Harbor x female reader one-shot
"Special delivery!" Your voice echoes through the Valorant compound's common area as you navigate the security checkpoint . The guards barely glance at your credentials anymore – you're as much a fixture here as the training dummies.
"Please tell me those are my muffins," Jett materializes beside you, practically vibrating with excitement.
You laugh, carefully setting down your loaded delivery cart. "Yes, your hotteok-inspired muffins are here. And before anyone else shows up—" you start pulling out labeled boxes "—Raze's pão de queijo, Sova's black bread, and... where did I put Cypher's baklava?"
"Looking for this?" Varun's deep voice makes you turn. He's holding up the box in question, a knowing smile on his face. "I intercepted it at the front gate. Had to make sure it was... secure."
"The only thing that needs securing is your sweet tooth," you tease, noting the telltale crumbs on his vest. "That was meant for Cypher."
"I'll make it up to him." Varun moves closer, ostensibly to help unload your cart, but his hand lingers on yours longer than necessary. "Though I'm still waiting for my cardamom cookies."
"Second delivery of the day, remember? These are just breakfast essentials."
"BREAKFAST!" Gekko bursts into the room, Phoenix hot on his heels. "Yo, did you bring those chocolate croissants? The ones from yesterday were insane!" You start distributing boxes, watching fondly as the agents gather around like eager kids. It's hard to believe these are the same people you see on the news, fighting world-threatening dangers. Right now, they're just people excited about fresh-baked goods.
"Sage, your green tea bread is in the blue box," you call out, spotting the healer trying to peek around Fade. "And yes, I remembered the extra sesame seeds."
"You spoil us," Sage says warmly, collecting her box.
"That's literally my job," you remind her, but you're smiling. Over the past year, these deliveries have become more than just business. Each recipe is carefully tailored to bring a taste of home to these agents who give up so much to protect others. Varun appears at your elbow again, helping you restack empty boxes. "You know," he says quietly, "you could just leave everything in the kitchen."
"And miss all this?" You gesture to where Gekko is dramatically declaring his love for your pastries while Fade rolls her eyes. "Besides, how else would I get to see you?"
His expression softens. "Dinner tonight? That little place by your bakery?"
"Can't. Got a massive wedding cake order to finish." You reach up to straighten his collar, a habit you've developed over months of stolen moments between deliveries. "But I might have some extra cardamom cookies that need taste-testing around nine."
The next morning starts like any other – up at 4 AM, ovens warming, dough rising. You're humming as you shape Brimstone's favorite sourdough when the first window breaks.
"She's not answering." Varun's voice is tight as he stares at his phone. The pre-dawn sky is tinted orange with flames, reflecting off the water gathering unconsciously around his feet.
"Harbor," Brimstone warns, using his code name in the field. "We do this by the book."
But Varun's already moving, water surging around him as he pushes through the police line. He finds you outside your burning bakery, soot-stained and shaking, clutching a charred recipe book to your chest.
"Varun," you choke out, and he pulls you into his arms, not caring about the ash or the witnesses or protocol.
"I've got you," he murmurs into your hair. "I've got you."
"Brimstone, sir." Varun's voice is uncharacteristically formal as he stands in the commander's office. "A moment?" Brimstone looks up from his tactical display, noting the unusual tension in his controller's stance. "What's on your mind, Harbor?"
"It's about the baker – about her." Varun runs a hand through his hair, leaving it slightly disheveled. "She's lost everything. Her home was above the bakery, her business..."
"I'm aware of the situation."
"She needs somewhere safe. Somewhere protected." Varun straightens his shoulders. "I'm requesting permission to bring her into the compound." Brimstone's eyebrows rise. "That's not a small ask. This is a military facility, not a refugee center."
"She's already cleared for daily access. Has been for over a year." Varun steps forward, placing both hands on Brimstone's desk. "Sir, she's been targeted because of her connection to us. We owe her this."
"We owe a lot of people, Harbor."
"Then let me rephrase." Varun's voice drops lower, more serious than Brimstone has ever heard it. "I'm not leaving her vulnerable. If the compound isn't an option, I'll find somewhere else, but I'll be going with her." Brimstone studies him for a long moment, then sighs. "You're really ready to walk away from Valorant? For a baker?"
Another long pause, then Brimstone's face cracks into a slight smile. "Well, damn, son. Why didn't you lead with that?" He taps something into his display. "I'll have quarters arranged. But Harbor?"
"She's your responsibility. And if this compromises any missions..."
"It won't," Varun promises, relief flooding his features. "Thank you, sir."
"Don't thank me yet. Wait until you see how the others react to having their favorite baker under the same roof."
Three weeks later, the Valorant compound's kitchen has become your new domain. It's different – sterile and industrial where your bakery was cozy and worn – but you're adapting. The agents help in their own ways: Killjoy upgraded all the ovens, Sage brings you herbs from her garden, and Varun... well, Varun barely leaves your side.
"That's the fourth time you've checked the security feeds," you note, catching him glancing at his tablet again. "Can't be too careful," he mutters. "We still don't know who targeted you."
You set down your rolling pin, wiping flour on your apron. "Varun." "The timing's too convenient. Right after you signed the expanded contract with Valorant—" "Varun." "—and there have been other incidents with our suppliers—"
He stops, finally looking at you properly. There's flour in your hair and worry in his eyes, and suddenly you can't stand the distance between you. You cross the kitchen to take his face in your hands. "I'm okay," you tell him firmly. "I'm here, I'm safe, and I'm not going anywhere."
"Was just a building." Your thumb traces his cheekbone, leaving a faint white streak. "Everything that matters – my recipes, my skills, the people I care about – that's all still here. Including this very handsome, very overprotective man who's about to miss out on fresh cardamom cookies if he doesn't stop brooding."
That gets a small smile. "You're making them now?" "Was going to, but someone keeps distracting me with security concerns." "I do not brood," he protests, but his arms slide around your waist. "You absolutely do. Now, are you going to help me bake, or—"
"YO!" Gekko's voice echoes from the doorway. "Is that cardamom I smell? Hook me up!" Varun's grip tightens slightly. "We're closed." "But—" "Closed," Varun repeats, a hint of his controller authority creeping in.
You hide your smile in his chest as Gekko retreats, grumbling about favoritism. "You know they're just going to try stealing them later."
"Let them try." Water ripples briefly around his feet. "These ones are just for us." You reach up to kiss him softly, tasting traces of the cardamom cookie he definitely snuck earlier. "My possessive water bender."
"Never mind." You pat his chest, leaving a flour handprint. "Help me with these cookies, and I might make those masala chai scones you love."
Varun knows something is wrong the moment he enters the common area. There's a suspicious lack of agents, for one thing. And there's a familiar sweet-spicy scent in the air that should definitely not be there, because those treats were supposed to be in his quarters, specially made just for him.
He rounds the corner to find Phoenix and Gekko sprawled on the couch, crumbs everywhere, and a very familiar box between them. On the floor lies a discarded note with a cute angry face drawn on it and the words "VARUN'S ONLY" in your handwriting.
"Those," he says, his voice dangerously calm as water begins to pool around his feet, "were mine."
Phoenix freezes mid-bite. "Uh... mate... we can explain..."
"Yoru dared us!" Gekko blurts out, already backing away.
"Wrong answer." The water rises.
Phoenix grabs Gekko's arm. "Run!" Varun's shout echoes through the compound: "GET BACK HERE WITH MY MASALA TREATS!"
You're in the middle of kneading dough when a soaking wet Phoenix and Gekko burst into the kitchen, followed by a very smug-looking Varun.
"Really?" you ask, trying not to laugh at their drenched appearance. "They stole my special box," Varun says, attempting to look dignified despite the satisfaction radiating from him.
"So you turned the common room into a swimming pool?" "They deserved it." He walks over to kiss your flour-dusted cheek. "Those were my treats. You even put a note."
"I'll make you more," you promise, patting his chest. "Though maybe next time I'll label them 'Property of Harbor' with a skull and crossbones."
"That won't stop us!" Gekko declares, then immediately ducks behind Phoenix when Varun turns to glare at him. "Out," Varun commands, pointing to the door. "Both of you. And if I catch you near my treats again..."
They scramble away, leaving puddles in their wake. You turn to face Varun, trying to maintain a stern expression. "You're going to have to mop that up, you know."
He pulls you close, not caring about the flour that transfers to his clothes. "Worth it. Though I am still short one box of special treats."
"Poor baby," you tease, reaching up to smooth his furrowed brow. "How about I make you a fresh batch? With extra cardamom this time?"
His face lights up, then immediately tries to school itself into something more dignified. "If you insist."
You laugh, stretching up to kiss him. "Just try not to flood the compound when Yoru inevitably puts them up to stealing these ones too."
"No promises," he murmurs against your lips, and you can feel his smile. "A man has to defend his territory."
"Your territory being... baked goods?"
"My territory being anything you make specially for me." His arms tighten around you. "I don't share well."
"I've noticed." You pull back just enough to look at him properly. "Now, are you going to help me clean up this flour, or are you too busy plotting revenge against treat thieves?"
The sound of your laughter mixing with his deep chuckle echoes through the kitchen, and you think that maybe, just maybe, losing your bakery led you exactly where you were meant to be – even if you do have to deal with treat-stealing agents and an overprotective water-wielding boyfriend who turns the compound into a splash park at the slightest provocation.
You wouldn't have it any other way.