face. His thumb brushed beneath your eye, catching another tear before it could fall.
“I’m here, aren’t I?” he said quietly.
“I guess. Took you long enough.” You tried to smile.
Leon let out a faint breath through his nose, almost a tired laugh, before resting his forehead lightly against yours.
You could feel his warm breath against your skin, and even from this close you could see the exhaustion lingering on his half lidded eyes. His hand remained steady against your cheek, thumb brushing absentmindedly beneath your eye as if he couldn’t stop touching you now that he finally could.
And before you could overthink it, your hand curled gently into the fabric of his shirt, pulling his mouth closer to yours.
Leon melted into the kiss almost immediately, one hand sliding more firmly against your back as he kissed you back with a kind of restrained tenderness that made your throat tighten all over again. There was exhaustion in him, longing too, buried beneath the slow way his lips moved against yours. And when he finally pulled back, only enough to rest his forehead against yours again, his eyes stayed closed for a second longer than necessary.
“Missed you,” you confessed softly.
Something in Leon’s expression shifted at the words, the tension in his face easing as he moved his hands to your waist instinctively, gently pulling you closer against his chest. The movement stopped awkwardly when your swollen belly pressed between the two of you.
Leon’s eyes flickered downward
“Right,” he murmured, sounding almost amused with himself as he looked at your stomach, like he had momentarily forgotten about it.
“Did she give you any trouble?,” he asked softly, one hand sliding instinctively over the curve of your bump, and your heart melted a little at the gesture.
“She?” you repeated, lifting a brow.
Leon froze for half a second.
“…Or he,” he corrected quickly.
You stared at him for a moment before a laugh slipped out of you.
“Oh my God,” you teased softly. “You want a girl.”
Leon looked away for a second, shrugging his shoulders trying to play it cool.
“I always pictured the baby looking like you, so…” He trailed off, a reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Maybe a little.”
“Well,” you murmured softly, unable to stop your own smile, “I hope she gets your eyes.”
Leon looked at you for a second longer than necessary, something warm flickering across his tired face before he let out a quiet breath through his nose.
You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the way your heart reacted to it, and gently grabbed his hand.
“Come sit down before you pass out standing up.”
“That obvious?”
“You look terrible.”
“Thanks, babe. I think you’re hot too.”
“You still look handsome,” you corrected quickly, laughing when he gave you an offended look.
The second you settled beside him, Leon pulled you into his lap like it was instinct, one arm wrapped securely around your waist while the other rested over your belly.
You didn’t care much, you indulged yourself with his presence.
And then you both talked about the past 2 months, mostly you while he listened attentively.
About your doctor appointments, about your new job and how it helped you not feel so alone; you thanked him quietly for helping you get it, and even though Leon only shrugged it off, you noticed the way his arm tightened around you for a second afterward. You also told him about the fight with your parents, Leon stayed quiet through most of it, his chin resting against the top of your head while he listened carefully. Every now and then, he hummed softly or rubbed slow circles against your side just so you knew he was paying attention.
By the time the apartment fell quiet again, exhaustion had settled heavily over both of you.
You tilted your head back slightly to look at him, at the way his eyes heavy despite how stubbornly awake he seemed determined to remain.
“You should sleep now,” you murmured softly. “You look really tired.”
“Yeah, I should,” he admitted simply.
You waited for him to loosen his hold around your waist, expecting him to finally let you get up from his lap, but he didn’t.
“Leon…?” you prompted softly.
He only hummed in response, his hand absentmindedly brushing over the curve of your belly.
“Do you want to sleep with me tonight?” you asked quietly.
The corner of Leon’s mouth lifted immediately.
“I thought you were never going to ask.”
You groaned softly, hiding your face against his shoulder for a second. “You’re annoying.”
That earned you a tired laugh from him.
Together, you walked toward your bedroom, the quiet atmosphere between you feeling strangely intimate. The bed was still unmade from earlier, blankets loosely tangled and pillows carelessly scattered from where you had been lying down before Leon arrived.
“This is kind of embarrassing.” You glanced at the unmade bed.
“You’re pregnant with my baby, and you think sleeping together is embarrassing?” He asked sarcastically.
“It’s been a while since we slept in the same bed,” you replied.
“Yeah,” Leon replied easily, the corner of his mouth tugging upward. “Last time, you were wearing a lot less clothes.”
Your eyes widened immediately.
“Leon!”
His tired laugh rumbled softly through his chest as you smacked his arm, mortified.
“I think the lack of sleep is affecting your inhibitions,” you muttered, still embarrassed by how easily he managed to fluster you.
“Probably,” he admitted.
Before you could say anything else, he pulled you closer against him, carefully maneuvering you until your head rested comfortably beneath his chin and your belly settled snugly against his side. His arms wrapped around you instinctively as you felt him press a soft kiss against the top of your head.
Within minutes, his breathing began to slow, evening out steadily against your ear. The tension you had noticed in him since he arrived slowly melted away as sleep finally caught up to him, his hold around you never loosening for even a second.
In the weeks that followed, things between you and Leon began to settle into something unexpectedly unwavering.
Being with him felt easy, easier than it should have considering the history tangled between the two of you. The distance that once stood between you had softened, dissolving the differences into something that wrapped around you without asking for permission.
And before you realized it, you had started leaning into it. You let the quiet comfort of his presence take root in your heart, and Leon made it dangerously easy to fall into his arms. He was attentive in all the ways that mattered, affectionate without overwhelming you, respectful of your space and your wishes while still carrying that instinctive protectiveness that made you feel safe beside him.
When Leon had told you all those months ago that he was willing to try, he had meant it. And Leon being a man of his word, he went beyond that and gave you more than that.
Which was exactly why that night mattered more than you wanted to admit.
You had spent more time getting ready than you originally meant, carefully choosing a pretty dress that accentuated your baby bump just enough to show it without feeling overwhelmingly tight. The soft fabric hugged you in all the right places, and the way it framed your chest (fuller now since the start of your pregnancy) made you pause for a moment in front of the mirror.
To keep him interested, you teased yourself quietly, a small, breathy laugh slipping past your lips.
But the truth was simpler than that: You wanted him to look at you, and more than that, you wanted to feel beautiful when he did.
The date itself unfolded with an ease you hadn’t expected. It was calm, like stepping into a version of your lives where everything had always been normal, conversation flowed effortlessly between you, laughter weaving through your words as though it had always belonged there. There was no strain, no careful choosing of what to say, just a quiet rhythm that felt natural.
And somewhere in the middle of it, without even realizing when it happened, you let the truth settle in your chest. For the first time, you were willing to admit out loud that Leon made you feel genuinely happy, he was the man that you wanted.
“Oh, hey! Leon, is that you?”
A man’s voice sliced through your conversation abruptly, shattering the quiet little world the two of you had fallen into.
You both turned, confusion flickering across your face but Leon’s change of demeanor was immediate. His shoulders stiffened, his expression shifting as the relaxed ease he had been carrying melted into his usual poker face.
“Hey,” Leon said.
“Haven’t seen you in ages. What’s up?”
“Nothing much.” Leon replied, you noticed he was trying to avoid saying anything personal (or anything at all, per usual) but the man didn’t seem to notice, and if he did, he simply didn’t care.
“And just who is this beauty?” he asked, turning his attention to you, his surprised eyes lingered on your swollen belly.
You shifted slightly in your seat, instinctively placing a hand over your bump.
“My girlfriend,” Leon said simply.
You gave the man a small, polite smile, though the attention made you feel a little exposed.
“Oh shit, congrats, man!” the stranger laughed. “Never thought you’d be the type to settle down. I always thought you were going to stay single until you retired.”
“You’re not the only one,” Leon answered, a faint, almost self-aware smile tugging at his lips, though there was still a trace of discomfort in his posture.
“You tamed the workaholic?” he added, looking back at you with an amused grin. “You must be something special.”
“Yeah.” You let out a soft, uncertain laugh, unsure of how to respond.
“You must be very happy, Leon. I’m happy for you,” the man said, flashing him a wide smile.
“Thanks.” Leon nodded once.
Something about it felt weird, it wasn’t particularly wrong, but it felt less enthusiastic than you expected.
And you knew he didn’t want you involved in his work (whatever it was) and that Leon had always been an intensely private person. You understood that. But still, it made you feel small and insignificant, like there were entire parts of his life you would never truly be allowed to touch.
You tried to blame it on the pregnancy hormones, on how emotional and sensitive everything had felt lately, but that didn’t stop the quiet sting settling deep in your chest.
“Well, it was good seeing you,” the man continued, stepping back. “Hopefully we don’t run into each other at work. Trouble follows you, man.”
He glanced at you again, grin returning. “Take good care of her, alright?”
Then he was gone, leaving in his place a heavy silence.
“Sorry about that,” Leon said, rubbing the back of his neck, his tone softer now.
“It’s okay,” you replied, offering him a small smile.
Leon watched you for a moment longer, immediately sensing something was wrong.
“What are you thinking, sweetheart?” he asked.
“Nothing,” you said at first, shaking your head lightly. Your fingers fidgeted in your lap, betraying you before your voice could.
“Actually, I have a question for you.”
“Ask away,” he said, giving you an encouraging smile.
You glanced up at him, then away again, gathering just enough courage to say it.
“Are you happy? About us, I mean” you asked quietly. The words lingered between you, heavier than you meant them to be.
Leon looked taken aback for a second. It was a simple question, but it was unexpectedly difficult to answer. If he was being honest, he hadn’t really thought about it.
He loved you, and the life growing inside you, that much was certain. Being with you felt like coming home after a particularly hard mission, with your soft caresses and comforting persona melting away all the horrors from the world he was so used to. It was something he hadn’t realized he needed until he met you.
And more than anything, he wanted you to be happy and for his child to be happy, as well.
But for his happiness?
He wasn’t sure he deserved happiness. The guilt had never really left him, never letting him forget the ones he couldn’t save, nor the ones who never made it back. It clung to him like a shadow, turning something as simple as trying to be happy into feeling almost selfish for trying to move on. And yet, the answer was sitting right in front of him.
You sat there watching him with hopeful eyes, waiting for something, a word or a sign, anything that would tell you he felt it too. The truth was painfully simple: he was happy when he was with you, happier than he had been in a long time.
But words had never come easily to Leon, much less expressing his emotions out loud in public. He felt how the words tangled in his chest until they became too heavy to speak aloud.
Maybe it was the way he stared at the table too long, like he was searching for an answer that should’ve been easy enough to give. Or maybe it was the long silence growing sharper with every second that passed.
Whatever it was, it broke your heart a little.
“Alright,” you said softly, cutting in before he could answer.
Leon finally looked up at you, and the sight nearly shattered him.
You were trying so hard not to fall apart in front of him, but he could still see the hurt in your eyes, the heartbreak you were desperately trying to swallow down. You looked devastated, like something inside you had cracked irreversibly.
“You don’t need to say anything. It’s fine.” Your gaze dropped immediately, fingers twisting tightly in your lap as if you could hold yourself together through sheer force alone. Your breathing had gone uneven and you blinked quickly, fighting the tears threatening to spill over.
“I am happy,” Leon said at last, the words finally clawing their way out of his chest.
But you didn’t hear him, you couldn’t bear to.
Suddenly, your dress felt too tight against your skin. The restaurant around you became unbearably loud with overlapping voices and silverware scraping against plates, and the food twisting violently in your stomach told you exactly what was coming next.
You felt sick, almost humiliated.
“Can you please take me home?” you asked quietly, unable to look at him.
Leon’s chest tightened painfully at the sound of defeat in your voice
“Baby, listen-”
“Fine,” you cut in shakily, already pushing your chair back before he could finish. “I’ll call a taxi.” The words came out harsher than you intended, but your voice cracked halfway through them anyway.
You stood too quickly, your vision swimming for a second as you grabbed your purse with trembling hands.
Leon was on his feet instantly. “Please-”
But you were already walking away, wrapping your arms around yourself like you were trying to keep your heart from completely falling apart in the middle of the restaurant.
Summary: Ten years have passed since you've seen or spoken to Leon Kennedy. He was once a mentor, a partner, a friend... now a ghost from your past. Life was once good. Nearly perfect. But running from him was easier than facing your truth. How will things change now that your infected and standing before the man you're in love with?
Word Count: 4k
Warnings: Fem!Reader, reader is infected with a virus, age gap (but not specified so can be whatever you want!), torture, violence, angst (at least I hope lmao), reader kinda just gives up on being cured and pushes herself past her limit, mentions of decomposing/postmortem (reader is literally dying so...), descriptions of a really gross BOW that I made up.
Part 1 Here | Part 2 Here | Part 3 (Reading Now)
A/N: Not me ending the last chapter with reader having an idea. Then realizing I have to come up with said idea lmfao.
Chapter Song: Impossible Thoughts by Primer
───────────────•••───────────────
It was a dumb idea.
Like insanely dumb.
So dumb that you might actually hold Leon to his word and have you both die down here. But it was the best that you could do in the time you had.
Hanson escaped and with it his briefcase of—no doubt—important research that could kickstart the virus once more.
You and Leon left the office from where you bandaged him. Still calling him an idiot for taking that bullet.
Now, he managed to rest on his left side albeit slightly stiff.
"Hanson left towards the western exit. I bet he's thinking of taking the sample with him—"
"Well he'll have Chris and Claire to deal with."
The two of you made your way back down the corridor from where you started. Leon followed blindly with the plan still forming in your head.
"Exactly," You agreed. "They can manage him while we complete our objective."
"And you're okay with that?" Leon questioned as he moved quickly with your strides.
It wasn't what you were expecting, that's for sure. You thought endlessly of what you would do to Hanson once you finally got to him.
That didn't matter now.
The only important thing was keeping Leon alive.
In your mind you would be going down with Hanson. Taking out the genius and the monster in one go. That was until Leon vowed to die with you if anything of the like happened.
So yeah that certainly changes things.
You nodded. "If it means we get out, then yes."
A small smile eased itself on his lips. You knew why. We, not just him. You both were getting out.
"And what exactly is the plan?"
You slowed your pace to also slow the inevitable. Behind the corner would lay the mass of infected that merged and tore at itself.
"Uhhhh... it's kind of a work in progress," You said and peaked around the corner to see the abomination against nature.
Leon's brow picked up at your focus. "And I'm guessing it has something to do with that," He said, nodding to the BOW.
"Yeah..."
The mass contorted and sludged in a heap of itself. Infected tried to crawl away but it was a ruthless predator. You watched a liquid of skin reach out from itself and indulge in the undead. It wore the faces of its prey, dissolving their bodies into its own. Faces of terror slowly faded deeper and deeper into it.
Leon stood close to peer around the same corner. His chest close to yours. He lifted his arm to lean it past your head against the wall.
You leaned back in thought— now chest to chest with Leon.
When you looked up, Leon was already staring back. His eyes canned your face. From the paleness of your skin to the discolouration under your jaw. He picked his hand up and gently moved your chin to see it clearer. His thumb grazed down from their to stroke the colour of red and purples taking over your neck.
Your lips parted, once again wishing to feel his touch through your numb skin.
Leon's stare lifted to your widened eyes. You felt his thumb press into the bottom of your lip. Very lightly, but enough pressure to know it was there.
All air left your lungs and with it every word on your tongue from moments before.
Leon noticed his sudden closeness and wandering hand. He cleared his throat and dropped it with his now shy gaze.
His brow tensed as if internally asking himself what the hell was that? His fleeting gaze met yours with sudden sincerity and determination.
"When we get out, I'm getting you that cure."
Your nod was delayed.
Not because you doubted him. It was from the absolute devotion you saw in his eye. You would have believed anything he told you in that moment.
But then reality truly did set in—and so did it's truth. You were sure Leon believed you could be cured. But at this point, with you being so close to the edge of death, you weren't certain even Elpis could save you.
Despite the doubt, those familiar feelings bloomed in your chest. The same feelings you ran from and have tried to push away for the last decade. They were becoming the only proof that your dying body could still feel something.
Leon pulled back fully, remembering himself and the situation.
"So, what's your play?"
You collected the fragment of thoughts circling in and out of your head. You mentally shook away the soft concern of his eyes and the travelling hand that wandered between you.
You had a job to do.
"From... from what I've read, it absorbs energy," You said, looking back to the BOW in question. "Even the infected have something left in them to give."
Leon crossed his arms in thought. "You want to guide it to the generator. Won't it blow immediately?"
"Well, if I am right, it can take up to an hour to fully digest and with that much power it should... explode."
"If you are right," Leon clarified.
You snapped a glare back to him. "It's the best I could think of on short notice."
He put his hands up in surrender. "Not saying anything on it, but if you're wrong we're dead."
You exhaled a deep breath.
"There is still a chance for you to leave."
His own glare formed between his brow—it darkened his eyes. He lightly shook his head and dropped it to lean in closer. To once again show everything in his eyes.
"It's you and me. I'm not going anywhere."
──•••──
He was probably regretting that decision now. At least you were.
You watched helplessly from the sidelines while Leon stood in the center of the room. His energy much more alive than yours, making him perfect bait.
The BOW seemed groggy. Not prone to attack unless something of value stood right next to it.
He looked back to you, somewhat defeated. "You sure this thing would even be interested in the generator?" He turned back to it. "Doesn't want much to do with me—"
As if he tempted fate, a fat and grotesque tentacle latched out from its body and wrapped around Leon's leg.
It tugged him harshly to the ground and pulled him closer.
You raced to the middle of the room and started firing at it. Leon matched your efforts and slashed a wide strike across its flesh with his hatchet.
The creature wailed and dropped Leon's leg.
You ran to him and helped him up as the BOW retreated. Only a moment was given to catch your breath.
The glob of flesh growled somewhere deep under its mass. It peeled itself up at the front, forming its own large mouth with teeth stolen from the undead it absorbed.
Its guttural scream shattered the air.
"I think it likes you now."
Leon pushed you forward as the two of you ran for your lives.
Another tentacle of melted skin lashed out from its body. It swiped at your legs and screamed in frustration at your refusal to be a meal.
The two of you dodged and jumped over the numerous tangles of flesh emerging from its body.
You shot through the entrance to the corridor and raced back down towards the generator.
The BOW was hot on your tail. It gripped the wall with its tentacles—throwing itself down the hall at insane speed.
The two of you broke out into the generator room and used either side of the door frame as your shield when it spilled out onto the platform.
It separated you and Leon, taking up the entire doorway with more to come.
It eased itself down from the platform and completely engulfed the generator on all sides.
It didn't explode right away, that's a good sign.
"Now!" Leon shouted.
You followed his direction and jumped to the level below to escape into the far exit. The two of you raced against the wandering flesh of undead. Leon pushed you through the exit doorway with him following closely behind.
You slammed the door closed, feeling the mass crash into the metal then sag back. The two of you barricaded it with your backs pushing into it.
"One hour," You repeated. "That's all the time we have to get to the surface-"
A familiar shriek of infected pierced the hallway. A herd of them travelled towards the chaos ensuing now behind you. Their black eyes glistened in the red lighting and their bruised hands reached out.
Leon shot at the first three in the front row. You grabbed the side of his body holster and tugged him down the corridor, guiding him as he kept all attention on the enemies behind you.
They started to growl from all directions. Their hunger now ready to be satisfied after waiting down here for so long.
After a series of turns and close encounters, the two of you burst through a pair of steel double doors that overlooked another large room with plummeting depths below. At the far end of the platform sat a cable car in wait.
You slammed your weight into the doors, keeping them closed. The undead rattled the hinges with each thrust of their bodies into the steel.
"I can hold it. Go!" You shouted to Leon.
He pushed himself from the door and raced up the grated stairs to the cable door. He pressed the button on the outside panel and kicked out the caged door at the mouth of its entrance.
It whirred to life and started to move up the cables.
"Y/N! Now!"
You pushed yourself against the doors one last time before bolting.
Behind you a hoard of undead screamed and broke down the metal doors. You watched in front of you, Leon hanging on the side of the cable car, his hand outstretched as far he could make it.
A gap now formed between the car and the platform.
You pushed your legs harder, hearing the infected screams gaining on you.
Against all better instincts, you didn't slow when you met the edge of the platform. You kicked off with all trust that your hand would find Leon's over the great abyss below you.
Time froze when you met the air.
Infected spilled over the edge behind you—some jumped with their own hopes of grabbing you.
Leon leaned as far out as he could, his hand angling with your falling body before he caught you.
A sound of relief escaped your lungs but then a heavy grip weighed around your ankle. You peered down at the infected helplessly holding onto you.
Leon used the doorframe to anchor his leg and pulled out his gun, aiming just past your ear. He held you back with all his weight and then fired.
The weight released from your foot, flying you forward up into Leon.
The cable car rattled with the slam of your bodies hitting its floor—you landing right on top of Leon
A persistent ringing deafened your left ear. Your head fogged over at the noise, not present enough to notice that you were literally on top of Leon Kennedy.
It was when his hands found your hips, that you started to regain your senses. The ringing slowly began to subside, replaced with the thump of blood rushing in you ear. You winced from the sound, your eyes shutting against the noise. Leon's hands moved from your hips up to your waist, gently squeezing to feel you there—alive and in his arms.
One hand slid to your cheek. His thumb brushed under your closed eyes, urging you to open them.
"Are you okay?"
The closeness of his voice is what opened them.
He was right under you, concern blinding him from the precarious position you found yourselves in.
His grip on you was tight. Tight enough that you could actually feel it in your condition.
You nodded and tried to move off him but his hold stayed. It had softened and gingerly stayed wrapped around you—to insist he wasn't done examining you. You grunted at his antics and fell back on your elbow just beside his head.
"Leon," You said, exasperated. "I'm okay. Now please let go. I doubt you want a corpse on top of you any longer."
"You're not a corpse."
You huffed, growing tired of this delusion. You pressed your cold hand to his cheek. "Does this feel like living skin?"
His hand caught it before you could slide it away. It engulfed over yours and pressed the cold skin closer into his cheek.
You watched, transfixed by his actions.
"To me you were dead for two years," He said, softly. "Now you're alive, breathing. If this is what coming back from the dead feels like, then I'm taking it."
Your head dropped to below his chin. A soft sigh of frustration escaped you. You pulled your hand free and stood, wobbling slightly in the moving cart.
Leon followed your lead and tracked your movements.
"You don't believe Elpis can cure you," He stated your thoughts aloud.
You remained turned away from him, trying to brace yourself for his infuriating denial.
"I know Elpis can cure me," You said, truthfully and slowly turned to face him. "It will take away the infection and make me... human again—"
"Then why are you fighting me—" Leon stepped towards you but you raised up your hand.
"I haven't eaten in two years," You started. "I haven't slept for half of that. Even if Elpis can take away every bit of this virus, what state will my body be in once it does?"
Leon's shoulders deflated. His eyes grew a familiar look of concern—a constant with him.
"What if it's a waste?" You finally asked.
You wanted an answer. You really did. You wanted Leon to smooth over your fears. To promise you a cure and a living body in the end. But you knew he couldn't guarantee that. He could not give you the hope you've been trying to find for two years.
Whatever Leon was going to say was cut short.
Because the pulley from above snapped.
You fell into him and crashed into the other side of the cart. It swayed on the front pulley against the cable that fought to stay intact.
Leon's head smacked into the metal siding and hissed at the pull of the bullet wound in his side. Your hand reached for the back of his head, trying to soften the impact, but you drew it back to see blood coat your fingers. You looked to his eyes. They blinked in and out of a daze.
"Leon, look at me," You ordered.
The cart continued to sway.
"Leon, please, we need to get up."
He tried to nod, but stilled at the pain throbbing in his head. He reached out and you grabbed his hand to haul him up, careful not to shake the cart more.
The second he stood his body fell into yours. It crashed the two of you into the wall—once the floor. His weight fully leaning on you and his head dipped into your shoulder.
You grabbed his head with both hands, softly angling it up to catch his eye. They blinked, confused.
"Shit."
"I'm okay, I can..." He trailed off and tried to stand straighter.
He caught himself on the wall behind you. His head still lulled and his eyes stayed shut for a second.
You held him by his waist to steady him while looking around to figure out a plan.
The entrance in the side was the only way out.
You moved out from under Leon's embrace while keeping a hold on him.
He followed your light steps to the side of the cart—only stopping when your movements swayed it too far.
You peered out of the entrance to see the platform not too far above you.
"If we climb on top of the cart we should be able to reach it," You said and turned to Leon.
He nodded, still unfocused, but trying his hardest to stay awake.
You stepped out of the cart, Leon's hands stayed on your body in support. His hand trailed from your waist to your hip and then the back of your thigh as you gently raised yourself on top of the cart.
His hand stayed on you until it fell out of reach.
You turned back to Leon after finding purchase on the top. You looked down at him, his body swayed with the cart and leaned against the frame.
You reached out your hand. "Come on. Leon, you gotta move."
He reached for your hand and just as you grabbed it the cart shuttered underneath you. The pulley hung on by sheer will, slowly breaking under the force and movement. A nasty screech of torn metal pierced the air and then it snapped.
You jumped from the top of the cart with Leon's hand tight in your own. The railing on the platform clanged against your hand as you grabbed it.
You looked back to see the cart plummeting into the depth of the abyss below you. Then your eyes tracked to Leon.
A sharp gasp clogged in your throat.
Leon's free arm dangled at an odd angle. Dislocated. It caught on the doorframe of the cart mid jump.
His eyes tried to stay open and peer up at you but his sights fell short. You were in and out of vision, staring in fear from above him.
Despite the situation, despite dangling above death, he smiled up at you. A dazed smile that took in only the beauty of the world around him and completely disregarded the horrors.
And his eyes stayed only on you.
"Leon," You grunted, trying to snap him out of it.
He winced at his arm and then at his side. The pull of his limb tore at his bandage around his waist. Blood collected behind the cloth and dribbled past into the dark chasm.
"I remember the first time we met," He said. His words were somewhat slurred. He gave no mind to his body hanging helplessly over a void.
The only anchor being your white knuckled grip around his hand.
You hissed at the pull in your arms. A pain deep enough for you to feel. They stretched between Leon and the railing. Your muscles weakened each second.
Meaning your body was close to giving out.
No.
You wouldn't let it.
"I remember seeing you and thinking... I am going to protect her for as long as I breathe."
His words weren't helping.
A whimper forced itself past your lips. You couldn't tell if it was from his words or the sheer frustration of being so close to freedom.
So close to getting him out of this alive.
"Drop me, Y/N."
"What!?"
You looked back down to see him staring forcefully back. There was no doubt in his eyes or any fear for that matter. Something in him came to terms with what you both already knew.
Your grip wasn't going to hold on much linger.
"No."
"Y/N—"
"Order me all you want but either we're both dying here or I am pulling us up. There is no other option."
Tears dripped past your cheek as you looked down.
"It's you and me," You repeated his words from earlier.
To prove your point you tightened your grip on his hand. You didn't bother to gauge his reaction—you had to act fast and now.
You had caught yourself on the lowest rung of the railing with another above it. If you could reach it, you would be enough of an anchor to hoist both of you up.
You kicked your legs in the air, trying to grapple them under the railing and between the platform. You foot snagged behind a metal bar. You shifted your knee to rest above the corner of the platform then—with every ounce of residing strength—released the railing and reached higher.
You let out a sign of relief and exhaustion once you grabbed it. A cry broke free as you pulled your body to the platform and used it as a support to tug Leon behind you.
His grip tightened in your hand and pushed himself from the railings further onto the platform.
The two of you collapsed on the platform, side by side. Both of your chest heaved in exhaustion. Your breaths coming in waves of shortness.
When you turned to him he was already looking at you.
Eyes light with awe and undying devotion.
You shoved him in the chest.
He fell back at it. "What the hell—"
"Don't," You started, anger brewing deep behind each word. "Don't you ever tell me to drop you. Never again." You flopped on your back, feeling the exertion finally getting to you. "Asshole."
He laughed.
The son of bitch laughed at your rage. You glared at him even though the sound of his laugh lit a streak of happiness in your chest. It had been so long since you have heard his laugh.
"Never again," He agreed. "Scout's honour."
Against your better judgement, you chuckled. It was light and soft, barely present, but he saw it and he relished in it.
The happiness was short lived.
Leon's side screamed at him in pain and his head cracked with a whip of pain against his temple. He dropped his weight to the platform, his own body fighting to stay awake.
"Leon."
You searched for him with your hand before forcing yourself to sit up. You crawled over to his limp body and urgently pressed your hands into his wound. It bled deeply into the platform below you and spilled past the grooves and holes that littered the metal.
"Hey—Hey—Hey, look at me. Eyes on me. We're not done yet."
His eyes wearily opened. "Just... taking a quick nap."
"I know you're old now, but you gotta get up."
He softly tsked at that. "You've gotten old too."
A rattle of dust and metal shook the facility. It snapped the remaining cables hanging over head and wounded the structure of metal beams around you.
The generator detonated.
"Up, old man. Now!" You shouted at him but he couldn't move.
Metal beams from above loosened upon impact. You pulled yourself from Leon to watch the facility around you beginning to crumble and deteriorate. A beam from above cracked and slowly began to timber over you.
You shielded Leon and braced for impact as it slammed into your spine. It knocked the wind out of your lungs and your body crashed into Leon's. He wrapped his arms around you and shielded your face into his neck.
His body jolted awake at your wail of pain.
He rolled the two of you over before lifting both of you up and rushing to the exit down the hall.
His body stumbled and wobbled over the metal floor. He dragged you with him, your legs stopped working, your back effectively broken.
You tried to move them but they felt phantom to your system. You arms looped around Leon's neck as he fell forward into steps.
The two of you crashed into the elevator. Leon dropped to his hand on the floor, the other still protectively wrapped around you.
He leaned against the wall and slammed the button to go up.
It didn't move.
"Shit," He cussed and looked around.
Above gave way to the rest of the shaft that merged into darkness the higher it went.
He looked back to you, collapsed into his side and doing the same thing as him. Trying to find a way out. Trying to find a plan.
It all stopped when he looked at you.
You realized his shift in attention and looked back.
He traced your face as if committing it to memory. You found yourself doing the same.
If this was the end, at least he would be the last thing you see.
You leaned your head in and he did the same. You rested your forehead against his, still not fully able to feel it but comforted in knowing he was there.
With the silence between you, the destruction of the facility could be heard in the distance.
In that moment he realized he couldn't die without knowing. If this really was the last time with you. The last time he would ever see your face. Your smile. Your eyes.
Hello! Can I request smth like reader hiding injury from Leon until it gets too obvious (for example reader just flops or it’s too visible to hide) of course if you don’t mind ❤️ I’m craving protective, worried boi
Just Like You
(RE9 Leon Kennedy x Wife!Reader)
Summary: You and your husband Leon spend a peaceful morning together in bed. You try to hide your injury after last night’s mission, but Leon figures out what’s wrong almost immediately. Before you know it, he’s patching you up, while scolding you for not telling him earlier.
A/N: Hey! 🥰 Thank you so much for this cute Request. I love worried/protective Leon, and I hope I could portray it the way you wanted hehe. Enjoy! So much Love, Shell xo
Warnings: Fluff, mentions of injuries, Leon is extra worried and husband material as usual
The light snoring from Leon behind you woke you up, pulling you out of your dreamless sleep. His lips were close to your ear, his breath brushing your skin every time he exhaled. You smiled when you felt his fingers mindlessly drawing lazy circles on your thigh. Even in his sleep he had the habit of caressing and touching you gently, always trying to find a way to be close to you.
You wouldn’t know it, but he was unquestionably one of the most touch-starved people you've ever met in your entire life.
The first few rays of morning sunshine shimmered through the curtains, bathing the room in a warm, comforting light. Combined with the weight of Leon's arms around you, it almost felt like you were wrapped into a tight weighted blanket. It felt like heaven. Well, almost, if it weren't for the pain that was coming from your ribs and your arms.
Blinking a few times, you tried gathering your thoughts and remembering the events from last night. You’d both returned from an operation together. It was supposed to be a routine mission. Everything went well until you were forced to flee out of an abandoned laboratory after your cover was blown.
On your way back to the car, you fell down the stairs and landed straight on your side, one hand cushioning the impact just slightly. Leon was immediately by your side, insisting on carrying you back to the car, but you told him you were fine.
All you wanted was to get back home, fall into your bed, and cuddle into your husband’s arms.
You’d told yourself you just needed a good round of sleep and everything would be okay the next day. Turned out, it indeed wasn't okay.
You winced when you felt Leon's arms engulf you into a tight embrace, pulling you tighter against him. Normally, you loved nothing more than to wake up in your husband’s arms and just relax into his touch. Right now, however, the pain overshadowed your quiet, intimate moment. His arm was pressing right into your injured side, making you almost jolt out of his grasp.
“Is everything okay, love?” He asked in his husky morning voice. His lips ghosted over your neck, pulling you tighter against his bare chest, before he planted a few gentle kisses just below the hairline on your neck. It was one of your few ticklish spots, and he knew that. Of course he did.
“Yeah. Just a little sore from the mission,” you mumbled. It wasn't a straight-up lie, still, it wasn't the full truth either.
“Hm,” he hummed, nuzzling deeper into your neck. “Are you sure?” he asked, trying to turn you gently on your back so you could look up at him. While doing so, you winced again. By now, every movement burned like fire, especially in your ribs. Maybe it was really more than just a few bruises.
He furrowed his brows, studying your face, while gently running his hand over your abdomen.
That was exactly what you’d tried to prevent. Him worrying again.
“Are you still hurting? From the fall yesterday?” he asked. The softness of his expression disappeared entirely and was replaced by a concerned look on his face. As much as you hated it when he got worried again, you had to admit, you loved how caring and protective he was to you. To you, he was the most perfect husband you could have wished for. As well as the best partner at work.
“Maybe a little bit,” you admitted, averting your gaze to look down at yourself. You were wearing one of your comfy pajamas, which was weird, because you were sure you were so tired that you simply passed out on the bed. The only thing you remember was taking a quick shower and throwing some underwear on before falling into the soft and warm sheets.
He followed your gaze and chuckled.
“You were too tired, so I helped you get dressed fully. Don’t you remember?” he asked, stroking your cheek.
“Not really." You smiled.
“You were basically freezing, and I wanted you to be comfortable and warm,” he explained, his hand still on your cheek. You almost melted at his words. How could one person be so utterly loving and caring?
“I really don’t remember anything,” you muttered. Maybe part of the reason was the painkillers you’d taken before bed, without him knowing, of course.
He carefully lifted your shirt, his eyes roaming over your exposed skin.
“Where does it hurt?” he asked softly, his voice still a little hoarse from sleep.
"Here." You placed your hand on your side, right where the pain was coming from.
He sighed when he saw all the bruising, the blue color already forming on your skin.
“Could be a broken rib or a contusion,” he concluded. Cautiously, his hand brushed over the bruises, the frown on his face returning.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked sternly, his gaze returning to you.
"I didn't think it was that bad,” you said defensively, pulling your shirt down again. “Besides, do you know how embarrassing that is? I am an agent. I don’t have an injury with a cool story. I didn’t get injured in a fight or anything like that. No, I stumbled down the stairs,” you mumbled.
He had to hold back a laugh. “That’s what you’re worried about? An impressive story?” he asked in disbelief, a faint grin on his lips.
“No one cares how that actually happened. Besides, I know best how clumsy you sometimes are," he teased.
You rolled your eyes at his comment, wanting to pull away from him, but the pain stopped you. You grimaced at the burning sensation, feeling as if someone were repeatedly stabbing a knife into you.
“Hey, careful,” he said, the worry in his voice returning.
He gently took your hand and brought it to his lips, giving it a few kisses before looking back at you.
“And still, you are one of the smartest and strongest agents I know,” he explained, trying to tone down his sneaky comment from earlier. No matter how serious the situation was, he still managed to throw in a couple of teasing remarks or jokes.
You just laughed quietly, shaking your head at him.
“No secrets, remember? You can tell me everything. Especially when you’re in pain,” he continued, searching for your eyes.
“I guess I learned from the best. I am just like you,” you said teasingly.
“Now, what does that mean?” He looked at you as if he didn’t actually want to hear your answer.
“I am talking about you, Mister! Do I have to remind you how often you tried to hide your injuries from me? And how many times you told me that everything was going fine when you were, in fact, fighting for your life?” you asked.
“That’s something entirely different,” he smirked as he got up from the bed. He reached for his shirt that was thrown over the chair in the corner.
“You could stay like that." You smiled sheepishly just as he was about to throw it on. Your eyes were glued on his muscular back, his broad shoulders, and the biceps you’d love to take a bite from. The way his toned form was being lit by the morning light made it seem like you were in the middle of a dream. Maybe you were.
He raised his brows, looking back at you. “You can’t be hurting that bad,” he chuckled, throwing the shirt back on the chair. He walked past you, slowly and exaggerating, so you could take another long look at him.
“You’re very lucky I can never say no to you,” he chuckled.
“I mean, maybe it’ll help with my recovery,” you said innocently, shrugging your shoulders.
“Drooling over your extremely handsome husband?” He asked as he walked over to you, bending down to kiss you. First one gentle kiss, then followed by a few deeper ones. His lips practically melted against yours, sending butterflies to your stomach.
“If that’s how it works…then that would explain why I am barely sick. With such a beautiful—" He kissed your cheek. “And wonderful—" He kissed the other one. “Perfect wife,” he whispered, ending his ministrations with a kiss to your forehead.
You giggled, wanting to kick your feet in the air from his words, if only your current state allowed that. After all these years, he still managed to make you blush.
“Old charmer,” you smiled cheekily, looking up at him.
“Not too old for you,” he stated jokingly, before he got up again, heading toward the door.
“Stay there, yes? I’ll be right back,” he called to you, disappearing into the living room.
“Yes sir,” you answered with a smile and cuddled yourself deeper into the blanket. Oh, how much you wished you could just spend the whole day in bed with him, relaxing and recovering from your past missions.
You could hear rustling and several cupboards being opened and closed again. After a few more minutes Leon returned, in one hand a fresh cup of coffee and in the other hand a few ice packs.
"Leon—" you spoke softly, unsure of what to say exactly.
He gently sat down next to you, placing the steaming cup onto the nightstand. “Important things first,” he stated charmingly.
“You’re a lifesaver,” you sighed, visibly grateful for the caffeine that you desperately needed every morning.
“I get that a lot,” he grinned, winking at you.
He gently pushed your shirt back up again and placed one of the cool packs on the bruised area. You flinched briefly at the sudden cold but relaxed shortly after, once you realized how good it felt.
“Okay?” he asked.
“Perfect, thank you." You nodded, giving him a loving smile and taking his hand in yours.
"Anything for you,” he whispered, kissing you again and rubbing your thigh soothingly in the process.
For a few more minutes you both just stayed like that, talking, kissing, and drinking your coffee in the meantime. It was peaceful, despite the injury that was still disturbing you every once in a while.
After finishing your coffee, Leon gently placed the cup back and suddenly picked you up bridal-style. You laughed, holding onto his arms for support, ignoring the pain the new position was causing you.
"What are you doing?”
"Carrying you to the shower and after we get ready, I will take you to the hospital,” he explained calmly, opening the bathroom door with one foot.
"What?" You asked in an alarmed voice.
"You need to have your injury checked by a real doctor. I am not risking you getting worse,” he said as he gently placed you on the edge of the bathtub. He started preparing the shower in the meantime for you both.
"I don’t think that’s necessary,” you insisted. If there was one thing you hated, it was the sterile and cold hospital air. It reminded you of death and bad news.
"It is. Besides, who is going to save my ass when you’re not able to go on duty with me again?” He grinned.
"Mhm, true,” you smiled. “You’d be lost without me,” you teased him, even though you knew that wasn’t quite the truth. You were both taking turns in saving each other, or so it seemed.
Before he helped you into the shower, he bent down again to get to your eye level.
"Obviously. I’d never survive,” he laughed, kissing you one last time. “I love you."
"I love you more,” you whispered.
"Not possible,” he replied softly, placing a kiss on the crown of your head before helping you stand up again to get into the shower with you.
Final Note: I hope you enjoyed it! As always, feedback is very much appreciated and means the world to me! No matter if its comments, likes, reblogs. I appreciate the support so much. 💗
My Leon Kennedy masterlist can be found: here
If you want to be tagged in future stories, feel free to reach out to me here or in the comments (I have one for Leon and one for Carlos. You can also be added to both ofc 😊)
Also: if you want to, you can always slide in my inbox and have a chat with me 🫶🏻
SUMMARY: Being a single mother was hard, being a single mother with Leon S. Kennedy as your baby daddy was even harder. OR You go to your first OB-GYN appointment with Leon to check on the baby, forcing both of you to confront your fears, feelings, and an unexpected future together. WC: 4,6K
He had texted you all week. Not just once or twice, he was constantly asking if you were okay, if you needed anything, if you had eaten. Each message was a quiet reminder that he was still there, that he hadn’t walked away from this like you'd thought he would. Just like he had promised you.
It was sweet, how much he seemed to care, and if you were being honest with yourself, you had missed having his attention on you, it reminded you why you had liked him in the first place all those months ago.
You half expected Leon to be late, or not show up at all. So when you saw him already standing outside the clinic, leaning against the wall like he’d been there for a while, something in your chest twisted with relief.
“Morning, gorgeous.”
You almost laughed, you looked anything but gorgeous, but you liked his flattery anyway.
The last few days had been hard on you; your skin felt too tight, your stomach too empty and there was the feeling of being uncomfortable all the damn time. Every attempt to eat ended the same way, leaning over a sink or a toilet. Your boobs were still tender, and you were in a bad mood almost every day. You hated being pregnant.
“I look like I’m dying,” you muttered to yourself, not caring if he heard you. “But good morning, Leon,” you added quickly, brushing it off. “Are you ready? It can be a lot, so if you want to wait outside, I won’t get mad. I promise.”
He frowned immediately. “Did you forget what I told you last week? I want to be part of everything, it’s my baby too and I told you I was going to support you.”
The words hit harder than they should have.
“Yeah,” you said, quieter now. “Sorry, I’m just really nervous.”
“C’mon,” he said, softer this time. “I’ll be there with you.”
He reached for your hand, his grip was warm and you relaxed into it as his thumb brushed lightly over your knuckles, soothing your nerves without even trying. His other hand rested lightly against your back, guiding you forward.
Walking into the clinic’s reception made everything feel suddenly too real, not that it wasn’t already, but today you were going to be able to see your baby for the first time, confirming that you were not crazy and making it all up.
You realized you were more nervous than you thought, the sterile smell and the low murmur of voices were clouding your senses, your eyes kept drifting to the clock on the wall, over and over, each second stretching longer than it should.
“Hey, you okay?” Leon’s voice cut through your uneasiness softly. You hadn’t even noticed he’d turned toward you.
You only nodded in response, scared of sounding too fragile.
“Ma’am, Dr. Johnson is ready for you. Please follow me.” The receptionist's voice made you flinch from surprise, your shoulders tensing instantly.
“Thank you,” you said quickly, standing almost too fast. Your fingers tightened slightly around Leon’s as you glanced back at him, silently asking him not to let go.
“Easy,” he said under his breath, squeezing your hand.
The room felt smaller than it should have, or maybe it was your mind playing tricks on you. You sat where you were told, your hands folding tightly into your lap. The door clicked shut behind you, and suddenly it was just the two of you.
Your knee started bouncing before you even noticed it, a restless, nervous rhythm you couldn’t seem to stop.
The room felt smaller the longer you sat there. Beside you, Leon shifted slightly.
“Hey,” he murmured, low enough that it didn’t carry. His hand found yours again, warm and steady. “You’re okay, I’m here with you.”
You gave him a grateful smile, mouthing a quiet “thank you.”
A soft knock at the door interrupted the moment.
“Come in,” you managed, your voice quieter than you meant it to be.
The door opened, and the doctor stepped in with a warm, practiced smile that felt almost out of place against the tension sitting heavy in your chest.
“I’ll be your doctor, guiding you through this,” she continued, setting a tablet down on the counter as she moved with easy familiarity around the space. “How are we feeling today?”
You looked at Leon, almost expecting him to have the right answer, but he was looking at you, his thumb brushed lightly over your hand again.
You liked that he waited for you to answer, never once deciding to speak for you or your experience.
You swallowed, but managed to speak.
“Nervous,” you admitted finally, your voice small and Leon only nodded in agreement.
“That’s completely normal,” she said gently. “First appointments can feel like a lot.”
Dr. Johnson wheeled a monitor closer and pulled up your lab results from a few days ago. She hummed softly as she looked them over, nodding to herself.
“Well,” she said finally, turning toward you with a bright, practiced smile, “you’re definitely expecting. Your labs from a couple of days ago came back positive,” she continued. “So what I’d like to do now is a pelvic exam while I explain what to expect over the next few weeks before your next appointment.”
You forced a tight smile.
“If you feel uncomfortable at any point, just let me know. Okay?” she added reassuringly.
“Okay,” you managed, barely above a whisper.
“Great. I’m going to have you move up onto the exam table for me.”
You swallowed, nodding once, and slowly pushed yourself up from the chair, letting go of Leon’s hand. The paper on the exam table crinkled loudly under your weight, the sound sharp in the quiet room.
“Go ahead and scoot back a little,” Dr. Johnson instructed gently. Your hands gripped the edge of the table as you adjusted, your breathing starting to slip again.
“It might feel a little uncomfortable, but it shouldn’t be painful. I’ll talk you through it.”
Dr. Johnson moved into position, her voice calm and clinical as she guided you through what she was doing.
“You did really well,” she said kindly a few moments later, stepping away.
You didn’t feel like you had, you felt exposed and overwhelmed. Slightly self conscious about Leon seeing you this vulnerable.
She removed her gloves and moved back toward the monitor, giving you a moment to collect yourself.
“Everything looks normal so far,” she said reassuringly. “What we’ll do next is a quick ultrasound so we can check on the baby and make sure everything is progressing as it should.”
Dr. Johnson moved beside you, applying the cold gel to your lower abdomen, the coldness making you flinch.
“Sorry,” she said gently. “This might feel a little uncomfortable.”
No shit, lady.
Leon didn’t wait for an invitation, he stood and moved closer towards where you were laying down. When you looked at him, something in his expression made the noise in your head quiet, even just a little.
“You okay?” he asked softly.
You let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh.
“I don’t know,” you admitted honestly.
You inhaled shakily as the doctor positioned the transducer and began moving it slowly. Her expression shifted as she watched the screen focused, like she was searching for something.
The silence stretched.
“There it is,” Dr. Johnson said softly.
She turned the monitor slightly so both you and Leon could see.
At first, you didn’t understand what you were looking at, it looked like a whole lot of nothing, weird shapes and movements.
Her hand gently pointed at something on the screen, “That is your baby.”
A small, peanut-shaped flicker caught your attention.
“It looks like a peanut.” You said softly to yourself.
“That,” Dr. Johnson said quietly, moving something on the monitor “is the heartbeat.”
The moment you heard that constant drum-like sound everything stopped: The room, the noise, your anxiety, your thoughts. Your whole world paused.
Your fingers tightened around Leon’s hand, but not out of panic this time.
Beside you, Leon had gone completely still. If you didn’t know him, you might’ve thought he was calm but his eyes were fixed on the screen, glossy.
I must be imagining things.
“That’s ours?” he asked, his voice softer than you had ever heard it. His grip on your hand tightened slightly.
Your eyes burned, you didn’t realize when the first tear slipped out, only that suddenly your vision blurred, the tiny flicker on the screen softening as everything behind your eyes burned.
Leon noticed immediately, and he leaned in without hesitation, pressing a soft, careful kiss to your forehead.
Dr. Johnson watched the two of you with a small, fond smile. “Congratulations.”
Your attention shifted to Leon, at the way he couldn’t seem to look away from the screen. At the awe written all over his face.
The doctor continued speaking gently in the background, pointing out details, explaining measurements and timelines but her words blurred together.
All you could focus on was that flicker and that tiny, steady heartbeat, and the way Leon’s hand hadn’t left yours.
“I can print a picture for you,” Dr. Johnson offered kindly.
You nodded automatically, your throat too tight to form words.
A moment later, the gel was wiped away and the machine powered down. You sat up slowly, your body still unsteady, your mind struggling to catch up with everything you had just felt.
Leon stood beside you, close enough that your arm brushed his.
Dr. Johnson handed you a small printout. The image was grainy, unclear to anyone else but to both of you, it felt like the most important thing in the room.
You stared at it, at that tiny peanut.
Leon leaned slightly closer, looking at it with you.
“Hey we did that,” he said, attempting a small joke.
A soft laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it.
“Yeah,” you said quietly, you looked at him with a sincere smile.
Dr. Johnson gave you both a moment before turning back to the monitor, typing something in.
“So,” she said lightly, glancing between you and Leon, her tone more clinical now, “based on your labs and what we’re seeing here, you’re about seven to eight weeks along. We’ll keep monitoring everything to make sure the pregnancy is progressing normally, and we’ll schedule your next appointment in a few weeks to check development again.”
“And,” she added, turning slightly toward Leon, “I assume you’re the father?”
Leon didn’t hesitate. “Yeah,” he said firmly. You felt his hand tighten slightly around yours.
Dr. Johnson nodded, making a note. “Alright, good. It’s always helpful to have both parents involved this early.”
Parents.
Then she looked back at you, “I’m going to ask a few routine questions, just to make sure we cover everything medically. Is that okay? I promise you’re almost done here.”
You nodded.
“Have you had any previous pregnancies?”
“No.”
“Any history of complications, hormonal conditions, or reproductive concerns?”
You shook your head.
“Alright,” she said, typing. “Any other sexual partners in the last few months?”
The question caught you off guard.
“No,” you said quickly, your voice firmer than you expected. “Just him.”
Dr. Johnson nodded, unfazed, writing it down. “Okay, good. That helps rule out certain risks.”
She turned back toward the screen, her tone softening again.
“Everything looks good so far. At seven to eight weeks, symptoms like nausea, fatigue, and breast tenderness are very common even if they feel overwhelming.”
Overwhelming didn’t even begin to cover it.
“We’ll talk about ways to manage that,” she added with a small, reassuring smile. “You’re doing exactly what you’re supposed to be doing.”
· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·
When you left the clinic you felt a lot lighter, the anxiety that you were feeling earlier long forgotten.
The automatic doors slid open, letting in fresh air that felt almost too sharp after the stillness of the exam room. You stepped out beside Leon, still holding his hand.
“No work today? You asked him casually.
“Not until later,” he said, his thumb brushing lightly against your hand. “Why?” A small smile tugged at his lips. “You planning on stealing me for the day?”
You huffed out a quiet breath, rolling your eyes at him.
“Maybe,” you said, a little more lightly than you had felt all morning.
Leon glanced at you, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. “I think I can be convinced.”
You didn’t answer right away, instead, you started walking.
He fell into step beside you without question, your hands still loosely intertwined. Neither of you seemed in a hurry to go anywhere in particular. The sidewalk stretched ahead, a soft breeze cutting through the lingering tension you hadn’t realized you were still holding.
“I think I’m hungry,” you admitted, glancing down for a second. “I don’t know if I’ll actually be able to eat,” you hesitated, then looked back at him, “but do you want to grab something?”
“Yeah,” he said softly. “We’ll find something you can keep down.”
His thumb brushed lightly against your hand again.
“Have you been eating?” He asked after a couple of minutes of silence.
You hesitated. “Um I try,” you admitted. “But it’s really hard. Your child doesn’t like anything.”
You shot him to look like it was somehow his fault.
Leon let out a quiet huff, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “My child? So now it’s just mine?”
You shrugged slightly, a small hint of teasing slipping through. “I have a feeling the baby’s going to be as stubborn as you.” You glanced up at him, squinting just a little. “I’m not sure how I feel about that.”
Leon shook his head, a soft laugh escaping him. “Wow. Already blaming me for everything, huh?” His grip on your hand tightened just slightly, playful.
“Kid hasn’t even been born yet and I’m already a bad dad.”
“You’ll be a good dad,” you said after a moment.
“Huh?” Leon glanced at you, caught off guard, his brows pulling together slightly.
“You said you’re already a bad dad,” you reminded him, your voice quieter now. “But I think you’ll be a good dad.” You said it with certainty like it wasn’t even something that could be questioned.
For a second, he didn’t respond. He just looked at you like he wasn’t sure what to do with that information.
“You’re kind,” you said softly. “And sweet. That’s why I started to like you, before you left.”
You cleared your throat, suddenly a little self conscious under his gaze.
“You always made sure I was comfortable. You listened to what I said,” you continued, your voice quieter now. “We might not be together anymore, but I don’t think a month apart was enough to change the kind of person you are.”
“Yet.” Leon’s expression shifted slightly.
You blinked. “Huh?”
“You said we’re not together anymore,” he clarified, glancing at you. “Yet.”
“Leon…”
“I meant what I said the other day,” he continued, his voice steady now, looking at you with his beautiful icy blue eyes. “I didn’t have a choice when I left, but I was planning on reaching out to you again.” There was no hesitation in his voice.
You held his gaze for a moment, then asked quietly, “Will it always be like that?”
A small crease formed between his brows. “What do you mean?”
“You leaving,” you said, your voice tightening just slightly. “For weeks with no explanation.”
Leon exhaled slowly, like he had expected that question.
“My job is unpredictable,” he admitted. “I can’t promise you that I won’t have to leave again without warning.” He paused, his grip on your hand tightening just a little. “But I can promise that I’ll find a way to reach out to you as soon as I can.”
Did you like that answer? Not really.
But he wasn’t dodging your questions anymore, he was being honest, the one thing you had asked of him.
You looked down briefly, then back at him.
“Are you ever going to tell me what you do for a living?”
A faint, almost apologetic smile tugged at his lips.
“No,” he said simply. “Not if I can help it.”
You didn’t care if you were being annoying with your questions, if he wanted to get back together the least thing he could do is be honest with you.
“Have you told anyone in your family about the baby?” you asked, curiosity slipping into your voice.
Leon didn’t hesitate. “I don’t really have a family, I’m an orphan” he said simply. “I live for, and to work.”
He said it like it didn’t matter, but something in your chest tightened at the thought of him being all alone in the world.
“What about friends?” you asked hopefully.
“One or two,” he admitted. “But most of the people I know are just coworkers.”
You looked at him, your expression softening something sad flickering in your eyes.
“Well” you said quietly, shifting a little closer. “You’re not alone anymore.”
Carefully, you took his free hand and guided it to rest against the low of your stomach.
“You have us,” you added, your voice gentler now. “A new, tiny kind of broken family.”
Leon went still, his eyes locked onto yours, something intense hidden behind them.
“I guess I do,” he said quietly.
A few moments passed before he spoke again.
“C’mon,” he said gently. “Let’s get you something to eat.”
The walk wasn’t long. Just a small café a few blocks down, something quick before he had to leave again.
Still the moment you stepped inside, the smell hit you.
Your worst enemy, eggs. It smelled so awful it made your stomach twist in disgust so much you actually stopped mid step.
Leon noticed immediately.
“Hey,” he said, his voice lowering. “You okay?”
You swallowed hard, your grip tightening around his hand.
“Yeah,” you said quickly, even though your face had already gone pale. “I’m fine, just give me a second.”
You turned your head slightly, breathing through your mouth instead, trying to push the nausea back down.
Leon stepped closer, his hand moving from yours to the small of your back.
“Do you want to go somewhere else?” he asked worried, he had never seen your morning sickness.
You shook your head, even though your stomach rolled again.
“No, I’m okay,” you insisted, though your voice wavered. “I just can’t stomach eggs right now and it smells a lot like it in here.”
He just stayed close, his hand forming steady circles against your back.
“Alright,” he said softly. “We’ll take it slow.”
“Okay,” you muttered, you let out a shaky breath.
He guided you to a table near the window, somewhere quieter. You sank into the chair, your hands resting against the table as you tried to read the menu.
Leon didn’t sit right away.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asked again, watching you carefully.
You nodded, even though you still felt off.
“I will be,” you said. “I just need something light.”
“Okay,” he said immediately. “What can you handle?”
You stared at the menu, but nothing seemed appetizing.
“Uhm, maybe toast? Or a fruit bowl with yogurt. Something light .”
“Got it," he answered, but he hesitated for just a second, like he didn’t want to leave you alone.
“I’ll be okay,” you reassured him softly.
He studied you for a moment longer then nodded and stepped away. The second he was out of sight, you leaned back slightly, pressing a hand to your stomach.
Behave, please. Don’t make your dad worry.
A few minutes later, he came back with a plate of toast, some yogurt with fresh fruit, and a glass of orange juice.
“I didn’t know what you’d be able to handle,” he said, setting it down carefully. “So options.”
Something in your chest softened.
“Thank you, Leon,” you said, smiling.
He sat down across from you this time, but he didn’t relax, he was watching you like a hawk.
You picked up a small piece of toast, hesitating for a second before taking a careful bite.
“Okay,” you murmured, almost surprised.
Leon leaned forward slightly. “That’s good?”
You nodded.
“Yeah. I think it’s staying.”
Relief flickered across his face.
“Alright,” he said softly. “Good.”
“Are you not going to eat?” you asked after a moment.
“I had breakfast before I got to the clinic.”
“Oh.” You paused, glancing down at your bowl before looking back at him. “I think your child is trying to make me look bad in front of you. I’ve been trying to eat, but I always end up puking everything.”
Leon’s lips twitched. “Maybe the baby missed me.”
You let out a small smile despite yourself. “Maybe.”
You took another spoonful of your yogurt, a little more confident this time.
“Have you given any thought to what I told you?” he asked.
You looked up at him. “Care to refresh my memory?”
“About moving in with me.”
“Oh.” You exhaled softly, your spoon pausing midair. “Yeah, I don’t know. I think I want to see how things go first.”
He didn’t interrupt you.
“Like what if you get a girlfriend,” you continued, your voice quieter now, more unsure, “and she gets upset that you have your pregnant ex-situationship living with you?”
Leon didn’t even hesitate.
“The only girlfriend I plan on having is sitting right across from me.”
Your stomach fluttered at his comment, you looked down for a second, your fingers tightening slightly around the spoon.
“I can’t help but feel like I’m stringing you along with the baby,” you admitted. “Like you’re going to wake up in five years and realize you didn’t actually want this, or me.”
“That won’t happen,” he said firmly. He leaned forward slightly, his voice softer now but no less sure.
“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be. And this?” he added, glancing briefly at you, at everything between you. “This isn’t just about the baby.”
You didn’t respond right away. Instead, you focused on your food, taking small, careful spoonfuls until your bowl was empty.
You could feel his eyes on you the whole time, but he never pressured you for an answer.
“C’mon,” Leon said after a beat, his tone softer now. “I’ll give you a ride back to your apartment.”
You nodded, still quiet.
“Okay.”
He stood first, grabbing your empty bowl and setting it aside before offering you his hand again, like it was normal now. You still took it.
The drive was quiet, Leon kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting loosely on your tight. You stared out the window most of the way, watching the city blur past, your mind still replaying everything he had said.
“We’re here,” he said quietly, turning off the engine of his car.
“I know.” You unbuckled your seatbelt, but your hand lingered there for a second, like you were hesitating, then you reached for the door.
Leon got out at the same time, walking around the car without a word. By the time you stepped onto the sidewalk, he was already beside you again.
You made your way up to your apartment, the familiar steps grounding in a way nothing else had been all day. Your keys felt heavier in your hand as you unlocked the door.
The space inside was quiet, exactly the way you had left it. You stepped in slowly and Leon followed a second later, closing the door behind him.
You set your bag down, your shoulders dropping slightly now that you were back in a place that was yours. But when you turned back to him he was still standing there.
“You can sit,” you said softly, gesturing toward the couch.
Leon nodded, stepping further inside, his eyes flicking around briefly before settling back on you.
“Thanks.”
You hovered for a moment, not quite sure what to do with yourself now that you were here.
“Do you want anything?” you asked, your voice quieter now. “Water? Soda?”
He shook his head.
“Are you okay?” he asked gently, his eyes searching for yours.
“I’m tired,” you admitted softly. “I feel exhausted, I know it’s only twelve, but it’s been a long day and I’ve been having trouble sleeping.”
Leon’s expression softened immediately.
“Wanna take a nap?” he asked gently. “I’ll stay here for a while.”
You nodded, not trusting your voice.
Carefully, almost hesitantly, you shifted closer and rested your head against his chest. The movement felt timid like you were still asking for permission even as you did it.
“Is this okay?” you asked quietly.
Leon’s arm came around you without hesitation, holding you close.
“Yeah,” he murmured, his voice low and warm. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Get some sleep.”
You let yourself relax into him.
· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·
The sharp sound of a phone ringing pulled you out of sleep.
You blinked slowly, disoriented at first, your head still resting against him. The room was dimmer now, both of you relaxed.
You glanced at the clock on the wall.
2:26 P.M
You must’ve really been exhausted, you’d slept for almost two hours.
Leon shifted slightly beside you, already reaching for his phone.
“Agent Kennedy here,” he said, his voice deeper now, “Got it. I’ll be on my way.”
Your chest tightened, at the thought of him leaving again and not being able to see him for weeks.
You pushed yourself up slightly, still half lingering against him.
“Leaving already?” you asked sadly.
He nodded, running a hand through your hair.
“Yeah, duty calls and I got a kid to feed.” He said trying to lighten your mood.
“Will you be gone for a long time?” you asked, your voice quieter now.
He hesitated, just for a second.
“I don’t know yet,” he admitted. “But I’ll let you know as soon as I do.”
You nodded, even though you didn’t like that answer.
Slowly, you stood up.
There was a small pause before you leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.
“Take care, ’kay?” you whispered near his ear.
But Leon didn’t let it stay that way.
His hand came up to your jaw gently, turning your face just enough to kiss you properly.
You had almost forgotten what it felt like, how gentle he could be, how easy it was to fall into it. You moved against him slowly, like you were trying to remember something you hadn’t realized you missed.
Your breath caught when he pulled away, sooner than you wanted him to.
Then, Leon crouched slightly, his expression shifting into something unexpectedly warm.
“Hey, kid” he murmured, his voice softer now, like it wasn’t meant for you to hear. His hand hovered for a second before resting lightly against your stomach.
“Be good for your mother, let her get some rest, alright?”
There was a small smile on his lips.
“Leon,” you breathed, a little stunned.
He glanced up at you, still smiling faintly. Then he stood, like it hadn’t been a big deal at all.
You almost said “don’t go.”
The words sat at the back of your throat, but you swallowed them down. You knew better than that. Still, it felt like he was leaving with a piece of your heart.
You just hoped he wouldn’t be gone too long.
“Bye, sweetheart.”
He closed the door gently behind him not knowing how long it would be before you saw him again.
── ❨ ⸝⸝ 𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑. ❩ in which you slowly realize that “enjin’s” name was just a fake name to hide his actual real name. you also realize that he rescue kids all the time. soon you confronted him about it after connecting the dots—and at the end, he ended up telling you the real backstory of his name & childhood.
ೀ 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒔 - HEAVY MANGA SPOILERS, mentions of enjin’s childhood, childhood trauma(?), pet names (ma, baby, princess), sorta changed up the manga chapters to make sense?, not proofread, he proposed to reader eventually, timeskips, wc - 5.8k
⊹ ⸝⸝ .ᐟ enjin! x fem! reader
it started off small, like it didn’t really matter.
you and enjin were laying together late at night, the room quiet and warm. his arm was wrapped around you, holding you close against his chest while you absentmindedly traced patterns on his hand.
everything felt calm, easy, like it always did when it was just the two of you. then out of nowhere, he spoke, voice low and quiet.
“you know… enjin isn’t my real name.”
you looked up at him, a little confused but not too surprised. “then what is it?” you asked simply, like it was nothing serious.
he didn’t answer right away. instead, his fingers moved to your face, gently brushing your cheek while he looked at you with something soft—but distant—behind his eyes.
“it’s just a name someone gave me,” he said after a moment. “someone i owe everything to.”
you frowned slightly, not fully understanding. “everything?”
he nodded once, slow. “yeah… everything, princess.”
there was something in his tone that felt heavier than his words, but before you could question it more, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, lingering just enough to distract you.
“don’t think too hard about it, baby,” he murmured.
so you didn’t.
the memory didn’t come back until later—when things were loud, chaotic, and far from calm.
the fight against mymo was overwhelming. dust filled the air, your ears rang from the noise, and your heart was beating so fast it almost hurt.
everyone was moving at once—zanka shouting orders somewhere, riyo cutting through attacks with sharp precision, rudo holding steady.
and enjin…? he was right in the middle of it all, focused, serious , like he always was in fights.
you were just about to move closer when a voice cut through everything.
“stray collector enjin!”
mymo’s tone was mocking, almost amused, like he was enjoying this. your attention snapped toward him instantly.
“you’re always poking your nose into everyone else’s business…”
something about the way he said it made your stomach twist.
“…but you won’t even tell them your real name.”
your body went still.
for a split second, everything around you faded—the noise, the movement, the fight.
your eyes immediately went to enjin.
he froze.
it was small, almost unnoticeable, but you saw it. the slight tension in his shoulders, the way his expression tightened before smoothing out again like nothing happened.
too fast, too controlled, like he was hiding it.
he mumbled something you couldn’t hear, though his voice low and sharp, nothing like the soft tone he used with you.
but your mind wasn’t on the fight anymore. it pulled you back to that quiet night, his voice in your ear.
“enjin isn’t my real name.”
“someone i owe everything to.”
your chest felt tight, so why didn’t he tell you?
you weren’t just anyone—you were the one he held close, the one he called baby or princess like it meant something real.
so why keep this from you?
“hey—watch it!”
rudo’s voice snapped you out of it just in time to dodge an attack, your body moving on instinct. the fight didn’t stop. everything kept going like normal.
but you didn’t feel the same anymore, every glance at enjin now felt different. like there was a part of him you didn’t know.
the fight ended, but your mind didn’t settle with it.
even as the noise faded and everyone began moving again, checking injuries and catching their breath, you stayed still for just a second longer, mymo’s words repeating in your head like they meant more than they should.
it shouldn’t have hit you this hard, but it did. your eyes drifted to enjin almost without thinking, watching the way he moved like nothing happened—calm, focused, already making sure everyone else was okay. he didn’t look shaken.
he didn’t look exposed. he just… kept going. and somehow, that made it worse. because now, instead of just seeing him, you were starting to notice him.
and then the memories started coming back, one after another, like your brain was finally putting things together that had always been there.
you remembered that night clearly now—how you were leaning on him while he cleaned off his hands, quiet and relaxed after everything, when he suddenly brought up rudo.
“he almost didn’t make it the first time i found him.” at the time, it just sounded like one of those passing comments he made, something you didn’t need to dig into.
but now it felt different. the way he said it wasn’t careless—it was certain. detailed. like he had seen it happen right in front of him.
“trash beasts had him cornered… he hit the ground hard… couldn’t breathe right.” and then, just as simply, “i got there in time.” like it was nothing more than that. like saving someone at the edge of death was just another normal part of his day.
then there was zanka.
you could see it clearly now too—the frustration, the doubt he carried, the way he used to hesitate. and enjin never let him stay like that.
you remembered sitting there during one of their training moments, watching as zanka got more and more irritated with himself, and enjin didn’t back off, didn’t soften his words just to make it easier.
“you hesitate too much.” “trying isn’t enough.” it sounded harsh, but he didn’t leave him there. he stepped closer, lowered his voice, and said something that stuck without you realizing it at the time.
“you’re not weak. you just think you are.” and he stayed. he kept pushing him, guiding him, not letting him fall back into that same place. not abandoning him when it got difficult.
and then the smaller moments—the ones you brushed off the easiest. him crouching down in front of scared kids, speaking softer than he ever did in fights.
the way they looked at him, like he was safe, like he was someone they could trust without question.
the way he always noticed them first, moved first, acted without hesitation. and every time you asked, every time you pointed it out, he gave you the same answer.
“it’s nothing, baby.” “just doing what needs to be done.” like it wasn’t something worth explaining.
but now it was.
now all those moments didn’t feel random anymore. they felt connected. like pieces of something bigger that you just hadn’t seen before.
your gaze lifted again, finding him across the space, and this time you didn’t just see your boyfriend. you saw someone who had done this over and over again.
someone who didn’t just save people in the moment, but found them—pulled them out of places they couldn’t escape on their own, gave them something they didn’t have before, and stayed long enough to make sure it meant something.
your chest felt tight as everything finally started to settle into place.
“enjin isn’t my real name.”
“someone i owe everything to.”
you exhaled slowly, your fingers curling slightly at your sides as the realization fully formed in your mind.
he didn’t just start doing this on his own.
someone taught him, someone found him first, saved him, gave him a name, gave him a reason to keep going.
and now… he was doing the same thing for others—for rudo, for zanka, for every person he refused to walk past.
your eyes stayed on him, softer now, but filled with something deeper than before—understanding, mixed with a quiet ache that sat heavy in your chest.
but enjin knew everything.
he knew eventually he’d settle it down with you and talk about the truth he nearly kept hidden for years. and don’t get me started about knowing you were finding out the truth soon.
it was written all over you in ways you didn’t even realize—the way your questions lingered a second too long, the way your eyes searched his face like you were trying to piece something together without asking directly.
he noticed it every time, felt it in the quiet pauses between your words, and still he didn’t stop you.
he didn’t rush to explain either. not because he didn’t care, but because he knew that once he said it out loud, once he gave that part of himself a voice, things would shift.
maybe not break—but change. and enjin wasn’t afraid of a lot of things, but losing the way you looked at him now… that was one of them.
but even with all of that sitting in the back of his mind, heavy and unavoidable, there was something else that felt clearer than anything else he’d ever known.
he loved you. not in a complicated way, not in a way that needed to be figured out or questioned. it was simple, solid, and constant. you were the one person he didn’t have to think twice about, the one thing in his life that didn’t feel uncertain.
and maybe that’s why he didn’t hesitate when the thought came to him. maybe that’s why, even knowing there were things he hadn’t told you yet, he still chose you anyway—fully, without holding back.
it happened on a quiet day, one of those rare moments where nothing was falling apart around you.
no missions, no practice, no distractions pulling him away. you were sitting beside him, relaxed, flipping through something in your hands while he leaned back slightly, watching you in that quiet way he always did.
his arm rested behind you, fingers brushing your side every now and then like he needed that small contact, like it grounded him. you didn’t notice at first, too caught up in your own thoughts, until you finally glanced over and caught him staring.
“you’re being weird,” you muttered, raising a brow slightly.
he let out a quiet breath, almost amused. “can’t i look at my girl?”
you rolled your eyes a little, but you didn’t pull away. you never really did. and that was when something in him settled, like a decision he’d already made was finally catching up to the moment.
he shifted closer, his hand moving to yours, holding it in a way that felt more intentional than usual. his thumb brushed against your skin slowly, grounding himself before he spoke.
“i’m not good with saying things like this,” he admitted, his voice lower now, more serious. “you know that.”
you blinked, your attention fully on him now, something in your chest tightening just from the way he sounded.
“but i know what i want,” he continued, his grip on your hand tightening just slightly. “and i don’t second guess it when it comes to you.”
your heart started beating faster, your breath catching without you meaning it to.
“i want you,” he said simply. “not just like this. not just… right now. i want all of it. with you.”
there was no hesitation in his voice, no uncertainty—just honesty, raw and steady.
“marry me.”
the words landed softly, but they hit hard. for a second, everything else faded out, your mind struggling to catch up with what he just said. you stared at him, searching his face like you expected him to take it back, to say he didn’t mean it like that—but he didn’t.
he just looked at you, calm, sure, waiting.
“you’re serious…?” you whispered, your voice barely steady.
he let out a small breath, almost like a quiet laugh. “when am i not serious about you, ma?”
and just like that, the doubt melted. not completely—but enough. enough for you to squeeze his hand back, enough for you to nod, even if your heart felt like it was about to beat out of your chest.
“okay,” you said softly.
that was all he needed. he pulled you closer without another word, pressing his forehead against yours, his grip tightening like something inside him finally settled into place.
“good,” he murmured quietly. “that’s all i needed, princess.”
the days after that felt different in a way you couldn’t fully explain. everything moved forward—papers, signatures, planning—but there was something quieter underneath it all.
something deeper. enjin stayed close through it, not overly talkative, not expressive in big ways, but present. always present.
his hand finding yours without thinking, his gaze lingering on you like he was making sure you were still there.
it was during one of those quieter moments that something shifted.
you were both sitting side by side, going through documents together, making sure everything was correct. you were focused on the smaller details, trusting him to handle the rest like you always did. it felt normal, almost routine, until it wasn’t.
because enjin stopped.
completely.
his eyes locked onto a section of the paper, and for a moment, everything else disappeared for him. the room, the sound of your voice, the feeling of your shoulder brushing against his—none of it registered the same way anymore.
just that name.
his full name, not enjin. something else, something he hadn’t shown you, something he hadn’t said out loud in years.
his fingers went still against the paper, his jaw tightening slightly as he stared at it longer than he should’ve.
it felt distant and too close at the same time, like a part of himself he had buried suddenly being placed right in front of him without warning.
because that name didn’t belong to the person you knew.
not fully, not yet.
slowly, carefully, he moved.
he lifted the paper like it didn’t mean anything, like it was just another mistake.
folded it once, set it aside.
“this one’s wrong,” he said calmly, his voice steady enough that you didn’t question it.
you barely glanced over, already moving on. “oh, okay. we can fix it later.”
he nodded faintly, but his eyes lingered on that folded paper for just a second longer.
because he knew he couldn’t hide it forever, not now.
not when you were this close to him, not when you were about to share a life with him.
but still.. not yet.
his gaze shifted back to you, softer now as you kept talking, unaware of what he just saw, unaware of what he quietly pushed aside. his hand found yours again, holding it a little tighter this time, like he needed the reminder.
months after the wedding, things had settled into something quiet and steady between you two.
it wasn’t the kind of love that needed constant words anymore—it was in the small routines, the shared space, the way he always reached for you without thinking, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
but even in all that comfort, you never fully forgot what you had learned before. the pieces he never quite finished explaining. the name he hid.
the way he went still when it came up, like it carried something heavier than just identity.
you tried to let it go at first. you really did. but the questions don’t disappear just because time passes, and one night, when everything was quiet and he was sitting near you like usual, you finally couldn’t hold it in anymore.
“enjin,” you said softly, and he looked at you immediately, already attentive. “i need you to tell me.”
he didn’t respond right away, just studied your face for a moment like he already knew where this was going. his hand rested on your knee, steady but careful.
“tell you what, princess?” he asked quietly.
you hesitated, then finally said it. “your real name. everything you didn’t say before.”
there was a long silence after that. not tense, not sharp—just heavy. like something that had been sitting between you both for a long time was finally being touched.
he exhaled slowly, leaning back slightly, his gaze dropping for a moment before returning to you. and when he spoke, his voice wasn’t like usual. it wasn’t confident or playful or calm in the way you were used to.
it was quieter.
“i don’t like it,” he admitted first. “that name.”
you stayed still, listening.
“it’s not just… a name for me,” he continued. “it’s tied to things i don’t talk about. things i don’t want sitting in my head when i’m trying to live normally.”
his fingers tightened slightly against your knee.
“when i was a kid, i was in an orphanage,” he said. “poor place. full of kids like me. we didn’t have anything, so i thought… if i could find money, if i could help somehow, maybe things would get better.”
his eyes flickered away for a second, like the memory didn’t sit right even now.
“but i brought the wrong person there,” he said quietly. “someone dangerous. someone who saw opportunity where i saw hope.”
you felt your chest tighten, but you didn’t interrupt.
“they turned it into something else,” he continued. “a slave market. kids were taken. sold. separated.”
his jaw clenched slightly.
“i got out,” he said. “but my friends didn’t.”
the words hung there for a moment too long.
“i thought it was my fault,” he added, voice lower now. “still do, sometimes.”
your hand moved without thinking, resting over his. but he didn’t pull away. just held it tighter.
“that’s why i don’t use that name,” he said. “because every time i hear it, it’s not me i see first. it’s them. it’s what i lost.”
he took a slow breath.
“my real name is… long,” he said, almost like it was easier to say it this way than anything else.
you blinked, stunned for a second despite everything. he gave a faint, almost tired breath. “yeah. i know.”
a pause, then his hand squeezed yours a little more firmly.
“the man who took me in after everything shortened it,” he said. “it goes perfectly with my “modded car” theme..”
his eyes lifted to yours again.
“so i became enjin.” another pause. then, softer— “a connector.” you frowned slightly. “a connector?”
he nodded.
“i can’t undo what happened,” he said. “i can’t bring them back. but i can do the other thing.”
his gaze shifted slightly, like he was seeing something beyond the room.
“i find people before they get lost,” he said. “i pull them out before it gets worse. i connect them to somewhere safe.”
his hand brushed lightly against yours.
“rudo, zanka… all of them,” he continued. “they were falling into something. i just… got there first.”
his voice softened.
“i call it my umbrella,” he said. “because i don’t want anyone standing alone in the rain the way i did.”
he looked back at you then, fully.
“and you,” he added quietly, “you’re the only reason i didn’t stay just that.”
your breath caught slightly.
he shifted closer, resting his forehead briefly against yours.
“i still don’t like that name,” he admitted again, softer this time. “but i don’t run from it the way i used to.”
“because you’re here now.”
you smiled before you even said it, like the thought had been sitting in your chest for a while and only now finally slipped out.
you stepped closer to him and wrapped your arms around his waist, holding him like you always did when you wanted him close in a way words couldn’t fully explain. he reacted instantly—hands settling on your back, steadying you like it was instinct.
“since you’re always mentioning about children…” you said lightly, your voice muffled against him, “is it a good time to ask if we can make some children of our own later?”
there was a pause, not uncomfortable type.
just a quiet in a way that made the air feel heavier for a second. you felt his grip tighten slightly around you.
“…you really know how to say things that stop my brain,” he muttered.
you pulled back just enough to look at him, still smiling. “is that a no?”
in which your daily routine consists of waking up, setting up your stall to sell fruit, conversing with the locals, packing up the stall, and heading back home. oh. and entertaining that incorrigible grand master.
CONTAINS : gn!reader, 1.6k wc, fluff, yearning, reader runs a fruit stall and tries to not let Feelings™ show (and fails horribly), varka is kinda reminiscent to a puppy, written PRE release but based off of scattered lore we have on him so let's see how off the mark this characterisation is later ;w;
A/N : AFTER 5 LONG YEARS HE IS FINALLY REAL AND OFC HE MAKES ME WRITE MY FIRST GENSHIN FIC IN YEARS WOWEE
AO3 LINK HERE !!
15/03/26: new ficlet addition to the routineverse of varkamc in an established relationship where theyre just. kissing. take that as u will :3
Being the owner of a fruit stall in Mondstadt City, selling your fresh produce every day from morning to evening, isn’t as lacklustre as one might think. It's a stable business, something which stems from just how close-knit the community is (how small it is compared to other cities, rather). And you like it that way; the familiarity of it all.
You see the same shop owners who greet you with a chipper “Good morning!” and its counterpart when it's time to pack up and head home.
You see the same old regulars who greet you with familiar warmth, perusing your newly stocked goods to take back for breakfast or midday snacking.
You see the same knights who go on their usual patrols, oftentimes striking up conversation and selling your goods to satiate their hunger.
You see the same children running around with their carefree laughter and twinkling eyes, which somehow shine even brighter when they spot newly imported fruits from other regions amongst your lineup.
And, of course, you see him. The bane of your existence. The reason you wake up grimacing at the prospect of getting out of bed and starting your day. The reason you can never start nor end the day in a moment of peace.
Well, you hear him first before you see him.
“Good morning, my ever so diligent fruit seller!” His voice is something far too spirited in the quiet, early morning. You already know then and there peace is no longer an option. So you close your eyes, take a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself for the whirlwind about to make a stop at your stall, and exhale.
A shadow hovers over you, the subtle warmth of the early sun dissipating along with it. Flitting your eyes open, you're met with eyes which encompass the blues of a clear sky and the man who is the sun incarnate.
“Good morning to you as well.”
Varka beams — in that ridiculously bright curl of his lips which has you squinting — as though you haven't responded in the same monotone manner each and every time. But he acts as happy as he did the first time you so much as acknowledged his greeting all those years ago.
(Before he was the Grand Master. Before he became something akin to a legend. Before he carried the hopes and wishes of the people into every battle, every act he took to protect his home. Back when he was a bright-eyed knight ready to take on the world while you listened to his rambles, wondering how someone could be so bright.)
A nagging feeling tells you that won't be changing any time soon, and you curse your traitorous heart yearning for it not to.
A crisp crunch! dissolves your thoughts. Blinking, you're unsurprised to see a bright red apple — one of your bright red apples, you note with narrowed eyes — in his mouth. Eyes closed, he contentedly chews the bitten off piece of fruit.
“Ooh, the apples are particularly sweet today,” Varka hums, savouring the taste lingering in his taste buds. It isn't long before his attention swivels back to you, eyes crinkling in mirth. “Not as sweet as you, of course! Haha!”
His mouth really never does stop flapping.
“Flattery won't make me forget about you paying, Grand Master,” comes your deadpan response, demeanour far too used to his sweeping presence. Unfortunately.
With a melodramatic flair only he can pull off, Varka gasps, half-eaten apple in one hand while the other lies solemn atop his heart. “Grand Master? Oh, you wound me! I thought we were at least on first name basis.”
He still hands you the 200 mora amidst his theatrics, fingers brushing gently against your open palm. They linger for a brief moment, that ever familiar warmth curling into your now clenched hand, before it slips back to his side.
You roll your eyes, huffing yet not entirely surprised. “Whatever. Anyway, don't you have duties you should be attending to? You know, as the Grand Master?”
“I'll have you know I am carrying out my duties.” A cheeky grin appears on his visage upon seeing your dubious expression, and you mentally brace yourself for whatever is bound to spill from that insufferable mouth of his. He takes another bite of the apple, chewing and swallowing before continuing. “Checking in on the beloved citizens of Mondstadt is a part of my duties, actually. So naturally I'll be checking up on you every chance I get.”
“Uh-huh. And that entails any time ranging from setting up my stall first thing in the morning, like now, to when I'm about to head home?”
“Of course!” He beams, chipper as ever. “What kind of Grand Master would I be to leave my most beloved citizen bored and lonely without my presence?”
“A better, more competent one,” you drawl, arms crossed and expression undoubtedly unimpressed. “Speaking of, I hope you aren't leaving poor Jean to pick up your slack.”
Another crunch! fills the space. He's polished off the apple, leaving nothing but the pips and the stem. Your nose scrunches; he gives another lopsided grin.
“Jean has it covered. It’s essentially a part of her job description, anyhow. Besides, I’m almost positive that little workaholic enjoys taking on my work and keeping herself busy.”
You sigh, entirely unimpressed yet not surprised in the slightest. Again. “You’re incorrigible.”
“Yet you still entertain me,” he says, grin dwindling into something softer, eyes glittering a little brighter. Within a blink, his relaxed posture straightens. “Oh! Right, this is for you.”
Swept up in his presence, you didn’t realise the cecilia so obviously tucked protectively in his pocket up until now. You shouldn’t be so surprised. More often than not, he will bring you a little trinket — sometimes in the morning, sometimes in the evenings. Yet seeing him carefully holding the stem, calloused fingers cautious so as to avoid crumpling the leaves or petals, has your skin warming more than the rising sun above you should.
(And so what if Flora gives you that all-knowing grin from within her own stall? So what if you're already mentally preparing for her to idle her way across to your stall during that quiet hour when the streets are less busy to tease you, again, about the Grand Master's blatant favouritism?)
“You sure seem to have a lot of spare time,” you mutter, gently taking the flower from his outstretched hand. It remains in your own for a brief moment, slowly twirling between your pinched fingers before setting it down on the wooden counter.
“Only for you,” he responds just as softly, as though speaking any louder would disrupt the peace settling over you. It’s almost embarrassing how easily the words spill from his lips, how readily he is able to drown you in this saccharine side of him none would expect from a man who birthed legends with his own name and skills.
And so you just grumble, pointedly doing your best to block out the thunderous beats of your wretched heart. “Shouldn’t you get going? Something about the thrill of adventure and action calling your name?”
“So you do remember what I say!”
“Only because you never stop talking. Even forcefully blocking you out doesn’t work.”
Still, he laughs, like you just landed the funniest joke known to man. His hulking frame of muscle and battle-worn scars shake at the boisterous action. That ever so familiar boyish sound which makes you feel both at ease but also forget just how strong he can be when necessary.
Eventually he composes himself, leaning back with his hands perched on his hips. “Save me some fruit for my return!” are his last words to you as he takes a slow step away from your stall; reluctant, almost. His waving is obnoxious, large, swooping movements which could probably render a mitachurl out of commission from the sheer velocity, his cheery grin akin to that of the shining sun.
You merely roll your eyes and give him a half-hearted wave of your own.
It's only when he disappears beyond the towering cobble walls do you allow yourself to turn away. Shining with gentle radiance in the early morning glow sits the cecilia he left for you, its pristine visage a grating contrast to the worn wood of the stall. The petals are soft to the touch, the pads of your thumb and forefinger gently running along its smooth texture.
Chatter slowly floods the city as life blooms amongst the populace, and you swiftly tuck its stem securely in your apron's breast pocket. The regulars come out for their daily peruse and purchase. The guards greet you and stop for idle chats. The children amble towards you eager to hear what new fruits you have in stock this time.
Even as the day goes on and your stock dwindles, you make sure to set aside the freshest fruit you have for when a certain man returns late into the day.
(And when he appears, roughed up from spending the day out in the wilderness yet shining as bright as ever, you act as though the ripe apple and berries were just mere leftovers — produce which never sold. If he notices the still pristine cecilia tucked into your pocket, he doesn't comment on it. He never does. Varka only beams in that manner which always gets your hands clammy, happily holding your empty crates while chattering about today's wilderness expedition, waiting as you finish packing up so he can walk you back home.)
(Like routine; like always.)
if you enjoyed this, reblogs and/or comments are greatly appreciated <33
Leon x Wife!Reader || Word Count: 3.0k
After Leon found an old polaroid camera from a garage sale one day, he appeared intent to take as many boring pictures of you as possible. What you'd never understand is what he needed them all for, and so far, he wasn't saying.
CW: Mentions of canon-typical violence but nothing explicit, some fluff in the first half, some angst in the second half. Happy ending though! Set during the events of RE9.
You heard the familiar 'snap' of the old polaroid from across the couch, and a smile tugged your mouth upwards, eyes never leaving the page of your book. Leon seemed to have found his new favorite hobby since he'd found the old thing in a dusty box in your neighbor's garage sale over a month ago.
"That's the 3rd one today." You muttered in amusement, hearing the thing's quiet mechanical whir as it prints the photo. "And you keep getting my bad side."
From your peripherals, you see Leon lounging comfortably on the opposite cushion, shaking it gently back and forth to help the development along.
"You don't have a bad side." You could practically feel the grin attached to his statement and finally gave him a look after finishing the paragraph mid-way through the page.
"Is this for some scrapbook of me doing very boring things around the house?"
He huffed a little laugh. "Not quite."
"You're being oh so mysterious about them..." You'd understand if the pictures he took were in places when you were all dolled up and dressed to the nines, out on a date or with the stars as a backdrop behind you. But everything he'd captured as a moment in time had been during incredibly mundane and uninteresting things.
You'd been asking all day but hadn't gotten a straight answer out of him yet. You waited a beat, but when he only continued gazing at you with that soft admiration, the look he often directed at you in the quiet moments at home, you figured he wasn't about to offer anything else up as explanation.
Instead, he looked at the image once it was fully developed and stuck it onto the little side table slightly behind him where all the rest were also waiting in a small stack.
"Are you ever going to tell me what they're for?" You finally asked, tilting your head to look at him fully with a smile that widened by the second. And the sight must have been to his liking, because he lifted the camera again, and the lens activated with another 'snap.'
"I'll think about it..."
He was already holding the camera up out of your reach when you half-heartedly grabbed for the thing in a mock lunge. Your book forgotten, you climbed towards him to try snatching it from his hands, laughing to yourself for his silliness, but he set the thing on the side table behind him and grabbed hold of your waist with barely any effort.
"Hey, now...stealing's a crime, you know." He chuckled, pulling you into him and stopping your pretend protests with a kiss. "Next one's gonna be your booking photo."
You complied willingly, happy to melt into his arms and lay atop his chest as he continued to kiss you. First chaste and sweet. Eventually blending into something a little more heated. The cozy evening was quick to shift into an atmosphere much less innocent.
"Oh dear...Whatever will you do with me, Mr. Federal Agent?" You whispered against his lips, and he rewarded the sin in your voice with a gentle bite to your bottom lip and a darkening of his gaze.
"Keep talking like that, Mrs. Kennedy," he muttered in that way he knows sends a shiver down your spine, moving to press you back into the couch cushion, "and you'll find out."
The best word to describe the care center, now pulling up to the main drive in this dismal and dreary rain, was looming. It looked built to impose, to intimidate, to scare. The gothic architecture and lingering fog didn't lend any reassurance that this was, indeed, your typical facility for healing.
Leon doesn't believe the daytime would have painted it in any better a light.
Slowing to a stop and shifting to park, Leon unbuckled and turned off the car, before taking just a moment to look up at the place. He already had a bad feeling that he'd be walking into more than he bargained for. Usually, his instincts were right. No reason it would be any different now.
Another pause. Reaching up, he flipped down the sun visor and stared at the small stack of pictures tucked behind the mirror. Only the front-most facing picture was visible, the rest hidden beneath.
You, pinning him with that exasperated little look you gave as he'd taken the picture of you brushing your teeth in the bathroom mirror. Hair unbrushed and pulled back half-heartedly into a hairband, and not an ounce of makeup on your face. He could distinctly remember the way you'd mumbled with your mouth still full of toothpaste, asking why on earth he'd taken such a silly picture.
A little piece of beauty in a place like this.
His gloved hand traced the edge of the polaroid, only for a second, before flipping the visor back up and heaving himself out of the car.
Get it done and go home, he told himself. Home to you.
Dread settled like a blanket of snow underneath his skin. Cold and still.
He'd made this drive, thirty years ago. Could vaguely remember the route. And while he couldn't remember every gentle turn in the highway or every small turnout point along the way, the way he'd felt as a naive and unaware 21-year-old came to him in brief flashes.
The place where it all started. The place where he'd first failed those who'd relied on him to protect them. And once more, a place where he may yet still fail again if he didn't hurry.
You would have scolded him, hearing his thoughts.
His brow felt tight. Tension in the blood vessels of his face. With a long sigh he rubbed at the corners of his eyes, knowing it would be ineffective at relieving the pressure but doing it anyway.
The corpse of Raccoon City was jagged and dusty, and the further he drove into its outskirts, the more haunting and desolate it became. Old, dry bones of the thriving populace that had once lived there. Time hadn't been kind.
He continued on. More signs of those who'd tried to survive fleeing the city. Crashed and stalled cars, some burned out from a fire long ago. Boarded up windows and doors everywhere he looked. And beneath it all, ground into the very dust of the earth, the souls of thousands who hadn't asked for any of this.
Eventually, he couldn't drive any further and came to a reluctant stop. The rest of the way would have to be on foot. His eyes flicked upwards to the visor, and without really thinking about it, he flipped it down and plucked the small stack of pictures from behind the clip keeping them in place.
Behind the first polaroid was another, this one of you standing in front of the sink, washing the dishes. The part of your shirt closest to the counter was wet, and between this one and the last you'd found the time to brush your hair somewhat. But your eyes were closed and your mouth was open in a candid shot of you singing. He couldn't remember what song. Something catchy and modern.
You'd whined his name in complaint right afterwards, rolling your eyes and flicking water at him with your fingers.
The barest hint of a laugh came out with Leon's breath, and he brought the picture up to his lips to press a brief kiss to your photo before tucking the rest of the polaroids into his pants pocket.
"Soon, baby. I'll be back soon."
He stepped out onto the ruined streets of Raccoon City, feeling the ghosts of the past press closer the further he walked.
Leon grunted, fighting to stay on his feet after hoisting Grace up through the maintenance shaft halfway up the wall. Thankfully she was able to make it all the way up, promising to find a way for him to come after.
She disappeared into the unknown above a moment later, and the sound of her passage grew more distant, until it was silent once again.
Head swimming with fatigue and the occasional wave of vertigo, Leon meandered over to a relatively flat spot in the heaps of trash and muck that he found himself trapped in. Through the pain of his wounds and what he felt was the slow liquification of his insides, he lowered himself down to sit, pressing his back against the sturdiest metal debris available with harder force than he'd intended to.
A coughing fit wracked him, sounding even more painful in his own ears that it ever had. The black blotches on his skin had spread significantly, and he could feel the edges of the dead tissue where it had numbed just slightly.
Fuck. This wasn't good.
The act of just sitting down and waiting went against everything in Leon's instinct, and the sense of danger around every corner was still triggering despite the silence. There was never a moment of respite in places like this. Always one more BOW waiting in the wings for the second he let his guard down. Now was no different.
But this time, he had so little left to give...the reserves of his strength and unwavering endurance to continue on were running dangerously low. It had been a long time since he'd felt this despairing on assignment, and even longer since he'd faced such harrowing odds.
Gravity dragged his eyes closed, but he cursed under his breath, forcing them open again. He couldn't sleep. Not yet. Not when Grace was still in danger and he hadn't completed the mission.
Not yet.
"No sleepin' on the job, asshole." He muttered to himself, deciding to take stock of his ammo as a means to keep himself awake.
One and a half magazines of handgun ammo. Three bullets in the Requiem. Low. Concerningly so. Nothing for the rifle or shotgun after dealing with that mutated plant. And now here he was. Sitting there, forced to wait for Grace to do her part. He knew she would. He could trust her, he felt. Smart. Adaptive. That was good enough for him.
But the silence was stifling, and in that silence his mind wandered. To Raccoon City. To Kendo and his daughter, all those years ago. To this whole mystery of Elpis. To Grace.
To you.
He groaned, leaning to the side to reach for the polaroids in his back pocket of his pants. His thick gloves made it difficult, however, and he eventually stripped them off to be able to grasp at the thin papers easier.
The one of you brushing your teeth was gone. If he had to guess, probably eaten by flames in his fight in the chapel. Fuck.
From where he sat it was a little too dark to make out all the details he knew were there, and the little polaroids had been crumpled and partially torn on one corner. But he could still see you, in the faint light of the living room, face serene and content as you read your newest book.
He'd asked you what this one was about earlier that week, despite not being that interested in the topic. But the way you'd smiled and read aloud the back of the book's synopsis had been worth it enough to ask. You'd had your nose in that thing for days, eating up the words like your favorite meal.
And when he got back, he'd ask you to tell him all about it. You were bound to be done with it by then.
The thought made his chest ache, worse even then the cuts and bruises and punctures that littered his body after all that he'd endured so far. He brought the polaroid up to his forehead, letting his eyes close, as if keeping it close could somehow give him even a fraction of the warmth that having you next to him could provide.
It couldn't. It still helped, somehow.
"I'll be there. I promise." He rasped quietly to himself, finally managing to heave himself up with the little bit of strength that resting for a while had regained him.
A low rumble, followed by the mechanical whine of moving machinery drew his attention upwards, to the massive crane arm slowly dragging itself upwards out of the trash. A path forward presented itself. A door, further on.
Steeling his will, he trudged forward, tucking your photo back with the others that were still there.
He was dying.
There really was no getting around it.
Beyond the door lay the last of Umbrella's twisted experiments. Elpis, whatever it was, had been the reason for all of this. The cause of so much pain and suffering. One last door, and perhaps a well-placed shot to the computer terminal would set it all right.
His strength failed him before he even reached it.
The stairs had been too much, and he fell to his knees with wrenching, heaving coughs. Blood came up with each violent compression of his chest, spilling out onto the glass-like floor in terrifying splatters.
"Fuck..." He ground out, spitting out the last of the mouthful of blood that had come out of him.
He felt like death, or at least like it was hovering just behind him, breathing down his neck with that foul stench of blood and bile. Forcing more strength to his legs, he propelled himself further another few steps. But he had already far surpassed his limits, and he toppled forward almost face-first into the door. His hand coming up to catch himself was the only thing that saved him, but it threatened to give out just as quickly.
He'd come so far. It was right there. And yet his body wouldn't obey his will to keep going.
"This can't...be fucking it." He growled, furious, terrified, desperate that he could draw on just a little more to get him to the finish line waiting just beyond the door.
He coughed. More blood. His legs felt numb, and with no strength to support him, he fell forward into the door, sliding down until his back pressed up to it with nothing left in him.
Breathing was difficult, labored and painful. Each inhale brought with it the scent of copper and a deep, aching hurt that he couldn't and didn't want to identify properly. The yellow lighting made everything look like a strange fever dream, and for a moment, he wasn't sure he hadn't already died and gone someplace where everything had much softer edges.
His eyes closed, and no matter how much he fought them, they wouldn't open back up. The effort was too much.
Not like this.
This couldn't be it.
He was supposed to go home, back to you, back to the domestic bliss of your life together.
Time had slowed, the seconds dragged on longer than they should have. And it took more than he liked to pull the half-ruined photos from his back pocket out where he could look at them.
Blood--he couldn't tell whose--had stained one side of this polaroid. Try as he might to wipe it away, it had already saturated into the paper, partially tarnishing the image beneath.
Your wide and playful smile, however, was still on full display. Untarnished and dazzling. Amused at his antics, and so full of love for him.
It was all he had, alone in this too-bright, empty corridor. And if it would be his last sight alive, at least it was beautiful.
He muttered your name, savoring the shape it took on his lips, crushing the photo in his fist and holding it to his chest. His vision swam with more pain to accompany it, and nausea roiled deep in his gut. "I'm sorry..."
The effort of staying conscious finally proved too much. Everything went black after that.
Leon couldn't quite wrap his head around the way he was feeling, fingers flexing back and forth, only faint white lines where the black blotches had marred his skin. No ache in his lungs, no cough that wouldn't go away.
For the first time in... perhaps years, the tension and burden deep in his skin and bones was just...gone. This liberation, this stay of execution via Raccoon City syndrome, was more freeing than he knew how to describe. And with the antiviral now in the hands of the right authorities, it could be researched and reproduced for many more.
Grace had been right. Elpis had been Spencer's last act of atonement. He she done as he originally made her promise, he'd certainly be dead at the bottom of the Raccoon City crater, buried deep within the remains of a lab where no one would ever find him.
He owed her more than he knew how to repay. Maybe just being alive was enough, but he'd still try. She'd promised to keep in touch.
And now, here he was, walking through the disarray of emergency vehicles with his life and a newfound reason to hope. The only downside to all this? The polaroids that had been in his pocket were all missing. Lost within the debris of the city, no doubt. It was disappointing. He'd liked those photos.
Guess he'd just need to take some more.
Nowhere else to go now but home. It was the middle of the night, and that meant several hours of driving to get there. He might not arrive until the wee hours of the morning. Leon was determined to get back to you as soon as possible.
He stopped mid-stride, realizing one crucial detail he had forgotten. Then, a laugh came out as an exasperated huff, and he reconnected his call with Sherry.
"Leon?"
"Need a favor."
"What's up?"
"Don't think I'm getting the Porsche back." He admitted, peering back into the night in the general direction he thought he'd last parked it, all the way on the other side of the city's outskirts. "Think you can arrange a ride for me?"
"Another one?" He could hear the laughter in her tone.
"Wasn't my fault this time, I swear." He defended with a shake of his head, watching the emergency response personnel go about their business at the scene.
"Mhmm... I'll let you be the one to explain that to your wife, then."
A grin marked his face, knowing exactly how that conversation would go. "Sherry, am I getting that ride or should I start walking?"
Summary: After figuring out that your boyfriend is Red Hood, you struggle to figure out a way to tell him you are aware of his “nightly activities.” When Jason finally introduces you to his family a week before Christmas, you are presented with the perfect opportunity to tell him
AKA: You give Jason Red Hood merch for a Secret Santa exchange, it goes about as well as you expect.
Word Count: 10.5k
Warnings/Tags: Pre-established relationship, Reader wears makeup and has a purse but I don’t go into much detail, Nosy reader lol, Crack fic treated seriously, Scenes jump around a lot, Fluff, Don’t think about canon when reading this, Probably ooc, Do not take this fic seriously, Convenient plot stuff had to occur for this story to work okay
A/N: Happy holidays guys! I actually can’t believe I finished this before Christmas (at least for me) enjoy this little fic. This will probably be my last fic before New Years :)
DC Masterlist
—
Something was off about the Wayne family, and not in the way you might’ve expected from people as rich as they are.
What’s funny is that you had come to that conclusion in the most unconventional way. You didn’t mean to start investigating the Wayne family, but somehow you did. One might think that with a public imagine as widespread as their own, somebody would eventually slip up.
That was not the case here.
About half a year ago you had begun dating your boyfriend, Jason Todd. In your defense, you didn’t even think about that Jason Todd. While you knew some details about the Waynes, you didn't follow everything they did, and especially not back then. You were worlds apart. After all, who would assume that their boyfriend was the dead son of Bruce Wayne?
The idea had crossed your mind, but you didn’t give it any credibility. Many people have shared names and aren't related. In fact you had silently laughed at the coincidence. Oooh, what if your boyfriend was secretly hiding from the public because he was previously declared dead and can’t come back without making a fuss. Yeah, likely story.
Needless to say, it became a lot less funny when you started to actually figure out what was afoot.
—
You stared at Jason’s phone, the caller was just labeled “B” with no other explanation. Jason had been looking for his phone after misplacing it, and you had found it on top of your shared dresser.
“Uhh, somebody is calling you.” You carefully grabbed the device, careful not to answer it.
Jason’s footsteps grew louder as he approached the bedroom, the hollow floorboards echoing beneath his feet. “Who is it?” He asked casually, holding his hand out.
You shrugged, “I dunno, you just have then labeled ‘B.’” You placed the phone in his hand, and he froze. Immediately, he looked from the phone up to you.
“Did they say anything else? Texts?” He attempted to shield the phone from your view. A surge of curiosity washed over you, interested to know who he was talking to.
“Not that I saw? All I saw was the call.” You paused as the phone stopped ringing… before picking up again mere seconds later. “Anybody important? Boss or something?”
In hindsight, that was the funniest response you could’ve given. At the time you didn’t actually know what Jason did for work. When you asked, he’d just shrug, offhandedly respond “Security,” then quickly change the subject. Eventually, you let it go, realizing he was never going to go in depth about it with you. Which was understandable. Perhaps he wanted to separate his home life and work life.
However as time went on, you began to have more questions. His schedule was just too inconsistent.
There were days where he would just brush off his job, “I’m not the only one who works there, they can handle a night without me.” He would tell you. There were even times where he’d leave in the morning with no warning, just a couple messages on your phone telling you that "work called."
So you came to the conclusion: he must’ve been his own boss.
It made sense, he seems to get paid relatively well. His work schedule is evidently flexible. It’s a logical conclusion for a person to reach. After devising your theory, you didn’t think much of it, despite the nagging feeling in the back of your mind.
Well, you didn't think much of it… until a week later.
“Please, just cover for me this once. I’ll make it up to you.” You pause at the doorframe, breath hitching as you lean against the wall. You had woken up and noticed that Jason was not with you in bed. It’s not uncommon for him to leave in the middle of the night, but usually he left a note, message, just something to let you know that he would return. This time he didn’t, so you went to go look for him.
“I know…” Jason continued, a long moment of silence in between his answers. “Yes, I know, but please? I promised her that she’d have me this entire weekend.”
Your finger tapped absentmindedly against the wooden doorframe, and your other hand rubbed your eye, attempting to expel the sleepiness from your body. Okay, so he’s talking to somebody— definitely work related— about taking time off for you. Were you wrong about him being his own boss?
“I don’t care what Bruce thinks of it.” He scoffed, and you could imagine him rolling his eyes too. At his words, you lean closer to the living room entrance, all whilst ensuring you stayed hidden from his view. “He can think whatever he wants.” He paused before continuing, his tone more unsure than the fiery scorn he spoke with seconds ago. “You haven’t told the others, right?” His words were soft, hesitant. He sounded winded, as if merely speaking the words left him drained.
There was a long pause, and you held your breath in anticipation.
Jason sighed, and it’s somehow quieter than his previous words. “Thank you…” You could hear the cushions of the couch squeak slightly as Jason sat down. His words sounded dry, but you could hear the sincerity backing them. “Yeah, I know… I’ll…” He paused, a soft huff escaping him, “I’ll bring her to one of the dinners before the New Year.”
You sharply inhaled, immediately scurrying back to bed and throwing the blankets over yourself haphazardly. You compelled your breathing to slow, attempting to feign unconsciousness. It doesn’t work, but Jason wasn’t finished with his phone call; you can distantly hear his voice still on the phone if you strain your ears. You know you have at least a minute to get your act together before he returns. You force your eyes shut, and attempt to sleep.
Except, obviously, that does not work. All you could think about was the implications of what you just heard.
Everything you thought was wrong.
At first you were merely cataloging any important information he might’ve revealed: names, locations, anything that could clue you into what was going on. However, as you started listening, you came to a realization.
This isn’t him talking about his shifts.
“You haven’t told the others, right?”
This isn’t about work at all.
“I’ll bring her to one of the dinners before Christmas.”
This was about his family.
Now, you may have just woken up at two in the morning and eavesdropped on a conversation that you had no context of, but the message was abundantly clear. He’s planning to introduce you to his family. If the distress he displayed at the notion told you anything, it must be something he’s thought about for a while.
You didn’t know much about his family, he was always super vague about them. However he did tell you about his numerous siblings, and that he— along with the majority of them— are adopted.
At the time, your relationship was still new, and you didn’t want to pry into territory he was clearly uncomfortable with. You had expressed interest in meeting them, but assured him that if that’s something that makes him uncomfortable, then it can wait.
Now, usually you wouldn’t think too much about him being adopted, but there was one other thing that set off an immediate alarm in your head. The one name he mentioned, Bruce.
Now there’s probably millions of Bruce’s in America alone, but everybody in Gotham will immediately think of one man.
Bruce Wayne.
With literally any other person you know, you’d assume that they would be talking about a different Bruce. However, this was Jason. Jason took a while to share his last name with you, and you didn’t blame him. After all, when you found out his full name you had gone to search it up on your own soon after. You wanted to see if he has any social media posts, determine what kind of person he is online. Only, you didn’t find social media accounts.
You found articles.
Articles and articles filled talking about the death of “Jason Todd.” How he had died during a terrorist attack in Ethiopia in search of his mother. That Jason Todd had been adopted by— you guessed it— none other than Bruce Wayne.
Now, you were willing to chalk it up to an odd coincidence, after all that Jason Todd was dead. There was no way you were dating a dead guy when there are full on autopsies published detailing the horrific death of this child. It was an unfortunate coincidence. It makes sense why Jason wouldn’t want to share his last name if everyone immediately thought of a dead kid.
Now? You aren’t sure anymore. What are the chances that this “Bruce” is actually Bruce Wayne and Jason, your Jason, is actually the (previously?) dead Jason Todd.
With all that being said, you’ll be the first to say that you are no detective. Batman certainly won’t be finding competition with you…
However, this might be worth investigating.
At the time, you didn’t even think to truly consider the consequences if Jason found out about your snooping. However, in your defense, it was less of an “investigation” and more “attempting to notice details that may or may not prove that your insane theory is correct.”
You didn’t actively search the house for evidence that your Jason Todd was the Jason Todd (but really how many Jason Todd’s exist in Gotham, and are adopted, and know a Bruce?). However, to your surprise, you didn’t need to.
—
Narrowing your eyes, you widen your stride to evade the puddle of a mysterious viscous liquid on the ground, almost oil-like in nature. Your nose scrunches up at the smell, and you avoid making eye contact with anybody. Walking with purpose, you speed up your pace to avoid any confrontations.
You didn’t want to go through Crime Alley.
Jason had told you stories. He had made it clear that if you ever had reason to go there, you’d tell him, and he’d handle it. You weren’t about to argue since you never had a desire to go there.
You straighten your posture, walking with a confidence that you feel you currently lack. God, you absolutely hate the taxis in this city. All you asked was that he’d turn on the heater and close his window— it’s winter!
The driver absolutely lost it.
You had asked that he just stop right where you were, in the Upper East Side, but he didn’t. Instead, he drove north. It was only once you passed the Monarch Theater when you realized how screwed you were. The driver had yelled at you, threatening your life if you didn’t get out of the car.
So you got out of the car. Clutching your jacket and purse close to your chest as it speeds off, leaving you stranded in Crime Alley.
Stranded and terrified, you tried retracing the path the car had taken, attempting to leave. However, every alley, street, and crevice looked sketchy. While you had lived in Gotham for a long time, you’ve always avoided this part of town. So like it or not— the territory was unfamiliar, something that isn’t working in your favor.
Eventually, you find a small abandoned alleyway. While it was dirty and practically screaming “DANGER!” you noticed that it was completely abandoned. Ducking into the alleyway, you pull out your phone. Dead. What are the chances? Groaning, you lean against the graffitied wall, rubbing your temples.
Then you hear it. Footsteps. Slow, unhurried, sounds like heavy footwear.
Tensing up, you find an empty dumpster, using it as cover from the new figure. Fuck. You should’ve just kept moving. Now you’re just a sitting duck.
“You know I can still see you, right?” A heavily modulated male voice calls out, his voice echoes across the narrow backstreet. You press yourself further against the wall, knowing that it’s futile, but still desperately trying to stay hidden. You clutch your purse close to your chest. If you get out of here unscathed, Jason is going to kill you.
The newcomer is definitely not small. You aren’t able to see him, but just based off of his footsteps, you reckon that definitely somebody who could beat the shit out of you.
The footsteps get closer and closer, your heart pounds in your chest. Then, the sun vanishes. You look up to the looming figure above you. Red Hood.
It seems you both startle each other because both of you immediately jump back once you meet each other's eyes.
“What—” He calls out.
You hold your hands up in surrender. This guy only kills criminals, right? “I didn’t steal anything, I swear.”
It seems Red Hood is just as stunned by your presence as you are. He remains frozen, continuing to look down at you on the ground. You get up very slowly, making no sudden movements. The last thing you want is for him to think you have a gun.
“I…” His voice is quieter… Something about it is familiar. The tone. “I never said you did.”
You nod, slowly adjusting your clothes, “I didn’t kill anybody either…”
He nods slowly, “I would never assume you did.” He speaks slowly.
You blink taken aback. “Killers come in all shapes and sizes. Not saying I would— I would not. I’m just clearing my name.”
He releases a small huff of laughter, “…Fair enough.”
The two of you stare at each other for a long moment before you avert your gaze. You swallow, shifting uncomfortably. He is still looking at you.
“Do you—”
“How did—”
You both pause. Clearing your throat, you gesture at him, “You first.”
He shakes his head, “No, go ahead.” He mirrors your gesture, and you have to hold back a laugh at how ridiculous the situation is.
You pause before continuing, “Do you know how to get out of here? My phone's dead,” you hold up the device to show him, “I can’t really look up directions.”
Red Hood stares at you for a long moment, you’re curious what he’s thinking. “Of course.” He responds a lot softer than you thought he would. “I’ll guide you.”
You open your mouth to decline, but your brain tells you to accept the offer. Normally, you wouldn’t accept strange offers from men in Crime Alley.
However, it’s Red Hood.
While he’s technically a strange man from Crime Alley, Gotham’s vigilantes typically don’t harm innocents. So, against everything you’ve been taught since you were a child, you accept his offer. It seems that he is relieved at your acceptance, nodding before moving to your left. You blink at him as he holds his hand out expectantly.
“What?” You ask, looking from his hand, up to his mask, and back down to his gloved palm.
“I’ll hold your purse for you.” He says stoically.
You should get an Oscar for the poker face you gave him. Red Hood— feared vigilante— carrier of purses.
“Uh, it’s fine… I can carry it.” You purse your lips in order to refrain from laughing in his face. You don’t want to laugh at him for being kind. You’re reminded of the times where you asked Jason to hold your purse for you. Red Hood offers his services in a way that makes you wonder if he does this often.
The eyes of his helmet stare into your soul, “That’s your bad shoulder.”
Your smile falls, slowly turning to face him. “What?”
“You’re going to injure your shoulder.” He corrects.
You pause, feeling suspicion rise in your chest. That is not what he said the first time. He was telling you that your shoulder was injured. You had slept on it strangely all week, and you had complained to Jason about it. How could Red Hood know that?
A rush of adrenaline shoots through your system as you connect the dots of the situation. The tone of his voice. The casualness of how he offered his help to you. The shoulder comment. The odd work shifts…
You smile politely at Jason, “I suppose you make a good point.” You give him your purse.
—
Figuring it out hadn’t been the difficult part. Jason had been practically begging you to put the evidence together. Just by knowing his identity, you were able to piece the rest of the puzzle together.
His family? His work? The Bats? The Waynes? All of them were one in the same.
Now, while you figured it out, you still wanted him to tell you on his own. Perhaps you’d act a little surprised, and tease him about finding each other in Crime Alley. Then in a few years you’d tell him you figured him way before he told you.
Then one day, a week before Christmas, he asked you a question.
“Do you want to meet my family?”
You blink, looking away from the ads playing on the TV, “What?”
He shifts, tugging slightly at your shared penguin blanket. “They’re hosting dinner tonight.” He looks at you, “They’ve been wanting to meet you for a while.”
You nod in acknowledgment, “Do you want me to meet them?” It’s happening. This is what he was talking about on the phone.
Jason is silent for a moment, “I can’t hide you forever.”
You snort, “That’s not what I asked.” You reach for his hand, it’s warm.
He looks from your hand up to you, “Yeah,” he exhales, like it takes effort to admit.
You smile, “Then we’ll be there tonight.” You raise your hand to rub his shoulder. Normally, you’d be panicking over what to wear, especially to meet the Waynes, but you had already planned for this two weeks ago.
Jason’s anxiousness is evident throughout the day. You reassure him that you won’t be scared off. He laughs like he doesn’t believe you. Each time he brushes your reassurances off, you find yourself smiling. He doesn’t know that you know.
Tonight comes sooner than expected. You do your makeup nicely, taking your time with the familiar routine. Satisfied with your appearance, you meet Jason out in the living room. He’s glaring down at his phone.
“What’d it do to you?” You smirk, eying the object.
He turns it off, “Everything, and not enough.” He sighs, avoiding eye contact with you. “Hey, I should tell you about them…”
You blink, “You already gave me the rundown?”
“Yes— Well,” he releases a breathy chuckle, “a different rundown.” Sensing the seriousness of the situation, you drop your smile, nodding.
“Remember how I waited a long time to tell you my name— my full name?” He swallows, gauging your reaction. “You know the kid who has the same name as me?”
You nod slowly, “The one Bruce Wayne took in.” You feel your heart speed up, he’s really telling you.
“Yeah,” he huffs, “I know… I know it sounds crazy, and there are like dozens of articles saying that kid died…” He inhales, “But those rumors were exaggerated, and I don’t think it’s fair to drag you into this without telling you— Why… are you smiling?”
You chuckle softly, grabbing his hand. Before you even think about the consequences of revealing part of your knowledge, you begin speaking, “Jay, I’ve known that for a while.”
His hand stiffens in yours, “What?”
“I mean… You told me your name was Jason Todd.”
He furrows his eyebrows, “Both are common names.”
“Give me more credit than that.” You roll your eyes, the smile on your face growing. “It was hard not to notice after a certain point.”
Jason gapes at you, and you laugh at his shocked expression. Then he laughs softly, “This was supposed to be a big moment.” He sighs, “You aren’t… mad?”
“It is. I’m glad you trust me enough to tell me.” You lean to kiss him on his cheek, he relaxes under your touch. His shoulders droop as your hands reach to fix a few stray strands of hair. “I could never be mad. I understand that this is a big deal, and that trust isn't easy to come by.”
He returns the kiss, light, smiling through it. “God, I don’t deserve you. I was planning that speech for weeks, you know.”
You laugh at him, brushing a few stray strands of hair out of his face. “It was a very good speech.”
“Yeah?” He smirks at you.
“Yeah.” You reaffirm, grinning at him.
—
“Thank God you are here.” A young man— Duke, you recognize— throws the doors to the manor open before the doorbell is even rung. You don’t mask your surprise as he gestures for you two to get inside. “They’ve started making bets.”
Jason raises an eyebrow, “And you’re thankful for us being here why?”
“‘Cause I bet you’d show up with her!” He gestures between you two, before politely smiling at you. “Nice to meet you by the way, Duke Thomas.”
You shake his hand, introducing yourself as you remove your jacket. “Jason told me quite a bit about you guys.”
Duke laughs awkwardly before eying Jason, “Hopefully not too much.” He smiles.
You smirk, pretending you don’t understand the underlying message, “He said you were particularly tolerable.”
Duke shakes his head, a smile on his face, “The greatest of compliments.” He leads the two of you into the massive living room, probably one of many seeing as this manor is huge.
At your entrance, the room goes silent.
You scan the room, attempting to put names to the faces. Sitting on the maroon velvet couch you see Dick Grayson and Barbara Gordon. Standing behind them is Stephanie Brown with Damian Wayne and Cassandra Cain on her sides. Tim Drake is settled casually on the armrest of the couch.
The table in front of them is littered with pieces of paper, empty energy drinks, a couple Batman mugs filled hot cocoa, and a black top hat. You turn your attention to Bruce Wayne, seated in a singular armchair with a poised elegance only somebody raised with wealth could have. At his right, is an older gentleman— Alfred, Jason told you.
Each person in the room is staring directly at you with varying degrees of surprise. Stephanie and Dick look thrilled at your appearance. The former looks ready to hug you, and you have a feeling that they bet money that you’d show up. Tim looks at you incredulously, staring at you as if you’ll disappear at any moment. Damian looks you up and down with a touch of distaste, as if assessing your value. You feel yourself straighten your stance under his examination. Cassandra Cain similarly appraises you, but you feel as if her judgment is less harsh. Barbara looks amused at your arrival, casually sipping one of the mugs on the table.
What truly unsettles you is Bruce Wayne.
You’ve heard stories of Brucie Wayne, how could you not? Those stories portray him as a ditzy billionaire playboy. Well-meaning, but frivolous. The eyes that stare into you aren’t the eyes of such a character. His gaze pierces into your own, and you find yourself faltering as you attempt to match the intensity. This isn’t some foolish playboy.
This is Batman.
Who knows what he’d do if he figures out you know about their secret? Jason, as if sensing your distress, situates himself at your side. He clears his throat, “This is my girlfriend,” he introduces you, offering your name to them.
The silence is palpable, an uneasy fog that rests in the atmosphere of the room. In spite of that, you offer them your best smile. “I know who you all are.” You nod to each person in the room. “Jason has told me about you. It’s a pleasure to meet you all.” Jason places a hand onto your shoulder, squeezing lightly.
For a moment, nobody says anything. Your eyes flicker between everyone, gauging their reactions. You take a gamble with your next comment, “I’m sorry for any cash lost at my appearance.” You smile softly, turning towards Tim and Damian. The two are staring at you as if you've personally wronged them.
Dick follows your lead, standing up from the couch to greet you. He mirrors your smile back at you as you shake hands, “I’m definitely not sorry. They could stand to get humbled every now and then.” He gestures his thumb back towards the couch.
You smirk, “Well, I’m glad to be of service then.” You release his hand, turning to Stephanie who approached you as you were greeting Dick.
“I’ve never been so happy to prove them wrong. Thank you for existing.” She shakes your hand gravely.
You can’t help the snort that escapes your mouth, “Of course, I will make sure I continue to do so.” She smiles at you, pulling you over to the couch to meet everyone. The tension dissipates as you begin to meet everyone. She brings you to meet Bruce first, after all it is his house.
You give his hand a firm shake, a small smile on your face masking your inner trepidation. He doesn’t offer much more than a polite smile and obligatory nicety, but Steph— she insisted you call her that name instead— reassures you that he’s just like that. She also introduces you to Alfred, who you match the politeness of. It seems that he approves of you. Soon after, she drags you over to the couch where the rest of the group resided.
“Does she know?”
Jason stares at you, laughing at something Cass says. Animatedly, you gesture as you speak, telling some story to the small group gathered near you. Steph laughs in response, grabbing Cass’ arm for support.
“Know what?” He asks. He doesn’t tear his gaze from you as you explain your story. For a brief moment the two of you make eye contact, and your eyes glint mischievously. You lean closer to his siblings positioned near you, whispering something to them. Jason can’t hear what you say, but whatever it is causes Tim to immediately perk up curiously. Steph matches your smirk, and even Cass and Damian lean closer to hear your words. Faintly, Jason can hear your soft whispers to them. In the middle of your storytelling, you look up at him. Your smile grows as you wink at him, he can’t help mirroring your expression.
Dick snorts, “So that’s a no.”
The smile falls from his face, Jason eyes Dick from the corner of his eye, “It’s harder than you think.” He swallows, watching as Steph covers her mouth at something you say. “Too much will change if I tell her.” He responds quietly.
Dick hums, crossing his arms, “Are you serious about her?”
Jason, affronted, spins to face Dick. “Yes.” He exhales slowly, nodding somberly.
Dick smiles gently, “Then tell her.”
Jason scoffs, “It’s not that easy.” His eyes veer to Bruce, who is pretending he is not listening to you from his chair.
Dick follows his gaze, “Since when did you care what he thinks?” He grins at Jason, glancing between him and Bruce.
Jason narrows his eyes at Dick, “I don’t. I just…” He huffs, his mouth set in a straight line. “I don’t want her getting involved.”
Dick’s gaze softens, a forlorn frown on his face. “It’s inevitable given what we do.”
Jason grunts, “I’m aware.”
Dick tentatively raises a hand, placing it on his shoulder. “I don’t say this to pressure you—”
“—Sure feels like it.” Jason interrupts, glaring down at Dick.
“But,” Dick continues as if interrupted, “I think you’ll find it to be a lot easier for you both if you do tell her.” They both look over to you. Jason watches as you raptly listen to something Tim explains. Jason sighs, shrugging Dick’s hand off his shoulder.
“Hm,” Jason hums, acknowledging his words, but not saying anything more.
“Okay, now that we’re all here.” Steph raises the top hat from the table, catching everybody’s attention. “It is time.”
Steph holds the top hat reverently, as if the object is sacred. “Secret Santa this year. Twenty dollar minimum. We will write our names down on these sheets of paper and draw them out from the hat. If you don’t like who you get, too bad. You can only redraw if you get yourself. Now, everybody fill these out, place your slip of paper into the hat, and we will begin to draw.”
“She seems really serious about this.” You whisper to Duke. He thanks Steph as she passes around a pack of purple sticky notes for everybody to take.
“You get used to it.” Duke takes a slip, handing you the pack. Slowly you take the purple note before passing it over to Cassandra on your right. Grabbing a pen, you scrawl your name down on the piece of paper. You feel your chest constrict with an uneasy weight.
Jason may have told you about his family, but you barely know anything about them. Favorite color? Food? Animal? He didn’t exactly divulge the details. You’ll probably have to ask his help on what to get, cause you’re essentially going in blind. He didn't warn you about Secret Santa.
You fold the sticky note, slipping it into the hat. You watch as the pen makes its way around the table, your foot bouncing as it finally approaches Bruce and Alfred. You watch as they silently write their name down, resigned. You have a feeling that they’ve been forced to do this for years.
As they place their names into the top hat, you consider the options of who you could get. A silent smile grows on your face as you think about it. Wouldn’t it be funny if you got Jason?
“Alright, I think that’s everybody.” Steph looks around the room. “Now to begin the drawing…” She lightly tosses the hat, jumbling the papers in it before turning to face you, smiling. “As the newest person here, you should go first.” She holds out the hat to you, and you are immediately aware of the eyes on you.
“Oh,” you look down at the folded papers, then back up at her, “sure…” You attempt to match her smile, slowly reaching in the hat without looking. You pick up one of the slips, taking it out. Everybody watches in anticipation as you unfold the sticky note, you attempt to school your face as you read the painfully familiar handwriting.
Jason
Holy shit.
You’ve used up all of your luck for the next five years. What are the chances you’d pull your boyfriend in a group this large? You were already planning on getting him gifts separately, but this was too perfect.
A stupid idea ran through your head. A really stupid, idiotic, foolish idea. Was it worth risking everything you’ve done not to incriminate yourself for this scheme?
You don’t even register the other people in the room drawing out names. You don’t even wonder who got you because all you can think of is the possibilities of what you could get Jason.
“Who’d you get?” The soft warmth of Jason’s breath brushes past your ear, sending shivers down your spine. He is resting his body against the back of the couch, leaning over it to invade your personal space. You attempt to hide your jolt by casually folding your paper, holding it out of his view.
“It hasn’t even been five minutes.” You smirk at him, pocketing the slip for later. You lower your voice, leaning closer to him. “Does this mean we’re returning for Christmas?” You can’t keep the excitement out of your voice.
He sighs, “I suppose.” He smiles at the way your eyes brighten up. If only he knew what fire he was fueling. “Now, who’d you get?” He asks, leaning to look over your shoulder. You shift so that your back is never facing him, placing a hand over your pockets to make sure he can’t grab the sticky note.
“I can’t tell you, it’s Secret Santa.” You furrow your eyebrows, frowning.
His eyes widen slightly, “Wait… You’re actually not gonna tell me? C’mon,” He huffs, leaning even closer, the two of you are practically face to face now. “I can keep a secret if it matters that much to you.”
You turn away from him, the smugness in your eyes never fading. “You’ll find out when we give the gifts.” You shrug, and you can feel eyes watching you both. Damian looks mildly disgusted by you two, and Duke is noticeably trying to avoid looking at you both. You clear your throat, looking up at Jason.
“Guess you’re gonna have to find out like everyone else.” You look away from him, propping your arm onto the armrest of the couch and leaning your face onto it.
Jason stares at you— you can feel it piercing the back of your skull. “You’ll need my help.”
You tilt your head to face him, “I actually have an idea what I’ll get my person.”
He narrows his eyes at you skeptically, “You… do?”
You smirk, “The perfect idea.”
“You know it’s not just joke gifts, it’s stuff they actually like, right?” He straightens up, crossing his arms as he looks down at you on the couch.
“Oh,” you bite your tongue to keep from smiling too wide, “they’ll like the gift.”
You both stare at each other for a long moment, he sighs. “Alright, if you say so.” He taps his arm thoughtfully. “If you need any help though…” He trails off.
“You’ll be the first person I call.” You nod, smiling. “You’ll always be the first person I call.”
His eyes soften, “I know.”
—
red hood merch
red hood keychain
red hood figure
You idly tap your finger on the keyboard of your laptop as you open up different tabs for each search. Surprisingly, there were actually quite a few results for Red Hood merch. You know he isn’t as popular as Batman or even Nightwing, but you are nothing if not determined.
You cycle through different websites, eventually landing onto Etsy. You snort as you see holographic stickers of Red Hood. You even find replicas of his helmet for sale. You smile, adding the latter to the cart. Continuing to scroll, you barely even notice the door to your apartment open. You chuckle as you see a cute Red Hood keychain. He’d hate this.
You add it to the cart.
“You’re still up?”
Freezing, you slowly shift your gaze from the screen to Jason. His hair is tousled, his skin has the sheen of sweat to it that tells you he was "exercising" (that's the excuse he always tells you, you know he's out patrolling). He tosses his jacket over a chair, running a hand through his hair. You subtly switch tabs, “Wanted to wait for you.” You half-lid the laptop.
He smiles, before moving to face plant onto your shared bed. You look down at him, frowning. “Have you taken a shower?”
“Nah,” his voice is muffled by the blankets.
You subtly nudge him with your knee, “I love you, but you’re sweaty. The bed is clean.” He groans, not budging at your gesture.
“Mmph,” he grunts, moving closer to you, crawling up the bed to where you’re seated underneath the covers. You yelp, moving away from him, slamming the laptop shut. Damn it, you wanted to order it before he came home. “I can’t spend time with my girlfriend?”
You snort, “You can spend time with me after you take a shower.” You lightly push his forehead, your hand brushing against his loose strands of hair. He leans into your touch, “Rough day?”
“Somethin’ like that.” He mumbles, slowly pulling away to stand up again.
You exhale, smiling softly. “I’m sure you’ll feel better after a shower.”
He snorts, “You’re just telling me I stink.”
You smirk, “Your words, not mine.”
He sighs, dragging himself to the bathroom. You can’t help the smile on your face. Once he is out of view, you slowly open your laptop again, navigating your browser back to your shopping cart. You go to the checkout, quickly paying. It’ll arrive a few days before Christmas.
You thought you'd stop there, but you end up going down a rabbit hole. Scrolling and scrolling endlessly.
Then you find it. It’s a collection of bootleg Red Hood merch— a package. You start cackling to yourself as you view the picture of the product. It’s a hoodie, blanket, water bottle, mug, wallet, and journal. The hoodie, water bottle, wallet, and journal have the red bat logo plastered on them. The blanket and mug have an actual photo of Red Hood on them. The quality of the image isn’t terrible, but it looks ridiculous nonetheless. Now, this would be a really stupid purchase. You’d be spending more money than you already have on merch.
You hum to yourself in contemplation, distantly noting that you can hear the water running from the bathroom. You tap your foot softly against the mattress of the bed, squinting at it. For a bundle with that many items, twenty dollars is not a bad deal, even if the images are laughable. You raise your hand up to your lip, rubbing your face.
Well, even if Jason hates it… You can still find some use out of the items. The blanket maybe? You doubt it’ll be a great blanket, but it could be a good backup. The mug and water bottle might also be usable. One of you can definitely use the journal… After all, twenty dollars is twenty dollars.
You buy it.
“You’re still working?” Jason emerges from the bathroom, changed into clean clothes, lightly rubbing a towel over his head.
Your eyes fall onto the receipt screen reading: “Order confirmed!” You nod, “Something like that.”
He gives you a puzzled expression, before plopping onto his side of the bed. The mattress cushioning his fall. “Are you almost done?” He lays down flat, tilting his head to look at you.
You smile, shutting the laptop. Mission accomplished. “Just finished actually.”
—
Neither of you mentioned Secret Santa. Honestly, you started to worry if he’d actually get a gift for his person. However, you didn’t bring it up out of fear of him asking about the gifts for your person. The remainder of the week progressed, the excitement of Christmas becoming more and more real each day. Either way, things are going smoothly. Each day you have to withhold yourself from telling Jason what you bought because you are dying to see his reaction. You hold yourself back, though. It’ll be so much better in front of his family.
It’s a few days before Christmas where panic struck your heart.
“Did you order something?” Jason asks, you hold your phone up to your ear as you walk to your car. You just got off of work, and were finally off for the holidays.
You swallow, “Perhaps, why?”
Jason hums, “Well, it’s here.” You feel your heart skip a beat for all the wrong reasons, “Do you want me to open—”
“No!” You cut him off, causing him to pause. You purse your lips, wincing, “Uh, no. It’s fine. It’s… personal.”
There’s a long pause of silence, “Personal…” He repeats, unconvinced.
“Yeah,” you nod, smacking your lips, “reallyyyy personal. I wouldn’t open it.”
He releases a huff of amusement, “Alright… You’re coming home right?”
“Yep, yep, on my way.” You walk faster down the sidewalk.
“Alright, don’t take too long.” He responds casually.
“Or what?” You smirk, using your shoulder to hold your phone up to your ear as you fish for your keys in your purse.
“Or I’ll open it.” He responds, matching the mirth in your tone.
You never drove home so fast.
Upon entering, you don’t even call out a greeting. Keys jingling, you frantically unlock the door. You twist the doorknob, pushing the door open with more force than necessary, causing you to stumble through the doorway.
You rip your shoes off your feet, throwing them haphazardly to the side as you toss your purse onto the couch. “Jason!” You call out. He’s likely in your bedroom. “Where is the package?” You speed over to your bedroom, yanking the door open.
Jason is laying down on his side, facing the door. His phone is held languidly in one of his hands. At your arrival, he doesn’t even flinch. “Hm?” He hums, still looking at the phone.
Your eyes narrow, “The package, Jay. Where is it?” You check behind the door as you begin your search— even checking under the bed.
“Oh, it’s over there.” He gestures absentmindedly to the top of your dresser. You blink, seeing the giant box there. How did you miss that?
“Oh,” you slowly reach from the box, checking to see if it was opened. “You didn’t open it right?” You turn back to face him; he still hasn’t moved.
Finally, he tilts his head to face you. “No?” He pauses, mischief crawling into his tone. “Should I have?” He sits up, putting the phone down and turning his entire body to face you.
“No.” You hold the box closer to you, glaring at him. “I know what you’re thinking, and you’re not peeking.”
He smirks, “Oh…” In a much softer tone he continues “… Is it for me?”
You grin, “Perhaps.”
He smiles at you, tension leaving his body. His eyes crinkle in fondness as he stares at you, not moving from his spot in the bed. He chuckles quietly, grinning even wider.
You blink, his genuine joy is contagious, “What?” You chuckle.
“Nothing.” He is still smiling as he turns around in bed. You can tell he is still smiling even if he isn’t facing you.
You snort, “Alright, sure.” You nod at his head, exiting the room, his eyes trailing on the box as your arms as you leave.
It’s your first Christmas together with him, so you can imagine that he is curious to know what you’ve got for him. You almost feel bad for what you’re doing. He looked so happy to be receiving a gift from you.
Could this potentially backfire on you? Absolutely. You’d be a fool not to consider the consequences of essentially telling your vigilante boyfriend in front of his vigilante family that you’re aware of their identities. However, you can’t imagine that it’ll be that bad. It’s not like you disapprove of them, you just… want to have a little fun with it.
You had waited for a months for Jason to say something. After all, you wanted him to tell you out of his own accord— you still do. However, you've gotten antsy waiting around. Not that it's an excuse, but the added anxiety into your life hasn't exactly been a joy. Does he not trust you enough? Either way, you can’t bring yourself to be mad; it’s not exactly a tiny secret. Every time he pulled you aside, you wondered if this was it. It never was.
Perhaps he was too scared to tell you?
It was a perspective you hadn’t really thought of. You’d been so focused on the excitement of getting the gifts and just waiting for him to say something, that you didn’t even consider that it could be equally as anxiety inducing for him.
You open a drawer in the kitchen, grabbing the box cutter. You make sure Jason hasn’t decided to follow you out before you start to open it. The sounds of the tape being ripped apart echo across your otherwise silent apartment.
Grinning, you reach into the box, gently pulling out the Red Hood helmet replica that laid inside. Despite your worries, you can’t help the thrill of excitement that runs through your body.
—
“Jesus, did you get enough gifts for your person?” Jason furrows his eyebrows at you as you carry two large wrapped gifts in your arms. He watches as you wiggle your way into the passenger seat of his car. “You know it was only required to get one, right?” He stares at the gifts, specifically the wrapping paper. You had deliberately made sure he never saw them until absolutely necessary.
A couple days after you bought the gifts, you had stumbled onto a shop that was selling Batman themed wrapping paper.
So, like any good vigilante girlfriend would do, you picked up a few rolls.
You practically locked yourself into another room in your apartment to wrap them in fear that Jason would see, but it was worth it. The way he is staring at the gifts as if they slapped him in the face? Priceless.
You click your tongue, “Give me a break, I wanted to be nice. It’s my first time celebrating Christmas with your family anyway.” You reach over the center console, placing the gifts gently in the backseat.
He huffs, “It’s a bit excessive.”
You dramatically raise a hand to your chest, affronted. “You’re just jealous I didn’t get you.” You blatantly lie with such a confidence that even you begin to question if you got Jason (you’ve checked that paper dozens of times).
He raises an eyebrow, “If that’s what you want to believe.” He shrugs.
You purse your lips into a thin line, shaking your head at him. “I know it. Now, let’s go, we’re gonna be late.” You buckle in, shutting the door. Jason rolls his eyes, and you nudge him with your elbow. He starts the car, and you pull down the sun visor mirror. As he starts the car, you double check your makeup.
“You still aren’t gonna tell me who you got?” Jason asks.
You turn to face him, “You’ve lasted this long, you’ll find out in like an hour anyway.” Flipping the sun visor back up, you relax against the back of the seat. A smile grows on your face, he even turned on the seat heating for you. “For someone so eager for me to share, you haven’t said anything.”
“I asked you first.” He furrows his eyebrows, frowning.
“That’s fine,” you recline the seat slightly, your Christmas sweater absorbing the warmth of the seat. “Just don’t get upset at me if I don’t tell you who I got.”
He scoffs, “I’m not upset.” He slows to a stop as you reach an intersection, “Just curious.”
“Mhm,” you hum contently, turning to face Jason with a gleeful smile on your face.
He spares you a quick glance before turning his focus back to the road, “What’s with that face?”
You raise an eyebrow, “That’s just my face? Am I not allowed to smile at my boyfriend?”
An small amused smile manifests onto his face, he gives you a fondly exasperated look. “I suppose you may.”
“You suppose?” You chuckle, leaning your head against the cool glass of your window. You tilt your head so that you can look at him, “What? Do I need your permission?”
He chuckles, “Is that not what you were asking?”
“Obviously not.” You lightly tap him with your hand.
His lips twitch in amusement, “My mistake.”
You laugh softly, turning your attention back to the road. Despite the teasing atmosphere, you can’t help but worry how this will go down. Did you get ahead of yourself? Was this a mistake? Perhaps you should’ve bought a backup gift just in case you chickened out.
Each second the car approaches the Manor causes your heart to speed up. By the time you’ve reached it, you’re fanning yourself with your hands to keep from sweating too much. Jason had noticed your distress halfway through the ride, silently turning off the seat warmer, but (thankfully) not saying anything. You presume that he believes that you’re afraid Christmas won’t go well. He's not exactly wrong.
As you carry your gifts up the stairs to the entrance, you shake the doubts away. Rolling your shoulders back, you exhale slowly. This will go well. You can’t imagine anything bad will happen over you giving Jason some bootleg merch of himself. You're stressing over nothing. This will be funny.
“There you are! We were about to call you.” Dick greets you both, moving aside to let you in. Just as you step through he lets out a muffled snicker, conspicuously looking at the wrapping paper you chose. Smiling, he turns to Jason who gives him a pointed look as if saying “Don’t even.”
“Sorry, we were running a bit late.” You smile at Dick, and he waves you off.
“No worries, they can wait five more minutes.” He gestures for you two to follow. Both of you follow him into the same room you were in last time. Everybody is dressed festively— though some look more merry than others. “Alright, you all ready to get started?”
There is a cacophony of mixed responses, but everybody settles into the same positions they were in last time. You have to wonder if this is normal. Did you somehow choose your permanent spot in this living room without even knowing? Nonetheless, you don’t mind.
Thankfully you aren’t first again.
Contrary to your doubts earlier, you feel the anticipation plaster a smile on your face, something you attempt to keep hidden from the others. You had practiced this day. You may not be an actor, but you had already anticipated the reaction of his family. Your worry wasn’t that they’d find you suspicious. It's that they'd laugh.
You knew that the moment somebody started laughing, you’d be a goner. There’s no way you’d be able to look at Jason with a straight face if you heard somebody giggling in the corner of the room. If you were doing this, you were going to commit to the act. You’ll likely tell him after, but you couldn’t breakdown into laughter halfway through the bit.
You had to be strong.
When Damian calls your name, you feel yourself sit up in shock. Everybody watches in anticipation as he walks over to you, placing a small bag and a wrapped flat rectangular gift onto your lap. You thank him, a grin stretching onto your face. He nods resolutely, before moving back to his spot.
Deciding to open the small bag first, you pull out a small package of your favorite goodies— he was no doubt assisted by Jason, but they’re filled with every possible candy and chip you enjoy. You grin at Damian, offering your gratitude with a heartfelt thank you.
Then you open the wrapped gift, and immediately gasp.
It’s a canvas. You delicately rip off the last piece of wrapping paper obscuring the artwork, unveiling the piece. It’s a gorgeous realistic painting of your favorite animal in its natural environment. You’d think that the piece was made by a professional who's been in the field for decades, not a teenager. Not a single mistake is found. All the colors work harmoniously to create a gorgeous setting with your favorite animal being the focal point.
“Damian…” You cover your mouth, turning to him. “I— This is phenomenal. You’re incredibly skilled, I can’t believe you made this for me.” You withhold tears as you speak. You didn’t think Damian liked you when you met him. He was quiet, and didn’t shy away from bluntness. After you met him, you told Jason about your worries. Jason reassured you that for Damian, that was normal, and not to worry about what he thinks.
Damian’s face is unreadable, but he stands up straighter. “I’m glad you find it satisfactory.”
“Satisfactory? This is exceptional. I’m speechless.” You look back down at the painting, gently holding the canvas. “Thank you, Damian.” You give him the most grateful smile you can muster. You would go and hug him, but based on what you’ve observed, you doubt he’d appreciate the action. His nods, decidedly pleased at your reaction, but not saying anything else.
Then the weight of the situation finally hits you. It is time.
You stand up, feeling the irresistible urge to smile, and you allow yourself the pleasure of doing so. “The person I got…” you spin around the room, before landing on your boyfriend, “is Jason.” You grin at him, and his mouth parts in surprise.
You delicately place the presents onto his lap, “Open this one first.” You point at the gift containing the package deal you bought.
He narrows his eyes at you, instantly suspicious, “Alright,” He waits until you’ve returned to your seat before slowly ripping the paper off, revealing an inconspicuous white box.
Slowly, as if afraid something would jump out at him, he pulls the top off and freezes. You see both his and Dick’s eyes widen as they look down at its contents. You can see Dick shut his eyes in order to steel his reaction.
“You gotta show us what you got, it’s part of the rules.” Steph adds curiously. At the moment, the only people who can see the gift are Dick and Jason himself.
Staring through the box desolately, he slowly turns it around for you all to see. There’s a beat of silence before Steph starts cackling. From her left, Tim smacks her, but he uses his free hand to cover his face. You think you can actually see him turn red from masking his reaction.
“I noticed that you seemed to be a Red Hood fan.” You calmly comment. Your words seemingly spur the others to start laughing cause now Duke’s shoulders are shaking with silent laughter.
“Oh, he’s a Red Hood fan alright!” Steph gives you a thumbs up with a blinding grin as if saying “You’ve done good!”
“Wh- Where did you even get it from?” Duke struggles to get the words out, smiling at you as he asks his question.
“Etsy,” you shrug, “they have a surprising amount of merch there for Red Hood. It made my job easy.” You smile at them before turning to Jason to gauge his reaction. He is still staring at the box blankly.
Slowly his eyes meet yours, “Is… Is this what all those deliveries were?” It is rare that you catch him off guard, and you can’t help but savor the moment, filing the image of his stunned expression into your brain.
“I wanted it to be a surprise.” You smile at him.
He laughs, the sound less out of amusement and more out of distress. “That’s… Yeah, I mean…” he swallows, “It’s a surprise.”
“You should open the other one.” You lean back into the couch.
Jason looks at the second gift with absolute horror in his expression. “Wait— Are all of the gifts Red Hood themed?”
You grin at him, not offering an answer.
He doesn’t take his eyes off of you as he warily tears off the Batman wrapping paper. It’s another white box, and you can see the defeat in his eyes. You smile innocently at him, biting your lip so as to not laugh. You really hope somebody is recording his reaction.
He glares at Dick, who is curiously looking over his shoulder, before raising the box to his face to peek inside of it. Jason must immediately know what it is because he silently settles it to his side, covering his face with his hands. You almost feel bad.
Dick, eager to see what it is, takes the abandoned box and lifts the lid. He instantly breaks out into laughter as he looks down at the Red Hood helmet replica inside of it. He actually leans into the couch for support as he attempts to control his breathing.
The action garners even Damian’s curiosity. He silently leans over to the box, ignoring Jason’s crisis and Dick nearly hyperventilating on the couch. He raises the lid, and his eyes widen seeing the item inside. He looks up to you, and you smile at him. He narrows his eyes and the two of you silently stare at each other both coming to the same conclusion.
Yeah, you know.
Hesitantly, as if afraid of the uproar your gift would cause, Damian holds the helmet up. He holds it away from his face, almost as if it’s a bomb about to explode.
Everybody.
Loses.
Their.
Mind.
Steph and Tim are both immediately gone. They aren’t even attempting to mask their laughter. Duke is, similar to Dick, leaning against the couch’s armrest for support. Cass is covering her mouth, her eyes betraying her amusement. Barbara has fully taken off her glasses, covering her face with her hand as she quietly laughs into it.
Then you turn to Bruce.
The two of you make eye contact, and for a long moment you forget about the laughter that racks nearly every person in the room. You swallow, but don’t break eye contact. You knew it was a gamble, revealing that you are aware of Red Hood’s identity to Batman himself.
Neither of you blink as you pray that he concludes you have no ill intentions— after all you don’t.
A long pause ensues. You don’t shift your gaze from him— not even to look at Jason. You know that if you get Bruce on your side, then everything will be okay. Then, slowly, he nods at you. The action is minuscule, something you wouldn’t even see if you weren’t looking. His face does not even change, but you understand the weight the action carries. He understands, and he knows you aren’t a threat.
You smile at him, feeling the biggest wave of relief imaginable wash over you. You turn back to everybody else, feeling a renewed sense of joy.
“This… This is surprisingly accura- high quality!” Tim cuts himself off, clearing his throat as he corrects himself. Tim, Duke, Steph, Damian, and Dick are all gathered around the helmet, scrutinizing it. Cass has moved next to Barbara, and they are both whispering to one another. You can’t hear their words, but you are curious.
You get up, slowly making your way to Jason who looks absolutely distraught. You decide it’s your time to intervene. “…Don’t like the gift?”
Jason— as if your voice snaps him out of a trance— shifts his gaze to you blearily. At the disappointment in your tone, he frantically shakes his head, “No! It’s not that I don’t like them— I just—” He opens his mouth before closing it, struggling to find the words. “How… How’d you know I like Red Hood?”
You settle your hand onto his, gently rubbing your thumb over it. “Jay,” you begin softly, “I know.”
He sputters, looking down at the ground. His frustration is evident, as if the last piece of a puzzle doesn’t fit. “I’m aware you know I like him. I’m just confused how you figured it out. I don’t think I ever mentioned—”
“Jason,” you cut him off, and his eyes dart to your hands clasped in his, “I know.”
His hand tenses under your grip, and he sharply inhales, chest shuddering. “What?” He looks at your reassuring smile, the first gift he opened, then to the helmet. You can see him slowly piece it together.
You know he is Red Hood.
“You… You know.” He repeats, blinking at you as if you’ll suddenly vanish in between blinks.
You nod, “I know.” You repeat.
He opens his mouth, exhaling as he attempts to form sentences. “How?” He asks softly, “How long?”
“Since you saved me in the alley.” You smile sheepishly at him.
His eyes widen, “Are you serious? That long?” He openly gapes at you, and you scoot closer to him. “Are you not mad at me or anything? Why haven’t you said something?”
You frown, “Why would I be mad at you?” You shake your head at him, as if the idea is absurd.
He looks at you like you’ve lost it, “I lied to you, for months.”
You nod, “True, but I understand why. If I was a crime fighting vigilante I wouldn’t go around telling every single person I know my identity.”
Jason shakes his head, “You’re not ‘every single person,’ though. You’re my girlfriend.”
Your shoulders relax, fondness melting your heart. “Jason, you don’t have to justify yourself. I am not mad at you for not telling me. It hasn’t even been a full year since we met. If anything, I’m just mad that you’ve probably been hiding injuries from me since the start.”
You must’ve hit the mark with that comment because Jason winces, muttering a soft apology. “I didn’t do this to make you think I’m mad at you. I did this because I thought you’d feel better knowing I’m not mad at you.” You look at his eyes. “This doesn’t change anything.”
Jason stares at you, mouth agape before pulling you closer. He gently cradles your face as his lips meet your own. Instinctively, you begin to kiss him back, placing a hand onto his shoulder as you close your eyes, savoring the moment. Slowly, he breaks the kiss, slowly pulling away. “You bought all of this,” he grabs the Red Hood PNG mug from behind him, holding it up to your chest, “just to show me you know?”
You smirk, your arms still rested around his shoulders, “Okay… Maybe I thought it was funny. You should’ve seen me laughing as I ordered everything.”
He huffs, but smiles at you nonetheless, “I’m sure you did, didn’t you?”
You laugh as you slowly pull away from him, “I think I found our new favorite mug.” You reach to grab it out of his hand.
He laughs sharply, “‘Our?’”
You grin, “Are you kidding? I paid good money for this. You gotta use it.”
He shakes his head, “The helmet too?”
You snap your fingers, “Especially the helmet.”
“Jason, you gotta add this to your collection.” Dick moves around the couch to place the helmet onto Jason’s lap.
“No need for that. She knows.” Jason deadpans, and Dick, Tim, Steph, and Duke turn to you wide-eyed.
“I also know that the rest of you are vigilantes.” You chime in helpfully, Jason nods unsurprised.
The four of them stare at you, but everybody else in the room is unsurprised. It seems that Cass and Barbara figured it out soon after Bruce and Damian did.
“Wait, so you did all of this knowing we’d all panic?” Duke asks, pressing his palms together and pointing his hands at you.
You nod, “Yeah, pretty much. For the record, I won’t tell anybody your identities,” you nod to Bruce, “and your guys’ reaction was probably the second best gift I received all year.” You nod to Damian, after all, his gift deserved the top spot.
“Damn,” Dick whistles, “you didn’t know about this either?” He looks down at Jason on the couch.
“Nope.” Jason deadpans. Dick and Steph immediately start cackling, Tim and Duke quickly following suit. Both you and Jason watch with varying degrees of glee on your face. “I do not want to see this ever again.” Jason whispers to you, grabbing a small scrap of the Batman wrapping paper.
You chuckle, “Aw, I thought you’d like it? Is it not on theme?” You take the scrap from him, running your fingers over it.
He snorts, “No, I’m serious.” The amusement drops from his face, “Please get rid of it.”
Chuckling, you delicately place a kiss on Jason’s cheek, “Anything for you.” You lean your head onto his shoulder, a smile on your face. “Love you.”
He huffs, but you can see the hint of a smile peek through his face, “Love you too.”
ㅤ
A/N: I'd like to imagine you give the wrapping paper to Dick or something, and it’s used by EVERYBODY in the manor for the next 3 years (basically until it runs out). Jason is not happy when you all return for Christmas next year and EVERY SINGLE GIFT is covered in that Batman wrapping paper lmao.
Also guys, I’ve actually NEVER gotten second hand embarrassment from WRITING before (surprising, I know). During the scene where reader gives him the gift I had to cover my mouth with one hand as I continued to type.
Jokes aside, merry Christmas/Christmas Eve to you all! I hope you enjoyed this silly fic :). As always feel free to let me know about any mistakes! Have a wonderful day <3!
Requests are still open (rules here) ! Feel free to send them in :)!
Jason Todd Taglist: @reenmei @jenocity23 @nittyg @solflor33 @gab15 @vontsberg @justamarsbar @hannatnt @amoregirassol
DC Taglist: @fruitmanstyles @libbi5001 @sskwul @rin-l @newangelle @sweetpeadc @meep-merp124 @noba-noba @cassiecasluciluce @duskeras @Serenelyserenex @Vetej05 @Starmylife4ever @snoopyluvrrr @melancholiccow @libbi5001 @iwachansupremacy @sydbeeri
General Taglist: @thefallingvines @Irene32 @average-mitski-fan @r-4-y-v-3-n @code-ghost-cc
Want to be added to one of my taglists? Fill out the form here or leave a comment asking to be added under my DC Masterlist post :)!
Summary: Y/n is currently on tour when they're forced to postpone a concert in Gotham after threats against their life.
Pairing: Jason Todd x gn pop star reader
Tags: comfort, mention of anxiety, suggestive, please don’t take this seriously, so not canon it hurts
Word Count: ~3.1k
Breaking News: Concert in Gotham Cancelled after Bomb Threats
Threats of explosive devices planted at Gotham Stadium force the up-incoming star, Y/n L/n, to postpone performance. Reports say-
Bruce promptly turns off the television. “Gordon says they don’t have any leads on the threats.”
“Do you think they’re credible? I mean what if it’s just a prank?” Dick asks, leaning against the wall of the Batcave with one leg propped up.
“In Gotham? Don’t be gullible. This isn’t the first time L/n has received threats not only against their life but for concerts too. It could be a stalker situation,” Tim says as he pulls up other reports of similar incidents.
“That’s not uncommon for celebrities, so why the big deal,” Jason brushes off with his arms crossed. “I mean why not amp up security. Aren’t there more important cases?” He begins to walk down the large staircase descending into the cave.
The hideout is massive with gadgets lining the walls and a massive screen with a console against the north wall. There’s a long table in the center with plenty of chairs to seat the Wayne’s family long nights of working cases. Tim is sitting at his habitat, a nearby desk covered with marked papers and coffee rings.
Bruce walks over to the center console. “Because this time seems more personal,” Bruce plays a recording from a phone call.
Try to sing your melody songbird. I’ll clip your wings if you try to leave your cage. Your trills are only meant for my ears. My songbird.
A faint music box can be heard in the background of the call with a ticking sound growing louder. The caller’s song-like threat turns into a distant chuckle.
“Tim’s stalker theory is the most likely. The caller is obsessed and possessive. It seems they’ve adopted the ‘If I can’t have you no one can’ mentality. It would then be safe to assume the stalker has Y/n’s location as well,” Bruce says before grabbing his phone.
“How’d you even find this recording?” Dick asks.
Bruce doesn’t answer. The three exchange glances and shrugs as they watch Bruce make a phone call.
“I’ll start trying to break apart the recording to see if there’s anything that can pinpoint the caller or their location,” Tim walks over to a computer and begins to type away.
“Even if the GPD are surveilling their location, they’re still compromised. Who’s to say the stalker isn’t already there, watching too?” Jason questions to Dick.
“I thought you said there were more important cases?” Dick prods. His question, laced with sarcasm and teasing.
“I think this case just got more interesting. That’s all,” Jason replied casually.
“He means he just realized how hot Y/n is,” Tim jokes.
“Don’t you have something to decipher or whatever,” Jason says annoyed rolling his
eyes.
Bruce rejoins the conversation. “Y/n is being relocated to somewhere safe.”
“Where?” Dick asks.
“Here.”
—
You were anxiously pacing your hotel room. It was a large suite with your things scattered about every surface.
“The police have been informed about the call. I’m sure they’re handling the situation,” Your manager, Pam, tries to reassure you as she tries to clean up and organize your bags.
“I can’t believe we had to cancel. This is ridiculous. I don’t want to stay in this hotel room forever,” You say while picking at your nails. Your voice is slightly weak from touring and pure frustration.
“You heard the call. It sounded serious. You can be in real danger. I don’t want to take any chances even if it means losing ticket sales,” She replies with one hand on your shoulder. “The label and I want to make sure you're safe above everything.
You sigh, closing your eyes with another deep breath. You walk over to your bed, letting your body sink into the sheets. You hear Pam say “Relax, let me handle everything.” Your head on autopilot only nodding her direction.
Pam pulls on the room divider while she’s on the phone leaving you to your thoughts. Your mind is blank as you try to make sense of the situation. You grab your journal that you had tossed onto your bed earlier that day. The journal is in your favorite color, personalized. It’s always been there for you to rationalize your feelings and a place for you to vent. The words you try to write morph into scribbles as your knuckle tighten around the pen. You press harder into the paper with each stroke leaving indents until you rip the paper. You take another breath not processing how much air you had been holding in. Your vision blurries with tears as you tear the page from your notebook. Between tears and deep inhales, you start writing again:
I suffocate myself with hands that aren’t mine
Hold onto me
Poked and prodded, I remain confined
I tear apart what I build with every word
Please steady me
Plucked and preversed, a songbird dies
Barely reading over what you wrote, you place your pen into your notebook, marking the page before you place it back on the bed.
Pam reenters the room seemingly more cheerful than before. “Pack your things, Y/n! We’re leaving.”
“What?! What about the postponed concert? We can’t just leave Gotham. And the stalker?” You rise from your seat panicked and confused.
“Don’t worry we’re not leaving. It’s just a slight change of plans while they investigate the case,” Pam eases you. “And I think you’ll like these living arrangements more.”
—
Jason watched from his window a limousine drive up to the Manor. He scoffed at the notion of Bruce Wayne opening his arms to another victim. His generosity sometimes feeling like a sick joke. Jason grabbed his phone, pulling up his tab on Y/n. It would be a lie to say he wasn’t curious about you. Tim was half right about his interest in the case being tied to you but he’d never say to Tim’s face. Any information he found out about was solely for the betterment of the investigation and purely professional, even the songs of yours he listened to.
The men debriefed the case before your arrival. Bruce’s hospitality was just a way to protect your whereabouts and keep an eye on you. This made Bruce’s actions seem so selfless as a Gotham citizen lowering the drawbridge. The mansion was already covered in cameras, so they didn’t have to worry about your safety in that regard.
Jason left the window to leave for patrol with Nightwing. While you’d be getting comfortable in the mansion. The two were going to follow the leads Tim and Barbara found. Babs was called in to help by Tim, considering she had a better sense for those kinds of things.
Alfred and Bruce greeted you and your manager, Alfred promptly grabbing your bags.
“Welcome to Wayne Manor, Master Y/n and Miss Pam,” Alfred said with a small smile.
“This is Alfred. He takes care of the estate and can help you with any questions or concerns. I’m sure this wasn’t how you imagined your time in Gotham, but we hope you can make yourselves comfortable with this difficult time,” Bruce said sincerely.
“Thank you Mr. Wayne for opening your home for us,” Pam replied with exhaustion.
“Yes, thank you so much,” You repeated softly.
“Of course. Alfred will lead you to your rooms. I have some business to attend to,” Just as quickly as he spoke, Bruce left the manor towards what Alfred later mentioned was the garage.
Alfred guided you two throughout the manor’s main common areas. Finally reaching your bedrooms. Compared to the rest of the mansion, it was just as extravagant as you expected. The room was a deep shade of red with cream accents and bookshelves that adorned the walls. The bed looked relatively untouched as if no guest had ever slept in it. Your hotel suite was a shoebox, look at your room now. There were chairs and a coffee table by the window that overlooked the neighboring forest. Every decoration seemingly meticulously curated, reminding you of a Victorian library. Even the smell with a mixture of sunlight and an antique store, inviting you in.
“We’ll be serving dinner in ten minutes, Master Y/n,” Alfred said while leaving your bags by the door.
“Thank you Alfred. But before you leave I was wondering if there was a gym space I could use to rehearse.”
“Of course, I can show you tomorrow morning after breakfast.”
“Great, thank you again!” You smiled with your response before starting to unpack your bags.
Alfred nodded and closed the door gently as he left. You didn’t unpack much, except for your toiletries and your journal. You spent the remaining minutes before dinner to explore your room more, examining the fixtures. You knew if you were younger you’d be imagining if there were any secret corridors or closets as if it were Narnia.
When enough time passed you went downstairs to join everyone for dinner. By everyone it was only you, Pam, and one of Bruce’s children. The kid seemed to be a teenager with short dark brown hair that reached his eyebrows. You knew of the Wayne family and their philanthropy. You also had heard of Bruce’s affinity for adoption and knew of his sons.
“It’s nice to officially meet you, Y/n. I’m Tim Drake,” He stuck his hand to shake yours. You smiled politely and shook his hand.
“Thanks for having us!”
Dinner itself was enjoyable. You and Pam shared stories from touring and the funny signs fans wrote for you, while Tim spoke about silly shenanigans with his brothers, Dick and Jason. Alfred joined you towards the end of dinner, chiming in with laughter and correcting any exaggerations of Tim’s stories. Time wasn’t a priority as you enjoyed each others’ company.
“So where’s the rest of the family?” Pam asked.
“Oh you know, Bruce is always busy with the family business and charity work. Dick and Jason are always coming in and out. They moved out some time ago, but they’ll stick around for a few days before leaving.” Tim smiled to himself before sipping his water.
“That must be nice being able to see them every now and then,” You couldn’t help but feel a little bad for Tim being in a large house by himself so often.
“Yeah, but there’s always something to do around here, so I keep myself busy,” Tim added when in a few rooms over you could hear a door slamming and closing then heavy footsteps getting louder.
“Alfred, please tell me Tim left some food for the rest of us,” A man loudly says before entering the kitchen. His voice is slightly raspy and deep, different from Bruce’s.
“Master Jason, we are eating in the dining room along with our guests.”
You can hear the fridge door close and a muffled “Oh” as Jason enters the room. You immediately notice the white streak in his hair and scar on his face. He looked similar to Bruce with strong eyebrows and an intense gaze. He walks over to the table, leaning onto an empty chair in front of him, wearing black sweat pants and a white t-shirt.
“Hi, I’m Jason. You must be Y/n and Pam.”
“Hi, nice to meet you!”
“Yes, nice to meet you.”
“Will you be joining us, Master Jason?” Alfred got up from the table and began setting a plate for Jason in the kitchen.
“Not for long. I just want something to eat. I can take it up to my room. It’s been a long night,” Jason says following Alfred.
“You know you shouldn’t be taking food into your room.”
“Bruce doesn’t need to know.”
“That’s my rule, not Master Bruce’s.”
You could hear a groan before Jason entered the dining room again, but he was now holding a plate of food with a slight frown on his face. He didn’t say much as he sat and stuffed his face with a quickness that made you wonder how he didn’t choke.
“Jason, can you not be a pig for two seconds?” Tim asked sarcastically with a disgusted look on his face.
You laughed softly through your nose, watching the two exchange playful glares.
Jason started chewing loudly smacking his teeth.
“Gross. You’re only embarrassing yourself. I’m sorry about him.”
“Don’t worry. It’s all a little funny.” You said between stifled chuckles.
“See, they think I’m funny,” Jason replied with a smirk and raising his brows at Tim as if it were a challenge.
“You need to learn the difference between laughing at someone and laughing with,” Tim retorted while rolling his eyes.
“And you should learn how to not be such a smartass,” Jason replied.
Alfred stuck his head out the kitchen, “Are you boys being polite in front of our guests?”
With one question, the two quieted. You took this as a sign to wash up and get ready for bed.
“Thank you for an eventful first day, but I think I should go rest up,” You said while getting up from your seat.
“I think Y/n’s right. Thank you for dinner, good night everyone,” Pam added.
“Yes, good night everyone!” You said before leaving the room.
The men wished you both a good night.
You quickly showered, washing off the day, barely letting the water fully overtake you. You weren’t in the mood for a long relaxing shower, rather it was more like it was something you wanted to get over with. The same went with your other nighttime routines: brushing your teeth, washing your face, and moisturizing. It all passed as if your body wasn’t in control until you collapsed on your bed. You weren’t even under the covers for more than ten minutes before you were fast asleep.
Deep in slumber, you saw yourself outside of your body in a dark endless room. A sound grew louder, the phone call repeating from your stalker. There was nowhere to run. Each word stinging your skin and the shadows closing in. Your throat tightening with every breath until you were gasping for air clawing your hands at an intangible void as you watched yourself flail trying to regain control of your body.
Suddenly, you force yourself awake. Your eyes scan the room, remembering you’re not in your bed–you haven’t been in your own bed for some time. This wasn’t the first nightmare you had on tour and you doubted it would be your last.
You tried to stabilize yourself with deep inhales, but that wasn’t enough. You weren’t going to be able to sleep now. To clear your head, you throw on a robe, grab your journal, and head to the kitchen for water. You quietly made your way downstairs to find that you weren’t the only one who couldn’t sleep.
“Oh–hey,” Jason looks up at you as you enter the kitchen. You smiled to yourself as you noted that he was at the counter drinking milk and cookies.
“...Hey,” You replied awkwardly as you tried to quickly get your water.
You were about to leave the kitchen with your drink when Jason said, “Alfred’s gonna be pissed if he finds out you took something from his kitchen to your room.”
“Right. I forgot about that,” You felt even more awkward than before.
“I would say that I wouldn’t snitch, but Alfred always finds out,” Jason joked. “I can leave the kitchen if you want to be alone. There’s a lot of quiet places around here.”
“No, no, don't leave. It's okay,” You assured him. “I just needed some water.”
“Then what’s with the journal?” He motioned with his head towards your notebook.
“Ahh well when I can’t sleep, sometimes writing helps.”
“You an insomniac too?”
“Not really, just had a nightmare. But I’m guessing you are, considering the milk and cookies. All you’re missing is a bedtime story and a lullaby,” You taunted.
“You know that doesn’t sound too bad. You offering to sing me to sleep?” He cocked his head to the side as he asked his question.
You chuckled, “Not without a price.”
“How about some cookies and milk?” He pushed the plate towards you.
“Sounds like a deal,” You said, grabbing a cookie.
“Take a seat. I’ll get you some milk,” He directed, then got up from his seat to get your drink.
You promptly finished your water, then sat on the stool one seat over from where Jason sat. You were conscious of your every word and action, but you weren’t anxious in the same way when you awoke from your nightmare.
“So do you usually get nightmares?”
“Not often, but when I’m on tour they can happen more frequently.”
Jason gently placed the cup next to you before sitting down. His body was completely turned to face you as you spoke.
“Considering recent events, I’m not surprised I got a nightmare, but it’s like I’ll never be used to it.”
“Yeah, that feeling of your heart pounding against your ribcage while the rest of your body tries to catch up. It’s hard to adjust to. At this point, I think I got insomnia to avoid the nightmares.”
“That’s reassuring,” You joked, dipping your cookie into the milk before taking a bite. “I can’t afford not sleeping, especially while I’m on tour. That’s why I have the journal. It helps me rationalize what I’m feeling and sometimes I get some inspiration for songs too. Maybe it’ll help you.”
“I’ve tried a lot of stuff, but nothing really calms me down like warm milk and cookies.”
“I guess that’s fair.” You two sat in silence for a beat, eating from the pile of cookies until it was finished. “I assume I owe you a song now.”
“Nah I think I’ll hold onto that and cash it in later,” Jason said with a smile.
“Don’t make me nervous, now.”
He laughed to himself then stood up. It wasn’t until now that you realized how he towered over you. His entire body engulfed you. His shoulders. His torso. All left you in a shadow as you looked up at him. “Don’t worry. Talking to you was enough to put me at ease.”
You looked slightly offended at his comment, which he registered immediately.
“What I mean was it was nice talking to you. Sorry that came out wrong,” He corrected while rubbing the back of his neck in slight embarrassment.
You smiled, “That’s a relief.” You stood up facing him. The distance between you only a stool wide, but Jason slightly leaning over the edge of the imaginary line drawn by the stool’s presence. “It was nice talking to you. Thanks for the company.” You stare into his eyes, admiring every stray hair and eyelash, how his hair grazed his eyebrows.
He maintained eye contact, noticing how your eyes reflected the soft light coming from outside and how it warmed your reflection. “Well I’ll be here for all your late night troubles. Just say the word.”
⊹ summary the holidays have always been a difficult time for jason todd, but this year--with his new family by his side--he's hoping something good can come out of it.
⊹ genre/tw fluff !! angst !! one suggestive scene at the end (you'll know it when you see it,) day in the life, dad!au, batfam bliss and chaos, kissing, jason pov !! heavy on domestic jason, new parent stress, jason being downbad for his lady, talk about breastfeeding and other mom stuff, barbara still knows best, mostly unedited!
⊹ w/c 7.8k with a few coins left over!
⊹ a/n this came out a little angstier than i planned lol but that's what the holidays give i guess lol. i love this little family and i am so glad everyone loved it enough to ask me to bring them back! I know this is after christmas but i hope everyone is still willing to put themselves back into the holiday spirit--ily guys forever thanks so much for reading!! as always my inbox is always open for requests, drabbles, musings, and conversation! don't forget to reblog xoxo!!
masterlist ⊹ pt one ⊹ requests open
The city is beautiful at Christmastime, like a dream shook out of a snow globe falling into reality. It’s almost like a movie, rainbow lights blinking from skyscrapers and snowball fights in the park; a winter wonderland in place of the frightful shadows usually covering the streets. Gotham City is not often inviting, but there was something about December that manifested magic into the city’s very bones. It was like nothing could ever hurt you, that the city was safe and sound like a warm hand cradling your heart.
You have always loved it, always yearned for snow and lights and jazz music on the radio—you can remember days out of your childhood with your brother and Barbara building snowmen and drinking hot cocoa, and every year her dad would bring you all to see the Nutcracker. As you have gotten older, it has lost a little bit of its magic—carols became grating, Christmas movies turned from cozy to corny, and snow was just cold. Yet, this year something was different, it was like a sparkle of childhood had fallen back into your lap.
This year, your baby was eleven months old: bright-eyed and eager to take in every new experience… Watching the lights reflect off her green irises was so lovely it almost made you cry, a moment that made Jason break out into rambunctious laughter as if he had not just choked up at her seeing her first snowfall. It was her first Christmas, and everything was brand new—for the both of you—and you were just so excited to be a part of it; everyone else was too, her father and her uncles, but mostly her Auntie Barbara who had torn the two of you out of the house three times a week for the past month to make sure Penny had every Christmas experience she could conjure up.
This is how you find yourself in the middle of the Sprang River Mall three days before Christmas, your baby crying in her stroller and your boyfriend’s twelve-year-old brother hanging onto your hand for dear life. Usually, this would be the young Wayne’s worst nightmare, yet the amount of people circling the building with the intensity of scavenger birds scares him enough to find some comfort in you. Barbara, however, is as free as a bird—breezing her way past every obnoxious patron with an air of arrogance that must be learnt from Richard Grayson.
“Barbara, are we almost done yet?” You ask her, using the hand not currently holding Damian’s to push Penny’s pacifier back into her mouth.
“There’s just one more thing I wanna look at!” The girl shouts back.
“Barbara,” Damian moans, “ I will not undergo another second of this torture, nor will I allow my niece and her mother to be subject to this absolutely abhorrent building a second longer!”
At his words you find yourself smiling—such an impressive vocabulary for a little boy, his young voice making the threat rather adorable instead of its intended fear, (not to mention his adamant attempt to protect your honor).
“Dami, just one more store—chill out!” Barbara tells him, her voice every bit of an older sister.
“You guys, let’s just hurry okay? The baby’s hungry and I don’t wanna have to pull my boob out in front of Wetzel’s Pretzels.” You whine.
Damian’s face—after hearing your words—becomes a picture of pure disgust, yet he still speaks up on your behalf, sneering:
“What are you looking at you half-baked urchin?!” at some guy giving you and your baby and gross look.
You really hope Barbara is being honest about only wanting to look at one more thing; the days been so long already, and you miss Jason and your perfect little apartment.
Your best friend arrived at your home at ten A.M. demanding your company to shop and wouldn’t take no for an answer even when you told her you’d agreed to watch Damian while his father and brothers went on some top-secret mission. The day started out nice, but after spending hours in this stifling crowded mall, you’re about ready to pass out… your feet hurt, your baby is tired, and you need to pump soon or there will be milk all over your favorite sweater. You love Barbara, but you’re really over her Christmas spirit.
The last store she drags you into is frilly and powder pink, covered head to toe in little girls clothes: electric blue tutus, glittery jackets, sequined ballerina slippers… it’s like all of your fourth grade dreams burst forth into one building. Damian seems incredibly curious, like he just walked into another dimension, and he can’t put his guard down. It’s populated with parents and girls of all ages, grabbing kiddy makeup kits and pretty sweaters—Penny takes it all in with her sleepy eyes, matching her little uncle’s curiosity perfectly. You feel a little uncomfortable, stifled by all the cheap tulle and the fifty dollar price tags; money wasn’t necessarily tight, but Jason didn’t like using the money he got from “work,” nor the inheritance waiting for him at Gotham National Bank.
“Barbara, seriously why are we in here?” You ask.
“For Teeny’s Christmas Dress!” Barabara exclaims, her eyes getting wide and a little crazy.
“Barbara, Penny already has everything she needs for Christmas.” You tell her, getting a little anxious. It’s not like you don’t want your daughter to have nice things, it’s just that your best friend has already done so much for you already, and Jason gets so nervous about other people’s money. It took him a long time to even let you pay for things, and still he complains when you try—you just know he’ll have a problem with Barbara spending more money on his daughter… whether or not it’s out of the pure goodness of her heart doesn’t matter, it will bother him all the same.
Damian seems to know this as well, what with the wary look on his stately face; it’s no secret that your boyfriend is irritable, especially when his family is involved, and nobody—especially his little brother—wants to be on the other side.
“She doesn’t have this sparkly Christmas dress!” The girl cries, holding up a green monster of a dress: all stiff ruffles and loose glitter, complete with the most perfect red bow.
“Oh wow,” you whisper.
“That’s disgusting,” Damian states.
“What?!” Barb cries, “It’s beautiful!”
“It’s…” You start, “It’s very nice Barbie, but it’s way too big for her, and I’m not spending sixty bucks on something she can’t even wear.”
“Who says you’re gonna buy it, huh?” Barbara whines, “I’ll get it, and she will looks so cute no one will mind that it doesn’t fit her.”
“babe, that’s really nice, but I think you’re gonna have to run this by Jason.”
“What?!” She cries, “But he’s gonna say no! don’t you wanna see your baby girl all dressed up? It will match her eyes!”
“Barbara…” Damian sighs, picking up on the rising frown on your face.
“Please?” Your best friend tries again much to your chagrin, you appreciate her really, but her ability to completely ignore the words you’re currently saying to her is getting old fast.
“I love you, B. but you have to ask her dad—because I’m not gonna be the one dealing with Jason Todd being annoyed over a princess dress.” It’s these words that seal your victory, a triumph so beautiful that Damian Wayne succumbs to childhood and gives you a very hesitant high five.
-`✮´-
Thankfully, Barbara wasn’t lying about Lullaby Luxe being the last store, yet you still couldn’t get her to go home—even after dropping Damian back at his illustrious home and stopping to get French fries from Batburger, she insisted that she wouldn’t leave your side until Jason got home.
Sure, it was nice for a little while having some company while you fed Penny and folded laundry, but you were both due for a nap and some quiet, and while you loved Barbara Gordon with your entire heart you knew not to wish for either when she was around. For hours she tattled on about all the exciting things in her life, gossiping about coworkers and sharing secrets about the boys’ patrol. It was good company, but not one that was particularly wanted after your overstimulating day.
It’s only once Jason comes home, beautiful in his layered clothing and his frizzy curls, that you begin to feel a little better. He greets you with a smile and a kiss on the head before running to the nursery to grab his baby, always so full of excitement to see her sleepy eyes blink open to match his own. You can hear them, giggling to each other—Jason’s voice hushed low and warm bringing a total comfort to settle over your bones. When they appear, Jason is in comfier clothes and Penny, freshly changed in Winnie the Pooh PJ’s, is glinting all five of her teeth.
Your boyfriend is buzzing with energy, a rambunctious excitement that must be from whatever secret-mission his father pulled him into this morning. His body is turned towards you, his chest beating in your direction and his eyes settled over your lounging form. He looks so handsome with your baby in his arms, leaning against the kitchen counter with a weary smile on his mouth. You miss him next to you, want so badly for him to settle his cold skin against your own and submerge you into his muscle, but with Barb here you know he won’t… Your shy boy, so sweet and lovely, affectionate and adoring with every word and caress, but only in private.
He doesn’t seem to care that it was Barabara that set the two of you on your course, nor that she’s witnessed plenty of nasty PDA what with his big brother as her best friend. No, he’ll wait until she’s gone, and then he’ll have his way with you—even if his way is just holding you close until he has to leave again.
Barbara doesn’t seem to want to go though, nor does she want to leave the subject of the mall alone.
“Are you absolutely sure that I can’t buy Penny that princess dress?” Barbara asks for what feels like the millionth time. “I mean it’s her first Christmas! And I’m her Auntie B!” Her voice is pained, desperate in her pleading, yet still the man in front of her doesn’t budge.
“Barbie, she doesn’t need a new dress for one day—she’s gonna grow out of it in like five minutes.”
“Jason, I hate you right now… I can’t believe I gifted you this beautiful family and you have the gall to deny me .”
“Get used it, Red—this is my town now.” Jason says, lifting his rosebud lips in a dubious grin. He’s so smiley lately, an effect that still shocks his brothers and makes their father completely unnerved, but you can’t ever get enough. Every time that boyish grin casts itself over his moonshine skin and his eyes fall into mischief you find yourself falling more and more in love. Even now, with messy curls and vomit-stained clothes he is beautiful—a fact that would be unbearably annoying if he wasn’t looking at you like you created the stars.
In a way, you supposed you did… a little star in the form of a sleepy girl: Penelope is just a couple months old, but she’s already amounted to planet status in the eyes of her family. Little Penny is everything and everywhere, a spoiled creature who is loved by everyone even though she really only likes her parents and her uncle Dami. Jason is especially enraptured, which is why his refusal to Barbara is so strange—usually all he wants is to fill her to the brim with treats and presents, but there was something about this dress that halted any begging from your best friend’s lips.
You get a front row seat to the displeasure ripping through her, the frown heavy on her pretty face and her body language hunched with tension—all but her arms, those are heavy with protection and the ever-nurturing touch that blooms in her when she holds your baby. The aforementioned girl is trying really hard to grab her Aunties glasses off her face, her small pudgy hands gripping onto Barbara’s red hair and pulling with a big grin; Barbara doesn’t even seem to notice—not when you giggle or when Jason looks down to scrunch his nose at his baby, not even when Penny accomplishes her goal and Barb’s blue specs clatter to the ground—she just continues on begging.
“Please, Please, Please Jason! I’ll never bother you ever again!”
“We both know that’s a non-starter, Barbie, come on.”
“Are you listening to this!” Barb yells, turning to you in her hour of need. “I cannot believe this! I’m like your fairy godmother and instead of thanking me, you are punishing my very position of Auntie.”
“I’m sorry, honey.” You tell her, giggling at her ever-present frown—now that you’re home, and not the one responsible for letting her down, you feel much more endeared to the conversation. “You know I have no control over this guy.”
“That’s the thing, you have ALL THE CONTROL!” She exclaims before turning to the baby on her lap and whispering: “Isn’t that right baby, Daddy is just a downbad loser for Mommy, huh.”
You find yourself laughing, but it is irrevocably true; Jason would rather die than tell you what to do, he’s much happier sitting back and letting you run the show. It’s something he’s rather proud of, especially when his brothers attempt to bully him about it; Just last week Tim and his boyfriend came over to babysit and were laughed out the door when the boys thought Jason would be embarrassed about how much of a simp he’d become in the last year. Instead of being embarrassed, however, Jason just smiled bigger than his brother had ever seen and let out a ridiculous roaring laugh… It was all so silly, he thought, that anyone could look at you and your little miracle and not want to give you anything and everything you could ever ask for.
You can feel his eyes on you, laughing in time with your giggles… his stare is as distracting as always, less molten these days but still so warm, like a bath at perfect temperature or a sip of tea that doesn’t burn your tongue.
“Barbara, what’s so important about this dress anyway?” You ask before turning to meet Jason’s stare: he looks goofy and young, and so happy… he raises his eyebrows at you, a little blush on his cheekbones, and gives you a secret wink before turning back to your guest.
“Just my goddaughter’s joy and happiness.” Barbara huffs. “but whatever, deny your daughter a beautiful dress for her first Christmas ever, see if I care.”
“You’re such a drama queen, Barbie.” Jason sneers, though the grin still firmly seated on his face contradicts the tone.
“Oh, Eat me, Todd.” She shoots back, making her way towards you to pass off the little girl in her arms. It takes her a minute, what with the squealing baby reaching for her hand, but she manages to hand her off and hug you goodbye in one practiced move. “I love you,” she tells you, bending down to kiss the baby in your arms before whispering: “And I love you, Penelope Jean, but your dad sucks!”
“Yeah, yeah, Barbie—I’ll remember that the next time Timmy hacks your laptop.” Your boyfriend replies, his own makeshift affection disguised as a threat. His words bring a smile to rest over Barbara’s frown; your best friend all-knowing and omniscient knows this is his ‘I love you,’ and the way she looks at the three of you as she moves to the door proves it. She always looks so proud of herself, lovesick and wistful when her eyes say goodbye to the little family she cooked up.
“Love you, my babies!” She yells as she makes her way down the hall, the sound of her wheelchair following her into the elevator; you miss her as soon as she leaves.
The apartment is immediately a little colder than before, but no less comfortable; living with Jason is a big adjustment after two years with your dutiful best friend, but the life the two of you have created is surely a good trade. It’s been a tremendous change, going from beaded curtains and silly reality shows to highchairs and Bluey marathons, but you needed more room (for Penny and Jason). He’d tried to fit himself into Barbara’s and your little Chinatown apartment, but once Penny came it became harder and harder not to take over, and it just didn’t seem fair to your friend.
At one point, Bruce offered for the three of you to come stay at the Manor, but that was a non-starter—Jason would allow his father to be in his baby’s life, but only on his terms. Instead, he ventured into the city with his friend Roy and found a decently large apartment to cradle his little family in, and while you were sad to leave Barbara, you would never give up the reality Jason built for you.
The apartment is messy now, lived in and covered in baby paraphernalia, but still perfect. It’s a fixer-upper for sure, full of bursting pipes and cranky neighbors who hate the orange car resting on the curb and shoot dirty looks at you when you put your Penny in her car seat. Yet, you can’t help but feel like it’s home—even with the cracks in the ceiling and the broken A/C—it’s everything you’ve ever needed… especially with Jason making his way to you, smiling in that soft way he only really gets when it’s just you and him. He’s swathed himself in a sweater and pajama pants, soft materials that Penny loves, and though he looks messy and unshapen, you’ve can’t help but want to ravage him.
“Thank god she’s gone,” He whispers, his eyes wide in mock-fright staring right down at his daughter’s matching ones. She’s wiggly in your arms, hands pushing against your arm around her middle, reaching out, out, out for her father. His cold hands grab hers, little fingers surrounding his pinkie and waving it around. Looking at their hands you can’t help but remark on how similar their nailbeds are: square and flat, and annoyingly perfect. It’s so odd, you think, how much she looks like him—as if she really was made from him, like his love for her overcame anything from before and rewrote her DNA to match his own.
It's only gotten worse as she’s gotten bigger, her wispy baby hair coiling into perfect black curls and her cheeks dimpling just like his own. She looks so much like him that when Bruce met her, he got a little choked up before telling his son “it’s like I’m seeing what you would have looked like at this age.”
Their likeness might make you jealous if you didn’t love him so much… sure, sometimes it felt a little treacherous that you did all the work and there’s not much evidence of it, but one look at them together and it all washes away. Jason’s eyes are so beautiful they demand to be recreated, even if it means you’re the one doing the sculpting.
“Are you sleepy?” Jason asks you, his heavy form collapsing onto the sofa next to you and bringing both of his girls into his arms. His hands sweep against your side, palm resting on your hip and his fingers grazing against Penny’s back. “Barbara was here forever…” He moans, pulling out the last word.
“A little,” You tell him. “but I still have tons of presents to wrap, and it’s only seven-thirty.”
“I can do it, sweetheart. My two girls gotta get to bed.”
“Jay, if I let you do that all the presents will be ugly and Damian will make fun of us forever.”
“Hey! I could have secret wrapping skills, you don’t know!” Jason laughs, poking his fingers out to tickle you, making you jolt, and Penny lets out sleepy giggles.
“I do know, honey… you can barely fold towels.”
“Sorry I was too busy beatin’ up gangsters and saving kittens from trees.” He grumbles. The reminder to the other part of his life makes you a little anxious even now, but his voice—soft and sultry—is so soothing. It’s only seven-thirty but you feel as though you could go to bed right now; he’s right, Barbara was over for a long time: arriving for lunch and staying past dinner, and while you love spending time with her you really wished you could have had a little more alone time with Jason before he goes on patrol.
“Did you really save kittens?” You whisper, your eyes just open enough to see your little girl’s eyelids blink once, twice, three times before falling shut with sleep. Penny’s hands are little fists, and her heart shaped lips make the same pout as Jason’s when he naps on the couch—your lucky Penny, gone away to dreamland.
“I did,” he says, his voice soft like the wind. “I got two right here.”
He’s so ridiculous, you think, how he’s always so cheesy and in love with you… sometimes you think he might become that first version of him again, leather clad and bruised with a cigarette behind his ear. You were drawn to him then, of course, curious and in need of whatever he was willing to give to you, but you can’t lie… you much prefer this new one. The real version, the one that lies next to you on the couch and tries to pick you up even though he's got a baby off you.
“You’re so dumb, Jay.” You say, the words full of sleep, but still, you nuzzle further into his chest. Jason’s hand travels up your arm, taking over holding Penny to your skin and making sure she doesn’t fall over in her sleep. He squeezes you a little tighter before telling you,
“Dumb and in love, baby.”
“You’re a moron.” You laugh, “but I love you I guess.” “You guess?!” He exclaims, softly as to not wake the baby. “I gotta get you to bed before you keep talkin’ crazy.” Yet, he remains sitting with you for a little longer, breathing in the scent of baby lotion and your shampoo—he told you once that it was his favorite smell, the one surrounding your skin when you were sleepy and your hair was just messy enough to fall into his face from whichever angle he had you in. He sits with you until his legs fall asleep and he knows he has no more time to spend before going back out into the streets. It's been colder lately, ice-bitten and foggy throughout alley’s and apartment complexes, and Dick’s been insistent that they all go out more than usual.
For months after the baby was born Jason stayed home with you, keeping just his family safe from the monsters of Gotham City while his brothers saved everyone else, but that could only last so long. As Winter came and the city descended into snow, he knew he had to put on the helmet again, but that didn’t mean he felt any safer about leaving you alone.
Through your sleepy haze you feel him breathe you in again—one long breathe—before he raises up with both of you still in his arms (a feat that would bring a warmth to your tummy if you were more awake) and starts waddling you to your bedroom.
It’s not a long journey, just a few feet down the hall but you’re still shocked when his arms unravel from your form; its warmer without his skin on yours, but you miss the cold as soon as it leaves.
From the doorway Jason gently takes the baby from you, shushing her as she wakes a little, before putting her down into her travel crib. Penny’s old enough now to sleep in her own room, but on nights when Jason patrols he likes to know that both his loves are safely tucked away in one place. Sometimes, when he’s really anxious he takes the baby monitor—leaving the camera pointed at his two girls so he could check on them all night.
You watch him put the baby down, a lovestruck sleepy smile rising on your lips as you wait for it to be your turn. Your grin widens when he kisses Penny’s head, a gooey feeling swirling in your tummy when you hear him tell her: “Sweet dreams, little bird. Mama and Daddy love you.”
When he turns back to you, his white curls are falling into his soft eyes, and he lets out a silly little laugh at the sight of you waiting for him. “Oh, are you my baby too?” He smiles, “Need my help gettin’ to bed?” You feel yourself nodding, smiling bigger and bigger as he makes his way over to you all while shaking his head.
He helps you get your pajamas on—pulling one of his shirts over your head and helping you out of your sweatpants and into some sleep shorts, kissing your hipbone before the fabric settles over it. Jason is always so sweet to you, has been since the first night you met him, but since you had Penny it’s been turned up to ten. He can’t bear the thought of you having to do more than you’re already doing; can’t seem to fathom that you don’t need his help with everything, even the little things.
He gets you into bed, pulling the airy comforter over your form before tucking you in like you’re going to bed in a sarcophagus, and kissing your head just like he did with your baby. “My sleepy little hero,” He whispers, “I love you very much.”
“I love you too, Jay… you’ll be careful tonight right?” No matter how many times he goes out you can’t help but ask him; the thought of him, out there alone pleading for trouble to find him, while you’re here all alone, fills you with such terrible anxiety that sometimes you can barely speak.
“Don’t worry my perfect girl, I always am—especially now that I don’t have to take a break from saving the city to walk you home.”
“Just come back to us, baby.” You hum, nuzzling into your pillow. He grabs onto your hand, squeezing it through the blanket before leaning down to kiss your head again. He smells like gasoline and his cheeks are a little scratchy, but it’s still the best lullaby you could ever ask for: his lips on your skin and his voice in your ear.
You open your eyes just enough to see his smile, a sliver of a moon turning up on his pretty face, before he answers:
“Always.”
-`✮´-
Patrolling Gotham is uncharacteristically lifeless—usually, the city is brimming with vibrant malice and inhumane horrors, yet tonight the snow bitten town is still and unbreathing. It seems as though everyone is tucked inside safe and sound; Christmas curing even the worst of Gotham’s illnesses. Jason struggles to think about criminals and drug dealers caroling with their families, though he supposes they must… he remembers something his older brother said to him once about how everyone has someone that loves them, yet the memory is slight and incongruous in the frosty air.
All he wants is to get home, bundle up beside you and try his best to keep you warm—he’s always so cold, his veins never completely heating back up after his accident, and he’s so worried his evergreen chill will give you or his Penny a cold.
It’s Christmas Eve and all he wants is to get back home to you, a feeling he’s had since the night he finally gathered enough courage to tie your heart to his, a devastating desire that makes him numb to even the most annoying traits of his three brothers. Said boys are alternating between berating each other and bullying Jason through the comms, yelling expletives until Barbie tells them to stop. It’s well loved and familiar, the closest form of affection he allows himself with his family, and though he misses you, it’s a welcomed annoyance to his patrol.
“Ugh, Nightwing, enough with the dramatics—Jesus Christ!” Tim moans , his voice a little gravelly through the comms. The line is flooded with agreement, yet all their older brother seems to do is continue on moaning about his new girlfriend Kori. Jason notes that Barbara is quieter than usual: her normal kitschy voice mum and silent against Dick’s girlfriend troubles.
“It’s not my fault you don’t know what it’s like to have an alien girlfriend, little bird.” Dick replies.
“My boyfriend literally is an alien, what are you talking about?”
“HALF!” three other voices yell, the cacophony of noise making Jason flinch. It’s so much that he finds himself tuning them out again, the sound is to similar to a crack—loud and achingly similar to the soundtrack of his innermost nightmares. He really misses you; if he had it his way you’d never leave his side… he’d sew your skin into his own and live the rest of his life sharing your heat, and he’d never be scared again.
Jason continues on ignoring his family and their rancorous commentary, continues on his merry way through the freezing streets of Gotham until he hears his name echoing off the speakers.
“Well, at least you’re not living in sin like Hood.” Barbara says, the words clamoring with a bitterness he’s not sure is truly meant for him.
“Living in sin ‘s the only place to be, missy.” He says, forcing arrogance to stave off the worried lectures his big brother would surely give him if he allowed himself to show how tired he really was. And he really is so tired; he never wants to worry you or make you do more work than you’re already doing, but with the baby and patrol and his day job at the garage, he’s really splitting himself too thin. If Dick got wind of this, this downtrodden tired version of his brother, he would surely break out the retired intervention banner and harass Jason until he took a nap—which can absolutely not happen.
At his words each of his brothers let out a string of “eww’s” that could rival a fourth grade class, and—If the littlest of them weren’t here—he might be tempted to remind both Dick and Tim of the secrets they have shared with him.
“I just don’t get you—I give you the perfect woman, a baby—that you didn’t even have to do ANY work for, might I add—and still, she doesn’t have a ring on her finger.” The girl huffs.
“Hey, I’ve done work, thanks.” Jason snarks, more irritable with her than he usually is at her teasing. There was just something in her voice that bothered him, or maybe it was some leftover agitation from the way she needled him yesterday… either way, all his patience is dried up, the only bit left saved up for you.
“I’m just saying, if you really love her you’d let her know—in a real way.” Barbara says, seemingly pointing to some other point that he was too tired to read into.
“I’m pretty sure she knows her loves her,” Dick jumps in, “Last time I saw them they were both so moony eyed it was disgusting.”
“They’re always disgusting, it makes me want to gouge my eyes out.” Damian adds.
Jason is glad for his brother’s back up, but the impatient aggression already bubbling under the surface, and Barbara’s notion that you might not know how much he loves you burns harsher than he’d usually let it. All he does is for you, day in and day out and he can’t believe your best friend believes he’s lacking—can’t believe she has the gall to say this to him in front of his brothers of all people.
“Shut up, Oracle.” Jason sighs, the aggression fighting its way back down his throat. Barbara tries her best to argue, but he is an old veteran at conflict… he knows it better than kindness, expects it first before a smile or a comforting hand; it lives in his heart right along side you, bundling beside your soft skin and keeping him alive. It’s the most familiar friend he has, so when the girl tries to speak up again, it’s not even a question for Jason to interrupt. “Barbara, I’m not joking—don’t speak to me about my family. Figure your own shit out first.”
The comms go silent, so hushed that he’s sure the rest of the boys can hear the whispered “shit!” that comes from behind Jason’s mask. He’s so tired, and he misses you and now he’s sure he’s going to have to deal with the fallout from fighting with your best friend. He can almost envision it, you—beautiful and soft and so angry—hands on your hips and eyes squinty as you ask him what happened. It’s so worrisome that it overcomes the vision he usually has under his eyes: you, beautiful and soft and so sleepy, smiling at him as you feed his baby. God, when will he ever stop fucking up, he asks himself.
You’re the one good thing he has, and still the universe won’t stop throwing things in his way trying to mess it up—whether it be his father criticizing him or Barbara questioning how serious he is, it never ends. He listens to the breathing of his brothers and begs for answers, waiting and waiting for Barbara to speak up and apologize. Though he knows she won’t, just as she knows not to wait for one from him—they’re both stubborn, prideful creatures, and they both love you too much to apologize for attempting to protect your honor.
The rest of patrol is silent, each and every one of them silently agreeing to keeping the barely held together peace. It’s better that its just the ‘children’, and that their father is away on some league business—much better for their ability to ignore an issue rather than have Bruce shove it back down their throats all night.
As they separate into different districts, Jason can’t keep himself from getting closer and closer to home. His boots seem to lead him across the Burnside bridge, moving closer and closer to the obnoxiously trendy building Roy made him rent. He’s supposed to be out for another hour, but his dad isn’t here and you’re so close, and if he listens real hard he thinks he can hear Penny waking up alone in her crib. Really, it’s a crime he’s not there already…It’s Christmas now, five minutes past midnight and the only wish he has is to warm up in your arms, breathe you in and listen to the sound of his baby dreaming.
Jason travels through the shadows, climbing over rooftops and fire escapes, counting down the seconds until he can see you again. It’s only when your window comes into view that Jason feels like he can breathe again, the oxygen getting clearer and clearer as he climbs up the storm pipe. The glass is a little rickety as he slides it up, wobbling with the force it takes him to get it all the way open—the apartment is warm, cozy and quiet with the night. He makes his way through the hallway, stopping for just a minute to calm his racing heart before he opens the door to his bedroom.
Sure enough little Penny is wide awake, her little arms in the air the second she sees her father. She’s quiet, somehow knowing to stay still as not to wake you, and you—beautiful and soft and so sleepy, are knocked out cold. Jason allows himself a second to watch both his girls, taking in the sight he missed all night, before getting into softer clothes. Penelope is impatient, letting out little whines until he’s ready to pick her up and snuggle her to him. Still you don’t wake… you must be so tired, he thinks, to sleep through rustling clothes and your babies small cries. You don’t even wake when he sits next to you, your baby sipping from her bottle in his lap, and his hand hovering through your hair—you stay resting peacefully, pretty eyes closed and humming miscellaneous words in your sleep.
For the first time tonight he finally feels free, unchained from all the other fears he’ll have to examine again tomorrow. For so long all he knew was the freezing coldness of death and violence, but here with you, he finally knows what it means to be warm.
-`✮´-
“Merry Christmas,” You whisper, your smile hovering just a hair above his own.
Rays of light are shifting into the room, spotlighting strips of sun over your lovers sleeping form; his skin is liquid fire—luminous and bright in the morning, and if you squint you can see tiny sliver scars decorating his sunlit torso. There are bigger ones—fiery shots of scarlet licking up his hip and scaly patches of skin that never grew back quite as healthy as before… new bruises covering him in a rainbow of pain and hurt. Looking at Jason Todd is like putting your eye to a kaleidoscope, he’s a dreamscape of color and shapes; a mosaic of the human experience.
Two years ago, you would hardly be able to fathom what looking at him like this may be like, how his skin keeps you from never getting too hot underneath the covers and his killing hands cradle your spine. The last year of loving him and being loved in return had been a benign insanity, a snapshot of life and change. It all seemed so fast, how one day you were fantasizing about a life well lived and the next you were given the truest love you’d ever had. Jason is so beautiful, alive and starbright, and you wish he’d wake—you miss those veridian eyes and the melody of his voice, it always sounds younger than he is, and a little husky as if he spent all night screaming.
You kiss the corner of his lips, your hand settling over his heart to feel the slow beat pick up just a bit. He startles just a bit, yet his eyes still remain closed—you kiss his lips again, then his forehead and his cherubic cheeks… it’s only when your hands close over his white curls that he begins to escape the sandman’s clutches. Those beautiful eyes blink open, hazy at first and a little slow; the sunlight turning them into sea glass. He’s radiant, like a young god being born from a sunray, or Adonis—death and rebirth wrapped up in a perfect man.
“Jason,” you whisper, scared to speak up any louder. You can hear your daughter babbling away through the baby monitor (your love must’ve put her in her own room once he returned last night). “wake up.”
He’s still fighting sleep, that much is obvious, but his eyes are becoming clearer by the moment, and your baby is getting a little fussier in her crib. You’ll just have a moment with him alone today, before all the family traditions you’re fitting yourself into and the new ones to create.
You’re starting to get impatient now, and the clock is ticking farther and farther away from having any time with your boyfriend before its time to get up. You tug his hair again, curling the fluffy coils around your fingers and pulling.
“Ah! I’m up, I’m up!” Jason moans, arching his neck further into the bed in order to get away from you. “I’m awake, honey” he says again, slurring the words a little bit. His eyes—fully alive now—turn to you, a little frustrated but so soft it fills your belly with whole-hearted affection. You think you love him the most in the morning—when it’s just you and him and the sun shining down upon you, yet you could never discount how much you love him at golden hour, or how he breaks your heart at midnight. Theres a softness to him now, 100% cotton coating his smile, he’s laughing—that big booming laugh that made you fall in love, and your hand (the one on his heart) feels that steady beat erupt underneath your palm.
“Are you really awake though?” You ask him, squinting your eyes in suspicion. Instead of an answer he gives you that familiar quicksilver grin before dipping his head down to kiss you. It’s a sweet kiss, close-mouthed and a little sticky with sleep, but perfect. Jason pulls back for just a second, shooting another smile at your puffy face before leaning back down to kiss you again. It’s deeper this time, cold hands rising to hold your face; his mouth opening just enough for his tongue to glide across the seam of your lips. He’s opening you up like a zipper, kissing you deeper and deeper until it’s all teeth clashing and heavy breathing; Jason’s kiss is a little sour and uncomfortably hot, and it’s so hard to breathe when he’s pressing his weight into you. The boy’s scratchy hands move from your face and trail down, down, down—gliding across deserts of skin until he’s just seconds away from where you need him most, stopping right at the tie of your gauzy sleep shorts.
“Doesn’t this look like I’m awake, sweetheart?” He mumbles, fingers pulling at the elastic.
“I don’t know, we might need to wake you up some more…” You sigh, arching farther into his chest and shivering just a little when his thigh catches against you. Jason moves in to kiss you again, his lips just a breath away from yours and his hands—his cold, comforting hands—are just one touch away from where you need him when your baby—your beautiful blessing of a baby—squalls out a painful cry.
“Looks like Penny is awake too,” Jason sighs, settling his forehead against yours with a big huff.
“This is the worst day of my life.” You whine, pulling out from underneath him with a big laugh that harmonizes with his own. You clatter to your side of the bed with a big breath, rolling your eyes with a giggle as Jason mumbles:
“Don’t say that, baby… it’s Christmas.”
When you turn to look at him, his smile is almost as wide as his face. Beautiful, your boy is—an eclipse of ravenous beauty.
“Go get our baby, Jay.” You whisper before rolling onto your tummy.
You hear him laughing through the hallway, and when he arrives at the nursery you can hear the exact moment he puts on the sweet voice he only uses with Penelope.
“Merry Christmas, Penny!” He exclaims, and you grin when she squeals. You listen the whole time, smiling all along as he speaks with her in hushed tones and makes silly animal sounds to make her laugh. All you can do is smile, grinning on and on as you listen to the two people you love most in the world laugh through their morning routine. You start getting up, a little slower than you might have a year ago, knowing that Jason will be a little put out that you got all the way out of bed without him.
When you get to the living room, all dark except for the blinking tree in the corner, you stop for just a minute to listen to all the creaky sounds of your old apartment. It’ll be a nice day you think, as magical as all those childhood days with Barbara, you almost can’t wait for Jason to be done getting the baby ready—you’re just so excited.
When they do finally appear, Jason sets Penny in her highchair and brings present after present for her to hold in her hand. She doesn’t quite understand what’s going on, but her squalling laughter brings shiny tears to your eyes all the same. Your boy laughs at you, but you swear you can see him tearing up too—and his tears only get worse when he hands you your gift: a little diamond ring that fits snug against your ring finger.
He doesn’t say anything when he gives it to you, just slips it onto your finger with a little nod, smiling through all his happy tears.
“For me?” You cry, looking at him with a weepy little smile. He laughs, a little mucusy chuckle that burns your insides.
“Are you kidding?” He asks you, grinning through the salt water. “It’s all for you.”
-`✮´-
BONUS
When you see the dress Jason puts your baby in, you don’t know whether you should laugh or scream—its gauzy and green and covered in glitter, wrapped up in a brilliant red bow. It’s the most obnoxious thing in the world, but you’d bottle the laugh he lets out if you could. When Barbara see’s it she laughs and flips Jason off with the most irritated look she could muster.
“When did you even get that?” She laughs, rolling her eyes so far into her head you’re afraid she might get stuck like that.
“What did you think our top-secret mission was about?” Dick laughs, bouncing Penny in his arms. You can never get him away from her, even though she’s fussier than when she’s with you or Jason (or her Uncle Damian.)
It’s the perfect Christmas, full of too-expensive presents and too much champagne. Bruce dances with you around the Christmas tree, twirling you and Penny around and around as Jason watches on. Barbara and Tim help Alfred make dinner and while it’s nightmare of clashing pans and pounding knives—it still tastes wonderful… Alfred gives Penny the first bite, cutting everything up into tiny bites, and everyone oohs and awes.
It's perfect, different than your usual dinner with your brother and Barbara, and Jim, but terrific. It only gets better once Barbara notices the shiny little diamond on your finger, and her smile—bright and illuminous—almost brings you to tears.
“You’re welcome.” She tells you, whispering the words into your ear as she kisses you goodbye, and as you turn to see your beautiful girl and her devastating father, you can’t help but think that you’ll never stop thanking her.
varka wrote a letter to you right before heading back to mondstadt. you respond.
part one (click the link above). part two (now reading). part three (coming soon).
Masterlist
The journey back home was supposed to be shorter. Easier. The last group of knights Varka was travelling with was smaller, not to mention a large part of the time they were on a boat, sailing from Nod-Krai to Bayda Harbour. Then the journey continued on foot across Liyue until they reached home. It was the shortest and fastest way to travel. Yet, by the time the knights finally reached Wangshu Inn, Varka felt like time was keeping him chained away from you.
He regretted being so cocky in the last letter he had sent, being more preoccupied with petty little games you often played to outsmart each other. He really did hope you were waiting at Wangshu Inn for him. He hoped with all his heart that you would appear out of the Silk Flower bushes, running into his arms. Or that your eyes were following his steps from the high terrace of the Inn, eager to welcome him in the room you had already rented.
None of that happened. He cursed himself for not begging you to come to him earlier because the days seemed to stretch one after the other and the moment he could finally see you again was still out of reach. Varka’s patience was wearing thin. Nevertheless, his troubled soul was not something others could guess. To the knights he was the same man they’ve always known. Now that the dangers of the expedition were left behind them, the grandmaster seemed more easygoing, humming songs to fill the silence, joking around, sharing plans for the future. Varka was a reassuring presence, both in battle and in ordinary life.
Every small wave of knights that returned to Mondstadt had followed the same route, making sure the people at Wangshu Inn had the rooms already prepared to accommodate Varka and his people for one night on their last stop before the end of the journey. As they were checking in, the owner handed the grandmaster a letter that had been waiting for his arrival for a couple of days. The faintly fragrant paper and your sigil on top of it was enough for Varka’s heart to skip a beat. With a gleeful command he allowed the group of knights to retreat to their rented chambers for a couple of hours of rest before meeting at dinner. On his way to his own room, Varka’s long, skillful fingers all but almost ripped the paper apart, no drop of patience left in his tired body.
Grandmaster,
Varka chuckled at the sober tone of your letter. He could almost hear the familiar strain in your voice as you tried to hide the rosy pink shade in your cheeks whenever he got you flustered. The letter he had sent before departing must have made you feel like that.
I used to consider you a reliable and responsible man, the kind of man who would protect and shelter his people from both sickness and danger. It seems the Nod-Krai expedition has used up all of these qualities you used to show.
Brows furrowed and eyes narrowed, Varka checked the envelope and seal of the letter that had been waiting for him. Unmistakably your writing, but sealed with formal red wax instead of the usual dark blue your letters used to have. Seal colors were an unspoken language, revealing much of the letter’s contents before even reading it. Love letters were usually sealed with blue wax. Varka considered that a deeper shade symbolized a deeper love and, while his love was so immense it was impossible to show through trinkets and whatnot, he always searched for the deepest shade of sealing wax when he was writing to you. He had endless examples of this since he had kept every letter you sent him during the expedition, all sealed in blue. Red was for impersonal, formal letters, the kind he would send or receive from other countries’ officials or businessmen.
Mondstadt needs you, grandmaster. I assume the tribulations you encountered in the past year, like abyssal power, 500 year old fiends and Fatui harbingers, are nothing compared to administrative, logistic, social and economic issues of state. I am also aware that you would rather fight Boreas all over again than sit at your desk and go through official papers. Yet, I must remind you that these aspects are also part of your duty, and more frequent than you hope.
Before he could reach his room Varka had to sit at a table on the terrace filled with travelers and finish this reprimanding letter. What was going on? He had written his heart out to you and this is the response he gets instead? Sure, maybe he allowed himself to complain more than usual around you, felt comfortable enough to act like a child, show his vulnerability and his most intimate thoughts and wishes. Isn’t that what you liked? Isn’t that what you missed? Having the strongest man in Mondstadt wrapped around your finger?
I do not have the heart to ask Jean to keep on going even a day more. She always wants to prove herself to you, and she did more than enough. The girl is overworked. As much as you hate administrative work she gets buried in it, as if she can fix the whole nation’s problems in a day. You chose her well, grandmaster. She is indeed a responsible, hard working and intelligent knight. The burden is too heavy for her shoulders, though she resisted this much. So, please, have some consideration for her.
Varka knew, even though he never addressed it directly. He heard people talking, both praising and pitying the young acting grandmaster for her dedication. Of course Jean would get the recognition she deserves, it’s just that he never really needed to prepare speeches like these ahead of time. When he’ll get there he’ll know what to say. After all, if Varka ever felt anxious or insecure enough not to find the right words it was way back when he first met you. He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to get rid of the guilty feeling that seemed to stick to his golden locks.
Instead, my humble suggestion would be to establish a council. Indeed, a group of people takes too much time to decide on important matters and each person has their own interests they pursue. During your long absence, leaving only one person to take on your duties was the right choice. Now that you are returning, however, having a council that could keep things running for a day or two so the grandmaster can rest from time to time sounds like a reasonable idea to me.
Varka had already been thinking about setting up a council. The thought that you still shared the same ideas helped soothe his confused mind a little. Now that he was going through the letter again, maybe your tone wasn’t as harsh as he perceived it at first.
Sending Diluc to Fontaine on the other hand… That is something even you can agree is a little too much, grandmaster. I don’t think I need to remind you what this expedition had cost Mondstadt. Supplies, manpower and most of all mora… It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say the economy was kept alive thanks to the Ragnvindr family business. To think you’re willing to pour it all into the primordial sea for free…
Varka huffed, defeated and put the letter down to rub his tired eyes. Even though he had been travelling on foot for so long this letter of yours was stirring him up so badly he felt like leaving for Mondstadt right at that moment. You had a way with words that made him do anything you asked for. Always pushing and pulling, scolding him and treating him coldly throughout the letter yet the way you kept repeating the word grandmaster, grandmaster, grandmaster felt extremely flirtatious even on paper. Was he getting delirious? Was he so deprived of your love and attention that he was imagining things? Was he so desperate to be welcomed in your arms, be showered with your love so badly that anything else felt insufficient? He only had one paragraph left to read and he picked the letter up again in both hands, placing his scarred forearms on the table like he was going to debate the toughest decision in Mondstadt’s history.
Do you remember that we have a cavalry captain, grandmaster? His name is Kaeya and he’s been asking me about the horses you took away constantly. I cannot tell him there are no horses anymore. Firstly, because I cannot witness the sadness on his face when he realizes his title now means nothing. On the other hand, as we have already discussed privately about this matter, the lack of horses is a real problem.
Of course Varka remembered your private talk. It was his birthday when the knights almost forced him to take the day off and you spent the night together in Nasha Town. That night you told him it was a real pity they didn’t have the horses anymore since he looked, to quote your own words, irresistible when riding one. In return, Varka got to see how good you looked while riding him.
You really liked messing with his poor heart. He barely had the time to relieve his needs since the journey was taking most of the day and by nightfall he was so tired he would fall asleep instantly. During his time at sea, however, Varka had had enough spare time and privacy in his small cabin to touch himself while thinking about you. It barely helped, though, so he did it over and over again like an inexperienced teen who had just discovered the concept of masturbation. He was a starved wolf in an empty cage and you kept pushing a stick through the bars, riling him up even more..
I would suggest you return with at least five horses, grandmaster. Make your entrance through the gates like a triumphant leader, give the people a reason of celebration and pride. After that, you can let the newly established council handle the horse crisis and take some time off.
I hope I have answered all your propositions.
That was it. With a simple signature of your name you ended the letter, leaving Varka blinking in confusion. He checked the other side of the paper: empty. He checked if, perhaps, there were two pieces of paper stuck together, a secret second letter waiting to be discovered. Not the case. His finger traced the curve of every word, like he was able to feel you through the ink and find the answer to his confusion.
He didn’t even hear the young boy who asked if he wanted to have some tea or a meal. The place was buzzing with people eating, talking and playing games at their tables, yet Varka rested his head on his arm on the table, holding the letter with the tips of his fingers, clear blue eyes narrowed and scanning for something, anything that could explain why you didn’t acknowledge his love. It was a pitiful sight, truly. The grandmaster’s wide shoulders slouched over the table, his large frame taking up too much space. Yet he looked so small, his fingers pressing against his scalp in an attempt to soothe his mind and the letter in his other hand, obsessively reading it over and over like he was clinging to your feet begging to receive some kind of acceptance. He could have been at the table for ten minutes or an hour, time didn’t really have any meaning, when Varka finally sighed, completely crushed, and sat up. His armored attire clinked and rattled imposingly, drawing other people's eyes to his tall figure before he retreated to his room.
Varka’s eyes were filled with so much disappointment and his mind was so clouded with questions that he probably wouldn’t have noticed the envelope carefully placed on the pillow if it weren’t for the sweet and seductive aroma that captured his senses as soon as he stepped foot inside the small chamber. The paper was practically soaked in what was without a doubt your perfume, mixed with something else he couldn’t quite name, so much that the whole room smelled like you. In a couple of large, hurried steps, Varka made his way across the room to sit on the bed and claim the second letter, sealed in deep blue.
My poor husband,
I can only imagine the pout on your lips right now. Was I too harsh in the previous letter? You’ll have to forgive me for messing with you, it is not my fault you're as adorable and as playful as a small pup waving his tail in excitement.
The frown on Varka’s face melted instantly.
I cannot welcome you in advance and that’s entirely your fault for sending the troops in waves. The first group arrived before your letter and spoiled your surprise and your plans for some peaceful moments between husband and wife. The whole city is going crazy with preparations as I’m writing this letter and, as the dutiful wife of our grandmaster, I have to contribute to the organizational effort. I ask you to forgive me for not being there as you’re reading my words. Being away from you for one more day is enough punishment already.
To have his heart beating so wildly in his chest after being together for such a long time was a feat only you were capable of. Varka bit the inside of his cheek in an attempt to suppress the enormous grin on his face, even though nobody was there to witness it.
Everybody is waiting for you. I should have known when I first met you that with a face so dashing, strength unrivaled and heart so virtuous people would gravitate around you and I’ll have to patiently wait for the time I can have you all for myself. Maybe that’s why I like to mess with you now and then, so you take your eyes away from duty and look at me more.
Your letter has stirred a fire within my being that I cannot extinguish. Please have some decency, grandmaster, for when you show no restraint and pour out all your desires I have to be the responsible and sensible one and I don’t think I can do it much longer.
How I wish to lock you away in our bedroom and never allow you to see anyone but me.
How I wish to run away from this whole commotion and have you all for myself.
How I wish to tell everyone that you are mine and mine alone, that you belong to me and only me, that no one has the right to steal even one moment of your attention.
Do you know what I’m doing instead? I pick flower arrangements for the celebration, I make sure everyone has enough food and is paid well, I chatter about people’s worries and reassure them the grandmaster is coming back.
If I were to let go of my morality, restraint and dignity do you know how I would answer your letter? Yes, let Jean handle the work a little more. Yes, pour all the wine in Cider Lake if you wish. Yes, do anything you want just take me away from here and never leave me again.
Is that what you wanted to hear?
I suppose the other letter is my last attempt to preserve my honor. You turn me into a woman so selfish, so greedy, not to mention lustful. If only you knew the ways I imagine you in my mind before I go to sleep…
Please, please, please hurry.
Your ever dutiful wife
P.S. The only reason I suggested getting some horses is so you’ll travel faster. It doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that I get weak in the knees when I see you ride.
By now, Varka was laying on his back, the uncomfortable mattress and the strain in his legs completely ignored. His eyes kept tracing line after line, again and again, almost like he couldn’t believe what he was reading after being fooled before. Endless days of marching meant nothing right now, he would crawl back to you if his legs would give out. A bolt of energy surged through his body, fueled only by the thought of you yearning for him as much as he yearned for you. After bouncing his leg on the floor for a few moments, he decided he was restless. He brought the letter to his lips, inhaling deeply the scent that was so close yet so far still, like it was going to allow him to breathe for one more day. And with that, he sat up again, on his way to find a traveling merchant selling horses.
A/n: IF YOU WANT A 🍋 ( smut ) VERSION THEN LET ME KNOW!
Warnings: THIS CONTAINS HEAVY SPOILERS FOR THE ENDING OF RESIDENT EVIL REQUIEM, if you do not want to be spoiled for the end of the game then do not read, when it gets to the spoil point it will be under the cut.
The door to the apartment opened slowly, the quiet click of the lock echoing through the dim hallway.
For a long moment, Leon S. Kennedy simply stood there.
He hadn’t moved.
He hadn’t spoken.
His hand was still wrapped around the doorknob like he wasn’t entirely sure he was allowed to come inside.
The place smelled like home. Laundry detergent. Coffee. The faint sweetness of the candle you always forgot to blow out before bed.
For years Leon had walked through countless doors with a gun in his hand.
Government facilities. War zones. Outbreak sites.
But this one?
This one scared him more than any of them.
Because tonight he wasn’t bringing danger with him.
Tonight… he was bringing hope.
Closing his eyes to steel his nerves, he took a deep breath, Leon stepped inside and quietly shut the door.
In the living room you were curled up on the couch, a blanket around your shoulders, the soft glow of the lamp lighting your face. You had fallen asleep waiting for him again, something Leon both loved and hated. Loved because you cared enough to wait.
Hated because he knew how many nights you’d done it alone.
Your eyes stirred open when you heard the door, a soft groan leaving your lips.
“Leon?”Your voice was groggy, warm, confused.
He swallowed hard, a lump forming in his throat as he felt tears pricking at the edge of his eye.God, you were still here.
Still waiting....
Still loving him.
He stepped closer into the light, his jacket half-zipped, hair damp from the rain outside. But something about his expression was different tonight.
No longer haunted.
No longer exhausted.
Just…stunned.
“You’re home,” you said softly, pushing the blanket off and sitting up. "Sherry called and." You yawned stretching though your brows furrowed when you saw the way he was looking at you.
Like he was seeing you for the first time.
“Leon?”
He opened his mouth.
Closed it again.
Then rubbed the back of his neck nervously,something he only did when he didn’t know how to say what he was feeling.
“Hey,” he said quietly.
The word sounded almost fragile.
Slipping off the couch, you stood up and walked toward him, concern already blooming in your chest.
“Did something happen?”
Leon looked at you like the answer was bigger than words.
Then he laughed.
A small, breathless sound.
“Yeah,” he said.
A pause.
“Something happened.”
Your heart started racing.“Leon—”
“I’m cured.”
The words came out rough, like they’d been trapped in his chest for years.
Silence filled the room.
You blinked, taking stunned step back.“…what?”
Leon’s blue eyes softened as he stepped closer.
“They...” He wasn't even sure where to start. "We found a cure. "he said quietly. “The infection from Raccoon City… the one they said would always be there.”
Your breathing stopped.
For years Leon had carried that virus in his body.
Dormant.
Controlled.
But never gone, and then it got worse, then it started to spread. You could still remember hearing him coughing up blood at night, him hiding it to not worry.
A ticking clock neither of you talked about out loud.
He nodded once, like he still couldn’t believe it himself.
“It was...is called Elpis,” he continued. “Antiviral agent. Grace Ashcroft found it.”
The name barely registered.
You were staring at him like the world had just tilted.
“It… eliminates infections in the host.”
Your voice trembled.“So…”
Leon stepped closer.“So I’m clean.”Another breath, as of the weight was finally lifted.“It’s gone.”
Your hands slowly came up to cover your mouth.Tears filled your eyes instantly, your lip trembled.
“No more virus,” Leon whispered.
“No more mutations.”
“No more… what ifs.”
He took another step toward you, his voice softening.
“I’m not carrying that thing anymore.”
You made a small sound that was somewhere between a sob and a laugh before launching forward and throwing your arms around him.
Leon barely had time to react before you collided into his chest.The force nearly knocked him backward.He caught you instantly.
Of course he did.
His arms wrapped around you like muscle memory.
Like home.
You buried your face into his neck and cried.
Years of fear.
Years of pretending you weren’t terrified something would happen to him.
Years of watching him leave on missions where the virus inside him might betray him.
Years of thinking that this may be the last time you will see the man you love.
Gone.
All of it.
“Hey, hey…” Leon murmured gently, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head.
His fingers threaded through your hair as he held you tighter.“I’m okay.”
Your voice broke against his shoulder.“You’re really cured?”
He nodded against your temple. "Yeah.”A quiet laugh escaped him.“First time in a long time I don’t feel like a walking biohazard.”
You pulled back just enough to look up at him, your hands gripping the front of his jacket.
Your eyes searched his face desperately.“Are you sure?”
Leon smiled softly.That rare smile, that boyish grin you loved so much.
The one only you got.
“I’m sure.”
Your hands came up to cup his face like you needed to confirm he was real, your thumb gliding across his cheek.
Then you kissed him.
Hard.
Relieved.
Desperate.
Leon froze for half a second before immediately melting into it, his arms tightening around your waist as he kissed you back.
God, he’d missed this.
Not the kiss.
You.
Your warmth.
Your normal life.
When the kiss broke, he rested his forehead against yours, both of you breathing a little harder.
“I kept thinking about this moment,” he admitted quietly.
You brushed your thumb across his cheek again, wiping away a stray tear of his.“What moment?"
He exhaled slowly.“Coming home.”His voice softened.“And not bringing a virus with me.”
You smiled through the tears.“Well,” you whispered, letting out a small sniffle.“You still brought something.”
Leon raised a brow.“Oh yeah?”
Your arms wrapped around his neck again as you leaned in close.“You brought yourself.”
Leon huffed out a quiet laugh and pulled you close again, burying his face into your hair and for the first time since Raccoon City.
Leon S. Kennedy finally felt like he was safe to stay, the man leaning into to kiss you again as he gripped your hips.
Leon had barely finished catching his breath after the kiss when your hands slid up to his face again.
Your palms were warm against his skin, thumbs brushing along his cheekbones as you studied him with exaggerated concentration. Your eyes narrowed slightly, head tilting this way and that like you were inspecting a suspicious piece of evidence.
Leon blinked at you.“…what?”
You hummed thoughtfully, squinting harder. Hands moving his face from side to side.“Hold still.”
“I am holding still.”
You leaned closer, examining the faint lines around his eyes, the familiar scar near his lip, the tiredness that had lived in his face for years.
Except…
Something was different.
Your eyes widened.“Oh my god.”
Leon’s shoulders stiffened immediately.“What?”
You cupped his cheeks more firmly and turned his face toward the lamp to get a better view of his face. "Did it make you younger?”
Leon stared at you.“…what?”
“You look younger,” you said matter-of-factly, like you had just uncovered a scientific breakthrough.
Leon blinked again.
Then huffed a disbelieving laugh.
“You’re kidding.”
You leaned even closer, peering into his face with theatrical seriousness.“No, seriously.”
Your thumb traced the corner of his eye.“These lines are less deep.”
Leon groaned quietly.“Oh great.”
Your grin spread wider.“You look like you aged backwards five years.”
Leon rubbed the back of his neck with a sigh as he avoided your gaze.“Sherry said there might be… side effects.”
You gasped dramatically.“So it did make you younger!”
He pointed at you accusingly.“That’s not what I said.”
Your smile turned wicked.“Well now people won’t say you’re robbing the cradle when they see us walking down the street."
Leon’s mouth fell open.“Hey!”
You laughed.“Come on, Mr. Government Agent.”
Your hands slid back to his cheeks again, squishing them slightly.“You were already pushing it.”
“I am not that old,” Leon protested.
You continued holding his face like a very stubborn cat.“You were 21 in Raccoon City.”
“I was a rookie!”
“You were a rookie with floppy hair and trauma.”
Leon sighed.“You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“Absolutely.”You tilted his face again, studying him with mischievous curiosity.“…yeah, it’s official.”
“What is?"
“You’re definitely younger.”
Leon narrowed his eyes at you.“You’re impossible.”
“And you’re aging backwards,” you countered sweetly.
He muttered under his breath.“Should’ve kept the virus.”
You gasped.“Take that back!”
Leon snorted before his hands came up, sliding around your waist and pulling you closer.
Your teasing grin faltered slightly when he tugged you flush against his chest.
“Oh no,” you said slowly.
“That look means trouble.”
Leon’s blue eyes softened, though the hint of mischief in them hadn’t disappeared.“You think I look younger?”
You nodded.“Yep....very sexy."
His arms tightened around you, another snort leaving his lips.“Good.”
You blinked.“Why?”
His forehead lowered until it rested against yours again, voice quiet but playful.“Because now when people ask how I landed a wife like you…”
His thumb brushed your cheek.“…I can say it’s because I’m aging like fine wine.”
A 10/10 dad with 10 days of fic...
As promised, welcome to Girl Dad Anthology, an event/celebrating I'm doing to thank you all we got to 500 followers (funny enough, it's actually now close to 1k 🥹)
EVENT TIMELINE: MARCH 5TH TO MARCH 15TH
->MAKE YOUR REQUESTS
✹ All my works are cross-posted on AO3
GENERAL RESIDENT EVIL MASTERLIST
🏷️: If you want me to tag you on any of the fics so you don't miss them, please tell me!
‼️ If not specified, fics could be with any Leon you want! Specifications are from requests I've have 💖
🍼 FIRST MORNING HOME
-> Leon Kennedy x Wife!Reader
You and Leon just had your first baby, and while all you want to do is cuddling with your little girl after a very bad first night at home, you end up finding out she's cuddling with Leon... who says "skin to skin" is very important during the first days of life
🍼 I'M A BIG GIRL!
-> Vendetta Leon Kennedy x Wife!Reader
It's your daughter's first day of school, and Leon and you are absolutely terrified and panicked about everything that could possibly go wrong
🍼 DON'T MESS WITH MY FAMILY
-> RE9 Leon Kennedy x Wife!Reader
Leon, you, and your two daughters were supposed to be having a nice weekend off... but, instead, you get a surprise visit from a BOW that, definitely, ruined Leon's two day vacation
🍼 WILL WE BE GOOD AT THIS?
-> RE2R Leon Kennedy x GF!Reader
Leon and you became parents about two hours ago... and, definitely, you have no idea of what to do with your baby girl (and you don't have a manual to help you either)
🍼 SHE WANTED TO WAIT FOR YOU
-> RE4R Leon Kennedy x GF!Reader
Leon's about to come home from a mission and, no matter if it's too late for her to be awake, your daughter really wants her daddy to take her to bed and read her a book
🍼 SO... I'M NOT BROKEN?
-> Leon Kennedy x Wife!Reader
Leon and you receive a call from your daughter's teacher about how she's having problems in class. However, even others kids might want to make her feel bad, she's nothing but a star
🍼 I'M FAILING YOU BOTH
-> Leon Kennedy x Wife!Reader
You can't take it anymore: you're really struggling with postpartum depression. Even when Leon tries to help you and makes you feel like you're everything, you feel quite the opposite
🍼 YOU'RE NOT MY DAD
-> RE9 Leon Kennedy x Wife!Reader
You started dating Leon when your daughter was 2 years old. Now, 10 years later, and after finding out Leon's not her biological dad, she has something to attack him and to make him vulnerable
🍼 JUST "DATING"... SECRETLY PREGNANT
-> RE9 Leon Kennedy x GF!Reader
No one, except your sister, knows that Leon and you are dating. However, you definitely have to tell your family since you find out, to no surprise for you or your boyfriend, you're pregnant
🍼 JUST "PREGNANT".... SECRETLY ALMOST PARENTS
-> RE9 Leon Kennedy x GF!Reader
Third trimester of your pregnancy is really driving you crazy, so Leon decides to help you out the same way you made the baby: having sex
🍼 WHY DIDN'T YOU JUST CALLED ME?!
-> Leon Kennedy x Wife!Reader
Leon's out on a mission and you start feeling contractions. Instead of calling him because you think you might overwhelm him, you decide to wait... until, definitely, Leon comes back home to find out you're definitely going to give birth in your living room
The Grand Master and the Cat Keeper (Varka x Reader)
Synopsis: You came to Mondstadt to disappear quietly. Varka found you anyway. What begins as evening conversations and rescuing stray cats turns into something deeper. Something warm, magnetic, impossible to ignore.
A/N: I listened to Varka’s voiceline about him wanting to adopt cats and...well. My entire brain short-circuited. This was supposed to be a short fic about Varka meeting reader’s stray cats. And then suddenly I had… 12k+ words of slow-burn tenderness, emotional tension, cat bonding, and accidental domesticity.
Please enjoy cat-dad Varka and the love story he absolutely did not expect to have, but absolutely deserves. 💙
Tags: Fluff. Slow Burn. Banter. Flirting. Emotional Tension. Mutual Pining. Mutual Support. Domestic Vibes. Cat Adoption Shenanigans. Cat Dad Varka. Protective Varka. Light Angst. Comfort. Confession. First Kiss. Heated Kissing. Found Family Energy. Reader Has Walls. Varka Breaks Them Down Gently. Mondstadt Ships It. Varka Is Not Subtle.
Word count: 12570
⋆ ✦ ⋆
You’re crouched in a narrow alley when you hear footsteps.
Heavy ones. Unhurried. Getting closer, then pausing, as if whoever’s out there is listening.
You freeze, one hand hovering protectively over the three stray cats curled beneath your makeshift shelter. They meow softly, one even hissing in its sleep, and you stroke them until they settle.
Technically, you’re not doing anything wrong.
Since arriving in Mondstadt a few days ago, you’ve been collecting strays—three so far —and your landlord would absolutely evict you if they knew. So you built the cats a quiet little shelter out of crates, cloth, and stubbornness, and you visit every evening.
Tonight is no different.
At least until—
“Knew I’d heard something.”
You stiffen. You dust off your clothes quickly and step out into the lantern-lit street and stop dead.
A man stands there.
Not just a man.
The tallest man you’ve ever seen: broad shoulders beneath worn armor, scarred forearms, hair tousled from the late-night wind. His presence is so solid, so warm, it fills the entire street before he even speaks.
From the stories, he must be the Grand Master of the Knights of Favonius.
You do not let yourself panic. You also do not let him near your cats.
Before you can overthink it, you straighten up. “Grand Master. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
His expression brightens with amused surprise.
“No need to be so formal with me. Just Varka.” He crosses his arms loosely, a grin tugging at his mouth. “What’re you doing out here this late?”
Your spine stiffens instinctively. “Just… taking an evening walk. Mondstadt is the city of freedom, isn’t it?”
“Woah, easy there.” His grin widens, delighted rather than offended. “Just making conversation.”
You’re sure he means no harm, but the idea of him discovering your cats and forcing you to move them makes your stomach twist.
“I have insomnia,” you say quickly. “I wander around at night.”
He tilts his head, unconvinced and amused in equal measure.
“You know, you can’t fool me. Unless you’re hissing on a regular basis, you’ve got cats somewhere.”
“Hissing can be healthy,” you counter. “If used properly and without the intent to harm.”
Varka blinks. Then he laughs. A low, warm sound that does terrible things to your ability to think.
“…I see.” He studies you with a new kind of interest. “Didn’t expect that answer.”
You cross your arms. “With all due respect, don’t you have better things to do?”
He looks around the quiet street, then back at you. “Not really, no. Just came from Angel’s Share. Was heading to sleep.”
His expression softens, voice dropping into something warm and sincere.
“But I protect this city. Don’t like people wandering alone at night, no matter how safe it seems. Alright?”
“Mm.” You click your tongue. Then nod slowly. “I see what this is about now. Not chivalry… though it’s appreciated.”
You narrow your eyes. “You want to see the cats.”
Varka‘s grin breaks wide open. “Yeah. I do. Please?”
Somehow, it’s endearing. This mountain of a man asking like you’re the one granting him a favor.
“They’re a little feisty,” you warn.
“Even better.” He steps closer, lowering his voice. “They’ll love me.”
“You’re not giving up, are you? There are cats everywhere. Why don’t you go admire someone else’s?”
He laughs, a sound that fills the alley. “You fuss over them so much. Now I want to meet them.”
A meow echoes from your shelter.
You sigh. “…Great. Now they noticed you. Your laughter’s too loud.”
“I’m a loud man.” He shrugs, still grinning. “But I can be very calm, if I need to be. People say I’ve got a soothing aura.”
“Uh-huh.”
He puts a hand to his chest in playful offense, then gives you a long, assessing look like he’s piecing something together.
“C’mon. I’ll behave.”
Against your better judgment—and because your cats already know he’s here—you lead him to the shelter.
“Cozy,” he mutters, crouching beside you. “Could use some work, though. I’ve got ideas.”
“You’re very invested,” you deadpan.
“Mhm.” He offers his hand to the ginger kitten, his voice going unexpectedly soft. “I always wanted to adopt cats.”
That… does something to you. “Are you always this chatty?”
“Yeah, usually.” He glances up at you, eyes warm. “Why? You like it?”
You look away. “We’ll see about that.”
But the truth is already obvious.
One of the cats crawls onto his arm and starts licking him. You choke on a laugh.
“Got names for them yet?” Varka asks.
“Kinda,” you say too quickly.
He smirks. “Thought so. C’mon. Tell me. I can keep a secret if it’s part of some sacred cat oath.”
“With the cats?”
“Yeah. You seem the type to talk to them constantly.” He watches the way your mouth twitches. “That’s a compliment.”
You roll your eyes. “Of course you have opinions about cat names.”
“Oh, I have more than opinions.” He leans in conspiratorially. “I have suggestions.”
Your heart does something unhelpful.
You gesture toward the black-and-white one curled in a box. “That’s Pepper.”
Varka hums, nodding as if evaluating the name on some internal scale of worthiness.
“Strong choice. Looks like a Pepper.”
The ginger one paws at his sleeve. “And that one’s Bristle.”
He grins. “Very accurate. Fiery little knight.”
You hesitate before adding, “The third one… doesn’t have a name yet.”
Varka’s head snaps up so fast it makes you blink. “No name?” he repeats, like you’ve just revealed a sacred vacancy.
He looks between you and the tiny grey kitten curled against your ankle.
Then, softer, hopeful: “…Are you letting me?”
Your heart stutters. His voice dropped. Gentle in a way you didn’t expect from a man who looks like he could bench-press a beast.
You shrug, casual, though you definitely did this on purpose. “Maybe. If you don’t pick something ridiculous.”
He places a hand dramatically over his heart. “I take this honor very seriously.”
He studies the kitten with the focus of someone naming a knight, not a stray.
The kitten stretches, bonks its tiny head against his massive palm, and immediately begins purring.
Varka’s expression softens. Melts, even. “…Whisper,” he says.
You blink. “Whisper?”
He nods, suddenly shy in a way you wouldn’t have thought possible for a man this enormous.
“She’s quiet. Watches before she acts. Careful little thing.”
Your lips curve. “Whisper it is.”
If Varka were any happier, the street lamps would probably brighten in solidarity.
He clears his throat like he needs to steady himself. “So. You’re new to Mondstadt.”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Everything about you says you’re not from around here.”
His eyes flick over your posture, your shoes, your careful way of speaking. He doesn’t judge, just notices.
You fall into an easy conversation for a while. You tell him about the cats, mostly, about where you‘re staying at the moment, and he listens and makes commentary. Gives you some info about the city, always with that grin.
Then he pauses, just looking at you. “You exploring? Passing through? Or planning to stay a while?”
You look down at the cats, then back at him. “Not sure yet. Maybe I’ll tell you next time.”
A slow, pleased smile spreads across his face. “Counting on it.”
He rises to his full height, the alley shrinking around him again. “You need a permanent place, though,” he says lightly. “Something safe. For the cats.”
His eyes catch yours. Warm. Intent. “I’ll keep an ear out.”
You open your mouth to protest—he’s the Grand Master, for Archon’s sake—but he’s already crouching again to give Whisper a final chin rub.
“Get home safe,” he says, stepping back. “And don’t wander alone at night, yeah?”
“Why?” you tease. “You going to scold me again?”
He grins. “No. I’ll just show up again.”
And with that, he disappears around the corner, leaving you in the alley with three cats, a racing heartbeat, and the distinct sense that Mondstadt just became more complicated than you planned.
— ✦ —
You don’t plan to run into him again.
And yet.
Three nights later, Varka appears with a basket slung under one arm.
“For the cats,” he says, like this is a completely normal thing for the Grand Master of the Knights of Favonius to be doing at midnight.
The basket is full of fish.
Pepper takes one sniff and hisses with pure excitement.
Varka beams like he’s just negotiated a major treaty. “Knew she’d love it.”
“You didn’t have to—”
“Wanted to.” He crouches down, already offering Bristle a piece. “Besides, I was in the area.”
You raise an eyebrow. “At night. In this specific alley.”
“Patrol route,” he says, far too quickly.
You don’t believe him for a second.
(He comes back the next night too.)
It becomes a pattern.
Not every night—but often enough that the cats start looking for him. Often enough that you stop being surprised when his footsteps echo down the alley.
Often enough that you start… expecting it.
You call him “Varka” now without hesitation.
Not Grand Master. Not sir. Just… Varka.
He pretends it doesn’t affect him.
(It does.)
You notice the way his expression shifts every time you say it, something warm and pleased flickering across his face before he schools it back to neutral.
You notice, and you don’t stop saying it.
One evening, Whisper bypasses you entirely and scrambles straight up his arm to perch on his shoulder.
Varka goes very still, like he’s afraid to move and dislodge her.
“She picked her favorite,” he announces, voice soft with wonder.
“You bribed her,” you point out.
“Effective leadership.” He grins, then very carefully reaches up to scratch under her chin. Whisper purrs so loudly you can hear it from three feet away.
Something warm and unhelpful settles in your chest.
Days slip by like this. Quiet moments. Soft shifts.
By the second week, you’ve stopped pretending this isn’t happening.
“You know,” you mutter one evening, speaking more to Bristle than anyone, “he’s very persistent.”
Varka, who’s crouched two feet away coaxing Pepper out of a box, perks up immediately.
“See? I knew you made oaths with them.”
“Not oaths.”
“Guidelines, then. Sacred cat agreements.”
“Varka, stop listening to my private conversations.”
“Can’t.” He doesn’t even look sorry. “Too charming.”
You try to glare at him.
It doesn’t work.
(It never works.)
Sometimes you catch him watching you.
Not your face—your hands. The way you move around the cats. How gentle you are when Pepper gets skittish, how patient when Bristle refuses to settle, how soft your voice goes when Whisper curls into your lap.
Each time, his expression does something you don’t quite know how to name.
Soft. Like he’s cataloging every detail and filing it away somewhere important.
Once, you look up too quickly and catch him mid-stare.
He doesn’t look away.
Just smiles—small and wondering and entirely too warm—and says, “You’re good with them.”
“They’re cats,” you manage. “Not exactly difficult.”
“Still.” His voice drops, goes quieter. “It’s nice. Watching you care about something.”
You look away first.
One evening, the conversation shifts.
“How’s the apartment search going?” Varka asks while refilling Pepper’s water bowl.
“About as well as you’d expect.” You sigh. “Mondstadt’s apparently full.”
“Yeah.” He nods. “Lot of people moving in lately. I’ve been asking around though—there might be something opening up soon.”
You blink. “You’ve been asking?”
“Told you I’d keep an ear out.” He glances over, slightly amused. “Though apparently I’ve asked enough people that rumors are starting. Kaeya asked if I was setting up a secret hide out.”
You snort. “What did you tell him?”
“That I’m helping a friend.” His eyes are warm. “He didn’t believe me for a second.”
“And what does he think?”
Varka’s ears go slightly pink. “Nothing worth repeating.”
One evening, when Varka shows up at the usual time, you’re hyperaware of every look, every smile, every time his hand lingers near yours.
“You alright?” he asks, noticing your distraction.
“Fine,” you lie. “Just… long day at work.”
You’d found a job at one of the shops. Nothing glamorous, but steady. Enough to pay for the temporary room and save a little. Enough to prove you could stay in Mondstadt if you wanted to.
If you wanted to.
You’re starting to think you do.
He doesn’t push. Just settles beside you, close enough that his warmth reaches you, and starts telling Pepper about his day like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
A shopkeeper stops you in the plaza one afternoon.
“Excuse me—are you the one the Grand Master’s been visiting every night?”
You choke on air.
Behind you, Varka—who’d been trailing at a polite distance like he just happened to be walking the same direction—immediately becomes very interested in a basket of apples.
“I don’t—we’re not—it’s just—” You flounder.
The shopkeeper grins knowingly. “He talks about you, you know. And the cats.”
“He what—”
“Good man.”
She’s gone before you can form a coherent response.
Varka is still examining apples with the focus of someone who absolutely heard every word and is choosing violence by pretending he didn’t.
“Varka.”
“Mm?”
“Did you tell half of Mondstadt about the cats?”
“Only the relevant half.” He finally looks at you, grin unrepentant. “They were curious why I kept disappearing at night.”
“And you thought the truth was a good idea?”
“Better than letting them think I was up to something suspicious.” He shifts the apple basket to one arm. “Besides. I’m proud of those cats. Why wouldn’t I talk about them?”
The way he says those cats does something to your chest you refuse to examine. Like they’re his too. Like he has any claim to them beyond showing up uninvited with fish.
You feel warm.
And then you notice something wrong.
He’s favoring his right shoulder.
It’s subtle. Most people wouldn’t catch it. But you’ve been watching him for weeks now (not that you’d admit it), and you see the way he rolls it slightly when he thinks no one’s looking, the careful way he moves when reaching for things.
That evening, when he shows up at the alley, you’re ready.
“Here,” you say, holding out a small jar.
He blinks. “What’s this?”
“Salve. For your shoulder.”
Surprise flickers across his face before he schools it. “How did you—”
“You keep rolling it.” You shrug, trying to seem casual even though your heart is beating too fast. “Figured you pulled something during training or… whatever it is Grand Masters do.”
He stares at the jar like you’ve handed him something precious.
“You didn’t have to—”
“I know.” You press it into his hand before you can overthink it. “But you’re always taking care of everyone else. Someone should take care of you too.”
The words hang in the air between you.
Varka goes very still, his fingers closing carefully around the jar.
When he looks up, something in his expression has shifted—softened and intensified at the same time.
“Thank you,” he says quietly.
You clear your throat, suddenly flustered. “It’s just salve. Don’t make it weird.”
His laugh is soft, a little rough. “Too late.”
He tucks the jar away and the way he looks at you makes your breath catch.
Like you’ve given him something he didn’t know he needed.
You mention, casually, that the nights are getting colder and the cats could use better blankets.
The next evening, Varka arrives carrying three.
Thick ones. Wool. Probably expensive.
“These were lying around in the storage,” he says, far too innocently.
You raise an eyebrow. “And they just let you take whatever you want from storage?”
“They will. I can be very convincing,” he says, completely sincere.
You don’t even argue. Just take the blankets and watch him arrange them carefully in the shelter, adjusting corners with the same focus he probably uses for military strategy.
“You’re going to get in trouble,” you say quietly.
“Worth it.” He doesn’t look up. “They need to be warm.”
A couple of weeks ago, you were hiding cats in an alley.
Now the Grand Master of the Knights of Favonius is stealing blankets for them.
You’re not sure when your life became this strange.
(You’re not sure when you stopped minding.)
— ✦ —
One evening, the rain begins just as you’re finishing up with the cats. Soft at first, then steady enough that you glance up at the sky and sigh.
Varka, who’d shown up twenty minutes ago with “extra fish, just in case,” follows your gaze.
“Come on.” He straightens, brushing cat fur off his pants. “Angel’s Share is right there. I’ll buy you a drink.”
It’s not a question.
But the way he looks at you makes it feel like one anyway.
You should say no.
You should go home, draw a line, remember that he’s the Grand Master and you’re just someone passing through Mondstadt with three stray cats and no permanent address.
But the rain is picking up, and he’s looking at you like spending more time together is something he actually wants, and—
“Alright,” you hear yourself say. “One drink.”
His smile could light up the whole plaza.
“One drink,” he agrees.
(You both know it won’t be just that.)
He’s already holding the door open for you, warm lamplight spilling out behind him.
Inside, the tavern is nearly empty.
Varka scans the room once, decides immediately, then places a guiding hand near your back. Not touching, but close enough you feel the warmth.
“Upstairs,” he says with a little grin. “Quieter there.”
You follow him up the wooden steps to a table overlooking the main floor.
He gestures for you to sit.
“Make yourself comfortable. I’ll grab the drinks.”
Before you can protest, he’s already gone.
A moment later, he returns with two glasses and sets one gently in front of you.
“It’s something light,” he says. “Figured you might want to keep a clear head.”
You blink. The consideration isn’t surprising coming from him, but it’s unfamiliar to you. And it warms something in your chest.
He settles into the seat across from you, forearms braced on the table. His size makes the corner nook feel smaller, more intimate.
“So,” Varka says, softer now. “Tell me why you came to Mondstadt.”
You take a slow breath. You hadn’t planned to tell him this. But something about the quiet space, the warm wood, the light on his face makes all speaking easier.
“I’m from Fontaine,” you begin. “Born there. Raised there. My family’s… well-off.”
Varka doesn’t react with judgment. He simply listens, steady and open.
“But I never fit,” you continue. “All those expectations. Parties. Perfect etiquette. Being graceful and charming in all the ‘right’ circles. It felt like wearing someone else’s life.”
His brow softens.
“So,” you shrug, “I left. Traveled a while. Tried to figure out who I actually am without all the noise.”
“And that brought you here?” Varka asks quietly.
“Yeah. Mondstadt was meant to be temporary.” You look out the window, at the rain streaking down the glass. “But it feels easier to breathe here. More honest.”
When you look back, Varka is watching you with an expression you can’t quite decipher. Gentle, contemplative, warmed by something he hasn’t named.
“Thinking about staying, then?” he asks, and there’s something careful in his voice. Like your answer matters more than he wants to admit.
“Maybe,” you say. “I’m not sure yet.”
His expression does something complicated. Hope and patience warring in his eyes.
“Actually,” he says, expression brightening slightly, “I might have a lead. One of the knights mentioned a place near the plaza. Landlord’s reasonable, apparently. Not confirmed yet, but…” He shrugs. “I’ll know more in a few days.”
Something in your chest eases. The uncertainty you’d been carrying about where you’d live, whether you’d have to leave Mondstadt, whether the cats would have a real home.
“Thank you,” you say quietly. “For caring about that. About… all of us.”
His expression softens. “Of course I care.”
The words settle between you, weighted with something neither of you quite names.
He takes a sip of his drink, and when he speaks again, his voice is thoughtful.
“You know,” he begins, “people like to pretend paths are straight lines. That you’re supposed to follow one clear direction, beginning to end.” He huffs a breath. “My life cured me of that notion eventually.”
“Oh?” you ask, leaning in.
“Yeah.” He taps a finger lightly on the table. “Spent years trying to become the hero. The symbol. The one who charges in first and gets all the glory.”
A soft laugh. “Turns out, that wasn’t me. Never was.”
You blink. “Really?”
“Really.” His voice goes low, almost thoughtful. “Glory’s loud. But real importance?” He shakes his head. “That’s quieter. More grounded. Protecting people. Showing up. Making a place safer. Kinder. That matters more to me than any legend.”
It matches him. Perfectly.
“So,” he finishes, tilting his head, “if you strayed from the path life laid out for you? Good. Sometimes the wandering is the only part that actually belongs to you.”
His gaze lingers a second too long. Your pulse trips.
You weren’t expecting this. Not from someone who looks like he could wrestle a Lawachurl and win. Not from the Grand Master who everyone in Mondstadt seems to revere.
But he’s looking at you like he understands exactly what it means to walk away from a destiny someone else chose. Like he’s done it himself.
“That’s…” You swallow. “That’s exactly it. I couldn’t have said it better.”
Something shifts in his expression. Warmth, recognition, something deeper.
“Then you’re on the right path,” he says quietly. “Even if it doesn’t feel like it yet.”
The moment stretches between you.
You clear your throat, needing to lighten the weight before it pulls you under.
“You’re very philosophical for someone who was interrogating me about hissing before.”
He lets out an unrestrained laugh. Deep and warm.
“I stand by it,” Varka says. “Still a reasonable question.”
“It’s really not.”
He shifts closer. Not much, but enough that the warmth of him reaches across the table.
The conversation flows easily after that. Easier than it has any right to, considering you’ve known him less than a month.
You tell him about Fontaine. Not the practiced version you give strangers, but the truth: the suffocating expectations, the parties where you felt like someone on display, the moment you realized you’d rather have nothing than live someone else’s life.
He listens like every word matters. Asks questions that show he’s not just being polite—he actually wants to understand. “What was the moment you decided to leave?” “Did anyone try to stop you?” “Do you miss any of it?”
You find yourself answering things you normally wouldn’t. Remembering details you thought you’d buried.
When you pause, suddenly self-conscious about how much you’ve shared, he just refills your glass and says, “Go on. I’m listening.”
And he is. Completely. Like nothing else in the world exists except you and this conversation.
In return, he tells you stories.
About fights—though he never boasts, always deflects credit to others. About the knights and their various mishaps. About Mondstadt and why he loves it, why he stays, why protecting it matters more to him than any glory ever could.
You listen just as intently, asking your own questions, calling him out when he’s too modest, teasing him when he gets that fond look talking about “his” knights.
When he laughs—really laughs, not just that warm chuckle—you feel it in your chest. Like the sound is burrowing under your skin and making a home there.
The tavern empties around you.
Neither of you moves to leave.
At some point, his hand ends up near yours on the table. Not touching, but close. So close you’re hyperaware of the space between your fingers, the way the light catches on his skin, the fact that closing that distance would be so easy.
You don’t.
But you think about it.
And when you glance up, you find him watching you with an expression that suggests he’s thinking about it too.
“You’re different tonight,” he notes, voice dropping into something more intimate.
You arch a brow, trying to lighten the weight of the moment. “And you’re different when you’re not sniffing around alleys trying to find cats.”
“Cats were a welcome surprise,” he says, voice dropping. “But I’m not complaining about the company either.”
The air between you shifts.
He notices your sharp inhale, and his mouth curves. “Relax,” he says, eyes glinting with amusement. “I don’t bite.”
“I’m not nervous,” you lie.
“Sure you’re not.”
He holds your gaze for a moment longer than necessary, something unspoken passing between you.
Then he glances toward the window, where the rain has softened to a gentle mist.
“Rain’s letting up,” Varka says quietly, almost reluctant to break whatever this is. “Should probably check on the cats before it starts again.”
He stands, then pauses—hand extended, waiting.
You accept without thinking. His hand engulfs yours. Warm, steady, careful.
And the walk back feels different.
Closer. Quieter. Charged with something neither of you names.
He doesn’t let go of your hand until you reach the alley.
Even then, his fingers linger for just a moment. Warm and careful and entirely too aware of what they’re doing.
When he finally releases you, the absence feels louder than it should.
— ✦ —
The next few days blur together. Varka starts finding excuses to see you outside the evening cat visits.
“Was in the area,” he says, appearing while you’re buying vegetables.
You raise an eyebrow. “The headquarters is on the other side of the city.”
“Long patrol route,” he says, entirely shameless.
He carries your bags anyway.
One afternoon, you’re reading on a bench near the cathedral when a shadow falls across your book.
You look up.
Varka stands there, two cups of tea in hand. “Thought you might want one,” he says.
You blink. “How did you know I was here?”
“Lucky guess.” But his eyes are warm, pleased he found you.
You take the tea. Your fingers brush his.
He notices. You pretend not to.
But as he settles across from you, you can’t help noticing the way the afternoon light catches in his hair, the breadth of his shoulders, the way his hands dwarf the teacup.
He’s always been large—you knew that objectively.
But sitting here in the quiet cathedral square, watching him handle the delicate cup with surprising care, you realize he’s also just… handsome.
The thought arrives unbidden and unwelcome.
You take a sip of tea to hide your face.
The next day, Varka arrives looking harried, ink stains on his fingers.
“Rough day?” you ask.
He groans, settling beside you. “Paperwork. Mountains of it.”
He makes a face. “Tomorrow's going to be worse. I'll be drowning in papers until sunset. At least.”
“Sounds terrible.”
“It is.” He watches Bristle chase a leaf with clear longing. “This is much better.”
The next afternoon, you find yourself standing outside the headquarters, a basket of lunch in hand and a half-formed plan in your head.
This is probably a terrible idea.
You walk in anyway.
The entrance hall is impressive. A few knights mill about, and you suddenly feel very out of place.
“Can I help you?”
You turn to find a woman. Blonde hair, gray-blue eyes, an air of competent professionalism that's somehow both intimidating and kind.
“I'm looking for Varka,” you say. “Is he... available?”
Her expression shifts—recognition.
“You're the one with the cats,” she says. It's not a question.
Your face heats. “I—yes. How did you—”
“He talks about you.” Her smile is gentle. “I'm Jean.”
“Oh." You're suddenly very aware that you're talking to someone important while holding a lunch basket like some kind of—
“He's in his office,” Jean continues. “He's been buried in paperwork since dawn and his mood is... not good.”
“Actually,” you say before you can lose your nerve, “I was wondering if I could borrow him. Just for a bit. He mentioned being swamped today, and I thought—” You gesture vaguely with the basket. “—maybe a break would help?”
Jean's expression does something complicated. Surprised, pleased, almost relieved.
“I think that's exactly what he needs.” She glances toward his office, then back to you. “Take as long as you want. I'll handle anything urgent.”
“Are you sure? I don't want to—”
“I'm sure,” Jean says, and there's genuine warmth in her voice now. “He needs this.”
You knock on the door.
“Come in,” comes a weary voice.
You push the door open to find Varka behind a desk absolutely buried in papers. He's bent over a document, quill in hand, and he doesn't look up.
“Jean, I promise I'm working on the—”
“Not Jean.”
His head snaps up.
For a second, he just stares. Surprise and confusion and then something that looks almost like relief flooding his expression.
“What are you doing here?"
“Rescuing you.” You hold up the basket. “You said you'd be drowning in paperwork. Thought you might need sustenance. And—” You glance at the mountain of documents. “—possibly a reason to stop before you go insane.”
Varka blinks. Then he laughs. Tired but genuine. “You have no idea how tempting that sounds.”
“Then come with me.”
“I can't just—” He gestures at the desk. “There's still so much—”
“Jean said she'd cover anything urgent.” You lean against the doorframe, giving him your best challenging look. “Come on, Grand Master. When was the last time you actually took a break?”
His jaw works.
“You're trouble,” he mutters, but he's already standing, and you see the grin he's trying to hide. He clearly welcomes the distraction.
“So I've been told.”
You lead him out of headquarters, through the plaza, and then—instead of stopping at the fountain or a bench—you head toward the city walls.
“Where are we going?” Varka asks, amused suspicion creeping into his voice.
“You'll see.”
When you reach the base of the wall, you set the basket down and start climbing.
“What are you—” Varka stops dead. “Are you climbing the city wall?”
“Yep!” You're already halfway up, using the handholds in the stone. It's not difficult. The walls are old, plenty of places to grip.
“That's not—you can't just—” He sounds somewhere between alarmed and baffled. “That's not allowed!”
“Says who?” you call down.
"Says the Grand Master!”
You pause, looking down at him with a grin. “Then I guess you'll have to come arrest me.”
His expression is torn between duty and disbelief and something that looks suspiciously like he's trying not to laugh.
“I told you I came to Mondstadt for freedom,” you point out, settling onto the top of the wall and letting your legs dangle. “Can't get more free than this.”
He stares up at you for a long moment.
Then, shaking his head with a laugh that sounds almost helpless, he follows.
He makes it look effortless, of course. One smooth motion and he's beside you, settling onto the wall with considerably more grace than you managed.
“You're going to give me a heart attack,” he says, but he's smiling now. Really smiling.
“Someone has to keep you on your toes.” You open the basket, handing him bread and cheese. “You were drowning in bureaucracy. Figured you needed reminding that there's a world outside that office.”
“By making me climb the city wall.”
“Exactly.”
He takes a bite, and for a moment you both just sit there, legs dangling over Mondstadt, the breeze carrying the scent of flowers from the meadow below.
“Thank you,” he says quietly. “I... needed this. More than I realized.”
“I know.” You bump your shoulder against his. “You get this look when you're buried in work.”
He glances over, something complicated in his expression. “You really do notice things, don't you?”
Before you can react, he reaches out and ruffles your hair. Playful, warm, entirely unexpected.
“Hey!” You swat at his hand, laughing.
“What?” His grin is unrepentant. “You caught me off-guard with the wall climbing. Fair's fair.”
“That's not—that's completely different!”
“Is it?” He's leaning closer now, eyes bright with mischief. “You surprised me. I surprised you. Seems even to me.”
Your heart is thumping in your chest.
You're very aware of how close he is. How his hand is still in your hair. How easy it would be to lean in, to close that distance, to—
He seems to realize the same thing.
His expression shifts, the playfulness fading into something more intense, more aware.
For a breathless moment, neither of you moves.
Then he clears his throat, hand dropping, putting a careful few inches between you.
“We should probably eat,” he says, voice slightly rougher than usual.
“Right. Yes. Food.”
But you're both very aware that something just shifted.
— ✦ —
Two days pass without seeing Varka.
It’s not unusual—he’s the Grand Master, he has responsibilities. But you’ve gotten used to his presence in the evenings, the sound of his footsteps in the alley, the way Whisper perks up when she hears him coming.
The cats notice his absence too. Bristle keeps looking toward the alley entrance. Pepper seems restless.
On the third evening, he finally appears.
And everything in you goes still.
He's different.
There's no blood, no visible damage. His armor is intact, his posture upright as ever. To anyone else, he'd look fine.
But you've spent weeks watching him. Learning the easy warmth of his presence, the way he fills a space with calm.
This isn't that.
This is contained. Tightly controlled. Like he's holding something back with sheer force of will.
The air around him feels heavy. Like the atmosphere before a storm, all potential energy and barely-leashed power.
“There you are,” you say, keeping your tone light despite the unease curling in your stomach. “Thought maybe you'd gotten bored of us.”
“Never.” His voice is normal. Warm. Steady. But when he crouches beside you to greet the cats, you see it.
The careful precision in every movement.
The tension in his shoulders.
The tightness around his eyes, around his mouth.
The way his hands are just slightly less gentle than usual. Not rough, but effortful.
This is what strength looks like when it's been tested. When it's held too much for too long and is barely holding together.
“Extended patrols,” he says, running his hand over Whisper's head. “Situation outside the city.”
“Everything okay?”
“All handled.” That practiced smile again. “We were victorious. No casualties.”
Most people would accept this. The mission succeeded, the Grand Master is fine, that’s all that matters.
You’re not most people.
You watch him settle beside you, the way he rolls his shoulder slightly when he thinks you’re not looking, the careful control in every movement.
“What’s it like?” you ask quietly.
He glances over. “What’s what like?”
“Leading people into danger. Fighting the way you do.”
Something flickers in his expression. Surprise, maybe, or something more guarded.
“Why?” He recovers with that easy grin. “Want to see me train sometime?”
The image arrives unbidden. Him in the training grounds, armor off, shirt clinging to his frame, that focused intensity you’ve glimpsed turned toward combat instead of cats—
Your face heats. “I—sure—but that’s not—” You catch yourself, narrow your eyes. “Hey. Don’t try to change the topic.”
His smile falters slightly. “Wasn’t trying to—”
“Yes, you were.” You turn to face him fully. “You do that. When something’s uncomfortable, you deflect with humor or change the subject. I’ve noticed.”
He’s quiet for a long moment, and you wonder if you’ve pushed too far.
Then he exhales slowly, and something in his posture shifts. Not quite sagging, but releasing something he’s been holding.
“Nobody really asks that,” he says finally, voice quieter than usual. “About what it’s like. They ask if we won. If I’m injured. If the city’s safe. But not…” He gestures vaguely. “Not what it feels like.”
You wait, giving him space.
“It can be straining,” he admits. “Every decision could mean someone doesn’t come home. Every plan I make, I’m weighing lives. And when we win—when everyone makes it back—I’m supposed to celebrate. Be the confident leader who never doubted.”
He looks down at his hands. “But sometimes I’m just… tired.”
Your chest aches.
This man who carries so much, and nobody asks if he’s okay because he’s always okay, he has to be okay, he’s the Grand Master—
“Come on,” you say, standing abruptly.
He blinks up at you. “What?”
“We’re going for a walk.”
“It’s late—”
“I know what time it is.” You’re already gathering the cats’ leads.
“With the cats?”
All three cats immediately perk up, meowing and purring as if in agreement.
You give him a pointed look. “You have your answer.”
He stares at the cats, then at you, then back at the cats.
“Well,” he says, a hint of genuine amusement creeping into his voice, “my four companions have decided. Who am I to argue?”
The streets of Mondstadt are quiet at this hour, just the soft glow of lanterns and the distant sound of the tavern.
You walk side by side, the cats exploring ahead on their leads. Whisper stays close to Varka’s heels. Loyal little thing.
“Thank you,” he says after a while. “For asking. For… this.”
“You don’t have to thank me for basic decency.”
“Still.” He looks at you, something complicated in his expression.
You stop walking. The cats pause too, sensing the shift.
Before you can overthink it, you step closer and wrap your arms around him.
He goes rigid—just for a second—before his arms come up slowly. Carefully.
“You’re a good person, Varka,” you murmur against his chest. “Not just a good leader. You’re… genuinely good. Kind. Thoughtful. The kind of person who remembers which cat likes which blanket and asks the right questions and notices things without someone mentioning them.”
You feel him exhale, long and slow, some of the tension draining from his frame.
“The kind of person people look up to,” you continue, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. “Not because you’re strong or victorious or never make mistakes. But because you care. That’s why they follow you. Why they trust you.”
His eyes are very bright in the lamplight. “I don’t…” His voice is rough. “I don’t know what to say to that.”
“You don’t have to say anything.”
He laughs—surprised and a little unsteady. “You’re extraordinary, you know that?”
“Why, because I give hugs?”
“Because you see things.” His hand comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing your cheek. “You ask the questions nobody else asks. You notice things nobody else notices.”
The moment feels suspended, fragile.
“I admire that about you,” you say quietly. “You’re good at helping people, but you’re also good at knowing people. Seeing what they need. Being what they need.”
You hesitate, then add, “I wasn’t always… good at that. Knowing who to trust. I got hurt once—someone I cared about got hurt because I trusted the wrong people. Made the wrong call.”
His expression shifts. Understanding, protectiveness, something deeper.
“It made me careful,” you continue. “Maybe too careful. But you…” You meet his eyes. “You’re not like them.”
“Hey,” he says softly, both hands framing your face now. “Whatever happened before—that wasn’t your fault. You can’t control what other people choose to do.”
“I know. But it still—”
Bristle headbutts his leg aggressively, meowing with impressive volume.
You both startle, then laugh.
“I think someone’s jealous of the attention,” Varka says, crouching to give Bristle the pets she’s demanding.
“Or hungry,” you point out.
“Always a possibility with this one.” But he’s smiling. Something warm and genuine and entirely for you.
Pepper joins in the demand for attention. Then Whisper. Within seconds you’re both surrounded by insistent cats.
“Alright, alright,” Varka concedes, standing. “My four companions have spoken again. We should head back.”
The walk back is lighter somehow. His shoulders aren’t quite so tense. Your own chest feels less tight.
When you reach the alley, he helps you settle the cats before turning to leave. “Varka?”
He looks back.
“I mean it. What I said. You’re… you’re really good. Don’t forget that.”
Something in his expression goes very soft. “Coming from you,” he says quietly, “that means more than you know.”
And then he’s gone, but the warmth in your chest stays.
Behind you, Whisper purrs contentedly. “Yeah,” you murmur. “I know.”
— ✦ —
The next evening, when Varka shows up at the usual time, you’re hyperaware of every look, every smile, every time his hand lingers near yours.
“You alright?” he asks, noticing your distraction.
“Fine,” you lie.
He doesn’t push. Just settles beside you, close enough that his warmth reaches you, and starts telling Pepper about his day like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
You watch him. This enormous man baby-talking to a cat—and something in your chest aches.
Don’t, you tell yourself. Don’t get attached. You’re leaving eventually. This isn’t permanent.
But it’s getting harder to remember why you would do that.
Varka brings you a scarf one day after.
“Nights are getting colder,” he says, wrapping it around your neck before you can protest.
His fingers linger at your collar. You can feel his breath, warm against your temple.
For a moment, neither of you moves.
You’re acutely aware of everything—the calluses on his fingertips, the warmth radiating from him, how close his mouth is to your forehead. How easy it would be to tilt your head up, to—
Then Bristle meows, breaking the spell, and you both step back too quickly.
“Thank you,” you manage.
“Anytime.” His voice is rougher than usual.
You don’t take the scarf off, even after he leaves.
It smells like him.
Two days later, you notice his gloves are worn through at the fingertips.
You don’t say anything. Just buy a new pair and leave them at the Knights of Favonius headquarters with a note:
For patrols. Don’t argue.
That evening, when he shows up at the alley, he’s wearing them. “You know,” Varka says, crouching beside you, flexing his fingers in the new gloves, “you’re making it very hard to be the one who takes care of you.”
“Good.” You don’t look at him. “You do too much for everyone else anyway.”
“And you don’t do enough for yourself.”
“Pot, meet kettle.”
He laughs. Surprised and delighted and entirely too warm. “Fair point.”
When you finally glance over, he’s looking at the gloves like they’re armor blessed by the Archons.
“They fit perfectly,” he says quietly.
You watch his hands as he flexes his fingers again.
You’ve seen those hands gentle with kittens, steady when holding them, and suddenly you’re thinking about them in contexts you absolutely should not be thinking about.
“I know your size.” The words slip out before you can stop them.
His eyes snap to yours, something intense flickering in them. “Do you?”
“I pay attention,” you manage.
“Yeah,” he says softly, voice rough. “I’ve noticed.”
Neither of you looks away.
Pepper headbutts your leg, demanding food, and the moment shatters.
But Varka doesn’t take the gloves off for the rest of the night.
And you notice.
One evening, Varka arrives earlier than usual, and there’s something different in his expression.
“I found a place,” he says without preamble.
You blink up at him. “What?”
“An apartment. Two rooms, near the plaza. I talked to the landlord about the cats. He’s fine with it.”
Your heart does something complicated.
You’ve been looking for weeks. Every place either doesn’t allow animals, costs too much, or the landlords take one look at you—a newcomer with no references—and politely decline.
You were starting to think you’d be in that cramped temporary room forever.
“Is it… expensive?”
“Affordable.” He names a price that makes your shoulders drop with relief. “And the landlord’s flexible. As long as you take care of the place, he’s not picky.”
“Varka…” Your voice catches, but his gaze tells you that words aren't needed.
“Want to see it?” he asks gently. “No pressure. But I think you’d like it.”
The next day, he takes you to see it.
It’s perfect.
Small, yes. The floors creak and the kitchen is barely big enough for two people. But the windows are tall, the light is good, and when you mention the cats, Varka points to the corner near the hearth.
“Perfect spot for them,” he says. “Warm. Safe.”
You stand in the middle of the empty apartment and feel something shift in your chest.
A permanent place.
In Mondstadt.
“I’ll take it,” you hear yourself say.
Varka’s smile could light up the entire city.
“The place will be ready in about two weeks,” he says. “Landlord needs to do some minor repairs first—fix a few floorboards, check the window latches, that sort of thing. But it’s yours after that.”
Two weeks. A permanent place in two weeks.
It feels both impossibly far away and remarkably close.
“I’ll help you move,” Varka says, like it’s obvious. Like there was never any question.
“You don't have to do that.”
“I know.” His eyes are warm. “But I want to. Besides, those cats aren’t going to move themselves.”
You laugh despite yourself. “Pretty sure Bristle would try.”
“Exactly why you need supervision.” Varka’s grinning now. “Can’t have her directing the whole operation.”
“You know he likes you, right?” Sara asks one day when you’re picking up food.
“Who?”
She gives you a look. “The Grand Master. Varka. The man who rearranged his entire schedule to ‘accidentally’ run into you.”
“He hasn’t—we’re not—”
“He looks at you,” she interrupts gently, “like you’re the best thing that’s happened to Mondstadt in years.”
Your throat tightens.
“He’s just… kind. That’s how he is with everyone.”
“No,” she says simply. “It’s not.”
That night, Varka shows up early.
You’re still arranging the shelter when his footsteps echo down the alley.
“You’re here early,” you say, not looking up.
“Finished work early.” He crouches beside you. “Thought I’d help.”
You hand him a bowl of food without comment.
His fingers brush yours as he takes it.
This time, he doesn’t pull away immediately.
Neither do you.
When Varka arrives the next evening, you notice immediately.
The careful way he sits. The slight tightness around his eyes. The way he’s holding himself just a fraction too still.
“Long day?” you ask quietly.
“Just the usual.” But his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
You don’t push. Just shift slightly closer, your shoulder brushing his.
It’s a small thing. Barely noticeable.
But you feel him exhale—long and slow—some of the tension leaving his frame.
His eyes drop to where you’re touching, then to your face. The look there is complicated. Warm and wanting and carefully controlled.
“This helps,” Varka says, voice rougher than usual.
You’re suddenly very aware of the warmth of him, the solid presence at your side, the fact that you’re close enough to feel his breathing.
“What does?”
“This. Being here. With you.”
Your heart stumbles.
He’s not looking at you—he’s watching Whisper play with a piece of string—but his voice is too honest, too open.
“Here it’s just quiet. Just the cats. Just us. That's enough.”
He finally looks at you.
You can’t breathe. Can’t think. Can’t do anything but sit there with your shoulder pressed to his, feeling the warmth of him, the weight of what he’s not quite saying.
“You don’t have to be ‘on’ all the time,” you say softly. “Not with me.”
Something in his expression cracks open.
“I know,” he says. “That’s why I keep coming back.”
“You’ve been quiet lately,” he adds after a moment.
“Just thinking.”
“About?”
About how I’m falling for you.
“Nothing important,” you say instead.
He’s quiet for a long moment. Then, he asks: “You’d tell me if something was wrong, right?”
You finally look at him.
“Of course,” you lie, panic taking over.
His jaw tightens slightly, like he knows it’s not true.
But he doesn’t push.
He never pushes.
Two days later, the rain comes.
Heavy and cold and relentless.
You stay with the cats longer than you should, making sure their shelter is secure, that they’re warm and dry.
By the time you finish, you’re soaked through.
Varka didn’t come tonight. Some emergency at the headquarters, probably.
You tell yourself you’re not disappointed.
You tell yourself it’s better this way. Less complicated, less dangerous, less likely to end with your heart in pieces when you eventually leave Mondstadt.
You tell yourself a lot of things as you walk home in the rain, shivering, already feeling the first warning signs of a fever settling into your bones.
— ✦ —
The next morning, Whisper doesn’t come out of the shelter. When you coax her into your hands, her tiny body feels too warm, her breathing small and uneven.
Your stomach drops.
You bundle her gently into your cloak and go looking for help.
But halfway across the square, the world swims.
You blink hard, but the plaza keeps tilting.
When did the sun get so bright? When did your legs get so heavy?
Right. You didn’t sleep much. Didn’t eat much. Didn’t think about the rain soaking you through last night, or how your throat’s been raw since morning, or how you can’t seem to get warm no matter how many layers you put on.
You take another step—
And sway.
A large hand steadies your shoulder instantly.
“Easy,” comes a familiar voice. “You okay?”
You look up.
Of course he’s here.
Varka is always exactly where he shouldn’t be, and exactly where you need him.
“I’m fine,” you say automatically.
His eyes flick down to Whisper, then to your unsteady posture.
“You’re not,” he says quietly.
“I’m just tired.”
“And feverish.” His gaze sharpens. “And trying to walk across the plaza with a sick kitten instead of asking for help.”
Your jaw tenses. “Whisper needs a healer. That’s all.”
“So do you.”
You stiffen, ready to protest, but your legs choose that moment to wobble again.
His hands catch your elbows, steady and warm. Stronger than they have any right to be.
“Sit,” he says gently but firmly. “Now. Before you fall.”
You bristle, instinctively defensive. “I don’t need—”
“Yes.” His voice is low, steady, and utterly unmovable. “You do.”
Your breath stutters. He lowers you onto a bench against the fountain wall. Carefully, like you’ll topple if he moves too fast.
Then he crouches, eye-level now, looking between you and the trembling kitten in your arms.
“What happened?”
“Whisper’s… warm. She’s not eating. And I—” Your voice cracks. “I didn’t want to bother anyone.”
His expression is impossible to read. Something between soft worry and something deeper, tighter.
“You don’t bother me,” he says quietly. “Not ever.”
Your breath catches.
He stands, shrugs off his cloak, and drapes it around your shoulders before you can stop him.
The weight of it settles over you, still warm from his body. Too intimate. Too caring. Too much like something you don’t deserve.
“Varka—”
“You’re shivering,” he says. “Let me help.”
You look down at Whisper again, guilt and fear twisting in your chest.
“I should’ve paid more attention. I should’ve—”
“No.” His voice is suddenly firm, almost rough. “Stop that.”
You blink up at him.
“This isn’t your fault,” he continues. “Animals get sick. Weather changes. You’re doing everything right.”
You swallow hard.
He meets your eyes, steady and unflinching.
“And you don’t have to do it alone.”
You look away, throat tight. “I don’t want to rely on you for everything.”
His jaw flexes. Something flashes in his eyes—frustration, yes, but underneath it, something that looks almost like hurt.
“I don’t want you relying on me for everything,” he says slowly, voice tight with something he’s trying to control. “But I do want you to let me help when you’re sick and trying to carry a sick kitten across the plaza alone because you’re too stubborn to ask.”
He takes a breath, steadying himself. “I want to be here for this. Don’t you get that?”
Your breath hitches.
There it is—the edge of frustration.
“I didn’t want to be a burden.”
He exhales sharply, like the words hit him somewhere deep.
“You’re not,” he says, voice low and earnest. “Not to me.”
Before you can reply, Whisper stirs weakly.
Varka straightens immediately. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s get both of you taken care of.”
And when you hesitate—because of course you hesitate, because accepting help feels like admitting defeat, like proving you can’t do this alone—
He waits. Hand extended. Patient. Unmovable.
Like he’ll stand there all day if that’s what it takes.
Whisper mewls softly in your arms, and the sound breaks something in you.
You take his hand.
His fingers close around yours, and he pulls you to your feet gently.
“There,” he murmurs, so quietly you almost miss it. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
You don’t answer.
Can’t.
Because his hand is still holding yours, and you’re wearing his cloak that smells like him, and Whisper is tucked against your chest, and Varka is looking at you like—
Like you matter.
Like this matters.
And you’re not sure how much longer you can pretend it doesn’t.
— ✦ —
The next days pass in a blur of recovery and quiet anticipation.
Whisper bounces back quickly. Within days she’s climbing and exploring like nothing happened.
You take longer, but Varka checks on you daily. Brings soup. Insists you rest. Threatens to carry you back to bed when he catches you trying to organize your belongings too early.
“The apartment isn’t going anywhere,” he says firmly. “Neither am I.”
You stop arguing after that.
By the time moving day arrives, you’re mostly recovered and entirely out of excuses to avoid the flutter of nerves in your chest.
This is really happening.
A permanent place. In Mondstadt.
With Varka helping you settle into it.
You’re halfway through carrying a box up the stairs when Varka appears in the doorway, arms already reaching.
“I can carry my own things,” you protest.
“I know.” He takes the box anyway. “But I’m here, so you don’t have to.”
By the time the sun sets, your belongings are inside and Varka is helping arrange furniture like he’s done this a hundred times.
“The desk should go near the window,” he suggests. “Better light for reading.”
You both move to shift it, and suddenly you’re in close quarters. His arm brushing yours, his chest nearly against your back as you navigate the narrow space.
He smells like wind and leather and something warmer you can’t name.
“Careful,” he murmurs, hand steadying your waist as you nearly trip.
The touch is brief, practical, completely innocent.
Your heart races anyway.
You blink. “How did you know I like to read by windows?”
He pauses, a slight flush creeping up his neck. “You always sit by them. In the tavern, the plaza, the cathedral steps…”
He’s been noticing. Cataloging. Remembering.
“Varka,” you say quietly.
He looks up from the table he’s positioning.
“Thank you. For… all of this. The place, the help, just…” You gesture vaguely. “Everything.”
Something softens in his expression. “You don’t have to thank me.”
“I want to.”
The air between you thickens.
He’s standing in your home. Your space. Somewhere private and personal and entirely yours.
Except you invited him in, and he came, and now he’s here, in your kitchen, with dust on his shirt and warmth in his eyes, and it feels significant in a way you can’t quite name.
“The cats should go here,” Varka says finally, breaking the moment. He gestures to the corner near the hearth. “Warm. Out of the way. Safe.”
Of course he’s thought about the cats.
You help him arrange blankets, set up bowls, create a little sanctuary in the corner.
When you’re done, Pepper immediately claims the softest blanket. Whisper curls beside her. Bristle explores every inch, sniffing and investigating with her usual boldness.
“They like it,” Varka says, satisfaction clear in his voice.
“They do.”
You both watch them for a moment. This small family you’ve built, this strange little life that somehow includes him now.
“I should go,” he says, though he doesn’t move. “Let you settle in.”
“You could stay,” you hear yourself say. Then, realizing how that sounds: “For tea. I mean. If you want.”
His smile is soft and entirely too warm. “I’d like that.”
You make tea in your new kitchen while he sits at your new table, and it feels domestic and comfortable and terrifying all at once. You talk for a while. And it's nice.
“First night in a new place is always strange,” he says eventually. “If you need anything—”
“I know where to find you.”
His eyes hold yours. “Yeah. You do.”
He stands, reluctant to leave. “I’ve got to meet some of the knights at Angel’s Share—strategy discussion that’ll probably run late. But I’ll be nearby if—” He stops himself, looking almost embarrassed. “Well. You know where I am.”
“Angel’s Share is close,” you point out, smiling despite yourself. “I think I can manage.”
“And if anything—”
“Varka.” You give him a look. “Go. I’ll be fine.”
He nods, though he still doesn’t look entirely convinced.
When he finally leaves, the apartment feels bigger and emptier than it should.
— ✦ —
You spend the rest of the evening unpacking.
Arranging books. Hanging clothes. Trying to make this new space feel like home.
The cats explore cautiously. Pepper claiming the warmest corner, Whisper investigating every shadow, Bristle poking her nose into cabinets and crevices with her usual boldness.
In the end, you’re exhausted but satisfied. The apartment is still mostly bare, but it’s yours. The cats have food and water and soft places to sleep. The windows overlook the plaza where lanterns are just beginning to glow.
It’s perfect.
You settle the cats for the night—fresh water, blankets arranged just so. Bristle purrs when you scratch behind her ears, and Whisper is already curled up contentedly.
“First night in our new home,” you murmur to them. “No more cramped rooms. No more hiding.”
They seem satisfied.
You leave a window cracked for fresh air—just a few inches, secured with the latch Varka checked earlier—and finally let yourself relax.
You’d just finished changing into sleep clothes when you hear it.
A door creaking somewhere.
A gust of wind stronger than it should be.
And the bell around Bristle’s neck jingles once—
Then silence.
Your heart lurches.
“Bristle?” you call, searching the corners. “Come here!”
Nothing.
The window curtain flutters, and dread slides cold down your spine.
You rush outside barefoot, scanning the street.
“Bristle?!”
Your voice cracks.
And then, footsteps.
Heavy ones, too familiar now.
Varka rounds the corner quickly, expression alert, still carrying the faint warmth of the tavern on him.
“What’s wrong?”
“Bristle—she’s gone—the window—” You can’t form full sentences. Can’t breathe properly. “I have to find her—she could be anywhere—”
You try to move past him.
He catches your arm. Not roughly, but firm.
“Stop. Just—stop for a minute and—”
“I don’t have a minute!” You pull free, voice breaking. “She’s out there, alone, she doesn’t know this area, what if she’s scared, what if something—”
“I know.” His voice is steady but strained. “I know you’re scared, but you can’t just—”
“Can’t what?” You spin on him, panic making you sharp. “Look for her? What am I supposed to do, just wait? Just stand here while she’s—”
“You’re barefoot,” he interrupts, voice harder now. “You ran out here without shoes, without a coat, without thinking—”
“Of course I didn‘t think!” The words tear out of you. “I heard the bell and she was gone and I just—I can’t—”
Your voice cracks completely.
Varka’s jaw tightens, something flashing in his eyes. Frustration, fear, something barely controlled.
“You think I don’t understand that?” His voice is low, rough at the edges in a way you’ve never heard before. “You think I’m not terrified right now too?”
You blink at him, startled.
“She’s—” He stops, takes a breath that sounds like it costs him. “She’s my cat too. I know that’s not—I don’t have any claim, but I—”
He drags a hand through his hair, and you realize his hands are shaking slightly.
“I’m scared too,” he says, quieter now but no less intense. “But you can’t just run into the night alone. What if you’d gone outside the city walls?”
“I wouldn’t—”
“Wouldn’t you?” His voice sharpens again. “If you thought she’d gone that way? If someone said they saw a cat near Wolvendom, or the Whispering Woods—would you have stopped at the gates?”
The answer must show on your face because something in his expression cracks.
“Exactly,” he breathes. “You would’ve run straight into hilichurl territory, or worse, and you wouldn’t have thought twice because you were scared and—”
He stops himself, jaw working. “Do you have any idea what that does to me?”
The world goes very quiet.
“What?” you whisper.
He’s not looking at you now. His hands are clenched at his sides, and when he speaks his voice is rough with something that sounds like desperation.
“You don’t get it,” Varka says. “Every time you’re in danger, every time you run off alone, every time you refuse to let me help because you don’t want to be a ‘burden’—”
He finally looks at you, and the expression in his eyes stops your breath.
“You—this—you are important to me. And watching you throw yourself into danger—”
He cuts himself off, breathing hard.
The silence stretches between you, heavy with everything he just said and everything he didn’t.
Your heart is pounding so hard you can feel it in your throat.
“Varka,” you breathe.
He closes his eyes briefly, like he’s trying to regain control.
When he opens them again, some of the intensity has banked. Not gone, but carefully contained.
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I didn’t mean to—” He shakes his head.
“I'm sorry too,” you murmur. “For worrying you.”
“Let’s just find her. Together. Please.”
This time when he offers his hand, you take it.
He’s right. You’re shaking, you’re barefoot, you can barely think straight.
And because somewhere in the last two minutes, everything changed.
His hand is warm and steady around yours, and he squeezes once before releasing it.
“Gates first,” Varka says, voice back to that calm competence. “She’s bold. She’ll move toward open space when stressed.”
You stare at him. “How do you know that?”
He glances sideways, a ghost of that crooked smile. “I pay attention. Especially to the things you love.”
The words hit you square in the chest.
You almost stumble.
Then—
A faint jingle in the distance.
Varka freezes.
“There.”
He points toward the grass beyond the outer wall—moonlight catching a tiny silhouette near a cluster of crates.
“Bristle!” you gasp, sprinting.
But she darts away, spooked by movement.
You stumble—
And Varka is instantly at your side, steadying your elbow.
“Easy,” he murmurs. “Let me.”
He kneels slowly, lowering his massive frame with surprising gentleness.
“Hey, little knight,” he says softly, hand extended. “Come here.”
His warm and soothing voice works instantly.
Bristle creeps forward, sniffing his fingers, then headbutts his palm with a tiny mew.
The sound you make is half-laugh, half-sob.
Varka scoops her up with one careful hand and stands, turning to you. “Here,” he says softly, offering her.
You take Bristle, holding her against your chest like something precious. She purrs immediately, the sound vibrating through you, and your eyes sting with relief.
“Thank you,” you whisper.
“Don’t.” Varka's voice is rough. “Don’t thank me for—” He stops himself, jaw tight.
You look up at him.
He’s still too close. Close enough that you can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his breathing hasn’t quite evened out, the careful control he’s barely maintaining.
“Don’t scare me like that again,” he says quietly. “Either of you.”
Bristle purrs louder.
You can’t speak.
Can’t move.
Can’t do anything but stand there with your cat between you and Varka looking at you like—
Like he’s been holding back for weeks and his control is hanging by a thread.
His eyes drop to your mouth.
Your breath catches audibly.
He notices—of course he notices—and something in his expression shifts. Darkens. Wants.
He takes a half-step closer.
Your back hits the wall behind you, and somewhere in your brain you register that he’s backed you up without you even realizing, that he’s close enough now you can feel the heat of him, that his hand is braced on the wall beside your head and—
“Varka,” you breathe.
He stops.
Freezes completely, his eyes searching yours.
His eyes go dark. His free hand comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing your cheekbone with devastating gentleness.
Bristle meows between you, squirming.
The moment shatters.
Varka pulls back sharply, breathing hard, and you both stare at each other.
“We should,” he starts, voice rough. Clears his throat. “Get you home. Both of you.”
You nod, not trusting your voice.
He doesn’t touch you on the walk back.
Doesn’t need to.
The tension walks between you like a living thing, crackling and charged and waiting.
— ✦ —
Back inside, you set Bristle down carefully. She immediately darts to her blanket corner, curling up like nothing happened.
You exhale shakily, adrenaline still coursing through you.
Varka moves to the window—the one she escaped through—and checks the latch.
“It wasn’t secured properly,” he says quietly, testing it. “The wood’s warped here. I can fix it tomorrow.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to.” He says it simply, not looking at you. “I don’t want this happening again.”
You watch him work. Those large, careful hands adjusting the mechanism, making sure it’s tight. Making sure you’re safe. Making sure the cats are safe.
Something in your chest cracks. “Varka,” you say softly.
He glances over his shoulder.
You’re closer than you meant to be. Close enough to see his pupils dilate slightly, to see his breath catch.
“Thank you,” you whisper. “For… everything. For coming when I was panicking, for knowing where to look, for—”
Your voice breaks.
His jaw tightens. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t thank me like I did something extraordinary.” He turns fully to face you now, and the intensity in his eyes stops your breath. “Like I wouldn’t drop everything the second you needed me. Like I haven’t been—”
He cuts himself off, dragging a hand through his hair.
The space between you feels electric.
“Been what?” you whisper.
He looks at you for a long moment. “Completely gone for you. For weeks now. Maybe longer.”
The world tilts.
“Varka—”
He takes a step back, trying to create distance.
Your hand shoots out, catching his wrist.
He freezes.
You’re both staring at where you’re touching him—your fingers wrapped around his wrist, feeling his pulse thundering beneath your touch.
When you look up, his eyes are dark. Wanting. Barely controlled.
His breathing goes ragged.
Your hand slides from his wrist up his forearm, and you feel him shudder. “I’m asking you to stop being patient. Stop being chivalrous. Stop—”
You don’t finish the sentence.
Because Varka moves.
His hands find your waist and he walks you backward until your back meets the wall.
His forehead drops to yours, breath coming hard.
“Last chance,” he rasps. “Tell me to stop and I will. But if you don’t—”
You fist your hands in his shirt and pull.
“Don’t stop.”
The sound he makes is somewhere between a groan and surrender.
Then his mouth is on yours.
The kiss is everything you didn’t know you were starving for. Heat and hunger and weeks of carefully restrained wanting finally unleashed. His lips are firm, demanding, devastating in their intensity.
When you gasp against his mouth, he makes a sound low in his throat and deepens the kiss with an urgency that steals the air from your lungs.
You gasp, hands flying to his shoulders.
He groans into your mouth—a low, rough sound that vibrates through your whole body—and his hand comes up to cup your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek even as his mouth claims yours with growing hunger.
You kiss him back just as fiercely, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer like you’ve been waiting for this just as desperately.
The sound he makes is somewhere between surprise and surrender.
His grip tightens.
You arch into him and he responds immediately. His hand sliding from your waist to your hip, fingers curling into the fabric of your clothes, pulling you flush against him until there’s no space left. Until you can feel every inch of him.
Like he’s trying very hard not to lose himself completely.
Like he might anyway.
His other hand cups your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek even as his mouth claims yours with growing hunger. The contrast—that rough desperation tempered by such careful tenderness—makes you dizzy.
Heat. Everywhere. The solid wall of his chest against yours, the strength in his arms, the way he’s surrounding you completely and it should feel overwhelming but instead feels like safety, like home, like finally.
When he finally tears his mouth from yours, you’re both gasping for air.
But he doesn’t pull away.
Can’t seem to.
His forehead drops to yours, breath ragged and hot against your lips. One hand is still fisted in your shirt. The other cradles your face like you’re something precious.
“You really are like a cat,” he murmurs, voice wrecked.
Your breath hitches. “What?”
His lips brush your jaw. Barely a kiss, more like a promise. “Wary.” Another brush, just below your ear. “Careful.” His mouth finds the sensitive spot where your neck meets your shoulder. “Slow to trust.”
You shiver, fingers digging into his shoulders.
His hand slides up your spine, fingers spreading wide across your back, holding you steady.
“But once you decide to let someone in—” His voice drops, goes rougher, and his mouth is so close to your throat you can feel every word against your skin. “—you give everything.”
You can’t breathe. Can’t think. Can only feel the heat of his mouth on your throat, the careful restraint in his touch, the way he’s holding you like you’re precious and desired all at once.
“Varka,” you manage, and his name sounds like a plea.
He pulls back just enough to look at you, and what you see in his eyes makes your heart stop.
Want. Yes. Need, definitely. But also something deeper. Something that looks like awe, like he can’t quite believe this is real, like he’s terrified and elated in equal measure.
“I need—” His voice cracks. “Tell me you want this. Not just tonight. Not just because we were scared and—”
You cup his face in both hands, cutting him off. “I want this,” you say firmly, clearly. “I want you. I’ve wanted you since—” You swallow. “Since the Angel‘s Share. Maybe before.”
The sound he makes is somewhere between relief and reverence.
“Thank Barbatos,” he breathes.
And then he’s kissing you again. Slower this time but no less intense. Thorough and deep and claiming, like he’s memorizing every response, cataloging every sound you make, learning exactly how to take you apart with just his mouth.
His tongue sweeps against yours and your knees actually buckle. He catches you immediately, arm banding around your waist, holding you up, holding you close.
The kiss goes molten.
Heat pools low in your belly. Your fingers find his hair, tugging, and he groans into your mouth. A deep, pleased sound that vibrates through your whole body.
He kisses like he does everything else. With complete focus, total commitment, like you’re the only thing that matters in the entire world.
When you finally break apart this time, you’re both trembling, flushed, breathing hard.
He rests his forehead against yours, eyes closed, trying to steady himself.
You can feel his heart thundering against your palm where it rests on his chest.
“I should—” His voice is wrecked. “I should probably go. Before I—”
Before he what? Loses control completely? Forgets to be careful? Stops being the gentleman he’s trying very hard to be right now?
“Don’t.” Your hands tighten on his shirt. “Stay.”
His eyes snap open, dark and searching and full of want barely held in check.
“You sure?”
“Not for—” You flush. “I mean, just—stay. Please. I don’t want you to leave yet.”
Relief and something warmer floods his expression.
“Alright,” he murmurs. He presses a kiss to your forehead, your temple, the corner of your mouth. Small, tender touches that feel like promises. “I’ll stay as long as you want.”
He doesn’t let go. Just holds you against him, one hand stroking your back in slow, soothing circles while your breathing gradually evens out.
“You know,” you murmur against his chest, “I think you’ve officially adopted the cats now.”
You feel his laugh rumble through him. “Yeah?”
“Mm. You named one. You helped move them. You ran through Mondstadt at night to find one.” You pull back enough to meet his eyes. “They’re yours too now.”
His expression does something complicated. Soft and pleased and almost shy.
“When did that happen?” he asks quietly.
“Probably the moment you found us in that alley,” you admit. “You just didn’t know it yet.”
His smile is devastating. “Best thing I ever found.”
“The cats?”
“You.” His thumb brushes your cheek. “The cats are a bonus.”
You laugh, and he kisses you again. Soft and sweet and full of promise.
When he finally, reluctantly pulls away, his hand lingers on your face.
“I should let you sleep,” he says, though he doesn’t sound like he wants to leave.
“Will you come back tomorrow?”
“Try to stop me.” He presses one more kiss to your forehead. “Sleep well. All four of you.”
You watch him leave, and when the door closes behind him, you touch your lips.
They’re still tingling.
Behind you, Bristle meows softly.
You turn to find all three cats watching you from their corner—Whisper’s eyes half-closed, Pepper already asleep, Bristle looking distinctly unimpressed with the delay in her post-adventure pets.
“Don’t look at me like that,” you mutter, moving to join them.
But you’re smiling.
And when you fall asleep that night, it’s with the memory of his hands in your hair, his voice in your ear, and the absolute certainty that everything just changed.
You’ve found home.
⋆ ✦ ⋆
A/N: Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. :)
More Varka to follow soon. (My drafts for him keep piling up and at this point I’m just embracing the chaos.)
Masterlist.
(You land a highly coveted position at the FOS and are immediately assigned to Leon Kennedy. As you learn more about him, you begin to see what lies beneath the gruff façade.)
Word Count: ~ 4.4k
Rating: T - minor angst but mostly just sweetness with a sprinkle of a yearning, old Leon
Author's Note: This is more of a character analysis of our older Leon than anything, and I am a little insecure if this is out of character, but I got super inspired by another post (I can't find anymore aagghh) about how this Leon would just melt into a significant other once he feels safe to do so and I CAN SEE THAT (don't tell the other entries but this one is my favorite). Hope you enjoy 💕
As you settled into your chair in the HUB, surrounded by other information operatives speaking with their agents, you couldn’t help but wonder if you better should have met yours beforehand. Especially considering it was your first day in the FOS.
You’d been told he had declined the introductory meeting and gone straight to the new mission instead – but not to worry, you’d see each other afterward, and he was generally very friendly. A bit resistant to advice, perhaps.
That hadn’t exactly filled you with confidence. As a new information operative, you could have used an easy field agent. Not that you weren’t used to headaches from your previous government position – only that there had been a good reason you’d applied internally for the FOS in the first place.
Your supervisor for the first few days – and the woman who had hired you – Ingrid Hunnigan took the desk beside you. She offered you an encouraging smile when she caught sight of your nervous expression.
“Don’t worry, really. Leon is a great guy once you warm up to one another. And this mission doesn’t have high stakes.”
The corner of your mouth twitched. “Thanks, Ingrid. But that’s usually what people say when the mission absolutely will have high stakes.”
She let out an amused huff. “With that kind of insight, you’ll handle Leon better than most.”
You made a soft sound of recognition. A brief silence passed between you, and for a moment you wondered whether this had been such a good idea after all. But Ingrid didn’t give you the option of backing out – she gestured toward your headset.
“Leon’s in the helicopter approaching the landing zone near Inverness. You know everything about the mission. Just guide him through it.”
Your throat remained dry despite the heavy swallow that followed. Your nerves didn’t calm under your resolute – if slightly forced – nod. You put on the headset, activating not only the intercom but also your outgoing image to your field agent’s comms device.
“Agent Kennedy, come in. This is your new IO.” You added your name at the end – a small attempt to build trust from the start.
On the large monitor in front of you flickered a map of Scotland. A red dot marked the helicopter’s position above Inverness, near Loch Ness.
Silence on the other end. No incoming image, either.
Your eyes grew dry from staring at the screen. You shot Ingrid an uncertain glance, but she was already absorbed in a conversation on her own headset.
Nervous energy fluttered in your stomach. You swallowed the filler word rising to your lips to ease the silence and instead remembered your training – and your position.
“Agent Kennedy, this is your information operative. Come in.”
When there was still no response, you tapped increasingly confused against your state-of-the-art microphone.
“Did I even turn it on?” you muttered to yourself.
“You did.”
The deep voice in your ear made you squeak in surprise. So much for calm professionalism.
At last, an incoming image appeared on your screen – and with it, the face of Agent Leon Kennedy.
A veteran of the DSO. More than that – co-founder alongside the late President of the United States, Adam Benford. The fact that you’d been assigned to him at all had stunned you. But of course you had accepted the role. You’d wanted this position after all.
The agent was looking downward, clearly holding his comms device in hand, the roar of helicopter rotors audible somewhere behind him. He was already in motion. Wind caught the dark strands of his hair in the stormy Scottish air.
“Couldn’t answer. We just touched down at the arrival point. Proceeding to the lake now.”
Straight to business. It could have been worse.
“Right. If our intel is correct, the handoff of the smuggled goods should be taking place at this location.” Your fingers flew over the keyboard, the mouse clicking sharply under your hand. “If you can, get a visual of the area and assess.”
You transmitted the updated objective near Loch Ness to his device.
“Understood. I’ll report when I’ve secured the cargo.”
You froze. “You mean when you have a visual.”
“Sure. Let’s say I said that,” he replied, a strangely amused undertone in his voice.
And then he cut the connection.
“H–Hey!” you called out, pinging him again. No response.
You stared at the screen, mouth slightly open, needing a moment to process your first exchange with Agent Leon Kennedy.
“Is he always like that?”
Ingrid smiled – and her gaze softened in a way that suggested fond memories.
“You’ll get used to it,” was all she said.
If she remembered her time working with him that fondly, it couldn’t be that bad… could it?
It was worse.
On the screen, the GPS dot marking Agent Kennedy’s position moved steadily forward – but he didn’t respond to calls, effectively ghosting you, and with you any useful incoming information.
At some point you resorted to text messages, hoping he might at least read those. You reminded him to check in once he had visual on the site.
But… even this early on, you doubted he would.
With a sigh, you removed your headset for a short break. The chair tilted back smoothly, ergonomically supporting your head. You pressed your fingers against the bridge of your nose and squeezed your eyes shut.
“Bit of advice,” Ingrid’s voice sounded beside you. She looked at you with understanding. “Try being a little more relaxed with him.”
“This is my workplace,” you replied dryly. What were you supposed to do? Crack jokes with the seasoned field agent?
“I know,” she said with smile. “But hear me out. Leon tends to make light of most things. That’s his way.” Her attention briefly flicked back to her own screen, something there drawing her focus. Her expression grew more serious as she began typing. “He takes his job seriously. But you have to help him deal with it.”
“Deal with it…?” you began, but Ingrid didn’t answer, already too absorbed in her own work.
You considered her advice. It wasn’t as though Agent Kennedy was eagerly awaiting your voice in his ear anyway.
Field agents in the DSO lived dangerously. And you had read his file. He had – to put it mildly – a complicated history. A survivor of Raccoon City. The man who had rescued the president’s daughter from a cult entirely on his own years ago.
Had those experiences turned him into a lone wolf? Someone who didn’t take kindly to orders? Maybe that was what Ingrid meant. Thoughtfully, you slipped your headset back on – and immediately heard your agent’s voice.
“Come in. Anyone there?”
“Oh!” you exclaimed. “Sorry, I was –” You paused, then decided to follow Ingrid’s advice. “ – online shopping. Given that you stopped checking in, I got bored.”
Was that funny? Or the most catastrophic misstep imaginable?
After a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, Leon activated his outgoing image.
He appeared somewhere in the Scottish Highlands, rain streaking through the darkness around him, his hair damp and clinging in strands. It was night – you still couldn’t see much – but you saw enough. A handsome face marked by faint lines of age, his expression looser now than earlier, curiosity flickering in his gaze as he looked at your image.
“Didn’t mean to drive you into a boreout,” he quipped, that amused undertone returning to his otherwise rough voice. “I’ve secured the cargo. Located and restrained the smugglers at the lake. Calling for extraction.”
You had half a mind to tell him that this was absolutely not how procedure was meant to go. But something told you that wouldn’t accomplish much.
You still had one card left to play.
“In Scotland, they’re called lochs.”
His eyebrows twitched upward – brief, but noticeable. You were a trained operative, after all.
“Alright, Miss Know-It-All. Didn’t realize they’d assign me another teacher like Hunnigan at my age.” The words sounded sharp, but the tone behind them had softened.
You smiled. “For more general knowledge and useless facts in the future, don’t ignore the intercom, Agent Kennedy.”
“Leon,” he corrected.
You gave him your first name in return.
A win.
“About that extraction…” he continued.
“Right. Economy class, correct?” you pushed it just a little further while already calling in the chopper.
“Didn’t know we were on a budget.”
You laughed, and Leon let out a low chuckle in response.
Whatever that small, innocent piece of advice from your supervisor had set into motion over the next months bordered on the supernatural.
The first time you met Leon Kennedy outside of field communications was immediately after the Scotland mission.
The coffee machine hummed as though mocking your clumsy attempts to operate it. Why was every office coffee machine in existence completely different from every other one? This one displayed a red triangle on its ultra-modern screen, drawing a frustrated sigh from you.
“The filter needs changing.”
The voice sounded right beside you.
You flinched. How had someone managed to approach you that silently?
One glance to the side answered the question instantly.
“Leon.”
Surprise colored your voice at the sight of your agent standing there in the FOS offices. You had assumed he would write his report and then be deployed to the next mission – that the next time you saw him would be on your screen again.
Only your extroverted nature saved you from simply staring at him as though you’d seen a ghost – which, frankly, would have been ironic. From now on, you were partially responsible for making sure he didn’t become one.
It was just… his presence was both intimidating and strangely magnetic.
A smile spread across your face – whether out of politeness or an effort to appear especially approachable, you couldn’t quite tell. “Thanks. I’ll have to call maintenance, I guess.” You extended your hand. “Nice to meet you in person.”
The very noticeable muscles of his arms rippled beneath a nearly criminally tight athletic sweater as he unfolded them to accept your handshake. A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips.
Completely unexpectedly, a shiver ran through you – one you barely prevented from manifesting physically – when your skin met his. His hand was softer than you’d anticipated. His grip more careful than what you were used to from other agents.
Unfortunately, despite extensive training, you had never possessed a convincing poker face. That was precisely why you worked at a desk and not in the field. You could never run covert operations; every target would read you instantly. You would never be able to play a role that wasn’t entirely yourself.
Still, you were highly trained in reading microexpressions. So you didn’t just notice the way your eyes widened slightly or how your lips parted a fraction – you also noticed that he noticed.
And here was the twist: you were fairly certain something shifted in his far more practiced poker face as well. A subtle dilation of his pupils in eyes narrowed just a touch too tightly. The faintest twitch of his brow.
The way your hands lingered together two seconds longer than socially necessary.
Then you were both disciplined enough not to let the moment escalate.
Your smile remained firmly in place – perhaps a little wider now – while he maintained his gruff composure, though his frown had softened, his features relaxing ever so slightly.
“So…” you continued once your hands had returned to your respective sides, “to what do we owe this pleasure? Here to fix the coffee machines?” You gestured toward the stubborn device denying you caffeine.
Leon glanced at it. A smirk. “Just one of my many alternative career paths.” But almost immediately, his startlingly intense gaze returned to you, threaded with something you would swear was gentleness. “I wanted to reschedule our introductory meeting. If you’re available.”
Had you not already sensed that strange current humming between you, the way he stood there – tall, undeniably impressive, yet shaped by a history that had marked him in ways few could comprehend – would have charmed you on its own.
As it was, you simply wanted to know him better.
Remembering that part of your job was to help him cope, you crossed your arms and pursed your lips. “Let me check my calendar for a free slot – somewhere between mission prep and arguing with coffee machines.”
Leon responded with a smile that reached his eyes.
Your experience as a government-trained pencil pusher paid off in ways you never would have expected.
Leon Kennedy was a closed-off man. He didn’t reveal much about himself. Not exactly a chatterbox – but not silent either. He existed somewhere in between. And, above all, he always had a quip ready. For nearly every situation.
You noticed it during your first meeting.
You told him about yourself – how you’d entered government service, why you transferred to the FOS, that you loved musicals, that your favorite food was sushi.
Leon’s response? “So a musical adaptation of Finding Nemo would be your ideal night out?”
The question caught you so off guard that you snorted before you could stop yourself. “What?” you laughed, covering your mouth and giggling a little too brightly – you hoped it was amusement and not because you found him unprofessionally attractive.
What you did become sure of rather quickly was that he hid a significant portion of himself behind those kinds of remarks.
You had read his file. What he’d lived through did not leave anyone untouched. And through these small exchanges between the two of you, you began to understand what Ingrid had meant.
He took the job seriously.
But you were going to have to help him carry it.
It became clearer and clearer to you the more you stayed in contact with Leon. The way he was: focused, highly specialized, but – at least after the initial storming – very attentive whenever you reached out to him. After only a short time, he let you take the lead in nearly every situation, took your input seriously, and only disagreed when he had a genuinely good reason.
It wasn’t that Leon – and maybe all agents of the DSO – needed dispatchers solely for professional guidance. He needed you to process what he was seeing. The conviction behind that realization was so strong that you went out of your way to guide him through every situation – no matter how terrifying it became. And God, you saw terrifying things at the DSO.
“I’ve been thinking,” you heard his voice – more open now, always a little softer when he addressed you directly.
“Uh-oh, better not hurt yourself doing that,” you joked, focused on your grocery list for tonight. It already came naturally to you – helped by the fact that Leon was extremely capable and you rarely had to worry about him.
He huffed before continuing unfazed. “I know a pretty good sushi place – can I take you there sometime?”
Your synapses fired wildly through your brain; your attention snapped fully back into place. Not before the pen slipped from your fingers at your startled jerk and you had to catch the rolling thing on your desk. Had your agent just asked you out on a date? Or was this more of a business dinner? Was that even allowed? You almost wanted to ask Ingrid – but she wasn’t sitting next to you anymore, of course, busy somewhere else with her management duties. Wait, hadn’t she once mentioned that he’d asked for her number too?
“Like… a date?” you blurted out impulsively, biting into your fist a second later in embarrassment. Way to keep it cool.
“Nice scramble there,” Leon remarked, mildly amused.
That’s when you realized your outgoing image was still on. Your heart was pounding erratically, a faint unease pooling in your stomach. It took you several seconds to find your composure.
“There was a spider.”
He made a sound of recognition, mercifully not pressing further about your embarrassing reaction. “Should I pick you up at eight?”
“Uh… you’re on a mission two states away?”
“No problem. I’ll hurry up and ping you when I need extraction.”
Now you were charmed – evidenced by the soft warmth creeping into your cheeks. “First class this time?”
You had suspected that Leon Kennedy was a true gentleman. Your first date confirmed it.
He picked you up from the FOS in his Porsche – everyone knew it was Leon’s Porsche you were getting into. You braced yourself for the inevitable gossip. A small price to pay for going out with an attractive man and absolute sweetheart.
He opened doors for you, pulled out your chair, ordered sake for you and a lemonade for himself. You knew he didn’t drink – more than that, that he was a recovering alcoholic. You knew a lot about him, things he had either revealed casually in passing or that you had read in his file.
He probably knew everything there was to know about you, too. Still, you never addressed that directly. Instead, you told each other things you both already knew – within a frame that felt safe.
Leon had never spoken about Raccoon City.
“Ever been to Japan?” you asked, sipping your sake as your sushi was served. Leon didn’t just know “a sushi place.” It was the most expensive one in the city.
“Been to China,” Leon answered briefly. His gaze turned distant for a moment. You had heard – and read – about that incident as well. Back then, Leon had faked his own death through Ingrid to pursue the former National Security Advisor, Derek C. Simmons, all the way to China. Everyone knew the story. Leon knew that you knew.
“Can’t really recommend it,” he added smoothly, defusing his slip into the past.
“What were the most beautiful countries you’ve ever seen?” you asked curiously.
Leon studied the sushi in front of him, considering which piece to start with.
“Well,” he began, picking up his chopsticks, “one of them was definitely Scotland… with its lochs.”
He looked up at you, giving you an amused grin – followed by a wink that drew a soft, nervous giggle from you.
All that knowledge about Leon, all the familiarity you had built with him, and that final spark when he had asked you out – it was enough. For you. For both of you. Enough to somehow, naturally, almost supernaturally, keep ending up in the same room again and again, drawn together, drifting closer and closer.
You couldn’t know what Leon truly carried inside him – what he truly felt. But you could help him deal with it.
“You wanna come up for a nightcap?” you asked after your first date, almost completely without shame, without hesitation. It felt natural to want your agent in your space – to protect him.
Leon didn’t hesitate either. He parked the Porsche in front of your building and let you lead him upstairs. As an FSO agent, you didn’t earn poorly, so you could afford a beautiful apartment with a good view.
“Look, a coffee machine I actually enjoy operating,” you joked from the kitchen while preparing an espresso.
“I might not be able to give you what you deserve.”
Leon’s voice behind you was suddenly serious.
Surprised by the emotional shift, you turned to him as the machine hummed and whirred. He was leaning against your dining table, arms folded, head tilted slightly as he watched you. His brow furrowed as it often was, dark blond hair falling into his face – but his eyes carried something you hadn’t seen before. Was it worry? Pain? Whatever it was, it hurt him.
And you knew what he meant. He was a field agent. He had seen and endured things most people couldn’t imagine.
“Oh,” you said softly, leaving the coffee behind and taking a few small steps toward him. As you approached, his arms unfolded instantly.
“Why did you ask me out then?” you asked quietly, carefully – but confident there was something real between you.
He exhaled as you came closer. “Because…” he began, but the words caught in his throat. His eyes were fixed on you – your face, your eyes, your hair, your beautiful smile.
You stopped in front of him, your bodies barely separated, attentive to his reaction in case it became too much – in case he decided this was a mistake.
Leon looked down at you as his body, which had been subtly angled away, shifted forward without conscious effort, directly into your space. You both felt the energy between you – pooling, swirling, growing restless before settling into something steady and quiet.
A soft breath left your lips when he gently – cautiously, even – placed his hands on your hips and pulled you closer. Your bodies met with the soft rustle of fabric. Your stomach flipped, your eyes unblinking as you searched his, whose irises moved slightly, unsure which part of you to focus on next.
“Honestly,” a flicker of amusement returned to his gaze, “I didn’t think that far ahead.”
You blinked, then let out a quiet laugh.
“It’s okay. Don’t worry.”
Even though you knew he couldn’t help but worry.
So you leaned forward and pressed your lips to his.
His hands at your sides stiffened at the sudden contact. More than that – his whole body went rigid for a brief moment. A moment in which he very well could have pulled away.
But then, as if crossing an invisible barrier, Leon released a long breath through his nose. His body relaxed, his shoulders lowering, his hands sliding from your hips to trace your shape. He pulled you firmly against him and leaned fully into the kiss.
From the second he did, everything you had suspected but never fully seen came to the surface. His movements were devoted. No pressure – only going as far as you were willing to give.
The way he searched for you made you lift your hands to his jaw, his stubble lightly prickling your fingertips – his soft exhale against your lips your reward.
The kiss deepened. Your perception blurred – there was only Leon. His closeness. His taste on your tongue. The quiet, instinctive responses of your bodies. Tingling. Shivering. Searching fingers. Deep looks when you finally pulled apart after what felt like forever.
“Espresso…” you whispered with a soft smile, “… or straight to bed?”
Leon’s mind – fogged by you, your scent, your steadiness – slowly returned from the trance you had drawn him into. His glassy eyes refocused. A beat passed as your words sank in – then a deep laugh rumbled from his chest.
“Bed sounds nice,” he murmured, his fingers playing with a strand of your hair. “I’ll probably kick myself for saying this later but… can we take it slow today?”
You almost made a joke, the way you usually did with him – something about the wisdom of old age, or whether he didn’t find you sexy. But your common sense stopped you. He looked vulnerable, so you would treat that vulnerability with care. You nodded in understanding, took his hand, and led him once more – guiding him into your bedroom.
You had realized quickly that Leon S. Kennedy was a special kind of person. Funny, always ready with a remark, content when you laughed – and someone who needed help just as much as he wanted to give it. A veteran who had seen everything, and so rarely received anything in return.
If you could, you would at least be a small comfort to him. A small harbor, if he wanted one.
Leon entered that harbor without hesitation the moment the lighthouse began to shine.
You lay in your bed, clothes having become obsolete for the kind of closeness Leon sought – and found – with you. Your wardrobe lay scattered across the floor; only your bra and panties remained, and his boxers.
The intimacy surrounding you was perhaps more overwhelming than anything you had witnessed during missions with Leon. He enveloped you in his toned body, holding you close enough that your goosebumps brushed against his own, your body heat rising together. You felt not only defined muscle, but the fluttering of his heart against your chest, the small shivers running through him in response to your touch.
He looked at you as though you were a beacon in a pitch-black night – a familiar landmark when searching for the way home. His gaze burned into yours as he studied you intensely, lips parted for more air, devotion and gratitude written across his features. You had to be careful not to fall endlessly just because of that look.
You had no sense of how much time had passed when he exhaled softly and captured your lips again, deep enough to steal your breath. Hands explored – faces, hair, arms, backs. Everything about him so strong it was almost astonishing how soft he became here.
Leon practically melted into you, responding to every touch with a closer press of his body, sometimes even with a content hum against your lips or a gentle squeeze of his hands against your skin. Again and again he sought to move against you, to remain within your space, to feel you.
Even though he had said he wanted to take it slow, his touches grew just a little more suggestive – enough to make actual heat bloom under your skin and draw a quiet moan from you when you felt his arousal against your thigh.
“Sorry,” he murmured only inches from your lips. “You’re very sexy. So soft…” The words faded into the thickened air of your bedroom while his fingers continued tracing their paths along your skin.
“Mhm,” you hummed contentedly, enjoying his touch. “You were the one who said you wanted to take it slow.”
Leon smirked. “Doesn’t mean I won’t react to such a beautiful woman lying almost naked in bed with me.”
Another kiss landed on your lips before he shifted downward, resting his head beneath your chin on the pillow. His lips brushed your skin a few times along your cleavage while his strong arms slipped around you.
When you wrapped your arms around him in return, he sighed in satisfaction. Your bodies fit together perfectly, the atmosphere turning quiet and serene. Your eyelids grew heavy, closing slowly, while Leon inhaled your scent as often as he could.
“You are one good dispatcher,” he rumbled against your skin.
"you got it from here." @misszennya - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
