➺ synopsis: the first ring was a caution, the second ring was confirmation.
➺ tags: mc gets injured, medical terminology may be inaccurate, sweet, fluff, attentive zayne, worried zayne, tooth-rotting fluff, lads zayne, love and deepspace zayne, gender neutral mc, oneshot, zayne taking care of you
➺ wc: 1310
➺ a/n: this oneshot was heavily inspired by https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VBbbXP3YQ3c! I love cloy! likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! have fun reading. ;)
It took 2 rings for Zayne to know that something was up. The first ring was a cautionary one, but when the second ring came through, something was up.
Even during meetings, you would hang up the phone on the first ring. That's how you signaled to Zayne that you were busy. Or you told him in advance and he would put it on his personal calendar.
As he leaned back in his office chair, the telephone began to ring. He picked it up.
Yvonne started. “Dr. Li, your spouse just entered the emergency room. We just got some news of a metaflux explosion in the city.” She pauses, the sound of papers rustling is in the background. “No citizens were hurt, but hunters surveying the area were heavily injured.
“Got it.” Zayne nodded. He ended the call and placed the telephone back onto his desk, quickly walking out of his office.
“Dr. Li-” A voice called out.
“Dr. Li, a patient-”
Zayne rushed through the hospital’s long corridors. Why is the emergency room so far away from my office? He thought to himself. His co-workers' voices were left in the dust. Eventually, Zayne’s long strides got him to the emergency room where Yvonne and Greyson stood.
Greyson was the first to spot Zayne. “Dr. Li, the paramedics wanted you to read this.” He handed Zayne a clipboard and skimmed through the hastily written notes.
Injuries to neck and torso
Unstable chest fractures
Blood pressure <90 mm Hg
“Greyson, I’m heading inside the emergency room.” Zayne stated. “Inform the team.” Greyson nodded and got to work. Yvonne had left to gather additional materials for the other injured hunters.
As Zayne was getting ready, Greyson continued to relay his observations. “Long gashes, possibly debris…” However, Zayne wasn’t able to focus without thinking of you on the emergency room table. Everything Greyson said went through one ear and out the other. Putting on his mask, Zayne swore to get you back to stable condition.
When he entered the room, his eyes laid upon your face. There was dirt touched up upon your cheeks. Your uniform was already discarded as you adorned a hospital gown.
“Dr. Li,” one of the assistants began, “we just hooked them onto anesthesia. We can proceed now."
There was a rhythmic beeping noise beside you. Your eyelashes fluttered open and a blurry figure came into vision.
“Are you awake?” A gentle voice asked. Turning to the source of the sound, you spot Yvonne by your side. She smiles. “Seems like you are. How are you feeling?”
Seems like nurses and doctors have their habit of asking their mildly unconscious patients questions.
You nod slowly and look around the room. “Zayne…”
Yvonne spoke. “I’ll get Dr. Li right away.” She hurried out of the room and a moment later, Zayne came in. You felt your eyes water up at the sight of him.
“Can I get you anything? Hot compress?” Zayne asked, pulling up a chair from the corner of the room. He settled next to your bed.
“No, I’m fine…” You blink slowly. “Just tired.” The both of you hooked pinkies as your hand was poked with a catheter, leading to an IV bag. “No citizens were hurt?”
Zayne shook his head. “Sometimes, I wish you were a little more selfish. And attentive to your needs.” He looks at your weary figure. Your face was pale and your lips were dry.
You lay back in your bed. “I could say the same for you.” You recall the times where Zayne would come home quiet. His silence told you everything he couldn’t say out loud. A failed operation. A child dying. Sometimes, he would embrace you without saying anything. When he did, you held him close and secure.
“They gave you some stitches.” Zayne adds. “You had a long gash on your leg and several cuts on your arm.”
You cupped his cheek with your other hand, your thumb soothing him. “That’s Dr. Li for you.” You stare at him for a bit. “Don’t be scared, Zayne. I’m right here.”
Zayne felt his heart drop. At that moment, he recalled the first time you entered the emergency room. Not for your heart, but for more severe injuries. You scooted over and patted the empty spot beside you on your bed. He looks at you.
“That’s not appropriate.” Zayne says. You rolled your eyes, patting the spot again.
“Since when do you care about that?” You asked, raising a teasing eyebrow. Zayne opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Reluctantly, he sits beside you, the bed slightly dipping due to his weight. Finally, you opened your arms, inviting him into your embrace. Zayne quickly leans in, relishing the new found warmth spreading throughout his body.
When you pull away, you brush back a strand of his hair that was nearly poking him in the eye. That’s when you spot a small scar on his forehead.
“Zayne, you have a scar up here?” You asked, gently touching it.
He nods. His eyes follow your gaze. Your eyebrows are knitted and your bottom lip slightly pushed out. “But that’s barely anything.”
Your eyes widen. “You mean you have bigger scars?”
Zayne nods again. He begins to pull up his shirt to show a scar of his side. Slightly embarrassed, you blink rapidly. “This scar is bigger.” Your finger traces the mark. You don’t see it, but Zayne’s lips curve upwards. As he watches your worried face and concern for him, he can’t help but drag this out further.
“How’d you get that?” You asked. “Is that from a sword?” Zayne holds up his shirt a little longer. “How many stitches did you get?”
He immediately replies. “Fourteen stitches.” Your face contorts. “I was cut by an icicle while researching.” Zayne looks to see your reaction. “In the place I was staying, there was no anesthesia, so I had to sit through the feeling of the needle penetrating my skin.”
You raise your eyebrow in suspicion, but decide to play along. Covering your mouth with your hands, you question, “Without anesthesia?” He nods. “That must’ve hurt… You’re amazing, Zayne.”
He brushes away your comment. “It’s nothing.” You look at him with admiration, making him want to show off more. Then, Zayne begins to unbutton his shirt.
“Zayne-”
“This one,” he points to a red scar near his collarbone. “I was shot a long time ago. The scar is red, but it’s old.”
You leaned in to examine the scar. “Did it hurt a lot?” Zayne nods again.
“Also-” His shirt rustles again. “I have one on my head.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Your head?” You echo.
“Mhm.” Zayne leans his head down, letting you comb through his hair. “Here.”
There’s a small scar near the back of his head. “I see it!”
“And there’s one more here that I got while practicing close combat fighting.” Zayne explained, pointing to the side of his nose.
Leaning in even closer, your face to face with Zayne. However, you still can’t find the scar, even after squinting. “There’s no scar here-”
There’s an abrupt pause as Zayne leans in to kiss you. A lingering warmth on your lips. Zayne pulls away, eyes holding yours.
“Dr. Li, the report is-”
You both turn to the sound of the door opening and see Yvonne standing there with a clipboard. Like a secret couple who has been found out by their parents, you both turn red. Zayne’s ears tainted in red.
She chuckles. “I’ll come back later.”
“Yvonne!” You called out, but she had already left. When you turn to Zayne, he’s looking at your lips. “Zayne…”
He kisses your cheek to distract you from nagging him. “Zayne, I swear no more sweets-” He cradles your face and shuts you up with another kiss on your lips.
Pairing: Leona Kingscholar x Reader
Word Count: 1,730
Gender: GN
Warnings: None, just fluff for my birthday boy!
Tags: @viviennevermillion, @achy-boo, @savanaclaw1996, @atomatoho3, @qaxdea, @katzline
Notes: Okay, I swear I got started on this on the day of Leona's birthday, but then something huge came up, and I was super stressed trying to get that sorted out, so here we are, two days late to posting (at this point, at least I got it done). As usual, let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!
Masterlist
The morning sun streamed through the open window, casting a sharp golden glow over the Savanaclaw dormitory. The air was thick with the remnants of a warm, still night, the silence settling over the room like a comforting blanket. Outside, the occasional rustle of something added a layer of quiet life to the peaceful atmosphere. It was a rare moment of tranquility, one that Leona Kingscholar, for all his bravado and stubbornness, would probably never admit to needing. But you knew better.
You had learned early on that the last thing Leona wanted was a big, noisy birthday celebration. Parties? He'd rather take a nap. Attention? He avoided it like a heatstroke. So, instead of throwing him a flashy bash with the entire school buzzing with activity (you'd leave that to someone else), you decided to give him something much more valuable.
Peace.
A slow morning that was entirely his own. And, if you were lucky, maybe a few moments of warmth that he wouldn't completely dismiss.
You stretched your arms above your head, stifing a yawn as you silently padded around the room. You'd awoken long before Leona's usual waking hour, knowing the time it would take to prepare everything. The note was simple. A single line of carefully written words on parchment (for the aesthetic), just as understated as the rest of the gesture.
"Happy Birthday, Leona. Take your time, it's just us today."
Next to it, you placed the wrapped book (a tome on ancient Sunset Savanah trade routes. You'd been looking for the perfect gift that wouldn't make him roll his eyes or snort in irritation. You'd seen him eye the book once during a library visit and knew it would be something he'd appreciate. He loved history, especially the kind no one else seemed to care about.
With everything set, you took a step back, your gaze lingering on him from across the room. Leona, still lost in the quiet depths of sleep, looked almost serene - no frown tugging at his brow, no scowl darkening his features. Just the soft rise and fall of his chest, slow and peaceful. For a moment, you almost didn't want to disturb the tranquility surrounding him. But you knew that soon enough, slumber would leave him from his rest, and he'd find the little surprises you'd left behind. A smile tugged at the corner of your lips. Today was for him, a rare moment of calm and care. Even if he never said it aloud, you knew - he needed this.
Leona awoke slowly, the quiet of the room the first thing to greet him. Normally, the constant bustle of Savanaclaw would have already filtered into the air - students talking, footsteps echoing down the hall - but today, the usual noise was conspicuously absent. All he could hear were soft rustles outside the window and swaying trees in the distance. He furrowed his brow, disturbed by the stillness of his usually raucous dorm, and then, with an irritated grunt, rolled over to check the time. Mid-morning. Far earlier than he'd intended.
Typical.
His sleep had been dreamless, but now, as he rubbed a hand over his face, trying to shake off the lingering grogginess, something felt off. Usually, Ruggie would have come by to attempt to rouse him from his slumber (and then inevitably give up), but today, today was different.
His gaze drifted toward his nightstand, landing on the small, neatly wrapped package sitting beside a single, folded piece of parchment. His eyes narrowed, annoyance flaring briefly at the sight. Why the hell was there something on his nightstand? He hadn't asked for-
Wait.
His mind started to clear, and suddenly it clicked. Birthday. Right. That.
Leona exhaled sharply through his nose, frustration bubbling to the surface. Of course, today was the day. His birthday (something he'd long ago given up on caring about) was never any reason to celebrate. He could barely drag himself out of bed for the basics, let alone entertain a bunch of idiots who thought throwing him a big celebration would make him happy.
But then...that note.
He grumbled under his breath and reached for the paper, pulling it open with a small, reluctant tug. The words inside were simple, but damn it - there was just something about them. Just the right amount of quiet affection. No frills. It didn't scream for attention. It didn't demand anything of him.
"Happy Birthday, Leona. Take your time, it's just us today."
You. Just you and him.
Leona exhaled, shaking his head as if he could clear the strange, warm feeling that had settled in his chest. The simplicity of it was what had caught him off guard. No grandiose declarations. No obnoxious birthday wishes. Just a promise of peace. Something that was, for once, exactly what he needed but never admitted out loud.
He glanced over at the gift, noticing the leather-bound book tucked beneath the note. His eyes narrowed again, but this time, there was a flicker of curiosity in them. He'd seen this book before, tucked away in a dusty corner of the library - a rare text on ancient Sunset Savanah trade routes. That had been about three months ago, and he hadn't mentioned it to anyone, nor had he even thought about it since then.
How the hell did you find this? And more importantly, how the hell did you remember?
He picked it up, turning it over in his hands, fingers brushing over the embossed symbols that decorated the cover. The faint smell of old parchment clung to it, a familiar scent that reminded him of home. He snorted softly to himself as he flicked the cover open.
"Who needs this much attention?" He muttered under his breath, as though he wasn't practically preening as he thumbed through your very well-thought-out gift. Even as his mind wandered, he couldn't shake the odd lightness in his chest. The note. The book. Something about it was different. It wasn't overbearing. It was subtle. Like you knew exactly what he needed without needing to be told.
The weight of the book settled in his lap as his fingers lightly traced the edges of the pages. His scowl deepened, but there was a quiet sort of comfort in it too.
"How do you always do this?" He asked aloud to the empty room, as though asking for an answer would somehow make sense of the feeling stirring inside him. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. But no answer came. Of course it didn't. It never did.
And that was fine.
He set the book down with a soft sigh, knowing the rest of the day would likely unfold just like this. Quiet. Simple. A day that didn't demand anything of him. He wasn't sure if he should feel grateful or irritated, but there was no denying the small, persistent tug of something warm and fuzzy and loving.
Rolling his shoulders, he slowly pulled himself up from the bed, stretching out the tightness in his limbs. He glanced back at the note, then at the wrapped book. "Guess I can take my time," He muttered, already planning to ignore whatever ridiculousness was coming next. Despite his outer shell of annoyance, deep down, Leona was strangely thankful that, for once, someone did care enough to remind him that it was okay to slow down.
The hallway was still eerily quiet as Leona made his way toward the bathroom, his footsteps echoing softly in the empty space. When he reached the door, he paused, squinting as he noticed a few items on the counter - another unexpected surprise. His eyes flicked over the collection: a small bottle of hair oil, a soft cloth, and a few other items of skincare neatly arranged as if someone had carefully curated them.
"What's all this?" His voice had an edge of suspicion as he stepped into the room, closing the door behind him.
The room was still dim (largely due to you having pulled up the semi-sheer shader curtains), but there was something delicate in the way the light spilled in from the window. It was the same soft, quiet light that had settled over him when he first woke up, only now, it held a different kind of weight. Not heavier, but rather a gentle invitation.
You weren't there yet, but Leona could almost feel your presence hovering in the air. Maybe it was the memory of that damn note, or the strange comfort in knowing you had planned all of this for him, but it made the whole thing feel...different. Special. And, for once, he didn't feel like escaping from it all.
A minute passed before you stepped in, appearing as quietly as ever. You barely had to say anything before Leona's eyes flickered to you, his usual sarcasm creeping in despite the calm in his chest.
"What's all this, huh?" He asked, crossing his arms, clearly trying to mask the odd unease he felt.
You didn't answer immediately. Instead, you simply gave him a soft, knowing smile.
"Your birthday surprise," You replied easily. "A little relaxation. You deserve it, Leona."
His eyes flicked between the items on the counter and your face. "Relaxation, huh?" He scoffed. "You know I don't need any of that."
But there was an unmistakable softness in his voice, one you were quick to notice.
"Are you sure?" You teased gently, stepping closer, fingers brushing against the edge of the towel you'd set out. "Maybe just a little bit of pampering?"
Leona's gaze shifted, somewhere between amusement and irritation. He rubbed the back of his neck, his posture stiffening as he tried to fight the urge to just go along with it.
"Fine," He muttered, dropping the act for a moment. "But don't think this means I'm some helpless cub who needs pampering every damn day."
A quiet laugh slipped past your lips. "We both know that's not true," You said, lifting the small bottle of oil. "This is just...a little something to help you feel better."
His eyes lingered on you for a moment before he sighed, resigning himself. "If it's really gonna help me get out of here faster, I guess I'll let you do your thing."
You smiled, your fingers already working with the oil. "Just relax," You murmured, slowly guiding him to sit.
And, despite himself, he did just that.
Author's Note: I honestly love the fact that I decided to take this one easy, and not focus on making it more than 2,000 words long, because it definitely took a lot of my typical stress off. And though I was pretty sad that I didn't get it done in time for his birthday, I'm still pretty glad that I was able to get it done in the first place. I'm also trying out a new format where, instead of using one long picture as a header, I'm trying out a moodboard-esque style where it's three small square images instead. I'm not sure how I feel about it, so let me know if you guys think it's any better or worse (or if you don't really care)!
A/N: Ugh, I don't feel 27. As a little birthday treat, I'm releasing some birthday-themed one-shots (All gn x reader in case anyone is confused and decides to give me death threats again LMAO)
Full series out so far:
Birthday Bat(Batfam x Platonic!GN!Reader)
Tactical Cake (Leon Kennedy x GN!Reader)
Enjoy, Reader
You knew Leon Kennedy was planning something.
The first sign that Leon Kennedy was planning something was that he was terrible at not planning something.
Not at the actual planning. Leon could map exits, clock weapons, read a room, and improvise a survival strategy out of duct tape, bad lighting, and spite. But hiding affection? That was where the man became suspiciously wooden, like someone had replaced his blood with government-grade panic.
All day, you noticed that he had been strange.
Not distant per se, you would catch it immediately if it were that. But Leon’s distance was a different creature entirely, colder, quieter, usually born from nightmares he did not want to hand you. This was not distance. This was Leon glancing at his phone too often, shutting cabinets a little too fast when you walked in, pretending he had not just been staring at the oven with the grave focus of a man defusing a bomb.
Now the apartment was dim except for the gold spill of kitchen light and the rain trembling against the windows. Outside, the city blurred in wet streaks of red brake lights and neon signs. Inside, it smelled like vanilla, melted chocolate, and something faintly burnt.
You stepped out of the bedroom in socks, paused in the hallway, and listened.
Silence.
Then a low, muttered, “No, no, no. Come on.”
A drawer opened. Something clattered.
Leon sighed.
You leaned against the doorframe. “Are you fighting the kitchen?”
Leon froze.
He stood at the counter in a dark T-shirt and jeans, hair slightly messy, sleeves pushed up his forearms, one hand holding a spatula like evidence. There was flour on his shoulder. A streak of frosting on his wrist. On the counter sat a cake that looked mostly like a cake, though one side had begun a slow emotional collapse.
His blue eyes flicked from you to the cake and back.
“No,” he said.
You looked at the cake.
He looked at the cake.
The cake slumped another centimeter.
Leon’s jaw tightened. “Maybe.”
Your mouth twitched. “Is this classified?”
“It was supposed to be a surprise.”
“It still is.”
“That thing is not a surprise. That thing is a cry for help.”
You laughed, and his expression softened before he could hide it. That was always the thing with Leon. He tried to carry himself like a locked door, but around you, the hinges kept betraying him.
He set the spatula down and rubbed the back of his neck. “Happy birthday.”
No speech, no performance. Just Leon in your kitchen, flour on his shirt, half-ruined cake on the counter, watching you like your birthday is some fragile mission he’s terrified to mess up.
You stepped closer. “You baked?”
“I attempted.”
“You don’t cook.”
“I can cook.”
“You make eggs and call that dinner.”
“They’re good eggs.”
“They’re government eggs.”
He gave you a look. “What does that even mean?”
“Efficient. Sad. Slightly dangerous.”
A huff of laughter escaped him, low and reluctant, and it warmed the kitchen more than the oven had. He turned toward the counter and dragged a hand through his hair, leaving a faint smear of flour near his temple.
“I had a plan,” he said. “Dinner, cake, candles. The whole thing.”
“You made me dinner too?”
His eyes slid toward the sink.
You followed his gaze. There was a pot soaking there. The water had turned orange.
Leon said, very carefully, “Dinner has been postponed.”
“Did dinner lose?”
“Dinner fought hard.”
You bit your lip, but the laugh came anyway. Leon’s shoulders dropped, the tension in him easing by degrees. He watched you laugh like he was memorizing it, like he had seen too many things fall apart and could not quite believe he had made something brighten instead.
“Okay,” he said, reaching for something behind him. “Backup plan.”
He pulled out a paper bag from your favorite takeout place.
Your eyes widened. “Leon.”
“I’m not proud.”
“You absolutely should be.”
“I wanted to do it myself.”
“You did.” You glanced at the cake. “You made modern art.”
He looked offended. “It has structural issues. It is not modern art.”
“Leon, it’s leaning.”
“It’s tactical.”
“The cake is tactical?”
“It’s using cover.”
You laughed again, and this time he smiled fully, quick and crooked and almost boyish, the kind of smile he did not give the world because the world had not earned it. He brought the takeout to the small table by the window, where he had already set two plates, folded napkins, and a little vase with flowers in it. Not roses. Something softer. Wild-looking, pale yellow and white, the kind of flowers that seemed like they belonged in morning light.
There were candles too. Three of them, all slightly different sizes. A small wrapped box sat beside your plate.
You slowed.
Leon noticed. Of course he did. Leon noticed everything. His face shifted, humor quieting into something more careful.
“Too much?” he asked.
You shook your head. “No. Just… you did all this?”
His thumb brushed the edge of the chair before he pulled it out for you. “You deserve a good birthday.”
The words settled between you, warm and aching.
Leon said things like that with a strange, raw honesty. He didn’t dress up affection. He just set it down, plain and bare, and let it breathe. Sometimes it hurt more than poetry ever could.
You sat. He took the chair across from you. For a while, the night was easy, rain against glass, takeout opened between you. Leon tried to act like he hadn’t ordered all your favorites, but he had. His knee brushed yours under the table and stayed. Candlelight caught in his hair, softened the sharp line of his cheek, made him look less like a man built by disaster and more like someone who’d finally found a quiet room after years of alarms.
“You’re staring,” he said, though he was smiling faintly.
“So are you.”
“I’m observing.”
“That’s romantic.”
“I can be romantic.”
“You called the cake tactical.”
“And you liked it.”
“I liked you calling the cake tactical.”
“Still counts.”
You shook your head, smiling as you picked up your drink. “You’re ridiculous.”
His gaze dipped, then lifted again. Softer. “Only around you.”
The room went quiet after that, but not uncomfortably. Leon reached across the table and brushed his fingers over yours, not grabbing, not asking for attention too loudly. Just touching. A small anchor. His hand was warm, calloused, familiar. You turned your palm over, and he laced your fingers together.
For all his strength, Leon touched you like tenderness had rules he was still learning. Like he was afraid to bring the rough parts too close. You hated that, how he thought love needed him harmless. But you loved him for every part; the complicated, restless sides as much as the gentle ones. You loved him as he was: tired eyes, dry humor, old grief, stubborn heart. A man who kept surviving and still remembered your favorite food.
After dinner, he stood and retrieved the cake with dramatic seriousness.
It had sunk further on one side.
You pressed your lips together.
“Do not laugh,” he said.
“I’m not.”
“You are internally laughing.”
“I would never.”
He set the cake down between you. The frosting was uneven, but there were sprinkles scattered over it in an enthusiastic little storm. Across the top, in blue icing, he had written: HAPPY BIRTHDAY.
The laughter vanished from your throat.
Leon looked away first. “I know it’s cheesy.”
“It’s not.”
“It is.”
“Leon.”
He went still at the sound of his name.
You looked at the cake, then at him. “It’s perfect.”
His face barely changed, but you saw it; the small break in his guard, the relief he tried to bury, the way his eyes softened until they were almost too much to look at.
He cleared his throat. “You haven’t tasted it yet.”
“I’m judging emotionally.”
“That’s dangerous.”
“I live dangerously. I’m dating you.”
“Fair.”
He lit a single candle and turned off the kitchen light, leaving only the tiny flame and the city glow. The candle made a small golden circle over the ruined cake, over Leon’s hands, over the wrapped box, over the flowers bending in their little vase. Outside, thunder rolled somewhere far away, a tired sound, almost gentle.
Leon leaned back in his chair. “Make a wish.”
You looked at him across the candlelight.
There were so many things you could wish for. A year without blood on his clothes. A night where he slept through until morning. A world that stopped asking him to be brave because it could not be bothered to be kind. A future that did not flinch every time his phone rang. You wanted absurd things too, impossible things: slow Sundays, burnt pancakes, matching mugs, Leon laughing without checking the exits first. And even if most of these wishes seemed far away, you still hoped for gentler years ahead, for soft days to come, believing that each small, quiet moment together might be the start of something brighter.
But he was here. He was safe tonight. He had baked you a collapsing cake and written glad you exist in crooked icing.
That was already a wish with a pulse.
You blew out the candle.
Leon watched the smoke curl upward. “What’d you wish for?”
“You know I can’t tell you.”
“Right. Birthday law.”
“Very serious.”
“Wouldn’t want to interfere with the magic.”
“You fight bioweapons and draw the line at birthday magic?”
“Absolutely. I have priorities.”
He cut the cake badly. Somehow, impossibly, it tasted good. A little too sweet, a little uneven, but warm with vanilla and effort. Leon looked almost suspicious when you took another bite.
“You don’t have to pretend,” he said.
“I’m not pretending.”
“You’re eating the structurally compromised part.”
“It’s delicious.”
He took a bite from his own plate. Paused. “Huh.”
“Told you.”
“I may have overreacted.”
“You called it a cry for help.”
“It looked worse before.”
“I am fascinated and terrified by that.”
He smiled into his fork.
After the cake, he pushed the wrapped box toward you. “One more thing.”
The wrapping was simple, dark paper folded neatly, though the tape on the bottom betrayed him. Inside was a small leather keychain embossed with your initials. Attached to it was a silver charm, simple and understated: a tiny shield on one side, and on the back, engraved in small letters, was "come home safe." He glanced at you before you could speak, eyes a little vulnerable. He had spent too long looking at possible gifts, second-guessing everything, until he saw the shield. It wasn't flashy, but he thought of its meaning: a promise, a wish for safety, the smallest measure of protection he could offer when he couldn't always be there himself. The words had taken him longer. He'd wanted something simple, never dramatic, just what he carried in his heart each time you left the apartment: that you would always, somehow, find your way back home to him.
Your fingers stilled.
Leon’s voice was quiet. “I know you’re not the one running into danger every day. But I still…” He stopped, jaw flexing once. “I still want that for you. Always.”
The kitchen blurred slightly.
He looked down at his hands. “Too dramatic?”
You stood, rounded the table, and wrapped your arms around him. Leon froze for half a breath, then pulled you in close, his face turning into your shoulder. His arms came around you with a careful strength that made something inside you ache.
“No,” you whispered. “Not too dramatic.”
He held you tighter.
For a while, neither of you moved. Rain kept falling. Candle smoke faded. The city hummed outside, restless and bright. Inside, the apartment stayed warm; takeout containers, cake crumbs, and flowers Leon probably spent twenty minutes choosing with the same grim determination he brought to survival.
You remembered another night, quiet and late, when you'd found yourselves sharing a midnight snack on the kitchen floor after a day that hadn’t gone right. Back then, it was leftover pizza and a single birthday candle in a cupcake, both of you laughing too loud and clumsy with tired happiness. That night, he’d told you in a low voice that he’d never imagined birthdays could feel like home. Now, with Leon's arms around you and the city pressed gently against the windows, you realized how many moments like that had stitched themselves into the life you'd built together.
Eventually, he murmured, “I’m sorry the cake collapsed.”
You smiled against his hair. “I love the cake.”
“You love the idea of the cake.”
“I love the tactical cake.”
His laugh was quiet, tucked into your shoulder. “Never living that down, am I?”
“Not a chance.”
He pulled back just enough to look at you, hands at your waist, his face open in the low light. Still Leon. Still bruised by old ghosts, still carrying too much, but here. Yours. Trying. Soft in the places he trusted you to see.
“Happy birthday,” he said again, and this time his voice was almost a whisper.
You touched the flour still smudged near his temple. “Thank you for making it good.”
His eyes flicked over your face, slow and tender. “You make it easy to want to.”
Later, you ended up on the couch under a blanket, the ruined cake on the coffee table, the takeout half-forgotten, some terrible old movie playing low on the television. Leon sat close enough that your shoulder pressed into his chest, one arm wrapped around you, thumb moving absently over your sleeve. His shirt smelled faintly of clean cotton and something quietly familiar, warmth and comfort lingering beneath the fabric. Every so often, he made a dry comment about the movie’s terrible tactics, and every so often, you told him the tactical cake had no room to judge. He would huff, kiss the top of your head, and pretend not to smile.
Outside, the rain turned the windows silver. Inside, the candles burned low.
And for one night, no alarms. No missions. No monsters in the dark. Just Leon’s heartbeat under your cheek, steady and stubborn. The strange, golden comfort of being loved by someone who’d seen the worst of the world and still chosen, with flour on his shirt and frosting on his wrist, to make something sweet for you.
A/N: Happy Birthday to anyone celebrating their birthday and reading this!!! Hope you have a great birthday!
C’s corner: Yes, I’m a few days late posting this for Bucky’s birthday, but better late than never, right? I still wanted to give him something soft, sweet, and a little special, even if it showed up a few days behind schedule. So here’s some birthday fluff for our favorite man, with a little tower chaos thrown in for balance.
WARNINGS: mutual pining, first kiss, kissing, emotional vulnerability, love confession, gentle physical intimacy, touch as comfort, birthday celebration, surprise party, teasing, team shenanigans, protective Bucky Barnes, soft Bucky Barnes, fluff.
✍🏽 WC: 3.2K+
SUMMARY: What started as a bad idea according to Yelena turns into the best part of Bucky’s birthday.
You're standing on a chair in the main common area of the Tower, one hand braced against the wall, the other trying to tape up a gold banner that absolutely refuses to cooperate, when Yelena walks in, stops cold, and says "This is a terrible idea."
You don't even look down. "Good afternoon to you too."
"It is not good afternoon. It is afternoon where you are making deeply foolish choice." She points at the banner. "Surprise birthday party for Barnes? In this place? He will walk in, see balloons, and immediately assume hostage situation."
You snort and press the tape harder. "It's not a party."
"Banner," Yelena says, counting on her fingers. "Balloons. Cake hidden in kitchen. Sam Wilson texting every eight minutes. This is a party."
"It's a birthday dinner."
"Involving surprise."
"Only a small one."
"Still surprise."
You finally hop down from the chair and glare at her while smoothing out the front of your shirt. Around you, the common room looks suspiciously cozy for a place usually full of weapons, sarcastic comments, and at least one person stomping around like they're in a war documentary.
You'd worked hard for that.
The giant windows had been opened earlier to let in the late afternoon light. The ugly industrial table had been covered with a dark table runner you found shoved in a storage closet. A few strands of warm lights were hanging along the railing upstairs, softening the whole steel and concrete look of the place. The cake was hidden in the kitchen fridge behind three protein shakes, one unlabeled container Alexei swore was stew, and whatever glowing green thing Bob had called "a harmless experiment."
It wasn't huge. It wasn't over the top. It was just enough.
Enough to feel warm. Enough to feel intentional. Enough to give Bucky something he'd probably never ask for on his own.
Yelena crosses her arms. "You are doing that face again."
You pause. "What face?"
"The one where you pretend this is a friendly gesture and not tragic romance."
Heat creeps into your face. "It is not tragic romance."
From the couch, Ava doesn't look up from the knife she's cleaning. "It's definitely romance."
You whip toward her. "Whose side are you on?"
"Mine," Ava says. "But objectively? You color coded the food labels."
"That was practical."
Yelena makes a smug noise. "Lovesick."
You point a finger between them. "Neither of you gets to talk right now."
Alexei barrels into the room carrying two grocery bags and a bouquet of red carnations that look like they were wrestled out of somebody's front yard.
"Aha!" he booms. "Decorations improve morale. I said this. In prison also, little effort goes long way."
You stare. "Alexei... why do you have flowers?"
He looks offended. "Because birthday. Because celebration. Because man deserves beauty."
Yelena narrows her eyes. "Those are stolen."
"They are borrowed by destiny."
Ava snorts.
Before you can answer, the elevator dings and John walks out carrying two cases of drinks against his chest.
He takes one look at the room, then at you standing under the crooked banner, and smirks. "Well. This is domestic."
You throw a napkin at him. "You're late."
"I had to stop Bob from buying four more bags of ice."
Bob appears right behind him, balancing plastic bags and looking genuinely wounded. "You said we needed extra."
"We needed one," John says.
Bob shrugs helplessly. "I got nervous."
You can't help laughing a little. "Just put it in the kitchen."
John heads that way, but not before his eyes flick over the room again, then back to you. "For the record," he says, "I think Barnes is either gonna love this or stare at all of us like he's planning seven separate murders."
"Thank you," you deadpan. "Very reassuring."
From near the window, Sam looks up from his phone. "Nah, he'll be fine."
Sarah, arranging plates beside him, gives you a gentler smile. "He will. And even if he acts weird for a minute, that doesn't mean he hates it."
You exhale a little. "That helps more than Sam's version."
Sam puts a hand to his chest. "I'm helping too."
"You called this 'Operation Old Man Celebration,'" you remind him.
"And I stand by it."
Yelena mutters, "You all are lucky he likes any of you."
You glance around the room.
Sam and Sarah by the table. Ava lurking nearby with that detached look that fools nobody anymore. Alexei rearranging flowers in an empty protein shaker because apparently that was happening. Bob nervously checking whether the cake was still intact. John returning from the kitchen and immediately stealing a roll from the tray. Yelena still glaring at the entire concept of emotional vulnerability.
It's chaotic. A little ridiculous. A little patched together. But there's warmth here and that matters.
You smooth your hands down your jeans. "He likes me enough to go along with it."
The words slip out before you can stop them.
The room goes quiet.
Not fully quiet, because Alexei is still humming to himself while attacking the flowers, but enough.
Yelena's face becomes insufferable almost instantly. Ava raises one brow. Sam turns slowly toward you with the expression of a man who just heard gossip drop from the heavens. John actually laughs.
Sarah is the only one kind enough to wince in sympathy.
You close your eyes. "Nope. None of you heard that."
"Oh, we absolutely heard that," Sam says.
Ava slides the knife back into its sheath. "Interesting choice of wording."
John leans against the kitchen doorway, grinning in that annoyingly sharp way he has when he knows he's caught something good. "Likes you enough, huh?"
"Oh my God."
Bob, entirely too earnest, says, "That sounded really affectionate."
"Thank you, Bob," you mutter, "for making it worse."
Alexei slaps a big hand over his heart. "It is beautiful. Love in time of assassins."
"Please stop talking," you say.
Yelena strolls closer, enjoying every second. "You are gone. Completely."
You grab the stack of napkins and shove them into her hands. "Fold these."
"I am being punished for telling the truth." But she does it, still smirking.
The next hour is a blur.
Sam lights candles, then forgets where the matches are five minutes later. Sarah fixes the table after Alexei's flower arrangement starts leaking suspicious water. Bob has to be physically stopped from writing "Happy Birthday James Buchanan Barnes" in full on the little drink labels. John keeps pretending he's not helping while very obviously helping, moving chairs, checking sightlines to the elevator, muttering about timing. Ava mostly hovers in the background, but every time something starts tipping into disaster, she quietly fixes it before anyone can complain.
By the time everything is ready, the Tower feels transformed. Less like a base, more like a home someone might actually want to return to. That thought alone makes your chest tighten.
You stand nearest the elevator, hands clasped in front of you, listening for it.
Sarah notices right away. "You okay?"
"Ask me in five minutes."
Sam smirks. "You look like you're the one being ambushed."
"I might throw up."
John, arms crossed beside the kitchen entry, says, "That'd ruin the mood."
You glare at him.
He lifts one shoulder. "Just saying."
Then the elevator dings.
Every person in the room stills.
The doors slide open.
Bucky steps out, jacket over one shoulder, keys in hand, looking tired in that quiet way he always does after a long day. He takes two steps into the common room before he notices the lights, the people, the table, the banner.
He stops, dead still. For one long second, nobody says anything.
Then Sam lifts a hand. "Surprise."
You cut him a look. "That's what you came up with?"
"I panicked."
Bucky's eyes move across the room slowly. Sam. Sarah. Ava. John. Bob. Alexei, who is already smiling like this is the happiest day of his life. Yelena by the table, looking smug. Then his gaze lands on you and stays there.
"You did this?" he asks.
It's not accusatory, just surprised.
You take one step toward him. "Before you say anything, Yelena told me this was a terrible idea."
"Because it was," Yelena says.
John folds his arms. "Still might be."
Sarah elbows Sam before he can add anything unhelpful.
Bucky keeps looking at you. "You planned all this?"
You nod, suddenly feeling every little thing you did to get here pressing warm and embarrassing against your ribs. "Just something small. Dinner. People you actually know. No speeches. No weird games. No giant crowd."
Alexei raises a finger. "I did prepare one short toast."
"No," everyone says at once.
A faint twitch pulls at the corner of Bucky's mouth.
Your heart does a ridiculous little somersault.
You soften your voice. "You don't have to do anything. We just... wanted one good night for you."
That does it. The humor in his face fades into something gentler, something caught off guard.
His eyes flick up to the crooked banner. "You made that?"
You groan. "I fought for my life with tape."
Ava murmurs, "It was embarrassing to watch."
Bucky lets out a quiet breath through his nose that sounds almost like a laugh and just like that, the room exhales with him.
Sam drops onto the couch. "There he is."
Bucky steps fully inside the room now, still looking at you. "You really did all this for me?"
Your voice comes out smaller, softer. "Yeah."
He holds your gaze for a moment that feels longer than it probably is. Then he says, "Thanks."
Simple, but it lands heavy.
You smile. "Happy birthday, Bucky."
Something in his expression softens enough to make your chest ache.
The night settles after that and somehow, impossibly, it works.
It works because Sam knows when to push and when to leave things alone. Because Sarah keeps the whole room from spinning off its axis. Because Ava's silence is more companionable than awkward. Because Bob is weird in a harmless, oddly endearing way that makes Bucky blink at him like he still hasn't figured him out. Because Alexei is too openly sincere to be annoying for long. Because John keeps the sharper edges of the room occupied with dry commentary and enough self awareness not to make himself the center of anything.
And because Bucky, slowly, carefully, lets himself be there. He takes the teasing, barely.
He accepts a drink from Sam. Lets Sarah hand him a plate. Endures one booming shoulder clap from Alexei with only mild visible suffering.
At one point Bob gives him a gift bag full of protein bars and says, with total sincerity, "I didn't know what kind of things you like, so I picked practical snacks," and Bucky stares at him for a second before quietly saying, "Thanks," like he genuinely means it.
You catch him smiling more than once. Small smiles, but real ones, and every time you do, it feels like you could live off that for a week.
The only problem is that he keeps looking at you. Not casually, not in passing.
At one point you're in the kitchen, checking the candles on the cake again, when he appears beside you without a sound.
"You've checked those three times," he says.
You jump and whip around. "Jesus, Bucky."
His mouth twitches. "Saw you doing it earlier too."
Heat floods your face. "You weren't supposed to notice that."
His eyes stay on yours. "Saw a lot."
Before you can respond, John yells from the next room that Alexei is trying to throw confetti everywhere, and the moment breaks apart.
Still, the words stay with you.
Saw a lot.
By the time dinner's over, the Tower looks pleasantly wrecked.
Empty glasses, crumpled wrapping paper, a lopsided bouquet. Candles burned almost to wax puddles. Gold stars scattered across the concrete floor. Bob asleep in one of the lounge chairs for ten full minutes before jerking awake and claiming he was "meditating."
Eventually, people start peeling off.
Sam and Sarah are the first to leave, after hugs and a quiet squeeze to your shoulder from Sarah that says more than words would.
Alexei announces he is going to "respect privacy" in a voice so loud it does the opposite, then disappears toward the gym.
Bob, after awkwardly wishing Bucky a happy birthday again, wanders off toward the lab level with leftover cake in hand.
Ava lingers just long enough to pass by you and murmur, "He had a good night," before heading down the hall.
John grabs two empty bottles from the counter, glances between you and Bucky, and smirks.
"Don't make it weird," you warn.
"I wasn't gonna say anything."
"You were absolutely gonna say something."
He lifts his hands. "I'm going."
As he passes Bucky, he claps him once on the shoulder. "Happy birthday, man."
Bucky nods. "Thanks."
Then John's gone too.
That leaves only you, Bucky, and Yelena.
Yelena looks between the two of you with open disgust. "If neither of you does anything interesting after all this, I will be offended."
"Goodnight, Yelena," you say tightly.
She points at you. "You. Be brave."
Then at Bucky. "You. Be less weird."
Bucky actually snorts.
Yelena looks satisfied with herself and disappears down the hall.
And suddenly, it's quiet.
You start gathering plates mostly because standing still feels impossible.
Bucky watches you for a moment, then says, "You don't have to clean all this up now."
You glance over. "I know."
He leans one hip against the table. "Then why are you?"
You lift a napkin and shrug. "Because if I stop moving, I might combust."
That earns a small smile. He watches you a second longer, then steps closer. "No one's ever done this for me," he says quietly.
You pause and turn. He's close enough now that the rest of the room starts to blur at the edges.
You try for a smile. "You mean surprise you against your will in a building full of unstable people?"
His mouth lifts slightly. "That too."
The humor fades from his face, leaving something softer behind.
"It wasn't just tonight," he says.
Your breath catches. "What do you mean?"
His eyes flick toward the table, the cake, the half wilted flowers, then back to you. "I noticed all of it."
Your heart stumbles.
"The list you kept folded in your pocket," he says. "The way you kept checking the time. How you kept fixing things that didn't need fixing. You going back out yesterday because Sam texted you that Sarah forgot the candles."
You stare at him. He noticed all of it.
You swallow. "I didn't think you knew."
His expression softens. "I know more than you think I do."
He steps closer. Slow enough to stop, slow enough to give you time.
You don't move away.
"You were worried I'd hate it," he says softly.
"A little."
"And you still did it."
You let out a shaky breath. "You're worth a little fear."
That lands deep. You see it in the way his jaw tightens once. In the way his eyes drop briefly to your mouth before returning to yours.
"You can't say things like that," he says, voice lower now.
Your pulse jumps. "Why?"
He's so close now. So close the air feels warmer between you. "Because I'm already trying not to make this selfish."
Your breath catches. "Selfish?"
His hand lifts slowly, carefully, until his fingers brush your jaw and settle against the side of your neck.
The touch is devastatingly gentle.
"This," he says.
You go still. Your hand rises on instinct, wrapping lightly around his wrist, holding him there.
"Bucky," you whisper.
His eyes darken with something warm and carefully restrained.
"I spent the whole night trying not to stare at you," he says quietly. "Whole week, really. You kept acting like everything was normal, and I knew you were up to something. Something good." His thumb shifts once against your skin. "Every time you smiled at me, I kept wondering if I had anything to do with it."
You step closer until your bodies are almost touching.
"You did," you whisper. "All of it."
Something in him gives at that. His metal hand braces on the table beside your hip, caging you in without trapping you. His forehead hovers just shy of yours.
"You keep doing that," he murmurs.
"Doing what?"
"Making me feel like maybe I get to have things I stopped asking for."
The words hit you straight in the chest.
You lift your hand and place it over his heart. "You do," you say.
His gaze drops to your hand, then returns to your face. "You say that like you mean it."
"I do mean it."
For one quiet beat, he just looks at you. Then his forehead lowers until it rests against yours.
"You have no idea what that does to me."
Your fingers tighten lightly over his wrist. "Maybe I do."
His breath leaves him in a quiet, shaky little exhale. Then his eyes drop to your mouth.
"Can I?" he asks.
The words brush your lips.
You nod once. "Please."
And then he kisses you, slow, warm. Achingly intimate. Like he's been holding this back for so long he doesn't want to rush a second of it now that he finally has it.
His hand stays gentle against your cheek, thumb brushing once under your eye, and when you lean fully into him, his breath shudders softly against your mouth. Your fingers tighten over his wrist, then slide higher, curling lightly into the front of his shirt.
The kiss deepens just a little, intimate enough to make your knees feel unreliable.
When he pulls back, it's only far enough to breathe.
Your foreheads stay together.
You whisper, "Happy birthday."
A small, helpless smile breaks across his face.
"Best one I've had in a long time."
Then, from somewhere down the hall, Yelena yells,
"IF YOU TWO KEEP KISSING WITHOUT SHARING LEFTOVER CAKE, I WILL BECOME VIOLENT."
You gasp and bury your face against Bucky's chest with a laugh.
Above you, Bucky actually laughs too, full and low and warm, his arm coming around your waist.
From farther away, Alexei's voice booms, "SAVE ME LARGE SLICE!"
And then John, even farther down the hall "Nobody save him anything!"
You're still laughing when you look back up at Bucky.
He's smiling. The kind that reaches his eyes and stays there.
His hand settles warm at your waist. "Think privacy's not happening tonight."
You grin. "Probably not."
His gaze drops to your mouth again. "We could still take one more minute."
Your breath catches. You lean up first this time.
When he kisses you again, soft and smiling and a little less careful now, the tower finally feels like exactly what you were trying to make it all night.
Summary: "You got me a present? Wow, thanks. Oh yeah, you free after this Senpai?" - Sho's birthday voiceline.
Summary: "You got me a present? Wow, thanks. Oh yeah, you free after this Senpai?" - Sho's birthday voiceline (yes i’m lazy to put actual summary)
The faint roar of Bonnie’s engine reached you before you saw him. Sho was leaning casually against his motorcycle, hands shoved deep into his pocket jeans like he had all the time in the world. His smirk was already in place when his blue eyes found you.
“There you are. You planning to keep me waiting on my birthday?”
You rolled your eyes, though a smile tugged at your lips. “I’m right on time.”
“Mm. If you say so.”
You took a breath and pulled the small wrapped box from behind your back. “Here. This is for you.”
His brows rose, and for once, that cocky expression cracked. “You got me a present?”
He ripped the wrapping without hesitation and revealed the silver bracelet, engraved with tiny flame patterns. The way he stared at it made your chest warm.
“…Wow. Thanks. You didn’t have to, Senpai.”
“Of course I did,” you said, flustered. “It’s your birthday.”
His grin returned, sharper. “Guess I owe you one. Or maybe…” He leaned in close, “…you just wanted an excuse to spend more time with me.”
Heat rushed to your face. “That’s not—!”
Sho only chuckled and swung onto Bonnie, revving the engine. “You free after this?”
“…I suppose.”
“Good. You’re coming with me.” he said, tilting his head with that cocky grin of his. He handed you a spare helmet.
“Excited much?” you teased as you climbed on behind him, trying to ignore how your heart sped up at the closeness.
“Of course. Been stuck in that academy long enough. Today’s my day.” He smirked.
And just like that, you were on the seat behind him, arms wrapped around his waist, as the bike roared toward the city lights.
· · · · ──────────── ·✶· ──────────── · · · ·
By the time you both parked near the ramen shop, the sun had dipped low, replaced by neon buzzing signs.
“Birthday dinner,” Sho said casually, tossing his keys in one hand. “Ramen’s on me.”
You laughed. “So much for fine dining.”
“Hey. Ramen’s a classic. Don’t complain.”
Inside, the air was warm with the scent of broth and chatter. You and Sho dug into steaming bowls, and he leaned over his palm holding the chopsticks, smirking as you blew on your noodles.
“You better finish that,” he teased. “I’m not carrying you back.”
You were about to retort when your gaze caught on a table nearby—a group of drunk men crowding a girl in a high school uniform. She shrank into her seat as they laughed and leaned too close. Your hands clenched.
Sho followed your glare and immediately frowned. “Don’t,” he muttered. “It’s not our problem.”
“She’s scared. No one’s helping her.”
“Senpai.” His voice lowered, warning. “Don’t do anything reckless.”
But your chair scraped before he finished.
“Oi,” you called, walking to their table. “Leave her alone.”
All three turned, eyes gleaming with mischief. One sneered. “Well, look what we got here. A fiery one, you her friend?”
“Something like that,” you said firmly. “Now back off.”
Instead of listening, they smirked. “Maybe we’ll keep you company instead.”
The heat in your chest boiled over. A sharp crack echoed as you punched one square in the jaw. He stumbled back, clutching his face in shock. Gasps filled the shop. The second man snarled and raised his arm—
But Sho was already there, blocking the swing with ease. His smirk flashed sideways at you. “Now you’re stealing the show, huh?”
The air was thick with tension, broken only by the furious owner storming in. “OUT! All of you! OUT before I call the cops!”
The drunkards stumbled away, grumbling. You, Sho, and the girl were shoved outside into the street, the warm bowls of ramen left unfinished.
“I-I’m so sorry,” she stammered. “Thank you for helping me!”
You softened, giving her a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about it. Wanna grab ice cream with us?”
Sho sighed loudly behind you and said, “Unbelievable.” but he didn’t argue further. Soon, the three of you were seated on a bench outside a convenience store, eating cones under the glow of a flickering streetlamp.
· · · · ──────────── ·✶· ──────────── · · · ·
The girl giggled nervously as you and Sho bickered over whose ice cream was bigger. For a brief, strange moment, it felt like a third-wheel date for the girl—Sho teasing you, you shoving his shoulder, and the girl laughing like she’d accidentally stumbled into a romcom.
When she finally stood, she bowed deeply. “Thank you again, big sis and big brother! I’ll never forget this!”
You waved her off with a smile. As soon as she was gone, Sho sighed, leaning back. “You’re honestly a chaos.”
You laughed. “I couldn’t just ignore it. Someone had to help.”
His lips curved slowly into a smirk—not sharp this time, but softer. “…Yeah. Figures. Maybe that’s what I like about you.”
Your breath caught. Did he really just—? But before you could press him, he was already standing, hands in his pockets. “C’mon. Still got one last stop.”
· · · · ──────────── ·✶· ──────────── · · · ·
The ride back was quieter, the city fading into the dark countryside until Bonnie finally stopped at a cliff overlooking the twinkling lights below. The ocean stretched endlessly, reflecting the moonlight like silver glass and the night air was cool, brushing against your skin as you slid off the bike.
You turned to stretch, but Sho’s hand caught your wrist.
“Hey.” His voice was low, softer than before. “Thanks… for today. For the present and for being here. Also a crazy day, huh? Didn’t think my birthday would end with a fistfight and free ice cream.”
You blinked at him, surprised.
“It was supposed to be my spotlight,” he continued, blue eyes steady on yours. “But you stole it. And I don’t mind. I wouldn’t mind if you stole it every damn time.”
For once, his usual cocky smirk faltered, replaced by something gentler. He stepped closer, the faint scent of broth and motor oil still clinging to him. His hand brushed against yours, tentative, before he leaned in.
The kiss was slow at first, almost questioning, then it deepened, warm and certain, stealing the breath from your lungs.
When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours. His grin returned, but softer this time. “That’s the best gift I could ever ask for.”
Your entire face burned. Words tangled on your tongue, refusing to form, and Sho only laughed at your flustered state.
John delivers the statement in as serious a tone as he can muster.
There’s no reply from behind the newspaper. Sherlock is pyjama-clad, sprawled in his chair, bare feet out toward the fire puttering in front of them.
John clears his throat. “Do you know what day it is?”
“Sunday.” The answer’s quickly delivered, but Sherlock continues to hide behind his paper.
Not exactly what John wants to hear. The world’s most observant detective can sometimes be blind to the obvious, but this time it’s not likely. Wearily, he asks, “Today’s date?”
A sigh. The newspaper is lowered to the point where those blue eyes can glare at him. “The fifteenth of January. But what you really mean is that Watson’s birthday is less than a month away.”
“Good deduction. We can’t wait any longer if we’re to avoid a repeat of last year’s debacle.”
You were at an outdoor mall in Zuzu City with Haley. She had dragged you into a small boutique. The shop had cute clothes, but was poorly lit.
“Haley, you done yet?” You called out. She had been in the dressing room for centuries. She was in there for so long that you believed you might end up forgetting the image of her bright blonde hair.
“Almost!” She exclaimed. You knew that was probably a lie.
After what felt like forever, she finally came out with a pink cardigan and some more clothes that she wasn’t wearing draped around her arm. Some of the clothes were yours. “I’m going to go put one of these shirts back. It’s too tight.” Haley pointed at a purple tank top. She went to where she found the top and slipped it back onto the hanger. She then paid.
“Those clouds are pretty,” you said as you left the store with her. There were a few fluffy clouds, but a small wispy one caught your eye. It was just a floaty little line, but it looked soft. It was like wool spun by the sky, which was completely blue all over behind the clouds. You couldn’t believe you were excited over something as mundane as a blue sky, but it was a rare sight in winter.
“Yeah, it better not rain though,” Haley replied. She had two shopping bags in her hand.
“Haley, name one time it rained in winter,” you giggled. You kept walking along the pavement, Haley’s heels clacking.
“That’s just in the valley. I’m sure it’s rained in winter in the city before.” Haley turned and stepped into a bookstore. The store had gray carpet and seemed to go on for miles.
“Oh my gosh, they have so many magazines!” Haley gaped at the shelf full of magazines. She pulled out a fashion magazine, her fingers unconsciously running along the smooth cover.
“Yeah, there’s a ton! I wonder if I could find an almanac?” You tried to hold back your laugh as Haley looked like her eyes were going to fall out of their sockets. You took a closer look, and there weren’t many good magazines. It was mostly celebrity gossip. You had a feeling you were going to be there for ages as she looked, just like in the boutique. You sighed. “Probably no almanacs, but oh well.”
“Ugh, there’s no good magazines here. I’m going to look for romance novels,” Haley scoffed.
“Alright, I’m going to look at the comic books.” Sebastian’s birthday was in two days, and you wanted to get him a gift.
You strolled over to the comic book section. Picking a book was a tough choice because even though you knew your boyfriend well, he would probably like any of the comic books. You wanted the best one though. You picked one up. “Would Sebastian like this one?” You wondered. “Nah,” you put it back.
You paced around in circles, frustrated. Which comic book would he like? You couldn’t ask anybody, because the only other people who are close to him are Robin, Sam, and Abigail. You were too embarrassed to text Abigail or Sam, and Robin was working.
An idea entered your mind. You opened your messages with Sebastian. You scrolled far enough to where he mentioned his favorite comic and was only missing issue #754, and his collection was almost done.
An employee came up to you and asked, “Need help finding anything?” She had light blonde hair in a wavy lob and a soft purple lipstick.
“Yeah, actually. Do you have issue #754 of Cave Saga X? Sorry that that’s specific. It’s for my boyfriend,” you asked.
The employee thought for a moment, then replied. “Yes, I think so.” She smiled. She picked up the issue and handed it to you.
“Thank you so much!” You exclaimed. You were shocked because it was a rare issue. The store had a bunch of old stuff though.
Haley walked to you as the employee walked away. “Hey, Y/N! I found this romance novel. Wanna check out now?” She sauntered to the checkout along with you after you nodded.
You grabbed one of the “Happy Birthday” cards and pulled some money out of your wallet. You didn’t mind paying for Haley’s romance novel because she paid for clothes earlier. You paid and walked out.
“I won’t bother you any longer. I have to go to the mines to get bat wings. Bye, Haley!” You hugged her.
After harvesting all your ripe powdermelons and feeding all your animals, you rushed into your farmhouse and opened the drawer of your nightstand. You pulled out the card and a pen.
You controlled the pen in your hand, gently gliding it across the paper, “Happy birthday, Sebby. I love you so much.” You wrote, smiling.
You grabbed the comic off the table. You then skipped outside, until your feet hit the snow, and then you were slogging because of the heavy snow. You went to the path behind your house. The snow swooshed beneath your boots. You saw some glistening crystal fruit on your way, which you would probably get later.
You made it to the mountains, then headed into the carpenter’s shop. You wiped your feet on the rug. The transition from the snowy path to the wooden floors felt relieving, and you sighed at the warm air. You started going down the stairs. The skinny handrail was the only thing to support you as you began going down the steep stairs. You went into to Sebastian’s room.
“Hi, Seb! Happy birthday.” Your chest felt warm as you saw him sitting at his computer, gazing at you with his dark hazel eyes.
“Hi, Y/N! You look nice.” Sebastian paused typing. He needed something to do with his hands though, so he fidgeted with his thumbs.
“You too. Oh, and I brought you something.” You ran a finger through his silky black hair and handed him the comic book and the card.
“I have most of Cave Saga X but thank- wait, this is issue #754? Thank you!” Sebastian smiled and opened the card. “Love you too,” he said. The writing was a little hard to see against the paper, but still legible. He delicately pushed his lips against your cheek. Your cheek turned red as he did.
“You’re red.” He poked the spot he kissed, a smirk adorning his face.
It's my birthday (releasing this as soon as it hits 12am hopefully) so I wanted to write a little drabble
Disclaimer(s): Unfortunately there's no Steph, Babs or Duke and they're all probably OOC
Today felt like chaos incarnate, countless things had already happened, yet it was only midday.
You hadn’t woken up on your own, no. Damian was there, waking you up from your peaceful slumber at the ungodliest hour of the night and demanded you to get ready already. You had slowly done your morning routine, still fatigued by sleep, but Damian had rushed you, saying it was dire that you needed to be fast.
When you had finished, he dragged you down to the batcave, excited about whatever he has planned. He shoved your vigilante costume to you and started getting dressed into his Robin uniform.
“Dami? What the hell is going in?” You dressed in your costume, alarms raising in your head.
“We’re going on patrol.” He had finished getting into his costume swiftly, now standing with crossed arms waiting for you to finish.
“It’s not even my turn?” You questioned.
“Just follow me.... Please?” You sighed, he knew you could never deny it when he asked like that
“Alright, lead the way then.”
The patrol was less of a patrol and more of a game of tag with the rooftops of Gotham as your playground.
When the first rays of light first showed, he had quickly led you to the highest point of Gotham: the top of Wayne Tower. When you had finally caught up to him, he was sitting, patting on a place next to him for you to sit in, and so you did. The rooftop was the perfect place to watch the sunrise. The sky had been painted with various shades of orange, like it had been dipped in gold.
He had leaned his head on your shoulder, wrapping his arm around yours and you held you arms around them.
“I’m grateful to have you as my sibling [Name].”
Damian had whispered to you, and you felt your heart swell. You pulled him in closer, ruffling his hair.
“I love you too, you cuties. What’s with the clinginess today though?” You asked, confused as to why he was suddenly acting more clingy than usual. In response, he only looked at you weirdly, as if in disbelief, then stayed quiet. You left it at that.
The two of you had stayed there for a few minutes, until the sun was fully up, and you could see some people already starting their day. Then, you two had went back to the manor, and he left, saying his goodbyes and off to do his own thing.
As soon as you had went up from the Batcave, Cassandra was there, ready to greet you. She had been in her ballet clothes, and pulled you into one of the many rooms of the manor, saying that you two should perform a duet, her dancing and you playing the violin.
And so you did. However, you were so focused on her dancing that you messed up several notes, but she didn’t mind and kept dancing with grace. The duet had lasted several minutes, yet you were so captivated by your little sister’s dancing that it had felt like it was only a few seconds. You were so proud of how far your little sister had come with her ballet dancing.
She had left not long after, but not before saying “I’m glad I’m your sibling, [Name].”
Dick was next with this weird behaviour from your family. He had come up to you while you were resting in your room. He had been sent on a mission, but wanted to see and talk to you before starting it. It was quick, definitely not as long as the other two, but no less impactful to you.
With so much stuff happening around you, you had honestly forgotten it was your birthday. It was no wonder why everyone was suddenly acting weirdly.
You loved them all dearly, but with so many interactions happening so early in the morning, you were already drained. You had been walking around the manor when you spotted Tim laying on the floor of the living room, taking a nap. Tired, you joined him, cuddling up next to him.
Tim had briefly woken up when you laid next to him, but he didn’t move and let you get yourself comfortable as he went back to take a nap.
Alfred had seen you two as he was cleaning around the manor—not that it was unclean, it was just his daily routine— and smiled when he saw you two. He placed a blanket over the two of you and placed a Do Not Disturb sign near the living room to warn the others, who knew exactly what it meant at first glance.
You had woken up a few hours later. Tim had still been taking a nap by that time, so you decided to let him sleep peacefully. He must’ve hear you moving though, because you swore you head a small mumble that sounded like the words ‘I love you.’
Once again, you were taking a walk around the manor when you stumbled into another one of your family members. Though it was unusual to see Jason in the manor, you guessed he was here for your birthday as well.
This time, you were the one to initiate the clingy behaviour. You had opened your arms wide, silently inviting him for a hug. You could see the hesitation in his face before he decided to throw it away and envelop you in an embrace.
“I love you [Name].”
“I love you too little bro.” You two had stayed like that for a while, letting silence overtake the both of you. After all, actions spoke louder than words.
When you had finally let go, you ruffle his hair before he went to go do his own thing.
Your father had called you into the batcave that night before dinner, saying he had a gift for you. Your father was standing in the middle, clearly waiting for you. The lights behind him were dim, clearly hiding something.
“[Name].” He stated plainly.
“Dad? What’s going on?” That was when the lights behind him had turned on and showed a collection of various different weapons behind him.
“I know you’ve been wanting to try out other weapons than your usual one, so your siblings and I have been working on this project for a while now.” You felt your eyes tear up. You had mentioned that in a passing conversation with your father during a patrol once, you never would’ve guessed he would even remember it.
You ran up to hug him. “You really didn’t have to do this, just you being here was everything to me.”
“I wanted to do this for you, you’re my child.”
Later, your whole family had given you a surprise party for dinner. It was small, definitely not as grand as the balls that the Waynes would usually host, but it was perfect. It had everyone you loved and everything you needed.
This is very much inspired by Rizzanon's Batfam February, especially Dami's part lmao
It was supposed to have Jon in it as well but it felt unfair to include him but not anyone else so I had to get rid of him 😔
No song for this title so that's why it's very basic lmao
