summary: ♛ you and Satoru got divorced because he had no time for you and your baby. but you had a two-year-old baby. two years went on and your daughter wanted to stay over her dad's. that's when things got harder to manage.
word count: ♛ 4.6k!
content warnings: ♛ kinda slow burn, eventual smut — mdni, p in v, eating out, groping, FLUUUFFFF, mentions of ovulation and pregnancy, breeding kink(ish, not really)
a/n: hello Tumblr people. the last time I had been in here was like years ago when I was still at the middle school, it feels pretty nostalgic. English is not my first language, in fact I'm still at the learning point so please try to ignore issues if you see. also this is my first work, so of course there would be mistakes. appreciate you all, thanks for reading already!!
—
Two years ago, you and your perfect husband, Satoru, divorced. Well, you had your reasons, and he agreed with them all. Like how he never had time for you and your two-year-old daughter. Like how you were never the priority. Like how you didn’t even get to see him for months sometimes. Satoru thought you deserved someone better, someone present, someone that could love you with their all. And that’s how the marriage ended—on a random Tuesday afternoon, in a single session. It ended like that.
Later, he could only see his baby girl for a couple of hours at your house. And you always stayed away from him, knowing if you stepped two more steps further, you’d be clinging to his lips, nuzzling against him desperately. And almost two more years passed like that. You couldn’t find someone better—or maybe you didn’t want to. Satoru didn’t want you to work, and he sent more money than an adult and a little kid would ever need, but you appreciated him and made his wish come true.
When Yumi, your daughter, hit four, she became a daddy’s girl more than ever and wanted to spend the whole day with her daddy alone. At first, Satoru worried a bit, because he had never spent time alone with Yumi. She was a precious little thing to him, and he just couldn’t risk anything happening out of control, no matter how perfect he was. But he couldn’t resist his daughter’s big eyes—reflections of yours, like a little you. And for the record, he was still in love with you so damn much, just like you loved him with the same intensity still.
So, of course, Yumi got her daddy to accept one night over at his place—the house you went to as a bride. Yumi’s room in that house was still a baby nursery, with her crib still there, the first toys they had bought, the toys that had been given as gifts, some unfinished packs of diapers, her baby clothes still neatly folded in the drawer—sometimes Satoru smelled them just to remember his daughter’s baby scent.
Yumi’s first night over at her daddy’s home was perfect. For sure, she didn’t remember the times she used to live there with you, but it was all perfect. Hey—her daddy was Satoru Gojo after all, the strongest and most perfect man in the world. He cooked Yumi’s favorite meal, watched cartoons with her, then played games with her and let her sleep in his big king-sized bed instead of her little crib. But Satoru—he cried that night. It wasn’t the first time he cried over you, no. He cried a lot, like you did too. It was so damn hard to break up when you were still in love, and it showed in every aspect.
Satoru only went to an escort when he really needed to relieve some stress, and even then, he ended up moaning your name loudly as he pounded into her, hating himself for it—only you were so addicted to how rough he was in bed when he was stressed. But anyway, he cried because of how beautiful his daughter was and how much he cared for her. He would burn the world down for her. For you. (Even though it was a lie, because Satoru was lonely at the top. He was a “hero” for humanity, and neither you nor Yumi could ever be his priority. He was a god after all. A freaking god.)
That Sunday afternoon, you went to pick up Yumi because Satoru said he had meetings in his clan. The second you were standing before that door, your legs were trembling. You struggled to stay upright because you remembered. You remembered the day Satoru opened the door with you on his lap, your wedding gown perfect—it had been the happiest day of your life. He carried you inside and had you loving him all night long, without worrying about the rest of the world for the first time, regardless of how impossible it sounded.
Finally, you managed to ring the doorbell. Soon after, Satoru opened it. He was in dark blue jeans and a compression T-shirt—the ones he had hundreds of and you were tired of washing every goddamn Saturday. Yumi was bouncing and babbling loudly as she ran over to you. No matter how much of a daddy’s girl she was, she was obsessed with her mother. You kneeled down and picked her up, letting her kiss all over you and tell you how much she missed you.
“No mayonnaise as you said, slept at ten and woke up at eight—such an early bird,” he joked dryly, but his eyes were shining. You nodded silently as Yumi laid her head on your shoulder. You ran your gaze away from him, knowing what could happen if you kept looking at him.
“I also wanted to give her a bath as you requested, but this little princess,” he leaned in and tapped Yumi’s little nose, making the little girl squirm, “said she didn’t want to,” he continued softly before straightening up. “So I didn’t wanna force her. I’m assuming that’d be alright with you.”
You were smiling warmly before you even noticed it. “Thank you,” you murmured softly as you took Yumi’s bags that Satoru was handing to you. “Tell daddy goodbye,” you said softly to Yumi as the little girl waved her hand.
“Bye-bye, Daddy!”
Satoru leaned in and kissed her forehead as he looked at you under his white lashes. His eyes were burning with longing and love, wishing it was you he was kissing instead.
“Bye-bye, princess. Be good to your momma, alright?” he cheered with a big smile as he looked back at Yumi.
They hugged one last time before you stepped back and walked over to your car. On the drive back home, it was him all over your mind. God, the way you missed his touch, his eyes, his body, his love—his everything. Everything was perfect about him, and once, he was truly yours. You lost him. For what? For your sake? It was all a lie, and you knew it. It was only a big mistake.
Another week passed. This time, Yumi wanted her daddy to come over for breakfast. Since what had happened the week before, you were pretty distant to that idea. You didn’t want to see Satoru either—you were just close to your menstrual period and were emotional because of that. You couldn’t decide. However, breaking Yumi’s heart was your biggest fear, because the little girl was already growing up between separated parents and without a family that was complete all the time. So, of course, spoiling her rotten was one of the only common grounds you had with Satoru lately.
When the bell rang in the apartment, it was around nine a.m., and you were still sleeping. You got up from the bed, tried to fix your bed hair, and grabbed a jacket as you walked over to open the door. Well, you didn’t expect anyone else but Satoru, and here he was. He was wearing a blue shirt, pressed dark blue pants, and his sunglasses, holding a bouquet of roses.
“You could have come yesterday, you’re so late,” you said sarcastically as you leaned to the side to let him in. Satoru stepped in as he shook his head. “It’s my fault to assume that you would be as punctual as our daughter,” he said as he took off his shoes, a slight smirk on his face.
“So you’re assuming I’m a bad mother?” you said as you closed the door, and he let out a chuckle.
“No, you’re the greatest mother I’ve ever seen. These are for you.”
He handed you the bouquet, and you blushed as you took them. For real, he was your husband once—getting flowers would’ve been the most normal thing. But in the two years you had been alone with yourself, anything besides the grass and flowers Yumi ripped from the ground, you had never been given flowers. It was special.
“Thank you, you didn’t have to,” you murmured softly as you walked into the kitchen to put the roses in a vase, while Satoru leaned on the doorway and watched you. The house was silent, but his mind—it was loud. It was filled with all the things he wanted to do, one of them being dropping to his knees, hugging your hips, and begging for you to come back. But of course, he wouldn’t do that. He was Satoru Gojo after all. Or maybe he would—he couldn’t decide.
He stepped closer as you started to prepare the breakfast, making toast, eggs—anything you remembered Satoru liked and anything Yumi liked.
“Need help?” he asked softly as he leaned on the counter. You shook your head. It was hard to ignore the tension in the room, because you knew he wanted to hug your waist from behind, kissing your neck and cheek as he hummed. God, the way the world would disappear in your embrace—he missed that feeling.
“You could wake Yumi up,” you mumbled softly, and Satoru nodded, leaving you alone in the kitchen reluctantly. As he woke Yumi up, the little girl’s cheers filled the apartment. You smiled to yourself as you prepared the breakfast—you loved your life for that second. Everything about it felt so normal, like you had never divorced and it was just a casual Saturday morning.
As all of you ate heart-shaped cheese and cucumbers, Yumi talked about her week in preschool. Satoru listened to her carefully as you were lost in your thoughts. You wanted and loved that man so much—it was such a tease. He was just sitting in front of you like that, being extremely hot yet soft, like a deadly beautiful flower. And the hours passed hardly ever. You played with Yumi before you laid her down for her nap, then you were alone with him again.
The living room was silent as outer space as you two sat on separate couches. Satoru tapped his foot on the floor; you sucked your bottom lip nervously—God! Why would you do that!? You reckless woman, making everything harder for him.
“So, how’s been your life going—”
“So, how’s your life—”
You looked at him. He looked at you.
“You go first—”
“You first—”
Another moment passed before you both chuckled softly. Then Satoru spoke up.
“You know, it’s all shitty. Just the jujutsu world—you already know. Working overtime all the time and actin’ fine ’bout it.”
You nodded sympathetically. Of course you did—you always understood him and tried to take a little weight off his shoulders. But you were never on his level, though seeing someone trying so hard for him always made Satoru feel better. It was only one of the reasons he was in love with you.
“It’s the same here too. Just spending my time with Yumi,” you mumbled softly as you looked at the floor, your elbows leaning on your knees, hands palming your face. “She says she loves a boy. I can’t believe my baby thinks she can love someone at four!” you complained.
Satoru laughed softly. “Is that so? I wonder where she got it from.” He looked at you and winked. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes as you looked up at the ceiling.
“Do you ever change? Same tease all the time…” you complained again.
Satoru laughed a little more, manspreading on the couch like a thirst trapper. “They say you cannot bathe in the same river twice,” he said, acting like a thinker himself—God forbid a man loved his way with words and actions.
“What if I don’t want to bathe in that river again?” you asked. He looked hurt for a second before he shrugged it off.
“Then you wouldn’t. It ain’t that sophisticated, really.”
You smiled hurtfully—you knew how to hurt him, and he knew how to bite back.
After dinner that day, Satoru went on a mission that lasted for straight two months. You called him every time Yumi wanted, and it was the only time you spoke to each other. You hated the distance, but he was your ex-husband after all—not your lover, not your husband. Only the father of your child, and nothing else. When Satoru turned back, he couldn’t show up because of how tired he was. So it had been six weeks at most until the unexpected meeting with him. I mean—you didn’t plan on meeting him in the mall on a Friday.
After you picked Yumi up from her preschool, you took her to the mall. The little girl was growing up pretty tall for her age, thanks to Satoru’s dominant genes, and it was hard to keep up with her clothing. First, you two ate some pizza, and then started to go through shops. It was a great day, considering how happy Yumi was just to go out with her mother. She held your hand tightly and babbled as she ran between sections like a little cheerful ball.
With a big, warm smile on your face, you bought Yumi new dresses, new pants, and jumpers for winter—of course, with Satoru’s black card. In a toy shop, Yumi was looking at Barbies as you hung around some puzzles. Just then, Yumi came up to you with a ginger-haired Barbie doll and big eyes.
“Mommy, I’ve never had a Barbie with orange hair!” she whined as she pouted, giving you that look you could never say no to.
You crouched down to her level and cupped her cheek. “You sure you want that, baby? You have only one option to buy a toy today,” you said softly as she nodded.
“Yes, Mommy, I want this, pleeeasee!” she said as she leaned her head to the side.
You got up and held her hand. “Then let’s go pay for it, alright?”
Yumi cheered as she held your hand, walking over to the checkout with you. As you were about to pay, the ground started to shake violently. You held Yumi close, thinking it was just an earthquake for a second. Come on now—as long as you crouched down somewhere stable, nothing disastrous would happen. You were in Japan after all.
So you did. You crouched before the checkout, Yumi under your chin, whispering sweet nothings to keep her calm. But no—you could tell this wasn’t an earthquake when a big, white curse with red eyes sprang out of the ground.
It was so bad that you were probably the only person who could stop it. How could you leave your baby alone to stop a curse, right? Also, it had been at least four years since the last time you ever fought. The day you found out you were pregnant, you swore you would only dedicate yourself to your baby.
So, of course, you got up, picked Yumi up, told her not to open her eyes until you said so, and ran as fast as you could to the exit. But just as you were running down the aisle, a big piece of rock fell onto the ground before you, making the floor curve downward, dropping you and forcing you to slide toward the rubble. Another block fell and trapped you and Yumi on the third floor of the mall, the curse continuing its killing spree.
While you were thinking this was the end—because there was nothing left to do until the jujutsu users arrived—someone showed up seconds later. A big, purple light reflected on everything, making you close your eyes tightly and nuzzle against Yumi. The little girl was screaming and crying in fear; you pressed her against your chest.
Then—two strong hands and a quiet hush.
“It’s all gone now. I’m here. Sorry… so sorry for being late…” Satoru whispered as he hugged you both.
You looked up at him, then clung to him tightly as you cried your heart out. For a second, you thought you were going to die before seeing him again—before having another chance with him. Yumi hugged her dad too, crying and screaming into his chest.
People were recording the hero who allowed himself to be human for the first time ever. His blindfold absorbed the tears, but his shoulders couldn’t hide the fact that he was crying too.
—
The drive back home was silent, filled only with Yumi’s deep breaths. Poor little thing—she was out like a light. You were crying softly too. It took at least half an hour before you could get into your car, but in the end, Satoru was the one driving you home.
He entered the apartment after you, carrying Yumi in his arms. You dropped the bags at the entrance and clumsily took off your shoes; he did the same.
“Should I just lay her down?” he asked quietly.
You looked at him and nodded. “Yeah… I’ll change her into her pajamas,” you mumbled.
You opened the door to Yumi’s room, and he followed, laying the little girl down gently before kissing her forehead. While you changed her into her pajamas, Satoru leaned against the doorframe, watching you. Afterward, you wiped the dirt from her face with wet wipes and let her sleep, deciding to give her a bath once she woke up.
When you stood up, you walked over to Satoru and gently closed the door. For a moment, you simply looked at each other in silence before you hugged him, exhausted. He wrapped his arms around you immediately, happily.
The world seemed to shut down with his arms around your body. He kissed your hair and inhaled your scent, his hands gripping your waist before sliding up your back and pulling you closer.
“I was so afraid,” you mumbled, your hands clutching his T-shirt as your head rested beneath his chin.
“I’m sorry I was late,” he murmured back, kissing your head again.
“No… I wasn’t afraid of that,” you said quietly. “I just… couldn’t bear the thought of losing the chance we have. Forever.”
You sounded almost shy, but you needed to say it. You couldn’t hide it anymore.
“Baby.” Satoru pulled back slightly, cupping your cheek and making you look up at him. “We never lost our chance. Things are just better this way.”
You shook your head. “No, they’re not. Everything would be different now.”
“They would be,” he said sharply. “If you had found someone else. Then I’d have to deal with some bastard, Yumi would have to call someone else her dad, and I’d have to share you with someone else.”
He cupped your cheeks with both hands.
“We may not be together,” he said more softly, leaning his forehead against yours, thumbs brushing over your skin, “but we’re still each other’s. And that never changed.”
You held his wrists gently and closed your eyes.
“Satoru…” was all you managed to say.
He leaned closer, nuzzling his nose against yours. Before you could think twice, you blurted out, “Let’s bathe,” your voice barely above a mumble.
He blinked—then his cocky self kicked in.
“What do you mean, hmm?” he grinned, pulling back slightly.
You blushed and bit your bottom lip. “Don’t! I’m trying to have a nice moment here!”
He chuckled, his hands sliding down to your hips. “Just say you wanna be more intimate, shorty.”
You stopped yourself from slapping the life out of him. Barely.
“That’s not what I meant!” you snapped, pushing his chest.
—
To make a long story short, you were soon soaking in warm bathwater, leaned back against Satoru’s chest. His hands rested on your stomach, fingers lazily caressing your skin.
You closed your eyes and inhaled softly. His touch wandered—first over your belly, then up to your breasts, cupping them gently.
“I missed you so much,” he murmured against your ear.
“I missed you too,” you whispered back, glancing up at him. He smiled, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead.
“Thank you for letting me this close,” he said quietly, nuzzling into the crook of your neck.
You smiled, kissed his cheek, then turned around, resting your front against his chest.
He looked down at you, cupping your cheek as he leaned closer.
“Can I kiss you?” he asked softly.
You nodded, arms wrapping around his shoulders.
He leaned in slowly, pressing his lips to yours. In that moment, you wanted to scream, laugh, and cry all at once. He deepened the kiss carefully, fingers threading through your hair. It grew more desperate, yet neither of you rushed—it had been two years, after all.
When you finally pulled back, Satoru rested his forehead against yours, eyes closed, breathing you in.
“I love you,” he whispered.
You couldn’t help but giggle, happiness bubbling over. “Love you too.”
After washing up, he wrapped a towel around you carelessly, settling you on his lap. He carried you to the bedroom, sat on the edge of the bed, and gently dried your hair with a towel.
as he dried your hair, you held your hands on his shoulders, massaging his muscles gently. he put the towel to a side as he leaned in closer again, kissing your lips softly. you hugged his neck as you kissed him back. "we've got a lot of to catch-up, right?" he mumbled as he hugged your waist, you smiled and nodded, kissing him again. "we do..." you mumbled but before you could end up your sentence, he was all over you, between your legs. he kissed your forehead, then your nose. "are you cold, my love?" he mumbled softly as he leaned in for the covers, he could tell that you were cold. he was trying to distract himself from the fact that both of you were naked.
he pulled the covers over yourselves as he laid down his head on your chest, right over your heart. you threaded his hair with your fingers. he left kisses all over your neck, inhaling your scent, your hands lingered on his shoulders. soon after, your bodies were moving in a gentle rhythm, with your hips moving against his, lips crushing each other. "you sure you wanna do this tonight? we could do it some other time— or not. I don't want you to reg—" "no, I want this so bad!" you moaned out as you hugged his neck tightly. he smiled, kissing your cheek. "alright then, if you say so..." he mumbled before lowing his lips down. kissing your neck, your collarbones, breasts, sliding down till he stopped between your thighs, then kissed your inner thighs.
your breath hitched as you ran a hand on his hair, letting him do his magic on you. he held your thighs spread open as he slid his tongue through your wet slit, groaning at the taste. he missed this taste on his tongue. his fingers dug into your skin as he licked you with such appetite, making your eyes roll back. his tongue focused on your clit, flicking the bud relentlessly. "ah, Satoru— nnh!" you cried out softly as your back arched, eyes rolled back. he groaned and pulled back, your wetness dripping off his chin as he held his cock. you panted softly as you watched him, your pussy throbbing with need.
"you sure you wanna go further?" he asked again, just to be sure of your full consent. "please, Satoru, please..." you begged her desperately as you held onto his shoulders, he smiled and kissed your lips. "I didn't ask you to beg, baby." he mumbled as he leaned is tip in your entrance, then pushed inside slowly. both of you groaned as he thrusted his length into your tight warmth. he stopped when he pushed halfway through, kissing you to distract you from the pain, his thumb teasing your clit gently.
"you okay?" he asked, looking at you as he panted, sweat forming on his skin. you nodded as he sat up on his heels, pushing the rest of his cock till it hit your cervix, ripping a scream right from your chest. your nails dug into his arms as he leaned down, kissing your lips. "hush... I'm sorry, are you okay?" he asked gently, trying to make sure that you were okay and comfortable. you nodded as you hugged his neck. "I just... forgot how big you were," you mumbled, he smirked as he looked at you. "is that so sweetheart? couldn't find a cock bigger than this?" he thrusted to emphasize, making you moan loudly. you slapped his shoulder, making him chuckle and lean down on you. "I'm just kidding, y'know that." he whispered softly before kissing your ear, then pulling back, looking into your eyes. "I'm gonna move, okay?" he asked softly as he hugged your waist. "you better start," you mumbled, sweat forming on your forehead. he chuckled deeply before starting to thrust slowly, groaning at your feeling. damn, he missed you so much that he could cry right now. but he couldn't decide what was making him cry, it was either your sweet pussy or how much he missed you.
his hand gripped your waist tighter as he started to pound gently into you. you whimpered softly as you clinged onto his shoulders. he groaned as he leaned down, kissing you deeply. "Satoru..." you whimpered and made his eyes roll back, he loved how you called out his name. "Darling," he murmured back in his husky tone. his hips started move faster, squelching and slapping noises became louder, thanks to how wet you were.
you whined loudly as he started to scratch that sweet spot, throwing your head back and leaving a big place for him to suck on. he leaned on one hand as his other hand gripped your tit, thumb playing with your nipple, he sucked lovebites on your neck.
he pulled back as he gripped your chin gently, making you look at him. "look at me," he commanded desperately. you could hardly keep his gaze as he was pounding so fast into your sweet spot, making your walls clench around his cock. "Sa— Satoru..!" you moaned his name and he groaned, throwing his head back as he focused on bringing each of you two orgasm.
you mouth hung open in a silent scream as your back arched, Satoru moaned loudly as he cum inside you, not bothering to pull out. though you had to tell him before, "nooo, Satoru, I'm not on birth control, I could get pregnant, it's my ovulation week!" but honestly, who gives a fuck if you got pregnant? it would be even better. after all, giving Satoru another baby, wasn't the worst idea you ever had.
he collapsed on you as he panted, you walls milked him eagerly. your eyes closed and whimpered in orgasm, hands running through his sweaty back and hair. he kissed your forehead and whispered: "I love you." you hugged him and turned your head to his side, kissing his lips. "I love you..." you mumbled back softly, making him smile, his eyes crinkling on the sides.
Pairing: Leon Kennedy (RE4) x fem!reader
Summary: You and Leon have been broken up for a long time but you still co-parent. After your daughter's seventh birthday party, things got a little heated. But it's fine, right?
part 1, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6
Notes: A lot of you wanted a part 2 and I was feeling it too, so here it is. Enjoy, you lovely people and let me know if you want to be tagged in the next part <3
Make requests here.
WC: 2k
Warnings: some suggestive themes, dad!Leon, divorced Leon, co-parenting, single mom, pregnancy (?), probably incorrect ballet stuff, dyslexia
Masterlist
“What kind of room doesn’t have a window or a door?” Lottie’s voice sounded through the diner like a windchime. She hadn’t even told the joke and she was already laughing so hard, you thought she might fall off the chair.
“Tell me,” Javier, the line cook replied, making her gasp for air.
“A mushroom,” she barely got the words out before she broke into a fit of giggles. You were polishing glasses with Rhonda, the other waitress, while Lottie was supposed to be eating her grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup. But apparently, joking with the chef through the kitchen window was more important.
“Babygirl, eat your grilled cheese. Daddy’s going to pick you up for ballet in a second and I don’t want you to go there hungry.”
Lottie straightened up and coughed, holding her little tummy from all the laughing. “I know another joke,” she started, but Rhonda shot her a stern look.
“You can tell Javi the joke after you finish your food. Just because we’re dancing, doesn’t mean we’re starving ourselves,” Rhonda said and you nodded in thanks. You were grateful for her every minute of every day. At this point, she was more like a mother than a colleague.
“How did you sleep last night?”
“Why do you ask?”
Rhonda nodded at the stained mug beside you. “That’s your second coffee in like ten minutes. And to be quite frank, you look like shit.”
“Why thank you,” you murmured, yawning. “I’m exhausted.”
“Something eating at you?” Rhonda pressed on, watching you closely.
You shrugged. “Oh, you mean aside from Lottie getting bullied at school, her teacher wanting to test her for dyslexia and essentially calling me a bad mom for not noticing sooner?”
“You’re not a bad mom,” Rhonda said.
“Then why do I feel like it all the time?” you replied.
“All good moms feel that way. If you didn’t question yourself at least once in a while, you wouldn’t be doing it right. Take it from me, I raised four boys.”
You shrugged. “I don’t think Brinleigh-Mae’s mom ever feels that way.”
“Yeah, well Brinleigh-Mae’s mom is a bit of a,” her gaze flicked over to Lottie. “See you next Tuesday.” You snorted a laugh and Rhonda gave you a shove.
Javi rang the bell by the kitchen window. “Table eight ready for collection.”
You dropped the towel you were polishing the glasses with and walked over to Javier. As soon as your nose got a whiff of the corn chowder, your nose wrinkled in disgust. “What the fuck, Javi, we can’t serve that.”
Javi looked at you confused. “What’s wrong with it?’
“What’s wrong with it?” You pushed the bowl toward him. “It’s sour.”
He smelled it. “Seems fine to me.”
You turned your head away, trying to escape the sharp aroma of gone off cream. “Rhonda, smell this and tell him to take it back.”
Rhonda came over and lifted the bowl to her nose, carefully smelling it. “Javi, give me a taste from the pot.” He did as he was told and Rhonda tried the chowder. “Tastes fine to me.”
When Javi stirred the big pot of chowder with a ladle, you gagged.
“I need to get some air.” You untied your apron, tossed it to the side and slipped out the backdoor. Unlucky for you, the backyard was also where the bins were, the smell only getting worse and making you salivate.
You rushed around the corner, leaning against the cool brick wall, slowly breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth. “Why does it smell like piss out here,” you groaned, pushing yourself off the wall, walking a few steps, eyes closed, nose turned up toward the sun, hoping the nausea would subside.
You heard the backdoor open and close. “Sensitive to smells, huh?”
“Mh.” You nodded, swallowing, not trusting yourself to open your mouth just yet.
“Remember when you were pregnant with Lottie and Javi had to change his cologne because otherwise you couldn’t get close to him for the entire first trimester?”
“I remember,” you said, breathing out for three counts. “Why are you telling me this?”
Rhonda passed you a bottle of plain water. You took a sip, eyes still closed, waiting for the backyard to stop spinning.
“You tell me. You’re tired, you get nauseous easily…”
“I’m not pregnant, Rhonda,” you said, taking another sip of water.
“How do you know?”
You huffed. “How do I know? I’m not Virgin Mary, you kinda need to have sex in order to—” you stopped yourself.
“Ah yes,” Rhonda clicked her tongue.
“Unprotected sex, I mean. A lot of it.”
“So you’re not dating anyone?” she kept asking. Your mind wandered to an image of Leon eating you out from behind, as you were pressed face-first against the bathroom door, biting down on your hand to keep quiet.
“I’m not dating anyone, no.”
“And you’re not sleeping with anyone, either. A man, I mean.”
You screwed the bottle cap shut. “Sometimes. But we’re being careful.”
Another image popped up in your head, of you and Leon on your bed, him thrusting into you from behind, pressing your hips flush against his. A hand closed around your jaw, tilting it up and forcing you to look at the two of you in the mirror across your bed. Look at how pretty you are when I fuck you like this.
Careful, more or less. Except that one time. But you took Plan B so it was fine.
You had your period after you took Plan B, right? The whole bullying thing at school had started for Lottie around the same time, so you had been a little preoccupied. But you distinctly remembered spot bleeding at least. Had you logged your previous periods? If you did, it would be easy to track if that one time with Leon had coincided with ovulation. But you didn’t think so. And those were a lot of ifs.
“I don’t like how you’re calculating. Do you want to run over to the pharmacy yourself, or do you want me to go for you?”
“There’s no need,” you said, pushing past Rhonda and back into the diner. “It’s probably just some fucked up virus Lottie brought home from school.”
Even if, you could probably count on one hand how many times you and Leon had been intimate since then. Okay, maybe on two hands.
But it wasn’t like you were a thing. Besides, people didn’t get pregnant just like that. Every mom you knew had been trying for a baby at least a few months before getting pregnant. Well, except you. At twenty, you and Leon didn’t even have to try. But life was different back then.
When you walked back into the diner, the foul smell was gone. Instead, something smelled incredibly delicious in there.
“Hey Leon,” Rhonda said, walking in behind you.
“Good to see you Rhonda,” Leon nodded. Lottie’s pink duffle bag was slung over his shoulder and he was fixing up her hair while she sat still in the chair, munching on her grilled cheese.
“You’re on time,” you murmured, picking your apron back up and tying it around your midsection. Rhonda backtracked into the kitchen, slipping in next to Javi.
“I left work early,” Leon said, glancing at the clock above the door. He ran a hand over Lottie’s braid, smoothing out any stray hairs. “Do you need to go to the bathroom before we leave?” She nodded.
“Go and then we’ll leave.” Lottie slid off her seat, forgetting to put her grilled cheese down, ran back a few steps to throw it on the plate, before heading into the bathroom. Leon had an easier time getting her to do things than you did. Being the default parent was kind of unfair. He was the cool parent, the one she got to do fun stuff with.
“I was thinking we could pick up dinner on the way home from ballet and I could stay over. Because her dyslexia test is so early tomorrow,” he said, gnawing on his lip. Another image flashed in your mind, of Leon having his arms hooked under your legs and you writhing underneath him before his lips captured yours in a searing kiss.
“You don’t need to stay over to take her to her test tomorrow,” you answered coldly. “I don’t want her to get confused about where Daddy lives and where Mommy lives.”
Leon blew out a breath. “Okay, where is this coming from?”
“Where’s what coming from?” You asked flatly, going back to polishing the glasses. He watched you intently.
“Do you like me? Because sometimes I’m not sure.”
You lifted your head to look at him. “Yeah, I like you,” you said, clipped, shoving the next flashback of you breathlessly telling him that you loved how he made you feel, as his face was buried between your legs, aside. “You’re the father of my child.”
“And we’ve been sleeping together.”
You shrugged. “A little. Casually.”
He raised an eyebrow at you. “Define a little.”
Clinking plates sounded from the kitchen, followed by Rhonda shushing Javi.
“Come on, Leon. It’s not like we’re dating. And even if we were, Lottie does not need to know about it until it’s a serious thing. I don’t want her to get used to a whole bunch of step moms by the time she’s ten.”
“What about step dads?” Leon narrowed his eyes at you.
You sighed. “Look, Leon. I almost threw up, okay? Because Javi’s corn chowder is fucking vile. Don’t give me a hard time on top of that.”
A smirk tugged at his lips. He knew exactly what you were doing, shutting down the conversation like that. “Right.”
Lottie came out of the bathroom. “Plié, relevé, échappé, tendu,” she singsonged, flowing through the movements, leaping off the ground with her back leg stretched out and coming to a perfect closing position right in front of Leon.
You chuckled, your chest swelling with pride. “You’re perfect, Lottie. Everyone will be so impressed.” She nodded eagerly and Leon grabbed her shoulders gently.
“Alright, say bye to Mommy, Rhonda and Javi.” Lottie blew you all kisses like she had just received a grand applause after her performance. She was a born dancer. Leon guided her out the door and grabbed her hand before crossing the road to his car. Your nose crinkled. The good smell was gone and the smell of corn chowder started to creep back in.
Rhonda and Javi leaned their upper bodies through the kitchen window, staring at you.
“What?” you snapped, Rhonda’s eyebrows shooting up, nearly grazing her hairline.
“I didn’t say anything.” She held up her hands in defense. “Javi, did you say something?”
Javi pressed his index finger into his chest. “Who, me?”
You rolled your eyes, reaching for your handbag under the counter. “Rhonda, can you cover my tables for a second? I’m going to run to the pharmacy really quick.”
Summary: You introduce Ilya to Ana, and despite the tension, he bonds with her instantly. Hayden is furious when he learns the truth, turning an old rivalry into a family war. Legal battles begin, but Ilya shows up consistently, determined to be a real father. In a private confrontation, he reveals his heartbreak over the five years he lost.
The drive from the law office to your townhouse is a blur of gray sky and a pounding headache centered directly behind your eyes. Ilya follows in his own car, a silent, ominous shadow in your rearview mirror. You called your mother, your voice trembling as you gave her the barest of explanations: “The… father. He’s here. He wants to meet her. Please, just… be normal. I’ll explain later.”
You pull into your driveway, the familiar sight of Ana’s pink bicycle on the lawn offering no comfort. Ilya parks behind you, cutting the engine. For a long moment, neither of you moves. You watch in the mirror as he stares at your house, his expression inscrutable. This is the domestic scene he’s been excluded from. The flower boxes you planted last spring, the chalk drawings on the pavement, the plastic playhouse in the corner of the yard. It’s a life. 'Her' life.
Taking a shuddering breath, you get out. He does the same, unfolding his long frame from the low-slung car. He’s removed his suit jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt. He looks less like a corporate negotiator and more like himself, which is somehow more intimidating.
“This is it,” you say, your voice thin.
He just nods, his eyes taking in everything.
Inside, the smell of cookies hits you. Your mother has baked, a nervous habit. The sound of cartoons comes from the living room. “We’re in the kitchen, sweetheart!” your mother calls, her voice strained with false cheer.
You lead Ilya down the short hallway. Your mother stands at the counter, wiping her hands on a towel. Her eyes widen slightly at the sight of him, the sheer physical presence of Ilya Rozanov in her daughter’s kitchen is surreal. She’s seen him on TV, heard Hayden rant about him for years. Now he’s here, the secret given flesh and bone.
“Mom, this is Ilya,” you say, the introduction absurd in its simplicity. “Ilya, my mother, Elaine.”
He is, despite everything, polite. He steps forward and offers his hand. “Mrs. Pikes. Thank you for allowing this.”
Your mother shakes his hand, her gaze searching his face, then yours, a thousand questions in her eyes. “Of course,” she manages. “Ana’s just in the living room. I’ll… I’ll go get her.”
The moment she leaves, the kitchen becomes a vacuum. The only sound is the hum of the refrigerator. Ilya leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching you. The silence is unbearable.
“She’s shy with new people,” you blurt out. “And this is… a lot.”
“For everyone,” he replies, his tone still flat. He’s looking at the drawings stuck to the fridge with magnets. A purple dinosaur. A house with a giant sun. Scrawled letters: ANA, MOM. His jaw tightens.
Then, a small voice from the doorway. “Grandma said we have a visitor.”
You turn. Ana is peeking around the doorframe, half-hidden behind your mother’s leg. She’s wearing her favorite unicorn pajamas, her hair in a messy bun. She’s clutching a well-loved stuffed otter.
Ilya goes perfectly still. Every ounce of his intense focus is now directed at the small girl in the doorway. You see his breath catch. You see his eyes, wide and stunned, drinking her in. The blue of her eyes meeting the blue of his. The shape of her face. The curious tilt of her head. It’s a mirror, a revelation happening in real time.
“Ana, honey,” you say, your voice cracking. You kneel, holding out a hand. “This is… this is a friend of Mommy’s. His name is Ilya.”
She takes a tentative step forward, then another, her eyes fixed on the large stranger. She doesn’t smile. She just studies him with the serious, open scrutiny of a child. “You’re very tall,” she announces.
A sound escapes Ilya—a soft, choked huff that might have been the ghost of a laugh. He slowly, carefully, lowers himself into a crouch, bringing himself closer to her level. It’s a gesture so deliberate, so unlike the brash Ilya Rozanov the world knows, that it makes your heart ache.
“I am,” he says, his voice softer than you’ve heard it yet. It’s rough, like he hasn’t used it in years. “You are very observant.”
“I’m five,” she says, holding up her hand with all fingers splayed.
“Five is a very good age,” he replies, his eyes never leaving hers. “I like your otter.”
She looks down at the stuffed animal, then back at him, as if assessing his taste. “His name is Sushi.”
This time, a real, small smile touches Ilya’s lips. It transforms his face, erasing some of the hardness, revealing the man you glimpsed for one night. “Sushi. That is an excellent name.”
“Do you want to see my room?” Ana asks, the sudden shift in conversation so purely childlike it’s disorienting. “I have a bunk bed, but I only sleep on the bottom because the top is for stuffies and sometimes I’m scared I’ll fall.”
Ilya looks up at you, a silent question in his eyes. Permission. The power dynamic, for this fleeting moment, is in your hands. You nod, numb.
“I would like that very much,” he says to Ana.
She reaches out, not for his hand, but simply turns and expects him to follow. He rises from his crouch and does, moving with a strange, careful grace as he follows your five-year-old daughter down the hall. You and your mother stand frozen in the kitchen, listening to the sound of Ana’s chatter (“…and this is where I keep my rocks, they’re all different kinds…”) and the low, murmured responses of the man who is her father.
The visit lasts an hour. An hour where you hover, a silent ghost in your own home. You watch him sit on the floor of her room, patiently listening to her explain the intricate social dynamics of her stuffed animal collection. You watch him examine a Lego spaceship with genuine interest. You see Ana’s initial shyness melt away under the focused attention of this new, fascinating adult. He doesn’t force anything. He doesn’t try to hug her or call her anything but “Ana.” He just… is there. Present.
When it’s time for him to leave, Ana walks him to the front door. “Will you come back and see my rock collection when it’s bigger?” she asks.
Ilya crouches down again. “Yes,” he says, and the word is a vow. “I will come back very soon, malyshka.” The Russian endearment slips out, soft and natural.
He stands, and his eyes meet yours over her head. The intensity is back, but it’s different now. Tempered by what he’s just seen, by the reality of the little girl between you. There’s still anger, a deep, resonant hurt, but it’s now tangled with something else, wonder, responsibility, a fierce and nascent protectiveness.
“We will talk tomorrow,” he says to you, not a request. Then he looks back at Ana. “Goodbye, Ana.”
“Bye, Ilya.”
He leaves, and the house feels cavernously empty. Ana skips back to the living room, seemingly unfazed. “He was nice. He said my spaceship was ‘technically impressive.’ Can I have a cookie?”
The aftermath is a slow-motion earthquake. Telling Hayden is the hardest thing you’ve ever done. He’s back from his road trip, bursting into your house with his usual energy, ready to wrestle with his niece. You sit him down. You say the words. “Ana’s father… it’s Ilya Rozanov.”
The color drains from his face. Confusion, then dawning horror, then a rage so profound it shakes the walls. “That asshole? That arrogant, dirty-playing, piece of— He touched you? He… and you… and Ana?” His voice breaks on her name. The betrayal he feels is a tidal wave, directed at both you and Ilya. The rivalry is no longer a game. It’s a blood feud. It takes days, and your mother’s calm intervention, for him to even speak to you without shouting. He looks at Ana and sees Ilya, and it visibly pains him.
Meanwhile, the legal machinery grinds on. Meetings are scheduled. A temporary, highly supervised visitation order is put in place. Ilya’s lawyers push for more time, for overnight visits, for inclusion in medical and educational decisions. Your lawyer fights for a slow transition, for maintaining the status quo. Through it all, Ilya is a constant, complicated presence.
He shows up for every visitation, punctual to a fault. He takes Ana to the zoo, to science museums (you have a panic attack the first time, but no, he avoids the garage), to quiet parks. He sends text messages—not to you, but to a co-parenting app the lawyers mandated. They are brusque, factual. “At the park. She ate her whole sandwich. Home by 4.” Sometimes, a photo is attached. Ana on a swing, her hair flying. Ana concentrating fiercely on feeding a giraffe. Her smile is bright, genuine.
You hate the photos. You treasure them. They are proof he is not hurting her, that she is happy with him. It’s a confusing, agonizing duality.
The first major confrontation happens during a hand-off. Ilya is returning Ana to your doorstep. Hayden, who has been staying with you off and on since the revelation, answers the door.
The two men stare at each other on your welcome mat, the years of on-ice hatred crackling in the air. Ana, sensing the tension, shrinks back against Ilya’s leg.
“Give her to me,” Hayden says, his voice low and dangerous.
“She is not a package,” Ilya replies coldly, his hand resting lightly on Ana’s shoulder. “She is a person. Say goodbye to your uncle, malyshka.”
“Don’t you tell her what to do,” Hayden snarls, taking a step forward.
“Stop it!” The voice is yours, sharp and desperate. You push between them, a fragile barrier. You take Ana’s hand and guide her inside, away from the storm. You turn back to the doorway. “This ends now. You two want to kill each other on the ice? Fine. But you will not do it in front of her. You will not make her choose sides or feel scared. Do you understand me?”
Both men look chastised, but the fury still simmers. Ilya’s eyes meet yours. “She should not be in the middle of this,” he says, echoing your thought, but his gaze flicks to Hayden with clear blame.
“Then stop putting her there,” you fire back. “Both of you.”
It’s after this incident that Ilya requests a meeting. Without lawyers. Just you and him, at a neutral, quiet café.
You go, armed with defensiveness. He’s already there, in a corner booth, two coffees waiting. He looks tired.
“Thank you for coming,” he says as you sit.
“What do you want, Ilya?”
He stirs his coffee, not drinking it. “I want to know why,” he says, finally looking at you. The raw pain in his eyes is disarming. “Not the legal reasons. Not the fear of your brother. Why did you not tell 'me' ? That night… it was not nothing.”
The question hangs between you, the one you’ve asked yourself a million times. You wrap your hands around the warm mug. “You were Ilya Rozanov,” you whisper. “You were the enemy. You were… a comet. Brilliant, fast, gone. I was a one-night stand. I saw the way you lived. The freedom. A baby… my brother’s sister’s baby… it would have been a scandal, a chain, a headline. I thought I was protecting everyone. Ana, Hayden, my parents… you.”
“You did not protect me,” he says, the words raw. “You stole five years. First steps, first words, first everything. You let 'him' have it.” The jealousy toward Hayden is a living thing. “You thought I would not want her?”
“I didn’t know what you would want!” you say, your own frustration breaking through. “I was scared and alone and I made a choice! Was it the right one? I don’t know anymore! But I have spent every day since then loving her with everything I have. She is my whole world.”
“She is my world too,” he says, and the conviction in his voice is absolute. “Now. She is my world now. And I will not be the visiting stranger anymore. I am her father.”
This is the new reality. The heated rivalry has found its way into the very heart of your family. But as you sit across from him, you don’t see just the rival, the superstar, or the angry man from the law office. You see a father, heartbroken and determined, fighting for a place in his daughter’s life. You see the man who patiently listened to a five-year-old explain her rock collection.
The path forward is uncharted, mined with old hatreds and fresh wounds. Hayden may never accept it. The public will eventually find out, and that storm will come. But there is a little girl with blue eyes who, in her innocent wisdom, has begun to draw pictures with three stick figures labeled MOM, ANA, and ILYA.
The game has changed forever. It’s no longer about winning a battle, but about building something fragile and new from the wreckage of the past. It’s the hardest, most important game of your life. And as you look at Ilya, you realize, with a terrifying, reluctant clarity, that you’re not on opposing teams anymore. You’re co-captains of the same impossible, precious team: Team Ana. And for her sake, you’re going to have to learn how to play together.
pairing; re2!Leon x its really complicated f!Reader
summary; Leon takes you for your 12 week scan, but nothing is ever as easy as that.
warnings; SFW, pregnancy stuff, doctors offices being generally just uncomfortable.
word count; 3,086 this was meant to be a nice little short one as a break because we're getting deeper into the story now. Also just wanted to clarify for timeline reasons that this takes place in January considering it’s the 12 week scan lol
links; part one, part two , part three, part four, part six,part seven, part eight
Sitting on the doorstep of your apartment, you fought the urge to smoke.
Your fingers absent mindedly tapped against your knee, searching for something to do.
You could almost taste it, habit more than anything.
“Smoking’s bad for you, y'know?” Leon’s voice echoed faintly in your head.
Right. That.
Your gaze drifted down to your hands then, to the street ahead. People walked passed like normal, the cafe shut for the second time since it opened - the first being when you had to rush Rachel to hospital after she choked on an almond - the croissant recipe changed after that.
You shifted, pushing yourself up with a small exhale, brushing your hands down your jeans.
You checked the time, thumb fiddling with the button on your watch out of habit.
Still some time.
Leon had said he’d pick you up. No more details, just that.
You stayed sitting, your feet shuffling on the ground, your fingers tapping on your knee - faster now.
“Traffic.” you muttered under your breath “Must be.”
A car passed.
Not him.
Your jaw tightened slightly, checking your wath, not even a minute had passed.
“Don’t read into it.” you repeated, “Not yet.”
A low engine cut through the noise of the street. Deeper than the others.
Your head lifted before you could stop it, eyes snapping toward the sound as it grew louder.
A motorbike turned the corner.
Your stomach flipped.
It was him.
Same build. Same posture. Helmet catching the light just right.
You leaned forward slightly, already rising to your feet.
The bike passed straight by.
Didn’t stop. Didn’t even slow.
Not him.
You sank back down onto the step, jaw tightening.
“God,” you muttered under your breath, dragging a hand over your face. “You need to get a grip.”
You hated that you’d even thought about it. How quick you were to believe it.
A sharp beep cut through your thoughts.
Your watch.
Late.
Officially.
“Fuck.”
You pushed yourself up, using the wall to steady yourself. No more waiting.
You headed for the café, keys already in your hand.
The keys rattled in the door as you unlocked it, the familiar ding-ding-ding of the bell echoing through the empty space.
You didn’t stop. Just moved straight through to the back, reaching for the phone.
“Rachel first,” you muttered. “Then a taxi.”
You punched in her number, pulling the receiver to your ear, listening to it ring.
“Hello?” She said, distracted like she was doing a million things at once.
“Rach.” A pause.
Her tone shifted immediately.
“Hey babe whats wrong?”
You exhaled, leaning your forehead against the wall. “Its nothing much just-”
“Don’t do that.” she cut in. “What’s going on?”
You huffed a small breath, “He’s late.”
Another pause, shorter this time.
“Right,” Rachel said, but it wasn’t casual anymore. “Shit babe.”
You glanced at your watch. “Can you meet me at the hospital?”
“Of course babe, you need a lift?”
“No, I got a taxi on the way-” a lie, “just don’t want to go through it on my own.”
“Hey,” she added, “Youre not gonna do this on your own, okay?”
You nodded even though she couldnt see you.
“Thanks.”
A beat.
“Meet you there, grab something to eat.” She said, ending the call.
You smiled, hanging the receiver back on its base walking behind the counter, bending down to grab a pastry. You walked back through the café, the bell chiming again as you stepped out into the cold.
The street felt louder now.
Too loud.
You stepped onto the curb, scanning for anything with a light on top.
A taxi slowed at the corner.
You lifted your hand.
It pulled in.
“Hospital?” you said as you slipped into the backseat, already reaching for the door.
The driver nodded. “Yeah, hop in.”
The door shut with a dull thud, sealing you inside.
Warm.
Too warm.
You pulled your jacket tighter anyway, fingers fidgeting with the sleeve as the car pulled away from the curb.
The city blurred past the window.
You glanced at the clock on the dashboard, then at your watch.
Every red light felt longer than it should've. Every turn too slow.
You swallowed shifting slightly in your seat.
Your hand hovered, then rested tentatively against your stomach - just for a moment. Like you weren't sure how or what you were supposed to feel.
You pulled your hand back then looked out the window again.
“Shouldn’t be long.” the driver said, catching your eye in the mirror.
“Yeah.” you nodded. “Thanks.”
Your gaze dropped to your lap then, without thinking about it, you checked the time again.
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The taxi pulled up with a soft jolt, engine idling as you fumbled for the handle.
You paid quickly, barely waiting for the change before stepping out, the cold air hitting you.
The hospital loomed ahead.
You hesitated for half a second before moving. Rachel was already there.
Sat on a bench just outside the entrance, one leg bouncing, ear bud in, cigarette tucked between her lips as she stared out at nothing in particular.
She spotted you instantly, the cigarette coming out of her mouth without hesitation, flicked to the ground and crushed under her foot in one quick motion. The earbud followed, yanked free and shoved into her pocket.
“Hey.” She said, already standing.
“Hey.”
She looked you over as you got closer, eyes scanning your face as though she was checking it for cracks.
“You doing okay?”
You shrugged, the motion small. “Yeah.”
She didn’t believe you.
“Come here c’mon.|” she said, softer now. Her arms wrapping around you before you could even think about it, quick and grounding.
You let out a sharp breath, your hands settling awkwardly against her back for a moment before relaxing into the hug.
“I’ve got you.” She murmured.
Just that.
Nothing else.
You pulled back, clearing your throat.
“Thanks man.”
Rachel nudged your shoulder lightly.
“I’d be the world's shittiest auntie if I let you do it alone huh.”
Your eyes flicked briefly toward the entrance, then back to the car park, almost like you expected him to be there.
“You ready.” Rachel said, her hand rubbing your back tenderly.
You nodded, “Yeah, I’m ready.”
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The waiting room was too bright.
White walls. Grey chairs. A TV mounted in the corner playing something no one was watching.
You sat beside Rachel, hands folded tightly in your lap, thumbs pressing into each other over and over.
Across from you, a couple sat shoulder to shoulder, murmuring quietly. The woman smiled at something the man said, hand resting absentmindedly over her stomach.
You looked away.
Rachel nudged your knee lightly with hers.
“You wanna swap seats?” she asked, low enough that only you could hear.
You shook your head. “No, I’m fine.”
You weren’t.
Your eyes flicked to the door.
Then back to your hands.
Then to the clock.
Then the door again.
“He’ll come,” she said after a moment, voice softer now.
You didn’t answer.
Didn’t agree, didn’t disagree. Just sat there, shoulders tight, jaw set, like if you held yourself still enough it might stop everything else from moving.
A door opened somewhere down the hall. Not for you.
Your knee started bouncing and you stilled it with your hand, trying not to worry Rachel anymore than you already had.
A few minutes passed and a nurse was stood infront of you - clipboard in hand. She had apparently said your name because Rachel stood up, nudging your shoulder gently.
“Hey, come on.” She said softly, waiting for you to stand up.
“Oh, yeah.” you swallowed, pushing yourself up out of the chair.
The room was smaller than you expected, but the lights were just as bright - buzzing loudly overhead.
The machines were tucked neatly against the wall, tables coiled neatly. A bed in the centre with paper stretched tight over it and a metal tray on wheels next to it.
You hovered near the edge of the room until the doctor entered.
He smiled a small - practiced - smile.
“Hi there,” he said, glancing down at his notes. “Your name please.”
You gave your full name, voice steady enough.
The nurse nodded, jotting it down and looking back up to the doctor.
“And your partner?” his brows furrowed, he glanced between you and Rachel.
You looked behind you to the door. Then to your watch.
“He-” your voice caught slightly but you cleared it, “He couldn't make it.”
The doctor didn't react, just nodded again like it was nothing.
“Okay, no problem.”
But it was, to you. The feeling sat there, heavy in your heart.
“Go ahead and lie back here for me.” He patted the bed, smiling softly and turning towards the machine at the wall. The nurse moved around to join him and he talked her through the procedure quietly.
You moved carefully, climbing up onto the bed, the paper crinkling loudly beneath you as you settled. Rachel came with you, standing next to you, her hand on yours as you lay down.
You fixed your eyes on the ceiling focusing on the tiles and cracks - anywhere but the machine.
“Okay.” the doctor said, rolling over on his stool. He rubbed his lips together before reaching for the roller that was attached to the machine. “This is your first child?” Another smile.
“Yeah.” you smiled back, unsure of what else to say.
“Congratulations.” The nurse said softly, you pursed your lips flickering your eye between her, the machine and the doctor.
“So, I’m going to put this on you, so you will need to move your tshirt up, is that okay?” Courteous enough, you thought.
You nodded, rolling your shirt up and showing off your stomach.
“This will be a little cold, just to warn you.” He said, fixing his glove before lowering the roller onto your stomach.
He wasn't wrong. You flinched slightly as the gel hit your skin, your breath catching for a moment before the feeling faded away.
The low hum of the machine filled the room and Rachel tapped your shoulder, pointing towards the machine to make you look.
You turned to see a black and white image and Rachel squeezed your hand.
You hadnt even realised how much you needed it. You squeezed back glancing back to her then to the screen.
There was a little grey blob, then- a sound. It was faint a first then, clearer. Steady.
The room shifted, you felt it before you understood and your breath hitched.
It was there. Small and unreal but, real.
Your grip tightened on Rachel’s hand and she laughed.
You didnt say anything - you couldnt. A smile just painted across your face.
A knock.
The four of you turned to the door, smiles falling off of your faces.
“Apologies,” the doctor turned to you, silently commanding the nurse to get the door.
You sighed, looking back to Rachel.
“Oh my god hun!” She said excitedly, shaking your hand. “Look at that!” She pointed back to the ultrasound picture.
The doctor smiled at you then looked back to the nurse.
You followed his gaze, your breath hitching when you saw the nurse and- Leon.
His eyes flicked to you and then the screen.
Something in his expression shifted, something soft then, sad.
“I’m sorry.” He said softly. It came out low and controlled, like he’d practiced it but known it wasnt enough.
Rachel’s grip tightened briefly before she let go, turning to his direction.
You looked away, turning to the screen.
“You better come see then, now that you’re here.” You sighed.
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After a long chat with the doctor you felt a little better about the pregnancy. He offered all of his support, giving you a midwife’s number and talking through things you hadn’t even thought to consider yet.
It made it feel… real.
Manageable, almost.
Leon sat beside you the whole time in silence. He wasn't checking out, just quiet.
Listening.
His elbow rested on his knee, hand loosely clasped, gaze fixed somewhere between the floor and the doctor like he was taking in every word and filing it away.
Every now and then his eyes would flicker to you.
You didn’t look back.
Didn’t trust what might show if you did.
“And if you have any concerns,” the doctor added, sliding a slip of paper across the desk, “don’t hesitate to call. You’re not on your own with this.”
That sat with you. ‘Not on your own.’
Your fingers curled slightly around the edge of the paper.
Leon’s hand shifted beside you. Not quite touching but close enough that you noticed.
“Thank you,” you said, voice quieter now.
The doctor smiled, standing. “We’ll get you booked in for your next appointment before you leave.”
You nodded, pushing yourself up from the chair. Leon followed.
Always a beat behind.
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Rachel was waiting where you’d left her, perched on the bench, one leg bouncing - no cigarette. She looked up the second the door opened, eyes flicking between the two of you, searching.
“Is everything okay?” She asked, standing up.
You nodded. “All good.”
A beat.
She smiled at you, then glared at Leon, then smiled back at you.
“Right, well, I’ll give you a lift back.” She said, Leon’s mouth opening and shutting before he could get a word in.
“Thanks.” You said, finally looking over to Leon.
His eyes were less sure than usual, watery almost.
He bit the inside of his lip.
“Want to say anything?” You glared, really wanting to go home and cry into your pillow.
He sighed, his hand going to his face and rubbing back into his hair. He looked at you then to Rachel, then back at you.
“I’m sorry.” Leon said, not defensively just.. said.
You let out a slow breath, eyes fixed on him. “You promised you would be here.”
“I know.”
Silence stretched between you. Not empty but heavy - suffocating.
You looked down, and then back up at him, folding your arms across your chest.
“You said you’d pick me up.”
His jaw tightened. His eyes closing and opening slowly. “I got held up.”
“What’s new?” You bit back. It came out quieter than you had wanted.
He didn't snap back, just took it.
“I tried to call-”
“I was already on my way.”
Pause.
More awkward glances; up to him and back to the ground, ground to him, him to ground-
“You missed it.” you finally blurted, your eyes twitching - gaze staying on the ground now.
“I know.” He sighed, his hands twitching at his sides.
Your chest tightened. You needed to get through to him- these futile attempts at trying to rely on him had gone nowhere. You swallowed, now was the only time to make him see it.
“Leon-”
“ I’m here now,” There it was, that line again.
You let out a humourless breath, at least the ‘old’ Leon would’ve cried or shouted or something.
“You keep saying that like it counts for something.” You spat back, a humourless breath slipping out your mouth.
“It doesn't, I know.” His face was wracked with guilt.
That shouldve felt like something but it didnt.
You shook your head, tired and angry. “I just-” your voice broke and you pressed your lips together, Rachel’s hand shooting onto your shoulder for support. “I can’t keep doing this.”
He stilled, looking between Rachel’s hand and your face, which was growing redder by the second.
“I know.” he said, quieter this time.
Rachel shifted beside you, her arms now crossed over her chest, eyes flicking between the two of you like she was deciding whether to step in or not.
Leon’s eyes went to her again, then back to you.
“Let me fix it.” he said
You huffed. “You can’t.”
“Not all of it.” he admitted. “But-” he paused, choosing his words carefully. “Let me take you out.”
You blinked. “To do what?”
“Dinner.” he said, like it was simple. “Tonight, Gio’s.”
Rachel let out a quiet disbelieving breath beside you but didn't interrupt.
You stared at him, a secret smile hidden behind your tired eyes.
“I don't need-”
“I know.” he cut in. “Its not about that.”
A pause.
You gritted your teeth, your gaze going to the bike parked up on the pavement. Jesus Christ
“You think dinner is gonna fix this?”
“No.” he said, no hesitation. “But it’s a start.”
Rachel scoffed, louder this time and you could picture her face.
You glanced back at her and she raised her brows slightly, your call, but the look she gave Leon when you looked away should’ve killed him.
“Deal.” you exhaled slowly, hands on your hips.
He nodded, but he didn’t look relieved - still, blank.
“I’ll pick you up.”
A beat
Then sheepishly, “On time.”
You let out a faint breath through your nose. “You better be.”
Rachel stepped forward then, reclaiming the moment, hooked her thumb toward the exit.
“Right,” she said. “Go before I change my mind and run you over.”
You almost smiled - almost.
Leon hesitated for half a second longer, like he wanted to say something else. But he didn't - didn't push it.
Instead, he nodded once and turned, heading back towards his bike.
You watched him go despite yourself. The way he moved - easy and certain, like everything was calculated even though only over a month ago he was the most bashful and awkward guy in the world.
God.
“Aggravatingly hot.” Rachel leaned over, voice low against your ear.
You let out a breath that turned into a laugh before you could stop it, your hand coming up to cover it.
Leon glanced back at the sound.
You and Rachel turned away immediately, hands over your mouths.
Too late.
“Stop,” you muttered under your breath, grabbing Rachel’s arm as she started grinning.
“Im serious.” she whispered, nto even trying to hide it now. “That is the problem.”
You shook your head, but the smile was still tugging at the corner of your mouth.
“Come on,” She said, nudging you toward the car.
You glanced back once more. He was already on the bike, pulling his helmet on - like he knew better than to linger. Like if he did, maybe you’d change your mind.
You turned away, swallowing hard.
“God he is though-” you admitted quietly.
Rachel barked a laugh. “You’re so fucked.”
And just like that, the weight of things lifted - not gone by any means but, lighter.
BabyDaddy! Jason Todd who almost never picks up your daughter on time for their weekends together, but always promises to make it up with Daddy-Daughter dates, mostly to the mall or teaparties at home.
"Daddy got busy this weekend, pretty girl... But I promise we can have a tea party with Mr. Dino as soon as I see you, alright?"
That was almost always his excuse when you'd call and put your little girl on the line with him.
BabyDaddy! Jason Todd who almost never has child support in on time, even though it's a relatively low amount since you decided to have a bit of mercy on him in court.
"Look, I'll get it to you as soon as I can, doll. Just got a little sidetracked this week with a few jobs."
The same thing he always said when the $80 for the week was due. But you always caved and gave him a few extra days, even if you knew it was because he blew it on new gear for his patrols and missions.
BabyDaddy! Jason Todd who won't let your daughter come over to his apartment right after a mission because he has to lay low and doesn't want to put her in danger.
"Daddy went on a last minute trip, baby girl... I promise he'll take you the next time he goes somewhere, okay?"
The same promise you always made when she gave you those doe eyes and got teary over missing Jason after a long mission
BabyDaddy! Jason Todd who you have to plan sleepovers with because they almost always happen to end up on one of his weekends.
"As long as she's happy, it's fine. Can I pick her up on Monday? I can ask B for the night off and drop her off at daycare in the morning."
Jason tries his hardest not to show just how hurt he is whenever his daughter and you have to cancel plans on him, but you see right through it every time.
BabyDaddy! Jason Todd who you invite over for a couple of drinks on the nights your gorgeous girl is out for a sleepover at a friend's or your family's.
"You didn't have to invite me over, y'know... I'm fine on my own, really. But I appreciate it."
His famous last words before the both of you end up tipsy and handsy with eachother for the rest of the night.
BabyDaddy! Jason Todd who you're not really sure just how you ended up underneath after only a few drinks and a friendly chat.
"Look at how that tight pussy pulls me in... Almost like you're begging for another baby. That what you want, gorgeous? Me to fill you with another one of my babies?"
He still watches you take a Plan B the next morning, though. Neither of you can handle another child just yet, especially while just hooking up after months of minimal contact.
BabyDaddy! Jason Todd who falls for you all over again after a few of those nights filled with drinking and the sound of skin on skin.
"Thanks for inviting me over, sweetheart... I'm sorry if I overstayed my welcome."
Of course he didn't. You knew exactly what would happen as soon as your daughter asked to go to a sleepover, and you didn't regret it one bit.
Isha who meets Ekko and grows attached because she just thinks he’s that cool and (her mom) Jinx just seems to have some kind of emotional connection to him so she just starts treating Ekko as her second parents so Jinx and Ekko are forced to co-parent…?
hi!! i’ve just like binge read all of your stuff and it’s so beautifully written
do you think you could do a charles fic with the co-parenting to lovers trope? like their kid helps them get together or like he flys out to see their kid and realizes that life is so much better with them? i have a whole like plot im sorry 😭
stay a little longer 🕯️
Charles Leclerc x ex(?)!reader
summary: co-parenting finally turns into something more when their daughter decides it’s time for a date.
warnings: co-parenting to lovers, kid matchmaker, suggestive content, kissing, car makeout, implied smut, love confessions, second chances
A/N: thank u anon for the requuessttt!!! i feel like i still don’t write charles very well 😭 like yes i believe the guy is romantic but i think i made that his whole personality in this WHOOPS. random but i love when drivers have girlfriends cuz now i got sm material for the mood-boards. i hope u enjoy it and as always love u ❤️
༻ ❤︎︎ ༺
you never expected him to show up.
not like this, not without warning, not with that soft look in his eyes and a suitcase in his hand.
it’s been almost six months since you saw charles leclerc in person. six months since he kissed your cheek at the airport and promised he’d try to visit more. six months of facetime calls with your daughter holding your phone too close to her face, grinning with her tiny teeth and telling him she lost another one. six months of you pretending that you were completely fine raising her mostly alone while he chased podiums around the world.
but now he’s standing on your porch like it’s nothing. like he’s not the father of your child and also the person who once broke your heart in the softest, most unintentional way.
“hi,” he says.
you blink. “charles? what—what are you doing here?”
he looks down at his shoes. he’s wearing sneakers that used to live in your hallway. the ones your daughter would trip over every time she tried to run to the door. “i had a week off. i wanted to see her.”
you let him in because you always do. because she misses him even when she doesn’t say it, and because you’ve never been able to fully close the door on him.
your daughter screams ‘daddy!’ the second she hears him. he drops his bag and catches her mid-run, spinning her around in the tiny living room you’ve made your home. you watch from the kitchen, hands still on the mug you were making, heart doing something stupid and warm and dangerous in your chest.
“you’re not leaving tonight, are you?” she asks him, small hands on his cheeks.
he shakes his head. “not tonight. not for a few days, actually.”
and you swear, you see her little face light up with something more than excitement. something like hope.
it’s not supposed to be easy, but it is.
charles fits back into your space like he never left. he sleeps on the couch and does the dishes after dinner. he drives her to school in the mornings and makes up silly songs about brushing her teeth. he folds laundry while you’re at work and lets her paint his nails on the weekends.
and you keep waiting for it to feel like a mistake. to feel like a tease, like you’re slipping back into something that already ended.
but instead, it feels like healing.
like late nights where he sits across from you, whispering stories about races she’s too young to hear. like laughing over wine after she’s gone to bed, both of you tipsy on nostalgia and something heavier. something that tastes like maybe.
he doesn’t flirt. not really. but sometimes, he looks at you like he remembers every moment you ever shared. and sometimes, when he thinks you’re not paying attention, he stares at you like you hung the stars.
it happens on a tuesday.
you’re rushing to get out the door for work. your daughter can’t find her other shoe and you’ve already yelled twice, which always makes you feel like a terrible mother. charles is standing in the kitchen, packing her lunch like he’s done it every morning for the past year instead of the last five days.
and then she says it.
“daddy, are you staying forever now?”
you freeze. so does he.
“because i think you should,” she continues, completely unaware of the tension she’s stirred up. “you make mommy laugh again. and you’re really good at pancakes.”
charles doesn’t look at you. he kneels down and kisses her forehead. “i love you, chérie,” he says quietly.
you don’t talk about it.
not until later, when she’s asleep and you’re both sitting on the back steps with a blanket around your shoulders and the sky full of stars.
“she wants us to be a family,” you whisper.
charles’s voice is soft. “i do too.”
your chest tightens. “charles…”
“i know,” he says. “i know i left. i know i haven’t been here like i should have. and i’m not trying to ask you to just forget it. but i want to be here now. not just for her. for you, too.”
you stare at your hands. your heart. the little cracks that never quite healed after he left.
“why now?” you ask.
he takes a breath. “because every time i see her smile, i see you. and every time i talk to her, i wish you were beside me. and because… i thought i was doing the right thing. giving you space. letting you live your life without the mess of mine. but i’ve never been more wrong.”
you look at him. really look. and he looks scared. vulnerable in a way he never is behind the wheel. and you realize, in this quiet moment under the stars, that maybe you’ve been scared too.
you don’t say anything. you just reach out, take his hand, and let your fingers intertwine like they never stopped knowing how to.
he moves in slowly.
a toothbrush at first. then a drawer. then he’s picking her up from school without you asking, buying groceries like he knows the list by heart. you fall back into love like it’s muscle memory. slow, steady, familiar. this time, without the fear.
your daughter starts calling you her “mommy and daddy house.” she draws pictures of the three of you holding hands, all smiling with the sun in the corner.
one night, she asks if you and daddy are married again.
charles chuckles. “not yet, chérie.”
you shoot him a look. “not funny.”
he leans in, his voice low against your ear. “it could be.”
and you feel it again—that dangerous, stupid hope that maybe this time, it’s real.
because he came back. because he stayed. because your little girl believed in love enough to put it back together. and because this time, you’re ready to believe in it too.
༻ ❤︎︎ ༺
she catches you holding his hand in the kitchen.
it’s not a big deal, really. just fingers brushing as you pass him the milk. but charles catches your pinky with his, gives it a gentle squeeze, and you smile in that way you only ever do with him.
your daughter sees it all from her seat at the table, eating cereal like it’s the most important meal of her life.
“are you guys in love again?” she asks, spoon halfway to her mouth.
charles pauses, milk almost spilling over the edge of his glass. “what?”
“you heard me,” she says, chewing dramatically.
you shoot charles a look. he shrugs, trying not to laugh.
“i think you are,” she continues, totally unfazed. “you look at each other like the people in mommy’s movies. and you sleep on the couch together sometimes. and daddy made you pancakes in a heart shape.”
you can’t even deny that one. he really did.
“okay,” she says, pushing her bowl away. “it’s time.”
“time for what?” you ask, even though you already know.
“you’re going on a date.”
charles raises an eyebrow. “we are?”
she nods. “yes. i’ll stay with mamie. and you two can go somewhere fancy. with candles and music. and then you’ll kiss.”
you laugh, shaking your head. “what is it with you and kissing lately?”
she grins. “uncle pierre says it’s how people fall in love.”
charles makes a face. “i’m going to block his number.”
you get ready while she helps charles pick out a shirt. you hear her scolding him for choosing the boring grey one and insisting he wears the one with the tiny flowers because “mommy likes when you look like a soft boy.”
you come out in a dress that hasn’t seen the light of day in years and charles just stands there, looking like he forgot how to breathe.
“wow,” he says softly. “you look…”
you raise a brow. “like a soft girl?”
he laughs. “like the girl i’ve been in love with since before i even knew it.”
you blink.
he smiles, nervous and sweet and very charles. “too much?”
“no,” you say, cheeks warm. “just enough.”
you drive to a little italian restaurant tucked away in the quieter part of town. it’s dimly lit, with fairy lights above the patio and old music playing inside. it’s romantic in a kind of unintentional way. the kind of place that doesn’t try too hard because it doesn’t need to.
charles pulls your chair out for you and keeps glancing across the table like he’s still trying to figure out if this is real.
“this feels weird,” you say, sipping your wine. “in a good way. but weird.”
he nods. “like we’re pretending we’re not already a family.”
you smile. “yeah.”
“but i want this too,” he adds, eyes soft. “the dating part. the butterflies.”
you meet his gaze. “you still get butterflies?”
he reaches across the table, lacing your fingers with his. “every time you look at me like this.”
and god, you feel it too. that flutter. that full-body warmth that only ever comes when you’re really, really falling.
after dinner, he takes your hand and suggests a walk. it’s chilly but not cold, and the stars are out like someone painted them just for tonight.
“this is the part where we kiss under the moonlight,” you joke, bumping your shoulder into his.
charles stops walking.
“what?” you ask, turning.
he steps closer. “i was waiting for the right moment.”
your breath catches. “is this it?”
he nods, eyes flicking to your mouth. “yeah. i think it is.”
and when he kisses you, it’s slow and soft and everything you’ve been missing for years. it’s full of promises and apologies and second chances. it tastes like wine and laughter and home.
you stay like that for a long time, under the stars and the streetlamp, kissing like you’re twenty and just discovering how good it feels to be wanted.
when you get home, the lights are low and the house is quiet. your daughter is asleep, curled up in her bed with her stuffed giraffe and the nightlight glowing faintly beside her.
charles shuts the door gently behind you.
you turn to him, heart racing, still a little breathless from the night.
“so…” you whisper.
he walks toward you, slow, eyes locked on yours. “so.”
“was this the part where we’re supposed to kiss again?”
he nods, grinning. “definitely.”
he backs you into the couch and kisses you until you’re both laughing and gasping and tangled in each other. his hands in your hair, your arms around his neck, the world spinning just slightly off its axis in the best way.
“we probably shouldn’t wake her,” you mumble against his mouth.
“then we’ll be quiet,” he whispers back, kissing down your neck.
you end up in the car—because it’s late and you can’t quite make it upstairs, and also because there’s something wildly thrilling about being wrapped around each other in the dark leather seats, trying not to fog up the windows too much.
his hands on your thighs, your lips tracing every freckle on his collarbone, his voice low and hoarse as he says your name like a prayer.
after, you sit in the front seat, legs curled into his lap, his hand resting gently on your bare knee.
“we should do this again,” you say, grinning against his shoulder.
charles kisses your temple. “i plan on it.”
and you believe him. completely.
because this time, he’s not just here for the night. this time, he’s here to stay.
